《God Of football》 Chapter 1: Come on, a system Chapter 1: Come on, a systemOn a rainy night in Valencia,alboraya, the sound of running could be heard on a Pitch nearby. There a boy who seemed out of breath was still chasing after a ball despite looking like he could faint any minute. He seemed to be in a daze seemingly trying to forget something but couldn''t. He was woken up by an accident that had occurred nearby. Finally stopping, Izan realised that if he didn''t take a break, he might pass out or, worse, get injured, which was a nightmare for any footballer, especially when he was so young. The boy sat down with tears in his eyes. Now that the sweat had dried off a bit one could see a somewhat Asian face with really refined features that could easily pass as an idol. The distinctive feature about izan was his blue eyes which was really rare for a person of Asian descent. Although he was trying to look somewhat composed, regret and disappointment were written on his face. He had just been told by his youth club, which was the Valencia football youth academy, that they would be laying him off at the end of the season because he was not showing any promise. This would usually happen only when one was getting to the age of 18 and was not showing any promise, but now getting to 15 years, Izan was being laid off because he was not showing progress or promise. In contrast, he was getting worse. Izan underperformed in the youth league and was by far one of the worst players in the league. The club could still wait for Izan to mature, but because of a recent budget cut in the youth program, players who were not showing progress or promise had to be laid off, and Izan was caught in this net. He sat there contemplating and concluded that there was still time since the season had just started. As Izan stood up he felt the hair on his head rise in an erect position. Izan then remembered watching a video on YouTube telling him how when in the rain and your hair is on end, it means you are in danger of being struck by lightning. Just as he was about to move, something flashed through him causing him to go unconscious. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ivan lay there and recovered after a while but couldn''t stand. [''Host secured'']. "Huh". Izan looked around but didn''t see anyone in the vicinity. "Okay that was weird," Izan said. As Izan was about to ignore the sound, it came again. A neutral voice spoke ["sequence started" programme starting in 3,2,1... ]. Then it went silent for a while. Izan thought he was going if not for the voice coming back again [system initiated ]. [System welcomes host to the legend sequence ]. WHAT THE F*** !!. Izan exclaimed. Chapter 2: We Up Chapter 2: We UpIzan looked around before looking at the translucent screen in front of him. Izan looked at the screen as he saw it to resemble a particular football video game screen. Izan saw a shining object in the shape of a gift box and tried to press it but his finger just passed through it. [ Does the host want to open the starter gift pack] The system spoke. "Uh- yeah," Izan replied still not believing what was happening. The system opened the pack and soon words were displayed on the screen: [BEGINNER STARTER PACK] +10 stat point to selected attribute +5 stat point to any 3 selected attributes +1 star weak foot +1 star skill moves "Oh, this is just like Fifa", Izan exclaimed. Before Izan could explore any further, a car pulled over by the side of the pitch. "Miura" a feminine voice called. Izan looked to see his mother in a car. Izan quickly grabbed his stuff and the ball before sprinting towards the car. He got there and threw his bag in the backseat before sitting in the front seat. "How was practice, Miura?" Komi izan''s mom asked. "It was good, mum,", Izan said to his mum in Japanese without telling her what had happened today because he felt it would only add to her worries. Komi moved to Spain when she was 24 years old. She married Izan''s father at 27 before giving birth to Izan a year later. It had lasted a while before izan''s father died 5 years after izan was born. He was a responsible person and had left behind insurance which could be used to take care of Izan and his then 3-year-old sister Hori. As a single mom komi did whatever she could to make the kids happy and had done a good job so far. Izan smiled at her as they went home. Izan woke up as the car curved into the driveway. Eager to try out the system, he quickly picked up some of the groceries along with his bag before heading inside. He placed the groceries on the table before heading upstairs. Just as he was about to take the last turn to his room, he met his sister, who called him out, telling him about the meeting between him and his teacher, Miss Lauren. He nodded before quickly entering his room. Hori, Izan''s sister, got down a bit surprised."what is wrong with him?" she said." Why?" Komi Izan''s mother asked after hearing Hori speak. "Well, most of the time after training, he feels somewhat dejected,d, but tod, as he seems eager or lively". Komi stared at the stairs for a while before asking Hori to help her with dinner. Izan shut the door behind him. He first entered the bathroom and washed down first. After he finished, he sat on his bed with his legs crossed before he said, "System". [Yes host] the system replied after a short while. "Can I see my stats?" izan said to which the system replied by showing his stats in a FIFA-like game screen with his information attached [PLAYER INFO] NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14(6 MONTHS TO 15) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:NO VALUE PLAYER RATING:53/100 POTENTIAL:77 [STATS] [Acceleration]:65 [Sprint speed ]:69 [Agility]:58 [Balance]:56 [Jumping]:49 [Reaction]:49 [Stamina]:65 [Strength]:57 [Positioning]:50 [Vision]:57 [Ball control]:55 [Crossing]:55 [Dribbling]:55 [Finishing]:50 [Short pass]:55 [Long pass]:45 [WEAK FOOT STRENGTH]: 2 stars [SKILL MOVES] :3 stars [SKILLS POSSESSED] Stepovers:40% Completion "Wow," Izan exclaimed. "Apart from speed and stamina, which are somewhat good for my age, and a few attributes that are decent, the rest are absolute garbage to the point that I can''t even imagine how I wanted to be a pro player". Izan saw his strength stat and started to wonder if being a left-back was a good position for him. Although he knew there were fullbacks not good at defence, they could at least create chances, but he didn''t have anything going for him. Izan decided to distribute his stat points. For the +10 stat point, he decided to use it on Dribbling, which raised it from a 55 to a 65. He also had to select 3 attributes, which he selected: Vision, Crossing and ball control, which increased to 62,60 and 60. After this, he used the +1 star weak foot and skill move, which also increased to 3/5 star weak foot and 4/5 star skill moves. After this izan attributes were looking a bit good. The system changed his player info [PLAYER INFO] NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14(2 MONTHS TO 15) HEIGHT:175CM{5''8} PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:A somewhat decent youth player PLAYER POSITION:Left Back POTENTIAL: 80 [STATS] [Acceleration]:65 [Sprint speed]:69 [Agility]:58 [Balance]:56 [Jumping]:49 [Reaction]:49 [Stamina]:65 [Strength]:60 [Positioning]:50 [Vision]:62 [Ball control]:60 [Crossing]:55 [Dribbling]:65 [Finishing]:50 [Short pass]:55 [Long pass]:45 S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED Stepovers:40% Completion Izan saw that his player rating had gone from 53 to 57. Izan was elated. Izan saw that a new information had come under his player info, which was the potential category, which describes the ability a player can reach. "System, can you elaborate on the potential category?" Izan said. POTENTIAL This describes the football ability a player can reach 70-74 potential=mediocre players 75-80 potential =descent players 81-85 potential= Good players 86-89 potential= Great players 90-92 potential= world class players 93-96 potential = legendary players 97-99 potential= Alien The system laid out all the information. Ivan smirked and said, "So I have the potential to be a decent player. No, that won''t cut it; with the system, I''m going to become an Alien". "Miura comes down for dinner", Komi said, bringing Izan back from his monologue. ''OK mum," Izan replied before going down to eat. Chapter 3: He’s all that Chapter 3: He''s all thatIzan woke up early the next day and made himself some breakfast before heading out to the pitch nearby. He was eager to test out how his upgraded stats affected his gameplay. It was 6:13 when he reached the pitch. After arriving at the pitch Izan changed by the sidelines before heading on to the pitch. He then said "system" before the translucent screen appeared once again. The system then spoke" [User doesn''t need to speak out all the time as we can''t have you be mistaken as a mad person but rather a host should communicate telepathically as the system can hear your thoughts ]". "Oh, a bit unsettling that you can read all my thoughts, but okay and isn''t it a little weird to always call you system," Izan said. "[That is a choice of the user] "said the system. "Well, okay, then I''ll call you Max," said Izan, and just then, the system took on a masculine form of voice which seemed familiar to Izan. "System, why this voice?" asked Izan, to which the system replied, "[it was a familiar voice I found in your subconsciousness, so I took it. If the host doesn''t like it, I could change-]". "no it''s okay," izan said with a somewhat sad smile. "Ok then, Max, what is the best position for me to utilise my talents?" Izan asked. "[Looking at some of your attributes like speed and crossing, you could transition to be a winger while with attributes like your good vision and decent ball control, you could also opt for a more stable central midfielder. In my opinion, let''s not settle for one position since teams or coaches these days like versatility, so I would advise you to go for a wing forward/attacking midfielder type of position]," said the system. "Okay, but how do I do that?" Izan spoke. Max replied, "[the system will give out daily tasks to do and will issue match quest and seasonal quest at the start of every match or season. The system will issue certain challenges due to the situations you find yourself in and also adapt to situations like a situation where you are injured and have to sit out the season, although, with the injury fluid, I doubt you will have such a situation]". S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Injury fluid? "asked Ivan. "[You can access the system shop after you have upgraded to level two although some of the items won''t be available]". "How can I buy these items?" asked Izan, to which Max replied, "[by completing tasks and quests, the system will reward you with legend points, which is the currency of the system, and some quests will also give you stat points to upgrade your stats. The currency can also be used to buy skill moves which is determined by the number of stars your skill moves trait has. Currently, you have 4/5 stars on skill moves, which means you can purchase and learn up to 4-star skill moves]". Izan nodded understanding how the system works up to this point. "[User should not worry as eventually you will get to know the other functions of the system]" the system said after reading izan''s mind. "Okay, then, what do I know". Just then the blue screen appeared ... HYBRID WING FORWARD/ATTACKING MIDFIELDER PROGRAMME BEATING THE DUMMY 20¡Á:this entails running with the ball and avoiding the dummies while shooting inside the goal. Improves ball control and a bit of finishing SHORT SPRINTS 15¡Á: This entails running at top speed for short distances Improves Acceleration and sprint speed PENALTIES 15¡Á:This entails shooting from the penalty spot. Improves penalty taking PASS THE CONES ¡Á40 (5m):This entails passing to the cones. Improves short passing PASSING INTO THE BIN ¡Á20(upward of15m): This entails passing into a bin. Improves long passing RUN AROUND PITCH ¡Á15: Improves stamina 1 v 1 Finishing ¡Á10: This entails one on one finishing with the keeper. Improves finishing 1 v1 take-ons ¡Á5:This entails one one-on-one situations with players 1 v 2 take-ons ¡Á5 : This entails one vs two players situation 1 v 3 take-ons ¡Á5:This entails one vs three-player situations Rewards:C grade recovery potion :500 legend points(beginner bonus lasts for one week) : +3 stat points for one week Will revert to +2 points after the starter week "So this is how it is" murmured izan. "I suggest the host starts immediately because there are only 2 weeks left till the start of the youth league", the system spoke. With that, the grind for 2 weeks started Chapter 4: It gets better[Edited, a bit] Chapter 4: It gets better[Edited, a bit]The sound of ragged breathing could be heard as izan was running around the field. Ding"[host has completed task]". He finally came to a halt after he heard this sound while still trying to catch his breath. After a few seconds he had stabilised his breathing. He looked up and saw the screen again .... **** PLAYER INFO NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14(1 MONTHS TO 15) HEIGHT:1.78m(5''87) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:A somewhat decent youth player PLAYER RATING:57/100 Position:WF/AM Potential:80 Legend points:3500 Stat points:44 STATS Acceleration:67 Sprint speed :69 Agility:58 Balance:56 Jumping:49 Reaction:49 Stamina:65 Strength:43 Positioning:53 Vision:64 Ball control:60 Crossing:60 Dribbling:65 Finishing:50 Short pass:55 Long pass:50 Freekick acc:67 Long shot:45 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED Stepovers:85 % Completion SYSTEM LEVEL:1(1000LP TO LV 2) STAT POINT:35(+9) ***** Izan stared at his personal info and was proud of the lp points and the stats point he had accumulated over the past 2 weeks. During the first week he had found out that the system rewards for extra effort put in training when starter or beginner pack is active but after the first week which the starter pack was active the system did not reward for any extra lp point or stat point. "Now let''s distribute the stats point first " izan said with a grin. Izan added 3 stat point to Acceleration before adding 1 to sprint speed. He added 3 stat point to agility, jumping, reaction and Positioning. Izan was satisfied and smiled. He continued and added 4 stat points to balance, 5 to Finishing, 5 to long shots, 4 to strength which izan deemed crucial if he was in a situation where he needed to hold the ball. Izan saw that he was still left with then points but didn''t know what to do anymore. "[System recommends host add the remaining to Long passing]" max who had been quiet for a while spoke. Izan then remembered and saw how bad his Long passing stat was. He quickly added the remaining points to Long passing. After this the stat point was gone and Izan couldn''t help but feel proud of himself after looking at his stat displayed on the screen. ***** S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. PLAYER INFO NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14(1 MONTHS TO 15) HEIGHT:1.78m(5''87) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:Youth prospect PLAYER RATING:62/100 Position:WF/AM Potential:87 Legend points:3500 Stat points:0 STATS Acceleration:70(+3) Sprint speed :70(+1) Agility:61(+3) Balance:60(+4) Jumping:52(+3) Reaction:52(+3) Stamina:65 Strength:47(+4) Positioning:56(+3) Vision:64 Ball control:60 Crossing:60 Dribbling:65 Finishing:60(+5) Short pass:55 Long pass:60(+10) Freekick acc:67 Long shot:50 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED Stepovers:85% Completion After izan finished distributing the stat points,he felt a wave course through his body which made him feel refreshed. He also saw that the system valuation of him had now changed to youth prospect. Izan was about to upgrade his system when he heard a car honk. His mother komi had arrived to pick him up. He once again quickly packed his stuff and raced towards the car. He got in the car and after brief chat with his mom the ride home became quiet. **** Izan came out of the shower with a towel on his head. While drying himself, he saw his body and saw his well shaped muscles and quadraceps. He felt happy that the training he had done had not been in vain. The past few weeks had just been a repeat and now he was itching to try out his newly found prowess against real opponents. He sat on his bed the called"max". "[yes izan]" the system replied. "Is there going to be any implications of me upgrading the systems" izan asked. "[Well the system goes offline for 10 hours when updating but aside that there is no other implication]" the system replied. Izan was a bit annoyed that the system will go offline for 10 hours when updating. This was because izan was afraid that the system might not come online again. "Well I guess I have to wait a bit" izan said then commanded the system to update itself. ****** System* update* initiated* going offline in 3 , 2 , 1 ..... fwish Izan stared blankly before calling out the system to which there was no response He went down and got some milk from the fridge and came back up not knowing what to do to pass the time since it was only 6:45 in the evening. He went down once again to watch some TV but saw his saw his sister and his mother playing Uno and decided to join them. After a while he decided to head to bed. He fell on his bed and tried to sleep but still couldn''t. Izan felt nervous about tomorrow''s practice. Izan thought what if he messes up tomorrow. After a while he calmed and thought with the system and the training he had done over the past weeks he would not flop. He laid done once again but this time the fatigue he had accumulated during the day had finally caught up to him. He yawned and before closing his eyes. Komi opened the door a while after izan had slept and stared at her son for a while before also heading to bed. ***** Izan woke up around 6 and decided to do some yoga routines which had been recommended by the system a while back. After the routine,he went to the bathroom and took a shower. After this he dried himself and dressed in a track suit before putting on his slides. He made sure to check if he had packed everything he needed for training. Izan was not usually this meticulous when packing but he was nervous for today''s training and needed to do something for the nervous to occupy his mind for the a while. After Izan was done he sat down before he remembered that the system upgrade would be done by now considering the time frame the system had given. "Max" izan called. After a while the system replied "ding "[update had been successfully completed. Loading new interface.]". The blue screen appeared once again,although this time the screen looked a bit sharp and more organised ?????????? PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14(5 MONTHS TO 15) HEIGHT:1.78m(5''87) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:Youth prospect PLAYER RATING:62/100 Position:WF/AM Potential:87 Legend points:2500 Stat points:0 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:57 Spatial awareness: 60 Technique: 63 Shooting:59 Passing: 60 Body strength:62 Weak foot strength: 3 stars/ 5 stars Description:Shows the strength and effectiveness of the weak foot Skill move :4 stars / 5 stars Description:Makes the learning of a skill more easier. The higher the number of stars the easier it is to learn SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion SYSTEM SHOP ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Skills Conditioning drugs Recovery fluids Izan saw the new interface and also saw the system shop. "[If host wants to see his attributes he must select which category that specifc attribute belongs to]" the systems said. Izan quickly moved to the skill tab in the shop and pressed on it. ****** SKILL SHOP ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Sombrero:2500 lp Condition:(5 star skill moves) not met La croqueta:1500 lp Cruyff turn:1000 Elastico:2000 Condition:(5 star skill moves) not met "System if I purchase the skill do I do I still need to learn" izan asked thinking that his lp points would then be wasted if he could just watched the skills on YouTube and learn. [Negative. Host just needs to master how to use the skill and which situations to use them. Basically host still needs to practice to increase skill Completion which in turn increases skill efficiency and effectiveness]. "Oh okay" izan said whiles nodding. "Purchase la croqueta and cruyff turn" Izan said since those were the only ones he could afford. "Ding"[2 new skills added] the system informed SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Izan asked the system why the cruyff turn had a higher completion than the la croqueta. [From the host''s memory it is recognised that the host understands this skills a bit and this influenced the completion rate] "Oh okay" Izan said. Just as izan was about to ask another question, his mother called asking if he was ready. He quickly closed the system window before heading down. T/n: hi author here.i am looking for a name to replace the legend points cause it feels weird and the abv too(lp points)is not helping so can I get any suggestions Chapter 5: Who Is He[edited] Chapter 5: Who Is He[edited]Komi pulled over at the side of the entrance of the Valencia International Youth Academy before turning off the engine. She kissed Izan on the forehead and told him to just relax and have fun. Komi was glad she could help her kids in whatever endeavours they wanted to pursue. "Now go and show them what you''ve got, Miura,", Komi said with a smile, as she didn''t know the current status of Izan at the club. "I will mum," izan said before getting off. Komi drove off, and Izan stood at the entrance for a while, seemingly in a trance, before Mikel, Izan''s friend at the academy, came and smacked him on the back, waking him up from his trance. "Ow, what was that for, " Izan asked in Spanish. "What are you standing here for? Let''s go", Mikel said. Izan shook his head before walking alongside Mikel as they both went in. Both Izan and Mikel changed into the training kits before they both went out onto the pitch. The training drills were already set up but there were not a lot of players since it was a bit early. Izan was happy with what he saw and decided to do his own specified training before the original drills started. Mikel looked at Izan doing his drills and said," Bro, do you want to get tired even before the drills start?". Izan, teeming with stamina, said it wouldn''t affect him during the actual drills. After a while, the youth trainer, Mr. Oryazbal, came onto the pitch. "Alright, boys gather around", he said as most of the players arrived. "Well, this is the start of a new season, and I expect nothing but the utmost best from you in both training and matches, and this goes for both regular starters and the bench", he said, mainly looking at Izan and some of the other kids who were at the bottom of the rankings. "Now, as you can see, some of the players who were with us last year are no longer here as they have been promoted to the under-19 side. Because of the performances they put up, they were called up, and so I hope you keep it in mind while training that even during the season If you perform well and well enough, you can also be promoted," Mr Oryazabal said. While he was still speaking Izan stood there with conviction and promised himself that he would be promoted this year because, with the system coupled with his efforts, he could not fail even if he wanted to "It''s uphill from here on, " Ian said before concentrating on what Mr. Oryazabal was saying. "Now defenders should go to the defensive coach, and so should the forwards and midfield also go to their respective coaches", Mr Oryazabl spoke again. After a few seconds, the players split off to their respective coaches, all except for Izan, who stood still. When Mr Oryazabal saw this, he asked," Iza,n, why are you standing still?ll ". "Coach, I would like to discuss a position change with you," Izan said with a blank face. "Huh, a position change,", Mr Oryazabal said. "Yes sir" Izan responded. "I''m assuming you want to transition into a winger" Mr Oryazabal asked. "Kind of," Izan said. "What do you mean kind of. Do you want to change or not". Mr Oryazabal said with his voice raising a bit. "Well, sir, I do want to change to winge,r, but I also want to learn as an attacking midfielder,r", Izan replied. "Oh, well I won''t ask any more questions, but you can choose where you want to go first", he said while walking away. With this, Izan went to the midfield coach, who was surprised to see a new face. He called Izan forward and asked why he was there as he had always seen him training with the full-backs of the defence department. "I''m here because of a position change, coach", Izan said as he looked at the midfield coach, Mr. Garcia, who was staring at at Izan like a position change in football was taboo. "Well then, welcome to midfield 101", he said, drawing a bit of a laugh from the other players. He made izan go and join the rest of the team and made them warm up for 15 minutes. Coach Garcia looked at the whiteboard on his hands and said, "Okay, lads, as always, this is what we''re gonna do". He started listing the training drills to be done for the day. Drills ? Warm-Up (15 minutes) ... ? Passing Drills (20 minutes) ? Ball Control Drills (20 minutes) ? Shooting Drills (20 minutes) ? Defensive Drills (20 minutes) ? Positioning and Tactical Understanding (20 minutes) sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ? Fitness Training (20 minutes) ? Cool Down (15 minutes The players listened attentively and the training for the midfield began. Izan stood there a bit tense because he felt he might not do well, but just then, Max spoke. "[system recommends that host relax as your heart rate has gone up several notches. If the host is still nervous, he can use the snooping function to check the ratings and info of the other players]". "Huh, snooping function,", Izan asked, as he had not seen any new system functions aside from the system shop. He called out the system(telepathically tho). The blue screen materialised in front of him before he started navigating his way through. He looked for a few seconds before finding it. He pressed on it and the system asked which person it was to scan. Izan looked for the nearest player and *swish* a blue light from his iris scanned the player although the player didn''t seem to notice or rather couldn''t. The player''s info is displayed after a few seconds. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: HU¨¦VES RAMOS AGE:16( 1 week TO 17) HEIGHT:1.82m(6''1) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:A decent youth PLAYER RATING:55/100 Position: Central midfielder Potential:77 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Pace:57 Body control:52 Spatial awareness: 55 Technique: 57 Shooting:55 Passing: 57 Body strength:57 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:40% Completion Roulette: 5% Completion Izan saw the player''s stats and was a bit surprised. "From my stats", it seems I''m better than him Izan said, a bit relieved. He saw a player standing a bit on the far side suddenly and had an idea. He walked up to the player and started a conversation "Hi". The player turned and saw Izan before responding, "Hi, I''m Jose", he said with a smile. "Izan ", Izan said before asking, "Who in the team would you say is the best midfielder? ". Although Izan was mostly not used in games after his performances, he would still stay to watch some of the matches and had a rough idea of the good midfielders. Jose thought for a while, then said, "It''s gotta be Herrera". "Who''s that?" Izan asked before Jose pointed to a blonde boy of about 5''8 or 178cm who was standing with a ball between his legs with a group of the other players. Izan looked at him before using the snooping function on him ***** PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: SOS¨¢ HERRERA AGE:16( 4 weeks TO 17) HEIGHT:1.80m(6''0) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION:A prospect PLAYER RATING:60/100 Position: Central midfielder Potential:84 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Pace:65 Body control:59 Spatial awareness: 60 Technique: 61 Shooting:57 Passing: 61 Body strength:56 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Flip flap:80% Completion Roulette: 70%Completion Ronaldo chops:70% Completion "Wow, nice stats. But wait mine''s still higher than his. Wait, does this mean I''m the best in the midfield? " Izan, in his paradise, was woken up by coach Garcia, who told Izan to come and try the passing drill, which consisted of 3 sessions. ¡ñPassing the ball to a player ¡ñ Passing the ball to the cones ¡ñ Passing the ball into the bins Izan, a bit shocked, still walked up, feeling a bit confident. "Now, who am I paired with?" Izan murmured, looking around before the coach pointed to a skinny boy with freckles. Izan was tempted and used the snooping tool on him and was almost about to shout before his conscience stopped him. This was because the player he was paired with was not a good player. With almost all his stats in the 40s with just spatial awareness in the 50s. Izan stepped up, and the first try was to pass from 15m out to the player, with each try increasing in distance. The ball was passed to Izan, who took a deft touch before passing the ball to Javier, who slotted the ball into the net. "Did Javier just score?" Coach Garcia, who knew the abilities of Javier, who would miss even a clear chance, was a bit surprised and also a bit surprised by Izan''s passing which was surprisingly good. Even comparing it with some of the under-19s. The same continued for the other tries with izan passing the ball beautifully. Getting a bit bold, he even did a trivela pass on the 5th attempt, which was also cooly placed in the net by Javier. "Nice, Izan; you too, Javier ", coach Garcia praised after they were done. Coach Garcia pulled Javier aside after Izan had walked off and asked how he scored so effortlessly. But he responded, "Coach, I don''t know, but Izan''s passes just made scoring easier". Coach Garcia nodded for a while before dismissing Javier. The compliment earned Izan a bit of stares from the other players as coach Garcia was not known for giving compliments. The passing drill ended with Izan in first place, who wrecked the bin challenge, getting 5 in 5 tries into the bin. Followed by Sosa who was not all that happy as someone had taken his beloved top spot with 4 in 5. Jose, the boy Izan had asked a question, came in third also with 4 in 5, and this was no surprise to Izan, who had already used the snooping tool on him and found out that he had a player rating of 58. Most of the other challenges ended with the same rankings, with only there being a change in the defensive drills as, in that department, the more defensive midfielders had taken the top spots, but Izan still managed to come 5th. "Hey, isn''t he that Japanese fullback," a boy said. "Now that you mention it is him" another added. "But I heard he isn''t all that good, and I''ve seen him play a couple of times, but he wasn''t this good", another boy said. Izan, who heard this conversation, smiled before walking off to the pitch where the 11 v 11 was going to take place between the regular team and the reserve team. Chapter 6: Making An Impact[Edited] Chapter 6: Making An Impact[Edited]Coach Oryazabal called the starting eleven to the pitch and also the first eleven of the reserve team with Izan missing in both lineups. Before he could continue, Coach Garcia pulled him to the side and asked, " Do you know Izan". "Huh, what are you talking about" Oryazabal responded. Before remembering about the conversation he had with the kid who wanted to change positions. "Oh yeah what about him "he said. "Has he always been this good" Coach Garcia asked. "Why what happened " Coach Oryazabal asked. "Well, for the training we did today, well, he topped all categories, whether it was passing, shooting, ball control, or even crossing. "Really?" coach Oryazabal asked with a bit of doubt. He had seen Izan come to the team and hadn''t noticed anything particularly special about him but all of a sudden he is a kid who topped the midfield rankings for today. Coach Oryazabal turned to look at Izan, who was juggling the ball, unaware of the conversation going on about him. "Well I''ll put him in this scribble and see if it was just a fluke or we''ve got a real gem on our hands" REGULAR''S STARTING LINEUP Goalkeeper:Sergio Bala S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Left-back: Iago Pena, Rightback: Gon Simon Centerbacks:Marquis Pena, Juan Cabello. Midfielders:Hu¨¦v¨¦s Ramos, Marcos Blaca, Sos¨¢ herrera, jose martinez Forwards: Louis sord¨¢no, Joseph Adeyemi RESERVE''S STARTING LINEUPS Goalkeeper:Max Luis Left-back:Felipe Aspas, Rightback:Diego suave Centrebacks:Kilo Godin, Dani mendes Midfielders: Savinho, Nico Chuz, Jordi Hermoso, George white row Forwards:Inaki balde, Bruce tom?so With this, the players settled into their positions, and the other players who were not selected went and sat on the bench. All this while, coach Oryazabal couldn''t help but steal glances at Izan." Well, we''ll know, right?" he thought to himself. ******* fweeeee The referee who was one of the coaches started the match as the main team kicked off. They played around for a bit seemingly toying with the reserve team. Passing around them while deliberately using flashy moves to annoy them. This continued for a while before they decided to get serious. Sos¨¢ took the ball from a defender and started pushing forward. He looked for any options and saw that the reteam''s team''s backline had fallen apart. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he signaled Joseph adeyemi, the striker of the main team who saw what sos¨¢ intended to do. Adeyemi made a forward run which was spotted by sos¨¢ who made a raking pass through to him. Adeyemi took a good touch before speeding towards the keeper, who came out to meet the forward after seeing his defence fall apart. Adeyemi with composure faked a shot which made the keeper commit before he went around the keeper and tapped the ball into goal. ******** Fweee 1-0 to the main team. The reserve team already knew they were in for a beating. After restarting, the reserve team was pressured by the main team, who quickly retrieved the ball before passing it around. Jose, who received the ball, looked up and saw Sos¨¢ and passed the ball to him. Sos¨¢ carefully trapped the ball between his legs. With a bit of a nudge on the ball with the outside of his boot, Sos¨¢ followed through with a shot from a distance, which took a bit of deflection on its way, causing the keeper to be misled. ******* 2-0 to the main team. Coach Oryazabal, who was still thinking about Coach Garcia''s words, decided to try to put Izan on the pitch. "Izan miura, get ready to go in for Nico chuz" he said. Izan quickly came up and stood on the touchline. Some of the defenders who knew Izan were a bit perturbed as to why the coach was putting Izan on the field as they fully understood his capabilities. But nobody decided to talk as they didn''t want to question the coach and get on his bad side. The ball went out of play and the substitution was made. Izan came and quickly told the reserve team the coach''s instructions. "Coach said we should switch to a 4-3-1-2 with me playing in the attacking midfield role", Izan said as the team huddled together after the ball had gone out of play. The main team had a corner to which Sos¨¢ stood behind. He had seen Izan get in on the reserve team and was still annoyed by the training drills they had done some moments ago. He took a few steps back and followed with a run-up before drawing his foot back to make a good delivery into the box. Fortunately for Izan, who stood at the edge of his penalty box, the ball was headed out by one of the reserve team''s defenders, Dani Mendes. Izan quickly took a beautiful touch before turning and initiating a counterattack after realising there were only two defenders on the opponent''s side. Izan took off like a gust of wind easily outpacing the opposing players who came to contend for the ball. A few seconds later, he reached the first defender who tried to commit a foul, but Izan quickly saw what was going on and pushed the ball behind the defender before using his pace to go around him and take the ball. Unfortunately for him, the second defender rushed up just as he had passed the first defender. Izan, with thoughts circulating in his mind at a ridiculous speed, tried to find what he could do to escape from this situation. Just then, a thought passed: the la croqueta. He instantaneously did the move, which threw the defender off balance, causing him to fall. Now one on one with the keeper who was rushing out of the goal Izan decided to go for the more sure option and chipped the ball over the keeper. The ball went in a high arc before rustling the net of the goal. ******* FWEEEE The training ground went silent before the reserve team broke the silence by rushing towards Izan who was already in a knee slide by the corner flag. "What the heck just happened" Sos¨¢ thought in his mind as all he saw was Izan dribbling like he was possessed before chipping the ball over the keeper. Coach Oryazabal, who was still staring, quickly recovered before looking at Coach Garcia, who also had a ''what the heck was that'' look. Coach Garcia smiled thinking of the team''s potential this season. If Izan was truly capable of performing at this level consistently, forget the youth league or the under-19s, the senior team coach might even call him up. In the stands, the assistant coach of the senior team asked the man standing beside him the name of the kid who had just scored. The man took a board with a white sheet before speaking"His name''s Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z. He''s 14, turning 15 in a few months. Profile says he''s a left-back, but judging from his position, it would be safe to say he''s playing attacking midfielder. Might be a position change or an experiment by the under-17 coach". "Oh, ok, keep tabs on him and call him up to the first team training if he keeps performing like this in their matches". Said the assistant coach Patricio Moreno. "Oh ok," said the man. Izan, who finally stood up from the pile of bodies on him, was praised by his mates. " Yo bro, what was that?". "That was class ". These were some of the comments from his teammates. Coach Oryazabal called Coach Garcia and asked, "What should we do now?". "Let''s think about it after the match ", Coach Garcia replied. The referee restarted the match. From kickoff, the regulars attacked relentlessly, although most of the attacks were snuffed out by Izan''s impeccable leadership and some tackles here and there. Although his defensive stats were not the best, they were enough for this level. With his instructions, he had managed to stabilise the reserve team''s midfield and defense. The reserve team waited for an opportunity and got one a few minutes later as a mistimed pass by one of the midfielders of the main team saw Izan take control of the ball. He quickly ordered his strikers to make forward runs while worming his way through the opponent''s midfield. Sos¨¢ tried to make a tackle but Izan sensed it and slowed down for Sos¨¢''s tackle to miss him. He quickly saw the space at the back of the defence and lofted the ball towards that area. The reserve team''s striker didn''t disappoint and got on to the end of the ball before placing the ball into the goal. ******** Fweeeeee 2-2 was displayed on the scoreboard. The main team were a bit shocked that the match could change because of a single player. " The kid''s really good" the assistant coach who was watching quietly in the stands murmured to himself. After the match restarted, the players of the main team started to double or sometimes even triple team Izan putting a bit of their players on him. Izan went silent for the rest of the scribble until late when the training match was about to end. Upon noticing that a gap had appeared in the opponent''s defence, mainly because of the number of players they had put on him, he decided to use himself to bait them. Izan came to his own half to receive a pass bringing along about 3-4 opponet players with him. Izan, noticing this momentary lapse in the defence, signalled for the striker to make a run. Inaki Balde, the striker didn''t disappoint and made the run before Izan made a defense-splitting pass to him The main team''s defence tried to catch up to the striker but couldn''t. One of the defenders threw a slide trying to retrieve the ball but instead fouled Inaki balde on the left side of 18 yard box. The referee blew the whistle before sending the defender off the pitch. Although it was just training, incurring cards meant running laps around the field and nobody wanted to experience this after a tiring day at training. Izan took the ball and placed it on the spot where Inaki was fouled. He had already discussed with the team that he would take the free kick. He took three steps back before breathing in. He made a run up to take the free kick. Izan raised his right leg before whipping the ball over the wall. The ball seemed to go over the goal but suddenly dropped as there was so much dip and curl on the ball. The ball smacked the inner side of the goal before rustling the net. The main team''s keeper was rooted to the spot. "Gooal" was the sound that erupted from the mouths of his teammates, who couldn''t help it. Izan ran to the corner flag before taking a bow. "Garcia, we''ve found a diamond ", Coach Oryazabal said to Coach Garcia, who was still in shock from the freekick. "Tell Oryazabal to promote the kid to the under-19s side after he turns 15 in a month,", the assistant coach Patricio Moreno said before walking off, seemingly impressed by Izan''s performance. Izan, who was celebrating, didn''t know his fate would change from that day onwards. Chapter 7: On The Bench[Edited] Chapter 7: On The Bench[Edited]****** Fweeeee The referee brought the scribble to an end with the reserve team winning for the first time in forever. The reserve team players walked off the pitch with ear-to-ear grins on their faces. Even Izan couldn''t help but smile. As he was walking off the pitch, he saw Mikel, his best friend, approaching him." Hey Izan, what did you eat during the break?" he asked. "What are you talking about"Izan said while removing his shin pads. "Well, how did you suddenly get this good? I mean, it''s not like you have a system," he said. Izan, who was a bit shaken by his friend''s hypothesis, thought, "Wow, does this guy have a life-reading ability? ". "eyyy, what are you thinking? Do you think life is like the novels you read," Izan said, trying to brush off his friend? "I just trained really, really hard, and I guess it has paid off", Izan added. Mikel stood there nodding. Before Izan could continue he heard a sound from the system. "Ding"[host has attracted the attention of the assistant coach of the senior team(Patricio Moreno)] Recognition: +10 stat points. :+5000 lp points. :One free skill move of the host''s choice from the skill tab Izan, who was perturbed by the message, finally understood what it meant. "Wait, does it mean he was here?" Izan thought to himself while looking around to spot him but only saw the retrieving back of a person. The players went to take their baths in the locker room. Afterwards, they headed to the small video room used by both them and the under-19s. "Our next match is with our local rivals Alboraya Fc, which will be happening on the [15th of April 2022]or the day after tomorrow. We will meet here tomorrow for a brief Tactical analysis on the opponents and a brief training session"Coach Garcia said. "The lineups will be announced tomorrow so still do your best in tomorrow''s training session". He added before dismissing the players. Just as Coach Garcia was about to call Izan, a man appeared and told him that he was needed by Coach Oryazabal. After speaking with the man, he turned around to look for Izan, but he had already packed and left. He sighed before walking off to meet Coach Oryazabal. "How was training "Komi asked as Izan got into the car. "Very good. I even scored two goals and made an assist" he said with a proud grin. "Well, I''m proud of you, Miura," Komi said as she tried to pull Izan in for a hug. Izan, who saw this, was embarrassed and tried to pull out of the hug but Komi''s grip was too strong. In the end, he just gave in and put his arms around his mom. Izan got home and found his sister on the couch. She asked him about how training went, but when Izan had told her about the results, she doubted him but decided not to squabble with him. "Well, when''s your next match?" she asked before Izan replied, "Well, it''s the day after tomorrow". She went silent before Izan, who was staring at her, asked, "You can come with Mum if you want or if you''re free". "Will you be playing?" she asked because most of the matches she went to see of Izan with her mother saw Izan coming off the bench in the late minutes or sometimes just not playing at all. "From my performance in training, I might start". Izan said with a smile. Hori looked a bit sceptical about it but decided to go and watch her brother if he was going to play. "Hori, can you take out the marinated chicken for me?" Komi said as she stepped into the kitchen. Hori went and left Izan who also went upstairs to check his rewards for the performance he had put up today. "Max" he called out. The system materialised in front of him. He quickly pressed on his personal information. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFORMATION NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14( 4 MONTHS TO 15) HEIGHT:1.78m(5''87) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION: Youth prospect PLAYER RATING:62/100 Position:Wing Forward/Attacking midfielder Potential:87 Legend points:5000/10,000 to lv3 Stat points:10 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:57 Spatial awareness: 60 Technique: 63 Shooting:59 Passing: 60 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Izan saw the rewards and was happy with himself. This meant he was gradually taking his steps into being a professional footballer. He decided to distribute the stat points. He pressed on the Body control section seeing as it was lowest. The attributes under it were displayed, ******* Body control:58 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility:63 Jumping:53 Reations:53 Balance:60 Izan distributed 3 points each to jumping and reactions bringing both to 56 and the overall rating for body control to 59. Izan wanted his body control to reach the 60 mark, so he decided to add another 2 stat points to agility, bringing it to 65. After he added the two stat points, the rating for body control went to 60. Body control:60 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility:65 Jumping:56 Reations:56 Balance:60 Izan looked and saw that his passing was also at 60, but he was left with just 2 stat points. He decided to complete the day''s task to gain a bit of stat points before upgrading passing. After completing the daily task, the system gave him 2 stats points and 300 lp points. He opened the system before going to the passing attribute S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Passing:60 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:57 Long passing: 60 Crossing:60 He added the remaining 4 stat points to short passing, pushing it from 57 to 61. After that, the passing attribute went from 60 to 61. Passing:61 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:61 Long passing: 60 Crossing:60 Izan was now pleased that his attributes were now balanced. Stats ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:60 Spatial awareness: 60 Technique: 63 Shooting:62 Passing: 61 Izan, after he finished distributing, got a message from the system. "Ding"[player rating has gone up from 62 to 64. The potential has also increased from 87 to 88] ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFORMATION NAME:IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ AGE:14( A MONTH TO 15) HEIGHT:1.80m(5''10) PROFESSION:FOOTBALLER STATUS:YOUTH PLAYER SYSTEM EVALUATION: Youth prospect PLAYER RATING:64/100 Position:Wing Forward/ Attacking midfielder Potential:88 Legend points:5300/10,000 to lv3 Stat points:0 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:61 Spatial awareness: 60 Technique: 63 Shooting:62 Passing: 61 Body strength:64 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Izan after seeing his info exited the personal info tab and before going to the system shop SYSTEM SHOP ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Skill shop Conditioning drugs Recovery fluids Izan entered the skill shop to redeem the skill reward **** SKILL SHOP ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Sombrero: 2500lp Condition:(5 star skill moves) not met Elastico:2000lp Condition:(5 star skill moves) not met Roulette:1500lp Requirements met Rabona:3000lp Condition:(5 star skill moves) not met Izan chose the roulette skill. After that, he asked the system what he was supposed to do to obtain 5-star skill moves. But then "ding"[challenge issued: use current skill moves while facing opponets ¡Á200] "So I''m supposed to use the skill moves 100 times," Izan thought to himself. "System, does this only apply to opponents from different teams,," Izan asked. [Negative. As long as the person or teammate is your opponent it counts.]the system replied. "Well, then, this isn''t so hard," Izan said. Izan heard a knock and closed the system before opening it. Although no one could see the system, Izan just didn''t want to risk it. "Miura, Mum said come down for dinner" Hori Izan''s sister told him before walking off. ****** 4:57pm 10th February 2022 Sweaty faces and jerseys soaked with sweat were all over the place. The Valencia Youth FC had completed their brief training session, which wasn''t brief for the players at all. After taking their baths, the players and the coaches did game analysis before the lineup list came. Izan, who performed spectacularly today in the drills too, was looking on with expectant eyes. "So the lineup for tomorrow is as follows," Coach Oryazabal said. Starting lineup Goalkeeper:Sergio Bala Leftback: Iago Pena, Rightback: Gon Simon Centerbacks:Marquis Pena, Juan Cabello. Midfielders:Hu¨¦v¨¦s Ramos, Marcos Blaca, Sos¨¢ herrera, jose martinez Forwards:Louis sord¨¢no, Joseph Adeyemi The lineup was mainly the same as the one used for the scribble. Izan a bit disappointed now turned his ears towards the substitutes "For the substitutes, we have Inaki Balde, savings, Jor?i H¨¨rmoso, Max Luis, Kilo Godin and finally, Izan Miura Hernandez. When Izan heard his name felt really happy as he had entered the matchday squad. "Ding"[host has been included in the matchday squad for the first time in his life. Reward: + 5 stat points :B grade conditioning drug] When Izan saw the message, it added to his to his joy. When they were about to leave Coach Oryazabal called Izan to speak. "Izan, you''ve shown great potential as an attacking midfielder over the past few days in training and that is why you''ve been included in the squad." " Play on the field like how you play in training, and I''m sure you might be called up even before the season ends", coach Oryazabal said. He had been informed that the assistant coach wanted to promote Izan to the under-19s after seeing him train once, and that was something very hard to do as the assistant coach was not very fond of the youth players. But he could understand the assistant manager since he would have done the same in his position because Izan''s performance that day was simply a masterclass. He decided to keep this from Izan as he didn''t want to inflate his ego. "Thanks, coach. I won''t let you down. I''ll give my 100 per cent- no, that won''t do, I''ll give my all and even more," Izan said, drawing a smile on the face of Oryazabal. Izan told his mom about him being in the matchday squad and she was really happy for him. When Izan got home he went to his room and started packing for tomorrow. After packing he decided to use the five stat points he had gained from the hidden achievement. He added 3 to vision and 4 to Positioning, bringing them to 67 and 60, respectively, and bringing the spatial awareness attribute rating to 64. Izan decided to go to sleep early so that he could wake up early. Chapter 8: Off The Bench Chapter 8: Off The BenchIzan woke up a bit earlier than usual to complete his daily task. "Ding"[host has completed daily task] + 2 Stat points + 300 lp points Izan with sweat all over his body checked his personal information. "Max" he said as the screen appeared before him. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 MONTHS TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.78m(5''87)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Youth Academy FC SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[64/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[5600/10,000 to lv3] STAT POINTS:[2] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:61 Spatial awareness: 64[+4] Technique: 63 Shooting:62 Passing: 61[+1] Body strength:64 S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion ********* Izan looked at his stats and was very happy with it. He went inside and washed down the sweat from his body. He changed into decent clothes before going down for breakfast. After breakfast his mom drove both he and his sister to school. "Have a nice day miura" Komi said. "You too mum and don''t forget my Football bag when you come to pick me up after school". Izan said as his mum drove off. He walked with his sister before they both departed to their respective class. Izan couldn''t focus in class the whole day and was caught not paying attention or just daydreaming multiple times. "Mr.Miura,being the top of the class doesn''t warrant such behaviour so I hope you pay attention" Miss Rodriguez, Izan''s physics teacher said. She was a very beautiful brunette with big proportions whether infront or at the back. Izan scratched his head whiles laughing sheepishly. The rest of the day went by, same as usual. "And so class, we will be having our mock test next week so I hope you prepare adequately before you come" Mr. Jonas the Math teacher said as the bell rang simultaneously. Izan quickly packed his stuff before going out. He saw that his mother had arrived a bit earlier and he was happy at the thought of not waiting for her. He got in and saw that his sister was already in the car. "Huh,you''re here early" Izan said to his sister. Komi drove to to the valencia youth academy and parked the car in the parking lot. She was surprised to see that a decent number of cars were parked there but luckily there was space for her. Izan got out and headed towards the team locker room while Komi and Hori walked towards the stands. Izan was one of the players that had arrived earlier as he walked into the locker room to see a handful of players who lived nearby. Izan quickly changed and went outside for a warmup session before the game. After a brief passing and shooting drills. The players went back to their locker room for the tactical session. Coah Oryazabal laid it all on the white board and told the players the roles they would be playing. The players put on their black and white Jersey of the Valencia football club and went out. ******* ''Welcome to the valencia youth academy grounds and I''m your host G¨¦rard henrique'' The commentator went on to introduce the players and gave a brief summary of what had happened before the break with the valencia youth academy currently in 6th on the league table out of 18 teams. ******** ''The valencia team has a few new faces as some of the young guns that were playing very good football have been called up to the under-19s. This really weakens the valencia side but I still think they are the favourites for this match as Alboraya is just one place above the last team on.'' The commentaror finally announced the lineups "Valencia fc"lineup Goalkeeper:Sergio bala Leftback: Iago pena, Rightback: Gon simon Centerbacks:Marquis pena, Juan cabello. Midfielders:Hu¨¦v¨¦s ramos ,Marcos blaca, Sos¨¢ herrera, jose martinez Forwards:louis sord¨¢no, Joseph adeyemi Now the lineups for "Alborya fc"will be: Goalkeeper:marco rosa Leftback: kike pena, Rightback: vano chi Centerbacks:Ben Joseph , Dmitri sulvan Midfielders:emery ramos ,Marco alonso, Alex herrera, inigo martinez Forwards:Balogun chalo, Christian ndiya With this the match began as the referee blew the whistle ******* Fweee ''12 In the 12th minute the Alborya team which had been the better team so far capitalised on a mistake by one of the valencia defender. Their winger took the ball,dribbled to the far side of the wings before crossing the ball to the box. His cross was met by a timely header from the alboraya striker, balgun who headed the ball inside the net. ''Goalll. A wonderfully crossed ball by Alex herrera was met by a beautifully timed header from balogun. Twelfth minutes its Alboraya one, valencia nil.'' Coach Oryazabal stood on the touchline annoyed by the petty mistake his defender had made. 15'' ''The ball is with the Alborya midfielder. He decides to go alone and takes on the valencia midfielder hueves who is laid to wait by inigo martinez by a beautiful change of pace. Inigo driving forward with the ball steps into the penalty box. He tries to sho- but uh. A mistimed tackle by gon Simon. The referee points to the spot. Coach Oryazabal was furious on the touchline but kept his composure because of the parents in the stands. The match had a wonderful turn-out as a lot of people came to watch the match. And he didn''t want to do anything to make himself stand out in a bad way. He watched as balogun,the alboraya striker step up and slot the ball cooly into the net. ''Oh a wonderful turn of events 15 minutes of the first 30 played Alboraya 2,Valencia nil.'' Coach Oryazabal was very angry but that was not all in the last minutes of the first half his midfielder Marcos blaca got injured which added to his woes. The referee blew the whistle signaling the end of the 1st half. "What the heck was that. Poor coordination, holding the ball in dangerous situations which could be easily solved if you passed. You guys have played shitty today" Coach Oryazabal laid it all on the floor for the players criticising both players and even the bench for not showing good morale. This made Izan who was in the corner of the room laugh a bit. "This won''t do. Izan go out and warm up,you are coming in for marcos". Coach Oryazabal said. Izan who was drinking water spat it out as he heard this. "Okay coach " he said before going onto the pitch. Izan on the pitch was passing with some of his teammates. He kept looking around a bit before he saw his mother. He waved as his mother also saw him. "Hori look its your brother " Komi said as she waved.Hori who was on the phone looked up and smiled briefly and said" I think he will be playing in the second half". "Ow wow" Komi exclaimed. The players came out for the second half with Izan taking the kit with the number 21 on the back. ''Oh I see a change on the Valencian side as number 21 comes on for Marcos blaca. I think his name is Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z'' the commentator said whiles looking at the player info on Izan''s sheet. ''Just 14 years of age. He doesn''t look like it but he''s young. Let''s hope he can revitalise this Valencia side'' Izan stepped onto the pitch with smiles all over his face. He settled into his position as the coach had switched from a 4-4-2 to a 4-3-1-2 formation with Izan behind the strikers. ******* Fweeeee. The referee restarted the match. The valencia players came out rejuvenated but one could see that there was one player who stood out from the others. This was none other than Izan. After coming on hed was stabilised the midfield and was sometimes also helping in defence snuffing out attacks here and there. The match was all Alboraya in the first few minutes of the second half as the attacked relentlessly. Although these attacks amounted to nothing as Izan was shouting instructions whiles controlling the midfield. This went on for a while before Izan pressured the Alboraya midfielder into making a mistake. Seeing a n opportunity it Izan took it. 38'' ''Izan from the valencia team who after coming on has played very good stabilising the valencia midfield. Izan goes goes to challenge for the ball. Beautiful stop as he takes the ball from the midfielder. Izan pushes forward with the ball. What a beautiful combination of pace and control as he worms his way though the Alboraya midfield evading 2 incoming players. Izaaan uh- beautiful through ball to Adeyemi. Adeyemi takes control,he steps into the box and shoots'' Goooooaaalazo!!! The commentator who seemed to be a fan of the valencia team screamed. ''Beautiful pass from Izan to Adeyemi who shoots the ball to the back of the net. Valencia pull one back. 22 minutes till the end of regulation time ,Alboraya 2 valencia one Alboraya 2-1 Valencia ,was displayed on the scoreboard at the side of the pitch. Coach Oryazabal pumped his fist into the air. He was really having a tough time after his team went 2 goals on the backfoot. Now he was a bit relieved. "Izan truly is beast. How did he even spot Adeyemi" coach Oryazabal thought as the angle really didn''t favour Izan''s vison but he made the pass beautifully. The celebrations were cut short as the referee signaled the valencia team to return for him to restart the match. ********* Fweeee. The matched restarted again. Chapter 9: Imminent Chapter 9: Imminent"Wow, you can see that the boy in the no. 21 jersey is very good" someone in the crowd said. "Yeah you can see that the match has turned in favour of the valencia youth after he came on" another added. "Who is he by the way" another spectator commented. Komi who was heard all this wanted to scream to all of them that the boy was her son but she kept control of herself. Hori who most at times seemed uninterested in whatever Izan was doing seemed to be really having fun. She however didn''t keep quiet. "Hey thats my brother" she said to one of the girls around her. "Really,he looks handsome" a girl commented. "Of course he is. He''s my brother after all " hori said once again before the screams of the crowd brought her attention to the game again. This was because Izan had ball. 45'' '' Izan who has been receiving a lot of love and cheers after he came on once again has the ball. He pushes forward laying the ball to no. 8 Sos¨¤ who takes a nice touch before returning the ball to Izan. Izan takes the ball, driving forward,trying to go on one of those mazy runs he''s been doing ever since he came on. Izan beats the player who stepped up to tackle him by a set of fast paced Stepovers. Izan still with the ball driving through the heart of the defense of the Alborayan team. He slows down gauging what to do with the ball. He nudges the ball a bit before -oooooooo. What a beautiful goal by Izan'' ***** {scenes on the pitch} Coach Oryazabal moved a bit forward on the touchline after Izan stepped into the final third of the Alboryan team. Before he could move again, Izan shot the ball into the back of the net from outside the 18 yard box. Coach Oryazabal raised his hand in celebration. He was really having it hard since the start of the match but his worries seemed to have decreased ever since Izan steppedonto the pitch. "That kid is really a gem". Coach Oryazabal thought. Izan who had just scored went to the part of the stands where his mother and sister were sitting and bowed as a celebration. Komi finally couldn''t hold it in any longer,"that''s my son" she said whiles pointing to Izan. "You have a wonderful son ma''am " a person nearby said. "I know , I know" Komi replied with tears in her eyes. ****** Fweee the referee restarted the match again. ''What a youth match this is. Its Alborya 2, Valencia youth 2'' the commentator said The match continued for a while but this time the Alboraya team coach decided to park the bus. His team brought all the players to the back and played in an almost 8-2 with no strikers and 8 players at the back. "Seems like he wants to settle for a draw " Coach Oryazabal said . The Valencia team kept attacking and almost came close to scoring a number of times but it seemed that luck was not on their side as the ball sometimes missed the goalpost by mere centimetres. ****** [COMMENTATOR] ''The Valencian players are giving it their all with shots and passes coming from left,right and centre but neither finding the back of the net. If a match winner is going to be scored it got to be now'' said the commentator. Just as he said that,Hu¨¨ves Ramos from the valencia team got fouled on the edge of the penalty box. The referee quickly called for a foul before showing a yellow card to the offender. Sos¨¢ picked the ball to take the freekick but suddenly stopped as he heard the coach trying to say something. "Give the ball to Miura" he heard. Sos¨¢ although not happy about it ,knew from the freekick in that scribble match they played that Izan was a better freekick taker than him and he also knew the importance of the match. He threw the ball to Izan who was a bit surprised because he hadn''t heard what the coach said. "Coach said take it" Sos¨¢ said. "Oh" was all Izan could say. He walked up to the spot the referee was indicating and put the ball on the spot. Izan took 3 steps back. He breathed in and everything went silent. Izan made the run up and hit the right underside of the ball. The ball flew over the wall and spun like crazy before homing into the back of the net. ******** {Commentator POV} ''The no. 8 Sosa seems to be the one who''s going to take the freekick, but wait he throws the ball to today''s star man Izan miura. Is he also good at setpieces too. Wow if he''s good at that too he will be a package of a player for the Valencia Football club as a whole. He puts the ball on the spot at the edge of the box. Izan making the run up, he hits!!!! ''Goooaalazo''. ''Maravilloso''. Oh woww. What a player. Valencia Fc seems to have hit the jackpot with this one. What a talent'' ******* Izan ran once again,but this time to the coaching area before jumping and hugging Coach Oryazabal. "Thank you coach" Izan said . Those three words really resonated with Coach Oryazabal who thought" this kid , Its gonna be uphill from here for you". Ferran,the guy who had been told to keep tabs on Izan and report about his matches took his phone before dailing the number of Coach patricio Moreno. "He''s really good. He started from the bench but came on and scored 2 goals and also gave an assist" he said after the call connected. "Tell Oryazabal to promote him before our next match since the injury of Pietro seems to be long term and we are lacking replacements" Coach patricio said before ending the call. Ferran walked out of the stadium after the call. ******* Fwee,fwee,fweeeeeee. The referee sounded the whistle bringing the match to an end. The players went around clapping and shaking the hands of the Alboraya players. "You won today" said Alfo,the coach of the Alborya team. "Guess I did " Coach Oryazabal said whiles grinning. "You have a hell of a player" he said while looking at Izan who was talking with Jose and Sos¨¢. " I know" Coach Oryazabal replied before walking off. The players entered the locker room and took their baths before Oryazabal came in. "You guys played shitty today. Well you did well during the second half and also the last minutes so I''ll spare you the harsh talk since we won but never let this happen again. Always start the match like its your last. You get me " he said before the players replied with a barrage of "yes coach". He looked at Izan and smiled before remembering what Coach Patricio had said after training that day which made him frown a bit. "Well I can''t clip his wings can I" he thought with a smirk. "Ok so see you the day after tomorrow in training. Have a day off tomorrow" he added. The kids were happy for their day off and thanked the coach before packing and leaving. "Aaawww miura. Are you a football genius" Komi said as she hugged Izan. "Muuum " Izan said. Komi not letting go off the opportunity pulled Hori who didn''t like these things, in for a family hug. The kids stopped protesting and enjoyed the hug. The ride home was all Komi and Hori talking as Izan had slept. ******** After the match "What" Coach Oryazabl said. "He wants me to promote him before the under-19s next match." Coach Oryazabal said looking a bit sad. "But isn''t it too soon, I mean he''s 14" said coach Oryazabal said. After a back and forth between the person on the phone he finally gave up and ended the call. Although he had known Izan for a short while , he had grown attached to the kid. "Haaah" he sighed before walking out of his office. ******* The match was played on a Friday so Izan slept in and woke up at 9. He immediately went down and drank some milk before doing a set of yoga poses. Feeling sweaty after he finished the yoga routine he went out not wanting the sweat to dry off to complete his daily task. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ "Ding"[congratulations to the host for scoring and providing his first goal and assist]. System rewards: 10 stat points and recovery drug. "Ding"[daily task completed] +2 stats point and 300 lps Izan looked at the message before opening his personal tab. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14] HEIGHT:[1.78m(5''10)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: [Valencia Youth Academy FC] SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[64/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[5900/10,000 to lv3] STAT POINTS:[2]+14>[16] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:60 Spatial awareness: 64[+4] Technique: 63 Shooting:62 Passing: 61[+1] Body strength:64 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Izan decided to further upgrade his passing and body control stat. He clicked on passing before it displayed: Passing:61 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:61 Long passing: 60 Crossing:60 Izan added 2 stat point to short passing increasing it to 63 before adding 3 stat points to both Long passing and crossing increasing both of those to 63 too. Passing:63 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:63 Long passing: 63 Crossing:63 Izan then moved onto his body control stat to distribute the remaining 8 stat points. Body control :61 sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :65 Jumping :56 Reations:56 Balance:60 Izan added 4 stat points to both jumpimg and reactions to briny all his stats to body control attributes to the 60 mark. Body control :62 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :65 Jumping :56[+4]>60 Reations:56[+4]>60 Balance:60 STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:60[+2]>62 Spatial awareness: 64[+4] Technique: 63 Shooting:62 Passing: 62[+1]>63 Body strength:64 "Ding"[host rating upgraded from 64>65] Izan saw that had rating had improved but not much. He decided that from now on he would stockpile on stat points so that he would upgrade to a higher rating all at once. Izan went home after distributing his stat points and used the B grade recovery drug he had been given by the system. He bathed and went down for his brunch. Izan was chilling all day when his mother''s phone rang. Izan picked up the phone and saw an unknown caller id. He handed the phone to his mom before returning his attention to the TV. "Hello " Komi said. "Ahhh Miura''s coach". This drew the attention Izan for a moment. After his mom talked on the phone for a while, "Ok I''ll tell him" Komi said before ending the call. "Well what did he say" Izan asked. "He said you should meet him the day after tomorrow to discuss something about a promotion" Komi said before sitting on the couch . "Oh ok" Izan said before it sunk in. "Wait What"!!! Chapter 10: Promotion Chapter 10: PromotionKomi dropped Izan off at the academy a day after the Alboraya match. Izan stood at the entrance for a while. His thoughts were scrambled as he didn''t understand what he had done to warrant a promotion as he had only played a scribble match and just one match for the team. Izan walked in before heading to Coach Oryazabal''s office. *Knock knock knock* "Come in" a voice which seemed to belong to Coach Oryazabal answered from the inside. Izan opened the door and entered."Close the door behind you" Coach oryazabal ordered as he was sitting behind a desk with a lot of scrambled papers here and there. There was a man in the corner who Izan didn''t seem to notice at first until he spoke, "hello Izan". "Yo what the fu-" Izan said cutting short the swear word. "He should try being a ninja" Izan thought. Izan sat down and the man asked if he knew about the promotion to which he replied yes. "We usually don''t go through this process for a promotion but the club sees your as a very precious asset so we wanted to discuss a few things" the guy who seemed to be Ferran from the youth department said. "Ok,so what do you want to talk about" Izan asked. "Well from your recent match and training performances, the assistant coach Patricio Moreno who also handles the youth side deemed you fit to be promoted to the under-19s but to ensure that you don''t get snatched from us by another club we decided to offer you a contract until you''re 18 years. Of course the terms can be amended such as wages if the club deems your performance worthy" ferran elaborated. " The club will set targets like goals and assists you should meet to have your wages improved but for now the club would like to offer a yearly remuneration of €20,000 euros ". Ferran added. "Wow the club is pulling all the stomps for him. On average a kid under the age of 16 usually gets 10 to 12 thousand euros remuneration. Well from the way he plays, if he carries it over to under-19s and eventually the senior team,I''d say it will be a steal for valencia". This was what Oryazabal thought as he listened to the negotiations. Izan thought for a while before speaking. "I might not know a lot about football negotiations but I know there''s something called a buyout clause and I want to know the amount put on me". "For now the club decided to put your buyout clause at 5 million euros and any club that offers this amount or more has the opportunity to open negotiations" "Isn''t that a bit too much" oryazabal asked. "Well the club values Izan at least that much" ferran commented. "Is there any leeway for that or is it fixed, I mean it is a negotiation after all" Coach Oryazabal spoke up. "And how much leeway are you suggesting" ferran asked." Not more than 3.5 million euros for the buyout clause"Oryazabal said. "Done" ferran said with haste which made Oryazabal think he should have lowered it a bit more." And as for the remuneration I think it should go up to 25 thousand euros" Oryazabal stated. Ferran thought for a while before accepting it." We will sign an NDA and this contract will be kept under wraps for now" ferran said before picking up the contract and sliding it to Oryazabal. The club also wants at least 7 goals and 11 assist from Izan after settling in at the under-19s side."Hey isn''t that a bit too much"Oryazabal asked."This is a goal set for him if he wants to renegotiate a wage increase or make any contract amendments" Ferran said. Oryazabal looked at Izan who nooded for him to continue. He looked through it and saw that there was nothing harmful with the contract. After reading he looked at Izan and asked if he wanted to sign it. "Well my mum told you to oversee it because she knows nothing about these things so if its good with you then its probably ok"Izan said. Coach Oryazabal nodded before passing the paper for Izan to sign. Izan signed and handed the contract to ferran who smiled. "We wish you a bright future with us" ferran said as he opened the door to leave. After he left Coach Oryazabal spoke. "Well congratulations. You have been promoted to the under-19s. From today onwards you will no longer be training with us" Coach Oryazabal said with a somewhat sad face. "Uh Coach why are you pretending like you won''t see me anymore. Aren''t you the assistant coach for the youth team" Izan said while looking at Coach Oryazabal who laughed after hearing what Izan said. "Well the under-19s will be training tomorrow so go home and have a bit of rest for tomorrow so you can join that session" Coach Oryazabal said . "Ok Coach" Izan said. He stood up and exited the door before going to pick his stuff from the locker room. Fortunately no one was there as all the players were on the pitch. Izan who had already called komi stood by entrance waiting for her and got inside the car when she arrived a few minutes after the call. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ After training the players went inside the locker room to bath. As they were talking Hu¨¦v¨¦s spotted a piece of paper pinned to the notice board and walked to read what was on it. A few seconds later, "No F-ing way" he said in a loud voice bringing the attention of the players to himself. "Izan got promoted to the under-19s ". "What rubbish are talking" "eyy how could that happen". "Let me see adeyemi pushed Hu¨¦v¨¦s who was being assaulted by a barrage of words. "Its really true". "Not you too adeyemi " the players said after adeyemi confirmed it. "See for yourself" adeyemi said as he took the paper from the board and showing it around. "But how, he only played on match. Although I admit he''s very good but isn''t this rushed" a player said Sos¨¤ smiled after hearing that the news was real. "I''ll be there soon " he thought with conviction. "Ahem, I see you''ve seen it but let me say, Izan has been promoted to the under-19s and from today he will no longer be with us. I hope you take this opportunity to train very hard and play well as it might be you the very next time". Coach Oryazabal after saying this left the player to resolve themselves. Most of players couldn''t believe but they they put it aside and determined ,some decided to head back to the pitch for extra training. Coach Oryazabal who saw this was very happy. After they reached home, Izan sat his mom and sister down and told them about the offer. "Really miura you''re gonna get paid " Komi said with a bit of surprise as she at least new that players under 16 didn''t get that much remuneration but her dear son was getting a salary of 25 thousand euros yearly. Izan talked a bit more with his mom and sister about his career because izan was going to be a freshman at senior high the coming semester. "It''ll be hard but I''ll have to juggle school with matches" Izan said with a smile. "Wow i feel so sorry for you "Hori said sarcastically. She obviously knew that Izan was happy about it as he was finally on the road to becoming a professional footballer. They talked a bit more before eating dinner.After dinner,Izan went to his room. He went on his phone for a while before finally deciding to go to bed. ******** After school, Komi picked Izan up and drove him to the academy grounds. "Have fun Miura " komi said whiles driving away. "Lets make a good impression today" Izan said. As he was walking to the under-19s, he met a brown haired boy of about the same height as him." Hey , the under-17s and below is over there" he said whiles pointing to the place that the under-17s were training with a smug expression. After the comment he left towards the area where the under-19s train. "Why,d he assume that I''m in the under-17s" Izan said whiles shaking his head. When he got there he saw that most of the players were on the pitch. On his way to the locker room to change,he met Coach Bano who he had met before in training who told him to hurry as training was about to begin soon. Izan quickly sped into the locker room before changing into the new training kit they had given him. After changing he followed Coach bano to the training pitch. As the players saw Bano coming,they stopped chatting and seemed to focus and the person behind him. They were surprised to see another player albeit tall with a fair muscular build, his faced seemed young. "Ok people,gather round " Bano said as the players followed and grouped together. "His name is Izan miura Hernandez and he will be with you guys from today onwards". Murmurs started as the players kept talking among themselves." Izan here plays as an attacking midfielder and will be replacing pietro who''s out injured". "He''s the youngest of you all so show him around and help him get used to how things are done here" Bano said. Pedro the player who told Izan to go to the under-17s was surprised that the kid he told to go to under-17s was actually joining them. "Okay enough with the pleasantries, let''s get the drills started" Bano said as the players slowly dispersed. Two players approached Izan after the coach told them to disperse. The shortest of them spoke, "hi, I''m Juan and this is Gaia" he said pointing to the dark haired youth beside him. "Hi" Izan replied. "Say are you korean or chinese" Gaia asked. "Neither I''m Spanish although my mom''s Japanese so I guess you could say I''m Japanese" replied Izan. "Are those eyes natural" Juan was the next to ask after seeing Izan unusually blue eyes which was almost non-existent for Asian people. "Yeah,was born with it" Izan replied. "Ah coach said you''re young, how old are you by the way" Juan asked again. Izan felt that they were asking too many questions but decided to answer it. "I''m 14 years old" "Wait 14"Juan shouted drawing the attention the attention of a few players around. "Wait did he just say that guy''s 14". "How is here". "Is he that good to be here at that age". Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players started talking a bit after hearing Izan''s age."Anyways I and gaia were promoted from the under-17s a few weeks ago" Juan said earning a nod from Izan.Bano signalled the players to warm up. After a few stretches here and there ,the speed drill was the first to be started. The players got in pairs and Izan was paired with a winger. "Damn getting paired with Wissam on your first day isn''t exactly welcoming". Some of the players started laughing at the match up and some starting betting on it. "10 euros that the kid loses by at least 2 seconds in the 50 metre dash" one player said. "Make it 3 seconds for me" another said. The players started betting on it and it seemed they all bet in favour of Wissam. " I bet 20 pounds that Izan actually wins" Juan said earning a decent amount of stares from the other players." Well easy money" the players said. When it got to Izan and Wissam''s turn, they both got on the starting line and Izan was actually smiling. This was because he had used the snooping tool and found out that wissam only possessed anl 62 overall rating and a pace rating of 65. Compared to Izan''s pace rating of 70, Izan was indeed faster. Bano stood nearby watching this encounter.The drills coach blew the whistle. Izan after hearing the whistle just zoomed ahead of wissam finishing the fifty meter dash in 6.47 seconds while wissam managed to finish in 7.52 seconds. The other players were shocked. How the heck did wissam lose,were the words that were coming out of the mouths of the players. "Well I guess some of you owe me money "Juan said. Izan didn''t halt and carried his performance over to the other drills. Placing first or second in most of the drills involving Dribbling, set pieces, passing and shooting. "How is he so good in the drills" some of the players started saying. "Being good in drills doesn''t necessarily mean he''s good in a match" Pedro,the guy who didn''t seem to like Izan spoke out."Well that''s also true". "Yeah ". The players started talking amongst themselves. "Okay boys,time for a training match" ferran spoke out after the finished cooling down. Some of the players were happy that they got a chance to see what the new kid could do "Ding"[host has been given a challenge by the system ]. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ [Show your worth.] {Description:some of your teammates are doubtful about your abilities. Play like a true god of football and prove them wrong.} :[+20 stat points ] [+5000 lps] [+1 growth potion.] Izan who was seemingly waiting for a challenge to be issued by the system grinned at the sight of the possible rewards he could gain. "Well lets get this show started" Izan said whiles walking towards the coach Chapter 11: Recognition Chapter 11: RecognitionCoach Bano decided to split the regulars and the reserves into two teams of 11 players. Coach Bano saw that after splitting them there would still be 6 players left as the addition of Izan has brought the squad number to 26 players. He decided to give each team 3 players as substitutes. "Ok gather around and look at the lineup for the starting eleven and the reserve eleven". Izan walked over to the chart to look at the teams starting players. {blue bibs] ........ Formation: 4-3-3 Goalkeeper: Raul jiminez Left back:David nu?ez Right back:Lucas T¨¨na Centrebacks:Alejandro Pana ,Mark montes Central Midfield : Javier bu¨¨so, Jan martinez, Andranik chust Left wing:Marc Juardo,Right wing:Pablo Neri Striker:Hugo de marc. Subs: Juan solidado, Gaia palo,louis gurendal Izan after looking at the starting team and their substitutes decided to look at the reserve team because his name will probably be in their substitutes. {red bibs} ...... Formation:4-2-1-3 Goalkeeper: Vic Abril Left back:Jose palerno, Rightback: Nico paz Centrebacks: Kike Reyes, Nico gulaz Central Midfield: Juanda terrano, Enrique Sautin Attacking midfield: Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z Leftwing: Pedro fontin, Rightwing: wissam andrich Center forward: Sam Kalo Subs:Ian riggs, Mark barai, Juan barsi Izan was surprised to see his name on the reserve team''s starting list after he saw it. He thought he would have to start from the bench but that wasn''t the case. "Okay so I guess by now you should know which teams you belong to. Now those starting the match should go onto the pitch and the subs should sit on the bench". After saying this Coach Bano took a whistle from his pocket to officiate the training match. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Unbeknownst to the players,coach Patricio moreno had arrived on the pitch and was watching the match which was about to start.Coach bano after meeting eyes with Patricio Moreno nodded and decided to start the match with the reserve team kicking off. The reserve team striker kicked of and passed the ball to Izan who took a nervous first touch. Taking it easy, he passed the back to the midfielder behind who passed the ball to the left back after after taking a touch. The reserve team using one touch or two touch passes kept playing around the regulars that had advanced into their half. The right back of the reserve team,Nico paz got the ball and passed to Pedro fontin. Getting the ball ,Pedro looked for options to pass but couldn''t find one as the regular''s team players had pressed high up. Izan saw that his teammate was in a bit of a predicament and freed himself from the player near him and went to receive a pass. Pedro after seeing Izan who was free still decided to hold onto the ball because of his animosity for Izan. "Look at this bastard, does he think I''m going to pass to him" thought pedro who decided to go alone. Unfortunately he was tackled cleanly by the right back of the regulars'' team. After the right back took the ball he looked up and sent a high diagonal lob towards the left winger who took a nice touch of the ball before rushing towards the opportunity goal. The left winger went forward on the flanks and after seeing that his striker had a bit of and edge when it comes to Air balls over the opponents defenders, he crossed the ball into the box. The striker Hugo de marc rose to the air and headed the ball into the back of the net. After scoring he went and did a ridiculous celebration to rub salt in the wound. Even though it was just a training match,conceding goals was still not fun. The players of the reserve team all turned their attention to Pedro fontin who lost the ball with some eyeballing him. Pedro who couldn''t stand the stares slowly looked down in defeat. "Pedro, keep playing like that and you''re out of the squad for the next match" Coach moreno who was quiet and observing the match finally spoke up after witnessing Pedro fault in the team conceding a goal. He already knew Pedro was an egoist but coach moreno didn''t talk about about it because of his connection to the sporting director of the club.But now even he was getting fed up. "Why dig your own grave" Izan thought who was staring at Pedro. The match restarted and the striker passed the ball to Izan who looked for Pedro and passed to him. Pedro this time knowing that all eyes were on him took a touch and passed the ball back to Izan. Izan trapped the ball and looked for passing options. Izan with his great vison picked out their player on the right wing and with a raking pass,sent the ball over to the winger on the right side of the field. Izan quickly followed to support the right winger who had started speeding on the flank. This right winger was none other than wissam who had nothing going for him aside his speed and explosiveness. After slowing the down, Wissam raised his head to look for any red bibs around him but was surprised to see that he had been surrounded by 3 opponents players. Finally Wissam saw that Izan was approaching and out of nervousness of the ball being taken away from him sent a questionable pass to Izan. Izan,seeing the ball coming in an awkward motion Izan adjusted his body position and controlled the ball with side of his boot before flicking it over the incoming player. Izan controlled the ball on his thigh and continued toward the box. After Izan saw that Pedro was making a run, he sent a nicely drawn trivela pass with his left leg making the ball curve like crazy. All Pedro did was stick his leg out and ''pa'', the ball changed directions and entered the net. Pedro stood up and saw the reserve team players rushing towards him. He saw Izan also rushing towards him and wondered why he hated him. The players including Izan jumped on him causing him to fall down under the pile of sweaty bodies. Bano blew the whistle and all the players dispersed to their half. Bano looked at his watch and saw that over 22 minutes had passed and decided to close the first half of the training match. After the matched resumed,Coach Moreno approached the teams and made Izan join the regulars while switching their formation to a 4-2-1-3 to accommodate Izan. The teams also made 3 changes each for the subs to come in. "Okay I admit it he''s really good" one of the players who had just been substituted off said whiles looking at Izan. "Yah ,during the match, I tried taking the ball from him many times but couldn''t; that ball flick and trivela pass at the end was crazy" another said. "Wow geniuses really have it easy" another player added. "By the way he''s playing it won''t be long before he gets to make his debut for the senior team" Pedro who had been subbed off thought as he sat there. Coach Bano restarted the match and the regulars kicked off this time around. The regular''s team passed around a bit and tried multiple attacks to score. Izan stood behind the striker and infront of the midfielders serving as a link between them and also controlling the tempo of the game. Slowing down the game when his team starts getting a little aggressive and speeding up when its time to attack. Overall Izan stood in the midfield like an instructor and kept delivering instructions. The players who disregarded him at first started listening more after they saw their style of play become more sharp and threatening after listening to him once. Izan saw that the match was being dragged out. After realising this,he went to the defence and took the ball. After taking the ball he initiated an attack. He started dribbling the ball towards the heart of the midfield of the opposing team.After holding the ball for a bit Izan laid the ball of to Gaia who returned the ball after seeing Izan in a good position. With a quick one-two between his teammate Izan quickly stepped on the gas and started speeding towards the opponents goal. The midfielders of the reserve team tried to corner Izan by number but he just knocked the ball between them and with suing his exceptional, he caught up to the ball. After he caught up with the ball he saw that his striker was being marked by the opponet defence and decided to go alone.One of the center backs came to meet Izan and using his strength forced him to go to the left side of the 18 yard box. Izan seeing this pretended to cross the ball into the box. The defender who saw his movement tried to block it but saw Izan dragging the ball back to complete a cruyff turn. After laying waste to the defender,Izan with the ball dribbled to the left side of the edge of the penalty box. After seeing that some of the opponent players had recovered and were coming to tackle him, he pretended to shoot and forced the players to throw their bodies and legs in the way but Izan simply faked and continued. Izan seeing space infront of him drew his right leg back before ''bam''. Izan sent a finesse shot to the top right corner of the net leaving the keeper with no chance. After Izan scored, he wasted now chance and went to the corner flag before bowing to the imaginary fans. His teammates arrived and jumped on him. "That crazy man"." How the hell are you so good". His teammates kept talking. After this the regulars managed to score again ending the match in a 3-1 score for the regulars as Izan scored his second goal after tapping in a rebound ball. "That kid''s really good", Ferran who had been standing beside Coach moreno spoke."What the" coach moreno said. "I told you not to sneak up on me again". Ferran laughed. "But yeah he''s really good" coach Moreno said. Ferran who was looking at Coach Moreno saw him smile. "Did you just smile" he asked. "No I didn''t " Coach Moreno replied. Coach Moreno walked up to the kids who where chatting among themselves. "Very good display by the regulars and also the reserves. But the reserves also need to be as good as the main team so you guys should train hard and don''t always make it easy for the regulars in training matches". "But Coach they got that little demon of a player" one player said drawing a bit of laughs from the players as they now recognised Izan''s strength. "Don''t use that as an excuse" coach Moreno said whiles coughing a bit."And nice performance by Izan. By the way where is he"ferran asked after looking around and not seeing. "Oh he said he''s going to the washroom" Gaia said. "Oh ok" Ferran said scratching his head. Izan who was in one of the stallsin the washroom looked at the rewardshe got from the system "Ding" [host has completed system quest] Rewards: +20 Stats point +5000lp +1 growth potion Izan''s eyes shimmered as he looked at his rewards."Its about to go down" he said whiles rubbing his hands together. Chapter 12: Rewards and Coach’s Instructions Chapter 12: Rewards and Coach''s InstructionsIzan looking at the rewards asked the system, "Hey max,what are the effects of the growth potion". "Ding"[the growth potion stimulates host''s latent growth and helps host''s muscles and body evolve. This helps the host avoid any career ending injuries and also helps the host to use his body easily] Izan stared a bit thinking about the growth potion. Especially the part were it helps him avoid career ending injuries. He thought if he had an injury immunity whiles playing exceptionally,he''d be a valuable asset to any club. "Max, how can I maximise the effects of the of the growth drug". Izan asked not wanting to misappropriate the drug . "[Host should consume the drug after training]" Izan who had just been out of an intense match decided to consume the potion. He open the tab and clicked on the growth potion which materialised in the form of a blue can. Izan stared a bit at it before consuming it. He felt a tinge run through his body. Nothing happened after that occurred so he decided to go outside but then he fell to the ground, his body was still as if he had been electrified. Izan felt a sudden pain flash through his brain. He desisted from voicing out the pain. He could feel his muscles being torn apart and stitched together. His veins shimmered with a blue colour. After about a minute, Izan finally came to his senses. He felt a gooey form of sweat on his body. He lied down for a bit before he stood up. When he stood,he saw that his eye level had risen a bit." I think I''ve gotten taller" Izan said with a grin. Izan left the washroom not wanting to waste anymore time. He decided to go and wash off the gooey liquid from his body. "Next time let''s do it at home . I felt like I was gonna die" Izan said as he had exited the washroom. Just then, "Oh wow did someone die in here" a person who had just entered said. The smell the gooey liquid from Izan''s body gave off was really unpleasant. Whiles Izan was in the locker room bath. The players came in and also took their baths. After Izan finished he came out, a lot of his mates were staring at him. "Damn looks,talent and height, say Izan do you have a girlfriend" Juan with a towel on his shoulder asked. "Hey look at him of course he might have one or two" Gaia said. "No I don''t" Izan said with a smile. "Really" , some of his teammates asked. "You guys forget I''m only 14 " Izan said earning a bit of stares from the players at the sudden realisation that Izan was young. "Leave the kid alone" Mark montes the team captain said. Izan neared him and asked "Mark , who is the best player here". "No doubt it''s Pietro but he''s injured so, I think right now its Andranik, Mark said pointing to a blonde haired boy. "Together with pietro,they''ve both been called up to the senior team before" Mark said.Izan didn''t waste any time and used the snooping tool on him ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[ANDRANIK CHUST] AGE:[Turned 18 a week ago] HEIGHT:[1.84m(6''2)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Fc under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[66/100] POSITION:[Central/ defensive midfielder] POTENTIAL:[85] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:63 Body control:67 Spatial awareness: 66 Technique: 66 Shooting:64 Passing: 67[+1] Body strength:62 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:60% Completion Pinpoint passing:75% Completion Izan saw that aside from speed, Andranik had his stats a bit better than his but that was not gonna last long since he got a bit of stat points from the match they just played After Andranik, Izan used the snooping function on the team and saw that most of players in the team had an overall rating of 61-64 with him and Andranik being the only exception with 65 and 66 respectively. "Pietro must have a rating of 68 or 69, or he might be in the early 70s since he has played a few matches for the senior team" Izan thoughts as he stood there. "So I at least need to have a minimum overall rating of 68 to play for the senior team" Izan stood contemplating. "Well lets hurry up and get that overall up" murmured Izan."Did you say something" Mark who was near Izan asked. "Uh no" Izan replied. "So coach said we will be here for training tomorrow before the match" Mark said to Izan who nodded. Izan packed his bag and headed out. He took a bus this time as he had told his mom not to pick up regularly. Izan arrived at his stop and walked home since it was a few minutes walk. "I''m home" Izan said as he got inside. He removed his shoes and put them on the rack. As he was going upstairs,he saw an unfamiliar face sitting with his sister. Izan just looked at the girl who was sitting by his sister. "Guess she also has friends " Izan murmured he knew his sister to be really picky person. "Miura, how did it go " Komi asked Izan about his first session with the under-19s. "Sensational" Izan said before going upstairs. Izan after putting his bag down opened his system tab and selected his personal info. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 monthsTO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.80m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia FC under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[65/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[11200/10,000 to lv3] STAT POINTS:[26] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:62 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:62 Passing: 64 Body strength:64 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Izan saw that he had already gained the points to upgrade his system. He decided to distribute his stat point before upgrading the system. His first upgrade brought him the snooping function so he was hyped up about the second one. Izan decided to quickly upgrade his stat. He looked at his lowest and useful attributes and decided to upgrade the body control and shooting attributes. Shooting:62 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:60 Long shot:58 Freekick:67 Penalties: 60 Izan added 4 stat points to Long shots and 5 to finishing. He also added 2 to penalties and 3 to frrekicks. He looked at the shooting attributes and saw that it had gone up. Shooting:66 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:60[+5]>65 Long shot:58[+4]>64 Freekick:67[+3]>70 Penalties: 60[+2]>62 Izan then clicked on the body control attributes. Body control :62 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :65 Jumping :60 Reations:60 Balance:60 Izan was left with 12 stat points so he decided to add 3 stat points to each of his attributes under body control Body control :65 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :65[+3]>68 Jumping :60[+3]>63 Reations:60[+3]>63 Balance:60[+3]>63 Izan quickly went to stats and the system displayed the information in front of him. STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64 Body strength:64 "Ding"[Host''s rating has improved from 65>66] Izan looked a bit sad that his overall went up by just one. "No one said it was gonna be easy" he said as he got into position to do his post-training yoga routine. After Izan was done he went down for dinner. Izan came down for dinner. He looked around to see if the girl he had seen earlier was still there but didn''t see her. "Guess she went. Who was she anyway, she looked somewhat familiar." Izan went to the table and after he finished eating he washed the dishes before going up. He pulled his phone and started watching reels on Instagram. After a while he started looking at some news in the world of football. He still saw the Mbappe to Real Madrid news and thought very soon, those kind of teams will be wanting to sign him. Izan looked at a bit of the news before retrieving to slumberland. Izan woke up the next day and checked the time and saw that it was 6:00. His eyes flashed the date which showed [17 April 2022]."F**k" Izan said as he remembered that he had not done the system upgrade. He had joined the under-19s and it was left with about 7 matches till the end of their season. Izan freshened up and went out for his daily task. After he finished he came in and drank a cup of milk before going to bath. After he finished he dressed and went down again. This time Komi was done with breakfast. Izan gobbled it up and after he was done, he decided to ride his bike to school today. "Mom I''ll be riding my bike to school today" Izan said. "Okay miura, just be careful" Komi said from the kitchen. Izan saw that It was still early so he decided to relax and enjoy the wind that was brushing against his face which made his hair disheveled . Izan got to school and went through the day without much hustle. He wrote the mock exam without much struggle as aside from training he had been learning too. He was confident he aced the exam. At the end of the day Izan picked his stuff before heading off to the training ground Izan arrived early and saw that he was the first to arrive. He changed into his training kit and decided train a bit before actual practice. Izan set up the cones and dummy and did some speed and Dribbling drills. After a while he decided to do a bit of freekick drills. Izan set up the wall with about 4 dummies and set up 4 balls,each from different positions. The first ball was from 20 metres out. Izan took 3 steps back . He with his run up pulled his right leg back before shooting the ball into the net. Although there was no keeper between the post ,from the way Izan hit the ball it wouldn''t make a difference if there was one. Izan''s second try was from 24 metres out. This time he run up and hit the ball but it struck the corner of the crossbar. "You must use your body well if you want to get the ball inside the net" a voice spoke prompting Izan to turn his head only to find Coach Moreno standing behind him. Izan quickly greeted him." You should plant your left leg well to get the maximum power from the right leg" he said. "And also for more curl strike the underside of the ball with the side of the boot" he added. Izan nodded and went to the next ball which was 28 meters out. Izan this time took four steps back. He looked at the ball and run up to the ball,planting his left leg beside the ball and with heavy movement of his right foot,Izan struck the underside of the ball. The ball rose up into the air, passing over the static dummies. With rapid and a spiral movement,the ball homed into the back of the net. Izan stood there looking at the ball. He looked at Coach Moreno who was smiling." What a monster. I guess we won''t have to worry about setpieces for a while" thought Coach Moreno after seeing Izan freekick potential. The same happened for the next ball as Izan smashed the ball into the net. Izan looked at the coach and smiled. Coach Moreno saw that some of the players had arrived and told Izan to quickly wrap it up . Izan packed the cones and arranged the dummies in their respective places. After he finished he followed Coach Moreno. When the players saw both of them coming one of the players remarked" hey Izan has Coach Moreno adopted you yet". The other players who heard this started laughing. Some felt pity for Izan. Izan walked up to Juan and asked him what they meant by that. "Well Coach has the tendency to overtrain players he likes " Juan answered. "Lets say if we were all running 10 laps, you my friend" he said placing his hand on Izan''s shoulder."Are going to run 20 laps". "Oh" Izan said Chapter 13: Opportunity Chapter 13: OpportunityThe players kept looking at Izan with a bit of amazement at his stamina. As the players had said,Coach Moreno made Izan do more of whatever drills they did. But Izan never seemed to get tired. After he finished . The coach saw that there was still a bit of time so he decided to let them play a training match. This time Izan was in the lineup of the regulars team. As usual the regulars team dominated the match. Izan although in the attacking midfield role was intercepting passes and was making clean tackles and retrieving the ball for the team when they lost it. Izan made two assists in the regular''s team before he was transferred to the reserves team at the end of the half. Izan in the second half played more of a free role in the reserve team with no fixed position. In one situation Izan took the ball off one of the regulars and started driving towards the other side of the pitch. With deft touches and clean Stepovers , Izan passed the player who tried to dispossess him. Izan seeing that the keeper was off his line decided to try from distance. As if the goddess of luck was on his side, the ball moved all over on the way to the goal. With a whirring sound the ball zoomed past the keeper and went inside the net . "Was he trying to kill someone " the keeper said as Izan and his team celebrated. After this, the reserve team got a corner to which Izan delivered. The ball from the corner was put inside the net by a player on the regulars team causing an own goal. Unfortunately , one of the reserve team''s defenders gave away a penalty in the final minutes. Andranik took the ball and placed it on the spot before smashing it into the ball. He was a bit frustrated as Izan had tackled him and dispossessed him a couple of times during the match. The match ended in a defeat for the reserves. After the match, Coach Moreno decided to wait a bit before announcing the lineups. After the players had rested a bit he started announcing the squad for tomorrow''s match. So we have : ... Formation: 4-3-3 Goalkeeper: Raul jiminez[1] Left back:David nu?ez[3] Right back:Lucas T¨¨na[5] Centrebacks:Alejandro Pana[4] Mark montes[2] Midfield:Javier bu¨¨so[6], Jan martinez[12] Andranik chust[8] Left wing:Marc Juardo[11], Right wing:Pablo neri[7] Striker:Hugo de marc.[9] Subs ..... Juan solidado[12] Gaia palo[17] louis gurendal[22] (Gk)Vic Abril[13] Nico paz[19] Enrique Sautin[15] wissam andrich[18] Sam Kalo[14] Juan barsi[28] After the coach was finished the names, Izan was a bit down. He was sure that with his performances he would make at least the bench but it wasn''t it to be. Afterwards, Coach Moreno told the players they would be meeting here early tomorrow for a brief training session before the match. So we will meet here and go to the stadium. After Coach Moreno finished he walked towards Izan. "Hey Miura, which jersey number do you like". Izan thought for a while before answering " is the 21 jersey available." Coach Moreno looked at the squad list and saw that it had no been taken."okay 21 it is".Izan was a bit perplexed as to why the coach was asking for the number he liked. As Coach Moreno was about to leave he stopped and said "Oh miura by the way come tomorrow,you''re on the bench" before he smiled and walked away. Izan stood there dumbfounded before it finally sunk in. "I''m on the bench, F**k yeah" Izan elated started cussing before controlling himself. He went and showered. After showering in the locker room,he changed before packing his bags and leaving. Izan rode his bike home forgetting his tiredness. After he reached home, Izan told his mom about the news. "Aww my baby is going to be a professional " Komi said. "Not yet maa" Izan said as he rolled his eyes to Komi''s dancing. "So are you going to come and watch " Izan asked. "Uh of course I''m coming,I''m not missing my son''s first under-19s game " Komi said. "What about you. Will you come." Izan said as he looked at his sister. She looked at Izan before nodding. Izan told her mum that the match was happening at the Ciudad Deportiva Valencia - Campo 1 in Paterna. Izan went to his room and remembering the ''ding'' sound he heard during his freekick session with Coach Moreno, he opened the system. [Host unlocked achievement ''Coach''s pet] Description: Get advice from your coach Rewards: Select a trait from Available ones "Huh". "Max what is a trait" Izan asked. [Host has to update system to lv 4. Would host like to update to lv 4 for 10,000 legend points]. Yes/no Izan with no choice pressed yes. [System going offline in 3,2,1 ...] Izan who still couldn''t get used to the system going offline decided do something to distract himself. He went down for dinner and after he finished eating, he played some Moba game before sleeping. ******* Izan woke up the next day feeling refreshed. After he completed his daily task. His took his bath before heading down. After Izan finished with his breakfast, he waited a bit for his sister to finish before komi drove them to school. The day passed quickly in school. The students received their test scores and to no one''s surprise,Izan topped the class and was first by a landslide. ********** Krriiiiing Izan who had already packed his stuff stepped out of the class only to see his mother waiting for him at the entrance. Izan who was approaching the car saw that Hori and her friend were sitting in the backseat. "Are you sure you go to school " Izan asked hori as she always seemed to be in the car whenever he closes. Izan got in the car with his football bag. Komi started driving towards the the academy grounds. Izan who couldn''t help but feel a sense of familiarity couldn''t stop staring at the girl through the rear view mirror. As Izan was staring, his eyes met hers and they both stared at each other for a while. Komi who saw Izan staring smiled. A bump on the road made them both retract their eyes. He decided to ask what was going on in the evening. Komi got to the academy and Izan got down before komi drove off to the stadium. The players did a brief session with the coach before they boarded the bus and the headed to the team home grounds. Izan who was looking at the jersey that had just been given to him,smiled before putting on his earbuds and listened to some music. The players got to the stadium and headed to the locker room before changing into their warm up kits. They cam out and passed around a bit before they went in to change. After a brief tactical reminder the players came out. After a few pleasantries the players all went to their position. After the referee looked at his watch he blewthe whistle andthe match was underway. ************* [COMMENTATOR] Hello people welcome to the division de honor juvenil.A very exciting match up as the Valencia U19 vs Levante U19 . Its 2nd place vs 5th place. Valencia U19 have been very good this season as they have just lost 2 match,drawn 3 and won 20 after 25 matchdays. There was still 6 games left after today and first place Atletico madrile?o U19 was just 2 point ahead. They''ve also played one more game than valencia U19 so if valencia U19 wins they will go ahead. The referee is about to start so let''s go ahead with the commentary. *********** Fweeeeeee Valencia U19 started the match well controlling the pace of the game. They passed around well whiles making sure they hold on to the ball. The game was eerily quiet though as Valencia would tease a few shots but it was either blocked,saved, hit the pots or missed the goal by a few centimetres. They game stayed the same until the 17th minute when levante got a corner. They corner taker delivered a very good ball into the sea of players but the ball was punched out by Raul jiminez,the valencia keeper. Luckily Valencia''s winger Marc Juardo latched onto the ball before speeding towards the post. Although Marc wasn''t the fastest,his pace was way above the Levante defenders. Marc faked a pass which made the Levante defender shudder a bit. Seeing space,Marc knocked the ball ahead before speeding to catch up to the ball. It was now him and the keeper. Out of the corner of his eye,Marc saw Hugo coming. With a cool pass,he sent the ball to Hugo who made no mistake and pushed the ball into the net. ************** [COMMENTATOR Pov] 17'' ''Levante with a beautiful corner but it is punched out by Raul. Who''s there to hold onto the ball. Oh the ball falls to Marc juandro. Taking advantage he drives forward with the ball. Galloping like a horse with no intent of slowing down. He comes against Levante''s last defender, is he gonna pass but no he knocks the ball forward. Its one on one with the keeper. Marc, is he gonna shoot,no he passed to Hugo who finishes it off. Gooooalllll'' Hugo went to hug Marc who set him up for the goal. The remaining players followed and hugged each other before returning to their own half. ''Its Valencia U19 one, levante U19 nil.'' The Valencia players after the restart focused on the match and prevented any attacks. Thwarting Levante''s chances,the match went stale until the 39th minute. 39'' The levante players passed around the valencia players trying to find a way to score a goal but Valencia''s team formation was compact not leaving any gaps in between. It was like this until levante midfielder Joan took the ball and tried to dribble through the Valencian midfield. Fortunately it worked as he succeeded in retaining the ball. When he was just about to reach the arc of the 18 yard box,the valencia players surrounded him. Not knowing what to do,Joan pulled his left leg back and followed through with a shot. As luck would have it ,it took a deflection on the way and misdirected the keeper who went in the opposite direction of where the ball was going. The watched as the ball rustled the net . The levante players felt ecstatic after all,this match was really tough for them as the opponent was seeing most of the ball. After the goal the match went on for a while before the referee blew the whistle to signify the end of the first half. The players of both team headed toward the locker room. "You guys played and tried not to concede a goal but I guess they''ve maxed out their luck stat" Coach Moreno said drawing a bit of laughs from the players who knew the Coach''s love for games. "We''re just two points behind Atletico Madrile?o U19 so let''s put in an extra effort and win this game" he added. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players feeling motivated stepped out of the dressing room after the break with momentum. Unfortunately for them the match remained even as the Levante players also came out with new found spirit. Coach Moreno looked at his watch and saw that its been 17 minutes since the start of the 2nd half. He looked towards the bench and his eyes landed on Izan. He shook his head but then saw that his team wasn''t gaining an edge. After contemplating for a while,he told Izan and a few other players to warm up. Izan who heard it was elated at the thought of the opportunity. After about 5 minutes,they completed the warm up and went to change into their kits. "When is Izan going to play"Olivia asked Hori. "Anytime now I guess"she said whiles shrugging but then saw Izan with a number 21 jersey standing on the touchline. She patted Olivia before pointing to Izan. Olivia who saw Izan couldn''t help but smile."You haven''t changed at all" she thought In the 73rd minute the ball went out and Izan came in for his first match with the under-19s Chapter 14: Super-sub Chapter 14: Super-subIzan jogging onto the pitch stopped to give the instructions that Coach Moreno had told him to give. He quickly went and occupied his position. As he stood there he heard the familiar ''ding'' sound as the system issued a quest. [System has issued a challenge] < make a difference> Score one goal or make an assist and help your team win the game. Rewards: +15 stat point +10000 lp points Izan smiled knowing he was about to get a ton of points. ************* [COMMENTATOR pov] '' Time is running out fast here and it is still one all. Valencia U19 seem to be making a change here. No. 6, Javier bu¨¨so is coming out for No. 21. His name seems to be Izan miura Hernand¨¦z and only 14 years of age. Quite young but I guess Coach Moreno is giving up the match or has this young player got something to give us'' The commentator said as he looked on Izan''s profile. Izan was told one thing by Coach Moreno and that was ''to make a difference''. Izan walked around a bit as the ball was still with the opposition. He immediately shouted out instructions to the other players intending to bait the Levante players into attacking. The Levante players didn''t disappoint and tried to break through the Valencia U19''s defence. Borja, one of Levante U19''s midfielders tried to pass by Izan after noticing that the latter was young. Taking advantage of the player''s underestimation. Izan quickly slid in and took the ball from behind him. Borja who thought it was a foul went livid as the referee didn''t blow the whistle. "Refree!!!! That was a clear foul " Borja screamed at the top of his lungs. The referee shook his head and the game continued. Izan after taking the ball slowed down the tempo of the game intending to excite the Levante players to come into their half. Izan constantly looking around tried to find any edge that they could take over the opponents. Izan still couldn''t find one and continued to slow down the game more. The Valencia U19 players started player one-touch football. This struck a nerve in the Levante players as the Valencia players seemed to be toying around with them. They still maintained their calm knowing what was at stake. This remained until Izan started playing a bit more flashy. Taking on the Levante U19 players and using flashy skill moves against them. The last straw for the players was when Izan nutmegged borja who was already pissed at Izan for the earlier challenge. Izan tool the ball and started retrieving to his own half. Unconsciously the Levante U19 players started moving forward. Seeing this, Valencia U19''s striker,Hugo de marc saw what Izan was trying to do and started to make a run. Izan after seeing his striker''s intention sent a defence splitting pass to him. The Levante players started to retreat but Hugo was a few steps ahead of them. Hugo after taking a touch of the ball controlled it calmly and started galloping towards the keeper. Izan with his ridiculous speed,started Sprinting towards the levante goal. Izan like a gust of wind passed by the levante players,overtaking most to go and provide support for Hugo if he needed one. Hugo after coming face to face with the keeper kept his cool and chipped the ball over the keeper.The ball went in a high arc before rustling net when it hit it. The Valencia players were ecstatic. Some players on the bench even joined the players on the field to celebrate. It was still the 80th minute and the match was far from over but at this moment they had to soak in the feeling. The game had been tough on them as although they were playing better,they still couldn''t translate their performance into goals. ********* [Commentary pov] ''Izan the new entry after coming on has been organising the Valencia team. Age doesn''t really matter in football. Borja from levante tries to attack but a sliding tackle from Izan saw him dispossessed. He raised his hands in anger but the refree signals play on. The Valencia players are playing the ball around but it seems the Levante players are settling for a draw as they''ve brought back almost all their attackers to their own half. Izan playing some flashy football nutmegs borja . What a beautiful display of composure by the young player who doesn''t even seem fazed playing with players 3 or 4 years older than him. His flashy moves has attracted a bit of attention to himself ad Levante team''s formation start to fall apart. Izan looks up and spots a run from Hugo. With a spectacular pass. He sends the ball to Hugo. Oh wonderful touch. Hugo sprints forward alone. Izan also sprints forward with speed like a cheetah to provide support for Hugo but does he need it!!!!!!'' ''No he doesn''t as Hugo chips the ball over the keeper. What a beautiful display of individual brilliance by Izan and Hugo as they both combine to give valencia the lead. Its Valencia U19 [2], levante U19 [1] '' After the celebration. The valencia players walked to their half as the refree was waiting for them before he could start the match. Komi who was a bit bored suddenly erupted into cheers as Valencia U19 scored. "The player who just came on made the difference" a person standing by said. "Yh I think he''s going to be a very good player from the way he''s playing" another added Komi who heard this felt very happy. Hori who didn''t like to admit her feelings as she was a tsundere type of person stood there with a proud face as her brother had made a difference in the match.Olivia also stared on with a smile. After the game restarted,the Valencia U19 players played cautiously, avoiding any mistakes that could cost them. The match seemed like it was gonna end the same until Hugo tested the keeper from Long range. The keeper who was distracted punted out a ball he could''ve easily held.The came out of the box and Izan standing outside the box,trapped the ball on his chest before smashing the ball into the net with a powerful volley. The keeper who stood rooted to the spot had no chance to save the ball The last goal by Izan broke the morale of the levante U19 players. Coach moreno stood at the touchline and smiled. "I''ve also got a genius on my hands" he thought. The Valencia players celebrated a bit before the match continued. The match went on for a while as the Levante players seemed desperate for a goal that could at least reduce the goal differencial but it wasnt to be as the referee blew the whistle after looking at his watch. The two Coaches shook hands before the levante coach said" I lost to a 14 year old kid. Hahaha" . He didn''t even wait for moreno to talk before walking off. The players went around shaking hands with each other. Izan stood there until he heard " good game ". He turned around to find Joan, the player who scored Levante''s only Goal. Izan nodded before replying with a handshake. The two players talked a bit before they both walked off to their respective locker rooms. When Izan got inside the locker room he felt something wrong as the place was eerily quiet. Just then the players poured an ice bath on him. Izan felt chills but couldn''t help but laugh. Coach Moreno told the kids to be seated before handing over a towel to Izan. He brought a board that displayed the league table. Valencia U19''s was top of the table with 66 points after 26 matchdays.Followed by Atletico madrile?o U19 with 65 points after 26 matchdays and also Villareal U19 with 64 points after 26 matchdays. The race for first place was fierce and was entering sudden death. Any slip ups could cost them. "We''re finally first "he said with a smile. The players also applauded. "Soak in the feeling while you can because we need to sharpen up. Although you guys played well, you lacked creativity. If not for Ivan, sorry to say but we''d have drawn. So from today we will be setting most of our focus on how to capitalise and score goals" Coach Moreno said. "So go home and rest because your hellish training will begin soon" he added. Izan who was looking forward to more training smiled. Izan asked Coach moreno if he could go home with his mother to which he said yes. Izan after showering changed and went to meet his mother at the parking lot. On his way Izan heard someone call his name. He turned back and saw a brown haired girl with big Hazel eyes that seemed like you would get lost in if you looked in them long enough. Izan stopped and waited for the girl to catchup. It was his sister''s friend and he still couldn''t get that familiar feeling off his chest so he decided to confront her. "You know it seems I''m the only one who''s lost. You seem to know me and I get a feeling of familiarity whenever I see you but at the same time I don''t think I know you or I don''t remember at the very least" Izan said all this in one breath. The girl smiled and said " I''ve gotten girlish now that ls why you don''t remember. Izan its me Olivia ". Izan stood there staring blankly at the girl who seemed to be waiting for something and sure enough it hit Izan. "Wait Oli,our neighbours. Wait wait but he was a boy or looked like a boy" Izan said the last sentence in a low tone. Olivia slightly embarrassed said "yeah thats me. Hi ,Izan nice to meet you again " she said whiles she stretched her hand forward for a handshake. Izan didn''t leave her hanging and shook her hand. "So you moved back or? Izan asked in a questioning tone. "Yeah,we never sold the house we just rented it out" Olivia said. They both stood there not knowing what to do until Olivia broke the silence "so you in high school yet". "Nah will be in the coming semester though" Izan answered before asking "what about you ?. "High school sophomore. I will also be in my final year next semester". Izan remembered that Olivia was older than him by 3 years and some months. They both stood face to face with Izan being a bit taller then Olivia who stood at least 176cm by Izan''s estimation. The silence was awkward until Hori found both of them standing together. "Come on guys, mom''s waiting for us " she said not noticing the awkward atmosphere. They both followed behind her as they got to the parking lot. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Whiles driving,Komi asked " So do you finally remember her". Izan who was beside her in the front answered" Yeah but you could''ve told me in advance so that I wouldn''t treat her as a stranger when I met her outside". Komi laughed before Izan a bit annoyed looked at the rear view mirror once more before putting his earbuds on. The ride home was just Izan listening to music whiles Olivia and Hori spoke to each other in the back. Both Izan and Olivia would steal glances at each other but at times their eyes met and they would look somewhere else. Komi, looked at both Izan and Olivia before smiling and focusing on the road Chapter 15: Olivia Chapter 15: OliviaKomi parked the car infront of the driveway before turning off the engine. Izan,who felt the change quickly woke up. He had dosed off on their way home. Not waiting for them Izan quickly took his bag before exiting the car.Olivia just looked at Izan as he got out with his bag. Izan didn''t wait for them and quickly got inside the house. Izan after going up to his room opened the curtain blinds to look at Olivia who was heading home after she got down from the car . Her house was just adjacent that of Izan''s. As she was going,as if she felt something looking at here looked in the direction of Izan who quickly got down . Olivia,noticing that it was Izan who was looking at her smiled before walking off. Izan who didn''t know why his emotion was all over the place fell on his bed before dozing off. Izan was woken up by chatter as he heard sounds of talking and laughing downstairs. Izan decided to go and check it out but decided against it since the odds that he was going to meet Olivia were high and he didn''t want to risk it as he hadn''t gotten mind right. Izan suddenly remembering something called out his system and navigated the new panel. It had cost him ten thousand legend points to upgrade to level 4 and the impending update was going to take a total of sixty-seven thousand points . Izan didn''t know why it was that specifc as the system could have just opted for a fixed and rounded number. Izan quickly navigated the panel trying to look for new features. " Max , what does the recent update come with " Izan asked. ''Ding''[The unlocked features this time are traits ] Izan who seemed to be waiting for the system to continue but saw no answer coming decided to ask, "Max,is that it". [Yes] "Wait ten thousand legend points just to unlock traits" Izan said a bit annoyed. After not gaining any more replies, Izan decided to go to the trait hub. Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö[ Only Available Ones] Maestro>[3000]lp Description: Increases vison and passing stats by 15%. Also increases success rate of passing by 5%. Trickster>[3500]lp Description:Allow easy comprehension and Completion of skill moves. Also increases user Dribbling ability by 10% and also increases the succes rate of skill moves by 15% Incisive pass>[3700]lp Description: Increases passing, vision and crossing stats by 15%. Also increases success rate of all type of passes.{i.e trivela, Scorpion,banana finesse} Rocket>[3200]lp Description : Boosts Users speed stats by 20% and also increases explosiveness. Boulder>[2000]lp Description: Increases defensive stats by 20% and also increases success rate of performing clean and decisive tackles. Izan who looked at the traits was very conflicted on what to purchase but just then it flashed him. The system had given him a reward for a challenge and that reward was selecting a trait. Izan who was all smiles focused and started contemplating what would be the best traits for him. After a while Izan decided to choose the Incisive pass trait since it also had most of what the was giving After selecting the Incisive pass traits Izan decided to splurge a bit more and purchased both the and trait as it would help him become more formidable in one on ones. Izan''s lp points was left with 6000 as he had just spent 6700 on 2 traits. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan looked at his personal info and was satisfied.¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 months days TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.81m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[66/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[6000/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[18] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64 Body strength: 64 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Trickster> Description:Allow easy comprehension and Completion of skill moves. Also increases user Dribbling ability by 10% and also increases the succes rate of skill moves by 15% Incisive pass> Description: Increases passing, vision and crossing stats by 15%. Also increases success rate of all type of passes.{i.e trivela, Scorpion banana finesse} Rocket> Description : Boosts Users shot stats by 20%and also increases explosive power by 7%. Izan seeing that his legend points had taken a toll looked a bit sad but not for long as he chanced upon the stat points. Izan decided to hold unto some stats point for a while before he upgrades big after he accumulates enough points. Izan fantasizing in his own world was woken up by the ding sound. [Serial challenge has been triggered] "Huh" Izan thought. Quest [1* Host should score 7 goals and make 5 assists in the remaining matches.] Reward: +5 stat point +10000 lp [2* Valencia U19 should top group 7] Reward:+10 stat points +7000 lp [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point [4* Win in the semi finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +20 stat point +15000 lp [5*Win in the finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +25 stat point 1 free trait and 20000 lp First team call up. Izan who saw the challenges knew the first one could be completed if there was no problems. The second and third was doable with the right amount of conviction and determination but the fourth and fifth were hard as they would have to play against youth teams from top clubs such as Barcelona and Real Madrid who have one it multiple times. They''d also have to play underdogs. "Can I refuse" Izan said with a smile. [You can decline if you wish for the system to disappear forever] Izan was a bit surprised since this was the first time the system had threatened him. Maybe he was taking the system for granted. The match against Levante''s under-19s was also played on a Friday. As so Izan woke up late before completing his daily task. He browsed through his phone for a while before deciding to play some FIFA. Izan after playing for a while got bored and lazy. He wanted to go up for a rest but just stopped and slept on the couch peacefully. A few minutes after Izan had slept , Olivia entered. She looked around not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet in the house. She went to the living room and spotted Izan sleeping gracefully on the couch. She got near him and brought her face close to his. [Olivia Pov] Time really does fly. How did that little boy grow up so fast. I want to see more of his face. Should I bring my face close to his. But it''d me bad if someone came in and I don''t want to be tagged as a pervert. It should be fine since no-one seems to be around. Haaah I really like those blue eyes of his and his rosy lips . Wait what are you doing Olivia. As Olivia stood there in her own world, Izan felt a tinge of her breath on his face. He had not slept that far and he was also a light sleeper,unlike his mum and Hori. He woke up and saw his face close to Olivia''s. He was surprised at first but then he calmed down. Olivia whose face was red felt embarrassed and pulled her face away from Izan. "I''m sorry, I came to see if Hori could go with me to purchase something at the mall nearby but it seems she''s not here" she said in a rushed manner. "Yeah,she went out with mom and I think they won''t even be back for a while" said Izan as he tried to stand up. Olivia, realising she was alone with Izan in the house felt her heart thumbing. "Olivia what is wrong with you. Get your act together" Olivia thought to herself. "Oh" Olivia voiced out after hearing what Izan head just said." Would you like me to go with you" Izan asked to which Olivia sharply replied yes. Olivia feeling she responded too early cleared her throat before saying yes again. Izan told her to wait for a bit as he was going to change into descent clothes. After a while Izan came down wearing a white tee shirt with a black jean jacket over it. He wore a black baggy jean and theft was completed by his white Nikes. Olivia who already had the intention to go out was also wearing a black baggy denim trousers which still couldn''t hide her accentuated curves. She was also wearing an ash tee shirt and a jacket . Olivia who was staring at Izan didn''t know if it was coincidental or it was Izan but their outfits matched. She smiled some more before they both finally got out of the house. The mall was a 20 minute walk from their residence and Izan and Olivia decide to walk the distance. Whiles on the way they talked about their childhood together with Izan opening up a bit and being more comfortable with Olivia. "How did that tomboy get so beautiful " Izan thought as he stared at Olivia who was smiling and talking to Izan as she seems to enjoy her company. They got to the mall and walked around a bit , window shopping g here and there before Olivia finally went to find what she wanted to buy. Izan who was feeling a bit stuffy walked up to Olivia and told her that he would be outside for a minute. Olivia said she was done and would be right after him. Izan walked out and stood outside for a while. He noticed that Olivia wasn''t coming so he decided to go and see what was holding her up. As he was walking to the mall since he had gone a bit further, he saw Olivia was being held up by 2 guys who seemed to be wanting something from him probably her contact Izan thought. Olivia who saw Izan coming immediately said she had a boyfriend. The guys who didn''t believe her asked where he was. She looked the way of Izan who was coming towards them. Izan was looking coldly as he approached and his baggy clothes made him seem bigger than he actually was. The guys not wanting any scuffle backed down and left before Izan could get near them. "They left"Izan said to which Olivia answered with a smile. "They don''t usually leave like that though, what did you tell them to make them leave" Izan asked. "That I had a boyfriend and pointed your way, I guess that made them leave" Olivia said catching Izan off guard. Izan turned to cover his rosy cheeks but Olivia caught wind of them. "Ah so you can blush" she said whiles walking with a smile. "Olivia wait" Izan said as he ran a bit to walk beside her. You know I would like it if you called me Liv" Olivia said. "Can I " Izan said before Olivia nodded. They both stole glances at each other as they walked home. "Mom isn''t that Izan and Olivia " Hori who was staring out the window said. Komi looked and saw that it was them. "Should we call them " Hori asked. "No leave them be and let them catch up with each other" Komi said with a devilish smile before she drove off. Chapter 16: Atletico Madrile?o[pt 1] Chapter 16: Atletico Madrile?o[pt 1]Izan walked alongside Olivia as they made it back home. They were both quiet until Olivia took the initiative to break the silence. "You know its been a while since I''ve been here and I''ve forgotten a lot of things. If only someone would show me around"she said while tapping her cheek innocently. Izan who knew what she meant laughed before speaking "Then I''ll take you around sometime when I''m free" "Then its a date then" Olivia said before turning back and walking inside the house. Izan looked on as she walked inside.Izan after Olivia walked inside decided to get some rest because tomorrow''s training was going to be hell as Coach Moreno had said. Izan entered the house before heading upstairs to his room. He bought a conditioning drug and recovery potion from the system before using both of them simultaneously. After that, Izan played a bit of games. The days went by as Izan trained with the team. His abilities increased by each passing day. Although stat points were needed to upgrade attributes and stats. Training also added a bit of stat points to your attributes. Izan trained very hard,coming to training very early and clocking in late. Izan after finding out he could earn stat points from extra training didn''t throw away that chance and grinded hard. He would stay for at least one hour after training and would train some more before he would leave. Coach Moreno who would occasionally stare at Izan from his office was very happy that Izan wasn''t getting complacent. "The season will be ending soon. If he was a bit older,I would''ve recommended him to the senior team. Hahaha, funny how he''s just 14. His age is a gift and also a bit of hindrance" Coach Moreno thought as he stood there. Izan oblivious to everything packed up after he finished training. ******** S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. School was a bit of hustle as the final years in middle school were about to graduate. The school was a bit hectic as the kids were scrambling to study so they can pass their final exams. Izan, however found it funny. He was already prepared even with all the football training and matches and was currently revising. Izan''s sitting pal,Christian saw that Izan was calm amidst the chaos. "No pressure right" he said as he looked at Izan. Izan just smiled without talking before returning to his book. After school, Izan found himself in the under-19s training grounds. There was going to be a match tomorrow and today was the last training session before the match as they would have to travel away to the other teams home ground. Valencia U19 was playing Atletico madrile?o U19 so the match had drew a bit of traction even before the match had started. Coach Moreno walked up to the team after they had finished training. "Tomorrow will be playing 2nd place team Atletico madrile?o U19 and this is a chance to widen the gap a bit.Villareal U19 lost yesterday so if we win tomorrow''s match,we can widen the gap with Atletico madrile?o to 4 points and Villareal''s gap to 5 points also" he said." So let''s go out Tomorrow and win" he added. His speech was well received by the players. Izan felt happy to be apart of this group. "Izan " Coach Moreno said prompting Izan to turn back. "I''m starting you tomorrow so I hope you get some rest and be in your best shape for tomorrow". Izan who stood there stupefied by Coach Moreno''s words finally spoke" Thank you coach,I wasn''t disappoint " Izan said. "I know you won''t " Coach Moreno said before turning to go. Izan turned to go and was feeling very happy for the Coach''s trust. Izan got home and found Komi, together with Hori and Olivia in the living room. He greeted them before heading upstairs to take a bath as he wasn''t satisfied with the one he took at the Academy. Izan after training heard a system prompt from Max. He opened the system interface before a smile appeared on his face. [Maiden appearance] ''Get your first start on your new team'' Rewards: 5 stat points and 1 recovery drug. Izan didn''t waste time and quickly consumed the recovery drug as he needed to be in his best shape for tomorrow. Izan went down for dinner and Olivia this time decided to stay for dinner. The dining table was lively than usual as Hori who didn''t like to speak was unusually chatty at the table. Izan told her mother about tomorrow''s match. "Ow miura,Mum can''t watch this time" Komi said. "Its okay,I know you can''t watch every game of mine for now but wait till I get to the senior team. I''m going to retire you" Izan said prompting a giggle from Olivia and Komi. "After all he''s still a child" Komi thought while looking at Izan. The loss of his father forced Izan to mature a bit early. Komi thought Izan had grown up too early but it seemed he still had a childish side to him. Izan after dinner chatted a bit with Olivia as they planned their outing. Afterwards Izan went upstairs and was about to play a game before he remembered that he had to rest for tomorrow''s game. Izan put his phone away before he slept. ********** Izan who was in the team bus which was currently heading to madrid. The team had about 3 to 4 hours before the reached Madrid. Izan decided to continue his revision for the upcoming exams. "What are you doing" Juan asked as he was seated by Izan. Izan raised his head before replying. "I''m studying for my finals". "Finals,aren''t you supposed to be in the 2nd year of middle school at most" Juan a final year in high school at the Academy''s school said. Izan didn''t say anything and left Juan to his thoughts. About 3 hours later, the team bus arrived at the home ground of Atletico madrile?o U19''s . The players got out and made their way to the locker room as the match was going to begin in an hour. They stretched a bit to get rid of any tense muscles that might have surfaced due to the number of hours the spent sitting in the bus. The players gradually came out to do a bit of shooting and passing session just trying to get a good feel for the ball before they started the match. Whiles on the pitch, the home crowd cheered for the home team. The noise they made was very loud. The home ground of Atletico madrile?o U19 seemed to be about 3 times larger than Valencia''s own. The players went inside the locker room after the official signaled that the match was to begin In 15 minutes. "Hear that sound. That''s the sound of people who want us to bottle it today. Don''t let it get to you. Play like men possessed and let''s win this match. Are you with me" Coach Moreno said as the boys erupted into cheers. The players came out and the grounds was packed. The match was a fight between table leaders and had attracted a bit of attention as some small and medium sized news stations were here. The players after the pleasantries got into their positions. The refree after he looked at his watch blew the whistle to signal the start of the match. The Atletico madrile?o players started to attack just then. With lightning fast passes,they had already breached the midfield of the valencia team. Izan who tried to get back to help the team defend was held back by a player of the opposition team who chose to grab Izan to prevent him from going back. The refree who was blindsided let the match continue. Coach Moreno and the other players who saw this were livid. They kept shouting but the referee didn''t mind. The Atletico madrile?o players got into the box of the valencia U19 team as the waited for a cross from their winger.The winger with a low driven cross sent the ball into the box. One of the madrile?o players lost his marker and squeezed the ball inside the goal. The players celebrated frantically. The refree accepted the goal and moved on before he was called by his assistant. The assistant told him what had transpired between Izan and Carlos,the madrile?o player who held him back. The refree gave Carlos a yellow card but decided that the goal still stands. Coach Moreno was fuming on the touchline. Bad refereeing had just cost his team a goal. The Valencia players quickly passed the ball after the refree had restarted the match. They tried to give an early reply but the madrile?o team were compact and were not giving anything away. The goal by the madrile?o team was scored just after the match had started. 30 minutes after the first goal was scored,Valencia got a chance. Izan with his very good skillset went solo and breached the midfield of the madrile?o team. He continued his run before laying the ball of to Pablo neri who didn''t look back after receiving the ball. He came across the right back of the opposition team. Neri slowed down causing the right back to also slow down before he knocked the ball around him and sped up to catch up to it. He went with the ball before crossing it to the edge of the 18 yard box. The Atletico madrile?o players briefed a sigh of relief thinking the ball was safe. Izan with lightning fast pace got to the ball before smacking the ball with all his frustration.The ball went in a knuckeball movement before it rustled the net. The Valencia players all celebrated after the goal. The match was not going so well for them as the refree decided to ignore the blatant fouls of the opposition team and the goal had given them the opportunityto vent. Coach Moreno on the sidelines breathed a sigh of relief. The refree restarted the match after the Valencia U19 players got to their position. The valencia players taking advantage of their momentum quickly pressed and got the ball back. 40'' Through constant pressure,the Atletico madrile?o team lost the ball to the valencia team. After they got the ball,the valencia u19 decided to pass around a bit. The match was currently moving to fast for their possession style football. Izan serving as a conductor controlled the game''s tempo and gave out a bit of instruction. With a quick one-two pass with Andranik,they both initiated an attack. Andranik with the ball quickly looked for Izan who was a bit farther ahead and layed the ball off to him before he continued moving forward. Izan with a quick released,passed the ball back to Andranik. Andranik sensing that there was a player behind him jumped over the ball letting it continue its journey to the flanks. Wissam who had been quiet all day took the ball and started running. He looked up before laying the ball off to Andranik once again. Andranik latched unto the ball perfectly and was about to shoot before he felt his posture falter. The Atletico madrile?o player had just tackled him. The refree blew for a foul but didn''t punish the player with a card. He just gave out a warning and let the player off. The Valencia players tried to protest especially Javier bu¨¨so who was behind andranik when the tackle was made and had seen everything that occurred. The refree however didn''t listen but rather carded bu¨¨so for bad misconduct. Izan came forward and pushed back the Valencia players together with team captain, Mark trying to prevent any more cards. After the players had dispersed, the refree pointed to the spot where the tackle had occurred. The spot where he pointed was a bit further from where the tackle actually occurred. Andranik was about to talk but Izan signalled him to keep quiet. Andranik listened to Izan and kept quiet. Izan stepped up to the ball and took 4 steps back. The players on the Atletico bench laughed a bit at Izan. "Bro thinks he''s messi" one player said drawing laughs from the others. The freekick was in a position where Izan had to use his left leg and the distance was about 28 metres from the goalpost. Coach Moreno who stood on the touchline knew Izan was right footed. Izan however stood in a position indicating that he was going to use his left leg "Can he use his left leg as well" thought Coach Moreno. Izan with the run up carefully placed his right leg beside the ball. He remembered Coach Moreno''s advice and placed the side of his boot under the ball as he struck it. With a maddening curve, the ball flew over the wall the Atletico madrile?o players had set up before homing into the back of the net. Izan who was sure the ball would score had already started running towards the corner flag. He got to the area where the valencia fans were and he bowed in celebration. "What a monster " Coach Moreno muttered as he stood on the touchline with his hands in the air. Chapter 17: Atletico Madrile?o [Pt 2] Chapter 17: Atletico Madrile?o [Pt 2]******** Fweeee The refree blew the whistle to signify the end of the first half. Most of the Atletico madrile?o fans stared at the scoreboard which displayed a score many weren''t happy with. Valencia U19 [2]-[1] Atletico madrile?o "Hey,say that players is good" one of the spectators said. "Yeah,he single-handedly turned around the game " another added. Izan''s performance had been etched into the minds of the spectators. "We''re doing good and let''s keep it that way.we''re just 45 minutes away from widening the gap. Give your all in this final 45 minutes. Do you hear me!!!" Coach Moreno said. "Yes Coah" they replied. Izan who was drinking water at the back was approached by Coach Moreno. "You did well Miura. Now do more in the following half" he said before turning away. The players returned from their locker rooms. Because it was a youth game,travelling fans were almost non-existent. The Atletico madrile?o fans tried to intimidate the young players. The sounds they were making were deafening. Izan looked around a bit after coming out and smiled before going to retake his position. The referee restarted the match and it continued how it had ended in the first half. The Valencia players played the ball around the Atletico madrile?o players who were getting annoyed at their opponents playstyle. 10 minutes had passed and Atletico Madrile?o hadn''t seen any possession. The possession was 80-20 for Valencia U19 by Izan''s estimation. Izan who got the ball decided to initiate a counter as the Atletico madrile?o players were subconsciously entering the half of Valencia U19 team. Izan seeing this sparked a counter. He took off after receiving the ball from Javier bu¨¨so who after laying off the ball decided to stay back to help in any case of any counterattack. Izan after he took off sent a raking ground pass to wissam on the right flank. Wissam didn''t wait and went ahead a bit for the ball to catch up with him. The left back of the madrile?o team was waiting to tackle wissam. Wissam turning his back to the players used the toe area of his foot to poke the ball making it go around the left back of the opposition team. Wissam turned around to get to the ball and when he caught up to the ball,he raised his head and looked inside the box to see if they had numbers in the box. Wissam placing his foot under the ball sent a delicate pass into the box. Hugo who had been quiet all day because of the players marking him rose up to the air to meet the ball. Changing the trajectory of the ball with his head,he sent a gruelling header to the goalpost. Coach Moreno and most of the valencia players had their hands up in celebration but what happened next made their faces turn sour. The keeper of the Atletico madrile?o team had somehow saved the ball from entering the net and pushed the ball out for a corner. Andranik took the ball to take the corner but recognising Izan''s setpiece ability, he gave the ball to him. Izan took the ball and went to the corner before making the ball lay on a comfortable patch of grass. Izan stepping back raised his hand to see if the players were ready. Mark had come from the defence to try his luck. Izan spotting Mark and how he seemed to be taller than most in the penalty box decided to send the ball to his area. Izan sent a very good corner to Mark''s side. Mark seeing the ball coming his way didn''t disappoint and rose to the challenge,heading the ball Into the net. Mark pointed to Izan who had made the delivery before jumping to hug him after he was near. Izan caught Mark and Mark was surprised by his strength. The other valencia players also came to celebrate and jumped on Izan finally causing him to fall on the floor. The celebrations got cut off by the referee who looked annoyed by the Valencia players. Izan and a couple of valencia players noticed the referee''s reaction to their goal but kept quiet. They already knew it was 12 against eleven from the start of the match. It seemed that the Atletico madrile?o heads had bought the referee.q The valencia players returned to their positions. The referee restarted the match and the Atletico players came out aggressive. One would think they would lose morale after being 2 goals down bqut that only fueled their morale. The Atletico players played patiently this time around waiting for a chance to strike and they finally got their chance in the seventy-fifth minute. Because of a momentary lapse in concentration by left back, David nu?ez a madrile?o player made a run through his side. After the player got the ball, he run to the side of the box of the valencia U19 team before crossing the ball into the box. Mark cleared the ball but the ball still fell to an opposition players. Izan came back and tried to tackle the opposition players but was pushed down by the player. The valencia players raised their hands to draw the referee''s attention but he didn''t act. The Atletico madrile?o player, taking advantage of the lack of concentration of the valencia U19 team,delivered a low pass into the ball. One opposition player came out of the sea of players and tapped the ball into the net amidst the confusion. After they drew one back, the Atletico madrile?o players didn''t celebrate and quickly went and took the ball out of the net. Cocah Moreno couldn''t handle it anymore and went to the official standing on the touchline to complain. The main referee upon seeing this decided to give the Coach a yellow card which didn''t sit right with him. Coach Moreno saw that there was no need to continue this as he would complain to the the refereeing committee of the league. Izan was a bit frustrated by the referee''s actions and why he was behaving how he was behaving. ********* Hugo passed the ball to Izan after the restart. Izan after receiving the ball passed it back. The Valencia players played one or two touch passes playing around the Atletico madrile?o players who were trying desperately to score a goal to level the match. The valencia players looked at the score board and the time. Val. U19 [3]-[2]Atl. madrile?o U19 (85'') The players on the bench had gripped unto their seat because time was running out. Some of the players were praying for time to run out and others were praying for it to hold out for a while. Izan came one on one with a madrile?o player who tried to dribble past him. Anticipating the players move,Izan made a sliding tackle and cleanly dispossessed the player. Izan seeing this as an opportunity to attack quickly got up and passed the ball to Andranik before speeding off. Andranik after he received the ball looked up,deciding on where to pass the ball to. Ultimately he settled on Pablo neri who also decided to lay the ball of to Izan after receiving it. Izan without even looking at the ball took control of the ball and started dribbling towards the defence. Izan came one on one with a defender of the madrile?o team. Izan, skillfully, with a few quick step-overs lay waste to the player who confused by the fast Stepovers Izan had just displayed Izan who had wasted a few seconds got caught up to by a player who had been playing aggressively against him the whole day, Borja. Izan came face to face with borja. Borja unaware of his surroundings didn''t even know they were near the penalty box. Izan seemingly just dribbled forward and after seeing that they had both entered the box, Izan decided to strike. Izan did the ''la croqueta'' skill infront of an agitated Borja. The other madrile?o players who saw what Izan was doing tried to tell borja but he had already made the tackle. The refree who saw this hesitated before blowing the whistle. The tackle was a clear foul. Izan even decided to a be a bit theatrical to render any debate the referee tried to put up useless The referee reluctantly showed borja a second yellow card and finally showed him a red card indicating that he had been ejected from the match. Izan after seeing borja going out stood up and took the ball. Coach Moreno had already laid out a rule about penalties. ''Whoever wins it takes it'' and Izan also took it because he was better at penalties than all of his teammates Izan put the ball on the small white spot before stepping back. Izan looked at the keeper and breathed in trying to mute the sound of the crowd. ''Ding''[host has unlocked focus lv1 ] Izan smiled at the sound he heard. Izan who was waiting for the referee to blow the whistle finally stepped up to the ball after he had blown the whistle and struck the ball with raw power. The ball went in a straight undeterred motion before it struck the roofing of the net. The keeper looked at Izan who had already taken off to celebrate as if he was a murderer and fair enough, the crowd shared his sentiments. "Damn was he trying to rip the net" one fan commented. "Honestly I just thought he was straight up going to murder someone" another added. Izan who ran to the small area where the dedicated valencia fans were,bowed to them as they deserved this performance. Their love for the team was commendable as going three hours to watch a youth team play was a hustle but hey had done it anyway. The valencia players surrounded Izan who had just scored his first hatrick in his career and celebrated with him. ''Ding'' Izan heard the sound again and smiled. Izan was tempted to open the system and see what the notifications was, Izan stop and decided to go home before he opened the system. The referee restarted the match and after a few minutes of slow paced football ended the match. ********** Fwee. Fwee .Fweeeee Valencia U19 [4]-[2]Atl. madrile?o U19 S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Coach Moreno and the valencia players run onto the pitch to celebrate. The players after a while headed to the locker room. "You guys did really well and I''m proud that you never gave up. Now let''s go all the way "Coach Moreno said. Some of the players decided to take a shower whilst some were on their phones after the coach left them Izan sent a message telling his mum that they won. His eyes searched through his phone before he looked at Olivia''s contact which Olivia had svaed onto his phone when she took it from him. He stood up to go and bath and before the screen could turn off, it displayed that he had sent her a text. *********** Crrraccck. The sound of shattered glass sounded. "How the f**k did we lose even after paying them money. Weren''t they supposed to manipulate the match so that we could take over the top spot" a very angry burly man with a round shape said with veins on his neck and some on his face that looked like it would burst any second. The person being addressed kept quiet as he knew something bad would happen if he spoke. "Haaaa". "Just make sure that they can''t trace it back to us ok" he said to which the man being addressed nodded. "How is my life so shitty that I''m stuck with that frog looking son a of a bi-" the man said as a call interrupted him as soon as he was outside After listening to what the person on the other side of the call said,the man''s face seemed to illuminate. After he ended the call he muttered "finally its my chance to move up the cycle " as he walked away with a smile Chapter 18: A Date Chapter 18: A DateKomi was waiting for Izan at the Valencia academy sice that was the rendezvous point. She looked at her watch which displayed '' 7:48''. She looked around and saw she was among the few number of parents of parents who had come to wait for their wards. She entered the car and after a few minutes, she dozed off. The parking lot was quiet for a few minutes before Komi heard a knocking on her window. She opened her eyes to find Izan smiling at her. She smiled back and opened the car lock for him. Izan went around the car putting his bag at the backseat of the car before settling in the front seat. "How was it" Komi asked. "Well what do you think. We won and I scored three goals and made an assist " Izan said with a smug expression. Komi couldn''t help but laugh at her son''s childish behaviour. They talked some more as they made their way home. Olivia got up as she heard a ''honk''. She looked out the window and got out to meet Izan. Izan got out of the car and saw Olivia approaching. "Hey" she said when she had gotten close. "Hey " Izan replied. They both stood there not knowing what to say. Komi who saw their interaction laughed before she left them alone. "How was the game " Olivia said finally breaking the silence. "Well we won" Izan said. "Well that''s great " Olivia added . The silence crept its way up again as it got unusually tense between them. "Come on Olivia get it together, why are you acting like this. You''re older than him, shouldn''t you act a bit mature in this instance ". Olivia''s inward thoughts screamed. "You know I''m free tomorrow" Izan said which brought Olivia out of her thoughts. "Don''t you need to rest" she said with concern in her eyes. Izan smiled and replied "Well the game wasn''t that tasking and I''m still full of energy so I think by tomorrow I''ll be fine". "Okay, then tomorrow " Olivia said. "Yeah tomorrow, bye Liv " Izan said whiles waving at her before he went inside. "You know, Olivia is a very nice girl" Komi who had been watching everything after she had gotten inside said whiles standing by the window. "Come on ma, I''m 14 ok " Izan said before heading upstairs. Komi looked at him with smile as he headed upstairs. Izan got inside his room and decided to take a bath before he checked the rewards. After he finished bathing, Izan sat on his bed and opened the holographic interface. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 months days TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.81m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[66/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[6300/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[22] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64 Body strength: 64 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan navigated his way to the shining red dot which was the notification hub. After he clicked on it, a number of passed by. Izan went to the achievement hub and clicked on it. [Score your first hatrick] Reward: +15 stat points + 2 recovery drugs and intelligence drug Izan saw the intelligence drug and asked the system the uses of that drug. The system explained it as a drug which stimulates and boost normal intelligence as well as football IQ. Izan nodded as the system explained. Izan read a bit of the notifications and cleared some of the useless ones. Izan after he was done clearing out the useless notifications went to the warehouse tab and retrieved an Intelligence and recovery drug. Following the systems instructions, Izan drank both of them together. Izan felt a wave coursing through veins. Izan felt his brain thumping excessively before it subsided. Izan after this saw that his eyesight had improved and he could also notice and remember some really minute details. "Guess it worked" Izan said with a smile before going down for dinner. ******** Izan stood at the door of Olivia''s House the next day. He rang the door bell and waited a bit before it opened. Izan turned around and it hit him. He stared at Olivia who wore a white embroidered tie front corset with black jeans and kitten heels. Izan stared at her for a while before he realised he was staring too much. Olivia who was enjoying the attention giggled a bit. "Um, uh sorry, you look stunning " Izan said as he tried to compose himself. Olivia was still smiling at Izan reaction. "Thanks. You look good too" she said . Izan who wore a white hoodie- henley with a pair of white sneakers and black joggers waist looking shabby. They both got out and walked side by side as they waited for and uber since none of them were of age to drive yet. They both walked around Alboraya with no destination in mind. They walked around for a while before they found a cafe. The cafe looked serene and it didn''t have a lot of people. They found a place to sit after they entered the cafe. "So what do you wanna do" Izan asked as Olivia as he took a sip of the smoothie he had ordered. "Its a bit weird but as of right now I don''t even know what I''m going to do" Olivia responded. "I don''t think its wierd" Izan said as he raised his head. "Just take your time " he said with a smile that screamed assurance. Izan and Olivia talked some more before they realised that time had passed. They decided to take a bus this time to savor the moment. Olivia fell asleep on the bus as they went home and Izan couldn''t help but admire how beautiful she was. He lifted a bit of hair of her face as she rested on his shoulders. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan woke Olivia up as the bus reached their stop. They got down and decided to walk the rest of the distance home. The walk home was a bit quiet. Their hands brushed against each other''s as they walked home. Olivia turned towards Izan as they got to her doorstep. "I had a great time "she said. "Me too" Izan replied with a smile. "Then I''ll see you tomorrow " she said before she entered. "See you too" Izan said before going "How did it go" Komi asked with expectant eyes after Izan had entered. "It was nice" Izan replied. "Wait it was nice" Komi said. "Yeah" Izan answered again. "That''s all, no kissing,not even a peck on the cheek" she said. "Come on mum, what are you thinking" Izan sulked. "Okay,okay, I won''t ask again but did you not even hold hands" Komi said. Izan who didn''t look at her sped up to his room. "Look at him acting all shy" Komi said with a smirk. Izan lay on his bed whiles looking at Olivia''s contact. "Huhhh" Izan sighed before he texted her good-night. Izan rose up from his bed and took a shower. After the shower,Izan did a yoga session to relieve the muscles of any stress. After that Izan went down for dinner. ************ Izan woke up early the next day to fulfill his usual daily task. After a sweaty session, Izan practiced a bit with the ball. Izan came home and took a bath. After putting on some casual clothes Izan came down and had breakfast with Komi and Hori. After breakfast Komi drove both of them to school. School as usual went by without a hassle. Izan absorbed everything the teachers said with rapt attention as nowadays he was getting less time to study. "Hey miura, how are you doing at the valencia academy" Izan''s P.E teacher asked as him as they were in the schools gymnasium. "I''m doing great Coach" Izan replied. "Are you in the u15" Sorlano the P.E teacher asked. "I''m actually with the under-19s now" Izan said which drew the teacher''s attention. "Really" sorlano asked. "Yes" Izan replied. Sorlano looked at him with a puzzling gaze. Izan continued after sensing no other questions from the teacher. The day passed like any other but the twist was the final exam had been brought forward. Which meant Izan had 2 weeks till finals. Izan though wasn''t pressured cause he felt he was well prepared. Izan after school went took a bus to the training grounds. During training Coach Morenopulled him aside and talked to him. "Hey Izan,your little freak show in Madrid caught the attention of Hernan P¨¨rez". Izan who didn''t know who that was or what that meant kept quiet for Coach Moreno to continue. "From the look on your face I''m assuming you don''t know him. He''s the coach of the Spain u17 team and he seems to have a favourable impression of you so do well in the next matches and I''m sure he''ll call you for some matches and hopefully the world cup next year". Izan who heard this blanked." Me but wait the Spain u17. Woww". Izan''s mind had gone bonkers as he started to fantasise. Coach Moreno who saw this smacked him on the shoulders and brought him back. "I told you so you could have a drive to push you to outdo yourself not fantasise. Now get back there and help me top this group. Coach Moreno said with a smile before pushing Izan towards the other players. "Like a comet" Coach Moreno muttered. "What did he say "Gaia one of players closest to Izan asked. "He said something about the Spain u17" Izan said before running off leaving Gaia to his thoughts. "This guy " Gaia muttered before speeding up to follow Izan Chapter 19: Garnering Interest Chapter 19: Garnering InterestTime passed smoothly and 2 weeks went by. Valencia U19 had been spectacular winning 4 out of the remaining 5 matches. The First of the 4 matches was against Villarreal under-19s which ended in a 3-0 win for valencia with Izan making an assist. In the next match against Elche u19, Coach Moreno decided to bench Izan stating that he needed to rest after playing 2 matches back to back. Also playing the "you''re yet to grow up " card, Coach Moreno strengthened his decision. Valencia U19 didnt dissapoint and won 1-0 with a late goal by Hugo de marc. The third match was against Real murcia. The match was played away from home denying Komi, Hori and Olivia the chance to watch it as Komi had an Important arrangement that day and couldn''t take Hori and Liv. Izan played marvellously as usual scoring 2 goals and making an assist which brought his tally to 6 goals and 4 assists in 4 matches. Izan was getting near to the mission given by the system. He had to score one more goal and make one more assist to complete the challenge. Izan was ecstatic for the 4th match against Castellon under-19s. His mood however changed when Coach Moreno told him to rest for the last match against FC Cartegena under-19s. Izan was saddened by how the situation had turned out as he wasn''t sure if he could get a goal and an assist on that day. He was planning to try and get a goal and an assist today and try his earnest in the next match if one of the two objectives didn''t work out but now he had to score and also make and assist on that day to complete his challenge. No matter how sad Izan was, he was happy when Valencia U19 beat Castellon under-19s by 2 goals to 0 with goals from wissam and Andranik. Valencia u19 had topped group 7 ahead of the last game as they led Atletico madrile?o by 5 points indicating that even if they lost the last game, they would still be on top of the group. Izan in the recent matches had drawn a bit of attention as he always drew the attention of the local media in every city they played in. It started in Madrid against Madrile?o where he appeared in a section of the news paper. It was the same when they played in Villareal and Elche. A few teams like Villarrea CF and Atletico de Madrid, the parent club of Madrile?o had shown a bit interest in Acquiring the services of Izan but Valencia had turned them down stating he wasn''t of age yet and they had no intention of selling now. ********************* Izan who had just finished his Final exam was sitting on his bed in a dilemma. He was contemplating whether he should distribute his stat points or wait a bit. He had accumulated a bit of them during the two weeks that had passed. Right now, he was staring at the personal information tab. ********* PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 months TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.81m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[66/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[10500/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[50] STATS Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64 Body strength: 64 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan was really tempted however he had already made up his mind to do it after the next match. Izan closed the tab before texting Olivia. The two had gotten closer in the past 2 weeks and had been texting each other like this for a while. Izan stood up to go and complete his daily task as he had slept in after the harsh training they went through yesterday. Izan while doing the system''s tasks saw a group of players on the pitch nearby. Izan was near Completion and decided to speed up and finish it. After he finished, he came to the pitch and sat on one of the benches. He sat there watching the group of players on the pitch. He had seen that they were about to play a match and decided to come and watch it before heading home. "Guys, Alex said he won''t be able to come" one of the players who had just been on the phone said. "How can we play then Julio, we''re one man short" another player said to the one who had just been on the phone. "What about him" one of the guys on the pitch said pointing to Izan. The players turned to look at Izan who was looking at the other team. Izan feeling the gazes turned his head to see them staring at him. He smiled and waved. "His Face doesn''t look like someone who plays. He looks more like those Asian idols " one commented. "Well its better than playing handicapped" said Julio who was walking towards Izan. "Hey, we''re playing a match but we''re one man short, can you join us" Julio said as he got to Izan.Izan who saw that had nothing better to do agreed. "Sure. Izan by the way" he said while Positioning his hand for a shake. "Julio" he said whiles taking Izan''s hand. "Oh yeah, I didn''t bring my boots though" Izan said while pointing to his jogging shoes. "No worries, most of the guys brought more than one boot" Julio said. "Do you have a position that you would like to play" Julio said. Izan thought about for a while and saw that he hadn''t tried out the winger position after his transition. "Can I play on the wings" Izan said. Julio sighed in relief as he didn''t have to change anyone''s position. "Oh yeah sure. The guy you''re filling in for plays on that side". "Hey guys, this is Izan " Julio said as they neared the group. Izan waved as he received nods and smiles from the players. "Okay well now that we''re okay, let''s get this match underway and Jamie,give your extra pair of boots to Izan" Julio said whiles staring at a green eyed boy with freckles. "Okay". Izan geared up after receiving the boots and bib from Jamie. Izan got into position before the whistle was blown. Izan''s team was chasing after the ball the moment the other team passed. Izan decided to walk around and supervise the game trying to gauge the ability of his team and the opponent team. After a while, Izan saw that the opponents were the better team as they were playing like knew what they were doing. His team on the other hand we''re just running around trying to retrieve the ball like headless chickens. Izan seeing the need for a change of tactics approached Julio after the ball had went out. "Hey Julio,how about waiting for them to play into our half before we decide to challenge for the ball since we will get tired if this continues any longer". Julio looking around saw that what Izan had said was true. He called back the players and told them the plan. After the throw, Izan''s teammates retreated back to their own half seemingly waiting for a chance. The chance came a while later when Izan pressured an opponent player into making a hurried pass which was intercepted. Izan sensing that the game was too dull, decided to spice things up. He got the ball on the centerline after receiving a pass from a teammate. Izan sped up after seeing space infront of him. The opposing player tried to tackle him but Izan just knocked the ball between his legs. A bit of laughs were drawn from the onlookers who had gathered around the pitch after seeing Izan nutmeg the player. Izan,not stopping kept dribbling with the ball. He kept turning his head trying to spot someone from his team but couldn''t find anyone. Deciding to go solo, Izan cut into the middle after a splendid dribbling run to the side of the box. The two opposing defender tried to double team him but Izan just skipped pass them with some Stepovers and a change of pace. Izan raised his right foot before placing the ball in the top right corner. The onlookers looked wowed as Izan''s teammates surrounded to celebrate. "Hey that kid is very good" a spectator said. "Yeah with that level of dribbling and how the game seems easy for him, I''m sure he plays in an academy" another added. The spectators kept getting amazed by Izan. Throughout the game,Izan played like it was a final. This drew a lot of ''wows'' from the crowd. Izan got a freekick in the game which by his estimation was 28 metres from the goal. Izan stepped back before curving the ball over the wall into the back of the goal. Some of the spectators and passer-by had pulled out their phones before Izan took the freekick in hopes that he might score and to the wishes, he scored a banger. The spectators thought they had seen it all until Izan shot a curve ball into the back of net from a corner. This caught the spectators off guard but some were well prepared. One particular spectator who had a good number of followers on YouTube captured all the good moments of the match including the corner and freekick and made into a 3 minute highlight. After this he posted it on his channel before putting his phone back in his pocket. He decided to confront Izan after the match about the video since he couldn''t use someone''s image right without permission. The match came to an end with a score of 5-0 with Izan scoring one more goal after the third one and Julio scoring a penalty which was won by Izan after he dribbled into the box. The YouTuber consulted Izan after the match to talk about the video but Izan said it was Okay. The YouTuber asked a few questions about Izan and found out that he plays for the valencia U19 team. This prompted him to ask about Izan''s age and he was shocked when he found out that he was just 14 years old. The youtuber wish Izan well in his career before walking off. Izan saw that time had gone by a bit and decided to run home. Izan had taken the name of the YouTube channel from the youtuber and had decided to watch it. It skipped his mind however until the next day. ************* Izan woke up the next day and went out to complete his daily task after texting Olivia,good morning. After completing his mission,he remembered the youtuber from yesterday and decided to check his channel. Izan however smelled the sweat from his body and decided to bath before checking it. Izan stepped out of the shower whiles drying his hair. He saw his phone and decided to change it this week because its been with him for a while. Izan took the phone, opened YouTube and checked the channel. He saw that the channel mostly consisted of football challenges and news. Izan watched a bit before scrolling to the top to find the most recently posted video. He saw the video but his mouth gaped for a bit. This was because the video involving him had garnered about 970,000 views." The video was just posted about 14 hours ago and it already has this many views" thought Izan as he kept scrolling. He was tempted to check the comments and finally gave in. He clicked on the comment section and saw that the reviews were mostly asking who he was and where he played. Some were also amazed by his game. He saw one comment which had many likes. The comment read: Xavier69:Lo conozco. Juega en el Valencia sub-19. Creo que se llamaIv¨¢n o algo as¨ª.(I know him. He plays for the Valencia u19s side. I think his name is Ivan or something) Izan read the comment and laughed at how the comment got his name wrong. Izan read some more before putting his phone down. He felt happy about the interest in him. Izan went down for breakfast before lazing around the whole day,playing games or watching movies. He waited until Komi closed from work. She took him to the Valencia grounds. This was the last training session before the match with FC Cartegena U19s. Training this time was a bit light than usual as Coach Moreno decided to avoid any injuries after the incident. The players panted and fell to the floor after training was over. Izan however kept going at it,shooting, dribbling and also sprinting. "Does he *pants* ever get *pants* tired" asked Mark who was trying to stabilise his breathing. "Ah leave him, he''s young" said Juan. "You talk like you''re 40" Gaia remarked. Coach Moreno called the kids to the video room and explained tomorrow''s tactics to them. Izan however was starting from the right wing position this time because of the injury incident with wissam in training and also how Izan had always told the coach to try him there. Izan went home,ate and texted a bit with Olivia and a few other friends before he tried to sleep for the game tomorrow. Just then the system prompted him of the challenges it had set for him. Izan sat on his bed and looked at the challenges. ******************************************* Quest [1* Host should score 7 goals and make 5 assists in the remaining matches.] Reward: +5 stat point +10000 lp Status: goals[6/7] | assists[4/5] [2* Valencia U19 should top group 7] Reward:+10 stat points +7000 lp Status: Completed [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point Status:not played [4* Win in the semi finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +20 stat point +15000 lp Status: not yet [5*Win in the finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +25 stat point 1 free trait and 20000 lp First team call up. Status :not yet Izan saw that the second challenge had been completed. He looked at the first one and sighed before muttering that everything was going to take care of itself. He drifted into the night and slept. Chapter 20: Gradually Chapter 20: GraduallyThe fans at the fc Cartegena U19s stadium were very toxic to say the least. The match hadn''t even started and they had started with the boos and insults and this was all at the under-19 level. Izan had already started to practice with the ball on the field. Accompanied by Andranik,Juan and Gaia, who were doing some passing drills. After a while Coach Moreno called the players back since one of the match officials had told them to get dressed. "I know we''ve already topped the group, but that doesn''t mean we should relax. We need to make a statement here. Are you with me!!!" "Yes coach" the players replied emphatically after Coach Moreno had finished talking. Afterwards the players dressed and went out. "Miura" Izan heard his name as he was about to head out. "I wanted it to wait but I guess I should tell you now. The Spain u17 head coach has called you for the upcoming friendlies" Coach Moreno said. Izan had expected as much but was still a bit surprised. "When will that be Coach" Izan asked. "I think it will be after the Copa de campeones de juvenil " Coach Moreno said. "Okay so I won''t have to leave in the middle of the campaign" Izan said. "Yes hopefully they don''t bring it forward" Coach Moreno said. Izan turned to go after coach Moreno finished. As the players entered the pitch, the shout got higher. There was a lot of fans for a u19 game. The pleasantries were dealt with before the referee looked at his watch. After a while,he brought the whistle to his mouth before blowing it. ****************************** The match had been going back and forth for a while with neither side conceding. It had been 15 minutes since the match started. Izan had been marked by 2 players since the start of the match. It seemed the Coach had done his job G¨¦rard villa, the Cartegena Coach was all smile as his plan seemed to be working. He had assigned 2 players to mark Izan at the start of the match. He had watched some of Izan''s matches after he heard of him after the matches with Atletico madrile?o u19 and Villareal u19 and he was inclined to say he was a great player. Coach Villa had decided to go with this tactic and it seemed it had worked. He went to sit down as he had been tense since the start of the match but had relaxed after Izan had become relatively quiet in the match. Izan who couldn''t shake of the players decided to swap position with Andranik coming in to the attacking midfield role and the latter going in to the wing position. This messed up the players marking a bit after the saw that space had been opened up behind their backs. Izan seeing this rushed to Javier bu¨¨so so support him. Javier seeing Izan released the ball to him. Izan after getting the ball turned in a roulette spin to evade the player who behind him. Izan dribbled effortlessly into the midfield of the opposing team. Jose,the defensive midfielder for Cartegena saw Izan break through and decided to tackle him before Izan could go any further. Unfortunately Izan had already sensed it and had already passed the ball. Izan went forward and received the ball forming a triangle with Andranik and bu¨¨so in the middle. The trio passed around the Cartegena u19 team making them seem like amateurs. Andranik was the last to receive the pass and saw that Izan was running behind the defenders. Andranik with a lob,sent the ball to Izan. The Cartegena players could only watch as the ball went over their heads. Izan seeing his opportunity decided to meet the ball before it hit the ground. He raised his right leg to meet it but one of the Cartegena players who had reacted fast nudged him a bit. Izan went of balance and the ball fell on the grass. Izan forcibly stabilised his posture and went into a position to use his left leg. Izan smacked the ball and watched as the ball zoomed pass the keeper who had tried everything humanely possible to keep it out but fell short. The Cartegena fans went silent as they looked at the Valencia u19 players and their minimal away fans celebrate. Regaining composure,they started to cheer on the cartegena players whiles simultaneously booing the Valencia players. Izan''s goal was scored in the 27th minute and that coupled with a lot of close chances were the highlights of the first half. ---------------------- Fweeeeeeeeeee The referee blew his whistle so start the second half. The Cartegena players had come out roaring. They played like their lives were on the line. The attacked more and also defended well. The Valencia U19 players on the other hand had dulled after the went for the first half break. The Cartegena players played around the Valencia players who could do nothing to retrieve the ball. Izan was the only player whose head was still in the game as the others were probably thinking about the celebrations after this. Coach Moreno who saw this decided to make some changes. He told Pedro, Juan and Gaia to warm up. The players whonwere happy the had gotten a chance went to the touchline and started doing some stretches and some sprinting. After a few minutes of the Warm-Up. They pit on their kits and stood on the touchline. The ball however didn''t go out until the 65th minute a Valencia U19 player kicked the ball out for the substitutes to come on. Pablo neri, marc juardo and jan martinez went out for Juan, Gaia and Pedro to come in. The new players after coming in rejuvenated the team as they tried to win the ball back for the team. Izan who also had challenge to complete attacked fervently. Their efforts paid of as they pressured the ball for a throw. Lucas T¨¨na, the right back of the valencia U19 team picked up the ball and threw it to Izan. Izan who had to make an assist to complete the challenge started looking for options. Dribbling with the ball,Izan kept looking around trying to find someone who had space. Izan who had gone back to the right wing position cut into the left. The left back who saw that Izan had taken a bit of a heavy touch rushed to rak the ball. Izan however being faster got to the ball early before kicking it through the Leftback''s legs. Izan raised his head and spotted Hugo de Marc about to make a run. Izan who saw this eye''s shone as he saw the space infront of Hugo. With a smile, Izan sent a defence splitting pass which seemed to dodge every player that tried to obstruct its path. Izan had activated the Incisive pass trait and that was the effect it had on the ball. Hugo who saw the ball coming his way ran to meet it . All alone with the keeper, Hugo curled the ball into the back of the net. The Valencia players and bench were all ecstatic. However the celebrations were cut short when the linesman raised his flag for offside. Izan who was running to Hugo stopped as his face turned into a frown. He was pretty sure Hugo was onside. Hugo who turned back to see the flag raised went silent. He sighed before he ran to the referee to debate. There was no video assistant referee[VAR] to consult so the goal was not given. Izan smiled wearily as he had gotten tired even though he didn''t feel it. It seemed that his brain had gotten tired but his body had not. The match continued as the Cartegena u19 keeper kick the ball into the middle. As the match went on,Izan created a few chances but the magic touch to score the goal was still not coming. Izan who saw that the assist was not coming decided to try a shot from Long range. He intentionally aimed the shot at the keeper hoping it would go for a corner and luckily it did. Izan running to the corner flag took the ball and placed it ont the designated area. Izan raised his hands before breathing in. [Focus lv 1] has been activated. Izan who heard this ran and sent a backspin ball into the sea of players. The ball which showed no signs of descent passed the area where most of the players were. The Cartegena players and Coach who saw this sighed a sigh of relief but were immediately tense as they saw a player appear on the far side of the post. Hugo who had gotten an Idea of what Izan wanted to do ran to the far side of the post. Thankfully the ball had come his way. With a heavy leg, Hugo volleyed the ball into the back of the net. The keeper who had no chance was rooted to the spot. Izan who stood there heard the ''ding'' sound and fell to the ground. There had been 4 minutes of injury time and it had almost been exhausted. The referee who saw the faces of the Cartegena players decided to end it early. He blew his whistle and the Valencia players all fell to the ground. Although the team they had played was weak, they had really stepped up in the second half and the fatigue had all caught up to them. The players walked to the Small valencia away fans and thanked them. Afterwards, the players headed to the changing room. Coach Moreno talked a bit about how they only had one-two weeks before the Copa de campeones de juvenil begins. After his speech, he gave the players 3 days off to rest . Izan who was dead tired slept when they got into the bus. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He only woke up when they got to the Valencia Cademy grounds. He got out of the bus and walked to the parking lot where he saw Komi together with Hori and Olivia. "How''d it go" Komi asked as Izan got near. "Well we won and we are going to play in the Copa de campeones de juvenil" Izan responded. He reached them and smiled at Olivia before patting her head. Olivia who couldn''t control herself infront of Izan turned away her blush was apparent as her ears had turned plum red. Hori who saw this rolled her eyes. Izan who also caught her doing it patted her head too. Hori also turned away. She liked things like these but didn''t know how to convey or show that she liked it. Izan slept again as they got into the car, this time his head resting on Olivia''s lap as Hori had taken the front seat. Olivia who couldn''t help it touched his red lips. She rubbed it a bit with her finger before bringing it close to her lips. "What am I doing " she thought as she put her finger away and looked at Izan who was sleeping peacefully. Izan woke up when Komi pulled over. He raised his head from Olivia''s lap. Olivia just watched him. As soon as they got out,Hori headed inside as her phone battery was about to die. Komi followed behind as she wanted to heat up the dinner before Izan came in. "So what are you doing tomorrow "Izan asked Olivia. "Nothing actually". It was a Saturday the next day so Olivia didn''t have school. "Well I got three days to rest so would you like to hang out " Izan asked to which Olivia replied yes. They both stood there silently for a while. "Well see you tomorrow" Olivia said as she turned towards their door. Izan also turned and walked inside. Izan got out of the bath room after taking a shower. Without wasting time, he opened the Quest status. ------------------------------------------------- Quest [1* Host should score 7 goals and make 5 assists in the remaining matches.] Reward: +5 stat point +10000 lp Status: goals[ 7/7] | assists[5/5] Completed [2* Valencia U19 should top group 7] Reward:+10 stat points +7000 lp Status: Completed [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point Status:not played [4* Win in the semi finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +20 stat point +15000 lp Status: not yet [5*Win in the finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +25 stat point 1 free trait and 20000 lp First team call up. Status :not yet Izan who saw the completion of the challenge put his phone down to sleep He remembered about the the Spain u17 callup news that Coach Moreno had told him and smiled as he kept thinking about it. He fell asleep soon as the fatigue had caught up to him. Chapter 21: Changes and Growth Chapter 21: Changes and GrowthIzan woke up feeling very refreshed. He was feeling good as the piece of news he had heard the day before was good enough to make they day of any young footballer in Spain. He hadn''t yet told his mum about the his callup to the Spain under 17s. After a bit of deliberation he decided to break the news to her later. Izan freshened up and went down for breakfast. It was a bit lively than usual as Hori was being chatty than always. After breakfast,the family of three sat down to relax. They were joined a few minutes later by Olivia. A few hours had passed since Olivia came. Both Izan and Olivia had planned to go out today but had to put that off as it started to rain a few minutes before they had gotten ready. The youth season had been completed with valencia topping the group and qualifying for the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil'' tournament. Izan was looking at his phone when Olivia came back from the kitchen. She saw Izan staring too much at the phone and asked "Why are you staring at the phone so much" while sitting down. "Oh Nothing. Just checking the teams that qualified for the cup " Izan said whiles looking at the information displayed on his phone. It showed the the teams that would be playing in the competition alongside Valencia U19s. List. ------ Deportivo u19 Barcelona u19 Valencia u19 Real Madrid u19 Athletic club u19 Las palmas u19 Sevilla u19 Rc celta u19 Izan stared at the list as he saw the teams on it. It was going to be a tough competition with various youth teams of top clubs like Barca, Real Madrid and Atletico de Madrid being in the matchups. Izan however felt the urge to prove his worth against these top academies. He wanted to test himself against the very best and couldn''t wait to get the competition started. Olivia who saw how wide Izan was grinning couldn''t help but smile. She had yet to tell Izan that she would be leaving for the university soon. She felt a tinge of sadness as their meeting was ending on a short note. Izan left Olivia and went to his room for a bit as it rained for a while and Izan had to put off his daily task until it stopped or at least it subsided a bit. He had yet to check his system for the day. Izan summoned his system and looked through the personal information hub. He was satisfied to see the number of stat points and decided to use them. Before he could go through with his plan, the system sent him a notification. [There had been a mistake inyour allocation of points by the system at the start and therefore,the system would be taking 20 stat points off your points]. Izan had a wry smile as he knew this would be coming sooner or later. He felt that he was growing a bit too fast. He had resigned to his fate but he still felt sad about the points. He saw that the message had not ended and he continued to read the rest. [Host''s stat point from daily task has been reduced to 1 stat point per session and the training days are now from Tuesday to Saturday as the system recognises that the host needs rest. Lp points are also reduced to 200 points per session]. Izan after he had finished reading decided to allocate the stat points. He opened his player information and looked at it. **************** PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 15 weeks TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.80m(5''11)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[66/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[87] LEGEND POINTS:[11,500/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[35] S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64 Body strength: 64 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan saw the [35] stat points left and still couldn''t come to terms with it. He sighed before continuing with his upgrade. He had seven categories to upgrade. Izan saw that his speed stat was good and decided to ignore that for now. He also decided to ignore the shooting stat for now and focus most of the points on his passing stat. Afterall he was a midfielder. Izan clicked on his passing stat and it opened. Passing:64 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:64 Long passing: 65 Crossing:65 Izan looked at it and started distributing the stat points. His passing stat looked something like this after he was done. Passing:64>69 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:64>69 Long passing: 65>69 Crossing:65>69 Izan had spent [13] stat points on his passing stat alone. After he was done he decided to upgrade his body strength. Body strength:64 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:68 Strength:62 Shot power:63 Izan allocated [10] stat points to this Attribute. Body strength:68 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:68>70 Strength:62>66 Shot power:63>67 Izan saw that he was left with [12] stat points. He looked at his spatial awareness Attribute and the Body control Attribute and after a bit of contemplation, he decided to use them all on Spatial awareness. Spatial Awareness: 65 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Vision:65 Positioning: 65 Izan added [6] stat points to each of the two stats. Spatial Awareness: 65>71 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Vision:65>71 Positioning: 65>71 Izan after he was done, went back to his Player information hub. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14( 4 months TO 15)] HEIGHT:[1.81m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[68/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[89] LEGEND POINTS:[11,500/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[0] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 65>71 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 64>69 Body strength: 64>68 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:85% Completion La croqueta:50% completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Roulette: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan looked at his attributes and was very happy. ''Ding''[ Player OVR rating has been upgraded from 66 to 68], the system sounded. Izan looked at the message and smiled a bit. He stood up after realising it had stopped raining for a while now. He went down and saw both Olivia and Hori helping his mum in the kitchen. He couldn''t help but laugh at Hori''s watery eyes that would drop a tear every now then whiles she was chopping the onions. Izan joined them in the kitchen and helped in the cooking. Izan played games with the 3 women after dinner before they switched to a film. Izan and Olivia left the house for a stroll because Izan did not like the kind of film they were watching and Olivia just decided to tag along. "So when will you be going to the university" Izan asked whiles they were walking. Neither of them had talked much up to this point and Izan decided to break the silence. "In a few weeks time" She answered as she had decided to tell him anyway. "So you got in huh" Izan said. "Yeah" Olivia replied with a satisfactory smile. Olivia had applied to the Complutense University of Madrid and had got in. Izan would also start his freshman year in high school about a 2 months later. "So will I be seeing you still" Izan asked. "Not that often but I guess on days that I''m free, I can visit" Olivia said. "Well that''s good enough. I can also visit when I come to madrid" Izan said to which Olivia''s face lit up. "Thats also very good" she said in a slightly high voice than normal. Izan looked at her as the night lights shone on her face. Her cheek had a rosy colour to it and overall she was stunning. Izan was unconsciously smiling whiles looking at Olivia. It had been weird the past week as he had started staring more at her and admiring her and even now he was looking at her lovingly. Izan didn''t know when he had started to get these feelings and as much as he felt he knew the answer to that, he didn''t want to ruin the relationship between the two of them. Olivia sensing that Izan was conflicted about something just smiled. Although he had grown physically, he still had that childlike face he''d make whenever he didn''t understand something or how to go about something. Olivia grabbed his hand and pulled him beside her and she started walking again without looking at Izan for the rest of the walk. Izan was a bit surprised with her action but didn''t react and left his hand in hers. Izan and Olivia got back home and Izan escorted her to her doorstep. Olivia looked like she wanted to say something but ultimately decided against it. She waved at Izan again and entered her house. Izan stood there for a few minutes after she had entered her house before walking towards his. Komi and Hori had fallen asleep with the TV on. Izan looked at both his mother and sister before smiling. He picked up the remote and switched of the TV before going upstairs. He came down with a blanket big enough for two persons and covered them with it. They both clenched the blanket for warmth. Izan swore in his mind to make both of them proud. Afterwards he went upstairs and washed up before surfing the net. After about 30 minutes, he put down the phone and slept. The following week passed by as Izan''s routine was the same. He would wake up and complete his daily task. After that he would freshen up and eat. After spending some time with Hori, Komi and Olivia, he would go for training at the Academy. After training, its recovery then dinner before evening strolls with Olivia. The matchups for the Copa de campeones de juvenil had been official and the Valencia u19s were meeting the Sevilla u19s. Although it was a very tough match, people expected sevilla to go through. Izan who was not going to settle for that trained very hard in training which even made Coach Moreno a bit concerned that he might get injured. He even had Izan checked by the senior team doctors and when the results came back it surprised the doctors. They were very impressed by his muscle mass among other things. Coach Moreno decided that if that was the case, then training a bit more wouldn''t hurt. The remaining week came by fast and it was time for the match against Sevilla u19. The match was being played in a 15,000 capacity stadium and the atmosphere was electric for an u19s game. The match would start at 4:00 and the stadium looked jam packed. Izan felt the atmosphere during the Warm-Ups. Whiles one the pitch he looked around for a bit and finally spotted his mother,together with his sister and Olivia. He waved at them after spotting them and they also seemed to spot him as they also waved back. Izan after he completed his warmup went inside the dressing room to take a bath before the match. After that, Coach Moreno explained the tactical aspects of the game . Very soon the players found themselves in the tunnel. Izan looked around and spotted the Sevilla u19 captain. He lookes at him and thought he might have some ability to be captain so he used the snooping function on him PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[JORGE MENDES] AGE:[18( recently turned 18)] HEIGHT:[1.87m(6''2)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Sevilla u19 SYSTEM EVALUATION: [indispensable to the Sevilla u19s] PLAYER RATING:[65/100] POSITION:[Centre back] POTENTIAL:[85] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:56 Body control:67 Spatial awareness: 68 Technique: 67 Shooting:56 Passing: 66 Body strength: 74 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :2 stars Izan nodded whiles looking at his stats. The officials initiated the pleasantries and the players came out of the tunnel. After about 5 minutes later,they stood on the pitch with a whistle in the mouth of the referee. ********* Fweeeeeeee The stadium which had been a bit quiet erupted into cheers right after the referee blew the whistle to start the match. Chapter 22: Sevilla u19 [ Pt 1] Chapter 22: Sevilla u19 [ Pt 1]The match had started a while ago and the sevilla u19s were in charge of the game. The Valencia u19s, tried their hardest to win back the ball but it proved difficult. They were quickly pressed by the Sevilla u19 side whenever they got the ball causing them to lose the ball several times. The spectators had expected as much as the Valencia players were being trolled. Andranik sensing that he had to do something waited for the ball to go out. He walked up to Izan and didn''t need to talk too much because Izan also wanted to suggest the same thing. The Valencia players started pressing high up the pitch whiles making sure they blocked the passing lanes of the Sevilla u19s. Coach Moreno had expected the sevilla players to be in charge of the game at the start and had told the players to implement this strategy if things were going awry. Andranik had made the signal they had agreed on to initiate the tactic. The tactic seemed to be working as the pressure on the valencia u19 team was alleviated. The valencia u19s seemed to sprawl into life as they started playing some good football. They started passing more efficiently as the pressure they were under had significantly decreased. Andranik sensing that this was the time to strike quickly looked at Izan who got the signal. Izan wormed his way through the opponents setup and Andranik who saw this sent a very delicate ball to Izan. Izan took a beautiful touch of the ball but was surrounded by two defenders of the opponent team. Not wasting any chance,he flicked the ball up a bit before kicking it over the two players behind him. The two defenders who were not expecting such a move from Izan got caught off guard. Izan ran around the two players to meet the ball and took control of the ball with the side of his foot. Izan was now faced with just two players of the opponent team. The keeper and the left back. The latter approached him and tried to stall for time. Izan who saw this tried to make it count before the other players regrouped. He looked up and saw that the keeper was off his line a bit and decided to go for it. Izan dragged his right foot back and powered it through the ball. The ball on its way seems to be moving all over the place. The keeper tried to position himself well but that was not going to help in this instance. Izan watched as the ball seemed to be going inside the goal. Some of the valencia u19 fans had already raised their hands but were met with dissapointment as the ball rammed the crossbar before it went out of play. The Sevilla players heaved a sigh of relief as most of them thought that was a goal for sure. The Sevilla u19 coach Borja conte started thinking if he should do anything to the kid that just tried to put his team on the backfoot. He ultimately decided against it and decided to watch him some more before he could focus any extra attention on him. The match continued with it fast pace as both sides were trying to break the deadlock. The game was however stale until the sevilla u19s team got a chance. 17'' The sevilla u19s striker latched onto a lightning fast counter attack pass that had been sent from behind him. The ball had broken the defence of the Valencia u19 side and he saw a chance to make it 1-0 for his team. He went on until he came face to face with the Valencia U19 keeper Vic abril. The keeper tried his earnest to make himself look big in hopes to intimidate the player forcing him to make a mistake but that didn''t seem to work. Marco de Paul, the Sevilla striker stayed composed and curved the ball around the keeper into the back of the net. The stadium erupted into cheers as the Sevilla fans started shouting and making noise. The Valencia u19 players bowed their heads as if they just lost a cup final. Izan seeing this started shouting and clapping to get their attention. "Why are you guys acting like we lost. Its only the 17th minute. Come on,get your act together and let''s win this match". The players raised their heads as the words of Izan sank in their heads. How could they give up if even the kid on the team was acting like this. The rejuvenated Valencia side got the ball back and kicked off the match again. The Valencia U19 team initiated a flurry of attacks from the onset. They didn''t give the Sevilla u19 team any breathing space as they tried to pull one back. The players came close to scoring on two different occasions but were denied by a spectacular save by the keeper and the post of these 2 separate occasions. Izan was starting to get some unwanted attention from the opponent team as they saw that he was mostly the one initiating their opponets attacks. They started being rough with him and fouling him a number of times. Izan sensing this saw an opportunity within his misery. He waited and got the ball before he started dodging and evading his way through the Sevilla setup. Izan started playing flashy football in hopes that he would get a foul. A nice change of pace and a quick one-two with Javier bueso set Izan up. Izan kept running at the sevilla defence and prayed that he would get tackled. Izan''s prayers seemed to be heard as one of the defenders opted for a tackle a few metres away from the 18 yard box. Izan needed the refree to buy the foul and added a bit of theatrics after the player made contact. The refree seeing this blew his whistle for a foul. Izan smiled as he saw the referee award the foul and also gave the offender a yellow card. This meant that player had to be on his best behaviour after this because another mistimed tackle or two and he could be sent off. All the Valencia players smiled at the situation. Andranik picked up the ball before tossing it to Izan. Izan looked and saw that the ball was about 28 metres out. Izan placed the ball in a suitable spot and looked up. His teamates had gotten into position incase of a rebound if the ball from the freekick didn''t score which happened very rarely with Izan taking them. Izan taking about five steps back and looked at the ball before activating [focus lv. 1]. Izan saw that the noise had reduced and he could notice some very fine details he couldn''t see before. He looked at the ball and spotted the valve of the ball S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He took 1 step.. 2 3 4 And on the fifth step,he planted his right leg beside the ball before smacking the left underside of the ball with the side of his left boots. Izan watched as the ball rose over the wall of the players. The ball he hit had felt good and he was sure it was a goal. Izan had already started to run towards the area occupied the most by the Valencia fans. The ball rustled the net as it was entrusted with a mad curve that would give any keeper a hard time. The ball went into the corner of the net and the valencia players rushed towards Izan who was already at the corner flag. He ran before making a heart sign with his hand. He showed it to the area where Komi, Hori and Olivia were sitting. The three got up and cheered when they saw Izan gesture towards them. The Valencia fans erupted into cheers as the goal was a masterpiece. Izan kissed and blew it towards where the three were. The referee restarted the match after that and the pressure was all on the Sevilla side. The players had not expected such resilience from the opponent as overall,they were the better team. This caused them to make mistakes. Their captain Jorge mendes tried his best and stabilised the team. The match was going either way until Izan got the ball. Unfortunately for him his recent antics and goal had brought him unwanted attention. "Make use of every situation whether good or bad". Izan didn''t know why that rang in his mind but he understood the message behind it. Although he was being marked, the three players on him had made the opponents have a smaller number of players when the Valencia u19 team is on the attack. Izan taking advantage of the number,sent a dodgy pass that looked as is it was being controlled. Wissam on the right wing went ahead of the ball and as if listening to him,the ball came right to him. Not wasting anytime,he sped up just after receiving the ball. The sudden burst of speed made it difficult for him to control the ball. This slip up caused a few number of Sevilla u19 players to track back. Izan took advantage of the lack of awareness of the players marking him and slipped away. Izan timed his run very well and got a pass from wissam who spotted him. Izan dragged the ball back after seeing the incoming player and faked a shot. The player who saw Izan about to shoot commited and tried to block it. Izan with a ball roll flicked it to the left. Izan looked up and saw that the keeper was a bit on the right side. Using the outside of his right foot,he made a trivela shot that smacked the top left corner of the net. The stadium erupted into cheers, as Izan ran towards the touchline. He slid on the ground before getting up to hug Coach Moreno who was also ecstatic. Both the Valencia players on the bench and on the pitch joined in the celebrations. Coach Borja couldn''t help but sigh at the scene infront of him. He also wanted a player that could change the tide of a game just like Izan did. He smiled wryly and called some of his players and gave each of them instructions to do. The goal was scored in the 35th minute. The referee blew the whistle to restart the game after all the players got into position. The game continued and it seems like the dead spirits of the Sevilla u19 had risen. Izan looked at them and thought whatever the coach said to them after he scored was working. The players this time were more compact and fluid. They didn''t leave any space that the opponent could make use of. Izan smiled at the resiliency of the players. He liked that they were not going down without a fight. The Sevilla u19 team''s effort paid off as they got a chance to level the score. 45+2'' The Sevilla u19 team got a corner at the end of the first half. Their set piece taker went to the corner flag and took the ball and set it on a spot he was comfortable with. He sent a mediocre pass into the box which made everyone think of the chance as wasted. One captain however,with a bit of a run up jumped up towering over everyone and met the ball. The ball spun and entered the net. The Sevilla u19 team went crazy. The cheers of the Sevilla fans grew louder as their team had levelled the score. Jorge mendes who had scored the goal ran to the sevilla fans and did a heart sign with his hands. The players returned to the pitch because the referee had added 4 minutes to normal time. The 2 minutes however passed uneventfully. Izan walked to the tunnel as he was a bit sad that they couldn''t keep the score till the second half. The score on the board after the 1st half showed everything about the match Valencia u19 [2]-[2] Sevilla u19. The cheers of the fans died down as they waited for the second half to start. Chapter 23: Sevilla u19 [Pt 2] Chapter 23: Sevilla u19 [Pt 2]Coach Borja stood beside the tactical board with his assistant. He was lost in thought as the match he thought would be easily won was proving to give him a hard time. One player had managed to induce a headache on him and although he knew the opponents played well as a team,he also knew that that same team would be less lethal without this player. The player was none other than Izan. The Coach started thinking of ways to shut him down as the 3 man marking he had employed on him in the first half proved useless. Coach Borja after much deliberation decided to switch to a 5-4-1 formation which would help in attacking whiles keeping opponents at bay. He entrusted the captain, Jorge mendes to mark Izan during the second half. [In the Valencia dressing room] "Yo Izan, do you think we''ll win" asked Gaia who was on the bench. Izan thought for a while before responding. "Well,we''ve played good football in the first half and I think we can win if we manage to bring out that extra effort". "Also we need to stop conceding " said Izan whiles looking at the defenders. "Okay,listen up. I''ve decided to maintain the lineup but I will switch the formation to a 4-2-4 which means Izan will be joining Hugo as a second striker". Coach Moreno knew that switching to that formation would help them dominate the game and score more goals but it could also bite them if the players didn''t coordinate well. Izan who was eating a banana nodded at the coach''s instructions. "I know we''ll win guys. Let''s go that extra mile" Andranik said rallying ''yeahs'' and shouts from the players. The shouts of the fans increased as the they saw the players stepping onto the pitch. The Match had been exciting as neither team wanted to lose. Hugo who was kicking off passed the ball to Izan as the referee blew his whistle. He passed the ball to Izan who took a touch before passing back to Andranik who was now in a double pivot with Javier bueso. Andranik after he received the ball passed to the left back Lucas t¨¦nas who controlled the ball nicely. The passes went on for a while as they wanted the Sevilla players to let down their guards. The Sevilla players however did not lose their guard. The passes went on for about 5 minutes without them losing the ball. The possession was 80 to 20 for Valencia u19 by Izan''s estimation. The match was getting a bit boring with all these passes. Izan dropped back to receive a pass from andranik. Sensing that a player was coming from behind,Izan used his outside of his left boot to flick the ball around the player. The ball went a bit further than Izan intended. The opponent player who was closest to the ball was the right back and he tried to meet the ball but Izan with his electrifying speed caught up to the ball first. Mark juardo, the Valencia u19 left winger ran to space after his marker left to chase the ball. Izan who was one on one with the right back lobbed the ball over him. The player who wasnt ready for that kind of play faltered as Izan went around him to get the ball. Izan after trapping the ball on his chest sent a pass to juardo who was onside. Juardo after taking the ball sped up and got the the left flank before slowing down a bit. He raised his head and saw Hugo before releasing a splendid cross to Hugo who didn''t dissapoint. Hugo jumped and towered over the defenders before meeting the ball with his head. The keeper who dived had no chance as the ball was nearly in before he dived. Hugo ran before sliding on the ground. He had been kept quiet in the match and he struck when he got the chance. Coach Moreno pumped his fists in the air as his team had managed to go ahead once more. The Sevilla u19 Coach, Borja however sighed as his team was on the backfoot again. He convinced himself that there was still time as it had only been 10 minutes since the start of the second half. Coach Borja''s optimistic behaviour seemed to help him as his word of encouragement caused his team to start playing some good football once more. The Valencia players too were relentless as the continued to defend. The match became a game of basketball as each team tried to score quickly once the got the ball. The back and forth was unsettling for some fans whiles others were just enjoying the attacking football they were seeing. The Sevilla u19 team tried to score from a freekick they got. Their setpiece taker torres made a wonderful shot towards the goal only to be denied by the goal post. Izan also played spectacularly as he was creating dangerous chances here and there. He would make a through pass that would end up being wasted or make a shot which would also end up either being saved by the keeper or missing the goal by mere centimetres. The match continued as usual until sevilla got a goal in the 77th minute [COMMENTATOR POV] '' This youth match has proven to be very spectacular as both teams have been relentless. Valencia u19 have been rampant with their 3 goals to show for with Sevilla u19 also not backing down with their 2 goals. Valencia no. 21 Izan has been wonderful and I won''t be surprised if he plays for the senior team in the upcoming pre-season tour. Sevilla have gotten the ball as I was speaking and they seem to be making good progress. Their no. 7 Galado continues to give Lucas T¨¦nas a tough time on the right flank. Lovely piece of skill as he runs with the ball from Lucas. Galado still on the ball driving forwards and ''ugh'' he cuts in with a beautiful Ronaldo chop. Now infront of the 18 yard box,Galado seems to be looking for a pass but decides to go alone. Galado,driving forward and he shoots!!!! Gooooooooooooooaaaaallllllllllaaaazo Awwwww wonderful curler by galado. That was a wonderful piece of art. '' The commentator''s voice was drowned by the screams of the Sevilla fans. Galado after scoring ran over the ad-boards and went to celebrate with the fans. Coach Borja who wasn''t expecting such a goal went bonkers after Galado''s curler. Some of the players on the Sevilla u19 bench even joined in on Galado''s celebration with the fans. Meanwhile on the other side,the Valencia u19 players were distraught. Izan who was not expecting such a goal had his head down. Vic abril,the second keeper who replaced Raul jiminez was livid with himself. Although the ball which scored would give a tough time to even two keepers in the same goal, he was angry for not even getting a touch on it. The referee signaled the Sevilla u19 players to get into position before he started the match. The Valencia u19 players lost focus as they were thinking about a loss even though it was 3 goals for each team. Sevilla u19 however carried the momentum from the goal and tried to kill the match as they attacked relentlessly. The only Valencia players who had not lost focus were Hugo, Izan ,Andranik Abril and Lucas tena who couldn''t stop Galado earlier. The sevilla u19 team got a chance to kill the game off as Jorge mendes,their captain sent a long ball to their no.7, Torres who took a splendid touch. Torres went with the ball on the flanks before releasing the ball to their striker Marco de Paul who took a nice touch of the ball before running with it. Torres'' pass had split the Valencian u19 defence and Marc de Paul who got onto the ball was now a facing the keeper. Vic abril once again made himself bigger by rushing towards the striker. Marc still unfazed tried to curl it around the keeper once more but this was exactly what Vic abril was expecting. With outstretched hands and leg,the curled ball took a deflection off him and hit the post before going to the right flank. Lucas tena who was already near the ball took control of it and saw a chance to counter. Wissam who had replaced Marc juardo a while again called for a pass. Not wasting any chance,Lucas sent a long ball ahead of Wissam who with a sudden burst of speed started chasing the ball. Lucas didn''t stay behind and also went to provide support for Wissam. Wissam made a quick one-two with Juan,the new entry. Wissam after getting the ball back continued on his run . After coming to a one on one with the right back of the Sevilla u19,wissam tried to break through but stopped after thinking it through. Just then,he saw Lucas tena out of the corner of his eye running towards him. Wissam spoting this dribbled to the right. The Sevilla u19 right back followed suit leaving his post which was soon filled by Lucas T¨¨na. Wissam who saw this passed the ball to lucas T¨¨na who continued the run. Lucas raised his head and saw an opponent player approaching. Izan who had seen this buildup remembered a goal he had seen from a match against Barcelona and Real Madrid. Izan sped up to the arc of the 18 yard box and Lucas tena who saw this sent a grounded pass to Izan. Izan not waiting for anyone shot the ball first time with a maddening curl.The keeper who tried his best to keep it out was too late as the ball went into the bottom left corner of the goal. The Valencia u19 players went psycho on the pitch as the joined Izan in the Celebrations. Izan who had just scored a hatrick ran to the Coach who also met Izan on the way. "Coach,we did it " Izan said as he hugged Coach Moreno. Coach Moreno just nodded without saying anything. Komi,Hori and Olivia who were in the stands jumped up and cheered as soon as Izan scored the goal. Komi couldn''t help but cry. "Come on mum,Why are you crying" Hori said as she looked at her mother. "I don''t know hori, I don''t even know. I gu- I guess I''m just happy for my son". Coach Borja who was sure his team would win after the last flurry of attacks couldn''t help but sigh again. (Is it me or is this guy sighing a lot ??) Izan''s goal was scored in the 89th minutes and there was little time for the Sevilla u19 team to score again. The match ended in win for the Valencia U19 team as the score board displayed the results. It was Valencia u19 [4]-[3] Sevilla u19 Jose Bordal¨¢s,the Manager for the Valencia senior team smiled at what he had just seen. He stood up before making a phone call. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Yes he''s good". He waited a bit before, "Call him up for the pre-season tournament " he said as he left the pitch. The dressing room of the Valencia u19 team was living as the players celebrated. They had qualified for the semi-finals of the Copa de campeones de juvenil. Izan who was celebrating heard the familiar ''ding'' sound. He opened the messages as the holographic screen displayed infront of his eyes. Quest [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point Status:Completed Izan saw that he had completed another quest. He smiled before joining back in the Celebrations. Coach Moreno came in before the players sat down. "So we qualified for semi''s and are one match away from the finals". The players cheered at his words. "We were lucky as we didn''t draw Barcelona u19 or Real Madrid u19. They will be playing against each other. We drew Real betis u19 in the semi finals and it isn''t an easy match so let''s put in that extra effort and get to the finals" The players cheered at the news that they weren''t going to meet any of the big dogs. Izan looked at his teammates and laughed as the celebrations continued. Chapter 24: Making waves Chapter 24: Making wavesThe Valencia u19 team was to meet the Real Betis u19 team some 4 days after the match with the Sevilla u19s. The Match with Sevilla u19 had proved to be a tough nut to crack as neither was willing to lose. Ultimately, Valencia u19 won by 4 goals to 3. Izan after the match celebrated with his team and was ecstatic as he was on his way to completing the serial challenge issued by the system. ******************* Izan stared at the holographic page infront of him. He had accumulated some stat points as he was close to completing the serial challenged issued by the system. Quest [1* Host should score 7 goals and make 5 assists in the remaining matches.] Reward: +5 stat point +10000 lp Status: goals[10/7] | assists[7/5] Completed [2* Valencia U19 should top group 7] Reward:+10 stat points +7000 lp Status: Completed [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point Status:Completed. [4* Win in the semi finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +20 stat point +20000 lp Status: not yet [5*Win in the finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +25 stat point 1 free trait and 40000 lp First team call up. Status :not yet Izan saw that the completed quests had given him 30 stat points and 17,000 lp points. He was overjoyed as the recent changes to the system had made it a bit hard for him to accumulate points. Izan looked at the quests for a while before opening his player information. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14] HEIGHT:[1.81m(5''11)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[68/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[89] LEGEND POINTS:[30,500/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[34] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 71 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 69 Body strength: 68 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:92% Completion La croqueta:77% completion S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Cruyff turn:84%Completion Roulette: 79% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan had been wanting to break through the 70 OVR for a while but wanted to wait until he accumulated a lot of stat points. Curious about how the OVR[overall rating] of the senior team were, Izan asked Max. (Be honest,how many of you forgot max?) [From my data, the highest OVR on the senior team is 82 whiles the lowest is 68] Max said. Izan was a bit surprised that,with his Ovr right now ,he could probably be a substitute for the Senior team. Izan decided to hold off on the upgrade as he wanted to do it after the final. Izan went and took a shower before he went to bed as there was going to be training tomorrow. *************** Valencia academy grounds,Paterna 8:30 AM Izan stood behind the ball as he looked at the dummies infront of him. He had always been the first to arrive for training even though a lot of the players lived nearby. He looked up before whipping the ball into the back of the net. Izan was interrupted by a sound of clapping. He looked up and saw an unknown face walking alongside Coach Moreno. Izan had some idea about the identity of the person who was with Coach Moreno but decided to hear it from him. "Miura, This is the captain of the under-19s,Pietro Cava" he said whiles pointing to the brown haired youth beside him. Izan smiled and brought his hand forward for a handshake. Pietro didn''t waste anytime and took Izan''s hand. He had heard of a player who had been making waves in the under-19s side but looking at him now ,he didn''t look like a kid. Well except for his cute face. "As coach said,I''m pietro" he said once more. Izan also replied and told pietro his name. Izan wanted to use the snooping function on him so badly but decided to wait because staring too much at someone was not polite. "Okay now that the pleasantries are out of the way,you can continue to train Izan. And ''oh'' you can also join him pietro if he doesn''t mind" Coach Moreno said. Pietro looked at Izan seeking confirmation to which Izan nodded. Izan was doing freekicks so pietro joined in on the fun. They both played 5 freekicks each with Izan scoring 5 in 5 kicks and pietro scoring 2 in 5. Pietro had been the freekick taker before Izan but now,he had to accept that the kid was better than him. They also did some passing drills to which both of them excelled. Pietro''s vision and passing was his strong points but his shooting was also spectacular for a midfielder. Izna who had heard that pietro had once been called up to the senior team asked him how it was there. "Well they are friendly if you have some ability but won''t delay to toss you aside if you waste their time. Their gameplay too is also sharp and fast. I had to play with them for some time before even getting a bit used to their passes" Pietro said. The both took some balls to do individual and targeted practices. Izan decided to use the snooping function on him. He looked at him and Clicked the icon that looked like a magnifying glass. Izan smiled at what he saw. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[PIETRO LUIS CAVA] AGE:[18] HEIGHT:[1.85m(6''16)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Has the potential to be special] PLAYER RATING:[70/100] POSITION:[Attacking/central midfielder] POTENTIAL:[88] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:68 Body control:70 Spatial awareness: 73 Technique: 70 Shooting:65 Passing: 71 Body strength:73 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:80% Completion Cruyff turn:70%Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : owned Izan saw that Pietro was up by 2 Ovr(s). Izan was excited to play with and against Pietro. This was his first time seeing a player who had a higher OVR than him ever since he got the system. The players started to arrive one by one as it was getting close to 9 o''clock. The players had a warm up session followed by some stretches and some sprinting. After that, they had some rondos and some shooting practice which was owned by Hugo,Izan and Pietro. The players who came and saw Pietro were excited as him being back boosted the morale and overall ability of the team. After the training session,Coach Moreno decided to make them play a practice match with both pietro and Izan on the same team. That match was horrifying for the opponent team as both of the two players turned into a nightmare for them. The two players who had just met played like they had been playing together since they were in their mother''s womb. Izan and pietro were having fun playing with each other as they both seemed to understand each other and where th other would be. The match ended in a 5-0 win for Izan and pietro''s team. Afterwards,Coach Moreno separated both of them and put both of them in teams with the same ability. The match was exciting as Izan and pietro were at each other necks in the game. Pietro would make a beautiful pass that would lead to a goal. Then suddenly, Izan would convert a freekick. The training match ended in a 3-3 draw. Coach Moreno was in a dilemma as both players were on top of their game. He was devising a formation that would allow both of them to play when they needed it. He decided that since,Pietro had just recently returned from injury, he would be on the bench for the next match. He would then come off the bench for a winger,then Izan would moved to the wings as he could also play on either side of the wings. Coach Moreno was happy about the attacking options his team had. The training continued for the following days until the match with the Real Betis u19 team. The match was nothing short of one-sided as Valencia u19 crushed their opponents. The opening goal of the game was scored by Hugo after receiving a pass from Izan in the 6th minute of the game before shooting it into the net. The second goal came 10 minutes after the first as Mark,the valencian defender met a header from a corner by Izan. The keeper had no chance as he stood rooted to the spot. Izan had provided 2 assists since the start of the game and wanted to join in on the scoreboard. His prayers were heard as he got a rebound ball on the edge of the box. Not wasting any chance,he volleyed the ball into the back of the net. The first half ended in Valencia u19 going 3 goals up. Pietro who was itching to get in on the fun joined the game at the start of the second half. Izan who moved to the wings became a nightmare to the right back facing him. Izan was going around the player nutmegging him and toying with him. Pietro put his name on the score sheet as he met a timely pass from Izan to make it 4-0 for Valencia u19. The spirit of the Real betis u19 had already been broken as none of the players expected such humiliation. It didn''t stop there as Izan and pietro put their names on the score sheet again making the score 6-0 for valencia u19. Coach Moreno seeing this subbed off Izan. The Valencia u19 fans who saw him coming off stood up and clapped for Izan. Izan reciprocated this gesture by also clapping for the fans. He had made 5 goal contributions as he scored 2 goals and made 3 assists in the match. Pedro fontin who came on for Izan also got his name on the scoreboard moments before full time. The results on the scoreboard was incredible. Valencia u19 [7]-[0] Real Betis u19 Hugo.6'' Mark.16'' Izan. 24'' and 65'' Pietro.49'' and 77'' Pedro 90+4'' Coach Moreno was happy by the performance put up by his team. The news of the Valencia u19 team decimating the Real Betis u19 team by 7 goals to nil spread quickly. Some 2nd division teams started asking for the services of some of the players on loan. Some medium and relatively big clubs like lyon, Brighton, Benfica and Arsenal were looking to trigger the release clauses of players like Izan, pietro, Hugo and Andranik. They were however unlucky as all of the named players had a clause in their contracts which stated that they had to play for the senior team for at least a year before they could move to another club. The Final of the copa de campeones juvenil was the 30th of May 2022. Izan who was given 2 days off spent them with his family and normally went outside with Olivia as her time for leaving was nearing. Izan made the most of the days. He had received a notification from the system that he had unlocked the 5 star skill moves and was now eligible to purchase difficult Skill moves. He had also completed the 4th quest of the serial challenge ano had gained 20 stat points and 20,000 lp points. He was still deliberating if he should upgrade his Ovr but decided against it. The players went back to training preparing for the match against Real Madrid u19 as the won 1-0 against Barcelona u19. The match would be tough and Coach Moreno wanted his players to be at their best whiles making sure no one got injured. He even had the first team doctors check the fitness levels of the players before they would face Madrid and the results that came out was satisfactory. They trained until a day before the match which training seized. The tactical aspect followed as they watched the recent matches of the Real Madrid u19 team and tried to find the opponents weakness. Finally the day of reckoning came as both teams stood in the tunnel waiting to step onto the pitch. Chapter 25 - 3-0 Up At Half-Time Chapter 25: 3-0 Up At Half-TimeThe cheers of the 26,000+ fans were deafening for the players who had never experienced such an atmosphere. The cuidad abanca balaidos was the stadium where the final was being played. The stadium had been filled to the brim as this was the peak of youth football in Spain. The match was between the big dogs ,Real Madrid u19s who had won the competition 7 times and the underdogs,Valencia u19s who had won the competition once and it being in the late 2000s,2007 to be precise. The match was a no brainer for anyone watching it that Real Madrid u19 were the favourites in the game. But why were they still watching a match that seemed to be already set in stone. Because people liked the story of underdogs winning. Izan who was on the field for the warm up session noticed a lot of stares from the people in the press seat section. It seemed he had drawn a bit of attention because of his recent performances. Izan looked away and was saddened as he looked at the crowd. This was because Komi,Hori and Olivia couldn''t attend the match. The match was being played in Vigo which was about 9 hours from Valencia by car. The warm up session had been Izan''s opportunity to snoop around with the snooping function. He had checked the Player information of some of the players who seemed to be in the starting eleven but the ones who caught his attention were 3 people. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[FRAN HERNANDEZ] AGE:[17] HEIGHT:[1.85m(6''0)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Youth prospect] PLAYER RATING:[67/100] POSITION:[Centre back] POTENTIAL:[87] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:62 Body control:63 Spatial awareness: 64 Technique: 67 Shooting:57 Passing: 64 Body strength: 72 Defending [new]: 74 Weak foot strength: 2 stars Skill move :2 stars Izan stared at the defender who he knew was probably going to give him a hard time during the match. The next player was a midfielder by the name of Olal Joseph Nkuweze who had an Ovr of 68 which was the same as Izan''s And the last player was someone Izan saw needed to be shut down if they had any chance at winning the game. A striker who had an Overall rating of 72 called Mikel Bartra. Izan stopped snooping after a while because the rest of the players were nothing eye-catching as the lowest in them had an OVR of 62 whiles the one behind the 3 players Izan had just mention had an OVR of 66. They were soon done with the warm up session and headed towards the dressing room. Izan who had no idea what awaited him trudged towards the room. Coach Moreno had held off on naming the starting 11 the day before as he said he would do it today. "Okay guys,in goal Raul jiminez will replace Vic abril. Left back will be David nu?ez and right back will be Lucas T¨¨nas as always Andranik chust and Javier bueso will be playing in a double pivot with Pietro in the attacking midfield role. The front three will be Pablo neri, Wissam Martin and Hugo de marc" Coach Moreno concluded before walking off. The lineup made some the players look at the Coach to see if they heard it right. Where was Izan''s name. Izan was also thinking the same thing. "Did I offend him or something" he thought as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Not to be arrogant or anything,but Izan knew that he was by far the best player in the team and none of the players could refute it,not even pietro. Coach Moreno named the subs and this time Izan heard his name. He was still thinking why the Coach didn''t want to start him. He wanted to voice out his opinions but stopped as he didn''t want to ruin the atmosphere before the match so he kept quiet. The players stepped onto the pitch after a brief tactical session. The captains of both sides went for a toss to which Pietro won. He chose a side and gave the kickoff to the other team. The Madrid striker,Mikel Bartra stood beside the ball. He waited till the official blew his whistle to signify the start of the match. [COMMENTATOR POV] '' Hello everyone and good evening to you all. My name is Andres piero and I''m your commentator for this electrifying Final as Real Madrid u19s goes against Valencia U19s. We see that the lineup for the Madrid u19 stays the same but there has been one peculiar change which surprised me and I''m sure those in the press seat were surprised as well. Izan, Valencia u19s No.21 who is arguably their best player of the tournament is no where to be found in the starting 11 as he seems to be on the bench for this one. I don''t know what is going on in the mind of Coach Moreno but I hope whatever he has planned goes well. Now coming back to the match we can see that possession has been exchanged as the Valencia u19 team is now in possession. They''re playing at the back and I wouldn''t do that if I we- , ''oh'' nice tackle. Madrid u19 now have the ball. This is a chance to pull ahead and ''uh'' Goooooooooooaaaaaallllllllllaaaaasooo Mikel Bartra, Real Madrid U19''s no. 9 had put them in front. Too many touches at the back led to a a well timed tackle by the madrid u19 midfielder who then released the ball to Mikel who wouldn''t miss such a one on one chance with the keeper. 4 minutes played and its 1-0 for Real Madrid u19 '' The Madrid u19 players returned to the pitch after the celebrations. The Valencia u19 team tried to regroup and pull one back after the kickoff. The Real Madrid u19 players however were defending splendidly. They thwarted all the goal scoring opportunities of the Valencia u19 team. Pietro would occasionally try to break through on his own but that would prove futile as the Madrid defence was compact when on the defensive. The covered any gap or space that could be used against them. The Valencia u19 players played around the Real Madrid team for about 7 minutes without losing possession. The match had gone stale after the first goal as one side released a flurry of attacks and the other side defending spectacularly. The Madrid u19 team waited for a chance to counter and they finally got their chance when Javier bueso''s controlled pass couldn''t reach Andranik Garcia, Real Madrid u19''s left winger exploded into a frightening pace making a run forward. The midfielder who intercepted the pass was Olal Joseph. With a look upfront,he sent a stunning through ball to Garcia who trapped the ball nicely. Not slowing down, Garcia came one on one with Mark. Mark who was contemplating whether to foul or try to stall for his teammates to regroup was suddenly passed as Garcia knocked the ball around him. Garcia who evaded Mark''s attempt to hold him went around him and took the ball. Now one on one with the keeper, Garcia raised his leg to shoot,but faked the shot when Raul jiminez had gotten in position to stop the ball. Garcia after passing Raul,kicked the ball into an empty net before running and sliding towards the corner flag. The stadium erupted into cheers as the Madrid u19 fans exploded into life once more. The second goal was scored in the 22nd minute and all the people watching the game were now thinking how many goals Madrid would score as they were expecting an onslaught. They spectators were right as Real Madrid u19 would score a few minutes after the 2nd goal. A splendid counter attack ended in a corner for the ''la Fabric¨¢s''. The Valencia players who were relieved the chance wasn''t scored were lacking focus. The Madrid outlet took a quick corner which was met first time in a header by Fran hernandez, the Real Madrid u19 defensive leader. The ball rustled the net as the Valencian u19 Goalkeeper, Raul jiminez had to pick the ball out of his net for the third time today. Coach Moreno was standing on the touchline with his head in his hands. He hadn''t expected his team to receive such a battering in the first half, and the half wasn''t even over. He signaled his players to play defensively for the remainder of the first half. The Valencian u19 team did just that as they pulled several players back except those that could help on a counter attack. The game became worse for the Valencia u19 team when Madrid got another goal from a counter once more. Lucky for them,Mark had saved them unknowingly by setting an offside trap. The linesman who saw this waited after the goal before raising his flag for offside. The match continued like this as Real Madrid u19 team continued to attack relentlessly as they wanted to kill the game off. Luck seemed to avoid them as their shot were either blocked by Raul or hitting the posts. The referee who had added 2 minutes to ordinary time looked at his watched before blowing the whistle to signal the end of the first half. Izan stood up from the bench as sitting for for the first half had made his butt sore. He stretched a bit before heading towards the dressing room. He didn''t know what to feel. Whether to be angry at his teamates or at his Coach. At some point in the first half, Izan thought of the possibility of the matched being sold or fixed. The rest of the players came to meet Izan in the dressing room playing a game on his phone. They thought what nerves he had to be playing a game when they were 3 goals down in a final. Izan didn''t pay heed to the stares but rather looked at his phone. Izan staring at his phone was just a facade which the players saw. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan in truth had opened the system and was contemplating if he should upgrade his stats before he came onto the pitch as he stared at the holographic interface. His team were 3 goals down and it would take a stroke of genius to do it. After much deliberation,Izan decided to do it because he wanted to win this Competition and get that off his bucket list as he didn''t want to be held down by this competition again next year. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14] HEIGHT:[1.80m(5''11)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Indispensable to Valencia U19 team] PLAYER RATING:[68/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[89] LEGEND POINTS:[51,500/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[57] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65 Spatial awareness: 71 Technique: 65 Shooting:66 Passing: 69 Body strength: 68 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:92% Completion La croqueta:77% completion Cruyff turn:84%Completion Roulette: 79% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan started with his passing stat as both of it needed one major boost. Izan added [1] stat point to short passing and did the same for the remaining ones. Passing:69>70 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:69>70 Long passing: 69>70 Crossing:69>70 Izan went to the body strength attribute next and upgraded it. He added [4] stat points to strength and [3] stat points to shot power. Body strength:68>70 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:70 Strength:66>70 Shot power:67>70 Izan after the body strength attribute went to his Technique attribute. He added [5] stat points to both Dribbling and ball control. Technique:65>70 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Dribbling:65>70 Ball control:65>70 Izan moved on to his Body control attribute. He added [2] stat points to agility and [7] each to jumping and balance before he added [5] to reactions. Body control :69.5 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :68>70 Jumping :63>70 Reations:63>68 Balance:63>70 [System runs off the 65.5 to 70 for the body control attribute]. "Huh that works too" Izan thought. Now Izan had used [41] stat points out of the remaining [57] stat points. Izan now came back and clicked on his shooting Attribute as it would really help in converting the most difficult chances into goals. There were [16] stat points remaining. Izan added [7] stat points to finishing and [6]stat points to Long shots before adding the remaining [3] to penalties Shooting:69.25 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:65>72 Long shot:64>70 Freekick:70 Penalties: 62>65 Izan was a bit sad that his shooting couldn''t break the 70 rating. Izan switched to the stat screen and his stats looked something like this. STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:65>70 Spatial awareness: 71 Technique: 65>70 Shooting:66>69.25 Passing: 69> 70 Body strength: 68>70 ''Ding'' [Host OVR has gone from 68 to 70] ''Ding'' [ Hidden achievement unlocked] Get to an OVR of 70 in 6 months after gaining the system. Rewards: 20 stats points +1 A grade injury prevention drug ??????????????????????????????????????????? Izan smiled at the hidden achievement. He put his phone down after Coach Moreno entered the dressing room. Coach Moreno stared at him before..... Chapter 26: Magical Scenes. Chapter 26: Magical Scenes."Izan go and warm up. You''re going in for Wissam" Coach Moreno said. Wissam couldn''t help but smile bitterly as he was being taken out of the match. His performance in the first half was embarrassing as he couldn''t even take on the defenders without losing the ball. And the thing was,taking on players was the reason he was even brought to the first team in the first place. Izan nodded before heading out. The person in charge of their kits handed Izan his jersey before he went out. Izan got to the pitch and started practicing with some of the substitutes. He juggled with the ball a bit before doing some passing and trapping drills to get a good feel for the ball. "Finally,they brought him in. Seems the coach has come back to his sense" a spectator in the crowd said. "Who is he. Do you know him" another asked. "Oh yeah James,you haven''t followed the Valencia u19s for long. That kid is Izan. In one word ''Genius''. In two words ''Fucking talented ''. He joined them about 8 Matches to the end of the season. Valencia u19 were 6th then but the came first at the end of the season and ever since then they haven''t drawn or lost a match" "Then he''s very good "said James "Yeah, I''m pretty sure the Senior team would have called him up if it wasn''t for his age" Franco said as he reverted his gaze back to Izan. "Hopefully he can pull off a miracle " Franco thought as he looked at Izan. Izan wore his jersey and went to the tunnel and joined his teammates there. The players came out of the tunnel once more and the Valencia u19 team came out with a burning desire to win. Izan wasn''t there when Coach Moreno spoke to them so he had no Idea what he said to them to make them so motivated. But either way it was good for them. [COMMENTATOR POV] '' Hello everyone and welcome back to the second half of this year''s Copa de campeones juvenil. From the onset it looks like Valencia u19s has made a change and seems that their little magician for the second half of the season has come on for Wissam. Izan looks to be playing in the right wing position. I haven''t seen him play in that position before but let''s wish him well. Now the players are in position for the kickoff. And we are off for the second half of this one-sided showdown but let''s hope that the other team kicks in to gear '' ?????????????????????????????????????? Valencia u19 kicked into first gear as they tried to pull one back in the first 5 minutes of the second half. Pietro made a spectacular pass to Izan who took a deft touch of the ball before continuing forward without any intention to slow down. 48'' Izan on the right side held onto the ball as he made his way forward. One of the midfielders tried to challenge Izan for the ball but was only met with a nutmeg from Izan. The Valencia u19 fans chuckled at what they had just seen. The match had been tough for them and this was a nice change of pace. Izan continuing on his run kicked the ball round the Real Madrid left back who was approaching and went around him to take the ball. Izan was a bit surprised to see the player gaining on him after his sudden burst of speed. Although he was dribbling with the ball and that reduced his running speed,this was a first for him ever since he got the system. "I think I should pay a bit of attention to my speed now that my other attributes are the same or better than my speed stat" Izan thought Izan after the left back got near,slowed down and kicked the ball between his legs. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan then cut in with the ball. He was now infront of the arc of the 18 yard box. Izan sizing of the top left corner of the goal pretended to shoot. The defenders who saw this, albeit knew it could be a fake, threw their bodies into the way. Izan smirked before faking the shot. The defenders who commited to blocking the shot were now out of the way. Izan now raised his left leg and curled the ball into the top left corner. The Madrid keeper who also thought Izan was going to shoot the first time couldn''t move and watched as the ball sailed into the back of the net. Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllll The Valencia u19 fans screamed into life. [COMMENTATOR POV] ''Izan receives the ball from pietro who had just come out of injury. Izan takes a touch and moves forward. Mierte,tries to take the ball off him but,beautifully done by Izan as he nutmegs him. Izan moving forward with pace drives forward on the right flank. He nudges the ball around casteljon who chases Izan after he failed to retrieve the ball. Izan once again kicks the ball between the legs of casteljon and cuts inside. Izaaaan fakes it and Izaaaaaaaaannn, Oooooooooooohhhhh. Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaalll. What a spectacular solo goal by Izan. If Messi was watching this match I''m sure he''d be impressed by the talent of this teenager '' The Valencia u19 team celebrated the goal like it was the winning goal. Izan escaped from the grasp of his teamates and went to grab the ball from the net of the opponent team. The referee restarted the match and the Madrid u19 team attacked. They were trying to increase their lead but their plays would only prove futile as their attacks were being snuffed out even before they got to the final third of the opponent team. The Valencian players played like new life had been breathed into them. Izan was defending really well for an attacking minded player as he was using his spatial awareness to detect and block any passing space or lanes. The ball went out of play and a substitution was being made on the Real Madrid u19 team. Izan taking advantage of this walked to Andranik. "Hey, let''s try to press and take the ball and counter from this throw". Andranik who heard this nodded. Izan saw that Hugo was near and went past him before saying 2 words "Just run". Hugo who knew Izan wanted him to make a run after the throwback nodded. A Madrid u19 player walked towards the ball and picked it out before scouting for a free teamate. He saw on and threw the ball but just then, Izan jumped and headed the ball to Andranik. Andranik didn''t control the ball but rather sent it forward with a low volley- Kind of pass. Hugo had already started to run after the ball was thrown and this confused the opponent defence. Izan ran to support Hugo but realised he was not needed when Hugo calmly slotted the ball into the back of the net. Coach Moreno bumped his fists in the air as he saw the second goal. He smiled at the boy who had just saved his ass. Hugo not wasting a second grabbed the ball and walked to the kickoff spot. After kickoff, the Madrid players retreated to their half and decided to park the bus and keep their lead. There was still 17 minutes left to stoppage time. Izan and the Valencia u19 players tried to break through their defence but it proved fruitless. Time was ticking and the Valencia u19 fans started praying for a miracle. Izan got a ball in the middle of the field and as if controlled, most of the Valencian fans stood up. Izan sent a pass to Marc juardo who had come on for Pablo neri. Pablo with his fine piece of dribbling ran with the ball before sending a low cross which was cleared out by the opponent''s defense. The Madrid keeper as if sensing something was wrong immediately got tense. He didn''t know what this foreboding feeling was but he would find out some second later as Izan chested the ball. Izan let the ball bounce on the ground once before smacking the ball from about 35 metres out. All the fans in the stadium were on the edge of their seats as in that particular moment in time, two types of prayers were being sounded in the stadium. "Don''t go in" was one and the other was the opposite. Time seemed to slow down as Izan saw his ball move in a zigzag movement and finally it shook the back of the net. A strong Silence!!! Rang across the stadium Finally the Valencia players and fans who came out of their trance screamed on top of their lungs . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH F**K YEAHHHHHHHH Izan had levelled the score for his team. His teammates started running around like headless chickens before they all jumped on him. Izan under the pile of players began to laugh. He was feeling ecstatic and reeled in the feeling in that moment. Coach Moreno was busy hugging his Coaching staff as he couldn''t contain the bliss that he was feeling. The Valencia players got up and walked to their own half after celebrating for a while. Izan who looked at the clocked saw that is was still the 89th minute. Thoughts of ending the match in added time was the most prominent in his mind at that instant. Going for extra time would be tough as his teammates were looking weary and He didn''t want to put his fate on penalties but unfortunately for him,the Real Madrid u19 team came out of their shells after their goal and began attacking profusely. They were relentless and hardly gave the Valencia u19 team little time to breath. The 4th official had only indicated 4 minutes of added time but it seemed like 30 minutes had passed to Izan. The Real Madrid u19 team got a chance to score when their striker Marc bartra who had been silent the whole of the second half,got a chance infront of the penalty box. He shot the ball with dip and curl as the ball that seemed out of trajectory started turning towards the goal. In the heat of the moment Raul, remembered the talk with Coach Moreno in the locker room. ******************************************* [Locker room during half-time] Coach Moreno looked as Izan went out to Warm-Up. After he was sure Izan was out of sight and earshot he spoke. "I''m sure you were all wondering why I didn''t play Izan for the first half. It''s because I saw him looking a bit nervous at the start. It seems we''ve been relying on him too much. Although he looks grown for his age, we have to remember that he''s just 14. He shouldn''t have to shoulder the teams pressure. So step up as men not boys and rise like phoenices. (Huh, so cringe but it is what it is)" [Present] Raul with every fiber in his body stretched to his fullest and got a minuscle touch which didn''t seem much to him but was enough to redirect the ball which hit the post and went out for a corner. The Madrid u19 keeper wanting to redeem himself for the 3 goals conceded came out of his goal to join the cornerkick to try and see if he could win it for his team. (Bruh. At this point we know where this is going) The player behind the ball took the corner perfectly. Izan who was supposed to defend,in a gamble started running towards the opponents goal. He didn''t know why he was doing that but as he had a feeling that the ball would be coming.(Damn. Bro Is scaring isagi yoichi) Raul came out of his goal and met the corner. Bartra had also jumped but the keeper had an edge because of his raised hands. Raul punched the ball which went directly to the path of Izan. The Madrid keeper had already started running back when he saw Raul jump and to be honest,his speed was very fast for a keeper. Izan who had gotten to the centerline raised his head and suddenly a thought came to his mind. "You know,why not try from here" The fans and players watched on as Izan raised his leg and shot the ball from the half-way line. The ball soared in the skies and seemed like it would not go in but suddenly it started dropping after it reached its maximum height. The keeper sped up and tried to catch up to the ball but could only watch as the ball hit the ground once and bounce into the goal just as he reached the goal. Izan like a maniac took off his shirt and ran towards the cornerflag. The scenes were fantastic as the stadium which was silent after his goal erupted into cheers and shouts. His teammates joined him and even Coach Moreno joined in on the fun as he ran onto the pitch with his bench. The added time had already passed. Izan looked at the crowd and for a split second he thought he was going crazy when he saw his Mum, sister and Olivia cheering in the stands. He looked closely and realised that they were really there. The celebrations continued as Valencia u19 had just won the copa de campeones juvenil for the second time in their history. Izan who felt a sharp pain in his ankle scrunched his face for a split second before ignoring the pain. The bliss he felt was enough for him to throw the pain to the back of his head at least until the celebrations were done with. Although he had come on in the second half, the match had taken its toll on him. Izan sighed and looked to the sky. "Dad,look at me. You looking " he thought as he smiled. ---------------------------------------------------- A/N : Hey guys please leave a review and enjoy the Chapters for me. Chapter 27: A Little Fame,Injury and Rewards Chapter 27: A Little Fame,Injury and RewardsThe organisers of the copa de campeones set up the podium for receiving the trophy. The trophy was a semi hour glass shape with a large base. The vice president of the Spanish football Organisation together with a few important dignitaries were the ones who would be presenting the medals and the trophy. Some of the Real Madrid players couldn''t help but cry for what could have been. They had tried their hardest but ultimately they had lost. Izan stood there watching them with a tinge of guilt in his heart as he knew this match would have been won by them if he wasn''t there. [But thats why you''re here so don''t feel guilty. You were chosen by the system so use the system] Max,the masculine voice of the system said. Izan readied himself to go for his medal after all the Real Madrid players had received their medals. The Valencia players and their staff all went for their medals and were finally poised to lift the trophy. Pietro went ahead to lift the trophy but realised something and called Andranik to come and lift it. Andranik shook his head but Pietro insisted because he was more of a captain than him since the start of the season. Andranik nodded and together with the other players lifted the trophy. Izan had been given the Man of the match award and the Mvp of the tournament. This triggered a hidden achievement. ''Ding '' [Host has unlocked hidden achievement "MVP" of a tournament]. Rewards: 10 stat points and 1 muscle strengthening elixir. [Host has won MOTM award in a final for the first time in his career] Rewards: 10 stat points and 1 Recovery elixir. Izan smiled at the rewards the holographic screen was showing infront of him. Izan took his awards and met his mum at the tunnel after he asked the officials if his family could come. "Ahh Miura, I''m so proud of you" she said whiles snuggling Izan. "Come on Ma, I''m sweaty". "It doesn''t matter" Komi said. Izan smiled at his mother. "Wanna join" he said whiles looking at Hori and Olivia. They both looked at each other before joining them. Izan felt happy in that moment and that began to scare him a bit as he has been feeling happy as of late and had a bad premonition about being that happy. Izan woke up the next morning to find his name in some of the major Spanish news articles. He saw some of the articles about the ''copa de campeones juvenil'' that happened the day before. It seemed that his performance had really left an impression on the journalists in the press seat. All or most of the articles were mentioning his name in them. Some of the newscompanies and articles had even implied that Valencia CF had received some offers from Barcelona,Real Madrid and Chelsea for his services . Izan knew this was probably just a hoax and he as it stands doesn''t want to leave as he hadn''t accomplished anything at the club yet. Izan kept scrolling and saw one title comparing his first goal to the one Messi scored against Athletic club de Bilbao in the Copa del Ray final in the 2014|15 season. "Guess I''m a little famous" Izan thought with a smug expression on his face. ****************************************** Valencia Academy, 8:50. Izan was now in the fitness room with the coaches and the fitness team. "Sorry Miura but you have a soft tissue injury". Izan smiled wryly as the head fitness coach said. His premonition had been proved right his injury. "So how long is it going to take for me to heal fully " he asked. "Well depending on the seriousness you could be out for close to 7 weeks if your healing factor is good or 9 weeks if you''re just like the rest of us" said the coach with a smile. Izan also smiled as he knew what he was going to do. After the diagnoses,the fitness coach made a recovery plan for Izan which he was to follow for the duration of his injury. The fitness team also told Coach Moreno ot inform the senior team coach that Izan wouldn''t be available for the pre-season. Izan''s time with injuries was mostly repetitive as he would wake up and go for recovery sessions at the academy before coming home. The injury hadn''t taken away his mobility so he could go for a few and short evening walks with Olivia. This continued till she left for university 2 weeks later. Izan didn''t know why he was feeling empty but didn''t pay heed to the feeling. He had already taken the injury elixir together with the Recovery potion and would recover in about one to two weeks. Izan opened his quest tab and looked at the unreaped rewards. Quest ¡ö¡ö¡ö [1* Host should score 7 goals and make 5 assists in the remaining matches.] Reward: +5 stat point +10000 lp Status: goals[15/7] | assists[8/5] Completed [2* Valencia U19 should top group 7] Reward:+10 stat points +7000 lp Status: Completed [3* Win in the quarter finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +15 stat point Status:Completed. [4* Win in the semi finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +20 stat point +20000 lp Status: Completed [5*Win in the finals of the ''Copa de campeones de juvenil''] Reward: +25 stat point 1 free trait and 40000 lp First team call up.[withheld because of injury] Status :Completed Izan looked at the rewards and was elated by them. He was surprised to know that he had gained [45] stat points and 60,000 lp points. He first opened his Player tab and looked at the number of stat points and lp points he had. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14] HEIGHT:[1.81m(5''11)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[70/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[94,800/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[65] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:70 Spatial awareness: 71 Technique: 70 Shooting:69.25 Passing: 70 Body strength: 70 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :4 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:92% Completion La croqueta:82% completion Cruyff turn:84%Completion Roulette: 85% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan used 2 stat points to bring his shooting to a 70 Ovr and was left with [63] stat points Izan looked at the number of stat points and lp points and decided to upgrade his system after he had claimed his trait and checked his inventory. [Host can choose from this list of Traits] Speedster: + 5 speed stat points on after being equipped. Boulder: 5% increases in defensive stats. Pinpoint accuracy: 10 % increases to shooting related and passing related stats. Flair finishing: Adds a bit of flair to finishing Izan looked at the four and decided to go with pinpoint accuracy as it was a no brainer for an attacking midfielder like him. Before Izan continued, he decided to buy the speedster trait if it was available. He opened the traits section and saw that it was there and purchased it for 10,000 lp points. Izan opened his personal tab once more. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[14] HEIGHT:[1.81m(5''11)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[70/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[94,800/67,000 to lv5] STAT POINTS:[63] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:70 Body control:70 Spatial awareness: 71 Technique: 70 Shooting:70 Passing: 70 Body strength: 70 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:92% Completion La croqueta:82% completion Cruyff turn:84%Completion Roulette: 85% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped Izan continued and opened his inventory to see the potions and elixirs in his stock. Inventory ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Recovery potion: Help host in pre and post match recovery and reduces fatigue. Stock:7 unused Injury elixir: helps host to rid himself of injuries faster. Recovery speed increases by 5% C Grade Stock:4 Recovery speed by 10% B grade stock: 2 Increases recovery speed by 25% A grade stock: 1 Inceases recovery speed by 50% Muscle strengthening elixir: increases the strength,durability and flexibility of muscles and helps prevent injuries. Stock: 1 unused Izan after looking at his inventory decided to use the muscles strengthening elixir. He brought out the elixir which was in the form of a candy bar and ate it. Izan was surprised to see a chocolate kind of taste in his mouth as he devoured it. Izan stood there waiting for a reaction from the elixir and it finally hit him. His muscle were convulsed and throbbed. He could feel them being torn over and over and being fixed at eh same time. Izan couldn''t hold it in and let out a little scream. Komi down there thought she heard a scream and decided to go up and check what was going on. Just as she was about to head up, she got a call from the company which she picked up for a bit. Izan''s breathing finally relaxed as he lay on the floor. He took a recovery potion and drank it. He could feel the warmth over his body. After a few minutes,he stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Izan took of his shirt and could see that his six pack was now 8 and his side abs and gotten a little bit muscular. Izan''s body was looking really nice and it seems that his already handsome face had received a boost as all sorts of loose muscles in his face had been rid off. Komi opened the door to find her son topless. "Aaaah miura is now a grown man with muscles" to which Izan rolled his eyes before walking off as she knew this woman wouldn''t stop till she felt satisfied. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan then decided to upgrade his system. [Does host want to use ''67,000'' lp points to upgrade the system] [Yes/No] Izan clicked the yes button and the upgrade was initiated. [System undergoing upgrade. System will be going offline for 10 hours in 3....2.....1 ] """"""""" Izan watched on as his system went offline. This upgrade would get his systems to level 5 and Izan was excited for what this upgrade would bring to him. Izan continued with his supposed recovery and just like that a bit of time passed. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/N hello guys,chaos here. I''m very greatful for the support you''ve shown me since I started this novel. My first try wasn''t really that encouraging and I''m happy that there''s a bunch of people who like my imagination. Thank you and this is the last Chapter before the time skip so I hope that you enjoy it. And hopefully I come with the first Chapter of volume 2 tomorrow or today. Don''t forget to review as it helps NovelFire recommend this novel to others people so help me and let''s grow this football family[ yeah not soccer. FOOTBALLL!] THANKS. Chapter 28 - 1 year Chapter 28: 1 year[COMMENTATOR] '' Magical scenes here in the colovray stadium. They''ve done it. Valencia u19 are your UEFA youth league champions. None would''ve guessed this ending. They came and they saw it through and now they reap they rewards for their hardwork '' Izan collapsed on the ground tired. He had exhausted himself in the match. The match between Valencia u19 and Porto u19 had ended in a 3-2 win for Valencia u19s. Winning the copa de campeones juvenil last season qualified them for the uefa youth league. They entered the tournament with no hope as their group was very tough. They had drawn the likes of Bayern Munich u19, Copenhagen u19 and Young Boys u19. The uefa league format was such that out of 8 groups only 8 teams could qualify for the playoffs. Valencia u19''s first match was against Copenhagen u19 which they won by 1-0. The match was tough but Izan made a nice pass which was converted by Hugo. The second match however was shocking. Valencia U19s played against Bayern u19s and the match ended in a surprising 4-0 Victory for Valencia u19s. Izan scored a brace and made 1 assist in that game. Izan had caught attention as he was on the forefront of an article about the match between Valencia u19 and Bayern Munich u19s. The third match ended in a 0-0 draw against Young boys u19. The match was however exciting as it was full of attacking football. The fourth match against Young Boys was however different from the third one. Valencia u19 won 2-0. Izan got the player of the match award as he provided 2 assists. He was now leading the assist chart with 4 assists. The 5th match against Copenhagen was a stalemate until Izan scored a cracker from 30 metres out in the 89th minute winning it 1-0 for his team. Valencia u19s were leading the table with 4 wins,1 draw and 13 points. Followed by Bayern 4 wins and 1 loss with 12 points. Copenhagen were third with 1 win, 4 losses and had 3 points Finally Young Boys were last with 1 draw and 4 losses with 1 point. The last match between Valencia u19 and Bayern u19 was exciting to say the least. Full of attacking moments, the match ended in a 3-3 draw. Izan had once again shown his attacking prowess and had netted all 3 goals for valencia. Bayern u19s were devasted as they walked off the pitch. Only one team could qualify from the group and it seemed it wasn''t meant to be for them. 8 teams made it out of their respective groups and they were Valencia u19, Porto u19s,Real Madrid u19s, Rc Lens u19s,Inter u19, Manchester City u19s, Feyenoord u-19 and lastly Salzburg u19. The playoffs before the final was a single knockout tie meaning no second legs. Valencia u19 faced Salzburg u19 Feyenoord u19 faced Real Madrid u19 Inter u19 faced Manchester City u19. Porto u19 faced Rc lens u19 And the results were as follows. Valencia u19[2]-[1] Salzburg u19 Feyenoord u19[2]-[0] Real Madrid u19 Inter u19[1]-[3]Manchester City u19. Porto u19[2]-[0] Rc lens u19 The shocks of the knockouts were the Valencia u19 against Salzburg u19 and Feyenoord u19 against Real Madrid u19 as the teams that lost had very strong academies. The next round of matches were: Valencia u19 vs Manchester City u19s Porto u19 vs Feyenoord u19 Valencia u19s match against Manchester was a very gruelling match for the team. They started the match on the back foot when they went behind by two goals early in the game. A stroke of Genius by Izan from the freekick spot brought Valencia back within contention. The match continued like this for a while until the after the break. In the 60th minute Izan sent a cross from the right flank which was headed in by Hugo. The match continued after a long celebration by Hugo which earned him a warning from the referee. Nothing happened again as the match went into extra time. In extra time,Manchester City spurred into life once again and tried to kill the game but couldn''t score the goal. In the 117th minute, A pass from Izan was deflected into the net by a Manchester City u19 player. The scenes were amazing as Valencia u19 qualified for the uefa youth league final for the first time in their history. [Present] And in the present moment,they were celebrating their final win against Porto. Valencia u19 had lost a few players like Pietro and Mark who were called up to the senior team but they were still able to hold their own against the top academies across Europe. Izan heard a ding sound and couldn''t help but smile. [Host has won the uefa youth league final] Rewards: First team callup 30 stat points 1 trait and one skill move 5/5 star weak foot Izan smiled at the the screen before being woken up from his stupor by Sosa herrera who had broken through the u19 level after Izan and had performed spectacularly after pietro left. Izan saw that the podium was almost setup. He walked up to the other players and celebrated with them. Izan looked around as he thought "I''ll probably be stepping into the Real world of football after this". The officials came to the stage and started with the individual awards. They announced the MVP of the tournament and it was none other than Izan who had also won the player of the match with 2 goals and one assist. Izan had tied with Anderson poco for the Top scorer award and ultimately it was given to Izan since he won the trophy. After the individual awards were given Izan received another set of notifications which he decided to check once they were on the plane. Izan had been made captain ever since Pietro left.And now Izan walked up to the trophy and with a resounding shout and cheer,he lifted the trophy. '' Campeones Campeones ole ole ole '' This resounding chant was heard as the Valencia u19 players sang. Izan who was celebrating heard his name and turned towards Coach Moreno who was smiling at him. "Well done Miura and Thank you for Improving my Coaching resume " Coach Moreno said when Izan was near. "And although we didn''t qualify for this year''s campeones de juvenil, I hope the kids who are coming in next year perform as good as your year" Valencia''s youth team had been told to prioritise the uefa youth league at the start of the season by the head of the youth system. As a result, they came second in their group and didn''t qualify for the Copa de campeones juvenil. "Oh and the new Senior team coach wants you in the team after we get back" Moreno said bring Izan out of his thoughts. Coach Moreno smiled at the kid infront of him before walking off. Izan remembered the coaching change in February. He had been excited to play under the then Coach, Italian legend Gennaro Gattuso since Izan knew he could help his defensive game. But a string of bad results got him the sack and Valencia legend Ruben Baraja was appointed on February 14th. Izan searched for Ruben baraja after picking up his phone from the bench because he didn''t know much about Valencia legends. He was surprised to see that he was a central midfielder and although Izan was an attacking midfielder,he knew the coach could still help him with his football iq. "Finally. Its my turn" Izan thought as he looked into the night sky. ... The plane back home was mostly quiet as the players were tired. The match had taken its toll on them and the celebrations afterwards didn''t help in that regard. Izan who was still brimming with energy from the conditioning and recovery elixirs he drank sat on his seat and the holographic image was infront of him. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.84m(6''1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[76/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[91] LEGEND POINTS:[122,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 300] STAT POINTS:[48] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:80 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 75 Technique: 77 Shooting:75 Passing: 78 Body strength: 75 Defending:65 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:92% Completion La croqueta:82% completion Cruyff turn:84%Completion Roulette: 85% Completion Sombrero flick: 60% Completion Elastico: 50% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped Izan looked at his stats and reflected over how much he''d grown over a year. The system had stopped giving him stat points for daily tasks. It seemed the system didn''t want Izan to grow exponentially by hogging up status points. Now the only ways he could earn stat points were after matchdays and that would only give him one stat points and by winning things like Man of the match awards,top scorer awards and trophies. Izan was looking at the notifications he had received on the pitch. Izan first redeemed the rewards for winning the uefa youth player trophy. The 30 stat point reward had increased Izan''s stat points to 78 and his weak foot level was now Maxed. Izan then decided to redeem his trait. Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö Acrobatic finishing: enables host to score in flexible and unnatural positions. Knuckeball: Help host to learn the Knuckeball or shot move. Trivela passing : Enables host to pass accurately using the trivela move. Flair finishing: Adds flair to host''s and finishing Boulder: 15% increases in defensive stats. Izan looked at the multiple options infront of him and chose the Knuckeball trait. He would have loved to choose the acrobatic finishing but felt that Knuckeball would be helpful in his Midfield position. Izan after choosing his trait opened the other notifications. [Congratulations to host for becoming the Mvp of the tournament] Reward: 10 stat points 1 recovery potion. [Congratulations to host for becoming top scorer] Rewards: + 500 simulation points Izan stared at the second message and smiled. His stat point is now 88 in total. He now knocked at the simulation points and a wide smile appeared on his face. This was part of the upgrade the level 5 system brought him. Izan could now train his freekicks and simulate matches with opponents he had played before. It also had a tactical aspects where it would explain any football tactic Izan didn''t understand. It came at a hefty price though as it cost 50 simulation points per hour and the system hardly gave Izan any simulation points. Izan decided to upgrade his stats before going to the senior team. He had held off on upgrading for two months and now that he was going to the Main team, he felt he needed to make his presence felt. Izan opened the stats tab. STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:80 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 75 Technique: 77 Shooting:77 Passing: 78 Body strength: 75 Defending:65 Izan already had [48] stats points and the rewards also gave him an extra 40 stat points making it [88] stat points in total. Izan first opened his spatial awareness Attribute. Spatial Awareness: 75 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Vision:77 Positioning: 73 Izan added [3] stat points to his vision and [7] to his Positioning Spatial Awareness: 80 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Vision:77>80 Positioning: 73>80 Izan moved on to his shooting Attribute. Shooting:77 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:78 Long shot:77 Freekick:77 Penalties: 77 Izan added [4]stat points to finishing and [3] each to Long shots,freekick and penalties. Shooting:81 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:78>82 Long shot:77>80 Freekick:77>80 Penalties: 77>80 Izan moved onto his passing stats. Passing:78 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:82 Long passing: 80 Crossing:78 Izan once more added 3 stat points to his short passing,5 to his Long passing and 7 stats points to his crossing bringing his passing attribute to 85. Passing:85 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:85 Long passing: 85 Crossing:85 Izan, stopped with his upgrade and thought for some time. "I will be playing professional football in one of Europe''s top flight league and I need to have some stats that will help me with my breakthrough ability" Izan who had decided to do a bit of targeted upgrading opened his speed stat. He looked at his sprint speed and Acceleration which were both rated 80. He stared for some time before adding 10 stat points to each of them. Speed:80>90 ¡ö¡ö¡ö Sprint speed:80>90 Acceleration: 80>90 Just then Izan heard the systems voice. [Host seems to be doing targeted upgrading. Host must also upgrade his body strength to at least 80 to prevent the situation where the body can''t handle you abilities] Izan hearing this information opened his Body strength attribute. Izan added 3 stat points to both stamina and strength and added 9 to shot power. Body strength:75>80 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:77>80 Strength:77>80 Shot power:71>80 Izan had 19 stat points left and decided to use them all on his technique giving 8 stat points each to the two stats. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Technique:78>86 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Dribbling:78>86 Ball control:78>86 Izan saw his Player information and was satisfied now that his points had been exhausted. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.84m(6''1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[YOUTH PLAYER] TEAM: Valencia Under-19s SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[80.5/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[122,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 900] STAT POINTS:[0] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:90 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 80 Technique: 86 Shooting:81 Passing: 85 Body strength: 80 Defending:65 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:99% Completion La croqueta:95% completion Cruyff turn:90%Completion Roulette: 92% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped equipped ''Ding''[ host Ovr is now 80]. Izan remembered that the player with the highest rating in Valencia had an OVR of 82. And he was now even close to 81. Izan smiled at his progress before closing his System interface. He laid back and drifted into the night. ____________________________________ Hello guys chaos here. I''m very happy with the reviews and powerstones. Shoutout to Tadeas_Manzel, daoistrjvfjO , Onome_27, Nova_Bogatsu and Olobogno_Francis for the review and powerstones. As usual please review and help me with the powerstones. Chapter 29: Statement Made Chapter 29: Statement Made" Hello passenger,this is your captain speaking and we will be landing in 5 minutes ". The Hostess came and told everyone to buckle up for the landing. Izan who had gotten out of the plane was now trudging towards the exit with the other players and Coaches. They exited and found their bus waiting for them. The Valencia players walked through the crowd earning a number of stares and murmurs. Izan in particular was getting a number of stares from some of the girls who looked at him and started giggling. "Do you think he has a girl friend." "He looks like a kpop Idol". "Should I ask for his number". The girls kept saying as they walked through the crowd. Izan laughed when he thought of how they''d react when they heard his age. Izan after consuming the muscle strengthening elixir had grown a bit muscular and didn''t look like a 15 year old. "Famous aren''t ya" Sosa said whiles smiling sheepishly. Izan looked at him and shook his head before continuing to the bus. The ride to Paterna was a very short one. Izan kept looking around admiring the scenery. He felt his phone vibrating and smiled when he saw the name on the screen. "Hello ma" Izan said "Hello Miura. How are you" Komi asked. "I''m good ma" Izan spoke once again "Oh ok. Congratulations by the way Miura. I''m very happy for you. And I never knew my baby boy was a bit famous" Komi said as she had seen Izan on the sports channel a while ago. Izan smiled at her remark. "I''ll be home very soon okay and we''ll talk" Izan said before ending the call. The bus first went to Paterna where the academy where the players who lived around got off before continuing its journey to Alboraya. The bus got to Alboraya and Izan was the only player on the bus. Izan got off and watched as the bus sped off. He called for an uber and waited a bit. Although Izan wasn''t tired and could probablywalk home, his legs felt numb so he didn''t want to risk an injury. The car arrived and Izan sat in it as it drove to his house. Komi who was already outside saw a car pull up beside their house. Komi watched as Izan got out of the car. Komi without wasting time ran and hugged her son. Izan looked at her mother before reciprocating her actions. Hori who had just gotten out of the house saw her brother hugging her mother. Izan saw her and called her to come in too for a hug. Hori not wasting anytime jumped into the hug as the family of three held each other together. Izan after coming in took a shower before coming down for a quick lunch. He picked up his phone and dialled a number. "Hey Olivia" Izan said after the call went through. "Ow hey Izan" Olivia responded. "How have you been" Izan asked. "I''ve been good,how about you" Olivia said. "I''m okay" Izan said with a heavy breath. "So when is your vacation" Izan asked after a few seconds. "Oh. Sorry Miura but I can''t come until the summer holidays " Olivia replied with a tinge of sadness in her voice. She had already come for the Easter break and won''t be coming until August. Izan sensing the sadness in her voice said "it''s okay liv, I can visit too" . The words Izan said made Olivia''s mood change. "Really,when" Olivia asked before calming down. "I don''t know the exact date that I''m gonna be ready but hopefully next week" Izan said. Olivia continued smiling as she had the phone on her ears. "Wait why am I so happy" Olivia thought when she felt her cheek getting hot. Izan and Olivia talked for a while as they made their plans for the meeting . Izan and liv talked for a while without realising,time had passed. They each said their goodbyes before hanging up. "Who was that,your boyfriend " a voice said. Olivia looked at the person and rolled her eyes. "Must everything be about that, Jamie" Olivia said whiles looking at the woman infront of her. Jamie a tall,brown haired girls with adequate bust and backside stood there. She had become friends with Olivia in high-school and both of them had decided to come to the same university. "Listen,if a girl is on a call and is giggling and smiling so much that she didn''t even noticed when her best friend got inside her apartment,she''s probably talking to her boyfriend who she''s head over heels for" "So spill,who is he. Do I know him. Is he on campus". Olivia who couldn''t stand the incessant questioning of her friend stood up and walked away. Jamie stared as her friend walked on. "Why was she smiling so much though" she thought with a smirk. ???????????????????????????????????????????? [3 days later ] Izan arrived in Paterna with his mother. He got out of the car and stood at the entrance to the cuidad de deportiva Paterna which was the name of the training complex where the Valencia Main team trains. Izan saw Coach Moreno heading towards him and he look puzzled. He turned around and wished his mother goodbye. "Have a nice time Miura and remember that mom always loves you" Komi said before driving off. Izan looked at the back of the car before turning his attention to Coach Moreno who was now besides him. "What are you doing here coach. Arent you supposed to be with the u19s" Izan spoke. "Really, look at this kid. You think you''re the only one who got promoted " he said. When he saw that Izan was still looking puzzled he spoke. " I''ve been promoted to the 1st assistant Coach after the main assistant left for a coaching job. The 1st assistant at the time has now taken over the position so I took over his" Coach Moreno said. "Thats your mom" he asked after a while. "Yeah" Izan replied. "Come on let''s go" Coach Moreno said. Coach Moreno told Izan about the structure of the valencia main team as they walked to the training field. Izan came relatively early as the older and starting players in the team had yet to arrive. This was because Izan had arrived about an hour early. It was the end of the season and most of the main players had taken early leaves whiles the injured ones were recuperating. The rest who didn''t want to lose shape were the ones still there. With the help of Coach Moreno, Izan did a few passing and dribbling sessions to try and get a good feel for the ball as always. Some of the substitutes and the young players on the team started to arrive. They were surprised to see a new face on their training grounds. Some looked at Izan with intrigue whiles others looked skeptical about him. Most of them knew that he was probably from the youth team and had joined the first team for the last stint of the season. There were still 4 matches left in the Spanish League till the end of the season and it was at this point in the season that most of the clubs that don''t have any hopes of playing in europe or were in contention for the title experimented with their young players. "Yo, Izan is that you" Izan turned around after he heard the familiar voice. "Hello pietro " Izan replied. Pietro came forward and hugged Izan. Pietro, after their copa de campeones juvenil win last season was promoted to the senior squad and had performed decently in the chances given him. "How''s life in the Senior team" Izan asked. "Pretty good actually. They gave me a chance and I took it. I hope they start playing me more this season after one of the midfielders got injured" pietro said. "Izan welcome to the first team". Izan heard another voice and without even turning he knew who it was. "Come on Mark, do you want the whole world to hear you screaming his name" Pietro said. Izan,Mark and Pietro talked for a while before doing some passing sessions with Izan. The reserve players whonwere on the pitch kept eyeing Izan to see if he was any good and from their observations in the passing session with pieteo and Mark, he was good. But passing wasn''t everything in football. After a while, the manager Ruben Baraja arrived and the players started in the drills. Izan showed his electrifying pace in the speed drills earning a nod from the manager. His dribbling was also up there with the best in the team. His passing ability the drills was also very great. One of the trainers blew the whistle and the shooting drills was next. Coach Moreno leaned in the ears of Ruben Baraja and said something to him. Ruben Baraja showed a somewhat surprised expression. "He''s scored all his freekicks in all the matches with the under-19s" he thought. Ruben Baraja had watched Izan in the division de honor and also the Uefa youth league and was surprised by the play of the young player. He was also surprised when he found out that he wasn''t even 15 years old when the previous manager wanted to call him up. "Well if he can bring his freekick arsenal to the Laliga, then I''m sure we will have another way to make it count from setpieces ". Izan scored 10 in 10 shots from the shooting drills and also netted in 6 out of 6 freekicks. His freekick prowess was confirmed by Ruben Baraja after this drill and he was happy to get such a player on his hand. "With his pace, playing him on the wing position is the best option" Ruben muttered as he thought of Izan''s pace. Coach Moreno, as if sensing Ruben''s thoughts spoke"In fact,his main position is an attacking midfield position. Although I played him as a winger on some occasions which he also plays very well". Ruben was a bit surprised because the day he watched the match,Izan was playing in the wing position. "He can also play on both the left and right wing of the pitch as both his legs work effectively." Coach Moreno added like a salesman trying to sell goods. "He''s also versatile.I''ll try him in the 2nd match of the four matches" Ruben thought. "Gather around boys" Ruben said. " I''m seeing some new faces and so we will be playing a welcome match to welcome these player to the first team". "Some of your stays may not be permanent so do well and earn you spot in this team". Some of the players were form the Valencia Mestalla which was the reserve team for Valencia CF and most of them wanted to get out of playing reserve league football. Manager Ruben''s words had set a fire in them as none of those called up wanted to return to reserve football. Jose Gaya,the captain of the Valencia team had arrived but stood at the entrance watching them with a smile. He looked around before his eyes fell on Izan. "So you''re,the kid little pietro had been talking about". Izan was drafted to one of the two sides for the training match which was going to last for just 45 minutes. Izan was playing in the wing position. A positon he hadn''t been playing much since his transition. He had only played on the wing position about 8 times in the under-19s and this was his 9th time in that position. The training match kicked off harshly for Izan as he got knocked down by a player on the opposing team at the start of the game. Izan''s body strength was a class above most of his teammates but him being unsuspecting led to him being bodied. No foul was given as the match continued. Izan got up from the ground and was met with the offender. "Better go back to the under-19s if this is how you''re gonna play" the player said with a smug expression before going. The player was a bit taller than Izan and wanted to use his physique to intimidate him. Izan wasn''t bothered by the player''s attitude but he wanted to wipe off that smug expression. The match continued and Izan wasn''t seeing much of the ball as his team wasn''t really passing the ball to him. He didn''t know if it was lack of trust or if they were doing it intentionally but he was getting a bit frustrated. Izan a bit irked by this calmed down and kept looking around. The opponent team had the ball now and were attacking. Izan decided to go and take the ball if they were not going to give it to him. Manager,Ruben Baraja who had been watching Izan was frowning. "Was all that talk about him false. But I''ve seen him play and I can say he''s talented than most. Although his teammates aren''t helping,he should at do something" he thought but just then Izan made a clean tackle and took the ball from the opponent team. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan with the ball started on his conquest. "If you''re not passing im not passing to you" he thought. With his speed,he started moving forward with the ball. Izan faced with 2 players made a body feint that threw them the opposite direction of where he was going. With them out of the way, Izan continued in the midfield. He felt freedom in the match as Izan kept pulling out skill moves one after the other. He dribbled 4 more players before coming into a one on one with the player who had bodied him . Izan without a lovely piece of step-overs confused the player and when the player thought Izan would go left, he threw his right leg forward to intercept the ball. All Izan did was roll the ball with his left leg through the legs of the player who fell to the ground after Izan''s dribbling and skills left him in an awkward position. All the players on watching and playing laughed at the situation that had just occurred. "What the actual Fu-" one guy tried to voice out as Izan curled the ball into the right top corner of the goal. Silence rang through the pitch as they all looked Izan. Izan didn''t look at them as he had already made his statement. ?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã?¡ã Thanks guys for the support and powerstones Chapter 30: Potential Chapter 30: PotentialThe players kept looking at Izan after he just scored that wonder goal. "What the fuck just happened " one of the reserve player voiced out bringing the other players out of their stupor. Izan couldn''t care less as he never even looked once in the direction of the players who were staring at him. Manager Baraja could be seen standing on the side of the pitch with his eyes wide open. He couldn''t stop grinning from the excitement he was feeling. If, and only if Izan could replicate what he just did in the laliga,then next season was going to be a heck of a season. Coach Moreno looked at Izan as he stood besides the manager also surprised. He had seen Izan scoring wonder goals but this was world class. Even though,it was just training,Izan had managed to score that goal against the substitutes and some of the main team players. Jose Gaya, the captain and Left-back of Valencia was also surprised at Izan''s play. He had come to the training ground to recover from a strain in his leg. But now that he had seen what the kid who was not even 16 had done infront of him, Gaya was itching to play with him. A trainer approached Gaya, bringing him out of his trance and told him that the head trainer was waiting for him. Gaya nodded his head and followed the person whiles keeping his eyes on Izan until he got out of sight. Some of the main players who were watching the match were all shocked by the ability of the young boy. All were watching on as the match continued to see if it was a fluke or the player was consistent. One of such players was Hugo duro, a forward who came on loan to the club in 2021 before coming on board permanently in 2022. Hugo had seen Izan making those tailored passes for his teammates and honestly,those passes were spectacular. The passes he had received this season had lacked the star effect and so he struggled to make them count but if Izan''s passes were what he had to work with then he would have a hell of season the following one. He knew how hard it was for a kid to come into the senior team and play so well on the first day and that''s one of the reasons why what Izan had just shown was commendable. The match ended after a while and Izan had played his heart out. He had never been this tired after a match. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He had forced himself to play at the intensity the others were playing at and although his stamina and strength were good, his body hadn''t gotten used to those upgraded stats and it would take a bit of time to get used to them. "Moreno" Manager Baraja called. Coach Moreno approached after hearing his name. "Until when does his contract last" he asked."Well from the previous contract he signed, he will be at the club until he''s 18 with a 5 million euros release clause" Moreno answered. "Oh okay,but from the way he''s playing,you''d want to improve his wages and raise his release before he gets snatched by another club for that measly 5 million euros". "Ask herman to send Izan''s file to the guys in the office and ask them to negotiate a new contract with him. Ask them to be a bit generous. " Ruben added. He had liked what he saw from Izan and didn''t want a situation where the player would be snapped up by another club when he was settling in his squad in the middle of the season. Coach Moreno nodded before he took out a phone to make a call. Coach Ruben turned to the players and had a bit of talk with them before closing the training session. At the end of the session,Izan tried to go and wash before he left but was called by Ruben Baraga. Izan was a bit surprised as he didn''t expect the Coach to have noticed him. Izan walked slowly to where the Coach was and stood infront of him. Coach Ruben stood there and watch him for a bit before speaking. "Hello Izan, I''m Ruben". Izan was a bit surprised with his introduction. Izan quickly grabbed the Coach''s hand before replying " Hello Coach Ruben ". Coach Ruben looked at him some more before speaking. "You''re a very wonderful player Izan. To be in the Senior team at the age of 15 is a great accomplishment". " I hope you can play like you play in training against other clubs cause I don''t like extra baggage. And I will send you to the under-23s if you cannot handle the responsibility of being in the Senior team, If you have a bad attitude towards training and if you cannot match the level I require ". Izan looked at him with confidence and said " I won''t let you down Coach". Coach Ruben looked at him before telling him he could go. Izan walked off thinking about the Coaches words. He was determined to prove himself and he would do so. Izan got home and rested a bit. After having dinner Izan went to his room and started doing his project work. He was in his second year of High school and Izan was still juggling studies with his football career. He had not let all these promotions deter him from his studies. Instead he had redoubled his efforts in studies. Komi opened the door and saw Izan studying. She smiled at her son before closing the door. She went a bit farther before stopping at Hori''s door. She opened Hori''a door and was a bit surprised to see her daughter studying. Hori was very smart and didn''t really study much but today was a change. "Huh,maybe seeing Izan study has influenced her" Komi taught before closing the door. Hori took the earbuds out and turned back to face her door as she thought someone had opened the door to her room. She redirected her focus to her studies after she saw no-one. The night neared and Izan was halfway done with the project work due Friday. He decided to stop since he had a day more to complete it. Izan went to sleep and woke up the next day. After breakfast,he headed to school with his bike. The day was like any other as Izan breezed through the classes.Some of the girls also fawned over Izan a bit during recess. "A handsome face, muscular and lean body, good at football to the extent the he now plays for the Valencia senior team. He is none other than Mr. Pretty boy Izan". Sosa said with a mocking tone during recess. Izan had found out that Sosa herrera had transferred from his school to Izan''s highschool in his first year. He was a about a year and some months older than Izan. Although both of them were in the same grade. Izan was glad to have found someone with similar Interests. Sosa had dazzled at the under-19 level and was the next in line to be promoted alongside Andranik and Wissam who had also performed marvellously. They would be promoted at the end of the following season if nothing happens or earlier if injuries strike. Izan looked at Sosa as he spewed his nonsense. Izan rolled his eyes at Sos¨¤''s words. "So are you going to play in the upcoming exams match " Sos¨¤ asked. Izan shrugged before saying "Do I look like the coach to you" before turning away. Sosa didn''t take Izan''s remarks to heart and continued " Wow bro,you could break the record of being the youngest to debut in the laliga ". Izan didn''t really care about these kind of things but hearing it now, it wasn''t so bad to hold these kinds of records. Sos¨¤ looked at Izan as he was grinning and was really unsettled by it. He shook his head and started to eat his food. After school, Izan went home before his mum took him to the training complex. Izan was now eager to turn 18 as he didn''t always want to trouble his mom to bring him to training. He could take the bus but didn''t because of its unreliability as he could be late due to how the bus had to stop for passengers. Izan, looked ahead and looked at Valencia CF logo and smiled before entering the complex. Izan changed before heading out. The training session was light and was only going to last an hour and 30 minutes but Izan as usual had come 30 minutes earlier to get some work in before the others came in. Izan started performing his skill moves so he could improve the skill Completion. The system would only notify him of a big improvement but gradually Izan''s skill move Completion was improving by the second. Coach Ruben who had seen Izan''s skill moves was now certain that he wanted the player to play in the wing position. But at last it all came down to the player. He couldn''t force him to play a position he didn''t like everyday. He could at most deploy him to the wings for more attacking power if things weren''t going well for the team. Coach Ruben continued with his work and Izan also continued with his as the other players started to arrive. Chapter 31: A Cameo Of Greatness Chapter 31: A Cameo Of GreatnessIt was the day of the match and Izan had woken up early because of the excitement he was feeling over the possibility of him playing his first senior team match. It was a Saturday and the match was going to be played at 5:30 pm. The match would be played at the Camp Mestalla which was the stadium of the Valencia CF. The stadium had a capacity of 49,430. Izan had already gotten two tickets from Coach Moreno and he had given them to his mum and Sister. The team Valencia CF would be playing were one of the giants of Barcelona and thats was Espanyol CF. Since it was a Saturday, Izan went for his daily task as although they weren''t giving him stat points anymore, he still got lp points from them. Izan,entered the shower after he came back from completing his tasks. He stood under the shower head as water streamed down his back. Izan after the shower came out with a towel around his waist. After drying himself,he put on a sweatpant and a big black shirt. "I thought you''d go for training,in the morning since it''s your senior debut and all" Komi said as she saw Izan descending from the stairs. "Well the Coach said we will meet at the complex, 4 hours before the start of the match for some light training session " Izan responded. "Ok but can you go and wake up your sister" Komi added. Izan stood up from the couch before heading upstairs again. He got to Hori''s door and knocked but got no reply. He tried opening it and it opened as it wasn''t locked. Izan saw her sister sleeping peacefully and decided to play with her a bit. He held her nose not allowing her to breathe until she woke up. She was still feeling groggy and Izan decided to go further. He pulled down the blinds and the sunlight which fell on Hori made her feel like a thousand year old vampire that had just come out of her sleep. She woke up and annoyed while Izan told her to freshen up and come down. Komi had already finished making breakfast by the time Hori came down. The family of 3 slowly enjoyed their break fast. Izan after breakfast drank a conditioning and recovery pill to be in the best of state he could be before the match. After that,Izan just sat there with his phone reading about the transfer rumours happening in the world of football. The mbappe to madrid transfer saga was at its highest as the latter was trying to bring the superstar to the club. They had already offered the parent club of mbappe 160 million euros for the services of the of the player but the offer had been rejected. Izan stared at his phone as he read on and thought "very soon, teams are going to be offering a lot of money for me to play for them". Izan surfed the Internet some more before deciding to rest for match a bit. ... Izan was woken up by his mum when it was getting to 1'' o''clock. Izan stood up washed his face with water before heading downstairs with his football bag. He sat in the car quietly as Komi drove to the cuidad deportiva de paterna. "Miura" komi said after they had reached the location. "I''m very proud of you and I''m sure your dad would be proud too". Izan sat there listening as he tried to remember his father''s face from memory but couldn''t. "Go out there and play your heart out Miura,and know that no matter what happens we''re there for you" Komi added. Izan looked at his mum and smiled before she kissed him on the forehead. Izan got out of the car and walked to the complex. He saw some of the players training before he went inside to change. After changing,Izan came out with a ball to do his own targeted practice with the ball. The Coach had told them to take it easy with their training. After a while, most of the players arrived and the training session started. The drills were relatively light today as no one wanted an injury ahead of a game. After the training session,the players went to wash up before joining the coach in the tactical room for the tactical session of the match. The players sat there as the Coach explained their roles to them. After about 30 minutes, the starting lineup for the match was put on the board and Izan walked towards it. Izam stopped infront of the board and inspected the sheet. Formation: 4-3-1-2 Gk: Javier cillessen. Left-back: J¨¦sus Vasquez, Right-back:Thierry Correi¨¤ . Centre backs:H. Guillam¨°n, Mark montes. Midfielders: Pietro Luis Cava, Yunus musah, Helder Costa. Center forward: Maxi gomez Strikers: Hugo duro, M. Andre. .... Substitutes: Marco vallejo, Carlos soler, O. Alderete,Dennis cheryshev, A. Blanch, Izan Hernandez, C. Piccini, D. Wass. Jaume domen¨¦ch[GK], illaix Moriba. Izan stood there staring at the substitutes and when he saw his name, Izan couldn''t help but smile. "Welcome to the team brother " Yunus musah,one of the starting youngsters on the team said. Izan turned around and gave him a nod. Pietro and Mark who were both starting also came to Izan and started making small talk. The players after this packed their bags and started heading towards the bus that would be taking them to the stadium. Izan sat with Pietro in the bus and really regretted his decision as Pietro couldn''t stop talking. Izan didn''t know if it was because he was nervous or if there was another reason. Izan put on his earbuds as they headed towards the camp mestalla. Pietro who saw this felt a bit sad but kept quiet. The players got down from the bus when they reached the stadium and walked to their locker rooms. After changing into their training kits,they went out for a quick warmup session. Izan after he got onto the pitch started looking around to see if he could find his mother and sister. He had memorised the seat number and section so he quickly found them. He waved at them as they were a bit nearer to the pitch. Komi and Hori who saw this also waved back drawing a bit of stares to themselves. " Wow you know one of the players" one of the Valencia fans said to Komi. "Yes, he''s my son " Komi replied. "Oh then we wish him goodluck" the fan added before minding his own again. The players were called back to the locker room. Izan after he got there this time saw the jerseys on each player''s locker. He was a new player and therefore he had inherited someone''s locker. Izan stood there stunned as he saw his name on the white kit with black sleeves. Izan had been assigned the number 22 since it was one of the free numbers no one was using. Izan knew someone had a hand in him getting this number because mostly, Academy players or youth players that had been recently promoted had jersey numbers that were in the 30s range. Izan smiled as he looked at Coach Moreno who was busy with the Manager,Ruben Baraja. "Ok guys,starters to the tunnel and the substitutes to the bench. Izan took his boots, his shin guards and water bottle and started walking towards the bench. The Kit manager would bring his jersey Pietro said when Izan tried to take the kit. He looked at the kit once more and his name at the back which said [M. Hernand¨¦z] which made use of his middle and surnames. Izan walked out of the locker room and headed towards the bench. Izan was wowed by the fans this time. The stadium was buzzing with sounds as the fans continued to sing and chant. Izan was loving the atmosphere and the noise. The stadium hadn''t been filled that much when they came for the Warm-Ups but now it had been filled. The attendance was shown on the screen and Izan turned to look at the screen showing the attendance. 45,782 out of the 49,430 capacity had been occupied. Izan smiled before finding his seat on the bench. The starting teams of both sides came out of the tunnel and lined up as the pleasantries began. The anthems of both teams sounded and the players shook hands before the referee looked at his watch. Fweeeeee fweeeeeeee. The referee blew his whistle after the clock hit 5:30. [COMMENTATORS POV] ''[Buenas noches a todos y bienvenidos al Campamento Mestalla que comienza el partido entre el Valencia Cf y el RCD Espanyol. Mi nombre es julio salinas y Andres agu¨¬la me acompa?a en este encuentro de Laliga.(Good evening everyone and welcome to the Camp Mestalla as the match between Valencia CF and RCD Espanyol begin. my name''s Julio salinas and I''m joined by Andres agu¨¬la in this laliga fixture.) (So commentary is going to be in English and other languages are going to be indicated by Either italics or block letter)'' After the commentators finished with the lineups,the match started. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Espanyol team were on fire,shooting from all cylinders in the first 15 minutes. They controlled the game relentlessly and tried to make it count right from the start. The defence of the Valencia team however was solid. Mark was doing a good job alongside the spanish centre back, H.guillam¨°n. After a while,the match balanced out as Valencia Cf were settling into the game. They got possesion and tried an attack of their own but was thwarted by the opponents. The first real chance of the game came in the 22nd minute when Pietro sent a through ball to Maxi Gomez who sent a pass across the box to Hugo duro whose shot was saved but the keeper. The Fans who were ready to celebrate could not help but sigh and shake their head dissapointingly. The corner was taken quickly as Mario gomez made a short pass to Yunus musah who made a splendid cross to the box after seeing Hugo. His cross was met with a well timed finish from the head of Hugo duro. The keeper tried to reach it but could only watch as the ball sank into the back of the net sharply. Izan raised his fists on the bench as the Valencia players celebrated. Mark and Pietro were doing well as the latter even initiated the attack leading to the corner. Izan knew he could perform at this level but at the same time,he was nervous and a bit scared. He shook the useless thoughts out of his head and focused on the match trying to study the opponents. The referee restarted the match after the celebrations and this time the momentum was with the Valencia side. The wanted to capitalise on their goal that they just scored to make it double however as hard as they tried,they couldn''t make it 2 to the good. The Espanyol players started pressing high up the pitch. This tactic could rather help them or destroy them as the Valencia players could start playing long balls and they could counter. The Valencia players however didn''t and kept playing like they had in the first 22 minutes. Izan looked on as the opponents defended relentlessly. The first half of the match was coming to an end and the Barcelona based club wanted to make it one all before the end of the first 45 minutes. Their prayers were heard when J¨¦sus vasquez,the left back of Valencia made a bad pass to the keeper cillessen. Jos¨¦lu being fast enough got to the ball before Cillessen could. Mark who had already anticipated a bad pass due to a bad feeling had already retreated back. Jos¨¦lu with a nice ball roll flicked it to the right with cillessen''s tackle missing him. Mark had gotten infront of the goal to try and block the shot but Jos¨¦lu faked a shot making Mark act to block the faked shot. Jos¨¦lu with a smile tapped the ball into the goal. J¨¦sus Vasquez stood there a bit out of it. The blunder he had just made had cost his team. The Espanyol''s travelling fans erupted into shouts and cheers. Their team had just equalised the score. Izan couldn''t help but shake his head. The Valencia Manager, Ruben stood there poker faced like he cared less about the match. The match ended a few minutes after the referee restarted the it and the players headed towards the dressing room. Izan stood up and followed the other guys to play around a bit with the ball on the field to try and get a feel for the match. After a few minutes,they also headed back to the dressing room. Ruben Baraja clapped his hands to get their attention. "Okay guys,we fought well and got one goal but we should not have conceded a goal. I know the pass from vasquez was bad but aside Mark,none of you even moved to tackle the ball". Ruben Baraja talked about the mistakes of the half and what they should do to prevent them. The players sat there for a bit after he finished speaking. Some were making conversations whiles others were just on their phones. After sometime,they were told to come back for the second half to begin. Izan stood up and walked to the bench. He knew he wouldn''t get subbed in at half time since the team were doing well. The referee restarted the match after the players got into position and the second half began. The Espanyol players were rejuvenated after the second half as they defended nicely. There were no unnecessary tackles that would give away freekicks to the opponents and this made the match a bit difficult for the Valencia side. The match was full of attacking plays as neither side relented and the fans were having the time of their lives even though the match was still a draw. 17 minutes after the start of the second half,the substitutions began. Espanyol brought on their leader on the pitch, Sergi Darder to control the midfield. Valencia on the other hand made two changes as they took out Pietro and brought on Dennis cheryshev. They also took out helder Costa before bringing on Carlos soler . Izan looked on as the match continued at the same pace . He was itching to play and as if sensing it,Coach Moreno approached Izan and told him to warm up. Izan quickly stood up to warmup. The other reserve players on the bench stared at him with envy and jealousy. [In the stands] "Mum when do you think Miura will come on. We mainly came to see him play but he hasn''t even played" hori said just as Izan started to warm up. Komi spotting Izan on the touchline pointed to him. Hori following the direction his mother was pointing to saw Izan warming up. She smiled as she looked at her brother who looked like he was destined for greatness. In the 72nd minute, Izan stood on the touchline waiting to be subbed in. Fortunately the ball went out and the substitution was made. Izan came on for Maxi gomez as the Espanyol also made a substitution. [COMMENTATOR POV] '' And Valencia makes a change and folks history is being rewritten here. Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z comes on for Maxi gomez The former is a youth player who has very great statistics for the youth team scoring 69 goals and 27 assists in 42 matches for the youth side and he was even the mainstay in Valencia Under-19s triumph in the uefa youth league. He was also an integral part of the team that won the copa de campeones juvenil last year. Izan Miura at 15 years 5 months and 24 days becomes the youngest player to play in the laliga dethroning former mallorca player Luka Romero who is currently at S.S.C Lazio. Although, I wouldn''t make this change,let''s see what Valencia Manager Ruben Baraja has seen in this young player that made him trust him so much to be bring him on '' "What is the Coach thinking,bringing on such a young player in this match. Even though this match won''t change our status in the league table. It will still be nice to bag a win. Come on i bet on this" a fan said. "Well lets see what he has to offer " another said. Komi and Hori clapped as Izan came on. Unknowingly this incited a number of claps from the other valencia fans who clapped for Izan. Izan couldn''t find his footing,the first few minutes that he came on. He was getting pushed around a bit and this made him nervous. But just then ''ding'' [System has noticed that the host is nervous. FOCUS Lv 2 has been activated] Izan with the focus skill activated went to ask for a pass. Hugo duro who had been watching the kid in training over the past few days knew one of Izan''s habits. He sometimes used his hand to ask for a run. Hugo looked at Izan''s hand which was telling him to make a run. Just as Izan received the ball,Hugo started to make a run. One of the Espanyol players tried to sneak up on Izan from the back and tackle the ball but Izan sneakily nudged the ball through his legs for a nutmeg. The Valencia fans who saw this started laughing a bit . Izan after this raised his head and sent a raking pass to Hugo duro. The pass was spectacular and Hugo duro didn''t want to waste it. Unfortunately for Hugo, one of the Espanyol defenders fouled him and brought him to the ground for a freekick. The referee blew the whistle before showing the Espanyol defender a red card since it was a clear goal scoring opportunity that was denied. Carlos soler stood behind the freekicks to take it. Izan wanted to take it as this freekick was within his range but kept quiet. Carlos soler with the run up smashed the ball over the goal for a goal kick. A chance was wasted. Coach Moreno who knew Izan could have made it count sighed at the bad attempt of a freekick. Manager Baraja who stood on the touchline was also about to call for Izan to take the freekick but stopped. Izan didn''t mind and played marvellously after the goal kick. Izan made dribbles and very cool passes causing trouble for the defenders and midfielders alike. "Wow that kid has been causing problems for the opponents" a spectator said. "Yeah,the pressure had been on the other team since he came in" Another added. Izan unaware of the talks behind him got the ball and started worming his way through the midfield of the Espanyol side. The match was in the late stages as added time was on. The referee had added 4 minutes to regular time and it was now the 93rd minute. Izan playing a one-two pass with Marcos Andre freed himself and was about to take a shot. Before he could go through with the shot,Izan was brought down by one of the Espanyol midfielders. The referee blew the whistle and gave the player a yellow card. A change was made on the Valencia side and Daniel wass came on for J¨¦sus Vasquez. He approached the freekick area and told Carlos soler a message from the Manager. Ruben baraja had told him to tell Carlos to let the kid take the freekick. Carlos looked at him and nodded before taking the ball towards Izan. Izan stood there confused as he saw Carlos soler coming his way. "Can you make it count when it matters" he said before tossing the ball to Izan. The ball was in a positon where Izan could use any of his legs. Izan being strong with both feet decided to use his left. Ruben knew that Izan was good with both feet but he heard that his right foot was his strongest. Izan put the ball down and took three steps back before activating [focus lv2] He had deactivated it when he got settled into the match. "Wait they''re betting the last chance on the kid. Has the Valencia manager and players gone senile "a fan said in a sharp tone. "What is wrong with the team" another added. [COMMENTATOR POV] ''Izan was brought down a few moments ago and now he seems to be the one to take the freekick. The young man has been showing glimpses of greatness ever since he came on but how good is he from setpieces for the manager and his teammates to entrust this opportunity to him. '' [Izan''s Pov] ''Wow, a goal would be a great start to a debut. Shush, I have to focus on scoring from the setpiece. I haven''t said this but the focus skill is very good. I can even see the valve of the ball from here. Well lets make it count then '' With this Izan made the run up before curling the ball over the wall that had been setup infront of him. The ball dipped with curl as it went over the the wall. The Espanyol keeper who thought that the chance was a waste after the ball rose high quickly ran to save the ball after he saw it descending dangerously. The ball,with a mad curl on it sank into the goal,rustling the net. The stadium went eerily silent before the Valencia fans erupted into cheers as the goal they had just seen was simply beautiful. Izan ran up to the area in the stands where his family was and bowed to them. ____________________________________ A/N:Hey guys author here. its going to be a while before I post. Im in my final year in highschool and we have a mock test that lasts a month. please I won''t drop this novel just so you know so share this novel with your friends. I want to reach Chapter 40 before I go premium so let''s make this one of the best football novels on NovelFire. Thanks Francis_olobogno for the powerstones Chapter 32: Post-Cameo Chapter 32: Post-Cameo[COMMENTATOR POV] ''A golden debut from the young man here who is celebrating with his teamates in the Camp Mestalla stadium. Records are being broken here and history is made. Could this be the start of something good. Izan debuting a few minutes ago,became the youngest player to play for valencia and the youngest to play in laliga and he has now become the youngest player to score for valencia and in laliga. This young man looks destined for greatness from that wonderful freekick he just showed us. Simply a piece of art'' Izan after the celebrations joined his teammates for the restart of the match. The referee ended the match just after the Espanyol team''s last stitch attack failed. Izan pumped his fists into the air. He had heard the announcer announce the records he had broken when he came on and when he scored. Izan together with the players walked in the direction of the fans whiles clapping for them. Komi and Hori who were having the time of their lives were all laughs and smile as they saw Izan approaching with his teammates. "Manager,the reporter wants to have an interview with you and they are suggesting that you bring Izan" Orlo, one of the Valencia staff said to Ruben Baraja. "Tell them no. He''s not ready yet for that yet" Ruben Baraja said whiles staring at Izan. Izan after showering in the bathroom of the dressing room came out whiles drying his hair. He took his phone and was met with a few number of messages. He saw the ones from Hori and Komi telling him that they''d be waiting for him in the parking lot. Izan quickly checked his chat with Olivia and found the latter congratulating him. She had watched the match from her dorm and couldn''t contain her excitement when Izan scored. Izan after replying to some of the messages quickly took his bag and informed coach Moreno of his departure. Izan headed out and saw Komi and Hori in the car. He approached the vehicle and got in. Komi soon drove off as the family of 3 talked on their way home. Izan after getting home decided to shower again as he felt that the shower at the stadium was a bit lacking. Izan after showering,quickly opened the YouTube app on his phone. He wanted to watch his goal from the match. He searched for the highlights of the match and quickly pressed on the play icon after he found the video. He watched the highlights with vigilance and was smiling after he saw when he was fouled. Izan looked on as he saw himself about to kick the ball on the screen. Izan had to concede that this freekick was his best one yet. Izan after watching the video a few times decided to sleep. However he couldn''t no matter how hard he tried. Izan was still feeling the excitement from the match. Izan seeing how he couldn''t sleep decided to check his system. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.84m(6''1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM RESERVE] TEAM: VALENCIA FC SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[80.5/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[144,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 950] STAT POINTS:[3] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:90 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 80 Technique: 86 Shooting:81 Passing: 85 Body strength: 80 Defending:65 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Stepovers:99% Completion La croqueta:95% completion Cruyff turn:90%Completion Roulette: 92% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped equipped Izan looked at his stats with a bit of pride. It had been close to 2 years since he got his system and he was glad to say that he had grown a lot. From a 52 rated hopeless kid to being one of the best players in his team at 80 rated. Izan knew he had to work harder as it was only going to get harder from here. The system had informed him the day before that he would now only be able to make upgrade after reaching a certain number of stat points and that number was 50 stat points. Izan didn''t know how he was going to get that number of stat points unless he actively participated in the games of the incoming season and that would be hard to do as a 15 year old unproven player. Izan knew that even though he had made a difference on his debut,he hadn''t yet proved himself to the club and the fans. All he had done was just a sneak peek which meant that in order to play more matches next season,he had to earn it by playing well in the pre-season if he would be included in the squad and by making use of the few minutes he''d get to play. Izan needed them to feel his impact. Izan by now was getting mentally drained. He was about to close his system but the system sent him a message. [Host has completed a hidden quest] Score in your senior team debut Rewards: 5 stat points Izan smiled wryly as he saw the number of stat points being given to him for completing a hidden achievement. The system wasn''t going to make his journey a stroll in the park. Izan hardened his resolve right there on the bed to train harder. Izan finally closed his eyes and drifted off into slumberland. Izan''s few days passed as usual. He had talked with Sos¨¤ the day after the match and herrera didn''t even give him time to breathe as he was asking questions incessantly. Izan just ignored all of his antics but gave in after he saw that Sosa wouldn''t give up. He answered all of his questions which were mostly about the match. The days passed and Valencia''s next two matches were played. Izan didn''t get to play in those two matches and he was feeling a bit down about it. There was only one match remaining in the laliga and Valencia had finished in the 9th position. Izan wanted to really feel the atmosphere he felt when he played against Espanyol. Izan had been doing great in the Senior team training sessions so far and Manager Baraja was also impressed by Izan''s work ethic even though the latter thought he still needed to do more. After one such training session, Izan was called to the office by Coach Moreno. Izan who was a a little surprised by the sudden call quickly went to the office of Coach Moreno. Izan whiles entering the room,saw an unfamiliar face besides Coach Moreno. Izan walked in slowly and sat down. "Izan,I''m sure this call was abrupt but it is for something good so I hope we aren''t being a bother" Coach Moreno said. "Not at all Coach" Izan said. "Well then,this is Mr. Andreas H¨¨rmoso and he is the person at the helm of the team negotiating player contracts in the club" Coach Moreno said whiles pointing to the man besides him. Izan looked at the man who had outstretched hands and shook the hands of Andreas. Coach Moreno after the introduction left Andreas to do his thing. "Okay Miura, I believe you had already signed a contract whiles playing for the under-19s " he said. Izan nodded to confirm the words of the man. "The contract saw you receive a yearly remuneration of 25,000 euros which was very good. Well to say the least,our club views you positively and would like to keep you at the club". "Since the contract you signed with the club at the under-19 level was only for two years,it would mean other clubs are free to negotiate with you and take you away but since we don''t want that,we would like to offer you a new and professional contract" Andreas said. Izan sat there nodding and rapidly absorbing the words of Andreas. Andreas who saw this proceeded. "Since you are not yet 18,we can only sign you for a maximum of 3 years so we offered a 3 year contract that will see you earning a base annual salary of 1.3 million euros which is a sign of the clubs trust in you and how importantthe deem you". "This means you will be earning 112,000 euros a month and 26,000 euros weekly which I must say is a huge upgrade for you. Of course there will also be goals and assist clauses as well as trophy clauses for you to meet which could bump you salary to about 1.8 million euros annually" Andreas concluded. Izan was surprised by the contract the club was offering him. This contract was absolutely terrifying for a player who was not even 16 years old yet. The amount was staggering. He knew this would come sooner or later but he didn''t think it''d come this early. Izan kept quiet as Andreas elaborated on the contract. "If this is a lot for you to take in then I think it time for you to consider,hiring an agent" Andreas said with a smile as he saw Izan''s face. Izan nodded as the conversation continued. He sat there and absorbed what he could as the talks continued. ......... In an office,the sounds of clacking could be heard as a woman who seemed to be in her late 20s was seen pressing on her keyboard. She had a smile on her face and the smile made it look like she was craving for something. Miranda,the woman,was a worker at a footballing talent agency which had a few well known players on hand. She was currently viewing something on her laptop and was utterly surprised to say the least. She was currently watching the match tapes of Izan''s under-19s matches. Why,because she had been in Valencia for the match against Espanyol and had seen Izan come on for that match. She was amazed by the young talent who wasn''t even 16 years old. She had been tempted to inform her superiors about this but she knew that if the kid met the requirements,the agency would just give the deal to someone else. Miranda had the dream of establishing her own football agency and was therefore happy to see her ticket to that dream infront of her. She knew she needed to be fast to capture the kid''s signature before the big sharks started to swim around him. She took her phone to make a call but was interrupted by another incoming call. She saw the name on the screen and smiled when she saw it. She picked up the phone and spoke, "Hi Komi" after the other voice on the phone had talked. "Hi Mira,how are you" Komi said. "I''m good as usual " Miranda said. "What''s the reason for the sudden call" Mira asked. "Awww,you make me sad. Can''t I call my friend to ask how she''s doing" Komi said teasingly. Mira sighed at her friends childishness while shaking her head. She had met Komi when she had gone to Komi''s company for a project. The age difference didn''t matter though as they instantly clicked and also Komi really didn''t look her age for that matter. "Nothing much, I''m still at the office. I found a player I''m interested in but I have no Idea how to contact him without arousing suspicion" she said. "Umm,tough. You actually reminded me,have I told you my son plays for the Valencia team" Komi said. Mira shook her head then realised Komi couldn''t see that before replying. "Yeah you told me about him. You said he was being promoted to the under-19s side and all that ''mother doting on her son'' attitude " Miranda said. "I don''t dote on him" Komi said defensively to which Mira replied "oh yes you do". "Anyways,he was playing for the under-19s but he won a few trophies and awards and now he''s playing for the senior team. He just played his debut Match for the senior team and even better he scored a goal to win them the match" Komi said excitedly. Miranda who had just heard what her friend was saying was a bit surprised as the situation of her friend''s child was the same as the situation with the young kid she was interested in. "Komi" Miranda said. "Yeah Mira" Komi replied. "What''s your son''s name again" she asked. "Oh come on Mira,I just told you the other time " Komi said. "I''m sorry komi but is his name by any chance Izan" Miranda asked. Komi kept quiet for a while before responding " Yes,but I thought you said you didn''t remember his name" Komi said. Miranda just stood there with a smile on her face. Her issue had just been resolved. Chapter 33: Matchday Chapter 33: MatchdayIzan walked inside his house and smelled an unfamiliar scent in the house. "It seems like someone''s visiting " Izan thought. Izan headed to the stairs and was interrupted by his mother before he could go up. "Miura dear,come here" Komi said. Izan who had one foot on the stairs came back to the living room to find someone else alongside his mother. His guess had been correct. Izan stood there looking at the woman in front of him. "Miura,this is my friend Miranda" Komi said whiles guiding her hands towards Mira. "Nice to meet you Miura, I''ve heard a lot about you" Mira said with a genuine smile on her face. "Nice to meet you too Miss Miranda" Izan said whiles bowing. "Oh,just Mira will be fine " Miranda said not taking her eyes off of Izan. Komi rolled her eyes before breaking the silence, "Miura,you see Miranda here is a football agent and she asked to see you after I told her about you and coincidentally she had planned to contact a player who had caught her eye and once again coincidentally it was you" Komi said with a smile. Izan put the bag down and sat down whiles nodding his head. "Now,since I''m no expert I will leave to continue with my cooking" Komi said as she stood up to go. After Komi left,Miranda turned her attention towards Izan and both individuals had a staredown for a few minutes. Miranda finally smiled before speaking "Hello once again Izan. I''m Miranda Gonzalez and I''m an agent at Generational football agency and i''ll be direct.I asked to see you in hopes that we could partner up. I''d like to be your agent and represent you in all future deals" Miranda said whiles taking out a stack of papers from her bag". She took a few papers from the stack before passing it to Izan. She then continued. "I have found a lot of players for my agency but anytime I find a player,the task gets given to someone else. I don''t know why but its either my superiors don''t like me or there''s another reason I''m not aware of. As I said,I would like to represent you as an agent and the papers I gave to you is my proposal. It is mainly three things and I''d like to elaborate on how I''d be the best agent for you in footballing deals and in growing you as a brand". Izan kept nodding at Miranda whiles she started explaining her proposal. Whiles listening to some of the terms,Izan was a bit surprised since the contract seemed to favour him. For example,there was the clause stating that Miranda would negotiate the first contract for free and only from then on she would take commission as the agent. "I know I''m your friends child but isn''t your commission a bit little" Izan said. He had read a bit when he was returning home and he had some idea of how some of these contracts were. "I know that it may seem small now,but in the near future it could be millions. If you play in the laliga like your matches in the u19s and the sneak peek you showed against Espanyol,it wouldn''t be that long before teams line up for you. You even had a few clubs interested in you but they were shut off by Valencia who made the decision to wait till you garnered enough hype for a big transfer fee" Miranda said whiles looking at Izan. "Well I like everything I''ve heard so far but I''d like you to take some commission for your first negotiation if you become my agent, I feel a bit bad about that " Izan said. Miranda didn''t act pretentious and instantly accepted to take a commission for negotiating Izan''s contract. "So from your words I''m assuming you''re okay with everything " Miranda asked. "Well, the club offered me a contract today and I needed an agent to help me with it. Plus its better to have someone close like my mother''s friend do it than a stranger " Izan said. Miranda bumped her fist in the air before seeing Izan staring at her. She quickly regained her composure before sitting continuing. "This was just a proposal,so the original contract is not here. It would be ready by tomorrow though since all I have to do is just change a few things and were good to go" Miranda said. She stood up and gathered her materials before both she and Izan walked to the door. "Won''t you wait for dinner" ,Komi said when she saw Miranda and Izan at the door. She had been listening in on the conversation to see to it that her son hadn''t been roped into something hazardous even though she knew that Miranda wouldn''t do that. "Nah Komi,I need to prep stuff. I''ll be here tomorrow though so let''s have dinner then" she said whiles giving Izan a nod before opening the door. "Did you like her" Komi asked as she cleaned her hands. "Yeah,she''s very good and the contract favoured more. She seems to really believe that I can be something great" Izan said with a grin. Komi looked at her son before heading back to complete dinner for the evening. The following day arrived and Izan signed the contract with Miranda. Miranda had decided to focus on Izan and work at her agency at the same time but she had ultimately decided to resign after Izan makes it big enough for her to start her own agency. "Lets forge a great partnership together" Miranda said whiles she brought forth her hand for a shake. Izan looked at her hand and took it in his. Miranda as she promised stayed for dinner afterwards before heading home. The next day passed quickly and soon it was the time for the final match day. Izan had luckily been selected as part of the matchday squad again. The match was against Sevilla and all the odds were against them. The had lost the first match against them in the first half of the season and they lost badly,Losing 4 goals to nil. Izan told his mother about the match but she couldn''t attend this time since her mother had an Important outing and she therefore couldn''t take Hori. Izan was a bit down as always whenever his mum couldn''t be there for his match. Izan didn''t sulk for long and continued with the preparations towards the match. He had drunk a recovery potion and had made his best efforts to sleep but couldn''t because of the excitement for the match the following day. Izan finally conceded as his eyes were getting heavier and he slept. The match was being played in the Ramon sanchez-pizjuan and it was a 6 hour drive but the club had taken the Team plane so as to prevent players getting injuries from cramps or sitting too long. Izan sat on the plane besides a very uncommon seat mate. It was Valencia Captain Jose gaya. "Hello Izan, I assume this is the first time we are talking but I''m Gaya" "Yeah, sorry I mean who doesn''t know you" Izan said a bit nervous. Gaya who saw this laughed a bit. "Yeah yeah. You know I watched your matches and you''re a really good player. With you,at the very least we won''t have trouble creating dangerous chances from what I''ve seen" Gaya said. "All you have to do is translate your play onto a laliga match and do your very best. Also don''t slack off on training and you will become and integral part of our side". Gaya added to which Izan nodded. The two talked for the a while before Izan closed his eyes to take a nap. The plane landed and the team took their bus to the Ramon sanchez-pizjuan. The entrance was full of Sevilla fans who had come to support their team. The fans were simply amazing as they stood on the sides with flags amongst others whiles donning the team''s jersey. The Valencia players headed onto the pitch for a warmup session before the match. Izan was again amazed by the atmosphere in the atmosphere. The shouts of the Sevilla fans drowned everything,even the noise of the Valencia away fans. Izan had a good warmup session before the team headed to the dressing room to change. Izan after taking his water bottle and energy juice headed to the bench. The match soon started and it was in favour of the Sevilla team as they attacked rampantly. The Valencia team however were also relentless with their defending and snuffed out all attacks. A few chances came for both team with neither capitalising on the chance. Valencia came close to scoring in the 33rd minute when a cross which was sent into the box by Jose Gaya was headed towards the goal by Hugo duro. The chance was however denied by Sevilla goal keeper Bonou. The back and forth continued until sevilla finally found the back of the net. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A wonderful run by their winger Pedrosa into the box was met with a mistimed tackle from Mark. The Valencia players tried to argue with the decision of the referee since the angle of the tackle seemed tight. The referee therefore decided to seek confirmation from the Video Assistant Referee and the result came back as a penalty. The Valencia players knowing they couldn''t argue anymore left the referee alone. Ivan Rakiti?,the former Barcelona player who had been causing trouble for the Valencia side all match stepped up to take the penalty. Cillessen tried his best but the shot from Rakiti? was cooly placed in the bottom left corner. The home fans erupted into shouts and cheers as their club had just pulled ahead. Izan sat on the bench feeling sad for Mark who had caused the penalty. The referee restarted the match and the pace of the game continued like how it was before the match. 3 minutes was added to the normal 45 minutes and Valencia still couldn''t make it count. The referee blew the whistle to end the first half. The Valencia players headed into half-time a bit down cast. Cocah Ruben Baraja made his pep talk and the players returned to the pitch for the second half after a few tactical amendments. Izan was itching to go on and his eagerness could be seen by both the Coach and his assistants. Valencia made two changes after the second half started and Izan was still on the bench. Izan was feeling a bit restless but his chance came when Coach Moreno told him to warm up in the 57th minute. Izan quickly wore a bib and headed to the touchline to warmup alongside pietro who was also warming up. The Valencia players got a chance to pull one back but it was only wasted as Illiax Moriba,the young Valencia player would squander the chance with a poor effort. The ball went out as Izan and pietro were being called for their kits. After Izan and pietro wore their kits,they stood on the touchline and were finally subbed in. [COMMENTATOR POV] ''Okay folks,Valencia are making a change and they are bringing on two young players in Pietro and Izan with the latter having broken a number of records on his first match against Espanyol. He would look to prove himself to the Coach and the fans that the last time wasn''t a fluke'' . Izan quickly settled into the game after coming on,helping in both attack and defense. Izan making use of his vison and anticipation snuffed out the opposition passes. Coach Baraja had given Izan a free role on the pitch and Izan with his great stamina was seen everywhere on the pitch. A few minutes later,Izan got a pass on the the left flank of the the pitch and looking ahead,he took off towards the Sevilla goal. ................................. A/N : Okay guys so I released an auxiliary Chapter for a simple explanation of the Novel so check it out if you don''t understand anything and ask anything you want about the Novel. Chapter 34: Going up against Sergio Ramos Chapter 34: Going up against Sergio Ramos[Few seconds before substitution] "Huh I don''t want to us lose the final game of the season but it is against Sevilla so I''m not talking much" a fan said. "We''re past our glory days. We used to be competing in the champions league just 2 years ago but now *sigh*,we are struggling to even enter the top ten in laliga" another Valencia fan said. [Announcer] ''Number 21, Izan comes on for ilaix moriba and number 17 pietro comes on for Marco Andre'' "I always told you guys but I''m gonna say it again. What the hell is wrong with that Coach. We need a goal and he''s bringing on some unknown kids". "Relax,that''s pietro. He played last season and actually did good. The other seems like its some kid ". A valencia fan said. Suddenly someone besides them raised his voice,"Wait I know him. He was the kid who scored Valencia''s last goal against Espanyol. He was actually good in that match so let''s see". S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "He was the one who scored against Espanyol. He looks Asian. Bet he''s weak" a sevilla fan who had found himself amongst a few Valencia fans said. "You don''t always have to be stereotypical about such things. Look at Son Hyeung Min. He''s an Asian but he''s a great footballer. Does football have anything to do with race" a Female voice said. The Sevilla fan who had been shut up looked at the woman with an annoyed face. "Shouldn''t you be in the kitchen right now " he threw a jab again at the woman. "Shouldn''t you have some sense you prehistoric ape " another female voice said. "Don''t encourage him Joana" the other female voice said. "But he''s annoying Miranda. You shouldn''t let them have the last say in these instances " joana said. "Well that''s not the reason we came right. The reason why we came has just entered the pitch so let''s watch him" Miranda said. Miranda had come to seville the day before and she had decided to watch the match against Sevilla after she found out that Izan would be on the matchday squad. Her younger sister, Joana had tagged along as she was intrigued by the player who her sister had supposedly signed an Agent-player contract with. "Oh,he got the ball" Miranda said prompting Joana to look on the field. Back to the pitch, Izan had gotten the ball on the flanks. He looked up at the opposition and saw a way out. Izan with his pace sped up through the opposition half. He came up against 2 Sevilla players who were trying to retrieve the ball from him. But Izan,with a nice change of pace and a few stepovers got rid of them. Izan coming up along met someone he didn''t want to meet up with just yet. It was none other than Sergio Ramos,the Real Madrid legendary defender who had signed for Sevilla a while back. Izan with his pace tried to move the ball to his left but Ramos followed suit. A few of the Sevilla players were approaching and Izan knew he had to get rid of Ramos somehow and fast. "Vamos chico, ven a m¨ª. no tenemos todo el dia[come on boy come at me. we don''t have all day] " Ramos said. A light bulb suddenly hit Izan as he saw Pietro coming from his left. Izan smartly tried to pass the ball to Pietro with his left leg. Ramos seeing Izan''s movement moved in to block the pass but Izan connected with the ball to perform an Elastico. Ramos who had already anticipated such a move came back to tackle the ball. Izan raised his leg to pass the ball to Pietro who was already near him. Ramos in an awkward position tried to block the ball. Unfortunately for the veteran defender, Izan had also already anticipated Ramos''s last stitch defending and had therefore pulled the ball to the left with the inside of his right foot making a fake pass. Ramos couldn''t hold the pose he was in and fell down. Izan didn''t lag around and immediately sped up before passing the ball to Pietro. Pietro didn''t take too many touches and passed the ball back to Izan after taking a touch. Izan controlled the ball deftly when he was close to the arc of the box. Izan came against 2 defenders again but this time it was easy. With a few fake shots of his left and right foot,Izan got rid of them and came One on One with the keeper. By this time,all the Valencia Fans had gotten up from their seats. What were they watching. Who was this kid? Where the hell is he from? What is he doing?. All these were words and questions going on in their heads. The fans didn''t really know Izan well except for a few staunch fans who followed the youth teams news. Valencia had tried their best to prevent the news of Izan from going out as a lot of teams would try to sign him. Him winning the uefa youth league and the copa de Campeones in his youth team made it even hard for them to keep it up. Izan in Oblivion nutmegged the goalkeeper,Bounou before heading towards the corner flag even before the ball was in the net. ''Goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllsoooooooooo'' the announcer screamed. Izan slid on the ground infront of the Valencia fans who had gone crazy. The goal they had seen was simply outstanding. The Valencia players rushed Izan and pulled him to the ground. "What in the world was that kid" Jose Gaya said to Izan. "I don''t even know myself " Izan said and he was not lying. After dribbling Ramos, Izan felt his body moving on its own. Just as Izan was thinking, [Ding, host has unlocked ¡óflow¡ó] Description: A state that is triggered by the host when he feels the urgency to score. It mostly happens in the late stages of the game and the possibility of triggering it is very low. Izan stared at the screen until his teammates woke him up from his stupor by picking him up from the ground. "Lets focus on the match and look at everything later" Izam thought. The referee restarted the match after the players had gotten into position. After the restart,the Sevilla players started double teaming Izan whenever he got the ball. They knew what he had done was not a fluke and only a fool would underestimate him by saying he''s only a kid. Izan was amazed by the Sevilla team and continued pushing forward. The match turned into a ping-pong game as both teams went on the attack immediately after they got the ball from the opponent. Izan was in the heart of all this. Giving passes like a mad man. Running around the pitch like he had 2 hearts. Izan was in the moment and he was really having fun. "He''s actually smiling" Pietro said as he looked at Izan who was moving in the middle with the ball. Izan passed the ball to Jose gaya who had moved from his left back position to a more middle position. Jose Gaya needn''t tell Izan as Izan moved into space immediately after passing the ball. Jose gaya layed off the ball to Izan who let the ball pass through his legs after he saw a Sevilla player approaching him. Izan then moved to support the player who was Daniel wass. Izan formed a triangle with the two players as they moved towards the opposition goal. Hugo duro who now had the ball passed to Izan. Izan who felt the match was being a bit pacey decided to slow it down since the situation would be grave if they lost the ball. Izan looked up and passed the ball to Carlos soler who was making a run. Carlos soler after controlling the ball from Izan nicely shot the ball towards the bottom corner. Ruben baraja had already raised his hand and so had most of the Valencia fans but they were dissapointed as Bounou made a spectacular save. "We''re fucked " were the thoughts of Izan and the other Valencia players as Marcos Acuna took the ball from the corner flag before passing it to Sus¨® who had already gone ahead of the others. Suso deftly controlled the ball and sped towards the Valencia half. Izan with his electrifying pace darted towards him. Sus¨® was already near the left flank of the Valencia side when Izan was near him. Izan knew Sus¨® was going to pass and he tried to assess who Sus¨® was going to pass to. He saw Ivan Rakiti? moving into space and decided to gamble on him. Izan dashed towards the right side and was right when Sus¨® sent a pass to Rakiti?. Izan got near Rakiti? and slid into a tackle. Izan cleanly got the ball off of Rakiti? who didn''t see Izan coming. It was now the turn of the Sevilla players to chase the ball. Izan with the ball at his feet sped up towards the Sevilla goal once more. He knocked the ball around Ramos when he saw him approaching before deciding to speed up to catch up to the ball. Ramos who saw Izan''s intentions tried to grab him but Izan quickly evaded Ramos''s hand which was trying to grab him. Izan caught up to the ball and immediately went up against Yassine Bounou. This time Izan chipped the ball over Bounou who had come out to meet Izan. The ball went in a high arc and rustled the net as is it went in for a goal. [COMMENTATOR Pov] ''Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllll. The kid has done it again. Izan has turned it around for his team. Magical scenes here in the Ramon sanchez-pizjuan stadium here. Izan after coming on equalised the match for his team and has now scored again after a splendid dribbling run. What a revelation he has been in both of the 2 matches he has played. 3 goals in 2 matches for the kid who''s not even 16 years old. I don''t know the future but next Season is going to be a great season for him if he plays the way he''s playing'' Izan went to the corner flag before pointing to the back of his shirt as if to say ''who am I''. The Valencia fans started chanting Izan''s name after seeing his celebration. Most of the fans got the pronunciation wrong(probably some of the readers too) but Izan just laughed. Izan smiled as his teamates jumped on him. He finally fell down under their weight. Manager Ruben baraja and Patricio Moreno were already running on the touchline. It was the 82nd minute and the match was far from over but they didn''t think about that now. The Valencia players finally stopped the Celebrations and headed for the rest of the match. Ruben Baraja made a tactical change as he brought on a defender for Hugo duro. He pulled back all the players except for Izan and seems to be settling for a 2-1 win. The Sevilla players attacked relentlessly as they tried to even it out and they came close to doing so on several occasions but they couldn''t make it count. In the final minutes,the ball went out for a corner. Sevilla tried to score as Ramos headed the ball towards the goal after a wonderful ball was sent to the box. Cillessen also proved amazing as he nudged the ball out towards the corner flag . Izan chased after the ball and got to it before the others could. Izan held onto the ball whiles moving towards the opposition goal. Unfortunately for him,that was all time allowed as the referee blew the whistle for the end of the game. Izan fell to the ground after he heard the whistle. He looked towards the area where the digital scoreboard and smiled. Valencia CF [2]-[1] Sevilla Fc was displayed on the screen. He was on the ground when Coach Moreno came to stand over him. "Get up kiddo. Its time for your man of the match award". "Wait what" Izan said. Coach Moreno laughed as he pulled him up. Izan went towards the area where a middle aged man was waiting for him. "Well done kid" the man said as he handed the award to Izan. Izan took the award as the fans clapped for him. Even the Sevilla fans clapped for Izan as what he had just done was no normal feat. "Sis, are you sure that player is a kid " Joana said as she looked at her sister who was also dumbstruck. She had been amazed throughout the match as she watched Izan. "Tomorrow''s news is probably going to be about him in both Valencia and here in Seville" Miranda thought as she stood up to go. Joana looked at Izan once more before following her sister. Chapter 35: Aftermath Chapter 35: AftermathIzan who together with his teamates on the pitch were clapping for the travelling fans. They had really shown their tenacity and their unrelenting attitude during the game. And the Valencia team had rewarded them with a win. Izan who was clapping felt a tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned back to find someone who got him starstruck. Izan saw Sergio Ramos infront of him. At the moment,it instantly hit Izan. He had been playing against such a legend of the game and had won against him but because of the adrenaline he hadn''t paid much attention to such players. "Bien hecho chico. Me sorprendi¨® mucho lo f¨¢cil que me pasaste. Realmente soy viejo dejando que ni?os como t¨² me pasen, pero lo hiciste bien. Quiere intercambiar camisetas. [Well done kid. I was really surprised with how easy you got past me. I really am old letting kids like you get past me but you did well. Want to exchange jerseys]" said Ramos in one breath. Izan who heard ramos talk about exchanging jerseys got him excited but he kept his composure and said yes. The scene of Izan and Ramos exchanging jerseys was captured by one of the photographers who thought that it would look nice and sure it did as it would be in papers the next day. Izan woke up early the next day and was jogging through the streets when Miranda sent him a link that led to an article titled " Old Vs New". Izan laughed at the title and thought what it was about. He opened it and saw the image of him and ramos exchanging jerseys. Izan smiled at how far he had made it since his days in the u17 team. Izan scrolled down and read the article. The article explained a few things about Izan before going on to elaborate on the match he played the day before. Pictures and videos of him dribbling Ramos and the situation where Ramos fell to the ground were also captured and used in the article. The article went on to mention his two goals and performance in the match. Izan had now scored 3 goals in 2 matches for the senior team all while coming from the bench. Izan smiled at the image and put the phone in his pocket before continuing with his jog. Izan returned home after the jog and washed down before coming down for breakfast. Izan after breakfast realised he had nothing else to do and decided to binge watch a bit of movies on Netflix. After some time had passed. Izan found himself learning a bit. He had already had a conversation with his mom regarding his future and had decided to make football his life. But he had promised his mother not to neglect his studies. He had vowed to complete the tertiary level and since he was also smart, Izan had no difficulty adjusting to his football and educational life. He would be writing his final exam in highschool next year and he wanted to get a good score. Izan,after a few hours finished with his studies and called Olivia. The two had still been in touch and their relationship seemed to have progressed beyond the normal friendship stage. Still none of them were confronting the other about it. They just had this seemingly weird relationship. Both of them talked for a while as Izan asked about her school life. Olivia talked about her school life with Izan. Both of them liked each others company and without even noticing it an hour had passed. Izan left Olivia to do what she had to do and ended the call. He then took his jacket before heading downstairs. Izan walked a bit in his neighbourhood trying to enjoy the cold evening and just as he was returning home,he received a call from an unknown number. Izan looked at the number for a few seconds before picking up. "Hello" he said. "Hello Miura. Its Ruben. I''ll keep it straight for now but you have to come to the club tomorrow as we''d like to discuss something with you". "Oh hey Coach. Umm, yeah sure. Just the time and I''ll be there" Izan replied. "Ok good. I''m hoping you have a representative now or..." Ruben asked. "Yes Coach. I do have an agent so we''ll be there tomorrow " Izan said. "Ok then Miura. See you tomorrow " Coach Ruben said before ending the call. "Its probably about the contract " Izan thought. "Well lets go and get a good night''s sleep for tomorrow". {The Following Morning} Izan had texted Miranda about the conversation he had with his coach and she had agreed to pick up Izan from the house. Both of them now found themselves in a conference room with a few other people including Coach Moreno and Coach Baraja as well as newly appointed sporting director Miguel Angel Corona. Miranda was a bit nervous but didn''t show it as it would be disadvantageous for her during the negotiations. "Hello Miss Miranda. I''m Miguel and its nice to meet you" Miguel said. "Nice to meet you too Mister Miguel" Miranda said confidently. "Ok. I don''t like to beat around the bush so I''ll go straight to the point. We all know the reason for this meeting is to discuss the contract of your client, Mr. Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z who we see as an incredible asset to the club and we as a club would like to keep him" Miguel spat. Miranda nodded her head at Miguel''s words and Miguel continued, "Well I''m just a figurehead today so I''ll leave the briefing to Mr. Andreas H¨¨rmoso" he said to pointing to the man beside him. "Hello once again Mrs. Miranda and Izan who I''ve already met. I''ll go straight to the point. The club offered Mr.Izan here a base annual salary of 1.3 million euros as a sign of our trust in his talent. That is 112,000 euros a month and 26,000 weekly ". "We also added a few things to the contract like goal and assist bonuses as well as appearance bonuses which could bump it to 1.8 million euros annually. Since he''s not yet 18,we decided to extend it for 2 years before we decide what to do when he''s 18 based on his performance in those 2 years". "We also added a 70 million release clause in the contract which activates in his second year to keep away unwanted attention from other clubs till he''s finished with his tenure here at the club" Andreas said closing his statement. Miranda whiles looking through the paper infront of her before speaking. "Everything looks good but the 70 million euro release clause is a bit too much and also his base salary should be rounded off and made 1.5 million euros" "I believe I have no need to say this since he had already been attracting attention since his time in the youth but many clubs would like to have him in their ranks" Miranda said. Andreas looked at Miguel who nodded and continued, "Thats doable but for the release clause,we can only go as low as 60 million and thats it" he said emphatically. Miranda didn''t like it but decided to concede since Izan who was beside her had told her to accept the release contract with a text. The talks went on for a while and it was finally finalised. Izan would play for the club till he''s 18 and would be earning a weekly salary of 28,850 euros which meant he earned 115,400 euros monthly and a base annual salary of 1,500,200 euros. Miranda was happy with what she had done for her client and couldn''t stop smiling. Izan put pen to paper and signed the contract and after a few photos which was sent to the club''s website,it was finished. "Thanks Miranda. You did great" Izan said as they walked towards the parking lot. "Thats my job and don''t worry this is just the beginning" Miranda said as they got to the car. "By the way Izan,do you have a social media accounts" Miranda asked. "I have only Instagram " he replied. "Ok that''s good but we need one for each platform. We need to show you out there as players with a huge following appeal more to companies" Miranda said. "So create some when you go home and if you have trouble managing it,we''ll hire someone to do that but I don''t think that will be necessary for now" she added. Izan nodded at her words and got into the car before Miranda drove off. Izan after he got home went upstairs and decided to do what Miranda had told him. He created an account for twitter and Facebook before deciding to head to bed. Izan while on the bed called out the system and checked his personal information. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.84m(6''1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM RESERVE] TEAM: VALENCIA FC SYSTEM EVALUATION: [A Gem of a player] PLAYER RATING:[80.5/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[144,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 950] STAT POINTS:[15] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:90 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 80 Technique: 86 S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Shooting:81 Passing: 85 Body strength: 80 Defending:65 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:99% Completion La croqueta:95% completion Cruyff turn:90%Completion Roulette: 92% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped equipped Izan looked at his stats points and saw that he had gotten 10 points from his game against Sevilla. The system had issued 2 challenges before the game and Izan had strived to complete both of them resulting in him earning 10 points from the challenge and 2 from matchday points. Izan closed the interface to sleep before heading to sleep. He had a lot to prove to become the best. Chapter 36: Pre-season in Japan Chapter 36: Pre-season in JapanIzan stared at his Instagram account with a puzzled face. "Is this my account" he thought. Izan looked on at the increase in followers on his account. He had just 700 followers the day before. And most of them were people he knew from school,his academy days and a few other friends and families. But now it had gone from 700 to 47,467 followers in just 24 hours and it would increase everytime he refreshed the page. Izan quickly went to his twitter and checked his account.[ It was twitter at this point in time for all those babies who don''t know or don''t remember] Izan saw that the recently created account had 11000 followers. Izan knew just how hard it was to get followers on twitter and to get this much in less than a day was wonderful.[ it''s really hard] Izan quickly followed back a few of his teammates as they had followed him too. Jose Gaya quickly sent him a congratulatory message. He had just seen the news of Izan signing the contract. Izan thanked him and replied to a few messages from Sosa,Olivia and some friends from the academy. Izan after replying to their messages quickly went to freshen and after bathing,Izan put on some comfortable clothes and went down for breakfast. Izan chatted with his family and they had a conversation on what he was going to do now that he was going into his final year. Izan decided that he would complete high school first before he would think about stuffs like that. Soon it was noon and it was time for Izan to head to the training complex. Izan after he got there was greeted by some of his teammates who had gotten there earlier. The players were now comfortable with Izan and they had accepted him as a teammate and not just some brat who got to play the matches with some connections. The players who didn''t know Izan from his youth academy days didn''t really know much about his capabilities but Izan had shown them what he was capable of in the matches he played in even at his young age. The ones who knew from his academy days just took it as a reminder of how talented he was. The training started after the players had arrived and Izan proved his prowess in the training match by scoring and assisting numerous times after they were done with the fitness session. After the training match,some of the players decided to take some rest. Izan on the other hand took a ball and set up some dummies to train his freekicks. The players looked on as he shot the ball into the back of the net from 28 metres out. Izan''s technique and power were impeccable and the players couldn''t deny it. Cillessen, a former FC Barcelona goalkeeper who was now in Valencia saw Izan''s freekick and offered to be in the goalpost for the freekicks. Izan didn''t refuse as any live person would be better practice for him than a dummy,not to mention cillessen who was a great goalkeeper. Coach Baraja and Coach Moreno looked on as cillesen got in-between the goalposts. The players too looked on at the contest between Izan and Cillessen. Izan placed the ball on a comfortable spot and took a few steps back. Izan with a graceful run-up sent the ball over the dummies. Cillessen stared on as the ball was coming at him. He took a few steps and tried to get a touch on the ball but the curl on the ball was greater than his determination. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball homed into the back of the net and all the surrounding players and staff couldn''t help but admire the freekick. Coach Baraja then and there wanted to put Izan in charge of setpieces but he knew it wouldn''t be a great move so he just kept quiet. Izan took a few attempts and Cillessen was able to save just one. After the training session.Coach Baraja made the players gather around him. He relayed some pointers to them before telling them that they would be having their pre-season tournament in Japan. This got some of the players excited as a few of the players were either fans of Anime,Manga or just wanted to see cute Japanese girls. Izan who heard this was feeling ecstatic. This was because his mother and sister also had plans to go to Japan. "Its been a while since I saw grandma and grandpa.This is nice" thought Izan. The players quickly dispersed after the briefing. Some went to wash down and left afterwards. Others just went straight home. Izan after washing down waited for his mother to pick him up. After Komi picked up Izan, he told her about the pre-season tour in Japan. Komi was happy about it as she was saddened recently when she saw that Izan wouldn''t be able to come to Japan because he was called for the pre-season tour. After they got home, Komi informed Hori about it and she too was happy. Izan quickly went up and washed up again as he always did. He informed Olivia about the pre-season tour. Olivia kept wishing she could go with them but it wasn''t to be as she was studying for her mid-term exam. Izan chatted a bit more with her before he checked his Socials. His Instagram account although had no posts,now had over 80k followers. Izan decided to post some of the pictures of the training match he had played in. He posted it and quickly left his account. Izan scrolled through the transfer news and most of the news was still about the Mbappe to Real Madrid transfer saga. This was because if P.S.G don''t accept the offer,Mbappe could leave on a free the following season provided he doesn''t extend his contract. Izan scrolled through some more before deciding to rest. The next few days went on smoothly and quickly. Izan continued training and spending time with his family. He was trying to meet the expectations of the club and the fans. And Izan at least wanted to give them some assurance by performing great at the pre-season tour. Komi who saw this was a bit sad and at the same time happy. She was just feeling conflicted. Her little boy had now grown into a young man. She approached Izan one morning when he was getting ready to go and train. Komi told Izan that resting sometimes too was okay. Izan just smiled at her mother''s words before kissing her on the forehead. "I''m okay Ma" he said before leaving. Komi just stared at the back of Izan as he got out of view. "Look at our boy hernan" Komi muttered as Izan disappeared from her view. The training kept going on and Izan could see the results of his training. Even without his using his stat points,Izan could feel changes in his game. Most of his teamates had recognised Izan as a kid with potential but few had actually accepted that he was one of the better players in the team. This was because even though Izan had performed spectacularly well in the chances and matches he had been given,it had just been season end matches with nothing at stake or nothing to be gained for both teams. Izan continued performing well and on the final day, Coach baraja announced the 28 man squad for the pre-season tournament and the 18 man matchday squad for the first match which included yours truly. Izan felt happy that he was part of the matchday squad for the first match. Izan told Komi when she picked him up from training. The buildup to the pre-season got exciting as a lot of transfers had been made in the past month. Real Madrid had just concluded the signing of Jude Bellingham for an impressive 103 million euros. A lot was going on in the transfermarket and a lot was still yet to be finalised. Izan who was reading the article surrounding the transfers saw a text message. He looked and saw that it was from his Agent Miranda. Miranda had proved to be a good fit as an agent for Izan as both of them just clicked. Izan read the message and smiled. "Perform well at the pre-season and draw potential brand offers to yourself. Your socials are already growing exponentially so keep it up" it read. Izan then opened Instagram and went to his account which had now been verified. Izan Hernandez Post Followers Following 18 1.4M 62 Izan looked at his Instagram account and felt a sense of accomplishment. He quickly moved to twitter and it showed that he had 775k followers. Izan quickly posted the preseason tour Schedule on Instagram. The first match would be on the 26th of July 2023 which was 17 days from the current date. Izan turned off his phone before resting a bit in the car. The countdown to the preseason began. Every single day was full of the same repetitive thing. Izan would wake up,then go on to complete the system''s daily mission. After that,Izan would freshen up before going down for breakfast. After that, Izan would just laze around the whole day. He would learn a bit then talk with Olivia for some time. The final day came and Izan was on the team bus headed towards Madrid. The team would be flying their from the Madrid-Barajas airport. Izan in the bus just played some games. He was getting tired after a while so he decided to sleep. Miranda had told Izan to make small video shots which could be posted on his Instagram and othe social media handles. Izan did just that. A few photos and videos on the bus and on the plane to the Haneda Airport. The flight time was 15 hours in total and the Valencia players were already filling tired. Izan decided to continue on getting the materials for his Socials. Izan feeling ecstatic over returning to his mother''s home country couldn''t sleep much. And as an Anime fan, it was just the dream. Even though Komi was from Japan and lived there most of her life, her kids had only been to Japan once. And that was at the urging of Komi''s parents. Izan finally decided to sleep after the fatigue caught up to him. Izan woke up just to see the plane landing in the haneda airport. The players got out of the plane and were greeted by a bit of a cold morning in Tokyo. The mist from the players mouth whenever they talked made it clear. Izan looked around and nodded. The last and only time he was here was with his mother and sister when he and his sister were 10 and 8 respectively. Izan breathed in the air before exhaling. The mist surrounding him was pushed away by his hot exhale. The players followed suit as they were led out of the airport. As they players were getting out of the airport,they were surprised to see a considerable number of fans at the exit. The players waved at these fans who immediately got excited after they saw the players. Izan saw a young boy holding a Valencia shirt with a sharpie. Izan looked on and smiled at the fan before heading over towards him. [ ¤³¤ó¤Ë¤Á¤Ï.¥µ¥¤¥ó¤¬Óû¤·¤¤¤Ç¤¹¤« ] Kon''nichiwa. Sain ga hosh¨©desu ka (Hello there. Do you want an autograph) Izan asked the kid in Japanese. The kid was surprised by Izan''s fluid Japanese and now that the kid looked at Izan,he could tell he was somewhat Asian. { ¤½¤ì¤Ï¤¢¤Ê¤¿¤Ç¤¹.˽¤Ï¤¢¤Ê¤¿¤òÖª¤Ã¤Æ¤¤¤Þ¤¹.¥¤¥¶¥ó¤µ¤ó¤Ç¤¹¤Í.¥»¥Ó©`¥¸¥ã‘é¤Ç2¥´©`¥ë¤ò’¤¤²¤Þ¤·¤¿¤Í.¤¢¤Ê¤¿¤ÎÃûÇ°¤ÏÈÕ±¾ÈˤΤ褦¤Ë„¤³¤¨¤Þ¤¹¤¬,ͬ•r¤Ë¤½¤ÎÇतĿ¤Ï¤È¤Æ¤âÈÕ±¾ÈˤËÒŠ¤¨¤Þ¤»¤ó.¤¢¤¢,Ô’¤·¤¹¤®¤Æ¤´¤á¤ó¤Ê¤µ¤¤} Sore wa anatadesu. Watashi wa anata o shitte imasu. Izan-sandesu ne. Seb¨©ja-sen de 2 g¨­ru o agemashita ne. Anata no namae wa nihonjin no y¨­ ni kikoemasuga, d¨­jini sono aoi me wa totemo nihonjin ni miemasen. ¨¡, hanashi sugite gomen''nasai (its you. I know you. You''re Izan. You scored 2 goals against sevilla. Your name sounds japanese but at the same time you don''t really look japanese with those blue eye. Ah ,I''m sorry for talking too much) Izan just stared on at the kid with a smile. He then asked for the kid''s name and signed his name on the jersey with his autograph beside it. { ¤³¤³¤À¤±¤ÎÔ’,˽¤Î¥µ¥¤¥ó¤ò¤â¤é¤Ã¤¿¤Î¤Ï¤¢¤Ê¤¿¤¬³õ¤á¤Æ¤Ç¤¹.} Kokodakenohanashi, watashi no sain o moratta no wa anata ga hajimetedesu. (Between you and me, you are the first person to get my autograph.) Izan said before walking off,leaving the kid to his own world Chapter 37: Atmosphere Chapter 37: AtmosphereThe Fans at the airport still followed the players to where they were supposed to take their bus. Some of the girls couldn''t help but talk about Izan. Honestly speaking,the girls couldn''t resist staring at him which was a very impolite thing to do in Japan. Izan however didn''t mind as being a public figure would mean people would always have their eyes on you. The female fans at the stadium kept giggling and whispering in each others ears while looking at Izan. The players were finally led to the bus they would be taking to the hotel they would be staying in. The Valencia Team would be playing 4 matches in total. 2 against japanese teams, Kawasaki Frontale and Yokohama F Marinos and the other 2 matches would be against Tottenham hotspur who were also having their pre-season in Japan and Dortmund who were also in Japan for their pre-season. The players after a few pictures and autographs with the fans entered their bus and were soon on their way. "It seems they don''t know you yet wonderboy" said Pietro. This was because none of the fans asked Izan for a picture or an autograph apart from the small boy. The other players laughed at this and Izan couldn''t help but think how childish these grown-ups could be. Izan looking at pietro said "They will soon " before looking away. Jose Gaya who was behind Izan couldn''t help but smile at his self-belief. "Wish I was like that when I was young" thought Gaya as he looked at Izan. The players arrived at the hotel they would be staying in for the next 2 to 3 weeks and to be honest,it had exceeded their expectations. The hotel had a nice and peaceful atmosphere and this was a very good thing for players who would be exhausted after training sessions. The players waited in the lobby while the Team''s manager in charge of travelling and accommodation finished with some procedures. Coach Baraja approached the team and told them to have a good night''s rest as they would be training the following morning. The players where given cards which had the names of who they would be staying with to them and Izan found out he would be staying with Pietro. Izan, a bit annoyed looked at Pietro who was grinning at him. "What is wrong with my luck" Izan thought. Pietro as if reading Izan''s thoughts said "Its not your luck, I asked if we could be put together in the same room and they said it was possible". Pietro watched on as Izan walked to the manager in charge of accommodation. "Could I have a different roommate " Izan said with a blank expression. Pietro quickly grabbed Izan before smiling wryly at the manager who looked confused as to what was going on between the two. "Why would you change your roomie Izan,don''t be such a child" Pietro said. "Well I am a child" Izan shot back. Pietro couldn''t help but curse inwardly as Izan always seemed to have the last say. The other players couldn''t help but laugh at the banter between the two. Coach Moreno and Coach Baraja both stood there shaking their heads. "Hold on" Izan said to Pietro who was still talking. Izan pulled his phone out of his pocket and smiled at the caller id. "Hello ma" Izan said as he kept talking with his mom on the phone. Komi and Hori had arrived a few hours before Izan and his team had arrived. Komi asked how Izan was doing and the two talked for a few minutes before deciding to end it. "Say hello to grandma and grandpa for me" Izan said. After Izan ended the call,pietro came towards him. Izan who knew what he was going to do quickly left for the room with his key card. Pietro also took his bag and ran after Izan. The other players just stood there laughing at the scene that had just happened infront of them. "Those 2 seemed to have brought a new side to this team" Coach Moreno said as he looked at the retrieving backs of Izan and Pietro. The rest of the players and staff headed towards their rooms for some rest before they took their brunch. After brunch,a few of the players decided to go outside and tour for a while but Izan decided to to stay at the hotel. Surprisingly,pietro too stayed at the hotel and the duo just played games on the console that pietro brought. The players that had gone out didn''t return until dinner and Coach Baraja scolded them a bit for staying out late than the agreed time. Pietro stood laughing at the other players and Izan just stood there shaking his head. The other players made a mental note to teach him a lesson after this and they did. The players who knew Pietro liked to watch horror movies but at the same time was scared of ghosts and stuff like that decided to prank him. And Izan was in on the fun. Izan pretended to go out while Pietro was watching one of such movies after dinner. The players had fully commited to the prank and had gone all out,even buying materials needed for the prank leaving Pietro in oblivion. The players now fully dressed as clown,ghosts and werewolves stood behind pietro who was watching the movie with the lights turned off. Izan decided this would make a good video for his posts on his socials and decided to film it. Izan had intentionally left the door agape as it was also a part of the prank. Izan stood with his phone recording the prank. One of the players then went to shut the door. "I thought you said you had something to buy" Pietro said whiles turning his head. Unfortunately for him,the scene behind him made Pietro feel like peeing himself as what he saw behind him gave him a scare. Pietro jumped back whiles screaming in attempt to run away from what was behind him but instead fell down. The players couldn''t help but laugh as they took of the clothes and the costumes. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan who had fully captured this on camera couldn''t help but laugh at his teammate. Pietro after realising it was his teammates lay on the floor trying to regain his soul which seemed to have jumped out of his body. Izan quickly took a few pictures of him before posting them on his Social accounts. He also sent the video and pictures to the team group which pietro himself had created. The players left,happy with the payback and Izan also went outside with them. He didn''t want to face pietro just yet. While going out,Izan got a call from Olivia. It had been a few days since Izan informed her about the tour and they hadn''t talked since. Izan went on the balcony while talking to Olivia. Olivia who wanted to see Izan had called him on video. As the two talked,Izan showed her the scenery and she was simply amazed by the view from the balcony. "We should both come here sometime" Izan said as he looked at Olivia''s reaction. Olivia who heard this couldn''t help but smile at Izan. "Yeah we should" she said with a smile that made Izan heart beat a bit faster. "Soon" Izan thought as he continued with the conversation. They finally ended the call after 2 hours and Izan decided to go to sleep now. [The next day] Izan woke up early the next day and putting on his Adidas track suit, Izan headed out to complete his daily task. Izan after running for a while decided to head back to the hotel as he was a bit unfamiliar with that place. As he was heading back, he saw a few kids his age or older on a turf nearby and decided to have his own training before the team one. The team training would start at 10 at the earliest and it was currently 6:48 Am "Can I join you guys " Izan said in japanese as he approachedthe other guys. The other kids who saw him just looked at him especially his eye before one spoke. "Sure but you gotta at least have some skill" he said tossing the ball to Izan. Izan who saw the ball coming his way controlled it well. "Nice" the other kid said after seeing Izan trap the ball. "Well guys its settled then" he said to the other guys. Izan joined the team of the boy who had tossed the ball to him as it was the one with a position left. "Do you play or .." the boy asked Izan to which he replied yeah. "My name''s Shuu by the way" he said bringing forth his hand for a shake. "Miura " Izan said whiles taking Shuu''s hand in his. "Do you also play" Izan asked. The other kids couldn''t help but look at Izan with weird stares. "Yes I do" he said before smiling at Izan "You''re not from around here,are you" one of the kids said as he approached Izan. "Nope,just arrived in Japan yesterday " Izan said. The other kids looked at him finally understanding the reason behind his eye colour. "Well he''s an under 18s player who just got promoted to the senior team of Yokohama F Marinos" the kid continued. "Yeah and he''s kind of famous since he''s just 17" another added "Huh" Izan said looking at Shuu who was now with some of the other kids. "The players around him are also academy players at Yokohama F Marinos and the ones we are playing against today are also academy players at Yokohama Fc" said the player called Saki. "Oh and that guy is also kind of Shuu''s rival" a kid said pointing to a brown haired youth. "He''s Shinji and he was also recently promoted to the senior team of Yokohama Fc. He''s the same age as Shuu as he''s also turning 18 this year" the kid said. Izan as if anticipating this had brought a bag with him that had a few things inside. Taking out his Nike phantom boots,the other kids couldn''t help but look at the boots. "Nice boots " Shuu said. "Thanks Izan replied. After he finished dressing, shuu asked Izan which position he would like to play and Izan said if midfield or wing position were available he''d play there. Fortunately for him,the team needed someone on the right wing as all the other kids on the side said they couldn''t playe there. Izan walked over to the right wing and now that the other players looked at him, his height was kind of good. The passer-bys who saw the kids asked the other kids on the side about the match and after they learnt about the match,they decided to stay and watch a bit. Some people also decided to stay as they recognised Shuu and Shinji. One kid aside the two stood out in particular because of his handsome face and eyes. "Must be a foreigner,although he kind of looks japanese or Asian at the very least" a man said in japanese. Mid A/n******** [Okay guys I gotta address this. I''m not being racist by all those "he looks Asian " comments okay so you have to understand me right. Thanks for understanding and shout out to all the Asian readers. Now let''s continue. **************************** "Maybe a japanese living abroad" a female voice added. After the players got into position,the teen acting as the referee blew the whistle . The opponent team kicked of first and Izan''s team had to chase the ball. The team was playing well and Izan had to say,they were well coordinated and they didn''t make any unnecessary movements. Izan''s team chased the ball as the opponents tried to breakthrough. Shinji,got the ball and started moving forward. He looked around trying to find space and he found one as he saw one of his teammates making a run. With a one-two pass with another player,he got around 2 of the Marinos players and sent the ball towards his teammates. The player, Shin who got the ball quickly moved forward as that pass had broken through the defense of the Marinos team. He got to the ball before kicking it ahead around the approaching opponent player. He ran and caught up to the ball before kicking it around the keeper who had come out to face him. The ball entered the net drawing applause from the now growing crowd. Izan stood there with a smile on his face "Not bad" he said ruffling his hair. Chapter 38: He’s A Baller The Yokohama F Marinos restarted the ball and were playing cautiously. Izan who had not yet touched the ball was moving whiles looking around. He was scanning the pitch for any moves he could make after he got the ball. Unfortunately for him,his teammates never passed the ball. "Why is it like this everywhere" thought Izan as he moved back to the right flank. Izan saw Shuu take control of the ball and moved towards him. "This one might pass" he thought. True to his words,shuu looked at him before sending a pass his way. Izan who had already planned his next course of action quickly sent a curling pass to the team¡¯s striker after spotting a run. The pass drew gasps from the crowd The pass went ahead of the striker who ran to catch up to the ball. "What a pass" one of the passer-bys said. "How was he able to see that player" another added. As the Fans were still talking about Izan¡¯s pass,the latter had moved to support his team¡¯s striker. "When did he get there" thought shuu who looked at Izan who was already on the wings. Hito, the player playing at strikers position for the Marinos Fc sent the ball back to Izan. The striker out of pressure had sent a very difficult ball,at least not difficult enough for Izan as he controlled the ball with his back. All the players and the spectators who saw this were in awe. "He¡¯s good" thought Shuu and Shinji at the same time. Izan didn¡¯t wait for the ball to fall down and quickly controlled it before moving forwards. With his strides eating up the field, Izan galloped across the field like a free horse. An opponent tried to tackle the ball but Izan with a beautiful Ronaldo chop sent the player tumbling to the ground. 3 players from the opponent team sensing danger moved to block Izan who had a shooting path. Izan with a quick stepover got away from the first player. He then did a Roulette spin to get away from the second player. Izan after this saw a shooting gap and raised his leg to shoot. The third player threw his body in the way in hopes to block Izan¡¯s shot but Izan who had fake it rolled the ball to his left. Izan pushed the ball forward before curling the ball with his left leg. The ball went in a mad curve before evading the outstretched hands of the keeper. The ball rustled the net as an eerie silence fell over the turf for a moment. The players coming out of their trance high-fived Izan as he came near them. "That goal was beautiful " Shuu said as he raised his hand for a high five. Izan shook it and said "thanks ". "Who is he" Shinji asked some of his teammates in hopes that someone knew who he was. "I don¡¯t think he¡¯s a Yokohama F Marinos player since we would have known about him from how good he plays" one of the Yokohama Fc players said. Shinji put all that aside and decided to ask after the match. The match went on and Izan¡¯s team was dominating. Izan had dropped a bit into the midfield to try and dictate the match. He still played on the wings as he would be able to pose more of a threat there. [In the stands] "Onii-chan,did you get that on camera" a girlish innocent voice said. "Yes I did Aiko" a more mature male voice said. "Why are you so interested in this match" the male voice said. "Cause he¡¯s playing and I don¡¯t believe it" she said. "Who¡¯s playing " toji,Aiko¡¯s older brother said. "My crush " Aiko said. "Your what " toji responded. Aiko sighed and pointed to a blue eyed youth who had just recently scored a goal. "You know,I shouldn¡¯t have allowed you to come outside so let¡¯s get back to the car and go home before anyone notices you¡¯re not at home" toji said. "Can¡¯t we wait a bit" Aiko said. Toji sighed while looking at the puppy eyes of his sister. "Fine but we¡¯re going home after this" toji said. Aiko nodded sharply and returned her focus to the match. "Who¡¯s he anyway" Toji asked. "He¡¯s currently my favourite football player" Aiko said. "Is he a professional player" toji asked. "Yeah he is. He actually plays for Valencia CF in Spain and that¡¯s why I was surprised when I saw him here" Aiko added. "Are you sure,he looks young" Toji said. Aiko took out her phone and searched the highlights of the Valencia¡¯s match against Sevilla. She gave the video to her brother and continued watching the match. Toji after watching the video couldn¡¯t belief how good the player in the video was. "He came on and just saved his team from losing. How can he do that at such a young age" thought toji. "By the way,how old is he" toji asked as the commentators in the match seemed to mention how young he was. "Oh,he¡¯s turning 16 this year" Aiko answered. "Wait he¡¯s younger than you" toji said. "Yeah and so" Aiko retorted. "Nothing" toji said. "Is my sister a sugar mummy at such a young age" toji thought. As if reading his thoughts,Aiko shot him a deathly stare. "What is he doing in Japan anyway" Toji muttered. Aiko who heard this raised he shoulders to signify she didn¡¯t really know. A few loud gasps brought Aiko and toji¡¯s attention to the match again. Izan had just won a feeekick for his team. Shuu who saw Izan pick up the ball didn¡¯t try to take it from him as he was curious about Izan¡¯s abilities. Izan took a decent number of stops back. Shuu and shinji looked confused as Izan was using his right leg. "Didn¡¯t he mostly use his left leg before this" they thought. Izan with a run up sent the ball over the wall set by opponent team. Izan chose power this time as the ball was about 46 metres away from goal. "He wants to score" Shuu muttered as he thought Izan would send it into the box for a header. The ball went with power and speed before smacking the underside of the crossbar and entering the goal leaving the keeper with no chance. The spectators couldn¡¯t help but scream goal. Izan looked around and saw that the number of spectators had increased. "This won¡¯t cause any trouble right " he thought as he moved to his side of the pitch as the spectators and players stared at him. "Okay,seriously Who¡¯s he" shinji said. The other players couldn¡¯t help him out with that. The score was now 2-1 in favor of the Yokohama F Marinos team. The matched resumed and the opponent team tried to draw level but the Marinos team proved difficult. Izan had now adopted a free role and was playing a maestro role. He was passing from all angles setting up opportunities for his side but the players just couldn¡¯t convert it. Izan got a ball and signaled Shuu to go forward. Shuu after getting what Izan meant sneakily moved. Izan saw Shuu¡¯s run and timed his pass well. He sent a raking pass through the opposition field and the pass was simply gorgeous. The pass was a carpet pass which seemed to have a mind of it¡¯s own as it found it¡¯s way to shuu. Shuu who had already gone ahead got the pass and ramped up his pace towards the opposition goal with the ball. He was now one on one with the keeper and keeping his composure,shuu sent the ball over the head of the keeper after he was a bit near. Shuu who had scored the goal simply couldn¡¯t believe how easy Izan made passing look like. The match after a while ended in a 4-2 score for the Marinos team with Izan making another assist. Izan sat on the floor watching the sky. "That was a nice change " he thought. Shuu,Shinji and a few other players decided to approach Izan. Toji who was now being dragged by Aiko to go and meet Izan couldn¡¯t help but sigh. "Hey" Shuu said as he got near Izan. Izan nodded while standing up. "You know we didn¡¯t ask when you said you played but what team do you play for" shuu asked. "I don¡¯t think they¡¯re in Japan so don¡¯t try to lie" Shinji said. Izan smiled as he looked at Shuu and the other eyes surrounding him. "Valencia FC" Izan said. "Wow you play for the Valencia youths. That¡¯s great" a boy said. A silence prevailed after that before shuu and shinji spoke "Wait you¡¯re on the senior team" shuu said. "Wait,he¡¯s on the senior team" the former boy said. "So that¡¯s why you¡¯re so good" shinji said. "You¡¯re already playing with the big boys" shinji continued. "Well sorry guys but i need to leave since we have team training in the morning. I¡¯ll see you very soon shuu." Izan said as he left. "Wait Valencia FC is in Japan". "They¡¯re probably here for preseason ". "I¡¯m gonna go and watch the mat h to see if that kid will play". "Probably not,there might be a lot of players better than him" These were the words of the people who were talking after Izan left. "See me soon. What¡¯s he talking about. Where am I gonna be seeing him again" shuu thought as he stood there with a complicated face. "He s not even 16" hito,the striker muttered. "What" shuu asked. "I said he¡¯s not even 16" Hito said again. "What do you mean" shinji said as he took the phone from hito¡¯s hands. Turns a out a few minutes earlier when hito had learnt of Izan¡¯s identity,he decided to confirm it so he searched his name on the Internet. His information was displayed there and he even saw the information about Izan¡¯s new contract with the club. What shocked him was the date of birth which implied he was turning 16 in 4 months. "A genius" said shuu as he looked at Izan¡¯s back. Izan who was on his way back to the hotel was stopped by 2 people. A young man and a female teenager. "Hello" the girl said fluently in English. Izan assumed that the girl thought she couldn¡¯t speak Japanese and that was why she was using English. (Why does everyone think English is the default language of the world) "You know I speak Japanese just fine right" Izan said. The girl looked a bit surprised. "Sorry,I thought you couldn¡¯t so...." Aiko said not finishing her sentence. "I became a fan of you not long ago and I¡¯ve been wanting your autograph ever since". "Today I saw you playing and I even asked myself if it was really you and after close inspection,I found it really was you so I decided to come and ask for and autograph and possibly a picture" Aiko said making her brother raise and eyebrow. "Oh and he¡¯s my older brother " Aiko said pointing to toji. Izan who saw her brother¡¯s raised eyebrow looked at him for confirmation to which he nodded. Izan took a sharpie and signed his autograph on the piece of napkin Aiko had in her hand. Afterwards Izan took a selfie with her. "Woow,her skin¡¯s really white and she smells nice. Wait what is wrong with me" Izan thought. After the selfie,Izan headed towards the hotel. "You like him" toji said. "Noo I don¡¯t " Aiko said with a blush. "You would have a hard time convincing dad to let you date him" toji said. "Wh- who, wants to date who. Plus he¡¯s not based in Japan." Aiko said with a sad face. "Well you¡¯re attending university next year right. Why not chose Spain instead. You¡¯re smart so getting in isn¡¯t a problem" toji said and Aiko started to actually think about it. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You¡¯re actually thinking about it aren¡¯t ya" toji teased. "You like him just confess" he added making Aiko blush like a cherry. Izan made it to the hotel just in time for breakfast which was light. Izan washed since he was feeling sweaty after the run before joining his teammates for breakfast. After that,the players and staff began heading towards the bus that would take them to the Yokohama F Marinos stadium where they would be training. A/N:Another one for you guys today. have fun. its night currently and I just finished so good night,good afternoon and good morning depending on where you are and thanks for the support. Chapter 39: Solo leve- uh,goal "Okay guys,gather around" Coach Baraja said. The players had to take a minute to stabilise their breathing. The past few days had been hell for most of the players. The training regiment for them had been awfully taxing. This was because it was meant to help get the players who were out of shape back in shape. "Wow,being young must be nice" Pietro said whiles looking at Izan. All the players around him started glaring at him "Bruh, you¡¯re only 19" Izan said with eyebrows raised at Pietro. Izan walked over to Coach Baraja and the other players followed suit. (For those of you who don¡¯t know,they¡¯re speaking in Spanish so I¡¯m going to try and make a distinction for other languages) S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Okay guys, I can see that your fitness levels are getting back up but its not quite there yet. Use this time period to sharpen yourself before the start of the season or else you¡¯ll be seeing more of the bench" Coach Baraja said. "Okay,the match with the yokohama F Marinos will be in two days so the lineups will be announced tomorrow". "This will be a match to try out our youth players as well as test match sharpness so give everything you¡¯ve got" Coach Baraja finished. After he was done,the players started dispersing. "Izan,a word" Coach Baraja said to Izan as he was leaving. Izan turned back and walked towards Coach Baraja. "Hello Coach. What can I do for you" Izan said politely. "I see you¡¯ve kept fit and are in good shape and thats commendable. I¡¯ll get to the point. The little glimpses you showed at the end of last season was spectacular. So I¡¯ve been asked by the guys at the top to give you a chance." "Honestly I have no problem as your skill is way above your age and you have the mindset and discipline so I will be playing you at the attacking midfield role." "You¡¯ll serve as a link between the midfield and the attack so don¡¯t let me down okay." Coach Baraja ended. "Yes coach,I won¡¯t let you down" Izan said. Coach baraja walked off and left Izan to his own devices. The following 2 days passed quickly as the day of the match was upon. The Nissan stadium which was the home ground of the Yokohama F Marinos was at full capacity. The chants of the spectators was blazing through the air at the 72,000 plus seater. The players who started coming out of the tunnel prompted the Fans to shout loudly. Izan who was walking out of the pitch couldn¡¯t help but be surprised at the atmosphere. "Guess people here do like their football" he muttered. The players and the match officials quickly got the pleasantries out of the way and soon enough,the match was underway. Commentator¡¯[in japanese] ¡¯Hello everyone welcome to the Nissan stadium,Yokohama,kanagawa prefecture here in Japan. This will be a thrilling match between 2 giants of different footballing worlds, Valencia FC from Spain and Yokohama F Marinos here in our very own Japan. Now let¡¯s get right into the match ¡¯ [Before the start of the match] "Hey Shuu,what are you so focused on" one of the reserve players of the Yokohama F Marinos team said. "Ah,its nothing" shuu replied. The player shrugged and left shuu alone."So this is what he meant by we¡¯ll be meeting soon" Shuu thought. The match began with Valencia FC kicking off. Roman Yaremchuk who had been recently signed on loan from Belgian pro league side Club Brugge kicked off. He passed the ball to the player behind him which was Izan. The Valencia side were playing in a 4-2-1-3 formation. The starting lineup consisted of some young and veteran players at the club which was done so that the young players could learn from the older ones. Izan immediately released the ball to Javi Guerra, a 20 year old midfielder on the team. Izan after getting to know the players had used the snoop function on them and had found out their strengths and a bit about their weaknesses.(Comment if you remembered that mc had a snoop function in the system) Javier laid it off to Jose Gaya who had insisted on playing this match even though Coach Baraja wanted to bench him. Gaya immediately looked up and spotted Thierry Correi¨¤,the 24 year old Valencia right back. The player known for his pace immediately decided to go on a bit of a run. The players of the Japanese based team were trying their best to take possession of the ball but they were struggling to do it. Thierry,after a bit of a run through the middle passed the ball to Izan,who then passed the ball to Andre Almeida. Almeida,after controlling the ball quickly crossed the ball to Peter gonzalez, a Real Madrid youngster who had arrived on loan to Valencia. The youngster with a beautiful set of step-overs quickly lost his marker. The player nudged the ball forward and followed suit trying to use his pace to overcome his marker but was of no use as the defender stuck to him like glue. Peter quickly stopped showboating when he saw Izan come to his aid. Peter passed the ball to Izan who took a deft touch before mazing his way through a band of players. Izan as swift as a Gazelle started making a run through the opponent¡¯s defense with the ball at his feet. The opposing players tried to take the ball from his feet but Izan was moving with the ball as if it was an organ of his body. Coach Baraja who saw this smiled as he didn¡¯t have to worry about his Midfield this season as he knew it was in good hands "Even though he¡¯s a kid,he doesn¡¯t show it and plays with a lot of maturity" Coach Baraja thought. "How can he play like that amongst such professionals " Shuu who was on the bench muttered. Izan continued his run,looking around to spot any runs or gaps he could make a pass through. Roman Yaremchuk didn¡¯t dissapoint as he made a timely run. Izan seeing this didn¡¯t waste any time and immediately floated the ball over the yokahama defense. The players couldn¡¯t react and Roman carefully trapped the ball with his chest before hitting a volley to score Valencia¡¯s first and the first goal of the match. The people who could be spotted wearing the Valencia jerseys erupted into cheers. The Yokohama fans however kept quiet. It was just the start of the match and there was more to come but conceding the goal still irked them. After the restart,the Yokohama team got into the offense as the tried to appease their fans with a goal. A midfielder of theirs smacked the ball long. The ball went forward and was expertly controlled by their left winger. After controlling the ball the winger tried to move and cross the ball into the box but Thierry Correi¨¤ slid in and sent the ball out for a throw in. The shouts of the Yokohama fans kept getting loud as their first chance of the game came. The Left-back of the team picked up the ball and quickly threw it to the winger who used his pace to get around Thierry. After beating his opponent,the winger quickly looked up and spotted his striker in the box. With a definitive cross,the player sent the ball into the box and the striker didn¡¯t dissapoint as he rose up to the challenge. The striker jumped high and met the ball with a timely header which would have scored if not for the hands of the Valencia keeper, Giorgi Marmadashvili. The keeper sent the ball out for a corner which meant that danger was still not out of the way. Ryo Miyaichi,one of the wingers of the Yokohama team sent the ball into the box. Just as the ball began its descent, one of the players of the Yokohama team fell down inside the box. This prompted the referee to blow his whistle.The referee pointed to the spot indicating a penalty. The Valencia players approached the referee who was also consulting his assistant referees in the video room in hopes that he could overturn his decision. After a few seconds however, the penalty was given as Mark had tripped the player who fell down. Mark couldn¡¯t help but sigh. Izan walked up to him and tried comforting him. Mark smiled wryly at Izan before returning his attention to the penalty. "Even if this is pre-season,I have to up my game as I can¡¯t afford to make such petty mistakes if I want to be a regular this season" was what was going on through Mark¡¯s mind. Ryo Miyaichi,the corner taker,once again stepped up to take the penalty. He moved slowly before planting the ball at the bottom left corner. Giorgi Marmadashvili had moved to the same side,unfortunately for him though,the ball entered the net. The stadium erupted into cheers and shouts as Ryo ran to the corner flag. The Yokohama fans started cheering loudly for their team. The celebrations went on for a bit before the referee could start the match. The Valencia players who had lost their goal advantage kicked into high gear as they tried to gain back the goal the lost. The players tried to find a way to score and Izan who was at the heart of this was sending passes here and there trying to help his teammates score. Unfortunately,his teammates would either waste the chance or the Yokohama F Marinos team would put up a splendid defensive show. The team had been rejuvenated after drawing level. The match was now entering the latter stages of the first half. It was now the 39th minute and the ball was with Valencia. The ball had been with them for a while and Valencia had about 85% of the possession by Izan¡¯s estimation. Izan who had tried to create gaps and chances for his teammates was now getting a bit irked by the fact that they hadn¡¯t been able to convert them. "Okay Fuck it,I¡¯m going solo" Izan resolutely thought before deciding to berserk. Izan after taking the ball from Jose Gaya quickly turned and started running at the opposition defenders. With his terrifying pace and numerous set of skills,Izan made quick work of the opposition players. Izan facing two players quickly did a rainbow flick before squeezing through the players. This act drew a bit of ¡¯ooohs¡¯ and ¡¯aahs¡¯ from the crowd. Izan trapped the ball and continued his run. A defender from the Yokohama team decided to disrupt Izan¡¯s run. The player moved forward to try and tackle the ball but all he saw was Izan using the roulette skill and flashing past him. Izan got away past another player with a quick change of pace. All this got the crowd on the edge of their seats as they saw this beautiful scene infront of them. Izan came across 2 more opponents and was running of of options. Izan after a bit of deliberation in a small time span decided to use the good ol¡¯ fakes and quickly got those 2 players out of the equation. Izan was now one on one with the keeper who tried to make himself big but Izan simply rolled the ball to left evading the keeper before simply kicking it into the net. Silence rang across the stadium momentarily before shouts could be heard again. What the heck just happened. "Hey who¡¯s that?" were all the fans were asking. The commentator was in a frenzy as he couldn¡¯t find any words to describe the goal he had just saw. It was simply magical. The Yokahama fans couldn¡¯t help but clap for Izan who was getting mobbed by his teammates. "What the heck bro" Pietro said. "Wonderful my friend" Roman said whiles hugging Izan. "Ah,if only pietro could be a bit like you" Mark who had just gotten to where the players were said,trying to get on pietro¡¯s nerves. It seemed to be working as Pietro looked like he could strangle mark at any moment. "Nice one kiddo" Gaya said as he ruffled Izan¡¯s hair. Izan smiled at him before they both returned to their side of the pitch. [In the stands] "How can a 15 year old do that" shinji muttered. He had come to watch the match in hopes that he could see how Izan would do. He was surprised to find Izan in the starting 11 but deemed it trivial as the team was maybe using preseason to train the youth. He was wowed by Izan¡¯s floated pass that led to a goal. But now what Izan had just done was out of this world. "Haaaaah,he makes me look like I¡¯m not even trying " shinji said in a depressing tone. The match restarted but nothing happened until the whistle went for the 1st half. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/N: Another one for you guys and girls and all the color spectrum. Have a nice one and thanks for the support. I wanted to know if the pacing is good or should I speed it up a bit. Lemme know in the comments. Love you all, platonically if that is a word. Chapter 40: Strengths "Izan,can you pass me the water bottle" Pietro said with his hand stretched out. Izan picked up the water bottle and threw it at him. "Listen up guys" Coach Moreno said drawing all the attention of the players. Pietro who was in the act of catching the thrown water bottle from Izan got interrupted leading to the water bottle smacking him on the face. This act brought sudden laughter to the players who couldn¡¯t stop laughing at pietro. Even Assistant Coach Moreno had to join in on the laughter. "Okay guys,thats enough " Assistamt Coach Moreno said after the players had laughed for a bit. "You¡¯ve played well today but you have to keep it in your mind that the club expects more from you" he said whiles looking at the players. After a moment,he continued " keep it up in the second half and let¡¯s see this game through. Now we wait for Coach Baraja." Coach Baraja entered as soon as Moreno finished. "Okay guys,you¡¯ve played well but you have to understand that our opponent is of a lower class than what we are used to in the league so don¡¯t relax and keep improving " Coach Baraja said. After his speech,he left the players to do whatever they liked with the remaining 10 minutes. Izan with ten minutes to do whatever he wanted decided to enter the system¡¯s simulation. With a thought,the translucent screen that only he could see came up. Izan navigated to the simulation hub before entering it. [ Would host like to enter the simulation for 1 hour simulation time] Cost:100 sp Balance: 2300sp Yes/No Izan immediately chose ¡¯yes¡¯ and was sent to the simulation. To the players outside,it looked as if Izan was just asleep. Izan after going through the system¡¯s catalog in the simulation hub chose the match he played against Sevilla. Izan decided to replay a bit of that match to improve his match sharpness. After Izan chose his option,the simulation immediately replicated the stadium and atmosphere of the match played against Sevilla. All the players and everything from that match was replicated. "Really worth the huge upgrade" Izan said. Izan immediately got into the match and started doing his thing. Izan played this match without any restrictions as his teamates and opponents in the simulation played their utmost best. After the one hour simulation time was up, Izan was ejected out of the simulation hub. Izan had had a fruitful simulation game as he scored once and assisted twice in the simulation game. Izan checked his phone only to see that just 5 minutes had passed after he entered the simulation for an hour. Izan quickly got up and started wearing his boots and a few minutes after that,the players were in the tunnel again. The Yokohama F Marinos players started staring at Izan. Some with genuine surprise and admiration. Others with envy and jealousy as Izan had probably done what most of them won¡¯t be able to do in their careers and that¡¯s playing for a club like Valencia. The players started going onto the pitch again and the fans who saw the players coming back started cheering loudly once more. Izan who was coming from the tunnel looked at the Yokohama bench and made eye contact with Shuu while smiling. "Why is he smiling at me " thought shuu. The referee after looking at his watch decided to blow the whistle to begin the second half. The Yokohama players immediately got into the offense and immediately sent a long ball forward to one of their wingers. It seemed they intended to make it count this time. Their winger immediately after controlling the ball sent a pass to the full back who had sprinted behind him. The fast attack had surprised the Valencia players but they had reorganised themselves and had coped well with the attack. Izan who was currently helping out in the defense decided to mark one of the Yokohama players standing alone near the edge of the penalty box. The fullback who currently held possession of the ball decided to make a cross after seeing his numbers in the opponent¡¯s box. Unfortunately for him, the ball was headed out by Mark and this was the start of something good. Izan who was marking the player outside of the penalty box saw the headed ball from Mark coming his way. He immediately rushed to take possession of the ball with the opponent trying to do the same. Izan without looking back used the outside of his left leg to send a ball around the player behind him before turning around to chase the ball. Izan looked like a beast possessed after he got possession of the ball. With his World class pace,Izan immediately nudged the ball ahead before running to catch up with the ball. Izan after he got up to the ball immediately began dribbling across the pitch with the ball at his feet. Izan dribbled gracefully across the pitch with the ball bending to his will. None of the Yokohama F Marinos players were catching up to Izan. All except for one Yokohama player who had decided not to give up. Izan who was about to be in a one on one situation with the keeper in a few seconds saw himself being brought to the ground. The Yokohama player had tried to take the ball away but had failed successfully. Izan felt a sharp pain in his ankle before it immediately Vanished. "What was that" Izan thought. The referee after seeing this immediately blew his whistle for a foul before awarding the players red card for a last man tackle. Izan got up and saw that the ball was about 39 metres from the goalpost. "It looked a bit closer when I had the ball" he muttered. "Try crossing it in" Mark said as he ran past Izan into the 18-yard box. The position was awkward and Izan also intended to send a cross into the box. Izan with his mind set took 4 steps back and looked into the box only to find the keeper¡¯s positioning all wrong. Izan immediately had a change of mind and took an extra 2 steps back. Pietro and Mark who saw this had only one thought in their minds. "He¡¯s going to try and score". Izan looked at the goalkeeper once more before being finally ready. The referee blew the whistle and Izan with a speedy run-up smacked the ball with all the raw power he could muster in his right leg. The ball took off from the ground and seemed to be off target until it began its sudden descent. The Yokohama goal keeper who¡¯s eyes were locked on ball couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. The ball seemed to be moving all over the place. The crowd,the players,the bench and the whole stadium looked on as the ball smacked the left top corner of the goalpost before shaking the net. The fans and the players were all stunned by the goal from Izan. Everyone turned to face Izan who also stood still not believing it had actually worked out. Izan tried to run and celebrate but found out soon enough that he couldn¡¯t as his right leg was throbbing fervently. Izan sat on the ground as his teammates ran towards him. Gaya who was near got to him first after he saw Izan sit on the ground. After noticing that Izan was injured,he immediately,stopped his teammates from jumping on him. Coach Baraja¡¯s heart sank after he saw Izan sit on the ground. *sigh* "let¡¯s hope it¡¯s not serious" he said as he signaled the medical team to go and check him out. The medical team immediately ran onto the pitch after the match was paused. After the inspection,the medics concluded that it wasn¡¯t that serious but it would be advisable to take him off. The medics immediately helped Izan off the ground as they saw Coach Baraja making a change. The Whole stadium both friend or foe started clapping for Izan as he got subbed off for the wholesome performance he had given throughout the match. [Announcer] ¡¯Number 21, Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z comes off for Number 18 Pepelu¡¯ The fans were a bit surprised to find out that Izan¡¯s middle name was japanese. "Wait is he japanese " a spectator in the Yokohama shirt said. "Sounds like it. I mean his middle name is Miura so probably yeah" another fan contributed. As the conversation in the stands and among the fans continued Izan got off the pitch and was replaced by Spanish midfielder, pepelu. The referee continued the match after the substitution with the score now being 3 to 1 for Valencia. Pietro moved to occupy Izan¡¯s position whiles Pepelu filled his. Pietro in the absence of Izan didn¡¯t falter and showed what he was capable of. After the match resumed, Pietro started acting like a conductor. Changing the pace and tempo of the game when it was required and playing very good passes. The match eventually became a back and forth as one side was trying to score and cement its lead with the other trying to score and get back into the game. This continued till the 74th minute and was only stopped by a change from the Yokohama F Marinos team. Shuu who was on the bench watching the match was surprised when he was told to warm up. And now he was being subbed in. [Shuu Pov] ¡¯Okay calm down. Its just a regular match against a team from Spain. But how can I calm down,when I¡¯m about to play against Valencia. Wow I¡¯m nervous. How was he able to play through this. He¡¯s coming,he¡¯s coming. I¡¯m finally being subbed in. Calm down and let¡¯s make the most of this¡¯ Izan after seeing Shuu being subbed on couldn¡¯t help but smile. "Everyone gets a chance,it¡¯s up to you to make it count" he thought as he looked at Shuu. Shuu after coming on Immediately settled into the match. All the nervousness had vanished like it was never there in the first place. Shuu immediately got to work and started playing a maestro role. Passing here and there and trying to set his teammates free. His passes were being squandered by his teammates but Shuu was relentless as kept on doing what he does best,football. He was eventually rewarded in the 85th minute when he received a pass from Nam Tae-hee, a Yokohama midfielder. Shuu after getting the ball immediately looked to find Yan souza on the right wing. Yan being a Brazilian born player used the Brazilian flair and got away from his opponent before sending a pass backwards. Shuu who had followed up after the pass didn¡¯t even control the ball and immediately sent a cross from the right flank into the box. Elber,one of the Yokahama players jumped and headed the ball into the net for Yokohama¡¯s second goal of the night. The goal sent the Yokohama fans into a frantic state as the cheers and jubilation continued. Elber quickly went to the goal and took the ball from the net before running to center line. Unfortunately for them, the Valencia defense proved tough for them after their 2nd goal and the match ended in a 3-2 win for Valencia. The fans at the stadium clapped for the players as they had given them a 5 goal thriller of a match. A match where there was never a dull moment. Izan who was already able to limp on his own walked over to Shuu. "Hey,you played well" Izan said as Shuu turned back to find Izan behind him. "Thanks, I¡¯d say you too but that would be a bit funny" Shuu said. Izan smiled and the two talked for a while. Finally as Shuu turned to leave,Izan asked if they could swap shirts. Shuu hurriedly agreed and the 2 exchanged shirts. "This is going to sell for a lot in the near future" shuu said. "Probably yours too" Izan said as they both stood there laughing. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/N: hello guys,another one for you. Have fun. The next chapters will be fun so stay tuned. S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 41: Us and them [Sports Today Japan Studio] ¡¯ Hello Viewers and welcome to another segment of sports today here in Japan and the topic of discussion and analysis today will be the thrilling match that went on yesterday between Valencia Fc from Spain and our very own Yokohama F Marinos . I am your host Itachi joined by one of the legends of the game here in Japan and its our very own Yuji Nakazawa ¡¯ "Thank you Itachi, I¡¯m very glad to be on this segment" Yuji said with a curt nod "Well we¡¯re also glad to have you here. Now yesterday was thrilling for anyone who was at the Nissan stadium " "The pre-season saw Valencia FC face off against Yokohama F Marinos in a bout that saw the former win by 3 goals to 2. We had a lot to see from the visitors and also from some of our local players" "One player in particular carried his team on his back and he goes by the name of Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z. What do you have to say about this Yuji" Itachi said as the camera panned to Yuji. "You know, I¡¯ve seen talent but his is just glorious. I just recently found out that he wasn¡¯t even 16 years but the level of maturity that he plays with is just spectacular " Yuji said. "The way he carries himself on the field and the way he just looks around for space and gaps. It reminds me of Sergio Busquets in that aspect but at the same time,Izan shows how deadly he is on the attack and it translated by how he scored 2 goals and made an assist" Itachi smiled at Yuji before continuing "At such a young age he already is an integral member of the Valencia team. I can¡¯t wait till he¡¯s mature" "One youngster too in particular shined despite the few minutes given and its our very own Shuu who despite coming from the bench made an assist that brought the team back within contention. What are your thoughts? Itachi spoke. "Well,Shuu also showed levels yesterday and proved he too was no fluke. His keen sense allowed him to spot and make the pass that lead to the goal". Yuji sighed then continued " I just hope he doesn¡¯t get lazy or complacent due to the low intensity football in Japan. I really hope that Japanese football can change and I hope these young ones can do that " " Okay then Yuji,what are your thoughts on the possibility of Izan playing for Japan. We all found out about him yesterday and it turns out his mother is Japanese meaninghe is eligibleto play for Japan" Itachi spoke. "Well it¡¯d be good for our country but I don¡¯t think Spain would be dumb enough to recognise such a talent if he proves his worth. So if there¡¯s a possibility he plays for us,then that would be tremendous but I wouldn¡¯t get my hopes up" "Okay moving on..... [Fitness Center] "How bad is it?" Coach Baraja asked. "Whats with the face Baraja. Its not that bad. All he needs is ¡¯RICE¡¯" the team doctor said. Coach Baraja nodded looking at Izan who looked puzzled. "What" he asked. "Sorry Coach but ¡¯RICE¡¯. I don¡¯t think rice has any magical healing properties" Izan said. "Not rice, RICE" Coach Baraja said as if it would make any sense for Izan who didn¡¯t understand the term. "Rest,Ice,Compression,Elevation " the doctor said after Izan stilled looked puzzled. Izan finally figured the meaning with an ¡¯oooohhh¡¯ look on his face "He might be able to play but I suggest you don¡¯t play him the next match" the specialist said. "Okay doc" Coach Baraja said. Assistant Coach Moreno looked at Izan with a relieved face. "Thats great then" Moreno muttered. The specialist called Baraja to talk after he was done inspecting Izan¡¯s injury. "Don¡¯t play him too much eh. He¡¯s still growing. Manage him well" he said whiles walking away. [Hotel] "How was it man" pietro asked as soon as Izan got to the lobby where the players were chatting. "Well he said its not that bad but I won¡¯t be able to play the next match " Izan replied with a dejected face. Izan loved the thrill and the Adrenaline that rushed at him when he played the game he loved. "Thats good then and also don¡¯t look dejected,what matters is that you¡¯re okay" Pietro said. The other players heaved a sigh of relief after the heard Izan¡¯s words. "Oh my God,Pietro,is that really you" Izan said with a cheeky grin. "It seemed you¡¯ve finally grown up" Izan added drawing laughs from the other players. "Y-,yo-,I¡¯m looking out for you and yo-" Pietro struggled. "Eei,eei, stop fumbling with words" Izan said. The players couldn¡¯t laughing at the funny interaction between the two. "Well its good that you¡¯re okay" Jose Gaya,the team captain and Ace of Valencia said. Izan nodded and smiled at him. The club was in an injury crisis already so if Izan got injured too then it¡¯d be bad. Without knowing,the other players had started to rely on Izan to come In clutch during the season. "Well lets get some rest and we¡¯ll meet for dinner a bit later. Is that okay?" Coach Baraja said whiles scanning the faces of the players. The players nodded and went to their rooms. [3 days later] [COMMENTATOR] ¡¯Its been an exciting first half here at the todoroki stadium here in kanagawa and Kawasaki is leading Valencia by a goal as the score rests at 3-2. The Valencia players have been sloppy but I can¡¯t blame them as they are playing with their reserve squad. It was sudden but the Coach decided to not play a lot of the main force after what happens yesterday. It seems he got cautious after his little magician got injured ¡¯ Izan sat on the bench looking at the reserve team get trolled. The two goals that Valencia got back were all as a result of penalties. The first half ended with the same score and the players quickly went to their dressing rooms. The intermission passed quickly and soon the players were returning from the locker rooms. The Valencia team had changed a bit of the lineup as 4 players had been substituted out. Pietro,Andre Almeida,Mark and Hugo duro who were all on the bench had been subbed in for the other 4. The referee quickly restarted the match as a soon as the players got into position and a notable change could be seen. The difference was quickly noticed as Valencia started attacking more. The match became fast paced as both sides were trying to establish control over the game. The passing routes seemed to have also changed to the wings. The team which had the better and pacier wingers had the advantage and Valencia seemed to be thriving with this play. Pietro sent the ball to the wings in the 64th minute after a mistimed tackle had granted his team a foul. The Valencia player on the wing burst with sudden speed immediately after getting hold of the ball. The defenders of Kawasaki frontale had a very had time chasing the wingers who had pace and at the same time quick footwork. Izan looked on eagerly from the bench as his team had gotten a chance to equalise. The winger raised his leg to send a cross and the Kawasaki defenders didn¡¯t dissapoint with as they reacted well and jumped. Only downside was the cross was a low one which had now caught them offguard. Pietro, who saw this quickly rushed towards the ball to potentially put the ball in the net. He didn¡¯t have it easy though as one of the kawaski players had stuck to him. Using his peripheral vision,he had already spotted Hugo duro behind him and Pietro after he got to the ball,allowed it to pass through his legs. The Kawasaki player who was not expecting this couldn¡¯t react in time as the ball slid to Hugo duro. And being the prolific striker he was,Hugo duro didn¡¯t dissapoint and sent a roaring shot into the back of the net leaving the keeper with no chance. The supporters of Valencia erupted into cheers in the stadium. Hugo duro immediately took the ball from the net and went to the kickoff spot. "Well I guess thats it then" Izan thought as he pulled his hoodie to cover his face as he began to sleep. The match became one-sided from there on as Valencia went on to score 2 more goals courtesy of Mark and Andre Almeida making the score 5-3. The fans clapped for the players who had showed them such a goal-fested match. The players quickly returned to their bus after the match as it was getting cold and the fans also followed suit to their various homes. The night was long as Izan stared at the silver moon through the windows of the bus. [The Following Morning] "Ahhhh Miura, when will you be free. Mommy misses you" Komi said from the other side of the phone. "I¡¯ll have 3 days off after pre-season mum. We can have fun then" Izan replied with a smile. [Japanese] " Izan my boy, how are you doing" Izan heard his grandfather¡¯s voice from the background. "Hello,hope you¡¯re well Granddad " Izan said. "Well I¡¯m fine,your grandmother is the problem,always nagging and- ouch" "You see my boy, she just hit me, never marry fierce women okay" Izan¡¯s grandfather added before sounds of smacking could be heard over the call. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Guess they¡¯re fine since they¡¯re this energetic" Izan said. "Where¡¯s hori by the way" Izan asked his mom as his sister seemed absent. "She found a few friends from the neighbouring houses and decided to go and explore with them" Komi said. "Oh,okay. Well, I¡¯ll see you soon mum" Izan said ending the call. Izan then proceeded to the conference room of the hotel which was being used by the team for tactical sessions. Izan passed by a few of the hotel¡¯s staff and women who couldn¡¯t stop gawking at him. Izan really didn¡¯t look his age. The women kept whispering and giggling whiles looking at him. "His eyes are so beautiful". "Do you think I have a chance" "Hey,you¡¯re no match for him" "Do you think he has a girlfriend " The last comment Izan heard brought Olivia to mind. "Its been a while since I talked to her" Izan said whiles entering the conference room. "Lets call her after this" Izan made a mental note. Izan found a seat empty near Pietro but decided to stand. Pietro who saw this couldn¡¯t find words to say. Jose Gaya signaled Izan to come sit in the empty seat besides him. Pietro sneakily stood up and kind them at the back. "Can¡¯t escape my friend" pietro said scaring Gaya. Coach Baraja noticed this and spoke "would you like to lead this session Pietro". "Sorry Coach" Pietro said quickly not wanting to be a clown again. Coach Baraja stepped forward whiles scanning their faces after this before looking away. He did so for a while before deciding to speak. "Okay guys,its us and Tottenham hotspur " ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/N :sorry guys been sick for a while. Anyway here¡¯s a chapter for you. Enjoy Chapter 42: Prelude to Match against Tottenham hotspur "Good work guys. The sessions haven¡¯t been easy but you guys have coped well" Coach Baraja said as the player caught their breaths. "This will go a long way to us having a fantastic season and I hope you guys don¡¯t slack. Am I clear" Baraja stated. The players nodded whiles few shouts of confirmation were muttered out. The training session for today too had been tasking. They had trained in the morning and have been training since the afternoon too. It seems that the manager really wanted a team with good fitness and crazy match sharpness. Izan who had used a recovery drug was still teeming with energy. He looked up as the wind blew on his face occasionally. " I have gotten a few points since the end of last season so let¡¯s upgrade when we get the chance to do so " Izan thought making a mental note. "Okay guys let¡¯s head back to the hotel and make sure to get some rest because we¡¯ll still have a warm-up session before the match tomorrow " The players couldn¡¯t help but show their dissatisfaction over this. Izan smiled at his teammates who were awfully tired but had no choice but to obey their coach. "Don¡¯t be wussies people,the fitness team have prepared icebaths and match recovery session for you all so finish that and let us go" Coach Baraja said. The players were still lazing around after he said that so he decided to take it to the extreme. "If you guys don¡¯t get up quickly,you¡¯ll be fined 5000 euros when we get back". This brought a sudden spike in the number of player who stood up and began running towards the fitness center of the stadium. Izan who had already began walking after Coach Baraja told them the first time couldn¡¯t help but laugh at his teammates who were struggling to ran towards the center in order to escape a fine. Even their team¡¯s Ace, Jose Gaya was also running. "Haah, money " Izan muttered as he looked on at the sight of the players still running. [Fitness center] At the fitness center,the players were told to prepare for their icebaths. Izan quickly removed his clothes after he got there. This act drew stares from his teammates. This was because of Izan neatly done abs that looked like they were sculpted. Izan wasn¡¯t bulky,but one could see his lean and strong muscles that looked like they were brimming with energy. "You know,I¡¯m not gay or anything but damn" Pietro said breaking the silence. The players,after Pieteo said this all focused on him. All the players looked at him and made a face that screamed ¡¯Is this guy dumb?¡¯ Pietro sensing this meekly made his way toward the baths and laid down on the cold baths. Izan and the other players followed suit and soon enough,the place was quiet as the players tried to soak in the feeling and wash away all their tiredness. After the baths,the players were led through a series of nimble and effortless exercises led by an instructor. Soon after the players were done with their session,they quickly got on the bus and made their way towards the stadium. On the bus,Izan replied to a few messages from his friends and contacts. "How¡¯s the pre-season going " Sosa Herrera, Izan¡¯s teammates from the youth team asked in a message. Izan replied,telling him about their matches and how it was. "Wish I could be there too" Sosa said. "In perfect time bro,in time" Izan texted ending their conversation. Izan looking through the window saw an advertisement which had the face of a japanese player on it. This brought his attention to the talk with miranda about growing his brand. Izan,curious decided to check his social media accounts. He first opened Instagram to see how he was faring there. Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z Posts Followers Following 31 4.4M 77 Izan looked at his followers and couldn¡¯t help but smile. It seems his antics here in Japan had drew him a bit of followers. He exited and opened his twitter account that had also grown with him now having 1.3 million followers. His twitter account didn¡¯t really have anything going on aside a few videos and pictures of their tour in Japan. "Might have to talk to Miranda about that Manager soon" he said as his twitter growth seemed to be stagnant because of his inactivity and lack of content. Izan exited the app and after putting on his airpods, he proceeded to close his eyes while listening to some music. ****************************************** "Dad can I go and watch a football match tomorrow " a female voice rang. "Why are you so obsessed with football as my daughter. Even your brother, even he doesn¡¯t show interest in football as you do" A man said. "But dad it our interests and can you stop your comments about me liking football. Its not a sports for men dad,its for everyone to enjoy " the feminine voice roared once again. "Yo-, fine you can go but make sure you go with your brother" the man said conceding to his daughter. "Awww,thanks dad " she said planting a kiss on the man¡¯s cheeks. "Oh and Aiko, I want you to mee-" the man tried to say but was cut off. "Don¡¯t ruin the moment dad please" Aiko said with a scary smile that made her Father retreat to his shell. Aiko walked out of the room into the elevator as both men in the room stared on. "She¡¯s scary" the older male said. "You have no idea dad" Aiko¡¯s elder brother, Toji said. "Which match is she going to watch" toji¡¯s father asked. "I think it¡¯s Valencia from Spain against Tottenham from England". "She¡¯s probably going to that match because of that boy we sa-" toji said realising what he had just done. "What boy" the man said in a scary voice. "Umm, its a football player she¡¯s being following for a while now" toji replied meekly. "Ohhh, football player now. Which team does he play for? "He plays for the Valencia team and he¡¯s actually a very good player and he¡¯s young too" toji said. "How old" Toji¡¯s father asked. " I think he¡¯s 16 years old" Toji replied. A loud silence rang in the room after he said this. "Hey toji,does your sister like younger guys" the man said releasing all the pent up tension in the conversation. "Come on dad its just a 2 year gap plus we don¡¯t know if she likes the boy" toji said. "Have you seen your sister show interest in a male like this" Toji¡¯s father, Mr. Kenta Inoue said. "Well you have a point dad bu-" "Then thats that then" Kenta said cutting off his son. "I¡¯ll see him for myself" he added resolutely. Toji felt sorry for his sister as he ha caused trouble for her. "Godspeed Aiko,Godspeed " he muttered. ******************************************* [Aiko] She was happy that her father had allowed her to go and watch the match. She had seen Izan on Instagram for a while now and had decided to follow the boy mainly because he was cute and he also played her favourite sport,football. She had been surprised by his age because of how mature he seemed in his interactions with other in videos and on the Internet. "Lets make this worthwhile" she said whiles walking out of a tall skyscraper. ***************************************** Izan oblivious to the conversation about him had just arrived at the hotel with his teammates. He decided to rest a bit before dinner and was now trying to sleep. He still couldn¡¯t fall asleep so he decided to research on some places to go with his mother after pre-season. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing and he smiled as he looked at the name on the phone. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Hey Olivia" he said meekly. "Hi, Izan" she replied shyly on the other side. They had talked a while back and their conversation had spiraled into something else which had resulted in how they were talking around each other. " What are you doing " Izan asked. "Nothing really,I just finished a lecture and I decided to call you " she replied. The two proceeded to talk about little and irrelevant subjects with a few jokes mixed in. Izan had been surprised by Olivia¡¯s sense of humor after the two had gotten comfortable around each other. The two talked for a while before deciding to end it after Pietro called Izan down for dinner. Izan after ending the call went down to join the team for dinner before heading back up to rest. Pietro on the other hand decided to watch a few ¡¯movies¡¯ before he slept. [The next day] The players woke up early and headed to their training pitch for the last training session before the game in the evening. The training session was fruitful as Izan seemed to be back to his best. Izan had told Cocah Baraja he was fit enough to start the match. Although Coach baraja was skeptical about putting Izan in the match, the medics had cleared him so he had no reason to bench him. The team continued to train ahead of the match as time passed and before they could realise,it was getting close to the time of the match. The bus arrived at the Tokyo dome which had a capacity of 55,000. The stadium had been occupied fully. The stadium was brimming with energy as one could even feel the tremors from the noise the fans were making. The players got off their bus and headed towards their dressing room. They changed into their training kits and headed out for a warm up session before the match. Izan immediately felt the atmosphere and the energy inside the dome. The fans had also been cheering loudly ever since the players stepped onto the pitch. Izan looked over at the other side of the pitch where the Tottenham players were also doing their warmup. Izan looked at Son Heung-Min and a few other players and was starstruck. He was now playing against players he had seen on the TV a few years back. Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful to whatever existence that granted him the system. He was gradually becoming a player with status as some of the Tottenham players looked at him. Of course being in Japan,they had seen firsthand how Izan had played and they were also shocked to find out his age. The players headed back to their locker rooms after the warmup session. Izan took his kit and wore it after they entered the locker room as most of the players were already done wearing theirs. Coach Baraja entered and seeing his players he smiled. "Go and play like you want to win. I don¡¯t want any crap about how this is just a pre-season match. Play like you want to win" Coach Baraja said. "Yes coach" they roared. Coach Baraja looked in Izan¡¯s direction and nodded. Izan who saw this also nodded back. "Okay let¡¯s go" he said as the players started exiting the room. The players soon found themselves in the tunnel. Izan wearing his 21 jersey couldn¡¯t help but be more proud now that he could see the other Tottenham stars close to him. The players soon enough began to walk towards the pitch. Izan looked on as the light from the stadium midly blinded him as they walked onto the pitch For the second time,the fans roared loudly as the players got onto the pitch. Izan couldn¡¯t help but smile at this. This was what he lived and worked hard for. This was the type of situation he thrived in. The adrenaline and excitement that came with this situations. He cleared his mind as the players lined up before the crowd that had come to watch them ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/N: Another one,have fun guys. Chapter 43: Tottenham Hotspur [1] [COMMENTATORS] ¡ñ "Hello lovely viewers. We are here at the Tokyo dome here in Tokyo and I¡¯m glad to say that I¡¯m excited to be in charge of this commentary." "My name is Sakamoto daichi and I¡¯m glad to be joined by Fuji Yamada" "Thank you, daichi-san and I¡¯m excited to be here too as its not everyday that we get to see a football match of this caliber" "Okay football fans and those of you watching at home,we have a full house here in the Tokyo dome and its seems the fans are as excited as I am for the start of the match". "Well lets not wait anymore and move onto the lineups starting with Valencia FC" "It seems Giorgi Marmadashvili is in goal today and they seems to be playing in a 4-2-1-3 formation again for this match. "Captain fantastic, Jose Gaya stands at the left back position and Thierry Correi¨¤ stand at the right back position " "Continuing in defense,the young player Mark who proved to be a gem when an injury crisis hit the team " "Partnered up with Mark is Guinea player mouctar Diakhaby". "Moving to the midfield is Pietro,another excellent youngster joined by Andre Almeida who played some good football last game". "And serving as the number 10 for their side its none other than Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z". "You know Daichi-san,I¡¯m excited to see Izan play live today. I recently heard of his possible dual nationality and it gets me excited at the thought that he could play for japan" "Me too fuji-kun,me too" "Okay Continuing , in Attack its Hugo duro at the forefront and the supporting cast is Diego Lopez and Mario dominguez on the wings" "Its a very young lineup and I¡¯m excited to see what they can do against a very bold Tottenham side". "Valencia starting 11" Gk: Giorgi Marmadashvili LB: Jose Gaya RB: Thierry Correi¨¤ CBs: Mark Montes, Mouctar Diakhaby CMs: Pietro Luis Cava,Andre Almeida AM: Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z LW:Diego Lopez RW:Mario dominguez FW:Hugo duro. "Okay folks now let¡¯s move onto the Tottenham hotspur lineup". "New manager Ange Postecoglou will be looking to make his mark with this match " "Vicario starts in goal and his two centrebacks are Christian Romero and Japhet Tanganga". "The fullbacks are Reguill¨®n on the left and Pedro Porro on the right". "The midfield is Oliver Skipp, Yves Bissouma,topped by England¡¯s James Maddison". "Dejan Kulusevski is on the right wing and his counterpart is Manor Solomon,both new additions to the squad". "Leading the charge is star man Harry kane who seems set to leave the club very soon as Bayern Munich have offered an all-time bundesliga record fee of 110 million euros" "Okay folks,now that the pleasantries are out of the way lets get right into the match as Harry kane stands for kickoff" ¡ñ Fweeeeeee, the referee sounded his whistle to signify the start of the match. Harry Kane quickly kicked off the match as he passed the ball to James Maddison who was right behind him. Madisson after receiving the pass made a quick search to see if there were any gaps in the opponent¡¯s formation that could allow them to make an early lead. That however proved fruitless as the opponents had setup a stalwart formation that seemed like it wouldn¡¯t crumble. He opted out and passed to Oliver skipp who quickly sent the ball to Goal keeper Vicario. Vicario didn¡¯t waste much time and also passed to Reguill¨®n on the left. It seemed Tottenham had plans to settle into the game first before trying anything out. This worked too for Valencia as they also settled nicely into the game. 5 minutes had passed since the whistle sounded and Valencia hadn¡¯t gotten a touch of the ball. Tottenham were just passing at the back with no intention to attack. This made a few Valencia players try to press but Izan¡¯s Voice quickly sounded warning them not to go in. It seems,Tottenham¡¯s plan had been seen through. They were waiting for Valencia to take bait so they could launch a quick counter but they fell short. Or rather Izan had conducted his team well. The Valencia players began a man to man marking which proved effective as it forced a throw-in out of the Tottenham players. Jose Gaya who held the ball in hand quickly threw it to Pietro who was alone. Pietro after a quick look sent a pass to Andre Almeida. Izan who had just been walking around the pitch scanning for immediate gaps on the pitch quickly moved into space to receive the ball. Andre Almeida noticed this and sent a pass to Izan. Izan carefully looked back to make sure no one was on his tail before controlling the pass. With a jog,Izan nudged the ball forward a bit before making a decisive pass to Mario dominguez on the right wing. Mario didn¡¯t dissapoint and carefully trapped the ball before heading towards the opponents goal. Mario wasn¡¯t an extremely pacey winger but he knew his strengths well as he wormed his way through opponents with his exceptional dribbling. Mario looked up for passing options but he saw none. He once again came one on one with an opponent player. This time it was Reguill¨®n who was defending him. "Shit" he thought as Reguill¨®n tried to tackle the ball away from him. Mario not knowing what to do looked up after he had heard a shout. His saviour had come. Izan came running towards Mario who didn¡¯t waste anytime. Mario passed the ball to Izan who had already set a target for the pass he was about to make. Izan after taking control of the ball immediately sent a defence splitting pass that made the ball look like it had a mind of it¡¯s own. The pass found it¡¯s way to Hugo duro who was on the edge of the penalty box. Hugo controlled the ball with the inside of his foot and saw no room to make a pass. He therefore decided to take a chance at goal. From the edge of the box,Hugo released a powerful shot towards goal. The ball seemed to be in good trajectory as it was on course to being a goal. Vicario however made a perfectly timed save at the end. Gasps of dissapointment could be heard from both fans and Valencia players alike. They had almost come close to scoring. Izan after the ball had went out for a corner quickly followed up and went to the corner flag to take the corner. Izan after spotting numbers in the box quickly sent a cross into the box. Mouctar Diakhaby,jumped into the air and met the ball timely. The ball moved sharp towards goal and once again Tottenham hotspur were saved by their keeper as he tipped the ball over the goal. Izan went to the corner flag again and put the ball on a comfortable spot. Izan looked into the box once more before unleashing a cross into the box. Japhet tanganga, this time rose to the challenge and cleared the ball away. His clearance however didn¡¯t go that far. The ball hit the ground before bouncing perfectly infront of Jose Gaya who was outside the box .Time seemed to stop at that moment as Gaya looked at the ball. It seemed that Jose Gaya was made for the moment as he released a thunderous shot from the half-volley. The ball flew straight into the back of the net as it rustled it. The stadium went silent,albeit for a moment as the crowd suddenly exploded into life. The Valencia fans amongst the Japanese people erupted into cheers. Jose Gaya immediately ran towards the corner flag where Izan was waiting for him. Jose Gaya jumped and hugged Izan as that act sent them both tumbling down. The remaining teammates followed suit and jumped onto their mates who were already in the floor. Coach Baraja on the sidelines was relieved as he unconsciously bumped his fist in the air after Jose Gaya scored. Now his team was in the lead and although it wasn¡¯t anytime to relax,his team could at least play without pressure now. Ange Postecoglou on the sidelines smiled wryly at the situation he had at hand. He was now contemplating a tactical reform but he decided against it. He wanted to watch for a while to see what would happen. The players went to their respective starting positions after the goal celebrations. The referee as soon as the players got into their positions restarted the match. Kane kicked off once moreas the Tottenham players began attacking from the onset trying to level the score but Valencia¡¯s Defense proved a tough nut to crack. Mark and Diakhaby where both doing a great job of snuffing out threats before they even became one. Valencia FC was now seeing more of the ball as the players played optimally getting rid of any useless passes or movement. Izan in the heat of the match made cool and clean passes and at the same time would help out in defending. Tottenham finally got the ball back after a mistimed pass saw James Maddison get to the ball first. He immediately began searching for passing options as he tried to make it count this time. He looked around and saw a free Solomon standing a bit closer to the corner flag. Maddison quickly sent the ball to Solomon who also ended up crossing the ball to kane in the box. Mouctar Diakhaby sneakily grabbed and grounded kane who was about to take flight for the ball. Mark headed the ball out but the ball out after kane couldn¡¯t but tha ball came back to a Tottenham player. Pedro Porro controlled the ball and looked inside the box. Diego Lopez immediately rushed him but Porro sent the ball to Dejan Kulusevski who was on the right wing. Kulusevski controlled the ball and tried breaking into the penalty box but it didn¡¯t work. Kulusevski then faked a few shots which threw the Valencia defenders off their pace. Kulusevski,as soon as he saw space open up sent a low cross to Harry kane who was in a optimal position. Harry kane,deadly as always smashed the ball into the net pulling level for Tottenham. Kane ran towards Dejan Kulusevski while pointing to him attributing the goal to the fact that he might not have scored if not for Kulusevski. Izan stood there and watched on with a complicated expression. The Tottenham players soon enough were done with their celebrations. The referee restarted the match again and it was the second time in 27 minutes. Hugo duro passed back from the kickoff as the match continued. Both sides tried to pull ahead and came close to doing so on a few occasions. One of them was Izan¡¯s perfectly released shot that was only thwarted by a well timed save from Vicario who had proved to be a lifesaver for Tottenham since the start of the match. Tottenham also came close to pulling ahead as Harry kane also headed a ball that was headed for goal if not for the Timely intervention of Giorgi Marmadashvili. The back and forth continued for a while until a turnover in play occurred. The beneficiary of this turnover in play was Valencia as they had been able to press and retrieve the ball from spurs. Thierry Correi¨¤ sent a pass to Mario dominguez after he got the ball. Mario also sent a pass the Andre Almeida who was near him. Andre,after getting the ball sent the ball to Mark who laid off the ball to Pietro. Immediately pietro got the ball,Izan moved into space and Pietro with his great vison sent a pass to Izan. Izan took a touch before lofting the ball over to Hugo duro. Hugo continued on a run as he tried to pull his team ahead. Unfortunately for Hugo,he was fouled about 30 metres from the goal post. Izan who saw the ball couldn¡¯t help but smile. His eyes started glimmering as if he had seen gold infront of him. Izan walked up to the ball and took it out of the referee¡¯s hands. The Tottenham goalkeeper Vicario was scrambling to make a wall to block the opponents endeavours. Izan took an appreciable amount of steps back before looking ahead. The referee inspected the wall and seemed okay with everything so he blew the whistle. ¡¯Fweeeeeeeeee¡¯ Izan heard as he began his run-up. Izan chose accuracy and precision as he smacked the ball over the wall. The ball moved with a mad curl that mad anyone who saw it thinknif it was possible. The ball rose a bit after he kicked the ball. The ball anti-climatically descended into the goal. The cauldron of emotions exploded into life once more as Izan had just pulled his team ahead. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Wow,I could really use a player like that"thought Ange Postecoglou as his team fell on the backfoot again. A/N: Thanks guys for you support. Its midnight but have a good day wherever you are. That¡¯s it for today. Have fun Chapter 44: Tottenham Hotspur [2]:Masterclass The stadium erupted into cheers after Izan scored that beautiful freekick. One might say the fans were expecting the underdogs to lose. But they had proven them wrong with the stellar performance they had put on since the start of the match. Manager Baraja couldn¡¯t stop smiling on the touchline. "Hey Moreno" he said drawing the attention of Assistant Coach Moreno who stood behind him. "Make notes of Izan and give them to me after the match. I need to train him differently" he said drawing a confused stare from Moreno. Assist. Coach Moreno did it nonetheless. The match continued and it seemed that Izan¡¯s goal from the freekick had brought Tottenham to their senses. Ange Postecoglou had put two players on Izan after the match restarted. The two seemed to be doing their work well as Izan was being deprived of the chance to even take a pass. Izan didn¡¯t mind as there is a saying, ¡¯ silent but deadly¡¯. He therefore kept trying to minimise his influence on the game whiles not putting his team at risk of conceding. Tottenham hotspur,now on the ball were trying in earnest to level the score before half-time. Oliver Skipp got the ball from tanganga after a foul. Oliver skipp didn¡¯t wait around for long and started moving directly through center. Hugo Duro tried approaching him in hopes to regain possession of the ball. Oliver however kept it safe and passed to Reguill¨®n who was on his left. Reguill¨®n after receiving the ball passed the ball to Yves Bissouma who was near him. Bissouma after controlling the ball decided to change the direction of play. He held the ball under his feet before sending a diagonal pass to Dejan Kulusevski on the right wing. His pass was well played and found it¡¯s way to Dejan Kulusevski who attempted to beat Jose Gaya but after a few unsuccessful attempts he passed back to Pedro Porro. The match was going a bit dull and all Tottenham could do was play lazy passes at the back. Valencia¡¯s defense was that compact and coordinated. Unconsciously,the Valencia players started getting complacent and letting their guard down. Even Izan who had a very high awareness also found himself under the radar. He didn¡¯t notice this until Pedro Porro sent an exquisite pass through the midfield to find James Maddison. James Maddison took advantage of the opposition¡¯s confusion and sent the ball to Harry kane. Kane wanting to initiate a one-two pass with Maddison passed the ball back to him. Maddison,understanding Kane¡¯s intention lofted the ball over mouctar Diakhaby who was beside Harry Kane. The pass got Giorgi Marmadashvili on guard. Harry Kane carefully trapped the ball with his chest before firing away at the keeper. Giorgi Marmadashvili with his eyes on the ball adjusted his body before pulling of a spectacular save to keep his team in the lead. Harry Kane couldn¡¯t help but sigh at the missed chance. The ball was perfect but Giorgi Marmadashvili had proved even better with his save. Maddison walked over to the corner flag after Harry Kane¡¯s shot. He took the ball from the ballboy behind him before placing it on the spot. James Maddison followed through with his run-up and sent the ball into the penalty box. Giorgi Marmadashvili felt uncomfortable as the opponents players were limiting his space so he went ahead and jumped before punting the ball out of the penalty box. The ball went a bit far as the players went chasing it. Pedro Porro however got to it first before sending a pass to James Maddison who was coming from the right corner flag area. James Maddison took hold of the ball and faced his opponent. Jose Gaya who was now 1 on 1 with James Maddison tried to win the ball for his team. James Maddison however expertly got away from the challenge before sending a cross in. The cross however came in fast and sharp. The Valencia defenders all thought the ball would be going out of play and therefore didn¡¯t really try to clear it. Unfortunately for them, being the deadly striker he was, Mr. Harry Kane appeared out of nowhere to head the ball into the net. Giorgi Marmadashvili who couldn¡¯t even react to what was happening was rooted to the spot. The Tottenham hotspur players all rushed towards Harry kane before jumping on him. Pre-season or not,this was probably one of Harry kane¡¯s last goals for Tottenham hotspur before he moved. The striker,earlier that year had expressed his desire to leave Tottenham hotspur in pursuit of trophies to fulfill his magnificent career. And it seems it was the end for him at Tottenham as Bayern and expressed their interest in him. Izan stood on the edge of the box watching the tottenham players celebrate. Izan couldn¡¯t help but be angry at himself for failing to be more aware when the Tottenham players were trying to get them to let down their guards. "I have to step-up my game. Mistakes like this could cost the team during the league and in important matches". If anyone heard Izan¡¯s thoughts, they would be surprised that a 15 Year old was thinking like this. He had already done incredibly well as what he was doing was even unheard of. A 15 year old who was already getting to being a key player for his team. A 15 year old who was already playing this well against arguably one of the best teams in the world and had even scored a goal. A 15 year old holding his own and even doing doing better against grownups that were even twice his age. The Tottenham players finished with their celebrations and the match was restarted again. Izan looked at the scoreboard before finally accepting that for a young team like theirs,they had done considerably well against a team that had the likes of Kane and Son. [COMMENTATOR] * ¡¯What an exciting match this has been folks. Both teams have performed spectacularly well as they¡¯ve unleashed a flurry of goals even before half time. Its now Valencia Fc [2]:[2] Tottenham hotspur. The referee has restarted the match so let¡¯s go continue with the match ¡¯ Hugo Duro passed the ball to Izan who was behind him after the restart. Izan passed the ball back to buy time in order for Valencia to go into their attacking formation. The Valencia players played passes back and forth trying to minimise Tottenham¡¯s influence on the game and this continued for a while. ¡¯43 Valencia got a chance in the dying embers of the first half. Izan who had been silent for a while moved into 5th gear and started making pinpoint passes to his teammates. The sudden spark of life made the Tottenham players panic a bit. Izan took advantage of this situation and spearheaded an attack that would prove to be the last chance of the first half. Izan with his pace started dribbling past opponents through the midfield. Without using any flashy skills, Izan got to the final third where he could make it count. He was hurriedly scanning his surroundings looking for a gap or for a player to make a run. Seeing that nobody was making a run,Izan decided to try on his own. Izan nudged the ball a bit forward as if to shoot after he had gotten a bit close to the penalty box. The Tottenham players who had already witnessed his shooting prowess from long range moved to block his shot. As they committed to blocking the shot,Izan cheekily rolled the ball to his left foot. The players who saw this panicked at first but then they relaxed relaxed a bit as they had seen Izan using his right foot the whole match. This meant he probably couldn¡¯t use his left leg well. As if listening to their thoughts,Izan smiled before pulling his left leg back. "Comet" he thought. [Comet skill has been activated],the sweet sound of the mechanical voice rang through his mind. As soon as Izan¡¯s foot connected with the ball, that was all was needed. The ball left Izan¡¯s left leg with a burst of speed that was way too fast for the keeper¡¯s reaction. The ball zoomed past the players and the keeper before hitting the inside of the post and entering the goalpost. The sound of the ball hitting the post rang through the stadium as the players tried to comprehend what had happened. The ball entering the net was all the fans needed to scream at the top of their lungs. Izan with a smile etched on his face ran towards the corner flag. His team after coming to their sense ran after him as he slid on his knees. Izan then stood from the ground before facing the crowd. At the instant,he remembered a Cristiano Ronaldo celebration he had seen. He drew his shorts back a bit before pointing to his left leg to complete his celebration. Manager Baraja almost ran onto the pitch if not for Assistant Coach Moreno holding him back. "What the fuck was that" thought Viacario who still stood rooted to his spot. "Was he trying to kill someone" he muttered. [In the VIP room] "Have you tried to contact his agent" a voice spoke as he looked on at the scenes infront of him. "Yes we did and we also contacted the team but they said he¡¯s not for sale right now" a small voice responded. "But from what I heard,he signed a new contract right. How much was it?" the first voice asked. "How much was what sir " the meek voice replied. *sigh* " The release clause how much was it" the first voice said again. "Its 60 million euros sir plus a few clauses sir,so it could come out as 80 million euros" the meek voice replied. The first voice remained silent for a while before speaking again. "Its not a bad deal for such a talent or ..." "That would be the case but we can¡¯t currently get him sir " the meek voice replied suggestively. "Why can¡¯t we?". "Well sir,the release clause only activates in the second year of his contract so that would be the season after this season ". "Okay then,let¡¯s try to gather funds and get him then. I don¡¯t want to miss out on such a talent". "Okay sir". Daniel levy,the President of tottenham looked at Izan from the VIP room in the Tokyo dome. "I¡¯d like to have him" he thought as he stared at Izan **************************************** The second half had already began and the score was now 3-2 to Valencia¡¯s advantage. It was now the 70th minute and Tottenham hotspur were still a no-show in the second half. They eventually got their chance 7 minutes later with a well planned attack started by Harry Kane who was now playing as a number 10. He found Dejan Kulusevski after receiving a through pass from Oliver Skipp. Kulusevski began going on a blazing run before he eventually entered the penalty box. Mark signaled to Mouctar Diakhaby to leave this one for him but the latter was in too much of a rush. This resulted in a uncouth tackle that saw him getting sent off and the opponents getting a penalty. Manager Baraja was livid with him as he got off the pitch. He recomposed himself after raging for a bit before making a change. He took off Hugo Duro and brought on a defender to fill the gap that had been left by Mouctar Diakhaby. Harry kane stepped forward and took the ball before handing it to James Maddison who was surprised by Kane¡¯s action. He however thanked Harry for the chance and stepped up to the spot. A staredown was now happening between the two sides. [COMMENTATOR Pov] sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ¡¯ Its now keeper and player. Marmadashvili and Maddison. Who will gain the upper hand in this face-off. Now Maddison steps up to the penalty aaaanddd..... nicely done as he slots the ball into the bottom left corner sending the keeper the wrong way ¡¯ The match dulled after the restart as it seemed neither team wanted to concede. Both teams looked like they wanted to settle for a draw and all the players on the field seemed to be in agreement. Well,all except for one. Izan who didn¡¯t want to relent approached pietro and Jose Gaya. "One last attack" was all he said before walking off. "This kid never gets satisfied "Pietro said . "Why do you talk like you¡¯re that old,you just turned 20 and its not like you act that mature. Even the kid is more mature than you" Jose Gaya who was irritated by Pietro roared. "Ouch" Pietro acted as if the words had physically hurt him. Giorgi Marmadashvili after a missed shot at goal by an opponent player,picked up the ball for a goal kick. He saw Jose Gaya signalling for a pass and therefore passed to him. Jose Gaya after controlling the ball turned to face his opponent. He saw Javi guerra who had replaced the left winger approach him. Jose Gaya passed the ball to him before moving behind him. Javi guerra after he received the ball laid it off back to Jose Gaya who was now approaching the left wing. Izan approached him and the two initiated a 1 - 2 with Izan being the last to hold the ball. Izan after getting rid of the opponent with the 1-2 sent a pass to Pietro who had now moved up the midfield. Pietro after receiving the ball moved to the right wing and passed the ball to Maxi Gomez who had also come on after they conceded the goal. Maxi gomez with a beautiful display of skill got rid of Reguill¨®n who was facing him before passing to Pietro who had gotten in space. Pietro already aware of what was going to happen sent a pass back into space. Izan magically appeared right before the ball surprising the Tottenham players. Tanganga and Christian Romero tried to approach Izan and tackle the ball but Izan didn¡¯t wait for them to get that near. With his right foot, he sent a a ball which was well endowed with a mixture of power and curl. The ball which seemed to be going out of play suddenly turned towards the top right corner. "Fuck" Vicario muttered as he saw the ball coming. He took his steps and lunged towards the ball. Unfortunately for him,the ball smashed the inside of the right post before homing into the top right corner. Goooooooooaaaaaaaaaallllllllll!!!!!!!!!! The stadium was sent into a frenzy as the fans and players alike erupted into cheers. Managaer Baraja this time couldn¡¯t contain himself and celebrated the touchline. Izan ran towards the section where the Valencia were and took a bow before them. He had just finished with his masterclass! A/N: Thank you guys for the support with the stones and comments. It really help me to know that there are other in the world that like my imagination. I¡¯ll keep on improving and bring you more exciting content. Love you all. Chapter 45: Time-off The referee blew his whistle signalling the end of the game. The fans in the dome were ecstatic. The match had simply been too thrilling. Packed with goals and a beautiful display of football,the fans couldn¡¯t have asked for more. To show their appreciation,the fans started clapping for the players, who in turn also clapped back for the fans who had been amazing all game. "Wooooaaah, that Asian was amazing " a spectator said. "Yeah we all know Son Heung-Min is good" said another. "No,I¡¯m talking about that kid" he said pointing to Izan who seemed to be approaching another player. "What was his name again". "I think it was Izan Hernandez or something " a male voice replied. "How do you know" the guy who seemed to be his friend said. His friend didn¡¯t speak though but simply pointed to the box where the announcer was. "Ooooooooowww,okay" he said when the realisation hit him. The guy quickly went to his Instagram and decided to followed Izan. Similar scenes were happening all around the stadium and at homes of all those who watched the match. [Meanwhile Izan] [In English] "Hi" Izan said as he got near the player. The player turned to face the source of the sound and found a kid standing infront of him. "Hey,good game out there" Son said with a smile etched on his face. "Thanks,you too" Izan said politely. "Can we swap jerseys" Izan finally said after talking with Son for a bit. "Sure" Son said before they both proceeded to take off their shirts and swap them. "You know,the Tottenham jersey would look good on you" Son said. Izan stared at him with a puzzled face. "Come to spurs. It¡¯ll be fun" Son said before waving goodbye. Izan stood there with the jersey in hand. "Didn¡¯t know you could speak English and you sound very fluent" Pietro said as he approached Izan. He had wanted to swap shirts with Son too but was too afraid to approach and could only watch as Izan approached Son. Izan turned to look at Pietro with a dazed expression. "What did he just say at the end" thought Izan. He had never thought of moving from Valencia. Not that he could until he was 18 years old because of the UEFA rule for minors. "What did he say" Pietro asked. "He just said I did great in the game" Izan replied quickly to get rid of Pietro¡¯s incessant questioning. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Huh" Pietro expressed. Izan cleared his thoughts when he saw that his teammates where going near the tunnel. "Lets think about this when I¡¯m ready" he muttered whiles approaching the tunnel. [In the stands] "He¡¯s a genius "Kento said to his son,toji whiles looking at Izan who was walking off the pitch. "Your sister has good taste" Kento said. "Once again dad,we don¡¯t even know if she likes him" toji said trying to keep his father grounded. "And even if she likes him what are the odds that he likes her back" toji added. He was getting tired of the way both his father and sister were acting over some kid. Sure he was handsome and good at football but that was all there is. A/n[Bro I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s all you need] Toji and his father exited the stands after a while. They had a bit of a struggle whiles exiting the stadium. They couldn¡¯t risk being seen by Aiko and that was the main reason they didn¡¯t go to the VIP section because Aiko would be there for sure. Aiko,on the other hand was having a great time. The person she had come to see had put on a splendid display and had most definitely won the player of the match award. She was really happy and it could be seen on her face by the huge smiled that was etched on it. Although she was feeling happy, a part of her felt sad that she could no longer experience this. "I now want to go to Spain " she thought with a sad face. But then an idea seemed to pop into her mind. [Parking lot] "15 year old wonderkid sends Tottenham into turmoil. Huh,nice title " said Pietro as they got on the bus. He was looking at the articles that had just been released after the match. "Someone¡¯s a star" he added whiles looking at Izan who had just gotten on the bus. Izan looked at Pietro before shaking his head. "Guess you still have some energy left " Mark said to Pietro. The latter looked around and saw that almost all the players had started sleeping. It seemed the match had drained the life out of them. Jose Gaya who had just gotten on the bus smacked Pietro on the head. "Your mates are asleep,keep it down" he said before leaving to his seat. Pietro,touching his head seemed to be contemplating. It seemed to him that Gaya always found ways and means to hit him. Izan looking at Pietro¡¯s contemplative expression smiled before also turning to sleep. The ride to the hotel was quiet as most of the players had slept. Coach Baraja who was infront looked back and saw Izan sleeping. A smile appeared on his face as he looked at the kid. "How can he appear like this but be a monster on the pitch " he thought as he looked at Izan¡¯s innocent expression. *sigh*. " I hope he carries on like this" muttered Coach Baraja before he turned away. ??????????????????????????????????????????? The motion of the bus coming to a halt woke Izan up from his sleep. He ran his hand through his hair which was on his face. "Should I get a haircut" he thought as it had been a while since he got a haircut. "Maybe at the start of the season " he concluded before proceeding to get off the bus. "Okay guys" Assistant Coach Moreno said after the players got to the lobby. "We¡¯ll rest for a while and come down for dinner and after that,there will be a meeting in the conference room". After he received a round of nods from the players,they dispersed and went to their respective rooms. Izan and Pietro followed suit and went to their rooms. After taking a shower, Izan talked with his mom on the phone and after that,he decided to call Olivia. After a few rings and no response, Izan decided to call later since he had to go down for dinner. The players arrived at the dining hall looking a bit more refreshed and energized. Izan took a seat beside Mark. The two chatted for a while before the food was served. After a good meal which the players seemed to appreciate,they headed towards the conference room. "Okay guys,we¡¯ve had a great and spectacular pre-season. Good job" Coach Baraja said to which the players started clapping. "Alright settle down. From your performances,the club had decided to give you 3 days off since the season doesn¡¯t start until next week" "So once we land,you guys should go home,spend time with your families and have some more rest before the season officially starts". The players cheered to the announcement and after a quick briefing,they started returning to their rooms. "Coach" Izan called out. Coach Baraja stopped in his tracks. "Whats wrong Izan" Baraja asked. "Nothing Manager, just wanted to ask if I could stay in Japan with my family for the duration of the leave. I can right?" Izan asked. "Of course you can just make sure to inform the guy who handles those stuff okay" Baraja said with a smile. "Okay Coach, thanks" Izan said walking off. ???????????????????????????????????????????? Komi drove towards her family home with Izan right beside her. "You were spectacular in your games" Komi said. "We watched the games with your grandma and grandpa and they were both surprised by how good you were". Izan just smiled to his mother¡¯s words. It made him feel good. Komi¡¯s parents welcomed them when they arrived at the traditional house. Izan¡¯s grandmother couldn¡¯t help but pull at his cheeks. His grandfather on the other hand stood there enthusiastically with a ball waiting for his turn. But a scream from his wife was all it took to discourage him. "Go put the ball down before you break a bone or I break it" she fired at her husband before he retreated with the ball with a sad expression. Izan couldn¡¯t help but smile at his grandparent¡¯s lively appearances. "Guess they are doing great" he said. "Finally decided to show up" a voice spoke. "Can¡¯t you be nice to me for a bit" Izan spoke without turning his head. His sister Hori stood at the door with an annoyed expression. Izan approached her before ruffling her hair. "Stop what you¡¯re doing "she protested but Izan didn¡¯t stop until she looked like a wet cat. Hori chased Izan around but the latter was too quick for her. Komi and her parents just watched on as the kids played around. They had grown well thought the grandparents. The Following days were spent touring and meeting a few relatives. Some recognised Izan and were surprised that their relative was the kid they had just seen on the television a few days ago. After Izan¡¯s leave was up,Komi escorted him to the airport. "We¡¯ll stay here for a few more days and then we¡¯ll come back to Spain,okay" Komi said. "Okay mom" Izan said looking at his mother¡¯s worried expression. "Are you sure you don¡¯t want us to come" Komi asked with a worried expression "I¡¯ll be fine mom. Don¡¯t worry" Izan said whiles hugging his mother. "It¡¯ll be for a few days okay so just have fun" he said trying to comfort his mother. Izan waved at Komi before boarding the plane. He had a season ahead of him and he couldn¡¯t wait to really impress Chapter 46: Prelude to first game and Concerns The Sun was shining brilliantly and the sound of a ball hitting a net could be heard at the valencia training complex. The ball had just hit the post and rustled the net and Izan seemed to be the culprit of this scene. Izan and Marmadashvili were both going at it in training. Izan had been training his freekicks and what better way against a good keeper like Marmadashvili. "You really are going to be a nightmare for goalkeepers this season" he said to Izan after the last shot went in. Izan had scored 13 out of 15 freekicks and the 2 were only denied by Marmadashvili¡¯s otherworldly reflexes. "Thanks for the compliment I guess" Izan said, walking away. [Coaching room] "So what did you want to talk about Marco" Baraja said to the head physio. "Well its about Izan" he said drawing the attention of Baraja. "What about him?" Baraja asked with a perplexed expression. "Well we have to manage him well" Marc said. Baraja nodded,urging him to explain further. "Well his stats after we did the medicals show he had started to undergo his growth spurt". "His has come rather early as most athletes hit this growth spurt from age 18 to 23". "If not managed well,he could be riddled with injuries and that would not be good for both the club and the player". "So what do you suggest" Baraja asked Marco. "Well,we will have to limit his playing time so he doesn¡¯t get injured in the first place" Marco answered. "Also we have to manage and monitor his growth so as to prevent the situation where his form,both running and dribbling get affected by his growth". Baraja nodded clearly understanding what the physio meant. "Well I guess the club will have to halt their poster-boy program" baraja said with a smirk. The club had been trying to push Izan to the footballing world so as to hype him up and sell him for a huge amount due to the boy¡¯s talent. They had actually told Baraja to give him plenty game time not caring about the fact that the player was just a 16 year old kid. Now Baraja could use this as an excuse to decline that project. Baraja was all smiles and Marco could also understand why. "Well you¡¯re in-charge of him since you know best so i¡¯ll listen to your advice on when to play him and when not to" Baraja said. Marco nodded. "Oh and how did the new arrivals look to you during training " Baraja asked. "They were fine,Cenk ?zkacar was looking very good and sharp and I don¡¯t think there will be any problems even if he starts on Saturday " Marco said. "Okay Marco you can leave and thank you for what you do" Baraja said with a smile. Marco nodded before leaving the room leaving Baraja to his thoughts. Izan after training had to take a taxi home. Mainly because his mum had yet to arrive from Japan. Izan didn¡¯t wait for long as the car he had called approached. Izan got on the car and soon found himself on the way home. Izan after arriving home quickly took a cold bath before wearing some comfortable clothes. Dinner was what followed after he changed into his clothes. Izan was actually decent at cooking and made on of the Valencian delicacies, a paella. Izan after dinner decided to catch up on some of his favourite shows. Ultimately he was bored after a few hours and decided to play some FIFA. The feud FIFA had with EA had Ultimately caused both sides to split ways and now the new game that was coming would be named FC 24 and Izan couldn¡¯t wait. He hadn¡¯t been on FIFA 23 and couldn¡¯t wait for his first card on FC 24. Izan after playing for a while decided to call Olivia. It had been a while since the two talked. The phone rang for a while before It connected but a different voice came through. "Um who is this" the voice said. "Hi,is Olivia around " Izan asked before proceeding to explain a bit about himself. "Oh yeah,so you¡¯re Izan" the feminine voice said. "Well sorry but Olivia went out and I think she forgot her phone". "Oh okay,I guess I¡¯ll call later" Izan said before hanging up. It seemed Olivia was busy nowadays. Something stirred in him but he didn¡¯t know what. Izan got rid of the feelings and cleared his head. The season opener would start in a few days and he couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted. ???????????????????????????????????????????? The door opened as soon as Valerie ended the call with the boy called Izan. Olivia stood at the doorway and entered with a puzzled expression seeing Valeria with her phone. "Izan called " Valerie said in a teasing tone. Olivia quickly snatched the phone from her hand and looked at the logs. "Did you talk with him" she asked. "Yeah,I did" Valerie said suggestively. "Didn¡¯t say anything though, just told him you weren¡¯t here" she added. Olivia called Izan back but it seemed he had just switched off his phone. She sighed before falling on the bed. "So he¡¯s the reason " Valerie said drawing a look from Olivia. "Are,you dating him" Valerie asked making Olivia¡¯s eyes go wide. "No,no,he¡¯s younger than me" she said. "Didnt stop me " Valerie said in a joking manner." But Wow,didn¡¯t know you were the sugar-mommy type" Valerie joked. "Ok how young" she added after Olivia didn¡¯t laugh. "He¡¯s turning 16 this year" Olivia answered. "And you¡¯re turning 19 this year so a 3 year age-gap" Valerie said. "Not that bad" Valerie added." Once again there¡¯s nothing going on and why are you jumping to conclusions" Olivia ranted. "He¡¯s just a friend from my childhood and that¡¯s it " Olivia recited saying the last part a bit softly. Valerie couldn¡¯t help but laugh at her friend who couldn¡¯t even see what was happening to her. "Then what about Juan" Valerie asked. "What about him" Olivia returned with an annoyed expression. "Well he did ask you out,so what are you doing about him" Valerie said. "I¡¯m just going to ignore him" Olivia said "You think it will work " Valerie pointed out. Olivia could only look at her friends face with a wry smile. Juan was someone who had been pestering Olivia to date him ever since he saw her but the latter did not give in. And judging by Juan¡¯s possessive attitude and ¡¯I want it all attitude¡¯ it was going to be tough. The days passed and Izan was invested in his training. He had been informed about the growth spurt and how that would limit his game time. Izan was sad at first but he couldn¡¯t complain about a natural thing such as a growth spurt. And he knew that the club was taking a gamble on him by playing around him since he wasn¡¯t that mature yet for consistent 1st team football. The only thing limiting Izan now was actually his age. He could only pray that he would get over this hurdle quickly. Izan was the same as always in training. His passes were sharp and the new players who had just arrived couldn¡¯t help but wonder how a kid was that good. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Cenk ?zkacar, a Turkish defender who had arrived from lyon was having it rough today. He had been assigned to mark Izan today but the kid had proved to be a challenge and had seen firsthand how good that kid is. Coach Baraja stood on the touchline with a satisfied expression. He had been trying new combinations for the new season and they all seemed to work out well. And in all those combinations, Izan seemed to be the gel that kept it together. He was also satisfied by Cenk¡¯s defending. Although the latter had been used by Izan today,he had done well because Izan wasn¡¯t easy to stop in the first place. If he was the,club wouldn¡¯t place their hopes on a kid who wasn¡¯t yet 16. Baraja clapped his hands after a while to end the scrimmage. Izan had been productive today too making 3 assists and scoring a goal. "Okay you guys are looking sharp for the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow¡¯s training will be light so stay out of anything that could injure you,also stay out of trouble" Baraja said before ending the session. [Valencia Boardroom] "Lets take the money first" one member spoke. "He¡¯s good but how sure are you that he won¡¯t flop" he added. "Most of the offers are from the English Premier league which means he can¡¯t leave until he¡¯s 18. They could only take him to their academy and do you think someone who had tasted first team football would be satisfied by that" another said. "Well its all up to you" a voice spoke prompting the members to look at the Club president . The tension in the room could be felt and the silence that rang through the room was eerily uncomfortable. The president finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity "HE WON¡¯T BE SOLD!!! A/n:Cliffhangers are sheit don¡¯t worry i don¡¯t do that. Enjoy Chapter 47: Dull The rough descent of the plane woke Izan up from slumberland. He looked around and saw that his seatbelt had been fastened for him. He turned to look at the person beside and found Jose Gaya besides him. Izan smiled to show his appreciation to which Jose Gaya responded with a curt nod. The plane finally landed and came to a halt after a while. The players started getting down from the plane and soon enough they found themselves on a bus towards where they would be staying. The Valencia team had arrived a day ahead of schedule in order to get more work in and prevent any complications from jet lag or anything of that sort. The player after they arrived at the hotel were told to rest before the afternoon session. It was going to be a light training match and some recovery exercises. Izan went to his room after they had dispersed and slept for a bit. "I haven¡¯t checked the system and my stats in a while" he thought. "I have been saving a bit of points during preseason so I guess I should use them before the start of the season" "System" Izan called out as a screen that only he could see materialised before his eyes. [Yes Host ] "Can you show me my status and information " Izan commanded with a thought. [Sure] PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m(6¡¯1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: VALENCIA FC SYSTEM EVALUATION: [WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING:[80.5/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[210,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 1250] STAT POINTS:[24] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:90 Body control:77 Spatial awareness: 80 Technique: 86 Shooting:81 Passing: 85 Body strength: 80 Defending:68 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:[Lv 2] 20% Completion La croqueta:[Lv 2] 15% completion Cruyff turn:[Lv 2 ] 30%Completion Roulette:[Lv 2] 17% Completion Rabona:[Lv 1 ] 70% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped equipped Izan looked at his stats and could tell he was one of the better players on the team. Jose Gaya would have an upper hand in the Overall rating but Izan had better stats. Izan started with the distribution mainly focusing on his body control and spatial awareness. The Coach had decided to play him in a bit of a free role in the middle as an experiment and he would need the vision. Spatial Awareness :80 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Vision:80 Positioning:80 Izan added 5 points to both Vision and positioning bringing both of them to an 85. ¡¯Ding¡¯[ Spatial awareness has been upgraded. 80>85] After that,Izan opened his Body control attribute. Body control :77 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :80 Jumping :70 Reations:81 Balance:81 Izan had 14 stat points left and decided to give 4 to Balance,reaction and Agility leaving jumping for know. Body control :81 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility :80>84 Jumping :70 Reations:81>85 Balance:81>85 Izan was now left with 2 stat points after the upgrade. "Guess I won¡¯t be upgrading until mid-season " Izan thought. Izan¡¯s status displayed infront of him again showing the upgrades and changes that had been made. PLAYER INFO S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m(6¡¯1)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: VALENCIA FC SYSTEM EVALUATION: [WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING:[82/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[210,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS[ 1250] STAT POINTS:[2] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:90 Body control:77>81 Spatial awareness: 80>85 Technique: 86 Shooting:81 Passing: 85 Body strength: 80 Defending:68 Weak foot strength: 5 stars Skill move :5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers:[Lv 2] 20% Completion La croqueta:[Lv 2] 15% completion Cruyff turn:[Lv 2 ] 30%Completion Roulette:[Lv 2] 17% Completion Rabona:[Lv 1 ] 70% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped :equipped equipped equipped ¡¯Ding¡¯ [Host is now 82 rated] Izan was delighted,he was now just 2 ratings shy on becoming the highest rated player on the team. Izan checked the shop and saw nothing of interest so he decided to close the system for now. [Training] "Coach,is it me or does Izan look much sharper" Moreno asked. "So it wasn¡¯t just me" Baraja said. "I also thought the same" he said. Izan was passing from everywhere and he seemed to be just about everywhere. His mates just couldn¡¯t seem to mark him. His passes where splitting their defences and whenever he went on a run,they couldn¡¯t get the ball off him. *sigh* " What did Marco say after monitoring his levels today" Baraja asked Moreno. "He said he can play tomorrow " Moreno said drawing a smile from Baraja but he had not finished. "But it should be limited to about 30 to 40 minutes. He suggested him coming off the bench but you are the expert so" Moreno said. Baraja stood there in thought and was thinking about how to utilise Izan well enough. The day passed like this and soon enough it was the night of the match [COMMENTATOR] ¡¯Hello lovely viewers and welcome to the Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan stadium and I¡¯m your commentator for today. The name¡¯s Andres Cantor and today I¡¯m joined by Diego latore¡¯ ¡¯Thank you Andres and I¡¯m excited for today¡¯s match. The atmosphere is just wonderful here and I know the fans are excited too ¡¯Diego let¡¯s talk about Valencia CF who had a very good pre-season. Winning against the likes of Tottenham and Dortmund. Even though it was preseason,they still played spectacularly and it seems Manager Baraja has found his talisman in the form of 15 year old Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z. ¡¯You know Cantor, I still find it hard to believe that he¡¯s not yet 16 after he puts on splendid performance after performance. ¡¯Valencia have found a treasure in their youth setup and not only him as Pietro and Mark who are academy additions have also found their place in Manager Baraja¡¯s team and with newly promoted Sosa Herrera who is joining straight from the u19s,this season seems good for Valencia. ¡¯Okay Diego the players seem to be coming out of the tunnel and the ones to watch today are definitely veteran Rakiti? and En-nesyri on the Seville team and on the Valencian side its surely going to be Hugo duro who had a good season last season and wonderkid Izan Miura. ¡¯Yes Cantor,but from the lineups it seems Coach Baraja has benched Izan. Well he is a kid afterall and he needs time because even though he shows that maturity on the pitch,he¡¯s still young and needs to transition well from youth level to senior level football. ¡¯Well folks this is the lineups for both teams¡¯ "Sevilla":4-2-3-1 Gk:Yassine Bonou Fullbacks: Jesus Navas, Marcos Acuna Centrebacks:L. Bade, N. Gudelj Midfielders: Fernando, Ivan Rakiti? Attacking midfielders: Lucas Ocampos, Suso ,E. Lamela Striker:W. En-nesyri ???????????????????????????????????????????? "Valencia CF":4-4-2 Gk:Marmadashvili Fullbacks:Jose Gaya,T. Correira Centrebacks:Cenk ?zkacar, Gabriel Wide midfielders:D. Lopez,F. Perez Central midfielders: Pepelu, Mouctar Diakhaby Strikers: Hugo duro, A. Almeida The match was soon underway after the lineups were displayed. Valencia in this match decided to play a direct type of football whiles sevilla sat deep waiting for a chance to counter. The match was mainly dull for the first few minutes but turned exciting after both teams got grooving. Sevilla was the first to attack after a timely run from their striker saw him get a pass from Rakiti?. En-nesyri, free from his marker had the chance to make it count had it not been for a beautiful a tackle from Diakhaby. The match continued on a good pace and it seemed like a goal was inevitable. Hugo Duro who was not in the box got on the end of a loose ball after a failed cross. With precision and power,he sent the ball towards the opponents goal. Yassine bonou could only watch as the ball entered the net. The stadium erupted into cheers as there were many travelling Valencia fans who had come to see the match. Izan who was on the bench felt relieved when his team scored the goal. He had been on edge ever since Rakiti?¡¯s shot smacked the post. This goal had somehow assured him. The Valencia players and fan¡¯s joy was short lived as shortly after the restart the Sevilla team got a penalty. A bad tackle from Gabriel had caused the referee to blow his whistle. Marmadashvili stood in a face off against Rakiti?. A battle of nerves but Rakiti? didn¡¯t sem affected as he stepped up and smacked the ball into the top left corner. Marmadashvili had no choice against the former Barcelona man. The first half would continue like this with neither side managing to take the lead. Chapter 48: Orchestrator "Bad tackle Gabriel,really bad tackle from you and the rest of you are just not doing enough " Baraja screamed at his players. They hadn¡¯t taken their chances against Sevilla¡¯s sloppy team. "The match should have been 3-0 by now if not for your amateurish mistakes" Baraja continued to rant. The players had their heads down as they knew what he was saying was true. The Sevilla team they played today wasn¡¯t the old Sevilla they knew. The Sevilla team they were playing wasn¡¯t at it¡¯s best today and they should not be drawing against such a side. *sigh* Coach baraja proceeded to the tactical board. He explained the tactics to the players for the second time since they didn¡¯t seem to understand. After he was done in 10 minutes,he made 2 changes,opting to bring Mark on for Gabriel and Pietro on for Pepelu who had taken a knock earlier in the first half. Izan sat in his seat with a bottle in hand. He had been listening to Coach Baraja¡¯s ranting and couldn¡¯t help but side with him. He shook his head and started heading towards the bench. Coach Baraja looked on as Izan walked away and was contemplating on bringing him on. He had taken on this job because this team had a special place in his heart as he was a former player but he hadn¡¯t been given much financial freedom. His budget was very limited so he had to make do with what he had. Izan had been somewhat of a silver lining for him. And he didn¡¯t want to risk the kids career for his own ambition. Coach Baraja stood there for sometime and in the end decided to wait and see. ???????????????????????????????????????????? [COMMENTATORS] ¡¯We are back from the break folks as both teams come out from the tunnel. The lineups have seen some changes as on Valencia,Mark comes on for Gabriel who made a very basic mistake during the first half and Pietro also coming on for Pepelu who had taken a knock earlier during the game. ¡¯Yes Andres and it seems that on the Seville side,Oliver is coming on for Eric lamela who had been silent for most of the first half. Let¡¯s see what these changes bring to the field after the restart ¡¯ The referee blew his whistle to restart the second half and immediately after the restart, Sevilla started attacking. They seemed like a different team out there.They played compact and simple football while the opponents chased the ball. After a while the Valencia team retreated to their half and had numbers in their box. They sat deep waiting for a chance to strike and a chance they did get. In the 57th minute, Suso went on a solo run on the wings before sending a cross into the box where En-nesyri was lurking. The ball however,was smacked away by Mark who was besides him. The Sevilla players all thought the ball would go out for a throw but they couldn¡¯t have been more wrong as Pietro who hadn¡¯t tracked back yet controlled the ball neatly. Pietro quickly turned to face the opponent side and started sprinting. He kept an eye out for support but seeing as it wasn¡¯t coming,he decided to go alone. His thoughts however were interrupted as he saw Andre Almeida make a run. Taking advantage of the opposition¡¯s lack of numbers on defense,Pietro sent a low ball to Almeida who trapped the ball carefully. Andre who was running with the ball found Hugo duro alongside him. An opponent player tried to delay Almeida by holding his shirt but the latter evaded his hand before laying off the ball to Hugo duro. Hugo duro took a touch before looking up and after seeing that there was no obstacles between him and the keeper,he let the ball fly. Almost everyone in the stadium thought the ball would go in but the ball took a deflection off Yassine Bonou The speed of the ball decreased significantly and before the ball could cross the line, Marcos Acuna who was nearest to the ball cleared it off the line. Sighs and sounds of dissapointment could be heard all around the stadium. At the same time too, relieved faces could be seen all around the stadium. The Sevilla fans were happy they hadn¡¯t conceded. "Izan" Coach Baraja who was on the touchline said. Coach Moreno was besides him heard what he had said and understood the assignment. Coach Moreno went to the bench and quickly told Izan to warm up. Izan who could not wait anymore,stood up and proceeded with the warm up. The warmup didn¡¯t take that long as Izan was done in 4 minutes and in the 67th minute a change was made. [Announcer] ¡¯Substitution. Number 21 Izan Miura Hernand¨¦z coming on for Number 10 Andre Almeida¡¯ The away fans started clapping for Almeida who was coming off but also cheering for Izan who was coming on. Most of the club¡¯s fans were now familiar with the wonderkid their club had produced and many had seen his performances during the end of the season and also during preseason. Izan high-fived Andre Almeida before entering the pitch. He went straight to a few players and delivered the message their coach had given. Baraja had told them to switch to a 4-2-3-1 so as to accommodate Izan. After the throw in,Izan began searching for routes he could use. Izan walked around the pitch for a bit while trying not to get too involved in the game. After he was done, Izan saw Pietro in a tight situation and moved to help him. Pietro who saw Izan coming couldn¡¯t help but heaf a sigh of relief. Pietro without wasting much time passed the ball to Izan. Izan who was about to control the ball saw F.Lopez making a run. Izan seeing this situation sent a lobbed ball over the defenders to his target. As soon as Izan found the target,he moved to support the player. F. Lopez ran after he controlled the ball and only stopped when he got near the penalty box. F. Lopez raised his head to find his number but saw few so he decided to retreat with the ball. But Izan ran towards him whiles calling for the ball. Immediately F.Lopez passed the ball, Izan sent a cross into the box. All the Sevilla defense could do was watch as Hugo duro rose to the sky to head the ball in. The stadium erupted into cheers and shouts. Hugo duro who had scored the goal ran towards the corner flag whiles pointing at Izan. Izan stood there with a smile on his face. He had made an assist on his first match. Izan¡¯s pass was a true beauty. The situation where the assist is better than the goal. The referee restarted the match after the goal was scored and soon enough everyone in the stadium could see the talent of the boy that had just come on. Izan set the pace for the match. It was like he could teleport. He was all over the pitch,pulling strings and trying to upset the opponent again and again. If not for the poor finishing of his teammates,Izan would had gotten a few more assists to his name. Izan continued playing more dangerous passes and was a thorn in the opponent¡¯s side. Marcos Acuna even tried to hurt the kid but Izan evaded the blow. The referee, seeing Acuna¡¯s intentions stopped the match and gave him a yellow card. This made the fans of Sevilla boo the referee more and more. Izan on the other hand didn¡¯t pay mind and continued trying to get a goal. The referee had already added a few minutes and those were also getting exhausted. Izan finally gave up on trying to score a goal and tried to see the game through and make sure they won as the Sevilla team were trying to get back in the game. A foul however was given for Valencia a few moments before the referee ended the match. Seeing this ,Izan smiled at the opportunity. He moved to take the ball but he saw Jose Gaya pick it up. Izan gave up as he saw Jose Gaya pick up the ball but the latter called Izan back and gave the ball to him. Jose Gaya knew of Izan¡¯s freekick prowess and he wasn¡¯t one to stand in the way of his team. Izan set the ball down and soon enough,a screen appeared infront of him showing him the route and the distance to goal. [26 metres ] Izan with a thought asked the system for an optimal route to which the system displayed on the screen. Izan smiled a bit and took a few steps back. The whole stadium looked on as he stepped up to take the freekick. Izan waited for the referee¡¯s whistle and as soon as he heard it,he moved. Izan gracefully moved towards the ball before sending it over the wall that had been set up infront of him. The fans saw tha ball going outside and thought that the chance was wasted but suddenly,a maddening spin seemed to affect the ball. Yassine bonou took a few step in an attempt to deny the goal but his fingers just brushed the ball before the ball homed into the back of the net. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. [COMMENTATOR POV] ¡¯Probably the last kick of the game Cantor and its Izan who¡¯s taking it. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s good at setpieces but he has to be since Gaya willingly gave up the ball ¡¯Yes Andres, he has to be at least some level of good before they entrust this kid with setpieces like these. ¡¯Well lets see what happens Cantor. Izan with the run-up annnd..... Oh my Goddddd!!!!!¡¯ ¡¯What a goal. Wonderkid,wonderboy Izan¡¯ ¡¯Beautiful from the wonderboy. What a magnificent goal from the young kid. We all thought that ball was going out but how wrong we were as it rustled the net¡¯ Izan run towards the away fans and slid on the ground before standing up to bow. Chapter 49: Panic at the airport The Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan stadium was now a cauldron of emotions as one side was celebrating delightfully whilst the other was sullen . Izan¡¯s goal in the dying moments of the game had sealed the deal. The Sevilla fans who had some hope of at least drawing against Valencia had to accept defeat now. "Would be nice if he played for us" a sevilla fan said and this statement drew a round of nods from the people around him. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The talent and prowess showed by Izan was unimaginable. Even Messi and Ronaldo didn¡¯t show such prowess at his age. ¡¯If one¡¯s team were to acquire Izan how much would it cost¡¯ were the thoughts of the Sevilla fans as they sat there watching the opponents celebrate. The travelling fans saw Izan bow infront of them and that triggered another wave of shouts and cheering around that area. Izan after his celebration,pointed to his manager and saluted. Coach Baraja who was on the touchline couldn¡¯t help but smile at his player¡¯s action. The referee blew his whistle to restart the match after the players had gone to their respective halves and positions. After the restart,the Sevilla players retreated to their side to try and minimise the damage. They played the ball around their own half as none of the players had the urge to even attack the opposition. This action drew boos and jeers from their own fans. "Cobardes [Cowards ]" a fan screamed at the sevilla team. The atmosphere was hostile and the players could feel it. The referee seeing this did the home team a favour by ending the game right on time. The Sevilla players quickly retreated to the tunnel. The Valencia players on the other hand went to the visiting fans and applauded the fans. The fans returned the gesture by also applauding the players. The Valencia players also went back to their dressing room after the gesture with the fans. As Izan was returning to the dressing room,he saw a fan who held a sign that read ¡¯ Can I get your jersey Izan¡¯. Izan after seeing this removed the jersey and gave it to the kid and from the look and the kid¡¯s face,you could tell how much it meant to him. Izan smiled but as soon as he saw the approaching reporters he ran and entered the tunnel. He had been told by the clubs marketing team to remain mysterious and avoid reporters as some sort of a persona. Izan even had to be careful not to post too much on his Instagram and other social media platforms. "Well done guys" Baraja said after the players had settled down. All those who were in the phone quickly put away the phones away immediately Baraja began speaking. "We could have done more,but nice recovery in the second half. We played with purpose and we were rewarded with the two goals". "I hope we can continue like this and not get complacent, we good". The players responded like soldiers and Baraja soon left them to do whatever they wanted. Izan, immediately after Baraja addressed them headed towards the shower. After a while,he came back and started organising his things and after he was done,he headed towards the bus. The bus which was supposed to go to the hotel headed towards the airport. They had been told by the club to return immediately after they were done and they couldn¡¯t refuse. They could choose to go to Valencia with the bus but Coach Baraja wanted to avoid any stress or fatigue related injuries. The players boarded the plane and within an hour,Valencia was in sight. The plane began its descent and within 15 minutes,they were on the ground. After they landed,the team wasted no time and proceeded to go to the bus that had been waiting for them. ...... Izan opened the door to the house and after entering closed it behind him. He quickly went upstairs and took another shower. He checked the time and saw that it was getting to 1 am. He decided to get some sleep since he would be going to the airport the next day to meet his mother and sister. Izan woke up at 9 am and one could see the match had taken its toll. His muscles were sore and he knew he had to go for a recovery session at the club. After completing the system¡¯s daily mission,Izan made some breakfast for himself and headed towards the team¡¯s training complex. The recovery lasted for an hour and 30 minutes and as soon as he was done he headed home. He began preparing to meet his mother and sister at the airport and after a while,he was on his way. At 12 pm,he took a cab he had booked online and headed towards the airport. He headed towards the arrivals and took a seat there. He had arrived an hour earlier so he wouldn¡¯t miss them. Whilst sitting,a piece of information on the news caught his attention and the attention of all those around him. Izan looked up to see what was going on and at that moment his heart sank. A plane from Tokyo,Japan headed towards Valencia had crashed. The pictures were shown on the screen and one could see that the plane had actually tore in half and was on fire. This plane was supposed to arrive at the same time his mother¡¯s plane was to arrive. Izan started sweating not knowing what to do. "It couldn¡¯t be them right". "It might be a different plane". These thoughts rang through his head making him panic. Izan quickly composed himself and took his phone. He quickly searched his contacts and called his mom. No answer came. He called his sister too but it didn¡¯t even ring. Izan was now starting to think the worst. He searched again and found his grandfather¡¯s contact. Izan quickly called the number. It rang for a while before it went through. "Hello" his grandfather said in Japanese. Izan had no time for pleasantries as he quickly told his grandfather what was going on. The grandfather too was in shock because Komi and Hori had left and should be heading to Valencia on a plane right now. Hearing these words,Izan found a place to sit to reel it in. Was his mother and sister really gone. He didn¡¯t know it but tears had started streaming down his face. For a while it felt like he was all alone in the world. Suddenly his phone started buzzing. Izan who was in no mood to talk ignored it. The phone buzzed a few more times and Izan finally raised it to see who it was and when he saw the caller Id,he quickly picked up. "Momm" Izan spoke. "Aish sorry Miura but we have been delayed. Your sister,had a stomach ache so we got removed from the plane" Komi said without knowing what was going on. "I thought you were gone " Izan spoke. Komi could sense the tone and saw that something was wrong. "Baby why are you crying" Komi asked. "Th- the plan-, The plane that you were supposed to be on crashed " Izan said. Komi who heard this was shocked and couldn¡¯t believe it. She quickly turned around and saw that a group of people had gathered around a television. She headed towards that area and finally saw the news. Komi put her hand over her mouth and also started crying. She couldn¡¯t believe her luck. If not for her daughter¡¯s stomachache,she might have left her son all alone in this world. Both mother and son cried a bit more before finally regaining enough composure to end the call. It seemed that due to the plane that crashed,all flights to Valencia weren¡¯t available for the day. Izan had to wait a bit more to meet his family. The next day was an off day since they didn¡¯t have a match until Saturday and today was a Monday. School would be reopening in a about 2 weeks time and he had to enjoy his Mondays before school came around. Izan not knowing how to spend his time went out with a ball to the local park. He played around with the ball for a while before he noticed a group of kids who seemed to be around his age or older pointing at him. Izan didn¡¯t mind and smiled at them before he continued doing what he was doing. After a few minutes,the kids approached him. "Hello, I¡¯m Eric and these are my friends" the kid said. "Hello I¡¯m Izan" Izan said. "Yes we know you,everybody around Valencia probably knows you" he said. Izan felt a bit embarrassed at that thought. "Should I start disguising myself when I go out" Izan thought with a smile. "Yeah,we were going to play a match and we were wondering if you were up for it" the kid said. "You don¡¯t have to if you can¡¯t" he added. Izan who had nothing better to do accepted their offer. He moved with the kids towards the pitch where the match was supposed to take place. Izan took his place in the middle of the pitch after stretching a bit whilst waiting for the match to begin. The chubby referee blew the whistle and it was a sight to see as Izanplayed with them. Izan didn¡¯t exert himself that much as none of the players were a match for him. To him it was like playing with a bunch kindergarteners. Izan avoided any risky play though to avoid any injury because although he was better than them in all aspects,they were a bit larger then him and could cause harm. The game ended with a score of 9-2 for Izan¡¯s team. Izan who had made 3 assists and 4 goals could be said to have carried the team. The kids were in awe of him and could understand how he was a player for their local club Valencia. Izan after the match went home and after healthy dinner decided to rest as he had to train the next day. Chapter 50: A Visit The following days passed in a flash. Izan had already welcomed his mother and sister back from Japan. Due to the previous occurrence,the trio had a bit of an emotional meeting. Izan on the way home clinged to Komi and Hori all the way. It seemed the previous experience had made him extra appreciative of his mother and sister. The duo looked at Izan with a smile. The Family arrived home and over the course of two days,seemed to have bonded a bit more. Izan who had gotten over what happened could now set his sights on the next game. "Hey mum" he said whiles helping his mum in the kitchen. Komi turned her head to see what Izan needed and found him holding two tickets. "I got two tickets for the next game,can you come?" Izan asked. Komi smiled and looked at her son. "I haven¡¯t missed a home game of yours and I¡¯m not going to miss it now okay" Komi said. Izan gave the tickets to her and proceeded upstairs to get ready for training. The team had an intense session yesterday and today was given to them to recover a bit but Izan didn¡¯t actively participate in that session so he was looking to put a bit more work in so he still went ahead to the complex. Izan after arriving at the complex headed towards the u19 side. The players were yet to arrive for the afternoon session so he went to the office of the coach. Izan after opening the door to the office was met with the smile of manager Oryazabal,his previous u17 coach who had been recently promoted to the u19 coaching position. "Hey,miura,what a pleasant surprise "Coach oryazabal said. Izan shook his head at the acting of the grown man infront of him. He had already informed Coach Oryazabal that he would be coming here today. Izan shook hands with his coach which turned into a hug. "Wow,you¡¯re getting bigger and taller" Coach oryazabal said. "Guess that¡¯s what happens when you are growing " Izan retorted. "Ahhh,getting cheeky are we"Oryazabal said with a light jab to Izan¡¯s shoulder. "Anyways Miura,you¡¯re getting better and better. I thought I was seeing someone else with your brilliant display against sevilla". Izan smiled not knowing how to deal with the compliments. "So how¡¯s the senior team treating ya" Coach oryazabal asked, pulling a chair for Izan. Izan sat down and proceeded to talk. "Welll.... ". The two talked for a while before ending it when the players started coming in. Izan and Coach Oryazabal stood up and started heading towards the pitch. [The pitch] "Hey,Cunha,why do you suck so much" a dark skinned boy said with a laugh. "You wish you were as good as me Wissam" a lanky guy said. "Hey hey,we all know that¡¯s not true,even Coach says it" Wissam replied. "Who,coach,he raised one player and he thinks he¡¯s Pep Guardiola don¡¯ttake him seriously" Cunha said jokingly, drawing laughter from the squad. "Cut it out,thats not how you talk about your manager" a voice said. "Ooohh, sorry captain " Wissam said mockingly. Sosa Herrera took a boot and hurled it at Wissam who couldn¡¯t dodged it time. "Stop being a clown" Sosa added after the boot had smacked Boateng in the head. ¡¯Coach¡¯s coming ¡¯ someone said which made the players stand up to stretch. The players saw a figure walking side by side with Coach Oryazabal. "Wait isn¡¯t that Izan" Wissam who was standing beside Sosa and Andrich said. The two turned to look at the person beside their coach. "Wait that is Izan" Sosa said before dropping the ball and approaching the duo. Wissam and Andrich plus a few guys who played with Izan in the youth team approached him. "Hey guys" Izan who saw them approaching said with a wave. "There¡¯s our star" Wissam said after Izan waved. Sosa pulled Izan in for a one sided hug with the remaining players doing the same. The other players who had heard of Izan looked over at the reunion between him and their teammates. "Thinks he¡¯s it" one player muttered with a smug expression. "What is he even doing here anyway" he added. "What did you say, Rena" the player standing beside the player called Rena said. "Nothing,just mind your business,Gabi" he said before walking away. "Whats up with him" Gabi said looking at Rena as he stormed off. Coach Oryazabal,after a while ordered the players around Izan to join the rest of the team. Some of the u19 players looked at Izan with admiration,envy and jealousy. He had accomplished most of their dreams which was to make their debut and he had done so whilst being younger than them. "Boys,as you already know this Izan and he decided to train with us since the senior team didn¡¯t train today". The players nodded with a look of realisation on their faces as many were wondering what he was doing here. "Bet he¡¯s just here to showoff" Rena mumbled. "What did you say Rena" coach oryazabal who heard the noise asked. "Nothing Coach" he said with a mild voice. Oryazabal didn¡¯t linger on that matter and soon started the training. Izan did a bit stretching before starting with some speed drills. After that,he passed the ball around with Sosa and a few other players before running the cones. Coach Oryazabal who wanted to showoff Izan as he had used the latter to berate his players a countless number of times called the players back for a training match. "Okay guys so we¡¯ll be playing a scribble so starters to one side and the bench too to the other". As soon as Coach Oryazabal finished,the players started splitting into starters and reserves. Izan looked on as this happened and soon enough they were done. "You can join the substitutes " Coach Oryazabal said to Izan. Izan didn¡¯t refute and joined the reserve team. Izan introduced himself after he got to where the reserve team were. The players quickly surrounded him and started asking questions. Although they were older than him,the way Izan carried himself made it seems like he was the older one. Izan got to know the players and their positions and after much deliberation,he decided to play on the wings. The players who didn¡¯t get into both teams sat on the sidelines as substitutes. The other Coaches also stood on the sidelines to watch as most of them didn¡¯t get the opportunity to Coach Izan and so wanted to see what he was made of. Coach Oryazabal acted as the referee and soon got the match underway as soon as the players got into their positions. The main team started on the strong foot as the played around the reserve team. Izan stood in place and looked at how his team would react to the early confrontation. His team wasn¡¯t bad albeit the other side were good. The main team failed to capitalise in the early minutes and the reserve team soon got the ball. They also tried to possess the ball for sometime but the main team pressured them into making mistakes. A player on the reserve team got the ball and saw that Izan was free. His immediate thought was to pass to him but seeing that he looked uninterested he didn¡¯t but continued to hold onto the ball. The main team pressured this player and forced a throw out of him. Andrich approached the ball and picked it up. After looking up,he spotted Sosa making a run. He went back and with a run launched the ball with the intent to find Sosa. Sosa who found the ball coming his way adjusted his body to control the ball. As he looked at the ball expectantly, Izan rushed infront of him and took the ball. Sosa was a bit surprised at first but recovered quickly and tried to challenge for the ball. Unfortunately for him though,Izan had already passed the ball upfront. The reserve striker was late in reacting to the pass from Izan but he recovered and followed the ball. The striker,determined, rushed and got to the ball. After getting to the ball,he looked up and saw the keeper of his line. Without much thought,he smacked the underside of the ball sending the ball up. The keeper who wasn¡¯t fast enough looked as the ball went over him and entered the goal. The reserve team erupted into shouts and approached the striker. Izan stood there with a smile on his face. After the celebration,the striker approached Izan and thanked him for the ball. The starting players were stunned after the goal. What happened. They all turned to look at the culprit which was the striker. Sosa and a few other players had their eyes on Izan. They all knew if it wasn¡¯t for him,that goal wouldn¡¯t have happened. Coach Oryazabal stood there nodding at the situation. It seems Izan had improved greatly. The match restarted and the players on the starting team this time weren¡¯t taking things lightly. The immediately tried to counter. After Sosa received the ball. He turned and quickly passed to Andrich who was beside him. Not wasting time,Andrich sent the ball straight to wissam who was on the wing. The latter quickly got rid of his marker after he saw the ball approaching. After controlling the ball,Wissam sped up with the ball on the wings,before sending a low cross into the box. The u19 striker appeared to tap it in,but the ball was cleared away by a defender on the reserve side. "Nice clearance Thomas" the other players said after the clearance. "Get into position " Thomas roared at his teammates. The players heeded his words and quickly began marking the players in the box. Andrich,the designated thrower,picked up the ball before launching it into the box. The players all rushed for the ball but Thomas was the one who got to it first, heading the ball out of the box. The player started to chase after the ball but the ball found its way to Izan¡¯s feet. Izan after controlling the ball,quickly sped away with the ball. Wissam who was undoubtedly the fasted player on the team started to chase after Izan but even with the ball at his feet which was slowing Izan down to some extent,Wissam couldn¡¯t get near him. Rena who had stayed back started approaching Izan after he saw the latter coming his way. He saw this as an opportunity to show others that Izan wasn¡¯t that good. "Come to papa" he said after he got near Izan.This caused Izan to slow down a bit. "Is he trying to provoke me" Izan thought. Rena tried to tackle Izan after seeing that he was distracted but Izan moved the ball to the side evading his tackle. After his missed tackle,Rena grabbed onto Izan¡¯s bib. This made Izan unable to move. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Coach Oryazabal who saw this was about to blow the whistle but stopped as he saw Izan come one on one with Rena again. Rena was somewhat of a revelation for him this season as he was a spectacular defender. Coach Oryazabal therefore wanted to see what would happen when he went against Izan. Izan kicked the ball around Rena after after the latter got up from the ground. Izan went around him to get to the ball with Rena following closely. Izan who saw this flicked the ball back nutmegging Rena in the process. Rena who had approached Izan with momentum tried to follow Izan after he had nutmegged him but fell flat on his ass. Coach Oryazabal smiled after he saw the result of the confrontation.The other players however laughed at Rena¡¯s situation. Rena who was on the ground was fuming after seeing Izan going with the ball. Izan got to the box and saw the keeper approaching. The keeper tried to make himself seem big as he approached Izan. Izan wasn¡¯t faced by this as he performed an Elastico to get away from the keeper. The keeper who wasn¡¯t expecting this couldn¡¯t get near Izan and looked on as the latter passed the ball into the net. The reserve team rushed towards Izan and jumped on him.They had always had it tough when facing the starting team but today was the start of their redemption arc. The Coaches were all surprised by Izan¡¯s composure infront of goal. Even though this was only training,it was still hard to do what he did. Coach Oryazabal just stood there nodding approvingly. The match ended with a score of 4-1 for the reserve side. Izan had proceeded to make another 2 assists. Sosa on the other hand pulled one back for the starting team. Izan,after the match chatted with the Coaches and players for a while before heading home. A/N:hello guys,sorry first and foremost for not updating. my laptop got ruined so I¡¯m looking for a new one. bear with me for a bit okay, thanks Chapter 51: No.21, Izan Hernandéz Izan woke up early as he always did. He had to as today was a matchday. Valencia would be playing against UD las palmas. Valencia had won its previous match against Sevilla and were currently second on the table. Las palmas on the other hand had drawn its first match and were currently 9th. Anyone could tell that Valencia were the favourites for the match but football is one unpredictable game so one would never know the upsets that could happen. Izan after getting up from the bed, washed his face before proceeding to gear up for the daily missions assigned by the system. Although these weren¡¯t giving him any stat points,it still gave him simulation points which helped him prepare for a game beforehand. Izan after completing the mission,ran back to his house. Komi had just woken up when Izan had got back. Izan greeted his mother before proceeding to go upstairs and bath. It seemed the water had a feeling effect as Izan felt his sore muscles feel better. Izan,after exiting the shower saw his phone ringing. He dried his hand with the towel before picking up the phone. He saw Miranda¡¯s name on the phone and accepted the call."Goodmorning Miranda" Izan said first. "Well,Good morning and how are you today" Miranda asked. "I¡¯m good,thanks for asking" Izan said. "Well that¡¯s my job,making sure you¡¯re good. How are you feeling for today¡¯s game" Miranda asked. "Well I¡¯m feeling good today,and should be starting if nothing happens" Izan said with a sigh. "You were fantastic,last week and Izan you should know that the Coach putting you on the bench was just so you could get back in your element so just be patient okay" Miranda said. "I know, I know, will you come today" Izan asked. "Yeah, I will so make sure you put on another stellar performance okay" Miranda said. The two talked for a while and finally ended the call when Izan heard his mother calling him down for breakfast. Izan came down after the call and was a bit surprised by the meal his mother had prepared. Komi who saw this spoke," I asked the club¡¯s cafeteria for their meal plan so I could do the same for you. I¡¯m thinking we should get you a dietician or something. What do you think". "Anything you say mum" Izan said before sitting down to eat. "I¡¯ll go and wake up that sleeping beauty you have for sister okay" Komi said and kissed Izan on the forehead before going upstairs. After eating breakfast,Izan lazed around a bit before heading to the complex around 11:30. He had arrive quite early as their light training session would not start for another hour. Izan walked around the complex for sometime before heading to the pitch. He was still the first person there as the other players were yet to arrive. Eventually the players arrived and the training started. It was extremely light as they wanted to avoid fatigue and injuries. Izan just played around with the ball for a bit before the manager called them for a last minute tactical talk. The talk was a bit boring and it went on for about 20 minutes. "Okay so for the starting lineup, I decided to make a last minute change". "Almeida,you¡¯re replacing Izan" Coach Baraja said before dismissing the players. Izan sighed after he heard the Coach. He had been selected to start when they trained before and judging from the clubs attitude towards him recently,he knew it was too good to be true. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Gaya smiled wryly when he passed by Izan, and Pietro who had been selected for the starting lineup began mocking Izan. Izan didn¡¯t pay him any heed as he knew Pietro would be taken care of. Gaya who saw what Pietro was doing approached him from behind before smacking the latter on the back of the head. This drew laughter from the other players who now started to mock Pietro. The matchday squad boarded the bus and soon enough,they were on their way to the Mestella stadium. Izan felt the energy in the atmosphere even before entering the stadium. The Valencia fans had shown up in their number but the las palmas fans had not fallen behind either. It seemed that distance did not matter to them as both sides seemed to have an almost equal number of fans at the stadium. The infectious energy and the atmosphere soon carried onto the pitch as both teams were going tit for tat at the start of the game. The early minutes of the match was free flowing attacking football as both sides were trying to draw first blood. The pace of the match returned to normal as neither side had managed to make it count. If they continued with the way they were playing for the first 20 minutes,most of the them would not have the stamina for it. Both sides were engaged in the match. The referee too was having it hard as he had given several fouls and 3 yellow cards in the span of 7 minutes. The away team got the ball in the half-hour mark and tried to make something of it. ¡¯29 [COMMENTATOR] UD las palmas has possession right now. It seems they are playing it a bit safe right now. Las palmas defender,Suarez gets the ball and sends it to the wing looking for Munir. Nicely done by Munir as he brilliantly controls the ball to get away from Cenk O?kacar. Jose Gaya from Valencia tries to put pressure on him but Munir[Las palmas] just runs on the wings. He¡¯s still going with the ball striving g and looking around for space. Munir looks up and sends a low cross into the box. It seems the Valencia defenders are dazed and Jonathan Veira appears and shoots.....,uh Gooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaalll,brilliantly done by viera as he appears in the right place at the right time ¡¯ At this point,the shouts of the las palmas fans rang through the stadium. The mestella was raving but it was the las palmas fans who were happy. The Valencia fans didn¡¯t linger too much on the goal they conceded and began to encourage the players. Jose Gaya seeing this rallied the players and quickly sent the ball to the center line for the match to be restarted. After the restart it was all Valencia. They tried to level the score but their opponents performed well defensively. Valencia got their chance eventually in the last minutes of the first half. Jose Gaya sent a diagonal pass to corriera on the right side of the pitch after evading a tackle. Corriera not lingering on it sent the ball forward to Fran Perez on the right wing. Fran deemed a cross was fit for this situation and therefore sent one into the box. Hugo duro jumped head first to meet the ball but Goalkeeper Alvaro Valles came off his line to punch the ball away. Pepelu who had just arrived outside the box saw the ball coming his way. Several las palmas players who saw this rushed towards pep¨¦lu in the attempt to clear the ball away. Pep¨¦lu however didn¡¯t allow this as he carefully trapped the ball with his chest before opting for a volley. The whole stadium was focused on the ball as it moved. The Valencia fans were ready to celebrate but it seemed it would have to wait. Las palmas Defender Marmol got in the way of the ball and headed it away for a corner before the ball could cross the line. The shot from Pepelu was enough to make Marmol¡¯s nose bleed. The fans who saw this couldn¡¯t help but applaud at his bravery. The match continued after Marmol sought medical treatment. The Valencia fans were hoping that something would come of this corner. The cornerkick however was wasted. The referee officiating the game looked at his watch and saw that it was already past regulation time. He therefore blew his whistle to signal the end of the first half. The Valencia fans were left with a dissapointing first half as although their team had played well,they were still one goal down. Izan who saw all this from the bench stood up and started heading towards the dressing room after the referee blew his whistle. The 15 minute break was used for tactical changes but no change of personnel happened on both teams. The match resumed and the Valencia side were still trying hard to equalise. Las palmas had decided to park the bus and it was working effectively. Coach Baraja who was getting a bit frustrated looked at Izan on the bench with latter staring elsewhere. "Haaaaah,not yet" he thought before turning to watch the game. This continued until Coach Baraja couldn¡¯t take it anymore. "Tell Izan to warm up" he said to Coach Moreno.The latter relayed the message to the player and in a few minutes Izan was on the touchline. [Announcer] Coming off: No. 10 Andre Almeida Coming on: No. 21 Izan Hernandez A few fans who saw Izan coming on started clapping their hands. It seemed that their talisman was coming on A/n: feeling sleepy. Have this okay. Ill be back with a good chapte Chapter 52: Malicia saves the day "You know sometimes I wonder what goes through their minds" a Valencia fans said. "Whose minds,Cuenca" a guy besides him spoke. "The Coach. I get that he¡¯s trying to experiment a bit but we¡¯re losing". "At least give the kid a chance to make a difference. I have seen him play and that kid is good,maybe he can make a difference". "Well you got your wish Cuenca,seems like he¡¯s coming on" Mendes said to Cuenca whiles pointing to the touchline. Cuenca heard the applauds and turned to look at who they were applauding and it was none other than Izan. Cuenca smiled before pumping a fist into the air. Mendes who was beside him couldn¡¯t help but laugh at his brother¡¯s action. Izan after entering the pitch looked at the time on the display. "73 minutes huh, its going to be tough" he thought. He had seen the las palmas players play and their defence wasn¡¯t to be trifled with but they were also conceding fouls. "Should I use that" Izan thought. He had gained a new skill from the system after completing a task and it would be helpful in these situations. Pepelu,who currently held the ball was looking for someone in space. His eyes moved around but lingered when it got to Izan. Seeing this,Pep¨¦lu pretended to throw the ball to someone else. The las Palmas players moved accordingly but Pep¨¦lu stopped and threw it to Izan at the last minute. Izan seeing the ball come his way,saw someone coming from behind out of the corner of his eye. Choosing his next course of action,Izan let the ball bounce on the patch of grass just infront of his boot. The ball after hitting the ground bounced over the incoming player. Izan then turned around to trap the ball keeping it from going any further. The Valencia fans who saw this move were surprised at Izan¡¯s cleverness. Izan after this passed the ball to Diakhaby who was further up the pitch. Izan then continued to follow the ball. Mouctar Diakhaby controlled the ball from Izan and once again couldn¡¯t help but mutter," How are his passes so comfortable to take". Mouctar snapped out of his thoughts in a split second when he saw other opponent player coming near him. He turned around and ran with the ball after seeing Izan already turning on the jets. Hugo duro,the striker also turned and ran. Diakhaby not finding much to do with the ball sent it to Izan who was now running ahead. The ball was moving very fast on the ground and not wanting to disrupt the attack by stopping to control it,Izan let the ball come to him and slip through his legs. The ball also slipped through the legs of the incoming defender who was trying to challenge for it. Izan then went around the defender who was also trying to hold onto his shirt. Izan dodged his action and took a touch of the ball before sending it to Hugo duro who had managed to stay onside. Hugo duro who saw the ball coming his way was all smiles. It was just a defender between him and the keeper. He could just get around the defender and score but at the moment he thought why not go for the spectacular. The ball began its descent and not waiting for it to touch the ground Hugo went through with a volley. The ball moved all over the place on its way to the goal. Seeing the power behind the ball,the Las palmas defender,Marmol moved out of the ball¡¯s trajectory. Alvaro Valles,the las palmas keeper was rooted to the spot and could only watch as the ball smacked the underside of the crossbar and rustle the net. Silence rang across the stadium but then ¡¯Goooooooooooaaaaaa llllllllllaaaaassssssooooooooooooo¡¯ The Valencia fans went crazy after the goal. The stadium was a party. One could even feel tremor from the fans jumping up and down. The Valencia players both on the field and bench ran to where Hugo duro was pointing to Izan. Izan approached Hugo who pulled Izan in for a hug. The other players approached and jumped into the hug. "Hey I was open"Pietro who was still on the pitch said. "You could have passed for me to score my first goal of the season" he added. "Go away,you¡¯re off" Izan said whiles pointing to the touchline. Pietro turned around and saw his number in red on the board. He knelt down comically whiles screaming ¡¯No¡¯. This made for a good laugh as both players and the fans near the pitch started laughing. "Man,I love pietro,he¡¯s good and at the same time,its like he¡¯s the comic relief of the team" a fan said. "I know right " another affirmed. The Valencia players returned to their half after the celebration. Coach Baraja who was on the touchline smile and nodded at Izan. Whenever this kid came on,its like he breathed new life into the team. Coach Baraja wanted the team to not rely too much on the kid as it could hurt in the long run when the kid leaves. Yeah,someone of Izan¡¯s caliber wasn¡¯t going to sit at this club for a long time. Even now,the board was pressuring to sell him before his hype went down but he had intervened saying he could win some silverware with the kid as the core of the team. He now had to face the consequences of his words. Coach Baraja shook his head and turned his attention to the match that had restarted. Las palmas had now put all players at the back in hopes that the match could end as a draw since they knew they¡¯d lose if they held more possession. Valencia¡¯s attack however was relentless. Izan after getting the ball from midfield went on an amazing run before trying his luck from outside the box but was left frustrated with a spectacular save from Alvaro Valles. The barrage continued until the 90th minute. Time was running out and Izan finally decided to use his skill. Izan took the ball from Cenk O?kacar after dropping back. Izan after receiving the ball activated his [Focus] skill which shut out all distractions. Izan then activated his" trickster "trait which improved his success rate when performing high level skills. Izan after activating these two skills went on Rampage. Using a few fast paced Stepovers he got rid of the first opponent.Izan used an Elastico on the next player. The fans in the stadium were stunned by Izan¡¯s display of skill. He ran,snaking around opponents. All the attention in the stadium was now on him. "Stop him,foul,anything" Garcia Pimento,las palmas¡¯ Coach screamed. He had been watching Izan ever since he came on and that kid had cause his blood pressure to rise. Izan had brought him on edge ever since he came on. The las palmas players who had heard their coach¡¯s instructions began to put it into play. Some held onto Izan¡¯s shirt but it was like Izan was bathed with oil as he felt as slippery as an eel. [P.diddy] Izan had just stepped into the final third,just a few metres shy of the penalty box when Marmol approached him. "System, proceed with it" Izan said with a thought. ¡¯Ding [Malicia] has been activated¡¯. The sound rang through Izan¡¯s head. Just then Izan flicked the ball to the left. Marmol tried following the ball but Izan quickly nudged the ball in the other direction. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Marmol who was locked in place couldn¡¯t move. Izan had just stepped into the penalty box when he felt a tug on his shirt. Izan who felt this fell to the ground. The referee who saw Izan fall waved play on as he didn¡¯t see what went on. Coach Baraja raised his hands and shouted to the referee after seeing this. The assistant referee on the touchline approached him and told him to behave. The protest of both the Valencia fans and players fell on deaf ears as the referee didn¡¯t pay them any heed. Jose Gaya took control of the ball and kicked it out of play whiles gesturing for the referee to go check VAR. The referee finally paused the match and after talking a bit with the video room assistants,he headed to the VAR near the tunnel. The Valencia fans and players looked on hopefully while the Las palmas players and fans were praying that a penalty should not be the case. After a while,the referee who had seen enough came back to the pitch with the whole stadium looking on. After making the square sign,the referee pointed to the spot indicating that it was a penalty. The Valencia players and fans all raised their hands and voices in celebration. The las palmas players approached the referee trying to get him to overturn his decision. This led to a back and forth between the referee and the players and only stopped when the referee gave a Las Palmas players a yellow card. Izan who was looking over at the commotion between the referee and the las palmas player saw the ball coming his way. Jose Gaya had given the penalty to Izan. Izan smiled at him and moved to the penalty spot. The Valencia fans looked on as he set the ball on the spot. The referee made sure no player was in the box except Izan and the keeper. After making sure everything was alright,the referee blew the whistle. Izan looked at the keeper not taking his eyes off him. The keeper was a bit unsettled by the way Izan was staring at him. Izan made the runup to the ball and pulled his leg back as if going for a monster shot. Alvaro Valles who had seen Izan looking at the left side commited to his right but unfortunately for him,Izan sent the ball the other way. The ball moved slowly on its way as if teasing Alvaro Valles. The latter tried to get to the ball but it had already entered the net when he stood up. The fans went on a Rampage after Izan scored. Izan ran to the corner flag before sitting down as if to say this is my yard. The Cameraman near him took a picture which would be deemed fit for the front page news the next day. A/n: hey guys,for those of you who don¡¯t get what Malicia is,its like having an advantage in fouls. It¡¯s makes the referee more prone to giving the player a foul. Like neyma Chapter 53: The News "Now you can ask your questions" the PR manager for Valencia CF spoke. The journalists in the room started scrambling like ants. "One at a time and please raise your hands for the question" the PR manager said trying to get the journalists in order. Coach Baraja looked on at the scene infront of him. "These people have nothing better to do. I know its their life but can¡¯t they do it in an orderly manner" he thought. The journalists finally calmed down only when Coach Baraja picked out one of them from the frenzy. "Thanks for having me Coach. People would like to know what your thoughts are on the match?" she asked. "Well it was a good match. Both sides played to the best of their abilities. We weren¡¯t sharp enough in the first half which led to us conceding". "But luckily we turned it around in the second half and won the match and thats what matters" Coach Baraja answered. The reporters raised their hands again waiting for one of them to be chosen. "Yes you" Coach Baraja said pointing to a female reporter. "Thank you" she said whiles coughing. "We would like to what you thought about Izan¡¯s performance" she asked. "Well what more do you want to know. Absolutely brilliant from him. He didn¡¯t get much playing time this match but he came from the bench and made use of his time. And he did so brilliantly scoring once and making an assist in the match. He played with maturity which is rare for players his age and I hope he carries on like this" After his answer ,all the reporters had their heads down,jotting words on their notepads. "Last question" the PR manager said. The journalists and reporters all scrambled to have their questions asked since this was the last one. "Yes you" Coach Baraja pointed to a man who had a ¡¯Laliga Tv¡¯ tag on his shirt. "Thank you for having me. The question on people¡¯s mind was why did you bench Izan if he knew he was that capable" the man asked with a smug expression. The room became quiet as everyone in the room knew that the inquiry the man had made questions the Coach¡¯s tactic. "Well not to be mean but if you have a brain,you would see that Izan is young. Many young players get overplayed which in turn leads to injuries and these young players tend to never be the same after these injuries". "Take Barcelona¡¯s Ansu Fati for example,a brilliant player but due to mismanagement and an unlucky tackle he has lost his spark". "As a manager that cares,I am trying to avoid such scenarios and make sure Izan fully matures into the player he¡¯s meant to be" Coach Baraja said. The first remark had already brought laughter to the room. The face of the journalist who had asked the question looked as if he had smelled something bad. Coach Baraja stood up to go after the question whiles the journalists and reporters were trying to make him answer another question. He,however didn¡¯t pay them any mind and walked away. ..... "So what are you up to recently" ,Izan asked Pietro. "Well not much but I¡¯m planning on buying a car since I recently renegotiated a new contract" he said. "Most of the senior player¡¯s went home in their own cars but we have to wait for the Coach to finish the interview" he added. Izan just nodded and watched him speak. After a while Coach Baraja entered the bus and told the players to have a good night before exiting the bus again. The driver nodded and started the bus before driving off. "That¡¯s it I¡¯m buying a car" Pietro said which drew laughs from his teammates in the bus. Izan just looked at him with a smile before turing to his side to sleep. [Next day] Izan woke up to the sound of rain droplets hitting his window. He raised his head a bit more but decided to sleep in. Although he came on late in the previous match,the kicks,grabs and tackles he had received from opposition players had made his muscles sore. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He put his head down to sleep more but was woken up by the sound of the system. [Max: I recommend that host completes his daily task in the morning to keep him from forgetting about it] Izan grunted and punched his pillow for a while before getting up. He freshened up a hit before coming down. "You know,its still early,plus its raining outside" Izan said with a thought. The system however didn¡¯t give him any reply. Izan shook his head and wore his running shoes before going out. The rain made it a hit difficult to breathe and run. The ground also felt slippery and any mistake could cause an injury. Izan saw the pitch ahead and decided to complete his task there. Droplets of rain hit Izan¡¯s skin as he ran around the field. He knew his change was all due to system but sometimes it was a rough with him Wordlessly,Izan completed his task before heading home. The rain had stopped by then as he walked on. "Its you" a voice spoke from behind when Izan was on his way home. He turned back to look at who it was but Izan didn¡¯t seem to recognise him. "Its me,the YouTube guy" the man in the jacket said. A look of realisation drew on Izan¡¯s face as he remembered the person. This guy was the YouTuber who had taken a video of Izan¡¯s match when he was in the youth team. "How are you doing mister" Izan asked before adding," Are you now living here." "I¡¯m fine and yes I just moved in a while ago. I¡¯d ask how you¡¯re doing but from the match I saw yesterday you¡¯re doing fantastic " the man said with a smile. "Well welcome to the neighbourhood mister" Izan said before running off. "Did you train in the rain? What if you got a cold or got injured"Komi asked when Izan entered the house. "Nice rhymes mum" Izan responded with a smile. Komi couldn¡¯t stay angry at him again and could only say,"Just take care of your self okay." Izan nodded before removing his shoes. "What are you doing today" Komi asked Izan as he knew today was a rest day. "Just relax and recover,no biggie" he responded. "Okay well your sister has got ballet today,so she will be leaving with me,oh and Miranda said she had some news to share so I asked her to come over for dinner" Komi said. "Okay ma"Izan said before going up to take a bath. Izan had a change of heart when the cold water fell on him. "Damn, I should have used the hot water"he thought. "This is what a lot of Cristiano Ronaldo does to you" Izan muttered. He had heard of Cristiano Ronaldo¡¯s extreme training and recovery methods and Izan was surprised to say the least. "I mean its not like I¡¯m training to be a supersoldier" he thought. Izan after drying himself went through all the necessary procedures one does after bathing. Afterwards, he put on some homey and comfortable clothes before heading down for breakfast. Komi and Hori were already done with their breakfast and were on their way when Izan came down. "Be safe okay" Komi said before leaving. "You too mum" Izan replied."Now let¡¯s see"Izan said before wolfing down his food. After he was done, Izan sat on the couch to catch up with all of his favourite shows. After a few hours,he hopped onto his PlayStation. "Can¡¯t wait to be in the game" Izan said. He had always fantasised about playing as himself in the Fifa Career mode and it seemed it wasn¡¯t going to be a pipe dream after all. Izan played all afternoon,occasionally pausing for some snacks and continuing after. The sound of his phone ringing brought Izan out of his game world. He took it out and smiled when he saw the caller Id. "Hello liv" Izan spoke after he answered the call. "Hey Izan" Olivia responded . "How have you been" Izan asked after he realised he hadn¡¯t said anything for a few seconds. The two people who had no idea how to act around each other talked shyly on the phone. The two didn¡¯t realise that a couple of hours had passed since they started their chatter. "Well,then I¡¯ll leave you to it okay, Talk to you soon" Izan said. "Yeah you too" Olivia responded. Izan after the call was all smiles. The thought of him and Olivia brought him to slumberland as the activies that he had done the whole day had made him a bit tired. Izan napped a bit and was only woken up by the sound of the lock opening. Hori and Komi had arrived with Miranda following behind them. "Hello, Izan" she said making herself at home. "Hello Miranda,how have you been?" Izan asked. "I¡¯ve been great but you know what¡¯s greater?" she asked looking at Izan who raised an eyebrow. "The news I¡¯ve got for you". A/n: hello guys sorry for the late updates okay. I promise to make it up to you and Thanks for your support. Chapter 54: Who called? Izan napped a bit and was only woken up by the sound of the lock opening. Hori and Komi had arrived with Miranda following behind them. "Hello, Izan" she said making herself at home. "Hello Miranda,how have you been?" Izan asked. "I¡¯ve been great but you know what¡¯s greater?" she asked looking at Izan who raised an eyebrow. "The news I¡¯ve got for you". "Okay let¡¯s hear it then" Izan said. From the way Miranda was looking at him it seemed the latter wanted him to say this but the reply made Izan confused. "No not yet, I haven¡¯t eaten all day because of this. I need to eat first " she said tracing her eyes to the kitchen. Komi had started cooking as soon as she entered the house and was nearly done. "Go and bath you stink" Komi said after she saw Miranda bullying her son. "I don¡¯t think so. Here smell it" Miranda said showing her armpit to Komi after she had gotten near her. "Uh,please go back,don¡¯t contaminate the food before it is even done" Komi said with a smile before shoving Miranda a bit. Miranda slapped Komi on the ass inciting a small moan from Komi¡¯s mouth before going up to use the guest bathroom. After washing,Miranda took over allowing Komi to go and take a bath. Following this,forks struck and scratched plate as hands went near mouths. Miranda went for a second filling after her first but could not finish it. In all honesty she had done well since she was almost done with the second part before giving up. After the dinner Hori sat on the couch watching TV,away from where Izan, Komi and Miranda sat. She knew what they were about to discuss and didn¡¯t want to be apart of all the gibberish the would talk. Izan could cope at the very least but he too would likely not join if the conversation wasn¡¯t about him. "I would want to stall some more but I don¡¯t to get beaten by your mother, Miranda said to Izan. Komi just snorted and looked away. "Okay Izan,First of all good showing in the first 2 matches of the season. A situation like yours has never happened in football " she said waiting a bit for her words to set in before she continued. "A situation where a kid who¡¯s not yet sixteen, had such presence in a team. 2 games in and you already have 2 goals and 2 assists" Miranda said like a reporter. "This puts you 3rd on the pichi chi list and 1st on the assist. Ultimately your performances wouldn¡¯t go for naught as you have caught the attention of many teams,both in and outside of Spain." "But because of your plans to stay at Valencia at least until you¡¯re 17, I¡¯ve shunned them. Valencia are now having it tough as they drive away interested parties". Izan sat there listening to Miranda. He already knew of the interest of other teams in him but what was the news Miranda wanted to talk about. Well,he just had to keep listening. "Well,anybody playing like how you¡¯re playing would draw attention from not only teams but brands also". "Coupled with your handsome face and those blue eyes,some brands just can¡¯t get resist you temptation" She said whiles cupping Izan¡¯s face in her hands. "Well what did you expect,he got it from me" Komi said with a smug expression. "Yeah,yeah, good genes though" Miranda spoke to which Komi replied with a curt ¡¯Thank you¡¯ . "So what are we talking here" Komi asked again. "Well this afternoon I got a call from Adidas.Their sponsorship director wanted to discuss a possible cooperation with Izan. They wanted to talk about you as a brand " Miranda relaxed after saying this waiting for it to sink in. For a moment,no one spoke. They all just sat there nodding their head. Before a shrill voice said. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Wait,who called" Hori who was sitting on the couch suddenly crawled to the dinner table. "Adidas" Miranda said once more. Izan was shocked to say the least. "Really, thats wonderful " Komi said after a while. "But I haven¡¯t made much of an impact " Izan said underestimating his value. "From the way you¡¯re playing darling, I¡¯m pretty sure they would want to snag you up before Nike does" Miranda said. Adidas in recent years have lost opportunities because of their indecisiveness. Young players such as Mbapp¨¦ and Haaland all went to Nike because Adidas couldn¡¯t afford them. Sure they had Messi but Nike also had Cristiano Ronaldo. Nike had gotten those who would carry the torch after Ronaldo but who had Adidas gotten. Even Puma,Mizuno and a few other brands had prospective players to carry on the torch. So it was pretty evident they were trying to get Izan before anyone did and Miranda knew that this would help them in negotiating a better deal for Izan. "Although,I¡¯ve said this, nothing is finalised yet so don¡¯t say anything to anyone okay" Miranda said strictly. "That goes to both of you" she said with a stiff face making Hori jump onto Komi¡¯s lap. This action got the house filled with laughs. Izan was still in a bit of a daze. "Wow, its really Adidas" he thought. Miranda had already decided to stay over and soon enough the house drifted into silence as Hori,Komi and Miranda slept. Izan on the other hand was still awake. The news, to him still sounded like sweet music on a Sunday. He tossed and turned but still couldn¡¯t sleep. At that instant he got a message. Livia: You awake. Izan looked at his phone and didn¡¯t even know when he started smiling. Olivia on the other hand too didn¡¯t even know when she had started smiling. Izan: I¡¯m still alive. Livia: What do you mean you¡¯re still alive. Did you ever die. Izan: I am just joking. Livia: I know. Izan: I want to hear your voice ,can I call? After Izan sent this message,Olivia didn¡¯t reply for a few minutes. Izan thought maybe she was tired and wanted to sleep so he also turned to sleep but then his phone started vibrating. Olivia¡¯s name was displayed as the caller Id. Izan immediately picked up the phone. "Hey liv" Izan said to which Olivia replied "Hey Izan". The two confused people talked about random things for a while moving from topic to topic. Izan never failed to make Olivia laugh as the latter never knew about Izan¡¯s sense of humor. "So where do you see us going" Olivia said after a while. "Well Ibiza¡¯s fine and I don¡¯t mind Monaco too" Izan said making her laugh again. "Come on,You know that¡¯s not what I meant" Olivia said before adding. "What are we". "Well we¡¯re friends" Izan said halting a bit. A depressed "oh" came from Olivia. After hearing her depressed ¡¯oh¡¯, Izan smiled before continuing. "But we could be so much more". Izan heard a giggle from Olivia after he spoke. " I like you,you know" Olivia said. "I know and I Like you too" Izan responded. "Also I want a sugar mommy so.." Izan said. "Go away " Olivia said as she laughed. "Okay liv,its late and I don¡¯t want to be the reason you spoil your perfect attendance record" Izan said. "Wait how do you know" Olivia said with a surprised voice. "I know all about you" Izan said in a creepy voice making Olivia laugh."Goodnight" Izan said. "Goodnight,Miura" Olivia said before ending the call. Izan smiled as he took the phone from his ear. Before he could lie down,he heard his notification sound. He looked at his phone and saw a message from Olivia but all it read was ¡¯143¡¯ . Izan wasn¡¯t a person who used many abbreviations or any numerical constructions. He tried to make sense of it but couldn¡¯t and what do we all do when you can¡¯t understand, just ¡¯google¡¯ He simply googled the meaning and smiled when he saw the results. Izan after seeing what the numbers meant sent it back to Olivia. Olivia who was also waiting for the same message smiled when she saw what Izan had sent. The two sweethearts after this drifted off into slumberland. Valerie who was listening in on the call between Olivia and Izan couldn¡¯t help but smile after they finished talking. "That wasn¡¯t so hard was it" she muttered. "Damn I need a boyfriend " she said. It seemed some urges had stirred up in her after listening in on the call between the childhood sweethearts. Izan woke up the next day feeling refreshed,he had completed his task early in the morning and after bathing decided to sleep some more. It would be almost a week before they played their next match and they had gotten two days off. By the time Izan got down, Miranda and Komi had already left. Hori too had left for school and he could sense a foreboding feeling. School was approaching. Yeah even if he was a top student,Izan never really enjoyed school. Nobody did. Like the rest of us he was just passing through,albeit he did exceptionally better than others. *sigh*, " In due time, in due time" he said before jumping onto the couch to continue his show from where he left yesterday A/n : Hello guys. Bear with me ok cause I¡¯m not that good at writing romance so any corrections or ideas are welcomed. I¡¯ll try to update more regularly going forward. Chapter 55: Pietro Izan felt the sweat drip down the side of his face. He could taste the salt in the stray sweat that had stopped at his lips. "Is he trying to kill us" Mark said to Izan after he had caught his breath. Izan looked at him with a surprised expression. Mark was usually one of the players that never complained about anything. He would take whatever came his way and try to make do with it. But even he was complaining today. But then Izan thought "Well its not like its his fault. Coach Baraja¡¯s methods today were very tiring. Izan didn¡¯t have the greatest of stamina but his stamina was something to be proud of. But then even he was having it hard. The players all dropped to the floor immediately the whistle sounded. Only Izan stood. "Being young is nice" a voice said which prompted everyone to look in that direction. All eyes fell on Pietro who was lying down. Pietro who felt the stares of his teammates spoke. "What,why are you all looking at me like that". All the players were tired and him adding onto it with his old man antics really sucked the life out of them. "You dimwit,its not like you¡¯re old" pepelu said after he had gotten closer to pietro. All the other players looked at each other and nodded in unison before getting up. Pietro felt a shiver through his spine. "Grandpa,why don¡¯t I crack your back for you" Mouctar said holding pietro in a chokehold. "Why don¡¯t I massage you" Andre said before tickling him. All the other players approached him and started tickling him. Pietro could feel some warm liquid rushing through his urethra. "Shit I¡¯m going to pee myself. Coach, Coach,Coaaach" Pietro screamed but Coach Baraja turned his head the other way whilst whistling and pretended as if he could not hear. Pietro had tried one of his grandpa act on him and although he didn¡¯t react much,he had been wanting revenge. Pietro felt betrayed and succumbed to his teammates doings. The players eventually stopped when Pietro was at his tipping point. The had already heard him saying he was going to pee and none of them wanted the juice on themselves. Pietro heaved a sigh while he lay stiff on the ground. Izan who was standing with a ball at his feet couldn¡¯t help but laugh. The teams atmosphere and chemistry was at its best. Not that he was feeling arrogant but he was even thinking that this team could even win a trophy like the copa del rey. Yes,Valencia could put all attention on the trophy when the other teams are busy playing in other tournaments. "Izan" Coach Baraja said. Izan quickly kicked the ball into the bin and ran to Coach Baraja. Coach Baraja who saw this smiled. "As sharp as ever" he thought. "Yes Coach " Izan said when he got to where Coach Baraja was. "You were sharp as usual and I hope you keep it up. Don¡¯t let it get to you head and try to stay grounded okay" he said to which Izan nodded. "Because of your performances,I¡¯ll probably be scorched at a stake or be hanged by the fans if I don¡¯t play you for our match on sunday". Izan smiled at Coach Baraja¡¯s words. "So you¡¯ll be starting on Sunday but you¡¯ll keep down the flashy trick okay lest someone gets you injured". Izan smiled wryly. What if he got into a situation that required him to use a skill to get away. But he wasn¡¯t too sad as he could just play the role of the provider for the next match. And if he got a shot,well he would take it. "Okay Coach" Izan said before getting dismissed. The training session soon finished after few recovery exercises. Izan after washing got dressed. His Uber had arrived early and he needed to go. "Hey Izan wanna go out" Pietro who had recovered from his afternoon trauma said. "What are you my girlfriend. Go away" Izan said with a smile before going. Pietro sighed. He wanted someone to go with to the Pizzeria at the mall a few minutes away. He had seen a girl there when he went for a Pizza the week before so he wanted another excuse to go. Not that he needed to say anything to anyone but he just wanted an excuse. [A week before] After the match with Las palmas Pietro was a little hungry so he decided to pass by the mall for some snacks. He soon found a pizzeria. ¡¯Pizza sounds good¡¯ he thought before entering the pizzeria. Pietro who entered the shop got some stares from the customers. Some of their faces seemed to brighten in recognition. "Guess I¡¯m not that unknown" Pietro thought before he walked up to one of the shop attendants but the face he saw lit up his whole world. A pair green eyes and a well shaped nose to go with. Pietro looked on as her cherry lips seemed to be saying something. Pietro however was lost and was only staring at her. After a while,the girl waved her hand infront of his face before he returned to his senses. The girl smiled at Pietro¡¯s reaction. "I¡¯m sorry" Pietro said before keeping quiet. He didn¡¯t want to make a fool out of himself again. "No worries" the girl said. "What would you like to order" the girl said politely with a smile. Pietro got stuck once again before retaining himself . "Uhh,I would like to get the medium sized pepperoni pizza with garlic bread" Pietro said. "Okay to go or will you be dining here" she said. "Uhh no,to go" Pietro said. If he stayed here any second longer he would make a fool of himself by staring at her all the time. "Okay it will take a few minutes so can you sit down" she said before turning to go. Pietro sat down and stared at her while she went about her job. Their eyes would meet sometimes but Pietro would pretend to be on his phone. The girl on the other hand would just smile. "Hey,um you¡¯re Pietro right from the Valencia team. Can I please get a picture " a boy from a group of four said to Pietro. "Sure" Pietro said with smile. The kids took turn taking pictures with him. A few teenage girls who recognised him also came over and asked for his signature. Pietro gladly took time and fulfilled all of their requests. Ava who looked over at the small crowd that had gathered around Pietro asked a person near her. "Who is he" she said. "Who Pietro?" the woman said. "His name is Pietro" Ava said. "Yeah,he plays for the Valencia team. He¡¯s a fan favourite. He¡¯s got good skills and he¡¯s also funny" the woman said. Ava nodded a bit surprised that the clumsy guy she was just talking to was a player. She looked at him for a bit before returning to what she was doing. But before she could do so the woman asked. "Why interested" but Ava replied. "No,Not really, I just thought he was cute". "Oh really" the woman said suggestively whiles nudging Ava with her elbow. "Oh come one Christie" Ava said with a smile before looking over at where Pietro sat. Her smile widened before continuing with what she was doing. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After a while,Pietro¡¯s Pizza was done. Ava took it over to him. Pietro who saw Ava walking his way stood up to meet her. "Here¡¯s your food and your total is 15.69" she said. Pietro took out his card and payed. "Have a nice meal" Ava said with a smile before walking away. "Thank you" Pietro said to her back while she walked away. Pietro who was now at the door stood still watching Ava. "Wow seems like you¡¯ve got an admirer. Be sure to snag him up before someone does" another girl said to Ava. Ava looked at where the girl was looking and found Pietro standing still. Ava smiled and felt her cheeks heating up. "Why am I blushing" she thought looking in Pietro¡¯s direction once more. "Excuse me " a woman who was trying to enter the shop said. Pietro who stood still was standing in the way. "Oh sorry" Pietro said before making way for the woman. Ava who saw this exchange between Pietro and the woman laughed. Pietro looked over one last time and finally left. "Your boyfriend can¡¯t bear to leave " the girl behind Ava said. Ava didn¡¯t say anything and just smiled. If she tried to refute,they¡¯d definitely pester her. [Present] "Mark wanna go to the Pizzeria at the mall near here" Pietro asked. "I¡¯m buying Pizza" he added. Mark who found no reason to refute nodded. Pietro¡¯s face instantly lit up. After a while the two found themselves infront of the shop. Mark stood there unbothered whilst Pietro stood there with a grin. The two walked in with Mark going to look for a seat whilst Pietro placed the order. "Ava,your little boyfriend is here again" Margo said. Ava smiled looked in the direction where Margo was pointing to. She saw Pietro coming her way and she instantly smiled. "Wait why am I smiling " she thought. "It seems Christie and Margo¡¯s words have affected me". "Hi" Pietro said when he got to where Ava stood. "Hi" Ava responded with a smile. "You know I never got your name" Pietro said with a smile which was almost turning into a grin before he stopped himself. He had been trying to find out her name the previous time,but its really hard when they have no name tag Ava smiled and replied," Ava, My name is Ava". "Well,I¡¯m Pietro" he also said. "Okay Pietro, what would you like to order" Ava said. "2 medium pepperoni Pizza with garlic bread but one with coke and another with some juice" pietro said. "Two this time huh" Ava said with a smile. "Who is he buying it for. Does he have someon- wait what am I thinking. What is it to me if he buys it for someone who¡¯s maybe a girl. Why did I think it was a girl" Ava thought. She looked cool headed on the outside but inside, Ava was a little girl. "Yeah,came with a friend" Pietro said pointing to Mark who was surrounded by two boys. "Oh thats good" Ava said before realising what she had said. She slapped her hand on her forehead. "Seems like I¡¯m not the only interested party" Pietro thought with a smile. Ava who had slipped tried to regain composure. Mark after signing the autograph for the 2 kids,looked over at Izan. "Huh,why is he smiling like that. Wait does he like her" Mark thought with a little laugh. "This is funny" Mark said whiles secretly filming Pietro who was smiling and talking with Ava. Afterwards he sent the video to the team group. Pepelu: Is that Pietro. Mark:Yes. Andre: Seems like he¡¯s enjoying the conversation. Coach: This is not the platform for such trivial things. The players who saw the Coach¡¯s message almost threw their phones away. The Coach sent another message which made the players laugh. Coach: But because its Pietro I¡¯ll allow it. Who is he talking to. Mark, whose soul jumped from his body quickly replied. Mark: A girl at the Pizzeria in the mall near our training complex. Gaya:Turns out dimwits can fall in love too. He looks like he¡¯s drooling. Izan: Can you guys let the man enjoy his peace. Coach: What are you doing at a Pizzeria do you want to be benched. Mark after seeing the message exited the group chat. The group became lively as the players talked about Pietro. Pietro on the other hand didn¡¯t sit down and stood there talking with Ava. He was lucky though as the shop didn¡¯t receive many customers at this time so no one interrupted his talk with Ava. "So what about the number" Pietro said. "You would have to visit here a few more times" Ava said as she handed over the Pizza to Pietro. "I¡¯d love to but my Coach would kill me if he found out I frequent this place" Pietro said as he took out his card. "You know I never knew you were the type to play football" Ava said. "Wait so you didn¡¯t know I played" Pietro asked a bit confused. "I don¡¯t watch football" Ava said. "But you do live around right" Pietro said. "Isn¡¯t it a bit early, I mean you haven¡¯t even asked me out yet" Ava said with a smile. "No tha-thats not what I meant. I mean you live in Valencia so you must have seen at least one of our team billboard which has our faces" Pietro said but Ava shook her head. He had been grateful for the perks of being famous because he thought it was why the conversation was a bit smooth going but turns out the other person didn¡¯t even know him. This made him smile even more. "Well I¡¯ll make an exception for you" Ava said and took Pietro phone. She typed her number in before handing it back to Pietro. "Thank you,I¡¯ll cherish it forever" Pietro joked. Ava laughed. "You sure you¡¯re not going to see another girl and forget me" Ava said. "I¡¯m not like that,I haven¡¯t even dated before" Pietro said before smacking his forehead. Ava laughed at him but at the same time felt a bit relieved. If they would be able to work,then it would also be her first time. "I¡¯ll see you around" Pietro said. "Yeah I¡¯ll see you" Ava replied. Pietro smiled before walking out of the shop with Mark. A/n: Hi, football fans. Yes I refuse to call it soccer. Enjoy this one too. Next chapter will be matchday so have patience my friends Chapter 56: The Provider [Somewhere in Valencia] "Ciiiro,Ciiiro, Ciro." a mature female voice said. "Yes mum" ,the boy named Ciro responded. "Hurry up. Didn¡¯t you always want to see him play" the female voice said once again. "Sorry mum I¡¯m coming,let me just put on my jersey and let¡¯s go" Ciro said. His mother sighed with a wry smile displayed on her beautiful face. After a while, a boy of about 10 years stepped into the hallway wearing a Valencia jersey. He had the number 21 and Izan¡¯s name on the back of the shirt. Ciro stood there with a smug look which incited a laugh from his mother. "You look just like him" Ciro¡¯s mother said. "Really mum" Ciro said with his eyes wide at his mother. "Oh my gosh. My son is so cute" Valentina,Ciro¡¯s mother thought while clenching her chest. "Yes son" Valentina said after she realised Ciro was still waiting for her answer. "Ok now that you¡¯re done lets go. Your father is waiting in the Car" Valentina said before giving Ciro her hand. Ciro grapped the hand infront of him and walked to the driveway with his mother. "There you are, I was starting to think that maybe you would not go" Ciro¡¯s father said. "Come on Thomaso,you know he would not miss it for the world" Valentina said whiles throwing Ciro a glance. Ciro smiled and hurriedly opened the car door. Valentina who made sure Ciro was comfortable at the back sat in the front seat. [Like any responsible adult would] The car finally started moving as the Family of three headed towards the Camp Mestalla stadium. Ciro had been wanting to go watch a match at the stadium since last season but his parents never got time. S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His fathers business was struggling a bit at that time so they never got time for it and although he was a kid,he could read the room so he never pestered his parents with it. After his father¡¯s company rebounded, he finally asked which lead to today. "Today I must get an autograph from Izan" Ciro made a mental note whiles clenching his fist. The Family of three got out of the car and started heading towards the stadium and although the match hadn¡¯t even started,one could feel the energy from the parking lot. "Ciro look" Valentina who had a bag in hand took out a marker and a white Cardboard. "Cool mum,this way I can write in it and show it to him" Ciro said. Valentina and Thomaso smiled. They did not get much time for their son and so today they were trying to make amends by making good memories for him. [Dressing room] "Okay guys this is it. Coach talked the talk and now we walk the walk. We need to go out ther and play like we want to win okay. Are you with me" Gaya roared. "Yes Cap" the dressing room shouted more or less in unison. "Vamos" Gaya said before leading the team out. Izan who was putting on an ankle tape finally got up and followed the team out. Izan with the number 21 at his back was the last player on the team to come out so he lined up at the back. Valencia¡¯s home atmosphere was electric but the stone faces the Osasuna players displayed proved that it didn¡¯t affect them. The referee soon came and in a few minutes,the players were getting on to the pitch. The energy and atmosphere in the stadium rose to a new level when the players came unto the pitch. "Izaann,Izannnn, Gaya ,Pepelu,Duro!!! Izan could hear the shouts of the fans who were near the pitch. He simply flashed a smile at them but the women near the pitch couldn¡¯t contain themselves. This was no drake concert but the stewards had to warn them to keep their bras on. Sometimes the women forgot Izan was underage because of the way he looked. Izan smiled wryly at the situation which was unfolding. The players lined up before the crowd and after a few minutes the players got into positions. The referee who was officiating the match walked around for a bit before looking at his time. The moment the clock hit seven,he blew his whistle. ¡¯Fweeeeeee¡¯ [COMMENTATOR] ¡¯Welcome folks to another laliga game,this time between Valencia and Osasuna. Valencia have played some good football this start of the season led by their young talisman who is smashing records after records,Izan Hernandez. 2 goals and 2 assists in 2 games is just ridiculous for a young one like him and I hope we see more of him. We hope to see a good showing this match. And as I¡¯m speaking Valencia are on the attack. Pepelu releases the ball to Gaya who is running on the wings. Gaya nicely controls the ball before sending it across the pitch to Corriera who heads it towards the middle. Now its Izan. Izan driving forward pace and technique. Lays it off to pietro aaannndddd... oohhhhh Goooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllll Valencia are ahead in the 3rd minute of the game. Izan lays off a lovely ball to Pietro who make no mistake slotting it into the left bottom corner.¡¯ [A moment ago] Hugo duro pressed the opponent keeper forcing him to send the ball upfield. Mark who found the ball coming his way headed it towards Cenk O?kacar. Cenk after getting hold of the ball sent a grounded pass through the middle to Pepelu. Pepelu after receiving the ball got away from an opposition player using a body feint. After getting away, he saw Gaya making a run on the left wing. Without wasting much time. He sent the ball to him. Gaya after controlling the ball found two Osasuna players heading his way. Wanting to relieve pressure on the left side,he sent a diagonal pass to Corriera on the right flank. The pass sent by Gaya was somewhat underwhelming and Correira,not wanting to lose the ball headed it into the middle of the pitch. Two Osasuna players ran to where the ball was going to land but someone got there first. Izan who had been watching the proceedings took hold of the ball but was surrounded by 2 Osasuna players with another approaching. It seemed that the opponents had gone all out in rendering Izan ineffective in this game.Izan¡¯s brain ran at full capacity and even more as he tried to get out of the encroachment. Using a simple touch and go moves,Izan got away from the two players but was now facing a third. At that moment,Izan saw Pietro making a run. Izan after seeing this, faked a shot which made a few opponent player throw their bodies in the way before making a through ball to Pietro. Pietro had just one player between him and the keeper now and because he was aware of his one on one effectiveness,Pietro didn¡¯t hold onto the ball much longer and sent the ball the keeper¡¯s way. The Osasuna keeper tried to keep the ball out and even got a touch on it but it wasn¡¯t enough to keep the ball out of the net. Pietro who scored ran to the corner flag while being pursued by his teammates. Upon reaching the corner flag. He picked it up and started playing with it like a guitar. The Valencia fans in the stadium were all ecstatic. Their team had taken the lead in just 3 minutes. Of course they would be happy. The match soon restarted after the Celebrations. Osasuna this time was more alert. The players played compactly with no excessive movements. They even got a corner but was headed away by Cenk. The match went around for a while with Osasuna seeing more of the ball. A miscontrolled pass from an Osasuna midfielder led to Izan receiving the ball once more. With a Messi-esque run,Izan wormed his way through 5 opponent players. This brought the fans in the stadium to the edge of their seats. The Valencia fans were absolutely loving it while the Osasuna fans were the opposite. "Fucking hell,he¡¯s a kid. Why is he toying with you guys like that" an Osasuna fan said. "Its like they have never played football before in their lives" Another fan commented. Other comments like these made their way out of the mouths of the Osasuna fans who couldn¡¯t understand why their team couldn¡¯t stop a kid. "Get onto the pitch if you fucking can. Can¡¯t you see they¡¯re trying. Instead of you to support them you¡¯re hear making silly comments " a voice roared. This made the people who were commenting previously bow their heads down. Izan who was now free saw Hugo duro and tried to make a pass but he felt a tug on the collar of his shirt. It was as if the other player was trying to strangle him. The other Valencia players who saw this screamed and raised their hands in the air but the referee was already on it. "Whats wrong with you dude. Do you want to kill him" Pietro said to the Osasuna player. But the other person just scoffed." If he can¡¯t handle this,then he should stop playing football.This is no child¡¯s game". Pietro was about to go for the other person¡¯s neck but Izan and Gaya held him back. The referee after getting to the scene gave the Osasuna player a yellow card and awarded a freekick to Valencia. Coach Baraja who stood on the touchline saw this and started laughing. Coach Moreno who saw this smiled wryly. "At this rate he¡¯ll go mad" he thought. Izan and Gaya both stood behind the ball with Pep¨¦lu on the side. Izan looked at the wall infront of him and the goal. "Max,you know what to do" Izan said with a thought. "Thought you¡¯d never ask" Max the system¡¯s Ai said. [Ding {Focus}skill activated,"Rocket" trait selected] Izan after hearing this breathed in and held his breath. The referee after making sure the wall was okay blew the whistle. Izan made the runup as the whole stadium looked on with breaths held and sent the ball over the Wall. A/n: Hi guys a bit late today but enjoy. Chapter 57: Call Me The Flash "Max,you know what to do" Izan said with a thought. "Thought you¡¯d never ask" Max the system¡¯s Ai said. [Ding {Focus}skill activated,"Rocket" trait selected] Izan after hearing this breathed in and held his breath. The referee after making sure the wall was okay blew the whistle. Izan made the run up as the whole stadium looked on with breaths held and sent the ball over the Wall. [Osasuna Keeper pov] "Why did he have to foul him and this close to the goal" Sergio Herrera thought. "Well he¡¯s has already gone and done it so let¡¯s try to get out of this situation unscathed" "Oh the referee blew the whistle. Wait why isn¡¯t he moving. Okay he¡¯s finally moving" "Why is he running to the corner flag. He hasn¡¯t even played the ball yet or is it one of their tactics. .... Sergio Herrera, Osasuna¡¯s keeper was in the right to be confused. To him,Izan hadn¡¯t kicked the ball yet. Sergio Herrera looked inside his net and saw the ball inside the net. "Wait,what the hell" he roared. [COMMENTATOR POV] ¡¯Izan looks like the one to take this freekick. Izan can he make this one count and uhhhhh ¡¯What a Rocket from Izan. Sergio Herrera doesn¡¯t even know the that the ball¡¯s been kicked and now that he realises it he seems to not understand what went on¡¯ The Valencia fans had a delayed reaction because the didn¡¯t see when the ball went inside the goal. Izan after scoring run towards the fans and blew them a kiss. The Valencia fans erupted into cheers after seeing his celebration especially the women and the young girls. "What was that" Pietro ruffled Izan¡¯s hair after he got near him whiles Gaya came in for a hug. "You,what do you eat. How could such a shot come from your skinny legs" Pep¨¦lu said whiles fist bumping Izan. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Pep¨¦lu you know we eat the same thing at the Cafeteria. Its just that I¡¯m too talented" Izan said with a smirk. ¡¯"Ohhh,someone¡¯s tongue is getting sharp" Pep¨¦lu said as they walked back to their half. "Vamos, no te desanimes, podemos revertir esto" [Let¡¯s go don¡¯t be disheartened. we can turn this around] The Osasuna captain, David Garcia said trying to rally his teammates together. ¡¯FWEEEEEE¡¯ The referee sounded the whistle for the 3rd time in 32 minutes. Osasuna after the restart,played with the urgency that was required of them. It was now Valencia¡¯s turn to experience the barrage of shots by Osasuna. Valencia however didn¡¯t falter in face of the shots from the opponents. Giorgi Marmadashvili pulled out save after save trying to keep the ball out. The Valencia team as a whole put their bodies on the line,trying to block the shots from the Osasuna players. They did well until the 45th minute. The assistant referee signaled 1 minute of added time. The ball was with the Osasuna players. Jesus Aresso,the Osasuna right back passed the ball to Ibanez in the midfield. Izan and a few Valencia players tried to press him but Ibanez got away. Ibanez after getting away from the Valencia players sent the ball to Oroz. Oroz after getting the ball dribbled a bit before sending it out wide to Jose Arnaiz. Correira who now faced Arnaiz tried to challenge for the ball. Arnaiz made a feint which made Correira commit before sending the ball the other way. Arnaiz after getting away from Correira looked in to the box and saw Raul Garcia and a few other players in the box. Without wasting much time,he sent the ball into the box. Raul Garcia who was held down by Mark broke out of his grasp and jumped to meet the ball. Marmadashvili in the goal felt that the ball was too close for comfort so he came out to meet the ball. With his hands infront Marmadashvili jumped and tried to get hold of the ball and did so spectacularly. Unfortunately for him,the ball slipped when landing causing Oroz,the Osasuna player to nudge the ball into the box. The Osasuna fans who were having a tough time today forgot all their worries and let loose. The fans celebrated like they¡¯d won a trophy. The Valencia fans on the other hand could only smile wryly. Marmadashvili who had caused the goal raised his hand in an attempt apologise. The Fans who saw this started clapping for the players. After the restart,the referee blew the whistle to signify the end of the first half. The players walked off after the referee blew the whistle. [In the stands] "Did you enjoy the first half" Valentina said whiles handing Ciro a juice box . "Yes mum" Ciro said,nodding fervently. Valentina just smiled at looked at Ciro who was having the time of his life. [Valencia Dressing room] Izan took off his socks. Spike marks were found all over his legs. "Izan can you play" Coach Baraja said. He had seen the opponents being a bit rough with Izan in the first half. He had been complaining to the officials about it but nothing was done. The referee was even lenient with them for the hard tackles they made. "After this I¡¯ll have to complain to the FA. Some of these tackles are just horrendous" Baraja said Izan smiled at Baraja¡¯s words. He could feel the sincerity in them and was thankful. "If you feel any discomfort,signal to us so we can take you off okay,we can¡¯t risk your career over this match okay" Baraja said to Izan. "Yes coach,I will" Izan responded. After a quick pep talk,the players exited the dressing room before coming out of the tunnel. Some of the fans who had left their seats were also returning from wherever they had ventured. [COMMENTATORS POV] ¡¯ We are back from the break and if you are just joining us, its Valencia 2, Osasuna 1. The Valencia team was fantastic in the first half although the let themselves down in the final minutes of that half. ¡¯But I wouldn¡¯t blame them too much as a spark lit up in the Osasuna team after they conceded 2 goals causing them to play some really exciting football. ¡¯We hope for more or less the same in the second half. I¡¯m Dani Carzola and once again I¡¯m your commentator for this match.¡¯ Osasuna once again after the start of the second half were on the front foot. 51¡¯ Barja,Osasuna¡¯s right winger got the ball from a throw. After trapping the ball he played a one-two pass with Oroz who had come to his aid. Oroz¡¯s pass unleashed Barja on the right flank. Jose Gaya who had been able to track back successfully tried to go for a sliding challenge but Barja got out of the way. Barja who now found himself almost near the corner flag sent a low cross into the box. The ball moved through the legs of a few defenders before slowing down. Raul Garcia,Osasuna¡¯s striker suddenly appeared to put a touch on the ball changing the ball direction towards goal. Unfortunately for him,Marmadashvili with his leg stretched outwide cleared the ball away from the goal. The Valencia fans heaved a sigh of relief. The Osasuna fans however were pumped. Their team had almost scored and they still had a chance from the corner. Oroz,Osasuna¡¯s attacking midfielder stepped up to take the cornerkick. After raising his hand to say he was ready,Oroz sent a neat ball Into the box. All was sailing smooth until Marmadashvili appeared to punt the ball out of the box. Izan who was waiting for a chance to counter appeared. The Osasuna players who saw this started to chase after him. But who was Izan, "Ding [speedster] trait activated". Izan turned on the jets and with a +5 speed stat boost, Izan left them all in the dust. Izan moving with pace cut the pitch in half as he had just crossed the centre circle. The two defenders who had stayed behind began approaching Izan but the latter didn¡¯t even glance at them. Izan with a smooth roulette got rid of the first player before kicking the ball ahead of the second player. The Osasuna player was now desperate as he tried to grab Izan but Izan was not having it. Izan smacked the defender on the hand when he grabbed his shirt. Izan after getting away ran and caught up to the ball. It was just him and the keeper now. Izan cool and calm under pressure did a few stepovers to confuse the keeper. The keeper who saw Izan¡¯s body moving left wanted to commit but he at the same time he was afraid. He knew that this was obviously a feint but what if it wasn¡¯t. Finally Sergio Herrera followed Izan and tried to grab the ball but with a chop,Izan sent the ball the other way. Sergio Herrera who was going the other way suddenly turned to where Izan was going forcefully in hopes that he could still get to the ball but it didn¡¯t come without consequences as he twisted his ankle. Izan seeing this sent the ball the other way again and followed suit. Sergio Herrera who now felt a ridiculous amount of pain in his ankle all at once couldn¡¯t even move again. Izan who had now gotten rid of the keeper saw a defender in the goal. With a feint Izan got rid of the defender but was facing another one. With another feint Izan sent the second defender to the ground before tapping the ball into the net. The fans were shocked but they soon recovered. ¡¯Gooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaallllll¡¯ The Valencia fans screamed their hearts out. Izan had given them another goal to celebrate. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ A/n: feeling good today so decided to give another chapter. See you in the evening Chapter 58: Unplayable After Izan¡¯s goal, Osasuna went defensive. It seemed like they didn¡¯t want to concede again. It might have also been a tactical revision but the Osasuna fans couldn¡¯t take it and started showing their discomfort. The Clock on the LED board showed that there were about 35 minutes still left to play; therefore, they didn¡¯t understand why their team started playing defensively. They understood that the team didn¡¯t want to concede but not taking the initiative to attack would mean that they were throwing this match. While the Osasuna fans were showing their dissatisfaction, the Valencia fans, on the other hand, were having a blast. It had been a while since they won 3 games straight at the start of the season. "Our team looks so good this season," a Valencia fan said. "You said it, bro. It¡¯s like a whole new team," another fan said. "If they continue like this, it won¡¯t be hard to pick up some silverware, like the Copy del Rey", the fan added. The Valencia fans were now fantasizing about winning trophies. One could almost see them drooling when thinking about trophies. " Izan has been a revelation since the end of last season and during the preseason too but it seems he¡¯s gotten even better this season" "Yeah he¡¯s better than he was during the preseason but I hope the club doesn¡¯t sell him for a while" a middle-aged man spoke "Since he¡¯s playing like this, he¡¯s bound to be sold but I hope they keep him here for a while. He¡¯s going to help the club" another fan added. Talking about Izan¡¯s potential transfer to other clubs made the fans feel a bit sour. Big clubs like Barcelona and Real Madrid in the league can keep their players for long periods. On the other hand, teams like Valencia find it hard to do the same. Most players can not resist the temptations of a big club. At times, too, it had to do with the club¡¯s sporting future or project as many players want to be remembered, and what better way than winning trophies? The fans kept on talking until the sound of a whistle from the pitch caught their attention. The Valencia fans saw Izan on the ground for the umpteenth time today. The Valencia fans proceeded to show their dissatisfaction. Izan had been fouled again and again since the start of this match and most at times,the Osasuna players were only warned. The culprit was none other than David Garcia. The referee, after blowing the whistle, sighed. David Garcia had been playing roughly since the start of the match and had even been carded for the earlier foul on Izan. And now, he had gone and done it again.Perhaps sensing the dissatisfaction of the fans the referee already knew what he had to do. He approached David Garcia who also knew what was about to happen. The referee took the yellow card and showed Garcia his second of the game before pulling out the red card. Garcia didn¡¯t try to debate the referee¡¯s decision and started heading towards the tunnel. Coach Baraja, who was on the touchline, frowned. The frequency of the tackles on Izan had increased and he knew he had to do something before the worst occured. "Moreno," he said drawing the attention of the assistant coach. "Tell Javi Guerra to warm up, he¡¯s going on in 3". Assistant Coach Moreno nodded before signalling to Javi Guerra. "Can you play?" Gaya said to Izan after the latter picked up the ball. "Yeah, I can" Izan replied. "I¡¯m probably going out after this" he added while pointing to the bench. Jose Gaya followed Izan¡¯s finger and saw Javi Guerra warming up. "He¡¯s afraid you could get injured," Gaya said with a smile. Izan smiled slightly before putting the ball down at the spot indicated by the referee. He looked into the box to see if anything good could come out of this freekick. "I¡¯d use [rocket], but I¡¯m not convinced from this distance," Izan thought. " Let¡¯s just get this over with" Izan thought again before taking a few steps back. The referee, after making sure everything was in place, blew his whistle. Izan, with the runup, sent the ball into the box. The ball cut through the air with precision on its way. Cenk Ozkacar, who found the ball coming his way, went forward and jumped to meet the ball in the air. With a swift motion, he directed the ball towards the opponent¡¯s goal. Sergio Herrera, with a spectacular reflexive action, got a hand on the ball, but it was not enough as the ball powered through his outstretched hand to rustle the net. The Valencia fans went crazy again after the fourth goal. Cenk Ozkacar, after seeing the ball enter the goal, ran towards Izan while pointing at him. Izan, who saw Cenk coming his way, felt a bit scared as he knew what the latter was going to do. Cenk, after getting to where Izan was, jumped onto the latter, sending them both tumbling onto the ground. The other players followed suit and continued piling themselves on top of each other. Not wanting to be left out, the players on the bench also joined in on the fun. Izan, who was beneath this mountain of men, smiled wryly. The players got up after a while at the urging of the referee and Izan who was beneath them. The Valencia players returned to their respective positions after the celebrations. Before the Osasuna striker could restart the game, the referee pointed to the touchline. Izan, who saw his number in red, started heading towards the bench. The Valencia fans who saw Izan going off all got up from their seats and started clapping for the kid. [Commentator¡¯s Pov] ¡¯There he is. 2 months to 16 and already getting standing ovations from the fans. Izan was unplayable today. With two goals and two assists in this match, Izan brings his tally for this season to 4 goals and 4 assists in just 3 games. This is just ridiculous. Not even 16 yet and he¡¯s taken this division by storm. I hope he can go on like this and I for one can¡¯t wait for him to mature ¡¯ Izan, after high-fiving Javi Guerra, proceeded to hug Coach Baraja. "Very good display Izan," Baraja said while pulling Izan in for a hug. "Thanks, Coach" Izan replied before heading to the bench. The kit manager shook Izan¡¯s hand whilst handing him one of the club¡¯s padded jackets. Izan smiled at the former and took the jacket. After the changes, the match continued. The Osasuna players seemed to have lost their spirit after the restart and started making some amateurish mistakes. Lucky for them,the Valencia players couldn¡¯t capitalise on these errors. The Osasuna Coach, Jagoba Arrasate, who saw this, started making some changes too. To keep his team from conceding again, he brought in two defenders. This would do till the end of the match as Valencia couldn¡¯t score anymore. ¡¯FWEEE FWEEE,FWEEEEE¡¯ The referee blew his whistle after looking at his watch. [Commentator Pov] ¡¯ It¡¯s over folks. Valencia has come out on top in this exciting match fixture. Osasuna looks devastated after receiving such a battering. They will be looking to improve upon this performance. Its Valencia [4], Osasuna [1] ¡¯ Izan headed towards the pitch after the referee blew the whistle. The Valencia fans and players were all smiles after the match and they seemed to relish in their victory. "Look", Pietro said to Izan while nodding in a direction. Izan turned around to see what Pietro was pointing at and saw a cardboard held up in the air by a little kid. "Can I get your Jersey,Izan" was displayed on the Cardboard. Izan, who saw this, started heading towards the kid. [In the stands] "Mom, do you think he will give it to me" Ciro asked his mom. "I don¡¯t know if he can see, but he¡¯ll definitely give it to you if he notices it", Valentina said to comfort her child. Ciro knew that the chances were low but he had to try. Ciro, who had his head down, heard a voice which prompted him to raise his head. "Hey kid, My name is Izan. What is yours" Izan said. Ciro, after raising his head, was starstruck. "I thought you wanted my jersey", Izan said with a smile. Ciro, who heard this, nodded and said, "I-Izan, um, yes, I want your jersey", stammering a bit. "Can I get your autograph too" Ciro added with an expectant face. "Sure," Izan said. "And a picture too" Ciro spoke again. Izan smiled at him and said, " Do you want a hug too?". Ciro, who heard this, nodded. Izan, after seeing Ciro nod, took out a jersey and signed his name on it before taking a picture with Ciro. Ciro thanked Izan profusely whilst receiving envious stares from the other fans. "Should have brought a cardboard too" one fan said. Valentina also thanked Izan before the latter headed back to the pitch. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "My friends are going to be so jealous when I show this to them,", Ciro said meekly. The Stadium started emptying as the satisfied Valencia fans went home with smiles on their faces. A/n,: Hey guys. Its been a while. Thanks to you guys I got a contract and went premium. I hope you guys continue to support me and I¡¯ll also try to bring more chapters. Thanks again Chapter 59: Mi Familia Izan woke up the next day feeling a bit sore in all kinds of places. The match yesterday had taken its toll on him. Izan freshened up a bit before going out to complete his task for the day. The streets of Alboraya were still silent as they should be during this time of the morning. Izan, after completing his task, didn¡¯t linger about anymore as the weather wasn¡¯t all that favourable and started heading home. Komi, who had just woken up, went on her morning rounds in the house. After checking that everything in the house was without fault, she headed upstairs once more. She opened the door to Hori¡¯s room and found her daughter sleeping peacefully. Komi smiled a bit before proceeding to Izan¡¯s room. She opened the door and as expected, Izan wasn¡¯t in his room. "This kid needs to rest sometimes", she muttered before proceeding to organise her son¡¯s room well. The door to the house opened as Izan walked through. Izan went ahead and took some water out of the refrigerator once he was in the kitchen. After gulping down the whole bottle, Izan went to the bathroom as he felt a bit sticky all around from the sweat. After a refreshing bath, Izan collapsed onto the bed to continue his unfinished business. Meanwhile, Hori and Komi prepared for their day. Komi went upstairs after breakfast and headed to where Izan was. "School begins in 2 weeks. Is there anything you need?" Komi said after opening the door to Izan¡¯s room. Izan, who heard the word "school" from his mother, was jolted up from his sleep. He looked at his mother before shaking his head. It¡¯s that time of year when school resumes. Izan, even after becoming a professional footballer couldn¡¯t escape the clutches of school. Izan fell to the bed again and waved his hand to Komi¡¯s question. "Okay then. Miranda will be here tonight to talk about the deal with Adidas, so be prepared, " Komi added before going out. Izan slept for a while after Komi and Hori left and If not for the rumbling sound coming from his stomach, Izan would have continued to sleep. Izan, after the prompt from his stomach, woke up and went downstairs for his breakfast. After a hearty breakfast, Izan sat on the couch to watch some TV. After searching for a while, Izan turned to the Laliga channel. The pundits were talking about the matches played by Real Madrid and Barcelona. Izan sat, put down the remote, and listened eagerly. After a while, he felt that the segment was getting a bit boring and tried to change the channel but Izan stopped when he heard his name. Izan turned up the volume a bit as the pundits seemed to be talking about the match the day before. "Okay, Jorge, now let¡¯s talk about Valencia¡¯s match yesterday", the female pundit spoke. "Well, what more can you say, Christina? Valencia played well, and a win proves it. They took their chances and they battered Osasuna" "Heading into the game, I was actually on Osasuna¡¯s side, but Valencia proved wrong with another great performance with 3 wins in 3 games", Jorge ended. Christina nodded before asking the other pundit. "Michel, what are your thoughts about Valencia ". "Well, I also agree with what Jorge said, but I¡¯m more in line with the performance of a singular player", Michel said. "Could you elaborate further on your thoughts?" Christina asked. " I got a word and it¡¯s Izan. In the last three games of Valencia, he¡¯s been excellent". "Four goals and four assists in just 3 games proves my point. Not just that, but he¡¯s threatening on the ball. In the last three games, Izan has been fouled 22 times, and this number is just ridiculous ". "And another thing we turn to gloss over is the fact that he is not even 16 years old. None of the greats showed their dominance at 16 years, and I, for one, can¡¯t wait for him to mature," Michel added before ending. "Well, we hope he goes on like this, and we¡¯ll be looking forward to his upcoming performances", Christina said. Izan, who was still listening to the segment, was grinning in all sorts of angles. "This feels good," Izan thought. After the segment, Izan felt that he was still not well-rested and decided to sleep a bit more. The afternoon went by, and the evening came, and Izan was only woken up by the sound of the door unlocking. Hori, who had closed from school, entered the house and headed towards the living room. "How was school," Izan said asked after the latter sat down. Hori looked at her brother with a disgusted face after he spoke. "What are you, Mom," Hori said while taking out her phone from her bag. "Come on, Hori, don¡¯t be like that", Izan said with a smirk. "If you act like that again, I swear I¡¯m going to stay with you", Hori said while performing an act of stabbing. Izan smiled at Hori¡¯s action before looking around. "Where¡¯s mom," Izan asked after not seeing Komi around. "She said she¡¯ll be coming home later and asked me to come first. She¡¯s probably going to pick up Miranda or something " Hori said. "Or her boyfriend " Izan added. "Mom¡¯s got a boyfriend " Hori exclaimed after Izan spoke. "Well, I don¡¯t know," Izan said with a teasing smile. Hori, who saw Izan¡¯s teasing smile, understood what her brother was trying to do. "You¡¯re so childish," she said before throwing a pillow at Izan. The two siblings bickered for a while and only stopped when they heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Izan rushed to the door and opened it before Komi could touch the handle of the door. Komi, who was about to open the door, felt surprised and tensed when the door opened by itself. It was only when Izan came into view that she relaxed. "Good evening, Ma¡¯am", Izan said with a charming smile. "What are you up to" Komi said as she entered the house. "Nothing much, Hori just wanted to know why you didn¡¯t pick her up from school and if you had a boyfriend, " Izan said intentionally saying the latter part out loud. "No, I did not," Hori said with her fists clenched. "Did too" Izan said childishly. Hori chased after Izan for a while but couldn¡¯t catch him. Komi, who saw her two kids getting along, smiled before closing the door behind her. "Izan, stop worrying, you sister," Komi said, prompting the two to stop. "And to Hori, No, I don¡¯t have a boyfriend," Komi said. "I didn¡¯t ask that question" Hori screamed before heading upstairs. "Izan, help me with dinner," Komi said after she got to the kitchen. The mother and son duo went about the kitchen expertly, and soon enough, the dinner was done. "You like Miranda, don¡¯t you," Izan suddenly said while taking off his apron. Komi, who heard this, froze. "Yo- you, how, don¡¯t say such things," Komi said with a nervous laugh after regaining a bit of composure. "Mum, mum, it¡¯s okay," Izan said. "I like her too" Izan added. Komi looked up at her son who was smiling at her. "Sigh" " I found it hard to love a man other than your father, but then Miranda came in and swept me off my feet and then and then,", Komi said in small sobs. "Mom, it¡¯s okay, it¡¯s been a while, and you deserve to be happy. Besides I¡¯m more comfortable with Miranda than I would with any man", Izan comforted her mother. "Really" Komi asked. "Yes Mum, be happy," Izan said again. Izan pulled his mother in for a hug and the two stayed still for a while. "By the way, how did you know?" Komi asked. She was sure she didn¡¯t leave any clues, so how did her son find out? "I didn¡¯t, I just found your relationship with Miranda a bit awkward. And you smiled whenever you said her name, so I tricked you into telling me yourself by asking that question, and your reaction said it all," Izan spoke. "You little trickster", Komi said, picking up the spatula to hit Izan, but the latter ran. Hori, who heard the ruckus downstairs, came down only to find her mother chasing after Izan. "Weird," thought before going upstairs again. Komi finally stopped chasing Izan when she heard the doorbell ring. Izan, who also heard it, ran with all his might to the door. "Good evening,step-mom," Izan said after he opened the door. Komi, who followed Izan to the door, hit her child in the head with the spatula. "Stepmom?" Miranda asked after she entered the house. Komi sighed before telling Miranda what had happened and how Izan had tricked her into telling about them. Miranda smiled before hugging Komi. "Wow rubbing it in," Izan said. "Just be good to her, okay" he added. "Anyways, what happened with the meeting," Izan asked. Miranda was about to speak but Komi stopped her. "Let¡¯s have dinner first before we go into it," Komi said before heading towards the dinner table. Izan and Miranda followed suit as Komi called Hori down for dinner. The dinner between the four was lively as Komi told Hori about her relationship with Miranda. Hori first thought it was a prank, but when did her mother ever prank her? Ultimately she was happy as she didn¡¯t want her mother to be with another man. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Another woman, however, was a different case. Komi who had now gotten this off her chest felt refreshed and was also happy that her kids were good with her relationship. After the dinner the Komi and Miranda sat down with Izan to talk about the deal. "Okay Izan,its time for business" Miranda said with a cheesy smile. A/n: Another chapter for you guys Chapter 60: Life Goals After the dinner, Komi and Miranda sat down with Izan to talk about the deal. "Okay, Izan, it¡¯s time for business", Miranda said with a cheesy smile. "Eish, too corny," Izan said with a smile. "We¡¯ll see if it¡¯s corny or not", Miranda said while smiling at Komi. "Okay, do you guys need space, or do you want to talk about the deal? It¡¯s about me here, so stop shooting love gazes at each other," Izan said with an annoyed look. Although Izan looked annoyed, it wasn¡¯t annoyance but genuine happiness that his mother had found someone else to confide in who wasn¡¯t him or his sister. "Okay, okay. I spoke with the sponsorship director today, and guess what? They would be glad to have you on board," Miranda said. "When I spoke to them today, they seemed to be in a hurry. It¡¯s probably due to yesterday¡¯s match, which might have convinced them more," Miranda continued. " They are also afraid that Nike is preparing an offer for you and are trying to get you to sign with them before you change your mind" Miranda spoke again. "The deal they offered is enticing for someone your age, but I argued that you do not play like someone your age, so they shouldn¡¯t play that kind of card", Miranda said with a smug look, trying to take some credit for herself. Komi patted her on the back which brought a smile to Miranda¡¯s face again. Izan, who was looking on, just rolled his eyes at their affectionate actions. "We finally agreed on 16 for a period of 7 years," Miranda said. Izan¡¯s jaw dropped after Miranda stopped speaking. "16 what " Komi, who didn¡¯t understand what Miranda said, asked. "Well, what do you think? Of course, it¡¯s 16 million euros for a period of 7 years, which is around 2.3 million euros a year", Miranda answered Komi¡¯s question. "Wow, brother, you¡¯re rich", Hori, who was listening in on the conversation, said. "Why that much money?" Komi asked with a concerned look. "Don¡¯t look at me with that face; it¡¯s your son,", Miranda said. "He¡¯s too good an attraction to pass up on" Miranda added. "The only thing you have to do is participate in a few promotional videos, images and events during the year. "As required, they¡¯ll also supply you with football boots and gear, so it¡¯s a really good deal, and in case you meet some of their targets or your value goes up, we can renegotiate for a better deal" Miranda finished. "And what are these targets," Izan asked. "Well, one of these targets is winning the Champions League or Europa League, which I, for one, find it difficult for you to do at your current club, but hey, you never know", Miranda said. "Winning individual awards like the Golden Boy award or Pichi Chi too is one of these targets," Miranda said. "The Golden Boy Award is a good start, and I think you can win it. No, I know you will win it; that¡¯s how much I believe in you" so try to win it next year", Miranda said. "Okay," Izan replied. "My brother is rich" Hori screamed before jumping onto Izan. "Brother, there¡¯s this dress that I want", Hori said but was shut out before she could finish. "Top your class first. Then we talk" Izan said. "Hmm, stingy," Hori said before going away. Komi and Miranda laughed at the interaction between the two siblings. "Well then Izan, prepare to empty your wallet," Hori said. Getting first place was natural for a genius like her. "I don¡¯t have a wallet; Mum keeps all my salary," Izan said pointing to Komi. Miranda, who heard this, also turned to Komi. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. " Honey, there¡¯s this bag that I want. Can you get it for me?". "Go away," Komi said with a smile. The family of four laughed as the silent night approached. The next day, Hori, Komi and Miranda all went out leaving Izan at home. Izan, after completing his daily tasks, wore some comfortable clothes before coming down. "Breakfast is on the table. Have a great day" read a sticky note on the fridge. Izan, after reading it, smiled, crumpled it and threw it into the bin. After his breakfast, Izan took his gear bag before heading outside. After locking the door, Izan headed towards the taxi in front of him and boarded it. "[Oh, mi madre. Estoy feliz hoy. Hola Izan, soy un gran fan. Gracias por tus actuaciones para el club] " Oh, my mother. I¡¯m happy today. Hello Izan, I¡¯m a big fan. Thank you for your performances for the club" Izan, who had just gotten into the car, heard the ramblings of the driver. "[Gracias tambi¨¦n por tu apoyo] Thank you too for your support" Izan replied. "[ning¨²n problema] No problem" the driver said. After this exchange, the driver didn¡¯t bother Izan anymore and focused on getting to the location. Izan, after tipping the driver, got down and headed towards the training complex. On his way, Izan met some of the working staff and greeted them before heading towards the locker room. "Hey, let¡¯s go to the cafeteria", Mark, who had entered the room after Izan, said. Izan, who had already eaten, felt that he was still a bit hungry. "Probably because I¡¯m growing," he thought. "Okay, let¡¯s go", Izan said. On the way to the Cafeteria, Izan and Mark found Pietro on his phone. The latter was happily giggling and smiling while texting on the phone. "People turn fools after falling in love, but this guy is just a level above", Mark said to Izan. "Oi Pietro, Stop grinning and hurry to the Cafeteria", Gaya, who came out of a room next to Mark and Izan, said. Pietro almost dropped his phone after being scared by Gaya. Izan and Mark, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t stop laughing at Pietro¡¯s reaction to Gaya¡¯s voice. Pietro, after Gaya¡¯s warning, still proceeded to chat on his phone." It seems our brother has fallen for real now" Mark said. "Come on we all know Pietro falls in love too easily. Remember Maria," Izan said, drawing a laugh from Mark. Maria was a girl Pietro had fallen in love with when their youth team went to play a UEFA Youth League match in Germany after meeting the girl once. Pietro would always use the "love at first sight " phrase to comfort himself but he also knew that it was true. The two after mocking Pietro for a hastened their steps and went to the Cafeteria. After entering the Cafeteria, Izan and Mark saw Pepelu sitting alone and proceeded to the latter¡¯s table. "Hey, Izan", Pepelu hugged Izan after the latter, and Mark got to the Cafeteria. The same was happening all around as the other players went around greeting each other. This was a rule that Baraja had instituted after he became Coach, and it was done in hopes that the relationship between players would improve. After eating and conversing with each other, the players headed towards the physio and massage room. All the players went through the hands of the head Physiotherapist and Masseur, especially Izan who was given special care because of all the tackles he endured during matches. After this, some of the players went to the gym while others went to the recovery room. Izan was among the latter, as his muscles tend to be sore after each session. After the session, the players went to the pitch, where a light training session was done to prevent any injuries. Izan wasn¡¯t much of a training freak but he paid his due. Although they were advised to take it easy, Izan ran the cones like his life depended on it. The players who saw this all threw caution to the wind. If a kid this young is not taking it easy, why should they? The players, motivated by Izan joined in on the training and even proceeded to play a scrimmage match in which Izan made 2 assists in a 3-1 victory for his side. This training session also led to an ice bath for recovery before the players headed home. Izan, who couldn¡¯t drive yet, hitched a ride with Mark as the former lived on the Latter¡¯s way home. It was a tiring day, but Izan enjoyed it nonetheless. Izan, who still felt a bit sore smiled. "I must enjoy football to be laughing in this situation, " he thought. Izan proceeded to take a recovery potion after entering his room as he wanted to rest for a while before the women of the house arrived. After a while, Komi and Hori arrived at the house followed by Miranda as always. Izan, who heard the movement downstairs, came down. "Oh, Izan, come, come", Miranda said. "What now" Izan said as he dragged himself to where Miranda was. "Have you ever been to Germany?" Miranda asked. "Yeah, twice", Izan replied, causing Miranda¡¯s smile to fall. "Okay, then how about going again" she asked. "What are you talking about, Izan said a bit annoyed. "Well, it¡¯s about the contract. Adidas wanted a representative to come to us, but I told them how about signing it at their headquarters in Germany?" Miranda paused and continued. "They agreed and decided to take care of the costs so we set a date which is during the international break". "Nice," Izan said. The two talked about the details for a while and only stopped when Hori called them for dinner A/n: My hands are sore from typing. Please support this book as you always do. I¡¯m stockpiling on chapter so bear with me Chapter 61: Clutch player After dinner, Izan and Miranda proceeded to talk about the travel arrangements. If nothing happened, they would proceed with the arrangements as planned. After talking with Mir¨¤nda, Izan went upstairs as he had received a message from Olivia when he was talking with Miranda. Izan, after entering his room, called Olivia. The call rang, but no one picked up. Izan called again after the first didn¡¯t go through. "Hey Olivia" Izan said after the call connected. "Hi, Izan; I called and texted, but you didn¡¯t reply, so I thought you were busy," Olivia said. "I wasn¡¯t that busy. I was discussing a few things with my agents when I saw your text, and I decided to call when I was done," Izan said. "Um, okay," Olivia said. "How was your day," Izan asked Olivia. "Same as always. This is my first year, so nothing much really goes on, " Olivia answered. "How was yours," Olivia asked Izan after she answered his question. "Boring, since you are not here,", Izan said. "You sweet talker" Olivia jabbed. "It seems you are getting more and more confident" Olivia added. "Well, my confidence is you so.." Izan said intentionally, leaving the last part vague. Izan, after saying this, could hear Olivia giggling from the other side." That¡¯s so cheesy" she said whilst laughing again. "Well, love makes people all sorts of things. It makes people cheesy and corny. It can also make people crazy" Izan went about in a monologue. "Uhh, what are you, cupid?" Olivia asked. Izan smiled at Olivia¡¯s words as the latter seemed to be enjoying herself. The two talked for a while as both seemed to like the company of each other. Izan, who felt good, suddenly dropped a bomb on Olivia. "Hey, liv. I like you" Izan said. After Izan spoke, he was expecting a reaction but nothing came out of the phone. Olivia, after torturing Izan for a bit, finally spoke, "I know, and it took a long time for you to realise it. I like you too" Olivia also spoke. "I knew you were a sugar mommy type of girl, but I didn¡¯t expect you to prove me right," Izan said with a laugh. "Go away," Olivia said with a slight blush. What does love have to do with age anyway? As long as both participants consent to it, it doesn¡¯t matter. [Of course excluding Pedophilia. We don¡¯t want no case like diddy] Izan and Olivia talked for a while before the two kissed each other goodbye, signalling the end of the call. Izan, who knew tomorrow¡¯s training was going to be tough, quickly succumbed to the temptations of sleep and drifted off into the night. The training the following day was tough as expected. Izan, who had performed this training at almost triple the rate of others, felt the drain on his stamina. After the training, Izan proceeded to take a bath. After the bath, Izan followed his teammates and started heading towards the conference room. The players, led by Coach Baraja proceeded to review tactics for their next match. After a while, the team sheets were placed on the board. The players who were left out of games all rushed to see if the Coach had put them in. Most were, however disappointed as only 3 players got in. Izan, who saw this, realised how he had taken the system for granted. He got a system which helped him improve and now he¡¯s a hot prospect. What¡¯s to say that these guys wouldn¡¯t do better than him if they got what he had gotten since he had no talent, to begin with? "You got on the sheet, but you are probably going to be on the bench", Gaya said after he returned from checking the sheet. "Well it is what it is," Izan said shruggingly before heading towards the locker room. After changing into his clothes, Izan picked up his gear and started heading home. A day passed and matchday finally arrived. Izan, who found himself on the bench, looked on as the match started. Under the floodlights on a cool evening, the stadium buzzed with energy as fans filled the stands, waving flags and chanting. The atmosphere in the stadium was terrifying. Valencia was playing away from home today, and they needed to be in their best mindset. After preparing for the match, the players soon headed out of the tunnel and cane onto the pitch. A few seconds of club anthems would follow before the referee started the match. After the start of the match, both teams took to the field, each side determined to assert their dominance from the kickoff. The first half was intense, with quick passes, sharp tackles, and a few narrow misses. Valencia controlled much of the possession, pressing high and creating chances, but the opposition goalkeeper was in top form, denying any breakthrough. The exciting back and forth brought the fans to the edge of their seats. Both teams, however, couldn¡¯t find the back of the net as the match headed into the second half. Coach Baraja, after the first half, didn¡¯t change much. A few words of encouragement were, however, said to the players. Rallied by Coach Baraja¡¯s words, the Valencia players headed to the tunnel with newfound vigour, but the opponents also brought their vigour to match Valencia¡¯s. The referee, after the players returned, blew his whistle to signify the start of the first half. After the restart, Valencia came close to scoring on multiple occasions and was only denied by the post or the good reflexes of the Alaves keeper. Izan, sitting on the bench, started staring at the clock. Just 5 minutes had passed after the start of the second half. "This won¡¯t do", Izan thought before proceeding to run simulations with the aid of the system function. Izan, who spent 200 simulation points, sat in the space for a while trying to come up with ways to instantly make an impact when he came on. Coach Baraja, who turned to look at Izan, saw the latter staring in a daze. Following Izan¡¯s line of sight, he found that Izan was looking at the clock. "This kid cares for the club", he thought, misunderstanding the situation. As the second half continued, the tempo rose. Alaves found new momentum, launching counter-attacks and testing Valencia¡¯s defence. In the 65th minute, a swift pass from their winger cut through the back line, and a well-placed shot with precision from the striker was all that was needed to pull Deportivo Alaves ahead. The Valencia fans booed the opponents whilst encouraging their players. With time ticking down, the home team responded aggressively. In the 77th minute, after a corner kick created chaos in the box, Valencia midfielder, Pietro volleyed the ball into the net from a loose ball, levelling the score and electrifying the stadium. The Valencia Coaches and players all went frantic after their team equalised. The fans were also happy that their team scored. At least they were not going to lose. "Moreno, tell Izan to Warm up," Baraja said after he finished celebrating. Coach Moreno told Izan, and within a few minutes, the latter was on the touchline. The ball went out for a throw after Izan stood on the touchline for a couple of minutes and finally came on in the 83rd minute. The Valencia fans who saw Izan coming on started smiling." It seems like we¡¯ve won"thought all the Valencia Fans around the stadium after Izan came on. Izan, after coming on, switched with Daniel Lopez and started playing on the wing. Just moments after coming on, Izan was faced with a one-on-one on the wing. Taking advantage of the opponent¡¯s complacency, Izan quickly sidestepped the opponent when he tried to slide in a tackle. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan, after getting to the byline, sent a cross into the box, which was met in the air by the timely header of Alaves¡¯ Defender. The Valencia fans around the stadium all sighed to show their disappointment. After a while, regular time was finally over before the referee decided to add 3 minutes to the game. Izan, after getting the ball in the middle, played a one-two pass with Mouctar Diakhbay before continuing on his ran. With subtle shifts and balances, Izan moved swiftly across the pitch. With fluid movements and his electrifying pace, Izan cut through the pitch before coming to the edge of the penalty box. With a feint to the right, Izan drew the opponent¡¯s defence towards him, creating space on the left which was soon occupied by Gaya. Izan, who saw Gaya, sent a pass to the left. The opponent players who saw the direction of Izan¡¯s pass all tried to follow the ball but it proved too late as Gaya sent the ball into the box. Hugo Duro who found the low cross coming his way, slid into the path of the ball. The ball, after coming in contact with Hugo Duro entered the net sending the Valencia fans into a frantic state. The players proceeded to celebrate as they had fought hard for this match. A/n: Have another one. Chapter 62: Who called? Ep[2] As soon as Hugo Duro found the back of the net, the referee took a look at the clock and made a decisive call to end the match, knowing that it had long surpassed the added time. The crowd erupted, celebrating not just the goal but the thrilling, tension-filled moments leading up to it! The stadium was filled with two contrasting emotions. One side was occupied by the Alaves fans, who were clearly in a bad mood. In football, sometimes all you need to secure a victory is a moment of individual brilliance, and Valencia excelled in that regard. The Alaves fans were all thinking the same thing: "If it weren¡¯t for that kid." Izan, the name of the culprit of their defeat, was etched on the minds of the Alaves fans and even the players. After the match concluded, the Alaves manager acknowledged Baraja¡¯s victory with a friendly remark, saying, "Good game, Baraja, you won." In response, Baraja, who had been approached by the Alaves coach, smiled and exchanged words, reflecting a positive and sportsmanlike interaction between the two. "I may have been unfortunate, but luck played a significant role in your win. I won¡¯t pretend otherwise," asserted Pinto, the Alaves Manager, as he observed Izan walking around the pitch. Coach Baraja followed Pinto¡¯s line of sight and found him looking at Izan. Manager Baraja, finally understanding what Pinto meant by luck, spoke, "Special, isn¡¯t he,". Pinto looked at Baraja, trying to find the right words to say. Finally seeming to agree on a word, pinto spoke, "More than special". The Alaves Coach walked off after the conversation with Baraja. After the match, Izan was called by Gaya to interview with the reporter. Izan, who had always been warned by Coach Baraja not to take any interviews, asked, "Did Coach say I could go?". "Yes, he said you can, but be careful with your words", Gaya quipped. "Then I¡¯d rather not go. It all seems like a hassle" Izan said. "Well, you can¡¯t hide forever. You are going to face them eventually" Gaya said before adding, "You are the only young player that I know who doesn¡¯t like the spotlight ". "Well, then, you don¡¯t know many people", Izan shot back. Gaya left Izan to his own after the conversation as he now had to fill in for the youngster. The reporters who saw Gaya coming instead of Izan were now downcast. "I wanted to trip the kid into saying some juicy content, but I guess I¡¯ll have to make do with him," one of the reporters thought. Izan, after his conversation with Gaya, made his way toward the locker room, his footsteps echoing softly on the empty corridor. The buzz of the match still lingered in the air, a reminder of the adrenaline and intensity he had just experienced. He had only participated in the final minutes but Izan felt that the dying moments of the game had drained him. "Germany would be nice for a break" Izan muttered as he thought of the trip to Germany with Miranda. Meanwhile, the other players lingered on the pitch, their bodies weary from the relentless demands of the game. They huddled together, catching their breath and exchanging thoughts on the final moments, the camaraderie of the team palpable as they relished the shared exhaustion. After the players were done, they headed towards the locker room. Some washed down their tiredness while others talked to their wives and children. Izan, who was among the latter group went to the team bus and found his seat. Putting on his earbuds, Izan proceeded to listen to some music as it would be a while before they arrived in Valencia. ...... "What do you think about this kid?" a white-haired man mused, his voice echoing softly in the dimly lit room. Shadows danced along the walls, barely illuminated by a small lamp stand. It seemed like the atmosphere had been intentionally produced to make others feel like their words weighed so they had to think before speaking On the table before him, Newton¡¯s cradle swung gently back and forth, its metallic spheres colliding with a soft, rhythmic clink that pierced the heavy silence lingering in the air after his words hung like a question waiting for an answer. "Isn¡¯t it too soon?" A young voice beside the white-haired man said. "Too soon is what you¡¯re saying," the white-haired man said while sighing. "I do not like quotes as most sound superficial, but have you heard the saying, ¡¯If you¡¯re good enough, you¡¯re old enough¡¯?" the man spoke again. "Well, I don¡¯t know Luis, but you¡¯re the boss after", the younger man said. "He¡¯s good," the man called Luis said. "Try to see if you can contact the club. I want someone who can drive into the heart of the opponents without being thwarted, and he seems like a good candidate," Luis said. "Okay sir," the younger man said. "Summer is coming, and the Euros too is coming", the white man ended. The younger man left the room after the conversation. The white-haired man turned and looked at his desk. The white-haired man stopped the cradle while staring at the nameplate, which read "Luis de la Fuente", before looking away. "This is going to be fun" he muttered after a while. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ "Is breakfast ready Mom?" Izan asked. He was feeling refreshed after his sleep. Yesterday¡¯s Victory meant that Valencia had won 4 in 4 games. Izan couldn¡¯t be in a better mood. "Well, you look happy", Komi said after Izan came into View. "Of course I am. It will be a while until I play again since it¡¯s international break and all, plus the trip to Germany is coming up", Izan spat. "By the way, are you preparing? Miranda said you guys leave on the second, so be ready," Komi said to her son. "Okay, okay, now my breakfast. The match drained me of my calories, so fill me up," Izan said with a naughty smile. Komi, who heard him, looked at him and saw his teasing smile. "Where did you learn that" she roared at Izan. "Come on, Mom, the soundproofing in our house isn¡¯t the best", Izan said. Komi who felt her cheeks turn red, took a pancake and stuffed it into Ian¡¯s mouth. "Go up and call your sister", she said, trying to steer the conversation away. Izan, who knew what his mother was doing, played along. Climbing the stairs, Izan went to his sister¡¯s room before smacking the door open. Hori, who was sitting on her bed, looked at Izan with a gaze that would kill if It could. "Hey Groot, Mom said to come down for breakfast,", Izan said. "Will you stop calling me that? You are so childish ", Hori roared. "I won¡¯t, so get up and let¡¯s go down", he said. "Okay, I¡¯m coming now. Close the door before you leave. Izan, who was already closing the door, felt irked by his sister¡¯s statement. "What did you say," Izan asked. "I said close th-" Hori tried to say but Izan didn¡¯t allow her to finish and opened the door wide before walking away. "That bitch", Hori, who thought Izan had left, swore. "Moom, Hori said I¡¯m a bitch" Izan said whiles leaving. "Why are you so annoying" Hori stood up and chased Izan downstairs. After they both got down, Komi spoke, "Come on, Hori, don¡¯t call your brother a bitch", Komi said, making Izan smile before continuing, "Calm him and Arse". Hori, who was angry about her mother taking Izan¡¯s side, smiled and giggled with her. Izan¡¯s smile fell, and they didn¡¯t continue to talk. The three continued talking before Hori went upstairs again to finish dressing up. Izan and Komi continued talking for a while before something made them stop. As the mother and son duo talked, Mir¨¤nda¡¯s car pulled over. Izan and Komi both stopped and turned their attention to the intruder. With a speed terrifying to both Izan and Komi, Miranda got out of her car and ran towards their door. "Well, go open her and let her do things to you,", Izan said to Komi, who had forgotten all about Izan¡¯s teasing a few minutes ago. "Enough, Izan", Komi said, a bit angry, causing Izan to stop. Right now, he had no intention of meeting the Grim Reaper. He knew when and when not to push his mother¡¯s buttons. "Good morning babe," Miranda said as she kissed Hori on the lips before rushing towards Izan. "I¡¯ve got some news for you, big news", she rattled in Spanish. "Please, I can¡¯t speak cursive, so slow down", Izan said, making Miranda¡¯s smile fall. "My luck is finally turning up. I¡¯m almost receiving good news every day," Izan said after Miranda frowned. "Izan be serious. They came for you," Miranda said like an Assassin had been sent to kill Izan. "Okay, speak properly; who came for my son," Hori said with a knife in hand. "Slow down, woman, this is a good thing", Miranda said after she realised her words were misleading the two people in front of her. "I received a call from your club saying that they had called," Miranda, who couldn¡¯t contain her excitement, said. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. At this point, Izan and Hori were both annoyed and shouted at the same time, "Who Called!!". A/n: Hello guys, thanks for your support. Remember to leave reviews as it helps push this book to other. Love y¡¯all Chapter 63: La roja "I received a call from your club saying that they had called," Miranda, who couldn¡¯t contain her excitement, said. At this point, Izan and Hori were both annoyed and shouted at the same time, "Who Called!!". "The Spain National team. That¡¯s who called" Miranda said. Izan and Komi¡¯s mouths went agape after hearing what Miranda said. Komi, who didn¡¯t know much about football, even understood the importance of a national team call-up. Izan on the other hand, was shocked. "Really," he asked, looking at Miranda. Miranda turned her attention to Izan and smiled. "Why would I lie about something like this," she said. Izan was still confused. "Am I that good?" Izan thought. He knew what he was doing week in and week out was great and all, but was it that special? Miranda, as if sensing Izan thought spoke. "You underestimate yourself Izan. Be Confident. Not many players were able to do what you are doing at your age". "Hell, I could put my hand on my chest and say, none of the greats even did what you¡¯re doing at your age", Miranda said with her chest puffed out. "So own it, okay," Miranda said. Izan smiled at Miranda¡¯s words. Even he didn¡¯t have that much confidence in himself, so how could she? Izan nodded at Miranda¡¯s words while thinking about the call-up. "So when did they say I should report" Izan asked. "Well in three days. The Coach said he wanted you to rest a bit so you don¡¯t break down. Even though you don¡¯t act like it, you¡¯re still young". Izan, listening to Miranda¡¯s words, seemed to be thinking. " Then what about the deal with Adidas" Izan asked after keeping quiet for a while. "Well, the last match in this international break is against Germany, so we could go there after the match", Miranda said before adding, " and even though he called you up, they might just want to see you play in person and probably won¡¯t use you much". Izan and Miranda talked for a while before finally ending things. "Won¡¯t you stay?" Komi asked after Miranda took her bag to go. "Can¡¯t stay. I have a lot to do, and I can¡¯t guarantee I can¡¯t do it when I stay here,e" Miranda said while looking at Komi seductively. Komi blushed after hearing Miranda¡¯s words. Izan, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and said, "Get a room, you two", before going off to his room. Miranda, who saw Izam out of sight, kissed Komi on the cheek before going. Izan, after entering his room, lay there motionless for a while. The news was finally sinking in. "I can¡¯t believe this", Izan muttered as he continued to relish the news of his call-up. Rolling and smiling on his bed like a little girl who got what she wanted for Christmas. Izan would have been like this for a while but the sound of his phone ringing made him stop. Looking at the name on the caller ID, Izan smiled. "Hey, Olivia," he said after picking up the call. "Hey, Hernandez," Olivia responded. "Are we going with last names now? What did I do wrong?" Izan asked, slightly puzzled. Olivia, on the other end, simply giggled. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I called a while ago," Olivia said with a smirk. Izan, who couldn¡¯t recall any such call, glanced through his call logs to try to find the missed call but couldn¡¯t. "Are you sure you called? " Izan asked Olivia after not finding her name. "I¡¯m just messing with you" Olivia said with a laugh after she couldn¡¯t hold it anymore. "Nicely done, Miss Olivia," Izan said before adding "Anyway, what¡¯s going on". "Nothing goes on" Olivia replied. "I thought the first year of college was supposed to be fun, at the very least," Izan said. "You know, parties and all that." "Yeah, fun for those who want it to be," Olivia replied with a sigh. "Do you think college is like it is in the movies?" she added, smiling. "Plus, I don¡¯t enjoy going to crowded places," Olivia continued. "Then how can you come to watch my game when we play in Madrid?" Izan said teasingly, and Olivia could sense his playful tone on the other end retorted "I¡¯ll make an exception when it¡¯s due". "Then I¡¯ll have to thank you for your kindness, Madam" Izan said. "Oh, go away", Olivia said with a laugh. Before the two could continue Olivia heard a knock from her door. Before Olivia could reach the door, she noticed Valerie approaching her bed with a look of concern etched on her face. "That douchebag is here," Valerie remarked, her voice laced with frustration and disdain. Olivia¡¯s expression darkened as the meaning behind Valerie¡¯s words sank in. "Doesn¡¯t he understand that no means no?" she retorted, her fists clenched at her sides as she remembered the persistent pestering of the person behind the door. "Don¡¯t pay him any mind. He can stand at the door until he dies for all I care," Olivia insisted, her tone resolute. Suddenly, Olivia¡¯s phone buzzed, cutting through their conversation. "Who¡¯s at the door?" came Izan¡¯s voice on the other end. He had been eavesdropping on the exchange, and Olivia could hear the curiosity mixed with concern in his tone. Olivia, who didn¡¯t want Izan to know about this, had just given herself up, so she explained everything to him. "That¡¯s truly bad then. I have a love rival," Izan said with a comedic voice, trying to distract Olivia from the commotion, and it worked nicely as Olivia, who had calmed down a bit, laughed at Izan¡¯s retort. "Okay, so now she¡¯s laughing" Valerie muttered. "Guess I have to up my game then", Izan said. "Come on, Izan, but serious here,", Olivia said while still laughing. "Okay, okay, so why don¡¯t you report him then " Izan suggested. "I did, but the request was ignored", Olivia stated. Izan, who heard Olivia¡¯s statement, frowned. "Why would they do that" he asked. "It probably has to do with his father being one of the higher-ups in the school " Olivia answered. "So, does that give him the right to do what he¡¯s doing?" Izan said, scoffing a bit. Being an ass because a person close to you had power was one of the things Izan didn¡¯t like. And Izan didn¡¯t like a few things. "Well, try threatening him with the local police, and if that doesn¡¯t work, you can report him and get a restraining order or something ", Izan suggested. "Okay," Olivia said while nodding. The two proceeded to talk for a while before finally ending the call a couple of hours later. Izan, after the call, felt a bit of concern for Olivia. "Let¡¯s watch for a while" he thought as he entered his bathroom. Izan woke up at daybreak the following morning. The habit of waking up early to train had created a biological clock for him. Izan, after waking up, put on his gear and went out to complete his daily task. After he finished performing his set of daily tasks, Izan rushed back home. He had worn minimal clothes when he came out, and his body was now feeling it. After getting home, Izan found no one awake and proceeded to take a hot shower. "This is heavenly," Izan said as he continued to enjoy the feeling of the water droplets hitting his body. After Izan was done bathing, he found some comfortable clothes and put them on, only to find himself succumbing to sleep again. "It won¡¯t hurt to sleep for a while," Izan thought as he lay on the bed. He slept for a while and was only woken up by his mother an hour later. "Miura, wake up. It¡¯s time for breakfast," Komi said, causing the former to wake up. Izan after waking up, followed his mother downstairs. After breakfast, Komi and Hori left the house leaving Izan on his own. The latter, who didn¡¯t know what to do to pass the time, finally slept again. It seems he was sleeping too much nowadays. 10648 km away from, Izan¡¯s current location, a few middle-aged men seemed to be discussing some agendas. "Do you think he¡¯ll play for us? He has the prospect of playing for them, so will he think about us?" a man with a scar on his cheek said. "I don¡¯t think it¡¯s hard to do. It¡¯s all about the right talk and circumstances" another man said. "Then we should move fast and try to get in contact with him before they do" The man who looked to be their leader said. "Okay, sir,", the other middle-aged men said before bowing and leaving. "I hope we get him," the old man said, sighing at the end. He turned to look at the video being projected on the screen and the man couldn¡¯t help but smile. "I¡¯m greedy for you," he said whilst pointing to the person on the screen. A/n: Hey guys sorry for the late update. I was not feeling well. I have a migraine and it recurred today so bear with me for a bit Chapter 64: La Roja[2] Izan had hoped to savour his two days of much-needed rest, yet he found himself disappointed as the hours whisked by faster than he could relish them. Upon waking from a deep slumber, Izan stepped outside, ready to tackle the day¡¯s challenges. It felt as if the system had escalated the demands placed on him; the tasks had become increasingly intense. What once required him to perform exercises five to ten times now expected nearly double that effort, leaving him to wonder. "Is the system trying to punish me for slacking off?" he pondered as he stepped into his home. The rich aroma of his mother¡¯s cooking wafted through the air, instantly distracting him from his frustrations. "Mum?" Izan called out as he entered, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Hurry up and take a bath; it¡¯s going to be a while before you get to enjoy my cooking again," Komi replied with a playful tone, her back turned as she worked in the kitchen. "Is that why you woke up early?" Izan queried, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "Did you ever consider that maybe you were the one who slept in a bit longer than usual?" Komi shot back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Baffled by her retort, Izan ascended the staircase, muttering to himself, "What on earth did she mean by that?" It was only when he reached his room and checked the time that understanding dawned on him. "How long was I out for? I don¡¯t think I slept that much," Izan thought before deciding to check the clock downstairs again, only to find the time different from his. Finally understanding what his mother had done Izan sighed. "Nice one, mum", Izan applauded, receiving an inaudible ¡¯thank you¡¯ and a laugh from Komi. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he made his way to the bathroom, completing his morning routine with surprising speed. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As he went through his rituals, the familiar chime of the system interrupted his thoughts. [Ding, Host has been called up to the Spain National Team] Izan¡¯s heart raced with excitement as he said aloud, "Look what we have here." He summoned the system interface, anticipation bubbling within him. "Let¡¯s see what rewards await!" The results flashed before him: **40 status points** **10% boost** in your status points accumulation! **Sombrero Flick skill** - to elevate your game to new heights. A grin spread across Izan¡¯s face as his eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the status points. As he progressed in his journey, these increments had become increasingly elusive. Therefore, an influx like this felt like a welcome reprieve, even as he recognized that it might be a while before he saw such generous rewards again. "Max, bring up my information," Izan instructed, his mind focused. The system responded with a mechanical ¡¯tink¡¯ as it displayed his requested details. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [82/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[210,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [1250] STAT POINTS: [54] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 90 Body Control: 81 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 81 Passing: 85 Body Strength: 80 Defending: 68 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 20% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 18% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 2] 33% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 21% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 75% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 1] 60% Completion > new **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan nodded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he absorbed the information before him. He had never imagined reaching such heights as a professional athlete, and yet, here he was, just shy of two years after narrowly avoiding being cut from his youth academy. Now, he was even set to represent Spain on a national level. This thought ignited a fire within him, compelling him to use all his newfound stat points, but he held back, knowing patience was key. "Izan, you¡¯ve been up there too long!" came his mother Komi¡¯s voice, breaking his concentration. With a reluctant sigh, he closed the system and made his way downstairs for breakfast. "So, did you pack your things?" Komi inquired, raising an eyebrow as he joined her at the table. Izan, having indulged a bit too much in the exquisite meal, could only nod. "I¡¯m glad Miranda can accompany you. It eases my mind a bit; I¡¯m not comfortable sending you off on a trip alone¡ªat least not until you turn 18," Komi remarked, a hint of worry lining her expression. While he endeavoured to focus on finishing his meal, Izan finally cleared his plate and headed to the sink. Komi and Hori also finished their breakfast before preparing for their day. "Izan, hurry up! We¡¯re going to be late!" Miranda¡¯s voice called from the entrance, her presence brightening the room. "I¡¯m already done," Izan replied, emerging with a compact suitcase and a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Is that all you¡¯re bringing?" Miranda questioned, eyeing the modest bag sceptically. "Come on, I¡¯m not going to live there," Izan quipped back, making his way toward the door. "Let¡¯s go!" "Wait a second! I haven¡¯t even had my breakfast!" Miranda protested, rushing into the kitchen. Izan grumbled under his breath but was cut off by Komi¡¯s assertive tone. She insisted that Miranda finish eating before they departed. Finally, the family was ready to set off. "Call Miranda if you need anything, okay? And stay away from any trouble. Don¡¯t follow your teammates to any questionable places," Komi urged, her worry palpable. "Mum, I¡¯m not going to war; everything will be fine!" Izan reassured her, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Just keep yourself safe, and I¡¯ll be sure to check in." "You too Groot. We¡¯ll talk about the gift when I come back" Izan added before skipping to the car. Hori, who heard the first part of the sentence, frowned but smiled when she heard the remaining part. Miranda and Izan got to the airport after a while and soon found themselves on the way. Miranda had made Izan lead them since anything that involved him was done swiftly and today was no different. And with all the stares he was receiving, it wouldn¡¯t be weird if someone suddenly tried to abduct him. Izan and Miranda walked off to the departure gate and were soon in their seats. "Anything you¡¯d like, sir?" a flight attendant who had been staring at Izan for a bit asked after the latter had gotten comfortable in his seat. "You little charmer. Would she believe you¡¯re not of age yet" Miranda said after Izan had politely declined the offer. "Do you always have these thoughts?" Izan asked back. Miranda pretended to think hard before nodding at Izan¡¯s question. The two bickered for a while before the plane finally took off. Miranda, who couldn¡¯t stay still, had decided to watch a whole show on this two-hour journey. Izan, who saw her, couldn¡¯t help but shake his head at his actions. He finally looked outside the window and stared into the clouds, waiting for the view of Madrid to appear, but Izan fell asleep before that could happen. Izan only woke up when he heard the voice of the pilot. The other passenger, who had been in slumberland as he was, also started fluttering to life. Izan looked outside and there it was, good old Spanish capital. Izan admired the view from above since he had slept earlier and all. The people in the airport were in a rush to get out. They had just seen someone make a ¡¯bomb¡¯ joke, and none of them wanted to use their lives to find out if it was real. Izan and Miranda looked for another entrance until they found one and got out. "So where will you be staying? " Izan asked, only to slap himself on the forehead a second later. "Yeah, I have an apartment here. That¡¯s where I stay when I have a job that needs me to be around," Miranda answered. Izan nodded at Miranda¡¯s answer before she walked to the front. "Well, better hurry up before they eat dinner before you", Miranda said, pointing to the Man who had been appointed to pick up Izan. "Yeah, then you, Miranda", Izan responded, carrying his luggage to the car. "You¡¯re welcome!" Miranda screamed, causing Izan to sit in the car faster than he would have wanted. "Is this woman crazy?" Izan thought. Miranda, who saw Izan hurriedly run to the car, laughed her heart out. She also entered a cab just as Izan left. The ride to the Cuidad del Futbol was quite nice. Izan looked through the window the whole time after he greeted the driver. Slowly but surely, the car pulled up to the entrance of the Cuidad del Futbol and after the driver talked with the man at the entrance, they were let through. Sure enough, the home of the Spain National team was no joke. A/n: Author here, Sorry for the messy release schedule. I haven¡¯t recovered that much and my brains still a huge mess. I¡¯ll keep in touch and try to release after I¡¯m fine. Chapter 65: Not your regular Izan stepped out of the car, taking a moment to appreciate the fresh breeze that brushed against him. He expressed his gratitude to the driver for the ride, and with a swift nod, the driver departed. The Cuidad del Futbol was the same Izan had seen in the pictures. It looked modern but still had a traditional touch to it. Izan stood there for a few minutes while looking around until someone came. "Sorry, Mr. Hernandez, for keeping you waiting,", an older man said. "Oh, it¡¯s okay; it¡¯s only been a few minutes since I arrived here and I¡¯m no Mister", Izan said with a smile as he tried to make the conversation more comfortable for himself since having an older person call you formally just didn¡¯t feel right to him. "Okay then, Izan, My name is Joaquin and I¡¯m the team¡¯s travel manager. I hope your journey here was comfortable, " Joaquin asked Izan, who was taking his hands out of his pockets. "No worries, Mr Joaquin, everything was nice,", Izan said. "I¡¯m glad you liked it, and please, call me Jo", Joaquin said. "Okay, Jo", Izan said to get it out of the way. "Okay, so enough with the pleasantries; let¡¯s go meet your teammates", Jo said while rubbing both hands together. Izan nodded and the two boarded the mini golf cart that Jo had come with. "Cute ride" Izan couldn¡¯t resist saying. Joaquin laughed and explained the rationality behind it. "The association approved of them since they don¡¯t produce fumes so it lessens the worry on the environment and also keeps the oxygen content in the air extra high for the players on the playing fields around". Izan nodded at his explanation and felt that the Association had done well with this action. Joaquin and Izan soon arrived at the Hotel Residencia, where the players were staying. "Ok, you were the last player to be called up, so you got a room to yourself; now, here¡¯s your keycard,", Joaquin said as he shot a key card at Izan. "Thanks, Joaquin ", Izan said before Joaquin proceeded to go. "Dinner is at seven, so don¡¯t miss it, first impression", Joaquin, who was a bit far away, screamed. Izan laughed at Joaquin as he couldn¡¯t get enough of his clumsy acts since their little road trip here. "Well, let¡¯s go,", Izan thought as he dragged his luggage behind. [Cafeteria] "Who the hell was screaming outside like that?" a voice asked. "Probably Jo; he¡¯s the only clown here," another voice replied. "Who was he screaming at, anyway?" the first voice continued. "Probably the new guy. Why do you think Coach left a spot on the team?" a sharp, distinctive voice chimed in. "I heard he plays on Gaya¡¯s team," the voice added. The three voices kept discussing Izan without even knowing who he was, while the person in question had just found his way to his room. Izan entered the room after swiping his keycard through the reader. Once inside, he set his luggage in the corner and took a moment to acclimate to his surroundings. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The room was for two but he¡¯d be the only one using it. Izan quickly called his mom and after talking with her, Izan decided to take a shower. After the shower, Izan heard a knock on the door. After putting on a t-shirt, Izan opened the door and found a tracksuit with the Spain logo and a note which said ¡¯dinner¡¯ on it. Izan smiled and turned the note over to find an inconspicuous "MR.J" written there. Izan shook his head and brought the tracksuit inside before wearing it on top of his white shirt. Izan took his phone and soon found himself on the way to the cafeteria. He had guessed it but it seemed that the Coaches and other staff were not staying on this wing of the hotel as he hadn¡¯t met one yet. The walk seemed long but Izan saw light at the end of the tunnel as the Cafeteria came into view. Izan, who heard sounds as he came closer to the door, didn¡¯t linger and pushed one door open. The Chatter momentarily stopped as everyone turned to look at who had entered but when they saw a young-looking Asian face, most of them went back to what they were doing. "Hey kid, you¡¯re next door" a voice Izan soon found out was Mike Oryazabal said. Izan, not understanding what Mike meant, nodded and got out. Two players who sat at a table beside Mike Oryazabal saw the whole exchange and laughed at how Mike handled it. "Probably just one of the junior sides wanting an autograph or something," a voice said. "Okay, now eat your food, Fran" the voice sitting opposite the first one rattled. "You are no fun, Pedro", the voice identified as Fran spoke. "I thought he looked familiar" Porro muttered. The two continued to bicker for a while forgetting about the kid who had just entered. Izan, on the other hand, found the room Oryazabal talked about. He was a bit surprised that Oryazabal talked to him first so he couldn¡¯t respond and could only nod. Anyway, it worked out well, and he told me he was supposed to be. At least that¡¯s what Izan thought. Izan opened the gate and entered. The group of players inside were also surprised to see a new face enter. The u20 players had arrived a week ago and had already played a match, so who was this kid? Izan, who had also entered the room, felt that something wasn¡¯t right. This wasn¡¯t the Spain National team; It was, but it wasn¡¯t the right one. Whispers and murmurs flew around the room. "Who is he?" was one of the whispers flying along the room. "By the way, doesn¡¯t he look familiar?" a voice said. Before they could all react a voice called out, "Izann?". The eyes of the players turned sharply to look at the source of the voice. Izan, who had found a place and was about to settle, heard someone call his name. Izan following the gazes of the other people in the room, saw someone he would have never thought he¡¯d be glad to see. "Pietro" Izan said with a smile. Pietro, who had confirmed Izan¡¯s identity, ran towards him. "Wow, you were invited to u20s; good for you, man. Mark is also here, follow me" Pietro said as he dragged Izan away. "So, he¡¯s Izan. I heard he¡¯s making waves in La Liga," one voice said. "I haven¡¯t been paying much attention to that because of my matches, but I do catch some games when I can. He toys with defences. His free kicks are phenomenal, too. Just ask anyone who played with him in Group Seven of the juvenile league," another voice replied. "Plus, he¡¯s not even 16 yet," a different voice added. "Some people do have it easy; I mean, how good does it get? Some of us play in the play in English Premier League, and we don¡¯t hype ourselves up that much," another voice said. "Well, let¡¯s see,", a player said and went upstairs and brought down his laptop. "What did you bring this here for " an annoying player asked but was shut up before the owner could even answer. The player searched for Laliga¡¯s compilation of Izan¡¯s matches and there were a lot. "Are they promoting him or something?" a person asked, but they all kept their thoughts to themselves. After watching the videos, the players understood the hype. Hernandez Izan M iura. He Is Him. Pietro and Izan walked to where the u20 dorms were and although it wasn¡¯t that far, Izan was still tired because of Pietro¡¯s rabid speaking. "Were you invited too?" Mark asked after he had gotten the whole gist from Pietro. "You guys have misunderstood; I was invited, but not for the under-20s". Izan responded to clear this misunderstanding, but it set him back again. "Oh, well better luck next time. You¡¯re better than those u20 players. You can probably play with the senior team and look like you belong there, but your age is a factor," Pietro said. Izan smiled at their misunderstanding as it was funny so he just let them be. The trio talked about their club and life and also about Pietro¡¯s girl who was for real this time. "By the way, which age group were you invited to?" Mark asked as Izan said he had to wake up early tomorrow. "The senior team" Izan responded before going out."Not bad eh, the seni-" Mark suddenly stopped when it sank in. Mark wanted to look at Pietro but the latter had already given chase. Both tried to catch Izan, but they knew they couldn¡¯t. "Two big men chasing one man in the night, what would others think of you when they see this" was what Izan said to make them stop chasing him. Izan walked up to his room and swiped the keycard before entering. Falling onto the bed was a must. He had to prepare to fall to the ground tomorrow. "Seriously though, but did he say Senior team?" Pietro asked as he and Mark walked back to their dorm room. "I heard it, so you must not be crazy", Mark replied before running. "You son of a bit-" Pietro didn¡¯t finish and started to give chase. "Can¡¯t those two go to sleep" Izan said with a smile since he could still hear the two bickering even from where he was. A/n: Thanks guys I¡¯m feeling better and thanks for the tickets and powerstones. Never got them so now I can appreciate them. Love y¡¯all Chapter 66: New Upgrades. As dawn broke on the horizon, the sun spilt its golden light across the landscape, awakening the world from its slumber. The first person who most definitely got his Vitamin D was Izan as he watched the sunrise from the balcony. Looking around at the majestic golden bow the sun drew as it rose and the birds that came with it, Izan drew in an intense breath, getting ready for the day. Izan took his bag and slung it across his shoulders before making his way to the door. With a small thud, Izan shut the door and made his way towards the pitch. Izan got to the pitch shortly as it was made near for convenience. Izan, who found himself all alone, began wearing his boots. The grass was still wet from the dew when Izan stepped onto the pitch. The balls were scattered as someone might have forgotten to do their job yesterday. Izan proceeded to gather the balls, kicking them into the bins with ease when he got near one. Unbeknownst to him, a white-haired man looked at him through a window. "That¡¯s right, you have to do this much to make me this excited for you," he said with his hands shaking. Izan after gathering all the balls, continued to stretch as he hadn¡¯t been able to release all of the energy when he was performing his system tasks. Izan, after stretching, didn¡¯t want to waste his energy and decided to sit on one of the chairs around. He had arrived too early in excitement as training was set at 6:45 and the clock had just struck six. Izan, who wanted a fresh start, decided to upgrade since keeping the status points would only make him think about it more. Calling the system up, Izan screened his way to his Player profile. It looked too good for a 15-year-old player. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [82/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[90] LEGEND POINTS:[310,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [1250] STAT POINTS: [54] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 90 Body Control: 81 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 81 Passing: 85 Body Strength: 80 Defending: 68 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 20% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 18% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 2] 33% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 21% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 75% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 1] 60% Completion > new **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan got to work as time seemed to be moving fast now that he was idle. Izan expanded the body control attribute and it showed what it entailed. Body control:81 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility:85 Jumping:70 Reations:85 Balance:85 Izan, not wasting any time, added [4] points to Agility and Reactions, bringing them both to an [89] rating. After this, Izan added [5] points to balance and another [5] to jumping. He had missed a goal he knew he could score because he couldn¡¯t get to it, so he had to bring that to par. After the changes, the body control attribute was looking something like this: Body control:81>86 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Agility:85>89 Jumping:70>75 Reations:85>89 Balance:85>90 Izan nodded after looking through and moved to the next attribute, [shooting]. Shooting:81 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:82 Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Long shot:80 Freekick:80 Penalties: 80 This was also something to take his game to the next level. Izan added [7] stat points to long shots and [5] to the remaining ones. Izan wanted to increase his chances of keeping the keeper on his feet even if he wasn¡¯t inside the penalty box. Izan smiled after the upgrade and his smile looked to tell a story. Keepers in general, were about to have a hard time. Shooting:81>86 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:82>87 Long shot:80>87 Freekick:80>85 Penalties: 80>85 Izan was left with 14 status points, so he decided to stop. He didn¡¯t like seeing his status points so low all the time so a change was good. Izan exited the attribute tab and came back to his profile and a change . **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [83/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[92] LEGEND POINTS:[310,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [1250] STAT POINTS: [14] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 90 Body Control: 81>86 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 81>86 Passing: 85 Body Strength: 80 Defending: 68 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 20% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 18% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 2] 33% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 21% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 75% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 1] 60% Completion > new **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped [Host¡¯s OVR has increased from 82 to 83 with potential also increasing from 90 to 92] Izan smiled wryly. It wouldn¡¯t be this easy. He had just spent [40]stat points, and his OVR only increased by 1, and even that was because the system said he was on the cusp of 83 last time. Anyway, it had to be hard as It would quickly get boring very soon. Izan after the upgrade, took a conditioning and recovery pill out of his inventory and drank them. He needed his body to get used to the quick changes. Izan, who was beginning to think why nobody had arrived, heard the voices of many players rushing towards the pitch. "Time to meet my mates," Izan said, walking towards a ball. The players who saw the figure instinctively knew who it was. Before they could register who he was, the Coach appeared. "Good morning, guys", he said, earning a round of response from the whole team. Some of the players kept looking at Izan so he brought him out to satisfy their curiosity. "You guys know I left an extra spot, and this guy is here to fill it", Luis de la Fuente said. "I¡¯m guessing most of you know him, and if you don¡¯t, Google him or something, like you do with yourself", De la Fuente said, earning laughs. "Now, warm up or something", De la Fuente said and walked off. The players, with their curiosity satisfied, walked off. Izan looked at where most of the midfielders were and joined them. They were doing the rondos so he had to be in the middle if he wanted to join. Izan now refused, so he nodded. The players, on the other hand, laughed and started kicking the ball around him. Izan followed along, trying to anticipate where the next pass would be and got it after a few tries. The other players in the Rondo were a bit surprised because newcomers suffered in the Rondo whenever they joined, and they were all once newcomers, so they had all gone through it. Izan swapped with Fabians Ruiz who was the culprit. "He must be a defender " was what ran through the players¡¯ minds. The other players doing their training also kept an eye on where Izan was. They all wanted to see what the new kid was made of. Fabian Ruiz passed the ball to Izan at the start who also passed to Rodri. Rodri, who was now a target of Fabian quickly took that mark off himself by passing to Pedri. Fabian rushed towards Pedri in hopes of getting the ball but the latter had the Barca DNA and passed deftly to Merino. Merino didn¡¯t linger and passed the ball to Izan. Fabian, who saw Izan get the ball, rushed towards the boy with all his might. Izan raised his right leg and passed, with Fabian jumping into the way of the pass, but he didn¡¯t feel the ball. The eyes of the players came back to see the ball at Izan¡¯s feet before the latter passed back to Merino. The players were impressed at Izan¡¯s fake which even had them fooled. The Rondo continued with Pedri sending a tough lofted ball towards Izan. Fabian saw an opportunity and wanted to capitalise, so he rushed towards Izan, but the latter kept his composure and passed the ball to Rodri with his heel. By this time, all the other players were watching as the 4 men passed around one. "He¡¯s good", Pablo Amo, Spain¡¯s assistant coach, said. By this round, rode was in the middle, but the latter couldn¡¯t force Izan to give up the ball and even got himself nutmegged. Luis de la Fuente, who had seen what he wanted to see, ended the personal training session and started the real training. "Nice passing," Pedri said as he neared Izan. "You too," Izan also said, keeping it polite. "So you¡¯re at Valencia " Pedri asked. "Yeah, we play you after the break", Izan replied, making the distinction clear. He was here for a fight. "Okay, let¡¯s have a good match at that time," Pedri said before walking off. Izan after the talk with Pedri joined the rest of the team. A/n: Guys feeling a bit better today. Decided to drop this one. Have fun and I really like replying to your comments so do comment. Bye for now. Chapter 67: Madrid "So" Luis de la Fuente began speaking after all the players had grouped. "As I said earlier, these three will be responsible for your training", he said, pointing to the three men on the side. "This is Pablo Amo, my assistant coach and responsible for any issues I may not be present to handle", Luis said, pointing to the scrawny looking of the two men. "This is Miguel Angel Espana, and he is the goalkeeping Coach, so you know where he goes,", Luis de la Fuente said, pointing to the tallest among the three. "And lastly, Carlos Cruz, the fitness Coach. Take up with him if you have any fitness problems. He¡¯s a quick worker" Luis finished. "Okay, now let¡¯s get to work", De la Fuente roared, ridding him of his old look. The session began but Izan was told to go to the lab. His physical state wasn¡¯t clear, so de la Fuente wanted to make sure he was injury-free since they¡¯d have to pay Valencia some money if Izan got injured on the job. The tests were successful as Izan passed all with good results. Some of the results even surprised the doctors as Izan had close to no body fat and was fit a fiddle. Luis de la Fuente gleamed and made Izan rejoin the team quickly. When Izan got to the pitch, they were playing a quick seven aside with small goals. Izan stood by like the other players and watched. After a while, someone wanted out so Pablo Amo made Izan join that side. The game was sharp and quick since they were playing in a small space with either side trying to quickly score before the opponent did. Izan got right into it sending passes left and right. The players who received Izan¡¯s passes were surprised by how comfortable they felt. Overall, Izan was the best teammate as he seemed to know what they wanted and how they wanted it. In this small game, Izan made his presence felt, scoring twice and passing once, which led to a goal. Izan didn¡¯t feel the changes after the upgrade, but he was feeling them now as his passes seemed to effortlessly transition his teammates from defence to attack. On one such occasion, Izan got the ball from Aymeric Laporte who he hadn¡¯t noticed since he came. Its hard to give attention to all these players who were stars in their own right. Without waiting for someone to close him down, Izan dribbled the ball sideways before making a perfect Trivela to Torres on the left. The latter, after receiving the ball, got away from his marker due to a quick change of pace. He was now approaching the byline but didn¡¯t have any options. Izan approached from behind, allowing Ferran Torres to pass to him, but Izan quickly sent an inverted pass into the box, allowing Le Normand to tap the ball into the small netting. Their opponents who were defending were shocked by the quick attack that led to the goal. They couldn¡¯t keep up with the little kid¡¯s passes which seemed to always find its way to the target. "The [inccisive passing] trait lives up to its name." Izan thought as he walked away. The other players joined in on the matches after the current ones got out. After a while, the session was done. Luis de la Fuente, who had been watching from the sides, appeared and dismissed the players after a small pep talk. He had an idea of how to develop this team. "Izan", Luis de la Fuente called as Izan was getting ready to leave. "Yes sir," Izan said with his hand at his back. He was in front of the national team Coach now. Some of these things seemed surreal so he didn¡¯t know how he was coping. "I liked how you played today. I have an idea of how I want to use you during the games, but I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ll have the heart for it since it¡¯s tiring," de la Fuente asked with a smile. Izan didn¡¯t know what to say so he smiled slightly before speaking, " I can cope sir". Luis de la Fuente looked up and down at Izan and nodded before saying, " You will, my boy, you will". S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Luis de La Fuente left Izan on his own and left. Izan, after the talk with De la Fuente, left to take a bath. The players, after the session, headed to their rooms and came out after a while. Mostly because it was time for breakfast. After, the food, most players lingered around. Izan after eating, joined some of the younger players and played some games in the game room. They played in a knock-out format. Izan and Pedri ended up playing in the finals, with the former winning even though it was a tight game. "I¡¯m bored " Pedri said after putting down the controller. He looked to the side and saw Izan texting on the phone. "Girlfriend," Pedri asked. "Kind of" Izan replied subconsciously before turning sharply at Pedri. "It¡¯s OK; most people tell the truth when they¡¯re not aware. I¡¯m like that; I like to make a move when you¡¯re not aware," he went on after Izan stayed silent. "Where is she," Pedri asked making Izan look at him suspiciously. "Come on " Pedri urged with a smile. "In Madrid," Izan said with a reserved sigh. "Really, why don¡¯t you go see her then" Pedri said. "Are we allowed to go outside?" Izan asked with a surprised expression, earning a weird look from Pedri. "Do you think the national team is some kind of prison? Of course, you can go out. You just have to tell Pablo" Pedri said. "You know what, let¡¯s go," Pedri said. "Really" Izan stood up. "Yeah, but not like this", Pedri said, looking up and down at Izan. Izan understood the assignment and went upstairs. The two of them regrouped after a few minutes. Izan came down wearing a black shirt with a shawl-like texture, black pants, and a white sneaker. Pedri also came down looking the part. After the two informed Pablo, they went out. Izan had informed Pedri about how a friend wanted to join. Pedri nodded and said the more company, the better, so he wouldn¡¯t be alone when Izan went off to do his thing. "Where¡¯s Mark" Izan asked as Pietro approached. "He said he didn¡¯t feel too well so he¡¯s actually at the infirmary. "And you betrayed him to come," Izan asked with a concerned expression. Pietro nodded causing Izan to shake his head. "Well, let¡¯s go", Pedri said, shaking a BMW car key. "Wait, you brought a car from Catalonia?" Izan asked. "Of course not; this is for the Team", Pedri answered. The trio walked to the parking lot and saw a black BMW. "I want a car so badly," Izan thought after seeing the i5 model. The trio got in with Pedri driving. The car soon set into motion as they drove around for a bit. They visited a few attractions in Madrid taking a few pictures here and there. Izan after getting one good picture, posted it on his social media handles. The picture quickly garnered attention as Pedri was also in the shot as well as Pietro. Izan knew because he kept checking his phone after the picture. The comments were made up of girls fawning over Izam in different languages. Korean, Japanese, Spanish, English, and a whole lot more. Izan¡¯s appearance was a plus for him. The men in the mix questioned what he was doing with Pedri since they both had no connection until they put two and two together to find out Izan had been called up to the national team. It wasn¡¯t hidden, but the national team didn¡¯t announce it either, and he wasn¡¯t among the selected people, so many missed it. Josh777: Doesn¡¯t that make him the youngest to be called up at this point? Chicogracioso57: They looked good in this picture. Bros are living life in easy mode. Graciedon888: Do you know how hard he works for it? Don¡¯t assume just because he seems well on The rest of the comments went on about the picture. The culprits of the picture went about Madrid enjoying their day. After a while, Pedri asked around and finally got to the University of Madrid. He had expected as much. Izan got out of the car and entered the school with the two. Pedri and Pietro walked behind Izan but the trio attracted attention wherever they went. Pedri had brought a mask just in case but Izan¡¯s face was also a problem. Izan took his phone and Facetimed Olivia. The latter picked up almost immediately. "Hey Izan, just finished a lecture. How are you" Olivia asked with a smile. "I¡¯m fine. Just finished training and decided to go out for a bit. Guess where I¡¯m at, " Izan said, showing the Camera to a building he knew Olivia would recognise. "Oh my God, Izan, is this real?" Olivia screamed. "Well, come and find out," Izan said, ending the call. They were still a bit far from her supposed dormitory so Izan and the other two guys closed the gap a bit. Not long after, Izan heard someone calling his name while running. Olivia had never run that fast in her entire life. When she saw Izan in front of her, Olivia ran harder and jumped into the former¡¯s hands. Izan caught her well so they wouldn¡¯t fall. "Gosh, he¡¯s taken" a girl who had been eyeing Izan said. "Wait, isn¡¯t that Olivia" she added before smirking and walking away. "What are you doing here?" Olivia asked. "Well I came to see you since we had free time after training" Izan said. "No, what are you doing in Madrid." Olivia clarified. "Oh, that, well, National team duty", he said, pointing to Pedri, who waved back. Olivia recognised Pedri and smiled at Izan. "That¡¯s great then. You¡¯re becoming a star. Hurry up and grow quickly so I can tie you down before someone else does," Olivia said with a laugh. Izan laughed with her as the two continued talking. "We¡¯re hopeless, aren¡¯t we?" Pedri asked but didn¡¯t receive an answer. He looked to the side and saw Pietro talking happily on the phone with a voice that belonged to a female. Pedri, who couldn¡¯t handle this, held his heart. "I¡¯m Hopeless," he said as the two people he came with rubbed salt in the wound. A/n: Hey, I¡¯m late but enjoy this one. Leave a review if you like it Chapter 68: Bonding Izan laughed with her as the two continued talking. "We¡¯re hopeless, aren¡¯t we?" Pedri asked but didn¡¯t receive an answer. He looked to the side and saw Pietro talking happily on the phone with a voice that belonged to a female. Pedri, who couldn¡¯t handle this, held his heart. "I¡¯m Hopeless," he said as the two people he came with rubbed salt in the wound. Izan and Olivia talked for a while as the two walked hand in hand. They would have walked over the whole campus had Pedri not reminded Izan that they were on a time leash here. "Thanks for coming, Izan; I enjoyed the surprise, ", Olivia said as the two walked towards the parking lot. Pietro and Pedri followed along with the former still talking on his phone. Pedri, who had long made peace with the fact that he was the only single person there, was now playing a game on his PS5 portable. "Well, I¡¯m glad I made your day wonderful. We¡¯ll be playing in about 2 days. I¡¯ll work hard to get into the lineup so that you can come watch me" Izan said as she held Olivia by the hand. Olivia looked at Izan and squeezed the hand that had held hers. "Okay," she responded. "Stay safe and tell me anything. I¡¯m always here for you," Izan said, letting go of Olivia¡¯s hand. Pedri and Pietro walked over while waving at Olivia with the latter responding with a curt nod and smile. The two sat in the Car, and after a while, Izan joined them. "What were you doing when we left?" Pietro asked, trying to pry for details. "Do I ask about your calls with your girl?" Izan shot back, refusing to give any details. Pietro, who realised that he couldn¡¯t get Izan to say anything good gave up and sat down. Izan, after Pietro stopped pestering, turned to Pedri and asked where they would go next, but Pedri suggested they return since they could come around another day. Izan nodded and soon they were on their way back. The ride was quiet since nobody had anything to say. Pietro, at the back, had fallen asleep with Izan looking out the window. Pedri focused on driving and got a word or two to Izan when they stopped. "Why don¡¯t you come to Barcelona " Pedri suddenly said after a moment of silence. "Can you afford me?" Izan said with a laugh. "We all know your financial situation isn¡¯t the best" Izan added when Pedri looked at him. "We¡¯ll get better, and I¡¯m just saying this in case you need to transfer; consider us your first option,", Pedri said. He had seen Izan in training these few days and the latter could do things for the club if he joined. Even though he was young, that didn¡¯t matter as age had nothing to do with ability. He even thought that Izan sometimes reminded him of a young kid who had been training with them for some time now. "I¡¯ll do that if you come, but for now," Izan said, looking at Pietro, who was asleep, "My heart is with Valencia", Izan added after noticing that the latter wasn¡¯t asleep. Pietro, who felt a stare, wanted to open his eyes but didn¡¯t want to give himself up. "That will do," Pedri said with a smile as the light turned green. Not long after the talk, Pietro woke up. Izan laughed at his fake act of waking up but didn¡¯t let Pietro know her knew that he was awake before. "Did you find him?" Luis de La Fuente asked the man who walked in. "No sir, but Mr Amo said that he had gone out with Pedri and a kid from the U20s next door". "Did they say the destination?" Luis asked after hearing that Izan had gone with Pedri. "Mr Amo said that they were going to the University of Madrid to visit a friend ", the man responded. Luis de la Fuente nodded and waved his hand to send the man away. He had been looking for Izan to discuss some things with him but couldn¡¯t find him the whole day. Well, I¡¯ll see him tomorrow. Izan, who didn¡¯t know he was being looked for, arrived at the camp with Pedri and Pietro. Pedri parked the car well and proceeded to return the car to Mr Amo. Izan joined him and waved Pietro goodbye as the latter walked to the u20s building. "I¡¯ll join you guys soon", Pietro said loudly when Izan and Pedri were leaving. The two navigated their way and found Mr. Amo¡¯s office and gave him the key. After checking out with Mr. Amo, the duo walked over to the building which had their rooms and split up from there. Izan, after entering his room, took a shower. Today was very eventful and fun for Izan as he continued to think about the moments with Olivia whilst the droplets from the shower hit his back. Izan only woke up from his daydream in the shower when the intensity of the droplets increased as he realised his hand had been increasing the water pressure. After drying himself. Izan wore some comfortable clothes and proceeded to lie on his bed, praying that sleep would come early, and it did as he drifted off into slumberland not 5 minutes after lying down. He stirred from his slumber only when the pangs of hunger finally pulled him from his dreams. Seeing as it was time for dinner, Izan stepped into his slides and went down for dinner. This time though, everyone recognised him. The players started seeing Izan as a real teammate and not some kid after the morning¡¯s training session. They were even surprised when they found out that he had 4 goals and 4 assists in 4 games for his club in the Spanish league and that wasn¡¯t all. They knew he was young, but they didn¡¯t understand how young until Dani Garcia from Osasuna, who had played against Izan, told them. They were greatly surprised then as they didn¡¯t do the same when they were his age so they had to commend him for that. Izan, who was walking to a table with his food, received nods and greetings from his teammates. The change in attitude was nice for him so he accepted them in good hearts. "Hmm, they like you," Pedri said when Izan took a seat. "Aren¡¯t they supposed to? I¡¯m cute?", Izan said, making a cute expression. Pedri had to hold back as he was really near smashing his food into Izan¡¯s handsome face. "It¡¯s nice. At least I don¡¯t have to be looking for passes in games" Izan said as he remembered his early days on the Valencia team. Pedri also nodded at his words as he understood how it was to be the new guy on the team. The duo ate in silence after this and only looked up when Mikel Oryazabal approached. "Hey, sorry for mistaking you for one of the kids," he said after getting Izan¡¯s attention. "But I am a kid," Izan said with a smile. "Anyway, I don¡¯t blame you since I¡¯m way above my age in this category,", Izan said with a smile. Oryazabal, being the chill guy, also smiled. He turned to go, but Izan and Pedri offered the empty seat next to them, which he didn¡¯t refuse. The newly formed trio talked about themselves and their hobbies. Izan found out new things about his teammates. Pedri liked games like himself but he found out that Oryazabal liked horseriding. Izan bonded well with the other two over dinner. They only stopped talking when it was time for a tactical session with Luis de la Fuente in the conference room. The trio still walked there together and sat together since they were the last to arrive. Luis de la Fuente explained the roles of the players to them after every person got seated. He explained what he expected of them in certain situations as well as their cooperation and coordination with each other as team chemistry was a really important fact in his system which required passing. The players nodded at his explanation and were soon done with the seminar. Pablo Amo informed Izan of Luis de la Fuente¡¯s intention to talk to him the next day. Izan nodded at his words and headed to the game lounge, where a lot of the players were. Izan joined in on the fun playing games like pool and Tennis. Iza, after this, went upstairs with the excuse that he was tired when the other players asked. Some nodded in understanding while winking at Izan. Izan smiled wryly as they seemed to have misunderstood something, but he was too lazy to explain, so he walked away. Izan, after going up, talked with his mother on the phone for a while. Komi fawned over her son on the phone and even asked for a video call. Izan accepted the request but wished he hadn¡¯t when Komi told him to eat a lot on the phone the whole time. Izan nodded at his mother¡¯s request, and after a while, he hung up and sent Olivia a text. The latter seemed to be asleep so Izan also fell to his bed and slept. He had had a long day, so he was a bit drained,d but it was better than sleeping after a game. Izan slept as quickly as he had put his head on the pillow letting the pillow drain his fatigue away. As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the sun began its ascent, casting a warm, golden glow across the landscape, illuminating the world with its gentle radiance. Izan¡¯s boot stuck to the ground as if it didn¡¯t want to move, but it didn¡¯t have a mind of its own, so it had to follow its owner¡¯s wishes. Izan took control of the ball after receiving a pass from Pedro Porro. His eyes scanning leftvand right looking for a pass but at the same time not forgetting the player approaching from behind. Deciding on Pedri, Izam released the ball to his teammates before running into space. Pedri who found the ba coming his way kicked it inside his legs with his left foot to get away from a tackle. This high intensity game had only started for 5 minutes but it had already got his blood boiling. Pedri after getting away decided to return the pass and sent a swift grounded pass to Izan who sent it forward with a simple touch. He had already decided on who to pass to and did just so after he received the ball. Mikel Oryazabal carefully trapped the ball with his chest before taking a touch with his right leg. Mikel Oryazabal stood diagonally to the opposing player who was trying to take the ball. With a few quick Stepovers, Oryazabal moved to the left with the inside of his right boot with the intent that the opposing player would do same and he got what he wanted when Eric Garcia did same. Without waiting, Oryazabal took a touch again with the outerside of his right boot to complete the reverse elastico. Oryazabal got away from his man skillfully and sent a pass to Izan who had just arrived. Izan who had just arrived sent a low cross into the box. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Alvaro Mor¨¤ta who was lurking in the box saw the pass and stuck out a foot to tap it into the box. Luis de la Fuente smiled from the touchline. Now all he needed was a proper right winger and he had his sights set on a kid in th u17 who he had seen during the u17 euros. The training match continued as Izan¡¯s team continued to wreak havoc on the defenders. The session ended after a while due to ferran Torres hurting his nose. "Izan follow me" Luis de la Fuente said after the players dispersed. Izan followed as he wanted to hear what his coach had to say. Chapter 69: I’ll let you loose Izan followed Luis de la Fuente as they walked to his office. No attempt to converse was made on the way so Izan kept quiet. The duo finally arrived at his office. Coach Luis de la Fuente offered Izan a chair as he also sat down. "How¡¯s the camp" he asked after Izan sat down. "It¡¯s been good so far. I¡¯m learning a lot of things from the older players" Izan said truthfully. Even though he had ability, Izan felt that he wasted his chances when he looked at the places like Pedri. They took every chance they got and made it into something threatening, and he had also learned to do saw, although he wasn¡¯t at their level yet. "It¡¯s good that you learnt something, ", de la Fuente said. "I mainly wanted to talk about your position" de la Fuente said. "Where do you like to play?" De la Fuente asked, and the conversation turned serious. "I like attacking sir. I like to create chances rather than finish them off, and I also want to be the one pulling my team out of a draw or loss when the striker is not doing his job," Izan went about. "So you like assisting others" De la Fuente said. "Not quite. Yes, I¡¯d rather pass than shoot, but I also take my chances when they present themselves, " Izan replied. De la Fuente looked at the boy in front of him, trying to engrave his image in his mind. "Very well, Izan, if that¡¯s what you like, then do it", De la Fuente said, earning a questioning look from Izan. "Don¡¯t worry, all I meant is that let loose and show your abilities to the full. On my team we give our all even when the opponents are down". "We also like to take advantage of small opportunities to turn nothing into something. To turn a kickoff into a goal, defence into an attack and even a saved penalty into a goal." De la Fuente said. "That¡¯s the ideology of this team. I¡¯m looking for someone who can help you do that. I found him,m but it¡¯ll be a while before he matures into the player I want him to be, but until then, you are on your own". "So you want to build a team around me," Izan asked. "Not quite. I want to build a team that moves with you. A team that can score goals when you attract attention or when you don¡¯t show up or when your influence on the game is less" de la Fuente said. Izan smiled wryly as he felt his shoulders slump due to the Coach¡¯s words. "No pressure, eh? All that will happen if this fails is me being fired, but if it works, Spain will be unstoppable, and by that time, you¡¯ll be leading the charge" de la Fuente ended. The two sat in silence for a while with the clock the only thing breaking the great silence. "Go and prepare for the evening session. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll show you to the world in the grandest stage of them all" De la Fuente said before turning away from Izan to look at the glass window behind him. Izan nodded and got up. He walked to the door and looked at the old man who loved his country to death before leaving. "It¡¯s time for another generation, Alvaro", De la Fuente said as he turned to look at the Files of the players on the table. The most prominent among the Files was a file with the name "LAMINE Y. " on it. Luis de la Fuente looked again and turned away. Izan walked to his room to bathe. The Coach had called him directly after the session so he couldn¡¯t bath. After he was done, Izan put on one of the national team tracksuits and went downstairs. After breakfast, the players had time to themselves again so Pedri and Izan drove to the u20s building to pick Pietro. This time Mark tagged along as the four of them went out to sightsee. Izan took a few pictures for his IG since Miranda had always told him to stay relevant till she found a manager for him. If only she knew how relevant he was going to be after tomorrow. The Four people returned after a while with Pietro and Mark getting off at the u20s building. Izan and Pedri also went to their building after parking the car with each going their way. Izan decided to visit the recovery room to get treatment for his tense muscles. He could always use a conditioning pill but those things were expensive. They were among the reasons why he couldn¡¯t upgrade the system yet. Izan enjoyed his time as the massage and muscle sessions helped him relax. Izan slept through the massage and only got up to find the Masseur gone. Izan checked the time and found that it was nearly dinner. He put on his clothes and walked towards the Cafeteria. "Yo, you missed the afternoon session", Rodri said after he met Izan. The two had gotten a bit close during the morning session. "Yeah, I went to the recovery room because my muscles were a bit sore but the Masseur gave me the massage of a lifetime. I think I slept through it and woke up just now" Izan said. "Well, you¡¯re still young, so your body needs much rest than us. That¡¯s why you¡¯re sleeping that much" Rodri offered his thoughts. Izan nodded and proceeded to go for his food. He made a mental note to train in the evening and then go apologise to the Coach. Even if he had a good relationship with the Coach, he shouldn¡¯t take it for granted. Pedri, who saw Izan taking his food, called out to him. The latter walked over with Rodri to the table where Pedri and Oryazabal sat. The Four talked about a lot while eating and they seemed to have a few things in common. Izan excused himself after he told the trio that he had to train to make up for the evening session. The trio also offered to join. The company of world-class players was something Izan couldn¡¯t refuse so he accepted. The four went at it for 45 minutes and only stopped when they saw the light in Coach Luis de la Fuente¡¯s office get turned on. They decided to end it while I was headed towards de la Fuente¡¯s office. *Knock*knock*knock, "Come in", Izan heard and entered. He found Luis de la Fuente going through some documents. "I came to apologise, sir, for missing the afternoon session ", Izan said, causing Luis de la Fuente to raise his head. "Do you think you could have missed it if I didn¡¯t want you to? And you even went behind my back to train." "I know how young you are and the rest you need; that¡¯s why I let the Masseur let you sleep. But you went out to train with those other rascals" Luis de la Fuente said. "Sorry, Coach, it won¡¯t happen again", Izan said sharply. "It better not; now go and rest", de la Fuente said, focusing on the papers again. Izan smiled as he looked at the white-haired old man before exiting the room. "Silly kid" de la Fuente muttered after Izan had left. ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ "Have you tried to contact him" an older man spoke in a room of middle-aged men. "We tried Mr Tashima, but his club said that we were late as he is already at the Spain National Team camp", a younger man spoke. "Well, he can still switch. Let¡¯s monitor his situation, and if anything happens, we swoop in. This is for the sake of the Japanese national team" Mr. Tashima spoke with conviction. "Yes sir" the group of men gathered there replied affectionately ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ¡ñ [Spain training camp] Izan went to the game lounge after his bath. Luis de la Fuente had told him to rest, but he couldn¡¯t sleep, so he came back down. Izan joined in on the FIFA tournament that the players had organised themselves. Izan worked on eliminating a few of his teammates in knock-out games. He played with Valencia as everyone had to play with his team. Valencia was just decent in Fifa, so the players were a bit surprised by Iran¡¯s game. "I¡¯m not in this one. You guys should have pre-ordered the Fc24." Izan said as he got out in the semifinals, courtesy of Pedri. "Well, do that by the next international break in November", Cucurella said. "Then pray you¡¯ll be here. Playing shit and all. You¡¯re lucky Balde got hurt," Rodri said, causing the others to laugh. "Come on, Rodri, don¡¯t rub it in", Cucurella said, adding another wave of laughs. The players laughed some more. Izan turned around and walked to his room. This was his first international appearance and he wasn¡¯t about to mess it up due to not sleeping enough. After Izan left, fitness Coach Carlos Cruz appeared and scolded the players before chasing them to sleep. Izan, who was already in bed, dreamt of scoring a goal in his sleep. Hopefully the same will happen the next day. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A/n: Hey guys another one for today have fun. Chapter 70: Prelude to the game After Izan left, fitness Coach Carlos Cruz appeared and scolded the players before chasing them to sleep. Izan, who was already in bed, dreamt of scoring a goal in his sleep. Hopefully the same will happen the next day. As dawn broke the following day, the camp buzzed with a whirlwind of activity, everyone rushing about with excitement and urgency. As the staff prepared, the players also did their side of the job. Izan, who woke up early due to his biological clock, went out to train even before his mates could wake up. The training initiated by assistant coach Pablo Amo was light since Luis de la Fuente had told him to avoid any strenuous exercises. Luis de la Fuente couldn¡¯t come to the pitch because he had to meet with the higher-ups of the Spain National team. The players worked hard to the bone as the lineups had not yet been finalised, so the starters couldn¡¯t afford to lose their spots, and the substitutes were also trying to get some game time. After the session, the players dispersed with Izam going to his room. He was feeling sticky all over so he decided to take a bath. After bathing, Izan put on some clothes and went to Pablo Amo. He got to his office and knocked. After a moment, a voice came from inside, telling him to enter. Izan entered the room and, after closing the door behind him, walked towards Pablo Amo¡¯s desk. "What can I do for you, Izan" Pablo Amo asked without looking up. "Um, I wanted to ask if I could get some tickets for the game,", Izan asked with an expectant face. "Of course, you could, Izan, but I¡¯m not the person to ask,", Pablo Amo said. Izan looked confused. He asked around and was told to come and ask Pablo Amo and now he was also saying he wasn¡¯t the one in charge of things like this Pablo Amo looked at Izan¡¯s confused Face and clarified, "I used to be, but not anymore. You can go ask the team manager. He is also called Pablo so I guess you thought I was him". Izan finally understood what they meant when they said, "Not the regular Pablo". "Ok, sir, thank you,", Izan said before walking out. Now he had another challenge to overcome as he had to look for the Team manager¡¯s office. It wasn¡¯t really hard to look for, though, as Izan got to the front of the office after asking around for a bit. With another knock for the second time that day, Izan entered the room. Pablo Teri, who seemed to be organising some material looked up at the person he had told to enter earlier. He found the new and youngest kid looking at him so Teri asked what he needed. Izan told him about the issue with the tickets. Pablo Amo explained how each player had a designated number of tickets that they could give to friends and Family. Izan asked for just two tickets, one to give to Olivia since his mother and sister couldn¡¯t be present and the other for Miranda, who was in Madrid with him. Izan was a bit depressed that his Family couldn¡¯t be there but he also knew that he couldn¡¯t be the reason for the stop of their activities. Pablo Teri gave the tickets to Izan who sent them to Olivi and Miranda. They were e-tickets so Izan just sent them over. After this, Izan went down for breakfast. The players had gathered and were eating whilst joking around. When Izan saw the faces of players he had seen on TV just recently, Izan smiled. He had come far and the existence that had made it possible for him was still by his side. "Thanks, Max", Izan said with a thought. [I am just an instrument. This is also just the beginning] the system said. Izan smiled at the system¡¯s words. "Yeah, this is just the start" he muttered before joining the rest of the players. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players went to the recovery rooms after breakfast to relax any tense muscles. Izan was given extra attention as ordered by Luis de la Fuente because of his age and his growing bones and muscles. After this session, the players were left alone for the duration of the afternoon. Not much was done since they were going to play in a while. The players just relaxed and lazed around. Some decided to hit the gym for some light exercise before the team¡¯s. Izan was part of that group as he couldn¡¯t sit still. Some of the players, like Pedri and Rodri, who saw this, tried to get him to calm down, but they soon left him alone when he said he was just excited. The players were soon done with the afternoon session, this time led by Luis de la Fuente, who told them what he wanted of them in the match that evening. After the session, the players freshened up again and headed to the Cafeteria for a light meal. A tactical meeting followed as Luis de la Fuente explained each player¡¯s role to them. After that, Pablo Amo posted the lineups, and there weren¡¯t many changes, but a new name found its way onto the bench, and it was none other than Izan. Some of the players congratulated him as they knew how hard he worked and thought it was well deserved. A few of the reserve players also had their thoughts as most of them felt that they had also worked hard and should be given the same shot as Izam was given. Some even proceeded to show their dissatisfaction by talking in a low tone but made sure Izan and the others heard but Izan didn¡¯t pay them any heed. After all, he was going to be playing, and they were going to watch him. And even if he didn¡¯t play, just making it onto the substitute players meant that the coach trusted him more. After the meeting, the players got ready to head to the stadium. The team bus arrived after a while with the players scattered around. After completing their preparations, the players boarded the bus and awaited the others. The journey to the stadium was only an hour long, but thanks to light traffic and favourable conditions on the road, they arrived at the Santiago Bernabeu ahead of schedule. As they disembarked, they were greeted by enthusiastic cheers and the bright flashes of cameras from both fans and reporters. Some of the players proceeded to do a bit of Fan service as they signed autographs and took pictures with others. Izan also signed a few autographs for fans who knew him. The Fans who knew him were supporters of Valencia who knew him and were utterly surprised by his presence on the team. They had seen the list when it was announced but they had not seen Izan¡¯s name on it. Izan was a clearly late addition. After the meeting with the Fans, the players headed to the dressing room. The players who had never been there had to admit. Santiago Bernabeu was a work of art. The Structural intelligence and Architectural brilliance made the outside of the stadium look futuristic. "Madrid has the money to spend. Their stadium is as good as it gets. But ours will be better after we renovate" Pedri said after getting to where Izan was. "Wait, you guys are also renovating," Izan asked, to which Pedri nodded. "There¡¯s been talks about it. It will be finished by the time we celebrate our anniversary in 2025" Pedri clarified. "Oh, then I wish you and your club success," Izan said. "It could be your club too soon if you continue like how you¡¯re playing," Pedri said. "Let¡¯s not talk about that for now; today, we need to crush Georgia,", Izan said with a grin. "Do you enjoy inflicting pain on others?" Pedri asked. "No, but it¡¯s my first match, so nothing short of a masterclass can cut it,", Izan said before walking away. Pedri smiled and muttered, " I like your mentality," before following along. The Fans who had entered the stadium had smiles on their faces. This was their first international match of the season, and they wanted to make the most out of it. The home fans started their chants which reverberated around the stadium. The travelling fans, however, didn¡¯t let them shudder. They also brought out their chants, which were even louder than the shouts of the home fans. They believed in the tale of the ant defeating the elephant. The Georgian Fans believed that they had a team which could surpass all odds. They had hope that their star, Khvicha Kvaratskhelia, would rise to the challenge. A spectacle on the patch caused the shouts of the fans to rise. Here Izan stood shooting rockets into the back of the net before the match even started. The Georgian players looked at each other and asked as if asking who that kid was. Marmadashvili, who played on the same team as Izan, approached his teammates and said, " Beware, he¡¯s no kid" before walking to his goal. A/n: Feeling good so I decided to release another chapter. In real life at this time, the Bernabeu wasn¡¯t completed but let¡¯s just say it was okay,now have fun Chapter 71: Offensive Prowess The Georgian players took the words of Marmadashvili seriously as the stunt that Izan had just pulled was just a glimpse of what he could do. The players continued warming up with everyone doing his own thing. Five minutes to the close of the period allowed for warm-ups, and the shouts of the Georgian fans rose. The Spanish players, intrigued by the shouts, turned to look at the source of the shouts and found a player standing still. The player was none other than Khvicha Kvarastskhelia. The man in question raised his hand and waved to the fans with this action initiating another wave of cheers from the Georgian Fans. The player proceeded to his side and started a few stretching exercises before ending his warm-up. "National stars have it different " Pedri said as he put his hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. The former was shorter than the latter, so it wasn¡¯t awkward, but it seemed rather natural. The Cameramen didn¡¯t need anyone to tell them that this would make for a good photo. Unbeknownst to the two, they headed towards their locker room, not knowing what they had started. Izan was on the bench so he took his water bottle and wore a bib before heading to the bench. He joined a few of the well-known players on the bench as Spain didn¡¯t field its best team against a rather weaker side. It would seem like overkill to field its strongest eleven against Georgia but Georgia didn¡¯t mind. They were hoping to take advantage of Spain¡¯s arrogance as a top footballing nation and punish them. Both teams stood in the tunnel ready and set to go. The cheers of the Fans were as loud as they could get in the Santiago Bernabeu. With the roof closed, it increased the volume of shouts of Fans. The atmosphere was electric as the battle between the Fans had even begun before the match. Spain would sing a chant uninterrupted. Georgia would also sing a chant uninterrupted as the two sides showed this unlikely sportsmanship between Fans. The players headed out onto the pitch with the fans taking the shouts up a notch. The players, led by the referee line up in front of the fans. The anthems of these two teams sounded through the whole stadium. The patriotism shown by the players was stunning as each player sang his anthem wholeheartedly. The Fans didn¡¯t relent and helped the players in singing the anthem. The whole stadium was a cauldron of emotions as the anthems came to an end. The players dispersed after the anthem with the two captains going for the toss with Spain winning. Morata chose not to kick off first. Mikautadze stood behind the ball and kicked off as soon as the referee blew the whistle. Opting to send the ball back to the keeper, Gagnidze, one of Georgia¡¯s defensive midfielders sent the ball to Marmadashvili The ball followed the path it was sent on and found its way onto the legs of Marmadashvili. The keeper looked up trying to find space. Eventually, he saw Kiteishvili get away from his Marker. Marmadashvili quickly put his legs through the ball and sent it to the former. Kiteishvili, who had gotten away from his marker, controlled the ball nearby before sending it wide to Lobjanidze. The winger immediately tried to get rid of Jose Gaya but the latter proved difficult to beat. Lobjanidze didn¡¯t force it and sent it into the middle. Kiteishvili appeared and got hold of the ball before sending a defence-splitting pass to Kvarastskhelia who had been silent since the match started. The winger tried to get rid of Cesar Azpilicueta with speed, but the defender held him. Seeing as he couldn¡¯t go further with Cesar Azpilicueta holding onto him, Kvarastskhelia let the ball fly. Simons, who wasn¡¯t expecting an impromptu shot pulled out a spectacular save but couldn¡¯t hold it. At this moment, the Georgian Fans got off their seats. They watched on as Mikautadze got away from the grasp of Aymeric Laporte to meet the loose ball with a flying header. The Georgian Fans erupted into cheers as they celebrated their teams goal. Mikautadze, after scoring ran towards his mates and coaches on the bench to celebrate with them. The faces of the Spanish Fans and players were the opposite of the Georgians. They had let the opponents concede but it wasn¡¯t time to sulk as they revamped themselves and got into positions waiting for the opponents to finish with their celebrations. Izan, who was on the bench, smiled wryly at the opponent¡¯s goal. The opponents had a stroke early, and it was up to his mates on the field to give back an answer. Luis de la Fuente looked on, his face showing no emotion even after the opponents scored. The Georgian players returned to their half after the celebrations. The referee restarted the match after the Georgian team had settled down. Morata kicked off from the spot as he glanced at the clock. Only 7 minutes had passed so they had a lot of time to work with. Dani Olmo received the pass from Morata and scanned the pitch a bit before deciding on who to pass it to. Fabian Ruiz was free so Olmo let go of the ball to the former. Fabian controlled the ball and walked around with the ball a bit, trying to set the tempo for the match. Mikautadze, who thought himself being taunted by Fabian Ruiz, rushed in for a tackle, but the latter got away skillfully. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After getting away from his man, Fabian Ruiz had a few seconds to work with, so he sent the ball to Mikel Oryazabal on the left flank. Gocholeish, Georgia¡¯s right back, ran towards Mikel Oryazabal in hopes of challenging for the ball, but the latter didn¡¯t attempt a jump. Mikel Oryazabal rather controlled the ball expertly through the legs of Gocholeish before running away. Gocholeish tried to catch up but was no match for the Real Sociedad Man. Mikel Oryazabal got to the byline and slowed down causing Gocholeish to catch up with him. In a battle of wits, Oryazabal raised his leg as if to cross the ball in. Gocholeish who saw this action, committed and tried to block it with his leg. Oryazabal thanked his stars that such a simple move worked and rolled the ball to his left leg. Oryazabal with a swift motion, sent the ball inside the box. Alvaro Morato, who was held down by two players, tried to jump but felt a strong tug on his shirt. Being the clever forward he was, Alvaro Morata fell to his back. The ball was headed out by Kashia, the captain of the Georgian side who was also the same person that had grabbed Morata¡¯s shirt. The Spanish players appealed for a penalty, and thankfully, the referee was already on the case as he blew his whistle and pointed to the spot. The Georgian players approached the referee to try and argue with him. The players made the ¡¯VAR¡¯ sign to the referee but the latter didn¡¯t even look at them. He had been in a position where he saw all that went on so they couldn¡¯t debate with him. Even his Video room Assistants agreed with him on his decision so the Georgian players couldn¡¯t change it. Morata stepped up to the penalty spot with the ball as the designated penalty-taker of the team. He moved a few steps back, awaiting the referee¡¯s whistle. [Commentator] ¡¯ Morata steps up to the spot kick and he¡¯ll be hoping to increase his goal try for Spain. He steps up and what a way to make it count as he goes for the Panenka¡¯ Morata ran to the side of the fans after scoring and joined them in celebrating. The other players joined him in the celebrations. The bench and the Spain staff also celebrated with Luis de la Fuente clenching his fist after Morata¡¯s goal. The celebrations didn¡¯t last long, the Georgian one, as the match was underway again. Both sides went into the offensive with each side trying to score. Spain got a chance in the 15th minute after the ball was sent out for a corner. Lucas Baena, who played as a right winger in this match, sent an exciting ball into the box, which was met by a timely header from Aymeric Laporte. The only thing that stopped the ball from rewriting the scoreboard was a save from Marmadashvili which kept the match Level. In the 21st minute, Kvarastskhelia also got to try from a distance, but his shot was saved by Unai Simons. He would get another chance in the 25th minute from a long ball by Marmadashvili. Kvarastskhelia got the ball on the byline before cutting inside with the ball. After getting the ball onto his right foot, Kvarastskhelia sent a curler aiming for the right bottom corner but was once again denied by a spectacular save from Unai Simons. Finally, after the 30th-minute mark, Spain got a chance to take the lead. A/n: Thanks for the support guys. I¡¯m feeling good due to the powerstones. This is actually my second book on NovelFire but its actually the one I wrote since I deleted the first one after 3 chapters. Thanks guys, It means a lot. Chapter 72: This Is Football "We¡¯re in a stalemate," Assistant Coach Pablo Amo firmly stated to Luis de la Fuente. "It¡¯s time for our players to take the initiative and break this deadlock." Luis de la Fuente agreed instantly, ready to seize the next opportunity to relay his renewed strategy to the players. A throw-in presented the perfect moment. Luis de la Fuente seized it as he approached Merino, who was about to throw the ball. "Encourage the attack and tell Morata to organize the front and counter-press them," he instructed decisively, and Merino nodded in affirmation. Merino executed the throw to the back before passing on the instructions to Mikel Oryazabal, aiming to spread the message effectively. The Spanish squad¡¯s playing style transformed immediately, reflecting the coach¡¯s clear directive. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With newfound vigour, the players took charge to win the ball back swiftly after losing it, forcing a disorganized Georgian team into making a series of mistakes. One crucial error was when Lobjanidze surrendered possession to Jose Gaya on the wings. Gaya swiftly initiated a fast break by passing the ball to Mikel Oryazabal. Oryazabal kept his touches minimal and swiftly delivered the ball to Morata in the centre. The pass expertly weaved through the legs of the Georgian players, landing perfectly at Morata¡¯s feet. Morata, displaying quick thinking, immediately set the ball down for the oncoming Olmo. With a glance, Olmo spotted Oryazabal making a decisive run. Without hesitation, Olmo nudged the ball forward and delivered a precise through ball to Oryazabal, who, despite being marginally offside, caught the defence off guard. The Georgian players raised their arms for an offside call, but the linesman held his flag down. Reacting swiftly, the Georgian players scrambled, but Oryazabal had already sent a low cross into the box. Kiteishvili, keenly watching Spain¡¯s fluid play, moved to mark Morata. Morata, who had been anticipating Oryazabal¡¯s cross, found himself stuck. Realizing that he would not be able to connect with Oryazabal¡¯s low cross, Morata skillfully leapt over the ball, allowing the play to develop further. Alex Baena, who had escaped the keen eyes of his marker, appeared and met the ball with a well-placed finish into the left bottom corner. Marmadashvili tried in earnest to keep the ball out but failed. The ball struck the back of the net sending the Spanish Fans into a frenzy. Alex Baena, after scoring, didn¡¯t celebrate much and just high-fived his teammates. He didn¡¯t find much reason to celebrate against a weaker side like Georgia. The Georgian fans, however, didn¡¯t seem pleased with his action and started showing their displeasure. The stewards tried to get the rowdy Georgian fans who were near the touchline to calm down but were unsuccessful. They were only able to manage when the Georgian players took it upon themselves to speak with the Fans nearby. After a while, the match restarted with a score of 2 to 1 in Favour of the Spain team. The Spanish team slowed the game and tried to dictate the tempo. The Georgian players didn¡¯t want to play at the pace of the opponents but they could only do so much when they couldn¡¯t see much of the ball. The Spain players played around the Georgian side swiftly and fluidly, depriving the opponent of the ball. The Georgian players subconsciously began to relax as they thought the Spain team would be holding onto their lead for halftime and wouldn¡¯t try anything that would put their lead in jeopardy, but boy, were they wrong. In the final minutes of the first half, Unai Simon, the Spanish goalkeeper, sent a lofted ball to Azpilicueta in the right-back position. The former Chelsea man passed to Mikel Merino in the middle of the pitch. Mikautadze tried to rush Merino from behind but the latter didn¡¯t take too many touches and just flicked the ball to Rodri. Kiteishvili appeared in front of Rodri as soon as the latter got the ball. Rodri felt a bit annoyed at how this guy seemed to be everywhere. Rodri smirked as he got an idea. Rodri reeled Kiteishvili in by pretending to pass back but did so in such an inviting way that Kiteishvili could not pass up. The latter rushed in for a challenge but Rodri flicked the ball through the former¡¯s legs before going around him. Nutmegs were always welcomed in football as the Fans reacted greatly to the nutmeg. Rodri, after nutmegging Kiteishvili, just took one touch before sending the ball to Alex Baena. Alex Baena, who found the ball coming his way, went into an aerial challenge with Azarovi, the Georgian left-back. Ultimately, Asarovi won the challenge and headed the ball but he wishes he hadn¡¯t as the ball found its way onto the chest of Dani Olmo. After Olmo controlled the ball with his chest, he didn¡¯t let the ball fall as he already had a target in mind. Morata, as if reading Olmo¡¯s mind began to make a run. Olmo unleashed a floated ball into the path of Morata who had already escaped from his marker and was on his way to the keeper. The whole Spanish bench prayed that Morata could control the ball because they all knew that Morata¡¯s footwork wasn¡¯t the best. The prayers of the Spain team were heard as Morata took a nice touch before letting the ball roll on the ground. Marmadashvili, who saw this, ran to intercept the striker, but Morata wasn¡¯t to be trifled with. He looked up and saw Marmadashvili coming his way. He found little openings since Marmadashvili had made himself as big as he could get. Morata took another touch and smiled before chipping the ball over Marmadashvili. The Goalkeeper, who wasn¡¯t expecting this outcome, tried to react to the ball but couldn¡¯t. Morata began heading the way of the corner flag even before the ball could hit the back of the net. The striker slid on the ground in front of the Spain fans before jumping up to pump his fist in the air. The other Spanish player followed suit and pulled him in for a group hug when they got near him. The Georgian Fans and players could only sigh as they had been deceived and outclassed this time around. The Spanish players soon returned to their respective positions. The referee blew the whistle only to blow it again about 3 minutes later when the match went for half time. The Spanish players went into halftime with smiles on their faces, but the same couldn¡¯t be said for their opponents, who had put on grim expressions. The Georgian Fans weren¡¯t satisfied by the first half and could only hope that their team would come through in the second. During the half-time break, the Georgian team Coach, Willy Sagnol pointed out their mistakes. From giving the opponents way too much time on the ball to getting lazy when the opponents didn¡¯t attack. He thrashed the players with his words while encouraging them at the same time. The Georgian players nodded, almost in sync. The Coach, seeing as his players had understood his intention, left them to do whatever they wanted for the remaining 5 minutes. [Spanish Locker room] "Okay guys, nicely played. Although you were dull at the start, you guys went clinical in the dying minutes, and that¡¯s something to applaud but we haven¡¯t won this match yet," Luis de la Fuente spoke. "I won¡¯t be making any changes for now, so go and play like you did in the dying moments of the first half", Luis de la Fuente attempted to shout but could only make a frail noise. The players still nodded sharply after his words. Izan looked at the team and smiled. This was where his heart was at the moment. The break came to an end after a while with the players returning to the pitch once more. The energy of the fans hadn¡¯t dissipated in the least but had increased. The intensity of their shouts and chants had increased as the fans anticipated the second half. "This is football" Izan muttered before walking over to his seat on the bench. He engaged in a conversation with Pedri and the rest of the guys before the match began. The players of both sides walked over to their respective positions and stood waiting for the whistle of the referee to sound. The referee could feel the anticipation from the Fans, so he didn¡¯t let them down and blew the whistle as soon as everything was set. The Spain team kicked off with Morata sending the ball to Unai Simons at the back. Mikautadze, who was looking to make an early impact, pressed high and rushed towards the Goalkeeper. His teammates followed suit and pressed the viable passing options of Unai Simon. The Goalkeeper, who suddenly found himself under pressure, tried to get the ball into space, so he sent the ball to Rodri, who was still marked. This led to a turnover in possession as Lobjanidze got the ball instead of Rodri. It was on for the Georgian team. A/n: Hello guys. I want yesterday to be a two chapter day but I couldn¡¯t write anymore after a while. So I decided to watch some blue lock to get some Inspiration. Season 2 is not that good but whatever. Chapter 73: Finally, The Spain team kicked off with Morata sending the ball to Unai Simons at the back. Mikautadze, who was looking to make an early impact, pressed high and rushed towards the Goalkeeper. His teammates followed suit and pressed the viable passing options of Unai Simon. The Goalkeeper, who suddenly found himself under pressure, tried to get the ball into space, so he sent the ball to Rodri, who was still marked. This led to a turnover in possession as Lobjanidze got the ball instead of Rodri. It was on for the Georgian team. The Georgian winger drove forward with the ball expertly looming and weaving around the two Spanish players who approached him. Le Normand, who found himself alone in the face of the opposition, tried to stall, but Lobjanidze took advantage of his stalling and nudged the ball around him. Unai Simon saw the ball, the ball getting far away from Lobjanidze, and after much deliberation on whether he could get to the ball first or not, he rushed forward. Unfortunately for him, Lobjanidze was a beat faster and got to the ball first. Unai Simon didn¡¯t back down and still attempted to get the ball. Lobjanidze saw this and didn¡¯t test the keeper anymore opting to send a pass to his left. Unai Simon, who thought Lobjanidze was about to shoot, was flustered when the latter passed. He looked to his right and only then could he see Kvarastskhelia appear. The winger could slotted the ball home before running to celebrate with the Georgian fans. The ball hitting the net set off a wave of emotions across the stadium. The Georgian Fans were happy that they were back within one. The Spain Fans, on the other hand, didn¡¯t know how to feel. They were disappointed but at the same time, the Georgian players did well. Luis de la Fuente felt a vein pop. He had just told his players to be vigilant and to play cleverly during the halftime break, and just after coming on for the second half, his team had conceded. He shook his head and started directing his gaze towards the bench but it didn¡¯t linger for long as he returned to to watch the match. After the restart, the Spanish players tried to give back an answer to Georgia¡¯s goal but they fell short. In the 48th minute, a shot from Olmo forced a corner out of Marmadashvili. The latter stood up after saving the ball and felt the power packing behind the ball. Jose Gaya, stepped up to take the corner and sent a teasing ball into the corner. Marmadashvili who felt that the ball was too close for comfort, lunged at the ball and punched it out of the box. Alex Baena, who was outside the box, got to the ball first and prevented it from going out of play. Adjusting his body, Alex sent another cross into the box. This time, Aymeric Laporte rose and headed the ball towards the goal. All eyes watched as the ball looked to enter the goal, but Marmadashvili, who was nowhere near the ball, stretched to the fullest. He was able to get a minuscule touch on the ball but touch was enough to change the trajectory of the ball as it smashed the post. Morata, who was lurking around, saw the ball coming his way, but he felt a tug on his shirt. Kashia, the Georgian captain did it so discreetly that Morata was impressed for a second. Morata, who knew that he couldn¡¯t dive, dragged himself and got his head on the ball, but the header wasn¡¯t too powerful. This caused Marmadashvili to recover and pull another save, this time punching it out for a throw-in. Willy Sagnol, the Georgian Coach, felt his scalp go dry at the near-goal encounter that his team had just escaped from. Mikel Oryazabal went for the ball, but the throw-in didn¡¯t amount to anything good. The match went on for a while with neither side able to do much. Luis de la Fuente wanted to wait for some time before changing but decided against that when the Spain team almost conceded from a free kick. In the 54th minute, the ball went out of bounds. Luis de la Fuente took advantage of this to send Pedri in for Alex Baena, who seems to have lost his spark. The Spanish fans who saw Pedri coming on started clapping. They knew what he could do if left alone. After Pedri came on, he went to fill in Dani Olmo¡¯s role, making the latter drift wide to the right. The match dynamics shifted a bit as one side started doing all the Attacking. One would have expected Spain to be on the attacking end but it was quite the opposite. The Georgian team attacked relentlessly in hopes that they could equalise. The Spanish players kept silent and faced the barrage of shots from the opposition. Willy Sagnol, standing on the touchline, felt something was wrong, but he couldn¡¯t see why, no matter how he looked at the game. He looked at his team again and saw that his defenders were now in the centre of the pitch. He felt his heart sink. Finding what the opponents were doing, he tried to convey instructions, but Spain had already caught them on a big break. It started from Le Normand who played a one-two pass with Laporte to get rid of Mikautadze. Le Normand, who saw the defensive line of the opponents, sent the ball out wide. Oryazabal started running, trying to catch up to the ball that led him before it fell onto the ground. The Georgian defender scrambled back as they tried to get in shape. Oryazabal took a nice touch, letting the ball roll in front of him before sending a pass with the outside of his right boot. The ball went in an arc and found Morata who had just stepped away from the defenders. Morata nudged the ball forward and led the Georgian defence, which was trying to intimidate him. Morata didn¡¯t falter and went on with the ball. Coming one-on-one with Marmadashvili, Morata didn¡¯t push his luck this time and sent the ball around the keeper. The ball scraped Marmadashvili¡¯s boot but Morata didn¡¯t see it. The whole stadium thought it was another goal for Spain. To their utter surprise, the ball hit the inside of the goal and rolled on the goal line. Gagnidze, who was the fastest among the defensive players, ran with his might and stopped the ball from going in. Morata held his head in surprise. "How the heck that that not go in" he thought as Gagnidze kicked the ball out for a goal kick. The players on the bench couldn¡¯t believe how Morata wasted that chance. The players could have sworn they heard Luis de la Fuente cuss, but they couldn¡¯t tell him not to cuss, could they? "Tell Asensio and Joselu to get ready in 3 " Luis de la Fuente said sharply. Assistant Coach Pablo Amo nodded and relayed his words to the players. Asensio and Joseph nodded and Proceeded to warm up. The duo found themselves on the touchline 3 minutes later waiting to be subbed on. Izan, who sat on the bench, smiled wryly. The Coach had 2 substitutions left and one would probably be used on the defence and the other on the two defensive midfielders. [Izan¡¯s Pov] ¡¯Seems like I won¡¯t get to play. No worries, though; I¡¯m just glad to be here. But it would still be nice to play. So what was all that talk about letting me loose? This old man The substitution was made in the 63rd minute after Morata sent another ball flying off the target. Morata and Olmo saw their numbers on the board and started walking towards the bench. The Fans clapped for the duo as they got off. Many Fans were still irked by the chances Morata had wasted, but they were still leading, so they couldn¡¯t show it yet. Seeing the opponent¡¯s double change, Willy Sagnol also decided to send on some fresh legs. Willy Sagnol made three changes at the same time Gocholeish, Asarovi and Lobjanidze are all substituted out. In turn, Lasha Dvali and Saba Sazonov came on for the two defenders while Giorgi Chakvetadze came on for Lobjanidze. The match resumed after the changes with two intentions. One side wanted to extend the lead while the other was hoping to draw level. What would happen? Well, we could only wait and see. The match went on for a while, with neither side able to penetrate the opponent¡¯s defence. Luis de la Fuente turned towards the bench and looked at the kid. Izan, who felt a stare, turned to look at the Coach looking at him. "Oh my God, don¡¯t tell me, " Izan thought. "I didn¡¯t want to do this", Coach Luis de la Fuente muttered while looking at Willy Sagnol before calling Pablo Amo. "Get him ready," he said. Pablo Amo understood what his boss meant by this and approached the person in question. "Zubimendi, get ready," Pablo Amo said as he walked away. Zubimendi nodded at his words and got up to warm up. Izan, who heard Pablo Amo¡¯s words, got downcast but didn¡¯t show it. Pablo Amo, who was walking away, stopped and looked at Izan. "What are you sitting there for? Get ready too. You¡¯re both going on" Pablo Amo said before joining Luis de la Fuente. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Why are you so dramatic? " Luis de la Fuente, who had seen what transpired, said. Pablo Amo just stood there laughing sheepishly and scratching his head. Pablo Amo¡¯s words sank in as Izan got up to Warm up. Some of the players tapped him on the shoulder while some mouthed his congratulations. Those whose faces were crunched up, too, kept their heads down. Izan thanked his mates before walking to join Zubimendi in his warm up. A/n: Hello guys, double chapter day. Enjoy it. I¡¯ll come back with a more exciting chapter tomorrow. Bye for now. Chapter 74: Finally Let loose "Get him ready," Luis de la Fuente said. Pablo Amo stared at his boss for a while before he understood what his boss meant and approached the person in question. "Zubimendi, get ready," Pablo Amo said as he walked away. Zubimendi nodded at his words and got up to warm up. Izan, who heard Pablo Amo¡¯s words, got downcast but didn¡¯t show it. Pablo Amo, who was walking away, stopped and looked at Izan, "What are you sitting there for? Get ready too. You¡¯re both going on" Pablo Amo said before joining Luis de la Fuente. "Why are you so dramatic? " Luis de la Fuente, who had seen what transpired, said. Pablo Amo just stood there laughing sheepishly and scratching his head. Pablo Amo¡¯s words sank in as Izan got up to Warm up. Some of the players tapped him on the shoulder while some mouthed his congratulations. Those whose faces were crunched up, too, kept their heads down. Izan thanked his mates before walking to join Zubimendi. The Fans who saw Zubimendi and Izan warming up started a chant. "Oh my God, Izan is coming on," a fan said. "That Valencian kid. I¡¯ve heard of him, and I¡¯ve seen him play, and all I can say is wait till you see it. He has 4 goals and 4 assists Laliga this season" a burly man said. "Wait, but we¡¯ve only played 4 matches", a fan clarified. The people around them finally understood how absurd the stats were. "Well, if I tell you he¡¯s not even 16 years you¡¯d probably be shocked-" the burly man tried to continue but stopped when he saw the faces of the other fans around him. He sighed before saying, "Don¡¯t look at me like that; you have phones; why don¡¯t you check them?". The other fans, struck by a sudden realisation pulled out their phones and began searching. Some typed his name on Google, while others proceeded to Valencia¡¯s squad hub. Either way, they saw that the burly man wasn¡¯t lying. The mouths of the fans who had just found out about this went agape. In the meantime, Izan and Zubimendi finished with their warmup and proceeded to wear their kits. Izan got the same number as the one he used in Valencia. Looking at the No. 21 Spanish Jersey in hand, Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel excited. He put on his jersey and joined Zubimendi who was receiving instructions from Luis de la Fuente. After Luis de la Fuente was done with Zubimendi, he turned his attention towards Izan. "How are you feeling, kid?" he asked with a slight concern. "I¡¯m excited sir. Although I¡¯m about to go in, I still can¡¯t wait" Izan said with a smile. Luis de la Fuente laughed at Izan¡¯s words and finally spoke, S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I said something, and I¡¯m keeping my word; I¡¯m setting you loose on them. Perform well and repay my trust in you, okay?". Izan smiled and nodded at his words before saying, "Don¡¯t worry, I will", Izan said as he finally looked at the pitch. Merino, who saw his number in red, came out for Zubimendi. Oryazabal on the Far end of the field also went out. Izan, who saw Oryazabal exit the pitch, also entered. Pedri, who saw Izan coming on, smiled. Izan went to fill the position Oryazabal had left. Pedri, who was near him, spoke, "Look who decided to join the Party". Izan looked at the former but didn¡¯t say anything and just smiled. The double change for Spain was made in the 71st minute. Willy Sagnol looked at the kid who entered and smiled wryly while looking at Luis de la Fuente. Luis de la Fuente also looked at Willy Sagnol¡¯s face. The latter¡¯s face seemed to say, "Did you have to". Luis de la Fuente smirked and looked away. The ball which went out of bounds was against Spain. Kvarastskhelia opted to see this one out and launched the ball at Mikautadze. The striker who found the ball coming his way wanted to control it into a running motion but found out that he couldn¡¯t. Aymeric Laporte had rushed behind him and now the striker couldn¡¯t move as he pleased because he felt like a boulder stood behind him. Mikautadze finally accepted defeat and kicked the ball towards Kiteishvili in the middle. The attacking midfielder lunged at the ball and headed it towards Giorgi Chakvetadze as he was surrounded by too many opposition players. Giorgi Chakvetadze found himself all alone as he saw Jose Gaya a bit farther from his Position. Chakvetadze took his time with the ball, but the smile on his face soon changed when he felt a leg in front of him. Izan, who had been watching the proceedings, tracked back when he saw Kiteishvili heading the ball towards Chakvetadze. Taking advantage of the opponent¡¯s unawareness, Izan dispossessed him cleanly. The former tried to salvage the situation, but he ended up fouling Izan. The referee, who saw what went on clear as day, blew his whistle for a foul and showed Chakvetadze a yellow card but the Georgian players seemed to think otherwise. They aggressively approached the referee hoping to pressure him into rescinding his decision. The Spanish players felt that they would suffer injustice if this went on, so they also approached the referee, but this time to shield him from the Georgian players. This turned into a bit of an altercation leading the referee to issue 4 yellow cards, 3 for the Georgian side and 1 for the Spanish side. The Georgian players who received the yellow cards now had to be careful as they were now at risk of being sent off. Rodri approached the ball for the earlier foul and sent it into the opponent¡¯s box after seeing Spanish numbers inside it. Joselu was the first to meet the ball but his header was not enough to threaten the Georgian goal as Kashia cleared it out. The ball was headed out for a throw but Izan chased it before jumping with his right foot for a touch in the air. This action of his kept the ball from going out and also drew appreciation from the Fans who were surprised that Izan could still keep the ball in play. Izan, after controlling the ball, turned to face the opposition goal. Izan drove forward slowing with the ball as Chakvetadze approached. The Georgian was hoping to intimidate the little kid who had come on, but he was laid to waste by Izan with a smooth, la croquetta that sent him the other way. Izan, after getting rid of Chakvetadze, made eye contact with Pedri, who was making a run. Izan resolutely sent a curl-driven pass with the outside of his right boot into the box. A few of the Georgian players tried to clear it but couldn¡¯t as the ball flashed in front of Marmadashvili, but the keeper decided not to meet the ball as it looked like nobody would get a touch on it. As if listening to Marmadashvili¡¯s thoughts, the ball curled some more and found itself near Pedri, who met the ball with an outstretched foot, sending the ball into the back of the net. Marmadashvili stood rooted to the spot, and so were the Georgian players, who all thought the ba was out. Pedri, on the other hand, rushed towards Iza,n, pointing at the latter while approaching him. When Pedri got to where Izan was, the former stretched forth his hand which Izan clenched in his for a celebration that looked like two people sealing a deal. The other Spanish players laughed and approached the duo, interrupting their celebrations as they jumped on them sending them tumbling. Luis de la Fuente, who stood on the touchline, was all smiles as he stood there, surprised that Izan had been able to make an impact just a few moments after coming on. After the Celebration, the Spanish players returned to their half, this time, a bit relaxed as they led the opponents by two goals. The Georgian players, after the restart, tried to pull on back in hopes of at least drawing the match. This led to them revealing a few gaps, which Izan noticed and wanted to take advantage of. The Georgian players chose Kvarastskhelia to initiate an attack. The Napoli man had been quiet for a while and decided to use this chance to remind them that he was still in the game. He tried to get rid of Azpilicueta by using his pace but Aymeric Laporte helped Azpilicueta with Kvarastskhelia forcing a change of possession. After the change in possession, the Georgian players tracked back quickly. Azpilicueta looked at Izan on the wing and sent the kid the ball quickly. He had noticed the kid ever since he joined them, and he was impressed, to say the least. The kid reminded him of a Chelsea teammate who joined Real Madrid a few years back but at the same time, the kid was different. Izan found the ball coming at him and also found Lasha Dvali who had come on earlier chasing him. Izan knew he¡¯d be dispossessed or would not even get a chance to compete for the ball but a thought flashed through his mind. "That would be so cheeky," he thought with a smile. As the ball began its descent, Izan rushed to meet it and so did Lasha. Izan ran ahead of the ball a bit, confusing Lasha, who wondered what the kid in front of him was about to do. The ball fell but Izan was still ahead of it with his back to the ball. As if guessing what Izan wanted to do, Lasha rushed at him but was a tad too late. The ball fell as Izan used his back to change the direction of the ball before following it. The Stadium was riddled with ¡¯ohs¡¯ and ¡¯ahs¡¯ as the Fans marvelled at Izan¡¯s display. Lasha tried to suddenly re-adjust and chase after Izan but couldn¡¯t. Izan, with space in front of him, cut through the pitch. Izan reached the byline and was chased by a few Georgian players he decided to cross with a Rabona. The Georgian players around him tensed as the ones near him threw their bodies into the way of the cross. Seeing how they had committed, Izan faked the Rabona before driving the ball to the edge of the box. Izan found space after getting to the edge of the box so he planted his left foot beside the ball before hitting the valve of the ball with his right. The ball moved gracefully, with dip and curl and it travelled towards goal. Marmadashvili saw the ball coming his way and lunged at it. His fingertips touched the ball but it wasn¡¯t enough to change the trajectory of the ball that much as the ball smacked the inside of the post before rustling the net. ¡¯Gooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll¡¯ The Spanish Fans jubilated at the curler that they had just seen. Izan rushed towards the corner flag after the ball entered the goal and slid on his knees. A/n: Sorry for the late update. I wrote the chapter but I forgot to copy it and accidentally cleared it. Anyway thanks guys for the support it means a lot. Chapter 75: Spain’s New Man The Spanish fans went into a frantic state after Izan scored. "What the hell was that" was what was running through the minds of the fans. Some of the fans couldn¡¯t care less and were just happy about the goal. Izan, after sliding on the ground, found himself under a pile of bodies. His teammates followed him as soon as he scored. They were not expecting him to go through with the shot. A few near him were even telling him not to shoot but it looked like Uzan couldn¡¯t hear them. A few of the Spanish fans started a chant again, but it set off a chain reaction and brought all the other Spanish fans to their feet. The players finished celebrating and finally headed towards their side of the pitch. Izan looked around as he had heard someone screaming his name and he felt that the voice was too familiar. He couldn¡¯t find the source of the voice so he gave up and rather looked at the seats where Miranda and Olivia sat. The two seemed to have gotten along when Izan looked over. The duo giggled and talked without care as they hadn¡¯t noticed Izan¡¯s gaze. Miranda and Olivia found out that they got along well when they sat beside each other. Miranda had heard a bit from Komi about Olivia and she was glad that the girl was not problematic. The downfall of many players were women so she had to be on guard against them. She was glad to hear that they had known each other since childhood and that the latter was a good person. The duo returned their attention to the pitch after the referee restarted the match. The duo stared on happily. Izan had played exceptionally well tonight and even had a goal and assists to prove it. As people who had his best interests at heart, they were naturally glad. The match continued with the Georgian players disheartened. They were now trying their hardest not to concede again as the 5th goal had broken their morale. The match went on in a back-and-forth for the remaining 10 minutes with neither side scoring. Spain proactively attacked but couldn¡¯t score. A few of their players upfront had turned dull as they couldn¡¯t place the ball in the net even from clear-cut chances. In the 83rd minute, Pedri had sent a long ball to Joselu, creating a one-on-one chance for him with the keeper, but the striker had placed the ball in the stands. Spain got another chance in the 85th when Izan sent a corner into the box. Le Normand rose to the occasion and headed the ball but Marmadashvili saved it. The ball was still not out of the danger zone, but Asensio smacked the ball over the crossbar. Izan, who had been proactively trying to brighten his resume for Spain, felt annoyed that his teammates were wasting such chances. The referee, seeing as the clock hit the 90-minute mark, added 3 minutes as a saving grace for the Georgian team, who had faced the onslaught of the Spanish team since the 70th minute. He was tactful and knew that if he added more minutes, the Georgian team would concede another The match had entered the dying minutes when Asensio got the ball. He tried to move with the ball but saw that his side of the flank was packed with opponent numbers. Wanting to salvage the situation, Asensio sent a long ball to Jose Gaya, changing the play. Giorgi Chakvetadze rushed towards Gaya as soon as he saw the ball approach the defender. Izan also approached as he wanted to provide another passing option to Gaya. Gaya, was under no pressure as he controlled the ball before sending the bass to Le Normand. Giorgi Chakvetadze changed his target and started rushing towards the then Real Sociedad man, but the ball rushed past him even before he got there as Le Normand released the ball to Rodri. The Spanish players showed the fluid play that they were known for as Rodri swiftly sent the ball to his left. Gaya, who had made a run after his pass, got the ball before sending it to Izan. The defender didn¡¯t stop but rushed past Izan. Lasha Dvali approached Izan in hopes of taking the ball away but the latter just sent the ball to Gaya with a back flick. The Spanish Fans were attracted to this beautiful play and started showing their appreciation as the shouts and cheers in the stadium rose. It was the opposite for the Georgian fans who were tense as they sensed a foreboding feeling. Izan ran into space after flicking the ball backwards to Gaya. The left-back didn¡¯t stall and quickly returned the favour, sending the ball to Izan. Izan looked back before the ball came and saw a blur moving towards him. Izan laughed as he thought of the Georgian player trying to sneak up on him. The ball travelled towards Izan but Izan simply let the ball go through the gap between his legs. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Georgian player who had rushed at Izan also saw the ball roll through his legs but he couldn¡¯t react as he saw the player in front of him try to go around him. The Georgian player thought that something bad might happen if he let Izan go so he grabbed Izan and and fell to the ground with the Spanish prodigy. The referee quickly blew his whistle before approaching the scene. "Ohh, Kashia already had a yellow card. I know, the referee knows and even he knows that he shouldn¡¯t have done that as the referee pulls out a second yellow card for him " The Commentator rambled on as the referee sent Kashia off. The Georgian captain took off his arm and tossed it to Kvarastskhelia before going off. "You okay," Pedri said as he held out a hand for Izan. " I can handle that much," Izan said as he held onto Pedri¡¯s hand. Izan looked at the ball as if he wanted to take it, but he knew he should sit it out as a few players approached, wanting to take it. They had no designated free-kick taker but Izan knew he was probably among the best on the team. With flow and rocket, Izan knew he didn¡¯t have to worry if he was taking it. The players stood around the ball for a bit but it ultimately went to Gaya. Gaya set the ball in place but just before he was about to take it, he looked at the kid on his left and called him. Izan¡¯s face showed a surprised expression as he walked towards Gaya. "We all know you are better at this than I am, so I¡¯ll be the decoy for you to take it, okay?" Gaya said, to which Izan nodded. The other players looked at what was going on and thought that Izan was probably being used as a decoy. The referee made sure that the Georgian wall stood in the spot he had designated and after seeing everything align, he blew his whistle. ¡¯Ding, [Flow] activated¡¯ ¡¯Ding, "pinpoint accuracy "activated ¡¯ ¡¯Ding, "Knuckeball ball " activated ¡¯ [Host has used 1 skill and 2 traits together, system suggests that host should not use this too much] ¡¯Ding, [time limit for skill set to 10 seconds ]¡¯ Izan really wanted this one. A series of notifications rang in Izan¡¯s head as he also heard the countdown from the system. 10 9 8 7 Gaya had already begun his motion at this point, but he suddenly halted, letting Izan go. No way. Is he going to let him take it? The other Spain players thought. Some were eager to see what this kid had to say about this freekick. 6 5 4 3 2 Izan planted his right foot beside the ball before running his left leg through the ball. "I thought he was right-footed", Kiteishvili, who was in the wall, muttered with an expression as if he was wronged. The ball went over his head as he tried to reach it. 1 0 [Trait merger DEACTIVATED] "Host had unlocked new ability, UNION¡¯ The system reminded Izan once the ball flew from his feet. Marmadashvili stared at the ball awkwardly, not knowing where to commit to. The ball moved all over the place on its way to the goal. The ball edged closer and closer as Marmadashvili found himself needing to make a decision. Marmadashvili rushed towards the ball as if already knowing what would happen. He wished he was wrong but unfortunately he wasn¡¯t as the ball shook the net. [Oh my days. Magnificent. Knuckleball from Spain¡¯s little orchestrator. He wanted it, and you could tell. What a beauty from Izan.] The Commentator¡¯s inner Peter Dury arose as he went on. Izan ran towards the fans, and at this time, a grin was outlined on his face. What hadn¡¯t he thought about them when he heard someone call his name? Why did he believe that they wouldn¡¯t be there for him in this story of his? Izan did not stop and jumped over the ad boards before joining his Mother and Sister in the stands. Komi and Hori who had been trying to get Izan¡¯s attention ever since he came on but failed were a bit frustrated. But after witnessing their son and brother score a free-kick, it seemed like he had final noticed them. Izan rushed into their embrace with some of the other fans joining in on the celebration. The other Spanish players also joined Izan in the crowd, becoming one with the fans as the celebrated their 6th goal of the game. A/n: Hey guys, sorry again. It seems I¡¯m making excuses but I won¡¯t. Truth is I really felt lazy today. But thanks for sticking with me by the way. Have fun Chapter 76: Que Viva Espana "I haven¡¯t been following Laliga much this season, so I haven¡¯t noticed him but I¡¯m going to pay attention to Valencia¡¯s matches because of him". "Spain has hope. If he goes on like this, this Euros will be exciting". A lot more conversations like these were made verbal around the stadium. The Spanish fans were excited by this new prospect. Izan had a bit of a tough time getting away from the fans after celebrating with them. Most congratulated him but others didn¡¯t even want to let go of him. Izan smiled wryly as the stewards stepped in to help. A moment later, Izan was headed towards the pitch. The referee didn¡¯t stall much and blew his whistle after the players got in position. The shrill sound of a whistle sounded once more to bring the game to a close. The Georgian players hung their heads low like defeated generals. Their fans, too, were a bit saddened by the defeat, but their team wasn¡¯t to blame. The Georgian fans that had stayed even began clapping for the players. The players reciprocated their gesture and did the same towards the fans. On the other side of the coin, the Spanish fans were jubilant. Some indulged in a Spanish chant, ¡¯Que Viva Espana ¡¯ while others just let loose and shouted. The Spanish players, on the other hand, thanked the fans for their support in the match. The players didn¡¯t exit the pitch after the match but lingered around a bit. Izan found this opportunity and got his mum and sister to the pitch. Miranda and Olivia, too, were able to go on the pitch due to their relationship with Izan. "Ahhhh, my baby Miura," Komi said with a quiet scream as she held Izan by the cheeks. " Did you think Mum would not come for your first game with the national team? I wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world," Komi added after Izan tried to escape her grasp. Miranda and Olivia, coupled with Hori, laughed at Izan¡¯s reaction to Komi grabbing his cheeks as the former seemed embarrassed. Izan saw Pedri standing a bit near, so he called him, hoping he could help his situation. That seemed to work as Komi let go of Izan¡¯s cheeks the moment she heard him call someone over. Pedri approached the group and exchanged greetings with them. He continued to talk with them for a while before leaving. The group continued talking with Izan for a bit before saying their goodbyes. "Mum can¡¯t come and watch you in Germany, so take care of yourself, okay," Komi said but Hori interrupted, "If you can¡¯t go, why are you stopping me? I haven¡¯t been to Germany before" Hori fired. She had been wanting to travel together with Miranda for the trip to Germany but Komi had not let her. "Oh, Hori, are you going to leave your helpless mother alone?" Komi said, faking a sad expression. Hori knew what she was doing and wouldn¡¯t indulge in her anymore so she just walked off. "This one is too cold. She didn¡¯t even bat an eye. That ungrateful kid" Komi said before following Hori. Miranda, too, left with the two under the guise of catching up, even though it had only been a few days since she had seen them. "You were great today," Olivia said as she stared down. "Thanks, I had help" Izan said as he looked at Olivia. "Yeah, your teammates did well too," Olivia spoke, not understanding the kind of help Izan meant. Izan smiled as Olivia didn¡¯t seem to understand what he meant. The two paced around a bit while making small talk. "Should we take a picture " Izan offered after both seemed to have lost words. Olivia revealed her white row of teeth as she nodded at Izan¡¯s suggestion. The duo came closer for the camera and took a few pictures. "Izan, I hate to be that guy, but we don¡¯t have that much time" Joaquin interrupted the duo. Olivia blushed a bit a this before looking at Izan. Izan smiled wryly and turned to look at Olivia. "Guess I¡¯ll see you later," he said after making eye contact. Olivia nodded as she let go of Izan¡¯s hand. "I¡¯ll call you," she said as she walked away. "You little charmer Joaquin said after Olivia was out of earshot. Izan just smiled at Joaquin¡¯s words and walked away. Izan got to the dressing room and saw that most of his teammates were leaving for the bus. He quickly took a shower and organised his things before joining the team on the bus. Oddly enough, he wasn¡¯t the last person on the bus. Izan sat in his seat and nestled into it. Just as Izan tried to get some shut-eye, Olivia sent over the pictures. Izan stared at the screen in front of him and smiled. Izan decided to upload these pictures on his social media handles together with a few photos Miranda got from a photographer. Izan captioned it nicely, Mostly talking about his excitement about being on the team. Izan turned his screen off and got back to doing what he does best after football. Izan slept until he was woken up by the bus coming to a halt. The players, drained of their energies quickly went to their rooms. Izan followed suit but soon realised that he couldn¡¯t sleep. He exited his room and came down to the snack bar for something to fill his stomach. "Couldn¡¯t sleep". Izan turned to look at who it was and found Pedri behind him. "You too, huh" Izan replied before taking the cookie jar. Pedri nodded at Izan¡¯s words as the latter proceeded to take juice boxes. "Here," Izan said as he threw one of the juice boxes at Pedri. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Pedri caught it and watched as Izan put down the cookie jar. "I slept a bit on the bus, so I get why I¡¯m not sleepy,", Izan said as he poked the straw through the hole in the box. "How was today" Pedri asked as he proceeded to munch on some of the cookies. "Exhilarating. The moments were spectacular. Plus I scored two goals and made an assist. Perfect debut for me," Izan answered. "Can¡¯t wait to get to Berlin", Izan added with a smile, which was leading more towards a grin. Pedri looked at the boy beside him and shook his head. "Then keep it up over the next few days in training so that your game time can improve" Pedri spoke. "You know, you¡¯re truly one of a kind " the latter added after staring at Izan for a while. "I won¡¯t be leaving Valencia ", Izan said abruptly, causing Pedri to stop his monologue before it even began. "Okay you got me" Pedri raised his hand in the air as if caught doing something bad. "I don¡¯t want to leave Valencia before accomplishing something, " Izan said as his expression softened. "You know, I thought you were only saying it because that guy from your club was with us", Pedri uttered. Izan looked at Pedri after he said these words. "But I¡¯m glad you¡¯re loyal. At least you won¡¯t pull a ¡¯Luis Figo¡¯ on us when you join us later" Pedri said jokingly. Izan also laughed at his remark. "Is this hotel possessed? Why am I hearing laughter at this time " Alex Baena said when he got to the snack bar. "Cookie?" Izan asked when he got near. Alex Baena looked at the jar before agreeing. Izan also took out another juice box and passed it to him. The trio sat there quietly, enjoying the silence and the cookie. The night ended as quickly as it came. Izan went out for his daily mission when he saw daybreak. After completing his mission and sweating a bit, he headed back to his room. Finding nothing to do after taking a bath, Izan sank, into his bed again. The players went over the same routine as they had done before the match with Georgia. Eat, train, eat some more, train some more, then sleep. The players would be found playing games when they weren¡¯t doing these three things. Izan would talk to his mother and sister when he wasn¡¯t playing. He also went over a few details with Miranda over the deal with Adidas. He¡¯d finally have a chat with Olivia if she was available. "I¡¯ll be getting busy soon" Izan said at the thought of going to school after the match with Germany. "Hold on Miura, Hold on. You have to do it. Do it to make mom and dad proud" Izan comforted himself as thoughts of dropping out continued to linger. Time ticked by as they got a day closer to the game against Germany. The Spain players had their evening session with a match. Izan once again showed his vision and passing ability in this game, making 3 assits. "Keep sending those kind of balls to me and we won¡¯t have a problem against Germany" Morata said with a confident laugh. The other Spain players laughed at Izan¡¯s expression which seemed to wonder what was going on with Morata. The players soon went for dinner before packing as they waited to get on the plane to Germany the next day. A/n: Hello guys,late chapter day. Enjoy it. At this point, my eyes are hurting from all the screens. I¡¯m going to play DOTA so see you in a bit. Also thanks for the powerstones. Chapter 77: Currywurst and pretzels The Spanish national team was buzzing with excitement as they landed in Germany for the big match. Although sitting in the plane for a while wasn¡¯t the best for their bodies, the players still relished the chance to travel to Germany. The crisp, cool German air hit them as they stepped off the plane, a sharp contrast to the warmth they¡¯d left back home. Izan took his luggage and came down a flight of stairs. "Ever been to Germany?" Pedri asked as he walked beside Izan. "Yeah. We played Stuttgart¡¯s u19 team once in the UEFA Youth League. We also played Bayern¡¯s youth team" Izan answered. "Oh, so you were among the Valencia youth team that won the UEFA Youth League?" Pedri asked. Izan, not wanting to go too much into detail, just nodded. "Nice resume" Pedri uttered before going ahead. Izan just shook he stared at the former as he walked ahead. Izan followed suit and joined the players. Led by captain, Alvaro Morata, the players found themselves on the way to the bus. Once on board, some of the players shared jokes and stories while others admired the scenery of Germany¡¯s rolling hills and tidy villages as they sped toward Berlin. They couldn¡¯t wait to see the city and explore, but first, they needed rest. As they pulled up to the hotel, the Spanish team were greeted with a warm welcome from the staff. The lobby was elegant, with cosy seating areas and large windows that looked out onto the city. The players checked in, grabbing their key cards with excitement. They quickly discovered that each room had a view overlooking the famous city square, and the sight only added to their excitement. After settling in, some players decided to relax in the lounge, where they were served tapas with a German twist, a gesture from the hotel staff to make them feel at home. Others headed to the gym to loosen up after the flight. Izan joined the latter group to exercise. He could have used a recovery and conditioning drug to be in his best state but Izan felt that those were too artificial and expensive. To him, it felt better to do the real thing than to rely too much on the drugs. As evening fell, the team gathered in the dining area, sharing stories about their team, bringing a lively feeling to the area. Luis de la Fuente told the players to rest as they would be touring the city the next day. The night in Germany brought a new atmosphere, but with camaraderie and focus, the Spanish players were ready to experience the culture they also knew the challenge ahead. The next day, the players woke up, excited for the day ahead. They headed to the dining area to fill their stomachs before going out. The hotel staff consulted the Spanish nutritionist before making the team breakfast to provide a hearty but healthy breakfast for the players. The players soon left with the bus as they began their tour in Berlin. A sunny day in Berlin, where a light breeze added just the right touch to make a perfect city exploration. The journey began at the iconic Brandenburg Gate, an awe-inspiring structure that has seen centuries of history. Tourists snapped photos, with the faint sound of street musicians filling the air as the Spanish players marvelled at the landmark that has come to symbolize Germany¡¯s unity and resilience. Glances were thrown at the Spanish players as they toured the place. A few teenagers approached players like Olmo, who were well-known in Germany. Players like Morata and Rodri, too, couldn¡¯t escape the eyes of the people around. Izan stared at this thinking how he would soon receive such treatment. From there, the trip continued to the Reichstag Building. Its grand architecture, with a striking glass dome on top, invites visitors to take a panoramic view of Berlin from above. The players enjoyed this session the most as they were fond of how the panoramic view of the city. Izan together with a few players After taking in the sweeping sights, the players headed to the Berlin Wall Memorial. Here, travellers reflect on the history of the wall, observing preserved sections that tell the stories of division and hope for reunification. Each mural on the wall holds its own story, a unique perspective on a complex past. The players were uninterested in this part but they still smiled and listened attentively as Luis de la Fuente seemed to shoot lasers out of his gaze when he glanced at them. A walk along the River Spree brought fresh energy to the day. Locals and tourists alike enjoyed picnics or strolls along the banks, with the shimmering river acting as a beautiful backdrop. Lunch found its place at a traditional German caf¨¦, with dishes like currywurst and freshly baked pretzels offering a taste of Berlin¡¯s flavours. The players enjoyed the lunch and the rest as a few of the players were getting tired at this point. Later, Museum Island was called home to an impressive collection of art and history in Berlin¡¯s famous museums. A visit to the Pergamon Museum, with its breathtaking exhibits like the Ishtar Gate, felt like a journey through ancient civilizations. Afternoon, Alexanderplatz bustles with life, with people gathered around the World Clock, a reminder of Berlin¡¯s connection to the world. The day winds down in Kreuzberg, a lively neighbourhood full of eclectic street art, charming caf¨¦s, and vibrant nightlife. The players couldn¡¯t enjoy that, though, since Luis de la Fuente called and wouldn¡¯t let them stay around for that. Who knew what some of the players would do if left alone? The players boarded the bus as they headed back to the hotel. Dinner followed after the players had freshened up. The trip around Berlin was exciting but it was also tiring. The Coach dismissed the players earlier after telling them the plan for the next day. Izan sank into the soft bed after talking with his mother and Miranda. He texted a few people goodnight before succumbing to sleep. The bustle of the night soon died down for Izan who had given his all in sleeping. Refreshed and revitalised after a good night¡¯s sleep, the players soon found themselves on the grounds of Stadion Wilmersdorf in the Wilmersdorf district of Berlin. The session was tiring as the Coaches pushed the players to the extreme whilst making sure they did not get injured. Izan performed well as usual, leading the chart in speed and Agility drills as well as placing high in the passing and shooting drills amongst the players. Luis de la Fuente monitored his newfound treasure with keen attention as he nodded whilst looking at Izan¡¯s information compiled by the analysts. Izan had just become the youngest player to make an appearance for Spain as well as the youngest goalscorer and player to make an assist. And he had done that at just 15 years, 318 days. Luis de la Fuente was very optimistic about Izan and made sure to pay keen attention to him. The Session came to a close after a while. The players stuck around for a while before they headed back to the hotel. The training had also taken its toll so the physio arranged a recovery session for the players to prevent any tense muscle or injuries. The hours ticked by as the players finished their dinner. A meeting in the conference room was what followed after that, as Coach Luis de la Fuente reviewed a few materials with the players. Most were about how the German team played and how to counter their style while keeping theirs effective. Luis de la Fuente went about the tactics smoothly, reminding and showing the habits of the opponent team when attacking and defending his players. After a whole hour and a half, the tactical session came to an end. The match would start at 6 in the evening so he told the players to prepare for a light session in the morning. The players groaned as they all knew that the session would be anything but light. Izan, who had just joined the team, had experienced first-hand what Luis de la Fuente meant by a light session. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A few of the players returned to their rooms while the others stuck around. Izan walked around the lobby for a while before finding Pedri and Olmo. The duo had found a console on which they could play games to curb their boredom. Since he had nothing better to do, Izan joined them the duo The trio alternated between some Football games as well as Racing and fighting games for a while. The trio soon returned to their rooms as it was getting late, and none wanted to torture themselves with the light session the following day. Izan fell to his bed as he tried to get some sleep. That didn¡¯t last long as sounds of paced breathing, soon filled the room. A/n: Take this[throws the chapter in their faces]. Thanks for the tickets and stones guys. Love y¡¯all Chapter 78: To the Olympiastadion The Spanish camp woke up early to prepare for match day, knowing it was a day where focus and discipline were everything. The Hotel¡¯s main chef consulted the nutritionist of the team for what the players would be having for breakfast as diet on the day of the match was also part of the discipline. The duo agreed on on whole-grain toast with Avocado, adding some Greek yogurt with Granola and honey on the side. The players came down after a while to enjoy the spread before them. The players focused on their meals and were done in a few minutes. After breakfast, the Spanish players knew what was up as they grabbed their gear. Luis de la Fuente had wanted to waste less time today so he made the players walk to Wilmersdorf since it would help them warm up their muscles. 17 minutes later, the players found themselves on the pitch, engaged in some high-intensity scrimmage. Izan found himself amid this physical play. Although his physical state wasn¡¯t the best, it was decent, so Izan kept in the game. Izan was placed on team B which mostly consisted of the substitutes. The main team played quick and decisive passes around his team, showcasing why they were starting. Izan performed well even though he was on the ab team, playing with urgency and being smart about the ball. Coach Luis de la Fuente had wanted to see if Izan could play as he did when surrounded by players of less quality, but he had proved his worth. The Session ended after the scrimmage was done. Seemingly satisfied, Luis de la Fuente ended it a bit early, allowing the players to rest. The players rested a bit after the scrimmage before packing their gear. "Coach might kill one of us these days," Olmo said while packing his things. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I don¡¯t get his version of a light session", Pedri said as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Izan scoffed at the duo as they complained about the training. "Who doesn¡¯t know that both of you are lazy" Izan uttered while walking away. "Look at this. "It¡¯s nice to be young,", Pedri said while holding his waist. Olmo, too, pretended to hold a walking stick as the duo continued to annoy Izan with their old-man antics. "Just like Pietro," Izan said remembering his teammate. "I should probably hang out with him after the break" he thought before walking to join the group of players that had left earlier. The duo ran and joined the remaining players after seeing that they were a bit behind. The players walked once more to the hotel as they prepared for the match. All around Berlin and in Germany, football fans prepared for the match with palpable excitement. Those who had gotten the opportunity to watch the game live began their day with a careful selection of their team¡¯s jersey, probably one with the name and number of their favourite player printed on the back. Some of the fans also sported a scarf in the German team colours, perhaps wrapped around their neck or tied to their wrist, a nod to the die-hard loyalty. The journey to the stadium was filled with chants and team songs as the fans filled the streets. A pure footballing atmosphere was created in these streets as the fans headed towards the stadium. The time ticked by as the appointed hour approached. The Spanish team wore their tracksuits and boarded the bus. The players did their own thing as the bus headed towards the stadium. The ride there wasn¡¯t long as it was a 15-minute drive from Mitte, where the players were staying, to the Olympiastadion in Berlin. The players felt the excitement of the fans around before even entering the stadium. Seeing the opponents alight, the chants of the German fans grew. The Fans, perhaps, hoped to intimidate the opponent players before they could even go onto the pitch. "This one looks like he could eat me" Pedri said as he nudged Izan in the direction he was looking. Izan followed Pedri¡¯s line of sight and found a huge German who looked like a modern-day Viking, staring at them. "Add me and Olmo to the Menu," Izan said igniting laughs from the players around. A loud cheer came from outside just as the Spanish players entered the stadium. "The German guys must have arrived" Olmo stated as they entered their designated locker room. Some of the players sauntered around as there was still a bit of time before they began their warm-up. Izan preferred to be prepared than late so he wore his gear except for his boots before replying to a few messages on his phone. After a while, Morataed the guys onto the pitch to begin their warm-up. The shouts of the Spanish fans in the stadium rose as soon as they saw the players enter the pitch. The players also reciprocated the fans¡¯ acknowledgement and waved towards them. Izan found the fans cheering for his actions on the pitch. Most of the fans knew Izan by now as ¡¯Spain¡¯s new Orchestrator ¡¯ as referred to by a famous pundit back in Spain. The fans were excited to see how Izan would perform against an opponent like Germany. The Spanish team were soon joined on the pitch by the German side, igniting a wave of cheers from the home crowd. "Hey, Izan, why don¡¯t you do those tricks of yours? Think of it as fan service" Olmo said as he held Izam by the shoulder. "Do you think I used to live in a circus? Asking me to do tricks. Let me go" Izan stated as he smacked Olmo¡¯s hand off his shoulder. "Oh, come on,", Olmo said as he continued to pester Izan. Izfinal gave in as he shot a few balls at David Raya who had been selected for this match. Izan shot accurately as he had toggled on the "pinpoint accuracy"trait. The fans were wowed by this display, showing their excitement by the gasps and cheers. The German players looked over at the spectacle being put on display. "Cute," Thomas Muller said in German before focusing on his warm-up. This went on for a while before each representative of the two teams called them back in. The players from the two sides mingled with each other in the tunnel, talking to teammates or players they knew. Izan, who had no teammate or business on the opponent side, strolled to the locker room. "Hey Marc, did you ask about that kid?" Muller asked Ter Stegen after they went to their dressing room. "Yeah, he plays for Valencia. Pedri said he¡¯s good, and I just checked his stats for Laliga this season, and I must say, this kid is good," Ter Stegen said as he stared at his screen. Muller and a few other interested players approached Ter Stegen and took a look at what was up. "4 goals and 4 assists in the Laliga after 4 matches. That¡¯s Insane" Muller said, shook at what he had seen. "I saw some news that he had just become Spain¡¯s youngest in a few things, but I just thought, lucky him, but this is not normal", Ilkay said. "Then we have to be wary of him. At this point, age is not a factor for him to be looked down upon. Nothing is" Muller spoke as he handed ter Stegen the device. "Well, he isn¡¯t starting," Rudiger said as he showed the released lineups. In the opposite dressing room, Luis de a Fuente was doing his last tactical revision with the players. Izan found himself on the bench, as he was already expecting, but he knew he would get more game time in this match. Kick-off was drawing near, so Izan took his bottle and wore a bib before heading to the dugout. A few minutes after Izan was seated, the starting players came out of the tunnel. Led by the officials of the game, the players on both sides lined up before the crowd. The fans comported themselves seeing as it was time for the anthem to be sung. Both sides went through with the anthem, each fan singing patriotically when their anthem flowed. After the anthem, the fans clapped, showing their excitement for the game at hand. The German interim Coach, V?ller Rudi, who had been appointed after Hansi Flick got the sack, approached Luis de la Fuente for a handshake. After wishing each other a good game, they turned their attention towards the pitch, where the players of both sides got in place. The Spanish team had won the toss earlier and had given the kickoff to the German side, so Thomas Muller now stood over the ball. With everything in place, the referee glanced at his watch and waited for a while before starting the game. His shrill whistle brought Thomas Muller from his short daydream as the player kicked off, eliciting cheers from the Fans who had been waiting for this game all day. A/n: Hey guys I planned to release this today but i found out I had no chapters in stock. So I held onto it as it was my lifesaver. Anyway enjoy and once again thanks for the infinidy stones. Yeah copyright this Marvelle. Chapter 79: Shots Traded The tension was palpable as fans poured into Berlin¡¯s Olympiastadion, eagerly awaiting an international clash between two of the world¡¯s most powerful football nations, Germany and Spain. This legendary stadium, with its sweeping arches and historical significance, seemed to come alive under the bright floodlights, its stands adorned with the colours and chants of fans from both countries. The atmosphere promised a match that would not only test the skill and resilience of the players on the pitch but also showcase two different philosophies of football. Germany, known for their efficiency, disciplined tactics, and relentless physicality, were playing at home. The pressure to perform in front of their fans was immense, and as the players took to the field, they looked focused and intense. Spain, on the other hand, had earned a reputation for their slick, possession-based play known as "tiki-taka," which relies on short, quick passes and ball control to dismantle defences. Both teams had assembled formidable squads, packed with world-class talent in every position, making the encounter even more tantalizing. As the referee¡¯s whistle signalled the start of the game. His sharp whistle pulled Thomas Muller from his brief daydream as the player kicked off, drawing cheers from the fans who had been anticipating this game all day. The German side began on a high note as they quickly tried to threaten their opponents. Muller sent the ball to Florian Wirtz after Kick-off. The Bayer wonder boy quickly stopped the ball under his feet before getting out of the way. The Spanish players who were already trying to press found his actions weird. But before they could react, Ilkay G¨¹ndogan sent a long ball to the right flank. Yes, this was Germany¡¯s tactic for the early game as they tried to make it count early in the game. The Spanish team was caught off guard by this action and tried to go back. The ball streaked across the field and found itself at the feet of Serge Gnabry who trapped the ball nicely. The winger didn¡¯t waste a second and drove deep into the territory of the Spanish team. Jose Gaya seeing as he couldn¡¯t stall anymore, approached Gnabry to try and tackle the ball. Ultimately, Gaya couldn¡¯t as the winger used a nice change of pace and some flashy footwork to get away from Gaya. The defender tried to catch up to Gnabry after the winger got away, but Gnabry was too pacey. The German crowd saw a chance for their team in the early seconds of the game so they cheered. Getting to the byline, Gnabry looked for numbers in the opposition box and saw enough, so he sent a low cross into the box. The approaching ball caused a bit of chaos in the Spanish box as the players vied for it. Le Normand, who was in this encirclement, escaped. The Defender rushed towards the oncoming ball as he stuck a foot out to clear it. Unfortunately, the defender¡¯s good intentions turned into a bad choice as he hadn¡¯t looked around before sticking his foot out, fouling Florian Wirtz in the process. The midfielder had rushed towards the ball from Le Normand¡¯s blindside and had gotten to the ball before the defender. The German players and Fans roared in Unison as they called the referee¡¯s attention to it. The referee was already on the case as he blew his whistle for a penalty. The German players and Fans roared in happiness when the referee pointed to the spot. The German players approached Florian Wirtz, who was on the ground, to see if he had been injured,d, but the Leverkusen man was okay. The Spanish player couldn¡¯t debate the referee¡¯s decision as the infringement was clear as day. Muller took the ball and gave it to Florian Wirtz as the latter had earned the penalty. After setting the ball on the spot, the referee made sure the only players in the box, were Wirtz and Raya. The two stood in a stare-down as they both looked at each other like two cowboys in a gunfight. After everything was settled the referee blew his whistle. The whole stadium looked on as Wirtz stepped up to the spot. Raya tensed as he tried to guess the direction of the ball, but Wirtz one-upped him and sent the ball into the top left corner. The ball was shot with power and precision making it impossible for Raya to save even if he knew where the ball was going. The stadium erupted as the German fans leapt to their feet, cheering and waving scarves in the air. The German players chased after Wirtz who ran and slid near the corner flag after the goal. Shouts and chants filled the air as some fans embraced, their faces alight with joy and excitement. A sea of white, red, black and yellow colours rippled through the stands as flags waved and confetti rained down, capturing the intensity of the moment. The Spanish players shook their heads as they watched the opponents celebrate. Luis de la Fuente showed almost no emotion after the opponents scored. Morata rallied the boys after the goal, and soon, the Spanish players were in position waiting for the Germans. After their celebration, the Germans returned to their side of the pitch. The referee waited for them to get into place before restarting the match a minute after starting the match. The Spanish team kicked off and tried to give an answer of their own but couldn¡¯t. The Germans played compact football, leaving no space for the ¡¯tiki-taka¡¯ of the Spaniards. Around the 11-minute mark, Spain¡¯s first real chance came. A quick interchange of passes between Rodri and Zubimendi saw the ball reach the feet of Pedri who had started this game just outside the box. The Midfielder looked up to see if he could find any path for the ball, but the Germans had cut off all the passing spaces. Seeing as he couldn¡¯t, Pedri sought an alternative. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With a swift turn, he steadied and unleashed a shot that curved toward the far post. German goalkeeper, Marc Andre Ter- Stegen who was fully alert, reacted swiftly, diving to his right and parrying the ball out for a corner. The Spanish fans roared in appreciation, sensing their team was getting closer to their equalizer. Gaya went for the corner but it amounted to nothing much as Morata headed it wide. The Fans sighed in disappointment after Morata¡¯s missed chance. "He really should have made that count", the Commentator said bringing out the thoughts of the Fans The game began to open up as Germany responded. They counterattacked with precision, using their speed down the wings to bypass Spain¡¯s midfield. In the 17th minute, Germany launched a fast break, with their winger, Leroy Sanesprinting down the left flank, leaving Spanish player Lucas Vasquez in his wake. After getting to the byline, he whipped in a low cross into the box, finding the German striker, Thomas Muller who had managed to escape his marker. With one touch, Muller attempted to place the ball into the bottom corner, but the Spanish goalkeeper, David Raya made an outstanding save, diving low to his left and deflecting the shot with his fingertips. The match intensified as both sides traded chances, with Pedri smacking the post with the ball after a freekick. By the 30th-minute mark, the score remained 1-0, in favour of Germany. The level of play and tension was at an all-time high. The fans knew they were witnessing a battle of attrition, with each team pushing their tactics to the limit. Spain found another chance, courtesy of Rudiger¡¯s misplaced lass which found its way at the feet of Olmo on the left wing. The RB Leipzig man swiftly tried his luck from long range. The ball looked destined for the goal but was thwarted by Ter-Stegen pulled a spectacular save, eliciting cheers from the German fans. The German shot-stopper was really on top of his game. The ball went out for a corner once more as Gaya looked over the ball. Aymeric Laporte and a few of Spain¡¯s tall players tried to cause mayhem in the box as they were waiting for the ball to be sent over. Gaya sent a clean-cut ball into the ball. The left-back had had some spin to the ball, and it needed a touch. Le Normand rose and towered over everyone as he tried to make up for his earlier mistake. The Defender met the ball timely, in the air, directing it towards the goal, but once again, Ter Stegen proved why he was one of the best Goalkeepers of his Generation. The Spanish Fans in the Olympiastadion sighed at the saved ball. Ter Stegen was proving to be a headache, as he had stopped all the Spanish team¡¯s shots. Rudi V?ller was excited on the touchline as his team had escaped yet another dangerous ball. Izan, who had been watching, was impressed by Ter Stegen. If not for the latter, the Spanish team would have probably led by now, but there were no ifs and buts in this game. A/n:[throws the chapter in their faces]. I¡¯ll be back. Chapter 80: A Tale Of Two Giants After the half-hour mark, the intensity on the pitch reaches its peak. Both teams, aware that a single lapse in concentration could alter the game¡¯s dynamics, were pushing their limits. The scoreboard still read 1-0, but it doesn¡¯t reflect the energy on the field. The Spanish team pursued the goal relentlessly as they kept pushing forward with bursts of determination hoping for an opportunity to equalize before the halftime whistle. Germany didn¡¯t sit down and take the shots as they also pursued another goal to extend their lead. This was displayed when a swift through ball set Leroy Sane Loose again. The Former Man City man lost his man before meeting the ball on the edge of the box. Although Leroy Sane was one-footed, the shot from his right foot didn¡¯t disappoint as the ball grazed the fingertips of Raya, changing its trajectory and sending it over the bar. The crowd felt the tension and responded with rhythmic chants, clapping, and cheers, willing their team to give it their all as the final moments of the first half approached. The midfield became a battlefield as each side fought to control possession albeit Spain had more of it. Every pass, tackle, and clearance was delivered with purpose. A sense of urgency rippled through both teams, especially the attackers when they saw a chance to catch the opposition defence off. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In the dying minutes of the first half between Spain and Germany, the intensity on the pitch surged as both teams fought with a goal in mind. One side is to seize another advantage before the break, and the other is looking to get level. Spain held onto the ball for dear life, crafting intricate plays through their famous tiki-taka style. Germany, though, displayed relentless pressing, seeking every opportunity to disrupt Spain¡¯s rhythm and launch counterattacks. With the clock ticking past the 43rd minute, Spain pushed forward, threading passes through the midfield with precision. Pedri and Olmo combined well, carving out pockets of space near Germany¡¯s box. However, Germany¡¯s defence remained solid, with R¨¹diger and S¨¹le marshalling the backline, cutting off passing lanes, and forcing Spain to work for every inch of territory. Suddenly, a quick one-two between Olmo and Morata unlocked Germany¡¯s defence, allowing Morata to slip behind the line. The Spanish fans got on the edge of their seats when they saw a chance to get level. Morata, with only Ter Stegen to beat, struck a powerful shot towards the bottom corner. The entire stadium watched on as the ball went on its mission, passing through the legs of Henrichs Benjamin. But Ter Stegen was quick off his line, making a spectacular save that saw the ball deflected wide of the post. Spain¡¯s fans gasped in anticipation, but the German captain¡¯s reflexes preserved the German team¡¯s lead. In response, Germany countered with speed after Ter Stegen sent a quick ball to the middle. Wirtz picked up the ball and danced through Spain¡¯s midfield, beating two defenders before laying it off to Emre Can on the left. Emre Can took a touch, then whipped a dangerous cross into the box where Gnabry was lurking. The ball soared over Spain¡¯s defenders, reaching Gnabry¡¯s head. The winger made solid contact, directing it toward the top corner, but Spain¡¯s goalkeeper, David Raya, stretched to his full length, tipping the ball over the bar in a magnificent display of agility. With mere seconds left, both teams were visibly pushing their limits. Spain launched one final attack, driving forward in waves. Rodri took the ball away from Wirtz. With the latter pressing on for the ball, Rodri released it to Ferran Torres on the right. The winger carefully trapped the ball as Jonathan Tah had gotten near him. Without waiting, Ferran sent the ball behind Tah after seeing Vasquez make a run. The Real Madrid man faked a shot to get away from his teammate Rudiger before sending the ball into the box. Ter Stegen tensed when he saw Olmo free, but the shot from him was blocked by Niklas S¨¹le. After the shot was blocked, Henrichs lunged at the ball and sent it forward. It was now the Spanish team¡¯s turn to defend. Germany responded in kind, with G¨¹ndogan bolting to the ball and orchestrating the attack. The German crowd¡¯s roar grew deafening at the pass sent by Ilkay G¨¹ndogan to Wirtz. Every challenge, pass, and shot seemed more critical than the last. Wirtz with a beautiful display of skill-nutmegged Zubimendi. The ball was now a bit far away from Wirtz, but he relentlessly pursued and got to the ball before anyone did. Putting the toe part of the boot under the ball, Wirtz flicked up the ball, sending some of the grass flying. The ball went up and fell in front of Muller, bouncing once in the process. Thomas Muller found the need to adjust his body but Aymeric Laporte wasn¡¯t letting him. Conceding to the defender, Muller went through the ball with a left volley. The fans rose to their feet at the shot that had just been released towards Raya. "Surely this is a goal", the fans thought but they were to be disappointed as Raya blocked the ball with his chest. "What a chance. What a save and what a match. Two giants of world football going toe to toe and although Germany lead, you can¡¯t take anything away from Spain" The Commentator spat after seeing M¨¹ller¡¯s blocked shot. The Commentator went on as it seemed, he had awoken his inner Shakespeare. As the referee glanced at his watch, Torres surged down the right flank and drilled a cross into the box, hoping for a last-gasp goal. The cross found Morata, but just as he prepared to shoot, R¨¹diger slid in with a decisive tackle. The Spanish fans shouted at Rudiger¡¯s rough challenge but the referee knew what he saw. The match went on as both teams engaged in some proper attacking football but neither could make it count. The referee¡¯s whistle blew, signalling the end of a gripping first half. The Fans who had their breaths held could finally take a breather. Both sides headed to the locker rooms with Germany leading, but the display Spain had shown left the fans on edge for what the second half would bring. Half-time in the Spain national football team¡¯s dressing room was a period that balanced calm reflection and intense tactical adjustments. As the players entered, they were greeted by the coaching staff and medical team. Some of the players dropped onto the benches, caught their breaths, and hydrated while the staff provided energy drinks or light snacks to replenish energy. "Here," Izan said as he tossed a snack bar at Olmo and Pedri. "Izan, come on that¡¯s favouritism. None for m-" Ferran tried to say, but Izan stuffed an unwrapped snack bar inside his mouth. This scene brought a smile to the faces of the players who had given their all in the first half. The Coaches, led by the head coach, Luis de la Fuente quickly reviewed statistics, strengths, and weaknesses observed in the first half. Meanwhile, assistant coaches and analysts went about the room, sharing observations with individual players. They offered insights about positioning, movement, and any visible weaknesses in the opposition. Luis de la Fuente usually waited a few minutes, allowing the players to cool down and clear their minds, before delivering a focused, tactical talk. The talk was concise and direct, with an outline of the tactical adjustments needed in the second half. Spain had conceded, so they addressed a few defensive issues, like how they handled dangerous opposition players. Le Normand smiled wryly at this point because his unawareness had cost the team a goal. Luis de la Fuente told his men to focus on keeping momentum, staying calm, and sharpening ball control to maintain possession. After this, the Medical staff members were left to assess players for minor injuries or fatigue. A few of the players were offered massages, and the ankles of others were wrapped. "You have performed your best. I¡¯m not angry we are losing because you guys have played better. But it won¡¯t be nice for our resumes to lose, so go and make yourselves proud," Luis de la Fuente spoke with some emotion. The players agreed with his words and got up as the time was near. Izan again got up to leave for the dugout. "Are you itching to play?" Luis de la Fuente asked with a slight smile. "I¡¯d be lying if I said I didn¡¯t ", Izan answered as he looked dryly at his coach. "Don¡¯t worry, you will" de la Fuente said as he went ahead. Izan didn¡¯t linger and followed him out. The players in the dressing room formed a small huddle, led by the Morata, who gave an encouraging rally. The atmosphere shifted from reflective to determined as players approached the tunnel. They were ready to hit the pitch again, to bring Spain¡¯s strategic adjustments and renewed energy into the second half. A/n : Thats it for today guys. Have fun. And once again, thank your for the stones and tickets. This is is the most I¡¯ve had and its all thanks to you people. Chapter 81: Boy In A Den Of Men The fans refilled the stadium seats after they had gone for their break. Many fans had taken these 15 minutes to replenish as the first half had dried them. The first half they had just witnessed was beyond great. They were now waiting eagerly for the second half. The players from both teams were met with a wave of cheers and applause for the first-half performance after they stepped out of the tunnel. And now, the fans were poised for the second. The players stepped onto the pitch and quickly got into positions at the urging of the referee, who didn¡¯t want to waste more time than necessary. No substitutions had been made after the break as it seemed that both Coaches were satisfied with the performance of their players. Morata stood over the ball, waiting patiently for the referee to start the second half. A glance at his watch brought the sound of the referee¡¯s whistle to life. The stadium erupted into cheers once more as they looked to enjoy this second half. "An early goal would be nice," a blonde Spaniard in the crowd said with a slightly depressed look. "Do you think they would allow us to score that easily" a slightly older man who looked to be the father of the blonde man spoke. "That¡¯s why it was a wish. You don¡¯t have to be so critical about it, Dad," the younger man said. The older man laughed at his son¡¯s words while slapping his thigh. "Yeah, it was a wish,", he said after he finished laughing. The second half of the match between Spain and Germany kicked off with tension in the air. Spain came out looking to assert control, still relying on their classic tiki-taka approach to dominate possession. Germany, however, aimed to disrupt Spain¡¯s rhythm by increasing their intensity and pressing higher up the pitch. The intensity that marked the first half continued, with both teams battling for dominance on the pitch. Spain immediately made use of their kickoff advantage, weaving intricate passes around the midfield. Their midfielders, sharp and agile, threaded the ball between German defenders, looking for any gaps to exploit. Germany, however, anticipated Spain¡¯s strategy. Their defence held a tight line, pressing up the field to reduce the space Spain had to work with, making it difficult for the Spanish midfielders to find their forwards. 3 minutes after the start of the second half, Rodri orchestrated a play with skill and vision. After looking for Ferran Torres on the left flank, the former sent him a low-driven ball. Emre Can tried to intercept the ball before it got to Ferran but couldn¡¯t. Rodri¡¯s pass was that good. The ball found its way to the feet of Ferran Torres, who turned sharply to face Henrich after carefully controlling it. Looking to challenge for the ball. The two went at it as one was trying to escape with the ba while the other was trying to take it. The confrontation between the two was a bit of a spectacle as the fans enjoyed one-on-one. As Ferran engaged in a heated one-on-one battle with Henrichs, the Spanish left-back, Jose Gaya, darted past Germany¡¯s right-back. Seeing this, Ferran sent the lofted ball to Gaya, who wasted no time and released a dangerous cross into the penalty area. The ball was met by Alvaro Morata, who skillfully flicked it toward the goal. For the umpteenth time, Germany¡¯s goalkeeper, Ter Stegen reacted instantly, diving to push the ball away, showcasing lightning-fast reflexes and keeping the score level. The save drew a roar of approval from German fans, while Spain continued to press on. The ball had gone out for a throw-in after a clear by Niklas S¨¹le. Ferran Torres took the ball and backed up after looking into the penalty area. With a sharp flick of his wrists, he sent the ball flashing into the box. Jonathan Tah headed the ball out of the danger area, but the ball still fell to Ferran Torres, who was on the byline. Florian Wirtz rushed at Ferran but the former¡¯s defensive capability wasn¡¯t that strong. Ferran Torres took this opportunity to drive the ball to the arc outside the box before sending a grounded pass into the box. The Spanish fans rose once again in anticipation of what was going to happen. Morata had taken advantage of the chaos and broken past the defensive line. With the ball coming his way and the keeper doing the same, Morata flicked the ball over Ter Stegen, chipping the latter to score a great goal. The stadium roared to life after Spain¡¯s goal as the Spanish minority gave their all in celebration, but it was cut short when the referee blew his whistle. The fans all turned to look at the linesman who had flagged Morata for an offside positioning. The Spanish players approached the referee to confront him about the goal. The referee¡¯s assistants had said that Morata was in an offside position, but they still told the referee to check the VAR to ease the lumps in the hearts of the Spaniards. Veteran referee Clement Turpin approached the VAR and stood there for a minute, trying to see if they had made the right call. After a while, he came back and signalled that the offside still stood. The Spanish fans grumbled and booed the referee. The referee restarted the game with a free kick to the Germans. With the ball back in play, Germany aimed to catch Spain on the counter-attack, moving with speed and precision. Germany¡¯s midfield dynamo, Florian Wirtz drove forward, slicing through Spain¡¯s midfielders with clever footwork. The Spain players tried to limit him by rushing with numbers but he still got away. A slick one-two with the German forward, Thomas Muller left him in a favourable shooting position. Florian Wirtz adjusted and took a powerful shot from outside the box, only for the Spanish goalkeeper to make an equally impressive save, tipping the ball just over the crossbar. After that scare, Spain regained composure, slowing the game down to regain control. They started building up from the back, drawing Germany into a high press. Using quick, short passes, Spain successfully manoeuvred the ball through Germany¡¯s pressure, looking for an opportunity to break through their opponent. The moment Spain¡¯d attack began, the referee blew his whistle as he pointed in a direction. The players all looked in the direction he pointed, only to find Serge Gnabry on the ground. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The winger was writhing in pain on the ground. The German medical team wasted no time and rushed towards him but a quick look at the players told them that he wouldn¡¯t be able to continue. German Coach Rudi V?ller signalled for Dortmund player Julian Brandt to join the mix. The German fans frowned as it seemed that the extent of his injury was bad but we can¡¯t judge from the surface look. Luis de la Fuente took advantage of the break and substituted Morata. The latter came out for fresh legs, Joselu to join. "Izan, get ready. Coach wants you on in 5". Izan, who was spacing out, heard Pablo Amo speak. Izan came out of his reverie and walked up to the throwline to start warming up. The Spanish fans who saw this were excited that their wonderboy was coming on but, at the same time, worried if this was the right situation to put Izan in the game. The latter had proved himself well against Georgia but was a weaker side. Could he handle the German team? Well, they would have to see him play in the game to see if it was a right or wrong choice. Joselu came on in the 55th minute, a moment after Brandt had had come on. The match resumed with fervent anticipation as both teams had just settled into the second half. Blows were traded in the following minutes as both teams tried to put the ball at the back of the opponent¡¯s net. "Here," the kit manager said as he tossed Izan his jersey. Izan excitedly wore the kit and stood on the touchline. As Izan waited to be subbed on, another spark ignited for Spain. Pedri, who had been quiet for a while galloped across the field like a horse on steroids. Emre Can tried to halt the midfielder¡¯s run, but Pedri just sidestepped him. Another look in front made Pedri pass the ball ahead before going around Henrichs. With a swift movement, Pedri turned around and zoomed past G¨¹ndogan who was trying to tackle the ball. It seemed like he was trying to take on the whole team. The German team focused their attention on the oncoming sword that was trying to pierce their shield. Joselu, who seemed to sense Pedri¡¯s intentions, made a timely run behind the German defence. With one look at the scene in front of him, Pedri sent the ball behind the German defensive line. All eyes tracked the loose ball but it wasn¡¯t loose for long when Joselu went through with a powerful shot. The ball zoomed past Ter Stegen¡¯s outstretched hand, but the Spaniards were disappointed when it hit the post and went out of bounds. The fans recovered when the referee blew the whistle for a corner as Ter Stegen had got his fingertips on it. The touchline assistant also raised his board and showed a change of personnel as Olmo came out for Izan in the 58th minute. The cheering of the fans rose as Izan got on, seemingly to encourage the kid who had stepped into a den of men. Gaya signalled at Izan to go and take the corner as it was in a position that suited his right foot. Izan nodded and walked to the corner flag, setting the ball down as he waited for the referee¡¯s signal. A/n: I love the Golden tickets and stones but do you know what I love more? Its you guys and girls and the whole colour spectrum. Enjoy Chapter 82: He’s A Real Problem Izan strode onto the pitch, his presence immediately lifting the energy of his teammates and the Spanish fans. Clad in Spain¡¯s vibrant red and yellow jersey, the number 21 on his back caught the stadium lights. His hair was damp from the halftime warm-up, coupled with his blue eyes, which was rare for a person of his ethnicity; Izan looked intoxicating, which was shown by how the women in the crowd shouted at him, forgetting he was only a minor. "Here he is folks. Spain¡¯s wonderkid. Rewriting history in his last match, Izan would like to do the same tonight. A young player known for his agility, intelligence, and flair. With the pressure of facing a formidable German team, we hope to see what he can do." The Commentator went about his job, exciting the fans with his words. Spain trailed 1-0, and every move mattered. Izan, who was looking to position himself in a dangerous place, heard his name. He found Jose Gaya signalling at him to go and take the corner. Izan nodded and walked to the corner flag, setting the ball down as he waited for the referee¡¯s signal. Hearing the sound of the referee¡¯s whistle, Izan looked into the box to see if his teammates were ready. Spotting a target, Izan sent a ball driven with curl to the far post. Ter Stegen, who had his eye on the ball, felt the need to come out, but he also felt uncomfortable doing so as the ball was near, yet still far. Choosing to stay on his line, ter Stegen watched as the ball streaked past him. The ball went over the heads of a few players who turned to look at who was meeting the ball. Suddenly, Joselu appeared and lunged himself, leg first towards the ball. In the next scene, the striker was running towards Izan amidst the shouts of the Spain fans as the ball rested at the back of the net. Luis de la Fuente who had been emotionally down for a while, pumped his fist into the air. The Spanish players followed Joselu as the striker jumped at Izan. Izan caught Joselu into a hug but he soon fell under the weight of his teammates as many had followed suit. The chants of the Spanish fans grew louder and louder. Thomas Muller tried to motivate the German boys after they had conceded and it had some ample effect as the faces of the players brightened a bit. The celebrations of the Spaniards were cut short by the referee who told them to return to their half. The Spanish team followed and went to their position. "Spain is level here, folks. A delicacy of a cross was sent in by Izan and met by the timely foot of Joselu. His first touch of the game has brought his team level." The referee blew his whistle as the game restarted again in the 61st minute. After the Germans restarted, Izan quickly positioned himself, spearheading the midfield as it was his natural habitat. Germany passed the ball around as they looked to break Spain¡¯s tempo. It showed effect as the intensity of the game slowed down a bit. This went on for a while as the Spanish defence relaxed. The ball was at the hands of G¨¹ndogan by now. Spotting the gaps in the Spanish defence, he signalled to Leroy Sane to make a run. The winger did so expertly, breaking the offside trap set by Spain¡¯s defence in the process. G¨¹ndogan timed his pass to Leroy Sane¡¯s run as both actions synced. The Bayern Man looked back and saw that he had run ahead of the ball, so he slowed down considerably. This action didn¡¯t impede him, though, as he dragged his left leg back, caught the ball and went into a running motion. " A magnificent touch from Leroy Sane as he drives on with the ball. A blend of pace and control and it looks as if he is going on his own" With his Assassin-like movement, Sane got away from Vasquez, coming into a confrontation with Ayneric Laporte, but the latter was also done in by Sane as he nutmegged the defender. The German fans rose to their seats as they seemed to be witnessing something spectacular. Le Normand rushed towards Leroy Sane after making sure no player was behind him. But the winger had already gone for a curler. The ball went on its journey as it flashed past David Raya. The whole stadium, including the players had turned into onlookers. Some watched on with anticipation while others prayed. Leroy Sane¡¯s shot hit the post and came back out, but it hit Raya¡¯s back on the way out, sending the ball towards goal. The crowd looked on once again, waiting for the ball to either be cleared or cross the line. The former happened as Jose Gaya slid behind the ball and sent it outside. The Spanish players sighed, relieved but they were not out of danger yet as Gaya¡¯s cleared ball fell into the path of Wirtz. The Midfielder steadied and went through with a shot, but Izan, who had tracked back decently, threw his leg in the way, deflecting the ball over the goal. The Spanish fans sighed again as the players shook Izan in happiness for his timely block. Rodri called the celebration short and told his teammates to focus. The corner from Germany didn¡¯t amount to much as it was sent out even before it reached the box. Raya quickly picked it up and initiated a lightning-fast attack. A few quick succession of passes brought the ball to Pedri. A couple of German players rushed to try to use their number to their advantage. Pedri waited for a way out and he got one when Izan approached from behind the two. With a swift leg movement, Pedri sent the between the two. Izan looked back as the ball was approaching and found Emre Can rushing from behind. With a flick of his heel, Izan sent the ball to his left where Pedri had run into space before following up. The quick exchange of passes between the duo opened a few gaps in the German formation. Pedri being the clever fox he was, took advantage of this to slip a pass behind the German line. A few of the players stood still, but Izan rushed towards the ball line. He was on something. The German player who was near Izan quickly recovered and chased after the latter. As Izan took hold of the ball, he made a quick turn only to find Henrichs in front of him. With a sharp nudge to the left, Izan followed the ball, but so did Henrichs. Izan, who had an idea, could already see the reels and clips of what was about to happen. Izan dribbled right, then left before running with the ball. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As the defender neared again, Izan used a Ronaldo chop to send the ball the opposite way. Henrichs, who was galloping towards Izan, found it hard to suddenly change directions. This resulted in him falling as Izan sped away. The gasps and reactions from the fans confirmed what Izan had thought about. With the ball at his feet, Izan soon came near the penalty box. He came face to face with another player from the opposition team but Izan played it safe this time and rolled the ball to his left before sending a cross inside the box. Joselu, who had already made his mark, rose to the sky and made contact with the ball, but it looked like it wasn¡¯t enough as Ter Stegen held the ball confidently. The back and forth was really exciting for the fans as it wasn¡¯t every day that you got to see pure attacking football from both teams. As Germany resumed play, Izan immediately made his presence known, cutting off passing lanes and pressing high. Although his defensive starts weren¡¯t high, it was better than most attacking players. Within minutes, he intercepted a loose pass, showcasing his sharp reading of the game. With a burst of speed, he advanced upfield, weaving past one defender with a feint and skipping past another with a delicate touch. The crowd erupted as he threaded a perfectly weighted through ball to the striker but Joeslu could only force a save from Germany¡¯s goalkeeper. The players could feel it. They were getting nearer and nearer to scoring. Izan¡¯s technical brilliance was matched by his relentless work rate. He was everywhere ¨C dropping deep to collect the ball, orchestrating plays, and then surging forward to join the attack. His control was sublime, his first touches precise, and his decision-making quick and effective. In one sequence, under pressure from G¨¹ndogan and Jonathan Tah, Izan spun away with a clever turn, maintaining possession and drawing a foul, giving Spain a crucial free kick near the centre circle. The freekick didn¡¯t give fruition to anything good but the fans were elated from the kind of football they were watching. Izan had been a glimpse into greatness ever since he stepped onto the pitch. The kid was tormenting the German side but Rudi V?ller didn¡¯t know how to restrain him. He wanted a couple of his players to mark him and roughen him up a little bit but after he saw Izan escape from an encirclement of 3 players with the ball in hand, he gave up. Doing that also had its disadvantages, as Izan would draw the attention of his players while creating space for him. As the game progressed, Germany attempted to assert their physical dominance, but the Spanish team remained unfazed. Izan, who held much of the ball, absorbed tackles with remarkable composure, bouncing back each time. This resulted a couple of yellow cards being shown to the German side. Spain¡¯s wingers, invigorated by his vision, stretched the German defence, allowing Izan to exploit the spaces in the middle. With a quick one-two pass with Vasquez, who had come central, Izan created another opening. This time, his curling cross into the box narrowly missed the head of the forward but forced a corner. Defensively, Izan was just as committed. In one critical moment, Germany¡¯s Wirtz broke through Spain¡¯s defensive line. Izan sprinted back, closing the gap with determination. With impeccable timing, he slid in to dispossess the forward just outside the penalty area, drawing cheers from the crowd and applause from the coaching staff and his mates. His ability to transition seamlessly from defence to attack became a cornerstone of Spain¡¯s second-half strategy. "That kid is a problem," Muller said as he looked at G¨¹ndogan attentively. "Well, there¡¯s not much we can do about him. Let¡¯s try to see this match to the end without conceding. A draw against a Spanish team like this isn¡¯t that bad" G¨¹ndogan replied. In the 75th minute, Spain earned a free kick about 25 yards from the goal. The Spanish fans who had seen Izan step up were expectant as they had seen firsthand, Izan¡¯s free-kick ability. His eyes scanned the wall and the goalkeeper¡¯s position as the referee settled things on his end. The stadium fell a bit silent as Izan took a deep breath. [Pinpoint accuracy, activated ] Izan watched the goal and steadied himself before delivering a curling shot that arches beautifully towards the top corner. The ball was destined for the goal, but the German goalkeeper dived at full stretch, barely managing to tip the ball over the bar. Izan held his head in surprise as it had been a while since someone saved his freekick. It was a moment of brilliance that nearly changed the game. Despite the scoreline remaining unchanged, Izan refused to relent. In the final minutes, his energy and creativity continue to drive Spain forward. With the clock ticking down, he embarked on a solo run, dribbling past two defenders before unleashing a powerful strike from the edge of the box. The shot ricocheted off the post, inches away from a goal. Frustration was etched on his face, but his resolve remained unshaken. A/n: Another chapter for my lovely reader. Thanks tadaes_ Manzel and beast89 for the gifts to mention a few. Love you all for reading. I¡¯ll try to release another chapter in a while. Have fun Chapter 83: Rising Star "Both teams are getting close to putting the ball at the back of the net but Spain seems to edge over Germany as the new man, Izan has added a whole new attacking dynamic to Spain¡¯s game" The tension in the stadium was palpable as the clock ticked into the final minutes of the epic clash between Spain and Germany. The scoreline stood at 1-1, a reflection of the intensity and brilliance displayed by these two footballing giants. Fans from both sides were on their feet, waving flags, chanting, and praying for a decisive moment. The Spain faithful were having a hard time as their team had come close to leading many times yet had only a goal to show for it. After equalising, Spain had tried everything they could do, but their efforts were either saved, blocked, or they¡¯d ricocheted off the post. It was becoming frustrating for ¡¯La Roja¡¯ but they could only press on and hope that lady luck smiled upon them. Spain, clad in their traditional yellow with red outlines, pressed forward relentlessly, their tiki-taka style carving out intricate patterns across the midfield. Pedri and Izan orchestrated the play with remarkable composure for their young age, threading passes that sought to unlock the stubborn German defence. Germany, however, remained resolute. Antonio R¨¹diger, a colossus at the back, threw himself into every tackle, while G¨¹ndogan dictated the tempo, switching the play with precision and urgency. In the 86th minute, Spain came agonizingly close. A slick one-two between Alvaro Morata and Marco Asensio, who had come on a while ago, saw the latter unleash a thunderous strike from the edge of the box. Ter Stegen, ever the commanding presence, dived full stretch to tip the ball onto the post. The rebound fell to Joselu, but his hurried attempt was blocked heroically by a sliding Nico Schlotterbeck, a new addition to the German side. Germany responded with a swift counterattack. Julian Brandt, a livewire throughout the game, sprinted down the left flank, leaving Spanish defenders in his wake. His low cross found a pair of fresh legs in the form of Kai Havertz who had come on for Thomas Muller. The Arsenal man¡¯s snapshot was miraculously saved by David Raya. The ball ricocheted wildly in the box before Rodri cleared it to safety. As the match entered stoppage time, fatigue was evident, but neither side relented. Spain¡¯s last throw of the dice came in the 93rd minute when a corner from Jose Gaya found the towering head of Aymeric Laporte. The header was goal-bound, but Ter Stegen, with lightning reflexes, punched it away. "This is frustrating" Izan muttered as he set the ball down for the corner. "How are we not 4 goals up" he reasoned. "Was it that hard to put a goal past him?" Izan uttered, referring to Marc Andre Ter Stegen. With a small sigh, Izan whipped the ball into the box. The ball by him was inch perfect, but the header from Le Normand was once again pushed out by Ter-Stegen. The ball fell to Izan who was returning from taking the corner. With not much time on the clock, Izan decided to go alone. Now acting as a dynamic winger, Izan skillfully weaved through defenders with incredible precision. After the corner was punched out, a few of Germany¡¯s defensive players rushed towards the ball but Izan was first. Izan glanced ahead and saw several opposition bodies in front of him. With a burst of speed, Izan swiftly glided past his first opponent in the form of Gosen Robins with a quick change of direction. In tense situations, other players might have nudged the ball a bit too far but Izan¡¯s close ball controlling ability kept the ball glued to their feet. The collective gasps from both sides of fans showed how invested they were in this match. Transitioning into another feint, Izan sent Gro? Pascal the wrong way. At this juncture, breaths were being held as numerous eyes looked on to see what Izan would do next. Izan¡¯s lightning-sharp step-over confused another opposition player, allowing him to dart past on the outside. Every movement was sharp and deliberate, blending speed, agility, and technique to outwit the defence. The sequence ended with the Izan accelerating toward the goal, ready to cross or take a shot. With a resounding bang, Izan sent the ball towards the German goal. "No, not like this", Rudi V?ller screamed internally on the touchline. The ball¡¯s trajectory seemed to rise a bit. Ter Stegen, who saw this, lowered his guard a bit at the sharp ball that was coming at him. As the ball got near, Ter Stegen realised that he had cost Germany the match. With a loud thud, the ball went past Ter-Stegen¡¯s effort at saving the ball. The effort from Izan hit the underside of the crossbar before rolling in. The Shrieks and screams from the Spanish fans were deafening. Izan, after scoring, ran towards the technical Area before enveloping Luis de la Fuente in a hug. "Thank you, Coach, for your trust in me", Izan uttered into Luis de la Fuente¡¯s ear. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The latter patted Izan at the back before telling him to return to the field. The referee restarted the match after the Spanish players were done with their Celebration. Germany launched one final attack as Kai Havertz latched onto a long ball and surged into the box. With the German crowd holding its breath, he fired a low shot destined for the bottom corner. Raya, diving at full stretch, managed to push it wide, ensuring the match ended in a dramatic win for Spain. The whistle blew, signalling the end of a thrilling encounter. Players collapsed to the ground, exhausted but proud. The fans roared in appreciation, knowing they had witnessed a football spectacle for the ages. As the final whistle blows, signalling a 2-1 victory for Spain, Izan kneels briefly on the grass, catching his breath. Even though he had only come on in the 63rd minute, Izan¡¯s performance was nothing short of inspiring. He walked off the pitch to a standing ovation from the Spanish fans, who recognized his immense contribution. "15 years of age and he¡¯s already commanding standing ovation by his performance. He is Hernandez Izan Miura; he is HIM", the Commentator spoke. "Nice game" Izan heard from behind as he was headed towards the tunnel. He turned and found Florain Wirtz behind him with an outstretched hand. "You too," Izan said as he shook the latter¡¯s hand respectively. "Jamal would have liked to meet you. Well, see you next time," Wirtz said before walking off. The other German players exchange respectful handshakes with him, acknowledging his skill and determination. Izan¡¯s second-half display was a testament to his talent and character. He combined technical prowess with unyielding determination, proving to be a leader on the field despite his young age. Spain would have lost if not for this young boy and the fans also seemed to agree with the chants they were singing. Izan¡¯s performance served as a beacon of hope for the future, a reminder that the beautiful game is as much about spirit and effort as it is about results. During the post-match conference, Luis de la Fuente talked a bit about his plans. His plans for the new generation of Spanish players to carry on the mantle of the old one emphasise how Izan was already a leader among his generation. In the post-match analysis, pundits praised his ability to influence the game, calling him a "rising star" destined for greatness in international and club football. The Spanish players got on their bus as the match had drained the players of their energies. After a few turns, the bus got to the hotel where the players immediately went to their rooms after arriving. Izan was no different as even though he came on late, he had pushed his body to the limit to secure the win for Spain. Sinking into his soft bed, after washing down, Izan let go and finally succumbed to sleep. In the middle of the night, Izan felt his stomach rumble. Getting up from his bed, he threw on some slides and went down for a snack. Sounds of laughter filled the snack bar as Izan got to the snack bar. He found Pedri, Olmo, Oryazabal and a few other guys who signalled for him to come and take a seat. Izan walked towards the players and sat down with beside the other players, joining in on their conversation. These guys had made Izan truly feel like he belonged during his first stay with the National team. Izan hoped that this wouldn¡¯t be the last but the first of many. Well, now that the international break was over, it was back to club football and Izan was set and ready for it. But before he could fully focus on his club side, he had to get rid of distractions. One being the deal with Adidas A/n: I¡¯m gonna sleep guys. Again thanks for the gifts and stones as well as the tickets. Have fun Chapter 84: Meeting with Adidas The hotel of the Spain team was a bit hectic the morning following the victory over Germany. The players woke up, feeling good about the match last night. To them, it was a testament to the collective strength of the Spanish National team. Izan, who had completed his task for the day, had just returned to the hotel. Most of the players were headed to the dining area by the time he returned. He quickly went to his room and took a long bath before joining the other players. The players joked over breakfast while recounting some funny stories that went on throughout the international break. One such story was the one of Mikel Oryazabal who thought Izan was a u20 player. Mikel felt embarrassed as they talked about it. After breakfast, the players began taking their luggage down to the lobby. Some of the players who didn¡¯t play in Spain decided to head straight to their respective clubs. While some still decided to go back with the Spain team. "Keep up the good work at club level, okay? And also try to stay safe. I¡¯d like to see you back again the next break," Luis de la Fuente said as he held Izan¡¯s shoulder. "Okay, Sir," Izan said like said stiffly. The Spanish team was returning to Spain today but Izan had to stay because of the deal with Adidas. He would be going to Herzogenaurach in Bavaria where the headquarters of Adidas were. He headed to his room after the team left. While on the way to his room, he received a few text messages from his teammates. Izan replied to those messages before proceeding to his room¡¯s bathroom. Izan stood beneath the steady stream of water cascading from the showerhead, droplets glistening as they fell and steam rising to create a misty atmosphere. The mirror in front showed a foggy screen as the steam rose. His face was tilted slightly upward, eyes closed, as water splashed over their skin, washing away the previous day¡¯s grime. The soap lathered in his hands, creating creamy bubbles that glided over his body. The sound of water pattering against tiles and the subtle scent of shampoo filled the small, humid space. His wet hair clung to the head and neck while rivulets of water traced paths down their arms and back, disappearing into the drain below. Izan stepped out of the shower, looking like an angel fallen from grace. With those piercing blue eyes that showed a tint of confidence and maturity, the latter being rare for a person for his age. Izan took his time as the meeting with Adidas was at 3 in the afternoon and it was currently 8. Miranda would be coming to the hotel in a couple of hours so he had that to himself. Izan, who had not checked his system for a while, called for the system interface to materialise before him. The translucent screen appeared with a tab in the corner flashing red while displaying the number 3. Izan entered that tab with a thought and found 3 messages from the system waiting for him. [Valencia CF] Season: 2022/23 Appearances: 2 Starts:0 bench:2 Goals: 3 Assists: 1 Yellow card(s): 0 Red card(s):0 .... Season:2023/24 Appearances :4[pending] Starts:1 bench:3 Goals: 4[pending] Assists:4[pending] Yellow card(s): 0 Red card(s):0 Izan, who was staring at the status found a new section. Izan found the newly unlocked national team section. Izan entered with a thought and saw his statistics for the National team. [Spain National team] Caps: 2 Starts: 0 bench: 2 Goals: 3 [pending] Assists:2 [pending] Yellow card(s): 0 Red card(s):0 [Congratulations to the host for making his National team debut] Rewards: 10 stat points Bone strengthening pill 30,000 lp points, [Youngest ever to make an appearance for Spain ] Rewards: 5 stat points 10,000 lp points [Youngest player to score and assist for Spain] Rewards: 20 stat points Reverse Elastico skill Late Burst trait: Host receives a 5 per cent boost in ability during the late stages of the game Izan looked at the rewards and grinned. "I might just get too good". [Max recommends that the host doesn¡¯t get too full of himself. Confidence is good but arrogance can be detrimental]. The system sounded a reality check for Izan who smiled wryly at the system¡¯s words. He was getting too complacent and even he knew it. The intensity of his training, which he did aside from the system¡¯s, had reduced dramatically ever since he joined the senior team. [Max suggests that the host should grow as fast as he can because there will be a stage in the OVR where growth will be hard] Izan frowned a bit at the revelation. "Guess it¡¯s back to the pitch after dinner", Izan uttered before closing his status. "I¡¯ll try to upgrade before my next match," Izan thought. Valencia had called him the day before, informing him of their intention to let him rest. Izan would, therefore, miss Valencia¡¯s first match after the International break. Izan started packing his things after his little episode with the system. Izan stepped out in a short-sleeved white shirt with baggy jeans and a white sneaker. His simple yet stylish choice of clothes, coupled with his looks drew gazes from people while he sat in the lobby. A few keen German people visiting the hotel also recognised him as the player who had single-handedly tormented the German team. Izan, who was a bit unnerved by some of the stares a few locals were giving him, played a few games on his phone after talking with Miranda, who was a few minutes away. "Hurry up, or a few raging fans might mob me", Izan texted. "Sorry, my driver got involved in a scuffle with another driver", Miranda said hastily after he got to the hotel lobby. "No worries," Izan said as he grabbed his luggage. The duo went out after Izan checked out. A few girls who were slightly giggling threw glances at Izan¡¯s way. "Olivia might have a hard time keeping you," Miranda said. Izan just smiled and didn¡¯t say anything as they entered the taxi after putting the luggage in the boot.[trunk for you Mexicans] Berlin to Herzogenaurach, Bavaria was a 2 hours 45 minute flight. Adidas had provided 2 first-class tickets for the duo as a treat. Izan and Miranda enjoyed the experience, to say the least. After about a couple of hours in the sky, the pilot informed the passengers to buckle in. The plane landed smoothly without any issues, a testament to the many hours spent in the sky by the pilot. A representative of Adidas stood at the arrivals waiting for Izan and Miranda to show up. Miranda was already in contact with this representative so she recognised him as soon as they got out. "Welcome to Herzogenaurach, Miss Miranda," he said before turning his attention to Izan. "Hello, Mr. Hernandez. We at Adidas are glad to have you here", the representative said. Izan bowed slightly at his words before expressing his gladness. "Well, let¡¯s go", the representative, Jan, expressed before leading the player and agent duo to the car park. The ride to the Adidas headquarters was a quiet one. Izan watched the hills and cottages of Bavaria that flashed past. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After a while, the car entered the premises of the Adidas headquarters. The World of Sports building at the Adidas headquarter in Herzogenaurach, Germany, was a striking centrepiece of the campus. Known for its futuristic design, the building featured a sleek, glass-heavy structure that emphasized openness and transparency. It housed offices, meeting spaces, and creative hubs, fostering collaboration and innovation. The architecture incorporated sustainable elements like natural lighting and energy-efficient systems, reflecting Adidas¡¯ commitment to the environment. Surrounded by lush greenery and sports facilities, the building symbolizes the brand¡¯s dynamic spirit and dedication to excellence in sports and design. Izan was significantly impressed as he kept looking around. Jan glanced at Izan¡¯s curious face with a smile as he was also like him when he saw the building. "Well, shall we go," Jan said, bringing Izan out of his reverie. "Lead the way" Mir¨¤nda said as they entered the building. At one of the corporate offices of Adidas, a meeting was underway in a sleek, modern conference room. Samples of shoes, fabrics, and tech accessories are spread out, and a high-definition screen displays slides showcasing global trends. "Proceed with this one," the plump man said as his hand pointed at one of the shoe samples. The person who had inquired nodded at the man¡¯s words before taking the shoe. "Okay let¡¯s end here," the man said before adjourning the meeting. The man stood up and walked to his office after the meeting. He continued with his work for a few minutes before a knock on his door disturbed his focus. "This better be good," he said before asking the person to come in. "Oh, Jan," the plump man said with surprise. "I thought you went to meet Miss Miranda and the kid," the plump man said. "Yes sir, they¡¯re here. I seated them in one of the meeting rooms and came to inform you" Jan said. "Very good. Let¡¯s not keep them waiting then" the plump man said before following Jan. A/n: Another chapter for my lovely readers. Have fun. Chapter 85: Done deal Izan and Miranda sat across from each other in the sleek, glass-walled office of World of Sports, the renowned global hub for all things athletic. The office, adorned with vibrant posters of iconic moments in sports history, hummed with a quiet energy. A few portraits of the players under the brand were also displayed in the office. The air carried a faint aroma of coffee. Miranda picked up her cup and brought it to her mouth before proceeding to draw a sip from it. Izan, leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping to a rhythm on the desk. Miranda, poised yet vibrant, sat upright, her bright eyes scanning the documents spread before her on the polished oak desk. Her auburn hair was tied neatly in a ponytail, emphasizing her determined expression. She wore a tailored blazer paired with a stylish blouse, striking a perfect balance between professionalism and creativity. Her passion for sports was evident. "Okay, so before they come, I want to discuss a few things,", she said as she looked at Izan. The latter nodded motioning for her to continue. "Okay so firstly, I don¡¯t want you to show too much emotion during the talks. Too much eagerness can put us in a bad position in the negotiation," she said before adding, "If something seems good to you, don¡¯t react too much, okay?". Izan nodded at her words. "And don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t let you suffer a loss in this deal," Miranda said confidently. The two sat there for a few minutes before the door to the sleek office was opened. "Hello Ms. Miranda" he said before turning to Izan, "Mr. Hernandez, it¡¯s a pleasure to have you here" Hans Webber, the sponsorship coordinator said while he stretched out his hand. "Thank you, and I¡¯m glad to be here too," Izan said with the best stoic face he could do. Hans Webber was a bit stunned by the lack of emotions on his face. "Says he¡¯s glad but doesn¡¯t even have a hint of emotion on his face. Is he really a kid? " Hans Webber thought with a slight smile. Hans Webber also shook hands with Miranda before introducing the female assistant he had brought beside Jan as Helena. Izan and Miranda also nodded at her before sitting down. "How was the way, coming here," Webber said, trying to make small talk. Miranda engaged with him for a while before they proceeded to start the negotiations. No matter the relationship between the two, it was a full-on battle from here on out. ... "Mum, have you heard from Izan? He said he¡¯d call before his flight." Hori asked her mother who was working with her screen pad on the table. "Yes, Hori. He called this morning. He¡¯ll arrive tomorrow morning or tonight. It depends on how fast they finish with the talks about his deal" Komi said, tapping on the screen with a pen. "Ah, my heart is full. It¡¯s been 4 days since he left for Germany. I can¡¯t wait to see my son. How does he look? Has he changed much?" Komi said drawing an annoyed look from Hori. "There she goes again with that thing. He looks good! He¡¯s grown a beard now, and his hair is longer. I think he¡¯ll bring gifts," Hori said in a sarcastic tone that made Komi laugh. Komi wanted to continue the pointless conversation but the smell of something burning made her charge fast into the kitchen. "Does she have ADHD?" Hori said, looking at her mother, who had a smile on her face in the face of something burning. The smoke detector beeped for a moment before stopping. Hori just shook her head before going to the couch to continue with her show ...... Back in the office adorned with jerseys and memorabilia, Miranda sat across from the sponsorship coordinator and a few representatives of Adidas. Izan, who now sat beside her, looked on as they engaged in some small talk. Miranda represented Izan Miura Hernandez, a rising football star whose flair and charisma on the pitch had captured attention. Adidas was eager to secure a partnership with the young talent, and Miranda intended to ensure his client got the best deal possible. Adidas, too, didn¡¯t want to be pressed too much in this deal,l, but judging from their first encounter with Miranda, it wasn¡¯t going to be easy. Coupled with the excellent performance of Izan during the international break, the contract had to be revised. "Izan is not just a player; he¡¯s a brand," Miranda said, her tone firm yet persuasive. "He¡¯s already amassing a global following. His performance last season was a cameo put on display to announce himself to the world" she said before halting to look at the faces of those in the seats across her. "This season speaks for itself. Goals assists. His style, flair, passion, and energy. That¡¯s the kind of image that aligns perfectly with Adidas." The Adidas executives nodded, exchanging glances. They were familiar with Izan¡¯s growing popularity, especially among younger fans and females. Miranda leaned forward, her eyes meeting theirs. "We¡¯re not just talking endorsements here. We¡¯re talking about a partnership that leverages Izan¡¯s influence to create something iconic¡ªsignature boots, exclusive apparel lines, and social media campaigns that resonate." S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "But that can wait until he proves himself on a bigger stage", Miranda said. The representatives glanced at each other before looking back at Miranda. "Izan is a player with Spanish and Japanese roots, playing in Europe. He connects with diverse audiences. Imagine the impact of a campaign rooted in his Asian heritage, paired with his rising European stardom. It¡¯s not just about sales; it¡¯s about storytelling." "And that brings me to the huge Asian Market behind him" she added. The negotiation was intense but measured. The Adidas team presented their terms, and Miranda countered, ensuring Izan¡¯s image rights, performance bonuses, and targets to meet for a renegotiation. Both sides finally settled on 20 million euros for seven years. That was the best outcome of Izan now but next season might just be a different story. By the end of the meeting, both sides appeared satisfied. The deal promised to elevate Adidas¡¯s brand while giving Izan the exposure and financial rewards he deserved. As the representatives shook hands, Miranda allowed herself a slight smile. She had secured not just a lucrative contract but a platform for her client to make a global impact. Izan, who had been silent the whole time, finally, showed a slight smile before looking at Miranda. Since it was done, Adidas wanted to take a few photos of Izan to commemorate the deal as well as put their stamp on him indicating his commitment to them. Izan, who had never been through such treatment, changed into Adidas Wear, which was the same as his clothes but just had the Adidas logo on it. It seemed Adidas couldn¡¯t wait. The photographer went about his job easily as Izan seemed like he had a knack for the job. Miranda got some of the photos from Adidas and decided to post them on Izan¡¯s social media handles . Walking out of the office, Miranda felt the familiar rush of a successful negotiation. For her, this wasn¡¯t just about the money¡ªit was about building legacies, one deal at a time. The duo were successfully escorted out by Webber and Helena. After exchanging their goodbyes, the duo left with Jan. "Was the deal right?" Webber asked, looking at Helena. "He¡¯s got potential. Plus he¡¯s rising. If nothing bad happens, we could gain a lot from this" she said firmly. "How¡¯s the deal with the kid from Barcelona going" Helena asked. "We should get him on board if they don¡¯t change their minds," Webber said. "Well then, don¡¯t let them,", Helena said with an attitude that said that she wasn¡¯t just a regular assistant. "Yes, Madam", Webber replied before Helena walked off. Izan and Miranda got on the next flight from Bavaria to Spain. The flight would last some 5 hours before they got to Spain. Izan, who was a bit tired from sitting on the plane the last couple of days, slept the moment the plane got off the ground. Miranda looked at the boy who was sleeping beside her. "Rest, you deserve it," she thought as she pulled the blanket provided by the plane staff over his shoulders. Mir¨¤nda didn¡¯t last much as she also succumbed to sleep. The duo woke up when it was time to eat before drifting back to sleep again after eating. A few hours passed quickly as the lights of Spain showed outside the window. "There is no place like home," Miranda said as she looked outside. Izan woke up due to the Pilot¡¯s speaking. He stretched a bit before sending a message to Olivia about his arrival in the Spanish Capital. He also did the same to his Mother and sister before putting his phone down. The plane¡¯s descent began shortly after he put down his phone. Looking out the plane, Izan couldn¡¯t wait to get back to club football. Izan shook his head as if remembering something, which drew the attention of Miranda. "Why?" She inquired, but Izan looked at her and said just a word, "School". Miranda understood what he meant and started smiling. A/n: woke up and decided to release a chapter for my lovely readers. Thank you guys for the gifts and tickets as well as the stones. I wanted to release an extra chapter if we met some powerstone target but I know I¡¯m too lazy to do it so. Good morning though. Chapter 86: Valencia CF The sun wakes gently, stretching its golden rays across the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of amber and blush. Night¡¯s lingering shadows retreat as light spills over the earth, illuminating dew-kissed grass and still waters. The first beams touch the tallest trees, their leaves shimmering like tiny mirrors reflecting the morning¡¯s promise. As the sun climbs higher, its warmth spreads, rousing the world from slumber. Birds begin their songs, their melodies blending with the faint hum of awakening life. The air grows brighter, the soft glow intensifying into a radiant embrace, heralding the start of a new day filled with endless possibilities. Izan awoke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through his curtains, the warmth of the Valencian sun gently coaxing him from his dreams. He stretched languidly, his lean, athletic frame easing into motion, muscles humming with the readiness of a new day. The air was quiet, save for the faint chirping of birds outside, a soothing prelude to his morning routine. Sliding out of bed, Izan rolled out his yoga mat in the corner of his room. Barefoot and dressed in comfortable shorts, he stood tall, grounding himself with deep breaths. He began with a series of sun salutations, his movements deliberate and fluid. Each pose stretched and awakened his body, aligning his focus for the day ahead. Warrior poses strengthened his core, while downward dogs released any tension lingering from yesterday¡¯s intense training. The stillness of the moment was a welcome counterpoint to the chaos of the pitch, a time for balance and introspection. After his final pose, Izan rose, a soft smile on his face, feeling centred and refreshed. After the yoga session, Izan headed out to complete his task for the day. Stepping into the bathroom after training, the shower hissed to life, releasing a cascade of water that glistened like liquid silver. Steam filled the air as Izan stepped under the flow, letting the water wash away the last traces of fatigue. The scent of his favourite sandalwood soap filled the space, invigorating his senses as he lathered, the rhythm of the water echoing like a calm melody. Emerging from the shower, Izan towel-dried his hair and gazed into the mirror, his sharp features, a pleasant scene to look at. Izan had arrived in Alboraya the night before with Miranda. Komi had been so excited to see her son even though it hadn¡¯t been a week since they saw each other. Izan walked downstairs after putting on some clothes, his descent down the stairs reminiscent of an assassin as one couldn¡¯t even hear him descend. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Good morning, Mum," Izan said as he smiled at Komi, who had already woken up. Komi leaned back as her head came out of the kitchen to respond to Izan¡¯s greeting. After this, Komi let Izan take over for a while as she went up to bathe. The kitchen buzzed softly with the comforting sounds of the morning¡ªa kettle whistling, the gentle clink of cutlery, and the low hum of conversation. Izan sat at the table with his new family, a small but tight-knit group of three. His mother bustled near the stove, her hands deftly arranging slices of golden toast and pouring fresh orange juice into glasses. The scent of eggs and coffee filled the air, a warm invitation to the day ahead. Miranda dressed in a suit, sat across from him, reading the sports section of the newspaper. She glanced up occasionally, offering Izan a proud smile and a comment about Spain¡¯s matches. "People are curious about you. A lot of clubs, too," Miranda said, "But I told the latter group about how you are not ready to leave", Miranda added before looking up at Izan. Izan smiled, taking a sip of his juice. His younger sister, still in her pyjamas, sat beside him, poking at a bowl of cereal while scrolling through her phone. "Do you think you¡¯ll score in the next game?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. "Maybe," Izan replied, grinning. "If I do, it¡¯s for you but you¡¯ll have to wait since I won¡¯t be playing in the next match," Izan said while stuffing a in his mouth "I need rest," Izan said to her sister before she left him alone. Laughter rippled through the table as they shared the moment. The simplicity of breakfast¡ªa ritual of fresh food, shared stories, and supportive words¡ªwas a grounding force for Izan. No matter how big his dreams grew, mornings like this reminded him of what mattered most: family. The three ladies of the house stepped out after breakfast leaving Izan to his own. Izan, after relaxing for about half of the day, received a text from Sosa Herrera saying he was near. The latter changed his clothes and stepped out before locking the door. Under the warm Valencian in Paterna, Sosa Herrera and Izan leaned against the railing overlooking the training pitches, their voices low but tinged with excitement. "I still can¡¯t believe it," Sosa said, his voice a mix of disbelief and pride. "The coach pulled me aside after practice yesterday. He said I¡¯ve been promoted to the senior team." Izan¡¯s eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious? Sosa, that¡¯s incredible! You¡¯ve been working for this since we joined the academy." "You have to seize your opportunity; the injured players won¡¯t be injured for long,", Izan said to his friend. Sosa nodded, his fingers nervously tapping the railing. "I know, but it feels surreal. Training with Gaya, pepelu and now you... It¡¯s a dream, but also intimidating." Izan clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You belong there, Sosa. The coaches wouldn¡¯t promote you if you weren¡¯t ready. You¡¯ve earned this." Sosa¡¯s smile grew, a hint of confidence shining through. "Thanks, Izan. I¡¯ll give it everything I¡¯ve got" Sosa said. As their laughter echoed across the field, the bond between two young talents, united by their dreams, grew stronger. The next day passed in a fly. Saturday was the next day now as the Valencia team prepared for their match. The Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna, located in Valencia, Spain, was bustling as the Valencia CF¡¯s training operations began. This state-of-the-art facility hummed with activity during training sessions, where players of all levels¡ªfrom youth academy hopefuls to seasoned professionals¡ªhoned their skills. As the sun casts its golden glow over the meticulously maintained grass pitches, players emerge in their Valencia CF training kits, embodying the club¡¯s rich history and ambitions. Coaches, armed with whistles and tactical boards, stand ready to guide their squads, ensuring each session is both rigorous and rewarding. The senior team¡¯s training began with dynamic warm-ups. Under the watchful eye of fitness coaches, players engage in stretches, agility drills, and light jogging to prepare their bodies for the demands ahead. The air is filled with the rhythmic sounds of cleats on grass and the occasional burst of laughter, reflecting the camaraderie within the squad. As the session progresses, players split into small groups, each focusing on specific aspects of the game: passing accuracy, shooting precision, or defensive positioning. Nearby, goalkeepers work intensely with their specialized coaches, diving and leaping with remarkable athleticism to block powerful shots. The thud of the ball hitting gloves resonates across the training ground, a testament to their relentless effort to perfect their craft. Tactical drills took centre stage as the session advanced. Coaches paused play frequently to provide instructions, emphasizing the importance of positional awareness, quick decision-making, and teamwork to the newly promoted youths Players executed set-piece routines with military precision, rehearsing free kicks, corners, and counterattacks that could turn matches in their favour. Every move was calculated, every pass deliberate, as the team strived for perfection. The Youth Academy players trained on adjacent pitches, their energy and enthusiasm palpable. These young talents, dreaming of emulating their seniors, practised with an intensity that mirrored the senior team¡¯s. Coaches encouraged creativity and discipline, laying the foundation for the next generation of Valencia CF stars. The facility itself is a marvel, designed to support optimal performance. Surrounding the pitches are cutting-edge fitness centres, video analysis rooms, and medical facilities. These resources ensure players receive comprehensive support, from injury prevention to performance enhancement. The iconic bat emblem of Valencia Club adorned walls and equipment, serving as a constant reminder of the club¡¯s proud legacy. As the session concludes, players engage in cool-down exercises and informal discussions. Some linger on the pitch, perfecting free kicks or sharing insights with teammates. The atmosphere, though physically demanding, remained one of unity and shared purpose. And that purpose was to go into every match looking like they were going to win. That was the ideology that Coach Baraja had laid down for the team. After the training, the players washed down the fatigue that had built up before heading to their homes in anticipation of the match ahead. The sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold, orange, and crimson. Gentle streaks of pink and purple blend with the fading light, casting long shadows across the landscape. As the day quietly transitions into twilight, the warm glow bathes everything in a fleeting moment of serenity. Valencia were ready. A/n: Sorry guys I couldn¡¯t release twice the day before. I¡¯ll try to make it up to you by releasing another two chapters after this. Remember, I¡¯ll try. Love y¡¯all Chapter 87: Valencia vs. Almería The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the iconic Mestalla Stadium, home to Valencia CF. Fans clad in their orange and white jerseys streamed toward the stadium, their voices blending into a symphony of chants, drums, and cheers. It was matchday, and the city of Valencia was alive with anticipation as their beloved team prepared to face Almer¨ªa in a crucial La Liga clash. Valencia were now top of the league with 4 wins in 4 games. Their star man, Izan was also second on the Pichi chi list with 4 goals. Only second Real Madrid¡¯s new man, Jude Bellingham who had 5 goals in 4 games. The Valencia fans were happy after 4 matchdays. Who wouldn¡¯t be excited when their team was at the top of the league and playing as if possessed by the souls of football legends? Hours before kickoff, the streets around the stadium transformed into a carnival. Street vendors sold scarves, flags, and churros, while local cafes buzzed with pre-match discussions. Supporters of both teams mingled, exchanging friendly banter, though the underlying tension of the upcoming battle was palpable. The significance of this match was evident. The Valencia players were in the form of their lives and they wanted to keep it that way. Almer¨ªa, on the other hand, didn¡¯t have good results. 3 losses and 1 draw in 4 games wasn¡¯t something to be proud of and as such, they wanted to win. It was going to be hard but it wasn¡¯t impossible, the Rojiblancos believed. [Valencia Dressing room] The door to the dressing room opened showing a blue-eyed boy. The heads of the Valencian players turned to look at the source and found Izan standing at the doorway. "Yo, if it isn¡¯t our little superstar", Pepelu, was the first to comment after seeing Izan. The Valencia players laughed as they approached Izan, with some hugging him while others shook his hand. " Well, well, look who¡¯s back! Mr. International Superstar. Can I get an autograph" a voice the players soon found to be Pietro¡¯s spoke. "Oh hey, Pietro. You¡¯re back. I thought you wouldn¡¯t show after your display against Croatia¡¯s u20s," Izan said, prompting a laugh from Gaya and the rest of the players, who knew what he was talking about. " I should let you know that the u20 Coach was satisfied with my performance", Pietro said, feigning ignorance. " Perfomance? Don¡¯t lie, Pietro. We saw the game. That one shot you took¡ªit¡¯s probably still orbiting the Earth. NASA wants to talk to you," Izan said, making Pietro¡¯s proud face falter. The players couldn¡¯t resist laughing as they missed the banter between the two. " Hey, hey, it was a tactical miss! You wouldn¡¯t understand¡ªyou have to confuse the defenders, you know," Pietro said, trying to salvage his pride. " Right, tactical miss. And the one where you tripped over the ball? Tactical stumble?" Sosa, the new addition, said, countering Pietro¡¯s words. "Didn¡¯t know you had a funny spirit in ya, Sosa" Pietro said, a vein popping about before sighing heavily. "I won¡¯t even argue. I¡¯m too posh to do that with you guys" Pietro spoke while looking away. "Glad to have you back" Coach Baraja spoke from behind. "Coach" Izan spoke while turning around. "Thank you ". "Well, I guess you won¡¯t change right now and play for me, will you? " Baraja said before laughing. The players laughed with him for a while before they went out for warm-ups. .... Inside the stadium, the atmosphere was electric. As the players warmed up, the stands gradually filled with a sea of orange and white. Almer¨ªa¡¯s travelling supporters, though fewer in number, were no less passionate, their voices echoing from the upper tiers of the stadium. S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Valencia¡¯s anthem blared through the speakers, and the fans sang along, their voices rising in unison, creating a deafening roar that set the tone for the evening. As the referee blew the whistle to start the match, Valencia came out with intent. Their captain, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, immediately set the tempo, driving forward with pace and precision. The midfield trio of Andr¨¦ Almeida, Pepelu, and Javi Guerra orchestrated the game, controlling possession and threading passes that kept Almer¨ªa on the back foot. The visitors, however, were not to be underestimated. Led by their talisman, Luis Su¨¢rez (not the Uruguayan legend but the promising Colombian forward), Almer¨ªa countered with speed, looking to exploit gaps in Valencia¡¯s defence. The first half was a tactical battle. Valencia¡¯s wingers, Fran P¨¦rez and Diego L¨®pez, tormented Almer¨ªa¡¯s full-backs with their blistering runs and quick feet. Both teams had clear objectives¡ªValencia aimed to dominate possession and control the game, while Almer¨ªa relied on counterattacks to exploit any defensive lapses. The stakes were high, and it showed from the opening whistle. The first significant chance came in the 7th minute when Valencia¡¯s Fran P¨¦rez made a darting run down the right wing. His pinpoint cross found Hugo Duro in the box, but the striker¡¯s glancing header sailed just wide of the post. The near miss energized the home crowd, whose chants and cheers echoed throughout the stadium. Almer¨ªa, though under pressure, were quick to remind Valencia of their attacking threat. In the 16th minute, Colombian forward Luis Su¨¢rez spearheaded a swift counterattack, weaving past two defenders before unleashing a powerful shot from the edge of the box. Valencia goalkeeper, Giorgi Mamardashvili dived low to his left, making a spectacular save to keep the game level. As the half progressed, the match became a tactical chess game. Valencia enjoyed more possession, with Almeida orchestrating play from deep and linking well with Diego L¨®pez on the left wing. L¨®pez, in particular, caused problems for Almer¨ªa¡¯s defence, his pace and trickery forcing their right-back into repeated challenges. In the 23rd minute, L¨®pez delivered a dangerous cross into the six-yard box, but Duro¡¯s header struck the crossbar, denying the hosts a deserved lead. Despite Valencia¡¯s dominance, Almer¨ªa refused to back down. Their midfield, led by Adri Embarba, showed resilience, disrupting Valencia¡¯s rhythm with timely interceptions. The visitors¡¯ best chance came in the 32nd minute when Embarba¡¯s long ball found Su¨¢rez in space. The striker¡¯s curling effort was destined for the top corner, but Mamardashvili once again came to Valencia¡¯s rescue with a fingertip save. As halftime approached, the intensity of the game escalated. Valencia pushed forward relentlessly, earning a series of corners and free kicks. Pepelu nearly broke the deadlock in the 41st minute with a long-range strike that forced a diving save from Almer¨ªa¡¯s goalkeeper, Fernando Mart¨ªnez. The final moments of the half saw both teams exchange attacks, but neither could find the breakthrough. The referee¡¯s whistle brought an end to a pulsating first half, with the scoreline remaining deadlocked. While Valencia had been the more dominant side, Almer¨ªa¡¯s counterattacking threat ensured the match remained finely balanced. The Mestalla faithful, though eager for a goal, roared their approval as the players left the pitch, knowing the second half promised even better. [In the stands] "You guys are unlucky today,", Miranda said in a more secluded area of the stands. "They¡¯ve been threatening, but they lack the finish, but I think it¡¯ll come in the second half. "Well let¡¯s hope your team wins. It¡¯ll be bad for the team when the papers start saying they couldn¡¯t win without you, and then you¡¯re pressured into playing many matches," Komi, who sat beside Izan, said with concern. "Don¡¯t worry, that won¡¯t happen, or I¡¯ll sue them and seek compensation", Miranda said with a fiery expression and smile. .... The second half began with both teams increasing the tempo. Valencia¡¯s coach, Rub¨¦n Baraja, made tactical adjustments, urging his team to press higher up the pitch. This paid off in the 52nd minute when Almeida intercepted a wayward pass in midfield and quickly released L¨®pez down the left flank. The youngster dribbled past two defenders before firing a low shot into the bottom corner, sending the Mestalla into raptures. Izan and his family celebrated with the crowd in the stands, relishing the goal that had just been scored by Lopez. Almer¨ªa responded with urgency, pushing more men forward. Coach Baraja, however, broke their momentum by making a few substitutions. Their persistence, however, paid off in the 67th minute when they earned a free kick just outside the penalty area. Adri Embarba stepped up and curled a stunning effort into the top corner, leaving Mamardashvili rooted to the spot. The away section erupted in celebration, their chants momentarily silencing the home crowd. Izan smiled wryly at the free kick of Adri Embarba. "Now I know how the fans feel when I score," Izan thought. With the score level at 1-1, the match became a frantic end-to-end affair. Valencia¡¯s experienced defenders, Mouctar Diakhaby and Cenk ?zkacar were tested repeatedly as Almer¨ªa piled on the pressure. Yet, it was Valencia who found the breakthrough. In the 78th minute, Pepelu delivered a pinpoint corner that found Gay¨¤ unmarked at the far post. The captain¡¯s header was unstoppable, restoring Valencia¡¯s lead and reigniting the Mestalla¡¯s passion. The closing stages were not for the faint-hearted. Almer¨ªa threw everything forward, and their striker, Su¨¢rez, nearly equalized in the 84th minute, only to be denied by a last-ditch tackle from Diakhaby. Valencia, too, had chances to extend their lead, with L¨®pez and substitute Sosa Herrera coming close. As the clock ticked past 90 minutes, the referee added five minutes of stoppage time. The Mestalla roared, urging their team to hold firm. Mamardashvili made a crucial save in the dying moments, palming away a thunderous shot from Embarba. When the final whistle blew, the stadium erupted in celebration. Valencia had secured a hard-fought 2-1 victory. The players embraced on the pitch, their relief and joy evident. Gay¨¤, the man of the match, led his team in a lap of honour, applauding the fans who had been their twelfth man throughout the game. Almer¨ªa¡¯s players, though dejected, were given a warm reception by their travelling supporters, who appreciated their fighting spirit. Outside the stadium, the celebrations spilt onto the streets. Valencia¡¯s victory was not just three points; it was a statement of intent, a reminder of their resilience and ambition. For Almer¨ªa, the defeat was a setback but also a testament to their determination to fight until the very end. As the night wore on, the echoes of chants and cheers faded into the Valencian night, leaving behind memories of a thrilling matchday that encapsulated the passion and unpredictability of La Liga. A/n: 2nd chapter of the day. Have fun. Imma rest a bit. Thanks for your support and for reading. Chapter 88: Prelude To The Atletico Madrid Game The morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of Izan¡¯s small room, casting a warm glow. The faint chirping of birds and the distant sound of children playing outside signal the start of another day. Izan stirred beneath his simple blanket, his dark curls tousled and his face relaxed. As his alarm clock buzzes, he groggily reaches out to silence it, yawning deeply. It¡¯s been a few days since school opened, and he had, and it hadn¡¯t been as bad as he thought it would. He had thought his 2nd year would be tiring but the school had helped him accommodate to the schedules. Izan could now close early on the pretext of going to train, and he did. Izan was putting in a bit of work than he had done for a few days. Well, any player playing against Atletico de Madrid would also train extra. Today was a Friday meaning the following day was the bout between Valencia CF and Atletico de Madrid. The Latter side had won against Real Madrid by a score of 3-1 the previous matchday and were looking to continue this run of form. After matchday five, the Laliga top 5 looked something like this. Team. Mp. W D L pts Gd 1. Valencia 5 5 0 0 15 8 3. Girona 5 4 1 0 13 7 4. Barca 5 4 1 0 13 9 2. R. Mrd 5 4 0 1 12 7 5. At. Mrd 5 3 1 1 10 7 Izan stretched his arms and legs, shaking off the last remnants of sleep, and quickly got out of bed. Izan¡¯s morning routine was quick but purposeful. He splashed cold water on his face before brushing his teeth. After putting on his gear, he went out to complete the task of the day. After finishing his tasks, Izan came back home and started getting ready for school. It had been 5 days seen school reopened. .... Standing tall with a lean athletic build, Izan stood at the school gate with his bag slung over his shoulder. His schoolmates passed by him with a few girls throwing glances at him while giggling. [Cliche but we gotta do what do we gotta do] With a sigh, Izan headed towards his classroom. Izan¡¯s day at school was a blend of learning, fun, and a bit of mischief. The morning began with a bright smile as he entered the classroom, greeting his friends with high-fives and jokes. Sosa had called in sick the previous day so Izan¡¯s desknate was nowhere to be found. His first lesson was mathematics, where he eagerly solved problems on the board, impressing his teacher with quick answers. "This is really not fair. He¡¯s good at football and studying. How can you write a character like this" a student said. "His contract with Valencia makes him a lot of money annually. I also saw his sponsorship deal with Adidas. Author-nim, This is too much". "I¡¯m surprised the girls haven¡¯t even thrown themselves at him yet". " If he writes something like that, it¡¯d be too cliche, but we love cliche". The conversation alternated between 3 friends who thought that life was unfair. During recess, Izan and his friends played a competitive game of football, dribbling past defenders and scoring the winning goal that earned him cheers from everyone. "Professional players sure are different," a voice said. Science class followed, and Izan was fascinated by an experiment involving colourful chemical reactions, asking curious questions and taking detailed notes. The highlight of the day was art class, where he took inspiration from a picture on Google and sketched a vivid drawing of a Maradona with his hands raised, earning praise from his peers and teacher. As the final bell rang, Izan packed his bag, still buzzing with energy, and waved goodbye to his classmates. After school, Izan took a cab to the Cuidad Deportiva de Paterna. After arriving, Izan changed into his training kit before heading to the pitch. After finding no one else on the pitch, Izan set up a few cones that led to a row of dummies. After setting up the cones and dummies to look like an obstacle course, Izan went through this self-made course like a pro does. Coach Baraja, who was in his office, felt a presence on the field behind him, so he looked through the glass window and found the familiar sight of Izan training before anyone did. "This kid, " Baraja said with a smirk. After a while, the players started arriving. Seeing Izan already there and training, the others just smiled and walked to the locker room. After changing, the rest of the players joined Izan on the pitch. The players played and joked around since the training hadn¡¯t started yet. Soon enough, Coach Baraja joined the players on the pitch. He talked with the other Coaches for a while before telling the players to loosen their muscles. Izan, who had already warmed up, decided to visit the player recovery room until the drills began. After a massage on his thighs and calves, Izan went back to the training field. The drills were hard-core, pushing the players to their limit. It seemed the conversation between Coach Baraja and the other coaches was about the drills. "Coach knows we have a match tomorrow right?" Pietro asked before adding, "So why is he trying to kill us before I even get to score against Atleti?". "Just shut up. It¡¯s because of this training that we are at the top of the table," Gaya said, but Pietro refuted it. "It¡¯s because we haven¡¯t faced that many challenging teams, and that is why we are top of the table". "Also, Izan carries us a bit so...". "Sevilla isn¡¯t a challenge for you, but I don¡¯t remember you playing, and if we don¡¯t do our jobs well, how can Izan focus on helping the team?" Gaya shot back. "Fair point," Pietro said before returning to his workout The players around him all shook their heads at this teammate of theirs. "How are you feeling". Izan, who was tightening his loosened boots, looked up and saw Baraja. "I¡¯m doing good, Coach,", Izan said with a smile. "Good. Atletico are going to be rough with you but I still want you to play. Can you start?" Baraja asked. Izan nodded at his words. His body wasn¡¯t like other players his age and the medicals he had done after he returned from the national team proved it. As a plus, he also had injury immunity pills but he couldn¡¯t tell them that could he? "They¡¯re going to play rough, so try to protect yourself tomorrow, okay?" Baraja spoke. "Don¡¯t worry, Coach, I won¡¯t get injured", Izan said while rising from his kneeling pose. "Very well then. Join the other guys for the scrimmage after you¡¯re done," Baraja said whilst leaving. After Izan joined the team, Baraja made the attackers play against the defender with the 2 central midfielders joining the attackers and another 2 defensive midfielders joining the defenders. The defensive team faced an onslaught from the attackers. They weren¡¯t weak but Izan was cleverly using each defender¡¯s weakness against them. In a play, Izan sent a cross to Gaya¡¯s side of the box. Taking advantage of Gaya¡¯s short height, Hugo Duro towered over the former and sent the ball into the net with his head. In another instance, Cenk Ozkacar was beaten by Izan using a sudden change of pace and suddenly accelerating once Cenk slowed down. Marmadashvili was the one having it rough in this session as almost all the shots from the attackers were in target. After saving a few balls and crashing to the ground a few times, Marmadashvili felt his body ache. Seeing Marmadashvili¡¯s crunched face, Coach Baraja quickly made him stop and changed him for the second-choice keeper. After being subbed out of the scrimmage, Marmadashvili was checked by the team medics. After inspecting, the medics found a few bruises but other than that, the keeper was fine. Coach Baraja finally sighed after the Medics¡¯ inspection. The players finally showed a relaxed face and continued with the scrimmage but this time, the intensity had toned down a bit since no one wanted an injury the day before a big match. After the scrimmage, the players returned to the locker room. In the locker room, the players washed down before wearing a new training kit. After they changed, the team went to the video and tactical room. After settling down, Coach Baraja led the team in discussing the recent matches of Atletico Madrid while pointing out a few errors of the opposition team. The players all started making notes about the opponents¡¯ weaknesses. After they finished discussing the opponent¡¯s weaknesses, they discussed theirs as well. A few players like Hugo Duro and Correira were singled out with the former¡¯s problem being his inability to capitalise on some clear chances while the latter¡¯s problem was his abandonment of defensive duties. The team also discussed tactics and effective ways to shut down Atletico de Madrid. After this, Coach Baraja announced the 22-man squad that would be going into this game. The main players just smiled when they heard their names, while the ones who heard their names for the first time or in a while showed excitement. After seeing his name on the sheet, Izan felt an indescribable feeling. Unknowingly he had become an integral part of this side. "Okay, guys, I¡¯ll see you tomorrow and don¡¯t be late or else you¡¯ll be out of the squad for a few matchdays," Coach Baraja said before walking off. A few players who felt that the words were directed towards them couldn¡¯t help but gulp. "Izan, do you want to go and buy the new fC 24 game," Sosa said after he saw Izan packing. "Maybe after the Atleti game. I¡¯ll probably not sleep if I buy it today, and that would affect my game," Izan said with a slight smile. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Even if he didn¡¯t sleep, he could use a conditioning pill, and that would bring him back to his best condition, but using it felt a bit artificial and couldn¡¯t compare to true rest. "Okay, then, I¡¯ll see you tomorrow," Sosa said before leaving. He had been selected, but it was obvious that he wasn¡¯t going to play, and even if he did, it would happen in the final minutes of the game. If he wasn¡¯t lucky, he would substituted late and would not even get a chance to touch the ball. Izan slung his bag over his shoulder once more, stepping out of the locker room. A/n: ....., umm have fun reading Chapter 89: To The Wanda Metropolitano The day began early for Valencia CF. The players, staff, and travelling supporters awoke in the historic coastal city of Valencia, filled with a quiet determination. The clash against Atl¨¦tico Madrid at the Wanda Metropolitano looms large¡ªa test of their grit, skill, and resolve. Izan, who had just woken up, completed his daily task before having just a toast after he was done freshening up. "Muira, hurry!" Komi shouted from the car, causing a few birds around to flutter away. After sitting in the Car for a while, Izan arrived. "Stay safe, okay? Don¡¯t let those grown men bully you on the field, and always remember that we are with you," Komi said. Izan smiled and went around the car to his mother¡¯s side. He brought his lips down and met his mother¡¯s forehead. "I will," Izan said before leaving. "That¡¯s our baby, Maxwell, that¡¯s our baby," Komi said with teary eyes. ... The team gathered at the Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna, Valencia¡¯s renowned training ground, for a light morning session and tactical briefing. Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja delivered his final pep talk, emphasizing the importance of resilience and focus as they prepare to face one of La Liga¡¯s toughest opponents. ..... By late morning, the team bus pulled out of the training facility, emblazoned with the club¡¯s crest: the iconic bat and shield, a symbol of the city and its footballing pride. Fans lined the route, waving scarves and chanting encouragement. Some held banners with messages like "A por ellos" (Let¡¯s go get them), and "Vamos Valencia" (let¡¯s go Valencia), while others shouted words of inspiration to their favourite players. As the players settled into their seats, the mood was a mix of calm focus and quiet camaraderie. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the captain, lead by example, headphones on as he mentally prepares for the battle ahead. Younger players like Javi Guerra and Diego L¨®pez, eager to prove their mettle, shared quiet jokes to ease the tension. The hum of the bus engine was accompanied by the rhythmic beats of playlists carefully curated by the squad¡¯s unofficial DJ, Correira, ensuring morale remains high. ... The journey to Madrid, a little over 350 kilometress, took the team across Spain¡¯s varied landscapes. From Valencia¡¯s orange groves and the Mediterranean coastline to the rolling plains of Castilla-La Mancha, the scenery changed dramatically, serving as a backdrop to the team¡¯s thoughts. For some players, this is familiar territory¡ªveterans who¡¯ve faced Atl¨¦tico¡¯s fortress-like stadium before. For others, it¡¯s a first experience, filled with anticipation and nerves. For Izan it was just another game, albeit with a greater exposure. To him, it was a chance to say, "Hey, I¡¯m not any ordinary boy from Alboraya". Most fans and teams see him as a talented kid and even his own team¡¯s fans, but Izan wanted to put that notion to bed and what better way than to throw Atl¨¦tico off their game? For teams and scouts watching him, if Izan could perform against Atletico de Madrid, then they had to throw their reservations away and start actively pursuing him. Although his agent says he doesn¡¯t want to move right now, what can¡¯t a bit of money and good conditions do. Meanwhile, the team staff worked tirelessly. Analysts reviewed extra footage of Atl¨¦tico¡¯s recent games, making last-minute adjustments to tactics. Medical staff checked on players to ensure peak condition, offering stretches or massages as needed. Snacks and hydration breaks punctuate the trip, ensuring everyone is physically and mentally prepared for the challenge ahead. ..... By mid-afternoon, the team arrived in Madrid, greeted by a brisk autumn breeze and the sprawling urban expanse of the Spanish capital. Their hotel was a modern sanctuary, chosen for its proximity to the stadium and quiet ambience. Fans and reporters gathered outside, hoping for a glimpse of the players but Security ushered the team through quickly, ensuring focus remains undisturbed. Inside the hotel, the pre-match routine kicked into gear. Players retreated to their rooms for rest and reflection. Some took power naps, while others reviewed tactical notes or rewatched clips of their previous matches. Izan, on the other hand, wasn¡¯t among any of the former groups. "Wait so you play Atl¨¦tico today?" Olivia¡¯s voice came through the phone a bit angry. "Yeah sorry. If you don¡¯t have anything to do, you can come," Izan said. "I would, but I volunteered for social work, and now I have to fulfil that appointment. I¡¯ll watch it though so don¡¯t worry" Olivia said. "Okay. I have to go now. It¡¯s a team meal, and I can¡¯t skip it. See you in a bit" Izan said. "See you" Olivia replied before hanging up. Izan, together with the coaching staff, convened for final discussions, refining set-piece strategies and contingency plans for different scenarios as he was undoubtedly the best for the job. A team meal followed¡ªa carefully balanced combination of proteins, carbohydrates, and vegetables designed to fuel the players. Conversations were subdued, with most eyes on the clock. As evening approached, the players donned their matchday suits and prepared to head to the Wanda Metropolitano. The team bus departed for the stadium as dusk settled over Madrid. The city¡¯s skyline glowed with the lights of office towers and historic landmarks. The closer they got to the Wanda Metropolitano, the more the atmosphere intensified. Fans in Atl¨¦tico jerseys lined the streets, waving flags and singing songs of support for their team. The chants grew louder as the Valencia bus approached, a mix of friendly banter and jeers aimed at the visiting side. Inside the bus, the players were locked in. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ and Pepelu exchanged a quiet word about maintaining composure under pressure. The younger players remain wide-eyed, soaking in the magnitude of the occasion. Rub¨¦n Baraja walked down the aisle, clapping shoulders and reminding his team of the importance of belief and unity. He smiled as he got to Izan, lingering around his areas for a while before returning to his seat. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As the bus pulled into Wanda Metropolitano¡¯s underground parking, the players were greeted by a sea of red and white. Security teams guided them through the maze of corridors leading to the visitors¡¯ locker room. The noise above¡ªchants, drums, and the roar of 68,000 fans¡ªserves as a constant reminder of the challenge ahead. Inside the locker room, the mood was intense but controlled. Jerseys with the iconic bat crest hang neatly on racks, each player¡¯s number and name a reminder of their role in the team. The staff unpacked boots, shinpads, and other essentials, arranging them meticulously Izan, who had received his new personalised boots from Adidas, couldn¡¯t help but caress the fine work of art that lay on his lap. Rub¨¦n Baraja gathered his squad for one final speech. He emphasizes the importance of discipline, exploiting Atl¨¦tico¡¯s weaknesses, and staying resilient in the face of adversity. "This is your moment," he said, his voice steady yet inspiring. The players listened intently, nodding in agreement. The warm-up on the Wanda Metropolitano¡¯s pitch was a surreal experience. The stadium, already nearly full, vibrated with anticipation. Valencia¡¯s players are met with a mix of applause from their travelling supporters and hostile chants from Atl¨¦tico¡¯s ultras. They went through their drills methodically, testing the bounce of the ball and the feel of the turf. Izan, seeing the nervous expressions of a few of his teammates, did the warm-up ritual he had always done during his short time with the Spain National Team. His little show brought a little courage back to his teammates while silencing a few Atl¨¦tico ultras. At the kickoff time, Valencia lined up in the tunnel, side by side with their Atl¨¦tico counterparts. A few Atl¨¦tico players couldn¡¯t but steal a glance at Spain¡¯s new wonderkid. "He doesn¡¯t look strong", Thomas Lemar said. "Don¡¯t judge him as you see fit. See it for yourself on the pitch" Azpilicueta said while throwing Izan a glance. The latter felt the former¡¯s gaze and looked at him. Azpilicueta waved and smiled at Izan with Izan doing the same. The atmosphere was electric. The bowl design of the Wanda ensures that sound reverberates through every corner, amplifying the chants of the ultras in the Grada de Animaci¨®n. Drums pounded rhythmically as flags the size of billboards waved above the stands, creating a sea of movement. The fans¡¯ voices, raw with passion, belt out "Atleti, Atleti, Atleti" in unison, a rallying cry that sends shivers down the spine of Valencia Fans. "We are in for a tough time, aren¡¯t we," A fan said. "Let¡¯s hope for a draw at the very least", the same fan said. "Don¡¯t aim low, we aren¡¯t weak. Atl¨¦tico have lost a match, but we haven¡¯t so hold your head up cause we are "los Ches" " a spirited fan spoke. The energy was palpable, a mix of adrenaline, tension, and excitement. The roar of the crowd, deafening as the players stepped onto the field. The stage was set, and Valencia CF was ready to fight, determined to make their mark at one of Spain¡¯s most formidable arenas. A/n: Second of the day. Have fun reading. Chapter 90: First half against Atletico The Wanda Metropolitano, Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s fortress, buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension as fans of Valencia and Atl¨¦tico Madrid gathered in the stands. The atmosphere was a mosaic of red-and-white and orange-and-black, the two clubs¡¯ colours vividly displayed through scarves, flags, and jerseys. In one section, Atl¨¦tico Madrid fans, known for their intense passion, chanted their traditional war cries. The Frente Atl¨¦tico waved their massive flags and beat their drums in unison, creating a deafening roar that echoed through the stadium. On the other side, Valencia fans held their own. The traveling supporters, though fewer in number, were no less vocal. They chanted songs of defiance and pride, waving their Senyera flags high. A group of Valencia ultras unfurled a large banner that read, "Siempre Amunt" ("Always Upward"), signaling their unwavering support. The interaction between the two fanbases was a blend of rivalry and mutual respect. Isolated pockets of playful banter turned into bursts of singing competitions, each side trying to outdo the other in volume and passion. While the tension of a crucial match was palpable, security personnel stood watchful, ensuring the spirited rivalry didn¡¯t escalate into anything more. Despite their differences, moments of camaraderie emerged. The referee¡¯s whistle pierced the air, and the game was soon underway game. Atl¨¦tico pressed aggressively from the start, their players embodying the never-say-die spirit instilled by manager Diego Simeone. Valencia, known for their flair and technical skill, countered with precision passes and swift movement. The midfield battle is fierce, with every tackle drawing cheers or groans from the crowd. Early on in the game, Atl¨¦tico got a chance. Thomas Lemar weaved through the Valencian defenders with mesmerizing footwork, drawing gasps from the fans. After getting away from the encirclement, Leamr threaded a pass to Griezmann who smacked the ball against the post after taking a touch. ¡¯Ooooooooooooooooouuuuhhhhh¡¯ the fans exclaimed. The missed shot didn¡¯t dampen the mood of the Atl¨¦ti Fans but rather caused them to make more noise. The Atl¨¦tico Ultras drummed like their lives depended on it. Although this wasn¡¯t a match against Barcelona or Real Madrid, it was still impressive as it was against the current leader of Laliga. On the other end, Valencia¡¯s captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ orchestrated his team with calm authority, his crosses threatening to unlock Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence. Each shot on goal is met with a collective intake of breath, the crowd holding on to every moment. Izan, who had been in a spectating role earlier, finally found out how Atl¨¦tico were playing. Using the Atl¨¦tico youngster Pablo Barrios, Diego Simeone aimed to draw the Valencia midfield towards the former, who would partner up with Marcos Llorente to prevent any mishaps while creating space for Thomas Lemar centrally. Izan, after noticing Atl¨¦tico use this plan twice in a row, prepared to intercept. He approached a few of his players and told them about his plan. In the 13th minute. Marco Llorente got the ball from Cesar Azpilicueta on the right. After taking hold of the ball, the midfielder followed his Coach¡¯s directives and laid the ball off to Pablo Barrios. The latter didn¡¯t even have to do anything with the Valencia players approaching as soon as he got the ball. "Coach is a tactical genius", Barrios thought before sending the ball into space for Thomas Lemar without even looking around. Thomas Lemar, who was looking forward to the ball, saw a shadow flash in front of him and take hold of the ball. Without wasting time, Izan sent the to Pepelu, initiating a One-two pass with the latter, with Izan being the last to hold the ball. After getting to the arc of the box, the Atl¨¦tico defenders began to approach him proactively unknowingly creating space for Sergio Canos on the left side. Izan looked away to his right to prevent the opponents from guessing where he was going to pass to and it worked. The Atl¨¦tico defence began leaning a bit more right when they saw his eyes, but Izan passed the ball to Sergio Canos, completing the no-look pass. The Atl¨¦tico defenders, seeing how they had been tricked, quickly scrambled back to defend against Sergio Canos. Diego Simeone, who stood on the touchline, could only watch as the number on the scoreboard changed. "Goooooaaaaallll Valencia. Izan the little Orchestrator of Valencia tricked the Atl¨¦tico defenders into committing before sending the ball the other way and Sergio Canos made no mistake slotting the ball past Oblak to score his first goal of the season " Sergio Canos, after scoring, rushed towards the boyish face in front of him and hugged him. "Thanks, Izan, for that pass", Sergio said, but Izan said nothing and just smiled. Sergio knew Izan could have shot the ball but the latter chose to pass. Sergio Canos, who had been used sporadically this season, could now have hope. The Atl¨¦tico Madrid fans didn¡¯t like the scenes on the pitch nor the change on the scoreboard. The ultras even started making a few chants which were uncalled for. The stewards around quickly called them to order but deep down, they understood the anger of the fans. Coach Baraja, who saw his team lead first, almost hugged the fourth official but couldn¡¯t as Assistant Coach Moreno pulled him back before he could. "Ahem, thank you," Baraja said calmly before returning to his polished demeanour. After the goal by Valencia, Simeone didn¡¯t make any change but Atl¨¦tico didn¡¯t lie down and take the attacks that came their way. Izan the subject of their rough play, attracted 7 fouls in 10 minutes. Coach Baraja, who had already expected this, couldn¡¯t help but feel his chest tighten the moment the Atl¨¦tico players started with this shrewd tactic of theirs. He looked towards Diego Simeone but the latter just shrugged. "I¡¯m not the one playing am I?" He added, adding insult to injury. The match went on for a while with Atl¨¦tico seeing more of the ball as Valencia had abandoned their possession tactic for fear of players getting injured. With many shots at Valencia¡¯s goal, a breakthrough was going to eventually come. Atletico got the ball in the 28th minute. A quick break saw Antoine Griezmann dart into the box, connecting with a perfectly weighted pass. After seeing numbers behind him, Griezmann fainted a cross, causing Marmadashvil¡¯s attention to temporarily focus on the players inside the box. After seeing Marmadashvili¡¯s action, Griezmann adjusted his body and slotted the ball past the Valencia keeper. The stadium erupted. Fans leapt to their feet, screaming and hugging strangers, united by the sheer joy of the moment. Red-and-white confetti rains down from above, creating a festive haze. Izan watched on as the opponents celebrated. The players had kept him out of the match with their fouls but the players had also gotten in trouble as a result of that. Due to this Izan pushed for a foul as soon as the match restarted. After getting the ball from Javi Guerra, Izan went on a darting run. He sprinted across the pitch with a focused intensity, his eyes scanning for openings. The ball seemed glued to his feet as he executed rapid dribbles, weaving effortlessly past defenders with sharp turns and quick flicks. A few Atl¨¦tico players tried to halt his attack by holding his shirt but the latter¡¯s speed was too electrifying. His movements were smooth and calculated, like an eel, showcasing his mastery of ball control. The floodlights glinted off his jersey as he accelerated down the wing, leaving opponents struggling to keep up. The Valencia fans stood up as they watched their little magician perform. The Atl¨¦tico fans and Coach alike were screaming for the players to stop Izan at the top of their lungs. Under the watchful eyes of the whole stadium, Izan cut inside and tried to enter the box but Azpilicueta dragged him back by the scruff of the neck. The referee quickly sounded his whistle upon seeing this and showed Azpilicueta a yellow card. "Sorry Izan, I¡¯ll buy you dinner, don¡¯t hate me too much", Azpilicueta said. Izan just looked at the latter and smiled thanking him for the freekick. He knew he couldn¡¯t score even if he entered the box because of the opposition numbers in the box. Izan¡¯s determination was palpable as he pushed towards the goal, embodying both skill and passion for the game and the fans knew it. After the referee was down with the Atl¨¦tico wall, Izan stood poised at the edge of the penalty area, the perfect picture of focus and determination. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His personalised Adidas cleats dug slightly into the grass as he adjusted his stance, one foot slightly behind the other. Izan took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the ball as he took his signature steps. The Valencia fans could feel their hearts¡¯ palpitations at this moment. They knew what Izan could do with a dead ball, and they prayed he could do one last trick before half time. All Izan heard was a whistle prompting him to ran towards the ball. A/N: Feeling good because of a conversation I had with a reader I decided to release this one which was meant for tomorrow. Don¡¯t worry I won¡¯t release less tomorrow. Anyways, Thanks Tadeas_ Manzel for the gift and thank you guys for ready. All right imma head out. Chapter 91: Work cut out for Atlético The referee quickly sounded his whistle upon seeing the challenge on Izan and quickly showed Azpilicueta a yellow card. The former Chelsea man showed a remorseful expression so the referee let it go. "Sorry, Izan, I¡¯ll buy you dinner. Don¡¯t hate me too much", Azpilicueta said before running into the box. Izan just looked at the latter and smiled thanking him for the freekick. He knew that the chances of him scoring even if he entered the box were low because of the opposition numbers in the box. Izan¡¯s determination was palpable as he pushed towards the goal, embodying both skill and passion for the game and the fans knew it by his recent display. After the referee was done with the Atl¨¦tico wall, Izan stood poised at the edge of the penalty area, the perfect picture of focus and determination. His personalised Adidas cleats dug slightly into the grass as he adjusted his stance, one foot slightly behind the other. Izan took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the ball as he calmly breathed out. The Valencia fans could feel their hearts¡¯ palpitations at this moment. They knew what Izan could do with a dead ball, and they prayed he could do one last trick before halftime. The ball rested neatly on the pitch, with the faint outline of the wall of defenders standing tall in his peripheral vision. The crowd held its breath as Izan took his signature measured steps back, his fingers brushing his long hair back to clear any obstructions. "I need to cut my hair,", Izan said, feeling his long hair, damp with sweat. The faint wind ruffled his long black hair, but he remained unshaken, ready to strike with precision and power. After the referee blew the whistle, Izan walked to the ball slowly as he looked behind the wall. ¡¯Ding[ Focus Lv2 Activated]¡¯ ¡¯Ding[ Pinpoint Precision Lv 2 Activated]¡¯ Izan smiled at the sound of the system¡¯s voice ringing in his mind like a symphony. Planting his left leg beside the ball, Izan smacked the ball. The ball, well endowed with Curl and power headed towards the Atl¨¦tico Madrid goal like a rounded gift for Christmas. The Atl¨¦tico Fans felt the ball was too on target for comfort, and their keeper also felt the same. Jan Oblak, who felt that the ball was moving far and far away from the goal, started curving towards his goal. The keeper, with his cat-like reflexes, lunged at the ball, but that wasn¡¯t going to be enough. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLL, Magnificent from Izan. Uhhhh, how has he done that? Witness the rise of Izan. A king in the making" Izan, who couldn¡¯t be held by his teammates, ran towards the Away fans and raised his hands in the air as if asking to bask in their praises and cheers. The fans, too, didn¡¯t disappoint. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Nice Izan". "We love you Izan". "I ain¡¯t gay but marry me". "Can I get your address". "The lady before me, everyone wants an autograph but you want an address. Don¡¯t forget he is still a minor". "Sorry, my bad. Thanks for the warning". Coach Baraja finally couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore and pulled Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s Kit manager in for a hug. Assistant Coach Moreno, who saw this, shook his head and smiled bitterly at this clutz of a coach before pulling him back. [Hernandez House, Alboraya] "Mum, Miura scored", Hori said to her mother, who had gone into the kitchen to fetch snacks. "Well, it was only a matter of when. Your brother is a genius" Miranda said before stuffing some snacks into her mouth. "Oh, my baby", Komi came out holding some drinks and another tray of snacks. .... "Valencia, is not one to back down. Just before halftime, they lead with a stunning strike from range, silencing the home crowd momentarily. You don¡¯t see goals like that anymore. Valencia came to the Wanda Metropolitano and they won¡¯t leave without a fight. Atletico has their work cut out for them. It is now Valencia 2, Atl¨¦tico 1" The Commentator offered his expertise on the match, rallying the excitement of the Valencia fans. The Atl¨¦tico players hung their heads down but a voice prompted them to raise their heads. After the celebrations, Valencia returned to their half only to face an onslaught from the Atl¨¦tico team. In a pocket of orange and black amidst the red sea of Atl¨¦tico fans at the Wanda Metropolitano, a group of Valencia supporters engaged in a lively conversation about their rising star, Izan. "Did you see that freekick? This is pure class?" one fan asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "He made that defender look like a statue! Pure class." Another fan nodded, draping his scarf over his shoulders. "He¡¯s got the vision to make that assist for SergioCanos. He¡¯s only 15, and he¡¯s already bossing games. I wouldn¡¯t trade him for anyone in La Liga." A younger supporter, holding a Valencia flag, chimed in. "It¡¯s not just his skill, though. The kid¡¯s got heart. Did you see him track back in the match against Alaves? He saved us from conceding at least twice." An older fan, clearly nostalgic, smiled. "Izan reminds me of the greats. Silva, Villa... You can tell he¡¯s got that special something. The kind of player who can carry Valencia back to glory." The group fell silent momentarily as Izan appeared on the giant screen effortlessly toying with Marcos Llorente. The fans erupted into cheers, chanting his name: "Izan! Izan! Izan!" The conversation resumed with one fan expressing concern. "I just hope the club doesn¡¯t sell him too soon. You know how it goes ¡ª a couple of good seasons, and the big clubs come sniffing around." Another replied, his voice firm. "Let them come. Izan¡¯s Valencia through and through. He¡¯s not going anywhere. And if he does, they better pay enough to rebuild the whole team." The group laughed, their shared passion evident. As the players continued with the match, all eyes turned to the young star, their hopes for the match resting on his shoulders. As the match progressed, dramatic moments on the field intensified the stands¡¯ dynamic. A near-goal by Atl¨¦tico brought their fans to their feet, roaring in unison. Moments later, a swift Valencia counterattack had their fans leaping with joy, drowning out the home crowd temporarily. Izan who got the ball on the left wing from Gaya ran to the byline before sending a pinpoint cross into the box, but the header from Hugo Duro was denied by a spectacular save from Jan Oblak The fans cheered every pass, tackle, and shot, their energy feeding the team on the pitch. The Atl¨¦tico team abandoned their previous tactics and went all out. A few gaps opened in the defence as a result of this, but Izan couldn¡¯t capitalise on it since they weren¡¯t winning the ball back. It was only under the sound of the referee¡¯s whistle, which sounded for halftime that brought Valencia out of their troubles. The Atl¨¦tico players headed for halftime a bit down by the score but the second promised to be a half for them to bounce back. Halftime offered a brief respite. Fans queued for refreshments, the smell of popcorn and hot dogs filling the air. Conversations buzz about the game¡¯s twists and turns, with predictions flying faster than the beer taps. Both Coaches revised their tactics as their opponents had somehow surprised them. For Baraja, it was Atl¨¦tico¡¯s willingness to abandon their style to seek out opportunities. For Simeone, it was a miscalculation on his part that needed to be revised. "Izan was dangerous" and he needed to be handled. He assigned Azpilicueta to mark the latter since he knew him the most from the national team. After a while, the 15-minute break passed, and the players started heading out of the tunnel. "Protect yourself Izan. Don¡¯t go charging in when they are trying to pull you down. If you don¡¯t want another talented player to fall," Baraja warned as the latter entered the field. Izan nodded at his words and quickly joined his teammates in the centre. The shouts of the Valencian fans rose as soon as Izan entered the pitch. 1 goal and 1 assist from him had put Valencia in front. "How does he even do it at his age?" A few fans thought but quickly stopped since, to them, they couldn¡¯t comprehend the realm of geniuses. The voice of the Atl¨¦tico Fans rose as they prepared to support their team. Both teams got into positions after a while. This first half of this clash had proved exciting, and the fans couldn¡¯t wait for the second half. The official looked at his watch and seemingly satisfied with the time, the referee blew his whistle for the second half to commence. Atl¨¦tico who had the ball quickly launched an attack in hopes to catch the other team off guard but it wasn¡¯t to be as their attack ended in a throw in. A/n: first of the day. Have fun reading. Also I say this too much that many of you might have gotten bored with it but thank you so much for reading. It feels good to know that someone likes my imagination. Love y¡¯all Chapter 92: Boy Alone The second half of the thrilling encounter between Valencia and Atl¨¦tico Madrid began with the home team, still trailing 2-1 after a tightly contested first half. The Wanda Metropolitano Stadium was alive with energy, as fans cheered their team on, hoping for a comeback against a resilient Valencia CF side. Atl¨¦tico Madrid started the second half on the front foot, determined to consolidate their lead. Diego Simeone¡¯s men showcased their signature pressing style, forcing Valencia to play long balls from the back. Antoine Griezmann, who had been instrumental in the first half, continued to pull the strings in midfield, combining brilliantly with Marcos Llorente. The French man continued to create dangerous opportunities. A breakthrough came for Atl¨¦tico in the 54th minute as a result of a turnover in possession. Javi Guerra, who had been excellent for Valencia in this match, lost the ball to Marcos Llorente, who had pressed high up the pitch. After getting hold of the ball, Marcos Llorente sent a sharp pass to Thomas Lemar on the opposite side of the pitch, changing the play. Pablo Barrios, who was naturally an attacking midfielder joined the attack with Axel Witsel covering his defensive post in the match. Lemar waited for Barrios to get into a good position before setting the latter up for a shot. The ball was saved by a great hand from Marmadashvili who was having a great match aside from the goal from Griezmann. Atl¨¦tico Madrid pushed for an equalizer and finally got a chance to pull one back, but the ball from Griezmann to Morata, who had run behind the Valencia defensive line, was squandered as the latter hit the ball straight at the post. Valencia, however, refused to buckle under pressure. They gradually found their rhythm, with Javi Guerra and Pepelu in midfield taking control and linking well with the wide players. Their efforts bore fruit a few minutes later when Izan swapped positions with Sergio Canos, who was having a tough time against Azpilicueta, and broke down the left wing, delivering a pinpoint cross to Hugo Duro. The forward¡¯s header beat Atl¨¦tico¡¯s goalkeeper Jan Oblak, but at the last moment, Mario Hermoso headed the ball over the crossbar. The away fans could feel their hearts jump as Hermoso cleared the ball. The Valencia fans clapped for their players for this stunning display of effort. Izan headed towards the left corner after the ball went out. With a swift motion, he sent the ball to Cenk Ozkacar who met the ball timely but sent it wide. The fans sighed but still showed support for their players. They were still leading and that was a reflection of the team¡¯s determination. In the 65th minute, the game shifted gears. Both teams made tactical adjustments, with Valencia pushing for a third goal while Atl¨¦tico sought to draw level. Simeone brought on Rodrigo de Paul and Angel Correira for Marcos Llorente and Thomas Lemar to add more creativity and firepower upfront. Meanwhile, Valencia manager Rub¨¦n Baraja introduced Diego L¨®pez for Sergio Canos to inject pace into their attack. At the moment of the substitution, an incident occurred on the pitch. Alvaro Morata, who had the ball on the edge of the box, tried to lose the defender in front of him. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Mosquera who was challenging for the ball, caught Morata fair and square on the shin. The reactions from Morata were a bit exaggerated, but there was contact, so the referee blew his whistle and let Mosquera off with a warning. Morata saw the referee point to a spot outside the box but the former didn¡¯t like the referee¡¯s decision. Morata took it up with the referee. The referee didn¡¯t pay Morata any mind, but the match was halted when Griezmann was about to take the free kick. Izan, who saw the referee approach the VAR stand, shook his head. If the offence happened outside the box, the referees in the video room wouldn¡¯t have called the main official to go and check. Izan¡¯s premonition came through as the referee pointed to the spot after the review. The Atl¨¦tico fans, who had been silent, awaiting the referee¡¯s decision, slowly burst into cheers. The Valencia players tried to convince the referee but the referee shunned them. The Valencia fans who had been celebrating a while ago saw the colour on their faces drain. Morata, who had earned this penalty stepped up to the spot. Mamardashvili tried some intimidation tactics before the penalty was taken but it didn¡¯t seem to have any effect as Alvaro Morata just stared at his soul. After the whistle sounded, Morata rushed towards the spot, all while keeping eye contact with Marmadashvili before sending the ball to the right bottom corner. Marmadashvili guessed the direction but couldn¡¯t keep up with the speed. ""Morata steps up... the weight of Atl¨¦tico¡¯s hopes resting on his shoulders. He takes a deep breath, the referee¡¯s whistle blows, and Morata strikes it! GOAL! Morata buries it with nerves of steel! The goalkeeper guessed the right way, but the precision and power were unstoppable. Atl¨¦tico Madrid are level, and listen to that roar! The fans are on their feet, and the momentum has swung back to the Rojiblancos. It¡¯s game on now at the Wanda Metropolitano ¡ªwhat a response from Diego Simeone¡¯s side! Atl¨¦tico Madrid have clawed their way back! A moment of nerves as the ball is whipped into the bottom corner. It¡¯s all square! The intensity has skyrocketed, and the atmosphere here is electric. This game is wide open once again " "Izan is being bodied out there," a fan said. "He¡¯s actually played well but with Azpilicueta shadowing him, it¡¯ll be hard for him to make another impact". ... Coach Baraja, who saw Atl¨¦tico¡¯s rendition of defence, couldn¡¯t help but complain to the official nearby. Diego Simeone just laughed at the opponent¡¯s plight. Coach Baraja gritted his teeth as he prepared to take Izan off. Izan, who sensed his team was over, tried to make something of the game. After the referee restarted the match, the ball went back to Mark who had come on for Mosquera. Izan retreated and received the ball near his team¡¯s box, his touch soft yet commanding, instantly drawing the attention of Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s defenders. The roar of the away crowd swelled as they sensed something special brewing. Izan, the young Valencia prodigy, stood poised, his head up, scanning the field with the composure of a veteran and the daring of a maverick. The first challenge came from Rodrigo de Paul, charging in with intent. Izan feinted to his left, a subtle drop of the shoulder, before gliding to his right, leaving De Paul lunging at thin air. The crowd erupted, their chants turning into a cacophony of excitement as Izan accelerated into open space, his feet moving in a mesmerizing rhythm. Griezmann was the next obstacle, stepping in to intercept. Izan, unflustered, rolled the ball forward with the sole of his boot, drawing Griezmann closer. Then, with a quick flick and a burst of pace, he slipped past him, brushing off the Frenchman¡¯s desperate tug on his sleeve. His control was sublime, the ball glued to his feet as if it were an extension of his body. Now in the heart of Atl¨¦tico¡¯s midfield, Izan faced the imposing figures of Marcos Llorente and Stefan Savi?. Llorente lunged in, but Izan anticipated it, pulling off a silky roulette that left the midfielder stumbling. The movement was so fluid, so precise, that it seemed to happen in slow motion. He then nutmegged the oncoming Savi?, threading the ball through the defender¡¯s legs with audacious ease, before darting around to collect it on the other side. Coach Baraja, who was about to take the latter off, watched his display. Izan, who moved graciously, looked like he had been possessed by the spirit of Ronaldinho, Pele and Maradona all together. The Wanda Metropolitano was in a frenzy, every touch from Izan met with gasps and cheers. The same couldn¡¯t be said for the opposing fans who felt their heart rate increasing by the second. Izan was now in the final third and was met by Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defensive line retreating in disarray. Jos¨¦ Mar¨ªa Gim¨¦nez stepped up, the last line of defence. Izan slowed down, teasing the centre-back, shifting the ball from left to right in a dazzling display of close control. Gim¨¦nez hesitated, unsure of which way to commit, and that moment of indecision was all Izan needed. With some otherworldly speed, Izan flashed his legs over the ball, completing a few sets of stepovers within a second before bursting with sudden speed, skipping past the defender and leaving him stranded. The whole stadium was now on their feet as they watched Izan sift through Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence like a master at work. Jan Oblak, who saw Izan beat Giminez, didn¡¯t know what to do. After a little contemplating, he came out to meet Izan, making himself seem as big as possible. Izan smiled at Jan Oblak before lifting the ball over the keeper. The ball went over the latter before falling into the back of the net for Izan¡¯s second and Valencia¡¯s third goal of the game. Izan stood still for a moment, arms raised, basking in the thunderous applause of the Mestalla faithful. It wasn¡¯t just a run; it was a masterpiece, a moment that would live on in the memories of those who witnessed it¡ªa fearless display of talent, creativity, and sheer magic. A/n: Hi guys. I wanted to release this yesterday but I knew if I released it, I wouldn¡¯t be able to write today. Sorry for me being lazy. I¡¯ll try to add another one guys. Well have fun reading and thanks for the tickets and stones as well as the gifts. It keeps me writing Chapter 93: The Heart Of Valencia "And here we go, Valencia on the break! Izan picks up the ball deep in his half¡ªlook at the pace on him! He skips past one or two Atletico players, leaving them in his wake. What a burst of acceleration! This is incredible from the youngster¡ªhe¡¯s gliding through the midfield like a hot knife through butter. He¡¯s into the final third now, with defenders scrambling to close him down. A quick feint to the right, and he cuts inside¡ªbrilliant footwork! Izan¡¯s through on goal! It¡¯s just him and Oblak! He winds up¡ªstrikes it low and hard to the bottom corner¡ªAND IT¡¯S IN! Izan beats one of the best goalkeepers in the world with absolute composure! Oblak is left sprawling, and the ball nestles beautifully into the net. What a goal! The Valencia fans are going absolutely wild in the stands. That was a solo effort for the ages! Izan has just written his name into the headlines with that dazzling run and finish. Sheer class from the young star!" The roar of Valencia fans at the Wanda Metropolitano was deafening as the ball hit the back of the net, sending the thousands of Los Che supporters into rapturous celebration. Dressed in the iconic white and black, the Valencia faithful exploded with joy, their chants and cheers echoing throughout the stadium. Arms were thrown into the air as fans hugged one another, some jumping wildly while others stood frozen in disbelief, savouring the moment. Scarves were twirled high above their heads, and flags were waved proudly, transforming the stands into a sea of Valencia¡¯s colours. The players rushed towards the corner to celebrate with their travelling supporters, further igniting the euphoric crowd. Flares erupted, casting a fiery glow over the jubilant fans as chants of "Amunt Valencia!" grew louder and louder. The stadium, though shared with rival supporters, felt like home for those precious seconds as Valencia¡¯s faithful made their presence unmistakably known. Back in Valencia, the goal was celebrated just as fervently. Fans packed into bars and public squares erupted with the same intensity, creating a carnival-like atmosphere in the streets. In the city¡¯s Plaza del Ayuntamiento, the cheers could be heard blocks away as fans waved flags, banged drums, and embraced strangers like lifelong friends. Fireworks lit up the night sky, and the sound of car horns became a symphony of celebration. Across the globe, Valencia¡¯s goal united their fans in an outpouring of joy. Watch parties in London pubs, bustling cafes in New York, and even small gatherings in cities like Tokyo and Sydney turned into scenes of pandemonium. Social media buzzed with reactions as fans shared videos of their celebrations, flooding timelines with hashtags and emotional tributes to the team. For Valencia¡¯s diaspora, this moment was a bridge to home, a reminder of their roots and the community they belong to. Whether at the Wanda Metropolitano, in Valencia¡¯s streets, or halfway around the world, the reaction was the same: pure, unbridled passion. This goal wasn¡¯t just a moment in a match¡ªit was a collective expression of pride, love, and unwavering support for Los Che. It was a moment that reminded everyone why football is called the beautiful game. .... "Are we still going to let him come off?" Moreno asked Baraja, who had regained composure. "No, no, why would we do that" Baraja said, forgetting he was the one who brought up that notion. Assistant Coach Moreno shook his head at Baraja. On the other side of the Coaching area, Diego Simeone stood, staring at the clock on the LED displays around the stadium. He sighed at the scoreline and proceeded to make his last substitution in hopes of getting, at the very least, a draw. The Valencia players returned to their half after their goal beaming with smiles. The Atl¨¦tico players, on the other hand, were downcast. Griezmann tried to rally the guys, but it didn¡¯t work because he was also downcast, but as the captain, he had to do it. The tension was palpable at the Wanda Metropolitano as Atl¨¦tico Madrid pushed forward relentlessly in the 82nd minute, desperately seeking an equalizer against Valencia. The home crowd roared with anticipation, urging their team on as the red-and-white-clad players swarmed the attacking third. Izan, together with his teammates had retreated to their box in hopes of defending their lead. Atl¨¦tico, on the other hand, pushed on relentlessly. 84¡¯ Koke orchestrated the play from midfield, threading a precise pass to Antoine Griezmann just outside the box. The Frenchman, ever the danger man, danced past his Mark with a clever flick before laying the ball off to ¨¢lvaro Morata. Morata turned sharply, shielding the ball from two Valencia defenders after receiving it before firing a low shot toward the far corner. Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper, however, was equal to the task, diving full stretch to parry the effort away. The rebound fell to ¨¢ngel Correa, who unleashed a thunderous strike, but it was met with a heroic block by Izan who had anticipated such a situation, throwing himself in front of the shot to preserve Valencia¡¯s lead. The Valencia crowd roared at the defensive action of Izan. His teammates surrounded him, giving him pats on the back and the head. If it wasn¡¯t for him, they might have lost their lead. The same couldn¡¯t be said for the Atl¨¦tico crowd who could taste an equalizer only for the ball from Correa to be blocked. Now, a few were throwing angry gazes at Izan. The throw-in was recycled back to Atl¨¦tico¡¯s wings, where Yannick Carrasco surged down the left flank. He whipped in a venomous cross into the box, causing chaos as Morata rose highest, meeting it with a powerful header. The ball seemed destined for the top corner, but Valencia¡¯s Marmadashvili miraculously tipped it over the bar, earning a deafening cheer from the travelling supporters. The ensuing corner saw Atl¨¦tico flood the penalty area, with even Oblak eyeing the chance to join the attack. There were only a few seconds on the clock, so Oblak was trying to see if he could be of help. If the corner didn¡¯t work, they would still lose, but if it worked, they could draw level, and he would be hailed as a hero. Griezmann delivered an inswinging ball that ricocheted off a cluster of players before falling to Rodrigo De Paul on the edge of the box. He struck it sweetly on the half-volley, but the shot was deflected just wide by a sprawling Valencia defender. Oblak retreated to the halfway line and stood there waiting for the pass from Correa. The Wanda Metropolitano buzzed with nervous energy, the home crowd willing their team forward, but Valencia¡¯s disciplined resistance held strong. The clock ticked down, and with every passing second, frustration grew on the Atl¨¦tico bench. As Atl¨¦tico regrouped, Valencia¡¯s defence stood firm, prepared to put bodies on the line with every pass, shot, and cross. Correa sent the ball to Oblak who controlled before looking in the box. Izan rushed at the keeper but the Atl¨¦tico man sent the ball into the box. It was a moment of pure drama, a clash of determination and resilience, as Atl¨¦tico fought tooth and nail to breach Valencia¡¯s defence, only to be met with unwavering defiance. The cross from Oblak was headed against the post by Savi?. The loose ball fell in front of Mark but the latter didn¡¯t waste any time and sent the ball out of the box. The roles reversed quickly as the Valencia fans cheered and breathed a sigh of relief while the Atl¨¦tico fans panicked. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball from Mark fell in front of the halfway line. Oblak who was a bit further away tried to close in on the ball. The Atl¨¦tico players were still waiting in the box for another cross from Oblak, but then a gust of wind flashed past them as they saw a Valencia player with the number 21 at his back. "Shit" Savi? said as he also began running. Oblak approaching the ball also raised his head to find Izan speeding towards him. The keeper¡¯s heart sank as he scrambled to get to the ball but his effort wasn¡¯t enough. Realising that Izan would get to the ball before he did, he turned back and started sprinting to his goal. Lino and Savi? narrowed the gap with Izan to a few metres. I,zan, who was spent got to the ball but soon found two men chasing after him like he took their wives. "Should I go for it?" Izan thought as he looked at the goal which Oblak was nearing. "Fuck it" Izan muttered before raising his left leg. Savic dragged Izan back as soon as the latter¡¯s leg went through the ball but the deed was already done The whole stadium looked on as Izan¡¯s leg went through the ball like a knife cutting butter. The ball flew towards the goal and looked like it would go out but the ball descended sharply as soon as it got to its climax. "Shit," Oblak said after he found the ball on goal. The keeper entered the box as he raced against the ball. Oblak lunged at the ball with the whole stadium looking on but Ultimately, the ball evaded his plan and entered the goal, rustling the net. "OHHHH!!! WOWWW, How has he done that. Glorious from Izan. 15 years of age, and he¡¯s already got his hat trick. You love to see talent like that. At a young age, he¡¯ already proving to be the heart of Valencia. Well then Valencia, Listen, Listen to your heartbeat. What a masterclass from little Izan Miura Hernandez " The Valencia fans didn¡¯t know how to react. Izan ran towards the travelling fans and slid in front of them before getting up to stomp on the ground. Almost as if to say" This is My grounds ". The Valencia fans burst into cheers seeing Izan celebrate. Valencia had won. End of Valencia vs Atl¨¦tico Madrid A/n: Thanks for ready guys. Sadly this is where the book ends. Pfffffttt, I¡¯m just kidding. This is where is gets good. Stay tuned for the transfers news of Izan and the other top tier matches against Barcelona and Real Madrid. Thanks for your support guys. Chapter 94: Media Frenzy Valencia fans and players had every reason to celebrate after an emphatic 4-2 victory against Atl¨¦tico Madrid at the Wanda Metropolitano. The win not only showcased Valencia¡¯s resilience but also their ability to thrive under pressure in one of the most intimidating stadiums in La Liga. The scenes after the match were electric. Fans who had travelled from Valencia erupted in joy, singing club anthems and waving scarves in triumph. The players joined in the celebrations, acknowledging their supporters and savouring the rare feat of outscoring Diego Simeone¡¯s typically defensively stout side. This victory is a significant morale booster for Valencia, emphasizing their attacking prowess and team unity. It also sends a statement to the rest of La Liga, reminding everyone of their potential to compete with the league¡¯s giants. After a while, the Valencia players went around the pitch thanking their fans. They had proven to be their twelfth man in this game, and they had to applaud them for it. The fans also responded in kind, thanking the players for not letting up and defeating Atl¨¦tico Madrid at home. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan face a different situation with the fans. Valencia fans erupted in adoration for their rising star, Izan, after his sensational hat-trick in the 4-2 triumph over Atl¨¦tico Madrid at the Wanda Metropolitano. To them, the young forward delivered a masterclass in finishing, single-handedly dismantling one of La Liga¡¯s most formidable defences, and that called for their admiration. Chants of "?Izan, Izan, nuestro campe¨®n!["Izan, Izan, our champion!] " filled the stadium as the travelling fans celebrated the extraordinary performance. Social media was abuzz with praises for Izan, with fans calling him the future of the club and comparing his composure and skill to Valencia legends of the past. After the game, Izan humbly dedicated his goals to the fans, saying, "This victory is for everyone who supports us, especially those who travelled here tonight. You make moments like these unforgettable." His statement only endeared him further to the Valencia faithful. The reporters who had claymores around him only got this response as Pietro pulled him away. The reporters tried to follow them but Gaya intercepted them on the way. The club hadn¡¯t trained Izan on how to handle the media yet so leaving him alone with them might cause him to say or do something detrimental. The hat trick not only cemented Izan¡¯s status as a fan favourite but also marked him as a player to watch in La Liga as Valencia continued to top the Laliga standings. In the post-match press conference following Valencia¡¯s stunning 4-2 victory over Atl¨¦tico Madrid, head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja couldn¡¯t contain his admiration for Izan, the hat-trick hero of the night. "Izan was absolutely sensational today," Baraja began, his pride evident. "To score a hat-trick at the Wanda Metropolitano against a team as disciplined and strong as Atl¨¦tico is no small feat. It shows his quality, intelligence, and hunger to succeed. He was clinical in front of goal and worked tirelessly for the team." Baraja emphasized Izan¡¯s importance to Valencia¡¯s future. "He¡¯s a special talent, but what sets him apart is his humility and desire to keep improving. He listens, he learns, and he delivers when it matters most. Tonight, he showed not just his talent but also his maturity." The coach also highlighted the collective effort behind Izan¡¯s success. "Of course, it¡¯s a team effort¡ªeveryone contributed to this victory. But Izan¡¯s finishing and ability to read the game gave us the edge. He deserved every bit of applause he received from the fans." When asked about Izan¡¯s potential, Baraja smiled and said, "The sky is the limit for him. But as a coach, my job is to ensure he stays grounded and focused. If he continues like this, he will be one of the greats at Valencia." It¡¯s clear that Izan has not only won the hearts of Valencia¡¯s fans but also earned the unwavering trust of his manager. After the post-match conference, some pundits discussed the match. The studio lights shined brightly as the pundits animatedly discuss Izan¡¯s incredible performance. "He¡¯s a generational talent," one exclaimed, marvelling at his technical brilliance and composure. Another highlights his tactical awareness, noting how he exploited Atletico Madrid¡¯s usually tight defence. "That first goal was pure genius," says another, dissecting his clinical finish. "And that freekick left me drooling for more. I hope to see more of him in the coming days" the pundit finished. The panel unanimously agreed: Izan had announced himself on the big stage with this hat trick, leaving Atletico¡¯s defenders and fans, who all felt comfortable before the match, stunned. ... Komi and Hori sat together in the cosy living room of their home, the bright colours of their team¡¯s jersey contrasting with the soft, earthy tones of the space. The TV cast a warm glow, its volume turned high enough to echo the cheers of the roaring stadium into their small world. Izan¡¯s match against Atletico de Madrid had kept them on edge the entire evening, their shared passion for soccer bonding them closer than ever. Komi, a graceful woman with gentle features, had her hair tied back in a simple bun. Her eyes sparkled with pride and anticipation as she sat perched on the edge of the couch, clutching a small pillow tightly to her chest. She was dressed in Izan¡¯s old team hoodie, a testament to her unwavering support for her son. Hori, a lively teenager with her brother¡¯s infectious energy, was sprawled on the floor in front of the TV. Her long braids swung wildly every time she jumped up to cheer. She wore a replica jersey with Izan and his number, 21, emblazoned on the back, her pride in her older brother unmistakable. When Izan scored his third goal¡ªa brilliant curling shot from almost 40 yards out¡ªthey both erupted. Komi shot up from the couch, her joy breaking her usual composed demeanour as she raised her hands to the ceiling, shouting, "That¡¯s my boy!" Tears of happiness streamed down her face as she spun in place, clutching the pillow tightly. Hori was no less ecstatic. She jumped to her feet, shouting and pumping her fists, her voice nearly drowning out the commentator¡¯s excited play-by-play. She grabbed her mother¡¯s hands, pulling her into a celebratory dance around the room. "Hat-trick hero! He¡¯s unstoppable!" Hori yelled, her grin stretching from ear to ear. They hugged tightly, laughter bubbling out of them as they continued their impromptu celebration. The sound of the commentator praising Izan and the sight of his teammates swarming him on the screen made their hearts swell with pride. For Komi and Hori, this was more than just a win¡ªit was a moment of pure joy that turned their home into a small piece of the stadium, filled with love, pride, and uncontainable happiness. Miranda, who had been forgotten during the whole celebrations of the duo, laughed wryly. "They really love him don¡¯t they" she muttered. ..... The frenzy of Izan¡¯s hat trick didn¡¯t stop there. In Spain, outlets Marca and AS made Izan the centrepiece of their coverage. Headlines like "El Ni?o que Desafi¨® al Atleti" (The Kid Who Defied Atleti) or "La Nueva Joya de La Liga" (The New Gem of La Liga) highlighted his feat. Analysts even began comparing his maturity to legends like Messi or Ra¨²l, emphasizing how the game cemented him as a rising star. TV programs such as El Chiringuito featured heated debates about his future, with speculation about interest from several big clubs across Europe. This segment really didn¡¯t sit well with Valencia fans who didn¡¯t like the conversation about Izan¡¯s possible transfer. In France, the French media analyzed Izan¡¯s performance as a continuation of La Liga¡¯s reputation for fostering youthful talent, drawing comparisons to Kylian Mbapp¨¦¡¯s early exploits. Some headlines proclaimed, "Un Nouveau Prodigy ¨¦merge en Espagne" (A New Prodigy Emerges in Spain). Some French pundits questioned whether French clubs could compete in developing such young stars, citing La Liga¡¯s advanced academies. In English, the media framed the hat trick as a historic moment in La Liga, with in-depth profiles of Izan and his background. Headlines like "Valencia¡¯s Teenage Sensation Stuns Atletico" dominated sports sections. Sky Sports and BBC Sport even run segments discussing which Premier League clubs could secure Izan¡¯s signature, sparking speculation about offers from Chelsea and Tottenham. This frenzy put Izan on the map of the footballing world. Many began searching for information on who this new wonderkid was. All of Izan¡¯s social media handles received a huge boost from all of this commotion. Many people, mostly female fans, sought to see how this little magician was, and this translated to them following him. For Avid Valencia fans, comparisons to greats had already begun flying around, and as for the man in question, he had just woken up from his sleep on the bus. The screen of his phone lighted up after he got rid of the groggy feeling. A smile dawned on Izan¡¯s face upon seeing the message from Miranda. "I really blew them away didn¡¯t I" Izan said as he stared out the window A/n: A reader asked for an extra chapter for tonight so I had to put it out. Chapter is served Reader, Tadeas_ Manzel Chapter 95: Family Outing. The team bus, emblazoned with the iconic Valencia crest, glided into the dimly lit parking lot of the Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna, its headlights slicing through the shadows of the late hour. After a brief moment that felt like an eternity, the engine¡¯s roar fell silent, replaced by the rhythmic chirping of night insects. Izan, who had been engrossed in text conversations with Olivia, finally stood up, stretching his limbs as if shaking off the fatigue that clung to the other players like a heavy blanket. One by one, the players shuffled off the bus, their movements slow and deliberate. It was 1 am, and the weariness hung thick in the air, evident in their slumped shoulders and heavy eyes. The match against Atl¨¦tico had been a gruelling test, draining every ounce of energy from them, leaving only echoes of their earlier enthusiasm. However, Izan, having taken a conditioning pill during the journey, appeared remarkably unscathed. His vibrant energy contrasted sharply with his teammates, many of whom cast him curious glances, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and admiration. He looked as if he hadn¡¯t just faced one of the toughest teams in world football but rather had just stepped off the bus for an evening stroll. "Leave him be, he¡¯s still young," Pietro chimed in, stifling a yawn that showcased his fatigue. In previous seasons, such a comment might have sparked irritation among the players, but tonight, Izan¡¯s resilience only deepened their astonishment. With his back turned to his teammates, Izan felt the familiar buzz of his phone vibrating insistently in his pocket. "Mom?" he wondered, curiosity piquing as he glanced at the caller ID. "Where are you, Miura? I can¡¯t see you in the parking lot," Komi¡¯s voice echoed through the receiver as Izan answered, the warmth of concern evident in her tone. "I¡¯m coming out mum. We are at the other lot at the Deportiva while you are at the public one" Izan said, a smile displayed on his face. "Okay then, come out soon," Komi said before hanging up. Izan turned to his teammates and told them about his mother before leaving for the public lot after telling Moreno. "Ah Miura, Hurry up, it¡¯s cold", Komi said, taking a thick jacket and throwing it at Izan. "Thanks, mum," Izan said while catching the thrown jacket. Komi smiled slightly before entering the Car. Izan followed suit and entered the car. The two sat in silence but Izan soon drifted to sleep again. Komi looked over at her son and smiled before focusing on the road once more. [A lot of smiling going on]. As the horizon began to brighten, the sun slowly emerged, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape and awakening the world from its slumber. Waking up, Izan felt a bit tired. Although the conditioning pill had brought him some relief, the kicks he had received from the Atl¨¦tico players to his body and legs made them ache. Izan freshened up a bit before going out to complete his task for the day. "Catch," Komi said as she threw Izan a bottle of milk as soon as the latter walked in. Izan took the bottle on his chest before catching it with his hand. Komi, who saw his little trick, put left and right together and started clapping. "My little superstar. You were tired yesterday, so I didn¡¯t get to fan girl over you," Komi said, wrapping her hands around her shoulders while smiling. Izan, who couldn¡¯t handle his mother this morning, drank the milk before kicking the bottle into the bin, but this action made Komi exaggerate her actions further. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan quickly went up to his room and washed up before falling back to his bed. Back downstairs, Komi, who was walking around, found the house a bit dull. "Should I buy a cat?", she thought before shaking her head once she thought of the responsibilities. "I can¡¯t. Let me just need to focus on these two kittens of mine" Komi muttered before proceeding to the kitchen. .... Izan, who had finally completed his sleep, woke up an hour later. He put on some warm clothing and walked downstairs. The sound of oil sizzling brought up his appetite. "You done mum?" Izan asked as he came down the flight of stairs "Grab some fruits first; I won¡¯t be long!" With a burst of energy, Izan flung open the fridge door, a rainbow of colours flooding his vision. He snatched some shiny apples, their crisp surfaces gleaming under the light, and joyfully tossed a handful of blueberries into his mouth, their sweet explosion dancing on his taste buds. It was a delicious start to his day. Hori, who had just woken up from her sleep, came down with her hair ruffled like a dry-blown racoon. "Good morning, dear", Komi said to her daughter, who pulled a chair at the table and sat down. The trio sat down and indulged in their breakfast of toasted bread baguettes, with some poached eggs and a glass of juice. Komi opted for coffee since she saw it as the more mature choice. "What do you guys want to do for today" Komi asked as she finished her cup. "I¡¯ll just follow you two if you decide to do something", Izan said, throwing the ball in the corner of the two women. "Okay, then I¡¯ll plan it. Go up and get ready" Komi said before sending the dishes to the kitchen. Hori stood up and went to her room leaving Izan alone. Izan took his phone e out and played with it for a few minutes before going up to change his clothes. A few minutes later, Izan came down wearing a loose-fitting white shirt with a denim jacket over it. He paired this with matching denim trousers and a pair of white Adidas sneakers he had gotten as a souvenir after his deal with the company. Both Komi and Hori also came down looking the part. The family of three stepped out of their house, eager to begin the day. A trip around Alboraya, Valencia, was a journey through a vibrant blend of history, natural beauty, and local charm. Known for its traditional horchata, stunning coastal views, and rich culture, Alboraya offers an unforgettable experience for visitors. Izan and his family started the day in the heart of Alboraya by visiting a local horchater¨ªa to savour the town¡¯s signature drink, horchata de chufa. These were paired with fartons, soft and sweet pastries perfect for dipping. Popular spots like Horchater¨ªa Daniel provide an authentic taste of this regional delight. Strolling through the town, they encountered narrow cobblestone streets, traditional Valencian houses with colourful facades, and charming plazas. At midday, the trio ventured into Alboraya¡¯s Huerta, the lush agricultural fields that surrounded the town. They took a bike along the trails to enjoy the peaceful scenery of fertile lands dotted with chufa (tiger nut) crops, orange groves, and vegetable gardens. The rural charm was complemented by the backdrop of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. Izan encountered a few fans who recognised him. The fans asked for some autographs and Pictures to which Izan complied. Hori and Komi stood there looking at Izan who went about this routine with the grace of a seasoned actor. "Now you¡¯re starting to look like a star," Hori said as Izan approached. Izan smiled at her words before urging them to continue. The fans who took the pictures with Izan shared them on their social media which drew a bit of traction from the groups. "Oh, that¡¯s Izan. Where are you right now" "Damn, he looks good". "He looks handsome. Am I supposed to know him?" "He is the rising star of our Valencia team who scored a hat-trick against Atl¨¦tico yesterday". "And here my dumbass thought he was one of those actors". The pictures seemed to circulate while the person in question enjoyed his day in oblivion. In the afternoon, the trio went to the coastal area of Port Saplaya, often referred to as "Little Venice" for its picturesque canals and colourful waterfront buildings. They enjoyed a leisurely lunch at one of the seaside restaurants, feasting on fresh seafood, paella, and tapas while admiring the marina. Afterwards, they took a stroll along the beach and relaxed under the sun. "I¡¯m tired,", Hori said while taking a seat on a bench nearby. "I think you should start exercising with Izan. "If I¡¯m not tired, how are you, young lady?" Komi said with a slight smirk. Hori waved her off and continued resting. "Let¡¯s finish the trip and go home, okay," Komi said while looking at Izan and Hori. Izan, who was on his phone, nodded at her. Hori followed suit and stood up as the trip resumed. They wrapped up the trip with a short journey to Albufera Natural Park, a serene retreat just a few kilometres away. Seeing the boats on the lagoon, Hori pressured Komi, who didn¡¯t like boats, into getting on. Izan agreed with Hori on this one so he helped her convince their mother. Komi finally gave in. Although she was a bit uncomfortable, she couldn¡¯t back down now as her kids were having fun. They boarded a traditional albuferenc boat for a guided tour of the lagoon, where they witnessed flocks of birds and a breathtaking sunset over the water. Komi, who was restless at first, found herself enjoying the row down the lagoon. The peaceful ambience and golden hues create the perfect ending to the day. The trio finally got off the boat ending their trip. They had enjoyed Alboraya, which, with its blend of culinary treasures, scenic landscapes, and cultural richness, had offered a delightful escape that captured the essence of Valencia. A/n:Sorry for the late release. I had Sotherton I need to do in town. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you at night with another chapter, hopefully Chapter 96: We Have Your Back Izan woke up the next day feeling refreshed. The trip with Hori and Komi, the previous day had successfully helped him relax. "Things are going a bit fast" Izan muttered as he sat in his bed. Many talented players fail under the pressure from the spotlight and Izan hoped not to be one of them. Miranda had called the day before, mentioning interest from some Premier League clubs. Even some brands had tried to get in contact with Izan hoping for cooperation as riding on his current popularity would be good for them. This could be detrimental to a young footballer but Izan¡¯s worries were not much as he had Miranda as an agent. Even though it was just a working relationship that brought them together, Miranda had his best interests at heart. And if he ever deviated from football, he had his family to pull him back. Izan, now up and running, came back home after completing his daily task. Waking up and training had now become akin to breathing for Izan. After an hour passed, Izan was ready to leave for school. After a kiss on his forehead, Izan set off to school on his bike. "At this point, my age is turning out to be a nuisance," he thought. He couldn¡¯t even drive if he wanted to. For now, his salary was sitting idle in a bank account Komi had made for him. Izan breezed through school with the ease required of a straight-A student. Most questions from the studied subjects that day didn¡¯t even pose a threat to Izan¡¯s intelligence.[lmao] The Mathematics teacher decided a pop quiz was in order after he finished a topic. Most of the students, especially the boys, looked at Izan with envy when he submitted his test ahead of time. "This is truly not fair," a student with freckles said. "If you want to write some overpowered character, why not put him in a fantasy novel like Shadow Slave? This is real life. I don¡¯t think anybody is bricked up like that" another student spoke. "Yeah, the Author¡¯s probably delusional". As the students kept shitting on the Author, Izan got permission from the school to close early and went ahead to the Cuidad Deportiva. Training would begin in an hour and the distance to the Cuidad was about 30 minutes with a bike. .... Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja (leaning over the tactics board) spoke "Moreno, Real Sociedad is no joke. They¡¯re sitting in the top 10 for a reason". "And the reason they are not placed higher is because they drew with Girona, who haven¡¯t lost a match since the start of the season, and they also lost to Madrid, so for some tough teams like that, they¡¯ve done well", Baraja continued. "Their midfield is their engine¡ªMerino and Zubimendi control the tempo like maestros. How do we stop them?" Assistant Coach Moreno asked. "It¡¯s true, their midfield is their heart. But I¡¯ve been watching clips from their last few matches. They struggle when pressed high. If we start aggressively and force turnovers early, we can unsettle them." Baraja said, nodding thoughtfully "Hmm, pressing high is risky, especially with their pace on the flanks. Kubo and Oyarzabal can punish us if we lose structure." Moreno said. "Agreed, but that¡¯s where Guillam¨®n and Javi Guerra come in. If they stay disciplined, we can recover quickly. Plus, their fullbacks overlap a lot¡ªthere¡¯s space in behind if we counter swiftly." Baraja countered. "I like that. We¡¯ll need Thierry and Gay¨¤ sharp defensively but ready to burst forward on the counter. And what about our attack? Duro has been isolated in recent games." "True. Let¡¯s try setting him up as more of a target man. He can hold up the ball while Almeida and Fran P¨¦rez make runs off him. Their centre-backs hate dealing with pace." Moreno spoke. "I see. And maybe we can exploit set pieces too. Real Sociedad concede a lot from corners and free kicks" Baraja said after staying silent for a while. "Absolutely. Diakhaby and Duro are our aerial threats, but we need pinpoint delivery". Moreno and Baraja looked at each other for a while before shaking their heads. "He played too much against Atl¨¦tico. I¡¯ll bring him on to keep match sharpness, but he won¡¯t play much, so let¡¯s hand that task over to Pepelu or Almeida or even Gaya. No room for sloppy execution here." Baraja (pausing): "What about substitutions? Real Sociedad tends to ramp up intensity after the 70th minute. We can¡¯t let fatigue cost us." "We¡¯ll save V¨¢zquez and Pietro for that phase. They¡¯ll bring fresh energy to the midfield. And if we¡¯re chasing a goal, I¡¯d consider bringing on L¨®pez. His unpredictability can open them up." Moreno said, spinning the pen in hand. "That Sosa kid had been good too. If there is an opportunity, let¡¯s let him play," Baraja said. Valencia didn¡¯t have much of a transfer budget so they could only rely on talents. "Good. Now, defensively, Mamardashvili must be at his best. Sociedad loves to test keepers from range." Baraja followed up. Moreno, (standing up)"He¡¯s been in great form. If he keeps his composure, we can weather the storm. The key is staying compact and disciplined. No lapses in concentration." Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Baraja, (clapping his hands) said, "Perfect. Let¡¯s drill these ideas into training. Real Sociedad won¡¯t expect us to come at them like this." Moreno: "They¡¯ll know they¡¯ve been in a fight by the final whistle. Let¡¯s go for it!" "Oh, that looks like Izan", Moreno said, causing Baraja to turn around. The duo looked through the glass and saw Izan coming into the grounds with his bike. "Can¡¯t this kid take a break? I¡¯m scared he¡¯ll even get injured" Baraja said, shaking his head. "Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve talked to the senior physio, and he said the training he does is good for his body. He mentioned that he was even surprised by such unnatural but effective methods" Moreno said, trying to get Baraja to calm down. "Oh, okay then, let¡¯s head once the other guys come", Baraja said, turning to look at the tactical board on his right. ..... Izan stood at the centre of Valencia¡¯s state-of-the-art training pitch, fully focused as he performed a series of intense football drills. Clad in the team¡¯s training kit, his youthful determination was evident in every movement. He started with agility ladder drills, his feet moving like lightning as he darted through the rungs with precision. The coaches nodded in approval, impressed by his quick footwork and balance. Next, he transitioned to cone dribbling. Izan, weaving through the tightly placed markers with the ball glued to his feet, showcased his exceptional close control. "I¡¯ve always seen him dribble, but how does he do it?" Fran P¨¦rez said. "I get that he¡¯s good, too good actually but what he does is nuts". "Then you should have seen him with the youth side. Mr Oryazabal told me that if Izan wasn¡¯t with them, they wouldn¡¯t have won the UEFA Youth League. Pietro said the same too" Diego Lopez said. As the session progressed, Izan moved to passing drills. He hit pinpoint passes into small targets and executed perfectly timed one-twos with his teammates, demonstrating his impeccable accuracy and vision. The next challenge was a shooting drill, where Izan unleashed a series of powerful and precise shots into the top corner, leaving the third-choice goalkeeper, Raul Giminez, scrambling. During a small-sided game, Izan displayed good composure under pressure as he always did, threading a perfect through ball to set up a teammate¡¯s goal. His ability to read the game and adapt quickly was evident as he intercepted passes and initiated counterattacks with precision. Izan, with boundless energy and vision, was the main attraction during the Valencia main team¡¯s training session. Some of the u19 players stood behind the metal net watching Izan. His lean yet muscular frame moved with grace as he showcased his impressive ball control and sharp tactical sense. "Now I know why Oryazabal tells us to watch this kid. He¡¯s too good" One of the u19 players said As the session came to an end, the coaches clapped, and his teammates gave him a thumbs-up, recognizing the dedication and raw talent of the young player who was quickly making his mark in the football World. "Izan", Coach Baraja said as he approached the locker room after the session. --- Ruben Baraja smiled, " Izan, how are you feeling? You¡¯ve been working hard out there lately, and I can see the hunger in your play. But I want to hear it from you¡ªhow¡¯s everything? " I¡¯m feeling good, m¨ªster. A bit tired, to be honest, but in a good way. Every training session feels like I¡¯m improving, but sometimes, it¡¯s a lot to take in" Izan said, thinking about the talk with Mir¨¤nda. Ruben Baraja, leaning forward, spoke, "That¡¯s natural. You¡¯re stepping into a big role, and the pressure can feel like a lot, especially in a club like Valencia. But remember, you¡¯re here for a reason. We believe in you, and your talent is undeniable". "Thank you, Coach," Izan said "Just keep your head in the game and leave the other thing for your agent. She seems nice, and she¡¯s also very good from the way she negotiated with us," Baraja said, remembering how Miranda drained them. "Okay, Coach, I¡¯ll keep that in mind,", Izan said. "You bring energy, creativity, and a fresh perspective. That¡¯s something the whole of Valencia admires. Trust me, you are a star in the making," Baraja said, putting his hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. Izan nodded at Baraja. "Just keep doing what you¡¯re doing, and the rest will take care of itself, okay?" Baraja said before walking off, leaving Izan to his thoughts. A/n: First of the day guys.Have fun. 10 golden tickets= 1 bonus chapter 100 Powerstones= 1 bonus chapter [released the same day] 1 car: 2 bonus chapters Thats all I can do for the time being. I¡¯ll try to stockpile some chapters and release. I think we over also said something about mass release this new year so watch out. Anyways bye for now Chapter 97: Matchday As the sun rose, the horizon was painted with a palette of colours, transitioning from deep indigos to radiant oranges and golds. The first light pierced through the darkness, illuminating the sky with a soft, glowing warmth. The surroundings gradually awakened, with shadows retreating and the landscape bathed in a gentle golden hue. The air felt crisp and alive, accompanied by the subtle sounds of nature¡ªbirds chirping, leaves rustling, and the world stirring from its slumber. This daily phenomenon was not just a natural occurrence but also a symbol of renewal, hope, and the promise of light overcoming darkness. Tuesday signalled the start of full training. Izan woke early, motivated by the system urging them to perform his daily tasks. As usual, school wasn¡¯t much trouble as Izan went through the day. He couldn¡¯t wait to complete school. After school, Izan took his bag and headed towards the Valencia training centre. During training, Coach Baraja implemented a few of his ideas for the game against Real Sociedad, and they seemed to be working. Izan, on the other hand, didn¡¯t join this session and did a targeted training session with another Coach. He focused on drills that dealt with passing accuracy, positional awareness, and ball control under pressure which was mimicked by the presence of a few players. Izan¡¯s movements were precise, his vision sharp, as he worked tirelessly to dominate the midfield. The new additions from the youth team for the day¡¯s training were mesmerised by the former¡¯s footwork. After the session, it was time for gym work: strength training and agility drills. Despite the physical toll, Izan thrived on the grind, knowing it would bring him closer to his goals. .... While the clash against Real Sociedad was imminent, Izan continued to perform in training. His performance made Coach Baraja deliberate on making him start the match but the latter ultimately didn¡¯t since he wanted Izan to rest. "I need to make sure he fully develops into the great player he is meant to be" Baraja would say when Moreno asks why he is so protective of Izan. Midweek offered a moment of balance with Wednesday¡¯s session being lighter. It centred on individual skill development. Izan spent extra time practising free kicks, curving balls into the top corner of the net. That afternoon, Izan performed his first media duties¡ªanswering questions from journalists who were infatuated with the new kid on the block and participating in club promotion. In the training session, Izan showcased his skills during an intense scrimmage, leaving a lasting impression on teammates and coaches alike. Playing in a midfield role, Izan demonstrated his excellent vision and teamwork by delivering three precise assists. Each assist showcased his ability to read the game, exploiting defensive gaps and setting up teammates for easy finishes. As the scrimmage progressed, Izan added a goal to his tally. The moment came after he skillfully navigated through defenders, using his agility and quick footwork to create space. His composed finish past the goalkeeper was a testament to his growing confidence and technical ability. Baraja on the touchline couldn¡¯t stop smiling. "This kid is my genius" he said. Izan¡¯s contributions on the pitch highlighted his versatility and effectiveness in both creating and finishing opportunities. The session served as a promising indicator of his potential, with teammates celebrating his impact and coaches praising his decision-making and playmaking prowess. After training, Izan went to the mall with Mark and Sosa under the persuasion of Pietro who wanted to see Ava. He and Ava had been talking for a while, and they seemed to get along, so he planned on asking her out. "Wait a minute, you haven¡¯t asked her out yet," Izan asked, halting Pietro¡¯s incessant talking. "No," He said while touching his index fingers with the other. Mark and Sosa ridiculed Pietro while Izan just stared at the latter. "Even I¡¯m not that dense,", Izan thought, remembering his interactions with Olivia. "I¡¯ll do it today, okay, thats why I brought you guys", Pietro said shyly for possibly the first time in his life. [Bro¡¯s shameless] The trio followed Pietro into the Pizzeria before they walked to a table nearby. Izan, Mark and Sosa watched on as Ava got off her shift. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She seemed to enjoy her talks with Pietro who was probably making good her laugh even if he wasn¡¯t trying to. The guy was just hopeless. The trio stalked the duo in front of them, hiding in bushes whenever Ava turned to look back. "What¡¯s wrong?" Pietro, who had forgotten about the 3 people he came with, asked. "Nothing. I just feel that somebody might be following us" Ava said before continuing, "or perhaps. You know you¡¯re a bit famous". "Really?" Pietro asked like he didn¡¯t know it himself. Ava just shook her head at his reaction and walked ahead. Pietro scratched his head a bit before jogging to catch up. [Meanwhile in the bushes] "See, Mark, you almost blew our cover,", Sosa said, taking the stalking job a little too seriously. "Sorry," Mark laughed wryly before thinking why he felt bad when Sosa scolded him. The trio followed Pietro until they got to a park. They watched as Pietro got down on one knee as if he was proposing. "This dumbass," Izan said while facepalming. Mark and Sosa watched eagerly as Ava smiled and mouthed something to Pietro. "Wait, it worked?" Mark said with a confused expression. "Well, yeah, that¡¯s how it is supposed to go if they like each other", Sosa said matter-of-factly. "How do you know" Mark asked. "Uhh, because I have a girlfriend," Sosa said before looking at Mark again. "Wait you¡¯re single? Never thought you¡¯d be," Sosa said before focusing on Pietro and Ava, who were holding hands now. "It¡¯s not just me, Izan too," Mark said, pointing at Izan without looking back. Sosa turned to look at him and laughed. "Check again," Sosa said while nodding in Izan¡¯s direction. Mark turned and found Izan texting and smiling. "What the F--. You know I won¡¯t even talk anymore" Mark said with a sad expression. The trio returned to watching the duo in front of them and watched as they walked away. "So it¡¯s a W for Pietro,", Sosa said as they walked off. Izan smiled and nodded at Sosa¡¯s words while Mark, the single dog, walked behind. ..... Thursday and Friday were intense. Tactical drills dominated the afternoon with the team rehearsing formations and counterattacks for the upcoming match. Izan studied the opposition¡¯s key players, mentally preparing for battles on the field. The evening included specialized training to fine-tune his role, followed by team meetings to finalize strategies. By Friday evening, Izan ensured he rested well, keeping his routine disciplined and focused. .... "You guys have your tickets, right," Izan asked before getting out of the car. "See you at the Mestalla, "Hori said before waving to Izan. Izan waved back and walked to the team bus. .... Matchday at the Mestalla began with a palpable sense of anticipation. As dawn broke over Valencia, the historic stadium loomed large against the amber glow of the rising sun. Its towering stands, adorned with the iconic orange and black colours of Valencia CF, awaited the throngs of fans who will soon fill every seat. By mid-morning, the surrounding streets come alive. Vendors set up stalls, selling scarves and jerseys, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh paella wafts through the air. Fans of all ages gather, their conversations buzzing with excitement and predictions for the game. The hum of activity grew louder as hours ticked by, with drummers and singers sparking impromptu chants. The Mestalla, one of Spain¡¯s most storied arenas, stood as a beacon of passion and pride. Inside the stadium, preparations were in full swing. Groundskeepers meticulously groomed the pitch, ensuring the grass was perfectly trimmed, and the white lines were pristine. In the locker rooms, the players¡¯ jerseys hung neatly, each bearing the name of a warrior ready for battle. The coaching staff reviewed tactics at the Deportiva one last time, their voices a mix of calm reassurance and fiery determination. As sunset approached, the players arrived, greeted by waves of supporters chanting their names. Izan stepped off the team bus, his headphones on and his face a mask of focus. He felt the weight of expectation but channelled it into determination. Entering the tunnel, he paused to take in the surroundings¡ªthis was his stage. In the stands, early-arriving fans draped banners and flags across the rails, their messages of support written boldly for all to see. Families settled into their seats, children wide-eyed as they took in the grandeur of the arena. The announcer¡¯s voice echoed through the stadium, listing the starting lineups, each name met with a crescendo of cheers. The sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the pitch as the countdown to kickoff neared. The rhythmic stomping of feet began a thunderous pulse that resonated through the Mestalla. The players emerged from the tunnel, the roar of tens of thousands hitting them like a wave. For everyone present¡ªplayers and fans alike¡ªthe beginning of matchday is not just a routine but a celebration of football¡¯s power to unite and inspire. A/n: Second of the day. Okay guys I have a match tonight so wish me luck. Chapter 98: First Half At The Mestalla Under the floodlights of the historic Mestalla Stadium, Valencia and Real Sociedad clashed in a high-stakes La Liga encounter that would set the tone for their seasons. The first 45 minutes of the clash between Valencia and Real Sociedad at the Mestalla were an enthralling display of tactical football, pulsating action, and the raw unpredictability that made La Liga a fan favourite. As the referee blew the whistle to commence the match, both teams seemed intent on setting the tone early, with high-pressing systems and quick transitions that promised an exciting spectacle. Valencia, buoyed by their passionate home supporters, surged forward from the first touch. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, their captain and talisman, was instrumental in driving attacks down the left flank. In the third minute, his overlapping run allowed him to whip in a tantalizing cross into the box. Hugo Duro rose highest but was denied by a sharp reflex save from Alex Remiro, Sociedad¡¯s ever-reliable goalkeeper. The early warning sign from Valencia served as a rallying cry for the visitors. In the early stages, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ was a constant menace down the left flank. His overlapping runs and pinpoint crosses tested Real Sociedad¡¯s defensive organization from the get-go. In another instance, Gay¨¤ linked up beautifully with Andr¨¦ Almeida, slicing through Sociedad¡¯s midfield. Almeida, spotting Hugo Duro¡¯s run, threaded a perfect through ball. Duro¡¯s first-time shot was venomous, but Alex Remiro, Sociedad¡¯s reliable goalkeeper, dived low to his left to deny the attempt for the second time in 7 minutes. Baraja and his players on the bench almost jumped to celebrate. Izan, who had gotten up thinking the shot was a goal, was a bit disappointed, but he quickly got rid of that feeling and clapped for Duro. The Real Sociedad fans felt on edge as the match continued. Their team had almost gone on the back foot on 2 occasions since the match started, and it hadn¡¯t even been 10 minutes yet. The missed chance didn¡¯t deter Valencia. Their high press, orchestrated by Javi Guerra and Almeida, pinned Sociedad back in their half. Real Sociedad, however, were no strangers to adversity. Mart¨ªn Zubimendi, their midfield maestro, began to find pockets of space to relieve the pressure. A long diagonal pass from Zubimendi in the eleventh minute found Takefusa Kubo on the right wing. The Japanese sensation immediately injected pace into Sociedad¡¯s attack, weaving past Gay¨¤ and firing a cross into the box. Carlos Fern¨¢ndez, towering above Valencia¡¯s defenders, connected with a header that narrowly missed the top corner. The Sociedad¡¯s fans sighed as the chance went to waste but they felt relieved that their team had started coming into the game. As the minutes ticked by, the match evolved into a tactical battle. Valencia¡¯s compact midfield tried to nullify Sociedad¡¯s patient build-up play. Guerra and Almeida harried Mikel Merino and Brais M¨¦ndez, cutting off passing lanes and forcing Sociedad into wide areas. Sociedad, in turn, relied on the individual brilliance of Kubo and Mikel Oyarzabal to create chances. In the 16th minute, Oyarzabal came agonizingly close to breaking the deadlock. After a clever one-two with Kubo, he found himself one-on-one with Giorgi Mamardashvili, Valencia¡¯s towering goalkeeper. Oyarzabal¡¯s low shot seemed destined for the bottom corner, but Mamardashvili¡¯s outstretched leg diverted the ball wide. The Mestalla erupted in applause, recognizing the save as a turning point. Valencia capitalized on their reprieve with a moment of brilliance in the 22nd minute. A misplaced pass from Zubimendi in midfield was intercepted by Guerra, who wasted no time in releasing Fran P¨¦rez down the right wing. P¨¦rez, with his blistering pace, left Hamari Traore in his wake. His cross, perfectly weighted, found Hugo Duro lurking at the far post. Duro, unmarked, powered a header into the back of the net after the ball found him. The Mestalla exploded with joy, the Valencia faithful roaring in approval. Duro¡¯s goal was a testament to Valencia¡¯s incisiveness and their ability to punish mistakes. Sociedad¡¯s players, momentarily stunned, huddled together near the centre circle, regrouping for the challenge ahead. Baraja with Moreno celebrated with the players after Duro scored. The goal was really comforting as an early lead was good for any team. Real Sociedad, trailing but undeterred, began to assert themselves. Their intricate passing triangles and clever off-the-ball movement began to stretch Valencia¡¯s defensive lines. In the 30th minute, Kubo once again showcased his technical brilliance, twisting and turning past multiple defenders before drawing a foul just outside the penalty area. Oyarzabal stepped up to take the resulting free kick. His curling effort seemed destined for the top corner, but Mamardashvili had other ideas. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Georgian Giant leapt acrobatically, tipping the ball over the bar. The save, as spectacular as it was vital, ensured Valencia maintained their slim lead. The intensity of the match boiled over in the 37th minute. Hugo Guillam¨®n, Valencia¡¯s defensive lynchpin, clattered into Merino with a late challenge, sparking a heated confrontation between the two teams. Players jostled and exchanged words, with the referee forced to intervene and brandish a yellow card to Guillam¨®n. The Mestalla, already a cauldron of noise, became even more charged. Fans jeered every Sociedad touch and roared their approval at every Valencia tackle. The fiery atmosphere seemed to spur both teams on, adding an edge to an already captivating contest. Coach Baraja felt the need to do something about Guillam¨®n¡¯s yellow card, so he planned to bring Mark on after the first half. As halftime approached, Real Sociedad¡¯s persistence finally paid off. In the 44th minute, Kubo received the ball on the right wing and began one of his trademark runs. Gliding past Gay¨¤ with ease, he cut inside and unleashed a low, venomous shot. Mamardashvili, who had been Valencia¡¯s hero thus far, managed to parry the effort, but the rebound fell kindly to Merino. The midfielder, showing composure amidst the chaos, rifled the ball into the roof of the net. The equalizer was met with deafening cheers from Sociedad¡¯s travelling supporters, who celebrated wildly in their corner of the stadium. The goal was a culmination of Sociedad¡¯s relentless pressure and Kubo¡¯s unplayable form. As the referee blew the whistle for halftime, the scoreline read 1-1. The first half had been a masterclass in attacking football, tactical discipline, and individual brilliance. The opening 45 minutes had been a rollercoaster, showcasing the attacking flair of both sides and setting the stage for a gripping second half. Valencia had shown their sharpness on the counterattack, with Duro and P¨¦rez standing out as key figures. Sociedad, on the other hand, had demonstrated their resilience and technical quality, with Kubo and Merino leading the charge. Both teams trudged off the pitch, their players visibly exhausted but determined. The Mestalla buzzed with anticipation, the fans sensing that the second half would bring even more drama. With everything to play for, the stage was set for a thrilling conclusion to this unforgettable encounter. [In the stands] The halftime whistle had just blown, and Komi and Hori were seated in the stands of the Mestalla Stadium, eagerly discussing the intense game between Valencia and Real Sociedad. Both teams had scored one goal each, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. "This game has been wild so far. Did you see that header from Duro? Absolute brilliance" Hori said. "And again, that equalizer from Merino? Excellent positioning. Soceidad¡¯s counterattack was textbook. Still, I can¡¯t stop thinking about Izan. Do you think they¡¯ll bring him on in the second half?" Komi asked again. "Although I don¡¯t know much, they should. Izan¡¯s energy and pace could be exactly what Real Sociedad needs right now. Their midfield is struggling to hold possession under Valencia¡¯s high press." Komi spoke. "Those lessons with Miranda are paying off," Hori said with a smirk. Komi blushed and pinched her daughter¡¯s cheek. "Naughty," she said before keeping quiet. "I hope he scores when he comes on. He said he¡¯ll dedicate his next goal to me if he scores" Hori said with a smug expression. Komi just laughed and patted Hori on the head. The mother-daughter duo sat in the stands as they kept discussing the match. .... Izan and Pietro, together with Sosa and a few other players stood on the pitch kicking the ball around. Izan kept looking around to find the seat Hori and Komi were in. Eventually, he found them waving at him. He smiled and also waved back. The reaction he got was a bit unexpected as the females around his mother and sister cheered and also waved back. Some even blew him kisses. Komi and Hori laughed at Izan¡¯s expression after the incident happened. Pietro, who also saw it, came over and put his hand over Izan¡¯s shoulder. "How about we switch souls," Pietro said, but Izan just stared at him. "Stop messing about and train. You¡¯ve now been relegated to the bench because of how unserious you are" Izan roared before walking away. Pietro¡¯s expression looked like a wronged dog as he followed Izan. The fans watching kept wondering who the older one was. The clock kept ticking as the second half approached. To the fans, they were in for a show. A/n: Sorry for the late update guys. My laptop suddenly developed wings and flew away and I was too lazy to chase it with my dragon so I¡¯m typing with my phone right now. Thank you soo much for the Golden tickets and the powerstones as well as for reading. Tell me to buy you a meal whenever you meet me. IF YOU DO, HAHAHAHA. Chapter 99: Drama At The End After 15 minutes passed, the players returned to the pitch. The fans abruptly burst into cheers upon seeing the players. They couldn¡¯t wait to begin. As the second half began at Mestalla Stadium, the atmosphere was electric. The match had been evenly contested in the first half, with both Valencia and Real Sociedad showing flashes of brilliance. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The score was delicately poised at 1-1, with fans of both teams hopeful for a decisive conclusion. Valencia had drawn first blood with a neatly finished goal from their talismanic striker Hugo Duro, but Sociedad¡¯s Carlos Fern¨¢ndez responded with a thunderous strike just before the interval. The whistle blew, and Valencia wasted no time asserting themselves. Their midfield duo of Pepelu and Javi Guerra orchestrated play, threading incisive passes to break Sociedad¡¯s defensive lines. Hugo Duro nearly found the net within the opening minutes of the half, rising high to meet a curling cross from Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. His header, however, was spectacularly saved by Sociedad¡¯s goalkeeper ¨¢lex Remiro, whose reflexes were on full display. The Valencia fans almost celebrated but it wasn¡¯t to be. After a while, Real Sociedad got their chance. Real Sociedad responded with a counterattack that showcased their attacking prowess. Mikel Merino and Mart¨ªn Zubimendi controlled the midfield, combining to launch a swift attack. Takefusa Kubo, who had been a constant menace on the right wing, darted past Gay¨¤ and delivered a dangerous low cross into the box. Carlos Fern¨¢ndez was inches away from converting, but a last-ditch tackle by Mark, who had come on after the break, denied him. The tempo of the game escalated, with both teams trading blows like heavyweight boxers. Valencia¡¯s Diego L¨®pez began to exploit space on the left flank, tormenting Sociedad¡¯s full-back Andoni Gorosabel. In the 58th minute, L¨®pez unleashed a curling effort from the edge of the box, forcing Remiro into another acrobatic save. The fans showed their excitement by cheering and their shouts. The match had proven to be an attacking bout as both teams tried to put the ball in the net of the other. The match was tipping in Valencia¡¯s favour so the Valencia bench and fans were a bit relaxed. Pietro, who had been sitting down, was told to warm up by Moreno. A cheer from the travelling fans made Moreno turn to face the pitch. "Shit," he thought as he looked at what had happened. [A minute ago] The breakthrough came in the 64th minute, and it was a moment of magic. Sociedad¡¯s Merino intercepted a pass in midfield and launched a quick counterattack. The ball found its way to Kubo, whose mazy dribble left two Valencia defenders in his wake. Spotting Oryazabal making a darting run, Kubo laid off the ball to him before going into the box. Oryazabal, who was now on the right side of the box, wanted to shoot, but the space had been blocked by Mark. Oryazabal began thinking about what he could do to salvage this ball since a counter would be on for Valencia if he lost the ball. At that moment, he heard a shout from his back. "That¡¯s Kubo", Oryazabal thought before sharply flicking the ball back. The Valencia team was caught off guard by this as the ball found Kubo who met the ball with a curling effort. The ball streaked past the Valencia defence before nestling in the bottom left corner of the goal. GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL The Real Sociedad fans roared as Kubo slid in front of them. The Mestalla had gone silent, with the cheers of the visiting team being the only sound. Baraja was in a bit of a daze as he looked at his players. "No, no. At the very least, not now" he muttered. After the restart, the intensity of the match went up a notch. Valencia, now trailing, upped the ante. Their manager, Rub¨¦n Baraja, made a double substitution, introducing Pietro and Amallah to add more pace and creativity to the attack. The substitutions had an immediate impact, as Valencia began to pin Sociedad deep into their half. Pietro, in particular, combined well with Thierry Correia on the right, creating several dangerous moments. In the 72nd minute, Valencia almost equalized. A clever one-two between Hugo Duro and Diego L¨®pez saw the latter unleash a venomous shot from the edge of the box. The ball ricocheted off the crossbar and appeared to bounce over the line, but VAR ruled that it had not fully crossed. The Mestalla crowd groaned in unison, but the near-miss only fueled Valencia¡¯s determination. Real Sociedad, now under siege, relied on their defensive discipline and the heroics of Remiro. Robin Le Normand, who had just come on, and Igor Zubeldia formed an impenetrable wall at the heart of their defence, cutting out Valencia¡¯s crosses and blocking several goal-bound shots. In the 80th minute, Sociedad nearly put the game to bed. Another quick counter saw Silva release Ander Barrenetxea on the left wing. Barrenetxea¡¯s shot was destined for the bottom corner, but Mamardashvili produced a stunning save to keep Valencia in the game. With time running out, Valencia threw everything forward. Their efforts paid off in the 82nd minute when a corner from Gay¨¤ caused chaos in Sociedad¡¯s penalty area. After a series of deflections, the ball fell to Mark. The Sociedad players encroached on the former¡¯s space, trying to take the ball, but it was all for nought. The centre-back smashed it into the roof of the net, sending the Mestalla into raptures. The score was now 2-2, and the game seemed destined for a dramatic conclusion. The Valencia fans and players who were all celebrating stopped abruptly after they saw the referee blow his whistle. "What is going on" they thought as the referee signaled for a foul. The replay of the goal showed that Cenk Ozkacar had elbowed Le Normand during the process of the goal, and therefore, the referee deemed it invalid. The Valencia fans started booing the officials. A chant started from an unknown source in the stadium. "We want Izan! We want Izan! We want Izan" Coach Baraja, who heard it, smiled wryly and gave the fans what they wanted. If they were going to lose, he might as well give the fans what they wanted. After a series of warm-up exercises, Izan finally came on in the 87th minute. The fans who saw their teenage sensation on the pitch started clapping and showing their satisfaction. Izan, after coming on, was being Shadowed by 2 Sociedad players. "Isn¡¯t this treatment a bit harsh for a kid" Baraja¡¯s eyes seemed to say while he stared at Real Sociedad¡¯s Coach. The latter replied with a gaze of his own, which seemed to say, "All those who underestimated him lost. I¡¯m not going to do the same". Baraja laughed slightly before focusing on the match. Izan¡¯s impact was minimal, but it was felt by the Valencia team, who felt the sudden opening of passing spaces due to 2 Sociedad players marking Izan. Valencia worked their way around the Real Sociedad players. The two Sociedad players who were marking Izan relaxed a bit after they found the ball not coming Izan¡¯s way. This proved to be detrimental as Izan slipped away to combine with Amallah in a One-two before sending the ball to Gaya on the left flank. The sudden fast-paced football stunned the Real Sociedad team. Their players scrambled to get back, but it was all too late as Gaya sent in a cross, which was met by the outstretched foot of Pietro. The Mestalla erupted into cheers after the goal but the fans toned it down as they looked at the referee. The official smiled and blew his whistle to signal that the goal was Valid. Izan, who had created that chance out of nothing heard his name being chanted by the home crowd. The fans recognised his contribution to the goal as if it wasn¡¯t for his defence-splitting pass, the goal wouldn¡¯t have come. The match restarted, as stoppage time began. Both teams pushed for a winner. A Sociedad substitute came close to scoring, but his towering header narrowly missed the target. Valencia, buoyed by their fans, had one final chance. In the 94th minute, P¨¦rez broke free on the right and delivered a teasing cross into the box. Hugo Duro rose highest and headed the ball but the ball was cleared out of the box. Izan, who was lurking around the box, found the ball and released a venomous shot towards the goal, but the ball struck the post and went out for a goal kick. The referee¡¯s whistle brought an end to this pulsating encounter. The 2-2 draw reflected the balance of the game, with both teams showcasing skill, resilience, and an unrelenting desire to win. Fans left Mestalla with a sense of satisfaction, having witnessed a thrilling contest that epitomized the drama and unpredictability of La Liga. This match would undoubtedly be remembered as one of the season¡¯s highlights, a showcase of two teams determined to leave their mark on Spanish football. After the whistle, Izan approached Kubo and talked with the latter for a while. The two looked like old friends even though they had just met. After the talk, they exchanged jerseys before walking off to the tunnel. A/n: Have a nice read. See ya Chapter 100: A Run Of Games [Real Betis] 1 After the match with Real Sociedad, Valencia had dropped points and was, therefore, tied on points with Girona with nineteen each, with Valencia ultimately being first because of the Goal difference. [In Laliga, they use head-to-head if you are tied on points to determine the standings. But if you haven¡¯t played against each other, they¡¯ll then use Goal difference] Real Madrid followed behind with eighteen points in the 3rd position. The Los Blancos had bounced back with 2 wins after their loss to Atl¨¦tico Madrid. Following behind the team from the Spanish capital was Barcelona from Catalonia. They had drawn against Mallorca and were now 4th with seventeen points. Athletic Bilbao were 5th with fourteen points after 7 matchdays. Ending the top 6 were Atl¨¦tico Madrid who had won their game after losing to Valencia. Izan led the top scorers list with 7 goals after 7 matchdays. This was part of the reason many clubs wanted him. He only needed 11 chances to score these 7 goals. His conversion rate was close to that of a world-class striker in his prime, and he wasn¡¯t even playing as a striker. He had done all this while playing as an attacking midfielder and as a winger on some occasions. And as a bonus, he was still a minor. His talent and ability were becoming terrifying and he was only going to improve further. Real Madrid¡¯s new talisman, Jude Bellingham was second with 5 goals. He was off to a blazing start in Laliga. His hype had even overshadowed Izan¡¯s as the English media continued recycling news about the latter¡¯s achievements in the new league. Fellow Spaniard, Alvaro Morata also had five goal and 4th on the list was Robert Lewandowski also with 5 goals. Last in the top 5 with 4 goals was Ghanaian player, Inaki Williams. The teams were getting into their strides, and the next matchday to come could prove exciting as Real Madrid would be facing second-place Girona, with Barcelona also facing Sevilla. Atl¨¦tico Madrid could take advantage to narrow the points as they would be facing Cadiz with Valencia also facing Real Betis. This tie was the most balanced. Both teams were equally impressive on Paper but Valencia had form going into this match so the betting companies had already begun tipping the odds in Valencia¡¯s favour. Izan went through the week, juggling studies and training together. He had told Baraja that he was okay but the latter still insisted that he start from the bench. Izam wasn¡¯t satisfied but he also understood the coach¡¯s concern. He didn¡¯t want him to get injured. Since players would be tired in the second half, it was the best time to bring Izan on so that he could at least avoid the first half¡¯s intensity. Izan also understood that he was getting impatient as most players at his age were not playing. "I have to be thankful that he¡¯s playing me from time to time,", Izan thought, getting his thoughts straight. Izan continued to improve and impress in training. Baraja, seeing Izan¡¯s displays in training, wished that he could make Izan age at least a year or two. Izan kept performing in training. He would also watch a few matches with his family on Champions League nights. Izan longed for the day he would be able to play Champions League football, and he knew that day wasn¡¯t very far off. If Valencia¡¯s form could continue, qualifying for next year¡¯s Champions League wouldn¡¯t be hard. "Well, let¡¯s hope no injury crisis affects the team since we won¡¯t be playing as many matches as the top teams", Izan thought. Thursday passed and Friday night quickly approached as the Valencia team ended their light training session. The team staff had already begun preparing for the match the next day, as tomorrow could be decisive in helping their team go at least one point clear of Girona if they lost to Madrid. Yes to the staff, no matter how good Girona were playing, Real Madrid would win. "Let¡¯s hope we don¡¯t concede much when we meet the bigger teams later on", one of the staff members uttered with a frown. "Don¡¯t jinx it. We aren¡¯t even there yet." a burly man said while carrying some bags. Valencia would be playing away so the staff hurried their actions, getting ready for the trip tomorrow. .... The Estadio Benito Villamarin was buzzing with a pre-match atmosphere. Fans laughing with one another as the kickoff approached. Stalls, selling jerseys were set up. Food stalls were also set up with both the home and visiting fans enjoying the delicacies around. The sunset over the historic city of Seville. Outside, a sea of supporters donning the bold orange of Valencia and the green and white of Real Betis poured into the stands, their chants creating an electric pre-match atmosphere. Inside, the pitch looks immaculate, its pristine condition a testament to the importance of tonight¡¯s match. The cheering in the stadium rose as the players from both sides stepped onto the pitch for their warm-ups. The shouts of the Betis fans were deafening but the visiting fans weren¡¯t outdone as they also stepped up with their chants. Both fans competed with their chants and shouts even before the match began. The players completed their final warm-ups, their faces betraying a mix of calm professionalism and bubbling adrenaline. The air was thick with anticipation as fans settled in, their voices merging into a deafening chorus of support. Izan walked to the bench with the rest of the substitutes, waving at a few fans who called his name on the way. The Valencia fans already considered him their talisman even at such a young age. A few fans flooded the club¡¯s website the previous day with comments about how the team could have won if Izan played in the match against Real Sociedad. The number of comments kept increasing until a statement was issued by the club explaining why he wasn¡¯t playing too many games recently. The noise died down after the statement was issued by the club after the fans understood their intention. After a while, the commentator¡¯s voice cut through the pre-game noise: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to matchday action here in Seville! Tonight, two of La Liga¡¯s most passionate sides, Valencia and Real Betis, go head-to-head in what promises to be a tactical and emotional showdown. Valencia, eager to keep their place in the top spot in the table, faces a Betis side looking to prove their mettle on hostile territory. Expect flair, resilience, and a touch of magic under the lights!" After the commentator was done. The announcer took over, mentioning the names involved in this match as both sides stepped out of the tunnel. The pre-match pleasantries were quickly done with after a while with Hugo Duro standing over the ball. After looking at his watch for a while, the referee blew his whistle. The game kicked off with a roar from the crowd, the ball zipping across the field as both teams began their pursuit of victory. The first half of the clash between Real Betis and Valencia at the Estadio Benito Villamar¨ªn delivered an enthralling mix of tactical discipline, swift transitions, and moments of individual brilliance. Both sides, buoyed by recent performances, looked to impose their styles early on, leading to an engaging 45 minutes that kept fans on the edge of their seats. From the first whistle, Real Betis signalled their intent to dominate possession. Under the guidance of their manager, Betis adopted a fluid 4-2-3-1 formation, with the ever-reliable Guido Rodr¨ªguez anchoring the midfield and orchestrating play. Valencia, on the other hand, set up in a compact 4-4-2, emphasizing defensive solidity while looking to exploit Betis¡¯ high defensive line with quick counterattacks. The initial minutes were marked by Betis probing for openings. Ayoze P¨¦rez and Ezzazouli combined effectively on the wings, frequently testing Valencia¡¯s full-backs. However, the visitors¡¯ defence, marshalled by Cenk Ozkacar, stood firm, denying Betis any clear-cut chances. Valencia, meanwhile, relied on long balls to stretch the Betis backline, with Hugo Duro and Diego L¨®pez chasing down every opportunity. As the game progressed, Real Betis began to find rhythm. Their midfield trio of Rodr¨ªguez, William Carvalho, and Isco started dictating the tempo, threading intricate passes through Valencia¡¯s lines. In the 15th minute, Isco showcased his creativity with a deft through ball that split the defence, finding Borja Iglesias inside the box. Iglesias¡¯ shot was well-struck, but Valencia goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili made a stunning save, diving low to his right to keep the scores level. The home side¡¯s pressure mounted, and their wide play became increasingly dangerous. Luiz Henrique, in particular, tormented Valencia¡¯s left-back Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ with his pace and trickery. In the 23rd minute, Ezzalzouli whipped in a tantalizing cross that narrowly missed the outstretched leg of Iglesias, much to the relief of the visiting defence. Despite Betis¡¯ dominance in possession, Valencia showed flashes of attacking threat on the break. The young Javi Guerra was pivotal in turning defence into attack, breaking forward with pace and precision. In the 28th minute, Guerra surged past Carvalho and slid a perfectly weighted pass to L¨®pez. The forward¡¯s low shot from the edge of the box forced a full-stretch save from Betis keeper Rui Silva, drawing applause from the travelling supporters. Valencia grew in confidence as the half progressed, with Thierry Correia pushing forward from right-back to support the attack. In the 33rd minute, Valencia came close to opening the scoring when Gay¨¤ delivered a dangerous corner that found Pietro who had started this match at the far post. His header, however, sailed just over the crossbar, much to the disappointment of the visitors. The latter stages of the first half were characterized by fierce midfield duels. Rodr¨ªguez and Carvalho worked tirelessly to regain control, while Guerra and Pepelu for Valencia were relentless in breaking up Betis¡¯ attacks. This midfield tussle resulted in several turnovers, disrupting the flow of the game. Both managers made subtle adjustments as they sought to gain the upper hand. Ruben Baraja instructed his team to press higher up the pitch, forcing Betis into hurried passes. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This strategy nearly paid dividends in the 38th minute when a misplaced pass from Rodr¨ªguez gifted possession to Duro, who unleashed a curling effort that Silva parried away. As the half drew to a close, Betis ramped up their efforts to find a breakthrough. Ayoze P¨¦rez came closest in the 43rd minute when he danced past two defenders and unleashed a powerful shot from 20 yards out. Mamardashvili, however, was once again up to the task, tipping the ball over the bar to deny what looked like a certain goal. Valencia had one final chance in stoppage time. A swift counterattack saw L¨®pez break free on the left flank. His low cross found Duro unmarked in the box, but the striker¡¯s first-time shot flew agonizingly wide, leaving the scoreline unchanged as the referee blew for halftime. The first half ended goalless but was anything but dull. Real Betis dominated possession and created more chances, with Isco and Ezzalzouli shining as their creative sparks. Valencia, though under pressure for large spells, showcased resilience and posed a genuine threat on the counterattack. The battle between the two midfields was fierce, and both goalkeepers had moments of brilliance to keep their sides in contention. As the teams headed into the dressing rooms, it was clear that the second half promised even more drama. Real Betis would need to capitalize on their dominance, while Valencia could look to their counterattacking prowess to tilt the balance in their favour. The stage was set for a thrilling conclusion to an evenly contested encounter. A/n: okay guys so I met the Christmas spirit this afternoon because of a business deal and I¡¯m feeling generous so have this chapter. Have fun reading and don¡¯t forget to subscribe, like and share. Chapter 101: A Run Of Games [Real Betis] 2 In the locker room at halftime, Valencia¡¯s manager, Rub¨¦n Baraja, exuded intensity and focus. Aware of the high stakes, he rallied his players with a passionate speech, urging them to maintain composure and seize control of the midfield battle against Real Betis. Baraja highlighted the need to exploit Betis¡¯ defensive gaps with quick transitions and effective wing play. His tactical adjustments emphasized sharper pressing and disciplined defending to neutralize Betis¡¯ counterattacks. Encouraging belief in their ability, he ended by reminding the team of Valencia fan¡¯s roaring support outside. The players felt reinvigorated by the speech of Ruben Baraja. "Wow, I¡¯ve never seen him like this before," Moreno thought as he looked at Baraja. Izan followed the rest of the substitutes out after the talk with Ruben Baraja. He was itching to play but he kept his cool and walked to the bench. Ruben Baraja watches Izan walk away out of the corner of his eye. "I¡¯d like to play you kid, but I have orders to follow too" Baraja thought as he stared at Izan. Following the match vs Atl¨¦tico Madrid, A few but a good number of clubs inquired about Izan¡¯s availability during the winter transfer window. The club had a hard time warding off interest from interested parties. When Izan first broke onto the scene during pre-season, the club wanted to sell him after he gained a decent amount of market value to bolster the squad. So they had made Ruben Baraja play him frequently. Izan had, however, exceeded their expectations. An ordinary transfer fee wasn¡¯t going to suffice. If the club were to sell during the winter break, they wouldn¡¯t be able to get much so they had changed plans. Ruben Baraja was now told to reduce Izan¡¯s game time while giving him enough to help him stay relevant. Ruben Baraja had refused at first, but the club threatened his job. "Can¡¯t we just enjoy football without the planning and plotting like the old times?" Baraja thought as he walked out of the locker room. Moreno stared on as Baraja¡¯s face went through 3 different emotions in about 30 seconds. He followed Baraja out leaving the latter to his thoughts. ..... S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The second half of the match between Valencia and Real Betis was a thrilling spectacle, blending moments of skill, strategy, and fervent fan reactions. As the players emerged from the tunnel, the air at Mestalla was electric, with Valencia fans chanting in unison, urging their team to secure a win. The home fans couldn¡¯t allow themselves to be outdone on their turf, so they also began theirs. The players soon got into positions before the shrill sound of the referee¡¯s whistle sounded throughout the pitch. The opening moments of the half saw Valencia on the front foot, their midfield trio dominating possession. Javi Guerra orchestrated play with precision, threading passes to Hugo Duro and Diego L¨®pez, who relentlessly tested Betis¡¯ defensive line. The fans buzzed with excitement as Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ surged down the left flank, delivering dangerous crosses into the box. In the 50th minute, Valencia capitalized on a corner. Gay¨¤¡¯s pinpoint delivery found Hugo Duro, who leapt high to head the ball into the net. The stadium erupted as fans cheered, "?Vamos Valencia! Hugo, te has redimido!" ("Let¡¯s go Valencia! Hugo, you¡¯ve redeemed yourself!"). The early goal gave Valencia a commanding lead and left Betis scrambling to respond. Ruben Baraja pumped his fists in the air after the goal from Hugo Duro before hugging Moreno and a few other staff members. After the restart, Betis sought to regain their footing through quick counterattacks. Abde Ezzalzouli was their standout player, using his pace and dribbling to unsettle Valencia¡¯s defence. In one particularly tense moment, he weaved through two defenders, but his shot was parried away by Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper. A Betis fan in the stand nearby shouted, "?Eso es, Abde! M¨¢s como eso!" ("That¡¯s it, Abde! More like that!"). As the match progressed, the intensity heightened. Fouls became frequent as players fought for every inch of the pitch. In the 63rd minute, Cenk received a yellow card for a reckless tackle. The away fans roared in disapproval at the referee, with one supporter exclaiming, "?¨¢rbitro vendido!" ("The referee is biased!"). Meanwhile, Betis fans saw the physicality as an opportunity, chanting, "?Presi¨®n, presi¨®n!" ("Pressure, pressure!"). The game¡¯s pace showed no signs of slowing, with Valencia creating chance after chance. Diego L¨®pez came close to adding a second goal, his curling shot narrowly missing the top corner. "?Qu¨¦ l¨¢stima!" ("What a shame!"), a Valencia supporter lamented, while another optimistically added, "La pr¨®xima va dentro" ("The next one will go in"). Betis responded by making substitutions, bringing on fresh legs to reinvigorate their attack. Aitor Ruibal added a new dimension to their offence, linking up well with Sergi Altimira. In the 75th minute, Isco nearly pulled one back with a thunderous strike, but Mark blocked the shot at the last moment. "?As¨ª se defiende!" ("That¡¯s how you defend!"), a Valencia fan shouted while Betis supporters groaned in frustration. The final 15 minutes of the half were marked by relentless effort from both sides. Valencia adopted a more defensive stance, aiming to preserve their lead, while Betis pushed forward in search of a breakthrough. Tempers flared on the pitch, with players exchanging words after a late challenge. The referee struggled to maintain control, issuing several yellow cards. The visiting crowd played a crucial role, their chants growing louder with every Valencia clearance. "?Este es nuestro partido!" ("This is our match!") echoed around the stadium. Betis fans, undeterred, responded with their chants of "?Nunca nos rendimos!" ("We never give up!"), creating a charged atmosphere that fueled the players¡¯ determination. In the 85th minute, Valencia nearly sealed the win with a counterattack. Fran P¨¦rez broke free on the right and squared the ball to Hugo Duro, whose shot rattled the crossbar. Gasps and groans filled the stadium, with one fan shouting, "?Qu¨¦ mala suerte!" ("What bad luck!"). After this, the fans saw Izan warming up on the touchline. This scene made their shouts increase. The already deafening noise inside the stadium had gone up a notch again. The fans waited for the substitution but it never came. Izan, after the warmup, went to the bench and wore his jacket again. "Isn¡¯t he coming on? What is going on" the fans thought as Izan sat still in his seat. As the clock ticked down, Betis launched one final assault. A corner in the 90th minute created chaos in Valencia¡¯s box, but Mark¡¯s towering header cleared the danger. The referee signalled for six minutes of added time, prompting nervous murmurs among the Valencia faithful. "?Aguanten, por favor!" ("Hold on, please!"), A fan pleaded, clutching their scarf, but it was for nought. The prayers of the home fans were answered as Isco wormed his way through the Valencia defence with a magical run before putting the ball in the top right corner. The Estadio Benito Villamar¨ªn exploded into life as the home crowd celebrated their goal. The visitors went silent after the home team drew level. Izan sighed before looking at the clock. 97:04 was displayed on the LED display. Izan shook his head and walked towards the tunnel as the referee blew his whistle to end the game. A cameraman nearby spotted Izan¡¯s dejected face as he walked towards the tunnel. He took a picture of the latter¡¯s back as he walked into the tunnel. Despite Valencia¡¯s efforts, Betis¡¯ attack proved tough. The final whistle was met with jubilant celebrations from the home crowd who had managed to salvage a point in the dying minutes. The second half was a testament to the passion and unpredictability of football, with both teams leaving everything on the pitch. The spirited performances from both sides ensured a match to remember. Izan got to the locker room first and packed his bags. He didn¡¯t want to watch the dejected faces of his teammates not whatever story the coach had come up with for not letting him play. After packing, Izan slung his bag over his shoulders. He met Moreno at the entrance, with the latter looking to say something, but Izan shook his head before leaving. Moreno frowned slightly as he looked at Izan¡¯s receding. He sighed before entering the locker room. Izan walked for a while before finding the team bus. He entered and found his frequent seat by the windows. Izan felt his phone bus after he sat down. Taking it out, he found the message from his sister and smiled at it. "Those f---ers are out of their mind for not playing you. You could have won us that match". Izan looked at his keyboard for a while before sending Hori a message. "Language, please", it read before Izan put on his Earbuds, tapping his feet to the rhythmic sound that flowed from it. He closed his eyes and sat in his seat quietly as he waited for the rest of the team to board the bus A/n: Bonus chapter number 1. Courtesy of Harith_TM. Thank him in your sleep. Chapter 102: Rift "Izan¡¯s Rift with Valencia: Frustration Brews After Real Betis Stalemate" "Problems arise for Valencia after draw with Betis" "Real Madrid are top of the league after Valencia slip" "Newly promoted player plays while Izan sits on the bench. What is wrong with Valencia" "Haaaaaah". Izan sighed before throwing his tablet on his bed. Covering his face with his hands, Izan fell beside the tablet. After the match, a few media bodies began releasing news about a supposed rift between Izan and the Valencia club after Izan left before the match ended. "The referee had blown his whistle when I got up from the bench" Izan muttered. Izan stared at his bedside clock. It had been a few hours after the match and he still couldn¡¯t sleep. Izan heard his tablet buzz as he lay down. He turned to his side and picked up the tablet. "Another one" he uttered. Izan sat up as he read the news. "The Villamarin was abuzz with frustration and questions after Valencia¡¯s 1-1 draw with Real Betis. The game, which should have been an opportunity to consolidate their position in La Liga, ended in disappointment. But the frustration was not limited to the result¡ªit also centred around the new tensions between Valencia and their prodigious midfielder, Izan. Considered the heart of the club after his performances, Izan¡¯s game time this season had become a flashpoint, and the draw against Betis brought matters to the fore. The match against Betis had all the makings of a thriller. Valencia took the lead in the 50th minute through a brilliant strike from their forward, but Betis equalized well after stoppage time, thanks to a well-executed magical run from Isco. After Valencia took the lead, fans were eager to see Izan brought on to inject creativity and energy into Valencia¡¯s attack. The fans wanted to see their team consolidate their lead and were looking forward to Izan helping them do so. But Izan remained on the bench. Instead, manager Ruben Baraja opted for a defensive substitution, bringing on a holding midfielder in the 75th minute. The decision was met with audible boos from the home crowd. Television cameras panned to Izan on the bench, his expression a mixture of indifference. The fans thought maybe he¡¯d be coming on late because of a knock he took in the Real Sociedad match. The fans saw Izan warming up and were ecstatic but their joy was killed after Izan returned to his seat and put on his jacket. "Izan left before the match ended" was what some majority were saying but the referee had already blown his whistle when Izan left the pitch. Post-match interviews revealed the growing tension. Ruben Baraja defended his decisions, saying, "We needed to maintain balance in the midfield. Every player must be ready to contribute when called upon." But for many fans and pundits, the exclusion of Izan after such an avoidable draw was inexplicable" "At least this has some truth," Izan thought. ... The morning after the draw, headlines across Spain were dominated by speculation about Izan¡¯s situation at Valencia. Sports dailies like Marca and AS questioned whether the star midfielder¡¯s reduced game time was tactical or personal. One commentator on a popular football show stated, "If you have a player like Izan and don¡¯t use him in a game like that, something deeper is going on. One might use his age against him, but come on, at this stage of the game, if you can play, you¡¯re old enough." Social media erupted with theories. Some fans speculated that Baraja was punishing Izan for a rumoured disagreement during training. Others suggested that the club was attempting to diminish Izan¡¯s value ahead of the January transfer window to avoid losing him to a rival and this seemed the most plausible. Valencia¡¯s management was quick to issue a statement, claiming there was no rift between the player and the coach, but the damage had been done. Izan himself remained silent in the immediate aftermath of the match, but supposed sources close to the player revealed his growing frustration. A friend of Izan at the club, speaking anonymously to the media, claimed, "Izan loves Valencia. He¡¯s given everything to this club, but he feels undervalued. Watching from the bench when he knows he can help the team is tough." An anonymous source read that frustration boiled over in training sessions, with reports of a heated exchange between Izan and Baraja just days before the Betis game. According to insiders, Izan confronted the coach about his role, questioning why his game time had been reduced, but the latter just spoke vaguely about how they needed to manage him to avoid injuries. Valencia fans, already unhappy with the team¡¯s 2 draw performances, were divided. Many sided with Izan, arguing that his creativity and skill were exactly what the team needed to unlock stubborn defences. "Izan is the new Valencia," read a banner displayed during a subsequent home match. Others, however, defended Baraja, insisting that no player is above the Coach and Club. The rift became a frequent topic on fan forums, with one supporter writing, "If Valencia can¡¯t find a way to use arguably the best player this season, maybe they are the problem. Come to Atl¨¦tico Madrid kid, we¡¯ll cherish you" Another countered, "Nobody is bigger than the club and why are you even on Valencia¡¯s forum trying to poach our player." The draw against Betis and the media storm that followed marked a turning point in Izan¡¯s relationship with Valencia. For the first time, transfer rumours began to feel less like speculation and more like an inevitability. Reports linked Izan with a move to Atl¨¦tico Madrid, while others suggested interest from Serie A giants Juventus as well as Premier League teams Chelsea and Tottenham. The Valencia management was caught in the wrath of their own decisions. "What do we do now" a board member asked during a meeting. "We have to make the kid clear things up. All we did was ask Baraja to reduce his game time to diminish his value and keep those clubs away" a man with a black spot under his eye answered. "The chairman was angry about us not informing him of our decision first. Although this wasn¡¯t our intention, the damage had still been done, so we needed to appease him," another man spoke. "Okay, then organise the interview and Inform Izan¡¯s agent about our intentions to curb this supposed rift, okay?" the man at the head of the table spoke. ... 3 days after the Betis match, Izan finally broke his silence in an exclusive interview with a leading Spanish sports network. Speaking calmly but candidly, he said, "I have always given everything for Valencia. This is my club, my home. I don¡¯t have any problem with the Coach as some media bodies claim. I understand that the Coach does what is best for the team. I already spoke with Coach and we both agreed that reducing my game time was for the best since I¡¯m still very young and could get seriously injured if not managed well. Although I was a bit sad after our draw, I¡¯m still with the club and I¡¯ll do everything to help the team win if the Coach calls upon me. So I¡¯d like to tell the media bodies to stop spewing those false news. It¡¯s distracting and is causing a lot of harm to the club". After the interview was released, the fans finally understood what was up and the problem at hand. "At least he doesn¡¯t want to leave", a fan said in the comment section of the interview. "Yeah, for now. I think it¡¯s the club¡¯s greed that has caused this situation. They were looking to cash out on a huge transfer fee in the summer window, but the interest ahead of the winter window made them rethink their decisions. It¡¯s only a matter of time before Izan leaves, and at that moment, he could come to our AC Milan," another person commented. As Valencia prepared for their next match, the rift between Izan and the club remained seemingly resolved. Some fans still weren¡¯t convinced because of how quickly the issue was resolved but they just had to wait and see. The January transfer window was approaching, and speculation about Izan¡¯s future continued to dominate headlines. The Media bodies were having a field day with the news. The week was a gloomy week for the club, which was going to face Mallorca next. They needed unity, and they also needed to get rid of the gloomy atmosphere that was over the club, or it should cause problems for the next game. The fans weren¡¯t comfortable with the news about Izan¡¯s possible transfer, but what could they do if the club decided to sell their wonderkid? They were powerless if that was to happen. For now, the situation was a reminder of how delicate relationships in football were and what a bit of misunderstanding between 2 parties could do. A/n: Bonus chapter 2. Have a nice read. Be back in a few hours with the chapter for the day. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 103: A Run Of Games [Rcd Mallorca] 1 The air in Valencia was thick with excitement as the city braced for a highly-anticipated La Liga showdown between Valencia and Mallorca. The Mestalla, an iconic fortress of Spanish football, stood ready to host another battle under the floodlights. This was not just another game; it was a match that could define the momentum of both teams as they approached the mid-season crunch. Valencia, buoyed by recent performances, found itself in a precarious situation. The two draws didn¡¯t reflect the form that they had going to those two matches. The pressure was palpable. Los Che¡¯s young squad, led by their charismatic coach, has been punching above its weight, blending flair with tenacity. The home crowd, known for its passion and unwavering support, will demand nothing less than a victory. As fans streamed into the stadium, their chants echoed through the streets, a clarion call to the players to rise to the occasion this time around. Nothing but a win would do it. On the opposite end, Mallorca arrived as a team with something to prove. Known for their defensive solidity and counterattacking prowess, they¡¯ve caused problems for some of Spain¡¯s biggest sides before. Their manager, a tactician with a reputation for frustrating more expansive teams, will look to exploit Valencia¡¯s attacking mindset. For Mallorca, the battle is not just about points¡ªit¡¯s about pride and staking their claim in a league dominated by heavyweights. The pre-match narratives were rich and layered. Valencia¡¯s midfield maestros pulled the strings, setting the tempo with his deft passing, while Mallorca¡¯s towering striker promises to test the home side¡¯s backline. "Tactical matchups abound: will Valencia¡¯s explosive wingers outpace Mallorca¡¯s disciplined full-backs, or will the visitors turn the tables with rapid transitions?" Some news dailies read. As the players warmed up, the atmosphere inside Mestalla reached fever pitch. "This is more than football," one commentator notes. "It¡¯s a clash of ambition, strategy, and heart." The tension was mirrored on the touchlines, where both coaches paced with a quiet intensity, their minds racing through final instructions. The stage was perfectly set. Fans from both sides braced themselves, knowing that every pass, tackle, and goal could tilt the scales. When the referee¡¯s whistle blows, it won¡¯t just signal the start of a game¡ªit will ignite 90 minutes of raw, unrelenting drama. ..... Putting the whole saga behind their back as Valencia welcomed Mallorca to the Mestalla, the fans saw Izan, once again on the bench. The fans all thought that because of the recent issues, Baraja would start Izan to clear them up but seeing Izan on the bench didn¡¯t sit well with the fans. Izan, after the warmup, followed the rest of his teammates to the locker room. Putting on a bib, he took his water flask and stuffed it between his armpits before sitting down. Ciach Baraja soon entered the room. Glancing in Izan¡¯s direction, he walked to the centre before beginning his pep talk. After his talk, he met Izan¡¯s eyes and gave a curt nod. Izan nodded back with a smile before heading out with the rest of the substitutes. The Mestalla was alive with energy as Valencia hosted Mallorca in what promised to be a riveting La Liga clash. The opening whistle was met with a roar from the home fans, setting the tone for an intense first half of football. Valencia started brightly, their high press immediately pinning Mallorca back into their defensive third. Hugo Duro, the heartbeat of Valencia¡¯s attack, was a constant menace, combining well with the fleet-footed wingers, who hugged the touchlines to stretch Mallorca¡¯s disciplined backline. The first real chance of the game came in the 7th minute when Javi Guerra, receiving a clever pass from the right flank, unleashed a thunderous strike from the edge of the box. Mallorca¡¯s goalkeeper, Predrag Rajkovi?, reacted instinctively, diving to his right to palm the ball away to safety. Mallorca, however, was not content to simply defend. After weathering Valencia¡¯s early storm, they began to find their rhythm. By the 15th minute, they had started exploiting the spaces left by Valencia¡¯s adventurous full-backs. Toni Lato, returning to his old stomping ground, was the architect of their first significant attack. Picking up the ball deep in midfield, he danced past two defenders and threaded a perfectly weighted through ball to Vedat Muriqi. The towering striker powered past his marker but could only watch as his shot sailed agonizingly wide of the far post. As the game progressed, the intensity only grew. Valencia¡¯s midfield trio of Pepelu, Javi Guerra and Andr¨¦ Almeida fought tooth and nail to wrest control, but Mallorca¡¯s compact shape made it difficult for Los Che to carve out clear opportunities. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On the other end, Mallorca¡¯s counterattacks continued to trouble the Valencia defence. In the 23rd minute, Muriqi again came close, this time rising above his marker to meet a corner kick. His header, destined for the top corner, was miraculously tipped over the bar by Valencia¡¯s shot-stopper, Giorgi Mamardashvili. The Mestalla faithful erupted in frustration and relief in equal measure as the game entered its second phase. The Valencia crowd heaved a sigh of relief after Marmadashvili¡¯s save. Seeing as their team was being thrown around, the Valencia crowd stepped up with their chants. Perhaps encouraged by the chants of their fans, Valencia responded with renewed urgency. Their wingers, Diego Lopez and Fran P¨¦rez, began tormenting Mallorca¡¯s full-backs with their blistering pace and trickery. In the 31st minute, P¨¦rez nearly broke the deadlock. Cutting inside from the right, he unleashed a curling effort that had Rajkovi? beaten but clipped the crossbar. The loose ball fell to Hugo Duro, who sent a thunderous shot towards the Mallorca goal, but Toni Lato, once again, was the bane of Valencia as he blocked the ball with his body. The visiting fans applauded his determination after he put his body on the line. Despite Valencia¡¯s dominance in possession, Mallorca¡¯s resilience was admirable. Antonio Ra¨ªllo and Martin Valjent, the visitors¡¯ defensive stalwarts, threw themselves into blocks and challenges, frustrating the home side. The tension spilled over in the 38th minute when a contentious decision saw Valencia awarded a free kick just outside the box. Hugo Guillam¨®n stepped up, curling a precise effort that looked destined for the top corner, only for Rajkovi? to once again deny Valencia with a world-class save. The closing minutes of the half saw Mallorca regain some control. Javi llabres, one of the Mallorca wingers seemingly inspired by the boos of the Mestalla crowd, orchestrated another threatening move, linking up with Jaume Costa down the left. Costa¡¯s cross into the box found Muriqi, whose glancing header forced Mamardashvili into another sharp save. Valencia responded with a quick break, but Almeida¡¯s effort was smothered by Rajkovi?. As the referee blew for halftime, the scoreline remained 0-0, but the match was anything but dull. Valencia had dominated possession and created the lion¡¯s share of chances, but Mallorca¡¯s counterattacks and defensive organization had kept them in the game. The Mestalla crowd, though vocal in their support, was beginning to show signs of impatience. The home side had shown glimpses of brilliance, but their inability to finish their chances left the door open for Mallorca to spring a surprise in the second half. The first half had been a tactical chess match, full of intensity and near-misses. Valencia¡¯s attacking verve and Mallorca¡¯s defensive grit provided a fascinating contrast, leaving fans eagerly anticipating what the second half would bring. Would Valencia¡¯s persistence finally pay off, or would Mallorca capitalize on their opportunities to snatch an unlikely result? The stage was set for an enthralling conclusion to this battle of styles. ..... After the referee blew his whistle, Izan picked up his flask and joined his teammates in the locker room. Baraja revised his tactics and discussed a few things with the players. He talked for the first ten minutes of the 15-minute break, reminding his players of what was at stake while highlighting the opponent¡¯s weaknesses. "Izan, put on your jersey. You¡¯re up" Baraja said to Izan after he met him at the doorway. Izan smiled and nodded at Baraja. The media had somewhat caused his relationship with Baraja to become a little strained, or so he thought because Baraja didn¡¯t seem to have a problem with him. Izan went inside the locker room and wore his Valencia jersey with the number 21 at the back. After the remaining five minutes passed, Izan walked with the starters to the pitch. The Mestalla crowd¡¯s voice rose after they saw Izan on the pitch. It hadn¡¯t been long since they saw him play, but to them, it felt like ages. Izan stepped into Andre Almeida¡¯s role as the latter hand sprained his ankle a bit after the first half. The Mestalla crowd roared in approval and in anticipation of what was to come next. Izan stood on the pitch looking around as he waited for the sound of the referee¡¯s whistle. He was itching to play to his heart¡¯s content. A/n: Thanks for the powerstones and the gifts. I¡¯m going to prepare another chapter for when the powerstones reach a hundred but for now, I¡¯mma sleep a bit Ok. Have fun Chapter 104: A Run Of Games [RCD Mallorca] 2 The halftime whistle blew, and the scoreline remained locked at 0-0. Frustration hung thick in the air as the home fans murmured amongst themselves. The home side had shown promise, but their attack lacked sharpness and imagination. Mallorca¡¯s disciplined defence and well-organized counterattacks made it clear that they wouldn¡¯t go down easily. The tension in the stands was palpable¡ªuntil a figure emerged from the tunnel with the rest of the starters. Izan. The announcement of his name by the stadium announcer sent a wave of excitement through the crowd. The visiting fans looked at the source of the Valencian crowd¡¯s happiness and found Izan. The Mallorca fans knew who he was, as almost everyone in Spain would know if they weren¡¯t under a rock. His knack for transforming matches with his electric pace, creative flair, and pinpoint accuracy had made him the team¡¯s golden boy. As he jogged along the touchline, the fans erupted into cheers, chanting his name in unison. Some leaned over the barriers to wave and call out to him, while others reached out for high-fives. Izan acknowledged them all with a smile, his trademark confidence radiating as he prepared to make his mark. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. When the second half kicked off, Izan entered the pitch to a thunderous ovation. The young maestro wasted no time stamping his authority on the game. His first touch¡ªa deft flick to evade a pressing midfielder¡ªwas met with gasps of admiration. Izan immediately switched the tempo, charging forward and threading a perfectly weighted pass into the path of the Hugo Duro. Though the chance didn¡¯t result in a goal, it signalled what was to come. The Mallorca team recognised Izan as a threat, resulting in the Mallorca Coach appointing one of the players to mark him. If the Mallorca coach had learnt anything from Izan¡¯s previous games, he would have known that what he was doing was futile. Izan moved like an artist, every touch and dribble a stroke on the canvas of the match. His marker was having a hard time following him as Izan was just slipping out of his grasp. In the 53rd minute, he ignited the crowd with a brilliant solo run. Receiving the ball near the halfway line, he spun away from one defender with a graceful turn, surged past another with a burst of speed, and nutmegged a third with audacious ease. The crowd erupted in cheers, rising to their feet as Izan surged towards the penalty box. His resulting shot skimmed just wide of the post, but the momentum had shifted decisively in favour of the home team. The stadium buzzed with energy, fans clapping and chanting Izan¡¯s name at every opportunity. Each touch of the ball brought anticipation, and every flick or feint was met with raucous applause. Children in the stands mimicked his moves, and phones captured every second of his performance. Izan carried a threatening presence that made the Mallorca faithful restless. "Drag him down" "Pull him" "Stop him" "Let him taste grass" The Mallorca fans shouted at their players whenever Izan got the ball. A goal was coming, and it was just a matter of how and when from the way Izan was playing. Then came the moment that defined the match. In the 67th minute, Izan received the ball just outside the penalty area. The crowd held its breath as he sized up the Mallorca defence. With a flick of his boot, he sent the ball spinning past one defender, creating just enough space to unleash a curling strike. The ball soared through the air, kissed the underside of the crossbar, and rippled the net in the top corner. Pandemonium. The stadium erupted as fans leapt from their seats, screaming in joy. Izan sprinted towards the corner flag, sliding on his knees as his teammates swarmed him. In the stands, banners bearing his name waved high, and chants of "Izan! Izan!" echoed around the arena. Even the opposing fans couldn¡¯t help but applaud the sheer brilliance of the goal. After the goal, Izan ran to the sidelines and hugged the now-celebrating Baraja and Moreno. It might have been a calculated move or an out-of-spur thing, but the Valencia fans in the stadium all saw this. This reassured them that all that happened the past weekend might have been a calculated move on the part of teams that were looking forward to having the services of Izan. Izan wasn¡¯t done. With the score now 1-0, he continued to torment Mallorca¡¯s defence, pulling their players out of position with his clever movement and quick one-twos. In the 74th minute, he created another masterpiece. Drifting wide to the right, he received the ball, shielded it from an onrushing defender, and executed a dazzling roulette to escape the pressure. The move drew gasps from the crowd, who could barely believe what they were seeing. From there, he cut inside and floated a perfectly timed cross into the box. The ball arced over the heads of two defenders and landed on the forehead of the team¡¯s striker Hugo Duro, who powered it into the net with a diving header. The scoreboard now read 2-0, and the stadium shook with the roar of the crowd. Hugo Duro ran towards Izan while pointing at him. He held Izan as both players ran towards the corner, pointing to the stands in celebration as the fans erupted in chants. Izan¡¯s connection with the fans was as extraordinary as his performance on the pitch. After each goal or assist, he made a point to acknowledge the crowd, clapping and gesturing towards them. In one moment during a break in play, Izan spotted a young fan holding a sign that read, "Izan, my hero!" Smiling, Izan jogged over and handed the boy his armband, sparking a wave of cheers and applause. As the clock ticked towards the final whistle, Mallorca threw everything forward in a desperate attempt to claw their way back into the game. In the 83rd minute, Mallorca intercepted a loose pass in midfield and launched a blistering counterattack. Javi llabres, eager to prove something also went on a blitzing run. His run ended in a cross for Muriqi who found the ball on his chest. A lapse in Valencia¡¯s defence gave Muriqi all the time he needed as he smacked the ball past the outstretched hand of Giorgi Mamardashvili. The stadium exploded once more as the Mallorca fans waved scarves and flags, singing songs dedicated to the Mallorca team. Some even lit flares in celebration of Muriqi¡¯s goal, a testament to their frustration in the game. The scoreline now read 2-1, and there was no doubt that this was far from over. Muriqi had quickly taken the ball out of the Valencian net to restart the match as soon as possible. The Valencia fans couldn¡¯t help but shudder a little. Their team drew with Real Betis in the last match as a result of a late goal. Another back-and-forth began after the match restarted in the 85th minute. The Mallorca team pulled everything out of their inventory in hopes of salvaging a point. But this played right into Izan¡¯s hands after he intercepted a loose ball on the left flank in his half. The clock ticked down into the final minutes of the game between Valencia and Mallorca. The score was locked at 2-1, and tension gripped the stadium. The Mallorca fans were on the edge of their seats, chanting and urging their team forward. The match should have been over but the resurgence of Mallorca kept Valencia¡¯s players and fans on their toes. Valencia¡¯s crowd weren¡¯t to be outdone as they also stepped up their game with their chants. Mallorca¡¯s players pressed high, but Izan was calm. With a quick turn, he left one defender behind and surged forward. The crowd gasped once again as he danced past another challenge with a perfectly timed step-over. Izan released the ball to Gaya who was running beside him before sprinting into space. Gaya quickly returned the ball to Izan moments after receiving the pass. Reaching the edge of the box, Izan spotted Amallah making a late run, his arm raised, signalling for the ball. Izan feigned a shot, drawing two defenders toward him, and then delivered a precise, curling pass with the outside of his boot. The ball sailed over the defence, dropping perfectly at Amallah¡¯s feet. Amallah controlled it expertly before threading a low pass to Gaya who had just arrived on the left. The left-back pulled his leg back before sending the ball to the roof of the net to kill off the game. The stadium erupted in celebration! Izan and Amallah embraced Gaya as their teammates rushed over. In the dying minutes, Izan¡¯s vision and skill had sealed a dramatic victory. When the referee blew the final whistle, the fans gave Izan a standing ovation. The young star walked around the pitch, clapping towards the stands and taking in the adulation. Fans leaned over barriers, calling his name and holding out jerseys for him to sign. One lucky fan managed to toss a scarf onto the pitch, which Izan draped around his neck as he saluted the crowd. After the match, Izan walked towards Baraja. Baraja put his hand around Izan before walking towards the press conference room with the latter ... In the post-match interviews, Ruben Baraja was effusive in his praise. "Izan is a game-changer," he said. "He has the talent, the vision, and the mentality to become one of the greatest." "The media had manipulated some half-truths this past week, making the club and fans restless. Nothing of such sort went on. Izan is still a part of Valencia, and he will be so for a while". The reporters also asked Izan a few questions but Izan smartly directed them towards Baraja or answered the questions with another one. The reporter wrote down all he said before realising that Izan hadn¡¯t said much at the end. "This kid is really smart," a reporter thought. For the fans who had packed the stadium that night, Izan¡¯s performance was nothing short of magical. He had not only delivered a dazzling display of skill and creativity but had also reignited their passion and belief in the team. As they streamed out of the stadium, fans shared their favourite moments, replayed videos of his goals on their phones, and sang his name into the night. Izan¡¯s performance against Mallorca wasn¡¯t just a football match; it was a masterpiece, a reminder of why the beautiful game captivates millions around the world. For those who witnessed it, the night Izan dazzled would be remembered for years to come. A/n: 100 powerstones bonus chapter. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Chapter 105: The Footballing World Is Watching "Izan, Valencia¡¯s Rising Star¡¯s Dazzling Performance Against RCD Mallorca" A tabloid read. "In football, there are performances that elevate players from mere prospects to household names. Izan, a young talent on the rise, delivered such a performance in his team¡¯s recent fixture against RCD Mallorca. With one goal, one assist, and a crucial role in the build-up to the third goal, Izan not only dazzled on the pitch but also captured the imagination of fans, pundits, and journalists alike. The aftermath of his display had seen an explosion of media attention, thrusting the player into the spotlight once again since his thunderous performance against Atl¨¦tico Madrid. Heading into the game, Izan was seemingly in a turbulent relationship with his club and manager over his game time. Valencia had drawn in two of their last games, 1 against Real Sociedad in which Izan had come from the bench to salvage a point with his late crucial pass, which led to Gaya assisting Pietro. The other match was against Real Betis in which he didn¡¯t play at all. Fans were concerned about his game time as Izan had been their best player since the start of the season. With 7 goals and 5 assists in 6 games, Izan already had the makings of a great player, but his game time had been reducing since the match with Atl¨¦tico Madrid. Heading into the game, the fans saw Izan on the bench again. To them, this seemed to confirm the notion that the player had a problem with the club. With both teams Goalless at halftime, Manager Baraja brought in Izan for Almeida who had taken a knock in the first half. The game against RCD Mallorca offered him an opportunity to once again show why the fans trusted him despite his age, and he seized it with both hands. From the restart in the second half, Izan showcased his technical brilliance and tactical intelligence. His ability to weave through defenders, deliver precise passes, and maintain composure under pressure set the tone for what would become a game to remember. His goal, scored in the 67th minute, was a moment of individual brilliance. After receiving the ball just outside the box, Izan displayed his dribbling finesse, beating two defenders with a swift turn before unleashing a curling shot into the top corner. The stadium erupted, and social media lit up with clips of the goal, accompanied by captions praising the young star¡¯s poise and flair. Izan celebrated with his manager after the goal, showing that there were no such rifts as some media bodies claimed. Later in the match, Izan¡¯s vision and playmaking abilities were on full display as he delivered a pinpoint cross for a teammate to score. This assist was not only crucial in extending his team¡¯s lead but also demonstrated his unselfishness and understanding of the game. Finally, his involvement in the third goal came through a clever dummy run that drew defenders away, creating space for his teammate, Amallah to exploit. Though he didn¡¯t directly assist the 3rd goal, his movement was vital in orchestrating the goal¡ªa subtle yet significant contribution that didn¡¯t escape the notice of analysts" ..... The morning after the match, Izan¡¯s name dominated headlines across Spain and beyond. "Izan Shines Bright Against Mallorca," read one prominent headline, while others called him "The Future of [Valencia]." Sports networks replayed his goal on a loop, dissecting his technique and confidence. Social media platforms, particularly Twitter and Instagram, became flooded with clips, memes, and tributes, with hashtags like #IzanMagic and #RisingStar trending for hours. Football pundits were unanimous in their praise. On television programs and podcasts, analysts highlighted Izan¡¯s composure, decision-making, and ability to deliver in high-pressure moments. "He¡¯s a special player," one former footballer-turned-commentator remarked. "That goal was pure class, but his overall contribution to the team¡¯s success was equally impressive. He¡¯s got a bright future ahead of him." With the spotlight now firmly on him, comparisons to football legends began to emerge. Some likened his playing style to a young Andres Iniesta due to his elegance and intelligence on the ball, while others saw shades of Kylian Mbapp¨¦ in his ability to combine speed with technical skill. While such comparisons are flattering, they also come with immense pressure¡ªa fact not lost on Izan or his team. Journalists delved into his background, eager to uncover the story behind the rising star. Features appeared detailing his journey from the youth academy. About how he was almost dropped in the u14s to first-team regular, highlighting the sacrifices he and his family made to reach this point. Interviews with former coaches and teammates painted a picture of a hardworking, humble, and determined individual who has always possessed the potential to excel at the highest level. "No one knew him before that match, but he managed to catch our attention, playing with people 3 or 4 years older than him while holding his own and even managing to outplay them", a feature that interviewed Coach Oryazabal read. Fans were quick to rally behind Izan, showering him with admiration online. Memes celebrating his performance proliferated, and fan accounts dedicated to him sprang up overnight. Young football enthusiasts imitated his moves in parks and training sessions, aspiring to replicate the skills that had captivated millions. Prominent football figures also joined the conversation, with current and former players tweeting their support and encouragement. "This kid is the real deal," one international star posted, accompanied by a clip of Izan¡¯s goal. The influx of attention extended beyond the footballing world, with celebrities and influencers praising his performance, further amplifying his growing profile. The buzz surrounding Izan¡¯s performance inevitably attracted interest from clubs and brands alike. Transfer rumours began circulating, with several European giants reportedly monitoring his progress. Speculation about a potential big-money move in the upcoming transfer window dominated sports news, adding a layer of intrigue to his burgeoning career. On the commercial front, Izan¡¯s marketability skyrocketed. Endorsement offers began pouring in from global sportswear brands, eager to associate their products with the young sensation. At Adidas, the sponsorship manager heaved a sigh of relief on being able to contract Izan early. They had already earned millions in unpaid media from their association with him. "Thank Heavens" he muttered in his seat. Miranda, on the other hand, had a hard time sorting out the deals. She sifted through the deals with a fine eye, choosing ones which would be helpful for Izan¡¯s career while ignoring others that might harm him. Marketing experts noted that Izan¡¯s combination of talent, charisma, and a compelling backstory made him an ideal ambassador for both football and lifestyle brands. Coupled with his stunning appearance, some clothing beads began to reach out. Amid the whirlwind of media attention, Izan and his team emphasized the importance of staying grounded. In post-match interviews, he expressed gratitude for the support but remained focused on improving his game. "I¡¯m just happy to help the team," he said modestly when asked about his performance. "There¡¯s still a lot of work to do, and I¡¯m committed to learning and growing." His coaches and teammates echoed this sentiment, praising his humility and work ethic. "Izan has the right attitude to handle all this attention," his manager said in a press conference. "He¡¯s a focused and disciplined player, and I¡¯m confident he¡¯ll continue to develop." Izan¡¯s standout performance and the ensuing media frenzy have not only boosted his career but also brought renewed attention to his club and league. Ticket sales and viewership for upcoming matches have surged, as fans eager to witness his magic flock to stadiums and tune in from around the world. His rise also served as inspiration for aspiring footballers, proving that hard work and dedication can lead to stardom. While Izan¡¯s performance against RCD Mallorca was a defining moment, it could only be defined as the beginning of what promises to be an exciting career. He was still a minor. The challenge now lies in maintaining consistency and handling the pressures that come with fame. Football history is replete with examples of young talents who struggled to live up to early expectations, but those who know Izan believe he has the mental fortitude to navigate these challenges. As the season progresses, all eyes will be on Izan to see how he builds on his breakthrough performance. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Will he continue to dazzle and cement his place among football¡¯s elite, or will the weight of expectations prove too much? For now, one thing is certain: Izan has arrived, and the footballing world is watching. Well, the footballing world didn¡¯t have to wait too long as Valencia would be playing their next match against Athletic Bilbao. Athletic Bilbao, a team traditionally built on physical strength, stamina, and relentless energy. They excelled in pressing high up the pitch and maintaining intensity throughout the match. A team that is well-drilled defensively, maintaining a compact shape and making it difficult for opponents to break them down. Izan would have his work cut out for him but he¡¯ll have to prove with his performance that he is not just another flash in the pan A/n: Chapter of the day. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you with the next one. As always, thanks for your support and Gifts, -Cough-. It motivates me to write. See you Chapter 106: If Only They Knew The opening theme music of La Liga Analysis Tonight faded as the studio lights brightened. Three pundits sat around a sleek glass table, their names and titles appearing on the screen: Carlos Ruiz (Former Spanish International), Elena Torres (Football Journalist), and Luis Mateo (Analyst and Statistician). On the screen behind them, a highlight reel played of Izan¡¯s recent exploits against RCD Mallorca. The footage of his goal¡ªa dazzling solo effort finished with a strike into the top corner¡ªreplayed in slow motion. Host: "Welcome back to La Liga Analysis Tonight. The name on everyone¡¯s lips is Izan Hernandez, Valencia¡¯s 15-year-old prodigy. His performance against RCD Mallorca has sparked a whirlwind of attention. But can he live up to the hype? And how will he fare in this weekend¡¯s clash with Athletic Bilbao, a team known for their physicality and high press? Let¡¯s get right into it. Carlos, you first. What do you think of Izan¡¯s potential?" Carlos leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his face. Carlos Ruiz: "Look, there¡¯s no denying the kid is talented. That goal was sensational, and he¡¯s got great instincts. But let¡¯s not get carried away. He¡¯s 15. One great game doesn¡¯t make him the next Messi or Ronaldo. Athletic Bilbao will be a much tougher test¡ªphysically and tactically. I¡¯m not sure he¡¯s ready." Elena Torres: "Come on, Carlos. Give the boy some credit. One game, Huh, Carlos? This boy dismantled Atl¨¦tico Madrid. I don¡¯t know if you saw that match but in pre-season, he did the same with Tottenham. Once again in this match, what impressed me most wasn¡¯t just the goal but his composure and decision-making. He didn¡¯t shy away from the big moment, and that¡¯s rare at his age. Athletic Bilbao will be a challenge, sure, but this is a chance for him to prove himself against a tougher opponent." Luis, the analyst, gestured toward the screen where Izan¡¯s stats were displayed. Luis Mateo: "Let¡¯s bring some data into the conversation. In his last match, Izan completed 91% of his passes, created three chances, and had five successful dribbles. Not forgetting, this kid now tops Laliga in both Goals and assists. This has never happened. The teams he met on the way to accomplishing this task weren¡¯t ordinary. Real Sociedad, Atl¨¦tico and Sevilla among others. For a player his age, those numbers are extraordinary. However, Carlos is also right about Athletic¡¯s physicality. They¡¯ll target him. If he can handle that pressure, we might be looking at a generational talent and I think he can do it. If he did it with Atl¨¦tico Madrid, why not against Bilbao". Carlos Ruiz: "That¡¯s a big ¡¯if,¡¯ Luis. Kids like Izan often crumble under the weight of expectations. He¡¯s suddenly the centre of media attention, and Bilbao¡¯s defenders will make sure he feels every tackle. It¡¯s too soon to call him a generational talent." Elena Torres: "I disagree. Football is about moments, and Izan has already shown he can deliver when it counts. Yes, he¡¯s young, but sometimes youth brings fearlessness. I think he¡¯ll rise to the occasion." The host interjected, his voice tinged with amusement. Host: "So, Carlos thinks he¡¯ll struggle, Elena sees him shining, and Luis is cautiously optimistic. Let¡¯s see how this unfolds on Sunday. Meanwhile, social media is buzzing with opinions. Let¡¯s take a look at what the fans are saying." --- On Twitter, the hashtag #Izan Hernandez was trending, with fans and critics sharing their opinions in droves. (@ValenciaDieHard): "Izan is the future of Valencia. Forget the haters¡ªthis kid¡¯s got it all. Can¡¯t wait to see him tear Bilbao apart! #AmuntValencia" (@BilbaoArmy): "Bilbao¡¯s defence is going to eat this kid alive. He¡¯s not ready for the big leagues. Stay in your lane, Izan. #AthleticBilbao" (@FootballNeutral): "15 years old and already making headlines? Izan Mart¨ªnez is a joy to watch. Let¡¯s hope the pressure doesn¡¯t crush him. #LaLigaWonderkid" (@CriticCentral): "The media¡¯s overhyping another teenager. We¡¯ve seen this story before. Give it a few months, and he¡¯ll disappear like so many others. #IzanMiura" --- Izan, lying on his bed with his phone in hand, scrolled through the tweets. "If only they knew," he said with a smile. For Izan, this match was just another means to stamp his name in the minds of the crowd. With the system, coupled with his efforts, Izan couldn¡¯t fail even if he wanted to. A direct message notification popped up. It was from a fan. DM from @YoungValenciaFan: "Hi Izan, I just wanted to say you¡¯re my hero. Watching you play gives me hope that I can make it, too, someday. Don¡¯t let the critics get to you. We believe in you!" Izan smiled. He typed a quick reply: "Thanks for the kind words. I¡¯ll do my best on Sunday!" ... The next morning, another popular football show, Tactical Talk, aired an in-depth analysis of Izan¡¯s upcoming match against Athletic Bilbao. The analyst pointed to a heatmap of Izan¡¯s movements against RCD Mallorca. Analyst 1: "This is where Izan excels¡ªfinding pockets of space between the lines and exploiting them. However, Bilbao¡¯s midfield will be far more disciplined, and their defence is known for closing down space quickly." Analyst 2: "Agreed, but it¡¯s also worth noting how calm Izan is under pressure. Watch this clip from his last game." The screen showed Izan receiving the ball with two defenders closing in. A quick flick of his foot took him past both before he delivered a pinpoint pass to a teammate. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Analyst 1: "If he can replicate this level of composure, he could unlock Bilbao¡¯s defence. But the question remains: Can he handle the physical challenges they¡¯ll throw at him?" ... On YouTube, a group of Valencia fans hosted a livestream discussing Izan¡¯s potential. Host: "Alright, chat, let¡¯s talk about Izan Hernandez Is he ready for Bilbao, or are we setting him up to fail?" The chat exploded with comments: "Izan¡¯s got the talent. He just needs to keep his head down and play his game." "Bilbao¡¯s defence will humble him. Mark my words." "He¡¯s 15! Why are we putting so much pressure on him already?" "Pressure makes diamonds. Izan will shine!" The host chuckled. "Seems like the opinions are as divided as the pundits¡¯. I think he¡¯ll do well. But even if he struggles, he¡¯s young. This is just the beginning for him." ..... The training session had ended, but the adrenaline still pulsed through Izan¡¯s veins. The scrimmage match had been intense, but he had thrived under the pressure. Two goals, an assist, and a flick that left a Cenk Ozkacar in his wake had his teammates talking. A few, like Pietro and Sosa, also stood laughing at Cenk, who always bodied Pietro in training. "He was able to beat me. Why don¡¯t you try?" Cenk said with a smirk, but Pietro just turned and walked away. "Coward" the former said while getting up. As the players dispersed, some patted him on the back. The players hadn¡¯t jumped to anyone¡¯s side during Izan¡¯s scuffle with the club because they didn¡¯t know what had gone on. To them, there was nothing wrong as none of the nonsense the media spewed had gone on. So when the smoke was cleared, they finally understood what had gone on. Izan was bending down to tie his laces when he heard footsteps crunching on the grass. Looking up, he saw Coach Ruben Baraja walking toward him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black Valencia jacket. Baraja stopped a few feet away, his piercing gaze softened by the faintest hint of a smile. For a moment, he didn¡¯t say anything, letting the silence settle. "You were brilliant out there today, Izan," Baraja said finally, his voice calm but firm. "Confident. Sharp. That second goal¡ªtaking on two defenders and finishing like that? That¡¯s the kind of football we need this weekend." Izan straightened, his chest swelling with pride. Being praised was always good."Thank you, Coach. I¡¯ve been working on staying calm in front of goal." Baraja nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I can see that. But it¡¯s not just about the goals. Your movement, your vision¡ªit¡¯s like you¡¯re reading the game a second ahead of everyone else. That¡¯s special, Izan. Not many players have that." A loud silence descended after Baraja finished speaking. "Haaaah, I¡¯m so sorry, Izan. The greed of the club almost created havoc. Now, on orders of the chairman, I can use you how I want and I hope you¡¯re ready" Baraja broke the silence. Izan felt a surge of warmth at Baraja¡¯s words. "I understand, Coach, and it¡¯s okay; I just want to help the team, Coach. Whatever it takes." Baraja studied him for a moment, then stepped closer, his tone lowering slightly. "How are you feeling, Izan? Not just physically¡ªbut mentally. There¡¯s a lot of noise around you right now. The media, the fans, the critics. Are you ready for what¡¯s coming?" Izan hesitated, caught off guard by the question. He looked down at his boots, scuffed from the session, then back at Baraja. "It¡¯s... a lot," he admitted. "But I¡¯m trying to block it out. Focus on my game." Baraja¡¯s smile widened, faint but genuine. "Good. Well, since you¡¯re good, then I¡¯m starting you against Athletic Bilbao." Izan¡¯s smiled at his words before saying a curt "thank you". Baraja nodded "Bilbao will be tough¡ªthey¡¯ll press hard, they¡¯ll be physical, and they¡¯ll try to intimidate you. But I believe you can handle it. And I need you to believe it too." "I do," Izan said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. "I won¡¯t let you down, Coach." Baraja placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "I know you won¡¯t. Remember¡ªstay calm, trust your instincts, and play your game. The rest will take care of itself." As Baraja turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, "Get some rest, Izan. Sunday¡¯s your stage. Make it count." Izan stood there for a moment, watching his coach walk away. The weight of the opportunity pressed down on him, but so did the thrill. This was his chance¡ªnot just to play but to prove he belonged. Clenching his fists, Izan whispered to himself, "Ooh, I¡¯mma bout to make for myself"[ Bro turned into the Gambit] A/n: 1st Bonus chapter. Courtesy of Harith_TM. Have fun reading Chapter 107: They Won’t Know What Hit Them The house was quiet as Izan sat in his room, the glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. His boots were on the floor, fresh out of the box Adidas sent him. Their gleaming surfaces were a reminder of the challenge that lay awaiting him. On his desk lay a notepad filled with sketches of plays and tactical notes he had scribbled this past week. Izan lay on his bed thinking about the match. Sunday was fast approaching and Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel excited. "I would like to see his face after the match" Izan uttered on his bed as he thought about Carlos. The Pundit who had been underestimating him on the Laliga Analyst show the previous day. Izan pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through a mix of headlines and fan comments about him. "Izan Hernandez: Valencia¡¯s Wonderkid or Media Hype?" "15-Year-Old Prodigy Faces Another Test Against Bilbao" "Izan Hernandez: People aren¡¯t convinced" He sighed, setting the phone down. The noise was everywhere¡ªpraise, criticism, and everything in between. Reaching over to his bedside table, he picked up a framed photo. It was of him as a young boy, no older than six, kicking a ball with his father in their small backyard. He could almost hear his dad¡¯s voice: "It¡¯s not about the noise, hijo. It¡¯s about the ball. Everything else disappears when you have the ball at your feet." Izan smiled, tracing a finger along the edge of the frame. His dad¡¯s belief in him had never wavered, not even when Izan doubted himself. He set the photo down and grabbed his boots. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he ran a cloth over the leather, letting the familiar motion calm his nerves. His thoughts drifted to the training session earlier, to Baraja¡¯s words. "Stay calm, trust your instincts, and play your game." Those words echoed in his mind, grounding him. Baraja had placed his faith in him, not just as a player but as someone who could handle the pressure. Izan clenched his jaw as he looked at the ball in the corner with a grin. --- The soft hum of the city outside his window was the only sound as Izan lay back on his bed, closing his eyes. He began to visualize the game. "Open Simulation" Izan muttered. [ INITIALIZING SIMULATION TRAINING IN ] 5 4 3 2 1 After opening his eyes, Izan found himself on the pitch at the Estadio de San Mames. Looking at the empty stands, the system quickly filled it with the crowd. The noise, the tension and the atmosphere. Everything felt real. "This thing is really scary", Izan muttered as 3 lifelike Bilbao defenders materialised in front of him. He had been using the simulation for a while now but he still couldn¡¯t get used to the way the dummies looked at him. The crowd soon roared as a ball fell in front of Izan. As soon as the ball hit the ground, the still Bilbao players started moving. Calming himself, Izan evaded an onrushing defender with a quick turn and threaded a pass to an allied dummy that looked like Pietro. "Wonder how he¡¯d react if he could see this" Izan muttered as he ran into space. The dummies quickly slotted the ball between the legs of another Bilbao player sending it to Izan. Izan nudged the ball with the outside of his right boot sending the ball around the dummy before going around it to meet the ball. He was now about 25 yards away from the goal. With a smirk, Izan unleashed the ball towards the goal. Izan¡¯s posture faltered after kicking the ball making him fall on the ground. Before he could raise his head, Izan felt the stadium shake. "Wait, I didn¡¯t apply for the earthquake patch yet", Izan muttered jokingly as he lay down. The dummy resembling Pietro came and stood over Izan, laughing with the same energy as Pietro. "How is he still so dumb, even in a simulation? As if sensing Izan¡¯s thoughts, the dummy scratched his head before de-materialising. Izan exited the simulation after a few runs. Waking up, he felt refreshed. This was one of the perks of the simulation. Helping the Izan train effectively while keeping him energised. "Can¡¯t wait for the next upgrade?", Izan thought as he got up. ---[late night] Just as Izan was drifting off, his phone buzzed. He groaned, and picked up the phone, seeing a text from Olivia. Olivia (10:37 PM): Hey, Izan! Just checking in. How¡¯s everything? Heard your name on the news again today ????. How are you handling all the media pressure? Izan (10:38 PM): Hey, Liv. It¡¯s... a lot, honestly. Feels like cameras everywhere I go. Some days it¡¯s cool, but other days, I just want to disappear for a bit. Olivia (10:40 PM): I can imagine ????. You¡¯re only 15, Izan. That¡¯s a lot for anyone to deal with. But you¡¯ve got this. You¡¯re stronger than you think. Izan(10:40 PM): Thanks for the assurance Mami. Olivia(10:41 PM): Guess you¡¯re okay seeing how you can joke. Izan (10:43 PM): Thanks, Liv. It helps knowing you¡¯re in my corner. Olivia (10:46 PM): No worries, You¡¯re too talented and hardworking to fail. And even if things get tough, it¡¯s okay to take a step back and breathe. I believe in you, no matter what. Izan (10:47 PM): That means a lot. Really. I just wish you were here... Madrid feels so far away right now. Olivia (10:48 PM): I know, Izan. I miss you too. But you¡¯re doing something incredible. Keep going, and remember, I¡¯m always a text or call away. You¡¯re not alone in this. Izan (10:49 PM): You always know what to say. Thanks, Liv. You¡¯re the best. Olivia (10:51 PM): That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for. Now go out there and show them why they¡¯re talking about you ????. Izan (10:51 PM): Will do. Talk later? Olivia (10:52 PM): Anytime ????. --- Placing the phone back on the table, Izan exhaled deeply. He stared at the Ceiling for a while before he succumbed to sleep. ---- The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the kitchen as Izan sat at the dining table, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. His mom, Komi, was at the stove, humming a soft tune as she stirred a pot of soup. His sister, Hori, was sprawled on the couch in the adjoining living room, flipping through a magazine. "Izan," Komi said, turning to look at him with her kind, steady gaze. "You¡¯ve been quiet all evening. Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Izan looked up at his mother¡¯s face which was staring back at him with a bit of concern. Izan smiled and nodded, "A bit, but mostly all of this stems from excitement", he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Komi walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Izan, listen to me. You¡¯ve worked hard for this moment. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember that you¡¯ve already made us proud. You¡¯re doing what you love, and that¡¯s what matters most." Komi wanted to continue as her mouth kept moving but she stopped. Her words settled over him like a warm blanket, soothing his frayed nerves. From the couch, Hori piped up, her tone teasing. "Don¡¯t let it get to your head, though. You¡¯re still the same Izan who couldn¡¯t beat me at Uno last week." Izan chuckled despite himself. "That was luck, and you know it." Hori grinned, setting her magazine aside. She walked over and plopped into the chair across from him, her chin resting on her hands. "Seriously, though, Izan. You¡¯ve got this. You¡¯ve been playing like a pro since you were, what, eight? Athletic Bilbao isn¡¯t ready for you." "Thanks, Hori," Izan said, his smile softening. "That means a lot." Izan knew Hori was just being a kind sister since she knew he wasn¡¯t that good at football when he was young. "What would I do without you?" Izan muttered thinking about the system. Komi set a steaming bowl of soup in front of him and ruffled his hair. "Eat up, mi ni?o. You¡¯ll need your strength." As he ate, the three of them chatted about lighter topics¡ªHori¡¯s upcoming art project, Komi¡¯s latest book recommendation¡ªbut beneath it all, Izan felt their unwavering support. --- S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Later That Evening After dinner, Hori knocked on Izan¡¯s door and peeked inside. She held a small sketchpad in her hands. "Hey," she said, stepping in. "I made something for you." She handed him the pad, and Izan flipped it open. Inside was a pencil sketch of him in his Valencia kit, mid-dribble, with the caption: "It¡¯s not about the noise. It¡¯s about the ball." Izan stared at it for a moment, touched. "Wow, Hori. This is amazing. Thank you." Hori shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Don¡¯t get all sappy on me. Just hang it up in your locker or something." "I will," he promised, pulling her closer only to ruffle up her already messed-up hair. "Oh, you¡¯re gonna get it,", Hori said as she chased Izan around. --- Komi¡¯s Final Words Before going to bed, Komi knocked softly on his door. She stepped inside and sat on the edge of his bed. "Izan," she began, her voice gentle. "I know tomorrow feels like the biggest day of your life, but there will be many more days like this. Win or lose, it¡¯s just one match. What matters is how you carry yourself, on and off the pitch." Izan nodded, her words settling deep in his heart. "Thanks, Mom. I¡¯ll remember that and don¡¯t worry; they won¡¯t know what hit them," Izan said with a smug expression. She kissed his forehead, her voice soft but firm. "Sleep well, mi amor. Tomorrow, you¡¯ll show them what you¡¯re made of." As she left the room, Izan lay back, the love and support of his family giving him the strength he needed to face the day ahead. --- A/n: 2nd Bonus chapter. Once again, sponsored by Harith_TM. Have fun and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow Chapter 108: A Goal In Just 8 Minutes The Fans from both sides poured into the stadium. Reminiscent of a herd of cattle being led by a herdsman. Both sides engaged in friendly banter as they did that. Scarves and flags were thrown around as the avid fans of both sides engaged in chants. Athletic Bilbao fans known for their passionate chants that reflect their Basque identity and love for the club roared, "Athletic! Athletic! Athletic!" A chant made to fire up the crowd and energise the players. The Valencia fans also weren¡¯t to be outdone as they began theirs. "Amunt Valencia! Somos Los Ches! Both sides went at it even before the match began. After a while, the players from both teams came out to warm up. The roars of the crowd increased as the players stepped onto the pitch. Izan, wearing his warm-up kit was one of the last players to come out. The Valencia crowd erupted as soon as they saw the former. A few fans who were near the tunnel stretched out their hands for Izan to shake. Izan didn¡¯t leave them hanging as he shook a few. He also acknowledged the fans by waving a bit at them before joining the rest of his teammates on the pitch. "Yo Miura, how about your little trick," Gaya said as he passed the ball to Izan. Izan smiled and lifted the ball with the edge of his boots before turning around to volley it. Marmadashvili, who had tensed since he heard Gay¨¤¡¯s words, looked at the ball that was coming his way. [Poor guy has been traumatised by Mc¡¯s shots] The ball flashed past a few teammates before Marmadashvili got a hand to it. The latter¡¯s smile in the air was quickly erased after he felt the power in the ball. The ball pushed his hand back but fortunately for Marmadashvili, his hand had changed the trajectory of the ball, sending it onto the crossbar. "Oooooooohhhhh" the Valencia fans exclaimed excitedly when they saw the little trick on the field. "Wow, that shot was travelling", a fan said. "Marmadashvili¡¯s save was equally impressive,", another fan said before adding, "Izan and Marmadashvili are on top of their game. Seems like we won¡¯t have a hard time this evening". "I wouldn¡¯t be so sure. The William brothers are tearing it up, especially Nico. Although he doesn¡¯t have many goals, he mostly organises the Bilbao attack. He has also racked up a few assists, and coupled with his brother, we might be in for a tough time," a middle-aged man spoke. The younger fans around him nodded as his words made sense. "Well, then our players are going to have to do more," one of the younger fans said. After a while, the players finished with the warm-up and went back to their locker rooms. .... "Good evening, folks, and welcome to the historic San Mam¨¦s, where football echoes louder than anywhere else in Spain! Tonight, under the glow of the Bilbao lights, two proud La Liga giants, Athletic Club and Valencia, lock horns in a clash brimming with tradition and fire. The Lions of Bilbao, backed by their fiercely loyal fans, aim to defend their fortress with the passion and spirit that defines this legendary club. On the other side, Valencia, the ever-dangerous Bats, arrive with a point to prove and a hunger for victory. They would like to draw first blood, wouldn¡¯t they? It¡¯s more than just a game¡ªit¡¯s a battle of identity, heritage, and pride. The Basque Country stands still, the chants are deafening, and every touch of the ball will be scrutinized by thousands of fervent fans. This is San Mam¨¦s. This is Athletic Bilbao vs. Valencia. Fasten your seatbelts¡ªit¡¯s time for magic under the Basque sky! I have with me Juan Ceballos, and what do you think about this match, Juan?" "Well, Mikel, it¡¯s a great game, to say the least. Valencia is second on the table and will be looking forward to keeping up with Real Madrid, who are first. Athletic Bilbao is also fifth, and we¡¯ll be in contention for some European football spots, and that isn¡¯t all. This match is also a stage for Valencia¡¯s young talent Izan to say I¡¯m no fluke. Honestly, Mikel, he did it against Atl¨¦tico Madrid, becoming the youngest player to score a hat-trick in Laliga ever. Even if he struggles tonight, I say that he¡¯s already won." Juan, the Co-commentator, spoke. "Well, that¡¯s Juan¡¯s take on this. We¡¯ll be looking forward to seeing Izan perform, and he won¡¯t have it easy as Nico Williams will also be looking to improve his reputation". ..... The Announcer announced the lineups of both teams, each name met with cheers from the crowd as the players stepped onto the pitch. Izan, donning the number 21 jersey, stood in the attacking midfield position after the referee got the pre-match pleasantries out of the way. As kickoff approached, the cheers of the fans rose again as they waited for the sound of the whistle. ¡¯Fweeeeeeee¡¯ The referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the match. Hugo Duro, standing over the ball, passed back to Izan after the whistle sounded. Izan, after receiving the ball, passed back to Javi Guerra on his left. The Visitors passed around a bit trying to open up spaces in the Athletic Bilbao setup. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan walked around the pitch scanning and turning as he looked around him. The Athletic Bilbao team really lived up to expectations as there was almost no room for passing. "Almost" Izan thought with a smirk as he approached Diego Lopez on the left. The latter had been trapped in an encirclement of 2 Bilbao players. Izan approached, signalling with his hand for a pass. Diego Lopez saw Izan¡¯s hand gesture and sent the ball his way. Without taking too many touches, Izan sent a raking ball that slipped through a gap. Hugo Duro, who had been watching the ball keenly, ran into the path of the ball. The Valencia fans gasped in excitement after Izan¡¯s pass. Hugo Duro got to the byline and sent a low ball into the box, but the shot from Fran P¨¦rez went agonizingly wide. The Valencia sighed before applauding the attack. If the same of this kind were to happen throughout the match, then it was only a matter of time before they scored. Ruben Baraja looked on at the first attack from his team as he drank some water. "Fran P¨¦rez should have made it count," he thought as he put down the bottle. "I have to speak with the director about a few transfers in the winter break" Baraja muttered. The match continued with the ball now in the possession of Athletic Bilbao. Dani Garcia, who now had the ball, combined with Sancet in the heart of midfield. A One-two combination between the two led to the ball being unleashed to the left flank. Correira tried to get a touch on the ball but it narrowly evaded his leg. Nico Williams, who was a bit far from the ba, gave chase to it and finally caught up with the ball, but he now faced Correia. Correia tried to stall for a bit so that his teammates could recover but Nico Williams wasn¡¯t going to give him that much time. With a sharp flick, he sent the ball to his left and followed suit. Correia quickly accelerated to get to the ball, but Nico Williams cut back with a chop, causing Correia to fall. The Athletic fans cheered at the scene as they watched Nico Williams unleash a cross into the box. Mosquera, who had been out of the squad for a while, jumped and got his head to the ball, but his header wasn¡¯t strong. Just then, Inaki Williams arrived in the box anticipating where the ball would fall. Seemingly done with his choice, Inaki rushed forward and struck the ball with power. The stadium held its breath as Marmadashvili lunged at the ball. The ball flashed past his fingers before rustling the net. The Estadio San Mames erupted into cheers. The home fans danced and cheered as their team had scored just 8 minutes after the match began. The faces of the Valencian fans, on the other hand, were downcast. "Est¨¢ bien. No dejes que te afecte (It¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t let it get to you.)" Gaya said while clapping his hand. The match had just begun, and there was no need to sulk. Marmadashvili got the ball out of his net and sent it forward. Izan, who found the ball coming his way, controlled it with his thighs before passing it to Duro. The striker got the ball and placed it on the spot as they waited for the Athletic Bilbao players. The Athletic Bilbao players celebrated a bit longer than allowed. This caused them to attract the ire of some of the travelling fans. After the referee signalled them to halt their celebrations, the Bilbao players returned to their half of the pitch. The Valencia players stood still and watched as they returned to their positions. The players stood still as they waited for the referee¡¯s whistle to sound. This was just the beginning. A/n: Hello guys author here. Some of you might have noticed that the recent chapter looks a bit generic and repetitive. Well, the person who I thought was editing it was just using ChatGPT and Grammarly. Grammarly is good, though, but some of my words got lost in translation when he used chatgpt, so from now on, I¡¯ll do it myself so things like that don¡¯t happen. I¡¯m sorry guys. And I¡¯m halting the Powerstone challenge for a bit. You guys have been awesome, but God damn, Its a bit traumatising knowing the Powerstone counter is going to hit 100. By the way, this is the Powerstone chapter. I¡¯ll see you in the evening with the chapter for the day. Chapter 109: After the restart, Valencia held onto the ball for a while. They had been stunned by Athletic Bilbao in the first few minutes. So much so that they weren¡¯t even attacking. This caused the match to dull a bit. The home crowd were as vibrant as ever. They kept urging their team to press after seeing their opponents on the back foot. The Morale of the Athletic players got to an all-time high as they pressed at the backing of their riled-up fans. Izan, who stood in the middle of the pitch, watched the scene unfolding. "Too much excitement always leads to disappointment," Izan said with a subtle smirk. He looked around once more, noticing the backline of Athletic Bilbao that had advanced once again. Izan smiled slightly and headed deep into his half. After arriving, Izan called for the ball. Javi Guerra, who found himself in a tough situation, saw Izan calling. Guerra looked around and saw no opponent player currently near Izan, so he laid the ball off to him. Immediately after passing the ball, Javu Guerra moved into space. The ball streaked towards Izan as he scanned behind again, but this time, he found Berenguer behind him. With a deft touch, Izan sent the ball to Javier Guerra who quickly passed to Izan after he got away from Berenguer. "Miu!" Fran Perez called after Izan began dribbling with the ball. Izan looked up and saw Fran P¨¦rez evading his man. Seeing this, Izan ran with the ball towards the Athletic Bilbao players while he kept his eye on Fran P¨¦rez. The Athletic Bilbao players rushed towards Izan trying to challenge for the ball. "You fell for it,", Izan thought as he had successfully created space Fran Perez. With a quick change of pace and footing, Izan unleashed the ball behind the Athletic defence, catching them off guard as Fran Perez strode down the right flank. Izan didn¡¯t slow done but rather sped up to Fran P¨¦rez¡¯s side. Fran P¨¦rez, who was running with the ball, saw a few opposition players coming his way. With his legs raised, P¨¦rez wanted to cross the ball, but he heard his name being called from behind and halted his actions, unconsciously faking the cross. He looked and saw Izan arriving just behind the Bilbao player, who had jumped, trying to put his body in the way of a supposed cross. The Valencia fans cheered seeing the interaction between Izan and Fran P¨¦rez. After coming to his senses, Fran P¨¦rez flared the ball towards the onrushing Izan. With his right foot, Izan curled the ball into the box after meeting it in his path. The stadium watched as the ball flew wide or so they thought. Gaya, who had been watching the whole give-and-take between Fran Perez, arrived at the far post and met the ball first time to put it in the net. ¡¯GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!! They screamed with otherworldly strength as they celebrated their team¡¯s goal. Gaya rushed towards Izan and Perez, locking the heads of both players between his arms. "You¡¯re a genius" Gaya said to Izan as trio slid simultaneously at the corner area. The shouts of the visiting fans rose a bit after seeing their players in front of them. "?Vamos! Entra ah¨ª.(Come on. Get in there)" "Un gol m¨¢s( One more goal)" The fans shouted when the trio got to where they were. While the visitors celebrated, it was the turn of the faces of the home fans to turn gloomy. Baraja and Moreno high-fived on the touchline and celebrated with the rest of the staff. After overdoing their celebrations, Valencia was called back by the referee with a strong warning. After settling into their respective positions, the referee blew his whistle again. The stadium was lively once more after the goal with both sides going at it. Following the goal, Bilbao maintained their intensity, looking to capitalize on the distractions a goal brings. After seeing his contribution to the goal, the Athletic Bilbao players began paying special attention to Izan. The midfield trio of Dani Garc¨ªa, Oihan Sancet, and Mikel Vesga worked tirelessly to win the second ball while keeping an eye on the former and distribute play wide, where Nico Williams and ¨¢lex Berenguer sought to exploit the flanks. Valencia, however, gradually found their rhythm. Pepelu began dictating play from deep, linking with Javi Guerra and Fran P¨¦rez to mount counterattacks. Izan just strode on the pitch, watching and turning as he tried to find gaps in the opponent¡¯s set-up. The match became a game of piggy in the middle for a bit as the Athletic Bilbao players chased after the ball. As the match progressed, another chance came for Valencia in the 25th minute when Thierry Correia surged down the right flank. His overlapping run was met with a perfectly timed pass from Izan. Trapping the ball successfully, Correia continued down the flank before releasing the ball back. Correia¡¯s low cross found Izan outside the box. As Izan the ball approached, Izan saw a shadow in his peripheral vision so he allowed the ball to slip through his legs. The ball also bypassed the opponent players following Izan and found Hugo Duro outside the box. Seeing as Izan didn¡¯t stop, Hugo lobbed the ball into the box which was met with the inside of Izan¡¯s right boot. Izan connected with the ball and sent the ball to the left. "Huh,", some of the fans thought until they saw Diego L¨®pez on the left. The Valencia fans stood up while a few nervous Athletic fans bit their nails. Diego L¨®pez got into a comfortable position but the young forward¡¯s first-time effort was blocked by a sliding Dani Vivian, drawing applause from the home fans. The referee blew his whistle signalling a corner for the away team. Izan quickly approached the ball before passing to Gaya. Athletic¡¯s De Marcos rushed towards Gaya but the left back flicked the ball to Izan. De Marcos quickly changed directions and started heading towards Izan but the latter had already sent the ball into the box. The ball went up a bit before dipping at the last moment. Mosquera who was towering over everyone, got his head to the ball. His first-time effort was caught confidently by Unai Simon. After Unai Simon caught the ball, Izan looked back and started running. Unai Simons, who had also spotted Izan¡¯s run, threw the ball towards the left. The culprit of the reaction of these two people was none other than Inaki Williams. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Inaki Williams, known for his lightning pace, burst down the field with electrifying speed, his strides eating up the turf like a sprinter in full flight. The Athletic crowd rose in anticipation as he picked up the ball near midfield, his sharp touch setting it ahead just enough to maintain momentum. Pepelu, who stayed behind for the corner stepped forward to challenge him, but Williams deftly shifted his weight, executing a quick step-over before cutting inside with precision, leaving the Midfielder off-balance and chasing shadows. The second defender charged in, attempting to block his path but with a smooth drop of the shoulder and a sudden burst of acceleration, Williams glided past him, effortlessly switching the ball to his other foot. Now in open space, his eyes were locked on the goal as his powerful strides carried him, a whirlwind of pace and skill that left the defence scrambling to recover. Inaki Williams, who began fantasising about his goal even before he scored, felt a presence chasing after him. He snuck a glance back and saw Izan chasing after him. "Well shit," he thought as he kicked the ball ahead. Izan was not faster than Inaki but because the latter was carrying the ball, his speed had lessened. The Stadium watched excitedly as both players competed with their speeds. Inaki nudged the ball a bit further but he made sure it was still in reach. Seeing Marmadashvili coming out, both players reacted differently. Izan left Inaki¡¯s side while the Athletic Bilbao man stuck his foot under the ball. With an upward motion, the latter sent the ball over the keeper. The ball destined for the goal was cleared by Izan who smacked the ball away with a bicycle kick. "Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh" the Athletic Bilbao Fans exclaimed while the Valencia fans sighed in relief. The ball was about to go out of bounds, but Correia, Valencia¡¯s right back, arrived. "Defense into attack,", Izan thought as he still had some gas left in him. Standing up, Izan called for the ball which was still with Correia. Correia saw Izan¡¯s call for the ball and sent it his way. Izan carefully trapped the ball before slipping his right foot under the ball, sending it flying towards Diego L¨®pez, who was just returning from the opponent¡¯s half. The Winger controlled the ball with his chest before setting it down. He looked at the linesman but the flag was down. "Nice" he thought as he turned towards Bilbao¡¯s side of the pitch. Another counter was on. A/n: Hello guys sorry for not updating the chapter for the day yesterday. Here it is. I¡¯ll update the one for today but not now so don¡¯t wait for me. All right I have a match tonight. Probably wished I had a system but you don¡¯t always get what you want. Anyways have fun. Chapter 110: Reversing The Score "Attack into defence,", Izan thought as he still had some gas left in him. Standing up, Izan called for the ball which was still with Correia. Correia saw Izan¡¯s call for the ball and sent it his way. Izan carefully trapped the ball before slipping his right foot under the ball, sending it flying towards Diego L¨®pez, who was just returning from the opponent¡¯s half. The Winger controlled the ball with his chest before setting it down. Another counter was on. ... The Athletic Defense scrambled back, trying to get to Diego L¨®pez, but the latter had already turned on the jets. Izan, who initiated the attack cut the field in half as he galloped towards Diego¡¯s position. After getting to the byline, Diego Lopez looked inside the box in hopes of finding Valencia numbers, but Hugo Duro was the only player in the box at that moment, and even he wasn¡¯t in a position to receive the ball. De Marcos rushed towards Diego Lopez after catching up. Using his momentum against him, Diego Lopez flicked the ball to his left causing the onrushing defender to falter in his steps. The sudden change in direction caused de Marcos to fall. Diego L¨®pez sensed this opportunity and tried to get away but he was caught by the outstretched legs of De Marcos. "Eeey, what the heck is that challenge" "Is he trying to hurt him" The Valencia crowd roared in anger after they saw that horrible tackle from De Marcos. ¡¯Fweeee¡¯ the referee blew his whistle and acknowledged De Marcos with a Yellow Card. De Marcos didn¡¯t say much and just walked off. The referee pointed to the spot where the foul occurred before heading towards the Athletic Bilbao players, who were having a hard time choosing where to build the wall. "Will you be sending it in, or will you be going for it?" Gaya said as he stood beside Izan. Izan looked at Gaya and smiled. "I¡¯ll probably be crossing it in, but I won¡¯t promise that," Izan said with a cheeky grin. "Well, at least you have to test the keeper. I believe you can do that" Gaya said before walking to the edge of the box. "Whoooooo" Izan breathed out as he stared at the goal "Max, you know what to do, right?" Izan said with a thought. ¡¯Ding[Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2 activated] Izan took some steps back as his eyes kept glued to the goal. As the referee¡¯s whistle sounded, Izan slowly walked up to the ball before unleashing a shot towards goal. The whole stadium watched on as the ball travelled towards Goal. Unai Simon watched as the ball came his way. He quickly took his steps, positioned himself, and got a palm to it as the ball hit the post and came back out. Hugo Duro stretched his legs and got a touch to the loose ball but the ball was cleared by Sancet before it could cross the line. The Valencia fans and players alike all claimed that the ball had crossed the line, but the referee disagreed with them. After a bit of back and forth with the players, the referee issued two yellow cards to both Gaya and Correira. After the scuffle with the referee, the match continued. After seeing how the gaps in his set-up were being taken advantage Ernesto Valverde, Athletic Bilbao¡¯s Coach made his players pay special attention to the little culprit, who was none other than Izan. This led to a few altercations between both teams. In the 33rd minute, Izan got the ball in the middle after a pass was mistimed. After getting the ball, Izan tried to move forward with the ball, but Oihan Sancet held him by the collar, choking him a bit. [I know these words make your toes curl] Gaya ran towards the scene after seeing the challenge on Izan and so did all the Valencia players. "He¡¯s on a yellow" Izan thought as Gaya approached before standing up quickly. "It¡¯s OK, Jose", Izan said after he intercepted Gaya on his way to argue with the referee. Gaya, who saw Izan¡¯s face, calmed down. The referee issued another Yellow card to Sancet. The Valencia players and Fans alike seemed satisfied with the referee¡¯s decision as the issue died down. Izan signalled to Diego Lopez after catching the ball. L¨®pez understood Izan intentions and started making a run. "That¡¯s it", Izan muttered as the Athletic Bilbao players followed him. Izan quickly smacked the ball, producing a well-grounded pass. His quick freekick caught the opponent side off guard as they rushed back back. The ball travelled but it went to Fran P¨¦rez instead. The Athletic Bilbao players who had followed Diego L¨®pez, now found themselves scrambling to get to the right Flank. "Thank you," Fran P¨¦rez said jokingly as he got the ball. The latter began with his run but came toe to toe with Yuri Berchiche as the latter tried to dispossess him. Fran Perez, ever the pace abuser, sent the ball around Yuri and followed it. Yuri, who knew about the potential trouble that could happen, held Fran back, but the forward dragged on before falling just as he got to the byline. The referee blew his whistle pointing to where Fran P¨¦rez fell. The Athletic Bilbao players rushed towards the referee trying to debate the position of the foul. The referee had made his decision and even issued a yellow card to Berenguer who was being disrespectful. "These people are playing real dirty," a Valencia fan said. "I don¡¯t know if the referee wants someone to get injured before he gets serious. Some of these tackles are horrendous," another fan said. Fran P¨¦rez, who had been brought down, was having a hard time getting up. The referee signalled for the medics to come. Fran P¨¦rez, who lay on the ground, received medical attention, but it looked like he couldn¡¯t go on anymore. The Medics called for a stretcher before scooping Fran P¨¦rez out of the pitch. [On the touchline] "Okay, Pietro. Switch with Izan and let him go on the wing. Tell him to cut inside and test the keeper or use that vision of his to cause trouble while you enter the box to try and find a goal, okay?" Coach Baraja rushed as Pietro wore his jersey. "Okay, coach", Pietro said as Baraja was done giving his instructions. The referee halted the play and allowed Diego L¨®pez to go out while Pietro came in. Pietro quickly went to Izan and relayed the instructions to him. Izan nodded as he approached Gaya who held the ball. Izan, looking at the wall being set in front of him, planted his left foot beside the ball before putting it down. Taking a deep breath, Izan took some steps back. The stadium became quiet for some time as the referee went through some free-kick procedure. "Max, same as before," Izan said with a thought. ¡¯Ding [ Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2] ¡¯ "When is it going to get to level 3?" Izan smiled wryly as he looked at the system message in front of him. As the referee blew his whistle, Izan made a slow run-up to the ball before unleashing a shot towards the far post. The stadium watched on, especially the Valencia fans who knew of Izan¡¯s free-kick prowess. The ball wasn¡¯t in that good of a position but a genius shines everywhere. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball went right before swerving left. Unai Simon, who had seen Izan¡¯s freekick prowess first-hand during their time with the National team, took his steps quickly and lunged the ball as he tried to get to it. The Athletic Bilbao fans who thought the ball was going out found it suddenly curving towards the goal. Their eyes shot out as they stared at the ball. Unai Simon, in the goal, lunged at the ball in the air and got his fingertips to it. Thankfully for the keeper, that was enough to change the trajectory of the ball as the ball smacked the inside of the pole before falling on the goal line once more. Yuri Berchiche was near the goal, stuck his leg out, and cleared the ball before any of the opponent players could approach. The Athletic Bilbao fans and players alike sighed in relief as the ball went out of bounds. Ruben Baraja, who saw the ball almost go in but come back out, held his hair in distress. "How are they so lucky" he said as he continued pulling his hair up. "Do you want to get bald? Maria won¡¯t like that," Moreno said, causing Ruben to hit his actions. "Ahem*, let¡¯s focus on the match, shall we?" Ruben Baraja said sharply, putting on a serious expression as he looked at the scene unfolding in front of him. "Only Maria can set him straight. At least her name is useful for me" Moreno thought as he looked at Ruben Baraja. Pietro, who had come on earlier, picked the ball that had gone out of bounds and launched into the box. The ball was headed back out but this time it went to the edge of the box. The players saw Izan appear behind the ball suddenly, his legs poised, ready to Volley it into the back of the net. The Bilbao players scrambled to get to him but Izam wasn¡¯t shooting. As the ball fell, Izan took a deft touch. The whole stadium watched as the ball rolled slowly behind the Bilbao defence. The ball was agonizingly slow, as if teasing the Bilbao players as it went behind, but none of them could get to it. The ball slipped behind as the Bilbao fans waited for the goalkeeper to smother the ball, but then Correia appeared. His sudden appearance caused a sense of foreboding in the home fans. Correia controlled the ball as Unai Simon approached. Correia faked a shot before rolling the ball to his left. Unai Simon, who had reacted during the faked shot, could only watch as Correia strode into the goal with the ball. "GOOAAAAAALLLLLL, Valencia. Los Ches reversed the score right before the 40th minute¡¯s Mark. Correia controls a deceitful pass from none other than Izan before going around the keeper and walking the ball into the net. This is as good as it gets folks. 40th minute, Valencia 2, Athletic Bilbao 1 " The Commentator went about his job expertly as he described the scenes. Correia rushed towards Izan and hugged him. The Valencia bench and staff celebrated the goal like it was their last. Ruben Baraja, who wanted to rush towards the pitch, was held back by Moreno. "Do you want a card?" Moreno said. "That wouldn¡¯t be that bad," Baraja said as Moreno let go. "How about I tell Maria" Moreno said, causing a sudden shift in Baraja¡¯s demeanour. "Umm, that won¡¯t be necessary, please,", Baraja said before walking to his seat. The whole of Valencia, both at home and away at the Estadio San Mames, celebrated the goal. Izan and Correia who were beneath a pile of players, finally got up and walked towards their half. The excitement was only beginning. A/n: Hello guys. This is yesterday¡¯s chapter. Have fun. Oh and we lost the match yesterday. Chapter 111: Take A Bow After the restart, both teams went at it. One side was looking to equalize, whilst the other did its best to keep the scoreline the same. As the clock ticked past the 42-minute mark, the intensity at San Mam¨¦s reached a boiling point. Athletic Bilbao, buoyed by their home crowd, looked eager to draw level before the half after Correia¡¯s goal put them on the back foot. Valencia, however, was determined not to concede just before the break as it would shift the momentum to the opponent side. In the 43rd minute, Athletic Bilbao found their chance. Nico Williams received the ball near the left wing and drove at Correira with purpose. A quick change of pace and burst of acceleration saw him skip past the defender. Correia shouted, raising an arm to tell the referee something but the referee didn¡¯t pay him any mind. Nico Williams got to the byline and delivered a sharp low cross into the box. In an unfortunate twist for Valencia, the ball ricocheted off Cenk¡¯s outstretched leg and spun into the bottom corner of Marmadashvilli¡¯s net. The own goal silenced the away crowd and ignited a wave of celebrations from the home supporters. The equalizer stunned Valencia, but before they could sulk any further, the referee blew his whistle. This drew the attention of the Bilbao fans and players who were wondering what the referee meant. After a few moments, the referee signalled that the ball had gone out of play before Nico Williams got to the byline. The reaction from the Valencia fans said it was all about their frustrations. The home fans looked at each other in confusion before one of the big boards around showed the referee¡¯s decision. The Bilbao fans couldn¡¯t help but feel disappointed after the referee¡¯s decision. After the goal was reversed, Correia approached the ball and threw it sharply as Valencia looked to threaten the Athletic Bilbao goal. The response was immediate. Just two minutes later, Izan darted down the right flank, leaving Athletic¡¯s Yuri Berchiche trailing in his wake. Izan¡¯s whipped cross into the box after he got to the byline found Hugo Duro, who unleashed a powerful header toward goal. However, Bilbao¡¯s goalkeeper, reacted with lightning reflexes to parry the ball away, earning applause even from opposing fans. As the half drew to a close, both teams traded blows in a frantic attempt to seize control before the break. Athletic¡¯s midfield duo of Mikel Vesga and Oihan Sancet tried to wrestle back momentum, while Valencia¡¯s Javi Guerra and Pepelu worked tirelessly to disrupt their rhythm. In the final minute of added time, Valencia nearly struck again. A quick counterattack saw Izan thread a precise through ball to Diego L¨®pez, who found himself in a one-on-one situation with Unai Sim¨®n. L¨®pez¡¯s shot, aimed low and hard, was spectacularly saved by Sim¨®n¡¯s outstretched leg, denying Valencia a crucial lead. After this, the referee¡¯s whistle brought an end to a breathless first half with the away team leading 2 to 1. As the players trudged off the pitch, the San Mam¨¦s crowd buzzed with anticipation. Athletic¡¯s head coach, Ernesto Valverde, greeted his players at the tunnel, a mix of encouragement and frustration on his face. He pulled Nico Williams aside for a quick word, gesturing toward the Valencia defence, perhaps offering tactical adjustments for the second half. In Valencia¡¯s camp, Rub¨¦n Baraja exuded calm confidence as he walked toward the dressing room. His assistant handed him a tablet, and the two began reviewing key moments from the first half. Valencia¡¯s players were in high spirits, energized by their lead and eager to regroup. ... In the stands, Athletic supporters exchanged animated discussions, some lamenting the defensive lapse that led to the 2nd goal of the visiting team. Valencia fans, clustered in one corner of the stadium, sang jubilantly, waving their orange-and-black scarves. Their team led at halftime, and that was reason enough for a celebration. Some fans couldn¡¯t help but talk about Izan¡¯s ingenuity in his passing, especially the pass that led to the second goal. While the adults engaged in heated discussions, the kids couldn¡¯t help but admire and imitate Izan¡¯s free kick, which almost gave them the lead. Back inside the dressing rooms, the coaches got to work. Valverde emphasized tightening the backline and leveraging Athletic¡¯s speed on the wings. The Athletic players nodded at their Coach¡¯s instructions. Inside the Valencia dressing room, Baraja subjected his players to a pep talk he urged his side to stay compact and strike quickly on the counter. Izan, who had been subjected to a lot of kicks during the first half, nodded at Baraja¡¯s words as he received a massage from one of the staff. "Thank you," Izan said after the staff was done. The latter nodded in appreciation and walked away. "Izan, a word," Baraja said after he saw Izan free. "Yes, Coach,", Izan said as he sat up. "How are you feeling?" Baraja asked after inspecting Izan with his eyes. He tried to find any signs of discomfort, and if he found any, he would take Izan off, but he didn¡¯t, so he resorted to asking. "No Coach. Aside from some bruises here and there, I¡¯m fine" Izan said respectfully. "Okay then, if you feel any pain or discomfort during the match, draw my attention and I¡¯ll take you off". "Anyway, we¡¯re leading, so don¡¯t rush into their encirclement too much, okay? Those grown men won¡¯t hesitate to hurt you if they deem you too troublesome, and believe me, they have their methods to do it and would only get away with a yellow card or being sent off at worst while you could get injured". Baraja said prompting a nod from Izan. "Okay, rest a bit,", Baraja said before leaving Izan alone. "I don¡¯t want to use the legend points as it would set me back when I¡¯m trying to upgrade the system, but I guess I¡¯ll have to buy that injury pill ", Izan thought as he sat down. After a while, the designated time for the halftime break passed. The players got out of their dressing rooms and walked towards the tunnel. As the players emerged from the tunnel, the atmosphere crackled with excitement. The fans showed their excitement in the way they cheered. The second half promised to be just as thrilling as the first. After the restart, Athletic Bilbao tried to equalize, but Valencia proved a tough nut to crack as all their players retreated to their half, save for Izan, Hugo and Pietro. Athletic Bilbao, however, kept knocking on Valencia¡¯s door. In the 54th minute, Berenguer threaded in a ball to the left flank which was met by a sharp cross into the box by Nico Williams. The cross aimed at Inaki Williams, who was making a run behind the defence, was cleared by the outstretched leg of Mosquera. The visiting fans lauded the defender with cheers for his well-timed clear. In the next minute, Athletic initiated another attack as Inaki Williams drove down the middle. With a subtle flick, Inaki sent the ball towards the right before dashing behind the Valencia defence. After getting in behind, Inaki received the ball back and poised himself to shoot. Before he could let the ball fly, a figure appeared in front of him. Izan, who had run back with the team, swept the ball,l, winning possession with a perfectly timed slide tackle. Izan quickly stood up and chased after the loose ball. With remarkable composure, he danced past two pressing Bilbao players, showcasing his impeccable ball control after winning the ball. Izan surged forward, weaving through midfield like a seasoned playmaker. Spotting space on the right, he executed a no-look pass to Thierry Correia, who sprinted down the wing. Correia delivered a sharp cross into the box, but Bilbao¡¯s defence deflected it. Unfazed, Izan picked up the loose ball just outside the area and, with dazzling footwork, evaded two defenders before lofting a pinpoint lob to Hugo Duro at the far post. The Valencia fans smiled hopefully while the sequence kept the Athletic fans on the edge of their seats. With the goalkeeper rushing forward, Duro timed his leap perfectly, meeting the ball mid-air with a powerful header into the top corner. The net rippled as San Mam¨¦s fell silent, save for the roaring Valencia fans. Izan¡¯s genius and Duro¡¯s clinical finish highlighted Valencia¡¯s unity and resilience, sealing their lead and cementing the young talent¡¯s rising status in world football. As Hugo Duro¡¯s header thundered into the top corner, the commentary box erupted with excitement: "What a goal! What an absolutely sensational piece of football from Valencia! And that young man, Izan, take a bow! S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "This is what makes Izan so special¡ªhis composure, his vision, and that breathtaking ability to unlock defences. He¡¯s only 15, but my word, he¡¯s playing like a seasoned pro!" Mikel Sorrento screamed. "Let¡¯s talk about that sequence Mikel. It all started with Izan winning the ball back in his half. The drive, the skill, the creativity to send Correia forward, and then to pick out Duro with that lob¡ªit¡¯s pure artistry!" Juan Ceballos said excitedly. "And let¡¯s not forget Hugo Duro¡¯s finish! A header like that takes impeccable timing and precision. But credit where it¡¯s due¡ªthis goal is Izan¡¯s masterpiece. He¡¯s showing us why the football world is raving about him." Mikel spoke. "Well If you weren¡¯t paying attention to Izan before, you¡¯ll certainly know his name now. Remember, this is against Athletic Bilbao at San Mam¨¦s. This kid has already delivered against Atl¨¦tico Madrid already and he is now delivering again". As the replay rolled, the crowd¡¯s cheers echoed, and the commentators marvelled again at Izan¡¯s brilliance, signalling a star¡¯s meteoric rise. A/n: Hey guys, have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Okay I have training so by now Chapter 112: A Little Bit Of System After the goal, Ruben Baraja subbed Izan off. Although a 2 goal lead was still fragile especially playing against a team like Athletic Bilbao at home, Ruben Baraja planned to defend with his soul. Izan, who was coming off, was met with a standing ovation from the away crowd. Although it wasn¡¯t as big as it would be if this was the Mestalla, Izan still enjoyed it. "Iiizaan! Iiizaan! Iiizaan!" The fans shouted, stretching his name a bit as he came off. This was a history-defying moment, as no player had received a standing ovation from any crowd at his age. Izan met Mark on the touchline and hugged the latter. "Defend well and I¡¯ll help you find a girlfriend?" Izan said playfully as he let go of Mark. As Mark¡¯s face came into view, Izan felt something different. A sense of determination brewing in the eyes of the Mark. "Oh, I think he took it seriously, ", Izan said as he approached Baraja. "Took what serious?" Baraja said with a smile as he hugged Izan. "I said I would help him find a girlfriend if he defended well". "Hahahaha, No I was wondering why his demeanour changed. Poor dog" Baraja said as he let go of Izan. "Anyways, you were unplayable today. Thank you" Baraja said, receiving a curt nod of acknowledgement from Izan as he walked towards the kit manager. "Thank you, Jorge" Izan said as he took the jacket. The kit manager smiled at Izan as he went to the bench. Receiving pats from his teammates, Izan sat down as joined them in watching the match. ..... "Hahahahaha" Izan joined his teammates in laughing as his teammates laughed at Pietro for his missed shot in the final minutes of the game. The Match had ended four goals to two in favour of Valencia. After Izan came off. Athletic opened up and started playing more fluidly. As the main source of danger, Izan had gotten off, and Ernesto Valverde attacked more without worrying about a sudden counter. This tactic was very good as it led to a goal. In the 67th minute, Nico Williams cut inside from the left and released a shot towards the far post. The shot from Nico Williams was unreachable even for someone of Marmadashvili¡¯s stature. After the goal, the Athletic fans confidently celebrated, thinking it was the start of a comeback but boy were they wrong. Pietro, who had turned prime Zidane, controlled the field as the Frenchman would do. He threaded dangerously long passes to his teammates while toying with opponent defences. His attacking run led to a corner kick that was ultimately struck into the net by Jose Gaya. After the latter scored, he ran towards his bench and pointed at Izan before making a crying gesture with his hands. "So immature," Izan said as he stood up and applauded the defender. The faces of the Athletic Bilbao fans sunk into despair as they conceded once more, and immediately after, they thought they were on to something. After the restart, the match dulled but a few attacking threats from both sides. One which led to Pietro coming face to face with Unai Simon but the former blasted the ball over the the crossbar. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. [Present] "Hmmph, you guys don¡¯t know anything. I was actually about to score, but then I saw a kid with cardboard in the stands saying he wanted the ball," Pietro said with his arms folded. "That¡¯s a bitch and weak-ass excuse," Cenk said with a smirk. "Ahem* Language", Ruben Baraja, who was at the front, said, looking at Izan. "Come on Coach, really, him? This kid you¡¯re worried about is tied on goals for the top scorer spot with Jude Bellingham, and he leads the assist charts by a margin of 3 assists, and you¡¯re worried about us saying a few cuss words" Cenk said in disbelief. As the words finally sank, some of the players couldn¡¯t help but stare at Izan. A few reserve players who heard this finally came to a realisation and even felt envious of his talent. Ruben Baraja, who saw this, smiled at them. "You guys do know that Izan was almost kicked out of our Academy right?" Baraja said receiving gasps of shock from most of his players, save a few who already knew. "Is the Academy that good?" Mosquera said in disbelief. "Is the Valencia academy teeming with players that are better than Izan? Then why am I playing" Corriera said with a nervous smile. "Don¡¯t kid yourself; if that was it, none of you would be on the team right now", Baraja said. "Well, except for Izan", Baraja added, looking at Izan like he found gold. The players rolled their eyes in indifference as Ruben Baraja fanned over Izan. "Ahem*, he was actually deemed not good enough and was almost dropped, but then after a couple of weeks not seeing him because of a break in the youth football Calender, Izan came back and impressed Oryazabal in training". "For those who don¡¯t know him, he used to play for Valencia and is now in charge of the u17s", Baraja explained. "Nothing changes overnight. The potential for Izan was there but he just needed something to unlock it and his was training. Training till he felt his legs go weak, and even then, he would still stand up with his hands. If anyone gets good, I won¡¯t care to throw them into the starting lineup" Baraja said before looking away. Izan looked on with his mouth open as he stared at Baraja. "Wow, did I really do that" Izan thought with a laugh, thinking of the details Baraja had exaggerated. The young players on the team, especially Sosa Herrera who had been with Izan and had watched his rise felt the words resonate. Izan looked at the fired-up players in shock. "A lot of hard work and a bit of system if you¡¯re untalented like me,", Izan thought as he smiled at his teammates. After a bit of banter, the players relaxed in their seats, some sleeping while others listened to some music. Izan and Sosa played some Fifa 23 on a portable game console he had bought before Izan made a mental note to buy the FC 24. He wanted to check his rating in the game but he won¡¯t be in the game unless he turns 16 in November. After turning 16, he would be eligible, but not before a title update was in order. ..... The media storm surrounding Izan reached new heights after his dazzling performance against Athletic Bilbao. The young prodigy showcased his vision and precision, assisting three goals in a thrilling 4-2 victory. Headlines from major sports outlets across Europe hailed him as a "generational talent," while social media buzzed with fans dissecting his every pass. At home in Valencia, Izan tried to stay grounded. Komi, his mom, kept the household calm despite a few reporters camped outside their modest home, hoping for a glimpse or comment from the rising star. Meanwhile, Hori, his sister, teased him endlessly about his newfound fame. "Should we start looking for a new house with good security"? Izan thought as he watched the scene in front of him. After a while, the doorbell rang. Izan came down and walked towards the door before looking at the monitor beside it. He saw Miranda standing behind him and quickly opened it. "Izan a few questions". "What club are you movi-" *BANG* Izan shut the door. "Hello, generational genius,", Miranda said before walking towards the couch. Izan rolled his eyes and followed her. Carrying a sleek briefcase and an air of importance, Komi and her kids watched her as she went about her things. Sitting at the dining table with Komi and Izan, Miranda laid out her plans. "First off, congratulations again, Izan," she began. "That performance against Bilbao has opened doors we didn¡¯t anticipate this early. Several major brands are interested in sponsorship deals. This time a few clothing brands in the mix." Izan blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. "Sponsorships? Again?". Miranda nodded. "It¡¯s no small thing, Izan. These brands want to align themselves with your image¡ªtalent, humility, and potential. But you have to be careful about which partnerships you choose. They¡¯ll shape your public identity as much as your game does." Komi looked concerned. "And how do we make sure this doesn¡¯t distract him from his studies or football?" "Good question," Miranda replied. "We¡¯ll focus on deals that require minimal time commitments from Izan. Things like brand endorsements, where he only needs to appear for a shoot or wear their gear during games. We¡¯ve already got Adidas so the clothing brands which just require a photoshoot and some collaboration with other figures will do. I¡¯ll handle the logistics." As they discussed further, Miranda made it clear she had Izan¡¯s best interests at heart. "Your football comes first," she said firmly. "No deal is worth jeopardizing that." By the end of the evening, Izan felt a quarter as excited as Hori who was moving about. To him, the world was moving fast around him, but with Miranda and his family by his side, he knew he was in good hands. As Miranda left, she turned to Izan. "Rest up, kid. The world¡¯s watching, and you¡¯ve got more magic to deliver on the pitch." "Especially with some matches coming up," she said before walking to the kitchen with Komi. A/n: Have fun guys. I came back tired so I couldn¡¯t release any additional chapter. I wanted to have some chapters in stock but I get sidetracked by a lot of things. Watching YouTube, lying on the couch, contemplating life, you know the usual. Anyways gifts= Bonus chapters Golden tickets= Bonus chapters. Feeling Good day= Bonus chapter Birthday= Bonus chapter. Love you¡¯ll. Sorry guys but I¡¯m having trouble with the privilege tier right now. Any suggestions. Chapter 113: Young Leader "Okay, guys, we¡¯ll be having a mock test next week, and I hope you are prepared", a deep male voice said. "Uhhhhhh" a student groaned. "Mock test? We are only three weeks into this semester, and there¡¯s already a mock test," another student quipped. "I can¡¯t take this anymore. I might actually quit school and work at a stripper bar" the previous student spoke again. "Dude, you¡¯re a guy", his friend said. "Won¡¯t matter though. Some people will probably have it easy," the student said, looking in the direction of a boy who sat with his phone in hand. ..... "Hey Izan, you prepared," Sosa said as he sat beside Izan. Izan glanced up and spoke, "We haven¡¯t learned much. The teacher just said a mock test probably to scare you. It won¡¯t be that hard" Izan said. Izan and Sosa spoke for a while as the teacher gathered his notes and left the class. "Wanna head to training together," Sosa said as he picked up his bag. "Sure," Izan said, standing up. With their bags slung over their shoulder, Izan and Sosa headed out after the bell rang. "We have a Copa del Rey match in a bit. Try to impress the Coach in training and get some game time" Izan said as the duo rode their bikes. "I¡¯ll try, but not everyone is a "generational talent" like you", Sosa said with a cheeky smile, referring to a headline in a newspaper. Izan smiled slightly as he heard Sosa¡¯s words. Both players rode in silence as they headed towards the Cuidad Deportiva de Paterna. "Good day, Mr. Pas" Izan and Sosa greeted the security guard at the entrance of the training complex. The guard smiled and responded before letting the two in. "I can¡¯t wait to drive," Izan said as he rode the bike. "You will have to wait at least 2 years for that," Sosa said with a smirk. "Relish in it while it lasts. 2 years is not that long, and I think I can actually apply for it earlier if I leave Valencia", Izan causally said. Sosa¡¯s face became somewhat sad after Izan spoke. He knew that a few clubs had come knocking on Valencia¡¯s door for Izan despite scepticism earlier. It was only a matter of time before a big team swooped in for Izan. Izan noticed his expression and smiled. "By then, you would have cemented your place in the squad and would have a big few offers,", Izan said playfully. Hearing Izan¡¯s words Sosa smiled as the duo rode for a hit in silence. Reaching the field, the duo changed into their training kits. After entering the training pitch, Izan and Sosa saw a few young players, as well as substitutes on the pitch, warming up. Izan and Sosa looked at each other, stunned at what they were seeing. "Guess we¡¯ll have to up our game,", Izan said to Sosa after the theatre had agreed to train with Izan. No sooner had they entered the pitch when Pietro arrived. "Wow, you guys really want to get rid of the old guys," Pietro said including himself in the old guy criteria. "Leave this dummy alone, and let¡¯s train", Izan said to a few players, including Sosa, after he got near them. The players nodded following Izan¡¯s suggestions as they participated in some rondo sessions. The young players hadn¡¯t recognised it themselves but Izan had become something akin to a leader to them. In this session, Izan played quick passes, displaying his skill. A few players approached him and asked how he did it after seeing him effortlessly evade even difficult circumstances. Izan took time and explained a few things to them, knowing it wasn¡¯t hard for these older players to come to someone younger than them like him for advice. The effect of Izan¡¯s advice wasn¡¯t immediate, but a few players seemed to be emulating it. It wasn¡¯t as good as Izan did it but it was there. The player in the circle had a hard time taking the ball after Izan¡¯s suggestion to release the ball quickly and finding ways to deceive the opponent with just your legs. Coach Baraja and Moreno watched the scene silently from afar, smiling as he watched Izan teach his mates. "Turns out he¡¯s also a natural-born leader,", Baraja thought as he looked at Izan. .... After a quarter of an hour passed, the rest of the remaining players arrived. Ruben Baraja, together with his Coaching staff, approached. As the players saw the multitude of bald men, save for a few approaching, they recognised what day it was. The younger players who had already trained a hit sighed in acceptance. "Some of them were going to die today". Ruben Baraja, together with his staff, put the players through the wringer. The players were left gasping for air as they participated in the training. "No more. No more Coach. Please, I¡¯m begging you," Pietro said, falling to the ground and holding Baraja¡¯s ankle. The players, who were all dying from exhaustion, laughed at the scene unfolding. "Okay, I guess this is enough," Baraja said. "I wouldn¡¯t want anyone to get injured by pushing too hard", his actual thoughts said. After ending the session, the players poured into the recovery rooms while Izan headed to the gym. He had been training to improve his leg strength the previous weeks and was doing really well. "So how do we do this," Sosa said as he sat beside Izan. Izan, who was setting up the machine, looked at Sosa with concern. "What? I thought you said we should train together," Sosa said, sparking a smile from Izan. "Well, all I have to say is that your efforts won¡¯t fail you", the latter said. "Well then, let me join you", Pietro, who suddenly appeared, said. The trio trained in silence for a while. As they were training, a thought flashed in Izan¡¯s mind. "It¡¯s been a while since I checked anyone¡¯s stat,", Izan said as he looked at Sosa and Pietro. "Max, activate the snooping function," Izan said. ¡¯Ding [snooping function activated]. [Two targets identified] *Pietro Luis Cava *Sosa Herrera "Select Pietro," Izan thought as he focused on his training. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME:[PIETRO LUIS CAVA] AGE:[20] HEIGHT:[1.87m(6¡¯16)] PROFESSION:[FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[Senior team Player] TEAM: Valencia Cf SYSTEM EVALUATION: [Solid player. Could be more] PLAYER RATING:[77/100] POSITION:[Attacking/central midfielder] POTENTIAL:[89] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed:75 Body control:79 Spatial awareness: 84 Technique: 77 Shooting:75 Passing: 83 Body strength:76 Defending: 68 Weak foot strength: 4 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers Lv 2: 57% Completion Cruyff turn Lv 2: 30% Completion Traits ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Izan looked at Pietro¡¯s stats and smiled. He had grown in four Overall ratings since the last time he checked and his potential had gone up by one rating. Although it didn¡¯t seem big, it meant the threshold for Pietro¡¯s prime or peak had increased. "Hmmph, Incitor" Izan said as he looked at the new trait. Clicking on it, a new set of information appeared. "This could be really helpful in earning an extra man advantage for the team. A trash talker. Nothing less of Pietro" Izan said. "Did you say something?" Pietro asked Izan, who shook his head. : 10% chance of proving the opponent. [Has stack effect]. Izan read the description briefly before opening Sosa¡¯s hub. PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: SOS¨¢ HERRERA AGE:18 Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. HEIGHT:1.84m(6¡¯1) PROFESSION: FOOTBALLER STATUS: [Senior Team Substitute] SYSTEM EVALUATION:[A budding player] TEAM: [Valencia CF] PLAYER RATING:[74/100] Position:[ Central midfielder] Potential:[86] STATS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Pace:77 Body control:75 Spatial awareness: 72 Technique: 77 Shooting:80 Passing: 79 Body strength:67 Defending: 72 Weak foot strength: 3 stars Skill move :3 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Flip flap Lv 2:99% Completion Roulette Lv 2: 70%Completion Ronaldo chops Lv 3:10% Completion Trait ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : Organises attacks and defence with a 20% ball win rate. : 50% chance of repeating a good long ball. As Izan stared at Sosa¡¯s stats, he couldn¡¯t help but smile." These could really help the team when utilised well" Izan muttered as he thought about the stats of both players. Without realising, the trio had trained for a while. After stopping, they headed towards the recovery room which had freed up a bit and underwent their sessions. After entering the locker room, the trio quickly found it empty except for a few players who were dressing up. Izan, together with Pietro and Sosa went for their showers before coming back out and dressing. ..... "Bye, Mr. Pas", Izan said as the trio exited the Complex. After talking with Izan and Sosa for a while, Pietro went to the car park and took out his car. "See you guys on Friday" Pietro said before he revved his car. Izan and Sosa stared at him as the latter drove off. Izan and Sosa also rode their bikes and conversed along the way before splitting up at a junction with each player heading his way. Chapter 114: Training Before Matchday After arriving home, Izan took another bath before taking a nap. With Komi said to arrive late, Izan joined hands with his sister who had arrived earlier and cooked something for themselves. As both siblings waited for their mother, they sat on the couch and watched some shows. After a while, the front door unlocked, revealing Komi in an office attire. "Sorry I¡¯m late" Komi apologised before entering. After entering, Komi went upstairs and changed before coming down. "Wait you cooked?" Komi said in a loud voice as she entered the kitchen. "Of course we did. Do you think we are that hopeless" Hori said proudly. "Aaaawwwww, my babies," Komi said as she wiped an invisible tear from her eye. After eating some of the cooked dinner, Komi informed Izan about the clothing offers which were still on the table. Izan nodded before calling Miranda to talk about the details. Komi watched Izan as he went about his business maturely. "Now I¡¯ve only got this one to worry about, and she isn¡¯t that troublesome", Komi said as she looked at Hori, who had her heading her sketchpad. "Ahhhhh" Hori threw away her sketchpad after making a mistake. Komi smiled wryly and muttered, " I should keep an eye on her". ... As the days passed, the clash with Cadiz at the Mestalla approached. Training was now more fun as both the young players on the teams, as well as the reserve and substitute, were giving it their all. "Well, I¡¯ll try them in the Copa del Rey game,", Baraja thought as he looked at the players. Sosa Herrera, who had been training with Izan, began showing potential more and more. Baraja already knew of his ability, and that was why he called him up, but Sosa was showing something more. Thinking about the latter¡¯s recent training with Izan, Baraja couldn¡¯t help but smile and think about Izan¡¯s influence on the young players. After the session, Coach Baraja, followed by the players, went to the conference room and talked tactics, watching videos and discussing any visible weakness that the opponent showed. With the match with Cadiz looming, they had to be quick about things. "Ok guys, tomorrow¡¯s session will be light as always. We would like to avoid any injuries wouldn¡¯t we?" Baraja said in a teasing tone. He looked at Izan as he said this, mainly because Izan had returned to the pitch for some more training after their session was done sometime before. Izan smiled slightly at Coach Baraja¡¯s words as he continued to talk about the arrangements for the match. ... "Hey Izan", Izan heard his name from behind. Looking behind, he found Mark approaching. Mark, after getting to where Izan was, looked at Sosa. Sosa understood the assignment and rode his bike around waiting for the two to finish. "You know about that thing when you were subbed out?" Mark said, a bit nervous. "What thing?" Izan, who was genuinely confused after Mark started speaking, asked back. "Oh, then it¡¯s nothing," Mark said as he tried to get away. Izan, who saw him going, finally understood what Mark meant. "Hey Mark, if you find somebody you like, come let¡¯s talk," Izan said as Mark was leaving. Mark turned back in slight surprise and smiled at Izan before slipping away. "Haaahh, " Izan who had decided to play matchmaker sighed. "It won¡¯t be hard to find a girlfriend for him since he¡¯s a very good young player with a bit of money, but it will not be easy to find a very good person who truly cares about him," Izan thought. "Worst comes to worst, I¡¯ll just delegate him to Diego L¨®pez. That guy looks like he was way more experienced". Izan sat on his bike and rode towards Sossa who seemed to be texting someone on the phone. "I¡¯m done," Izan said as he got near him. Sosa nodded before putting his phone inside his bag. "Still about the girlfriend thing?" Sosa said, surprising Izan. "Don¡¯t be surprised, he came to me first before coming to you". "Well, what did you tell him?" Izan asked. Sosa looked at him and shook his head. "I didn¡¯t tell him anything. I don¡¯t have much experience with girls even though I have a girlfriend. Isan ended his talk with Sosa after this before riding away. Sosa followed suit as the two players rode in silence. ... Friday¡¯s training session quickly came as the Valencia team prepared for their match with Cadiz. The training ground buzzed with anticipation as Valencia prepared for their upcoming match against C¨¢diz. The players moved through drills with focus, but Izan stood out, his energy electrifying the session. Every touch, pass, and sprint seemed sharper than usual as if he were a step ahead of everyone else. His stamina drew a lot of attention, too, as he showed no signs of getting tired. After a while, Ruben Baraja set up a scrimmage of the players. During a small-sided game, Izan received the ball near the halfway line. His first touch was immaculate, taking the ball away from an onrushing defender. With a burst of pace, he weaved through two more players, leaving them flat-footed before slotting the ball past the keeper. The goal was so clinical that even the coaching staff applauded. "We¡¯ve really got something on our hands," one of the Coaches said. "Keep doing that on matchday, Izan," Ruben Baraja called out with a grin. "But maybe give our defenders a break during training." The team chuckled, though Dimitri Foulquier, the veteran right-back, wasn¡¯t laughing. "Kid, you¡¯re making me look bad out here," he said, hands on his hips. "Don¡¯t worry, Dimi, " Izan replied, smirking. "You¡¯re still the king of headers." "Anyways, welcome back,", Izan said to Dmitri. The defender had been injured since the end of last season and had only fully recovered now. Dimitri nodded as he walked away. The banter fueled the intensity, and Izan thrived on it. In a pressing drill, he outpaced two teammates to intercept a pass, then immediately threaded a through-ball to Hugo, splitting the defence. Hugo turned and clapped. "You¡¯ve got eyes in the back of your head, Izan! Unreal!" "Just keeping you on your toes," Izan shot back with a grin, his confidence infectious. As training shifted to set-piece practice, Izan¡¯s technique shone again. From a tight angle, he curled a free kick into the top corner, the ball kissing the underside of the crossbar on its way in. The goalkeeper could only shake his head. "You know, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever want to meet you as an opponent. I¡¯ve been traumatised since our match with Spain," Marmadashvili said, causing a wave of laughter to erupt. "Especially when you¡¯re all grown up" Marmadashvili added. The wave of laughter died down while the players looked at Izan. "His talent really is envious. It makes me not want to grow. I want to play alongside him for a while," Dimitri said as he stood beside Gaya. "He¡¯s a good kid, too," Gaya spoke as he laced his boots. "Let¡¯s hope he can love football for a long time" Gaya said as he looked at Izan. "That¡¯s enough for today," Ruben Baraja announced, his voice tinged with approval. He kept nodding at the players before walking away. He walked over to Izan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You¡¯re in a good rhythm, kid. But remember, C¨¢diz won¡¯t give you this much space." Izan nodded, his expression focused. "I¡¯ll be ready, coach." As the session ended, Sosa and Pietro jogged over, with the latter tossing an arm around Izan. "You¡¯re almost getting as good as me," Pietro said with a smug expression. "You wish you were as good as me," Izan said with a laugh. "Anyways, I think I¡¯m going to get to play against Cadiz," Sosa said excitedly. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Good for you, but don¡¯t be sure, alright. If the Coach hasn¡¯t announced the lineups yet, then don¡¯t be certain" Pietro said. "This is the best wisdom you¡¯ve spoken today", Izan said, eliciting a smile from Sosa. "Alright, but get ready, though. This might be it" Izan said. Sosa¡¯s demeanour changed into that of a serious person. "Not so serious though," Izan said with a little laugh. "And this is just training. The real work starts on the pitch." Sosa nodded sensing the fire within him. He was more than ready. After a bit of roaming, Izan and Sosa left Pietro and rode home as usual. After arriving home, Izan went through a set of recovery exercises before taking another bath. After that, Izan drank a few recovery pills before going down for dinner. Komi had arrived early that day and was already done with dinner. At dinner, Hori and Komi asked Izan a few questions about the match tomorrow. Izan explained a bit to them before remembering about the tickets. "I should have asked for the tickets" Izan said with a sigh. "Don¡¯t worry. I had a feeling you¡¯d forget with all that was going on, so I bought it with Mom¡¯s card", Hori said. Komi didn¡¯t know how to react. Should she be happy that her daughter was thoughtful or be shocked about how her daughter knew her credit card PIN? "Remember I asked you about your favourite numbers a while ago" Hori decided to clarify after seeing Komi¡¯s face. Komi nodded before urging Hori to continue. "Well, I did, and I found a pattern, and the numbers seemed familiar. So I took a slight guess and found it to be the day you probably moved to Spain since you¡¯ve already told me about it," Hori said before adding, "You should probably change it". "You scammer," Komi said as Hori and Izan laughed. She took her phone to change it after being angry for a bit. "Change your laptop password while you¡¯re at it" Hori spoke again. This time Komi chased after her. Izan just sat down and watched the whole thing with a smile. A/n: Guys, I made a mistake with the Privilege tier pricing. I¡¯m really sorry about that but they said I can¡¯t change it until next month. So I had to create a new tier with more chapters but same pricing as the one I made a mistake in. Sorry about this and if you have any knowledge on how to change it, I¡¯d be thankful Chapter 115: Stunned. The bustling city of Valencia hummed with excitement as the Mestalla Stadium stood majestically under the late afternoon sun, its orange and black facade gleaming. Fans clad in Valencia CF jerseys swarmed the streets, chanting club anthems and waving scarves as they converged on the arena. The atmosphere was electric¡ªa mix of anticipation and pride. Luxury team buses rolled into the players¡¯ entrance, greeted by a sea of supporters. Security teams managed the crowd as flashes from camera phones illuminated the scene. Players emerged one by one, each greeted by a chorus of cheers. Veteran stars like Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ and Andr¨¦ Almeida received rousing welcomes, their focused expressions never faltering. The murmurs grew louder as Izan stepped out of the Valencia bus, his youthful and stunning face a picture of calm confidence. Dressed sharply in a tailored navy suit with the Valencia crest on the chest, he exuded an air of maturity beyond his years. His shoulder-length hair caught the light as he adjusted his tie, offering a subtle wave to the adoring fans. A cluster of cameras and reporters gravitated toward him, shouting questions about his meteoric rise and his thoughts on the match against C¨¢diz. Izan looked at Gaya, trying to gauge his reaction, but Gaya just smiled and went. Izan took it as a sign that he could continue. Izan talked a bit with them, offering insights about the team¡¯s atmosphere and Morale. After a bit more questioning, Izan offered a polite smile, briefly acknowledging the attention before walking away. His sister Hori and mother Komi, arriving separately, watched proudly from a quieter corner. Komi, holding her phone, captured the moment, while Hori waved at her brother, knowing his mind was already in the game. Inside the stadium, the air was thick with preparation. Players exchanged greetings, some sharing brief handshakes with opponents from C¨¢diz who had also just arrived. The locker room buzzed with activity as Izan slipped into his kit, pulling on the iconic black and white jersey that bore his name and number. His mind replayed tactics and visualized his movements on the pitch. The countdown to kickoff was on. Outside, fans filled the stands, chanting louder, while inside, Izan laced his boots, ready to make another statement in his rising career. ... "Welcome to what promises to be an electrifying clash at the Mestalla as Valencia takes on C¨¢diz in this evening¡¯s La Liga fixture. Both teams are hungry for points, and with the stakes rising in the league standings, the atmosphere here is nothing short of electric. It¡¯s Valencia going against Cadiz here at the beautiful Mestalla Stadium. You can hear the home crowd chant his name as of now. The name their chanting is one with the spotlight on him right now. The spotlight, of course, is on Valencia¡¯s rising superstar, Izan. The 15-year-old prodigy is making headlines across the footballing world, and for good reason. In their last outing against Athletic Bilbao, Izan delivered a sensational performance, bagging a hat-trick of assists in a 4-2 victory. His vision, precision, and composure under pressure were simply extraordinary. Each assist was a masterpiece in its own right¡ªa perfectly weighted through ball, a clever flick in tight spaces, and a pinpoint cross that left defenders scrambling. At just 15, Izan is showing maturity far beyond his years. His ability to read the game, dictate the tempo, and create opportunities for his teammates has made him Valencia¡¯s key playmaker. Fans are already comparing him to some of the game¡¯s all-time greats, and tonight, all eyes will be on him to see if he can continue this dazzling form. Playing Away today, C¨¢diz, on the other hand, will be looking to nullify Izan¡¯s influence. Their defensive setup will likely target cutting off his supply lines and pressing him aggressively. The question is: can they contain the wonderkid? We¡¯ve all seen how Izan reacts to being marked and out of all those circumstances, it didn¡¯t end well for the opposing team. Let¡¯s see if he can replicate his ingenuity. Off to you, Mikel"Juan said as he handed the floor over to his Co-commentator, Mikel. "Thanks, Juan. Valencia manager Rub¨¦n Baraja has heaped praise on Izan, describing him as "a generational talent who thrives on the big stage." With the Mestalla faithful behind him, Izan will be eager to add to his growing legend. C¨¢diz will need to be at their very best to stifle this young maestro, or they risk being on the receiving end of another footballing clinic. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Kickoff is just moments away, and we can¡¯t wait to see how this unfolds. Will Izan light up the Mestalla once again, or will C¨¢diz find a way to stop him? Stay tuned¡ªthis is going to be a good one!" Mikel said sharply. As Izan stood in the dressing room, he could feel the intensity. "The crowd is rowdy today," Gaya said as he put on his armband. "Well, they came for a show", Izan said. "Then let¡¯s give them one" Gaya said as the players huddled together. "Okay guys, composure, keep calm and play to your heart¡¯s content", Baraja said, receiving nods from the players. "And lastly", he said, leaving a bit of suspense, "Don¡¯t forget to pass to Izan". Baraja¡¯s words caused the players to laugh a bit. Some of the nervousness in the team was also released. "Okay, Vamos Valencia," Baraja said as the players roared in response. After exiting the dressing room, the Valencia players approached the tunnel where they found their opponents already in line. The Valencia players, led by Gaya also formed their line. After a few moments, the match officials came. Led by the officials, the players stepped onto the field. Met by a barrage of cheers and roars from both the home and away crowd, the players lined up. After a while, the referee got the pleasantries out of the way. C¨¢diz¡¯s striker, Ramoa Chris stood over the ball as the referee approached. Looking at his watch, the referee waited for a bit before blowing his whistle. ..... "And we are off as Ramos passes back. Cadiz quickly transitioned into an attacking setup as they approached Valencia. Oh No! This could spell trouble for Valencia" As the commentator kept talking, C¨¢diz Kouame sent a long ball towards Maximiliano Gomez, a new addition on loan from Trabzonspor in the Turkish league. Cenk Ozkacar jumped up together with Gomez but the latter flicked the ball behind the defender with his head before going around Cenk. The ball went a bit wide but Gomez got to it before it could go out of bounds. With quick feet, Gomez got rid of Cenk. Spotting a run into the box, the forward delivered a low-driven cross to the penalty spot. Valencia¡¯s defenders were caught flat-footed, while C¨¢diz¡¯s striker, Ramos Chris perfectly positioned, struck the ball with his right foot, sending it past the diving goalkeeper into the bottom corner. The crowd erupted as C¨¢diz celebrated an explosive start to the game. The home fans looked on in disbelief. "What the f*** just happened?" some thought. " GOOAAAAAALLLLLL. Cadiz have stunned Valencia in the first minute of the game. Nobody expected this, especially with Valencia playing at home. Hell, even the Cadiz Coach is shocked. A beautiful long ball by Kouame and a flick of the ball with Gomez¡¯s header set Valencia up for ruin. First minute of the game here at the Mestalla. Cadiz 1, Valencia nil" Izan stood there with a wry smile on his face. "Guess they came prepared" Izan thought as he watched Cadiz celebrate. After a while, the Cadiz players returned to their own half. The home fans who were silent for a while recovered and started with their chants. The attitude of the home fans motivated the players. The fans had watched them win away. It was obvious that they didn¡¯t come today to watch them falter at home. After the restart, Valencia began eagerly pushing for an equalizer. They wanted to strike early before the away team settled into their stride. Izan, the centre of all of Valencia¡¯s attacking strength, was fouled here and there, but that didn¡¯t dim the light in his play as he continued playing exquisite long passes even after falling to the ground. In just 15 minutes, the Cadiz team had incurred 3 yellow cards. Their Coach was now thinking about substitutions at half-time. In the 17th minute, Javi Guerra dispossessed Maximiliano Gomez, who was getting too comfortable with his flashy antics. Izan reacted quickly after seeing this and approached Guerra for the ball. As Izan approached the latter, he made a signal with his hand. Javi, who understood what Izan meant waited as Izan drew the attention of a few players. Diego L¨®pez made a run after spotting the interaction between Izan and Guerra. With a thump, Guerra sent a through ball to Diego L¨®pez who evaded a tackle before releasing the ball to his right. The stadium watched as Izan, who had broken free from his markers, took the ball. With a sudden drop of his left shoulder, Izan evaded the oncoming challenge. Izan dribbled forward with the ball and showed no signs of slowing down. As Izan got near the arc of the box, he saw a sliding tackle come out from his blind spot. "Shit," Izan said as he rolled the ball to his left before jumping. The tackle still caught him in the air as his jump wasn¡¯t early enough. The Mestalla erupted into boos and angry chants after seeing the tackle. The referee also blew his whistle as he approached the scene before pointing to the spot. The Cadiz defender tried to debate, but the referee, who had seen the tackle firsthand and had also consulted with the video room referees, still gave the penalty. Gaya approached Izan with the ball but Izan shook his head. Gaya understood what he meant and threw the ball to Hugo Duro. Hugo Duro set the ball down as he came into a staredown with the keeper. The whole stadium watched as the referee finished with his arrangements. ¡¯Fweeeee¡¯, the referee blew his whistle, and Hugo advanced towards the ball. The home fans looked on nervously as Hugo approached the ball. With a confident shot, Hugo sent the keeper the wrong way as he smacked the ball into the bottom left corner. A/n: Chapter of the day. Have fun reading. I¡¯ll see you with another one if I can. Love y¡¯all and thanks for the support Chapter 116: Stunned [2]: Again The commentator¡¯s voice rose with anticipation as Hugo Duro stepped up to the penalty spot. The tension in the stadium was palpable, the crowd¡¯s murmurs swelling into a collective roar. "Hugo Duro, calm as ever, places the ball... This is a moment of pure pressure. Can he deliver? The whistle blows... Duro steps up... AND HE SCORES! Straight into the bottom left corner! Unstoppable! What a finish from Hugo Duro!" The stadium erupted. Fans leapt from their seats, waving scarves and flags in jubilation. The camera panned to Duro sprinting toward the corner flag, fists clenched, face alight with emotion. His teammates, led by Izan, rushed to join him. Izan wrapped an arm around Duro, shouting in his ear, his grin as wide as the pitch. "Look at that team spirit! Izan and the boys swarming Hugo Duro¡ªthis is what football is all about!" The celebrations spilt toward the stands, where fans leaned over the barriers, arms outstretched. Duro reached up, tapping hands with the nearest supporters, sharing the moment with the people who lived for nights like this. Izan followed suit, clapping the crowd and nodding in appreciation. "The connection between the players and fans is electric tonight! Hugo Duro with the ice-cold penalty, and now they¡¯re celebrating together. What a spectacle!" The noise reached a fever pitch as the players jogged back to their half, the fans still chanting Duro¡¯s name, the rhythm of the game momentarily forgotten in the wake of such a dramatic goal. .... [In the stands] The chatter among fans in the stadium and across social media was electric, buzzing with excitement about Hugo Duro and Izan¡¯s incredible form in the league. At a bustling caf¨¦ near the stadium, a group of supporters huddled over their drinks, debating passionately. "Can you believe it? Hugo Duro and Izan are unstoppable right now! Duro¡¯s got that killer instinct and Izan? The kid¡¯s a prodigy!" one fan exclaimed, slapping the table for emphasis. "Right? And to think Izan is just 16! Matching Bellingham¡¯s numbers, who is on fire this season is no joke," another chimed in, scrolling through stats on their phone. At the stadium, fans in jerseys with Duro¡¯s and Izan¡¯s names proudly displayed were deep in discussion. "You see that link-up play last week? Izan¡¯s assist for Duro was pure class. They¡¯re like a dream duo," one supporter said, gesturing animatedly. "Forget just being great this season¡ªthey¡¯re making history," added another. "And don¡¯t sleep on Izan¡¯s potential. If he¡¯s doing this now, imagine what he¡¯ll be like in a few years!" Online forums were ablaze, with one trending comment reading: "Hugo Duro leading the charge, Izan redefining what it means to be a young talent, and now with this goal, Hugo Duro joins Izan and Jude Bellingham for the top scorer spot? This is football heaven!" The fans¡¯ passion was undeniable. Whether in the stands, caf¨¦s, or online spaces, one thing was clear: Duro and Izan weren¡¯t just players¡ªthey were the heartbeat of the league¡¯s most exciting narrative. ... "Eighteen minutes played folks, and it Valencia 1, Cadiz 1"the commentator said. After celebrating, Izan and Duro joined the rest of their teammates on their half of the pitch. Following this, the referee blew his whistle and restarted the match. Following the restart, C¨¢diz played cautiously. Sensing the imminent danger Valencia, particularly Izan posed on the counter, they avoided any risky passes as well as moving too high up the pitch. As much as they wanted to follow this plan, they couldn¡¯t as playing with a high offensive line was akin to breathing to them. They couldn¡¯t just change it. This led to a few problems. In the 24th minute, Izan received the ball just past the halfway line. With a quick turn, he left his marker flat-footed and surged down the left flank switching with Diego L¨®pez in the process. His pace was electric, and the defenders scrambled to catch him. Reaching the edge of the box, Izan cut inside on his right foot, evading two more defenders. The defenders were tensed and focused as they watched out for anything that could come from Izan. With a snapshot aiming for the far post, Izan unleashed the ball forcing the Cadiz¡¯s goalkeeper into a desperate dive, parrying the ball wide. The crowd roared as Valencia earned a corner from Izan¡¯s fearless drive. "That shot was travelling. The tables have turned here as Valencia keeps knocking on the door of Cadiz" Izan rushed towards the corner flag before taking a short corner with the aid of Gaya. Following the return pass from Gaya, Izan curled a cross into the box, but the header from Cenk Ozkacar went straight at the keeper. The Valencia fans sighed but roared in appreciation at their team¡¯s attacking prowess. In the 30th minute, Izan drifted wide to the right, linking up with Valencia¡¯s right-back in a neat one-two that split the Cadiz defence. Sprinting to the byline, Izan whipped in a curling cross to the near post. Hugo Duro met it with a glancing header, but the Cadiz keeper reacted brilliantly, tipping it over the bar. Another corner for Valencia, and another demonstration of Izan¡¯s creative spark. The away fans were in disbelief at how easily their team was being suppressed. After their goal, their team had been almost nonexistent in the match. Valencia kept knocking and knocking until a chance came. The 37th minute showcased Izan¡¯s vision and movement. After Gaya got the ball, he released it into space which was near Izan. Picking up the ball in midfield, Izan exchanged a rapid give-and-go with Javi Guerra and L¨®pez, slicing through Cadiz¡¯s defensive lines. After getting the ball again, Izan wormed his way through 2 opponent players who were trying to encroach on his space. As he charged into the box, Izan unleashed a low, powerful shot aimed at the bottom corner. The home fans looked on in excitement but the goalkeeper stretched to his limits, barely getting a fingertip on it to send the ball out for a corner. After the shot, Izan smiled slightly as the home fans applauded him for the effort. To the away fans, Izan¡¯s hunger for a goal was evident, and their defence was struggling to contain him. Gaya, who was near the ball, went to the corner flag and delivered the ball this time, but what was an opportunity soon turned into a nightmare. After sending the ball in, the Cadiz goalkeeper rushed out and pushed the ball out. In an ensuing battle for the loose ball, Javu Guerra saw the ball hit the ground and bounce over him. The hearts of the Valencia fans sank at this moment. Kouame who had been silent like the whole Cadiz¡¯s team after their first goal controlled the ball and began running with it. Chaos ensued as the Valencia defence scrambled to catch him. Izan, who was probably the fastest player on the team, also gave chase, but he was too far away. Still he managed to close the gap between them but Kouane had already powered through the ball. The shot from him whistled through the air like a missile. In that moment the whole stadium, watched on as the ball hit the net like it had a grudge to satisfy. "GOOOAAAALLL. Cadiz has turned defence into attack. What a missle from Kouame. Valencia had kept knocking and knocking but in the end, it was the opponent who got the chance to score. What a shot from Kouame once more. Ladies and Gentlemen, Valencia are stunned once more here at the Mestalla. Its Cadiz 2, Valencia 1" Ruben Baraja, who stood on the touchline, facepalmed himself after Cadiz scored. The Cadiz fans, on the other hand, felt relieved. Their team, which had been on the receiving end of a relentless barrage of attacks, had suddenly scored. Seeing the scoreline change finally brought them relief. The same couldn¡¯t be said for the opposing Valencia fans, who looked on at the Cadiz players with shocked expressions. After a while, they finally stopped staring at the celebrating opponents and started cheering for their players. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The chants from the fans riled up the players as they quickly took the ball out of the net while waiting for the Cadiz players to finish Celebrating. After the restart, Valencia attacked relentlessly but this time, a good number of players stayed back. This though, didn¡¯t make their attack any less threatening [In the Away stands] The Cadiz fans watched Izan with a mix of admiration and scepticism, their voices a blend of cheers and jeers. From the stands of the Mestalla, they couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge the teenager¡¯s skill. "He¡¯s got talent, no doubt," one fan muttered, leaning on the railing. "But he¡¯s too cocky for his age. Always trying to do everything himself." Another fan, dressed in yellow and blue, nodded. "True, but did you see that dribble? He danced past three of our defenders like they weren¡¯t even there." A group behind them chimed in, alternating between critique and awe. "He¡¯s all flash. Wait till he comes up against a real defence; then, we¡¯ll see if he¡¯s the real deal!" "Come on, even though he¡¯s not our player, give credit where it¡¯s due. He scored a hat-trick against Atl¨¦tico Madrid and got another hat-trick of assists against Athletic Bilbao. Our defence isn¡¯t up to par with those two teams, so be lucky that some things aren¡¯t working out for him today, and remember, he¡¯s only 16. Real deal or not, he¡¯s got us talking," another said with a grudging smile. "We¡¯ve got to give him that." As Izan darted across the pitch, their voices swirled like the tide, a mix of respect for his undeniable brilliance and frustration at his audacity. The young player¡¯s presence had captured their attention, even if it left them divided. A/n: Have another chapter my lovely readers. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow with the end . Chapter 117: Valencia’s Attacking Prowess The clock ticked down toward halftime at the Mestalla, and Valencia was trailing C¨¢diz 2-1. The fans, a sea of orange and black, roared their encouragement as their talisman, Izan, orchestrated wave after wave of attack. Izan, the focal point of Valencia¡¯s offence, moved with the ball as he approached the opponent¡¯s half. His vision, pace, and uncanny ability to turn defenders inside out had the home as well as the away crowd buzzing with anticipation every time he touched the ball. Another chance to equalize before the break came in the 39th minute. Izan, receiving the ball near the halfway line again, surged forward with purpose. C¨¢diz¡¯s defence scrambled to keep up, but the youngster glided past two defenders with a flick and a feint, drawing gasps from the crowd. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Spotting Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤ overlapping on the left, Izan played a perfectly weighted through ball into the box. Gay¨¤¡¯s cross was met by Hugo Duro, whose diving header flew just wide of the post. A collective groan rippled through the stadium as the replay showed how close the ball had come to leveling the score. "?Qu¨¦ jugad¨®n de Izan[What a great play by Izan]! This boy is special," the commentator exclaimed. "Look at that composure!" On social media, fans couldn¡¯t contain their excitement. "Future Ballon d¡¯Or winner!" one tweet read. Another fan posted a clip of Izan¡¯s assist attempt with the caption, "How is this kid not already playing for Real Madrid or Bar?a?" "Tone it down, guys. He hasn¡¯t even played a full season yet. This kind of hype makes players with potential crumble under pressure." A fan commented. "I agree with this guy. Haven¡¯t we learnt enough from Bar?a¡¯s Ansu Fati? He hasn¡¯t been the same ever since he came back from injury. The media pressure has also been tough for him to handle. Let¡¯s not do the same," Another fan wrote. Valencia¡¯s next chance came a minute later. This time, Izan received the ball just outside C¨¢diz¡¯s penalty area. With his back to goal, he controlled it with his chest and immediately spun away from his marker. With a quick one-two pass with DiegoL¨®pez, Izan found himself with a sliver of space at the edge of the box. He unleashed a curling shot aimed for the top corner, but C¨¢diz¡¯s goalkeeper, Conan Ledesma, leapt to his right, tipping the ball over the bar. "?Qu¨¦ parad¨®n! Ledesma denies Izan," the commentator shouted. "That would have been a goal-of-the-season contender. This kid is relentless!" The fans, though disappointed, rose to their feet to applaud Izan¡¯s effort. "Izan! Izan! Izan!" they chanted, their voices echoing around the stadium. The Cadiz fans were restless. Every time Valencia attacked, they were on edge. They managed to get out unscathed but there was no guarantee that the next ball won¡¯t end up in the net. The pressure mounted on C¨¢diz as halftime loomed. In the 44th minute, Valencia won a corner, and all eyes were on Izan as he stepped up to take it. The young playmaker delivered an out-swinging cross that found Cenk Ozkacar at the far post. Cenk¡¯s header was powerful but struck the crossbar with a resounding thud. The ball rebounded into the six-yard box, sparking a chaotic scramble. Izan darted into the fray, managing to poke the ball toward goal, but Ledesma smothered it at the last second. The Mestalla erupted in frustration. Fans in the front rows waved their scarves, urging their team to keep pushing. One supporter, caught on camera, shouted, "Vamos Izan. Vamos Valencia! You¡¯ve got this!" As the referee signalled one minute of added time, Valencia launched one final assault. Izan, stationed on the right wing, received the ball and drove toward the byline. Facing two C¨¢diz defenders, he executed a dazzling double step-over before nutmegging one and sprinting past the other. The crowd roared as he delivered a low cross into the box. The ball found Pepelu, who turned and shot, but Ledesma was once again equal to the task, diving low to his left to make the save. The Cadiz fans cheered on their keeper for pulling off another save. It looked as if their keeper¡¯s body was inhabited by the soul of Lev Yahsin. It was just one of those nights for Ledesma who had denied Valencia over and over again The halftime whistle blew moments later, and the Valencia players trudged off the pitch to a standing ovation. The scoreboard might not have reflected it, but the fans knew they were witnessing something extraordinary in their team¡¯s performance. In the commentary box, the pundits couldn¡¯t stop singing his praises. "It¡¯s rare to see a player of Izan¡¯s age dominate at this level," one remarked. "He¡¯s been involved in every major chance for Valencia tonight. It¡¯s only a matter of time before he gets his goal." Online, Valencia¡¯s official account tweeted: "We¡¯re behind at halftime, but what a performance from our #Izan! The second half is ours! #AmuntValencia" Fans flooded the replies with messages of support, many expressing disbelief at Izan¡¯s talent and maturity. Back in the stands, young fans wearing Izan¡¯s jersey buzzed with excitement, mimicking his moves during the break. "Did you see that nutmeg?" one asked his friend, who responded with a wide grin and a thumbs-up. During halftime, both teams revised their tactics. Ruben Baraja brought on Mark to stabilise the defence since Mosquera liked to attack too much. This had resulted in the second goal for Cadiz and he wanted to avoid any sort of mishap again as they continued to attack in the second half. Ruben Baraja turned his attention to Izan after talking tactics for 10 minutes. "You okay," he said. Izan turned and nodded at his words. "You know, coach, I¡¯m not glass, and I also try my best to avoid dangerous tackles, so it¡¯s very hard for them to injure me. The worst I get are bruises, but I¡¯m fine," Izan confronted. "That¡¯s good then. I need you to push more. Don¡¯t defend much and leave that to your teammates. We are a goal down but we still have 45 minutes to win this game. A draw won¡¯t suffice" Baraja said spiritedly. Izan nodded at Baraja¡¯s words before the latter got up and walked away. "Moreno, tell Pietro to warm up after we go for the next half," Baraja said as he walked past Moreno. Moreno nodded before continuing to inform players of the revised tactics. As the players prepared to return for the second half, one thing was clear for the Valencia fans: Izan wasn¡¯t just Valencia¡¯s future; he was their present. The next 45 minutes would offer him another chance to etch his name into Mestalla folklore. Their only problem was that being too extraordinary attracted attention. At least they should be able to keep Izan for a while. ... The players re-emerged from the tunnel, the energy in the stadium crackling with renewed intensity. The Valencia squad, their bright white kits now slightly smudged from the first half, jogged onto the pitch with determined expressions. Captain Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤ was seen rallying his teammates, his gestures conveying urgency and belief. The Cadiz players, clad in their bold yellow and blue, looked equally focused as they took their positions, eager to protect their slender 2-1 lead. The Mestalla crowd roared as their team reappeared, a chorus of whistles and chants drowning out any semblance of calm. Many fans waved their scarves, creating a sea of white and orange in the stands. They were restless, hoping for a quick equalizer. Hori, a vibrant 14-year-old with thick black curls tied back in a ponytail, had her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her sharp, almond-shaped eyes darted between the pitch and her brother Izan who had just entered from the tunnel. Dressed in a Valencia scarf over her casual denim jacket, she leaned toward her mother, voice barely audible over the chants and cheers. "Miura is unlucky today? They¡¯re down a goal, but all his shots and passes end up being saved or blocked," she said, her tone laced with both excitement and worry. Komi, her elegant features calm yet thoughtful, adjusted her loose hair. Her almond eyes, reminiscent of Hori¡¯s, sparkled with a mix of maternal pride and lingering apprehension. Dressed in a simple yet sophisticated blouse paired with flowing pants, she carried an air of excitement, similar to her daughter¡¯s energy. "Izan has already shown that he is the most dangerous", Komi said with a reassuring smile that couldn¡¯t hide her happiness. "Valencia will score. It¡¯s only a matter of time, but I hope they can defend against those sudden attacks from Cadiz." Komi added. Komi glanced at the pitch again, where Izan was talking with other players. A proud smile curved her lips as she looked at her son. .... The commentator¡¯s voice rose with the scene, capturing the mood: "Welcome back to the second half at Mestalla! Valencia trails 2-1 against a resilient Cadiz side. It¡¯s been a spirited encounter so far, and you can sense the urgency in the air. Valencia needs to step up¡ªno doubt about it. Can the likes of Hugo Duro and young talent Izan unlock this Cadiz defence? Or will Cadiz find another to seal the upset?" As the referee¡¯s whistle signalled the restart, the game resumed with Valencia immediately pressing high, their fans urging them forward. A/n: Have fun reading. This match will probably end in the next chapter. Stay tuned for the next 2 match though after this cause. Chapter 118: A Masterpiece On The Canvas Of The Net The second half began under the floodlights of the Mestalla, the air thick with expectation. Valencia trailed 2-1 against C¨¢diz, and the crowd, though passionate, grew restless. Murmurs of frustration echoed through the stands, but one name rose above the noise¡ªIzan. The 15-year-old wonderkid jogged out with a determined expression, a spark in his eyes that promised something extraordinary. As soon as the referee blew his whistle, Izan sprang into action. Dropping deep to collect the ball, he saw two C¨¢diz midfielders who were looking to press him, but with a feint and a perfectly executed roulette, Izan got them out of the way. The Mestalla roared, signalling their excitement at the flashy moves Izan used. Izan drove forward, head up, scanning for options. But the Cadiz players didn¡¯t make it easy for him; after all, they were professionals, too. With a signal from the captain, they moved closer cutting off the passing spaces while keeping an eye on the flanks. Izan, who was running with the ball, suddenly felt squeezed into a closure. After looking around with a glance or two, Izan knew what was up. Sensing the imminent change of possession if he held the ball, Izan started looking for passing options. Spotting Valencia¡¯s Diego L¨®pez making a diagonal run, he threaded a defence-splitting pass with the outside of his foot, bypassing three defenders. The crowd gasped as the winger¡¯s cross just missed its target. A Cadiz defender hurriedly cleared the ball out of the box after it fell not far from Hugo Duro. Minutes later, Gaya orchestrated an attack. Spotting Izan with space, Gaya quickly released the ball to Izan, but it was all a ruse. Surrounded by C¨¢diz players near the edge of the box, Izan used his low centre of gravity and quick feet to keep possession. With a deft flick, he nutmegged his marker and laid off the ball to Valencia¡¯s striker, who forced a diving save from the C¨¢diz goalkeeper. Izan clapped his hands, urging his teammates to keep pushing. A few chances came by and went but Valencia was still not scoring. At this point the possession scored showed that Valencia had 90 since the start of the second half. In the 65th minute, a well-executed pass saw Hugo Duro one-on-one with the keeper. The Valencia fans in the stadium rose to their feet in anticipation of the goal as there was no way Hugo Duro was going to miss this. And he didn¡¯t as he dragged the ball to the left sharply, evading the keeper after coming close to him. With the goal in front, Hugo Duro sent the ball towards it and turned to celebrate, thinking about how he had become the top scorer now, but all he heard were gasps of disbelief all around the stadium. He turned around and saw a Cadiz defender in the box instead of the ball. He saw the ball going out of bounds and no one needed to explain what had happened. Hugo Duro put his hands on his head in disbelief as the commentator¡¯s voice came out, "What utter nonsense from Hugo Duro. This is what happens when you get complacent". Hugo Duro raised his hands in apology to his teammates and possibly the fans. Izan just kept looking at him indifferently as walked to join his teammates in pressing. Valencia kept knocking on and knocking over and over again but couldn¡¯t score. The fans were getting frustrated as a few looked at the clock tipping over the 72nd-minute mark. With a sigh, they turned their attention towards the pitch, where another attack seemed to be mounting. Izan had executed a step-over just a moment before and had successfully evaded his man and was running with the ball. He saw Hugo Duro and laid off the ball, hoping to combine with him in a give-and-go. Hugo, with his back to the goal, understood Izan¡¯s intention and passed back before going behind the defence. He didn¡¯t know how the ball was going to get to him in this Cadiz setup but he still ran. Izan¡¯s eyes kept looking at the slight gaps before tapping the ball slightly. The ball went through the outstretched legs of the Cadiz players who were trying to clear it, but none could. It was as if the ball had a mind of its own. The ball found Duro gradually but he soon hit a wall, literally as he bumped into the muscular Kouame. The referee blew the whistle for the challenge just outside the box. Hugo wanted to debate that he had entered the box but the referee stuck with what he saw. The Valencia fans were a bit down that Duro was fouled but they quickly got excited when they saw Izan step up to the freekick. "Wait, if it¡¯s Izan, then it¡¯s as good as a goal, right," A fan said as he watched Izan step up to the ball. Izan, with the run-up, struck the ball towards the goal. The Stadium watched as the ball moved right before swerving to the left. The Fans all watched as the ball moved towards the goal, but somehow, the Cadiz keeper got his hands to it, tipping the ball over the bar. "Ooooooooooohhhhhh" the fans exclaimed at the chance. Izan stood there with a knowing smile. "My freekicks are getting better and better. I didn¡¯t even use the trait" Izan thought as he walked to the flag. Valencia had won a corner, and Izan stood over the ball, surveying the chaos in the box. His delivery was a masterpiece¡ªa whipped cross that curled away from the goalkeeper, landing perfectly on the head of a leaping Mark who had just come on. The ball thundered into the net. The stadium erupted as the scoreboard flashed 2-2. "WHAT... A HEADER FROM MARK. The first touch of the game, and it¡¯s a goal," the commentator said. "Credit where its due for Izan with that wonderful corner". Izan didn¡¯t just celebrate; he connected. Running toward the fans, he raised his arms, motioning for them to get louder. The Mestalla faithful responded, chanting his name with a fervor as Mark leapt onto Izan sending them both onto the ground. The other players, as well as the bench, also joined in. Ruben Baraja, same as the day, wanted to join the celebration, but Moreno had held him back by the shirt. After the restart, the momentum was with Valencia. Izan pushed and pushed for a winner, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. C¨¢diz, sensing the shift in momentum, began disrupting Izan¡¯s rhythm with physical challenges. A crunching tackle in the 83rd minute sent him tumbling. For a moment, the crowd held its breath as Izan clutched his ankle. But he was back on his feet within seconds, brushing off the C¨¢diz defender with a smirk. The tension in the match grew palpable. C¨¢diz players, desperate to regain control, resorted to tactical fouls, but Izan remained unfazed. Each time he was brought down, he rose with even more resolve. In the 85th minute, Izan produced a moment of magic that had the entire stadium on its feet. Picking up the ball near the throwline, he surged forward, evading tackles with astonishing agility. C¨¢diz defenders swarmed him, but Izan kept the ball glued to his feet, weaving through them as if they were mere training cones. A few held him by the shirt but he brushed off their hands with his as the referee waved advantage. Nearing the box, he unleashed a curling shot that seemed destined for the top corner, only for the goalkeeper to pull off an incredible save. The clock ticked toward the 88th minute, and tension rippled through the stands. C¨¢diz seemed content to settle for a draw, slowing the game and breaking up Valencia¡¯s attacks. But Izan had other plans. In the 88th minute, a misplaced pass from C¨¢diz ignited chaos in their half. Izan pounced, intercepting the ball and driving forward with a blistering pace. As he approached the box, two defenders closed in. Izan feinted right, dragging the ball back with a subtle touch before spinning left. The defenders collided, leaving Izan one-on-one with the goalkeeper. The crowd held its breath as Izan struck the ball low and hard, but the goalkeeper, Ledesma, parried it, and the rebound fell to Valencia¡¯s striker, who inexplicably scuffed the shot wide. The Cadiz Defence celebrated the save from their keeper who told them to focus. The Cadiz players immediately regrouped hearing their keeper¡¯s words The Mestalla groaned in disbelief at Duro¡¯s open goal miss while Izan buried his face in his hands before quickly refocused, rallying his teammates for one final push. In the dying moments of the match, Valencia won a free kick just outside the box. The tension was unbearable as Izan stepped up. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The entire stadium went silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone except the boy standing over the ball. Izan exhaled deeply, his focus razor-sharp. "Max, you know what to do," Izan said. ¡¯Ding, [ Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2] activated. [Curler LV 3] activated. Izan, who had just combined two traits, smiled. As the referee blew his whistle, Izan took three quick steps and struck the ball with precision. It arced over the wall, dipping viciously toward the top corner. The C¨¢diz goalkeeper stretched desperately, but it was in vain. Goal! The ball kissed the underside of the crossbar and nestled into the net. The Mestalla exploded into euphoria. "OHHHH!!!, Beautiful. It was coming and now Izan had done it. You can¡¯t write them off. A masterpiece from Izan, painted with the right foot on the canvas of the net" the commentator said. Fans leapt to their feet, waving scarves and chanting Izan¡¯s name. His teammates mobbed him, lifting the teenager onto their shoulders as he pumped his fists in celebration. Baraja, who had been held back by Moreno, was quick this time as he ran onto the pitch. Moreno left him alone as he had been tense during the latter stages of the match As the final whistle blew, Izan jogged toward the stands, where a sea of fans awaited him. He pulled off his jersey and tossed it into the crowd, where it was caught by a young boy wearing a homemade "Izan" shirt. The boy burst into tears, and Izan smiled, pointing at him as if to say, This is for you. Despite the overwhelming noise, Izan paused to soak it all in. He raised his hands, forming a heart shape toward the fans who had supported him through every step of the match. The scoreboard read 3-2, but the numbers only told part of the story. Izan had delivered a masterclass, dominating the second half with skill, vision, and an unshakable will to win. C¨¢diz had tried everything¡ªpressing him, fouling him, frustrating him¡ªbut nothing worked. A/N: Hello guys, Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you in a bit Chapter 119: First Copa Del Rey Match In the post-match interview, Izan¡¯s words were as composed as his play. "This win is for the fans," he said, glancing toward the Mestalla faithful. "They never gave up on us, and we couldn¡¯t let them down. Tonight, we showed what Valencia is all about." "They came for a show and I¡¯m glad that we could give them a win at the very least". It was a night no one would forget. The match, the tension, and above all, the boy who had turned a looming defeat into a triumphant victory. Izan had not just played; he had owned the stage, solidifying his place as the beating heart of Valencia¡¯s future. ....... As the Mestalla continued to echo with the chants of jubilant fans, the footballing world outside the stadium buzzed with discussions of Izan¡¯s heroic performance. In the post-match analysis, the pundits wasted no time dissecting what had just unfolded. "Izan isn¡¯t just a prodigy; he¡¯s a phenomenon," began Jorge Mart¨ªnez, a well-respected Spanish commentator. Sitting in the studio, he replayed clips of Izan¡¯s second-half dominance. "Look at the composure here," he said, freezing the screen on Izan¡¯s dazzling run past three C¨¢diz defenders in the 82nd minute. "He plays with the maturity of someone twice his age. Most players in this situation would panic or pass backwards, but Izan? He sees opportunities others don¡¯t." Mart¨ªnez then switched to a replay of the last-minute free kick. "This isn¡¯t luck," he emphasized. "It¡¯s precision, practice, and pure talent. To place the ball like that under pressure, at just 15 years old¡ªit¡¯s unbelievable." Another pundit, former Valencia captain David Albelda, praised not just Izan¡¯s technical ability but also his leadership. "What struck me tonight wasn¡¯t just the skill¡ªit was his mentality," Albelda said. "When Valencia was 2-1 down, it was Izan who stepped up, not the experienced players. He took responsibility, demanded the ball, and rallied the team. He¡¯s not just a talented kid; he¡¯s become the heartbeat of this squad." Albelda also highlighted Izan¡¯s connection with the fans. "Did you see how he celebrated the equalizer? Or the way he gave his jersey to that young fan? That¡¯s more than football; it¡¯s a bond. He understands what this club means to the people, and that¡¯s rare in someone so young." [at this point if Izan breathes, they are going to talk about it. Lol] Former C¨¢diz defender and current analyst Ra¨²l Prieto offered insight into what it was like to face a player like Izan. "He¡¯s a nightmare for defenders," Prieto admitted. "His movement off the ball is so intelligent, and when he¡¯s on it, you don¡¯t know what he¡¯ll do next. We tried to contain him by closing spaces, doubling up on him, even fouling him¡ªbut nothing worked. He¡¯s relentless." Prieto replayed the moment when two C¨¢diz defenders collided while trying to stop Izan¡¯s run. "This isn¡¯t just about skill," he said. "It¡¯s about confidence. He¡¯s fearless, and that¡¯s what makes him so dangerous." .... On an international panel, former England international Gary Lineker chimed in with glowing praise. "We¡¯re witnessing the rise of a global superstar," Lineker said. "Izan has everything¡ªvision, technique, work ethic, and an incredible football IQ. You don¡¯t dominate games like this at 15 unless you¡¯re truly special." Lineker also commented on the growing attention Izan was receiving. "Clubs across Europe will be watching this performance, but Valencia must hold onto him. Build the team around him, and he could lead them to glory." Not all commentary was purely celebratory. Veteran coach Juan Delgado offered a measured take. "Izan is phenomenal, no doubt, but let¡¯s not forget he¡¯s still developing," Delgado said. "There were moments tonight where he held onto the ball too long or tried to do everything himself. These are things he¡¯ll refine with time." Delgado also cautioned against the weight of expectation. "The media, the fans¡ªwe all need to be careful. He¡¯s 15. Let him grow without overwhelming him with comparisons to legends. If Valencia nurtures him properly, the sky¡¯s the limit." Beyond the pundits, fan reaction was unanimous in its adoration. Social media was ablaze with clips of Izan¡¯s free-kick, his dazzling runs, and his interaction with the young fan. Hashtags like #IzanMagic and #ValenciaWonderkid trended within minutes of the final whistle. One fan summed it up perfectly in a post-match interview outside the Mestalla: "Tonight wasn¡¯t just a match¡ªit was the start of something unforgettable. Izan isn¡¯t just a player; he¡¯s our hope for the future." As the footballing world dissected and celebrated his performance, Izan had already shifted his focus. In his own words during the post-match press conference, "Tonight was special, but there¡¯s still a lot to improve. This is just the beginning." And if this was the beginning, the world could only imagine what heights Izan would reach. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ..... Izan stepped out of his home into the cool embrace of dawn, the world still veiled in a faint haze that blurred the edges of reality. The air was crisp, tinged with the earthy scent of dew settling on grass. Shadows of trees loomed larger in the mist, their forms ghostly and serene. The distant hum of the waking city was softened as if the fog had muffled its voice. Looking at the daily task that he had been doing since he got the system, Izan with a mental flex, made it de-materialise. He adjusted his running shoes, took a deep breath, and started down the quiet street, his strides steady and purposeful. The rhythmic sound of his feet hitting the pavement echoed in the stillness. His breath formed faint clouds in the chilly air, each exhalation a visible reminder of his pace and determination. The world around him seemed to be waking up with him. A few birds chirped, their calls breaking through the muffled quiet. Streetlights cast pale, diffused glows, their beams softened by the mist, creating a surreal, dreamlike atmosphere. Izan loved mornings like this. The solitude, the calm before the world roared to life, gave him time to reflect and focus. His thoughts wandered to the goals he had set, the matches he dreamed of playing, and the promise of greatness that fueled his every move. As he picked up his pace, the fog began to thin slightly, the horizon hinting at the rising sun. Each step felt like a step closer to his dreams, the hazy morning symbolic of the challenges he had to pierce through to reach clarity and success. .... "Oh, you¡¯re back," Komi said as she closed the door of the fridge, sipping on some water. "Yeah, it¡¯s a bit colder than usual today", Izan said as he took off his shoes. "Is Hori still sleeping?" Izan asked as he climbed the stairs. "What do you think" Komi said as she turned to the kitchen. Opening the door of Hori, Izan smiled as he looked at his sleeping sister. Stepping into the shower, the water washed the fatigue he was feeling from the morning run away. While drying himself, Izan saw a message from Sosa. Taking his phone Izan clicked on the message. Sosa: You gonna come tomorrow? I heard you weren¡¯t included in the squad for the Copa del Rey match. "I can¡¯t come but I¡¯ll watch from the house. Anyways, good luck, and remember that this is your chance to break into the main team," Izan replied. Sosa: don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll perform well. Well, I gotta go, stay safe. "You too," Izan said as he typed. Ruben Baraja had dropped him from the Copa del Rey together with a few main team players in preparation for their next match. It was a blockbuster match for the first position in the league table. A match between first and second. A show at the Santiago Bernabeu. This match wouldn¡¯t have attracted much hype in the past but this time it was. Major media outlets had even started reporting on the match. It was a chance for Valencia to overtake Real Madrid if they could pull one over the Madrid-based club or a chance for Real Madrid to go 4 points clear of the top of the table. "Anyways, I hope he does well," Izan said as he thought about Sosa. After he was done, Izan came down with his school bag and a jacket in hand. It was a Wednesday, and unlike Sosa, who had applied to skip school that day, Izan had to go. After eating some of the breakfast Komi made, Izan took his bike and rode to school. As usual, Izan passed through the day without much trouble. Today¡¯s lesson was difficult than usual but it wasn¡¯t anything he couldn¡¯t wrap his head around. "The match starts at 4:30", Izan said, looking at the time displayed on his phone screen. It was getting to 4. After the bell rang, Izan took his bag and jacket before running out of the classroom. "Why is he in such a rush" a student who was almost knocked down by Izan said. "Maybe he¡¯s meeting his girlfriend," the student beside him said. "Then she¡¯s probably in another school since he¡¯s rushing to go out" the previous student said, while letting go of the frame he had held to prevent himself self from falling. "He lives life on easy mode. A while back, I searched his contract details with Valencia and Dawn; he gets a couple million annually, and that isn¡¯t even a proper contract". "If you had some ability, you could also be in his position, but since you¡¯re talentless, shut up and let¡¯s go". .... Izan rode faster and faster while keeping caution for any vehicles around. After a while, he finally stepped into the confines of his home. Seeing as he had a few minutes before the match began, he took a shower before coming back down. After setting things up, he switched to the channel that was showing the match. "Oh, they just started," he said as he lay down the remote. This match would determine how far they would be going in the Copa del Rey tournament. Would they succumb to this 2nd division team, or would they prevail with their youngsters? A/n: Chapter for the day. Have fun. The next matches arc is coming. Stay tuned. Chapter 120: Valencia Youth. [Sosa] Under the floodlights of the Mestalla, Valencia CF took on UD Logro?¨¦s in a midweek Copa del Rey clash. The air was cool but electric as thousands of fans packed the stands, eager to see their team progress to the next round. But it wasn¡¯t just the prospect of victory that brought the Valencia faithful to the stadium¡ªit was the youth. The Mestalla crowd had grown used to watching homegrown talents shine, with names like Pietro, Diego Lopez, and the incomparable Izan becoming symbols of their club¡¯s revival. Izan himself sat cross-legged on the couch, watching the match unfold on the family television. Hori and Komi hadn¡¯t arrived just yet so he still had the TV to himself. Stuffing his mouth with some cookies, Izan turned to look at the television. "Well let¡¯s see," Izan replied with a faint smirk, his eyes fixed on the screen. The game kicked off with Valencia dominating possession, their fluid passing carving through the midfield. Sosa, wearing the number 27 shirt, played on the right side of the midfield. He wasn¡¯t the tallest player on the pitch, but his quick feet and sharp movement made him stand out. In the 10th minute, he received the ball near the touchline, immediately drawing two defenders toward him. A quick step-over and a flick later, he slipped past them, sending a low cross into the box. The ball was cleared, but the Mestalla crowd applauded the young winger¡¯s flair. The commentators couldn¡¯t help but draw comparisons. "Valencia¡¯s youth academy is something special," one remarked. "Pietro¡¯s emergence last season, Sosa¡¯s brilliant displays now, and, of course, the jewel in their crown¡ªyoung Izan." Izan shifted slightly at the mention of his name, though he kept his focus on the match. "When are they coming anyway" Izan thought as he glanced at his phone¡¯s clock. "Maybe they had something to do on the way" Izan muttered as he focused on the match Back at the Mestalla, Logro?¨¦s began to grow into the game. They weren¡¯t intimidated by the grand stage or their La Liga opponents. In the 23rd minute, they capitalized on a lapse in Valencia¡¯s defence, breaking through on a swift counterattack. A powerful strike from the edge of the box left Giorgi Mamardashvili with no chance, and the underdogs took a surprising 1-0 lead. The Mestalla fell silent for a moment before rallying behind their team. Sosa, eager to make an impact, became even more involved. Picking up the ball deep in his half, he showcased his blistering pace, sprinting past two opponents and earning a free kick just outside the penalty area. The set piece didn¡¯t yield a goal, but the effort further endeared him to the crowd. "He¡¯s got something," a fan in Valencia¡¯s colours said. "He¡¯s good. But he¡¯s still got a lot to learn." another said. Valencia found their equalizer just before halftime. A corner kick was poorly cleared, and Hugo Guillam¨®n, who hadn¡¯t been involved in many matches since the start of the season, pounced on the loose ball, smashing it into the net. The stadium erupted, and the players jogged back to their positions with renewed energy. During the halftime break, the discussion turned to Valencia¡¯s academy. The commentators waxed lyrical about the club¡¯s youth development system. "It¡¯s been remarkable," one said. "Pietro¡¯s ability to control a midfield, the flair Sosa is showing right now, and let¡¯s not forget Izan, who is lighting up the league in every match he plays. Valencia¡¯s future is bright." "It is bright but now they are going to have a hard time keeping them. Some Media outlets say that a few clubs have even inquired about Izan¡¯s availability, and the same went for Pietro, who almost moved. Having too many talents can cause troubles." The second half began with Valencia firmly on the front foot. Sosa, encouraged by the crowd, started to play with more confidence. In the 55th minute, he received a perfectly weighted pass from Guillam¨®n. Sosa took a deft touch before cutting inside and curling a shot toward the far post. The Logro?¨¦s goalkeeper dived to parry the ball, denying the youngster what would¡¯ve been a sensational goal. The near-miss didn¡¯t deter Sosa. He continued to work tirelessly, tracking back to help his team defensively and providing an outlet for the counterattack. His determination paid off in the 70th minute when he earned an assist. A clever one-two with Pietro opened up space on the right, and Sosa delivered a pinpoint cross into the box. Amallah rose high and nodded the ball into the net, giving Valencia a 2-1 lead. The Mestalla erupted, and chants of "Sosa! Sosa!" echoed through the stadium. The commentators were quick to point out the broader picture. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "It¡¯s not just about Sosa tonight. Valencia has built something special. Izan keeps setting the bar high, Pietro is Solid, and now Sosa is showing he belongs." Back home, Izan leaned back, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Next year is going to be great," he said as he glanced at the celebrating Sosa and Pietro. "And I have to stay ahead," Izan replied, a quiet determination in his voice. A last-minute desperate attack from Logro?¨¦s almost caught Valencia off guard, but the recovering Foulquier pulled off an incredible block, sending the ball away for a corner. Ultimately, the match ended 2 to 1 in favour of Valencia as the Logro?¨¦s corner didn¡¯t amount to much. As the final whistle blew, Valencia secured their 2-1 victory, advancing to the next round. Sosa was well appreciated by the fans as a few stood and applauded him while he left the pitch. Sosa, overwhelmed by happiness began crying but joyfully. He applauded back and wiped his face as he entered the tunnel. For Izan, the match wasn¡¯t just a spectacle¡ªit was a reminder. The academy that produced him was thriving, and he wasn¡¯t just a part of its history¡ªhe was its benchmark. Watching Sosa impress, Izan knew the competition was growing, but so was his resolve. "I¡¯ll use the match against Granada to see which direction I should invest my stat points before we meet Real Madrid" Izan thought as he clenched his fists. While Izan sat down, the screen of his phone lit up. Looking at the source of the light, a smile appeared on his face as he picked up the phone. "I¡¯m calling" the text read. The next second, Izan¡¯s phone rang with the name ¡¯Olivia¡¯ displayed on the caller ID. Izan, who was on his way upstairs, picked up, lying on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, as he talked to Olivia, who¡¯d just finished watching the match at home. " So, what did we think about Valencia tonight, Miss Football Analyst?" Izan said in a teasing tone " I think they were solid, but Logro?¨¦s definitely made them work for it. But you know what¡¯s weird?" Olivia said, mock-serious. " What?" The former replied with a curious expression. "Their goalkeeper¡¯s kit¡ªit looked like a highlighter marker. How am I supposed to take that seriously?" Olivia said drawing a laugh from Izan. Izan, who was still laughing, spoke, "You focus on the weirdest things during games". " Oh, come on! Like you weren¡¯t distracted when the commentator said "unstoppable like a freight train" for the third time about that striker." Olivia said. " Okay, guilty. I did imagine him actually driving a train down the pitch.". " See? I¡¯m not the only one with random thoughts." Olivia exclaimed after Izan¡¯s response " Maybe, but my random thoughts include how you¡¯re becoming more of a football fan because of me," Izan said playfully. " Oh, is that what you think? Maybe I¡¯m just studying so I can keep up with my football star boyfriend." Olivia said with a shy voice, her expression crumbling as the word with a grin as the word "boyfriend" came out of her mouth. "Football star," huh? Flattery will get you¡­ a front-row seat to all my future matches, sugar mommy" Izan said with a grin. " I¡¯ll hold you to that. But seriously, great game tonight. Though, I¡¯ll admit, I kind of wished you were out there. And what is it with that Sugar mommy thing? Can¡¯t older men date younger women? And the age gap between me and you is just 2 years," Olivia said, a bit flustered after Izan spoke. "Okay, okay, sorry. But You¡¯d have been watching me instead of the highlighter goalkeeper?" Izan conceded. " Maybe. But only if you scored a hat trick." Olivia said. "Deal. Next Copa del Rey mat-, no next Laliga match, I¡¯ll make sure I¡¯m unforgettable¡ªjust for you." Izan said " You already are, Izan. Goodnight, future football star." Olivia said dimly. "Goodnight, Miss.. Sweet dreams." Izan replied before the line went down. The call ended with both of them smiling, feeling closer than ever. After a while, Izan was still wondering why Komi and Hori hadn¡¯t yet arrived, but his worries were put to bed when the duo stepped in through the doorway. Valencia scarves were hung over their shoulder as they entered. Izan, who saw this view, couldn¡¯t help but ask. "Wait, you didn¡¯t go to the match, right," he said with a concerned smile. Both Komi and Hori looked up sharply at Izan, causing the latter to shift his view elsewhere. "Well, someone didn¡¯t tell us they weren¡¯t playing. We went to see you play, but we didn¡¯t even see you in the stadium," Hori said with a wronged expression. Izan, who had to tread carefully, looked at his mother and sister and smiled as he tried to comfort them. Both were tired, so he offered to take care of dinner while they went upstairs and washed. Wrapping the strings, of the apron around his waist, Izan stepped into the kitchen prepared to ¡¯wow¡¯ his family with his cooking skills. A/n: Chapter of the day. Will release another if I¡¯m feeling generous. Thanks for the support guys and have fun reading. Love Y¡¯all Chapter 121: Putting In The Work Izan¡¯s week at Valencia¡¯s training ground was intense, a blend of discipline and innovation designed to prepare him for the upcoming clash against Granada. The club had talked with Izan¡¯s school authorities and had been able to come to an agreement, creating a schedule that accommodated both his educational and sports life. Each day began with an early morning session, where the team worked on fitness and agility. Izan, eager to improve, pushed through the drills with a determination that caught the eye of his teammates and coaching staff. In the tactical sessions, Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja took a hands-on approach. Izan was often called aside to discuss his role in the team¡¯s strategy. Baraja emphasized positioning, movement off the ball, and quick decision-making. Using cones and markers, the coach recreated scenarios Granada was likely to employ, explaining how Izan could exploit gaps in their defensive setup. Midweek, the team engaged in a high-intensity match simulation. Izan played as a wide forward, tasked with cutting inside and linking up with the midfield. His explosive pace and technical ability allowed him to shine during these moments, but Baraja was quick to point out areas for improvement. Izan was particularly fond of holding onto the ball. Aside from that, he was good everywhere even tracking back and maintaining defensive discipline. In one memorable session, Izan was paired with Sosa by Ruben Baraja, hoping he could bring out something exceptional from combining the two of them. This duo proved exciting as Izan and Sosa went about their way demolishing, the substitutes team. During the scrimmage against the defence of the main team, Izan still performed dazzlingly. The young star showed remarkable chemistry with his teammates, threading pinpoint passes and executing swift one-twos that left the training staff impressed. Sosa, on the other hand, showed minimal impact on the game but there were still glimpses of brilliance in his game. Ruben Baraja, who stood beside the pitch, watched on with an excited expression. "Those guys at the academy should get a raise" he uttered as he watched Izan go past another defender. As the week progressed, Izan began to internalize the tactical blueprint for the Granada match. By Friday, the focus shifted to set pieces, with Baraja instructing Izan on his positioning during corners and free kicks. The sessions were demanding, but Izan¡¯s focus and adaptability hinted at his readiness for the weekend¡¯s challenge. ... The sun bathed the Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna in a warm glow as Valencia¡¯s squad gathered for their afternoon training session. The atmosphere was light, a welcome break from the usual intensity, as the players prepared for their clash against Granada. Izan, walked around with the ball, a bit relaxed. The head physio had told him to tone it down for this session since he had played a considerable amount of minutes for his age this past week. During the rondo warm-up, laughter echoed across the pitch as Pietro found himself in the middle of the circle, trying to win back possession. Every time he lunged for the ball, his teammates passed it away with teasing precision. "Come on, Pietro Even my grandmother can press better!" joked one of the senior players, prompting a chorus of laughter. Pietro grinned and replied, "She must have played in La Liga, then!" drawing more chuckles from the group. Izan who sat on a ball, watching from the side laughed at Pietro¡¯s remark. As the session progressed, the camaraderie remained evident. Finally participating in a shooting drill, Izan pulled off a cheeky rabona finish that earned him a round of applause. "Save those for the match, superstar!" called out Marmadashvili, wagging his finger but unable to hide his smile. Izan jogged back to his spot with a playful shrug. The highlight came during a small-sided game. Izan, on the same team as the Gaya, pulled off a dazzling nutmeg that left his marker bewildered. "You¡¯ll find your pride in Granada," he quipped, earning an exaggerated groan from Javi Guerra, the victim of nutmeg. Even Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja seemed to enjoy the harmony on display, occasionally smiling as he observed from the sideline. Though the drills remained focused, the jovial energy created a perfect balance between work and play. As the session wound down, the players gathered for a cool-down jog around the field. Izan ran alongside a few teammates, cracking jokes about everything from missed sitters to questionable haircuts. It was clear he was no longer just the promising new kid¡ªhe was part of the family. The day ended with a round of high-fives and pats on the back. As Izan walked off the pitch, still laughing about a prank one of the players had pulled, he couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful. Training at Valencia wasn¡¯t just about tactics and fitness¡ªit was about belonging to something bigger. ..... Despite the rigorous schedule, Izan found moments to bond with his teammates. Whether it was sharing a laugh over lunch or staying behind for extra shooting practice. With the match against Granada looming, Izan¡¯s week of preparation promised a performance that could further solidify his growing reputation. After the training session, Izan sat on the edge of the pitch, untying his boots while his close friends, Pietro and Sosa, joined him. The three of them, sat sharing jokes, banter, and the occasional deep conversation about life in football. "Man, that rabona today," Pietro began, shaking his head in mock disbelief, "showing off already? You¡¯re not even 16 yet." Izan laughed, tossing his boots into his bag. "What can I say? It¡¯s in the blood. You wouldn¡¯t understand, Pietro¡ªyou don¡¯t take risks like that!" "Oh, I take risks," Pietro shot back. "Remember last week? I tried a backheel pass, and the boss nearly benched me for it." "Probably because you sent it straight to the other team," Sosa chimed in, his grin widening as Pietro pretended to be offended. The trio¡¯s laughter filled the warm evening air. As they walked toward the locker rooms, the conversation shifted to the upcoming match against Granada. "Watched the news yesterday, a lot of people a looking forward to seeing you play" Sosa said. "I¡¯m pretty sure I won¡¯t start but I¡¯ll do my best when I come on. Unlike the person calling himself the next Xavi, I¡¯m more humble", Izan said as he took off his kit. "Like how I¡¯m staying grounded" Pietro said earning looks from Izan and Sosa. "Grounded?" Sosa smirked. "We¡¯re just here to make sure you don¡¯t start calling yourself ¡¯the next Messi¡¯ after one good game." "Who says I¡¯m not already better?" Pietro shot back with mock arrogance, striking a superhero pose before they all burst into laughter again. As they reached the locker rooms, the mood turned a little more reflective. "Seriously, though," Sosa said, pausing by the door, "it feels good to be here, you know? Training, playing, being part of something like this. I just hope I can keep proving myself." "You will," Izan said firmly. "We¡¯ve seen what you can do. Let¡¯s just stay humble and keep working." Izan said. Hearing it from Izan felt a little weird since he was older than him but Sosa couldn¡¯t help but agree. At least in terms of football seniority, Izan was ahead of him. "Yeah," Pietro added. "But don¡¯t be like this guy, doing rabonas and stuffs¡ªdon¡¯t want the old guys getting jealous." Pietro said pointing to Izan With that, they stepped inside, still laughing and joking. For Izan, moments like these reminded him that football wasn¡¯t just about goals and glory¡ªit was about the friendships forged along the way. As the trio settled into the locker room, their conversation took a lighthearted turn. Pietro, always the instigator, leaned back on the bench with a mischievous grin. "Alright, boys, we need to talk about Mark." Izan raised an eyebrow, tossing his towel into his bag. "What about him? Did he mess up another drill?" "No, no," Pietro said, waving it off. "It¡¯s more serious than that. The guy¡¯s single. And not just ¡¯single,¡¯ but chronically single. We¡¯ve got to do something about it." Sosa chuckled, leaning against the lockers. "You mean we¡¯ve got to get him a girlfriend? Are we running a dating service now?" "Why not?" Pietro replied, grinning. "I mean, we¡¯ve got Izan here¡ªthe golden boy of Valencia¡ªhe can vouch for us. Girls love football players, right?" Izan laughed, shaking his head. "I promised I¡¯d help him find one but its hard since he¡¯s a bit dense." "That¡¯s the problem!" Pietro exclaimed. "He¡¯s too great. He spends all his time being polite, working hard, and...well, not noticing when girls are interested. We need to give him a nudge." Sosa nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, but who do we nudge him toward? You¡¯ve got someone in mind?" Pietro rubbed his chin dramatically. "There¡¯s that girl who works at the caf¨¦ by the training ground¡ªwhat¡¯s her name? Lavi? She¡¯s always smiling when Mark orders his post-training smoothie." "Oh, come on," Izan said, rolling his eyes. "She smiles at everyone. It¡¯s called customer service." "Maybe," Pietro conceded, "but Mark gets the extra-wide smile. I¡¯m telling you, there¡¯s potential." Sosa laughed. "Alright, let¡¯s say you¡¯re right. How do we get Mark to actually talk to her?" "That¡¯s where Izan comes in," Pietro said, pointing at him. "Mark listens to you. If you walk in with Mark and drop a line like, ¡¯Hey, this is my buddy, Mark. He¡¯s a legend,¡¯ she¡¯ll be all over him." Izan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You are unbelievable. Fine, I¡¯ll help¡ªbut only if Mark¡¯s on board. I¡¯m not about to embarrass him." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Deal," Pietro said, clapping his hands together. "Operation Matchmaker is officially underway." Sosa grinned. "This is either going to be a disaster or the best thing we¡¯ve ever done." As they finished up and headed out, the three of them couldn¡¯t stop laughing at the ridiculous plan they were hatching. Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel grateful for moments like this¡ªwhere life was just football, friends, and a bit of harmless mischief. A/n: I¡¯m feeling a bit nauseous so imma rest bit. Have fun reading. Chapter 122: First Half at the Estadio Nuevos Los Cármenes In the quiet Andalusian morning hours, Valencia¡¯s team bus wound its way through the streets of Granada, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the winter sun. Inside, the players sat in focused silence, each immersed in their pre-match rituals. Some scrolled through playlists, earbuds in, while others exchanged murmured words of encouragement. For head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja, this game was a must-win. Despite Valencia¡¯s respectable position in La Liga, every point mattered. He knew that it was nigh impossible to win the league despite their 2nd place ranking. Therefore all he was trying to do was to secure European qualification at the very least. The team arrived at Estadio Nuevo Los C¨¢rmenes to the jeers of Granada fans already congregating outside. Their chants, amplified by drums and megaphones, created a cacophony of noise meant to unnerve the visitors. Security ushered Valencia¡¯s players and staff into the stadium swiftly, shielding them from the fervent home support. Inside, the team stepped onto the pitch for a brief inspection, the pristine grass slick from an early morning watering. Baraja gathered his squad in the locker room shortly after, the atmosphere turning from casual to serious. The walls of the room were adorned with Valencia¡¯s crest and motivational phrases like "Amunt Valencia!" A tactical board stood at the centre, covered in neatly arranged magnets representing Granada¡¯s likely formation. "Granada are fighting for their lives," Baraja began, his voice firm but calm. "They¡¯ll press hard, especially in the first twenty minutes. Stay composed, control the midfield, and look for quick transitions." "It¡¯s easier to play against a first-place team than against a team battling relegation," Baraja said, looking at the faces staring at him. He turned to Andr¨¦ Almeida, the midfield orchestrator. "Almeida, you¡¯re the pivot. Keep the ball moving and exploit the spaces behind their wingbacks." The coach¡¯s attention shifted to Hugo Duro, Valencia¡¯s 2nd top scorer. "Duro, their backline struggles with pace. Test them early¡ªforce mistakes." Then came the subject on everyone¡¯s mind: Izan. The prodigy sat near the centre, his face impassive but his eyes focused. Despite his youth, Izan had already become a game-changer, capable of altering the dynamics with his presence. "You¡¯re starting on the bench today," Baraja said, addressing Izan directly. "We¡¯ll need you fresh in the second half when the game opens up. Be ready to deliver." Izan nodded his composure a stark contrast to his age. The room buzzed slightly as teammates exchanged glances, knowing the young star could be their ace in the hole. With the tactics laid out, the players began their individual preparations. The team¡¯s veteran goalkeeper, Giorgi Mamardashvili, went through a meticulous stretching routine, his towering frame a reassuring presence at the back. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the experienced captain, paced the locker room, rallying the younger players with quiet words of encouragement. The players donned their training kits: a striking combination of black and orange. The jersey, emblazoned with the Valencia crest and the sponsor¡¯s logo, symbolized pride and resilience. As they laced up their boots, the sound of Granada¡¯s fans grew louder outside, a constant reminder of the hostile environment awaiting them. After a while, the players walked through a series of hallways before arriving at the tunnel. As they emerged onto the pitch, a chorus of boos greeted them from the Granada faithful. Valencia¡¯s travelling fans huddled in a distant corner of the stadium, responded with chants of their own, waving their flags proudly. The warm-up began, with players stretching and passing the ball in crisp sequences. Izan jogged along the sideline, drawing cheers from Valencia fans and a few taunts from the Granada supporters. He waved a few times at the travelling fans before proceeding to ignore the granda fans. Back in the locker room for final preparations, Baraja¡¯s voice cut through the tension. "We know what we¡¯re here for. Be smart, be aggressive, and don¡¯t let this crowd get into your heads." The referee¡¯s whistle echoed through the halls, signalling the players to take their positions. Valencia was ready. As the game began, they knew that their composure, tactics, and moments of brilliance¡ªperhaps from their young star¡ªwould determine the outcome on this crucial matchday. .... The Estadio Nuevo Los C¨¢rmenes, nestled in the heart of Granada, was alive with energy as fans streamed into the stadium under the Andalusian sun. Red-and-white Granada flags fluttered in unison, creating a sea of vibrant colours in the stands. Valencia fans, fewer in number but no less vocal, huddled together in their corner, dressed in their iconic orange and black. The game held high stakes, with Granada battling relegation and Valencia looking to keep its place in the top 2. The pre-match buzz centred around one name: Izan. The 15-year-old sensation, Valencia¡¯s rising star, was on the bench, fueling speculation and excitement. Fans whispered and debated his absence from the starting XI. Was it a tactical ploy? A nod to his youth? The fans knew it was probably the former since every Valencia fan knew that Izan¡¯s youth wasn¡¯t a disadvantage to his game. Rather it was the opposite. Izan maturity in games surpassed his years so it was an advantage that he could be effective for them despite his age. The fans were down about it, but the fact that the little boy from Alboraya could be a game-changer in the second half made them forget their worries. As the match kicked off, the stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and chants. Granada, feeding off the energy of their home crowd, pressed high and fast, forcing Valencia onto the back foot. By the fifth minute, Granada¡¯s captain, Antonio Puertas, curled in a teasing cross that caused chaos in the Valencia box. The crowd gasped collectively as the ball ricocheted off a defender and narrowly missed the post. The commentary captured the urgency: "Granada are relentless early on. Valencia needs to settle or risk conceding!" Valencia, under pressure, relied on their midfield maestro, Andr¨¦ Almeida, to calm the tempo. Almeida¡¯s deft touches and precise passes allowed Valencia to regain possession and threaten on the counter. 7 minutes after the first chance from Granada, Hugo Duro broke free on the left wing, his pace leaving Granada¡¯s defenders scrambling. His shot, however, was smothered by Granada¡¯s keeper, Ra¨²l Fern¨¢ndez, who received rapturous applause from the home fans. "It¡¯s end-to-end football here at Los C¨¢rmenes! Neither side is holding back," the commentator remarked, capturing the essence of the opening exchanges. The fans were deeply engaged, their emotions swinging with every tackle and pass. A group of Granada supporters near the Valencia bench began chanting taunts about Izan. Despite his age, he was already becoming a divisive figure in Spanish football. Valencia¡¯s travelling fans responded by singing his name, a playful yet defiant counter to the home crowd. By the 20th minute, Granada earned a corner, and the stadium vibrated with expectation. Brian Zaragoza, Granada¡¯s diminutive winger, whipped the ball into the box. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Amid a tangle of bodies, defender Jes¨²s Vallejo rose highest, his header crashing against the crossbar. Gasps turned into groans as Valencia scrambled the ball away. Granada¡¯s coach gestured animatedly from the sideline, urging his players to stay composed. But Valencia began to grow into the game. In the 27th minute, a quick one-two between Almeida and Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ split the Granada defence. Gay¨¤¡¯s low cross found Duro, who struck fiercely from close range. Fern¨¢ndez, however, pulled off another miraculous save, palming the ball wide. "Oh, what a save! Ra¨²l Fern¨¢ndez is keeping Granada in this match," the commentator exclaimed. The fans cheered Fern¨¢ndez like a hero, chanting his name rhythmically. Amid the chaos, the cameras panned to Izan on the bench. The teenager sat calmly, his expression unreadable, but his name was chanted louder by the Valencia supporters. "Why do they keep panning the camera to me? I¡¯m not even playing" Izan said. Pietro and Sosa, who sat beside Izan, smiled at his remark. "Maybe, they want to gauge a reaction out of you," Sosa said. "Or maybe they are too shy to put the Camera on Pietroninho, so they settled for less,", Pietro said with a grin. Izan and Sosa, watching Pietro¡¯s antics shook their heads and focused on the match. The match¡¯s intensity hadn¡¯t wavered. Granada, spurred on by their resilient defence, launched an attack of their own in the 35th minute. Sergio Ruiz threaded a pass through Valencia¡¯s high line, sending Myrto Uzuni clear on goal. The Albanian forward¡¯s effort beat Valencia¡¯s keeper, Giorgi Mamardashvili, but trickled agonizingly wide of the post. The crowd groaned in unison, heads in hands. A Granada fan yelled, "Come on, lads! We can¡¯t waste these chances!" His frustration resonated with the entire stadium. As halftime approached, both teams seemed determined to break the deadlock. Valencia nearly did so in the 42nd minute when Almeida unleashed a thunderous strike from 25 yards. The ball swerved dangerously but was tipped over by Fern¨¢ndez. The Granada keeper had become the undisputed star of the first half, his heroics keeping Valencia at bay. In the final moments, Granada pushed one last time. Zaragoza danced past two defenders and unleashed a curling shot that had Mamardashvili beaten, but the ball clipped the bar and went over. The referee¡¯s whistle blew shortly after, signalling halftime. "And breathe! What a first half we¡¯ve witnessed. Granada has been fearless, but Valencia, even without Izan, has shown their quality. Still goalless, but you sense something has to give in the second half," the commentator summarized. As the players walked off, the fans applauded the effort. Conversations in the stands turned to tactics and substitutions. "Do you think Izan will come on?" a young Valencia supporter asked his father, his eyes wide with excitement. "I hope so," the father replied. "This game needs a spark, and Izan can deliver it." With the match perfectly poised, the second half promised even more drama. All eyes remained on Izan, whose introduction could very well be the game¡¯s turning point. A/n: Sorry for the single release guys. I¡¯m having a bit of trouble over here so all I can do for now it at least one chapter a day. I¡¯ll try to upload twice a day but if it doesn¡¯t happen, I¡¯m sorry. Anyways, thanks for the support and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Chapter 123: Another Great Performance The Estadio Los Nuevos C¨¢rmenes buzzed with activity as halftime began. The score was level, and the air crackled with anticipation. Fans adorned in Granada¡¯s crimson and white waved flags energetically, their chants reverberating through the stands. Valencia¡¯s travelling supporters, though outnumbered, made their presence felt with rhythmic clapping and renditions of their club¡¯s anthem. Near the edge of the pitch, a local Granada youth team showcased their skills in a quick five-minute exhibition match, drawing cheers from the crowd. In the stands, the announcer read out raffle winners, and lucky fans were handed signed jerseys and memorabilia from both teams. Cameras scanned the audience, flashing faces on the big screen, evoking waves of laughter and cheers from spectators trying to catch their moment of fame. ..... In one of the pundits box in the stadium, the scene captured the lively debate among football pundits during halftime of the match between Valencia and Granada at Los C¨¢rmenes Stadium. The broadcast studio was buzzing with animated discussions about Valencia¡¯s struggles in the first half without their wonderboy, Izan. The host, a sharp-suited presenter with a calm demeanour, opened the segment: "It¡¯s a goalless half here for both Valencia and Granada. Valencia haven¡¯t been the best we¡¯ve seen but it¡¯s clear they¡¯re missing Izan¡¯s magic. How much of this performance boils down to his absence?" The first pundit, a former Valencia midfielder, shakes his head with a mix of frustration and nostalgia. "It¡¯s glaring, isn¡¯t it? Without Izan, they lack that spark, that unpredictability in the final third. Granada has been compact, and Valencia just can¡¯t break them down." The second pundit, a tactician known for his detailed analysis, pointed to a touchscreen showing tactical diagrams. "Exactly. Look at this¡ªValencia¡¯s build-up play is slower and predictable. Izan offers verticality and confidence to take on defenders" "Right now, Granada¡¯s defensive line isn¡¯t being stretched. Without him, Valencia¡¯s wide players are isolated, and the midfield looks hesitant." The third pundit, an ex-striker with a reputation for bold statements, leaned forward. "But let¡¯s be honest. This isn¡¯t just about Izan. Valencia should have a plan B. Relying so heavily on a 15-year-old, no matter how talented, is risky. Where¡¯s the leadership from the senior players?" The conversation continued, with each pundit offering their perspective, underlining Izan¡¯s meteoric rise and his importance to Valencia¡¯s strategy. A few clips of his previous matches play on the screen, showing dazzling dribbles, incisive passes, and moments of brilliance that left defenders scrambling. The segment concluded with the host summarizing, "Valencia¡¯s struggles are undeniable, and Izan¡¯s absence is sorely felt. But as the second half approaches, the question remains¡ªcan Valencia adapt, or will Granada capitalize on their vulnerability?" .... Granada: In their dressing room, Coach Paco L¨®pez urged his players to stay compact and disciplined. His job was on the line so he was doing everything to keep it. "Valencia are dangerous in transition, but we¡¯ve been holding our shape well. Keep pressing high; we can force mistakes!" Captain Jos¨¦ Callej¨®n nodded, rallying his teammates. The room was a mix of calm focus and fiery resolve, with players hydrating and reviewing set-piece strategies. .... Valencia: In the away dressing room, Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja was animated, sketching tactical adjustments on the whiteboard. "Granada¡¯s pressing is leaving gaps. We need to exploit the wings more and get those crosses in," he instructed. The team listened intently, their expressions a blend of concentration and determination. Sitting quietly in the corner was Izan, his boots laced tight, awaiting his moment. Assistant coach Moreno approached him, offering a few words of encouragement, "Be yourself out there. Play your game." Izan nodded at his words before proceeding to take his flask. Joining the other bench players, he walked out of the tunnel and went to the bench. After a while, the players of both teams walked out of the tunnel under the cheers of the fans. Filling, their positions on the pitch, the referee soon blew his whistle. The match restarted and the fans couldn¡¯t wait to see what was on, especially the away fans who were waiting for their star man. Granada came out firing after the break, spurred on by their fans. They nearly scored in the 47th minute when Antonio Puertas struck a thunderous shot from the edge of the box, forcing Valencia goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili into a spectacular diving save. Valencia struggled to regain control, and Granada capitalized on their sluggishness in the 51st minute. Callej¨®n threaded a perfect through ball to Lucas Boy¨¦, who slotted it past Mamardashvili to put the hosts ahead, 1-0. The Valencia fans showed signs of displeasure and they voiced out their frustrations. After the restart, the fans kept mentioning Izan¡¯s name. The Granada fans, who had also come to see the new star boy in Spain, joined the fray in cheering his name, but theirs was more of a sarcastic chant. In the 55th minute, Coach Baraja called Izan from the bench. The away fans who saw this started cheering even before Izan came on. The young prodigy adjusted his jersey, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the pitch after high-fiving Amallah who had been playing on the right wing. The Granada defence, aware of Izan¡¯s potential threat, targeted him aggressively. Each time he touched the ball, he was swarmed. In the 58th minute, he tried a quick turn only to be clattered by a crunching tackle from Facundo Pellistri, a loanee from Manchester United leaving him grimacing on the turf. The referee waved play on, much to the frustration of Valencia¡¯s bench. Izan shook off the challenges, but his passes were intercepted, and his movements were stifled by Granada¡¯s disciplined marking. The players of the home team had been using sly fouling tactics ever since Izan came on. Ruben Baraja, who was on the touchline, appealed to the fourth official, but his words were ignored. Assistant Coach Moreno pulled Rub¨¦n Baraja back after the latter showed a tendency to explode in anger, saving him from a punishment. The camera panned to the stands, where fans huddled together, their faces etched with concern. Conversations buzzed in worried tones, their words almost drowned by the roaring crowd. "He¡¯s just 15! They¡¯re targeting him because of his skill. Old men targeting a kid, football really is fun" a young fan said, shaking his head. "Look at that¡ªagain! That defender just shoved him like he¡¯s nothing," another exclaimed, gripping the railing in frustration. A woman in an Izan jersey winced as she watched him hit the turf yet again. "He¡¯s got talent, but they¡¯ll injure him if this keeps up," she said, glancing at her companions for agreement. An older man chimed in, his voice a mix of admiration and worry. "The kid¡¯s got heart, though. Keeps getting up, even when they knock him down." Another supporter sighed deeply. "They need to protect him. We don¡¯t want to see him broken before he even starts." Their voices blended into a chorus of anxious chatter, their love for Izan evident in every word. The boy on the field wasn¡¯t just a player; he was their hope, their future¡ªand right now, he was being thrown into a storm too fierce for his years. The Granada fans, on the other hand, roared with derision, their jeers echoing through the stadium like a wave crashing over the pitch. Every misstep by Izan was met with exaggerated laughter and mocking chants that seemed to grow louder with each passing second. "?Vuelve a la escuela, ni?o!" one shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. A group of fans in red and white scarves banged on the metal barriers, their mocking claps timed to Izan¡¯s every stumble. "Is this the prodigy everyone¡¯s talking about?!" one yelled, drawing chuckles from the crowd around him. When Izan misplaced a pass, a mocking cheer erupted, with some fans sarcastically applauding as if he had done them a favour. A particularly vocal supporter leaned over the railing, pointing aggressively. "You¡¯re in the big leagues now, ni?o! This is Granada¡¯s football at its best!" Despite the jeers, Izan kept his head down. If the fans could see him now, they¡¯d see a grin displayed on his face. For Granada¡¯s fans, his struggles were fuel for their taunts, a chance to rattle the young talent who had yet to find his footing under the stadium¡¯s glaring lights. The Granada fans who had been able to shut Izan down began getting complacent. There was no way they could mark him fully since their focus was also on attacking. This proved an opportunity for Izan who had been limiting himself. He had wanted to find out how it would be if this happened in their next match against the Los Blancos. "Well, playtime is over,", Izan said as he moved into space. By the 68th minute, Izan began to adapt. A clever one-two with Pepelu allowed him to evade a sliding tackle before surging forward at a blistering pace. The crowd gasped as he danced past two defenders, his confidence growing with every touch. He slid a through pass through the legs of a Granada defender, getting the ball to Diego L¨®pez who sent the ball wide. The fans groaned but they were happy that Izan seemed to be back in the game. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Granada players who had let Izan free refocused their attention on him again but Izan slipped through their grasps again. In the 72nd minute, Izan whipped in a cross that found Hugo Duro, whose header forced a fantastic save from Granada¡¯s goalkeeper, Andr¨¦ Ferreira. The fans could feel it. A goal was beckoning. Valencia equalized in the 78th minute. Izan, deep on the right flank, delivered a curling pass into the box. The ball fell to Javi Guerra, who smashed it towards goal but the keeper pulled off another save. The Granada fans didn¡¯t celebrate for long as Gaya pounced on the loose ball sending it into the top corner, silencing the home crowd. The away fans erupted in cheers, celebrating their team¡¯s hard-earned goal. With momentum on their side, Izan took control. In the 86th minute, he picked up the ball near the halfway line, drove through the midfield, and threaded a perfectly weighted pass to Almeida. Almeida squared it for Duro. The pass from Almeidawas was too close for comfort, and fans felt it but they could only watch as L¨®pez slotted home Valencia¡¯s second goal. The away section erupted in celebration. "Izan is starting to impose himself on this game," the lead commentator observed as the 15-year-old skipped past another challenge. "What a pass! This young man has vision beyond his years," his co-commentator added after the assist for the equalizer. As the final whistle blew, sealing Valencia¡¯s 2-1 comeback victory, the commentator declared, "What a performance from Izan! This lad is something special. Valencia fans will be dreaming of great things to come." The cameras zoomed in on Izan, who, though drenched in sweat, smiled as he exchanged jerseys with Granada¡¯s captain, Jos¨¦ Callej¨®n. The applause from both sets of fans was a testament to a performance that would be remembered for weeks to come. A/n: Had some free time so I decided to whip this one up for you. Have fun ready and thanks for the support. Help me with your Golden tickets and push this book forward. MERRY CHRISTMAS BY THE WAY. MAY YOUR YEAR BE FILLED WITH JOY AND HAPPINESS AND MORE CHAPTERS, HOPEFULLY!!! Chapter 124: Attention Shifts To The Ballon d’Or Ceremony The echoes of Valencia¡¯s 2-1 victory over Granada had barely faded when the footballing world turned its focus to Paris, where the prestigious Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony was set to take centre stage. The Ceremony had been postponed by a few days due to some problems but had finally begun attracting attention after the appointed day began approaching. While Valencia¡¯s victory remained a hot topic, the upcoming awards night and its accompanying glamour quickly became the dominant narrative across sports outlets. Adding to the buzz was the inclusion of Valencia¡¯s 15-year-old sensation, Izan, on the shortlist for the Kopa Trophy, awarded annually to the best U21 player in the world. A monumental piece of news skipped the ears of the footballing world but a few noticed it. Izan once again shattered another record to become the youngest player ever to be included in the Kopa Trophy final shortlist. The shortlist included some other talented players like Bayern¡¯s Musiala, Barcelona trio Pedri, Gavi and Balde with the first two winning the honor in the previous years. Former Barcelona youth, Xavi Simons was also in the mix as well as Real Madrid¡¯s Duo, Bellingham and Camavinga with the former being the favourite for this year. It was almost certain for Jude Bellingham before, but after Izan¡¯s meteoric rise, a new threat had emerged to pose a danger to his claim to the award. Both players had similar stats since the start of the season with both tied for top scorer. It was unprecedented that the two players tied for top scorer in Laliga were midfielders but it was happening and it was a nice change. What actually made it a little better was the fact that a 15-year-old was tearing it up in Laliga. Izan had the edge as he had made 10 assists as compared to Jude¡¯s 4. Jude, however, had consistency going for him since Izan hadn¡¯t even played a year of football. It was scary enough for the fans to think about what would happen if Izan had been playing for a year or more. Maybe he could have even joined the fray for the Ballon d¡¯Or. The Footballing Community around the world was watching for what would be a great night in Paris. It was a monumental moment for both the player and the club. Izan¡¯s stellar performances, as well as his incredible resume of thriving against top oppositions like Athletic Bilbao and Atl¨¦tico Madrid, among others, made him one of the brightest talents in world football. "Izan¡¯s nomination is a testament to his hard work and immense potential," Valencia coach Rub¨¦n Baraja said during a follow-up press briefing. "For someone so young to be recognized on such a global stage is extraordinary." Fans and pundits alike lauded Izan¡¯s achievement. Spanish journalist ¨¢lvaro Dom¨ªnguez commented, "It¡¯s not just about his age; it¡¯s about his football intelligence and his ability to influence games. The Kopa Trophy shortlist is well-deserved." Izan himself remained humble amid the media frenzy. In a brief interview organised by the Valencia PR side, he said, "To even be mentioned among the best young players in the world is an honour. I owe it to my teammates, my coaches, and my family. This is just the beginning for me." As the spotlight shifted to Paris, major networks began their coverage of the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony. Analysts speculated on who would take home the prestigious award, with familiar names like Kylian Mbapp¨¦, Erling Haaland, and Lionel Messi dominating the conversation. Still, the Kopa Trophy discussion held its own, with Izan¡¯s name frequently mentioned alongside other young stars like Jude Bellingham and Jamal Musiala. Social media platforms were ablaze with reactions to Izan¡¯s nomination. Valencia fans flooded timelines with messages of support and trending hashtags like #IzanForKopa. A fan wrote, "At 15, Izan is already rubbing shoulders with the best young players in the world. What a moment for him and for Valencia!" Meanwhile, supporters of rival clubs took note of Izan¡¯s growing stature, with one Arsenal fan posting, "First, he dazzles in La Liga. Now he¡¯s on the Kopa shortlist. Izan is the real deal." In the city of Valencia, the dual focus on Valencia¡¯s victory and the upcoming Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony highlighted the delicate balance in Izan¡¯s journey. While his current focus remained on helping Valencia succeed, the growing media attention underscored the enormity of his potential. Whether or not Izan secures the Kopa Trophy, his nomination alone marked a significant milestone. As the football world awaited the glitzy Parisian gala, one thing was certain: Izan¡¯s name was no longer just a local treasure¡ªit was becoming a global phenomenon. In an exclusive interview ahead of the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony, Izan¡¯s agent, Miranda, opened up about the young footballer¡¯s reaction to being invited to the prestigious event. "When I told him about the invitation, he was speechless," Miranda said, her voice filled with pride. "At first, he thought I was joking. But when he realized it was real, he just sat there, stunned. It took a few minutes for it to sink in." Miranda explained that Izan¡¯s humility often keeps him grounded. "He doesn¡¯t think about awards or ceremonies; he¡¯s always focused on his next game, his next training session. But this invitation is special. It¡¯s recognition on a global stage, and he¡¯s starting to understand just how big this moment is." The Public Relations team of Valencia were having a field day as many media sought to interview Izan. Some interview requests were blocked or denied, but a few came through. In one such interview, Izan shared his thoughts on what it meant to be nominated for the Kopa Trophy. "It¡¯s an honour to even be considered," he said, his trademark modesty shining through. "Growing up, I used to watch the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony on TV, dreaming of one day being part of it." "I never thought it would happen this soon. I just want to enjoy the experience and learn as much as I can." Izan¡¯s family, too, expressed their excitement. His mother, Komi, and sister, Hori, were overjoyed and made plans to support him from home while he attended the ceremony. "We¡¯re so proud of him," Komi said. "This is just the beginning." The days leading up to the ceremony were a whirlwind for Izan and Miranda. As his agent, Miranda took charge of ensuring everything was perfect, from travel arrangements to Izan¡¯s outfit for the red carpet. "Since it¡¯s his first major event, we wanted him to feel confident and comfortable," Miranda explained. "We worked with a designer to create a suit that¡¯s classic but youthful, something that represents Izan¡¯s personality¡ªelegant, but not over the top." Miranda said to Komi and Hori. For Izan, the preparations were a mix of excitement and nerves. "I¡¯ve never done anything like this before," he admitted during a fitting session. "It¡¯s a bit overwhelming, but Miranda keeps reminding me to enjoy the moment." Miranda also arranged for a brief etiquette session to prepare Izan for the formalities of the event. Not that Izan was without one but it was done to prevent any speaking incidents or mishaps that could do damage to Izan¡¯s image. "He¡¯ll be sharing the room with legends like Mess¨ª," she said to Hori and Komi during dinner. "It¡¯s important he feels at ease and knows how to handle the spotlight." After some of the interviews were released, Izan gained a new wave of admirers as fans took to his Social Media accounts and commented their good wishes. Izan didn¡¯t leave them hanging and responded with a picture of him celebrating after scoring while sending his gratitude through a captions under the photo. .... Away from all this, Izan stayed in his room since he had been told to rest after taking a knock in the Granada game. Izan paced around his bedroom, phone pressed to his ear. His youthful voice carried a mix of excitement and nerves as he spoke to Olivia. Olivia¡¯s voice, calm yet tinged with playful curiosity, came through the speaker. "I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯re going to the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony," Olivia said, her tone teasing. "You¡¯re not even old enough to vote!" Izan laughed, running a hand through his dark, slightly messy hair. "I know, right? It feels unreal." "Don¡¯t forget to breathe, Izan," Olivia replied. "And try not to faint when you meet Messi or Ronaldo." Izan stopped pacing, his gaze drifting to the jersey-clad posters on his wall. "I¡¯m not sure Ronaldo is going to be there but if they do, what do I do if they actually talk to me? What do I even say?" "Relax, superstar. Be yourself. You¡¯ve earned your place there," Olivia reassured him. Her confidence in him was like a steady anchor, and Izan smiled despite his nerves. "Thanks, Olivia. I just hope I don¡¯t trip on the red carpet or something." "Well, if you do, I expect you to turn it into a meme-worthy celebration," she quipped, her laughter lightening the mood. Their conversation carried on, filled with some banter, a bit of naughty stuff we can¡¯t say since this novel is for everyone and shared dreams, each word a reminder of how far Izan had come¡ªand how much further he could still go A/n: Haaaaah, I love food. But do you know what else I love, its my readers. Damn I¡¯m good at this. Anyway, have a nice read, and I¡¯ll see you with another chapter. Love Y¡¯all. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 125: Meeting Jude The morning of the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony was filled with an air of anticipation and excitement. The day broke with a pale golden glow streaming through the curtains, casting a soft light on the city below. The streets hummed with activity as fans, journalists, and football enthusiasts gathered to discuss their predictions and favourites for the evening. At the Hernandez home, the atmosphere was a mix of nerves and calm determination. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room as his mom, Komi, prepared breakfast, her calm demeanour masking her own excitement. His sister, Hori, excitedly scrolled through social media, pointing out articles and posts speculating on Izan¡¯s chances of winning. "I hope Jude wins" Hori said, drawing a concerned stare from Izan. "Hori, your brother is in the mix, and you keep saying someone else should win,", Izan said, pretending to be hurt. "Eish, we all know you can¡¯t win. If you had started balling out for the club in the middle of last season, you might have had a bigger chance, but you didn¡¯t, and don¡¯t forget the power of English hype," Hori said as she continued scrolling through. Izan smiled at Hori¡¯s words before proceeding to breakfast. After breakfast, Izan and Miranda kissed Komi and Hori goodbye before heading to the airport. After, going through a few processes, Izan and Miranda boarded a plane, their destination: the dazzling Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony in Paris. The flight was uneventful as Izan slept most of the way there. Miranda, on the other hand, sorted out a few things for Izan before they touched down in Paris. After getting off the plane, Izan and Miranda found themselves boarding a taxi that took them to the hotel they were supposed to stay at. After arriving, Izan texted a Komi, stating that they had arrived. After a brief exchange of messages, Izan decided to rest a bit. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda went out for a moment which left Ixan all alone. Izan on the other hand, sat quietly by the window, gazing at the skyline, his mind replaying the highlights of his game since the start of the season. After a couple of hours, the appointed time was almost upon. Izan and Miranda dined in the dining area of the hotel before going back up to their rooms. As the clock ticked by, Izan and Miranda began preparing for the award ceremony. His suit for the evening hung on the wardrobe door¡ªa sleek black tuxedo that symbolized his confidence. His phone constantly buzzed with messages of encouragement from friends, teammates, and fans, but Izan took a moment to centre himself, reflecting on how far he¡¯s come since the days of playing on dusty neighbourhood pitches. It hadn¡¯t been that long, but he was already at a Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony. Even though he wasn¡¯t there for the most important award, Izan was still glad to be there. Outside, the world awaited, but for now, it¡¯s a moment of stillness¡ªa calm before the storm of cameras, interviews, and flashing lights that the evening will bring. .... At just 15, Izan carried himself with a maturity that belied his age. His sharp black suit fit him perfectly, its minimalist design emphasizing his youth and understated charisma. His blue eyes, filled with a mix of wonder and determination, scanned the horizon as the car pulled over to the building. This was a surreal moment for him¡ªa young player already stepping onto the stage of legends. Miranda, his formidable agent, stood by his side with effortless poise. In her late thirties, she exuded professionalism and confidence. Dressed in a tailored emerald green pantsuit that highlighted her bold yet elegant style, she was the perfect counterbalance to Izan¡¯s quiet intensity. Her short auburn hair framed her face, and her piercing green eyes reflected her belief in Izan¡¯s bright future. During the ride there, Miranda reviewed key talking points and prepared Izan for the whirlwind of media attention that awaited. Despite the gravity of the occasion, they shared a few light-hearted moments, Miranda ensuring Izan remained grounded and ready to embrace the night that could change his life forever. .... As the day of the ceremony approached, the anticipation grew. Social media was abuzz with posts about Izan¡¯s journey to the Ballon d¡¯Or stage, with fans rallying around the young star. "He¡¯s representing the future of football," one Valencia supporter tweeted. Miranda captured the sentiment best: "This isn¡¯t just about Izan¡ªit¡¯s about showing that dreams can come true, no matter your age. He¡¯s proof that hard work, talent, and determination can take you to incredible places." With the world watching, Izan and Miranda prepared to step onto football¡¯s grandest stage, ready to soak in the moment and inspire millions. The Th¨¦atre du Chatelet in Paris once again played host to football¡¯s most prestigious awards night, the Ballon d¡¯Or Ceremony, bringing together the biggest names in the sport for an evening of celebration and recognition. The night was full of emotion, glamour, and history as Lionel Messi, Jude Bellingham, and Aitana Bonmat¨ª walked away with the top honours. As the lights dimmed and the envelope was opened, Lionel Messi¡¯s name was announced, confirming his record-extending eighth Ballon d¡¯Or. The Argentine legend¡¯s victory came on the back of a stellar season with Inter Miami and Argentina, including his standout performances in the Copa Am¨¦rica and continued brilliance at club level. Taking to the stage amid a standing ovation, Messi, visibly moved, said, "Each time I receive this award, it feels just as special as the first. It¡¯s an honour to represent Argentina, my family, and my fans on this stage again." Pundits and fans praised Messi¡¯s consistency and enduring impact on the game. "He¡¯s a living legend," said one commentator. "To dominate for so long is a feat we may never see again." The Kopa Trophy for the best U21 player in the world went to Jude Bellingham, who has been a revelation for Real Madrid. The 21-year-old midfielder had an outstanding season, leading Los Blancos in goals and assists while showcasing leadership and maturity beyond his years. "I¡¯m incredibly grateful to everyone who¡¯s supported me," Bellingham said as he accepted the award. "This is just the start of what I hope will be a long and successful career." While Bellingham took home the trophy, the buzz around Valencia¡¯s 15-year-old Izan, who made the shortlist, was palpable. Many fans and analysts noted the significance of Izan¡¯s nomination, saying, "If he continues on this path, his time will come soon." In the women¡¯s category, Aitana Bonmat¨ª was crowned the Ballon d¡¯Or F¨¦minin winner, solidifying her position as the best player in the world. The Spanish midfielder was instrumental in Barcelona¡¯s treble-winning season and Spain¡¯s triumph at the FIFA Women¡¯s World Cup, where she was named Player of the Tournament. "I want to dedicate this award to all the young girls out there dreaming of playing football," Bonmat¨ª said in her acceptance speech. "This is proof that anything is possible with hard work and belief." The awards sparked celebrations across the globe. Fans in Argentina flooded the streets to honour Messi, while Real Madrid supporters hailed Bellingham as their future leader. In Spain, Aitana Bonmat¨ª¡¯s victory was seen as a triumph for women¡¯s football, inspiring countless young players. Meanwhile, Izan¡¯s inclusion in the Kopa shortlist did not go unnoticed. Valencia fans celebrated his nomination as a sign of brighter days ahead, while others speculated that his presence at such an elite event signalled the beginning of a glittering career. The 2024 Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony was more than just an awards night¡ªit was a celebration of football¡¯s past, present, and future. As Messi basked in his historic victory, Bellingham emerged as the next great talent, and Bonmat¨ª inspired a new generation. The event reminded the world why football is the beautiful game, uniting players, fans, and nations under its magic. ..... "Hey,", Izan heard a voice calling him and turned towards the source. "Oh, my days,", Izan said as he looked at Jude. "Nice to meet you here," Jude said while Izan continued staring at him. Thinking Izan couldn¡¯t speak English, Jude wanted to call for his translator, but Izan recovered. "Hey Jude, nice to meet you here. Big fan" Izan said as he went in for the handshake. "Same. Nice accent, by the way," Jude said, a bit surprised as he took Izan¡¯s hand in his. "Thanks. It¡¯s really nice to see you here. Been watching you since Birmingham," Izan said, flattering Jude, but it was true. Jude¡¯s rise in football was nothing short of a blazing comet. He proved himself at Dortmund and has now taken charge at a Real Madrid side that plays without a striker. Jude himself was not expecting his early days at Madrid to go that well. The two chatted for a while as they found a few things in common, particularly talking about their relation to Adidas. "Well, it was nice seeing you here," Izan said as Miranda called it a night. Miranda joked saying it was past Izan¡¯s bedtime after approaching Jude and the former. Jude looked at Izan in surprise, remembering Izan¡¯s age after Miranda joked. "I hope we are both fit for the bout between Madrid and Valencia. We play each other next, you know," Jude said as Izan left. "Call me when you ever come to Madrid" Jude said as Izan left "Yeah, I will and see you at the Bernabeu," Izan said as he left with Miranda. ..... "Didn¡¯t know you were fluent in English?" Miranda said. "You¡¯re full of tricks aren¡¯t you". Izan just smiled at her words before shifting to look at the scene through the window. "It¡¯s nice,", he said as Miranda left him to his own. "Would have loved to talk to Messi", Izan thought, remembering that the former had left immediately after the ceremony. "Well as long as he¡¯s alive, I hope I can meet him someday". A/N: Good Morning, afternoon or evening to my readers. Have fun with this chapter and I¡¯ll see you in a bit Chapter 126: Return The evening was a dream-like blur as Izan stepped into the grand lobby of the Hotel des Invalides, the opulence of the Ballon d¡¯Or ceremony still coursing through his veins. The shimmering chandeliers reflected the excitement in his eyes, and beside him, Miranda matched his steps with the elegance that had captivated the photographers on the red carpet. Clutched in his hand was a small silver token¡ªa commemorative memento given to attendees. It was a tangible reminder of the night he met some of football¡¯s brightest stars. At the lobby, Izan had met Jamal Musiala with the latter taking the initiative to start a conversation with him. Musiala had been nothing like Izan expected. The German midfielder was relaxed and approachable, worlds apart from the distant aura many top players carried. Their conversation backstage after the ceremony had been brief but impactful. Musiala had smiled warmly, extending a handshake. "Congratulations on everything, Izan. That¡¯s the correct pronunciation right?" Musiala said. Izan chuckled a bit before responding, "Slightly better than people I meet first." "Well, that¡¯s good then. You¡¯re doing great for someone your age. I didn¡¯t even believe you were 15 when I saw you play against Atl¨¦tico." "Those guys were really tough to play against since they are physical and rough with opponents. Anyways keep on like this". "Thanks," Izan had replied, barely concealing his excitement. "You¡¯re a genius yourself. Watching you play at Bayern made me believe in my own style." Musiala chuckled. "That¡¯s kind of you to say when I¡¯m just starting out. If I had talent like yours at that age, I might have won the Ballon d¡¯Or by now" "Keep doing what you¡¯re doing, and who knows? Maybe one day, we¡¯ll play alongside each other or face off in the Champions League." Musiala said before walking off. Now, as the elevator doors closed with a soft chime, Izan relived that moment, his heart swelling with the possibility of standing on such a stage alongside players he admired. Miranda broke the silence. "You looked so confident up there tonight," she said, her voice warm with admiration. Izan shrugged, though he couldn¡¯t suppress a small smile. "I was nervous, to be honest. It¡¯s not every day you get to meet someone like Jude or Musiala." "You handled it well. He seemed genuinely impressed by you." Miranda said as she walked off. The elevator doors slid open, revealing the plush hallway leading to their suite. The thick carpet muted their steps as they approached the door. "They sure spent quite a bit," Izan thought as he walked through the hallway. Inside, the suite was a picture of understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Paris at night, the Eiffel Tower glowing like a beacon. Izan loosened his tie and sank into the couch, the weight of the evening finally catching up with him. Miranda joined him, slipping off her heels and tucking her legs beneath her. "it¡¯s nice, isn¡¯t it ?" she asked, gesturing to the room and the cityscape beyond. Izan nodded at her words before looking away. "Just a few years ago, I was playing in the local parks at Alboraya. Now, I¡¯m here, meeting players that are probably the next generation of superstars" Miranda tilted her head thoughtfully. "What did Musiala say to you?" Izan¡¯s eyes lit up as he recounted their brief exchange. "He told me to keep going and that he¡¯s been watching my progress. I don¡¯t even know if he¡¯s just being nice but if he wasn¡¯t, then it¡¯s good" Miranda smiled, her gaze softening. "You deserve it, Izan. You¡¯ve worked so hard for this. But don¡¯t let it overwhelm you. Just take it one step at a time." He nodded, her words grounding him. "You¡¯re right. Sometimes, I get caught up in thinking about the future¡ªwhat¡¯s next, who I¡¯ll play against, whether I¡¯ll live up to everyone¡¯s expectations. But tonight, I realized that it¡¯s not just about the future. It¡¯s about enjoying moments like this." They talked late into the night, sharing stories of their journeys in football. Miranda spoke about the challenges she faced as a woman in the sport, the sacrifices she made, and the triumphs that made it all worthwhile. Izan listened intently, finding parallels between their experiences despite their different paths. As the clock approached midnight, Miranda stretched and stood. "I should get some rest. We have an early flight tomorrow." Izan nodded, rising to walk her to the door. "Thanks for tonight, Miranda. It was nice to talk about everything." "Don¡¯t worry, I have to take care of you as an agent and as your new mommy, hopefully, or Komi would skin me alive," Miranda said before smiling. Izan rolled his eyes at her words and thanked her again. "Anytime," she replied, giving him a warm smile before disappearing into her room down the hall. ..... The next day, Izan woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. He stretched, the memories of the previous night bringing a faint smile to his face. After a quick shower, he packed his bag and met Miranda in the lobby. Together, they headed to the waiting car that whisked them to Charles de Gaulle Airport. The airport buzzed with early morning travellers, but the staff ushered them smoothly through check-in and security. Soon, they were seated in the first-class cabin of the plane, a quiet oasis away from the bustling terminal. As the plane ascended, the stewardess served breakfast¡ªa spread of croissants, fresh fruit, and steaming coffee. Izan savoured each bite, the calm atmosphere allowing him to reflect on the whirlwind of events. Miranda glanced at him from across the table, her expression thoughtful. "What¡¯s on your mind?" she asked. "Oh, nothing. Just prepping my mind for the clash on Saturday. You know we¡¯re playing Real Madrid on that day, right?" Izan asked. "For a kid, you think too much. It¡¯s Tuesday, and you¡¯ve started thinking about Real Madrid. Couldn¡¯t you wait for Thursday at the very least" Miranda said. "Let football take its course and don¡¯t think too much about it" Her words lingered with Izan as the plane cruised above the clouds. For now, he allowed himself to simply be¡ªa teenager chasing his dreams, savouring the present while preparing for whatever lay ahead. .... The plane touched down smoothly on Valencia¡¯s tarmac, its sleek fuselage glinting under the airport¡¯s lights. Izan and Miranda went through a few processes before walking out of the arrivals. With the sliding doors hissing to life, Izan stepped out first, wearing a white oversized hoodie with his bag in hand. Behind him, Miranda stepped out now in jeans in a top with a warm coat draped over. The airport was quieter than usual, with few people around. "Guess they didn¡¯t know we were coming," Izan said as he tightened his hold on the bag. "Did you want me to leak the news of our arrival?" Miranda said with a grin. Izan just shook his head and looked at her before walking out of the airport. "Miura," a feminine voice said. Izan turned to look at the source of the voice and found Hori and Komi getting out of a car. Izan quickly signalled for them to stay in the car before walking over with Miranda. Inside the car, the atmosphere was muted. Komi, seated in the front passenger seat, turned to look at her son, her eyes filled with pride and concern. "You handled yourself well yesterday," she said, her voice gentle. Hori, sitting beside Izan, leaned in with a wide grin. "You looked so cool up there, like a real superstar! The way they talked about you¡ª¡¯the next big thing in football!¡¯" Izan managed a small smile, glancing at Miranda who was driving. She caught his gaze and smiled back before focusing on the road. "You were brilliant," she said softly. "This is just the beginning." The drive home was quiet, the hum of the city dimmed in the late hour. Valencia¡¯s familiar skyline came into view, its charm grounding Izan after the surreal glitz of Paris. Hori rested her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, he allowed himself to exhale. When they arrived at the house, Komi ushered everyone inside. The warmth of home enveloped them as Hori bounded upstairs, still brimming with excitement. Izan lingered in the living room, as Komi handed Miranda some herbal tea. Miranda smiled before Komi sat beside her, her hands finding Miranda¡¯s. Seeing his mum¡¯s smile, Izan felt truly happy that she finally found someone. The two started getting a bit touchy so Izan stood up and jokingly berated the two adults before heading to his room. "I¡¯ve never been this tired, even after a match,", Izan said as he fell on his bed. He looked around for a bit before his eye settled on a picture. "How are you, Dad," Izan said before picking it up. "If you¡¯re ever wondering, I¡¯m doing great, and so are Mum and Hori", Izan said before putting the picture frame down. He fell on his bed once more before finally sleeping. The focus was now back on his football. S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A/n: Chapter of the day. Have fun reading. Ill try to bring another chapter today but if I can¡¯t, forgive me. I want to quickly finish the Valencia arc but I¡¯m so drained.[ Dirty minded] Anyways see you in a bit] Chapter 127: A Week Of Dedication It was a chilly Thursday morning in Valencia, the sun barely rising as Izan laced up his boots at the training ground. He had been told to rest the previous day after returning from Paris on Tuesday so he couldn¡¯t join the training even if he wanted to. Although he could not join, that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t train. Following a new set of training instructions introduced by the system, Izan pushed himself to the limit, using a conditioning fluid when he was tired. After Izan finished lazing up his boots, he joined the rest of the players on the pitch. The training pitch buzzed with energy as the Valencia squad warmed up under the morning sun. Izan stepped onto the grass, greeted by playful jeers from his teammates. Seeing their gazes, especially Pietro¡¯s, Izan couldn¡¯t help but shake his head. "This guy just can¡¯t control himself," he said as he walked towards them. "Ah, the mighty Kopa runner-up!" Pietro called out dramatically, dropping to one knee in mock reverence. "What an honour to share the pitch with such greatness!" Izan shook his head at his correct premonition, a grin breaking across his face. "Runner-up? I didn¡¯t even make the top three! And here I thought you¡¯d be proud of me, Pietro." Luis jogged over, wagging a finger. "You¡¯ve got to win something before we¡¯re proud, Izan. No trophies, no special treatment." "That¡¯s rich coming from someone who¡¯s never even been nominated," Izan shot back, prompting laughter from the group. Luis acted hurt, after Izan¡¯s piercing words. " Cenk, ever the stoic defender, joined the fray, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Let¡¯s be real, Izan. They probably took one look at your first touch last week and decided to give the trophy to someone else." Izan feigned an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. "Et tu, Cenk? I thought we were a team!" "No Izan, we¡¯ve broken up ever since you nutmegged me last training. Now shoo, runner-up ". Cenks words prompted laughter from the rest of his teammates. Ruben Baraja who had just entered the pitch with his assistant, smiled at his team¡¯s unity. "Okay, let¡¯s get the drill underway,", he said, looking at the person in charge of that. The teasing continued as they began their drills, the lighthearted atmosphere a stark contrast to the one Izan had faced in Paris. Even the drill coach chimed in during a water break, patting Izan on the back. "Don¡¯t worry, kid. Messi didn¡¯t win his first Ballon d¡¯Or at 15 either." Despite the banter, there was a palpable undercurrent of respect. The fact that Izan, at such a young age, had been shortlisted for the Kopa Trophy was an accomplishment none of them took lightly. Pietro and Sosa caught up with him after the drills ended with the latter slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Listen, Izan," Sosa said, his tone unusually serious. "Jokes aside, you¡¯ve done something incredible. The trophy doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that you¡¯re out here, working hard, proving you belong." Izan nodded, grateful for the words. "Thanks, Pietro. But next year¡­" "You¡¯ll win it," Pietro finished with a wink. "No more, no, what about you? You are still 20. You can also win it, or that¡¯s not part of your big plans". Pietro¡¯s face faltered as he looked at Izan. "Of course, Pietroninho doesn¡¯t care about stuff like awards. All I want is to play good football and marry Ava". Izan and Sosa, who were a bit ahead of Pietro, stood still after hearing his words. "This guy isn¡¯t serious," Sosa said. "But it¡¯s a good aim though", Izan added after Pietro caught up. As the team headed off the training pitch, Izan felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Kopa Trophy might have slipped through his fingers, but with his teammates pushing him, the future felt brighter than ever. The day¡¯s training continued with another set of drills, this time a bit more targeted at the players of various departments of the team. Izan joined his teammates on the field, his eyes scanning across the field as he did so. With cones and markers laid out for a complex rondo drill, Izan stepped into the circle but he didn¡¯t stay inside for long. The ball zipped between players, and Izan¡¯s sharp movements were a testament to his determination. Jose Luis Gaya, smirked as he tried to nutmeg Izan, but Izan flicked the ball away with an ease that drew laughs and applause from the group. "Not today, Luis," Izan said with a grin, his confidence infectious. As training progressed, the coach emphasized positioning and pressing. Izan, usually deployed as forward, was tasked with dropping deeper to receive the ball and dictate play. The role wasn¡¯t much of a challenge for Izan who had been training with the systems instructions. After about 30 minutes, the intensity of the training had ramped up. The team simulated game scenarios, splitting into two squads for an intra-squad match. Izan found himself up against Valencia¡¯s towering centre-back, Cenk, whose physicality tested him at every turn. Yet, Izan thrived on the challenge. He used his agility and quick thinking to evade Cenk, his performance so sharp that the coach interrupted the game to praise him. "Izan, that¡¯s how you unsettle defenders!" the coach shouted, clapping enthusiastically. The other players on the side rolled their eyes at Ruben Baraja glazing over Izan¡¯s every move. After the small-sided match, Izan and his teammates stretched on mats in the gym, the atmosphere more relaxed. They exchanged banter about their favourite players. "Who are you most excited to face on Sunday?" asked Gaya. Izan thought for a moment. "Camavinga," he replied. "He¡¯s fast and smart. If I can get past him, I can confirm something ." The room fell silent for a moment as they processed the enormity of the challenge ahead. Then Gaya broke the tension with a laugh. "Better him than Modri?, man. That guy¡¯s magic." Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After the recovery session, Izan headed towards Ruben Baraja¡¯s office. He had been told by Assistant Coach Moreno that the head coach needed him after he was done. ¡¯Knock knock knock¡¯, Izan tapped as a voice came from the room telling him to enter. Izan stepped into Ruben Baraja¡¯s office, the faint scent of leather and polish mingling with the hum of quiet authority. The Valencia manager, seated behind his desk, looked up with a warm yet measured smile, gesturing for Izan to take a seat. Izan followed and took a seat in front of the manager. "First of all, Izan, congratulations," Baraja began, his voice calm and steady. "To be recognized among the best young players in the world at your age is extraordinary. You¡¯ve made history, not just for yourself, but for this club." "Thank you, coach," Izan replied, his tone modest yet tinged with a hint of self-doubt. "But 4th place¡­ it feels like I came up short." Baraja leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Izan¡¯s with a determined intensity. "Short? Not at all. 4th means you¡¯re on the cusp of greatness. Use this as fuel. You¡¯ve already shown the world what you¡¯re capable of; now, prove there¡¯s no ceiling to your talent." The room fell silent for a moment before Baraja shifted the conversation. "Speaking of proving yourself, we need to talk about Real Madrid. They¡¯re a different beast, and I need you at your best. How¡¯s the ankle? Any lingering pain?" Izan shook his head. "It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve been following the physio¡¯s plan to the letter." He had sustained a slight bruise on his ankle in training the day before leaving for Paris. "Good," Baraja said, leaning back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "This game is a test¡ªnot just of skill, but of resilience. Madrid will push you to your limits, and I trust you¡¯ll rise above it. Remember, trophies come and go, but what defines a player is their response to challenges like this." Izan nodded, his resolve hardening. "I won¡¯t let you down." Coach Baraja smiled at Izan¡¯s confidence. "Okay then I won¡¯t hold you up anymore. See you tomorrow". Izan nodded at Baraja¡¯s words before leaving the room. Baraja¡¯s gaze lingered behind the former¡¯s back as he left the room with Baraja seemingly in thought. He shook his head before remembering the meeting that had occurred between him and the club. .... Izan pushed open the door to his home, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The familiar aroma of Komi¡¯s cooking wafted from the kitchen, a comforting blend of spices and warmth that welcomed him in. He kicked off his cleats by the door, carefully avoiding the pair of sandals that belonged to his little sister, Hori. Climbing the stairs two at a time, Izan dropped his bag in his room and headed straight for the bathroom. The cold water of the shower hit his skin, washing away the exhaustion of the day¡¯s training. He stood under the stream for a moment, letting his muscles relax and his mind drift to the intense drills and scrimmages. A slight smile crept onto his face as he replayed his best moves from the session. Once he was fresh and relaxed, he wrapped a towel around himself and padded back to his room to throw on a simple t-shirt and shorts. The sound of Hori¡¯s laughter downstairs made him quicken his pace. He knew she¡¯d have a million questions about his day¡ªshe always did. Descending the stairs, Izan caught sight of his mother setting plates on the table, her hands moving with practised ease. Hori was already seated, swinging her legs under the table as she beamed at him. "How was training, Izan?" Komi asked, glancing up with a smile. "Tough, but good," Izan replied, pulling out a chair. His stomach growled in anticipation as Komi set a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. "Well then, Itadakima-" Hori tried to say but Izan shoved her head slightly. "What was that for" she said with a pout. Komi looked at her daughter¡¯s face and smiled. "When in Rome, do what the Romans do," Izan said before picking up his cutlery. "Entonces vamos a comer [let¡¯s eat]" Izan said in Spanish. Komi laughed at his words before the family of 3 dug into their meals. A/n: Sorry for the late update guys. Anyways have fun with this one and I¡¯ll see you with another. Yesterday was my birthday BTW, that was why I couldn¡¯t update early today since I don¡¯t have a stockpile. Love y¡¯all Chapter 128: Preparations. The morning opened with a sweeping view of Real Madrid¡¯s Valdebebas training complex, bathed in golden sunlight. The training pitch was filled with life as players jogged in unison during the warm-up. Luka Modri? led the group, his movements precise and graceful, while Antonio R¨¹diger cracked a joke that drew laughter from his teammates. Both were leaders in the team, but there was a striking contrast between how Luka Modri? carried himself and how free R¨¹diger was, joking around, playing and pranking teammates. Away from all this, the master tactician, Carlo Ancelotti stood on the sideline surrounded by his assistants with a clipboard in hand, gesturing emphatically as he outlined the tactical drill His voice carried authority as he instructed, "Quicker transitions! Move the ball with purpose!" sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players scattered into formation, executing a rondo drill with rapid, one-touch passes. Jude Bellingham was at the centre of the action, darting between teammates, trying to win the ball back, his competitive spirit shining through. ... The scene cut to a high-energy scrimmage after the players were done with the drills. Vin¨ªcius J¨²nior collected the ball on the left flank, using his trademark pace to glide past Dani Carvajal. His quick step-over left the defender momentarily flat-footed before Vin¨ªcius cut inside and curled a shot toward the far post. Thibaut Courtois reacted with lightning speed and dove to his right to parry the ball away, drawing applause from his fellow players. "Keep that up on Saturday evening, Vini, and the Valencia keeper won¡¯t know what hit him,", Carvajal said with his thumbs-up. Vinicius smiled at his words before returning to the match where a midfield battle unfolded. Eduardo Camavinga intercepted a pass before bursting forward, evading a challenge from Toni Kroos. After spotting a run, he threaded a perfectly weighted ball to Joselu, who took a touch before firing a shot past the goalkeeper. Although it was a scrimmage, Jos¨¦lu still celebrated. His Ancelotti shook his head after seeing Jos¨¦lu celebrate. His celebration was understated but confident, a reminder of his sharpness ahead of the Valencia game. ... The bright Madrid sun peeked through the windows of the Valdebebas training centre as Real Madrid players filtered into the video analysis room. They had just finished with the physical aspect of the game and were now poised to know the tactical aspect. The team¡¯s veteran manager, Carlo Ancelotti, stood calmly at the front of the room, ready to orchestrate his strategy. Known for his composed demeanour and tactical genius, Ancelotti¡¯s voice carried a quiet authority that demanded attention. The session began with footage from Valencia¡¯s recent matches projected on a large screen. The players watched intently as Ancelotti dissected their opponent¡¯s strengths and weaknesses. He pointed out Valencia¡¯s fluid counterattacks and solid defensive setup, emphasizing areas where Madrid could exploit spaces. The coach¡¯s laser pointer danced across the screen, pausing to highlight individual Valencia players who posed a threat. But when clips of a young talent named Izan flashed on the screen, the room¡¯s energy shifted. Izan¡¯s dazzling performance in the league had become the talk of Spanish football. His numbers were good but it was what he did at his age that made people talk. His blistering pace, deft footwork, and ability to score under pressure were nothing short of sensational. His confidence on the ball belied his tender age, and even the seasoned Madrid squad couldn¡¯t ignore his growing reputation. It was Jude Bellingham, Madrid¡¯s midfield dynamo, who broke the silence. "Look at him," Bellingham said, leaning forward and gesturing toward the screen. "This kid is unreal. The way he ripped through Atl¨¦ti¡¯s defence like they weren¡¯t even there¡ªthat¡¯s dangerous. Remember, we lost to Atleti, so we can¡¯t give him any room to breathe, or he¡¯ll hurt us." The players nodded as the loss to Atl¨¦tico had left a bad taste in the mouths of them and their fans. The room was silent as the players watched Izan effortlessly skip past defenders in the replay, setting up goals and scoring with clinical precision. Luka Modri? nodded in agreement, his decades of experience in midfield allowing him to immediately recognize a serious threat. Antonio R¨¹diger leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his face, perhaps mentally preparing for a battle with the young prodigy. Bellingham continued, "He¡¯s not just about pace; it¡¯s his intelligence. Look at the timing of his runs. He knows exactly when to move. And his finishing¡ªcold as ice." His words carried weight. The Englishman¡¯s meteoric rise to prominence mirrored Izan¡¯s, and his respect for the Valencia forward wasn¡¯t lost on anyone in the room. Ancelotti, ever the pragmatist, nodded and responded. "True, Jude. Izan is special, no doubt. But he¡¯s also young. We can use our experience to manage him. Don¡¯t let him dictate the game, and don¡¯t get drawn into his rhythm. Keep it tight, and we¡¯ll be fine." The session ended with a focused determination hanging in the air, and the team moved to the recovery rooms. The drills they had done were intense, mirroring the challenge Valencia was expected to pose, so they had to recover equally. As the players trained with intensity, fans across social media engaged in heated discussions about the upcoming clash. Madridistas were confident but wary. The rise of Izan had not gone unnoticed, and many acknowledged the teenager as a potential game-changer. "Valencia¡¯s boy wonder, Izan, is on fire," one fan tweeted. "If Madrid¡¯s defence isn¡¯t on their toes, we¡¯re in for trouble." Others, however, placed their faith in Ancelotti¡¯s experience and the team¡¯s star-studded lineup. "Izan is good, no doubt, but this is Real Madrid we¡¯re talking about. Our backline has handled the best in the world. He¡¯s just a kid," another fan commented on a popular football forum. Valencia supporters were equally vocal. "Izan has already shown he can shine under pressure," one user posted. "Atletico and Bilbao couldn¡¯t stop him, and neither will Madrid. This is his moment to prove he belongs on the biggest stage." The anticipation extended beyond Izan. Fans analyzed potential midfield battles, especially the prospect of Jude Bellingham squaring off against Valencia¡¯s rising star. On TikTok, a clip of Bellingham praising Izan from a post-match interview circulated, further hyping the matchup. "Izan and Bellingham on the same pitch¡ªit¡¯s like watching the future of football in real-time," a viral comment read. Meanwhile, pundits on sports networks debated how Madrid would handle the young forward. Some speculated that R¨¹diger¡¯s physicality and Alaba¡¯s tactical awareness could neutralize Izan¡¯s threat, while others believed Valencia would use their starlet¡¯s unpredictability to unsettle Madrid¡¯s defence. As training concluded, the Madrid players huddled for a final talk from Ancelotti. "Stay focused. Play our game. Remember, experience and composure will see us through," he reminded them. The players nodded, their faces set with determination In the distance, fans gathered outside the gates, shouting their support as the players departed. The buzz of excitement extended far beyond Valdebebas. For Madridistas and Valencia supporters alike, this wasn¡¯t just another match. It was a clash of generations, with seasoned stars like Modri? and Kroos meeting rising talents like Izan¡ªa game that promised drama, intensity, and perhaps, a glimpse into the future of football. ..... On the other side of the coin, the sun dipped low over the pristine training grounds of Valencia CF, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed grass. The final whistle of the day pierced the air, signalling the end of the session, but Izan wasn¡¯t done yet. Throughout the drills, his touch had been sublime, his vision sharp. Coaches and teammates alike had taken notice of the teenager¡¯s uncanny ability to read the game, to thread a pass through impossible gaps, and to finish with clinical precision. But it was the final drill that left everyone stunned. A small-sided game of four-on-four had been set up to wrap things up. Izan, as always, found himself at the heart of every attack. The ball came to him just outside the box, two defenders closing in rapidly. With a feint to his right, he sent one defender sprawling, then spun left to glide past the other. He wasn¡¯t finished. Seeing the keeper advancing, he executed a perfect chip, the ball sailing gracefully over the goalkeeper¡¯s outstretched arms before nestling into the top corner of the net. The training ground erupted in applause. "?Incre¨ªble, chaval! [ "Amazing, kid!] " one of the assistant coaches exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. Even among the players, some were beginning to exchange glances, murmuring about the wonder kid who seemed destined for greatness. Izan, however, barely registered the attention. He jogged back, a slight grin on his face, ready to go again. As the team packed up and the lights of the training ground began to flicker on, Izan lingered, juggling a ball casually with precise, rhythmic touches. Sosa and Pietro, who had already freshened up, came to the pitch side with their bags. "We¡¯re leaving" Pietro said, watching Izan juggle the ball. Izan stopped juggling and looked over at Pietro and Sosa before waving at them. The duo nodded before turning and leaving. "Sometimes, you have to rest" Pietro muttered as they left. After a while, Izan stopped and headed towards the locker room. After freshening up, he also took his bag to leave. A/n: Have fun. Chapter 129: Anticipated Game The highly anticipated La Liga showdown between Real Madrid and Valencia captured the attention of football pundits and analysts alike. There might have been a more anticipated match between these two teams in the past, but this was as heated as it got for a long time. In a pre-match studio discussion, the panel¡ªcomprising a mix of seasoned experts and former players¡ªdelved into the match¡¯s intricacies, offering tactical insights, predictions, and a surprising nod to rising star Izan, whose meteoric rise has added a fresh narrative to the Spanish football scene. Leading the discussion, veteran analyst Javier Martinez highlighted Real Madrid¡¯s recent form under manager Carlo Ancelotti. "This season, Madrid has been relentless. Their midfield trio of Tchouam¨¦ni, Valverde, and Bellingham brings a blend of energy, creativity, and defensive solidity. Not to mention, Vin¨ªcius Jr. and Rodrygo¡¯s flair on the wings can dismantle any defence." He emphasized Real Madrid¡¯s ability to dominate possession while exploiting spaces behind defensive lines, warning that Valencia would need a near-perfect defensive setup to stifle the hosts. Ex-Real Madrid defender Fernando Hierro chimed in with his perspective, lauding Madrid¡¯s adaptability. "What makes Madrid dangerous is their flexibility. They can play on the counter, but they¡¯re equally comfortable breaking down low blocks. Valencia will struggle to contain the relentless waves of attacks, especially if Bellingham continues his goal-scoring form". "And let¡¯s not forget, even if they managed to stop Bellingham, he is just part of the problem as both Vin¨ªcius and Rodrygo will be hitting from all sides" Shifting focus to Valencia, tactical analyst Sofia L¨®pez argued that while the visitors are underdogs, they are not to be underestimated. "Valencia may not have the star power of Madrid, but they¡¯ve shown grit and determination this season" "Players like Hugo Duro and Javi Guerra have stepped up in crucial moments. And don¡¯t forget forget the attacking prowess of their youngster Izan who combines well with their captain, Jose Luis Gaya." Sofia halted, letting her words linger before continuing, "Valencia can keep it compact defensively and hit Madrid on the counter; they could cause problems, especially with Izan¡¯s blistering pace on the break." The other pundits nodded at Sofia¡¯s words since they were true. Former Valencia striker David Villa offered an insider¡¯s take, praising the club¡¯s fighting spirit. "Valencia is a club built on resilience. They¡¯ve shown they can rise to the occasion against top sides. The key will be how well they transition from defence to attack. I¡¯m particularly interested to see how their midfield battles Madrid¡¯s high press. It could decide the game." When asked for predictions, the panel was divided. Martinez leaned towards a comfortable Real Madrid victory. "It¡¯s hard to bet against Madrid at the Bernab¨¦u. I¡¯m calling a 3-1 win for Los Blancos. Bellingham and Vin¨ªcius will be the difference-makers." Sofia L¨®pez predicted a closer contest. "I think Valencia will frustrate Madrid for large spells, but their lack of depth might hurt them in the second half. I¡¯ll say 2-1 to Madrid, with a late winner." David Villa, however, went for a bold prediction. "Call me biased, but I think Valencia can snatch a draw. 1-1. Duro could be the surprise hero tonight but I¡¯m not writing Izan off." As the discussion unfolded, the conversation turned to Izan, the 15-year-old sensation whose recent performance in Laliga this season has made waves in the football world. Martinez was quick to acknowledge the youngster¡¯s talent. "Izan is the talk of the town. At just 15, he¡¯s showcasing maturity beyond his years. His vision, composure, and ability to influence games are extraordinary. If he continues on this trajectory, we might be looking at the next big thing in Spanish football." Hierro, who knows the pressures of playing for a top club, offered a word of caution. "He¡¯s an incredible talent, no doubt, but it¡¯s important to manage expectations. At his age, development is key. But imagine the impact he could have if nurtured correctly." Sofia L¨®pez added a broader perspective, suggesting Izan could influence how Spanish academies scout and develop young talent. "What Izan is doing is inspiring. Clubs across Spain are now paying closer attention to their youth setups. He¡¯s a beacon for young players dreaming of making it big." David Villa, visibly impressed, couldn¡¯t hide his excitement. "As a striker, I see a bit of myself in him¡ªthe hunger, the drive to prove himself. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Izan is playing in a Real Madrid or Barcelona jersey in the next few years. And who knows? Maybe he¡¯ll be the one leading Spain to future glory." The panel¡¯s conversation reflected the excitement surrounding the Real Madrid-Valencia clash while underlining the growing impact of young talents like Izan. As fans eagerly await kickoff, one thing is certain: Spanish football is in for an exhilarating night¡ªand an even brighter future. The upcoming clash between Real Madrid and Valencia not only captured the imagination of Spanish football fans but has also drawn significant attention from media outlets worldwide. With the fixture promising high-quality football, global broadcasters and journalists have turned their focus to the tactical battle and emerging storylines, including the buzz surrounding 15-year-old prodigy, Izan. In Europe, outlets in the UK, Germany, and Italy have placed this game among the weekend¡¯s marquee fixtures. BBC Sport called it a "must-watch" encounter, emphasizing Real Madrid¡¯s relentless pursuit of domestic dominance and Valencia¡¯s reputation as a giant killer since the start of the season. Pundits on Sky Sports highlighted the tactical intrigue, particularly how Valencia might counteract Madrid¡¯s dynamic midfield. German outlet Kicker focused on Jude Bellingham¡¯s extraordinary season, labelling him the key player to watch. Meanwhile, the Italian paper La Gazzetta dello Sport provided an analysis of Ancelotti¡¯s tactical evolution, praising his ability to keep Real Madrid competitive across all fronts. Asian media outlets, particularly in Japan and South Korea, showed keen interest in the rise of Izan. His remarkable performance against teams in the Laliga piqued curiosity in regions that have grown increasingly engaged with European football. Japan¡¯s Nikkei Sports ran a feature on "The Wonder Kid of La Liga," comparing Izan¡¯s rapid burst onto the football scene to some football greats. Similarly, South Korea¡¯s JoongAng Ilbo noted how Izan¡¯s technical brilliance and fearless approach resonate with fans of rising Asian stars like Son Heung-min and Lee Kang-in. With La Liga matches widely broadcast across Asia, Izan¡¯s story was becoming a focal point in pre-match discussions. In North America, networks like ESPN tied the match¡¯s narrative to broader discussions about youth development in football, featuring segments on Izan. "We¡¯re witnessing the birth of a potential global icon," said an ESPN analyst. "His age and performances have parallels to stars like Lionel Messi when they first broke into the scene and let¡¯s not forget that Izan is way younger than that" From pundits in Europe to commentators in Asia, opinions were divided on the outcome of the Real Madrid-Valencia clash. Many believed Real Madrid would assert their dominance, with international outlets predicting a victory for Los Blancos. However, the romantic narrative of an underdog Valencia upset had also captured the imagination. As Valencia geared up for their highly anticipated La Liga encounter against Real Madrid, the team focused on a meticulously planned matchday routine. With the formidable challenge of facing Los Blancos at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u, every detail of their preparation is aimed at ensuring peak performance and a clear tactical mindset. ... Valencia arrived at the hotel in Madrid, poised for the match. There was a slight commotion from the surroundings as a few reporters tried to approach them. Seeing this, Baraja smiled at them before leaving with his players. "How many are you going to score today?" Pietro said as he walked beside Izan. "Who knows, we might not even score today. Just play to your fullest and let the rest be decided by our performance," Izan spoke as he tightened his hold on the bag. Pietro kept talking after Izan¡¯s reply and only stopped when his phone began ringing. Pietro took the phone out and smiled with his eyes on the screen. Izan, who was staring from beside, shook his head at Pietro¡¯s actions and left him to his own. "Hernandez, Coach wants to talk", Gaya said to Izan, who was entering the lobby. Izan nodded at Gay¨¤¡¯s words before handing the bag over to Pietro. "I want you to join me for today¡¯s pre-match conference. You need to face it early so you can be prepared for some of the pressures to come. And what better pressure when you¡¯re playing against Real Madrid" Ruben Baraja said as soon as Izan got to him. Izan stared at him for a hit before nodding at his words. "Okay then have some rest. We¡¯ll leave for the stadium 2 hours before the match. Before then, try to get some rest". Izan turned and left after Baraja¡¯s word before joining the rest of the players in the lobby of the Hotel. "Was it about the pre-match conference?" Gaya asked with a smug expression as soon as Izan got near. "I thought that something was up since the coach doesn¡¯t usually talk with me about things like this. So it was you" Izan said with a reluctant expression, earning a laugh from Gay¨¤. "Start early, finish well" Gaya said before following the rest of the players who had gotten their room cards. Izan stood there for a while before he took his own and followed suit. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 130: Armed To The Teeth The Santiago Bernab¨¦u buzzed with electric anticipation as fans streamed toward the iconic stadium under a crisp Madrid evening sky. The grand facade glowed brightly, reflecting the excitement coursing through the city. Outside, street vendors sold scarves, flags, and churros, their voices blending with the chants of passionate Madridistas already in full voice. Inside, the stands were a sea of white, a united front of devotion and pride. The stadium lights bathed the pitch in a dazzling brilliance, while the club¡¯s anthem echoed through the speakers, stirring emotions in every soul present. The Valencia supporters, though outnumbered, brought their own spirited defiance, creating a charged yet respectful clash. The team buses of both Real Madrid and Valencia rolled up to the Santiago Bernab¨¦u, greeted by flares and chants from fans lined up along the avenue. Cameras flashed as the players stepped off, with the home side dressed in sharp suits while the visitors wore their club tracksuits. The Real Madrid players, calm and composed, waved at their supporters, while Valencia¡¯s team moved quickly into the stadium, looking focused but slightly overshadowed by the intimidating atmosphere. In the Bernab¨¦u¡¯s sleek marble halls, the players made their way to the locker rooms. The Real Madrid dressing room hummed with quiet intensity. Luka Modric and Toni Kroos sat together, sharing a quick laugh, while Jude Bellingham put on his earbuds, nodding to the beat of his playlist. A few stars like Vin¨ªcius and Rodrygo sat scrolling through their phones while chatting. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed but one could still see the the confidence they had going into the game. In Valencia¡¯s locker room, the atmosphere was tense but purposeful. Captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ stood by the tactical board, absorbing the manager¡¯s instructions while young talents like Javi Guerra adjusted their gear, their focus palpable. The room smelled of liniment and ambition, the sounds of studs clicking against the floor and Velcro straps tightening filling the air. Izan sat in a corner, headphones around his neck, visualizing his game plan. A few eyes stared at the young player who had an air of maturity around him. Izan had been quiet since they got on the bus, and it looked like he was trying to get in the zone for this match; therefore, no one bothered him. Not even Pietro. The Usual joking and cheerful demeanour had been replaced with a serious one. The reason for this was that Pietro was starting. A training mishap had caused Pepelu to be ruled out for this clash, and Ruben Baraja¡¯s alternative wasn¡¯t good enough, so Pietro had to play a more defensive role in the midfield for the match. For Izan, he had already made headlines, but tonight, under the floodlights of the Bernab¨¦u, was a different test. "Stay sharp out there," assistant coach, Moreno said, tapping Izan on the shoulder. "They¡¯ll come at us fast, but you¡¯ve got the skill to handle it." The players nodded at his words before walking out of the room. Moments later, the Valencia team emerged onto the hallowed pitch for their warm-up. The sheer magnitude of the Bernab¨¦u hit them immediately, the roar of the growing crowd a deafening reminder of Real Madrid¡¯s fortress. Izan jogged toward his teammates, joining the passing drills with precision and a calm exterior that belied his age. As the warm-up continued, a ripple of movement caught Izan¡¯s attention. Real Madrid¡¯s players were now taking the field, met with thunderous applause and chants of "Hala Madrid!" Among them, Jude Bellingham¡¯s towering presence stood out. The Englishman¡¯s confident strides exuded the composure of a player at the peak of his powers. To the Valencia players surprise, Bellingham wandered over as Valencia wrapped up a shooting drill. Izan looked at the latter with a smile and also approached. When his teammates saw him moving towards Jude, they understood what might have happened and focused on their warm-up. "Welcome to the Bernab¨¦u?" Jude said, his grin disarming but his tone. "Thank you, but you know today isn¡¯t my first time here, right?" Izan said, hinting at his stint with the National team a while back. Jude nodded at his words while clasping, Izan¡¯s hands for a shake. You¡¯re good. Real good." Jude paused, letting the compliment sink in. "But tonight? You¡¯re gonna need more than good. This is the Bernab¨¦u, and if you don¡¯t bring your A-game, you won¡¯t stand a chance against us." He finished with a smirk. Izan held Jude¡¯s gaze, a flicker of determination igniting in his chest as he returned the smirk "I don¡¯t plan on holding back," he replied, his voice steady. Jude chuckled, giving Izan a light pat on the shoulder. "That¡¯s the spirit. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got." As Jude jogged back to his side, Izan turned his focus inward. The crowd¡¯s noise faded to a hum, replaced by his own mantra: Play your game. Prove your worth. The warm-up concluded, and the players retreated to their tunnels. The stage was set, and Izan knew this would be the match where he¡¯d either shine or falter under the relentless pressure of the footballing world. The possibility of the latter happening was close to none as no matter what happens, win or lose, he¡¯s going to make the Bernab¨¦u remember him. [A day before the game] "Okay, Max, open the Personal Hub,", Izan said as he threw his towel over his bathroom door. The system rang with a sound that only Izan could hear. [Personal hub, made passable], Max spoke. Izan looked on as the hub screen materialised in front of his eyes. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [83/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[92] LEGEND POINTS:[260,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [900] STAT POINTS: [57] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 90 Body Control: 86 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 86 Passing: 85 sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Body Strength: 80 Defending: 68 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 70% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 2] 37% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 24% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 79% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 1] 80% Completion > **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped Izan stared at his hub and was more than satisfied. Many players hit their peak at his 83 OVR but this was just the beginning for him. With a mental flex, Izan decided to arm himself before the Madrid game. His tricks weren¡¯t going to be foolproof against a team like Real Madrid, whose lineup boasted of players with higher OVRs than him. He, therefore, wanted to close the gap a bit while strengthening his advantages, such as pace and passing, and also keeping his weaknesses, such as defending, up to par. His priority was body strength. He didn¡¯t want to be blown away by tackles and shoves from opponents, so Izan wanted to toughen himself up a bit, so he started with that. Body strength:80 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:80 Strength:80 Shot power:80 Izan didn¡¯t waste time and began with his upgrade. He splashed 15 stat points on two of his three stats of his body strength attributes, bringing them to look something like this. Body strength:80>85 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:80>90 Strength:80>85 Shot power:80 He deemed his shot power okay so he left that alone and went on with Stamina and strength. This expense brought his stat points down to 42 but Izan didn¡¯t stop. He went on to open the Speed attribute. He didn¡¯t want to be one of the pace abusers in football, but going against a team like Real Madrid, who had one of the fastest defenders in the world, [Ferland Mendy], Izan knew he had to go all out. Not to mention, abusing your pace against one of the Pace abuser teams in the world was nothing but pure satisfaction for Izan. [And the author who is a Culer. Come on Barcelona] "Max, how would you rate Ferland¡¯s speed from when we last saw them play?" Izan asked the system while searching for Ferland Mendy¡¯s pace attribute on Google, according to video game physics. [The subject¡¯s pace is seen by the system as 93] Izan nodded at the system¡¯s input before asking the system its accuracy when it came to matters like this. [At least 80 percent but I would have to analyse him up close to measure his true speed] Izan didn¡¯t linger after the system¡¯s answer and quickly brought up the Pace attribute. Speed:90 ¡ö¡ö¡ö Sprint speed:90 Acceleration:90 "Share 8 stat points equally between both stats," Izan said to the system. The system quickly followed his orders, bringing Izan¡¯s pace to a stunning 94. Izan couldn¡¯t help but not be himself when he thought about abusing Ferland Mendy. "Do I have sadistic tendencies?" Izan thought as he came back to his senses. Izan watched as his stat points reduced from 42 to 32. "This one is going to drain me," Izan said as he looked at his passing Attribute. Passing:85 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Short passing:85 Long passing: 85 Crossing:85 With a loud sigh, Izan splashed 15 stat points on the three stats making his passing attribute breakthrough to 90. [Ding, Host¡¯s second 90-rated attribute had been unlocked. 5 stat points will be given as a reward] [Host¡¯s Potential has increased from 92 to 93] "Yosh, " Izan pumped his fists in the air after hearing the system¡¯s words. "That¡¯s okay for now. Let¡¯s keep some stat points in case I need to improve an aspect during the game" Izan said before going back to his personal hub. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[15] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [85/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[93] LEGEND POINTS:[260,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [900] STAT POINTS: [22] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 90>94 Body Control: 86 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 86 Passing: 85>90 Body Strength: 80>85 Defending: 68 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 70% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 2] 37% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 24% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 79% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 1] 80% Completion > **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped : equipped [Ding, Host¡¯s OVR has increased from 83 to 85] With a refreshing smile, Izan glanced over his hub once more before closing the window. [Back to present] Staring at his hub once again, Izan closed it before joining his mates outside the locker room. As the teams emerged from the tunnel, the roar of the crowd reached a crescendo. The iconic "Hala Madrid!" chants rang louder, banners waved fiercely, and flares briefly illuminated sections of the crowd. All eyes were on the pitch, where heroes and history were about to be made. It was more than just a football match¡ªit was a grand spectacle, a sacred ritual, and a showcase of footballing legacy. A/n: decided to release this one for you guys. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you in a bit.[ Golden ticket chapter, Daoist Adquiro] thanks for the Golden tickets. Chapter 131: First Blood Drawn At The Bernabéu [Back to present] Staring at his hub once again, Izan closed it before joining his mates outside the locker room. As the teams emerged from the tunnel, the roar of the crowd reached a crescendo. The iconic "Hala Madrid!" chants rang louder, banners waved fiercely, and flares briefly illuminated sections of the crowd. All eyes were on the pitch, where heroes and history were about to be made. It was more than just a football match¡ªit was a grand spectacle, a sacred ritual, and a showcase of footballing legacy. ... "Good evening, everyone, and welcome to a packed Santiago Bernab¨¦u! The stage is set, the tension is palpable, and the stakes couldn¡¯t be higher. It¡¯s Real Madrid vs Valencia in this blockbuster La Liga clash, a match that will decide who sits atop the table. Both teams have been in scintillating form this season, trading blows week after week in the race for first place. Carlo Ancelotti¡¯s men, with their attacking flair and defensive resilience, are eager to reclaim their dominance. But Valencia, under their inspired coach, have been the surprise package, showing grit and determination that has taken them to the summit. The Bernab¨¦u faithful are in full voice tonight, and why not? This is more than just three points¡ªit¡¯s about sending a statement to the rest of Spain. Who will seize the opportunity and claim the top spot? We¡¯re about to find out. Kickoff is moments away!" The commentator went on about his job as the players came out of the tunnel. "As the Valencia team emerges from the tunnel, there¡¯s one name on everyone¡¯s lips tonight¡ªIzan. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. At just 15 years of age, this young prodigy has taken the footballing world by storm. His sensational performances against teams in the league still lingers in the minds of fans and pundits alike, and now, here he is, walking out onto one of the grandest stages in football, the Santiago Bernab¨¦u. This isn¡¯t just another match for the teenager; it¡¯s a moment to prove himself against one of the greatest teams in the history of the sport. The question on everyone¡¯s mind¡ªcan Izan, under the bright lights and deafening roar of the Bernab¨¦u, deliver once again? If there¡¯s one thing we¡¯ve learned about this young man, it¡¯s that he thrives under pressure. Keep an eye on him tonight. He might just be the difference-maker for Valencia in this title-deciding clash." [In the stands] "Wow, Olivia, your boyfriend is really famous. The new darling of Spanish media" Valerie said as she sat beside Olivia. Olivia glanced at her but didn¡¯t say anything. "The media favours him now, but what would happen if he buckles here tonight?" Olivia uttered. Her words skipped Valerie who wasn¡¯t paying attention. "What did you say?" she asked, but Olivia just shook her head. "Let¡¯s hope he does well," Olivia said, returning her gaze to the field as the announcer mentioned the lineups of both sides. ..... "And now, let¡¯s take a look at the starting eleven for Real Madrid as they prepare for this high-stakes encounter under the bright lights of the Santiago Bernab¨¦u In goal, the ever-reliable Thibaut Courtois, a towering figure and the backbone of this Madrid defence. Ahead of him, the backline features Dani Carvajal and Ferland Mendy on the flanks, with the rock-solid pairing of David Alaba and Antonio R¨¹diger in the heart of the defence. In midfield, the maestro Luka Modri? pulls the strings, alongside the ever-industrious Toni Kroos and the dynamic and powerful Federico Valverde, a trio that perfectly blends experience, creativity, and energy. Up front, the deadly attack was led by the Brazilian sensation Vin¨ªcius J¨²nior on the left and the electric Rodrygo on the right. And, of course, leading the line is the talismanic Bellingham, who¡¯s been in scintillating form this season. He looks to be in the false 9 role but we¡¯ll see as the match unfolds. It¡¯s a lineup packed with quality and experience, ready to rise to the occasion in what promises to be a fiery battle for the top spot!" "Now, let¡¯s turn our attention to the Valencia lineup, a team full of grit, determination, and youthful energy, as they gear up to challenge Real Madrid on their own turf. In goal, the ever-dependable Giorgi Mamardashvili, who¡¯s been a fortress between the sticks this season. The back four features Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the experienced captain, anchoring the left flank, with Thierry Correia on the right and the solid partnership Mosquera and Cenk ?zkacar in the centre of defence. In midfield, Valencia boasts an exciting blend of youth and experience. At the heart of it all, Pietro, the young dynamo with incredible vision and work rate, will look to dictate the tempo of the game. Flanking him are Hugo Guillam¨®n, providing defensive steel, and the versatile Javi Guerra, who links defence to attack seamlessly. And then there¡¯s the name everyone¡¯s excited to see¡ªIzan, starting in the attacking midfield role. The 15-year-old sensation has been nothing short of extraordinary this season. His creativity, fearlessness, and ability to unlock defences make him the beating heart of this Valencia side. Leading the attack, Diego Lopez and Hugo Duro bring pace and precision, ready to capitalize on the chances Izan creates. It¡¯s a lineup filled with youthful exuberance and tactical discipline, with Izan at its core, ready to take on the challenge of the Bernab¨¦u!" ... Fweeeeee The referee blew his whistle to start the match. The match at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u had barely begun when Valencia launched a swift attack straight from the whistle. Immediately after the kickoff, Izan dropped deep into his half. While he was running back, his teammates were doing exactly the opposite. Hugo Duro¡¯s pass backwards found Guerra who laid the ball off to Izan. With a threatening pass, Izan caught the Madrid defence off guard, threading a pass to the left flank where Gaya had escaped Carvajal¡¯s incessant defending. Gaya, after escaping his marker, nudged the ball slightly forward before sending a low cross into the Real Madrid box. Hugo Duro, lurking in the box, escaped from Rudiger and latched onto a clever ball from the Gaya. Alaba tried to close in on him, but Hugo Duro unleashed a fierce strike aimed at the bottom corner. The visiting fans stood on their feet at the thought that they might take the lead in the match. However, Thibaut Courtois, ever-alert, dived low to his right and smothered the ball with commanding precision. The home fans were relieved, but it was now the time for the visitors to chase. Without hesitation, the Belgian goalkeeper rose to his feet, scanning the field. Spotting an opportunity, he unleashed a powerful throw to Toni Kroos, stationed near the halfway line. The German maestro turned gracefully, evading a press with a deft touch, and immediately spotted Vin¨ªcius J¨²nior making a darting run down the left flank. Kroos¡¯ pass was inch-perfect, slicing through Valencia¡¯s midfield and setting the Brazilian winger free. Vin¨ªcius exploded into a burst of pace, dragging two defenders wide as he surged toward the final third. With the Valencia backline scrambling to close him down, Vin¨ªcius feinted left, then cut inside, creating just enough space to deliver a well-weighted cross-field pass to Federico Valverde, who had arrived on the edge of the box unnoticed. Valverde, known for his sharp decision-making, let the ball roll ahead of him before rifling a low, driven pass into the path of Bellingham who was perfectly positioned at the near post. The English midfielder, showing impeccable timing, flicked the ball with his first touch, sending it hurtling toward the top corner. Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper stretched in vain, but the ball was already nestling into the net. In seconds, Real Madrid had transitioned from defence to attack with breathtaking speed, showcasing the precision and ruthlessness of a textbook counter-attack. The stadium erupted as Madrid players celebrated a stunning early lead, their intent clear from the first whistle. "Gooooooooooaaaaaaaal, Los Blancos draw first blood. What counter-attacking football? They almost conceded, but now the ball is at the back of the net in the opponent¡¯s end. 2nd minute here, and Jude Bellingham has already put Real Madrid in front. It¡¯s Real Madrid 1, Valencia nil" The faces of the visitors weren¡¯t that good as their team had conceded but they quickly composed themselves and began cheering for their players. As the commentary flowed, Izan stood on the pitch with a smile on his face. "Yes, this is how it should be. Anything less would have been disappointing". The Real Madrid players and fans celebrated for a while before they returned to their half. On the way to his half, Bellingham showed his index finger to Izan indicating his goal before walking off. Izan smiled at the former¡¯s action as Diego L¨®pez, now kicking off, set the ball on the halfway spot. Izan ran his hand through his hair, his blue eyes resolute as he looked at the ball. The shrill sound of the referee¡¯s whistle blew again, restarting the match just two minutes after the first whistle. A/n: Chapter of the day, have fun. Chapter 132: Calma The online world erupted as Jude Bellingham netted an early second-minute goal for Real Madrid in their highly anticipated clash against Valencia. Madridistas flooded social media platforms with exuberant posts, hailing Bellingham as a generational talent and the heart of their team¡¯s midfield. Phrases like "El Rey Jude!" and "Bellingham is unstoppable" trended within minutes. They revelled in the explosive start, using the goal to mock Valencia and even taking shots at Izan, forgetting that the match had just started and Izan¡¯s pass early on nearly caused them problems if not for the save by Courtois. Real Madrid fans, emboldened by their team¡¯s fast start, didn¡¯t hold back. Some derisively dismissed Izan as a "fraud" while others made cruel remarks about his youth and inexperience, claiming he "wouldn¡¯t last against the Gal¨¢cticos." Memes comparing Izan to Bellingham flooded the internet, portraying the young prodigy as an overhyped boy in the shadow of Madrid¡¯s golden gem. One particularly viral post read, "Real stars shine on the big stage. Izan can stick to playing kids¡¯ tournaments." These jabs quickly gained traction, sparking heated debates among football fans. Valencia fans, however, rallied behind Izan, seeing the insults as an attack not just on the player but on their club¡¯s pride. Many passionately defended the teenager, highlighting his incredible potential and poise under pressure. Posts like "Izan has more talent at 15 than some players do in their whole careers" began circulating. Some fans pointed out how Bellingham, at Izan¡¯s age, wasn¡¯t anywhere near the level of spotlight or scrutiny their young star was enduring. Neutral fans added fuel to the fire, with some arguing that Real Madrid¡¯s dominance often came with arrogance, while others noted the irony of Madrid fans targeting a player who was just starting to carve out his legacy. Amidst the frenzy, Izan¡¯s name continued trending worldwide, with football pundits and fans alike speculating about his mental fortitude in facing such criticism. The polarized reactions underscored the sheer intensity of football rivalries. For Madrid fans, Bellingham¡¯s goal was a moment of triumph and a reason to belittle Valencia¡¯s rising hope. For Valencia fans, it was a rallying cry, a reason to stand by Izan and amplify their belief in his future as the next big thing in football. The drama had only just begun. [In Valencia] "I wished we could have gone to watch the game. Brother is trending again" Hori said as she showed the frenzy online to his mother. Komi looked a bit concerned but she quickly rid her mind of that feeling. She went to the kitchen and returned with a few snacks before the duo sat down. "Well, at least Miranda¡¯s there", Hori said, stuffing her mouth with some churros. Komi also nodded at her words before shifting her attention to the match where Izan had just taken possession. .... "On your left", Izan heard a shout from behind, so he laid off the ball to his left. Coming from behind, Gaya flicked the ball to his right, evading the onrushing Valverde. The Midfielder had been monumental for Madrid ever since Valencia settled into the game. It had been 12 minutes now, and the possession stats, as well as the chances created, went in favour of Valencia. The Valencia fans were Glad that their team was also threatening the opponents but they wished for a goal. A scene on the pitch made the commentator¡¯s voice rise with excitement as Izan received the ball just inside the opponent¡¯s half. 16¡¯ min. "Izan picks it up now¡ªoh, look at that first touch! So smooth, so confident. He¡¯s got space ahead of him, and he¡¯s driving forward with intent." The crowd noises swelled as Izan glided past the first defender with a quick drop of the shoulder. "He skips past one... cuts inside¡ªwhat balance! This young man is playing with fire in his boots!" the commentator affirmed. As another defender closed in, Izan flicked the ball delicately into space. "He sees the run¡ªperfectly weighted! What vision! Izan orchestrating this attack like a maestro." Izan¡¯s pass found Diego L¨®pez, who had gone behind the opponent¡¯s defensive setup. The move culminated as Izan played a clever one-two with Diego L¨®pez near the edge of the box. "Brilliant interplay! Izan¡¯s through on goal¡ªcan he finish this off?" The commentator¡¯s words tumbled out with breathless admiration as the crowd collectively held its breath. Izan raised his head to shoot but instinctively, he saw Hugo Duro on his right. Seeing as there was a Chance for the keeper to save his shot, Izan passed the ball to Hugo Duro. The Striker tapped the ball with his right foot as the whole stadium watched on, but suddenly, Antonio R¨¹diger appeared behind the keeper and cleared the ball with a slide. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Hugo Duro¡¯s hand went to his head, not believing what had just happened. "How" he thought as he looked at R¨¹diger. The Valencia fans groaned while the home fans celebrated the fantastic clearance by R¨¹diger. "Vamos," R¨¹diger shouted as his teammates patted him on the back. R¨¹diger finished with his momentary celebration and yelled at his teammates to focus. Izan, on the other hand, shook his head at the wasted chance. Duro had already raised his hand to apologise but Izan also felt at fault. "Would have been easy for everyone if I had just slotted it in" he thought as he moved into space for the throw. Standing on the touchline, Ruben Baraja shouted a bit of instructions at his players many telling them to close the passing gaps. Correira, who hadn¡¯t had much to do since the start of the match, picked up the ball and launched it towards Pietro. Bellingham, who had run across the field, tried to press Pietro, but the Valencia man flicked the ball behind with his heel. The focus of the Madrid players all shifted to the person who had the ball, but it would not be for long as Javi Guerra passed to Gaya. Valencia¡¯s fluid football was somehow reminiscent of the Tiki-Taka football of Pep Guardiola¡¯s Barcelona. Gradually, the tempo of the game slowed down. Izan knew something had to change for them to score, so he immediately shifted the tempo after getting the ball from Correia, who had switched play. Knocking the ball forward, Izan side-stepped a tackle before choosing to go on a sprinting spree on the left flank. Seeing this Diego L¨®pez switched positions and made a run into the middle. Dani Carvajal found Izan coming his way and decided to stall but a gust of wind flashed past him. He turned only to find Izan laying the ball off to Diego L¨®pez. He hurriedly scrambled back to defend while Diego L¨®pez turned his back to goal before flicking the ball towards Izan. Dani Carvajal, who had recovered, attacked Izan¡¯s shoulder with his right hand, tipping his balance. Seeing this, the referee was about to blow the whistle, but Izan¡¯s left foot went behind, so he let play continue. With bated breaths, the whole stadium watched on as Izan powered through the ball with the outside of his left foot. His sudden change in foot usage confused Courtois who couldn¡¯t react early. The ball cut through the air with curl and precision, showcasing the effectiveness and ingenuity of the trivela. The ball went past the outstretched hand of Thibaut Courtois before homing into the top corner. The stadium went silent momentarily before it erupted into cheers. "Gooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal. Valencia are back within one and who better than their little talisman. What did you expect? It was Izan; he was always going to do something special," the commentator screamed as Izan ran towards the corner flag. The Valencia fans saw him approach their stand before he suddenly slowed down. Reaching the fans, Izan raised both hands in front of his chest with palms facing downward while making a steadying motion. The Real Madrid fans who saw this couldn¡¯t help but be irked by Izan¡¯s version of the "Calma Celebration " which was popularised by their legend, Cristiano Ronaldo. The cheers of the away crowd rose a notch as Izan¡¯s teammates jumped onto him. Izan couldn¡¯t hold on any longer and collapsed under the pile of bodies. "Exciting scenes at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u. Valencia has drawn level. 19th minute here, it¡¯s Real Madrid 1, Valencia 1" Standing in the middle of the field, Jude Bellingham watched as Valencia celebrated their goal. "What a surprise," he said, sarcastically as the Valencia players returned to their half. Reaching where Jude stood, Izan also showed his index finger to Jude Bellingham, signifying his goal as Jude had done earlier. The LED that wrapped around the stadium interior displayed the scoreboard which showed a goal for each team as Bellingham stood over the ball. After everything was set, the referee blew his whistle once more to restart the match. The cheers around the stadium were deafening, and the excitement boiled over. The fans of both sides began their chants, each side looking to inspire their team to score. For a while, there was a back-and-forth between the fans who were trying to one-up each other, as well as the players on the field who were trying to put the ball at the back of the opponent¡¯s net. A/n:Have a nice read guys and have fun Chapter 133: Half-time At The Bernabéu The LED that wrapped around the stadium interior displayed the scoreboard which showed a goal for each team as Bellingham stood over the ball. After everything was set, the referee blew his whistle once more to restart the match. The cheers around the stadium were deafening, and the excitement boiled over. The fans of both sides began their chants, each side looking to inspire their team to score. For a while, there was a back-and-forth between the fans who were trying to one-up each other, as well as the players on the field who were trying to put the ball at the back of the opponent¡¯s net. ... From the 19th minute onward in the first half of a match between Real Madrid and Valencia, both teams engaged in a dynamic attacking play. After a relatively subdued couple of minutes, Real Madrid began asserting themselves through midfield dominance. Jude Bellingham, supported by Luka Modric and Kroos, orchestrated most of their forward play. In the 21st minute, Bellingham made a surging run through the centre, slipping a precise pass to Vin¨ªcius J¨²nior on the left. Correia from Valencia trailed behind him but ultimately caught up with Vin¨ªcius after the latter showed a bit. In a battle between the two, Vin¨ªcius displayed his trademark flair slipping past Correia with a la Croqueta before cutting inside and unleashing a shot aimed at the far post. His shot was destined for the net, and the fans around the Bernab¨¦u believed so, but the Valencia goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili dived sharply to parry the ball away. Heaves of relief were heard around the Valencia stand before they began cheering for their team again. Seeing as they were not getting any attacking edge, Izan dropped back and helped in defence, waiting for the opportune moment to strike on the counter. The momentum stayed with Real Madrid as Dani Carvajal combined with Rodrygo on the right flank. This particularly incisive sequence in the 27th minute saw Rodrygo deliver a low cross into the box, narrowly missing Jude, who lunged but failed to make contact. Madrid¡¯s reliance on their wide players was evident as they struggled to penetrate Valencia¡¯s compact central defence. Valencia, under pressure for extended periods, sought to catch Madrid off-guard with rapid counter-attacks. Pietro and Hugo Guillam¨®n played critical roles in intercepting Madrid¡¯s passes and quickly transitioning the ball forward. In the 31st minute, Izan raced down the right wing after getting away from his marker. Gaya, who held the ball centrally, smacked it diagonally to Izan¡¯s location. The ball found its way towards Izan but Ferland Mendy was also approaching Izan and Ferland Mendy locked horns on the right flank in a gripping battle that highlighted their speed. Izan, who saw this, immediately burst into a sprint to control the ball. However, Mendy, known for his defensive prowess and quick recovery runs, matched Izan stride for stride, closing the gap with an aggressive yet controlled approach. As the ball dropped into a contested area, both players jostled for position, their arms brushing as they leaned into each other. Mendy attempted to use his body to shield Izan from getting to the ball, but Izan¡¯s relentless drive and sharp acceleration allowed him to slip past. With a deft touch, Izan flicked the ball just out of Mendy¡¯s reach before pivoting sharply to maintain possession. The moment was a testament to Izan¡¯s agility and raw pace under pressure, drawing cheers from the crowd as he pushed forward. A moment later, Izan delivered a dangerous cross into the box with Hugo Duro, Valencia¡¯s forward, meeting it with a powerful header that forced Thibaut Courtois into a spectacular save. The away fans sighed as Thibaut Courtois pulled off this save. Moments later, Valencia¡¯s Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ initiated another break, threading a pass to Diego L¨®pez, whose curling effort from the edge of the area skimmed just wide of the post. Valencia¡¯s strategy relied on quick switches in play and exploiting spaces left by Madrid¡¯s advanced fullbacks so their fullbacks were also advancing, especially Gaya. --- On the sidelines, Real Madrid manager Carlo Ancelotti was visibly animated, barking instructions at his players to move the ball faster. His frustration grew in the 35th minute when a promising Madrid attack broke down due to a miscommunication between Modric and Vin¨ªcius. Ancelotti¡¯s gestures highlighted his emphasis on precision and composure in the final third. In contrast, Valencia coach Rub¨¦n Baraja maintained a calmer demeanour, occasionally stepping out of his technical area to direct his team¡¯s defensive structure. He was notably vocal during Madrid¡¯s set-piece situations, urging his players to stay tight and clear their lines. Both managers seemed acutely aware of the stakes, with neither willing to concede an inch. --- The Bernab¨¦u crowd played its part in fueling the energy on the pitch. Every counter-attack was met with raucous cheers, while defensive clearances drew applause. The away fans, on the other hand, relished their team¡¯s ability to frustrate Madrid¡¯s high-profile attackers. Online, Real Madrid fans expressed mixed reactions. Many praised the creativity of Bellingham and Modric, while others criticized the lack of a finishing touch from Vinicius and Rodrygo. Valencia fans on social media celebrated Mamardashvili¡¯s standout performance, with several calling him the "wall of Mestalla" for his series of crucial saves while others continued fawning over Izan. As the half drew to a close, both teams continued probing for the lead, and it came a goofy manner. In the 38th minute, Modric attempted a spectacular long-range strike, but Mamardashvili once again proved his worth, tipping the ball over the bar. From the ensuing corner, Antonio R¨¹diger rose highest and headed the ball towards goal. Marmadashvili lunged left and caught the ball. In a way that left the away fans speechless, Marmadashvili couldn¡¯t hold on and dropped the ball, causing a scramble that ultimately left Vinicius poking the ball inside the Valencia net with his right foot. The goal wasn¡¯t very nice, but a goal was a goal which led Vinicius to run to the corner flag, his teammates behind as they celebrated it. Marmadashvili raised his hand in defeat as he apologised for his mistake. The players were hurt by the goal but Gaya clapped, bringing them back to their senses. The ball returned to the halfway dot, with Diego L¨®pez kicking off this time. The match went on for a while but not much happened. Valencia, however, had a final chance in stoppage time of the first half when a quick one-two between Izan and Lopez created a shooting opportunity for Guillam¨®n. His shot, however, was blocked by a sliding David Alaba, preserving the lead of Real Madrid. The referee blew his whistle immediately after the added time was up. The players walked towards the tunnel, the home fans vocal about their lead as they continued chanting while a few fans went out for some snacks. "Half-time here at the Bernab¨¦u and what an exciting first half. Blows were traded, with Real¡¯s Bellingham drawing first blood, but Izan equally proved exciting as he curled the ball into the opposing side. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The two sides have gone blow for blow but ultimately, Real Madrid lead from a gruelling mistake by Valencia wall, Giorgi Mamardashvili which saw Vin¨ªcius put his name on the score board. It¡¯s Real Madrid 2, Valencia CF 1" --- The tunnel buzzed with a mix of hurried footsteps and voices echoing off the concrete walls. Izan, drenched in sweat, clutched a water bottle as he adjusted the collar of his jersey. As Izan turned a corner, there he was: Bellingham, towering slightly over him, his signature confident stride softened by a warm smile. The Englishman had just finished a quick exchange with a teammate but paused when he saw the young Spaniard. "Good first half," Bellingham said, his voice steady but friendly. "But we got the edge". Izan froze for a second before chuckling a bit. Caught off guard by Jude¡¯s words, Izan composed himself before speaking. "It¡¯s... it¡¯s just the first half. The match isn¡¯t over yet". "And remember, we¡¯ve both got a goal, so, in terms of performance, I¡¯d say I¡¯m ahead since my team performed better than yours this first half. You just got lucky". "Luck is also part of the game," Jude said. "Keep that attitude up; I¡¯ll be waiting in the second half." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice and said. With a posh English accent, Izan spoke, "I¡¯ll do my very best, Sir Bellingham". "Hey, that¡¯s not how we speak", Jude said as he walked off. Izan shook his head with a smile before walking off. He entered the away locker room, sat down and waited for his massage. Ruben Baraja entered and left them instructions for the second half. Izan listened intently while getting his massage. After Baraja finished, a text message from his phone saw Izan smile. He typed a reply to the text before putting his phone down. As the second half approached, the players came out of their locker rooms, locking a bit refreshed. They walked through the tunnel and were met with another wave of cheers as the fans awaited eagerly for the second half to start. A/n: [Golden ticket chapter]. Have fun. Chapter 134: Attack On Madrid As the second half approached, the players came out of their locker rooms, locking a bit refreshed. They walked through the tunnel and were met with another wave of cheers as the fans awaited eagerly for the second half to start. ... [In the stands] "Wow, what a half. I knew your little boyfriend was good from all the hype and the news I saw, but this is insane," Valerie said. "I mean, he just scored a goal against Real Madrid at 15 years of age. It doesn¡¯t get any younger done than that". "16, he¡¯ll be 16 next week," Olivia said with a slight blush. "Okay, sugar mommy, hold on for a sec. Don¡¯t try to justify your relationship as it doesn¡¯t need that. It¡¯s allowed, okay. It is just a two-year gap. He¡¯ll be 16 before you turn 18 in December" Valerie said while patting Olivia at her back. Olivia nodded unconsciously while Valerie just stared at her with a grin. "Oh, seems their back, let¡¯s hope he can do more", Valerie said, causing Olivia to lift her head. She stared at the tunnel where the players were coming from, hoping to meet Izan¡¯s gaze, but she was sure he couldn¡¯t since the crowd around them was too large. ... Izan, on the pitch, glanced at where Olivia sat and found her looking a bit sad. "What is she thinking" he said with a slight chuckle as he walked to his position. "As the players take their positions for the second half, the atmosphere here at the Bernab¨¦u is electric." The commentator spoke. "Real Madrid and Valencia have shown flashes of brilliance in the first 45 minutes with the home side managing to get two into the opponent net and the away side managing to cross out one goal Los Blancos will look to assert their dominance, with their midfield maestros pulling the strings, while Valencia will aim to capitalize on their counterattacking opportunities. It¡¯s all to play for as the referee signals the start of the second half. The next 45 minutes could be decisive in determining who walks away with the crucial three points tonight." As the second half began at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u, the intensity immediately ramped up, with both Real Madrid and Valencia showing no intention of settling for the current score. The fans, buzzing from the first half¡¯s stalemate, roared in anticipation as the players returned to the pitch more energized than before the game began. Madrid started aggressively, pushing forward with relentless pressure as they looked to extend their lead. In the 47th minute, Vin¨ªcius Jr. danced through two defenders on the left wing, the crowd rising in unison with every step. Cenk Ozkacar stepped up to intercept him but he was sent tumbling by a nice and quick change of pace by Vin¨ªcius. The Brazilian-born winger got to the byline and spotted numbers in the opponent¡¯s box. His low-driven cross found Jude Bellingham as the home crowd looked on eager but his first-time shot smashed off the post, sending a ripple of disbelief through the stadium. Gasps echoed, followed by thunderous applause for the effort. Valencia responded with fire. In the 54th minute, they launched a blistering counterattack after Marmadashvili saved a shot. His long throw found Pietro in the middle, who eventually combined with Izan in a one-two sequence that left Izan with space. His thoughts ran at an unimaginable speed as he tried to find marvellous passing routes. His eyes scanned for a while before he ultimately settled for one. A precise long ball from Izan, worthy of his now 90-rated passing stat, split the Madrid defence, sending their winger-turned-striker for this match, Diego L¨®pez, racing toward the goal. The crowd¡¯s tension was unbearable as they watched Diego L¨®pez catch up to the ball and just as the Valencia forward pulled the trigger, Thibaut Courtois charged out, making a stunning save with his outstretched leg. The stadium erupted in a mix of cheers and sighs of relief as Courtois pumped his fist, urging his teammates forward. After this chance, Valencia began attacking proactively. This was good but, at the same time, a bit bad as Izan, the core of their attacks was soon subjected to rough treatment by the Los Blancos. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The tackles soon began flying in. Federico Valverde¡¯s crunching challenge in the 61st minute drew furious reactions from Valencia players, who swarmed the referee demanding a card. The referee, however, let Valverde off with a warning, earning boos from the away crowd. The Madrid fans also booed in protests as they didn¡¯t think their player¡¯s tackle was found. The stadium buzzed with energy and hostility. Moments later, Valencia¡¯s captain returned the favour, sliding into Luka Modri? near the sideline, sparking another flare-up and loud whistles from the home crowd. Tension hit its peak in the 72nd minute when Valencia thought they had found equalizer. A whipped corner met the head of their towering centre-back, and the ball sailed toward the top corner. Courtois, once again the hero, leapt at full stretch to tip the ball onto the bar. The crowd¡¯s collective intake of breath turned into a deafening roar of admiration as the Belgian keeper¡¯s heroics kept Madrid alive. Time was ticking and Valencia needed to find an equalizer. This would prove detrimental as Real Madrid capitalized on the spaces left behind by their attacking fullbacks. Madrid responded with wave after wave of attack after this. Vin¨ªcius dazzled again in the 75th minute as he skipped past his marker. The Valencia defense scrambled to retrieve the ball but it wasn¡¯t to be. Lunging to the left, Vinicius suddenly flicked the ball the opposite way before going around the onrushing player. With a clear path towards goal, Vinicius relaxed a bit and shifted his weight to his left leg before shooting with his right. The ball, which was destined for the top spot, got blocked by an impressive foot from Mark, who had come on earlier, but the ball still found its way to the fresh legs of Brahim Diaz, who slotted the ball into the bottom right corner. The Santiago Bernab¨¦u exploded into life after the fans saw their team take a two-goal lead. "I don¡¯t remember the last time we celebrated a goal against Valencia like this," a fan said as he ensued another in a hug. The faces of the travelling Valencia fans were downcast after the goal. Some even stood up to leave but some stayed, hoping for a miracle. Izan looked at the scoreboard and smiled wryly. It wasn¡¯t over till it was over but this was really hard to do. 2 goals in less than 20 minutes against a Madrid side like this was utter bullshit. But if they were able to score within the next seven minutes, the momentum would shift to their side, which might enable them to score another goal. And so they did. After the restart, anyone would have thought the Valencia team would retreat to their shell, but they became more attacking. In the 82nd minute, Izan won the ball back in the middle of the field. The Real Madrid backline was in shambles. Like a gust of wind, Izan ran towards the opponents, his sights set on the goal. Toni Kroos, who met Izan, first tried to grab and hold Izan, but Izan nudged the ball between his legs. "I¡¯m getting too old for this", Toni Kroos said as he turned to give chase to Izan, who was now a few meters from the box. Seeing Izan galloping towards them like a horse, Rudiger and Alaba decided to meet him, with the latter going first while the former followed behind. The stadium watched on in anticipation as Izan came face to face with Alaba. The experienced defender tried to stall, but once again, Izan was having none of it. "Izan showing no signs of slowing down confuse Alaba effectively with a quick change of pace". Izan got away from Alaba but he was only free for a few seconds as Rudiger stuck his foot out. Izan dragged the ball back before shifting the ball to his left foot. Rudiger knew Izan was ambidextrous, known from his match against him when he played against Spain. With Izan shifting the ball to his left, Rudiger became wary and tensed. Izan saw a gap and dragged his left leg back in a shooting motion. Rudiger tensed once again as he moved to block the shot but it never came as Izan touched the ball slightly to his right. Rudiger¡¯s eyes went wide suddenly remembering that Izan wasn¡¯t playing alone. The ball found Hugo Duro who controlled it and rushed towards Courtois The Real Madrid fans raised their hands and shots, asking for an offside, but the play continued. Coming face to face with Courtois, Hugo Duro tried to curl the ball around Courtois but he saw no gaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow. Not checking to see whether it belonged to his man or not, Hugo Duro passed the ball to the left. The stadium watched silently as the ball found the onrushing Diego L¨®pez, who tapped the ball into the net. "Goooaaaalllllllll. Valencia are back within one. Nice team play by Valencia. Is this the start of a comeback" The remaining Valencia fans, who hadn¡¯t left, cheered at the top of their lungs as they saw their team pull another goal back. Diego L¨®pez quickly sensed the urgency and picked the ball back to the kickoff spot. The Real Madrid players dragged themselves back slowly but eventually to restart the match. A/n: Today might be a one chapter day. Sorry guys, my throat is feeling really sore and I know it has nothing to do with me typing but its hard to do something when your throat aches. Guess you¡¯ll understand and as I said, "might". Chapter 135: Giant Killer "Goooaaaalllllllll. Valencia are back within one. Nice team player by Valencia. Is this the start of a comeback" The remaining Valencia fans, who hadn¡¯t left, cheered at the top of their lungs as they saw their team pull another goal back. Diego L¨®pez quickly sensed the urgency and picked the ball back to the kickoff spot. The Real Madrid players dragged themselves back slowly but eventually to restart the match. ..... The cheers in the stadium rose a notch, influenced by the Valencia Fans who had been revived by the goal from Diego Lopez. "We can still draw". "We are not dead yet" "Vamos Los Ches". The fans rallied behind the players who could also feel the adrenaline coursing their bodies. After the restart, Real Madrid started their time-wasting antics, but Valencia was having none of it as they continued to push forward. Picking up a loose ball at the edge of his box, Izan glanced sharply at the clock on the LED boards, which showed the 87th-minute mark. With a huge sigh, Izan passed the ball to Javi Guerra in the middle. The Valencian defensive midfielder showed urgency by launching the ball forward. Hugo Duro, surrounded by a couple of Real Madrid players, fought for the ball as it descended. Ultimately, Rudiger got to the ball heading it towards Arda Guler who had come on for Modric. The ball, however, never got to the Turkish midfielder courtesy of Izan, who jumped and intercepted the ball. Izan looked for a way to slip the ball through the Real Madrid gaps but they weren¡¯t a top team for nothing. There were almost no passing gaps so Izan decided to retreat for a bit and passed the ball back to Hugo Guillam¨®n. As Izan started to make a run, he glanced behind him, deciding to show where he needed the ball but what he saw made his eyes go wide open. Hugo Guillam¨®n had lost the ball to Jude Bellingham after trying to push forward. Unfortunately, Jude Bellingham¡¯s timely interception won Madrid the ball. With the ball at his feet, Jude pushed forward sharply forcing the remaining Valencia players to retreat. It was now 4 against 3 for Real Madrid. The Valencia defence tried to stall for time, but it was fruitless as Jude Bellingham slid the ball behind the Valencia defensive line. Correira tried racing against Vinicius for the ball, knowing well enough what would happen, but he still tried to get close enough to hold Vin¨ªcius¡¯s jersey. Unfortunately, Vinicius was way faster than Correira, resulting in the Brazilian getting to the ball before the defender. At this time, the Valencia fans had resigned to their fate. With the outside of his foot, Vinicius slipped the ball to Jude Bellingham. Marmadashvili came out seeing the ball going Bellingham¡¯s way, only to find the ball lifted over his head. The whole stadium watched on, Real Madrid fans on their feet, waiting to celebrate. The whole stadium watched on as the ball got to the goal line, but a sudden wave of gaps across the stadium made Jude, who was getting ready to celebrate, halt in his steps. He turned around only to find Izan¡¯a¡¯s foot in contact with the ball. With his teeth gritted in determination, Izan scooped the ball before it fully went over the goal line. Bellingham put his hands over his head but it wasn¡¯t time for that. The ball was still with Izan. [Heart rate, abnormality detected#%@] [System suggest host relax-¡ó$??;$#] [Re-calibrating] "Ding, [FLOW state activated] "Whoooooohhhh", Izan exhaled sharply, his breath escaping in a quick, forceful gust that seemed to carry the weight of his thoughts, which were on a rampage. His chest heaved slightly, and his jaw tightened, the sound of the exhale cutting through the tension in the air. It was the kind of breath that spoke of frustration, determination and the effort of holding something back. If one was near him, they¡¯d see that his sea blue eyes now had a tint of silver to them. Brahim Diaz approached Izan in hopes of forcing the goal but Izan was still looking down [Speedster trait activated] Looking up, Izan¡¯s eyes met Brahim Diaz¡¯s, causing the latter to tense up a bit. "What is it with those eyes" he muttered under his breath. [Trickster trait Activated] With a sharp flick, Izan sent the ball to the left, causing Brahim Diaz to follow, but Izan was never going that way as he added another flick to the right, performing an elastico. [Host¡¯s pace is now 98], the system reminded after Izan got away from Brahim Diaz. The Valencia fans, who all thought they had conceded, screamed in ecstasy when Izan got the ball out of danger. "Defensa Defensa, ?centrense en la Defensa!!![Defence Defence, focus on Defence!!!] Carlo Ancelotti screamed from the touchline. The Real Madrid Defensive line was now way over the halfway line. The defenders started retreating but Izan was already on a rampage. With a sharp twist and turn, Izan manoeuvred around Eduardo Camavinga. The Valencia fans roared on as Izan passed the ball to Gaya who was running beside but behind him. Now without the ball, Izan shot forward. He showed where he needed the ball with his hands and Gaya served well as he slid the ball behind. Ferland Mendy ran towards Izan, trying to use his speed to intercept but it was no competition as Izan shot forward with the ball. Ferland Mendy, aware of his speed, gave chase, but the gap was only widening and widening. The whole stadium rose to their feet, the Valencia fans thinking about what would happen if Izan could score. With his steps eating up the pitch, Izan got to the edge of the box where he was pressed by Carvajal and R¨¹diger. If this were any other time, Izan would have had a hard time slipping past them but in his FLOW state, things were a bit easier. R¨¹diger was the first, lunging towards the ball with his right leg but Izan dragged the ball to the right before slotting it through R¨¹diger¡¯s leg. With the ball a bit far from Izan¡¯s reach, Carvajal went for it, but all he saw was the ball slipping through his legs. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Mother-" Cavarjal tried to say, but the novel is for the General audience, so he was halted by the author. It was now a do-or-die situation for both defenders, so they tried to grab Izan, but Izan was as slippery as an eel. Now, away from the two, Izan came face to face with Courtois. The Belgian giant made himself big enough to cover the gaps, but as fate would have it, Izan watched a lot of Messi¡¯s magic. Dragging his right leg behind, Izan slotted the ball between the keeper¡¯s legs as Rudiger tried to reach the ball. His challenge caught Izan square on the ankle, but the adrenaline made Izan a bit immune to pain. The whole stadium watched in silence as the ball crossed the line. "Goooaaaaaaaaaaaaaalallllllllllllllllaaaaasssssoooooo. Never write him off. On a one-man mission, Izan has levelled the score for Valencia. I cannot believe it. Look at him. He is HIM. The giant killer. Valencia have risen from their ruins. It¡¯s Real Madrid 3, Valencia 3" The commentator channelled his inner Peter Dury as he went on. Izan saw his teammates running from behind and with that, he also headed towards the corner flag. "I¡¯m gonna do it", he thought as he took off his shirt. Right in front of the Real Madrid fans, Izan showed his name on the back of his jersey. "Remember this name. That¡¯s what Izan says:" The commentator gave his input. The Real Madrid fans couldn¡¯t help but stare at Izan, looking dejected. "How much would he cost" an old man in the VIP section of the stadium muttered under his breath. The fans who had left the stadium watched the match from their phones ever since they heard Valencia pull one back but the equaliser did it for them. "My lucky charm," Ruben Baraja said as he let go of the suffocating Assistant Coach Moreno. The latter held his neck while taking deep breaths. He glared at Baraja who laughed it off. In the city of Valencia, a crowd had formed in front of a large screen watching the match, and after Izan¡¯s goal, almost the whole city exploded into life. The Santiago Bernab¨¦u was now a cauldron of emotions. After getting up from the pile of players, Izan looked in the location of Olivia and blew a kiss towards her. "I think he saw us" Olivia said with a slight blush. Valerie looked at her infatuated friend before shaking her head. Going back to his position, Izan saw the referee coming his way and smiled at the official. The official smiled back before showing Izan a yellow card for his jersey removal. The Real Madrid players were now struggling to even stand up. Although a draw wasn¡¯t bad, it wasn¡¯t a good result for them either, as they came into this game intending to win. But they had let it slip through their grasp. Jude Bellingham, who was kicking off, glanced at Izan once more. With a huge sigh, he looked at his teammates and passed after the referee¡¯s whistle sounded. "Fweeeee Fweeeeee fweeeeeeeeee" The referee glanced at his watch while blowing the whistle bringing the game to a close. A/n: Second of the day. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you Tomorrow, hopefully. Chapter 136: This Is Bad "Fweeeee Fweeeeee fweeeeeeeeee" The referee glanced at his watch while blowing the whistle bringing the game to a close. "It¡¯s all over here at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u. A clash between two sides who have fought tooth and nail. It¡¯s a game with everything: goals, tackles and passion. Real Madrid, looked the favourite for the win heading into this game but Valencia have held onto a point. Valencia will be pleased with the draw but Real Madrid won¡¯t. The team which benefits from this match didn¡¯t even partake, as Barcelona can go one point clear of Madrid if they are able to win tomorrow. It was Real Madrid 3, Valencia CF 3. My name is Juno Celeberas and a very good night to everyone". The Valencia fans in the away stand stood up and started applauding the performance of the players. Their chants drowned that of the home fans who had started leaving the stadium. The Valencia players didn¡¯t leave the fans hanging as they also applauded their fans, led by Gaya. "I think I won this round". Jude Bellingham, who was heading towards the tunnel, heard a voice from behind and turned to find Izan. He smiled slightly at the latter¡¯s words before nodding. "Yeah, I guess you won this bout. Wanna swap?" Jude said, pointing to his jersey. "Sure" Izan replied as the duo exchanged jerseys. The two talked all the way to the tunnel before splitting to their respective locker rooms. ..... S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I¡¯m proud of you guys. Even though we didn¡¯t win, holding Real Madrid to a draw at their home is still something to be proud of. I hope we can continue like this till the end of the season" Baraja said after all the players had entered the locker room. After his speech, Ruben Baraja turned to where Izan sat. He walked up to the player looking a bit concerned. "I saw you take a hit from R¨¹diger; how is it?". Izan looked up at the concerned face of his coach and smiled. "I¡¯m hurting a bit but I¡¯ll be fine". Baraja nodded at Izan¡¯s words while standing from his squatting position. "Well, then join me for the post-match conference". Izan, nodding at Baraja¡¯s words, headed to the shower before joining the Coach in front of the press. .... The post-match conference after Valencia¡¯s exhilarating 3-3 draw with Real Madrid was charged with emotion, dominated by discussions of one name: Izan. The 15-year-old wonderkid not only scored twice for Valencia but delivered a moment of magic that left fans and pundits in awe¡ªa last-gasp goal-line clearance followed by a mesmerizing solo run culminating in a goal. Dressed in Valencia¡¯s orange tracksuit, Izan walked into the press room with a mix of humility and quiet confidence. The reporters leaned forward eagerly, ready to dissect the moment that had captivated millions. "Let¡¯s begin,", the organiser said. A few questions were thrown out but most were about his second goal. When asked what was going through his mind during the incredible sequence, Izan smiled thoughtfully. "To be honest, I didn¡¯t have much time to think," he began. "When I saw the ball heading toward the line, my instinct was to stop it. After that, it felt like everything slowed down. I saw the space in front of me and just started running. I wasn¡¯t sure I¡¯d make it, but I told myself, ¡¯Why not try?¡¯" One reporter asked if Izan felt pressure from the growing spotlight but he responded with maturity beyond his years: "Pressure is part of the game. I¡¯m just focused on helping my team and improving every day. The rest will take care of itself." The reporters jotted a few things down after Izan spoke. After he was done answering questions, Izan walked out, leaving Baraja on his own. "This kid," Baraja said after Izan left. When asked about Izan, Valencia coach Rub¨¦n Baraja couldn¡¯t hide his admiration. "Izan is not just a talent¡ªhe¡¯s a phenomenon," Baraja said. "That sequence wasn¡¯t just about skill; it was about heart, intelligence, and courage. To stop a sure goal at one end and create one at the other is something you rarely see, especially from someone his age." Baraja, however, acknowledged the team¡¯s defensive struggles, saying, "We need to be more compact to capitalize on moments like these." "We can¡¯t always rely on Izan. We at Valencia are thinking of doing some business in the upcoming window to lessen Izan¡¯s workload" After he finished speaking, a reporter raised his hand and asked a question after being given the opportunity, "Speaking of the upcoming window, a few clubs have started inquiring about Izan. What is the club¡¯s reaction to this?" Ruben Baraja frowned a bit after the reporter¡¯s question but kept his composure. "We haven¡¯t received any such inquiry and according to Izan and his agent, they haven¡¯t entertained any thoughts of leaving the club". After answering the question, Baraja declined any further ones and walked out, handing the conference over to Carlo Ancelotti, who had just entered. Real Madrid¡¯s coach, Carlo Ancelotti, also addressed Izan¡¯s performance. "What Izan did was extraordinary. You don¡¯t often see a player capable of influencing both ends of the pitch like that. It¡¯s frustrating to be on the receiving end, but credit to him." Ancelotti also noted his team¡¯s missed chances, lamenting their inability to secure the win despite scoring three goals. The media buzzed with questions about Izan¡¯s future, with some dubbing him "Valencia¡¯s Golden Boy" and others suggesting that he might currently be one of the best players in Europe. The online reaction to Izan¡¯s breathtaking solo goal against Real Madrid was nothing short of a digital explosion. Fans, players, and pundits from all corners of the football world took to social media to share their awe and disbelief at the 15-year-old¡¯s audacious feat. On Twitter, clips of Izan¡¯s goal went viral within minutes. Fans couldn¡¯t get enough of the sequence, starting with his crucial goal-line clearance and ending with his unstoppable finish. @FootballFrenzy: "WHAT DID I JUST WATCH?! Izan clears it off the line, then DRIBBLES the entire Madrid defence to score! This kid is from another planet!" @ValenciaTillIDie: "Izan didn¡¯t just save us, he carried us. From the goal line to the back of their net. This is Messi at 19 levels of insane, and he¡¯s only 15!" @NeutralFan_101: "Forget Ballon d¡¯Or debates, can we just give Izan his now?!" @Izanlover_777: Guys chill. The Ballon d¡¯Or debate can wait after Spain wins the euros and Valencia wins the Laliga. Even official football accounts chimed in: @LaLiga: "15 years old. Goal-line clearance. Solo run. Nutmeg finish. Izan is rewriting history in real-time." On other social media handles like TikTok and Instagram, the goal was turned into trending edits with captions like "Remember this name: Izan" and "One-man army vibes." A slowed-down version of the run, set to epic music, garnered millions of likes within hours. Fans highlighted the way Izan effortlessly skipped past Madrid¡¯s midfield and defenders, likening it to something out of a video game. In comment sections, fans poured out their admiration: "This is the kind of stuff you dream about doing in your backyard as a kid." "15 years old and making seasoned defenders look like cones. Unreal!" "When he scooped the ball off the line, I thought he was just clearing it. Turns out, he was starting a movie". "Izan for the #Puskas" Comparisons to legendary players were inevitable. Fans debated whether the goal was reminiscent of a young Lionel Messi, a prime Cristiano Ronaldo, or even Diego Maradona¡¯s iconic solo effort. Some even suggested the move had shades of all three. "Messi vs. Getafe? Maradona vs. England? Add Izan vs. Madrid to the list of GOAT goals." "This wasn¡¯t just a goal. It was a statement. The future of football is here." Football legends also chimed in. Former players hailed the goal as one of the most incredible moments they¡¯d seen. Pundits analyzed every touch, praising Izan¡¯s composure, vision, and sheer audacity. Cesc F¨¤bregas: "This kid is something else. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s more impressive¡ªthe clearance or the finish." Even fans who didn¡¯t support Valencia or Real Madrid couldn¡¯t help but appreciate the sheer brilliance of the goal. It transcended club rivalries and became a moment for the love of the sport. "I¡¯m a Bar?a fan, but respect where it¡¯s due. Izan is unreal." "This kid is why we love football. Moments like this remind you why the game is magic." By the end of the night, #IzanWonderGoal and #GoalOfTheSeason were trending worldwide, and fans were already adding his name to "next-gen" lists. As one fan eloquently put it: "This wasn¡¯t just a goal; it was the arrival of a legend in the making." Away from all this, Izan, together with his teammates, had just arrived at the Cuidad Deportiva de Paterna. Ruben Baraja, who was still a bit concerned for Izan, immediately arranged for the head physio to check Izan¡¯s condition. [In the physio room] "Haaaaah, this is bad" A/n: Still not feeling well guys. Anyways have fun with this one. I might not be able to release another today. Remember I "might " not. Have fun reading. Chapter 137: Injury Woes Away from all this, Izan, together with his teammates, had just arrived at the Cuidad Deportiva de Paterna. Ruben Baraja, who was still a bit concerned for Izan, immediately arranged for the head physio to check Izan¡¯s condition. [In the Physio room] "Haaaaah, this is bad". Ruben Baraja rose after hearing what the physio said. "What do you mean it¡¯s bad. He can walk just fine, and he doesn¡¯t look to be in pain". "He doesn¡¯t look to be in pain because the level of pain isn¡¯t much. This is a high ankle sprain and if nothing bad happens, he should be able to return in a month¡¯s time. Of course, he can also return early if he is able to heal quickly, but we should not rush things as he is young and it could come back to bite him if we do not take care of it well enough". Izan, who lay on the bed, looked at the two grown men who talked as if he wasn¡¯t there. He had felt the pain after the match but he thought he might be able to walk it off. He didn¡¯t feel much pain from it, so he thought it wasn¡¯t serious, but judging from their words, he might be out for a while. "Okay then, let¡¯s not rush things". After the checkup, Izan was given a crutch to help him ease the stress on his ankle. By the the time he came out of the checkup, most of the players had gone home. "Need a ride?" Pietro, who had just changed into a different set of clothes, spoke from behind Izan. "Sure. Where¡¯s Sosa?". "His parents picked him up after we arrived, so it¡¯s just you and me. Need help with that?" Pietro gestured to Izan¡¯s bag. Izan nodded, handing the bag over to Pietro while tightening his grip on the crutch. Following this, the two walked to the parking lot where Pietro¡¯s car was situated. The latter helped Izan into the car before driving away. The night was still young in Alboraya. December had not yet arrived, but people had already begun manifesting their festive spirit. Coupled with Valencia¡¯s performance against Real Madrid, the people were happy, to say the least. "Thanks, Pietro. Talk to you later," Izan, with his bag slung over his shoulder, said as he walked towards the door of his home. As he pushed open the gate to their home, the swing seemed to announce his arrival. Hori burst out of the living room before he could enter, her face alight with pride. "Izan! Those goals were insane! Especially that second one¡ªhow did you even run it like that?" she exclaimed, mimicking his moves. "Practice," Izan replied with a tired grin, ruffling her hair. Their mother, Komi, appeared at the door, her arms crossed, a smile tugging at her lips. Izan saw her and smiled back but before he could move, Komi jumped onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Ohhh, my Miura. My superstar. Olivia is a really lucky girl". Izan, who was now having a hard time breathing shoved his mother away before gesturing to his crutch. "You were fine after the match. What happened then?"Hori asked gesturing to the crutch. Izan explained the cause of the injury as well as the results of the checkup to his sister and mother who stood silent the whole time. "Well, there are opportunities, even in adversity. Take this few weeks to rest and get back stronger Okay?" Komi said with a smile. "Sometimes, I worried that they might be overplaying you since you¡¯ve started about 6 matches in a row." "Since that¡¯s out of the way, put your bag down and come for dinner". Izan heeded his mother¡¯s words and headed upstairs with his bag while Komi and Hori proceeded the set the dinner table. ... [Valencia Training grounds] A woman stepped off the sleek black car that pulled up outside Valencia CF¡¯s training grounds. The midday sun hung high over the city, casting warm light on the iconic Mestalla Stadium in the distance. A mature sexy allure that turned a few eyes as she walked towards the gate. She carried herself with quiet confidence. Her sharp, professional attire¡ªa dark blazer over a crisp white blouse¡ªstood in contrast to the nervous energy buzzing through the club. A security guard tried to inspect her but was stopped by a voice from behind before he could go further. She turned to look at the source of the voice and was met by the eyes of Valencia¡¯s head of medical services, Dr. Luis Navarro together with the physio. His lined face bore the weariness of someone juggling scrutiny from the internal pressure but he didn¡¯t forget to smile. "Ms. Jane" Luis greeted, extending a hand. "We¡¯re glad you¡¯re here." The woman named Jane took his hand in hers before inquiring. "How bad is it?" She asked as they began walking toward the clinic. The two talked for a bit before they finally arrived at the clinic. .... Luis sighed. "The scans show a grade 3 ankle sprain¡ªmanageable, but delicate. He¡¯ll need time, patience, and, frankly, the best care we can offer." Jane then nodded, her expression unreadable but determined. "Then let¡¯s talk options." Inside the club¡¯s medical offices, Jane spent quite some time reviewing Izan¡¯s reports with Luis and the rehabilitation team. Charts, scans, and treatment plans littered the table as they debated the ideal recovery timeline. "He¡¯s young," Jane asserted, leaning back in her chair after the meeting. "If we¡¯re careful, he¡¯ll recover stronger. But we can¡¯t rush him. If the board or the club pressures him to return too soon, we risk ruining his career¡ªand that¡¯s not an option." "The injury isn¡¯t much trouble, but it could be if he undergoes stress. Remember, he is still 15. A slight mishap could cause him not to play again, so let¡¯s also think of his mental well-being as well". Luis gave a tired nod, grateful for her candour. "Well then, let¡¯s do our rest so he can make it back to his best?" Jane¡¯s lips curled into the faintest smile. "He will but I didn¡¯t know you got rhymes like that" After the consultation, Jane came out her bag in hand as she walked to the car. After settling on the car she took out her phone to make a call. "You owe me a lot of money for this service but I won¡¯t charge. How about dinner?" Jane said as the person on the phone picked up the call. "Thanks, Jane, for coming. Your services are quite expensive, so I¡¯ll treat you to dinner whenever I come to France; until then, goodbye". "Ok, Mira", Jane replied after the voice on the phone finished speaking. "See you next time" --- Arriving at the confines of Izan¡¯s home, Miranda stepped out of the car and rang the doorbell. "Mira" Komi said after she opened the door. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda ensued her in a hug before proceeding to plant a kiss on her cheek. Komi¡¯s face flushed slightly before they entered the house. In the living room, Izan sat with Hori, catching up on a few of their favourite shows. After hearing their mom¡¯s excited voice, they both turned to the new face that had entered the house. "Hello, kids,", Miranda said as she set her bag down. Hori, who was approaching Miranda, halted in her steps after being referred to as a kid by Miranda. She proceeded to debate with Miranda about it but the latter just glossed over her. "How is it," Miranda said as she sat beside Izan on the couch. "Aside from the occasional throbs and slight pains, I¡¯m alright," he said while caressing his leg. "Great then. Well, I asked a friend of mine who is a physiotherapist to aid the club in coming up with a plan for your recovery. She¡¯s really good so you might even be able to return ahead of schedule" After hearing Miranda¡¯s words, Izan nodded at her with a slight smile before thinking about what he could do about his injury in the meantime. After the Madrid match, he had wanted to buy an injury recovery fluid, but Baraja made them go for a diagnosis, so he couldn¡¯t rashly buy one now since the doctors had already seen the extent of his injury. He could buy a few conditioning fluids to keep him in tip-top shape while he underwent the rehabilitation and that was all he could do for now. A sudden recovery would raise eyebrows and that wasn¡¯t what he wanted. After the talk about his injury, the two talked about a few sponsorship deals but Izan told Miranda to put it on hold for a bit. "Let¡¯s wait until the end of the season when my Value has skyrocketed a bit more,", Izan said with a smile. Miranda looked at him and thought to herself, "I hit the jackpot with this one." After their conversation, Miranda stayed the night before heading back to Madrid early the next day. A/n: I think I might have to go to the hospital. Its been a while but the cold is not getting better. Anyways have fun reading. Chapter 138: Club Activities The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains of Izan¡¯s room, casting a golden glow on his face. Sitting up carefully, Izan swung his legs over the bed and stretched his arms, wincing slightly as his left ankle throbbed¡ªa reminder of the injury that had kept him off the pitch for a week now. He had started recovering immediately after the diagnosis to help lessen the extent of the injury. "I really wished I had kept a bottle of the injury fluid in stock. I could have helped avoid the previous loss" Izan thought with his brush in his mouth. After the match with Real Madrid, Valencia had to face an in-form Celta Vigo side that would punish any mistakes. Coupled with their injury woes, Valencia couldn¡¯t hold on and lost their first game of the season in a 2-1 win for Celta. A strike from outside the box by Gaya in the 88th minute of the game gave Valencia consolation after Celta¡¯s Iago Aspas¡¯s brace in the 47th and 74th minutes of the game. Valencia were now 3rd place behind Barcelona in first place who had capitalized on Real¡¯s slump. Valencia had the same points as Atl¨¦tico Madrid on 4th but led because of the Head to Head stat. If they were to draw or lose their next game, they might face dropping to the 5th position since Ernesto Valverde¡¯s Athletic Bilbao trailed just a point behind the two. After freshening up, Izan took his bath before coming down, helped by his singular crutch. The once-persistent pain had dulled now, replaced by a manageable ache that marked progress in his recovery journey. Today was an important day. He had been cleared to begin light rehabilitation exercises under the watchful eyes of the club¡¯s medical team. The prospect of returning to the game he loved filled him with anticipation, though he knew the road ahead required patience and resilience. "Max, is there a scientific way to magically heal overnight without suspicions". [It seems you understand it yourself if you used scientific and Magically in the same sentence. For your convenience, the answer is no!] "Harsh," Izan said while eating. [ If the host had used the recovery and injury fluids before the diagnosis, then nobody would have known that you were injured.] ... At the club¡¯s state-of-the-art rehabilitation centre, Izan lay on a padded table as the physiotherapist gently manipulated his ankle. The sessions were intense and designed to strengthen the ligaments and restore mobility. While beads of sweat formed on his forehead, Izan gritted his teeth, determined to regain full fitness. "How is the pain even worse than when I got injured," Izan thought as he winced at the pain. Afterwards, he progressed to balance drills, carefully stepping on foam pads and wobble boards, his focus unwavering. "You¡¯re doing great, Izan," the physiotherapist encouraged, handing him a water bottle. "Keep this up, and you¡¯ll be back on the field in no time." "Thanks, Dr Luis,", Izan said politely, receiving a curt nod from the latter. "Well, we are done for the day. See you tomorrow" Dr. Luis said before leaving. ..... Later that day, Izan was scheduled for a photo shoot with one of Valencia¡¯s sponsors. He arrived at the studio dressed casually in the team¡¯s tracksuit, his sharp features catching the attention of everyone in the room. "Who makes an injured person take a photo shoot," Izan thought as he approached the photographer. The photographer, a lively middle-aged man with an artistic flair, was particularly captivated. "Magnificent! Just magnificent," the photographer exclaimed as Izan stepped onto the set, his piercing blue eyes gleaming under the studio lights. "That face! Those eyes! You could be a model if you weren¡¯t a footballer." Izan chuckled, slightly embarrassed but playing along. The shoot was a mix of casual and sporty poses, with him donning Valencia¡¯s latest kit. He moved with a natural ease, and every click of the camera seemed to capture his charm and charisma. By the end of the session, the photographer was fawning over the shots, declaring them "masterpieces." Once the shoot wrapped up, Izan changed into his team tracksuit and headed to a small media room for an interview. Entering the room, Izan greeted everyone before they began to set up for the interview. Sitting on a plush chair with a microphone clipped to his shirt, Izan smiled at the interviewer, a friendly journalist with a warm demeanor. "Tell us about your journey into the Valencia senior team," the journalist began. Izan leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees. "It¡¯s been a dream come true. I remember the first day I trained with the senior squad. I was nervous, but the coaches and my teammates made me feel welcome. They pushed me to give my best and showed me what it takes to compete at this level." The interviewer nodded. "Any specific moments that stand out?" "Plenty," Izan replied, his eyes twinkling. "One that I¡¯ll never forget is scoring my first goal for the senior team. It was against RCD Espanyol ¡ªa moment of pure joy. The celebration with the fans and my teammates was unforgettable." "And how¡¯s your relationship with the coaches?" Izan smiled. "They¡¯ve been incredible. They¡¯re tough when they need to be, but they¡¯ve also supported me through tough times, like my injury. Their guidance has shaped me as a player and as a person." The interview flowed smoothly, covering topics from his early days in football to his goals for the future. By the time it ended, Izan felt a renewed sense of purpose. Before heading home, he had one more stop to make¡ªthe club¡¯s therapy session. The session was part of his recovery plan, focusing on mental well-being and staying connected with the team. Sitting in a quiet room with a therapist, Izan spoke openly about the challenges of being sidelined and his determination to return stronger. "It¡¯s tough not being out there," he admitted. "But I¡¯ve learned to appreciate the process and focus on what I can control." The therapist nodded. "You¡¯ve got a strong mindset, Izan. That will take you far¡ªnot just in football, but in life." After the session, Izan decided to visit his teammates at the training ground. As he approached the field, the familiar sound of boots striking the ball and teammates shouting instructions brought a smile to his face. His arrival was met with cheers and playful banter. "Look who¡¯s back!" Pietro called out, running over to give Izan a friendly pat on the back. The players stopped training for a bit and approached Izan. "How¡¯s your ankle? Is it any better? When will you be coming? Your replacement is having a hard time," Diego L¨®pez fired rapidly without giving Izan time to breathe. "Ouch, Diego, I¡¯m right here", Amallah said. "I know that this isn¡¯t nice of me to say, but take your time and recover okay. Don¡¯t rush and let me play a few matches to recover my market value for the next transfer window". After Amallah¡¯s words, the players laughed. Although it wasn¡¯t nice to say, Amallah knew his chances of playing would be limited as long as Izan was there so he had submitted a transfer request. "The young will overtake the old" Amallah uttered. "For Christ¡¯s sake, Amallah, you¡¯re 27," Pietro said. "Leave this kind of thing to us old people, am I right, Captain," Pietro said, wrapping his arm around Gay¨¤¡¯s neck. "Pietro, Get down and give me 20" "Yes Captain" Izan laughed, grateful for the camaraderie. Though he couldn¡¯t join them on the pitch yet, being around his teammates lifted his spirits. "Guess you still have the energy to joke around," Ruben Baraja said from behind. The players who were laughing froze. Before Rub¨¦n Baraja could say another word, the players scattered leaving him alone with Izan. Izam stood there alone smiling at Ruben Baraja. "Hello Coach," he said. "Hello, Hernandez. How are you doing?" Baraja asked, to which Izan shook his head. "I know you get the reports from Doctor Luis Coach. I think you can see for yourself how I¡¯m doing". Baraja laughed heartily before patting Izan on the shoulder. The two talked for a few minutes before Izan left. ..... Komi and Hori were up to something special. As Izan¡¯s 16th birthday approached, the mother-daughter duo secretly planned a celebration worthy of his rising star status. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Komi, ever the creative mastermind, took charge of coordinating a surprise that would leave her son speechless. She had spent late nights sketching out decorations, picking his favourite colours¡ªgold and navy blue¡ªto symbolize his growing legacy on the pitch. She even reached out to Izan¡¯s closest friends and a few football idols to record personalized messages for the big day. Hori, equally excited, handled the finer details. She knew Izan¡¯s love for soccer extended beyond the game, so she crafted a cake shaped like a football stadium, complete with edible players wearing his team¡¯s colours. Between school and her brother¡¯s matches, Hori made time to scout for the perfect gift¡ªa custom jersey with "Izan 16" emblazoned on the back. The duo whispered plans behind closed doors, stifling giggles when Izan passed by. Though their efforts were discreet, the house buzzed with anticipation. They couldn¡¯t wait to see the look on his face when he realized the depth of their love and admiration for him. After all, behind every star was a family that believed in him. Chapter 139: Birthday Boy The soft hum of the car engine came to a halt, and Izan stepped out, his eyes immediately drawn to the familiar scene of home. The air smelled fresh, with a hint of orange blossoms carried by the coastal breeze¡ªa welcome change from the sterile atmosphere of the clinic he had been confined to the whole day. As he pushed the gate open, the house stood eerily quiet. No sound of the television, no chatter or laughter that usually spilled from within. Izan¡¯s chest tightened. He expected his mother, Komi, to be waiting for him with open arms, and his younger sister, Hori, to be bouncing around with her endless energy. But instead, silence greeted him. He stepped inside, calling out, "Mom? Hori? I¡¯m home!" His voice echoed through the stillness. The living room was impeccably tidy, the faint aroma of lavender from the diffusers lingering in the air. A sense of unease crept in. He dropped his duffel bag by the couch and moved from room to room, his heart sinking with every unanswered call. Izan sat down, running a hand through his dark hair. The rehab had been mentally and physically draining, and now this? His mind wandered to worst-case scenarios, but he quickly shook them off. His mother and sister were not the type to leave without a word. Just as he contemplated calling them, the front door creaked open behind him. Izan whipped around, and before he could utter a word, a loud chorus erupted. "Surprise!" He blinked, stunned. There they were¡ªhis mom and Hori, standing in the doorway with wide grins on their faces. Behind them, a wave of familiar faces poured into the house, carrying balloons, decorations, and gifts. "Happy birthday, Izan!" Komi beamed, pulling him into a tight hug. Her warm embrace melted away the tension in his chest. Hori jumped up and down, clutching a cake box. "You really thought we forgot, didn¡¯t you?" she teased, her playful grin lighting up the room. "I... I wasn¡¯t sure what was happening," Izan admitted, laughing as he ruffled her hair. The living room quickly transformed into a festive space. Streamers were hung, the table was laden with food, and a giant "Happy Birthday" banner was draped across the wall. Izan¡¯s heart swelled as he noticed a few of his teammates from Valencia¡¯s youth and senior teams mingling, their easy camaraderie making the house feel alive. "Izan!" Wissam, one of his youth teammates, called out, handing him a soda. "Happy birthday bro. How are you feeling?" "Better than ever," Izan replied, his smile widening as he fist-bumped Wissam The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, but the celebrations reached a new height when Komi turned on the television and inserted a USB drive. "We have something special for you," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. The screen flickered to life, and Izan¡¯s jaw dropped. A prerecorded message played, and the face of Pedri, the Barcelona midfielder, appeared. "Hey, Izan! Happy birthday, Hernandez. I was looking forward to seeing you at the camp but I guess it¡¯ll have to wait. Keep pushing, and we¡¯ll see you back on the pitch soon!" Before Izan could fully process it, another clip started this time featuring Dani Olmo. "Feliz cumplea?os, Izan! Stay strong, and remember, the best is yet to come. We¡¯re all rooting for you!" His teammates erupted into cheers, patting Izan on the back as he sat there, overwhelmed. "Wow," he managed, his voice thick with emotion. "This is... incredible." As the night wore on, the laughter grew louder, and the house was filled with the warmth of friendship and family. Izan thought it couldn¡¯t get any better until the doorbell rang. "I¡¯ll get it," he said, rising from his spot. He opened the door to find Olivia and Miranda standing there. Olivia, her green eyes sparkling, broke into a grin. "Happy birthday, Izan!" she said, throwing her arms around him in a hug. She held the hug for a while before finally breaking off. Izan felt his cheeks heat up, and before he could respond, Olivia leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Glad to see you¡¯re doing better," Miranda added with a soft smile while she entered. The room buzzed with renewed excitement as Olivia and Miranda joined the party. Hori, ever the social butterfly, wasted no time pulling them into the group. The night carried on with stories, games, and music. Izan found himself surrounded by the people who mattered most¡ªhis family, his friends, and even those who had supported him from afar. The journey back to full fitness was still ahead, but in that moment, with laughter ringing in his ears and the warmth of Olivia¡¯s presence beside him, Izan felt unstoppable. As the clock struck midnight, Komi brought out the cake, its candles casting a soft glow on Izan¡¯s face. "Are you sure we can¡¯t hit his handsome face with this cake? The TikTok stars all do it," Pietro said, eliciting laughs from all around. Izan shook his head at Pietro¡¯s antics before returning his gaze to the cake. He closed his eyes and made a wish before blowing them out, the room erupting into cheers once more. Looking around, Izan realized this wasn¡¯t just a birthday celebration. It was a reminder of how far he¡¯d come and how many people believed in him. His heart swelled with gratitude as he raised his glass for a toast. "To family, friends, and football," he said, his voice steady and filled with hope. The room echoed his sentiment, glasses clinking in unison. As the night wore on, Izan knew this was a moment he¡¯d carry with him, both on and off the pitch. As the last guests filtered out and the house grew quiet once again, Izan collapsed onto the couch, a satisfied smile on his face. Hori sat beside him, scrolling through her phone while Komi tidied up the kitchen. "You should post the pictures, Izan," Hori said, nudging him with her elbow. "The world deserves to see how epic your birthday was." Izan chuckled, reaching for his phone. He scrolled through the photos taken throughout the night¡ªshots of his teammates laughing, the cake before it was cut, Olivia kissing his cheek while Miranda grinned beside them, and even a video of everyone singing "Happy Birthday" in a chaotic mix of Spanish and English. He selected a few of his favourite shots and added a caption: "An unforgettable birthday Surrounded by family, friends, and love. Thank you to everyone who made this day special¡ªespecially to those who sent messages from afar. Ready for the next chapter! #Grateful #Family #BirthdayGoals" Within minutes of posting on Instagram and Twitter, the notifications began flooding in. Izan¡¯s followers¡ªa mix of fans, aspiring footballers, and curious onlookers¡ªwere quick to react. --- S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. @ValenciaFan94: "Our future star is back! Can¡¯t wait to see you on the pitch again, Izan!" @Izan¡¯smommy: I wanna be that girl so bad. I¡¯ve seen her in his pictures a few times but who is she" @FootyLover22: "The Pedri and Olmo messages though ???? Guess they¡¯re friends!" @Hori Hernandez (Hori¡¯s account): "You¡¯re welcome for the cake and decorations, big bro #BestSisterAward" @SpanishNTUpdates: "Looks like the future of Spanish football had a great day! Happy birthday, Izan! ?????????" --- The reactions weren¡¯t limited to just fans. Some of his fellow players chimed in as well: Pedri (via Instagram Stories): "Looking sharp, Izan! Hope you saved me some cake ???????? #FutureLegend" Dani Olmo (commenting on the post): "Glad you liked the video! Next year, we¡¯re celebrating on the pitch ?????" Mateo Valencia (youth teammate): "Bro, that was the best party ever. Thanks for having us!" The post quickly gained traction, garnering thousands of likes and comments within the hour. Even sports media outlets picked up on it, with captions like: "Izan celebrates his birthday in style as he nears full recovery." "The rising star of Spanish football shares a glimpse of his life off the pitch." "Fans can¡¯t get enough of Izan and his sweet moments during his birthday bash." --- Back at home, Izan couldn¡¯t stop grinning as he read the comments. Some were funny, others heartfelt, but all of them reminded him how much support he had. "You¡¯re trending, you know," Hori teased, showing him a screenshot of his name on the trending list. "Great," Izan said with a laugh. "No pressure or anything." As he leaned back, Komi walked over, a cup of tea in hand. "It¡¯s good to see you smiling again," she said softly. "You¡¯ve worked so hard, Izan. Don¡¯t forget to enjoy moments like these." He nodded, her words sinking in. The road ahead was still long, but for the first time in months, Izan felt ready. Not just for the challenges on the pitch, but for the life he wanted to build beyond it. As the notifications continued to pour in, he set his phone aside, his heart full. It had been a perfect day, and he couldn¡¯t have wished for more. "What are you thinking about"a feminine voice said from behind as Izan lay on the couch. Izan smiled a bit before turning to face her. "Olivia" he said as the both stared at each other. A/n: Okay guys. Double chapter day. I know the romance hasn¡¯t been that much but it is because I want to write in good conscience. [No Diddy Machinations here] I will let it slowly steep into the story so wait a bit. LOVE YA¡¯LL AND ANOTHER MERRY CHRISTMAS Chapter 140: Winning At Life As the notifications continued to pour in, Izan set his phone aside, his heart full. It had been a perfect day, and he couldn¡¯t have wished for more. "What are you thinking about"a feminine voice said from behind as Izan lay on the couch. Izan smiled a bit before turning to face her. "Olivia," he said as they both stared at each other. "Well, care to share", Olivia said while sitting beside Izan. "Nothing grand. Just thinking I¡¯m lucky. To have people around who genuinely care about me. When Dad left, I thought things were going to be hard to cope with, but Mom and Hori have filled that void and it helps knowing I fill that void for them too" Olivia looked at Izan, a bit teary-eyed. Izan smiled at her reaction and shook his head. "Cute", he said, causing Olivia to blush a bit more. "Sometimes it feels like I¡¯m the older one,", Izan said as he ran his hand through Olivia¡¯s hair. "That¡¯s because I let you. Don¡¯t forget, I¡¯m still the sugar mommy," Olivia said, causing Izan to break into small laughs. "Yeah, yeah, you sure are". Olivia looked meaningfully at Izan while the latter also stared back. The two looked at each other seemingly entranced in each other¡¯s colours. "Wait, I wasn¡¯t in the names of people who filled that void", Olivia said, feigning slight anger. "Not everything needs to be said. Can¡¯t you see how you¡¯ve helped me" Izan spoke, grabbing Olivia¡¯s hand and putting it on his chest. Olivia felt the wildly beating heart of Izan as if he were a horse on steroids. Olivia, wanting to feel more, brought her ear to Izan¡¯s chest and lay her head down. ... "Hey, should we do something," Miranda said, but Komi smacked the back of her hand. "What did you do that for" she winced before recovering. "The age of consent in Spain is 16", Komi said sharply, throwing Miranda off. "Are you looking to be a grandmother so soon" Miranda uttered after understanding Komi¡¯s choice of words. "A child between Miura and Olivia. Oh my god, I wonder! Now let¡¯s leave them alone," Komi said, dragging Miranda along. Miranda reluctantly followed behind and left the two alone. ... "Mom, I¡¯m gonna see Olivia off," Izan said as he stood by the door. Komi screamed an excited "OK" from upstairs making Izan wonder why. He didn¡¯t think much of it and turned to Olivia. "Shall we?" he said, giving his hand to Olivia. The latter took Izan¡¯s hand in hers as they walked from the door. Izan walked Olivia home under the soft glow of streetlights. The laughter and music from the party still lingered in the cool night air, but their steps were unhurried, their conversation light and playful. Olivia, with her auburn hair catching the moonlight, seemed more radiant than ever, and Izan couldn¡¯t help but glance at her every few moments, his heart racing. As they reached her doorstep, the mood shifted. Silence hung between them, but it wasn¡¯t uncomfortable. Olivia looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a mix of gratitude and something deeper. "I¡¯m glad I came tonight," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I should have said that but it goes anyways," Izan replied, his tone sincere. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Olivia stepped closer, the space between them disappearing. She held Izan¡¯s eyes, her eyes still staring in her blue eyes that looked to have the depth of the Ocean. "Today, you¡¯re 16 and I¡¯m just 17. The gap isn¡¯t much but my roommate says a few disgusting things that makes my conscience prick me but it doesn¡¯t when I think of a few things right now" she said caressing Izan¡¯s hands "A few things like? ," Izan said with a small grin, his voice betraying his nerves. "Like this," she whispered, her eyes flickering to his lips. Before either could second-guess the moment, their lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was brief but electric, leaving both of them slightly breathless. As they pulled away, Olivia smiled, her cheeks flushed. Olivia tried to move away a bit, but Izan pulled her in for another kiss, which lasted way longer than the first. The two broke off again, still looking at each other. Olivia felt another blush creeping up her as she saw Izan staring at her like a piece of gem. Like something that needed caressing. "Goodnight, Izan," she said, her voice warm and filled with emotion, trying to break the still atmosphere. "Goodnight, Olivia," he replied, his heart pounding. Izan waited until Olivia entered before he turned and walked away, his hands in his pockets and a wide grin on his face. For Izan, the world had changed at that moment, and he couldn¡¯t wait to see where it would take them. .... As the house grew quieter, the warm glow of the party had already faded, replaced by the soft hum of the night. Hori had long since retired to her room, her cheerful teasing giving way to quiet murmurs of sleep. Komi sat on the couch across from Izan, sipping tea and scrolling through her phone. Izan, however, found himself staring at a photo on the mantelpiece¡ªa snapshot of their family from years ago. The image showed a younger Izan, perhaps 6 years old, grinning widely with his arm slung around his father¡¯s shoulders. Beside them, Komi held Hori, all of them caught mid-laughter. It was one of the few photos of them as a complete family, taken before his father¡¯s untimely passing. Izan rose from the couch, his footsteps light as he approached the mantel. He picked up the frame, running his fingers along its edges. His father¡¯s face stared back at him, the strong jawline and kind eyes so familiar, yet so distant. "You¡¯re thinking about him, aren¡¯t you?" Komi¡¯s voice broke through the silence, gentle and knowing. Izan nodded, not turning around. "It¡¯s hard not to on nights like this." Komi set her cup down and joined him by the mantel, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He would¡¯ve been so proud of you, Izan. Everything you¡¯ve accomplished, everything you¡¯ve become... he would¡¯ve been cheering the loudest tonight." Izan swallowed hard, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and longing. "Do you think he¡¯d be happy to see me like this" Komi smiled softly, her eyes glistening. "Your father always believed in following your dreams. He used to say, ¡¯A life without passion isn¡¯t really living.¡¯ You¡¯ve lived that every day, Izan. That¡¯s all he would¡¯ve wanted for you." A faint smile tugged at Izan¡¯s lips as he remembered his father¡¯s words. The man who had introduced him to football, who had spent countless hours in the backyard passing the ball and teaching him the basics. His father¡¯s voice still echoed in his mind¡ªencouraging, patient, and filled with unwavering belief in him. "I wish he could¡¯ve been here tonight," Izan said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "He was," Komi replied, her tone firm but kind. "Every step of the way, Izan. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He¡¯s with you every time you step onto the pitch, every time you push yourself to be better. He¡¯s in your heart, always." Izan nodded, thinking a bit of the system, while the weight of Komi¡¯s words settled over him like a blanket. He set the photo back on the mantel, his gaze lingering on it for a moment longer. "He would¡¯ve liked the party," Izan said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Especially the food." Komi laughed, wiping at her eyes. "Oh, he would¡¯ve been the life of it. Probably challenging everyone to a football trivia contest and telling embarrassing stories about you." Izan laughed, imagining his father holding the court in the middle of the living room, his booming voice and infectious laughter drawing everyone in. "I¡¯ll keep making him proud," Izan said, his voice steady now. "Not just for him, but for us. For the family." Komi pulled him into a hug, her arms strong and reassuring. "You already do, Izan. Every single day." As Izan returned to the couch, his thoughts lingered on his father. The grief was still there, a quiet ache that never truly disappeared, but tonight it was tempered by gratitude¡ªgratitude for the lessons, the love, and the foundation his father had given him. He glanced at the birthday post on his phone, the smiling faces of his teammates, family, and friends staring back at him. His father may not have been there in person, but Izan felt his presence in every cheer, every laugh, and every moment of joy. With a deep breath, he leaned back, a quiet resolve settling over him. The journey ahead was still long, but Izan knew he wasn¡¯t walking it alone. He had friends, he had a direction and lastly he had family. [This is not cringe. It¡¯s Family.] Dominic T. His family, his friends, and even his father¡¯s memory would always be there, guiding him forward. A/n: Okay, invasion of the lemons arc. Sorry all you singlets [Including me] Pftt, JJK [ Jenuinely Just Kidding]. Have fun reading. Its 12:07 and I¡¯m laughing. My mom thinks it¡¯s the ghost from 1884 but we all know its just the cat. Anyways, Have fun as always Chapter 141: Recovery The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training ground as Izan arrived at the rehabilitation centre adjacent to the main pitch. His gait was steady but cautious, a testament to the recovery regimen he had been following religiously since his ankle injury. Dressed in a plain hoodie and joggers, he made his way past familiar faces who greeted him with smiles and pats on the shoulder. The Complex was looking warm with a sunny atmosphere. Their recent loss hadn¡¯t dampened the mood but had served as a fuel as the players prepared for the match. "Looking sharp, Izan," one of the physios remarked as he checked in. Izan smiled back politely, his mind already wandering to the action unfolding on the field nearby. Through the clear glass windows of the facility, Izan could see the main team preparing for their upcoming clash with Girona. The sharp whistle of the head coach cut through the air as the players worked on tactical drills and situational plays. Izan felt a pang of longing, the itch to be out there with his teammates growing stronger with every passing moment. After finishing his prescribed exercises, Izan limped over to a small set of bleachers overlooking the training field. He lowered himself carefully, his eyes fixed on the scrimmage. The main team players moved with purpose and precision, their chemistry on full display. Pietro orchestrated the midfield with his usual flair, while Sosa darted up and down the wings like a whirlwind. Izan couldn¡¯t help but admire their craft, imagining himself back in the thick of things. The final whistle blew, signalling the end of the training session. The players began to disperse, some heading toward the showers while others lingered to practice set pieces. Pietro and Sosa noticed Izan and jogged over to him, both dripping with sweat but smiling broadly. "Hey, young prodigy!" Sosa exclaimed, ruffling Izan¡¯s hair. "What¡¯s it like being a spectator for a change?" "Not as fun as being out there," Izan admitted with a grin. Pietro sat beside him, tapping his cleats on the ground. "Patience, hermano. You¡¯ll be back soon, better than ever." Both Izan and Sosa stared awkwardly at Pietro, who seemed to be getting wiser, by the way. "Speaking of getting back," Sosa interjected the silence "how about coming with me to the mall? I need some new sneakers, and I could use the company." Izan hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Sure. I¡¯ve been meaning to grab something myself." "Oh, let me guess," Pietro teased. "The new FC 24 game, right?" Izan smirked but didn¡¯t answer, his silence confirming Pietro¡¯s suspicion. At the mall, the electronics store was bustling with activity. A large poster of the FC 24 cover athlete adorned the entrance, and Izan felt a small thrill as he spotted his name listed among the top-rated wonder kids on a promotional stand. Sosa accompanied him to the counter, chatting animatedly about the sneakers he had just purchased. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan purchased the game, and as soon as they found a quiet spot, he popped the disc into one of the display consoles to check his rating. His heart raced as the player card loaded on the screen. 83 OVR. Izan blinked, momentarily stunned. He knew he had made waves with his recent performances, but this was beyond his expectations¡ªan elite rating for someone who had just turned 16. Sosa let out a low whistle. "An 83 already? You¡¯re breaking records, kid." Izan couldn¡¯t help but grin, though he tried to play it cool. "Not bad, huh?" Fan Reactions on the EA Community Back home, Izan couldn¡¯t resist scrolling through the online EA forums and social media. His rating had sparked a frenzy among the game¡¯s community. Sowhat13: "83 for a 16-year-old? That¡¯s insane. Valencia is now the team to use for me just because Izan¡¯s there." BigDBee2: "He¡¯s got the stats to back it up. His pace and dribbling are ridiculous in-game." Charlton346: You guys are all about pace. His free-kick accuracy is 88 rated. This kid is like an overpowered character. Ligma34: "Izan¡¯s 83 OVR after the update makes him the highest-rated teenager in the game. Unreal!" Genjeti4: "I have started using him in Career Mode. Kid¡¯s unstoppable, even in the game!" Izan chuckled at the comments, his confidence bolstered by the overwhelming support. As much as he appreciated the hype, he reminded himself to stay grounded. The journey back to the pitch wasn¡¯t over yet, and he had more to prove¡ªboth in real life and in the digital world. .... "What did they want to say?" Izan asked after Miranda hung up the phone. "Well, nothing much. They just said it¡¯d be better if you could join them in the creative process of your signature boots". "It would only last a week in Madrid and wouldn¡¯t be that much of a hustle but I told them you¡¯re healing. If you only had about a week till recovery, I¡¯d consider it, but this week is the most important time of your recovery". "Wait, wait, Signature Boots!" Izan exclaimed. "Yeah, those guys at Adidas got millions in unpaid media because of your recent ascent in fame. The boots you wore against Madrid are selling so they wanted to capitalize on that and create your very own signature boots for you since the euros is next year" Miranda said as she sat down. "Isn¡¯t that blind faith? No one even knows if I¡¯ll go to the euros," Izan said, a bit concerned. "Well guess they believe.They only wished you could move to a big club to fire it up, but we already took our stance, so they¡¯re not pushing," Miranda said sharply as Izan raised his brows. "Why don¡¯t they come here? Just the important ones can come so that I¡¯ll be able to do it while recovering." Izan said. "Well, I told them, and they said they¡¯d have to check back with the director of football before they can make a decision". "Miura, can you check who is at the door?" Komi interrupted as the duo spoke. Izan smiled but not before throwing a slight jab. "Sure, I mean, I¡¯m only just injured, right?". Komi¡¯s laugh came out of the kitchen but she didn¡¯t say anything. Izan, who had gotten to the door, looked at the screen beside it and smiled. "I thought you left already," Izan said as he opened the door. Olivia stood in the doorway with a smile on her face. "Well, I don¡¯t have much to do back at school, plus the semester ends in a couple of weeks. I¡¯ll just have to go and finish a few things before coming back" she said while entering. Izan closed the door behind after Olivia entered before heading to the couch where she was. For a while, the house became lively, with Izan, Hori, and Olivia engaged in a few games while Miranda helped Komi in the kitchen. ... [Friday] The Mestalla was alive with anticipation. Valencia was hosting Girona in a pivotal La Liga clash, and the air buzzed with excitement. The streets around the stadium were a sea of black and orange, Valencia¡¯s iconic colours. Vendors shouted, selling scarves and jerseys, while fans chanted club anthems. Izan and Olivia weaved through the bustling crowd, finding their seats in the upper tiers, which offered a panoramic view of the field. The two had opted to watch the match in the stadium, while Komi and Hori had done the opposite, settling down on their couch while watching at home. The two settled in as the teams emerged from the tunnel to thunderous applause. Fran P¨¦rez, returning from a long injury layoff, was greeted with deafening cheers. Izan couldn¡¯t help but grin. "He¡¯s been missed," he said, leaning toward Olivia. On Girona¡¯s side, Savinho, Dovbyk and Eric Garc¨ªa stood out, both players in scintillating form and eager to spoil Valencia¡¯s night. Izan, who was sometimes crouching throughout the pleasantries, underestimated the power of the cameramen as one of the cameras eventually fell on him. He smiled wryly and waved under the cheers of the crowd. "This guy wants to steal our thunder even if he¡¯s not on the pitch " Pietro said from the pitch while looking at the screens that had Izan¡¯s face on it. "Izan, a player Valencia would have loved to be available for this match" the commentator slipped a word or two in. --- First Half: Girona Strikes First The match began with Valencia showing early intent. Fran P¨¦rez darted down the right wing, his first touch in weeks drawing applause. He combined with Hugo Guillam¨®n, sending a dangerous cross into the box, but Girona¡¯s defence held firm. A back-and-forth battle ensued but Girona struck first in the 17th minute. Dovbyk, their Ukrainian striker, latched onto a through ball from Aleix Garc¨ªa. With a burst of pace, he shrugged off his marker and fired a clinical finish past Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper. The Mestalla fell silent for a moment, then erupted in frustrated murmurs. The mischievous cameraman panned the camera to Izan, wanting to capture his emotion, but Izan showed no such thing but rather smiled and pointed to the pitch. After the restart, Valencia responded with urgency, Fran P¨¦rez leading the charge. His weaving runs caused problems for Girona¡¯s defence, and in the 35th minute, his persistence paid off. After receiving a pass from Thierry Correia, P¨¦rez cut inside, evaded two defenders, and unleashed a curling shot into the top corner. The stadium exploded in jubilation. Fans jumped from their seats, waving scarves and roaring their approval. Izan clenched his fist slightly, "Fran is back!" A/n: Second of the day. Have fun Reading. Chapter 142: Signature Boots After receiving a pass from Thierry Correia, P¨¦rez cut inside, evaded two defenders, and unleashed a curling shot into the top corner. The stadium exploded in jubilation. Fans jumped from their seats, waving scarves and roaring their approval. Izan clenched his fist slightly, "Fran is back!" After Fran P¨¦rez¡¯s goal, not much went on in the first half leading to a one-all draw for the first half. The second half began with both teams pushing for control. Valencia¡¯s midfield, orchestrated by Javi Guerra, sought to impose their rhythm, while Girona relied on swift counterattacks. In the 58th minute, Girona regained the lead. Eric Garc¨ªa rose highest to meet a corner from Arnau Mart¨ªnez, his header thundering into the net. The Mestalla groaned as frustration mounted. Izan buried his face in his hands, while Olivia tried to reassure him. "There¡¯s still time," she said with a determined smile. "I¡¯m not frustrated though. I just wanted to yawn without being seen" Izan thought as he looked up at her. After the goal, it seemed the hom eside had handed the steering wheel of the match to the away side as Girona continued attacking fiercely. Valencia, however, regained their spirit through Sosa, who had come on as a substitute in the 68th minute. The crowd cheered his arrival, sensing something special since they had seen glimpses during his previous stints with the senior team. Sosa immediately injected energy into the attack, linking up well with Fran P¨¦rez and Diego L¨®pez. As the clock ticked into the 75th minute, Valencia pressed harder. Fran P¨¦rez whipped in a dangerous cross, which Girona¡¯s defence barely cleared. The loose ball fell to Sosa at the edge of the box. The stadium watched on intently at what Sosa would do. Without hesitating, Sosa took a touch and unleashed a low drive that arrowed into the bottom corner. The Mestalla erupted in pandemonium with scarves and flags being waved around. Sosa slid to the corner flag, arms outstretched, as teammates piled onto him. Izan sat still with a laugh, "That¡¯s Sosa!" His voice was lost in the deafening noise of 40,000 fans celebrating the young player¡¯s first goal for the club. The equalizer sparked a frenetic final 15 minutes. Valencia pushed for a winner, their fans urging them forward with chants and songs. Girona, however, remained dangerous on the break. Dovbyk came close to scoring his second, his shot hitting the post and drawing gasps from the crowd. Despite the relentless pressure from both sides, the match ended 2-2. As the final whistle blew, fans rose to their feet, applauding the players for their effort and entertainment. Izan and Olivia joined in, the adrenaline of the match still coursing through them. After the match, Izan and Olivia went onto the pitch. "I¡¯d say you are good for the Puskas, but my goals are better, ", Izan said from behind. Sosa turned around and smiled. He tried to hug Izan after seeing him but the latter pushed him away. "You¡¯re sweaty," he said. "Then hug me. I didn¡¯t play" Pietro said from behind with his arms wide open. Izan moved out of the way, causing Pietro to hug Sosa. Olivia stood behind watching their weird interactions with a slight smile. .... The bustling streets of Valencia hummed with life as Izan stepped into one of the hotels near the training complex in Valencia. Dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit, he felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. It wasn¡¯t every day that a 16-year-old met a team dedicated to crafting his own signature football boots. The team had accepted Miranda¡¯s suggestion to come to Valencia and had immediately flown over. The team in question where excited. The number of young players like Izan getting signature boots was non-existent. In doing this, Izan will have once made history again by becoming the youngest player to ever get his signature boots. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In a spacious conference room adorned with sketches, fabric samples, and a prototype of his boots on display, Izan was greeted warmly by the team. Their lead designer, Carlos, introduced himself with a wide smile. "We¡¯ve been following your journey, Izan. You¡¯ve inspired us with your style of play, and we want these boots to reflect that magic," Carlos said, gesturing to the prototype. The boots, sleek and futuristic, bore the colours of white and subtle golden accents representing Izan¡¯s meteoric rise. The team walked him through the creative process, seeking his input on design elements. Izan suggested a touch of orange to symbolize his roots in Valencia. The team took his suggestions seriously, as they sounded very genuine. "Seem like someone who would remember his roots," Carlos thought as he looked at Izan seriousness in the process. The team leader, Carlos, also suggested putting Izan¡¯s initials on it, which was well-received by both the team and Izan himself. As the session ended, the team presented him with a framed sketch of the finalized design. "We¡¯ll refine these based on your feedback, but we¡¯re confident these will become a symbol of your journey," Carlos said. After the meeting, Izan returned to Valencia¡¯s training ground, focusing on his recovery. His coach, Javi, oversaw the recovery exercises, pushing him to balance patience and determination. "You¡¯ve got time, Izan. Trust the process," Javi reminded him as he completed a light jogging circuit. His physical therapist, Marta, worked meticulously to strengthen his ankle. The sessions were gruelling, but Izan remained committed. Each stretch, each rep brought him closer to returning to the pitch. His teammates often dropped by to check on him, boosting his morale. After the session, doctor Luis Navarro entered the room and inspected Izan¡¯s recovery charts, and the doctor was shocked, to say the least. Izan injuries were healing at a faster rate than how a normal person should heal. He informed Izan of it but only got a slight smile and nod. "It¡¯s probably due to the conditioning and recovery fluids," Izan thought as he got down from the bed. ... Valencia¡¯s recent 2-2 draw with Girona had sent ripples through the fanbase. Online forums buzzed with debates. Some fans celebrated the hard-fought point that kept them in contention for European football, while others lamented the missed opportunity to climb higher. Izan¡¯s name trended on social media, with fans eagerly awaiting his return. "We need Izan back to push us to the next level," one tweet read, while another posted: "Imagine Izan and this team firing together. UCL dreams incoming!" The draw left Valencia in 5th place, just a point behind Athletic Bilbao in 4th, who had the same number of points as Atl¨¦tico Madrid in the 3rd position. Real Madrid sat in 2nd, 3 points ahead of Valencia with Barcelona on top, ahead of Valencia with 5 points. Despite the competitive table, Valencia¡¯s young squad showed promise. Fans clung to the hope that Izan¡¯s eventual return would be the spark needed to ignite a strong finish to the season. On the top scorer table, Izan sat 3rd, his 12 goals behind, Dovbyk¡¯s 13 and Lewandowski¡¯s 14. Hugo Duro also followed behind Jude¡¯s 11 with 9 goals, tied with Athletic Bilbao¡¯s Inaki and Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s Griezmann. As Izan scrolled through the comments that night, he felt the weight of expectation but also the unwavering support of the community. "I¡¯ll be back soon," he whispered to himself, vowing to give everything for the badge, the fans, and the team. ... In the brightly lit medical office at Valencia¡¯s training complex, Ruben Baraja leaned against the wall, arms folded, a concerned look etched on his face. Across the room, Dr. Luis Navarro sat at his desk, glancing at a series of scans on his computer screen. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence before Baraja spoke. "How¡¯s he doing, Doc? Is his recovery going well?" His voice carried a blend of worry and urgency. Dr. Navarro adjusted his glasses and turned to face the coach. "No need to fret. He¡¯s almost healed. It¡¯s just some slight muscle strain for not doing what he does for a while..I¡¯d say he¡¯ll be completely healed within the week, as long as he sticks to the plan." Baraja exhaled, visibly relieved, but the doctor wasn¡¯t done. Navarro leaned forward, his tone more serious now. "But Ruben, you¡¯ve got to be careful with him. Izan¡¯s young, still growing. Pushing him too hard, too fast, could lead to something more serious. His body needs time to recover properly, even if his spirit says otherwise." Baraja nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. "I understand. He¡¯s special, Luis. The whole world¡¯s watching him, but I don¡¯t want to ruin the kid. Thanks for the heads-up." Dr. Navarro smiled faintly. "You¡¯ve got a gem on your hands, Ruben. Protect him." Ruben Baraja nodded at the doctor¡¯s words before stepping out of the room. He walked around the complex for a while before returning to his office. He sat down in his chair, his eyes settling on the match schedule he had done himself. "Haaaaaaaahhh, Barcelona " he muttered before returning to his work. A/n : Another chapter for today so tomorrow is going to be a single release. Merry Christmas Chapter 143: Daunting Fixture Valencia¡¯s season was in full swing, and the team¡¯s grit and determination were on full display as they embarked on a crucial run of matches. Despite the absence of their teenage prodigy, Izan, the squad was determined to prove they could maintain their form in both La Liga and the Copa del Rey. They faced Getafe in their next match, and they needed all three points so they could maintain or even capitalize on this chance to overtake the teams which slipped up. ..... On the day, the Mestalla buzzed with anticipation as Valencia hosted Getafe in what promised to be a tightly contested La Liga encounter. Valencia knew the importance of maintaining momentum, and from the kickoff, their intent was clear. Hugo Duro led the line with energy, harrying defenders and pressing high up the pitch. In the 27th minute, a misplaced pass from Getafe¡¯s defence landed at Duro¡¯s feet. With a quick glance up, he rifled a shot into the bottom corner, leaving the goalkeeper rooted to the spot. The Mestalla erupted as fans waved their scarves and cheered. Commentary from the booth: "Hugo Duro capitalizes on a defensive mistake! What a finish¡ªclinical and composed! Valencia leads 1-0!" After the goal from Duro, Getafe regrouped, and their persistence paid off early in the second half with an equalizer. Tension gripped the stadium as Valencia sought to regain control. In the 78th minute, Diego L¨®pez stepped up. Collecting the ball on the edge of the box, he unleashed a curling effort that nestled into the top corner. The home fans erupted into shouts and cheers after Diego L¨®pez¡¯s thunderous strike. "Diego L¨®pez! Oh, my word, what a strike! Mestalla is rocking, and Valencia are back in front!" The commentator ranted. The final whistle blew, sealing a 2-1 victory. Fans spilt out of the stadium, their conversations filled with praise for L¨®pez and Duro. One supporter exclaimed, "If we keep playing like this, anything is possible¡ªeven without Izan!" --- Days later, Valencia turned their focus to the Copa del Rey, facing lower-tier Arosa. The match, held at a smaller, intimate stadium, had a cup-tie magic about it. Though Valencia dominated possession, Arosa¡¯s defence was disciplined and organized. In the 63rd minute, Pietro provided the breakthrough. Sprinting onto a perfectly timed through ball, he chipped the onrushing goalkeeper with finesse. The ball floated into the net as Valencia¡¯s bench erupted in celebration. "Pietro! That¡¯s class! We needed that." "We scraped through, but a win¡¯s a win. On to the next round!" S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The game ended 1-0, and while the performance lacked the fluidity fans had hoped for, the result was all that mattered. Returning to La Liga, Valencia faced Rayo Vallecano at the Mestalla. The match was cagey, with neither side able to find the decisive touch. Shots were fired but none were able to hit the mark. Rayo Vallecano ultimately broke the defensive line of Valencia and scored but Valencia were saved by the quick thinking of Gaya who moved forward trapping the Rayo Vallecano strike in an offside position. The ball went back and forth, with neither able to put the ball in the back of the net of the opponent¡¯s goal. As the clock ticked into stoppage time, the game seemed destined for a goalless draw. Then came Mark, a late substitute who rose to the occasion. In the 93rd minute, Valencia won a corner. Mark positioned himself perfectly, leaping above the defenders to head the ball into the net. The stadium erupted in chaotic jubilation. "Mark! Off the bench and onto the scoresheet! Valencia snatches it at the death!" Fans chanted Mark¡¯s name as he celebrated with his teammates. One of the commentators in the commentary box shouted, "Mark¡¯s the hero Valencia didn¡¯t know we had!" The 1-0 victory was a testament to Valencia¡¯s resilience and determination, even in the absence of their star player. --- While the team fought on the pitch, Izan worked tirelessly behind the scenes to return to full fitness. At the state-of-the-art recovery facility, he underwent rigorous physiotherapy, focusing on strengthening his injured leg. Scenes of his recovery showed his unwavering determination: running on an anti-gravity treadmill, performing balance drills, and watching footage of Valencia¡¯s matches. During a quiet moment, Izan sat with his physiotherapist, watching the replay of Mark¡¯s winner against Rayo. His fist clenched as the ball hit the net, a mix of pride. "These guys are doing well", he said, still looking at Mark¡¯s thumping header. ..... Meanwhile, Izan¡¯s signature boots were in the final stages of development. The design team presented him with a prototype during a visit. The boots were sleek and modern, white with gold accents, and featured his initials etched into the heel. The tagline, "Unleash the Dream," adorned the inner sole. Izan slipped them on, testing their weight and feel. "These are perfect," he said with a smile, envisioning the day he¡¯d wear them on the pitch. ----- As Valencia¡¯s next challenge¡ªa daunting fixture against Barcelona¡ªapproached, the football world turned its attention to how the team would fare without Izan. A popular sports show dedicated a segment to the match, with analysts debating Valencia¡¯s chances. Pundit 1: "Valencia¡¯s recent run has been impressive, but Barcelona is a different beast. Without Izan¡¯s creativity and flair, they might struggle to break through that defence." Pundit 2: "I disagree. Players like Hugo Duro and Diego L¨®pez have stepped up, and we¡¯ve seen Mark make an impact off the bench. If Valencia stays compact and exploits the counter, they could cause problems for Barca." Pundit 3: "It¡¯s true, but let¡¯s not forget how much Izan elevates this team. His absence means Barca can push higher without fearing that explosive spark on the break." The segment ended with a fan poll: Can Valencia shock Barca without Izan? ¡ðYes, they¡¯ll rise to the occasion. ¡ðNo, Barca is too strong. As the discussion concluded, the stage was set for an exhilarating clash, with Valencia determined to defy the odds and prove their resilience once more. Valencia¡¯s recent performances were a testament to their determination and adaptability. While Izan¡¯s absence was keenly felt, the team¡¯s ability to grind out results kept their season alive. The upcoming match against Barcelona would be their toughest test yet, but one thing was clear¡ªthis Valencia side had the heart to fight till the end. While the fans prepared for the clash, an announcement from Valencia¡¯s camp came out. The announcement that Izan, the 16-year-old football sensation, had been cleared to play after an injury sent waves through the Valencia CF fanbase. A club statement confirmed that the medical team had conducted thorough assessments, deeming the prodigy fit to return to action. Shortly after, manager Rub¨¦n Baraja included Izan in the matchday squad for the highly anticipated clash against Barcelona, sparking intense debate among fans and pundits alike. For supporters who had witnessed Izan¡¯s meteoric rise, this was cause for celebration. His jaw-dropping performances had cemented him as a generational talent, one capable of turning the tide in even the most daunting fixtures. "We need him for Barca. With his creativity and confidence, anything is possible!" read one fan¡¯s post on social media, encapsulating the optimism of many. Online forums buzzed with excitement as highlights of Izan¡¯s past performances were shared alongside predictions of how he might fare against Barcelona¡¯s elite defence. However, not all fans shared this enthusiasm. Some were deeply concerned about the decision to rush the youngster back into action. "He¡¯s just turned 16, and the risk of re-injury is too high," warned a cautious supporter. This sentiment resonated with a significant portion of the fanbase, especially given the high stakes of the match. The idea of throwing a teenager into the fire against one of the world¡¯s most formidable teams seemed risky, even reckless, to sceptics. They argued that Valencia¡¯s long-term investment in Izan¡¯s career should take precedence over short-term gains. Baraja, a former club legend now tasked with steering Valencia through a turbulent season, defended his decision in the pre-match press conference. "Izan has been evaluated thoroughly. He¡¯s eager to contribute and understands the responsibility. His inclusion isn¡¯t just about talent; it¡¯s about character," he stated. While his confidence in the young star was evident, Baraja¡¯s words did little to quell the divide among supporters. As the hours ticked down to kickoff, the Mestalla Stadium became a hotbed of anticipation. Fans speculated on whether Izan would start or come off the bench. Some arrived early, holding banners that read "Izan, Our Future" and wearing scarves bearing his name. Others watched from the stands with folded arms, their expressions a mixture of hope and apprehension. The tension in the air was palpable. For those backing Izan¡¯s inclusion, this was a golden opportunity to see their hero take another step toward greatness. For the more cautious fans, every sprint, turn or tackle would be scrutinized for signs of discomfort or overexertion. The stakes were enormous¡ªnot just for the club, but for a 16-year-old boy carrying the weight of expectations far beyond his years. Regardless of the outcome, one thing was clear: Izan¡¯s story had already captured the hearts and minds of Valencia¡¯s faithful. Whether viewed as a bold gamble or a calculated decision, Baraja¡¯s call to include him in the squad against Barcelona marked another thrilling chapter in the young player¡¯s journey. The entire footballing world would be watching. A/n: Chapter of the day. I released 3 chapters yesterday so I might not release another one today after this. Have fun though and a Merry Christmas ???? Chapter 144: QuickFire For those backing Izan¡¯s inclusion into the squad, this was a golden opportunity to see their hero take another step toward greatness. For the more cautious fans, every sprint, turn or tackle would be scrutinized for signs of discomfort or overexertion. The stakes were enormous¡ªnot just for the club, but for a 16-year-old boy carrying the weight of expectations far beyond his years. Regardless of the outcome, one thing was clear: Izan¡¯s story had already captured the hearts and minds of Valencia¡¯s faithful. Whether viewed as a bold gamble or a calculated decision, Baraja¡¯s call to include him in the squad against Barcelona marked another thrilling chapter in the young player¡¯s journey. The entire footballing world would be watching. ..... The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the city of Valencia as the players and staff of Valencia CF gathered at the team training centre, ready to embark on their trip to Barcelona. The mood was a blend of focus and excitement. The team knew the challenge ahead was monumental, but it was also an opportunity to prove their mettle in their fight for the title. They had decided to go to Barcelona in advance so that they wouldn¡¯t be affected by injuries from sitting so long on the plane or bus. Even though they knew it would be hard, it wasn¡¯t impossible. Coach Baraja had instilled in the players a fighting spirit that would not fall short of qualifying for European football should they fail to contend for the title. As the team bus rolled out, the streets of Valencia seemed quieter, almost as if the city was collectively holding its breath for what was to come. Izan sat by the window, headphones on, lost in his thoughts. This wasn¡¯t just another game¡ªit was against FC Barcelona, one of the giants of world football. Across the aisle, veteran players like Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ and Hugo Guillam¨®n offered quiet words of encouragement to their teammates. Guillam¨®n tried to offer these same words to Izan but Gaya stopped him. "Don¡¯t disturb him. He gets like this every big game and pulls out a world-class performance so don¡¯t worry" Guillam¨®n nodded at Gaya¡¯s words and stared at Izan. "This kid¡¯s talent is really enviable". The journey was filled with moments of reflection and camaraderie. Players discussed tactics, analyzed previous matches, and shared light jokes to ease the tension. As the bus approached Barcelona, the Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys loomed large in the distance, a reminder of the magnitude of the task ahead. "I wish we could have played at the camp, nou,", Izan said as they went past the stadium. After arriving at their hotel and settling in, the team headed to the stadium for a light training session. Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of awe and determination as he walked onto the hallowed turf. It was then that he spotted Pedri, emerging from the other side of the pitch. Pedri approached with a friendly smile. "Long time," he said, extending a hand. "Yeah," Izan replied, his voice while he shook Pedri¡¯s hand. "Thanks for what you did the other day. You know the birthday thing" "Oh, it wasn¡¯t much. Oryazabal wanted to do the same for you, but he had a match, and he also didn¡¯t know your birthday was near. Your mom didn¡¯t contact us early" Pedri said with a smile. The two talked for a while before finally going back to their bases. " See you on the pitch."Pedri chuckled as he left. "See you" Izan responded. After the little exchange, Izan returned to complete his light exercise, which consisted of some light passing drills and jogging. The medicals said he was healed but he wasn¡¯t sure if it was a 100% thing. After that, they headed back to the hotel to prepare for the match. The day of the match dawned with the city of Barcelona buzzing with anticipation. Fans flooded the streets, their chants and songs echoing in the crisp winter air. At the Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys, the pre-game atmosphere was electric. Vendors sold scarves, jerseys, and flags in both Bar?a¡¯s iconic garnet and blue and Valencia¡¯s black and white. Inside the stadium, the commentator prepared his notes. "Good evening, football fans! Tonight, we¡¯re set for a clash between two Spanish giants. Valencia comes here with a mix of youth and experience, and all eyes are on their teenage sensation, Izan. Can he shine under the brightest lights?" In the stands, the fans added their own flavour to the buildup. A group of Valencia supporters waved their banners and sang in unison. "Vamos, Valencia!" one shouted, while another added, "Izan¡¯s going to show them!" On the other side, Barcelona fans exuded confidence. "This is our fortress," one declared. In Valencia¡¯s dressing room, the tension was palpable but not oppressive. Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja gave his final instructions, pacing in front of the players. "Play smart, play together, and don¡¯t let the occasion overwhelm you," he said. Izan sat quietly in the corner, lacing his boots. Next to him, Gay¨¤ leaned over. "Relax, kid and leave it to us. When you come on, then you do your thing" As the players stood to head out, the coach clapped his hands. "Let¡¯s show them who we are!" The tunnel leading to the pitch was a cauldron of emotion. Players from both teams exchanged handshakes and brief greetings. Izan found Pedri inside the tunnel with the latter waving at him. He waved back before heading to the bench. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. When the teams stepped onto the pitch, the noise was deafening. Valencia fans cheered loudly for their players, while the Barcelona faithful created a wall of sound, waving flags and singing club anthems. The captains, Gay¨¤ and Ter Stegen met with the referee for the coin toss. The commentator set the tone as the teams took their positions. "This is what it¡¯s all about. A night under the lights at the Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys, two great teams go at it. They can choose to fight for a win or settle for a draw but all I can say is that we will enjoy this match" As the referee raised the whistle to his lips, the stadium fell into a brief, expectant silence. Then came the sharp blast, and the game was underway. From the opening whistle, Barcelona showcased their intent to dominate, pressing high and moving the ball with characteristic precision. Izan sat on the bench, eyes fixed on the action, analyzing every pass and movement. Just three minutes in, Barcelona executed a textbook attacking sequence that embodied their famed "tiki-taka" style. It began deep in midfield with Frenkie de Jong intercepting a wayward Valencia pass. Without hesitation, he turned and threaded the ball to Gavi, who was positioned near the halfway line. Gavi, always a bundle of energy, quickly found Balde streaking down the left wing. Balde sprinted forward, cutting inside as a Valencia defender tried to close him down. Spotting Pedri in a pocket of space just outside the penalty area, Balde slipped him a short pass. Pedri received the ball with a deft touch, his head already scanning for options. Valencia¡¯s defenders scrambled to reorganize, but Pedri¡¯s brilliance rendered their efforts futile. With Lewandowski making a darting run between the two centre-backs, Pedri unleashed a perfectly weighted, defence-splitting through-ball. The pass was poetry in motion, curving slightly to meet Lewandowski¡¯s stride. The Polish striker took a single touch to control the ball before unleashing a clinical shot past the Valencia goalkeeper into the bottom-left corner. The Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys erupted in jubilation as Lewandowski wheeled away in celebration, pointing to Pedri in acknowledgement of the assist. The young midfielder jogged over, smiling, and embraced the striker, while the rest of the team joined them near the corner flag. It was a moment of pure Bar?a brilliance¡ªquick, incisive, and breathtakingly effective. --- The commentator¡¯s voice soared with excitement: "What a start for Barcelona! Pedri with an absolute gem of a pass, and Lewandowski does what he does best¡ªputting the ball in the back of the net! This is why these two are unstoppable when they¡¯re on form!" The co-commentator added, "Pedri¡¯s vision is unreal. To pick that pass so early in the game shows his confidence and intelligence. And Lewandowski¡¯s finish¡ªice-cold as ever. Valencia will have a hard time recovering from this early blow." Fans waved their scarves and chanted"Bar?a! Bar?a!" A father lifted his young daughter, both grinning ear to ear. A group of supporters in the front held a banner that read: " Our Polish Cyborg" "PEDRI is the future of football! That pass was unreal!" "Lewandowski proving why he¡¯s still one of the best strikers in the world!" "This is vintage Bar?a! Quick, clean, and lethal!" Words like these flowed around the stadium as the Barca fans glazed over their early goal. Izan sat on the bench, watching the scene and just smiled. "That pass was brilliant" he muttered as the referee restarted the match. A/n: I said I couldn¡¯t but I got free time so here. Have fun reading. Chapter 145: Another Goal Fans waved their scarves and chanted"Bar?a! Bar?a!" A father lifted his young daughter, both grinning ear to ear. A group of supporters in the front held a banner that read: " Our Polish Cyborg" "PEDRI is the future of football! That pass was unreal!" "Lewandowski proving why he¡¯s still one of the best strikers in the world!" "This is vintage Bar?a! Quick, clean, and lethal!" Words like these flowed around the stadium as the Barca fans glazed over their early goal. Izan sat on the bench, watching the scene and just smiled. "That pass was brilliant" he muttered as the referee restarted the match. Having taken the lead, Barcelona seemed poised to dominate, controlling possession with their signature tiki-taka passing. Their midfield trio dictated the tempo, recycling the ball effortlessly and probing for gaps in Valencia¡¯s defensive setup. Full-backs surged forward to overload the flanks, while their wingers stayed wide, stretching Valencia to its limits. Valencia, however, was far from passive. They regrouped quickly, setting up a compact defensive structure and looking for opportunities to hit Barcelona on the break. Valencia¡¯s counter-attacking threat became evident by the 10th minute when a misplaced pass in Barcelona¡¯s midfield allowed Valencia¡¯s winger to sprint down the right. His cross was dangerously whipped into the box, but Barcelona¡¯s centre-back intercepted it with a crucial clearance. This moment served as a warning sign for Barcelona, who began to show glimpses of vulnerability under pressure. As the match progressed, the intensity heightened. Barcelona¡¯s intricate build-up play created several half-chances. In the 20th minute, their winger dazzled the crowd with a mazy dribble past two defenders before firing a shot that was parried away by Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper. Despite their dominance, Barcelona struggled to convert their possession into a second goal, with Valencia¡¯s defence holding firm. Valencia grew into the game, buoyed by their ability to disrupt Barcelona¡¯s rhythm. By the 30th minute, their high pressing began forcing errors. A misplaced pass from Barcelona¡¯s backline gifted Valencia a golden opportunity. Their striker, Hugo Duro latched onto the loose ball, but a superb save from Barcelona¡¯s goalkeeper kept the scoreline intact. Moments later, Valencia came close again when a long-range effort narrowly missed the target. The game grew more physical as the half wore on. In the 35th minute, a crunching tackle on Barcelona¡¯s striker, sparked a heated exchange, with players from both sides surrounding the referee. The tension only added to the drama, as Valencia pushed for an equalizer while Barcelona sought to extend their lead. In the dying moments of the half, Barcelona nearly doubled their advantage. A sweeping move down the left flank saw their winger cut inside and unleash a powerful shot that rattled the crossbar. Valencia responded with a last-gasp corner-kick with the ball falling outside the box, but the strike, just outside the penalty area, flew inches wide of the post. The halftime whistle blew with Barcelona holding a slender 1-0 lead. While they had dominated large spells of the game, Valencia¡¯s resilience and counter-attacking threat ensured the match remained finely poised. Valencia¡¯s players walked into their dressing room with a mix of frustration and determination. The narrow deficit was not insurmountable, and their performance in the latter stages of the first half gave them hope. After they entered, Ruben Baraja didn¡¯t waste any time, giving them the pep talk. "Listen up!" he barked, pointing at the tactical board. "They¡¯re good, but they¡¯re not invincible. We¡¯ve rattled them. Keep exploiting the flanks and be clinical on counters. One goal, and they¡¯ll crumble under pressure." The players huddled around the board, nodding as the manager outlined their adjustments. Valencia¡¯s captain, a seasoned midfielder, chimed in. "We¡¯ve been here before. Stick together, stay focused, and don¡¯t give them space to breathe. We can take them." In one corner of the room sat Izan. He stayed quiet, observing every word from his coach and teammates, trying to absorb the atmosphere. One of Valencia¡¯s assistant coaches walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You good, Izan?" he asked. Izan nodded and smiled. After hearing Izan¡¯s answer the assistant Coach left him alone. After a while, Ruben Baraja finished with his talk. Glancing around, the Valencia manager called Izan over as the players prepared to head back out. "How are you feeling," he said, looking the young player straight in the eye. "I¡¯m okay. Just a bit bored watching from the bench." Izan said. Baraja smiled at his answer before patting him on the back. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll spice up your evening very soon" As the team exited the dressing room, the noise from the crowd grew louder. Izan followed at the back, glancing around the tunnel. His eyes met another prodigy of the la Masia academy in Lamine Yamal who was coming on after half-time but the latter quickly glanced away. "What was that" Izan thought as he walked out of the tunnel. The cheers of the crowd met the players at the end of the tunnel, ready to go for another second-half showing. After the players got onto the pitch, the home crowd started their chants. Not wanting to be outdone, the Valencia fans also stepped up. ... "I can get why, you¡¯re on the bench, But why me?" Pietro, who sat beside Izan on the bench, said. " I was spectacular in our past few matches but now against Barca, I end up on the bench. This is injustice". "You should be glad you¡¯re on the bench; if I was the Coach, I¡¯d make you play for the reserve squad". "Oh shi-! , where the heck did you come from." Pietro screamed at Mosquera who was in the seat behind him. Mosquera laughed but didn¡¯t continue the conversation as the players on the pitch now stood in their positions. ..... Fweeeee, "Welcome back to the second half of this exciting clash between, FC Barcelona and Valencia CF. An exciting fight was fought in the first half, but only Barcelona had a goal to show for its efforts. Barcelona looking to add more to their tally have brought on their teenage sensation Lamine Yamal. Another talk of the town after Valencia¡¯s Izan. He¡¯ll be looking to prove himself again against this Valencia side" The second half began with Valencia on the attacking end. They had wanted to take advantage of Barca¡¯s lax defence, but their attack ended up being thwarted by a good save from Barcelona¡¯s Ter Stegen. The Valencia crowd sighed in frustration after the chance was missed but they were in no situation to worry about the missed chance. After the save from ter-stegen, Barcelona¡¯s left-back gem, Balde, took the ball and started a counter. The Valencia team scrambled to get the ball back, but Balde switched play, sending the ball to Araujo on the right. The sudden switch left almost the entire Valencia team on the left side of the pitch. Following this, Araujo charged forward with the ball. Although a defender, Araujo¡¯s dribbling wasn¡¯t bad at all, with his short run ending in a pass to Pedri. Javi Guerra, together with Pepelu, decided to double-press Pedri, but it was not effective. After slipping away from the two, Pedri sent the ball behind Gaya. The loose ball set off a chase between Gaya and Lamine Yamal, but the youngster was faster than his older counterpart. Getting to the ball, Lamine flicked the ball back with his left leg before slightly pushing it with his right. This action caused the ball to go through the legs of the onrushing Gaya but the defender held onto the jersey of Lamine. Seeing as he couldn¡¯t go any further, Lamine passed the ball into the middle of the box, meeting Pedri¡¯s run who blasted the ball into the back of the net. The Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys erupted into cheers once more. The Barcelona fans celebrated the goal that put their hearts at ease after the first. Pedri, who scored, ran, pointing at Lamine Yamal, who had made the goal before jumping onto the teenager. Ruben Baraja, who stood on the touchline, held his face in his hands after Bar?a¡¯s goal. He glanced at Izan on the bench but shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Let¡¯s wait a bit," he thought as he glanced back at the pitch. After celebrating, the Barcelona players returned to their half of the pitch. The scoreboard now read 2-0 for Barcelona. After the match restarted, Ruben Baraja sent out a few instructions to the Valencia team. From the onset, they stationed themselves in their half, playing around the Barcelona team. "Valencia have taken a somewhat Familiar approach to the game. How daring. Playing in a tiki-taka style against the team that was built on it." The commentator gave his input. Standing on the touchline, Barcelona legend and manager Xavi Hernandez smiled at the scene in front of him. "Good Times" he muttered under his breath as Barcelona continued to push forward. "Wait, get back, get back!". Xavi shouted from the touchline after noticing that the Barcelona defensive line was already in the opponent¡¯s half of the pitch, but a long ball had already been sent down Barcelona¡¯s half. Diego Lopez who had already started running before the ball, got to it near the throw-line. Getting to the ball, Diego L¨®pez ramped up the pace, kicking the ball ahead before running to catch up to it. After getting to the byline, Diego L¨®pez raised his leg to cross but a figure suddenly blocked his path. The Valencia fans were screaming for him to pass but Diego L¨®pez wasn¡¯t passing. With a flick, he tried to evade Araujo but the latter held onto Diego¡¯s shoulder. Trying to get free, Diego L¨®pez shifted his weight to his right but the scream that sounded the next moment made the referee blow his whistle. Chapter 146: Back With A Bang After getting to the byline, Diego L¨®pez raised his leg to cross but a figure suddenly blocked his path. The Valencia fans were screaming for him to pass but Diego L¨®pez wasn¡¯t passing. With a flick, he tried to evade Araujo but the latter held onto Diego¡¯s shoulder. Trying to get free, Diego L¨®pez shifted his weight to his right but the scream that sounded the next moment made the referee blow his whistle. The next moment the Valencia fans began shouting, asking the referee to send Araujo off. "That doesn¡¯t look good for Diego L¨®pez," the commentator exclaimed, the concern evident in his voice. "It¡¯s his shoulder¡ªlooks like he might have done some real damage to the rotator cuff there." The referee stopped play as Valencia¡¯s medical team sprinted onto the pitch. Diego lay on the grass, grimacing while fans in the stands murmured anxiously. "This could be a pivotal moment," the commentator added. "Diego L¨®pez has been a key player for Valencia this season, and losing him now would be a huge blow." The medics assessed him quickly, their serious expressions confirming the gravity of the injury. The referee signalled toward the bench¡ªa substitution was inevitable. Gasps rippled through the Valencia crowd. Conversations broke out among fans, their faces etched with worry. "L¨®pez can¡¯t continue," one murmured. "Without him, who steps up?" As Diego was helped off the pitch, his right arm immobilized in a sling, the stadium broke into applause, a show of support for their winger. On the sidelines, Valencia coach Rub¨¦n Baraja turned decisively to the bench. "Izan!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tension. The 16-year-old phenom looked up, wide-eyed but ready. "Warm up, you¡¯re going in." The moment hit like a thunderclap. Izan grabbed his training bib and jogged toward the touchline, the weight of expectation settling on his young shoulders. "You too, Pietro", Baraja added after Izan had gotten up. The fans¡¯ murmurs shifted to cautious optimism as they watched Izan warming up. "If anyone can bring some spark now, it¡¯s the kid," one supporter said, rallying behind the prodigy. After a couple of minutes playing a man-down, the ball went out for a throw. The referee signalled for the substitution to go on. Donning his number 21 jersey, Izan stepped onto the pitch. The Valencia fans applauded Izan¡¯s first steps onto the pitch after his injury. "There he is. 16 years of age and already a commanding presence in the team. It has been a month since the fans saw him play after his injury, and tonight they can see him show what he¡¯s always done". After coming on, Izan filled Diego L¨®pez¡¯s position while Pietro filled Javi Guerra¡¯s position after a lacklustre performance from the young defensive midfielder. After, the substitution, the throw for Barcelona ensued. The match continued with Valencia retreating to their half ready to strike on the counter. Reminiscent of Pep¡¯s Barcelona, the youngsters played around Valencia¡¯s setup. After coming on, Izan didn¡¯t rush into the game but took his time, scanning the field and adjusting to the rhythm. The Barcelona midfield, led by Pedri and de Jong, moved with a calculated elegance, trying to dominate possession. Izan drifted into pockets of space, content to play simple passes and keep the ball moving. "Smart play from the youngster," the commentator noted. "He¡¯s not trying to do too much too soon, showing remarkable composure for his age as always." sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In the 75th minute, his first spark of brilliance came. Receiving a pass just outside the centre circle, he turned swiftly, leaving his marker flat-footed. The crowd reacted to his move roaring in approval as Izan went om With a deft touch, he surged forward, drawing gasps from the crowd. The commentator¡¯s voice rose: "Izan¡¯s on the move here! Look at that pace!" He glided past two defenders, his balance and control almost poetic. He combined with Andre Almeida, who had been out of the squad for some time, to free himself in front of the box. Dragging his right leg back, Izan powered through the ball, sending a thunderous shot towards Marc Andre Ter Stegen, but the keeper put up a strong hand to deny Izan his first goal in the match. Though the attack ended in a corner, the crowd erupted, sensing something special brewing. Minutes later, he seized his moment. A loose ball in midfield found its way to Izan, and with a quick flick, he evaded an onrushing opponent. He played a one-two with his teammate, accelerating into space. The Barcelona defence scrambled, but Izan was already in full flow. "This could be it! Izan is in!" the commentator exclaimed. Charging toward the penalty box, he feigned a shot, sending the last defender the wrong way. The keeper rushed out, but Izan coolly chipped the ball over him. Time seemed to slow as it floated toward the net before nestling in the top corner. "GOAL! What a strike from the teenager!" the commentator shouted as the crowd erupted. Izan stood still for a moment, arms raised, soaking in the adulation. Calm and calculated at first, he had burst into life when it mattered most, leaving an indelible mark on the game and proving why the world had its eyes on him. He tried to go back and take the ball, but something was up. Before they could celebrate any further, the referee blew his whistle distracting the Valencia players who were rushing towards Izan. The referee raised his hand before pointing to the Valencia goal. "Oh No, seems like there was an offside infringement during the process of the goal". The screens around the stadium showed Almeida¡¯s offside position before he laid the ball off to Pepelu, who sent the ball over to Izan. The Valencia fans booed but the referee¡¯s decision was right. After the offside was called, Izan put the ball down and gave it back to the Barcelona players. After the match continued, Barcelona churned out a few substitutions, hoping to waste some time. The referee knew what they were doing but it wasn¡¯t illegal. As the time ran out, Barcelona decided to go for one last attack after Valencia settled on not conceding any more. With a quick succession of passes, Barcelona broke into the box of Valencia. Pedri, who now had the ball, passed to his right. Lamine Yamal, who was rushing from behind, met the ball with a curler, but his effort was blocked by Mark, whose performance had been the only light in Valencia¡¯s defence. After Mark blocked the shot, the ball was still not out of the danger zone. Frenkie de Jong, who had closed down on the loose ball, sent a cross in, but the ball was headed out by Cenk, who was contesting for it with Lewandowski. The loose ball once again fell to Ferran Torres, who shot towards goal, but Izan put his body in the way. The ball ricocheted off him but Izan wasn¡¯t going to give them another chance to shoot. After the loose ball got further and further, Izan turned on the jets. Ferran, who was going for the ball, got to it, but Izan immediately tackled from behind. Ferran tried to put his body in the way but Izan shoved him slightly before going around him. The Barcelona winger tried to grab Izan but he slipped. Free from any obstacles, Izan made the whole Barcelona team chase after him. He went left, then right, weaving in between the Barcelona players. Izan made his way towards the Barcelona goal but he felt a tug on his shirt. Glancing beside him, he saw Pedri holding onto his shirt. Izan tried to get him to let go but the latter tightened his grip on the shirt. "Well if you won¡¯t let go, then let me use you" Izan thought as he weaved left. His sudden movement caused Pedri to tighten his grip on the shirt further causing Izan to fall while the shirt ripped. The referee blew the whistle after seeing this before shoving a yellow card in Pedri¡¯s face. Pedri smiled wryly and looked at the ripped shirt in his hand while Izan sat on the floor, fixing his socks while smiling at him. "This guy" Pedri chuckled. After Izan got up, he went to the touchline for a change of clothes before getting back to the pitch. He saw the referee dealing with the Barcelona players who were making the wall, so Izan put the ball slightly away from the referee¡¯s designated spot before glancing at the goal. [ Pinpoint Accuracy LV2 activated] The system sounded. The stadium watched in anticipation as Izan stood over the ball, just outside Barcelona¡¯s penalty area. The Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys was a cauldron of noise, with fans chanting and waving banners, but Izan was undeterred. He exuded a calm confidence that belied his age. He took a few measured steps back, his eyes scanning the wall and the goalkeeper¡¯s position. "It¡¯s a free-kick in a dangerous position, and the youngster, Izan, is stepping up to take it. What a moment this is for the 16-year-old at the Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys!" "He lines it up, the Barcelona wall looks solid, and the keeper is positioning himself. Can the teenager produce something special here?" The referee blew his whistle, and the world seemed to hold its breath. Izan sprinted forward, his body perfectly balanced as he struck the ball with his left foot. The connection was flawless, the ball arcing over the wall with a whip of swerve and dip. Ter Stegen renowned for his reflexes, dived at full stretch, but the ball was unstoppable. It nestled into the top corner, just brushing the underside of the crossbar on its way in. "Izan steps up... OH MY WORD! WHAT A GOAL! Izan has done it! That is absolutely sensational!" "The ball curled perfectly over the wall, dipped at the last second, and kissed the underside of the crossbar on its way in. The keeper had no chance! That is pure class from the young man! He¡¯s been out for a while and now the youngster is back with a Bang!!" A gasp of disbelief swept through the crowd, followed by a roar of applause¡ªeven from some Barcelona fans. Izan would have loved to celebrate but they were still a goal down. After scoring, he went into the opponent¡¯s goal and picked up the ball before running to the kickoff spot. The Valencia crowd cheered him on at the thought of equalising as Izan placed the ball on the spot. To them, he had saved them time and time again so he may be able to do it again today. A/n: Two for the day, have fun. Chapter 147: Speculation Fweee fweee fweeeee, The final whistle echoed across the Camp Nou, signalling the end of a hard-fought match. "Its all over here at the Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys. They tried but couldn¡¯t. Valencia, under the charge of Izan, who had just returned from his injury, tried to level the score, but Barcelona¡¯s defensive effort in the last minutes of the game saved them. It¡¯s a loss for them, but Valencia will be proud as they were the most threatening even when they weren¡¯t without Izan. They will have some pointers to take from this game. All in all its Barcelona 2, Valencia 1" Barcelona had edged out Valencia with a narrow 2-1 victory, but the travelling Valencia fans, packed into their corner of the stadium, were far from disheartened. Instead of filtering out, they stood in unison, their scarves raised high, voices unbroken. Their applause began softly, a rhythmic clap that gradually swelled into a thunderous ovation. "Valencia! Valencia!" they chanted, their pride undimmed by defeat. It wasn¡¯t just a cheer; it was a message¡ªa testament to their unwavering support. On the pitch, the Valencia players paused. The sting of the loss was still fresh, but they couldn¡¯t ignore the sea of orange and white roaring in their honour. One by one, they turned toward their fans, clapping in gratitude. Some players even walked closer, giving their shirts away, waving and nodding in acknowledgement of the loyalty that followed them miles from home. Not wanting to be outdone, the Barcelona faithful began their own applause. It started hesitantly but soon grew louder as they paid homage to their team¡¯s performance. The Estadi Ol¨ªmpic Llu¨ªs Companys resonated with mixed sounds of clapping and chants, creating an atmosphere that was both electric and awkward. For a moment, the two sets of fans seemed to compete, their cheers overlapping in a cacophony of pride and rivalry. Barcelona players, caught in the middle, gestured their thanks to their supporters while sneaking glances at the Valencia fans who had turned a loss into a celebration of resilience. In that peculiar mix of emotions¡ªvictory and defeat, pride and sportsmanship¡ªthe stadium became a rare stage. After the game ended, players of both teams went around shaking hands. Izan, who was still in the opponent¡¯s half, got a lot of hands coming his way. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He finally got to Pedri but the two stood and talked for a while. While talking with Pedri, the latter called Lamine Yamal over, Deciding to introduce the two since they were the same age. The two immediately hit it off but they couldn¡¯t talk for long as Valencia decided to leave early. [Conference] The press room buzzed with anticipation as reporters jostled for the best spots, their cameras trained on the door. Ruben Baraja, Valencia¡¯s head coach, entered first, followed closely by Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤, the team captain. The two men wore expressions of professional composure, though the wear and tear of the game was visible in their body language. The Valencia contingent of reporters offered polite applause, but it was clear where the room¡¯s energy was directed. Everyone had hoped for Izan. The teenager¡¯s dazzling performance, even in defeat, had left a mark on the footballing world, and many were eager to hear his thoughts. But instead, they had to settle for Gay¨¤, Valencia¡¯s reliable yet overshadowed captain, who was now stepping in to face a barrage of questions clearly meant for someone else. After the obligatory pleasantries and an initial question about the team¡¯s performance, the inevitable shift came. "Ruben, can you comment on Izan¡¯s performance tonight? Despite the loss, he was electric," one reporter began. Baraja nodded, his tone measured. "Izan is a special talent, no doubt. He just turned 16 years old, and he continues to show maturity beyond his years. Tonight, he was fearless¡ªtaking on defenders, creating chances, and even recovering defensively. He¡¯s an incredible asset for us." The room leaned forward as microphones captured every word. Another reporter jumped in, directing the conversation to Gay¨¤. "Jos¨¦, as the captain, what¡¯s it like playing alongside a talent like Izan? Do you think he¡¯s ready for the spotlight at such a young age?" Gay¨¤ smiled, his pride evident. "Izan is a fantastic player and an even better teammate. He listens, works hard, and never lets the pressure get to him. I¡¯ve told him to enjoy the game and take everything step by step. If the other matches didn¡¯t show it, then the matches against the top clubs like Real Madrid, this one against Barcelona as well as Atl¨¦tico Madrid is an indication that he has a very bright future ahead." The questions kept circling back to Izan¡ªhis future, his development, and his incredible composure under pressure. Even as Baraja and Gay¨¤ tried to steer the conversation toward the team¡¯s collective effort, it was clear who the real headline of the night was. The energy in the room shifted again when Barcelona¡¯s coach, Xavi Hernandez, took his place at the podium. Fresh from a victory, Xavi looked relaxed but professional. It didn¡¯t take long for the conversation to circle back to Izan. "Xavi, Izan was a standout tonight despite Valencia¡¯s loss. As someone who values young talent, do you see him as a player that fits Barcelona¡¯s style?" Xavi chuckled softly, his diplomatic side taking over. "Izan is an extraordinary talent, no question. It¡¯s rare to see someone his age play with such confidence and intelligence. Valencia has done a fantastic job nurturing him, and he¡¯s clearly in the right environment to grow." But the reporters weren¡¯t satisfied with a neutral answer. A bolder question followed: "Would you like to see Izan at Barcelona one day? Is he the kind of player you¡¯d want to bring to your squad?" The room fell silent, the weight of the question hanging in the air. Xavi hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding carefully. "Barcelona always looks for players who understand the game and have the right mentality, but Izan is a Valencia player. I respect that, and right now, it¡¯s about letting him develop without unnecessary pressure." The answer was measured, yet it ignited speculation. The idea of Barcelona¡¯s interest in Izan was a tantalizing prospect for the media, and they latched onto it immediately. Within hours, social media platforms were ablaze with discussion. Headlines screamed: "Xavi Drops Hint About Izan," and "Barcelona Interested in Valencia Wonderkid?" Fans dissected Xavi¡¯s every word, some interpreting his comments as a direct admission of interest. On Twitter, the hashtag #IzanToBar?a trended globally. Barcelona fans who started getting fantasies of the youngster playing for their team showed their approval, while Valencia supporters rallied to defend their prodigy, insisting he was integral to their future. Memes, fan edits, and speculative lineups featuring Izan alongside Barcelona¡¯s brightest stars flooded timelines. Players, too, weighed in. Some of Izan¡¯s Valencia teammates tweeted their support: Andr¨¦ Almeida: "Hands off, @FCBarcelona! Izan is ours! " Lewandowski: "Kid¡¯s a star. Proud to have him on our team." Pedri: Told you we¡¯d come for you!! Not only players, but pundits also gave their approval. Graham Hunter (Spanish football analyst): "It¡¯s no surprise that Barcelona would admire Izan. He¡¯s tailor-made for their system. But Valencia must hold on to him¡ªthey have something truly special." Sid Lowe: "This could be dangerous for Izan. At 16, the last thing he needs is speculation about transfers. Let the boy play." The divide between fanbases grew sharper. Barcelona supporters flooded forums with excitement: "Can you imagine Izan linking up with Pedri and Gavi? Pure magic!" "If Barca doesn¡¯t sign him, Real Madrid will. Act fast!" "I¡¯m just looking at the IzanXYamal duo. Pure talent" Valencia fans, however, were defiant: "He¡¯s one of us. Stop trying to poach our talent!" "Izan will lead Valencia to glory. No need for him to go to Barcelona." Neutral fans were simply in awe of the drama, sharing gifs and jokes about the growing frenzy. Interestingly, Izan himself stayed silent throughout the chaos. Neither he nor anyone close commented publicly, adding to the mystery surrounding his thoughts. Many fans flooded his social media handles with questions, but all his handles such as his Instagram remained untouched, save for a post celebrating the team¡¯s effort with a simple caption: "Tough game, but we keep fighting. For?a Valencia!" The post-match conference had inadvertently become a flashpoint for one of football¡¯s hottest debates: the future of Izan. While Valencia worked to shield their young star from distractions while the footballing world was already envisioning him in different colours. For now, the speculation was just that¡ªspeculation. But the events of the night had set something in motion. Whether Izan would stay loyal to Valencia or succumb to the allure of Barcelona, the upcoming transfer window was a story still unwritten, and the world waited eagerly for the next chapter. They waited to see what the youngster would do in the face of a big money move should it happen. That was all they could do, just Wait! A/n: 1st Chapter of the day. Have fun and have a nice Carol¡¯s night should you partake. Chapter 148: Fèliz Navidad The match with Barcelona was the last of the matches for the first half of the season and the match between Barcelona and Valencia was also the last of matchday 19. After 19 matches, the top 5 of the Laliga table looked like something: Team. Mp. W D L pts Gd 1. Barca 19 15 3 1 48 31 2. Real. M 19 14 4 1 46 31 3. AT. Mrd 19 14 3 2 45 23 4. Valencia 19 13 4 2 43 27 5. Girona 19 13 2 4 41 19 Valencia sat 4th in a Champions League spot, should they keep it up till the end of the season. This seating in the league table raised the spirits of the Valencian fans as they headed into the Christmas break cheerfully. All they had to do was keep up the performances and they would have nothing to worry about. Well, they won¡¯t have much to worry about except for the news surrounding their 16-year-old, talent, Izan, who was said to be a target for a few top clubs from the Premier League, Seria A and the Bundesliga for the upcoming winter transfer window. And with the recent news surrounding Bar?a¡¯s interest, it wasn¡¯t all candy canes and reindeer for the Valencia club which was working effectively to drive away any poaching under the orders of their chairperson. Izan wasn¡¯t the only target with prominent interest for Pietro, Mark and Javi Guerra as well as a few other players coming from leagues around the world. The Valencia club didn¡¯t want this but they had to start a few contract renewals with upgraded salary packages for the players in question. ..... [25th] The streets of Valencia were awash with the glow of festive lights, and a cool winter breeze swept through the air. Inside the Hernandez family home, the atmosphere was warm and cheerful. The faint scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter and Christmas carols playing softly in the background. For Izan, Christmas was a rare moment to step away from the pressures of football and immerse himself in the simple joys of family life. He sat in the living room with his mom, Komi, his sister Hori and Miranda, who had arrived in Valencia a while ago to negotiate some dealings for Izan. The house was a collage of festive chaos¡ªhalf-wrapped presents, colourful tinsel draped over furniture, and a beautifully lit Christmas tree that stood proudly in the corner. The day was spent in the kind of playful mischief that only family gatherings could bring. Izan and Hori were deep in a competitive game of charades, with Miranda acting as referee. After a while, the doorbell rang. Izan, who was nearest, stood up and walked to the door. With a knowing smile, he opened the door and saw Olivia. "[Feliz Navidad Izan] " Olivia said as Izan opened the door. Izan just smiled before pulling her in for a hug. "Miura, who¡¯s at the door?" Komi sounded from the kitchen, but no response came. She came outside and found Izan hugging Miranda in the doorway. "Get a room, you two", Komi said, not missing a chance to get back at Izan. Izan held Olivia¡¯s hands before dragging her in. Olivia, who had just returned from her school activities the previous day joined the company in their games. "Alright, Izan, your turn!" Hori grinned, handing her brother the next prompt. Izan stood up, rolled his shoulders dramatically, and began miming his clue. It wasn¡¯t long before the room erupted in laughter at his exaggerated gestures. "Lionel Messi!" Miranda guessed between fits of giggles. "Close!" Izan managed to say, still mid-performance. "Cristiano Ronaldo?" Olivia tried, leaning forward with a determined look. Komi, observing from her spot on the couch, couldn¡¯t help but laugh. "You all are hopeless! It¡¯s clearly... a penguin?" The room fell silent for a moment before everyone burst out laughing, even Izan. The wrong guesses only made the game more fun, and by the end, nobody really cared who won. Later that evening, the family gathered in the kitchen to bake cookies and prepare a traditional Christmas dinner. Miranda took charge of the recipe, while Komi provided gentle guidance to her children, who weren¡¯t exactly culinary experts. "Izan, that¡¯s way too much flour!" Komi scolded playfully as he poured half a bag into the mixing bowl. "It¡¯s precision cooking, Mom," Izan said with mock seriousness, earning a playful nudge from Hori. "Precision disaster, more like it," Hori teased, laughing as she sprinkled sugar over the countertop instead of the cookies. Olivia, meanwhile, focused intently on decorating gingerbread men. Each one bore intricate details, with frosting scarves and buttoned-up jackets. "Mine¡¯s better than yours," she declared, showing off her latest masterpiece to Izan, who responded by sneakily eating one of her cookies. "Heyyy! That wasn¡¯t for you," Miranda said feigning slight anger. Izan, who knew what she was doing, didn¡¯t succumb but rather took another one and ate. Olivia chased after Izan for a bit before Izan suddenly turned and caught her falling to the couch. [Cue the Korean drama Music] The duo looked at each other for a bit, intending to put lips on lips but Komi suddenly shoved a pillow between their faces. Olivia blushed while Izan sighed. "I said I wanted a grandson but you¡¯re still too young. Give it a couple of years more" Komi said as she passed by. The room was alive with chatter and laughter, the kind of noise that made the house feel more like a home. As the evening wound down, Izan found a quiet moment to step away. With a cup of hot cocoa in hand, he sat by the fireplace and dialled his grandparents in Japan. The phone rang a few times before his grandmother¡¯s cheerful voice answered, "Moshi Moshi! Izan-kun, Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas, Obaa-chan!" Izan replied, his face lighting up at the sound of her voice. The call quickly turned into a lively conversation, with his grandparents asking about everything from his recent matches to how tall he had grown. His grandfather, always the practical one, offered advice about staying grounded despite his growing fame. "Izan, remember," his grandfather said in a firm yet kind tone, "no matter how big the world thinks you are, never forget where you come from. Your family, your values¡ªthat is your strength." "I won¡¯t forget, Jii-chan," Izan said sincerely. "I promise." S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The conversation turned lighter as his grandmother shared anecdotes about Christmas in Japan, describing the beautifully lit streets of Kyoto and the traditional Christmas cake she had prepared. Izan couldn¡¯t help but smile as he imagined his grandparents celebrating in their cosy home, half a world away. "You must come visit us soon," his grandmother insisted. "We miss you so much." "I miss you too," Izan replied, his voice soft. "Maybe next summer?" His grandparents agreed enthusiastically, and the call ended with heartfelt goodbyes and a final "Merry Christmas!" Back in the living room, the rest of the family was huddled around the tree, preparing to exchange gifts. Izan joined them, his heart full from the call with his grandparents. They took turns opening presents, each unwrapping their carefully chosen gifts with delight. Hori opened hers to find a bracelet inside. "How did you-" she said, but Izan cut her off. "Grandad and Grandma". Hori squealed before quickly picking up her phone to call her old parents in Japan. Izan¡¯s gift was a framed photo of their family, taken during a rare day out at the beach earlier in the year. The inscription on the back read, "For Izan, to remind you of what matters most." "Thanks, Mom," Izan said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged her. Komi smiled, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You¡¯ve given us so much to be proud of, Izan. This is just a little reminder that no matter how far you go, we¡¯re always here for you." As the night wore on, the family settled into the cosy glow of the fireplace. Miranda told funny stories about her travels before sharing a few about Izan¡¯s encounters with other players. Izan listened with a smile, grateful for the simplicity of the moment. For all the excitement surrounding his budding football career, it was nights like these that grounded him. He realized that while the world outside might see him as a rising star, within these walls, he was just Izan¡ªthe son, the brother, the boy who loved playing charades and eating cookies. The Hernandez family¡¯s Christmas ended with a quiet prayer of gratitude led by Komi, each member silently reflecting on the blessings of the year. As Izan lay in bed that night, staring at the framed photo on his bedside table, he felt a profound sense of peace. This was his foundation, his sanctuary. No matter how far football took him, he knew that this¡ªhis family¡ªwould always be his greatest victory. A/n: Have a nice Christmas Chapter 149: The Hernandez family¡¯s Christmas ended with a quiet prayer of gratitude led by Komi, each member silently reflecting on the blessings of the year. As Izan lay in bed that night, staring at the framed photo on his bedside table, he felt a profound sense of peace. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This was his foundation, his sanctuary. No matter how far football took him, he knew that this¡ªhis family¡ªwould always be his greatest victory. ¡¯Knock knock knock¡¯ Izan, whose thoughts were distracted by the sudden knock, turned to the door. "Hey," Olivia said as she stood in the doorway. "Hey,", Izan also said as they both started at each other. "Are you that excited to get a baby?" Izan suddenly said, breaking the silence. "That might not be bad" Izan, who was expecting a different reaction, turned to look at Olivia. "Wait, what?" he said, but Olivia just laughed. She came inside the room, closing the door behind her as she walked and sat beside Izan. "We didn¡¯t really get time for ourselves during the day," Olivia said, her green looking into Izan¡¯s blue as the duo held each other¡¯s gaze. [A lot of staring going on. I can¡¯t write romance to save my life so deal with it until I learn or get a girlfriend or something] "Is this why you decided to stay when your house is just a few metres from mine?" Izan said as she pulled her face closer to his. "Close, but not it", Olivia replied, dragging Izan¡¯s face towards hers. The two were now close, their lips brushing against each other¡¯s. "Then why did you stay," Izan said, his breath brushing against Olivia¡¯s face. "Why don¡¯t you find out" the latter spoke again. "Sure, Mommy", Izan said, but Olivia laughed, pulling away. "I don¡¯t want to compete with your mo-" she tried to say but Izan held her lower lips with his teeth the next moment. Olivia, succumbing to her feelings, wrapped her arms around Izan¡¯s neck. To two held each other in a passionate kiss for a few seconds before breaking it. Izan then lay on the bed with Olivia resting her head on his chest. "Don¡¯t you ever get tired? You know from the training, matches and the expectations. I read somewhere that players your age aren¡¯t supposed to play much. I don¡¯t know players that have played that many matches in a top-flight league like Laliga while at your age". Izan, running his hands through her silky hair, replied, " I do get tired, but if I don¡¯t continue till my body gives in, how can I be the best? My Goal isn¡¯t just to be some kid who¡¯s good with the ball. Now, they see me as an up-and-coming talent, but I want them to look at me not just as a kid but as one of the best, if not the best, in the world. And I want to be able to reflect at the end of my journey and say, that I did it. They all say I¡¯m a genius but I didn¡¯t have much talent to begin with. All I do better than the rest is give my 100% and more. So if I abandon hard work, it might also abandon me". Olivia listened to Izan talk, nodding and finding conviction that wasn¡¯t normal for someone Izan¡¯s age. "What did he go through" she thought as Izan finished speaking. "Un" she voiced, acknowledging Izan¡¯s speech. The two went silent for some minutes with neither talking. After a while, Izan decided to start another conversation but Olivia¡¯s rhythmic breathing told him he couldn¡¯t. Izan smiled, patting Olivia on the head before putting her on his side. He covered her with the sheets while Olivia grabbed onto Izan¡¯s body. The two facing each other slept waiting for the next day¡¯s light to encroach upon them. ..... "Mum come look at this" "Bad boy Miura" "Well, you said he should do it so...." "I told them to wait a couple of years. What if she gets pregnant? I don¡¯t mind but what about Olivia¡¯s parents" "I gotta take a picture of this. This is peak cuteness" Izan, who heard 3 feminine voices in his sleep, tried to open his eyes but was met by the blinding light coming from the window. "Mum? Hori, Miranda, what are you guys doing in my room?" Izan asked as he stared at Hori who was busy taking picture "Miura come here" Komi said in concern as she looked at Olivia, the latter still holding onto Izan¡¯s waist. Izan followed Komi¡¯s gaze and finally understood what she meant. "Nothing happened", he said as he tried to get up, but Olivia¡¯s grip tightened. "Feigning sleep. Is it because you¡¯re shy" Izan thought as he chuckled. "I¡¯ll let this one slide since it¡¯s your first, but don¡¯t be bold at night only to quiver in the mornings", he whispered, her grip loosening as Izan got out of the bed, leaving Olivia alone as he walked out with Miranda and Komi while Hori followed behind. "Oh my god.!!!" Olivia said as she woke up, her hair ruffled giving the Lazy Librarian look. Downstairs, Komi, who was berating Izan, finally got the gist of the story after Izan explained what happened. "So nothing happened". Komi asked. "No- wait. Actually, something happened", Izan said, causing the Komi to look up sharply. "We just kissed", he said, causing her to sigh. Izan loved the distraught look his mom had, so he continued teasing her a bit before finally stopping. After the conversation, Izan went up once more to find Olivia sleeping. "She¡¯s still sleeping. Guess I have to wake her up" Izan voice rang throughout the room. Olivia, who had pretended to sleep, twitched a bit, confirming that she wasn¡¯t asleep. After not hearing any movement, she decided to sneak a peek, but her eyes opened wide as she found Izan¡¯s face close to hers again. "Gotcha", Izan said as he started to rain a barrage of kisses on her. "Let me go," Olivia said between her chuckles as Izan started tickling her altogether. ["Ooof, my single ass] .... "Okay, mum, I¡¯m leaving,", Izan said as he walked to the door. "Be safe" Komi said from the kitchen. Olivia, who was in the living room, came out with her hands behind her back as she walked towards Izan. Quickly she tiptoed and pecked Izan on the cheek before running to the living room. Izan, who wanted to chase after her, heard a car horn sound outside, causing him to abort his plans. Izan dressed in Valencia CF¡¯s white and black tracksuit, his youthful energy lighting up the festive atmosphere. His black ruffled hair framed his face as he carried a radiant smile, the kind that could instantly uplift spirits. Beside him was Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤, the team¡¯s captain, exuding calm authority. His kind eyes and warm demeanour reflected his role as a leader on and off the pitch. Pepelu, Valencia¡¯s midfield maestro, showcased his quirky charm as he playfully adjusted a Santa hat on his head, laughing as he bantered with passersby. Hugo Duro, the spirited forward, carried a sack of gifts slung over his shoulder, impersonating a cheeky modern-day Santa Claus. Meanwhile, Pietro, vibrant and funny, handled the camera. His laughter was infectious as he filmed the players¡¯ antics and interactions, often spinning the lens around for impromptu selfies that included everyone. The group walked through Valencia¡¯s bustling streets, spreading cheer wherever they went. They stopped at a local plaza, where children ran up eagerly for autographs and photos. Gay¨¤ knelt to tie a little boy¡¯s scarf tighter against the chill, while Izan handed out signed footballs, the shy yet sincere gestures endearing him even more to the fans. Later, the players visited a hospital, bringing their festive spirit to children battling illness. Izan¡¯s tender side shone as he knelt by a young girl¡¯s bed, showing her how to juggle a mini football he had brought. Gay¨¤ and Pepelu joined in, sharing laughter and warm words with the children and their families. After this, Duro led a Christmas carol session, his off-key singing adding a lighthearted touch, while Pietro captured every heartfelt moment on his camera. The day culminated in a heartwarming group photo under the hospital¡¯s Christmas tree, with the Valencia players, hospital staff, and children holding up a banner that read, "Merry Christmas from the Valencia CF Family!" The club¡¯s Christmas broadcast captured the essence of the team¡¯s camaraderie and commitment to giving back, a reminder of the true spirit of the season. The Video was broadcast on the club¡¯s channel and website as well as local channels in Valencia. The Heartwarming and light-hearted video was a success, both in bringing a new side of the club to the fans as well as putting smiles on the faces of the people of Valencia. Whiles the people celebrated their Christmas, it wasn¡¯t the same for some clubs. Their abysmal performance had led to them looking for the staff or players who could save their season after a poor first half to the season and the winter transfer window was the right place to do it. A/n: Okay so its 25th. Merry Christmas. I just prayed to the birthday boy to bless my readers so that they can give more gifts, Golden tickets and show love. Stay blessed. Chapter 150: New Year’s Resolution "3" "2" "1" HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! The night sky over Valencia erupted in a breathtaking symphony of colour and light as the New Year was welcomed with a grand display of fireworks. Golden streams shot upward, trailing sparks before bursting into cascading showers of brilliance. Reds, blues, and greens painted the heavens, their reflections shimmering on the city¡¯s waterways. The crowd gasped and cheered with each explosion, the deep booms and sharp crackles echoing through the historic streets. Silver comets streaked across the sky, followed by fountains of glittering gold that seemed to hang in the air. Spirals of fire spun outward like celestial pinwheels while multicoloured bursts formed dazzling patterns, lighting up the faces of the onlookers. The city seemed to come alive with each burst, the air charged with celebration and the scent of smoke and revelry. Bells tolled in the distance, blending harmoniously with the thunderous fireworks, as Valencia greeted the New Year with awe and joy. .... "Happy New Year, everyone. Hopefully, things will get better than last year. Since I¡¯ve been forced to do this, I¡¯ll reluctantly display my New Year¡¯s resolution. ¡ñ Qualify for European football with Valencia ¡ñ Win the Assist Leader Trophy ¡ñ Win the Pichi chi (Hopefully) ¡ñ Find a girlfriend for Mark.(Interested Parties should DM) After Izan¡¯s list came out, it set off a chain reaction among others, with other players also joining in on the fun. .... Santa Jones57: Izan¡¯s list looks promising. I¡¯ll be happy if he gets the assist leader spot, but the Pichi chi sounds hard. Especially with New year, New Lewandowski incoming. 443res: Why is Izan finding a girlfriend for Mark? Why not himself or does he already have one??? ItsMark: Thanks Izan but you didn¡¯t have to announce it publicly As the comments flooded Izan¡¯s Instagram, the business of the January transfer window had already begun. Having a match in two days, Valencia spared no effort to prevent their players from being poached, especially Izan, whose agent, Miranda, was having a tough time as a few clubs bypassed the club to talk to her. Miranda however declined, citing Izan¡¯s reluctance to leave the club. This, however, didn¡¯t deter them as they continued to push on. In the transfer news, Tottenham was said to have completed a deal for Dragusin from Genoa worth 25 million euros, while Eric Dier left for Bayern Munich in a loan deal. Borussia Dortmund was also said to be pushing for a loan return of their star, Jadon Sancho. With his move to Manchester United not going exactly to plan, the winger was open to it but it remained to see if Manchester United would let him go on loan. Tottenham hotspur, not satisfied had already started sniffing around timo Werner looking to bring the German into the club. A few other decent moves, both permanent and on-loan were also being made around the top leagues. While the transfer news bloomed here and there, Valencia prepared to meet Villareal for their second meeting of the season. With the first one having both teams settle for a draw, both teams looked to take all three points away in this encounter. For Valencia who was looking to qualify for europe, this match was crucial as there was no better way to start a new year with a win. For Izan, enjoying the new year meant having a go at it in training as their match with Valencia was on the 2nd of January. "Whoever made those schedules need to lose their jobs. Who plays a match the day after New Year?" Izan said as he sent a ball zooming towards Marmadashvili. The Keeper tensed before putting up a great hand to save it. "Hahahaha, Hermano, you¡¯re getting rust-" he tried to say but Izan sent another rocket towards him. Marmadashvili suddenly pulled another great hand to save the ball, but it still ended up in the back of the net. Looking like a wronged dog, Marmadashvili stood up before heading to one of the medics to stop his bruises from worsening. "Gather around guys," Baraja said after his whistle sounded. The players who were busy with their balls(not what you think) stopped and approached the Coach. "Since we¡¯ve just returned from the winter break, let¡¯s play a small scrimmage to lighten up," Baraja said. The players nodded in approval. Under the direction of Baraja, the players were divided into two teams of fairly equal strength after Baraja mixed the starters with the substitutes. After the players were selected, they all looked at the coach like he had done something bad. Baraja, under the questioning gazes of the players, understood what they meant with their eyes. He just shook his head at his players before blowing his whistle, signalling the players to move into position. Ruben Baraja, the sharp-eyed and thoughtful coach, stood next to Izan on the sidelines of the training ground. The new year¡¯s sun cast long shadows over the field as the players in the scrimmage darted about, calling for passes and jostling for position. Baraja, dressed in his training jacket with the club¡¯s crest proudly displayed, leaned slightly toward Izan, his arms folded across his chest. "So, Izan," he began, his voice calm but carrying a weight of curiosity, "you¡¯ve got a good eye for the game. What do you think we could tweak here?" Izan looked at the Coach, a bit surprised that he was asking for tactical inspiration from him. However, after pausing for a bit, Izan decided to answer. Izan, standing with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets to shield them from the cold, observed the game intently. His sharp mind worked quickly as he noticed the gaps in the defensive line and the lack of cohesion in the midfield transitions. "I think the midfielders are too far apart," Izan said confidently, glancing up at Baraja. "If they stayed closer during transitions, they¡¯d recover possession quicker and have more options going forward." Baraja nodded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Good point. What about the wingers? Anything you¡¯d adjust there?" Izan¡¯s eyes flicked to the flanks, where the wingers were attempting to cut inside too often, leaving the full-backs isolated. "They should stay wider at first," he suggested. "Stretch the defence, create space for the strikers, and make it harder for the opposition to press." "For some games, when I get the ball, the striker just gets crowded because we don¡¯t play in a way that makes our wingers threatening enough. Maybe less on for Diego and Fran are in order so they could learn to cut back curl the ball since they don¡¯t do it much and falter most of the times they try to do it." Baraja¡¯s smile deepened as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You¡¯ve got a natural sense for this," he said. "We might have to test out your ideas in the next session." The compliment made Izan smile but he still stayed composed. The exchange left an impression on Baraja, who realized that this teenager¡¯s potential extended beyond his feet¡ªhis tactical awareness was just as extraordinary. "I don¡¯t know if you haven¡¯t noticed but we mostly play around you. In games, I would like to see you act as a sort of captain for the attackers. Show them your ideas and instruct them in the way you deem fit. Your position in this team is huge but I¡¯ll still talk to them so that nothing goes awry." After Baraja¡¯s word Izan just stood there, frozen in place as he stared at Baraja back with the latter walking away. After sounding his whistle, Baraja replaced a midfielder on the first team, which had the likes of Gaya, Mark, Fran and Pepelu, with Izan. Immediately after the swap, the flow of the game changed with Izan setting the pace, choosing when to attack and when not to. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The 2nd team that was doing better before the arrival of Izan could feel as if the opponents were playing with an extra man. Izan was all over the pitch, intercepting passes and going for tackles. Izan introduction proved fruitful as the first team put a goal in the back of the net. After their goal, Baraja put Izan on the second team and this time, the results were more overwhelming. Even though the first team had more experience, under the instructions of Izan, the second team played differently. Setting up passes and playing long ball. This was what Izan had been doing since he entered the second team. Faster and more agile than their older counterparts, the second team ousted the formers, scoring 2 goals, with one coming from a thunderous shot by Izan. After the scrimmage, Baraja could be seen taking a few notes with his coaches. "Freshen up and head to the canteen," Baraja said as he walked towards his office. The players followed his words and went to their locker room before heading to the dining area where the players joke around, sharing a few stories among others. After dining, the players took their notebooks and pens as they headed towards the Video room. A/n: Second of the day. See ya Chapter 151: First Game of The Year After the scrimmage, Baraja could be seen taking a few notes with his coaches. "Freshen up and head to the canteen," Baraja said as he walked towards his office. The players followed his words and went to their locker room before heading to the dining area where the players joke around, sharing a few stories among others. After dining, the players took their notebooks and pens as they headed towards the Video room. Izan adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, his cleats clinking softly against each other inside as he walked down the sleek corridor of the training facility. The atmosphere was calm but charged, a mix of focus and determination after the team¡¯s shaky draw against Villarreal in the first half of the season. His reflection flickered in the glass walls as he turned the corner and headed for the video room. Pietro and Mark flanked him, their voices bouncing lightly off the walls. "You think they¡¯ll press high again?" Pietro asked, his brow furrowed as he absentmindedly twirled his water bottle. "Maybe," Izan replied, his voice calm but thoughtful. "They did it last time to choke our midfield. If we don¡¯t counter that, it¡¯s going to be another grind." Mark chuckled, but there was a sharpness to it. "At least you¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯ve got that burst of pace. Me? I¡¯ll be out there gasping for air by the 60th minute if they keep that up." The three of them laughed, their camaraderie softening the edges of the looming tactical review. Then Pietro¡¯s tone shifted. "You heard about Sosa, right?" Izan raised an eyebrow. "What about him?" "Sent to the U23s again," Pietro said, shaking his head. "That¡¯s like three matches in a row now." Mark nodded, his expression more serious now. "He¡¯s talented, no doubt, but he¡¯s too unpredictable. Coach can¡¯t risk it, especially not with matches like this." Izan pressed his lips together, thinking about the enigmatic winger. Sosa¡¯s footwork was poetry in motion, but his tendency to lose focus had cost them in critical moments. "He¡¯s got to find his balance," Izan said after a moment. "If he does, he could be unstoppable. But until then¡­" Pietro gestured toward the door to the video room, where the team¡¯s analyst was already setting up clips of Villarreal¡¯s last few matches. "Come on, genius. Let¡¯s figure out how to deal with them before we start talking about fixing Sosa." Izan smirked, stepping through the door. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the large screen casting shadows over the chairs neatly arranged in rows. The tactical breakdown was about to begin, and the banter gave way to focus. ... The air buzzed with energy at Valencia CF¡¯s training complex as players and staff prepared to head to the Mestalla for their crucial La Liga clash against Villarreal. The sun glinted off the team bus parked near the entrance, its sleek design mirroring the club¡¯s ambition for the season. Inside the complex, every corner exuded an air of professionalism and focus. In the locker room, the players,had already begun getting into the matchday spirit. Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja stood at the centre of it all, his clipboard in hand, delivering a measured pep talk. His voice carried conviction as he emphasized the significance of teamwork, discipline, and resilience against Villarreal¡¯s dynamic attack. He would usually do it at the stadium but he decided to do this at the complex so that the players could have time to reflect and think about his words so they could put it to use. His assistant coach, Moreno buzzed around him, ensuring every player knew their roles and responsibilities. Baraja¡¯s charisma radiated throughout the room, his connection with the squad evident in their attentive expressions as he laid down the tactics. After a while, the players began packing, their destination being the Mestalla. As the players filed onto the bus, the technical staff reviewed game plans one last time. Video analyst Carlos Marchena exchanged knowing looks with Baraja, their mutual confidence reflecting the countless hours spent studying Villarreal¡¯s tactics. The team bus, adorned with the club¡¯s crest, rumbled to life, signalling the start of their journey to the Mestalla. Fans lined the streets outside the training ground, their cheers and chants creating an electric ambience. Children waved scarves and jerseys, hoping for glimpses of their idols. The players acknowledged the supporters with waves and smiles, drawing energy from the unwavering passion of the Valencia faithful. As the bus pulled away, the mood inside was one of steely determination. Conversations about tactics mingled with personal rituals¡ªheadphones on, playlists queued, and minds firmly set on the challenge ahead. The Mestalla awaited, its stands ready to roar as Valencia prepared to defend their fortress against Villarreal. ...... The players were met by a deafening roar as they stepped onto their home grounds. Spirits were high; Christmas had just ended, the new year had begun, and Valencia sat 4th on the table. The fans would expect nothing but the best from them and the best being a possible win against one of the best sides in Laliga. "Yo, Izan, why don¡¯t you put on a little trick for the fans, you know, to raise morale", Gaya said as he passed by. It had been a while since he saw Izan¡¯s warm-up ritual and he was trying to use the fans as an excuse to make Izan do it. "Sometimes, I think all you guys see when you look at me is a circus trickster," Izan said as he reluctantly walked towards the ball. Marmadashvili who saw him approaching, feigned a stomachache, crouching while holding his belly. This drew one of the medics causing him to rush towards Marmadashvili. "Yess! Yes, Play along. I¡¯m not sick, it¡¯s just that I don¡¯t want to face that guy¡¯s shot," Marmadashvili said, slightly embarrassed, while nodding in Izan¡¯s direction. The medics couldn¡¯t believe what he was hearing but he didn¡¯t oust Marmadashvili. Jaume Dom¨¦nech filled the empty goal Marmadashvili left behind but the shots that were fired his way made him falter. "I said a trick, not to torture the goalkeepers. Because of you, Giorgi is pretending to have a stomach ache". Izan didn¡¯t say anything and just shrugged. "You said a trick, I¡¯m doing just that". As the players continued with their warm-ups, fitness coach Javier Mi?ano monitored warm-ups closely, ensuring each player was physically primed for the battle ahead. The medical team, led by Dr. Luis Navarro also conducted last-minute checks to confirm everyone was match-ready. Bottles of isotonic drinks and energy gels were distributed, while the equipment staff meticulously prepared kits, boots, and accessories, leaving no detail to chance. After wearing their kits, all the players of Valencia sat down silently in the dressing room. The tension was palpable. This match wasn¡¯t just any match. It was to serve as a statement. They wanted to open the new year with a bang. And what better way to do it than win your first match? After a while, an official came to Valencia¡¯s dressing room entrance asking them to get ready. All the players huddled together, listening to a few words from Gaya. "When we win today, and I say when! You¡¯ll feel how I¡¯m feeling and you¡¯ll know what I mean when I say I believe in this team. And also because the coach believes in Izan," he said, loosening up the atmosphere. "Play with caution but not too much. Be creative. Okay boys, come on. We have a story to tell through the match. Vamos Valencia!!" After Gaya¡¯s speech, the players came out, meeting the Villarreal starters in the tunnel. The players stood side-by-side waiting and were soon led out by the match officials. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As the players stepped onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd rose a notch. The anticipation that had built up was not for the faint-hearted. The fans began chanting, some even treating the match as they would have done a cup final. "I¡¯m glad we didn¡¯t play Barcelona or Real Madrid at home, or something worse might have happened,", Izan thought as they walked to the front. .... Commentator (excitedly): "Welcome to the historic Mestalla Stadium, where tonight Valencia CF hosts Villarreal in what promises to be an electrifying clash! Los Ches will be looking forward to grabbing all 3 points but Villarreal isn¡¯t here to make it easy. The Yellow Submarine boasts plenty of firepower, and they¡¯ll want to spoil the party. Valencia¡¯s young stars will have a lot to do today as Baraja has fielded a relatively younger squad than normal for today. A direct contradiction to the opponent, Villarreal have opted for a more practical approach mixing youth with experience. Buckle up, folks¡ªthis is going to be a match to remember!" While the commentator ranted, the players lined up in front of the crowd, smoothly undergoing all the pre-match pleasantries. A few moments later, the players stood ready to go. Glancing at his watch, the match official waited for a bit before finally sounding his whistle. Fweeeeeeeeee The referee¡¯s whistle blew, bringing the game to life. A/n: First chapter of the day. Chapter 152: The Yellow Submarine Is Afloat From the opening whistle, Valencia asserted themselves, determined to dictate the game. Izan, deployed in the attacking midfield, was immediately involved. Ruben Baraja had assigned Izan a somewhat free role, so Izan wasn¡¯t sticking to just his position. In the third minute, he received a lofted pass from Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. With a deft first touch, he controlled the ball, then cut inside, leaving Alfonso Pedraza chasing shadows. Izan¡¯s shot from the edge of the box was blocked, but the crowd cheered the audacity of the teenager. Valencia had already started threatening to breach the goal of Villarreal. As Villarreal tried to settle into the game, Izan continued to wreak havoc on their right flank. In the 10th minute, he skipped past his marker with a sharp turn and delivered a dangerous cross into the box. The stadium watched on as Hugo Duro lunged to meet it, but his header went narrowly wide. The Mestalla faithful groaned in unison, but the sense of anticipation in the stands was palpable. The early attacking movements from Valencia caused the Villarreal players to target him a bit. In the 18th minute, Izan drew the ire of Villarreal¡¯s defence with his quick feet and clever movement. After receiving a pass from Javi Guerra, he nutmegged ¨¦tienne Capoue, triggering a wave of cheers from the crowd. Moments later, Capoue clattered into Izan with a heavy challenge, leaving him sprawled on the turf. The referee immediately blew his whistle, brandishing a yellow card as Villarreal players protested. "Nasty by Capoue. That was just uncalled for" the commentator gave his input. Izan, clutching his ankle, got back to his feet amid applause from the stands. For the Valencia medical team, however, seeing Izan clutch his ankle made their hearts sink a bit. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. They reported their observation to Baraja, telling him of a potential relapse. Baraja frowned at the words of the medic. "Inform me if you spot anything irregular so I can take him off. We can¡¯t risk him getting injured again since that wouldn¡¯t be helpful," he said, still frowning. The staff nodded, moving away from Baraja while the latter turned his attention to the game. Despite Valencia¡¯s dominance, Villarreal weren¡¯t without their moments. In the 23rd minute, a quick counterattack saw Dani Parejo thread a ball through to Gerard Moreno. The striker¡¯s low shot was destined for the bottom corner, but Giorgi Mamardashvili made a brilliant save, diving to his right to keep the score level. From then on, the game grew increasingly tense as Villarreal sought to disrupt Valencia¡¯s rhythm. Yeremy Pino was at the heart of Villarreal¡¯s efforts, drawing fouls and testing Valencia¡¯s backline. In the 30th minute, Pino¡¯s curling shot from outside the box whistled just wide of the post, eliciting gasps from the crowd. Baraja, who was sensing a shift, wanted to tweak a few things in his tactics, but he decided to wait a bit. Valencia¡¯s persistence finally paid off in the 37th minute, with Izan at the heart of the move. Picking up the ball near the halfway line, he surged forward, evading two Villarreal defenders with a graceful change of pace. As he approached the edge of the box, Izan played a perfectly weighted through ball to Hugo Duro, splitting Villarreal¡¯s defence. The Villareal defence scrambled to get back, but Hugo Duro controlled the pass with his first touch and fired a low shot past the onrushing goalkeeper, sending the Mestalla into raptures. "GOOOAL! What a pass from Izan!" the commentator exclaimed as Duro celebrated by pointing to the teenager, who raised his arms in acknowledgement. On the bench, Rub¨¦n Baraja applauded, shouting encouragement to his players. The Mestalla faithful erupted into cheers after the goal. They had been waiting, and now, they were being rewarded for their patience. After celebrating for a while, the Valencia players returned to their halves. After the referee¡¯s whistle, the intensity of the game went up a notch. Villarreal pushed forward in search of an equalizer, but Valencia¡¯s defence stood firm. In the 42nd minute, tempers flared when Pedraza fouled Izan near the touchline. The referee hesitated before awarding the free kick, prompting angry protests from the Valencia bench and fans. "That should have been at least a yellow card" "What is the referee doing" "He¡¯s been fouled a lot of times in this match but the offenders don¡¯t even get warned" As the Valencia fans kept showing their dissatisfaction, Villarreal had one final chance. A loose ball in the Valencia box fell to Gerard Moreno, but his shot was blocked heroically by Cenk. The Mestalla erupted in relief as the referee blew the whistle, signalling the end of the first half. After the whistle blew, Izan, who had been holding in his pee, rushed towards the tunnel to the surprise of everyone. "What¡¯s happening with him" a few thought as he entered the tunnel. ..... Villarreal Locker Room: The mood in Villarreal¡¯s locker room was tense but not defeated. Head coach Marcelino spoke with urgency but remained composed. "We¡¯re too predictable in the final third," he said, pointing to a tactics board. "We need to use the flanks more¡ªstretch them wide. Let¡¯s get Akhomach involved; his pace can unsettle their defence. And Gerard, stay patient. Your chance will come." Parejo sat with his head down, replaying missed opportunities in his mind while Veteran defender Ra¨²l Albiol stood up to rally the team. "We¡¯re still in this. One goal and it¡¯s game on. Let¡¯s show them we¡¯re better than this!" Despite the deficit, the team¡¯s belief remained strong as they prepared to attack the second half with renewed vigour. [Valencia Locker Room:] The atmosphere in the Valencia locker room was a mix of focus and optimism. Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja stood still at the centre, addressing the players with calm intensity. "Good job so far, guys. We¡¯re winning the battles in midfield, and our pressing is causing them problems. Keep it tight at the back, and let¡¯s look for that second goal to kill the game early in the second half," he said as he started pacing around the room. "That finish was class, but let¡¯s keep pushing." Gaya patted Hugo on the back. Hugo nodded and turned to look at Baraja who was heading towards Izan¡¯s seat. "I saw you clutch your ankle in the first half. How is it? Are you okay?". Izan stared at Baraja¡¯s face, which was etched with concern, and shook his head. "I¡¯m okay. It was just a stinging pain but I walked it off. I¡¯m Alright now" Baraja sighed before looking at Izan again. "If you sense any discomfort, don¡¯t hesitate to draw my attention. We can¡¯t risk it for this match, okay. It¡¯s not worth it". Izan nodded at his words before wrapping a medical tape around his ankle. --- The players re-emerged from the tunnel for the second half with a renewed sense of determination, their cleats clicking against the concrete floor as they made their way onto the pitch. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, with fans roaring in anticipation of what was to come. Both teams, drenched in sweat from the first-half battle, had received tactical instructions and were eager to implement them in this crucial period of the game. Villarreal, dressed in their iconic yellow kits, seemed particularly energized. Their players jogged into position with sharp focus, their body language radiating confidence. Yeremy Pino, the young and dynamic winger, appeared especially fired up. His quick feet and sharp eyes scanned the field as he exchanged a few determined words with his teammates, a clear signal of intent. The whistle blew to signal the start of the second half, and Villarreal wasted no time asserting themselves. Their midfield trio, with precise passes and seamless movement, quickly took control of possession. The home defence, still adjusting to the pace of the restart, found themselves backpedalling under relentless pressure. Villarreal¡¯s attacking line moved fluidly, stretching the defence and probing for gaps. The Valencia defence tried to contain it, but it wasn¡¯t working. Just under five minutes into the half, Villarreal¡¯s persistence paid off. A clever interception in midfield allowed them to launch a swift counterattack. The ball was worked out wide to the right flank, where Yeremy Pino showcased his blistering pace and technical skill. With a deft first touch, he evaded Jose Gaya and charged toward the penalty area. The defence scrambled to close him down, but Pino was already a step ahead. As he approached the edge of the box, Pino unleashed a low, curling shot with his left foot. The ball zipped through a sea of defenders who had thrown their bodies into the way in hopes of blocking it, leaving the goalkeeper flat-footed as it nestled into the bottom corner of the net, igniting wild celebrations from the Villarreal players. The away fans suddenly had something to celebrate as they waved their scarves around while shouting their chants. Pino¡¯s teammates swarmed him, ruffling his hair and shouting their congratulations, while the Villarreal supporters erupted into a deafening cheer. On the sidelines, Villarreal¡¯s coach applauded enthusiastically, urging his players to maintain their intensity. Valencia, now trailing, quickly regrouped, knowing they had to do something to break the flow of the opposing team. The goal had shifted the momentum decisively in Villarreal¡¯s favour, and if they didn¡¯t do something, they¡¯d regret it after the 90 minutes passed. A/n: Happy boxing day. I don¡¯t really know the significance but I guess we learn everyday. Thanks for the Power stones. It means a lot. Now have fun. Chapter 153: Sinking The Yellow Submarine After the goal by Valencia, the intensity of the match ramped up not only on the pitch but in the stands. Fans of both teams went to head with their chants, each trying to one-up the other. The stadium became a cauldron of emotion as each team¡¯s fans tried to up the morale of their respective teams Fweeeeeee, After the restart, a few movements were being seen on the touchline. For Valencia, they brought on Andre Almeida, causing Izan to leave his play-making role to go on a more attacking edge, causing the dynamics of the match to shift. In the 55th minute, a mistimed pass from Javi Guerra turned into a fast break for the yellow Submarines. Yeremy Pino, who got the ball, tried to create a replica of his goal, but he was bodied by Mark. This action brought about a chase as players of both teams tried to go for the ball. Ultimately, Alfonso Padreza got to it before flicking the ball back to Yeremy Pino. The young winger sent the ball into the box, aiming for Gerard Moreno, but the ball was punched out for a throw-in. Izan, who had been relatively quiet for a while, saw the throw as an opportunity and moved in. With the ball in his hands, newly subbed-in Alex Baena launched it towards Dani Parejo, who controlled it expertly, his touch embodying his expertise. The midfielder raised his head for a quick scan, but Izan suddenly stood in front of him. With a smirk, the midfielder faked a pass, but Izan wasn¡¯t fazed. "Oh," Parejo thought as he dragged the ball back. With a sudden flick, Parejo, who was dragging the ball back, nutmegged Izan and tried to go around but Izan¡¯s right leg extended behind to halt the ball from going any further. Without waiting for support Izan turned on the jets. With a quick flick, the ball led Izan but was still within reach. Caught on a quick counter, the remaining two defenders tried to stall for their teammates to return but Izan wasn¡¯t having any of it. Meeting the first defender, Izan just flicked the ball to his right, then to his left before pushing it out right again, causing the ball to slip between the legs of veteran defender Raul Albiol. With space in front, Izan burst forward, his boots eating up the grass as he got to the 18-yard box. At this point, the whole Mestalla were on their feet albeit for different reasons. The last defender on the Villarreal side closed in on Izan together with the keeper while making sure they could clear in chipped balls. Izan, however, didn¡¯t even glance at them and just sent the ball across to his left, slipping it between the legs of the defender. This sudden action caught both opposing players off guard as they had forgotten that he wasn¡¯t playing alone. Diego L¨®pez, who had been able to keep up with Izan¡¯s blistering pace got to the ball and tapped it into the net. Goooaaaalllllllll, the Mestalla faithful screamed while the away fans slumped into their seats, head in hands. "Bursting forward for the goal. Took care of albiol. Slid the ball across. Clean finish. Another goal made by Izan. Easy, Quick and Efficient," the commentator ranted about Izan¡¯s pace and dribbling on the ball. As the Valencia players celebrated, a complaint was lodged against them for excessive celebrations leading to a yellow card for Diego L¨®pez. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The referee¡¯s action wasn¡¯t well received by the home fans who showed their displeasure by booing and making chants. After the Valencia players returned to their halves, the ball was set on the kickoff spot once again. "For those of you just joining us, it¡¯s Valencia 2, Villarreal 1. Very good football being played here and I don¡¯t think that this will be the last of the goals." After the restart, Villarreal played conservatively, but they didn¡¯t forget to attack when Valencia put their guard down. After some back and forth, Valencia launched a devastating counter-attack. After a Villarreal corner was cleared by Cenk Ozkacar, substitute Andre Almeida quickly played a long ball to Izan. Izan sprinted down the right flank, outpacing Villarreal¡¯s left-back, and delivered a perfectly timed low cross into the box. Diego L¨®pez made a clever dummy run, dragging defenders away, allowing Hugo Duro to ghost in unmarked. Diego L¨®pez¡¯s first-time shot was narrowly parried by Villarreal¡¯s keeper, but the rebound fell to Hugo Duro, whose first-time shot was also blocked by one of the Villarreal defenders. "And Hugo Duro puts his hand on his head. He can¡¯t believe he missed that. Valencia have wasted a chance to go two goals clear. What a MISS!" In the 69th minute, Villarreal showed their trademark patient build-up. Raul Albiol, playing out from the back, found Dani Parejo in midfield, who orchestrated the attack with a slick one-two with ¨¢lex Baena. Parejo then spotted Yeremy Pino¡¯s diagonal run and chipped a delightful ball over Valencia¡¯s defensive line before Pepelu could close in on him. Pino controlled it brilliantly, cutting inside past Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, but his curling shot toward the far post was denied by an acrobatic save from Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili. "Villarreal has all the momentum here. Can they draw level here at the Mestalla?" As if sensing the commentator¡¯s words, Baraja made a change, bringing on Pietro for Javi Guerra; however, Baraja¡¯s aim to break the flow was fruitless. After much relentless barrage of shots, Villarreal¡¯s persistence in the final third materialised in the 76th minute. Gerard Moreno dispossessed Pietro near the halfway line and immediately surged forward with the ball. He played a quick give-and-go with Alex Baena, who slipped a through ball into the path of Yeremy Pino. The winger burst into the box under the gazes of the hopeful Villarreal fans and made a thunderous effort into the back of the net. "Goooaaaalllllllll" the commentator screamed passionately as the away fans celebrated. The away stand was shaking a bit, a result of the excessive celebration by the Villarreal fans. "Villarreal have tied the match here at the Mestalla. 2 goals now in this match. Yeremy Pino is thriving. Valencia have their work cut out for them." [On the touchline] "Why don¡¯t we relieve Izan of his defensive duties. A win would be good for our morale heading into the next match". Baraja, who sat in his seat, considered Assistant Coach Moreno¡¯s words for a bit before giving him the go-ahead to do it. While the Villarreal players were returning from their celebration, Moreno signalled to Izan and told him of Baraja¡¯s instructions. "Okay," Izan said with a smile as he walked to his position. After Villarreal¡¯s goal, the attacking dynamics shifted. .... Valencia¡¯s only attacking players were 3, with Izan, Hugo and L¨®pez threatening Valencia, but without a pivot to connect them, their attacks were snuffed out before they even got threatening. After observing for a while, Izan moved behind Duro. Diego L¨®pez also sensed his intention and moved to support Duro. "And it seems, Valencia are abandoning the wings. They¡¯re going direct here" the commentator spoke from his observation. As the clock ticked by, with the score tied, Valencia launched another attack. After playing around the Villarreal setup for a while, Izan slipped a pass behind a defender. Diego L¨®pez, his target, ran towards the ball intending to find a target, but Alfonse Padreza chased behind. Feeling the need to get free, Diego L¨®pez flicked the ball ahead slightly with his right as if he was going but then stopped the ball sharply with the inside of his left leg causing the onrushing m Padreza to slip. Diego L¨®pez saw Hugo Duro free and sent a cross inside the box. His cross, well sharpened, was headed towards goal by Duro. The ball was destined for the goal, but the keeper¡¯s fingertips were enough to tip the ball to the crossbar, the ball going out for a corner. "Ooooooooooohhhhh" the Valencia fans exclaimed after Duro¡¯s mixed chance. After the ball went out for the corner, Villarreal¡¯s Coach Marcelino shouted a few instructions from the touchline. The Villarreal players glanced at the time, knowing if they let up here, they would lose. Led their by their captain, Raul Albiol, Villarreal started a Man-to-Man marking. Izan, who stood behind the corner, glanced at Gaya and met the latter¡¯s eyes. Raising his hand, Izan made a 2 sign. Gaya, who caught it, looked as if he was joining the opponents in the box, but then he suddenly charged towards Izan. Izan, not stalling, flicked the ball to Gaya before moving into space for its return. The Villareal players who were waiting for a cross came out of the box to tackle the problem; Izan! After Izan flicked the ball to him, Gaya went inside the box, meeting a defender before cutting back with a Ronaldo chop. He glanced around and sent the ball to Izan on the edge of the box. Izan controlled the ball, his touch exquisite and halting the momentum of the ball in the process. Free and unmarked, Izan positioned himself before glancing at the goal again. Villarreal could feel it, Valencia could feel it, something was coming. "Fuck" Marcelino muttered on the touchline as Izan planted his left foot beside the ball. "This is as good as a goal" a few minds thought as Izan hit the valve of the ball from the edge of the box. The whole stadium stared on as the ball streaked through the air. Villarreal¡¯s goalkeeper, whose vision was blocked by the bodies, moved with instinct, but he was way off as the ball homed into the top left corner. "Goooaaaalllllllllaaaaaaaassssssssssooooooooooooo" Charging down the flank, Izan slid on the ground while saluting before he was sent tumbling by his teammates who chased after him. "Valencia have won it at the last. Courtesy of Izan once again. What a curler from the heart of Valencia. 96 minutes played and its Valencia 3, Villarreal 2" A/N: sorry for the late release. Have fun Chapter 154: Keen Interest The match had barely concluded when the stadium announcer declared Izan as the Man of the Match. His name echoed through the Camp de Mestalla, drawing a resounding cheer from the fans. The 16-year-old, who had dazzled the crowd with two crucial assists and an unforgettable last-minute curler to seal a 3-2 victory, walked toward the centre of the pitch with a modest grin on his face. The award ceremony was swift but impactful. Izan accepted the sleek trophy, a symbol of his brilliance that evening, from the match officials. The stadium lights caught the gleam of the award as he held it up for the fans to see. A chorus of chants erupted¡ª"Izan, Izan, Izan!"¡ªas he took a moment to bow his head slightly in gratitude. Cameras zoomed in on his calm, composed expression, capturing another moment at the start of the prodigious teenager¡¯s career. "Whoaaaaahhh!" the Valencia players jokingly exclaimed, like it was the first time they had seen him take the Man of the Match award. His teammates surrounded him shortly after, patting his back and playfully ruffling his hair, as fans continued to cheer. Izan smiled, but his humility shone through; he quickly gestured toward the crowd, acknowledging their support and reminding everyone it had been a team effort. --- As he headed toward the tunnel, a reporter intercepted him for a post-match interview. The reporter, a seasoned professional, extended a hand and a warm smile. "Congratulations, Izan. A well-deserved Man of the Match performance. How are you feeling after such a spectacular game?" Izan¡¯s expression softened into a more reflective smile. "Thank you. It feels great, of course, but more than anything, I¡¯m just happy we got the result we needed. It was a big match for us." The reporter nodded, steering the conversation. "At just 16, you¡¯re capturing the attention of fans and pundits worldwide. Your name is being mentioned alongside some of football¡¯s biggest names and brightest talents. How are you coping with all this attention?" Izan paused thoughtfully, showing a maturity beyond his years. "It¡¯s definitely a lot, but I try not to let it affect me too much. I focus on what I can control¡ªworking hard, learning, and improving. I have a great support system in my family, my teammates, and my coaches. They help me stay grounded and focused on the bigger picture." The crowd murmured with admiration as Izan¡¯s poised answer reached them through the stadium speakers. The reporter pressed on. "You mentioned your family. They must be incredibly proud of you. How important has their support been in helping you navigate this incredible journey?" S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "My family means everything to me," Izan said with a hint of emotion in his voice. "My mom has sacrificed so much to give me this opportunity, and my sister is my biggest supporter although she sometimes doesn¡¯t show it. They¡¯re always there to remind me of where I come from and why I play this game. Their belief in me is what keeps me going. A few other people have also helped. It would take a while if I had to name them here." The reporter smiled, sensing the depth of his words. She leaned in slightly, her tone more conspiratorial. "Now, Izan, I have to ask¡ªthere¡¯s been a lot of speculation about your future. Big clubs like Barcelona, Real Madrid, and Manchester City are reportedly interested in signing you. Any thoughts on these transfer rumours?" Izan chuckled softly, his composure unshaken. "I¡¯ve heard the rumours, but right now, I¡¯m fully focused on my development and contributing to my team. As of now, I don¡¯t have any plans to move as I haven¡¯t accomplished anything yet. I¡¯m fortunate to have the opportunity to play and grow at this stage. Whatever the future holds, I trust the right decisions will be made when the time is right. "So if you can accomplish something with Valencia, would you move?" "Who¡¯s to say," Izan said with a shrug. The reporter raised an eyebrow, impressed by his polished response. "That¡¯s a very diplomatic answer, Izan. It¡¯s clear you¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders." He smiled a glint of playful mischief in his eyes. "I¡¯ve had good guidance." The interview wrapped up with the reporter thanking him for his time and wishing him continued success. Izan waved at the cameras before disappearing into the tunnel, his trophy tucked under his arm. Half an hour later, the Valencia team bus arrived at the Cuidad Deportiva de Paterna. Izan, who had gotten some shut-eye, stood up with his bag over his shoulder. Exiting the bus, he greeted his mates and the staff in the bus goodbye before walking towards Pietro¡¯s car. The latter dropped Izan off before driving away. The night was still young but Izan was tired. Flipping the door open, his gaze met Komi and Hori who had gotten up after hearing the door click. "I thought Miranda was here," Izan said as he put down the bag. "Yeah, she was in the morning, but she had something urgent to do. She said a favour or something, so she packed a bag and is now in Milan" Komi gave Izan the gist. "Milan?" Izan asked as his thoughts ran amok before calming himself. He went upstairs and took another shower before collapsing onto his bed, drifting off into slumber land. --- [The next day Milan, Italy] As the sun set, the city of Milan was bathed in a golden hue, reflecting off the intricate fa?ades of historic buildings like the Duomo di Milano. The streets were alive with the hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses in chic cafes, and the soft glow of streetlights. Fashionable locals strolled through Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II while others gathered in cosy trattorias to savour aperitivo. The air carried a mix of aromas, from freshly brewed espresso to gourmet dishes, adding to the charm of this cosmopolitan city. .... In a classy restaurant, Miranda, elegantly dressed with a poised demeanour, sat across from an anonymous figure in a more secretive space. Her sharp features radiated confidence, her dark brown eyes steady as she clasped her hands on the polished mahogany table between them. The anonymous figure, voice calm yet insistent, leaned forward. "We¡¯re prepared to pay his release clause in full. We can discuss the image rights and we¡¯ll also improve his current salary greatly. At least double or triple his current salary Opportunities like this don¡¯t come around often." Miranda arched an eyebrow, her tone firm but polite. "Izan isn¡¯t looking for a move right now. He¡¯s happy where he is¡ªdeveloping, learning, thriving." "Perhaps he just needs a nudge," the voice pressed, their persistence unwavering. "You can convince him. You¡¯re his agent. This is what you do." Miranda¡¯s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Izan is more than a client to me. He¡¯s my son before anything else. My job isn¡¯t to force him into decisions that don¡¯t make him happy¡ªit¡¯s to ensure his career aligns with his dreams." "We could discuss the agent fees if that is also small," the voice said, emphasizing the "agent fee" part. "Please leave that out of it. If I wanted that, I would have made my way to a more lucrative club that could give a better offer. The only reason I agreed to meet you is because of a favour I owe someone" Miranda said Resolutely. The shadowy figure leaned back, silence filling the space between them for a moment before they spoke again, a note of irritation creeping in. "Opportunity and money like this for a kid his age doesn¡¯t come often. Sure, he¡¯s making waves, but he should secure his future first, and that is with us". Miranda straightened her shoulders, her voice unwavering. "Izan¡¯s happiness and growth are priceless to me. If this is the stage he wants to be on, he¡¯ll step onto it when he¡¯s ready¡ªnot because someone else decides it¡¯s time." The figure sighed, their tone softening slightly, though their resolve hadn¡¯t faltered. "Just... think about it. Convince him." Miranda stood, smoothing the fabric of her blazer. "I¡¯ll let Izan know you¡¯re interested. But my loyalty lies with him¡ªalways." With that, she turned on her heel, her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she walked away, leaving the figure in contemplative silence. The figure glanced at his phone, picked it up and tapped on a contact. "Hello, you can send the pictures to a few stations so we can lead them on. If we can not get him this window, we should be prepared for the next, although this window would be better since we can¡¯t let his value rise anymore," the figure said after the call connected. After the call, the figure put on a contemplative expression as he stared outside the window. Swirling the wine in hand, the figure took a sip and sighed. "Guess I have to ask Jane for another favour," the voice said in resignation as the figure picked the phone up. A/n: Another chapter for my lovely readers. Have fun and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Chapter 155: AC Milan The morning was crisp as Izan rode to school, the morning fog wetting his face as it brushed against it. Getting to school, the familiar scene that he had been facing for a while now greeted him. The usual crowd at the gates, clamouring for autographs and selfies. Izan got down and fulfilled their wishes. With a polite smile and a few quick signatures, he waved them off, promising more after school. Mr. Ramos, the ever-reliable security guard, gave him a nod. "Copa del Rey game tomorrow, eh? I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll play or will you?" Ramos said. "No, Not for me this time," Izan replied, chuckling. "I¡¯m being rested. Sosa¡¯s got the spotlight." Izan said after locking his bike before walking away. Inside, the day passed in a blur of lessons and laughter. Izan and SoSa found themselves paired for a history project, an assignment that quickly turned into football banter. "Coach told me I¡¯m starting against Cartagena," Sosa said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "That¡¯s great then!" Izan exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "Your second Copa del Rey match¡ªdon¡¯t mess it up and you might be seeing me in the main squad.." "Mess it up? Come on, man," Sosa shot back, grinning. "And you¡¯re just sitting this one out because they don¡¯t need you. They¡¯ve got Sosa" "No this won¡¯t do. Stop hanging out with Pietro, okay? He is influencing you, and badly at that," Izan said, causing Sosa to laugh. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The two laughed, their camaraderie evident. The rest of the day was filled with lighthearted moments¡ªacing a science quiz, joking during lunch, and planning strategies for their next school team match. ... "Have you done what I asked you to do? You know about the pictures?" a confident voice asked after putting his phone to his ear. "Yes, I did, but it will be released on the day of their Copa del Rey match." A voice came out of the phone held to the former¡¯s ear. "Good. Then I¡¯ll talk to you later" the voice said before ending the call. As the figure ended the call, the phone rang again. Squinting at the Caller I¡¯d, the figure picked up the call with a smile. "Hello Jane" the figure said after picking up. ..... The next evening, Izan was sprawled on the living room couch with his sister, Hori. The TV was tuned to the Cartagena match, and the commentary filled the room. "There¡¯s SoSa," Hori pointed out excitedly. "He looks nervous." "He¡¯s fine," Izan assured her, watching intently. The game started slow, but SoSa soon found his rhythm, starting a counter-attack that led to a goal and assisting another. By the end, Valencia cruised to a comfortable win, with Sosa performing exquisitely but falling shy of the man of the match award. "If only he could do it against those teams in Laliga, I wouldn¡¯t be relied on too much", Izan joked, earning a playful shove from Hori. After the match, the brother and Sister duo decided to make something since their mother hadn¡¯t arrived. As the duo started cooking, the door to the house opened revealing Komi in a thick Coat. "Where are my Babies," Komi said as she took her Coat off. Izana and Hori stuck out their heads from a corner of the kitchen allowing Komi to see them. Taking an apron from one of the shelves, Komi joined her son and daughter in preparing the dinner. Moments later, Miranda arrived, falling onto the couch. She lay unmoving as she waited for dinner. After a while, Komi woke her up, pointing to the set dinner table. Miranda dragged herself to the dimmer table where she ate like it was her last. "Great match, wasn¡¯t it?" Miranda said, joining them in the living room after dinner. Izan nodded at her words before frowning a bit. "Mom said you were in Milan. What did you do there". Miranda sat up and looked at Izan before starting, "Remember my friend, Jane, the physiotherapist who drew the plan for your injury recovery,", she said, looking at Izan as the latter nodded. Seeing as Izan remembered, she continued, "Well she said she had a favour to ask and that I had to come to Milan. I was excited at the thought of going to Milan since it¡¯s been a while, so I packed my bag thinking I was going to meet her, but I met someone else, telling me Jane introduced me to him" Miranda halted for a bit. "Okay, go on", Izan said after Miranda stopped talking for a moment. "Well it was a club representative, wanting to trigger your release clause at Valencia" "No, Miranda, I to-", Izan tried to say, but Miranda cut him off. "Yeah, yeah, I made it clear that we don¡¯t have any plans to leave in the winter or for now but he was still insistent on you having their club as your priority if you decide to transfer. Talking about Doubling or even tripling your current salary" Miranda ended. "Wow, talk about determination. Anyways, which club is it?" Izan asked, his curiosity seeping. Before Miranda could elaborate, a piercing scream came from Hori. Izan bolted up, heart pounding, and rushed to the living room where she sat frozen, staring at her phone. "What¡¯s wrong?" Izan demanded, leaning over her. "Look," Hori whispered, turning the screen toward him. It was a breaking news headline: "Young Sensation Izan Linked to Top Italian Club in Serie A." Izan¡¯s jaw dropped as Komi and Miranda exchanged glances. The room was suddenly charged with a mix of disbelief and anticipation. "What the fu..... ..... The Valencia CF PR office was buzzing with activity. Phones rang incessantly, emails flooded inboxes, and the team members moved with an urgency befitting a crisis. A large whiteboard stood at the centre of the room, covered in notes about Izan¡ªhis stats, recent performances, and potential responses to media queries. "Another call from Marca," one staffer called out. "They¡¯re asking for confirmation on the Milan link." "Tell them no comment," replied Carmen Ortiz, the head of PR, as she paced back and forth, her phone pressed to her ear. She ended one call and immediately started another. "This is Carmen. No, we won¡¯t confirm or deny any transfer rumours. Izan is a valued member of our team, and we¡¯re focused on his development at Valencia. Yes, that¡¯s all we have to say at this time." Nearby, Diego, her assistant, was drafting a statement to post on the club¡¯s official website and social media channels. "How about this?" he said aloud, reading from his screen. ¡¯Valencia CF is aware of recent reports linking Izan to other clubs. While speculation is part of football, we remain committed to supporting our players and their growth. Izan continues to be an integral part of our plans.¡¯ "Perfect," Carmen said, nodding. "Post it, but keep the comments monitored. We don¡¯t want this blowing up unnecessarily." Another phone rang. This time it was a call from an Italian journalist. "They¡¯re persistent," muttered one of the interns. "Just redirect them," Carmen said, waving her hand. "We¡¯re not feeding this fire." Despite the chaos, the team operated like a well-oiled machine. Media channels were monitored, responses were synchronized, and plans were laid out for any follow-up questions during press conferences. "We need to prepare Izan too," Carmen added, addressing the team. "If reporters catch him after training, he needs to stick to the script: ¡¯I¡¯m focused on my football and my commitment to Valencia.¡¯ Make sure he understands that." Her assistant nodded before moving to busy himself with another task. Carmen sighed at the situation. "I¡¯m glad I¡¯m getting paid well for this at the very least," she said as her phone rang again. Sighing, she took it and picked it up, "Yes, this is Carmen. No not Manchester City...... As the day wore on, the team managed to contain the rumour¡¯s impact, ensuring that the club¡¯s narrative remained intact. But the buzz around Izan¡¯s potential move to AC Milan was only just beginning, and everyone in the room knew it. ... While the Valencia Pr team found themselves at the end of requests from Various Media bodies, Miranda herself also got her fair share. After seeing the news, several calls came in asking if the rumour was true. Miranda expertly denied them, but as if to fan the flames, several photos of her meeting the representative were released. "Oh, come on", she said as she slumped on the couch. Izan stood there smiling before his smile broke into a laugh. Miranda and Hori, as well as Komi, stared at Izan with concern visible in their eyes. Hori glanced at her mother before pointing to her head and swirling her fingers but Komi threw a cloth at her face. "Why are you laughing? Do you think this is funny" Miranda asked. "No, no,", Izan said as he stopped laughing. "I¡¯m just thinking about how distraught Carmen would be now," Izan said before he started chuckling. "Carmen?" the trio asked as they looked at Izan. "Our head of PR. She made me go through such hellish media training. It¡¯s about time she felt what it was like," Izan said as he walked to his room, still laughing. Komi, Miranda and Hori stared at him as he walked away and only stopped when Miranda¡¯s phone rang again. A/n: Hope you guys are enjoying your holidays. Have fun with this chapter. Chapter 156: Clarification On a lively football talk show, pundits passionately debated Izan¡¯s rumoured link to AC Milan. The teenage prodigy, who stunned the footballing world with his breathtaking performances, becoming one of the most talked-about young players. The discussion opened with speculation about Milan¡¯s intentions. "AC Milan is known for nurturing young talents," one analyst remarked, citing their history of developing stars. "Izan fits their philosophy perfectly." Another pundit countered, "But is he ready for such a move? He¡¯s only 16 still considering all his talent. A jump to Serie A could be too soon." The panel weighed Izan¡¯s age against his maturity on the pitch. Clips of his dazzling skills played on-screen, reinforcing the hype. Questions about Izan¡¯s family and future also surfaced. "His mom, Komi, and sister, Hori, might influence his decision. They¡¯ve been his biggest supporters, and uprooting their lives for Italy is no small thing." Another analyst added, "What if bigger clubs join the race? Real Madrid and Barcelona are likely watching." The debate concluded without consensus, but one sentiment was clear: Izan¡¯s decision, whether to embrace Milan¡¯s offer or stay put, could define his career. Fans, meanwhile, eagerly await the teenager¡¯s next move, as his star continues to rise. ..... Ruben Baraja sat at the long oak table in Valencia¡¯s boardroom, his face etched with a mix of concern and determination. The board members, dressed sharply in suits, listened intently as the club legend spoke passionately about Izan, the 16-year-old prodigy whose name had already echoed across Europe after his dazzling performances in the league. "Izan is more than just a player for Valencia; he embodies our future," Baraja began, his voice firm but laced with genuine care. "I can¡¯t see an end to his talent. He is unprecedented. A 16-year-old, topping Laliga¡¯s assist charts and placing 3rd on the top scorer¡¯s list was unimaginable but Izan has done it. His match stats are monstrous. He¡¯s made a goal or an assist in every match he¡¯s played and it¡¯s just at 16. Imagine what happens next season. He¡¯s on going to improve. Selling him now, when he¡¯s just beginning to flourish, would not only harm his development but also send the wrong message to our fans and the football world." Baraja paused, scanning the room, searching for any sign of dissent. He continued, his tone unwavering. "I understand the financial pressures we face, but we cannot let short-term gains overshadow long-term success. Izan has the potential to lead us into a new era. We must nurture that." One of the board members leaned forward, speaking calmly. "Mister Baraja, we share your sentiments. Izan is special, and we understand what he means to this club. Let us reassure you¡ªValencia will not sell Izan unless it is his choice to leave. The boy¡¯s happiness and growth come first." Baraja exhaled, relief softening his stern expression. "That¡¯s all I needed to hear," he replied. "Let¡¯s ensure he knows he¡¯s wanted here¡ªnot just as a player, but as a cornerstone of our future at least in the following couple of years." As he rose to leave, Baraja felt a renewed sense of hope. The club might face challenges, but with Izan at its heart, Valencia could dream again. ..... The streets of Valencia buzzed with anticipation as their beloved club prepared for a crucial away fixture against C¨¢diz CF. Yet, the focus wasn¡¯t entirely on the game. Headlines had been dominated by speculation about Izan, the 16-year-old sensation who had recently become the club¡¯s brightest star. His dazzling performance against clubs had not only earned him admiration in Spain but also linked him to several European giants, including AC Milan, the newest link to Izan. This move had shaped up to be not far from the truth after photos of Izan went out causing restlessness among the club¡¯s supporters. The uncertainty around his future had cast a shadow over the club¡¯s preparations. At the Valencia training grounds, Paterna, the air was thick with both determination and tension. Fans had gathered in droves, many waving banners pleading with Izan to stay. The young prodigy arrived early, walking into the complex with his signature calm demeanor, headphones on. "Are you really moving?" Pietro said as soon as he met Izan. The question caused a few eyes to fall on them. Knowing he had to deal with this situation eventually, Izan decided to set things straight. Taking off his headphones, he looked at Pietro causing the latter to be a bit unsettled. "I don¡¯t know why those tabloids are saying that but I¡¯m not going anywhere. Miranda went to Milan to meet a friend and that friend asked for a favour telling her to meet someone but she didn¡¯t know that she was going to meet a club representative. I¡¯m not leaving Valencia at least for now so you can settle down." Izan finished with a smile causing the tense atmosphere to die down. "Okay, you heard the kid, now let¡¯s go train," Gaya said breaking the silence. The players began changing as they hopped to the field. Valencia¡¯s manager, Ruben Baraja, worked tirelessly to keep the squad focused. The session began with light drills to loosen the players up before moving into tactical preparations. Baraja had designed a meticulous plan for C¨¢diz, a team known for their defensive rigidity and counter-attacking prowess. Izan, as always, was at the heart of the tactical session, practising intricate passing sequences and set-piece drills. Despite the speculation, Izan¡¯s commitment on the pitch was undeniable. His teammates, many of whom were older and more experienced, marvelled at how he managed to stay composed despite the noise surrounding his future. Still, whispers among them hinted at curiosity¡ªwhat was Izan planning? As training wrapped up, the media awaited in the conference room. This was something the club had arranged to clear the smoke. Ruben Baraja sat alongside Izan for the pre-match press conference. Questions about the match came first, but it wasn¡¯t long before reporters turned their attention to Izan¡¯s future. One journalist directly asked, "Izan, with so much interest from clubs like AC Milan, is this your final season at Valencia?" Izan leaned into the microphone, his expression calm but resolute. "I want to be very clear," he began, his voice steady. "Valencia is my home. This is the club that gave me my first chance. I am not leaving. Not now, not in January, and not in the summer. My focus is here, with my teammates, and on helping Valencia achieve great things this season." The room erupted into a flurry of questions, but Izan raised a hand to quiet them. "As for my agent, Miranda, meeting with Milan¡¯s representatives¡ªit¡¯s true. But the meeting had nothing to do with me. She was fulfilling a favour for a mutual friend who works closely with AC Milan. It was a professional courtesy, and it had no connection to my future." The calm and transparent explanation seemed to ease the tension. Valencia fans watching online breathed a collective sigh of relief, and clips of Izan¡¯s statement quickly went viral. Social media platforms lit up with reactions. Hashtags like #IzanStays and #VamosValencia trended for a while. Fans flooded Izan¡¯s posts with messages of gratitude and loyalty. "Izan is mature beyond his years. What a statement!" wrote one fan. "Forget the rumours, Izan is one of us. He¡¯s going to be a Valencia legend!" another commented. However, sceptics weren¡¯t entirely convinced. "This is football. We¡¯ve seen players say one thing and do another. Let¡¯s see what happens in the summer," one tweet read. Others focused on Miranda¡¯s role. "Why would his agent meet Milan for ¡¯a favour¡¯? Something doesn¡¯t add up," a fan speculated. Despite these lingering doubts, the overwhelming sentiment was relief and admiration for how Izan had handled the situation. As evening fell, the Valencia squad completed their final training session. Ruben Baraja gathered the players for a team talk, emphasizing the importance of unity and focus. "C¨¢diz will fight hard, but we are Valencia. Trust in our preparation, trust in each other," he said, his words resonating with the squad. Izan, despite being the youngest in the room, stood out as one of the leaders in the squad. His presence and importance in the squad had earned him that position. He encouraged teammates during tactical drills mostly the new players who came after he came. ... The next day, Valencia began another session going through the same drills and tactics as before although it was a bit tailored to suit Cadiz¡¯s playstyle. With the sessions done, the team boarded their bus to begin the journey to C¨¢diz. Fans lined the streets, chanting Izan¡¯s name and waving Valencia flags. From the bus window, Izan gave them a reassuring thumbs-up, a gesture that drew cheers. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As the team bus rolled toward C¨¢diz, the players settled into their routines. Some watched game footage on tablets, others listened to music. Izan sat near the front, flipping through a notebook filled with personal goals and notes on upcoming opponents. Valencia was ready to fight for three points, and their young star had reassured everyone that his heart remained with the club. Yet, in the world of football, where change is constant, the whispers of Milan and other suitors would surely resurface. For now, though, Valencia fans could breathe easy, united in their support for Izan and the team. All eyes were on C¨¢diz, but the echoes of this eventful week would linger far beyond the match. A/n: Will he move or stay. Lets see. Anyways have fun ready. 2nd chapter of the day. Chapter 157: At The Estadio Nuevo Mirandilla As the team bus rolled toward C¨¢diz, the players settled into their routines. Some watched game footage on tablets, others listened to music. Izan sat near the front, flipping through a notebook filled with personal goals and notes on upcoming opponents. Valencia was ready to fight for three points, and their young star had reassured everyone that his heart remained with the club. Yet, in the world of football, where change is constant, the whispers of Milan and other suitors would surely resurface. For now, though, Valencia fans could breathe easy, united in their support for Izan and the team. All eyes were on C¨¢diz, but the echoes of this eventful week would linger far beyond the match. The sun dipped below the horizon in C¨¢diz, casting a golden glow over the Estadio Nuevo Mirandilla. The stage was set for an electric clash between Valencia CF and C¨¢diz CF. Valencia, buoyed by a mix of experience and youthful exuberance, faced a determined home side battling to climb the league table. The stands were a cauldron of noise, with C¨¢diz¡¯s loyal supporters¡ªknown as los submarinos amarillos¡ªcreating a vibrant atmosphere. --- As the broadcast began, the commentators set the stage for what promised to be an enthralling encounter at the Estadio Nuevo Mirandilla. Carlos Sorano: "Good evening, football fans, and welcome to C¨¢diz, where we¡¯re set for an exciting La Liga clash between C¨¢diz CF and Valencia CF. It¡¯s a cold night by the Andalusian coast, but the atmosphere inside this stadium is absolutely electric." Weldon James: "That¡¯s right Carlos. C¨¢diz, the underdogs tonight, will be looking to take advantage of their passionate home support and climb the table. Meanwhile, Valencia comes into this game with plenty of momentum¡ªand all eyes, of course, are on their teenage sensation, Izan. At just 16 years of age, this young man has taken the league by storm." Carlos Sorano: "And deservedly so James. He¡¯s been an incredible spark for Valencia this season, proving time and again that age is just a number. But can he handle the pressure of this vibrant C¨¢diz crowd? This will be another test of his mettle." Weldon James: "And it¡¯s not just about Izan tonight. Valencia¡¯s mix of veterans and young talent will need to be at their very best to break down C¨¢diz¡¯s defensive resilience. The Limoneros is never an easy opponent, especially on home turf." Carlos Sorano: "Kickoff is just moments away. Grab your popcorn, settle in, and get ready for what promises to be a cracker of a game!" .... The referee¡¯s whistle pierced through the din, and the game began with a frenetic tempo. Valencia, clad in their iconic white and black kits, asserted themselves early, playing with confidence. Izan, positioned behind Hugo Duro, was a constant menace. His quick feet and precise passing caused endless trouble for C¨¢diz¡¯s defence. In the 12th minute, Izan received a diagonal pass from Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. With a deft touch, he skipped past his marker and drove toward the byline. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His low cross into the box found Diego L¨®pez, who, with a delicate flick, sent the ball past C¨¢diz¡¯s goalkeeper, Jerem¨ªas Ledesma. The visitors erupted in celebration, silencing the home crowd momentarily. Diego L¨®pez, the culprit of the goal ran towards Izan before jumping on him. ..... Despite the early setback, C¨¢diz responded with vigour. Their talismanic forward, ¨¢lvaro Negredo, orchestrated waves of attacks. Valencia¡¯s defence, marshalled by the recent injury returnee, Mouctar Diakbhy and stood firm, but cracks began to show. In the 34th minute, Negredo delivered a perfectly weighted through ball to Rub¨¦n Sobrino, who slotted it past Giorgi Mamardashvili to restore parity. The stadium roared to life as C¨¢diz fans celebrated wildly. As the half progressed, the game became increasingly physical. Izan found himself on the receiving end of several rough challenges, a testament to the respect he commanded. Despite the bruises, he continued to drive forward, his fearless attitude earning admiration from teammates and fans alike. The referee eventually called time on the first half, with the score locked at 1-1. --- The Valencia players trudged into the locker room, their white shirts smeared with dirt and sweat. The atmosphere was tense but determined. Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja stood at the centre, his voice calm yet commanding. "Listen up," he began, pacing the room. "We started strong, but we¡¯ve let them back into the game. We need to tighten up at the back and control the midfield better. " "And Izan," he said, turning to the teenager, "you¡¯re doing great out there. Keep exploiting the spaces they don¡¯t cover. Don¡¯t let them intimidate you." Izan nodded, his youthful face a mix of exhaustion and resolve. Hugo Duro added, "We¡¯ve got this, guys. Let¡¯s show them what Valencia is made of." The players refuelled, some opting for energy drinks while others stretched to keep their muscles loose. As the clock ticked, the team¡¯s focus sharpened. The noise from C¨¢diz¡¯s fans filtered into the room, a reminder of the battle awaiting them. --- The second half began with C¨¢diz on the front foot. The home side¡¯s midfield trio of ¨¢lex Fern¨¢ndez, Fede San Emeterio, and Iv¨¢n Alejo dictated the tempo, forcing Valencia onto the back foot. Their persistence paid off in the 58th minute when Sobrino turned provider, delivering a pinpoint cross for Negredo. The veteran forward¡¯s header was unstoppable, nestling into the top corner. C¨¢diz led 2-1, and the Nuevo Mirandilla erupted in celebration. Valencia, now chasing the game, struggled to find their rhythm. Baraja made tactical adjustments, bringing on fresh legs to inject energy into the side. Izan, however, remained central to Valencia¡¯s plans. His relentless running and creative spark kept hope alive for the Valencia team and its supporters. As the clock ticked into the 90th minute, Valencia threw everything forward. C¨¢diz¡¯s defence, anchored by Fali and Luis Hern¨¢ndez, repelled wave after wave of attacks. The tension was palpable, with every clearance greeted by cheers from the home crowd. In the dying moments, Valencia earned a corner. Izan hurriedly went and stood on the edge of the 18-yard box as Gay¨¤ stepped up to take it, and every Valencia player, including goalkeeper Mamardashvili, ventured into the box. The corner was overhit, but it fell to Thierry Correia on the edge of the area. The right-back chipped it back into the crowded box, where the ball ping-ponged between players. The whole stadium watched in anticipation, their eyes wide open as they looked to find who would get the final ball. Suddenly the ball fell into the path of Izan. Positioned just outside the penalty area, he took a touch to control it and unleashed a left-footed volley. The stadium watched in silence as the ball streaked towards goal. The ball sailed through a sea of bodies, past the outstretched hands of Ledesma before homing into the back of the net. Silence engulfed the stadium for a brief moment before Valencia¡¯s players erupted in jubilation. Izan sprinted towards the corner flag, arms wide, his face a picture of pure ecstasy. Getting to the corner flag, Izan jumped and pumped his fists in the air. The commentary booth was alive with excitement. "WHAT A GOAL FROM IZAN!" Carlos Sorano shouted. "The 16-year-old wonderkid has done it again! Valencia snatch a point at the death, and what a way to do it!" Social media buzzed with reactions from Valencia fans hailing Izan as a prodigy. The player¡¯s name became subjected to a few trending Hashtags. C¨¢diz fans, though heartbroken, couldn¡¯t help but admire the young talent who had stolen the spotlight. "Wish we had a player like that, then we could avoid battling for relegation," a fan wrote. In the stands, Valencia¡¯s travelling supporters celebrated wildly, their chants drowning out the groans of the home crowd. Among them was a young boy holding a sign that read, "Izan, my inspiration!" The camera panned to his beaming face, capturing a moment that epitomized the joy of football. --- After the match restarted, Valencia scored again courtesy of Izan sending the Valencia fans into pandemonium but the goal was flagged for an offside causing the Valencia fans to calm down. This time, it was the C¨¢diz¡¯s fans¡¯ turn to celebrate as they could at least salvage a point. After a while, the referee blew his whistle, ending the game. As the players shook hands and exchanged jerseys, Izan stood in the centre circle, taking short breaths. Cameras followed his every move, capturing the humility of a player destined for greatness. In the post-match interview, he credited his teammates and coaches, deflecting attention from himself. "It was a team effort," he said modestly. "I¡¯m just glad we could take something from this game." Back in the locker room, the mood was celebratory. Baraja praised the team¡¯s resilience, singling out Izan for his decisive contribution but the latter again deflected it, praising the whole team for the effort. "This is just the beginning," he told the squad. "If we fight like this every game, we¡¯ll achieve great things." The draw left Valencia in a solid position in the league, but more importantly, it reinforced their belief in the team¡¯s potential. For Izan, it was another chapter in a burgeoning career that showed no signs of slowing down. His name was now etched into the memories of all who witnessed his brilliance in the game, a reminder that even in the toughest of battles, moments of magic can change everything. A/n: Have fun reading. First chapter of the day. Christmas is ending soon. Hope Ya¡¯ll had your fun. Chapter 158: Beyond Football. The Valencia CF team bus rolled into the Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna late in the evening, its passengers quiet yet reflective. The 2-2 draw with C¨¢diz had been a rollercoaster. Tensions had run high throughout the match, and Valencia had been staring at defeat until Izan stepped up in the final minute. His precise, curling shot from just outside the box had found the back of the net, salvaging a crucial point for his team. As the players disembarked, Izan was the centre of attention. Teammates clapped him on the back, their voices a mix of gratitude and admiration. "Unbelievable, Izan," Correira said before walking off. "Have you got ice in your veins, kid?" Guillam¨®n asked with a grin. "Cause I would have missed that shot or it would have blocked. Well, that¡¯s it. I¡¯m glad that we could at least salvage a point" he added before walking off. Pietro, walking beside him, smirked. "Golden boy strikes again. Seriously, where do you even learn to do that?" he teased. Izan shrugged, a modest smile tugging at his lips. "Just doing my part." The group filed into the locker rooms, where the coach offered brief remarks on the game. The atmosphere was a blend of relief and determination to improve before their next match. After the debrief and a quick shower, the players began filtering out of the Training complex. Izan who had finished showering now had to wait for Pietro. --- Later, after the debrief and a quick shower, Pietro drove Izan home. The streets of Valencia were quiet, the city lights casting a soft glow over the car¡¯s interior. As the duo sat in the car, Pietro couldn¡¯t help but utter " How do you do it." Sitting beside him, Izan turned to look at the former. "Do what? " Izan asked, causing Pietro to slow down a bit. "That goal ?" Pietro said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Last minute, under pressure. You¡¯re something else." Izan chuckled. "It was instinct. Glad it went in, though." As they neared Izan¡¯s house, Pietro turned to him with a mischievous grin. "By the way, I overheard you speaking with Miranda and she mentioned something about GQ Sports tomorrow. Big interview or something?" Izan raised an eyebrow before remembering the conversation he had with Miranda at training. "I guess. Don¡¯t even know why they are interested" Izan said softly. "Uh, maybe because you keep pulling off moments like tonight?" Pietro said, laughing. "Better rest up. Tomorrow is going to be tiring" The car stopped outside Izan¡¯s house, and Pietro gave him a mock salute. "See you at training, hero." Seeing Pietro¡¯s action, Izan saluted back before walking away. --- Walking into his home, Izan was greeted by the warm embrace of his mom, Komi, and his little sister, Hori. Before he could even put his bag down, Miranda, who looked like she had just woken up approached him, her sharp eyes dulled but still focused as she held her ever-present tablet. "Good game tonight, Izan," she said, her tone brisk. "But tomorrow¡¯s just as important. You¡¯ve got a GQ Sports interview at 9 a.m." Izan blinked. "GQ Sports? What¡¯s this about?" "They¡¯re doing a feature on you¡ªyour journey, your performance against big clubs. You know the usual" Miranda explained. "This is a big opportunity to shape your image off the pitch." Izan sighed. "Alright. What do I need to do?" "Just be yourself," Miranda said. "But don¡¯t forget to bring your A-game. The world¡¯s watching." "Oh they¡¯re also going to do a segment of theirs called ¡¯10 things you can¡¯t love without¡¯ so be ready" she said as she walked upstairs. --- The next morning, Izan arrived at the sleek GQ Sports studio. The space was buzzing with activity¡ªphotographers adjusting their equipment, stylists preparing outfits, and crew members organizing the set. Izan, dressed in a sharp, casual outfit chosen by the stylist, was led to a makeup chair. As Izan stepped into the GQ Sports studio, the air seemed to shift, buzzing with barely contained excitement. Conversations halted, eyes turned, and whispers rippled through the gathered crowd like an electric current. His striking presence was undeniable¡ªhis tall, athletic frame exuding confidence with every step. But it was his face that captivated most. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Those eyes¡­" someone murmured softly, unable to look away from the piercing blue that seemed to hold secrets of the sky and sea. "He¡¯s even more handsome in person," another whispered, their tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. Photographers subtly adjusted their angles, eager to capture his perfectly styled dark hair that contrasted so elegantly with his azure gaze. Assistants leaned into each other, stealing glances, their cheeks flushed. Seeing this, Izan sighed before thinking about how those people tend to get when they remember his age. "Future cover star, no doubt," a stylist muttered under their breath, already envisioning him gracing billboards and magazine racks worldwide. Even the seasoned interviewers, accustomed to hosting celebrities, felt a twinge of awe. There was something magnetic about Izan¡ªnot just his looks but the quiet confidence that radiated from him, as if he belonged in this room, on this stage, in the spotlight. As he made his way to the set, he acknowledged the murmurs with a faint, charming smile, his humility shining through. It only made the crowd admire him more, cementing his status as not just a football prodigy but a budding icon. Javier, the interviewer¡ªa charismatic figure with a reputation for connecting with young stars¡ªgreeted him warmly. "Welcome, Izan. Glad to have you here. I recently interviewed Pedri and it seems like you¡¯re good friends" Izan laughed and nodded before recounting his time with Pedri at the Spain National team camp. As the cameras started rolling, Javier dove straight into it. "You always seem to amaze everything. That last-minute goal against C¨¢diz¡ªhow did it feel to be the hero of the night?" Izan smiled slightly, his tone measured. "It was surreal. In moments like that, you don¡¯t have time to think. You trust your instincts and your training. I¡¯m just glad I could help the team." Javier leaned forward, intrigued. "You¡¯re only 16 and already making headlines in La Liga. Assist leader and now 2nd on the pichi chi list. How do you handle the pressure?" "It¡¯s not easy," Izan admitted. "But I have a great support system¡ªmy family, my teammates, and my coaches. They help me stay grounded." Javier then lightened the mood with some personal questions. "When you¡¯re not scoring goals, what does Izan do to unwind?" "Anime, FIFA, and spending time with my family," Izan replied, smiling. "It keeps me balanced." Finally, Javier asked the big question. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" Izan¡¯s gaze turned serious. " Competing for trophies on both club and Country sides and hopefully inspiring others to chase their dreams." Tue studio went a bit silent with the people inside thinking of how composed the youngster was. After the formal part of the GQ Sports interview wrapped up, the crew prepped Izan for a lighter segment¡ªthe popular "10 Things I Can¡¯t Live Without" challenge. Seated in front of a sleek backdrop, Izan relaxed in the chair as the staff moved about and prepared a few things. "Alright, Izan, this is the part where we get to know the real you," Javier began. "What are the ten things you absolutely can¡¯t live without?" Izan leaned back slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let¡¯s do it." Reaching to his side, Izan pulled out a pair of pristine white and blue Adidas speed portals. "These are my go-to. I¡¯ve worn them for every important match this season. They feel like an extension of my feet on the pitch." Javier nodded, impressed. "Superstitious about them?" "A little," Izan admitted. "But mostly, they¡¯re just perfect for my game." Next, Izan picked up a well-used football, its surface showing signs of countless training sessions. "This ball has been with me since I joined Valencia¡¯s academy. Whenever I¡¯m stressed or thinking about something, I just start dribbling." Javier nodded, a slight smile tugging his face. Next, Izan revealed a sleek pair of wireless headphones. "Music is everything for me. Before games, I listen to Afrobeat or Spanish pop to get in the zone. It¡¯s like a ritual." "Favorite artist?" Javier asked. "Currently, Rema for sure," Izan said humming the tune to one of the musician¡¯s biggest songs. Moving on, Izan held up a small framed picture of his mom, Komi, and his sister, Hori, all beaming at the camera. "This reminds me why I work so hard. They¡¯re my biggest supporters, and I wouldn¡¯t be here without them." Moving on to the next, Izan chuckled as he presented a reusable black water bottle with his initials engraved. "Hydration is key. Plus, this one was a gift from a teammate. It¡¯s like my lucky charm now." After the previous item, Izan held up a silver chain with a small pendant. "My mom gave this to me before my first professional game. It¡¯s a reminder of my roots and to stay humble." "Anything that helps you relax?" Javier asked intending to win the segment. Laughing, Izan grabbed a gaming controller. "This keeps me sane. FIF- sorry, FC is my escape when I¡¯m not training or travelling. Though Pietro keeps beating me lately, which is annoying." Javier smiled as the segment wrapped up. "Impressive list, Izan. You¡¯ve got a mix of focus, fun, and family in there. Thanks for sharing this with us." Izan nodded, his expression thoughtful. "These things remind me of who I am, on and off the pitch." As the cameras stopped rolling, the crew applauded. The challenge had given everyone a glimpse into Izan¡¯s life beyond football, solidifying his image as not just a rising star but also a grounded, relatable young man with big dreams. --- Wrapping Up The interview concluded with a photo shoot. Izan posed with a football, exuding a quiet confidence that matched his burgeoning reputation. As the crew packed up, Javier approached him with a firm handshake. "You¡¯re a remarkable young man, Izan. Keep doing what you¡¯re doing." Walking out of the studio, Izan felt a mix of pride and responsibility. The spotlight was on him, but he was ready to rise to the challenge¡ªboth on and off the pitch. A/n: Okay guys.have fun reading. I have a match today so I¡¯ll see you with the second chapter of the day hopefully after the match. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t release twice yesterday. To be honest, I was a bit tired. Anyways thanks for understanding and I¡¯ll see you. Chapter 159: Crucial Fixtures The online reaction to Izan¡¯s GQ interview was a mix of awe, admiration, and curiosity. Many praised his humility and maturity, especially considering his rapid rise to fame. Clips of Izan discussing his love for his family, particularly how his mother Komi and sister Hori shaped his character, went viral, earning him a reputation as a grounded and thoughtful young star. Football pundits applauded his candid insights into the pressures of professional sports, while casual fans were charmed by his boyish enthusiasm when he spoke about his favourite hobbies and childhood dreams. On the flip side, sceptics questioned whether his polished demeanour was too perfect, sparking debates about media training and authenticity. Nonetheless, the general consensus was overwhelmingly positive, with many labelling him as one of the future faces of football¡ªnot just for his skills, but also for his charisma and relatability. "His eyes are mesmerizing¡ªlike they tell a whole story with just one look," one fan wrote. Others described them as intense, with a piercing quality that made them stand out even in the heat of the game. "You can see the fire in his eyes when he plays, it¡¯s like he¡¯s destined for greatness but I hope he can look at me like that," a comment read. ... Away from all this, Valencia¡¯s 2024 season had been full of anticipation, as the club¡¯s rising star, 16-year-old Izan, continued to make waves with his exceptional performances on the field. Valencia¡¯s focus was now on the Copa del Rey Round of 16 against Celta Vigo and a critical La Liga clash against Athletic Bilbao after that. Both matches would define Valencia¡¯s journey in two of Spain¡¯s most prestigious competitions. ...... The stage was set for an intense and dramatic Copa del Rey Round of 16 encounter at Mestalla. Valencia, the hosts, were up against Celta Vigo, a team with a reputation for being resilient and tricky in knockout matches. The competition had taken on added significance, with the tension of a cup run hanging in the air. The stands were packed, with Valencia fans filled with optimism, ready to see their young prodigy, Izan, continue his rapid rise to stardom. From the opening whistle, it was clear this match would be a battle of wills. Valencia, buoyed by their home crowd, started with high intensity, pressing Celta aggressively and dominating possession. Izan, stationed at the tip of Valencia¡¯s attack in this match immediately showcased his flair, darting into dangerous areas and attempting to link up with his teammates. His vision and dribbling were on full display as he weaved through Celta¡¯s defence, creating space for himself and his teammates. Despite Valencia¡¯s control over the first half, it was Celta Vigo who struck first. A quick counter-attack in the 39th minute caught Valencia¡¯s defence off-guard. Celta¡¯s influential playmaker, Denis Su¨¢rez, threaded a brilliant pass to Iago Aspas, who expertly finished past Giorgi Mamardashvili. The Celta fans erupted, and the atmosphere in Mestalla quickly turned tense. Valencia¡¯s dominance on the ball hadn¡¯t been converted into goals, and now they were behind. Thankfully for Valencia, an equalizer came in the second half. Izan, as composed as ever, took matters into his own hands. In the 67th minute, he picked up the ball just outside the box, turned his marker with a sharp feint, and fired a low shot toward the corner. Celta¡¯s goalkeeper, Iv¨¢n Villar, managed to get a hand to the ball, but it was too late¡ªthe ball nestled in the bottom corner of the net. Valencia was back on level terms, and Izan¡¯s goal sent the home crowd into raptures. With the score tied at 1-1, both teams pushed forward in search of a winner, but neither could land a decisive blow. Celta¡¯s defence tightened, and Valencia, though dangerous, couldn¡¯t find that final touch. As the minutes ticked away, both teams knew that this match would be decided in extra time. The tension was palpable. Extra time was an exhausting affair. Both teams created chances, but fatigue began to take its toll. The young Izan continued to offer glimpses of brilliance, dropping deeper to link up play and making runs into the box. Ruben Baraja was thinking of taking Izan off but his energy seemed boundless, and it was clear that his presence was growing in influence. However, no team could break the deadlock in the extra 30 minutes. The match was heading to penalties. As the penalty shootout began, the mood shifted. The stakes were clear: a missed penalty could cost a team the match, and it all came down to composure and nerves. The first few 4 kicks were successful for both sides, but when Celta¡¯s Pablo Dur¨¢n stepped up for their fifth penalty, the weight of the moment seemed to overwhelm him. Dur¨¢n, who had been calm and collected in normal time, blazed his penalty over the bar. Valencia now had the chance to take control of the shootout. The responsibility of converting the decisive penalty fell to Izan. He walked up to the penalty spot with the eyes of the stadium on him, the weight of the match on his shoulders. Valencia fans held their breath as Izan, unflustered, placed the ball on the spot. With the composure of a seasoned professional, he took a deep breath, glanced at the goalkeeper, and placed the ball into the bottom corner. The goalkeeper dived the wrong way, and the ball nestled into the net. Mestalla erupted in jubilation, and Valencia had won 5-4 on penalties. Izan¡¯s calmness under pressure had earned his side a place in the quarterfinals, and he was mobbed by his teammates. The fans¡¯ chants echoed through the night, "Izan! Izan!" It was a moment to remember¡ªa 16-year-old who had just sealed his place in Valencia folklore with the winning penalty in a tense knockout match. .... Just days after the thrilling Copa del Rey triumph, Valencia¡¯s attention shifted to La Liga, where they faced a tough test against Athletic Bilbao. The Basque team was known for their physicality and tactical discipline, making them one of the toughest teams to break down in Spain. With their momentum from the Copa del Rey still fresh, Valencia approached the match at Mestalla full of confidence, especially with Izan leading the charge. From the start, Athletic Bilbao proved to be a tough nut to crack. Their defence was solid, and their midfielders worked tirelessly to disrupt Valencia¡¯s rhythm. Izan on the bench found himself replaced by Amallah who was being closely marked by Bilbao¡¯s centre-backs. It seemed that Bilbao was keen on making use of Izan¡¯s absence but Valencia¡¯s defence held on and it was clear that breaking through Bilbao¡¯s defence would take something special. Valencia dominated possession, but Athletic Bilbao¡¯s well-drilled defensive line thwarted their every move. As the game wore on, the atmosphere in Mestalla grew more anxious. The fans knew that one moment of magic could turn the match, and that moment came courtesy of Izan after the latter was subbed in. In the 72nd minute, Izan received a ball on the edge of the box from Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤. With his back to goal, he turned sharply, sprinting towards the penalty area. As he burst into the box, Athletic Bilbao¡¯s central defender, Dani Vivian lunged in with a reckless challenge. The tackle was mistimed, and Izan, with his quick reflexes, went down under the challenge. The fans shouted but the referee had already pointed to the penalty spot. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Mestalla crowd was on its feet, chanting in unison. The tension was palpable as Izan, having earned the penalty, now had the chance to put his team ahead. His calm demeanour was evident once again. Despite being the youngest player on the field, Izan appeared unfazed by the enormity of the moment. He placed the ball carefully on the penalty spot, took a deep breath, and stepped back. The fans held their breath as he approached the ball. With an assured strike, Izan sent the goalkeeper the wrong way, slotting the ball into the bottom corner. Valencia led 1-0, and the crowd erupted in a frenzy of celebration. It was a pivotal moment, one that encapsulated Izan¡¯s influence on the team. The young forward was not only a goal-scoring threat but also a player capable of earning crucial penalties and taking responsibility when needed. As the match wore on, Athletic Bilbao pushed forward in search of an equalizer, but Valencia¡¯s defence stood firm. The final whistle blew, and the game ended with a 1-0 victory for Valencia. The fans cheered and applauded their team, but it was Izan who once again stole the spotlight. His penalty had sealed the three points, and his growing influence on the team was undeniable. As fans filed out of Mestalla after the win over Athletic Bilbao, many were buzzing with excitement about Izan¡¯s performance. The young forward had become a sensation, not just for his ability to score but for his maturity and composure in key moments. "Have you seen the way he handles pressure?" one fan said to another. "Izan is beyond his years. He¡¯s got something special." Another fan remarked, "He¡¯s not just a future star. He¡¯s already here, and he¡¯s already making a difference. He¡¯s got the whole team playing better." It was clear to all watching: Izan was no longer just a prospect¡ªhe was "THE kEY" player for Valencia. The fans, who had seen their fair share of stars come and go, were now witnessing the birth of a new era and Izan was at the centre of it all. A/n: Gotcha. This is the second chapter. If I¡¯m able to score today, I¡¯ll release another chapter which means you guys are getting a free chapter cause I¡¯ll most definitely score. [HOPEFULLY] Chapter 160: Upcoming Summer Fever The press conference room at Ciudad del F¨²tbol in Las Rozas, Madrid, was abuzz with energy. Luis de la Fuente, the experienced coach of the Spain National Team, walked in with his signature calm yet confident demeanour. Dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit, his Spanish Football Federation badge gleamed under the camera lights. His salt-and-pepper hair and weathered face bore the marks of years in the game, but his piercing gaze and poised stance reflected the focus of a man who knew what lay ahead¡ªa summer of pressure, expectation, and opportunity at the European Championships. Seated behind a table adorned with microphones and sponsor logos, de la Fuente greeted the gathered journalists. "Good afternoon, everyone," he began with a composed smile, his voice steady but commanding. "It¡¯s an exciting time for Spanish football as we prepare for the Euros. Our focus is on building a competitive, united team that can make our nation proud." After a few standard questions about squad preparations, injury updates, and tactical approaches, the conversation took an inevitable turn toward a name dominating football discourse since the start of the season ¡ªIzan, the 16-year-old sensation from Valencia CF. A reporter from Marca raised his hand. "Mister, Izan¡¯s performances have been nothing short of extraordinary, especially since you¡¯ve called him up previously and what he showed then was one for the books, becoming Spain¡¯s youngest goal scorer and assister. At just 16, he¡¯s already drawing comparisons to some of football¡¯s greats. What are your thoughts on him? And is there a possibility he could be included in the national setup for the upcoming Euros in the summer?" De la Fuente¡¯s smile widened slightly, and he leaned forward. "Ah, Izan," he began, his tone thoughtful. "He¡¯s a Prodigious young player, no doubt about that. At such a young age, performing consistently in La Liga and showing the maturity he has is something we rarely see. His ability to read the game, his composure under pressure, and his technical skills are truly exceptional as well as his end product which is just, chef¡¯s kiss" de la Fuente said mimicking a kiss. The coach paused, letting his words sink in. "However," he continued, "we must remember he¡¯s still just 16. Football can be a demanding world, especially at the highest levels. My responsibility, and the responsibility of everyone around him, is to ensure his talent is nurtured in the right way. We want to protect him from unnecessary pressure and allow him to grow at his own pace." "He¡¯s already played for Spain but that was in the friendlies. I and the people around him have to make sure that he¡¯s prepared, mentally and definitely physically after his recent injury before rushing him into any situation" The room buzzed with anticipation. A journalist from El Pa¨ªs followed up, "So, does that mean Izan won¡¯t be part of your plans for the Euros?" De la Fuente chuckled softly. "We don¡¯t rule anything out in football. Talent like his is hard to ignore, but for now, our focus is on building a squad with players who have experience at this level so if by the end of the season or if he¡¯s up there mentally, why not? Again, Izan¡¯s time will come, I¡¯m sure of that. Right now, it¡¯s about giving him the space to continue developing and continue enjoying his football." His measured response did little to quell the speculation. Fans and pundits alike were already debating the possibility of Izan becoming the youngest player to ever represent Spain in a major tournament. Meanwhile, outside the press conference, the football world was gripped by another narrative¡ªValencia CF¡¯s upcoming clash with Atl¨¦tico Madrid. The last time these two sides met, Valencia pulled off a stunning 4-2 victory, with Izan playing a pivotal role. His hat trick and assist in that match had catapulted him into the limelight, and the rematch had now become one of the most anticipated fixtures of the season. The buildup to the game was electric. Fans flooded social media with predictions, clips of Izan¡¯s highlights, and fervent debates about whether the young star could repeat his heroics against Diego Simeone¡¯s side. Pundits on Spanish sports channels dissected every aspect of the upcoming match. "Atl¨¦tico will be out for revenge," said a commentator on El Chiringuito de Jugones. "They won¡¯t underestimate Valencia this time, and Simeone will have a plan to neutralize Izan. But stopping a player with his creativity and flair is easier said than done." At the Mestalla, the atmosphere was reaching fever pitch. Valencia fans, buoyed by their team¡¯s recent performances, were eager to see their young prodigy shine once more. Billboards around the city bore Izan¡¯s image, alongside the tagline: "El futuro es ahora"¡ªThe future is now. ..... Back at the press conference, de la Fuente addressed a broader question about how Spain nurtures its young talents. "Spain has a rich tradition of developing world-class players," he said. "From Xavi and Iniesta to the newer generation, we¡¯ve always emphasized the importance of combining skill with intelligence and discipline. Izan fits that mould, but it¡¯s crucial to remember that talent alone isn¡¯t enough. We¡¯ve seen players falter because they associated with bad things. What I saw Izan do when he was with us the last time was magical. He¡¯s also hardworking so if he continues like this, we might just witness one of the greatest footballers to ever play the game." As the press conference drew to a close, de la Fuente reiterated his excitement for the Euros and the challenges ahead. But it was clear that Izan¡¯s name would continue to dominate headlines in the weeks to come. Outside the national team setup, the anticipation for Valencia¡¯s showdown with Atl¨¦tico Madrid reached a crescendo. Fans across Spain, whether supporting Valencia or not, were eager to witness what Izan could do next. His rapid rise had become a beacon of hope for a country that prided itself on producing footballing maestros. In Valencia, the Mestalla was already sold out, and fans were chanting Izan¡¯s name during training sessions. On social media, hashtags like #El m¨¢gico and #FutureOfSpain trended. Even Atl¨¦tico Madrid fans acknowledged the young star¡¯s brilliance, albeit grudgingly, as they called on their team to rise to the challenge. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. From Luis de la Fuente¡¯s words, Izan represented both the promise and the challenge of modern football. In a world where young talents were often thrust into the limelight too soon, the coach was determined to ensure that Spain¡¯s newest gem wasn¡¯t just a flash in the pan. "Football is a marathon, not a sprint," he had said at the press conference. "And Izan has all the tools to go the distance and even more" As the press room emptied and journalists rushed to file their stories, one thing was clear¡ªSpain was on the verge of an exciting new chapter, both for its national team and its domestic league. Whether at the Euros or in the fiery clash between Valencia and Atl¨¦tico, all eyes were on Izan, the teenager poised again to take the footballing world by storm. ..... Valencia CF¡¯s preparations for their highly anticipated match against Atl¨¦tico Madrid were intense, with a focus on tactical precision and team cohesion. The training ground buzzed with energy as head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja and his assistants meticulously fine-tuned every aspect of the team¡¯s approach. At the heart of the preparations was Izan. His presence not only uplifted the squad but also provided an additional layer of dynamism to Valencia¡¯s strategy. Training sessions began with a scrimmage designed to simulate game situations. Izan, playing in an attacking midfield role, demonstrated his remarkable vision and quick decision-making. His passes split the defence with surgical precision, and his ability to read the game allowed him to link up seamlessly with teammates like Hugo Duro and Javi Guerra. Defenders Mouctar Diakhaby, Mark as well as Cenk ?zkacar worked tirelessly to contain him, highlighting the competitive spirit among the players. Baraja frequently paused the session to provide detailed feedback, emphasizing the importance of maintaining defensive solidity against Atl¨¦tico¡¯s counterattacking style. Set-piece routines were drilled repeatedly, with Set-piece coach Andr¨¦s Palop overseeing corner-kick strategies while another assistant focused on free-kick setups. The coaching staff also tested various formations, looking for ways to exploit Atl¨¦tico¡¯s weaknesses while neutralizing the threat of Antoine Griezmann and ¨¢lvaro Morata. After the intense on-pitch work, the players moved into recovery mode. Inside the state-of-the-art facility, they underwent personalized recovery routines, including ice baths, massages, and stretching sessions led by the medical and fitness staff. Izan, still buzzing from the scrimmage, took time to review his performance with one of the analysts, studying footage of his movements and decision-making to refine his game further. Later, the squad gathered in the video analysis room for a tactical review. Baraja and his assistants presented detailed breakdowns of Atl¨¦tico¡¯s recent matches, highlighting their tendencies in attack and defensive structure. Players took notes and asked questions, ensuring everyone was aligned on their roles and responsibilities. As the session concluded, the atmosphere in the camp was a blend of focus and determination. Valencia¡¯s squad, inspired by Izan¡¯s presence and driven by Baraja¡¯s leadership, looked ready to take on the challenge of Atl¨¦tico Madrid with confidence and purpose. A/n: Have fun reading Chapter 161: Just Another Game The sun was just beginning to rise over Valencia, casting a warm golden hue over the quiet streets as Komi¡¯s car pulled into the parking lot of the Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna, Valencia¡¯s training ground. The faint hum of the engine ceased, leaving only the soft rustling of nearby trees and the chirping of early morning birds. Komi glanced at her son in the passenger seat who was staring out of the window, his face set in quiet determination. She reached over and gently touched his hand. "Why?" she asked, her voice warm but tinged with concern. Izan shook his head, though his tightly gripped bag told another story. "Oh, nothing. Just¡­ focused," he replied, his eyes not leaving the sprawling training facility ahead. Komi smiled, proud of her son¡¯s maturity. It wasn¡¯t every day a 16-year-old carried the hopes of a team, let alone walked into the Wanda Metropolitano to face Atl¨¦tico Madrid. "You¡¯ve got this," she said firmly. "Even your sister is excited. You¡¯ve already beat them this season. You can do it again tonight" Izan turned to her and nodded, the faintest hint of a smile breaking his focused expression. "I know, Mom. I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m just thinking about how many goals I¡¯ll score tonight" Izan said cheekily. Komi smiled at her son¡¯s confidence and saw no need to continue with the conversation. The parking lot began to stir with activity as other players arrived. Komi noticed a few of Izan¡¯s teammates waving at him, their camaraderie evident even from a distance. "All right, you better go," she said, reaching over to caress his face before tiptoeing to peck him on the forehead, a gesture that spoke of both love and habit. Izan opened the door, stepping out into the crisp morning air. Before closing it, he leaned down, his eyes meeting his mother¡¯s. "Thanks, Mom. For everything." Komi¡¯s heart swelled, but she kept her voice light. "Go on, starboy. Show them what you¡¯re made of." He grinned now, the seriousness melting away for a brief moment. "I will." As Izan walked toward the entrance of the training ground, his confident stride catching the attention of a few onlookers, Komi stayed in the car for a moment longer. She watched him disappear into the facility, a mix of pride and nerves swirling within her. "Be safe, my boy," she murmured before starting the car and driving away, knowing her son was exactly where he was meant to be. ..... The streets around the Mestalla Stadium buzzed with excitement as the Valencia team bus made its way through the familiar Valencia streets. The glow of the floodlights illuminated the historic structure, casting long shadows over the throngs of fans waving orange and black flags. This was more than a match; it was a showdown. The last time Valencia faced Atl¨¦tico Madrid, they emerged triumphant in a thrilling 4-2 encounter, with their teenage sensation Izan delivering a performance for the ages. Inside the bus, the players sat in quiet contemplation. Some scrolled through tactical notes, others stared out at the electrified crowd. Izan, had his headphones on, drowning out the noise as he mentally prepared. His calm demeanour belied the storm of expectation swirling around him. He glanced at the imposing Mestalla as they neared, its stands already roaring in anticipation. This was his home, his stage. "How are you feeling," Valencia¡¯s captain, Jose Gaya asked leaning in. "They might have underestimated you last time but this time they¡¯ll come at you with everything they¡¯ve got. I hope you are ready since you¡¯ve beaten them before" Izan staring outside the window glanced at Gaya, "To be honest, this feels like any other match. The only difference is that their fans are loud". Jose Gaya, hearing Izan¡¯s words stared at the latter like he had seen something odd. Gaya shook his head while a smile tugged at his lips while he thought of Izan¡¯s confidence. The bus came to a halt, and as the players disembarked, they were greeted with deafening cheers from their fans. Izan felt a hand on his shoulder¡ªValencia¡¯s captain, again a reassuring presence. "It¡¯s a big night, kid," he said. "But it¡¯s just football. Go out there and show them why they¡¯re afraid of us." Izan nodded, his face set in quiet determination. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. .... The air in the tunnel was thick with tension. Valencia¡¯s players adjusted their gear, exchanged quick words, and focused on the task ahead. Izan, standing near the entrance, caught sight of Rodrigo de Paul, Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s rugged midfielder who was more of a defender. De Paul walked up to him with a slow, deliberate stride, his towering frame exuding menace. "So, you¡¯re the star boy everyone¡¯s talking about," he said, his voice low but edged with mockery as he pretended not to know Izan. "You got lucky last time. Don¡¯t think you¡¯ll pull off those tricks here again. Tonight, you¡¯re going to learn what it¡¯s like to play against real men. And Valencia? You¡¯ll all crumble." Izan held his gaze, unflinching. "We¡¯ll see," he replied, his voice steady. "The game hasn¡¯t started yet. Let¡¯s see what you can do out there." De Paul smirked, but Izan could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes. The Argentine walked away, and Izan turned back to his teammates, his resolve even stronger. ..... The teams stepped out onto the hallowed turf of the Mestalla for their warmups. The crowd erupted as Valencia¡¯s players jogged onto the field, their energy feeding off the fans¡¯ unyielding support. Izan joined the drills, his movements fluid and precise. Every touch of the ball seemed to draw cheers from the stands, and the murmurs of admiration grew louder with each dazzling display of skill. On the other side, Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s players went through their paces, their movements calculated and intense. De Paul kept a close eye on Izan, occasionally exchanging words with his teammates as if plotting how to contain the young star. The floodlights bathed the stadium in bright light as both teams completed their drills. The players returned to their dressing rooms for final preparations, the noise from the stands reverberating through the concrete walls. Valencia¡¯s coach delivered his last pep talk, his voice firm and inspiring. "This is our home. Our fans are with us. We¡¯ve beaten them before, and we¡¯ll do it again. Believe in yourselves. Play as a team. And remember¡ªno fear." The players nodded at Baraja¡¯s words. The latter glanced at Izan with genuine concern as he debated if he had made the right decision by making Izan start this match. "I hope that the referee has eyes at the very least," Baraja said as he nodded in Izan¡¯s direction. Izan, fixing his shin guard looked up to find Baraja nodding at him and nodded back. After a while, an official approached telling them to filter out of the room. After huddling a bit, the Valencia players came out, charged for the encounter. The moment had arrived. The players lined up in the tunnel, their faces a mix of determination and focus. The roar of the Mestalla grew louder as they stepped onto the pitch, the sound crashing over them like a wave. Orange and black flags waved furiously in the stands, and the home crowd¡¯s chants filled the night sky. The commentator¡¯s voice cut through the din, setting the stage for the eagerly anticipated clash. "Welcome to the Mestalla, where Valencia and Atl¨¦tico Madrid meet once again in what promises to be an electrifying encounter. Let¡¯s not forget their last meeting¡ªa 4-2 victory for Valencia, with young Izan delivering a breathtaking performance: three goals and an assist. Can the teenager replicate his magic tonight, or will Atl¨¦tico find a way to silence him? Well, we will have to wait and find out since your guess is as good as mine." As the players stood in their position, the noise in the stadium reached a crescendo. Both sets of fans showed their spirits, engaging in a chanting war even before the game began. After seeing both teams ready, the referee¡¯s whistle signalled the start of the match, and both teams sprang into action. Atl¨¦tico Madrid began with their characteristic intensity, pressing high and challenging every Valencia pass. The visitors clearly had a plan to impose themselves early, but Valencia held their ground. From the touchline, Valencia¡¯s coach gestured, urging his players to stay composed and capitalize on the counterattack. Izan, marked closely by de Paul, drifted into pockets of space, seeking an opportunity to break free. The commentator continued, "It¡¯s clear that Atl¨¦tico have come with a strategy to shut down Izan. Rodrigo de Paul is shadowing him closely, but the youngster has shown he can thrive under pressure. What a battle this is shaping up to be." Izan¡¯s first touch of the ball drew a thunderous cheer from the home fans. He turned sharply, leaving his marker trailing, and sent a precise pass to his teammate, igniting an attack. Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defenders scrambled to recover, their frustrations evident. Moving with the ball, Izan felt his vision tumble as he was brought down by Rodrigo de Paul. The Valencia fans in the stadium showed their dissatisfaction while Baraja showed his frustrations from the touchline. The referee blew his whistle before letting Rodrigo de Paul off with a warning. The latter took it with a smile as he had been able to avoid an early yellow card. The match was barely minutes old, but the intensity was already palpable. Every tackle, every pass, every moment crackled with energy. This was football at its finest, and the Mestalla was alive with the spirit of the game. A/n: Second of the day. Have fun Chapter 162: Teenage Sensation In the opening moments, Izan received a pass deep in his half and attempted to break forward with his usual explosive pace. However, just as he took his first touch, he was quickly swarmed by Atl¨¦tico players. Rodrigo de Paul, known for his industrious playstyle, made the first real statement by lunging into a sliding tackle, catching Izan¡¯s ankle. The teenager hit the turf with a hard thud, his body skidding across the grass. The Mestalla crowd groaned in unison, their concern for the young star palpable. The Valencia fans in the stadium showed their dissatisfaction while Baraja showed his frustrations from the touchline going as far as confronting the 4th official. The referee blew his whistle stopping play before letting Rodrigo de Paul off with a warning. The latter took it with a smile as he had been able to avoid an early yellow card. Commentator 1: "And there it is¡ªthe first of many fouls, no doubt. De Paul wasn¡¯t going to let Izan get away easily." Commentator 2: "That was a late challenge. He¡¯s got a target on his back today, that¡¯s for sure." The referee after stopping play, awarded a free kick just outside the center circle. Izan winced as he got to his feet, brushing the dirt from his shorts. But the pain didn¡¯t stop him. With a confident nod, he got ready for the restart. His teammates looked to him, knowing that despite the early physicality, he was a player who could turn the game in an instant. Despite the aggressive pressure from Atl¨¦tico, Izan showed his class almost immediately. In the 6th minute, Valencia found a pocket of space in the midfield, and Izan received a well-timed pass near the left flank. He turned quickly, sizing up his options. His speed, combined with his ability to read the game, allowed him to glide past two Atl¨¦tico defenders. Molina tried to match his pace, but Izan was too quick, leaving him trailing. He shifted the ball with a deft touch to avoid another incoming challenge from Mario Hermoso, and in a flash, Izan was inside Atl¨¦tico¡¯s final third. The Mestalla crowd rose as one. They knew they were watching something special. But just as he prepared to deliver a cross to the waiting striker in the box, Antoine Griezmann, tracking back with tireless energy, managed to slide in and clear the ball away just in time. Commentator 1: "A brilliant piece of defending by Griezmann, but Izan is definitely showing his quality. He¡¯s creating chances already." Commentator 2: "That¡¯s what makes him so dangerous¡ªhe¡¯s not just fast; he¡¯s incredibly intelligent with his movement. Atl¨¦tico needs to be careful." Izan smiled wryly after seeing Griezmann¡¯s block. He shook his head before moving into position to get the ball. A back-and-forth ensued between both sides as they tried to put the ball in the goal on the opposite ends. Starting strong, Atl¨¦tico Madrid forced a corner out of Valencia. The away crowd rose to their feet after seeing the majority of their players being taller and more robust than the opponents save for a select few. Griezmann¡¯s corner found Albarn Morata but the Spanish leader¡¯s efforts grazed the side netting. The away team groaned but they were quick to praise Morata¡¯s efforts. Valencia also got a chance to pull ahead after a one-two quickly released Diego L¨®pez but the winger¡¯s effort was blocked by Jan Oblak. As the ball went back and forth, it was only a matter of time before Izan would get the chance to show his set-piece prowess. The 17th minute arrived, and once again, Izan¡¯s feet brought him into dangerous territory. He picked up the ball just outside the penalty box, well within striking distance. Rodrigo de Paul, perhaps frustrated by the earlier foul, took matters into his own hands again. He lunged in from the side, clattering into Izan¡¯s legs sending Izan tumbling. The referee¡¯s whistle blew immediately, and the Mestalla crowd held its breath. This was it. Commentator 1: "A golden opportunity for Izan here, and I¡¯m sure we all know what he can do from a free kick." Commentator 2: "De Paul has given away a dangerous set piece, and now it¡¯s Izan¡¯s chance to show just why everyone¡¯s been raving about him." Izan stood over the ball, breathing steadily, his mind focused. The Atl¨¦tico defenders quickly formed a wall, with Oblak organizing them from the goal. The goalkeeper, a seasoned shot-stopper, eyed Izan with intensity. The Mestalla crowd was silent, waiting in suspense. "Ding[Pinpoint Accuracy LV2] activated "Ding[Focus LV 3] activated" Breathing in, Izan took a few steps back, his eyes locked on the top corner. The atmosphere was electric, with the crowd¡¯s energy reverberating throughout the stadium. The referee signalled for the kick to be taken, and Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. With the otherwordly precision, he struck the ball with his left foot. It flew over the wall, curling toward the top-right corner. Oblak leapt, but it was too late as the ball dipped perfectly into the net sending the stadium into pandemonium. "Goooaaaalllllllllaaaaaaaassssssssssooooooooooooo " Commentator 1: "What a strike! Izan with an absolutely sensational free kick! That¡¯s a goal worthy of a new-gen leader. Beckham, Juninho, Messi and now Izan. Take a bow" Commentator 2: "The kid is unstoppable. You don¡¯t stop shots like that from Izan. He¡¯s one of the most exciting young talents we¡¯ve ever seen in a while" The Valencia fans went wild, jumping, clapping, and chanting the name of their rising star. Izan, full of joy and pride, ran to the corner flag, arms wide, soaking in the moment. His teammates quickly surrounded him, lifting him off the ground in celebration. --- At home, Komi and Hori were watching with bated breath. When the ball hit the back of the net, the two women jumped up in unison, screaming in delight. Komi: "Did you see that, Hori? That¡¯s my boy!" Hori: "He did it! He really did it! That was amazing!" Komi¡¯s heart swelled with pride, knowing that her son had just scored a goal that would be remembered by football fans everywhere. On social media, reactions flooded in: "This kid is a phenomenon. Izan, 16 years old, making world-class goalkeepers look like amateurs." "Izan just put Oblak to shame with that free kick. Can¡¯t wait to see what he does next." "16 years old and already scoring goals like this? He¡¯s going to be one of the greats." After celebrating for a while, the Valencia players returned to their half of the picture before settling into their positions. Atl¨¦tico, now behind 1-0, tried to respond immediately because they weren¡¯t going to lie down after such a stunning free kick. However, all didn¡¯t go to plan for the away side after a few of their attempts ended up being blocked or saved by Marmadashvili. After a relentless barrage of shots, Atl¨¦tico Madrid finally broke through. In the 27th minute, Griezmann orchestrated a well-worked move from midfield. With a vision honed over years of playing at the top level, Griezmann played a perfectly weighted through ball to Morata, whose first-time pass found the run of the Frenchman. Griezmann, always in the right place at the right time, finished coolly past the Valencia keeper, levelling the match at 1-1. Commentator 1: "Griezmann! Atl¨¦tico aren¡¯t done yet. That¡¯s a beautiful response after conceding to Izan¡¯s wonder strike." Commentator 2: "A brilliant piece of attacking play from Atl¨¦tico. Morata¡¯s pass was exquisite, and Griezmann¡¯s finish was clinical." As the first half wound down, both teams were locked at 1-1. The tension in Mestalla was thick. Valencia fans chanted and clapped in unison, their pride in Izan¡¯s goal evident. Atl¨¦tico supporters were louder than ever, urging their team on as they tried to take control of the match. The clock ticked toward halftime at the Mestalla. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the hosts pushed for another goal to regain the lead. Izan found himself in the spotlight. Positioned in the attacking midfield, he received a zipped pass from Javi Guerra near the centre circle. His first touch, silky and precise, evaded the press of Koke and de Paul. Accelerating into Atl¨¦tico¡¯s half, Izan drew the attention of three defenders. He feigned a shot, cutting left to unleash a perfectly weighted through ball into the path of Hugo Duro. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The striker sprinted toward the box but was immediately closed down by Savic. Duro cut back to Izan, who had followed the play. With a deft touch, Izan created a yard of space on the edge of the box. Seeing the keeper slightly off his line, he curled a shot destined for the top corner. Oblak stretched to tip it away, but the danger wasn¡¯t over. Fran P¨¦rez pounced on the rebound, sending a cross back toward the penalty spot. Izan, calm amid chaos, volleyed fiercely, only for the ball to cannon off the crossbar. The halftime whistle blew seconds later, the crowd roaring in appreciation of their prodigy¡¯s brilliance. As the halftime whistle blew, both sets of players trudged off the field, aware that the game was far from over. Izan had been knocked down but had risen to deliver a goal that was Puskas-worthy. The second half promised more drama, and everyone¡ªcoaches, players, fans, and pundits¡ªknew that the next 45 minutes would be a test of resilience, skill, and heart. A/n: First chapter of the day. Have fun Chapter 163: Threatening Play As the halftime whistle blew, both sets of players trudged off the field, aware that the game was far from over. Izan had been knocked down but had risen to deliver a goal that was Puskas-worthy. The second half promised more drama, and everyone¡ªcoaches, players, fans, and pundits¡ªknew that the next 45 minutes would be a test of resilience, skill, and heart. ... The halftime whistle echoed through the Mestalla, and fans spilt into the concourse, their voices blending into a symphony of excitement and frustration. Groups of Valencia supporters gathered near snack stalls and walkways, dissecting every moment of the first half. "Did you see Izan? That touch to beat Koke was pure class!" one fan exclaimed, gesturing animatedly as he replayed the scene in his mind. His friend nodded, still shaking his head in disbelief. "And that shot! Oblak barely got a fingertip to it. I didn¡¯t get to see him play against them at the Wanda Metropolitano but this too is fine. Izan is running the show!" Nearby, an older fan adjusted his scarf, his voice carrying a mix of pride and concern. "The boy is special, no doubt. But where¡¯s the support? Duro should have finished that move!" A younger supporter, near the old man, chimed in, "Give it time. With Izan creating like this, the goals will come. You can feel it!" sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In another corner, kids mimicked Izan¡¯s feints and passes, their laughter ringing out. "Izan is now and the future!" one of them shouted, drawing cheers from nearby fans. As the halftime break wound down, optimism surged. The name "Izan" buzzed through the crowd, the fans united in hopes that their young star would deliver in the second half. While Valencia fans buzzed with optimism, Atl¨¦tico supporters were more subdued as they gathered in the away section and nearby concourses. "That kid, Izan¡ªhe¡¯s got something special," one fan muttered, sipping from a plastic cup. Another nodded grimly. "He¡¯s too good for his age. Our midfield can¡¯t contain him. Simeone needs to sort this out." [Away dressing room] In the locker room, Diego Simeone¡¯s fiery presence filled the air. The players sat on benches, catching their breath, as the coach paced, his voice low but intense. "Listen up," he began, his eyes scanning the room. "That kid¡ªnumber 21. Izan. He¡¯s dangerous, and we¡¯re letting him play his game. He¡¯s making fools of us out there. The last time we gave him that much freedom, he scored three goals against us. If we leave him much freedom, it will be detrimental" The players nodded almost simultaneously while listening to Simeone speak. After speaking for a while, Simeone stood still but he turned to Koke and Rodrigo de Paul. "You two need to stay tighter on him. Don¡¯t give him an inch. No more free passes into the final third." He pointed at Savic and Hermoso. "When he gets near the box, shut him down. No hesitation. Make him uncomfortable, but stay clean. We can¡¯t afford a free kick in that area." The coach¡¯s voice rose as he concluded. "He¡¯s just turned 16! Show him what experience means. This isn¡¯t his playground¡ªit¡¯s our battlefield. Let¡¯s end this game our way!" The players nodded, determination rekindled. As the second half approached, both sets of fans and teams braced for what promised to be an electrifying continuation. .... [Valencia Locker room] At halftime, inside Valencia¡¯s dimly lit dressing room, the medics huddled around Izan. The young star sat on the bench, his face calm but his body betraying the toll of Atl¨¦tico¡¯s relentless challenges. His right leg, the target of repeated kicks, was stretched out in front of him as one medic carefully removed his shin guard. "How does it feel here?" the lead medic asked, pressing gently along his shin and calf. Izan winced slightly but shook his head. "It¡¯s sore, but I can play. It won¡¯t hurt after I run it off" he said softly. Another medic applied an ice pack to a particularly bruised spot just below his knee. "You¡¯ve taken some nasty hits, Izan. If it stiffens up or you feel anything sharp, let us know immediately," she said firmly. As they wrapped his leg with a compression bandage, Rueb Baraja leaned in. "Are you good to go, kid?" Izan¡¯s answer was immediate. "Yes, coach. I¡¯m ready." The medics exchanged glances, then gave a reluctant thumbs-up. Baraja saw their reluctance but still let Izan go into the second half. After the examination, Izan stood up and went into the bathroom. Locking the door behind, Izan went into his inventory, taking out a conditioning pill, a recovery pill and a new pill that had been unlocked by the system. "I really hope these energisers are as described since the system won¡¯t lie," Izan said as he popped a blue and red candy into his mouth. For a while, nothing happened but then, Izan felt a wave of energy rush over him. Not waiting, Izan took the recovery and conditioning fluids together, his sore muscles and bruises, being relieved of their pain. "Izan, we are leaving for the pitch" a voice came from behind the washroom door. Izan who fixing his socks came out of the bathroom before joining the staff who stood been behind the door. .... The tunnel hummed with tension as players from both teams prepared to return for the second half. The Valencia players emerged first, their white and black kits pristine smudged by dirt. Izan led the way, his youthful face a picture of focus, his leg now tightly bandaged. Teammates clapped him on the back, their belief in the teenager clear. Hugo Duro leaned over, muttering encouragement into his ear, while Javi Guerra gave him a reassuring nod. Behind them, Atl¨¦tico¡¯s players waited, their red-and-white stripes contrasting sharply against Valencia¡¯s colours. Diego Simeone stood at the tunnel¡¯s entrance, his arms folded, barking final instructions to Koke and de Paul. Savic and Hermoso exchanged knowing glances, silently preparing to renew their physical battle with Izan. The atmosphere was electric as the players caught glimpses of one another. The intensity of their first-half clashes lingered in the air. Izan briefly locked eyes with Griezmann, the Frenchman offering a faint smirk, half respect, half warning. The tunnel gave way to the deafening roar of the Mestalla. Fans on both sides rose to their feet, chanting and clapping as their heroes stepped onto the pitch. The stage was set for a second half brimming with drama and determination. ... [Commentator] "Welcome back to the Mestalla, where it¡¯s all square at 1-1 after an exhilarating first half between Valencia and Atl¨¦tico Madrid! The home side¡¯s teenage sensation, Izan, was at the heart of everything creative for Valencia, drawing plaudits with his dazzling footwork and audacious attempts on goal. On the other hand, Atl¨¦tico, ever the masters of resilience, struck with a clinical finish from Antoine Griezmann, only after Valencia scored through a moment of magic orchestrated by¡ªyou guessed it¡ªyoung Izan, his freekick enough to beat Veteran Jan Oblak. His vision and composure have been nothing short of extraordinary, a constant thorn in Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence. Both sides will be hungry for a winner in this second half. Valencia will look to their young star to continue weaving his magic, while Simeone¡¯s men will aim to turn the tide with their experience and physicality. It¡¯s perfectly poised, folks¡ªyouth versus experience, fire versus ice. Who will find that decisive edge in the next 45 minutes? Stay with us as we kick off what promises to be a thrilling second half!" ..... As the referee¡¯s whistle signalled the start of the second half, Atl¨¦tico Madrid wasted no time asserting their dominance. Their midfield trio sprang into action, exchanging crisp passes to pull Valencia¡¯s defence out of position. The ball was quickly shifted to the left wing, where a darting run by their fullback stretched the opposing line. Izan who had also tracked back moved to block the opposing left back but the ball missed him as a low cross zipped into the box, narrowly evading a diving header from their striker, Alvaro Morata. The move screamed precision and intent, but Valencia¡¯s defence, led by their towering centre-back, Cenk Ozkacar held firm and cleared the ball deep into their half. That clearance, however, was anything but aimless. It found Izan, positioned near the throw line. His first touch was sublime, cushioning the ball as two Atl¨¦tico players converged. With a sharp turn, he evaded both, his speed and balance leaving them in his wake. A roar erupted from the crowd as he surged forward, eyes scanning the pitch. "And Valencia are on the counter here. The Atl¨¦tico men are trying to track back but it¡¯s fruitless." Diego Simeone shouted from the touchline urging his men to get back. Izan on the other hand, threaded a perfectly weighted through ball to his sprinting teammate down the right flank. The counterattack now had Atl¨¦tico scrambling. Their defenders, still recovering from their own offensive foray, struggled to regain shape. Izan, not content to sit back, continued his run into the box, anticipating the return pass. The cross came in low and fast, slicing through Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence. Izan met it first-time with his left foot, a calculated strike aimed for the bottom corner. The goalkeeper, diving full stretch, could only graze the ball. The Valencia players were ready to mob Izan, but suddenly a foot was stuck out changing the trajectory of the ball. The culprit was none other than veteran defender, Cesar Azpilicueta who had displayed his quick thinking by going behind Oblak. The away fans screamed in delight but they were not out of the danger zone yet since the ball had gone out for a corner. A/n: Second of the day. Happy New year. Have fun reading guys and I hope 2025 is a good year for all of us. Love you all and thanks for the support. I¡¯ll come back with a new year¡¯s resolution in the next chapte Chapter 164: Relentless Griezmann "And Valencia are on the counter here. The Atl¨¦tico men are trying to track back but it¡¯s fruitless." The commentator spoke. Diego Simeone shouted from the touchline urging his men to get back but it wasn¡¯t easy. Izan on the other hand, threaded a perfectly weighted through ball to his sprinting teammate down the right flank before sprinting ahead. The counterattack now had Atl¨¦tico scrambling. Their defenders, still recovering from their own offensive foray, struggled to regain shape. Izan, not content to sit back, continued his run into the box, anticipating the return pass. Fran P¨¦rez who had the ball, saw a few Valencia bodied in the box and decided to cross. The cross came in low and fast, slicing through Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence but it was blocked. The ball went loose outside the box and Izan met it first-time with his left foot, a calculated strike aimed for the bottom corner. The goalkeeper, diving full stretch, could only graze the ball. The Valencia players were ready to mob Izan, but suddenly a foot was stuck out changing the trajectory of the ball. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The culprit was none other than veteran defender, Cesar Azpilicueta who had displayed his quick thinking by going behind Oblak. The away fans screamed in delight but they were not out of the danger zone yet since the ball had gone out for a corner. Izan stood momentarily, hands on his hips, a look of determination etched on his face. He jogged toward the corner to take the set piece, the home crowd roaring louder in anticipation. The Mestalla held its breath as Izan placed the ball at the corner flag. With a quick glance toward the crowded penalty area, he raised his hand to signal his intent. Seeing as everything was good, Izan decided to take the corner. With pinpoint precision, Izan curled the ball towards the near post with pace and venom. Cenk, rising above the Atletico defence, met the ball with a thunderous header that seemed destined for the top corner. Oblak was rooted to the spot, his view obstructed by the sea of bodies in the box. Just as the ball seemed certain to ripple the net, Atl¨¦tico¡¯s Barros launched himself into action. Positioned on the goal line, he executed a spectacular overhead clearance, the ball barely scraping past the underside of the crossbar as it soared back into play. The Mestalla erupted in a mixture of groans and applause, acknowledging the sheer brilliance of Barros¡¯ intervention. Izan clenched his fists, already preparing for the next assault. "Valencia has been the more threatening side, controlling 65% of possession and firing seven shots on target compared to Atl¨¦tico¡¯s three. Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defence is holding, but for how long? Valencia is knocking on the door, and a breakthrough seems inevitable." The commentator said as Valencia started another attack. As the match went on, the stadium roared with life as the clock ticked into the 68th minute. Atl¨¦tico Madrid pressed relentlessly, searching for an opening against a Valencia side that had been attacking fiercely all evening. The ball pinged back and forth in midfield, a chaotic rhythm of desperation and determination, until a misplaced pass from Valencia¡¯s captain, Gaya sent the crowd into a collective gasp. Javi Guerra tried to take control of the ball but Antoine Griezmann pounced. Like a predator sensing weakness, Griezmann intercepted the ball with precision, his footwork a mesmerizing blend of grace and urgency. He spun away from his marker, his eyes scanning the pitch. Valencia having a taste of the same fast-break football they had been playing all evening scrambled to recover, but Griezmann was already surging forward, a scarlet blur slicing through the lines. Every step carried weight, every second stretched thin. The away crowd¡¯s roar morphed into a low, guttural hum, thick with anticipation. Griezmann played a quick one-two with teammate, Alvaro Morata, the ball gliding seamlessly between them like a shared secret. Near the edge of the box, he feinted left, sending a defender sprawling, and opened up his body. With his left leg, Griezmann sent a glorious effort towards goal. The strike was clinical¡ªlow, hard, and unerring as it kissed the inside of the post before nestling into the back of the net behind the outstretched hands of Marmadashvili. The commentator¡¯s voice cracked with emotion as the net bulged for the second time that night. "Antoine Griezmann again! He¡¯s unstoppable tonight! A moment of magic from the Frenchman, and Atl¨¦tico Madrid take the lead¡ª2-1 against Valencia after a dominant performance by the latter." The replay rolled as the commentator dissected the brilliance. "Look at this¡ªhe picks up the ball just outside the box, feints to shoot, sends two defenders sliding the wrong way, and then¡ªbam! What a finish! Low and hard, right into the corner. No chance for the keeper." The energy in the stadium was electric, a cauldron of red and white jubilation echoing through the night sky. "It¡¯s goals like these that remind you why Griezmann is one of the best in the world. The composure, the precision, the sheer artistry. Valencia will be kicking themselves; they¡¯ve worked so hard tonight, but Griezmann¡¯s quality has turned this game on its head." As the camera panned to Griezmann, his arms raised triumphantly towards the roaring Atl¨¦tico fans, the commentator added, "That¡¯s his second of the night, and it¡¯s a dagger to Valencia¡¯s hopes. Can they find a way back, or is this Griezmann masterclass the final say?" Valencia had been the dominant side but Atl¨¦tico had struck when it mattered and were now in the lead. The away section of the stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and groans. Griezmann sprinted to the corner flag, arms outstretched, his face alight with triumph. Behind him, the Valencia players stood frozen, shadows of men caught in the storm. Izan stood among them, rooted to the spot. His hands rested on his hips, his head tilted back slightly. His chest heaved, a smile on his face as if them being a goal down was exhilarating. Amid the deafening roar of Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s fans and the jubilant celebration of their players, Valencia¡¯s head coach, Rub¨¦n Baraja, stood at the edge of the technical area, his expression a mix of urgency and determination. The night was slipping away, but Baraja wasn¡¯t one to give in to despair. His sharp eyes scanned the pitch before locking onto Izan. "Izan!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. The young player jogged toward the touchline, his face flushed from the intensity of the game. Behind him, the Atl¨¦tico players clustered around Griezmann, their celebration a vivid tableau of triumph. The red-and-white-clad fans were a wall of noise, chanting and singing in unison, but Baraja was oblivious to it all. As Izan reached him, Baraja placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice low but commanding. "Listen to me," he began, his words rapid and purposeful, "I need you to push higher up the pitch. Exploit the spaces behind their fullbacks¡ªthey¡¯re leaving gaps when they press. Be brave, take them on. We¡¯re not done yet." Izan nodded, his youthful face a mask of determination. Baraja¡¯s eyes softened for a moment, recognizing the weight of the moment for the 16-year-old. "You¡¯ve got this, Izan. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts." The coach gave him a quick pat on the back before sending him off. As Izan turned to rejoin the fray, the cheers of the Atl¨¦tico fans seemed to grow louder, but in his mind, they were drowned out by Baraja¡¯s words. This was his moment to respond, to rise, and to prove that Valencia still had a fight left in them. After the restart Diego Simeone¡¯s men retreated methodically, forming a defensive block that mirrored their disciplined, combative style. The lines tightened, and the midfield pressed high enough to disrupt Valencia¡¯s rhythm but not overcommit. Griezmann, now part of the defensive effort, dropped deep, acting as both a passing outlet and an interceptor. Valencia, however, refused to buckle under the pressure. They surged forward, driven by the fiery determination of their teenage prodigy, Izan. Izan orchestrated their attack, collecting the ball in midfield and driving toward Atl¨¦tico¡¯s resolute wall. His vision was unmatched; one moment he was threading a pass into the path of his striker, and the next, testing Jan Oblak with a curling shot from the edge of the box. The veteran keeper was pulling out saves left and right. Every Valencia surge seemed to go through Izan, his energy infectious to teammates and although it was repetitive, the Atl¨¦tico players couldn¡¯t do anything about it. His quick interplay with the midfield trio allowed Valencia to maintain possession and search for gaps in Atl¨¦tico¡¯s armour. As the game intensified, Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defensive unit bent but didn¡¯t break. Blocks, clearances, and strategic fouls halted Valencia¡¯s momentum, yet Izan kept probing. His hunger to equalize was evident, rallying his team to push harder. Even against Simeone¡¯s fortress, the youngster¡¯s brilliance provided a spark of hope, proving why the footballing world was beginning to see him as one of the best in the world. Chapter 165: Valencia’s Man As the game intensified, Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defensive unit bent but didn¡¯t break. Blocks, clearances, and strategic fouls halted Valencia¡¯s momentum, yet Izan kept probing. His hunger to equalize was evident, rallying his team to push harder. Even against Simeone¡¯s fortress, the youngster¡¯s brilliance provided a spark of hope, proving why the footballing world was beginning to see him as one of the best talents in the world. It was the 87th minute at the Mestalla Stadium, and the tension in the air was palpable. Atl¨¦tico Madrid had thrown everything at Valencia, determined to snatch all three points and were nearly there. The score remained at 2-1, but Valencia¡¯s manager, in a gamble that would either immortalize or vilify him, signalled for Pietro to come on. The fans erupted, confused yet intrigued. Pietro, known for his clever movements and composure, had spent most of the match warming the bench. His instructions were clear: exploit the spaces left behind by Atl¨¦tico¡¯s aggressive push as well as try to support Izan and pick up any loose balls from his shots. As the clock ticked into the 89th minute, Atl¨¦tico Madrid won a corner. Their captain, Koke, stepped up to take it, his eyes scanning the crowded penalty box. This was their chance to put the game to bed. "Atl¨¦tico piling bodies forward," the commentator boomed. "They¡¯re desperate to find the goal that seals it but Valencia look ready to pounce on any mistake." Izan and Pietro both stood on the edge of their box waiting to strike. Seeing this, Koke decided to play it safe. The corner was whipped in with venom, aimed toward Morata at the near post. The Spanish striker rose high, but his header lacked direction. The ball ricocheted off a Valencia defender and bounced out toward the edge of the box. The players all looked at the loose ball seeing who would get there first. Izan was the first to react. His speed and agility allowed him to intercept the loose ball before an Atl¨¦tico midfielder could close him down. A collective roar from the home fans erupted as he turned sharply, breaking into a sprint down the left flank. "Pace and precision from Izan! Valencia are on the counter!" the commentator shouted, his voice rising with excitement. Izan¡¯s first touch sent the ball just ahead of him, perfectly timed to beat an onrushing Atl¨¦tico defender. Pietro, already scanning the field, bolted down the centre, positioning himself for the inevitable pass. As Izan reached the halfway line, two Atl¨¦tico defenders converged on him. With a deft flick of his boot, he threaded a pass between them to Pietro, who had made a diagonal run into space. "Pietro¡¯s in acres of space! This could be it!" The Spanish u23 International took one touch to control the ball and another to push it forward, his eyes darting between the goalkeeper and Izan, who had continued his run into the box and had already caught up. The stadium was electric, a cacophony of cheers, gasps, and frantic clapping as the home fans wished their players on. Pietro, reaching the edge of the penalty area, played an inch-perfect pass across the face of goal. The ball seemed to roll in slow motion as it bypassed two sliding Atl¨¦tico defenders. Izan, timing his run to perfection, met it with a powerful side-footed strike. Jan Oblak dived. The net rippled. The Mestalla exploded. "Goooaaaalllllllllaaaaaaaassssssssssooooooooooooo " "Izan scores! Valencia have done it! A devastating counterattack!" the commentator roared, barely audible over the deafening cheers. "Sassy Izan. He says to Griezmann, if you can do it, I zan do it too" ... [Get it, cause "I can" but then " I zan" same as MC¡¯s Nam- okay I¡¯ll stop" .... Izan sprinted to the corner flag, sliding on his knees as his teammates mobbed him. Pietro arrived moments later, grinning as he patted Izan on the back. In the stands, fans hugged one another, many jumping up and down in sheer euphoria. A father lifted his son onto his shoulders, shouting, "This is Valencia! Never give up!" Others waved their scarves, singing chants that echoed around the stadium. On social media, the reactions were instantaneous. Clips of the goal flooded timelines with captions like, "Counterattack Masterclass" and "Izan x Pietro: The Future of Valencia." "Look at the composure from Pietro," one commentator analyzed during the replay. "He doesn¡¯t panic; he waits for the perfect moment to release the ball. And Izan¡ªwhat can you say about this kid? He¡¯s got ice in his veins. This is a goal that dreams are made of." "Valencia would look back at this moment at the end of the season and be glad that they didn¡¯t lose." his co-commentator added. "They¡¯ve shown resilience, tactical brilliance, and an unrelenting desire. What a moment for the club!" After celebrating for a while, the Valencia players returned to their half. As the referee¡¯s whistle signalled the restart, the intensity of the match immediately reignited. Valencia, brimming with confidence from their recent goal, surged forward. Izan, still the heartbeat of the attack, danced past Atl¨¦tico¡¯s midfield with his characteristic flair. Spotting a gap in the defence, he threaded an inch-perfect through ball to his teammate on the wing. Sprinting into the box to receive the return pass, Izan unleashed a curling shot toward the far corner. The Mestalla crowd collectively held its breath as the ball seemed destined to nestle in the back of the net. Both sets of fans watched on, some eager for the ball to nestle in the back of the net while others had their hands clasped as they prayed for a saviour. Thankfully, Atl¨¦tico¡¯s goalkeeper, at full stretch, managed to graze the ball with his fingertips, deflecting it onto the post. The rebound fell into a chaotic melee of players, with defenders scrambling and Valencia attackers desperately trying to capitalize. After a frantic few seconds, Atl¨¦tico managed to clear the ball, narrowly escaping what seemed a certain goal. The near-miss sent shockwaves through both teams. Izan, though momentarily disappointed, clenched his fists, urging his teammates to keep up the pressure. The match was alive, pulsating with end-to-end action. As the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 2-2 with both teams having to settle for a draw. The Mestalla faithful remained in the stands, savouring the last-minute equalizer and chanting their players¡¯ heroics. The Mestalla was still vibrating with the energy of the night as players from both teams trudged back into the tunnel. The final whistle had blown, and the scoreline read 2-2¡ªa pulsating encounter that had lived up to its billing. For Valencia, it was Izan who had once again stolen the spotlight, scoring both goals and almost single-handedly rescuing a point against Atl¨¦tico Madrid. After the match, a few reporters tried to approach Izan but when they looked around, the player was nowhere to be found. Izan who had already entered the tunnel smiled, seeing the faces of those "vultures". Izan walked slowly into the tunnel, sweat dripping from his forehead, his Valencia shirt clinging to his back while Pietro walked beside him. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His legs ached from the relentless 90 minutes, but his head was held high. The fans¡¯ chants of his name still echoed faintly in his ears as he reached for a bottle of water handed to him by a team staff member. Standing just a few meters ahead, Rodrigo De Paul leaned against the wall, his face a mask of exhaustion. His kit was stained with dirt and grass from the numerous tackles and challenges he had thrown himself into, most of them directed at stopping the teenager. De Paul looked up as Izan approached, and for a moment, there was silence between them, the din of post-match activity fading into the background. "I¡¯mma let you guys be," Pietro said before walking off. "You¡¯ve got guts, kid," De Paul said finally, his voice gruff but devoid of the earlier mockery. "Two goals against us in a game like this... Not bad." Izan paused, wiping his face with a towel. His eyes met De Paul¡¯s, and a small smile played on his lips. "Not bad for someone who was supposed to ¡¯learn what it¡¯s like to play against real men,¡¯ huh? Be glad it was only two, last time it was three so I¡¯d say you guys did well this time" De Paul chuckled, shaking his head. "Touch¨¦. I won¡¯t lie, you made my job a nightmare tonight. But don¡¯t get too comfortable. Next time, I¡¯ll be ready for you." Izan extended a hand, his smile turning into a grin. "We¡¯ll see about that. Good game." De Paul hesitated for a second before shaking the teenager¡¯s hand firmly. "Good game, kid. Keep playing like this, and you¡¯ll be a nightmare for everyone." As De Paul walked off to join his teammates. Looking at the latter¡¯s back, Izan turned and headed toward the Valencia dressing room. Tonight had been a battle, and though it wasn¡¯t a victory, it was another step in the journey of a boy who was rapidly becoming a man on the football pitch. A/n: Second of the day. Have fun Chapter 166: Atlético’s Leash. After a quick shower and a change into his club tracksuit, Izan followed Baraja down the hallway leading to the conference room. The corridor was a blend of noise and motion¡ªjournalists, club officials, and staff bustling about. Izan felt the buzz around him, the kind of energy that comes when something extraordinary has happened. Baraja walked ahead, his calm demeanour a reassuring presence. As they approached the doors of the conference room, Izan caught a glimpse of the packed hall. Cameras were set up in every corner, microphones lined the table, and journalists filled every available seat. "Ready?" Baraja asked, his eyes meeting Izan¡¯s. Izan nodded. "Yeah, we can start," he said before glancing around through a small pocket of space on the hinge of the door after it opened. The moment they entered, a wave of flashing cameras greeted them. The room seemed to buzz with excitement, and the murmurs grew louder. Baraja took his seat at the centre of the table, gesturing for Izan to sit beside him. Glancing around the room, Baraja nodded at the moderator. The moderator began the session, addressing the journalists. "We¡¯ll begin with questions for Coach Baraja, and then we¡¯ll take questions for Izan." Baraja fielded the first few questions with the ease of a seasoned professional, praising the team¡¯s overall performance and emphasizing the importance of their collective effort but soon the spotlight shifted to Izan. A journalist from Marca was the first to address him. "Izan, I¡¯d like to ask, how do you keep doing it? The last time the two sides met, you scored a hat trick and a few voices said it happened because you were underestimated. Tonight, they had all the time to prepare but you still scored two against them today." Izan leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. "I would like to say something but it would come off as cocky so I¡¯m going to tone it down a bit," he began, his voice steady but quiet. "They are just another team. Atl¨¦tico are just another strong team to beat. We were disciplined today. My teammates were playing fantastic football today too. I say we should have even won considering all the chances we created but at least we didn¡¯t lose against a side most teams in the world struggle against even when they¡¯re not in their best form." The room buzzed with murmurs, some, of approval while others sounded elated that they had gotten something saucy out of Izan saying "Atl¨¦tico were just another team to beat" "What do you think of football fans, particularly Valencia fans calling you Atl¨¦tico¡¯s Leash after this match considering you¡¯ve scored 5 goals in 2 matches against them" a reporter asked. Izan chuckled at the question causing a few people in the room to chuckle along. "I didn¡¯t know that but its nice to be able to prove my worth twice against Atl¨¦tico Madrid. For now I¡¯d like to say that they¡¯re my favourite opponent to play against " Another journalist chimed in. "You said in a previous interview that you are already committed to the Valencia club. Can you say the same if teams like Real Madrid, Bayern, Barcelona and Manchester City come with a blockbuster offer for you. And do you think Valencia can resist not selling since they have no way to tell if you can keep this play of yours?" Izan hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I may not look like it but I¡¯m a pretty loyal kid. Valencia has also given me the insurance that they would not sell if I do not want to leave." Baraja glanced at him with a proud smile, clearly impressed by his answers and the way he was going around some questions. The questions kept coming, ranging from his inspirations to his thoughts on the match. Izan answered each one thoughtfully, his confidence growing with every response. One journalist from El Pa¨ªs asked, "What was going through your mind when you scored your second goal?" Izan smiled, the memory vivid in his mind. "Honestly, it was instinct. The ball came to me, and I just knew I had to slot it in. As an upcoming player aspiring to be one of the best in the world, Clutch moments can be something that lets me break barriers" When the session finally ended, the room erupted in applause¡ªa rare gesture from the media. Baraja stood, giving Izan a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You handled that brilliantly," the coach said as they exited the room. Izan let out a breath he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d been holding. "Thanks, coach. It gets intense every time since I started doing it but today was all right." Baraja chuckled. "Well start getting used to it. It¡¯ll only get tougher after you move onto a bigger stage or club". After Baraja¡¯s words, the duo stayed silent for a while before Izan broke the silence. "Well, then I¡¯ll use my time in Valencia to get ready for such occasions." After Izan spoke Baraja smiled wryly before looking at the young kid. "Valencia was always too small for him" Baraja thought as Izan walked off. --- As the first light of dawn peeked through his curtains, Izan woke up his legs sore from exerting himself last night. Izan sat up in bed, his body still heavy from exhaustion. The match had been physically and emotionally draining, but there was an unshakable sense of satisfaction coursing through him. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, its screen lighting up with countless notifications. Messages from friends, teammates, coaches, and even strangers flooded his social media accounts. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Phenomenal performance," one message read. "The future of football," said another. His mother, Komi, called out from the kitchen, her voice warm and steady. "Izan! Breakfast is ready!". Her tone carried both pride and routine, grounding him amid the chaos of his rising fame. Dragging himself out of bed, Izan shuffled to the dining table, where the familiar smell of Komi¡¯s special pancakes greeted him. Hori, his younger sister, was already there, scrolling through her phone with an expression that teetered between amazement and disbelief. "You¡¯re trending everywhere," she said, barely looking up. "They¡¯re calling you a prodigy. Some are even comparing you to Messi and Ronaldo." Izan chuckled, a mix of humility and nervousness bubbling up. "You know they always do this after every game," he said, though the comparisons sent a shiver down his spine. Komi placed a plate of pancakes in front of him and gave him a knowing smile. "Maybe. But your performances are something the Valencia fans won¡¯t forget." After hearing his mother¡¯s words, Izan felt empowered by the thought of being praised forever but the Valencia fans. "Do I have a god complex?" he thought as he shoved another pancake inside his mouth. After breakfast, the family sat together in the living room, watching highlights of the match on TV. Seeing himself on the screen, still felt surreal, almost as if he were watching someone else. The Pundits dissected his every move, praising his composure, vision, and technical skill. "Izan," one commentator said, "a name that has been on the mouths of people since the start of the season. With many clubs vying for his signature, Izan chooses to stay at Valencia until he¡¯s ready to move on." Komi squeezed his shoulder, her eyes glistening with pride. "You¡¯ve worked so hard for this, Izan. Never forget where you came from." Izan looked at his mother and nodded before going back to the pundit segment. ..... Izan now lounging comfortably on the plush sofa in his living room, controller in hand, fully immersed himself in a virtual battlefield unfolding on his gaming console. The afternoon sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the walls. His fingers moved with precision, clicking buttons and swivelling the analogue sticks as he manoeuvred his in-game avatar through intense firefights and heart-pounding challenges. His focus was unbreakable, his lips slightly parted, and his eyebrows knit together in concentration. Each victory brought a triumphant grin to his face, while the occasional defeat elicited a frustrated groan followed by a determined resolve to try again. After a while, the room resonated with the sound effects of cheering crowds, commentary and background music, a testament to Izan¡¯s vibrant enthusiasm as he battered Atl¨¦tico Madrid, 5-1 on FC 24¡¯s Legendary difficulty using Valencia. Seeing the score, Izan glanced at his phone. "I won¡¯t get in trouble will I?" he said as he picked up his phone. Opening the Camera, Izan took a picture of the score. Izan framed the perfect shot, adding a cheeky caption: "5-1. Tough day at the office for Atl¨¦tico. Who¡¯s next?" Satisfied, he posted the picture on his Instagram account. Within minutes, his followers flooded the post with comments. @SoccerFreak34: " Bro, you cooked them like Sunday dinner!" @IzanFanClubOfficial: "Our boy¡¯s unstoppable on AND off the pitch ." @Internazionale: "Damn, can we get you in our squad for the next match against Atl¨¦tico in the UCL? It¡¯d make it way easier for us" @GameOver101: "Elite gamer + elite footballer = GOAT combo ????." The post quickly garnered thousands of likes in a few seconds and soon, the ripple effect reached unexpected corners. Atl¨¦tico Madrid¡¯s official account chimed in with a witty retort: @Atleti: "Not sure our defenders got the memo today... ???? Rematch soon?" Even a few players joined the fray. @Wirtz: "Man, you¡¯d better not be this good IRL!" @Diego_Defender: "That¡¯s it. I¡¯m coming to take that controller myself next time. ????" Izan couldn¡¯t help but laugh, realizing the buzz he¡¯d unintentionally created. As his phone continued to ping with notifications, he leaned back with a self-assured grin. The reactions were a mix of awe, humour, and playful banter, but one thing was clear¡ªhis name wasn¡¯t just lighting up the footballing world; he was gaining influence. As the hours passed, Izan eventually put down the controller, his eyes briefly scanning the TV. After a moment¡¯s deliberation, he pulled up a classic superhero flick, one of his favourites and played it. The sound of soaring orchestras filled the room as the hero made their first dramatic entrance. Izan watched with wide-eyed anticipation, completely absorbed in the story. He laughed at the witty one-liners, leaned forward during the action sequences, and even muttered under his breath during suspenseful moments. By the time the credits rolled, the room had grown darker, the golden sunlight replaced by the soft glow of twilight. Izan stretched, feeling a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion after his relaxed yet eventful afternoon. His day of gaming and movies left him recharged and ready for whatever was in store. A/n: 20 Golden Ticket chapter in advance. Had some free time so I decided to release this one. Have fun. Chapter 167: Brand Deals. Izan stretched, feeling a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion after his relaxed yet eventful afternoon. His day of gaming and movies had left him recharged and ready for whatever was in store that evening. Putting down the remote, Izan turned towards the kitchen. ... Miranda arrived just as the evening shadows deepened, her silhouette framed by the golden hues of the sunset. The faint hum of her car engine announced her presence moments before she stepped into the cosy dining room where the aroma of freshly made arrow Cubano, a mound of white rice and some fried eggs. Izan, Komi, and Hori were just settling at the table, the warm glow of the pendant light above casting soft shadows. Komi who saw Miranda smiled before hugging her. Holding her by the hand, Komi led Miranda to the table. The meal unfolded with easy laughter and shared stories, the warmth of the family making Miranda feel at home. Once the plates were cleared and the tea poured, Miranda leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting to something more business-like but still soft. "Izan, I have some news," she began. Komi and Hori tried to give them space but Miranda stopped them from leaving. "Why do you guys always want to leave when we discuss these things? Nothing we say here is a secret that you can¡¯t be aware of" she said as she grabbed Komi¡¯s hand, pulling her back into her seat. Izan smiled at her mother and sister¡¯s reactions before gesturing for Miranda to continue. "Burberry reached out. They¡¯re offering a brand deal worth €3 million annually for three years. It¡¯s a big step into the luxury market." Izan¡¯s eyes widened a bit. "Three million?" he echoed, his tone a mix of awe and apprehension. Miranda nodded, smiling. "Yes, it¡¯s a fantastic offer. They see you as a rising star, someone who embodies their brand¡¯s sophistication and youth and you¡¯re also a looker so of course they¡¯d want you." Izan¡¯s expression shifted, a flicker of worry crossing his face. "Will this deal affect the one with Adidas?" he asked, his brow furrowed. Miranda shook her head reassuringly. "No, Adidas remains your primary sportswear partner. This deal is completely separate and focuses on lifestyle branding." Relieved, Izan leaned back, but Miranda¡¯s next words gave him pause. "There¡¯s one catch," she continued. "They¡¯ve included a clause that requires you to move to a bigger club within the next year. They believe it would give you more exposure internationally." Izan frowned, the room growing quieter. "I¡¯m not too sure about that," he said, his voice firm. "I don¡¯t want to rush into a bigger club for something like this." Miranda nodded, her expression understanding. "I figured you¡¯d feel that way," she said. "That¡¯s why I¡¯ve already set this deal aside. Besides, another luxury brand contacted me recently. They¡¯re offering a short-term partnership¡ªa six-month deal to test the waters. If they like the results, it could turn into a longer relationship. There¡¯s no pressure for you to move clubs, and the arrangement aligns perfectly with your current commitments." Izan looked at her, his expression softening. "You¡¯re always thinking ahead, Miranda. Thanks for understanding." "Of course," Miranda replied with a small smile. "My job is to make sure your career grows at a pace you¡¯re comfortable with. You focus on the game, and I¡¯ll handle the rest." Komi and Hori exchanged a glance, pride evident on their faces as they saw Izan navigate the complexities of his rising fame with maturity and the right guidance. Miranda sipped her tea thoughtfully before setting the cup down, her gaze locking on Izan. "There¡¯s another layer to the Burberry deal that I think you should know about," she said carefully. "I suspect a top club might be behind this push for you to move." Izan frowned, his curiosity piqued. "A top club? What do you mean?" Miranda leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she explained. "Burberry has strong ties with certain clubs in Europe. It¡¯s not uncommon for brands and clubs to work together to nudge players toward decisions that benefit both parties. This clause about you moving to a bigger club? It feels more like their way of leveraging the deal to get you into their ecosystem." Izan¡¯s expression darkened slightly. "So they¡¯re using the brand as a way to pressure me?" "Possibly," Miranda said, her tone measured. "It¡¯s not unusual in the industry, but that¡¯s why I¡¯ve been cautious. I know you¡¯re not ready to move yet, and I¡¯d never let you be cornered into a situation you¡¯re uncomfortable with." Komi, listening quietly, nodded her approval. "Good. Izan needs time to grow without being rushed into things." "Exactly," Miranda agreed. Then her expression brightened slightly. "That¡¯s why I was more interested in the short-term partnership I mentioned earlier. It¡¯s with YSL." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan¡¯s eyebrows lifted. "Yves Saint Laurent?" "Yes," Miranda said, smiling. "They¡¯re interested in a six-month deal to test your potential as a luxury ambassador. No moving clauses, no hidden pressures¡ªjust a straightforward collaboration. If they¡¯re happy with the results, it could evolve into something long-term, but for now, it¡¯s entirely on your terms. They¡¯ve seen what you¡¯ve been doing¡ªon and off the pitch¡ªand they¡¯re impressed. Really impressed. So much so that they want you as one of their ambassadors but they also don¡¯t want to rush into things." Izan, paused again a hint of hesitation, "That¡¯s... insane. But, once again what about Adidas? Won¡¯t this clash with my deal with them?" "That¡¯s my job to figure out. The key is defining the boundaries¡ª as I already said Adidas is your go-to for sportswear and sneakers, while Saint Laurent could be all about high-end, off-pitch fashion" Miranda said as she picked up the cup again. Izan relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing. "That sounds better," he admitted. "I can focus on my game without worrying about both brands causing trouble or strings attached." "Exactly," Miranda echoed. "YSL values creativity and individuality. They¡¯re not tied to any specific clubs, so there¡¯s no external influence. This deal lets us test the waters before deciding to commit" Hori leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, does this mean Izan¡¯s face will be on a billboard in Paris or Milan soon?" The room erupted in laughter, the weight of the earlier conversation lifted. Izan looked at Miranda, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thanks, Miranda" "Always," she replied, her voice steady with determination. "We¡¯re in this together." "Okay, enough of this, you¡¯re staying for the night right" Komi asked Miranda who nodded. "Yeah, I need to send a response to Burberry about the deal being off as well as contact the Saint Laurent team in charge of communications with me. I¡¯m guessing we might have to create some free time for them after the deal goes through. Izan when¡¯s your next game?" Miranda asked as she scrolled through her phone. "It¡¯s Saturday against Almeria but I won¡¯t be playing since coach told me to rest so I have about 10 days, since our next match after that won¡¯t be until after another 5 days" "That¡¯s good then. We can probably finish the shoot in a day if we sign the deal but the workings of the deal might take about 4-5 days". Izan nodding at Miranda¡¯s words felt his phone vibrate and smiled. "I¡¯ll leave the specifics to you," he said as he went to his room. ...... "So how did it go" a lean man in a suit said as he put an olive in his mouth. "Well, they were definitely impressed with the deal at first but his agent suddenly changed after I mentioned the clause about him transferring to a big club for exposure. Seems like he really doesn¡¯t want to move yet. I thought it was all just some words to raise his value but turns out he really doesn¡¯t want to leave, at least not yet" Taking a napkin, the previous figure cleaned his finger before setting it aside. "Guess that too won¡¯t work. We¡¯ll really have to wait until the end of the season to see if he has changed his stance but if he hasn¡¯t then we¡¯ll have to look for another player to fill Bernando¡¯s position" "Does it have to be him. I mean I feel like you¡¯re spending too much manpower on him". The figure looked at the man beside him, staring at him before looking away. "When did you hear of a 16-year-old leading Laliga in assist charts while competing for the Pichi chi at the same time against Veteran strikers like Lewandowski? Just to be clear, that kid you are saying is not worth our trouble accounts for 54 per cent of his club¡¯s goals this season. That¡¯s more than half from a single person, no wait, a single 16-year-old. Do you still think that he¡¯s not worth our trouble" After the figure spoke, the man sat in silence letting all the information sink in. The two men sat, their glasses in front of them as they blended into their surroundings. ..... Chapter 168: Off-Pitch Business Miranda, adjusted the pearl brooch on her tailored navy blazer, a subtle display of confidence as she prepared to make the call that could define Izan¡¯s off-pitch career. She paced her office, a space that exuded understated elegance with its clean lines, warm wood tones, and a panoramic view of Madrid¡¯s skyline. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The sun cast golden streaks across her glass desk, illuminating a neatly organized stack of contracts and an open laptop displaying YSL¡¯s latest campaign visuals. Her phone sat on the desk, screen lit with the number of YSL¡¯s Paris headquarters. The deal on the table¡ªa short-term collaboration featuring Izan¡ªwas a golden opportunity, but it needed finesse to seal. Miranda inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she pressed the call button. "Bonjour, YSL Headquarters," a smooth voice answered after a few rings. "Bonjour," Miranda replied, her French crisp and professional. "This is Miranda Delgado. I represent Izan Hern¨¢ndez, and I¡¯d like to speak with Henri Duval regarding the proposed collaboration." "Oh, Ms. Delgado, One moment, please," the receptionist said. As the hold music filled the air, Miranda glanced at a photo on her desk¡ªa candid shot of Izan with his mother and sister with her behind them, all smiles. It reminded her of what was at stake: ensuring Izan¡¯s meteoric rise was balanced with thoughtful branding that preserved his authenticity. "Ms. Miranda," a deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "This is Henri Duval." "Mr. Duval," Miranda greeted warmly, "thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I wanted to discuss the short-term collaboration you¡¯ve proposed for Izan Hernandez." Henri¡¯s tone was polite but guarded. "Of course Ms. Miranda. We¡¯re very impressed with Izan¡¯s achievements in his career. Although he hasn¡¯t played for long, his meteoric rise proves the influence he can hold and we believe he aligns well with YSL¡¯s vision. How do you see this partnership benefiting both parties?" Miranda¡¯s lips curved into a confident smile. "Izan represents the essence of youth: dynamic, aspirational, and relatable. Pairing him with YSL creates a narrative that resonates with younger audiences. We can craft a limited-edition capsule collection inspired by his journey, accompanied by a sleek digital campaign. Picture it: a blend of high-fashion elegance and the raw energy of the football world." Henri chuckled softly. "That¡¯s an intriguing pitch, Ms. Olivo. I must admit, it¡¯s a bold move to merge these two worlds. But boldness suits YSL." "Exactly," Miranda pressed. "This is more than a sponsorship; it¡¯s a cultural moment. With Izan¡¯s authenticity and your brand¡¯s legacy, we can set a new trend. And let¡¯s be real here, not to brag but his face would woo a lot of following to your brand" After Miranda¡¯s words, there was a loud silence on the phone followed by Henri breaking into laughter. "Guess you¡¯re right. Very well," Henri said after a pause. "Let¡¯s proceed with a meeting to iron out the details. My team will prepare some preliminary concepts." Miranda felt a surge of triumph. "I look forward to it, Mr. Duval. Thank you for your time." As the call ended, Miranda allowed herself a brief smile before jotting down notes. Another step forward in Izan¡¯s journey to becoming a global icon. ..... The soft hum of the television filled the living room of the Hern¨¢ndez household as Izan settled into the plush couch beside his younger sister, Hori. Valencia CF was facing Almer¨ªa, and though Izan wasn¡¯t on the pitch, his heart was deeply invested in the game. Atl¨¦tico had drawn the previous day so a win here would put them on the same points but Valencia would go ahead of the Madrid-based club because of the Head-to-head results. The room was cosy and filled with little personal touches¡ªfamily photos on the walls, a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table, and the faint aroma of spices wafting from the kitchen where Komi, their mother, was cooking dinner. Hori, dressed in an oversized Valencia jersey that nearly swallowed her petite frame, sat cross-legged with a bowl of cookies on her lap. She was as animated as ever, her sharp commentary on every play making Izan grin. "That pass was terrible!" she exclaimed, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Who does he think he is, trying to pull that off?" "Relax, coach," Izan teased, nudging her playfully. "You¡¯d probably trip over the ball if you were out there. Not to mention, that pass wasn¡¯t bad but the interception was good". Hori shot him a glare but couldn¡¯t suppress a giggle. "Says the guy who nearly missed all his shots against Barcelona." "Ouch," Izan said, clutching his chest dramatically. "Low blow." Hori laughed, turning her attention to the match while Izan glanced into the kitchen. The match was in full swing, and Valencia were dominating possession, their players moving fluidly across the field. Izan¡¯s eyes were glued to the screen, analyzing every movement, every pass, and every decision. His mind worked like a metronome, silently noting what he would have done in those situations. From the kitchen, Komi¡¯s voice called out. "What¡¯s the score now?" "Still nil-nil," Hori replied, her eyes never leaving the screen. Komi emerged a moment later, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a simple apron over her floral dress. She leaned against the doorway, watching as Valencia¡¯s midfielder broke through Almer¨ªa¡¯s defence. "That boy, Sosa, is playing well," she said, her tone proud. "Isn¡¯t he your friend, Izan?" Komi asked after the Camera panned to Sosa on the field after coming on earlier. "He¡¯s doing great," Izan said with a smile. "They¡¯ve been giving him more time on the pitch after his stint in the Copa del Rey and with the reserves and he¡¯s making the most of it." "Good," Komi said, nodding. "Tell him I said to keep it up when you see him next." Hori snorted. "Yeah, because Sosa¡¯s going to take football advice from you, Mom." Komi who was leaving stopped and threw a napkin at her daughter¡¯s face. "Just because I¡¯m not on the field doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t know a thing or two about the game." "Yeah. Miranda has been teaching her a lot of things lately. I think they were chanting in her room the last time she was here" Izan said teasingly, Hori taking the napkin off her face and laughing at Izan¡¯s remark. Komi who couldn¡¯t retort, took another cloth and hurled it at Izan¡¯s face before walking off to the kitchen. As the match continued, Komi returned to the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans mixing with the excited commentary from the television. A tense moment unfolded as Valencia¡¯s forward took a shot at goal, only for the Almer¨ªa goalkeeper to make an incredible save. Hori groaned. "Come on! That should¡¯ve been a goal!" "It was a good save," Izan said, though the disappointment in his voice was evident. A few minutes later, Valencia finally broke the deadlock with a well-placed header from a corner kick. The living room erupted in cheers. "Yes!" Hori shouted, nearly spilling her popcorn. Komi hurried back into the room, her eyes lighting up as she saw the replay on the screen. "Who scored?" "Pietro," Izan said, grinning. "Right where he needed to be." Komi clapped her hands together. "I always liked that boy. Tell him I said congratulations, too." "Sure thing, Mom," Izan said with a laugh while Hori rolled her eyes. As the match progressed, Komi would occasionally peek in, offering her thoughts on the game while keeping an eye on the simmering pot in the kitchen. By the time the final whistle blew, Valencia had secured a 2-0 victory after Fran P¨¦rez scored. Hori threw her arms in the air in celebration while Izan leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. "They¡¯re looking good," he said, more to himself than anyone else. The post-match analysis had barely begun when Izan¡¯s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen and saw Miranda¡¯s name flashing. Picking it up, he stood and stepped into the hallway for some privacy. "Hey, Miranda," he greeted, his tone curious. "Hi, Izan," Miranda replied, her voice tinged with excitement. "I wanted to update you on the YSL deal." Izan leaned against the wall, his interest piqued. "What¡¯s the news?" "It¡¯s moving forward faster than I expected," Miranda said. "Henri Duval and his team are on board with the campaign concept we discussed. They¡¯re finalizing the details for the capsule collection, and I think it¡¯s going to be huge." Izan ran a hand through his hair, a mix of excitement and disbelief washing over him. "That¡¯s¡­ wow. That¡¯s amazing. Thank you, Miranda." "This is all you, Izan," she said warmly. "Your talent and story are what¡¯s driving this. But I¡¯ll make sure the deal is perfect before you sign anything. We¡¯re in the home stretch." "Sounds good," Izan said. "keep me updated" "Will do. Enjoy the rest of your evening and tell Komi I said I¡¯ll call her," "Call her yourself, ugh" Izan said feigning disgust but smiled after and hang up. Izan returned to the living room, his mind buzzing. Hori looked up at him, curiosity etched on her face. "Who was that?" she asked. "Just Miranda," Izan said, sitting back down. "She had some good news about the deal with YSL." "Oh that¡¯s great then. I¡¯m guessing I¡¯ll be getting a lot of free bags and stuff since I¡¯m your sister and all" Hori said. "I¡¯m going to be their ambassador, not you," Izan said as he flicked her forehead with his finger. Hori clutching her forehead took the napkin Komi had thrown earlier and hurled it at Izan. [What is it with this Family and throwing napkins] Komi appeared moments later with a tray of steaming plates, setting them on the coffee table. "Dinner¡¯s ready," she announced. "Let¡¯s eat before it gets cold." A/n: Help push this novel up with your Golden Tickets. Thank you guys for reading Chapter 169: Selenè’s Muse Komi appeared moments later with a tray of steaming plates, setting them on the coffee table. "Dinner¡¯s ready," she announced. "Let¡¯s eat before it gets cold." Izan who had locked Hori in a chokehold let her go before running to the dinner table. "Mum said no arguing at the dinner table. Now sit" Iza said as he gestured to the chair beside him. Hori glanced at her mother, finding her looking in a different direction. With a smile, she kicked Izan¡¯s shin before sitting down. After the little commotion, the family of three sat down to eat. ........ The early morning sunlight spilt across the Madrid skyline as Izan stepped off the plane, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag. The crisp air carried a mix of excitement and nerves, wrapping around him as he walked toward the sleek black SUV waiting for him at the curb. The driver greeted him warmly, opening the door for Izan to slide into the plush leather seat. He glanced out the window, taking in the vibrant city around him. Madrid, with its bustling energy and undeniable allure, felt like the perfect setting for this next step in his burgeoning career. It was hard to believe that just 48 hours ago, he¡¯d been back home with his family, discussing the monumental opportunity with Miranda. The deal with YSL had gone through shortly after her intense negotiation with their representatives, her sharp words and strategic thinking securing terms that left even the seasoned executives impressed. Now, here he was, a young footballer standing on the precipice of not just sports fame but global recognition as a cultural icon. It felt surreal. The drive through Madrid was a blur of historic architecture and modern elegance. Izan¡¯s mind buzzed with anticipation as he replayed the events leading up to this moment. When the SUV pulled up in front of the sleek studio building, Izan stepped out, greeted by an assistant holding a tablet and a radiant smile. "Mr. Izan, welcome! The shoot director is waiting for you inside," she said, motioning for him to follow. The interior of the studio was a hive of activity¡ªmodels, stylists, and designers moving with purpose. The hum of creative energy filled the air, making it impossible not to feel the magnitude of the moment. Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel slightly out of place in his casual hoodie and jeans, but Miranda¡¯s words from their meeting echoed in his head: "Own the room, Izan. You belong here." The shoot director, a wiry man with sharp glasses and an even sharper tongue, approached him with a broad smile. "Izan! The man of the hour," he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "You¡¯ve caused quite the stir, you know. Our photographer almost turned this job down." "Turned it down?" Izan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, yes," the director said with a wave of his hand. "Selene¡¯s at the top of her game¡ªalways booked solid. But the moment she heard it was you, she dropped everything. Said she couldn¡¯t pass up the chance to photograph you. Apparently, she¡¯s a fan." Izan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "A fan?" "Not just any fan," the director replied, leading him toward the main set. "A connoisseur of talent." The set itself was a vision of high fashion¡ªa mix of clean lines, bold colours, and striking props. Standing by the cameras was a woman who radiated confidence and poise. Her caramel-toned skin seemed to glow under the studio lights, her sleek black hair tied back to reveal a striking, angular face. Her presence was magnetic, commanding attention without needing to say a word. When she turned and saw Izan, her eyes lit up with recognition and excitement. She strode toward him, her hand outstretched. "Izan," she said, her voice warm and melodic. "I¡¯m Selene. It¡¯s an honour to finally meet you." "The honour¡¯s mine," Izan replied, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm but gentle, a perfect reflection of her composed yet approachable demeanour. Selene¡¯s lips curved into a smile, a hint of amusement playing in her dark eyes. "I¡¯ve been following your journey since your debut. Your face¡­ it¡¯s made for the camera. Those blue eyes of yours are captivating¡ªintense, yet vulnerable. But it¡¯s more than that. There¡¯s a presence about you, both on the pitch and off. I¡¯ve been looking forward to capturing that." Izan felt a flush of pride, though he kept his composure. "Thank you. That means a lot." Selene tilted her head slightly, studying him for a moment. "You¡¯re humble. I like that. But don¡¯t be afraid to let yourself shine today. Trust me¡ªI¡¯ll make sure you look even better than you do on the field." With that, the shoot began. Izan was quickly whisked into the wardrobe, emerging moments later in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin. Selene directed him with ease, her energy infectious. "Relax your shoulders, Izan. Yes, just like that. Look toward the light¡ªperfect." Her voice was calm yet commanding, guiding him through each pose and expression. The hours flew by as Izan transitioned through various outfits, from sharp suits to edgy streetwear, each designed to highlight his unique blend of youthful charm and burgeoning maturity. Selene worked tirelessly, crouching, standing, and even lying on the ground to find the perfect angle. Her passion was evident in every shot, and her admiration for Izan only grew as the session progressed. During a brief break, Selene approached him with a bottle of water. "You¡¯re a natural," she said, her tone sincere. "It¡¯s rare to find someone who can convey so much with just a look. You¡¯re not just photogenic¡ªyou¡¯re magnetic." Izan took the compliment in stride, though he couldn¡¯t deny the warmth it brought. "Thanks. I guess it¡¯s all about following your lead." Selene laughed, a soft, genuine sound. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Izan." As the shoot neared its end, Selene pulled him aside. "Izan," she began, her voice lowering slightly, "this has been one of the most inspiring shoots of my career. You have something special, something that can¡¯t be taught. I¡¯d like you to consider being my muse for a personal project I¡¯ve been working on. It¡¯s rare to find someone who combines raw talent with such an authentic presence. Together, I think we could create something truly iconic." Izan was momentarily taken aback by her proposal. He glanced over at Miranda, who had arrived after they had started the shoot. Looking at Miranda who was watching from the corner of the set, her subtle nod told him she trusted him to handle this. Turning back to Selene, he said, "I¡¯m flattered. Really, I am. I¡¯ll think about it. It¡¯s not every day you meet someone like you, someone who can bring out the best in people." Selene¡¯s face lit up with genuine delight. "That¡¯s all I ask. Take your time, Izan. But know this¡ªI see greatness in you. Not just as a footballer, but as an artist in your own right." As he left the studio that evening, the Madrid sky bathed in hues of gold and rose, Izan couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of possibility. The day had been a whirlwind of new experiences, and Selene¡¯s words lingered in his mind. With Miranda by his side and the world watching, he knew this was just the beginning of something extraordinary. As Izan stepped out of the studio into the crisp evening air, the golden hues of the Madrid sunset painted the sky. He took a deep breath, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration from the day¡¯s events. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Just as he was about to check the time on his phone, it buzzed with a notification. Glancing down, he saw a message from an unexpected sender: Jude Bellingham. > "Yo, you free to hang out?" Izan blinked in surprise. Jude Bellingham? How did Jude even know he was in Madrid? He quickly typed back a response. > "Wait¡­ How do you know I¡¯m here?" It only took a few seconds for Jude to reply. > "Saw this. Thought you¡¯d appreciate it." Attached to the message was a link. Curious, Izan tapped on it, and it led him to a news article from a popular sports website. The headline jumped out at him: "Rising Star Izan Arrives in Madrid: Real Madrid Transfer Rumors Swirl." The article went on to describe how Izan, accompanied by his agent, Miranda, had been spotted in the city, allegedly to finalize talks with the Spanish giants. It speculated wildly about contract terms, potential squad roles, and even what jersey number he might take. Izan burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly on the quiet street. The sheer creativity of the reporter¡¯s imagination was impressive. "Discussing a deal with Real Madrid? Really?" he muttered to himself. He could almost picture Miranda¡¯s reaction to the article¡ªan eye-roll, followed by a sharp comment about how quickly rumours spread. Shaking his head, Izan typed back to Jude. > "Hilarious. The imagination these reporters have! I just got here for a YSL shoot, not a transfer. Let¡¯s hang out tomorrow though. I¡¯ll be free." Jude¡¯s reply came almost instantly. > "Damn, YSL, you up mate. Anyways I¡¯ll text you the details. Madrid¡¯s a great place¡ªtime for you to see it with a proper guide." Izan laughed at Jude calling himself a proper guide. He hadn¡¯t even been at Real Madrid for a year. Still chuckling, Izan pocketed his phone and glanced up at the Madrid skyline. The city buzzed with energy, and while the rumours were far from true, the attention reminded him of how far he¡¯d come. Tomorrow promised to be another exciting day, this time with Jude showing him the city. For now, though, he just wanted to enjoy the moment¡ªand maybe get some rest after an unforgettable shoot. A/n: Feeling generous and cute. Bonus chapter. Have fun. Chapter 170: No More Headlines "Rising Star Izan Arrives in Madrid: Real Madrid Transfer Rumors Swirl." Staring at his phone, Izan read the piece. The article went on to elaborate on how Izan, accompanied by his agent, Miranda, had been spotted in the city, allegedly to finalize talks with the Spanish giants. It speculated wildly about contract terms, potential squad roles, and even what jersey number he might take. Izan reading for a while, burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly on the quiet street. The sheer creativity of the reporter¡¯s imagination was impressive. "Discussing a deal with Real Madrid? Really?" he muttered to himself. He could almost picture Miranda¡¯s reaction to the article¡ªan eye-roll, followed by a sharp comment about how quickly rumours spread. Shaking his head, Izan typed back to Jude. > "Hilarious. The imagination these reporters have! I just got here for a YSL shoot, not a transfer. Let¡¯s hang out tomorrow though. I¡¯ll be free." Jude¡¯s reply came almost instantly. > "Damn, YSL, you¡¯re good mate. Anyways I¡¯ll text you the details. Madrid¡¯s a great place¡ªtime for you to see it with a proper guide." Izan laughed at Jude calling himself a proper guide. He hadn¡¯t even been at Real Madrid for a year. >Sure. See you tomorrow. Still chuckling, Izan pocketed his phone and glanced up at the Madrid skyline. The city buzzed with energy, and while the rumours were far from true, the attention reminded him of how far he¡¯d come. Tomorrow promised to be another exciting day, this time with Jude showing him the city. For now, though, he just wanted to enjoy the moment¡ªand maybe get some rest after an unforgettable shoot but he knew that would be a bit difficult after the article. ........ As Izan stepped into Miranda¡¯s chic Madrid apartment, he was greeted by the faint aroma of coffee and the soft hum of Miranda¡¯s voice echoing from the living room. She was pacing, her phone pressed to her ear, her tone sharp yet controlled. Her words, though muffled, were enough to clue Izan in on the situation. "Yes, I understand the speculation," Miranda was saying, her hand gesturing animatedly. "But I can¡¯t comment on baseless rumours. You¡¯ll have to wait for an official statement." Izan dropped his duffel bag by the door and made his way into the living room, where Miranda was still clad in her sleek black suit, looking every bit the powerhouse agent she was becoming. She briefly glanced at him and raised a finger, signalling for him to wait. The television was on, muted, but the ticker at the bottom read: "BREAKING: Rising Star Izan Spotted in Madrid¡ªReal Madrid Deal Imminent?" Miranda ended the call with a sigh, only for her phone to buzz again. She answered, her voice shifting into professional mode. "This is Miranda. Yes, he¡¯s in Madrid. No, I cannot confirm or deny anything regarding Real Madrid." Her tone grew clipped. "Thank you. Goodbye." She hung up and looked at Izan with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You¡¯re the talk of the town, once again kid. Media outlets are in a frenzy. They think you¡¯re here to sign with Madrid." Izan laughed, shaking his head as he flopped onto the couch. "Seriously? All this because I came here for a shoot?" Miranda folded her arms. "You¡¯re underestimating your star power. And the media¡¯s capacity for sensationalism." As if on cue, Izan¡¯s phone buzzed repeatedly. He pulled it out to find his socials flooded with notifications. Fans from all over the world were commenting, but Valencia fans dominated his feed, their messages a mix of panic and anger. > "Izan, say it isn¡¯t true! Are you leaving us?" "Madrid? Really? What about Valencia?" "If this is true, I¡¯m unfollowing you!" "People let¡¯s be civil. Nothing has been said yet so why are we jumping to conclusions? Trust the boy a little " Izan groaned, rubbing his temples. "They¡¯re freaking out. At least that comment is good." "And they¡¯re not the only ones," Miranda said grimly. "I just got a call from a Valencia representative. They want to know your stance on all this." She sat down across from him, her expression serious. "We need to get ahead of this, Izan. If this spirals out of control, it could affect your relationship with the club¡ªand your career." Izan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He didn¡¯t want his fans or Valencia to feel betrayed, but he also didn¡¯t want to let this rumour overshadow the real reason he was in Madrid. After a moment of silence, he sat up, his jaw set. "I think I know how to handle this." S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell." "Selene took a picture of us during the shoot today," Izan began, pulling out his phone. "She said she wanted to post it, but I wasn¡¯t sure earlier since it could jeopardise the deal but she said it was okay. Now, though, I think it¡¯s the perfect way to clear things up. I¡¯ll post it and let her post it again and confirm that I was here for the YSL shoot. And¡­" He hesitated, smiled then continued, "I¡¯ll agree to be her muse. It¡¯ll give the fans and media something else to focus on." Miranda¡¯s eyes sparkled with approval. "Not bad, Izan. A bit of flair and transparency. I like it." Izan quickly drafted a message to Selene, explaining the situation and his idea. Within minutes, Selene replied enthusiastically, promising to post the picture right away. True to her word, her Instagram updated shortly after with a black-and-white photo of her and Izan on set, both of them looking effortlessly stylish. The caption read: "An absolute pleasure working with @IzanHernandez today for YSL. Excited to announce that he¡¯ll be my muse for an upcoming project of mine. Stay tuned for magic! ????" The post immediately began to circulate, with fans and media outlets picking it up. Izan refreshed his feed, watching as the narrative began to shift. Fans commented with relief: > "Oh thank God, he¡¯s not leaving Valencia!" "Wait, Izan is collaborating with YSL and will be Selene¡¯s muse in her next project? That¡¯s legendary!" "Madrid rumours debunked. Everyone can calm down now." Miranda looked over his shoulder, nodding in approval. "Crisis averted. For now." Izan exhaled, a weight lifting off his chest. "Let¡¯s just hope this is enough to keep the rumours at bay." As the evening wore on, the tensions eased, and the apartment settled into a calm silence. Izan leaned back on the couch, a small smile tugging at his lips. The day had been chaotic, but it ended with clarity. ..... As the soft glow of the evening Madrid skyline seeped into the apartment, Izan approached Miranda, who was now seated at the dining table with a cup of tea in hand. She was scrolling through her phone, likely reviewing the latest articles and social media buzz about him. "Hey, Miranda," Izan began, pulling out a chair to sit across from her. She glanced up, her sharp eyes assessing him. "What¡¯s on your mind, Izan?" "Well, I talked to Jude Bellingham earlier. He invited me to hang out tomorrow at his place." Izan said as he glanced at his phone trying to retrieve something. Miranda raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but intrigued. "His house? Jude doesn¡¯t exactly invite just anyone over. That¡¯s... interesting." Izan shrugged, though he couldn¡¯t hide the small grin tugging at his lips. "I guess he wants to show me around, maybe talk football or just chill. He sent me the address." He handed her his phone, showing the message Jude had sent with the details. Miranda studied it for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "It¡¯s in La Moraleja," she said, recognizing the upscale neighbourhood known for housing Madrid¡¯s elite. "Not a bad spot. This could be a good opportunity for you to connect with him on a personal level." "I figured as much," Izan replied. "But, uh... I don¡¯t know my way around Madrid, and I¡¯d rather not risk getting lost. Think you could help me with a ride?" Miranda smirked, setting her tea down. "I can arrange that. I¡¯ll have a car take you there and pick you up afterwards. But Izan," she added, leaning forward, her tone turning serious, "remember who you¡¯re meeting. Jude is a professional through and through, and he¡¯s been in the spotlight longer than you especially since joining Real Madrid and being British and all and you know those guys create hype. This isn¡¯t just a casual hangout¡ªit¡¯s a chance to learn from him, to see how he handles himself both on and off the pitch." Izan nodded, taking her words to heart. "I understand. I¡¯ll keep it cool." "Good," Miranda said, her smirk returning. "And one more thing¡ªtry not to let this turn into another headline. The media¡¯s already having a field day with you being here." Izan chuckled. "No promises, but I¡¯ll do my best." Turning around, Izan turned to the couch and settled down while taking out his Nintendo Switch and hopping onto some FC while Miranda started making something for the evening. Chapter 171: Hangout The sun streamed through the curtains of Miranda¡¯s Madrid apartment as Izan stirred awake, the warmth of the morning light nudging him into consciousness. He stretched lazily, the excitement of the day ahead quickly replacing his grogginess. Looking around, Izan took his phone and glanced at the time. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he slid out of bed and headed for the shower. The cool water pellets fell on his head waking him up entirely as he went through his morning routine. "Max" Izan called with his toothbrush in his mouth. Heeding his call, the system materialised in front of him. Looking at the screen, Izan found his daily task beckoning. "I¡¯ll do it in the evening," he thought as he glanced at his personal hub. He had depleted his stat points after the last upgrade and would have to wait until the end of the season to have any chance of upgrading again. After a while, Izan came out of the shower, towel in hand. After going through his luggage, Izan chose his clothes for the day. He dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit¡ªblack jeans, a loose-fitting white T-shirt, and a light bomber jacket¡ªand finished the look with a pair of sneakers. Stepping into the living room, he found Miranda already waiting, sipping her morning coffee. She glanced up, her eyes scanning his outfit. "You clean up well," she remarked with a smirk. "The car¡¯s waiting downstairs. The driver knows the way to La Moraleja." Izan grabbed his phone and keys. "Thanks, Miranda. I¡¯ll keep you updated." She nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Have fun. And remember-No headlines" Izan made his way downstairs to find a sleek black car parked by the curb. The driver greeted him with a polite nod before opening the door. Settling into the backseat, Izan watched as the city buzzed past, the towering buildings giving way to the quiet luxury of La Moraleja. When the car pulled up to Jude¡¯s residence, the sheer size of the house took Izan by surprise. The modern mansion was surrounded by manicured lawns and high walls, exuding understated elegance. The gate opened smoothly, and as the car rolled into the driveway, Jude appeared at the front door, casually dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants. "Yo, Izan!" Jude called out, his grin wide as he jogged down to meet him. "Hey, Jude," Izan replied, stepping out of the car. The two shook hands before Jude clapped him on the back. "Glad you could make it," Jude said, leading him inside. The house was just as impressive inside¡ªspacious, tastefully decorated, yet comfortable. They spent the morning in Jude¡¯s entertainment room, settling on a couch with controllers in hand. Jude booted up FC 24, and they both grinned when their player cards appeared on the screen. "An 83-rated card for you. And it¡¯s your first card. That¡¯s exceptional," Jude teased, pointing at Izan¡¯s card. "I think it should have been higher but this is also good." Izan laughed at Jude¡¯s words before looking at the latter¡¯s card. "And an 86-rated card for you. Guess I know who the game thinks is better." "No that¡¯s not it. My first Card was a 69 rating back in FIFA 21 but your first FC Card and you¡¯re already an 83-rated player. You¡¯ll probably catch up to me in next season¡¯s game if you keep playing like this". "Okay, enough of that. Let me just prove now and here that I¡¯m better than you" Izan said as he chose his team. "Someone¡¯s getting cocky," Jude said while he chose his team. The two dove into the game, trash-talking a bit and laughing as they played. Jude picked Real Madrid, while Izan stuck with Valencia. The competition was fierce, with Jude¡¯s in-game version scoring a brace, but Izan¡¯s digital self-managed to net a stunning equalizer in the final minutes. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not bad, kid," Jude said, nudging him playfully. "Learned from the best," Izan shot back, smirking. By early afternoon, Jude grabbed a set of keys. "Let¡¯s head out. I¡¯ll show you some cool spots around Madrid. We¡¯ll keep it low-key." They both donned caps and sunglasses to go incognito, with Jude opting to drive instead of his driver. The duo went through the bustling streets of Madrid. They visited a local park, grabbed quick bites from a food truck, and even strolled through a quiet art district. At one point, while Jude was admiring a mural, a young boy approached cautiously, his eyes wide with recognition. "Excuse me," the boy said, clutching a notebook. "Are you... Jude Bellingham?" Jude froze for a moment, then broke into a sheepish grin. "You got me, mate. Don¡¯t tell anyone, all right?" The boy nodded eagerly, his excitement barely contained. "Can I have your autograph?" "Of course," Jude replied, signing the notebook. Izan watched the interaction with a smile. The boy¡¯s awe and gratitude reminded him of the impact players like Jude had on fans. Jude crouched down to chat briefly with the boy before sending him off with a friendly wave. As they got back in the car, Jude sighed but smiled. "Can¡¯t hide forever, huh?" "Nope," Izan said, chuckling. "But that was cool. You handled it well." Jude shrugged. "It¡¯s part of the job. You¡¯ll see soon enough." As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over Madrid, the two headed back to Jude¡¯s house. After lounging about for a bit, Izan found his phone ringing. "Alright Jude, that¡¯s me. See you later " Izan said as he took his phone. Bellingham who was engrossed in his phone, stood up and walked Izan to the gate. "I had fun. Let¡¯s hang out again " Jude said as he waved. .... Izan arrived at Miranda¡¯s cosy apartment just as the evening breeze picked up, carrying a faint chill that hinted at the onset of night. The day had been long, but as he stepped inside, the warmth of the space quickly replaced the weariness in his bones. Miranda greeted him with a smile, ushering him toward the dining table where a simple yet inviting meal awaited. "Thought you¡¯d be hungry," she said, setting down a plate of steaming spaghetti. "Thanks," Izan murmured, sinking into the chair. He dug in quietly, savouring the meal while Miranda sat across from him, scrolling through her phone and occasionally glancing up. The two shared a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery. After dinner, Izan rinsed his plate and stretched, his muscles aching slightly from the day¡¯s exertion. "I¡¯ll head to bed," he said softly, to which Miranda nodded in understanding. "Get some rest. You¡¯ll leave first thing in the morning." Miranda said before looking back at her phone. The next morning, the sunlight streamed through the blinds, waking Izan early. He quickly freshened up and packed his belongings, his movements deliberate as his thoughts lingered on the journey ahead. By the time he stepped into the living room, Miranda was already waiting, car keys in hand. The drive to the airport was uneventful, filled with casual conversation about the day ahead. Miranda dropped him off at the terminal entrance, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I won¡¯t be back in Valencia for about two weeks. Plus I have to deal with the YSL thing, you know with the release date coming and all. Play like you always do while showing off your charm since the European Championship is coming and leave the rest to me okay? " Miranda said. Izan nodded at her words before turning to leave. The airport buzzed with activity, and Izan moved purposefully through the crowd, checking in and making his way to the departure gate. ..... The plane touched down smoothly on the sunlit tarmac of Valencia¡¯s bustling airport, the faint hum of the engines easing as it rolled to a stop. Izan peered out of the small window, catching glimpses of the vibrant city skyline in the distance. As the passengers began disembarking, Izan¡¯s phone buzzed in his pocket. Sliding it out, he saw a message from his mother, Komi. Komi: Let me know when you land. I can call someone to pick you up. Izan quickly typed back, a sense of independence flickering in his chest. Izan: Don¡¯t worry, Mom. Pietro and Sosa are picking me up. The reply came swiftly, but it was less of a protest and more of a reminder. Komi: Okay. Be careful, Izan. He smiled at her concern and slid the phone back into his pocket, stepping into the warm Valencian air. The terminal buzzed with life, and Izan easily spotted his two teammates, Pietro and Sosa, waiting just beyond the arrivals gate. Pietro, tall with an easy grin, waved enthusiastically, while Sosa leaned casually against the railing, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "There he is!" Pietro called out, his voice carrying above the noise. Izan made his way over, greeted by firm handshakes and friendly backslaps. "How was your ¡¯Holidays¡¯ " Sosa teased, his tone lighthearted. "Felt short. I see you¡¯re returning from training" Izan said, his eyes pointing to Sosa¡¯s bag. "Yeah, we just finished. Anyways let¡¯s get out of here. A few people are looking at you" Sosa said. Izan glanced around and saw a few hands pointing at him. He nodded at Sosa as the trio headed toward the parking lot. A/N: hello guys. A few readers are commenting that some parts of a few chapters feel a bit generic and all. Well I ask Grammarly to make corrections to any incorrect grammar or setup I write so that maybe it. Anyways sorry for that and I¡¯ll try to make changes to that. Anyways stay tuned and thank you guys for the supports and gift. I may not be able to show it but I really appreciate it. Chapter 172: Return The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the pristine training grounds of Valencia CF as Izan strolled toward the facility. His strides were confident, his black duffle bag slung over one shoulder, his mind buzzing with anticipation. Meeting some staff members on the way to the locker room, Izan felt a few stares at him but their stares were lingering much longer than before. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Must be because of the whole Real Madrid thing?" he thought as he greeted them. After ten days of rest¡ªan unusual luxury granted by Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja¡ªIzan felt recharged and eager to prove that the rest had done more than good, even though he didn¡¯t need it that much. Opening the door to the locker room, all eyes turned to Izan. Before he could move, Gaya held him in a chokehold trying to hold it but he couldn¡¯t as Izan slipped through before he could realise. "You¡¯re getting good son" Gaya said throwing a cloth bin at Izan. "You didn¡¯t even come to watch us play against Almer¨ªa. The least you could do is pack those clothes into the bin" Gaya said with a smile. Seeing Izan holding the bag, the players moved in unison, putting dirty clothes into the bag. The kit manager stood beside the players with a warm smile on his face. He moved to take the bin but Izan shook his head. After they were done packing, Izan together with the kit manager walked to one of the rooms that held those clothes. "Um, Izan," the kit manager said before pulling out a piece of Paper. "My nephew is a fan. Can I get an autograph for him.". "Sure," Izan said as he took the Sharpie from the man. After Izan was done, he began heading towards the field. Before he could step onto the field, Izan was directed to the medical room for a battery of fitness tests. "Oh, not again. Those guys at the lab feel more like Forensics " he thought as he looked at the medical building. Entering the room, The club¡¯s head physiotherapist greeted him warmly. "Ready to see where you stand, Izan?" the physio asked, a clipboard in hand. Izan nodded, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. "Let¡¯s do it," he said in resignation. The tests began with a VO2 max test to measure his aerobic capacity as Izan put the mask on his face. Izan was then made to run on the treadmill, his breathing steady even as the incline increased. Next came a series of strength assessments: squats, vertical jumps, and isokinetic exercises to measure his muscle balance and explosiveness. Finally, agility and reflex drills tested his reaction time and coordination. When the results came in, the staff exchanged astonished glances. "Unbelievable," murmured one of the medics. "He¡¯s even sharper than the last time we did this. And he¡¯s returning from a break for this one. His recovery metrics are off the charts." Assistant Coach Moreno walked in, skimming the results. He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "This kid is something else. He¡¯s been resting, and he¡¯s still ahead of the pack. Wait till Baraja sees this." With the medical clearance complete, Izan stepped onto the training pitch. The squad was midway through their warm-up drills, but all eyes shifted to him as he joined in. It didn¡¯t take long for Izan¡¯s presence to be felt. In the rondo, his touches were silky, his passes crisp and purposeful. He threaded the ball through tight spaces with ease, leaving seasoned teammates chasing shadows. In sprint drills, he was consistently the fastest, proving his mantle as the fastest player in the team, his strides eating up the turf as he ran. Then came the shooting exercises. Izan¡¯s strikes were precise and powerful, each shot either rattling the net or forcing stunning saves from the goalkeeper. His signature curl from the edge of the box drew gasps from onlookers, mainly new staff and the other youth players who had joined the senior team for training. From the touchline, Rub¨¦n Baraja observed with his arms folded, his face a mixture of pride and quiet satisfaction. Beside him, Assistant Coach Moreno leaned in. "He¡¯s setting the tone for everyone out there," Moreno remarked. Baraja nodded. "He¡¯s not just back; he¡¯s better. That break did him more good than we could have imagined." The coaches continued to watch as Izan dominated every aspect of the session, his determination contagious. The squad¡¯s intensity seemed to rise as if trying to match his level. By the end of the session, Izan was drenched in sweat but grinning, his teammates patting him on the back. It was clear: the young prodigy hadn¡¯t missed a beat. If anything, he had taken another leap forward, leaving everyone¡ªincluding the coaching staff¡ªin awe of his potential. .... [Pre-Match Conference] The room was everything but silent as reporters packed the press hall ahead of Valencia¡¯s clash with C¨¢diz. Cameras clicked and murmurs filled the air as Izan and Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja took their seats at the podium. Izan, dressed in the club¡¯s official pre-match attire, sat composed, his expression calm but alert. Baraja, ever the steady presence, exuded authority as he adjusted the microphone in front of him. "Let¡¯s begin," the press officer announced, and hands shot up across the room. The first question was directed at Baraja, asking about his expectations for the match. "Will Izan be starting this match, considering he hasn¡¯t been in the squad for a while?" a reporter asked. "Well, we will have to wait and see" Baraja answered ambiguously. After addressing tactics and the team¡¯s preparation, the spotlight quickly shifted to Izan. A reporter from Marca leaned forward, his tone inquisitive. "Izan, photos of you in Madrid during your rest period surfaced online. You were seen with Jude Bellingham. Can you tell us what you were doing there and what those photos mean?" Izan¡¯s lips curved into a slight smile. "I was in Madrid for a collaboration with a brand as you all saw from Selene¡¯s Post and also to unwind and take some time off during the break. I visited a few places and caught up with Jude after he texted to hang out. He¡¯s someone I admire, both as a player and a person." Another reporter interjected, "But there¡¯s been speculation that your meeting had something to do with your future. Are you considering a move to Real Madrid?" Baraja shifted slightly but remained composed, allowing Izan to handle the question. The young forward glanced at his coach briefly before addressing the room. "I¡¯m a Valencia player," Izan said firmly. "My focus is on helping the team and giving my best for the fans who have supported me from the start. My meeting with Jude was purely personal¡ªtwo players sharing experiences. Nothing more." The room buzzed with whispered conversations, but Izan¡¯s calm demeanour held the attention of everyone present. Another journalist from AS pressed further. "Izan, considering how young you are and the attention you¡¯re getting, does this extra scrutiny affect your focus on the pitch?" Izan straightened in his seat, his tone resolute. "I¡¯ve learned to block out the noise. My job is to play football and improve every day. My agent takes care of the other side of my career. As for the rest¡ªwhether it¡¯s rumours, social media, or speculation¡ªis just background noise." After a few questions, the press officer stepped in to wrap up the session. "That¡¯s all for today. Thank you." As Izan and Baraja stood to leave, flashes of cameras followed them with the flashes saturated behind Izan. ..... The Valencia team bus rolled into the bustling Estadio Mestalla, its iconic architecture illuminated by the golden hues of the evening sun. Fans lined the streets, waving scarves and chanting Valencia¡¯s anthem. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the players began to disembark, their sharp, tailored suits and focused expressions signalling their readiness for battle. Leading the pack was Captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, his calm demeanour masking the weight of leadership on such a crucial night. Behind him, veterans like Mosquera and Andr¨¦ Almeida exchanged quiet words, their experience radiating confidence. Younger players like Fran P¨¦rez carried an edge of excitement, eager to prove their worth in this La Liga clash. As if the noise couldn¡¯t get any louder, Izan stepped out of the bus. His hair slightly damp, reflecting some of the light that fell on it, giving it shine. The shouts of the fans nearby went up a notch as they looked at the best player of their campaign. Wearing the Valencia crest over his suit, Izan followed the remaining players as they entered the building. .... "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to what promises to be a thrilling La Liga encounter here at the iconic Mestalla. Valencia CF takes on C¨¢diz CF in a clash that could shape the trajectory of their seasons. Both teams come into this match with points to prove, and the stakes couldn¡¯t be higher." The screen shifted to the Valencia players who were now warming up on the pitch, their focus unwavering. The commentator continued his tone sharpening. "Valencia never expected to be this high up the table this season but the boy, Izan has had every single one of those Valencia fans wanting for more. It¡¯s a lot of pressure for someone so young, but he¡¯s proved time and time again in his short career that pressure doesn¡¯t faze him. We will be looking forward to something good tonight. My name is Verra Godin and this is Valencia against Cadiz" Chapter 173: Impact The Mestalla buzzed with anticipation as the referee blew the whistle to start the match. Valencia had opted to rest Izan, their young superstar, as part of a rotational strategy making the fans a bit unsatisfied but the match still went on. Despite his absence, the team burst out of the gates with intent, pressing high and forcing C¨¢diz onto the back foot. Cadiz had most of the ball but it was all Valencia for the first few minutes of the match with them having two shots, both on target. Valencia continued to press for an opener and nearly scored after Almeida¡¯s deflected shot was headed for goal but Ledesma proved vital, punching the ball out for a corner. After the ball went out for a corner, Hugo Guillam¨®n approached the ball and floated it into the box. The ball was perfectly weighted, curling toward the penalty spot. Amid the chaos, Cenk ?zkacar rose highest, his header thundering past the helpless C¨¢diz goalkeeper, Jerem¨ªas Ledesma. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, hugging each other and waving flags as the Turkish defender sprinted to the corner flag, pumping his fists while his teammates mobbed him. Valencia were 1-0 up, and they weren¡¯t done yet. C¨¢diz tried to claw their way back, but Valencia¡¯s midfield trio of Pepelu, Javi Guerra, and Andr¨¦ Almeida outclassed their counterparts. They zipped the ball around with precision, exploiting gaps in C¨¢diz¡¯s defence faster than the Cadiz players could react. Hugo Duro, leading the line, was relentless in his movement, dragging defenders out of position. After relentlessly attacking Cadiz¡¯s goal, Valencia¡¯s second breakthrough came. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The second goal came in the 37th minute. A quick and fluid transition down the right saw Thierry Correia flying down the flank. Almeida who had the ball released him with a perfectly timed through ball. Getting to the byline, Correia whipped a cross into the box, where Duro met it with a powerful shot. Ledesma made a spectacular save once again but the ball spilled loose. Correia, who had continued his run, pounced on the rebound and smashed it into the net. 2-0 sending the Valencia fans into pure bliss. "Valencia are relentless today. Even without their star man, they are proving formidable. 38 minutes played here at the Mestalla and its Valencia 2, Cadiz nil". After the commentary, the referee restarted the match but it wasn¡¯t any better as Valencia continued to dominate the first half. The halftime whistle blew with Valencia firmly in control still. C¨¢diz trudged off the pitch, visibly frustrated, while the home side basked in the adoration of their fans. --- Halftime: Inside the Valencia Dressing Room The atmosphere in the dressing room was lively but focused. Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja congratulated the team on their intensity but reminded them not to get complacent. "Two goals mean nothing if we lose focus. Stay sharp, stay aggressive." Izan sat quietly in a corner, headphones around his neck, watching the patterns of the Cadiz defenders. Pietro who had some gummy bear packs in his hand sat beside Izan, while Sosa sat quietly, glancing through his phone. On the other side of the room, ?zkacar and Correia shared a light moment, joking about who would score next. "If I score again, drinks are on you," Correia teased. Guillam¨®n chimed in, "Don¡¯t get carried away, lads. Let¡¯s finish the job first." ----- The second half began with C¨¢diz showing renewed vigour. Their coach had clearly given them a stern talk, and it showed in their play. ¨¢lvaro Negredo, the veteran striker, started pressing higher, unsettling Valencia¡¯s defence. In the 53rd minute, C¨¢diz pulled one back after a swift counterattack saw Brian Ocampo breaking down the left wing. He delivered a pinpoint cross into the box, where Negredo met it with a powerful shot that left Mamardashvili rooted to the spot. 2-1. The goal energized C¨¢diz, and for the next 15 minutes, Valencia struggled to regain control. Their midfield, so dominant in the first half, started losing duels, and the Mestalla grew nervous. --- In the 68th minute, Baraja turned to his bench. "Izan, Pietro get ready," he called. The teenager stood, removing his tracksuit top with a calm determination with Pietro who was warming up, so turning to the touchline. The fans erupted as Izan¡¯s name echoed around the stadium after the announcer said it. "Let¡¯s have fun," Izan said as he stuck his hand out. Pietro, who stood beside Izan bumped the latter¡¯s fist before they both entered the match. Coming on, the impact of both players, particularly Izan was immediate. Within minutes of coming on, Izan orchestrated a dazzling move. Dropping deep to collect the ball, he turned sharply, evading a defender with a deft touch. Spotting Hugo Duro¡¯s run, he delivered a perfectly weighted through ball under the watchful eyes of the Cadiz defenders but that was all they could do, Watch! Duro positioned himself well but his shot was parried by Ledesma. The Cadiz Fans celebrated but Almeida suddenly appeared and followed up to slot the ball home. 3-1. "Cadiz was running back into the game but Valencia¡¯s Almeida has shot them in the foot. It¡¯s now Valencia 3, Cadiz 1" After the restart, C¨¢diz tried to respond, but couldn¡¯t. Izan¡¯s presence was overwhelming. His next contribution came in the 81st minute. Picking up the ball near the halfway line, he slipped past three defenders with a combination of speed and sudden halts. As he approached the box, Izan slipped a pass to Correia, who squared it to Guerra for an easy tap-in. 4-1. Valencia were now in complete control, and Izan wasn¡¯t done yet. In the 89th minute, he received the ball on the edge of the box. With his back to the goal, he feinted right, creating just enough space to unleash a curling shot toward the top corner after he dummied an opponent player. The crowd held its breath, but Ledesma made an acrobatic save, tipping the ball onto the bar. --- In stoppage time, Izan delivered one final moment of brilliance. Driving down the left, he skipped past a defender and whipped in a low cross. Duro flicked it on, and Pietro, joined in on the fun as he smashed it into the roof of the net. 5-1. The final whistle blew, sealing an emphatic victory for Valencia. Izan was mobbed by his teammates, who celebrated his game-changing impact. As he walked off the pitch, the fans chanted his name, acknowledging the star in their midst. In the post-match interview, Baraja praised his young star. "Izan has a unique ability to change games. His vision, his creativity¡ªit¡¯s something special. But today was a team effort, and I¡¯m proud of everyone." Back in the dressing room, Izan was greeted with a round of applause. ?zkacar handed him a bottle of water, grinning. "All right, kid, maybe you¡¯re buying the drinks tonight." Izan laughed, shaking his head." I would but let¡¯s put it off till I¡¯m 18 okay." "Oh, my bad. If forgot" Cenk said as he rubbed his head. The other players laughed at Cenk¡¯s reaction while Izan took his washbag before heading into the shower. ... Izan woke the next day to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. He stretched, the memory of yesterday¡¯s triumph against C¨¢diz flickering in his mind like a highlight reel. His body felt both exhilarated and slightly sore. Although he didn¡¯t play the full 90 minutes, the kicks he received after coming on were enough to make him feel sore. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, soaking in the quiet morning before shuffling to the bathroom to freshen up. The splash of cold water against his face jolted him awake. He stared at his reflection, running his hand through his hair. "Not to be narcissistic or anything but Mom and Dad did a great job. Don¡¯t you think so Max?" Izan uttered. [...??] "Okay, okay don¡¯t respond," Izan said as he got out of the shower. A quick brush of his teeth, a swipe of deodorant, and a comb through his dark hair later, Izan felt ready to face the day. Descending the staircase, the sound of a lively sports debate greeted him. In the living room, his sister Hori lounged on the couch, a bowl of cereal balanced on her lap. Her eyes were glued to the TV, where pundits animatedly dissected Valencia¡¯s performance against C¨¢diz. Clips of Izan¡¯s brilliant positioning and his relentless runs down the opponent half played in slow motion, accompanied by effusive praise. "They can¡¯t get enough of you, big shot," Hori teased, her gaze flicking toward him as he walked in. "When do I get to start spending your money" Hori smirked, clearly enjoying her brother¡¯s rising fame. Izan chuckled, his face flushing slightly. "When you¡¯re good?" He made his way to the kitchen, where the comforting aroma of oats and fresh fruit greeted him. A bowl of healthy oatmeal topped with bananas, chia seeds, and a drizzle of honey awaited him on the table. [OH my god bruh. I know he not eating like this but for the book¡¯s sake, bear with it] As he sat down to eat, their mother, Komi, appeared from the hallway, a warm smile lighting up her face. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, a gesture filled with maternal pride and affection. "Good morning, champ," she said. Izan, with his mouth full, couldn¡¯t respond and just smiled sheepishly. The trio went about the house, doing their business as the morning gave way to the afternoon light. Chapter 174: Copa Del Rey preparations. The sun was high in the sky when Izan¡¯s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the screen mid-bite of his avocado toast and saw Miranda¡¯s name flashing. Looking around, Izan spotted a napkin and wiped his hands with it before he picked it up. "Hey, Miranda," he greeted casually, though his tone carried curiosity. "What¡¯s up?" "Izan," she began, her voice brisk yet warm, "I hope you¡¯re still riding the high from yesterday¡¯s game. You were electric." "Thanks," Izan replied, a small grin creeping onto his face. "So, what¡¯s the call about?" Izan said getting right into business. "Well, I¡¯ve got some exciting news," she said, her tone shifting to one of anticipation. "YSL has finalized the release date for your collaboration The pictures, coupled with the announcements will be done on the same day" "That¡¯s amazing! When¡¯s the big day?" Izan said after Miranda was done. "Here¡¯s the kicker," Miranda said, her voice dipping into a playful tease. "It¡¯s set to drop on the same day you play Real Madrid." "That¡¯s¡­ bold," Izan said after a moment, a mix of excitement and pressure stirring within him. "Talk about making a statement." "Exactly," Miranda agreed. "The timing is perfect. The whole world will be watching you that day¡ªboth on the pitch and off it. YSL wants to capitalize on that energy, and honestly, so should you." Izan nodded, though Miranda couldn¡¯t see it. "Alright," he said, a confident edge to his voice. "Let¡¯s do it. Anything else I should know?" "I¡¯ll send you the campaign details and schedule later today. Just keep doing what you¡¯re doing, Izan. You¡¯re on fire," she said, her voice filled with genuine pride. "Thanks, Miranda," he said before hanging up. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ... On the other side of things, Valencia¡¯s Copa del Rey quarter-final clash against Real Sociedad was fast approaching. The city of Valencia pulsed with excitement as the upcoming Copa del Rey quarterfinal clash against Real Sociedad loomed. For the loyal ch¨¦ supporters, this was more than just another match¡ªit was a chance to edge closer to reclaiming the silverware they last won in 2019. Because of Valencia¡¯s lack of European football, they could redirect their efforts to the Copa del Rey trophy. In the bustling streets near the Mestalla, fans gathered in small clusters, passionately debating tactics and key players over cups of coffee or cold beer. The iconic chants of "Amunt Valencia!" rang out as fans draped in orange and black waved their scarves high. Vendors on the sidewalks sold flags, jerseys, and matchday memorabilia, all fueling the collective sense of optimism. On local radio and social media, the excitement was palpable. Supporters shared memories of the club¡¯s storied past in the competition, their voices tinged with hope that this could be the start of a new chapter. Fans spoke of the team¡¯s resilience this season, eager to see if they could overcome the formidable Real Sociedad. Children and lifelong supporters alike lined up outside the Mestalla to catch a glimpse of the players during training sessions, shouting words of encouragement and singing their favourite anthems. The air was thick with anticipation, a mix of nervous energy and unshakeable belief that their beloved Valencia could take another step toward glory for the season. ...... "Sigue as¨ª, sigue as¨ª, Cenk["Keep up, Keep up, Cenk]" "Mark, arr¨¢stralo de vuelta[ "Mark, drag him back]" The crisp February air at Valencia¡¯s training ground carried an electric charge as the team prepared for their crucial Copa del Rey quarterfinal against Real Sociedad. The intensity was palpable; every pass, tackle, and sprint was performed with purpose, reflecting the gravity of the match ahead. The Coaches looked on as the defenders directed shouts at a singular person. Izan, the subject of this moved with ease, threading pinpoint passes under pressure and escaping challenges with a calmness that seemed almost innate. Ruben Baraja, had been making his defence player against Izan, to get a feel of how it was to be helpless. The defenders were now feeling the despair some of the league¡¯s defenders felt when they went against Izan. As the team shifted to tactical exercises, Izan¡¯s influence grew. Playing in his advanced role, he was pivotal in transitioning the ball from midfield to attack, combining quick one-twos with seasoned players and exploiting pockets of space with intelligent runs. In one sequence, he received a lofted pass, controlled it with a deft first touch, and split the defence with a perfectly weighted through ball that left the coaches applauding. "Hermoso Izan. Hermoso[ Beautiful Izan. Beautiful], Assistant Coach Moreno said after the sequence was over. The training went on for a while before a late February rain started falling. Not wanting his players to be out with a cold, Rueb Baraja sounded his whistle, ending the session. The players all ran inside the building, subjecting themselves to a hot bath before joining the boss in the Cafeteria. ..... The cafeteria was warm and lively, a stark contrast to the cold rain drumming against the windows. Izan, Sosa, Pietro, Diego L¨®pez, and Javi Guerra sat around a circular table near the corner, plates of steaming food before them. Their laughter mingled with the faint hum of the rain and the clatter of dishes in the background. Pietro was the loudest, gesturing wildly as he recounted an exaggerated story about slipping on the wet pitch during training. The others couldn¡¯t hold back their laughter, Sosa nearly choking on his juice. Izan shook his head with a small smile, his sharp eyes catching every inconsistency in Pietro¡¯s tale. "That doesn¡¯t even make sense, Pietro," Izan interjected, his calm voice cutting through the chaos. "You said you slipped, but then you were the one scoring a bicycle kick five minutes later? Which one is it?" The table erupted again, with Diego clapping Pietro on the back. "Caught you there, clown," Diego teased, his usually serious demeanour softened by the friendly atmosphere. Javi, ever the quiet one, chipped in with a rare quip. "Maybe Pietro¡¯s memory slipped too, like his boots." Even Pietro couldn¡¯t help but laugh at his own expense. "Okay, okay, fine! Maybe I exaggerated a little. But you¡¯ve got to admit, it made for a good story." The conversation shifted to the upcoming Real Sociedad match. Izan, always the tactician, led the discussion, analyzing their opponent¡¯s midfield strategy. The others listened intently, nodding along, though Pietro couldn¡¯t resist slipping in a joke about how Izan should be their next coach. "I think Ruben¡¯s job might be at risk. Care to change profession, Manager Izan" "Careful, Pietro," Izan shot back with mock seriousness, "I might just bench you for all your talking." The quintet laughed again, their camaraderie palpable. After finishing their meals, they made their way to the video room, the rain still tapping rhythmically on the windows. Inside, the rest of the team was already gathered, some lounging on chairs while others leaned against the walls. The coach stood near the projector, waiting for everyone to settle. Izan and his friends found seats together, their lighthearted energy still lingering. Pietro whispered a joke to Diego, earning a stifled chuckle, while Izan leaned forward, his focus shifting entirely to the analysis on screen. As the video of Real Sociedad¡¯s recent match played, the quintet blended seamlessly into the team dynamic. The lights in the video room dimmed, leaving the screen at the front as the only source of illumination. Ruben Baraja stood beside the projector, a commanding presence in his Valencia CF tracksuit. His arms were crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room to ensure he had everyone¡¯s attention. "Alright, listen up," Baraja began, his voice calm but firm. "Real Sociedad is not a team we can take lightly. They¡¯re precise, disciplined, and quick in transitions. If we¡¯re not sharp, they¡¯ll punish us." "We¡¯ve already won against them in the league this season. We¡¯ll do it again" Pietro said, a few of the veteran players shaking their heads. "I like your confidence Pietro but if that¡¯s how you are, heading into the game, then I might have to send you to the reserves". Pietro unable to speak, coiled into his seat as the rest of the players laughed. Baraja clicked a remote, and footage of Real Sociedad¡¯s recent game against Villarreal played. The screen showed their midfield moving like a well-oiled machine, threading passes with uncanny accuracy. "Their midfield trio," Baraja continued, pointing to the screen with his laser pointer, "is their engine. They control the tempo, and if we let them dictate the game, we¡¯ll be chasing shadows. That¡¯s where you come in, and Javi and Pepelu." Javi and Pepelu nodded, their expressions serious. "You¡¯ll need to press hard and cut off their passing lanes. Force them wide. If we can disrupt their rhythm, they¡¯ll struggle to build anything meaningful. But be smart¡ªdon¡¯t leave space behind you." The footage shifted to a clip of Real Sociedad¡¯s wingers darting down the flanks, their pace and skill on full display. "Now, their wingers," Baraja said, his voice taking on a note of urgency. "They¡¯re fast and dangerous in one-on-one situations. Izan, I need you to track back when they overload on your side. Support the fullbacks, but don¡¯t forget your role in transitioning to attack. Your vision will be key to launching counterattacks." Izan gave a slight nod, his sharp mind already analyzing how to balance his defensive and creative duties. Baraja turned to Hugo and Diego. "Hugo as always, you¡¯ll be leading the line. Their centre-backs are strong, but they¡¯re not the fastest. Use your movement to pull them out of position. Create space for Fran P¨¦rez to run into when we attack. Fran P¨¦rez, I want you making those late runs into the box. You¡¯ve got the timing for it, and it¡¯s something they¡¯ll struggle to handle." He paused, letting his words sink in before clicking to another clip. This one highlighted Real Sociedad¡¯s weaknesses, showing moments when their defence was caught out of position. "This," Baraja said, tapping the screen with his pointer, "is where we can hurt them. Quick transitions, smart positioning, and precision in the final third. Stay composed, stay disciplined. If we execute our plan, we¡¯ll come out on top." Baraja stepped back, folding his arms as he looked at his players. "Any questions?" The room remained silent, the players exchanging determined glances. Baraja¡¯s confidence in them was evident, and it was infectious. "Good. Let¡¯s go out there tomorrow and show them how to win" The players nodded in unison before they stood to leave. A/n: Have a nice read. Chapter 175: Jan Oblak Re-Gen Baraja stepped back, folding his arms as he looked at his players. "Any questions?" The room remained silent, the players exchanging determined glances. Baraja¡¯s confidence in them was evident, and it was infectious. "Good. Let¡¯s go out there tomorrow and show them how to win" The players nodded in unison before they stood to leave. The team had just filed out of the video room, the session dissecting their last match and identifying areas to improve. The atmosphere was quiet but focused, the players mentally replaying the reviewed Sociedad materials in their heads. Lukas Kova?, the new youth goalkeeper, lingered behind, his brow furrowed in thought. At 20, the Slovenian had a hunger in his eyes that matched his lean, agile frame. He had been waiting for the right moment to approach Izan and did so as the latter stepped out with Pietro. "Hey, Izan," Lukas called out, catching up to him as they walked toward the training grounds. "What¡¯s up? Lukas right?" Izan asked staring at the keeper who was about a head taller than him. His voice carried a slight accent, and there was a mixture of nervousness and resolve in his tone. Looking at the older person acting like a kid in front of him, Izan sighed. "You know, you can day what you want to say. I won¡¯t bite. I¡¯m not any different. It¡¯s just that things worked out for me since I joined this team so there is no need to be overwhelmed". S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Lukas smiled at the latter¡¯s words before opening his mouth. "I was wondering if you could help me out. I want to get in some extra sessions. I need to get better, and you¡¯re the best in the team and the best person to ask." Izan, thinking about getting some free-kick work in, turned to him with a curious look. "Extra sessions, huh? What are you working on?" "Everything," Lukas said earnestly. "But mostly my reflexes and reading shots. I thought... maybe going against you would push me." Izan nodded, a small smile forming. "All right. I need to work on my free kicks anyway. Let¡¯s do it." --- The pair found an empty goal at the far end of the training complex. Lukas quickly donned his gloves and stretched as Izan set up a line of balls just outside the penalty area. The younger keeper squared up, bouncing lightly on his toes, his green eyes locked on Izan¡¯s every move. Izan struck the first ball cleanly, the sound of leather meeting leather echoing through the crisp air. It curled toward the top right corner, but Lukas reacted quickly, his fingertips grazing the ball as it slammed into the net. "Close one," Izan said, impressed. "Let¡¯s see you stop this." Ball after ball, Izan unleashed a barrage of shots. His precision was uncanny, most finding the back of the net despite Lukas¡¯s best efforts. But the young keeper wasn¡¯t just there to be a practice dummy. He began to anticipate better, diving low to his right to stop a swerving strike, then leaping to punch away a blistering shot aimed for the top corner. "Nice save," Izan called out, a grin spreading across his face. "You¡¯re not making this easy." "That¡¯s the point," Lukas replied, his voice breathless but determined. "I¡¯m practically cheating but I¡¯ll still do it," Izan thought as he set a ball down. Ding, [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2] activated Following this, Izan unleashed another set of shots, with Lukas being unable to save any. Still, Lukas was able to save a few after Izan turned it off. After the last shot, Izan stood still before muttering something. [Snooping function activated] *PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [LUKAS KOVA?] AGE:[20] HEIGHT:[1.98m (6¡¯6")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[RESERVE PLAYER] TEAM:VALENCIA FC/ SLOVENIA SYSTEM EVALUATION:[ A GEM] PLAYER RATING: [77/100] POSITION:[GOALKEEPER] POTENTIAL:[87] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 65 Diving: 79 Goal Awareness: 77 Technique: 75 Reflexes: 83 Catching:78 Parrying: 78 Jumping: 84 Strong hand: Left Weak Foot Strength:3 stars Skill Move:2 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 2] 10% Completion Cruyff turn:[LV 2] 20% **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : During the final minutes of a match where the holder¡¯s team is losing, this trait activates increasing the chances of the holder scoring from, free-kicks, Corners or even throws. : Teammates, particularly the defenders player better when he¡¯s in goal. Looking at Lukas¡¯ stats, OVR and traits, Izan was amazed, to say the least. "He¡¯s like Oblak¡¯s re-gen. His *Thumping header* trait might just be the best thing. In moments when we¡¯re losing, I just need to get the ball to him." Izan thought as he looked at the keeper. While Izan stood in a daze, the intensity of their session had already caught the attention of Pietro and Sosa, who had just finished their gym routines. The two players approached, intrigued by the one-on-one duel. "Hey, what¡¯s going on here?" Pietro asked, his eyes taking in the scene. "Free kick practice," Izan replied, setting up another ball. "Lukas wanted to get some extra work in." "Mind if we join?" Sosa asked, already picking up a ball and spinning it on his finger. "Could use some shooting practice myself." "More targets for me," Lukas said with a smirk, though he was clearly fatigued. --- The session became a lively, competitive affair. Pietro¡¯s shots, although inaccurate were powerful and direct, designed to test Lukas¡¯s handling under pressure. Sosa mixed things up with clever, unpredictable attempts, while Izan continued to showcase his finesse and precision. Lukas, though visibly tired, stepped up to the challenge. He made a series of jaw-dropping saves, including a double stop on a rebound from Pietro and a diving fingertip save from one of Sosa¡¯s bending strikes. "Kid¡¯s got skills," Pietro said, nodding in approval after Lukas thwarted one of his thunderous attempts. Both Izan and Sosa turned to look at him, standing with a sheepish grin while Lukas stood, smiling wryly. Izan set up one final shot, a low-driven free kick with a pace that skipped off the grass. Lukas read it perfectly, dropping low to smother the ball but ultimately failing to stop it. He stood up, clutching his elbow which had grazed the ground a bit. "You¡¯re going to be a problem for a lot of strikers," Izan said, with a smile. Lukas didn¡¯t know why but it felt good to be praised by someone who was receiving a lot of admiration and hype for his talent. "Can we, uh.. do this again?" Lukas asked as Izan turned to leave. Izan nodded before joining Pietro and Sosa. Lukas stood, with a smile on his face before rushing to catch up with them. "I¡¯m staying in this team," he said in his mind as he caught up. ...... From behind a glass window, Baraja stood with his arms crossed, observing the players that had just finished with their extra session. Beside him, Assistant Coach Moreno leaned against the glass, his sharp eyes following the movements of Lukas Kova?, who was exchanging a few last words with Izan, Pietro, and Sosa as they walked off the pitch together. Baraja let out a low whistle, a smile tugging at the corners of his usually stoic face. "That kid," he said, nodding toward Lukas, "he¡¯s got something special. Reflexes, composure, and that hunger¡ªyou can¡¯t teach that." Moreno chuckled softly. "He¡¯s been impressive since he got promoted. His last performance in the Copa del Rey was exceptional. Handling shots from a player like Izan isn¡¯t easy, this being proved by Marmadashvili¡¯s inability to contain most of Izan¡¯s shots but he¡¯s holding his own. He¡¯s not just talented; he¡¯s got the attitude to back it up too." Baraja nodded, his gaze lingering on Lukas, who was picking up cones and balls that had gone a bit far. "We¡¯re going to need him. Especially if things with Marmadashvili go the way I think they will." Moreno glanced sideways at Baraja, his brow furrowing slightly. "So, it¡¯s true then? A club¡¯s made a move?" Baraja¡¯s expression grew more serious. "Yes. They¡¯re preparing an offer¡ªone we might not be able to refuse. And Marmadashvili... he¡¯s expressed interest in leaving. He¡¯s ready for the next step in his career." Moreno sighed, his fingers tapping the fence thoughtfully. "Losing him will hurt. He¡¯s been a cornerstone for us. But if Lukas keeps developing like this, he might soften the blow." Baraja¡¯s eyes followed Lukas as the young goalkeeper jogged toward the locker rooms, still holding his head high despite the gruelling session. "He¡¯ll be vital, Moreno. He¡¯s not just a replacement. He will be great. We just need to make sure he¡¯s ready when the time comes." The two coaches stood in silence for a moment, their thoughts heavy with the looming changes. Then Baraja straightened, his voice firm. "Let¡¯s focus on what we can control. If Marmadashvili goes, we¡¯ll make sure the transition is seamless. Lukas will be ready¡ªwe¡¯ll make sure of it." Moreno nodded the fire of determination in his eyes matching Baraja¡¯s. Together, they turned toward the tactical room, their plans already forming. Chapter 176: What Do We Have Here The two coaches stood in silence for a moment, their thoughts heavy with the looming changes. Then Baraja straightened, his voice firm. "Let¡¯s focus on what we can control. If Marmadashvili goes, we¡¯ll make sure the transition is seamless. Lukas will be ready¡ªwe¡¯ll make sure of it." Moreno nodded the fire of determination in his eyes matching Baraja¡¯s. Together, they turned toward the tactical room, their plans already forming. ..... "Good evening, football fans! Welcome to a thrilling night of action in the Copa del Rey, as two Spanish giants, Valencia and Real Sociedad, collide here at the iconic Mestalla. It¡¯s a match steeped in tradition, with both teams eager to leave their mark on this prestigious tournament. Valencia, the eight-time winners, are looking to rekindle their glory days under the lights of their fortress, while Real Sociedad, with their dynamic style of play, aim to continue their impressive run this season. The stage is set, the fans are roaring, and the players are ready to make history. Sit tight, as we¡¯re moments away from kickoff in what promises to be a pulsating encounter! *As we gear up for kickoff, let¡¯s take a look at the starting lineups for tonight¡¯s clash. First, the home side, Valencia: in goal is the ever-reliable Giorgi Mamardashvili. Commanding his backline of Thierry Correia, the Turkish mountain Cenk Ozkacar, Mouctar Diakhaby, has replaced homegrown talent Mark who is out with a knock, and the ever-present, captain reliable Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. In midfield, the experienced Pepelu partners with Javi Guerra with Andr¨¦ Almeida providing the creative spark. Yes, folks Valencia¡¯s manager Ruben Baraja has decided to keep Izan on the bench for this match. Up front, Diego Lopez and Fran P¨¦rez operate on the wings, while Hugo Duro leads the attack. Now to the visitors, Real Sociedad: Alex Remiro starts between the sticks, shielded by a backline of Odriozola, Robin Le Normand, Igor Zubeldia, and Aihen Mu?oz. In midfield, Mikel Merino and Mart¨ªn Zubimendi are pulling the strings just behind Brais M¨¦ndez in the attacking midfield role. The attacking trio features Takefusa Kubo and Mikel Oryazabal on the flanks, with Umar Sadiq spearheading the attack. Two strong lineups brimming with talent¡ªthis one is shaping up to be a classic!"* ----- The Estadio Mestalla was alive with anticipation as Valencia hosted Real Sociedad in a high-stakes Copa del Rey quarterfinal. The orange sea of Valencia supporters roared with pride, their flags waving under the floodlights, while a small but determined section of travelling Sociedad fans tried to make their voices heard. The energy was electric; every cheer, chant, and whistle echoed through the hallowed stands. The match kicked off with intensity. Valencia, playing at home, took control early. Valencia¡¯s, Fran Perez was a livewire down the right flank, teasing Sociedad¡¯s defence with his blistering pace and intricate dribbling. In the 7th minute, he combined beautifully with captain Jose Gaya, slipping a pass through to the latter whose curling shot from 20 yards forced a fingertip save from Sociedad¡¯s goalkeeper, Alejandro Remiro. "An electric start from Valencia!" came the commentator¡¯s excited voice over the stadium speakers. "But Sociedad are holding firm. They¡¯ll need to weather this storm!" On the Valencia bench, Izan leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. Next to him, Pietro crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently against his sleeve. "They¡¯re playing well, but we need more spark," Pietro muttered. Izan nodded but kept his gaze fixed on the pitch, silently analyzing the game. Sociedad, however, were no pushovers. Anchored by their midfield maestro Mart¨ªn Zubimendi, they slowly grew into the game, stringing together slick passes that frustrated Valencia. The pendulum swung in the 23rd minute when Takefusa Kubo latched onto a lofted pass, his first touch immaculate as he drove into the box. The Mestalla held its breath as Kubo feigned right, cutting left past his marker before he unleashed a venomous strike towards the goal. Valencia urgently threw bodies in the way but they could only watch as the ball zoomed past Marmadashvili. Goal! The ball rippled the net, and Sociedad¡¯s travelling fans erupted. The scoreboard read 0-1. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The away fans were ecstatic, hugging and kissing each other while some waved their team¡¯s flag. The Rela Sociedad players that had already mobbed Kubo started waking back to their half. After the restart, Valencia pushed back, desperate to equalize before halftime. Fran P¨¦rez continued tormenting the left flank, linking up with attacking -midfielder Andre Almeida for a series of dangerous crosses. The closest came in the 37th minute when Perez¡¯s delivery found striker Hugo Duro unmarked in the six-yard box. His header looked destined for the net, but Remiro¡¯s reflex save left Mestalla groaning in frustration. On the bench, Pietro threw up his hands in frustration. "How did he miss that?!" he exclaimed, earning a smirk from Izan. "Relax," Izan replied softly. "There¡¯s still time," his face immediately frowning after he spoke. Hugo should have put the ball into the net and Izan also thought the same. The halftime whistle blew, with Sociedad heading into the dressing room with their noses in front. Valencia¡¯s bench stirred with urgency. Among the substitutes, Izan stood looking slightly unbothered by his team¡¯s position in the match. After taking his rehydration kit, Izan walked to the locker room. --- Ruben Baraja stood in the middle of the Valencia dressing room at halftime, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination. The echoes of the Mestalla crowd still hummed faintly in the background, but inside the room, there was only silence¡ªa heavy, uncomfortable silence that made every player avert their eyes as Baraja scanned the room. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke, his voice was sharp, each word striking like a whip. "That," he began, pointing toward the door leading to the pitch, "was not Valencia football. Where is the passion? The intensity? The pride? We¡¯re playing as if this match doesn¡¯t matter!" His gaze locked on Hugo Duro, who sat slouched on the bench, his head bowed, his fingers anxiously fidgeting with his shin pads. Baraja walked toward him, his boots echoing on the tiled floor. "Hugo," he said, his voice lower but cutting. "That chance¡­ That golden chance. What were you thinking?" Duro looked up, guilt written all over his face. "I... I thought I had it. I just¡ª" "You thought?" Baraja cut him off, leaning closer. "You don¡¯t think in moments like that. You finish. You bury that ball in the net like your life depends on it. You¡¯re a striker for Valencia, not some amateur trying to impress scouts." The room was dead silent now, the other players sitting up straighter, afraid Baraja¡¯s wrath might turn on them. Baraja straightened, his voice rising again as he addressed the whole team. "Fran P¨¦rez is out there fighting for every ball, running his legs off, creating chances. And where¡¯s the support? Where¡¯s the belief? This is the Copa del Rey, not some preseason friendly!" He turned to Diego L¨®pez, the winger slouched in his seat. "Diego, you¡¯re one of the leaders. Where¡¯s the fire? Where¡¯s the organization? You need to pull the attack together. I can¡¯t do it for you from the sideline." Diego L¨®pez nodded solemnly, murmuring, "Understood, coach." Baraja¡¯s tone softened slightly, but his intensity didn¡¯t waver. "Look, we¡¯re only down by one. Sociedad is good, but they¡¯re not unbeatable. We¡¯ve seen their weaknesses¡ªthey can¡¯t handle pressure in the midfield. Zubeldia¡¯s already panicked once. We push harder, and we¡¯ll break through. But you have to believe it. Fight for every ball. Fight for each other. And when the next chance comes¡­" He turned back to Duro, "You take it." Baraja paced back toward the tactics board, gesturing toward the players set to come on. "And Izan, Pietro¡ªyou¡¯re coming in soon. Be ready. I don¡¯t need fireworks; I need solutions. Understand?" "Yes, coach," they replied in unison, their voices steady despite the tension in the room. Baraja clapped his hands once, the sharp sound reverberating off the walls. "Now, go out there and show them what Valencia football is about. Play like you want to go to the next round, or don¡¯t bother coming back in here." The players stood, heads high, their resolve rekindled. Baraja¡¯s words had cut deep, but they had also ignited a fire. As they marched out of the dressing room, the roar of the Mestalla grew louder, ready to witness a team reborn. ---- As the second half kicked off, Valencia upped the tempo. Their high press forced Sociedad into mistakes, with Gaya and Lopez combining to drive the attack. In the 50th minute, a mistimed clearance by Sociedad¡¯s Igor Zubeldia gifted Valencia a golden chance. Javi Guerra latched onto the loose ball, turned sharply, and fired low toward the bottom corner but his shot was smothered. "Guerra shoots! Saved by Remiro again! What a performance from the Sociedad keeper!" the commentator exclaimed. Valencia¡¯s frustration mounted. The fans chanted louder, urging their team forward, but Sociedad remained resolute, their defensive wall led by Robin Le Normand. Meanwhile, Kubo continued to be a thorn in Valencia¡¯s side, nearly doubling the lead in the 63rd minute with a curling effort that once again, grazed the crossbar. Back on the bench, Pietro slapped his thigh. "Coach needs to make changes. We¡¯re running out of time!" he growled. Izan remained composed but shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee. "Settle down. We play when he wants us to play" Finally, with 20 minutes remaining, Valencia¡¯s coach, Ruben Baraja, made his move. The fourth official raised the substitution board. The Mestalla faithful erupted as Izan¡¯s name appeared, alongside Pietro¡¯s. The young duo was about to enter the fray. The commentator¡¯s voice boomed: "And here we go! Izan and Pietro are coming on. These two could change the game for Valencia. Can the youngster deliver under this pressure?" On the bench, teammates clapped and shouted encouragement. "Let¡¯s go, Izan! Show them what you¡¯ve got!" one called out, while another ruffled Pietro¡¯s hair as he jogged toward the touchline. As Izan jogged onto the field, the weight of the occasion pressed heavily on his shoulders, yet he didn¡¯t feel it. "Oh, what do we have here," the commentator said as Izan trapped the ball. A/n: An extra chapter for my lovely readers. Take it as a new year¡¯s gift. Love ya¡¯ll and thanks for reading and the support. Chapter 177: On The Cusp[ Bonus chapter. Thanks to Sam_Kupers] The commentator¡¯s voice boomed: "And here we go! Izan and Pietro are coming on. These two could change the game for Valencia. Can the youngster deliver under this kind of pressure again?" On the bench, teammates clapped and shouted encouragement. "Let¡¯s go, Izan! Show them what you¡¯ve got!" one called out, while another ruffled Pietro¡¯s hair as he jogged toward the touchline. As Izan jogged onto the field, the weight of the occasion pressed heavily on his shoulders, yet he didn¡¯t feel it. "Oh, what do we have here," the commentator said as Izan trapped the ball. ... Immediately after coming on, Izan trapped a throw from Pietro who had just launched the ball. The ball nestled at Izan¡¯s feet as the Real Sociedad players tried to take it off him but in a swift movement, Izan kicked the ball with his heel, sending it through a multitude of players. The crowd, particularly the home side watched in anticipation as the ball travelled to Hugo Duro who had just broken in behind. The Real Sociedad fans who were not expecting this, raised their hands, hoping that their action would somehow distract Hugo Duro while bringing the referee¡¯s attention to any offside play. Bringing his left leg behind, Hugo Duro dragged the ball to his right leg before chipping it with the outside of his right boot, over Alex Remiro who had come out of his goal, all while the flag stayed down. "Izannn, Lovely little flick too..... oh my god, Hugo Duro gets it. The real Sociedad players raise their hands but the flag stays down. Duuroo!!!!!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!! Izannnnn!, you naughty little magical. What a beautiful pass " The commentator went about his job as Duro skidded on his knees in front of the fans and his teammates from the bench. The Real Sociedad players went to the referee to complain about a possible offside but the referee shooed them away. The Mestalla was in chaos as the Valencia players celebrated wildly near the corner flag, Hugo Duro punching the air after his audacious chip had nestled into the net. Izan stood a few steps back, his arms stretched out wide in triumph, having delivered the perfect flick to set up the chance. But their joy was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the referee, who raised his hand to signal an offside check. The Valencia players froze, their celebrations cut short as the familiar hum of VAR deliberations loomed. On the other side, Real Sociedad¡¯s players swarmed the referee again, their captain Mikel Merino leading the charge. "He was off, ref! You saw it!" Merino shouted, pointing toward the assistant referee on the far side. Robin Le Normand, their defensive stalwart, nodded emphatically. "It¡¯s clear as day. Duro was ahead when Izan flicked it!" Around them, the Valencia players who were celebrating quickly came back to help the referee from being pressured into his decision while the Sociedad players gestured animatedly, their voices a cacophony of protests. Hugo Duro clutched his head, slightly in disbelief, while Sociedad¡¯s Zubeldia furiously gestured toward the big screen showing the replay. The Mestalla crowd, however, was having none of it. Valencia fans erupted with a mix of chants and boos, their frustration at Sociedad¡¯s protests palpable. "?Es gol! ?Es gol!" they chanted rhythmically, waving their scarves in unison. "Listen to the Mestalla faithful¡ªthey¡¯re convinced this goal should stand!" the commentator¡¯s voice cut through the noise. "But Sociedad¡¯s players aren¡¯t letting this go without a fight. VAR has a big call to make here." On the Valencia bench, Ruben Baraja stood with his arms crossed, his expression tense but unyielding. Pietro leaned toward Izan, who was catching his breath near the touchline. "What do you think?" Pietro asked, trying to hide his nervousness. "It¡¯s tight," Izan admitted, his eyes fixed on the referee, who stood motionless with a hand on his earpiece. "But I¡¯m sure he was on when I flicked it. Hugo timed it perfectly." The referee stepped back, raising his arm to signal the completion of the check. Time seemed to slow as he turned toward the centre circle. His arm stretched forward. Goal! The Mestalla exploded into deafening cheers once more, fans leaping from their seats as if they¡¯d scored the goal themselves. Hugo Duro sprinted toward Izan, grabbing the youngster by the shoulders and shaking him with excitement. "Izan! That was genius, man!" In the commentary box, the announcer¡¯s voice rose with excitement. "The goal stands! Valencia are back in it! What a moment from the teenager Izan, whose deft flick carved open Sociedad¡¯s defence, and what composure from Hugo Duro to finish with that chip. This is why the Copa del Rey delivers magic!" On the pitch, Sociedad¡¯s players surrounded the referee again, their protests growing more desperate. Merino threw his arms up, shouting, "What about the replay? It looked offside!" But the referee waved them off, his decision final. Le Normand shook his head in disbelief as he jogged back to position, muttering under his breath, while Kubo kicked the ground in frustration. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Meanwhile, the Mestalla roared louder. The fans chanted Izan¡¯s name, their faith in the young star growing with every passing moment. On the sideline, Baraja allowed himself a brief smile, clapping his hands once to signal focus. "Let¡¯s go! Back to work!" he barked. The scoreline now read Valencia 1-1 Real Sociedad, and the momentum was firmly with the home side. The stage was set for an electrifying finish. ... The match had become a powder keg in the final fifteen minutes, both sides throwing everything into attack. Valencia, buoyed by their equalizer, pressed high, while Sociedad relied on swift counters, exploiting every gap as Izan and his guys threw everything at the opponents. The Mestalla crowd roared with every Valencia surge, their collective belief a tangible force pushing the team forward. Then came the hammer blow in the 87th minute. Real Sociedad broke swiftly down the right through Takefusa Kubo, who was having an inspired game. The winger danced past Pietro with a clever flick, leaving the midfielder in his wake before being forced out wide by Gaya as he surged into the final third. Kubo scanned the box as Valencia¡¯s defenders scrambled to recover. Deciding on what to do, Kubo whipped in a low cross¡ªa venomous delivery skimming the turf. Players from both sides fought the ball but it ultimately travelled towards Cenk. Cenk ?zkacar lunged desperately, stretching his leg to intercept the ball, but in doing so, the ball clipped his shin and looped awkwardly toward goal. Giorgi Mamardashvili, Valencia¡¯s goalkeeper, dived instinctively, but the deflection was too quick and too close. The ball kissed the underside of the crossbar before bouncing into the net. The Mestalla fell into stunned silence, the noise sucked out of the stadium in an instant. For a moment, it felt like time stood still as ?zkacar lay on the ground, his hands clutching his head in despair. The commentator¡¯s voice rang out, heavy with shock. "Oh, no! It¡¯s an own goal! Cenk ?zkacar, in an attempt to clear, has inadvertently handed Sociedad the lead! Heartbreak for Valencia!" On the pitch, Real Sociedad¡¯s players sprinted toward their fans in celebration, arms raised in jubilation. The travelling supporters erupted into wild cheers, their section of the stadium a sea of blue and white. Flags waved furiously, and their chants filled the air, drowning out the initial boos from the home crowd. "?Vamos La Real!" they sang with fervour, their voices a stark contrast to the stunned silence of the Mestalla faithful. ?zkacar was still on the ground, his teammates gathering around him. Gaya crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "Get up, Cenk," the captain urged, his voice firm but understanding. "There¡¯s still time. We need you." On the sideline, Ruben Baraja clenched his fists, his frustration evident as he barked instructions to the bench. "Heads up! We don¡¯t stop here! There¡¯s still three minutes, plus stoppage time!" In the stands, some Valencia fans tried to rally the team with chants, their voices shaky but determined. Others held their heads in their hands, disbelief etched on their faces. The commentator continued his tone tense. "Sociedad lead 2-1 through sheer misfortune for Valencia. The question now is, can the home side recover in these dying minutes? Or will Sociedad hold on to break Valencia¡¯s hearts?" As play restarted, the Mestalla crowd found its voice again, urging their team forward with desperate chants. The clock ticked ominously toward full-time, the tension almost unbearable. Could Valencia find one last moment of magic, or was this the end of their Copa del Rey dream? Izan, looking at the ball found it all exciting. "Why do I feel this way" he thought as the ball found its way to him. Two Real Sociedad players tried to double-team him but Izan found their movements way too slow to be even called movements. [Host is on the Cusp of breaking through to the evolved state of FLOW] As the message flashed through his mind, Izan understood what was on. Chapter 178: Flow{ Nexus} [Bonus Chapter, Courtesy of Sam_Kupers] Izan, looking at the ball found it all exciting. "Why do I feel this way" he thought as the ball found its way to him. Two Real Sociedad players tried to double-team him but Izan found their movements way too slow to be even called movements. [Host is on the Cusp of breaking through to the evolved state of FLOW] As the message flashed through his mind, Izan understood what was on. .... Flicking the ball to his left, Izan tempted, as one of the two Sociedad men stuck their foot out to retrieve the ball but they were on following Izan¡¯s pace as the latter flicked the ball through his legs. His teammates moved to support him, but his eyes were telling a different story. His deep sea-blue eyes now had a silver glow to them, his brows knitted as he surged forward. Beads of sweat fell into the youngster¡¯s Izan but he wasn¡¯t feeling it. The Adrenaline was a bit overwhelming. [Har-] Izan wanting a ramp for his abilities, pointed to his left. Jose Gaya, as if reading Izan¡¯s mind suddenly appeared as the youngster slipped the ball to him. [Push Har-] The Veteran full-back didn¡¯t waste any time, flicking the ball back to Izan before trying to move into space but Izan changed the direction completely, opting for Diego L¨®pez who had formed a triangle with Duro and Izan himself. [Push Harde-] Izam could feel the stares and hopes of the Valencia fans boring a hole in him as he stroked the ball like a master on a canvas, sending the ball to Diego L¨®pez who flicked it to Hugo Duro. The striker had his back to the goal and didn¡¯t seem to find any solutions but just then, he saw that Izan had continued his run. Curtly, Duro passed the ball to Izan, returning his favour for his earlier goal. Alex Remiro, Goalkeeper for Real Sociedad had a hard time following the ball as the ball kept changing hands, thought he had a clear view of who had the ball. He stood tensed waiting for the player to strike anytime but all of a sudden, Izan surged out of the bodies, pulling a La Croqueta to get away before steadying himself. Having been subjected to Izan shots before, Remiro tensed more, crouching but before he could crouch any further, Izan slowed down. [Push Harder] Ding¡¯[Host is on the cusp of unlocking the next level of Flow] [Host ha-&!¡ê¡ê@?@£¤] The system went silent as Izan watched on, his perception of time, warped as the ball stayed still, the players static. Izan¡¯s lips parted slightly, his jaw tightening as he drew in a deliberate breath, deep and steady. S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His nostrils flared, the air filling his lungs like fuel igniting a dormant fire within. His chest expanded, his shoulders lifting ever so slightly as if the act of inhaling brought with it the weight of the moment and the promise of release. His eyes narrowed, focused yet calm, the world around him blurring as he centred himself. For that brief second, his expression carried a perfect blend of tension and tranquillity¡ªanticipation tempered by control. It was the face of someone gathering not just air but resolve, preparing for the storm ahead. [Ethereal choirs and layered harmonics, interwoven with surging heartbeats, like the convergence of energy streams. The perfect balance between chaos and order, a hub where multiple energies align seamlessly.] * host has unlocked FLOW ¡è NEXUS* Ding, [ Curler LV 3 activated] Finally set, Izan¡¯s legs powered through the ball, without even stopping the pass from Duro. The ball left Izan¡¯s boot with a sharp crack, spinning and curling through the air with a precision that seemed almost otherworldly. The stadium collectively held its breath, time slowing as the ball traced a perfect arc, slicing through the floodlit air like a comet. Real Sociedad¡¯s goalkeeper, eyes wide with panic, shuffled desperately toward the far post, his gloved hands stretching to their absolute limit. The ball seemed to toy with him, bending impossibly outward before curling viciously back in, its trajectory a masterpiece of intent and technique. Defenders turned their heads in unison, powerless spectators to the inevitable. The net rippled as the ball kissed the inside of the post and sank into the bottom corner with surgical precision. A split-second of silence hung in the air, followed by an explosion of cheers and gasps from the crowd. Izan stood still, chest heaving, his gaze locked on the goal. The moment was his, and the world knew it. "I can¡¯t believe my eyes. Valencia, on the cusp of sinking, hopes of Copa del Rey glory being dashed before their eyes but Izan¡¯s sends them afloat. How is he doing this, time and time and time again? I think I just found my new favourite player. Magical from Izan. Valencia CF and its fans will surely remember the day that young Izan Hernandez saved them. It¡¯s Real Sociedad 2, Valencia 2" As the commentator ranted, Valencia¡¯s bench ran towards Izan who had unknowingly run towards the fans, now ensued in a celebration with them. On the bench, Ruben Baraja celebrated with his assistants and a few other staff members, relishing the goal. ...... Komi and Hori sat on the edge of their living room couch, their eyes locked on the television, barely able to breathe as the final seconds of the match ticked away. The tension in the room was palpable¡ªsilent, thick with anticipation. When the ball left Izan¡¯s foot and began its perfect curve towards the goal, Komi¡¯s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. "Is this...?" she whispered, almost as if saying it aloud would shatter the moment. Hori, holding her breath, didn¡¯t speak a word. She was too focused, her heart racing, hands gripping the edge of the sofa. Then it happened¡ªthe ball swerved and struck the inside of the post before nestling into the net. Komi gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she jumped to her feet. "He did it! Izan did it!" she cried, her voice a mix of joy and disbelief. Hori leapt up with a burst of energy, her face lit up with a smile so wide it seemed impossible. She grabbed her mother in a tight embrace. "I told you, Mom, I told you he¡¯d do it!" she laughed, her words coming out in a rush. They jumped and screamed together, their voices filling the room as if they were at the stadium. The sound of the television¡¯s commentary faded into the background, their celebration echoing louder than anything on the screen. Across Valencia and inside Valencian homes, the eruption of joy was immediate, a collective outpouring of relief and ecstasy, echoing from the streets to every living room, caf¨¦, and bar. In a modest home near the outskirts of the city, Josefa, an older woman who had been a fan of Valencia for decades, clutched her chest as the ball curved toward the goal. Her living room was quiet, save for the hum of the television. When the net rippled, she jumped up from her chair, hands clasped in prayer-like joy. "He¡¯s done it! Izan! My boy!" she screamed, spinning in circles as her family gathered around her. Her children, equally stunned, laughed and cheered, some even with tears in their eyes. ....... Fweee, Fweeee, Fweeeeee "That¡¯s all for the 90 minutes and we¡¯re now into extra time after Izan decided to send us here after the belter of a goal." The commentator said as the players walked off the pitch. The players returned to their bench this time after the whistle blew, some rehydrating while others received massages. "Okay, guys well done. We don¡¯t want to waste any effort so listen to me. Let¡¯s stun them. Just one Goal. After the start, push and attack proactively so we can score and then defend from then on. They¡¯ll try....." After Ruben Baraja¡¯s words, the referee blew his whistle signalling for the players to come to the pitch. After the restart, the fans looked on in anticipation as the tension from the earlier moments were still around. Izam who was being subjected to some rough play decided to take things a notch after the first 15 minutes flew by. As the 119th minute approached, Gaya who had the ball surged into the opponent¡¯s half for possibly, Valencia¡¯s last attack of the game. Sosa, who had replaced Diego L¨®pez moved into space as he received the ball from Gaya. Amallah, Fran¡¯s replacement, surged into the box hoping for a cross but it never came as Sosa turned to the onrushing Izan. After steadying himself, Sosa sent the ball to Izan. With a deft touch, Izan sent the ball into the box before flowing suit. Utilising the effectiveness of the La Croqueta, Izan slipped through two defenders but before he could shoot, Izan felt his right leg, cross over his leg. The Real Sociedad fans who saw things shook their heads at the inevitable. They didn¡¯t want to believe but the referee brought them to reality as his whistle sounded, pointing to the spot for a penalty. The Valencia players rushed towards Izan to help him get up while the Sociedad players rushed towards the referee. "It¡¯s the 119th minute here, and Izan has just won his side a penalty! The young prodigy weaves past two defenders with breathtaking skill, drawing a desperate lunge from the third. The referee has no hesitation¡ªhe points to the spot! The stadium erupts, half in celebration, half in protest. You can feel the tension in the air; this is the moment that could define the game" On the sidelines, the bench was a flurry of emotions. Some players had their heads in their hands, others were on their feet shouting encouragement. Fans were either on the edge of their seats or praying silently, unable to look. At home, Komi clasped her hands together as if saying a silent prayer. Back on the pitch, Gaya who held the ball, threw it to Izan as the latter stepped up to the spot, his young face calm yet steely with determination. He placed the ball on the spot, taking a deep breath as the noise from the crowd crescendos. The Sociedad goalkeeper stood tall, trying to psych him out, but Izan¡¯s eyes were locked on his target. His run-up, smooth and deliberate, the crowd held its breath as Izan struck the ball cleanly. "It¡¯s a rocket into the top left corner! The net bulges and the stadium explodes into chaos! What composure from the 16-year-old! The bench clears in celebration, and fans erupt into jubilation as the team floods towards their hero. Izan, calm under unimaginable pressure, has just taken a step further to etching his name in Valencia and Copa del Rey History" A/n: Thank Sam in your sleeps. Chapter 179: Another Game Gone The referee¡¯s whistle pierced through the roaring crowd as the home side celebrated their hard-fought victory. Some of the players on the field collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion while others fell in frustration. "It¡¯s over! Valencia has done it, securing a dramatic victory in extra time. If you told a Valencia fan just 40 minutes ago that they¡¯d win this match, they wouldn¡¯t believe you. 2-1 down in the 87th minute and now 3-2 up after the 120th-minute mark. I¡¯ve said this and I¡¯ll say it again, Valencia have something really special going on here. Real Sociedad will now have to redirect their efforts to the Laliga and Europe league after missing out on the semi Finals of the Copa del Rey." Chants of "?Valencia! ?Valencia!" reverberated around the arena, a unifying anthem of triumph and pride. On the pitch, Izan was swarmed by his teammates, lifted high into the air as chants of his name echoed through the stands. The 16-year-old, barely able to contain his smile, waved to the fans, overwhelmed by the moment. Once the initial celebrations had settled, the Valencia players formed a line and began their lap of gratitude. With arms raised and applause echoing across the stadium, they thanked their fans for their unwavering support, even in the minutes when there was no hope. The crowd responded in kind, clapping and cheering louder with every step the team took. Izan walking with the crowd, lingered a moment, staring into the sea of Valencia fans waving at him. A young boy wearing his jersey caught his eye, tears streaming down his face. Izan pointed to the boy and threw his shirt into the crowd. The fans around knew who the kit was meant for so they didn¡¯t try to fight for it as the boy caught it and immediately clutched it to his chest, a memory he¡¯ll cherish forever. The mutual appreciation between the players and the fans created a bond that felt almost tangible¡ªa shared moment of triumph, of dreams realized, and of the unwavering passion that made football magical. As the team gathered at the centre of the pitch for one final cheer, the Valencia fans erupted in a deafening roar, cementing this moment in the hearts of all who witnessed it. "Vamos Valencia." After the chants, most of the fans began leaving while a few stayed to do their business. The players also walked towards their locker room, disappearing at the end of the tunnel. After entering the locker room, Ruben Baraja praised the players for their unbending attitude and relentless spirit that had helped them qualify. "We¡¯re still not done. Let¡¯s qualify for Europe and try to pick up some silverware this season" he said, the shouts of the players ringing through the room. ... The brightly lit studio was abuzz with energy as the match analysts prepared to dissect Valencia¡¯s thrilling Copa del Rey quarterfinal victory over Real Sociedad. Screens around them replayed the match highlights: Takefusa Kubo¡¯s opening goal, Cenk¡¯s unfortunate own goal, Izan¡¯s equalizer, and his sensational overtime penalty that sent Valencia into the semifinals. Santiago Jose: "What a game! Valencia found themselves in trouble early on with Kubo¡¯s goal, but they clawed their way back. And what can we say about Izan? This boy is something special." Jhaime Reso: "Unbelievable performance. That assist in the 73rd minute showed such composure and vision. And then that equalizer¡ªa curled beauty from outside the box. You could feel the stadium erupting! I felt scared for the fans at some point." Alex Solihull: "He¡¯s got this incredible ability to rise to the occasion. A goal, an assist, and then winning and converting the decisive penalty in extra time. It¡¯s like he¡¯s been playing at this level for years, but he¡¯s just a teenager! We¡¯ve been talking about him since the start of this season and I just can¡¯t get enough of him." Gui Balagu¨¦: "And let¡¯s not forget his versatility. He¡¯s equally comfortable playing on the wings, through the middle, or even dropping deep to influence play. Any team that manages to secure his signature will be very lucky indeed." While they were talking, studio screens displayed a heat map of Izan¡¯s movements during the game. Jhaime: "Look at that. He¡¯s everywhere. His work rate, his intelligence off the ball¡ªthis is not something you teach easily. It¡¯s innate. And the scary part? He¡¯s not even done developing yet." Alex Solihull: "Exactly. Physically, he¡¯s still growing, and tactically, he¡¯s only going to get better under the right management. If he keeps this up, he could be one of the best players in the world and I¡¯m not talking at the end of his career. It could be next year from the way he¡¯s playing." A slow-motion replay of Izan¡¯s equalizing goal played on the big screen. Santiago: "This finish. Absolutely sublime. The curve, the precision¡ªit¡¯s reminiscent of some of the greats. Valencia must be counting their blessings they¡¯ve got him for now." Gui Balagu¨¦: "But the question is, for how long? Major clubs in the league and the rest in the other leagues have already begun circling like hawks with AC Milan even offering a pretty sum for him. After a performance like this, his value will surely keep rising and at the end of the day, Valencia will surely benefit. He¡¯s a game-changer that boy." The discussion shifted to the mental resilience Izan showed throughout the match. Alex Solihull: "For someone so young, he¡¯s got such a mature head on his shoulders. To step up and take that penalty in extra time with all that pressure¡ªphenomenal." Jhaime: "It¡¯s not just talent; it¡¯s the ability to deliver when it matters most. That¡¯s what sets him apart. It¡¯s rare to see a player who can carry a team on their back at this age and in such a league." As the show wrapped up, the pundits agreed that Izan¡¯s future in football was bright, with Santiago summarizing the sentiment. Santiago: "The world of football is watching. Whoever gets Izan won¡¯t just be signing a player¡ªthey¡¯ll be securing a superstar and their future in the making." The broadcast cut back to highlights of Valencia¡¯s celebrations, with Izan at the centre of it all, already a hero for the club and a rising star for the sport. ..... The jubilant chants of the fans still echoed faintly in the background as Izan stepped out of the stadium, the night air crisp against his skin. The floodlights cast long shadows across the parking lot, where players, staff, and fans were gradually dispersing. Izan adjusted his black jacket, his small bag tucked securely under his arm as he made his way toward the far end of the lot where his booked car was waiting. A sleek, dark sedan idled near the entrance, its headlights cutting through the faint mist settling over the pavement. The driver, an older man with a kind smile, stepped out and opened the door for Izan. Driver: "Good evening, young man. Fantastic match tonight. That goal¡ªmagnificent!" Izan smiled politely, his voice soft but sincere. Izan: "Thank you. It was a team effort." Sliding into the backseat, Izan set his bag aside. As the car pulled out of the lot, he leaned his head back against the seat, letting out a quiet sigh. The adrenaline from the game was slowly fading, replaced by a calm satisfaction. The car moved through the city streets at a leisurely pace, and Izan found himself drawn to the scenery outside. Valencia¡¯s vibrant nightlife was in full swing¡ªcaf¨¦s and restaurants were bustling with people, streetlights bathed the roads in a warm glow, and couples strolled along the sidewalks. The Mediterranean breeze rustled the palm trees lining the avenues, their silhouettes swaying gently against the starry sky. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. For a moment, everything felt still. The world outside seemed both grand and intimate, the kind of beauty one rarely notices in the chaos of daily life. Izan gazed out of the window, his thoughts wandering between the match and the future. The driver, sensing the boy¡¯s quiet mood, kept the car radio low, soft jazz filling the space without interrupting the tranquillity Occasionally, the car passed groups of fans still celebrating, some of whom recognized Izan through the window. They waved excitedly, their cheers muffled but clear. Izan responded with a small wave, his smile growing slightly wider. As the car neared his neighbourhood cityscape gave way to quieter, tree-lined streets. Streetlights cast long, flickering shadows, and the occasional bark of a dog punctuated the silence. Izan felt a sense of comfort as they approached his house¡ªa modest, two-story home where Komi and Hori were undoubtedly waiting for him. When the car finally came to a stop, Izan thanked the driver and stepped out, retrieving his belongings, before walking up the short path to his front door, he paused, taking one last look at the night sky. "Another game down. So many more to go." Izan said in a breath. With that, he turned and headed inside, the quiet confidence of a young star in the making carrying him forward. Chapter 180: Against Las Palmas. Izan¡¯s life was a whirlwind of excitement and routine as he balanced his blossoming football career and personal life. The morning after Valencia¡¯s thrilling Copa del Rey victory against Real Sociedad, Izan woke up early, his body still humming with the energy of the match. He pulled on his school uniform for the day ¡ªa crisp white shirt and navy trousers¡ªand slung his backpack over one shoulder. His love for football didn¡¯t overshadow his education; Komi always reminded him of its importance. At school, his classmates as always, treated him like a star, bombarding him with questions about the match and his thoughts on the upcoming fixture against Las Palmas. Izan laughed it off, keeping his focus on what he came to do. The next day, after school, Izan hurried to the Valencia training grounds together with Sosa. The session was intense as the squad started preparing for the crucial away game. Izan trained with focus and determination, impressing both his teammates and coaching staff. His close control and vision during practice mirrored the brilliance he had shown against Real Sociedad. The Coaches and staff that looked on at him training, thought about the possibility of being able to clinch a trophy this season. After the session, the players were made to undergo their usual recovery sessions. After that, Izan joined Pietro in the parking lot, the latter dropping him off after passing by the mall for some stuff. Arriving at home, Komi and Hori were already setting the table. As dinner ensued, the dining table buzzed with laughter with Hori teasing Izan about the post-match interviews where his modesty supposedly charmed the reporters. As the weekend approached, Izan mentally shifted gears toward Las Palmas. He reviewed game footage late with his teammates, jotting down notes in his journal provided by the club. When not training, Izan would spend his time, helping his mother in the kitchen sometimes or would check photos of shoes with Hori who was secretly a sneakerhead. Despite the intensity of his schedule, Izan relished these moments with his loved ones¡ªprecious reminders of why he worked so hard both on and off the pitch. .... The Valencia CF squad boarded their sleek charter plane at the crack of dawn, an air of quiet determination blanketing the team. The jet, emblazoned with the club¡¯s bat emblem, sparkled under the early sunlight at Valencia Airport. Players dressed in matching black travel tracksuits with subtle orange trims moved in unison, wheeling their luggage towards the aircraft. Inside, the cabin buzzed with low chatter and the faint hum of jet engines. Izan, sat by a window, his earbuds in place as he gazed out at the receding skyline. Across the aisle, club captain Jos¨¦ Gaya exchanged tactical banter with other senior players, but even they occasionally cast glances toward Izan. There was something magnetic about the teenager¡ªan aura of calmness mixed with a hunger that belied his years. The head coach, pacing up and down the aisle, stopped by Izan¡¯s seat before addressing the whole squad. "Fight hard tomorrow because we are going up to 3rd place should we win?" Izan pulled out one earbud and nodded at the coach¡¯s word. "Okay Coach" the squad shouted in unison. As the plane ascended, the team settled into their routines. Some players scrolled through game footage on their tablets, while others joked around. Izan, however, remained focused, flipping through the notes that had been given by Assistant Cicah Moreno on the home side. The home side was formidable on their turf, and the island¡¯s fervent fans were known to create a cauldron-like atmosphere at Estadio de Gran Canaria. ..... The squad landed ahead of schedule, stepping into the mild island breeze. Cameras clicked and reporters buzzed around the team bus. All eyes seemed drawn to Izan, whose composed stride and faint smile suggested a boy unbothered by the storm of expectations. For him, this was another stage, another chance to cement his standing as a present football elite. As the bus rolled towards their hotel, the city of Las Palmas stretched out before them, vibrant and alive. Izan leaned against the window, his thoughts drifting to the game ahead. For him, this was more than just football. It was a chance to etch his name deeper into the annals of the sport¡ªa teenager on the verge of greatness. ... The Gran Canaria Stadium buzzed with anticipation as Las Palmas hosted Valencia in a crucial La Liga fixture. The home fans filled the air with songs and chants, their yellow flags waving fervently under the floodlights. Valencia¡¯s travelling supporters, fewer in number but equally passionate, gathered in one corner of the stadium, their voices piercing through the cacophony. Among them was a growing faction of fans holding banners for Izan, the sensation who had taken the football world and the hearts of the Valencia fans by storm. Valencia, fourth on the table needed a win to move up to third place to not risk falling out of the top 6 because there wasn¡¯t much point difference from 4th place to 7th place. Las Palmas, battling to escape the relegation zone, had everything to play for. The stakes were high, and the stage was set for a thrilling encounter. After the opening pleasantries were done away with, the referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the match. The opening exchanges were cagey, with both teams testing the waters. Las Palmas pressed high with the desperation of a relegation-battling team, looking to unsettle Valencia¡¯s rhythm, while the visitors sought to control possession. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan, playing in his now-familiar attacking midfield role, was heavily marked but showed glimpses of his class with quick touches and clever movement. In the 22nd minute, Valencia broke the deadlock in an unusual fashion. A hopeful cross from the right by Thierry Correia caused panic in the Las Palmas defence. Under pressure from Hugo Duro, Las Palmas defender Sa¨²l Coco inadvertently headed the ball into his own net. The home crowd groaned in disbelief as Valencia celebrated their fortuitous lead with their away fans. Las Palmas responded with urgency, creating a flurry of chances. Their winger Kirian Rodr¨ªguez was particularly dangerous, forcing a brilliant save from Giorgi Mamardashvili in the 35th minute. Valencia¡¯s defence held firm, with Mouctar Diakhaby marshalling the backline effectively with Cenk Ozkacar. The first half ended 1-0 in favour of the visitors, but the match was far from over. Las Palmas came out with renewed energy after the break, and their persistence paid off in the 54th minute. A quick counter-attack saw Jonathan Viera unleash a powerful shot from the edge of the box. The ball took a deflection off Cenk, wrong-footing Mamardashvili and nestling into the net. The defender seeing as he had caused two goals in two matches in a row fell to the ground. The stadium erupted as Las Palmas drew level, their fans sensing a turnaround. "Come on Cenk, it¡¯s just a rough patch of form, you¡¯ll get over it," Izan said as he bent to help Cenk up. The defender sighed seeing the youngster in front of him try to comfort him. After the restart, las Palmas sought to capitalize on their momentum. Valencia, however, refused to be rattled. Ruben Baraja made a tactical adjustment, instructing his players to sit deep and exploit the spaces left by Las Palmas¡¯ high pressing by sending long and sharp balls. Izan began to find more freedom, drifting into pockets of space and linking up play. In the 72nd minute, the moment of brilliance arrived. Izan received the ball just inside Las Palmas¡¯ half, evading two defenders with a deft turn. He drove forward, his eyes scanning the field. Spotting Hugo Duro¡¯s run, Izan delivered a perfectly weighted through ball that split the defence. Duro latched onto it, took a touch, and calmly slotted the ball past the onrushing goalkeeper to put Valencia ahead. The Valencia bench erupted, and the away fans celebrated wildly. Izan¡¯s assist was met with awe both in the stadium and online. The stadium erupted with praise for Izan¡¯s pass and Duro¡¯s finish. After the goal, the home fans started scrambling for a goal which led to their setup being broken but Valencia failed to take advantage of it. Las Palmas pushed for an equalizer in the dying minutes, but Valencia held their ground as Mamardashvili made another crucial save, denying Viera from close range. As the final whistle blew, Valencia players embraced each other, celebrating a hard-fought 2-1 victory. Valencia¡¯s travelling fans chanted Izan¡¯s name as he applauded them while walking around the stadium. In the post-match interview, Hugo Duro was quick to credit the youngster for his assist. "He¡¯s unbelievable," Duro said. "The way he reads the game at such a young age is incredible. I¡¯m just hoping he can stay here for a bit longer and help me add to my goal tally. His passes are that easy to score." "Then why do you keep missing them" Pietro who was near said from behind the reporter causing the latter to break in small laughs while Hugo Duro stood still with a wry smile on his face. Chapter 181: Market Valuation In the post-match interview, Hugo Duro was quick to credit the youngster for his assist. "He¡¯s unbelievable," Duro said. "The way he reads the game at such a young age is incredible. I¡¯m just hoping he can stay here for a bit longer and help me add to my goal tally. His passes are that easy to score." "Then why do you keep missing them" Pietro who was near said from being the reporter causing the latter to break into laughter while Hugo Duro stood still with a wry smile on his face. ..... In Baraja¡¯s modest office at the training ground, the walls were adorned with framed photos of the club¡¯s glory days, tactical diagrams, and a small shelf of trophies. A faint hum of activity filtered through the closed door as the rest of the team wrapped up their post-training routines. Izan who had just entered the room, sat across from Baraja, his athletic frame relaxed but his expression thoughtful, the glow of youth tempered by the weight of growing expectations. Baraja who seemed to be engrossed in something rushed and finally got it out of the way before turning to Izan. "So, Izan, how are you holding up after Las Palmas? You¡¯ve been carrying a lot of weight on those young shoulders," the manager asked, Izan staring at the fish tank in the room turning to look at his manager. "I¡¯m good, Coach. It¡¯s all part of the game. Plus the guys are helping out, trying to give advice whenever they can and it¡¯s helpful sometimes" Izan said seemingly in thought. "You¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders for someone your age but as your coach, I¡¯ve long since stopped judging you by normal standards. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Speaking of which, we need to talk about your future at the club." Izan, after hearing this suddenly looked up, curiosity flickering across his face. "The past few weeks have been really turbulent. You know with the thing with AC Milan and the transfer inquiries. It¡¯s caused quite a headache but it¡¯s also brought pride to our Academy and club that a homegrown talent has attracted such attention. I know at this pace, you won¡¯t stay for long, but I need to know¡ªwhere do you see yourself in two years? Do you see yourself still here, still wearing our crest? Right now, you are the core of the club and most of my tactics are fitted to suit you because when you play well, the whole team does and you play well almost every day which has made Valencia seemingly strong so I need to prepare so Valencia doesn¡¯t crumble in case you have a change of mind" The question hung in the air for a moment, the silence of the room only interrupted by the hands of the clock. Izan seemingly done with his thought leaned forward, hands clasped together. "Coach, you know how much this club means to me. I¡¯ll do anything to help us win, whether it¡¯s the league, the Copa, or something bigger. But¡­" Izan paused deliberating on his next words before letting it flow, "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be here beyond next season. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t love the club¡ªI do¡ªbut I feel like I might be ready for that new challenge and that step up by then. Right now, every person, fan or football lover sees me as just a promising talent. Even the output I¡¯m giving does nothing to deter them from those words. So next season is certain but past that, it¡¯ll be very difficult Coach." Baraja didn¡¯t flinch after Izan¡¯s words but instead, he steepled his fingers, studying Izan intently. "Fair enough. But let me propose something. Let¡¯s make a bet." Raising an eyebrow, Izan asked intently"A bet?" "Yes. Before you even think about leaving, give us something unforgettable. Win us a European trophy¡ªthe Europa League, maybe even the Champions League if we¡¯re bold. Do that, and then we¡¯ll revisit this conversation. Deal?" Baraja said leaning back in his chair. Izan who had his eyes wide open chuckled, shaking his head before looking at Baraja again. "You¡¯re setting the bar pretty high, m¨ªster. But all right, deal. I¡¯ll give it my all for that kind of glory. If we¡¯re able to do that, I might fetch a pretty sum for the club while leaving" "That¡¯s all I ask for, and when the time comes for you to move on, just let me know. I¡¯ll make sure the door is open¡ªnot slammed." Baraja said extending a hand. The two shook hands, sealing the bet. Izan smirked, a playful glint in his eye. "I guess Valencia will have to clear out some space for the incoming Europa League trophy," Izan said in a depressing tone before looking at Baraja with a grin. "Good! Now get out of here before I make you run extra laps tomorrow." Baraja said as Izan stood up. Izan who couldn¡¯t help it, adopted a mock serious face, trying to hide his amusement. The two shared a hearty laugh before Izan exited the office, leaving behind an air of mutual respect and determination. .... The following day, Valencia¡¯s squad focused on recovery. Izan, under the watchful eye of the club¡¯s medical team, engaged in light exercises to aid his physical regeneration. Despite his youthful exuberance, the staff ensured he didn¡¯t overexert himself, understanding the need to manage his workload carefully during that day¡¯s training. A day later, the team resumed training at Paterna. The session was light but emphasized tactical drills and passing sequences. After this, Ruben Baraja gathered the squad for video analysis, highlighting areas for improvement from the Las Palmas match. Izan, attentive and eager, took notes with the aid of Assistant Coach Moreno as the main coach dissected his movements and decision-making. On the field, Izan worked closely with Duro and veteran fullback Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, refining their chemistry while not forgetting his other teammates. The camaraderie among the players was evident, with Izan¡¯s teammates encouraging him at every turn. Despite his growing fame, the teenager remained humble, always seeking advice and feedback. Valencia supporters continued to shower Izan with admiration. At the club¡¯s training facility, fans gathered to watch the team practice. Among them were children holding signs that read, "Izan, you inspire us!" The young star took time to interact with his admirers, signing autographs and posing for photos. As the team prepared for their next challenge, the excitement surrounding Izan showed no signs of waning. For Valencia fans, at least for now, the future seemed brighter than ever with Izan leading the charge. ..... The football world stood still as the Global Football Index (GFI), renowned for its precise player evaluations, unveiled its latest rankings. The update provided a snapshot of the most valuable players in the sport, with Valencia¡¯s young prodigy, Izan, emerging as one of the headline stories. At just 16 years old, Izan¡¯s dazzling performances had not only solidified his place in Valencia¡¯s first team but also made him one of the most sought-after talents in world football. From his game-changing goals to his composed and ice-cold delivery on the pitch, Izan had proven he belonged among the game¡¯s elite. The general ranking featured established superstars at the pinnacle of the sport, with Izan remarkably breaking into the top six. First on the list was Real- Madrid linked Kylian Mbapp¨¦ who had a whopping €180M tag. The PSG forward retained his crown as the most valuable player in the world, combining explosive speed, clinical finishing, and star power. Following closely behind was Manchester City¡¯s Erling Haaland with a price tag of €175M. The Norwegian striker¡¯s ability to score goals in every conceivable way had made him a cornerstone for City and a global icon. Tied for 3rd and fourth on the list were Real Madrid¡¯s Jude Bellingham and Vinicius Junior, both with a €160M valuation with the twenty-year-old being ahead because of his younger age. Arsenal¡¯s jewel Bukayo Saka followed on 5th with a valuation of €150M standing out as one of the best wingers in the game. Follow behind Saka was Barcelona¡¯s Pedri with a €140M valuation. A player known for his vision and composure, Pedri remained a vital cog in Barcelona¡¯s midfield. Finally, a name that came as no surprise to anyone after Musiala and Wirtz tied with €130M each was none other than Izan, Valencia CF¡¯s talisman who had a valuation of a whooping ¨C €125M. For a first-timer on the list, Izan¡¯s value truly reflected his importance and how sought-after he was and it was only going to improve further from here on out. Valencia¡¯s teenage sensation had taken the world by storm, with his ability to control games, and his clinically gifted shots to produce magic moments earning him a spot in the top 10 Barcelona¡¯s Gavi finally ended the list with a €110M valuation. --- With the 8th spot secured on the most Valuable list, Izan topped the list of most valuable teenagers with Barcelona¡¯s gem of a player, Lamine Yamal following behind on second with an €80M valuation after the latter¡¯s dazzling performances in the Laliga and the UCL. The rest included names like Palmeiras¡¯ Endrick, Paris Saint-Germain¡¯s Za?re-Emery, Manchester United¡¯s Garnacho and a few others all with €60M to €40M evaluations. Chapter 182: Reactions and Upcoming Challenge --- With the 8th spot secured on the most Valuable list, Izan topped the list of most valuable teenagers with Barcelona¡¯s gem of a player, Lamine Yamal following behind on second with an €80M valuation after the latter¡¯s dazzling performances in the Laliga and the UCL. The rest included names like Palmeiras¡¯ Endrick, Paris Saint-Germain¡¯s Za?re-Emery, Manchester United¡¯s Garnacho and a few others all with €60M to €40M evaluations. ..... The footballing world was left buzzing when the latest Global Football Index (GFI) market value rankings were released. Amongst the familiar names of global superstars like Kylian Mbapp¨¦ and Erling Haaland, a stunning entry at number eight caught everyone¡¯s attention: 16-year-old Izan of Valencia CF. With a valuation of €125M, he not only became the youngest player in the top 10 but also claimed the title of the most expensive teenager in football. The announcement sent shockwaves through clubs, pundits, and fans alike, sparking debates about Izan¡¯s meteoric rise and his position among the game¡¯s elite. The clubs that had their eyes on Izan now knew they had to redouble their efforts after the valuation since Valencia hadn¡¯t said anything about Izan¡¯s release clause. --- A source within one of Europe¡¯s top clubs was quoted as saying: "Izan is a generational talent. He¡¯s already showing maturity beyond his years. Every big club will have their eye on him, but Valencia will hold out for a record fee." Reports suggested that Valencia received congratulatory messages from a few club executives, with many admiring the youngster¡¯s growth and Valencia¡¯s role in nurturing him. However, behind the scenes, whispers of future bids in the €150M to €200M range were already being floated. --- Football analysts offered varying opinions on Izan¡¯s ranking. On popular football shows, experts debated whether the €125M valuation was justified. Gary Neville: "I¡¯ve watched clips of this kid, and he¡¯s the real deal. What¡¯s impressive is how he controls games at 16¡ªhe¡¯s fearless. But let¡¯s not rush him. The pressure of such a price tag can be a lot for young players." Max Xully: "Izan at €125M might raise eyebrows, but when you consider the market and what he¡¯s done already, it¡¯s not outrageous. He¡¯s outperforming players twice his age." La Liga Icon Gaizka Mendieta: "Valencia have unearthed a diamond. Izan¡¯s technical ability and decision-making are astonishing for someone his age. If he stays grounded, there¡¯s no ceiling for him." Others cautioned against premature hype, with some noting the risks of placing such high expectations on a teenager. Didi Hamann: "We¡¯ve seen this before¡ªhuge valuations, big transfers, and then players fail to live up to the hype. Izan has talent, no doubt, but football is littered with stories of what could have been." ---- Izan¡¯s placement in the rankings also drew attention from fellow players. Many of football¡¯s biggest stars took to social media or interviews to acknowledge his talent. Jude Bellingham (Real Madrid): "Izan¡¯s ranking is well-deserved. We¡¯ve all seen him, and he¡¯s got something special. Can¡¯t wait to see what he achieves." .... Lamine Yamal: "Izan is a phenomenal player. Being compared to him motivates me to keep improving. It¡¯s great to see young players pushing boundaries Some say I would have been the most talked about teenager if Izan wasn¡¯t there. Well, that¡¯s why he¡¯s there. I pray I get to play alongside him for the upcoming European tournament.." --- The news was a significant moment for La Liga, as Izan¡¯s rise brought renewed attention to the league¡¯s ability to develop world-class talent. La Liga¡¯s official channels celebrated his ranking with a post that read: "La Liga: Home of Future Legends. Congratulations to Izan, the most valuable teenager in football!" --- Valencia CF wasted no time celebrating their star¡¯s achievement. The Club president issued a statement: "Izan is a symbol of what Valencia represents: hard work, passion, and talent. His €125M valuation reflects not just his ability but also the environment we¡¯ve created to nurture him. He¡¯s focused on the present, and so are we." Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja, who worked closely with Izan, remarked in a press conference: "This is just the beginning for Izan. He has the potential to achieve great things, but the key is to keep his feet on the ground and let his football do the talking." --- Media outlets worldwide were quick to cover Izan¡¯s unprecedented rise. BBC Sport: "Izan: The €125M Teenager Taking the Football World by Storm." Marca: "Valencia¡¯s Jewel: Izan Tops Global Rankings as the Most Expensive Teenager." L¡¯¨¦quipe: "Izan Enters Football¡¯s Elite Club at Just 16." ESPN: "Can Izan Live Up to His €125M Tag? The World Watches." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. --- The footballing world may be divided on whether Izan¡¯s valuation is justified, but few doubt his potential. Fans, players, and pundits alike agree on one thing: Izan is a once-in-a-generation talent, and his journey has only just begun. As one fan aptly put it on Twitter: "Izan isn¡¯t just football¡¯s future¡ªhe¡¯s already its present." ... Valencia¡¯s Paterna training ground was buzzing, but not just because of the upcoming La Liga clash against Sevilla. The release of the Global Football Index market valuation list had placed the spotlight squarely on their teenage prodigy. Izan had become the talk of the footballing world¡ªand his teammates weren¡¯t about to let him off the hook During warm-ups, Pietro saw an opportunity to rib Izan. Stretching beside the teenager, Pietro turned to him with a dramatic sigh. "You know, Izan," he began, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, "€125M? That¡¯s insane. Do you have to pay extra taxes on yourself now?" The group of players around them burst into laughter with Correira chiming in, "Careful, Pietro. If you tackle him too hard in training, Valencia might fine you for damaging company property!" Izan, used to the banter by now, grinned and shot back, "Don¡¯t worry, Pietro. With your touch, no scout would believe we¡¯re on the same team." The laughter grew louder, with Pietro clutching his chest in mock pain. "Ouch, I¡¯d challenge you to a one-on-one, but I wouldn¡¯t want to devalue the club¡¯s biggest asset." As the squad moved to passing drills, Pietro wasn¡¯t done. Partnering with Mouctar Diakhaby, the team¡¯s centre-back, they kept the teasing alive. Mouctar glanced at Izan and said, "You know, I heard they¡¯re thinking of renaming the club ¡¯ Izan CF.¡¯ Makes sense with all that money tied to you." Pietro added, "And here I thought my last League bonus was impressive. Turns out, all I had to do was be born in 2007 and score a few wonder goals!" Izan rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Keep talking, Pietro. Maybe I¡¯ll use my €125M to buy someone else a spot in the starting lineup." The playful banter kept spirits high, a welcome distraction from the pressure of the Sevilla match and the media frenzy surrounding Izan. Head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja, observing the team¡¯s camaraderie, let the jokes play out for a while before stepping in. "Alright, alright," Baraja called out, clapping his hands. "Let¡¯s focus. Sevilla isn¡¯t going to care about anyone¡¯s market value¡ªthey¡¯ll care about who wins." He approached Izan during a water break, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Ignore the noise, Izan. It¡¯s just numbers. What matters is what you do on the pitch. Remember, the best way to silence the doubters¡ªand your teammates¡ªis with another performance, say like winning a Europe troph-" "Come on Coach, not you too," Izan cut Ruben Baraja off before he could finish. The manager walked away laughing after that with Izan continuing with his training. --- As the session ended and the players walked off the pitch, the banter gave way to genuine admiration. Despite the jokes, it was clear to everyone that Izan¡¯s talent was extraordinary, and they were proud to have him as part of the team. Gaya jogged up beside him and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Seriously, kid. Just remember, no matter what the papers say, we¡¯ve got your back. Now, let¡¯s beat Sevilla, yeah?" Izan smiled. "Yeah. Let¡¯s do it." Amidst the teasing and laughter, the team¡¯s unity shone through¡ªa crucial ingredient as Valencia prepared to face Sevilla and continue their strong run in the league. .... After a few days, Valencia CF¡¯s players arrived at the airport with a calm yet focused demeanour, dressed in their sleek club travel attire that exuded professionalism. The players moved through the terminal in a coordinated manner, drawing the attention of fans and travellers alike. Some stopped briefly to sign autographs or take selfies with supporters, while others remained engrossed in their own routines¡ªheadphones on, eyes fixed ahead. On the plane, Sosa who had brought a portable console inhaled in some games with Izan. The hum of quiet conversations mixed with the occasional bursts of laughter, while some players scrolled through tactical notes on tablets or rewatched clips of their previous matches. The flight to Seville was smooth, with the Andalusian landscape unfolding beneath them as they neared their destination. Upon landing, they were met by a small but enthusiastic group of Valencia fans, their chants echoing through the terminal as the team made their way to the awaiting bus, ready to take on the challenge ahead. Chapter 183: Battle-hardened Legend The Valencia CF team bus pulled into the players¡¯ entrance of the Ram¨®n S¨¢nchez Pizju¨¢n Stadium amidst the cheers and jeers of passionate Sevilla supporters. The air was electric with anticipation, as fans waved scarves and banners, shouting chants of loyalty to their respective teams. The sleek, black bus came to a halt, its doors hissing open to reveal players clad in their crisp, orange-trimmed travel gear. Captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ was the first to descend, his expression stoic yet focused, followed closely by the towering figure of Edinson Cavani. Izan stepped off the bus next, his youthful face betraying a mixture of excitement and composure, the weight of expectation evident in his determined stride. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Behind him, his teammates emerged, completing the procession. Stadium personnel in Sevilla¡¯s official attire greeted the team courteously and led them through the dimly lit corridors of the historic stadium. The scent of fresh-cut grass wafted faintly through the air as the group navigated toward their designated locker room. Valencia¡¯s assistant coach, clipboard in hand, exchanged a few logistical details with a staff member, while the players took in the atmosphere of the venue¡ªa cauldron waiting to erupt. The locker room was a hive of activity. Jerseys with bold numbers hung neatly on hooks, boots were aligned meticulously, and the team physiotherapist made last-minute checks on equipment. The players settled in, chatting lightly as they began their pre-match routines. --- Valencia players emerged from the tunnel for their warm-up session, greeted by a cacophony of noise from the stands. Izan walked at the centre of the group, boots slung over his shoulder, his gaze scanning the vibrant red-and-white surroundings. As the Sevilla squad entered from their side of the tunnel, the atmosphere intensified. Sergio Ramos, Sevilla¡¯s veteran captain, was among the last of his team to appear. His imposing presence immediately caught Izan¡¯s eye. For a brief moment, the two locked gazes¡ªa clash of youthful ambition and seasoned experience. The staredown was subtle yet charged, a foreshadowing of the duel to come. Ramos smirked faintly. "Let¡¯s see if you can do it again today" Ramos mouthed to Izan. Izan responded with an unflinching nod, his eyes unshaken. Out on the pitch, Izan joined his teammates in a series of drills. The ball seemed to dance at his feet as he performed quick step-overs, flicks, and backheels, drawing murmurs of admiration from the crowd. He capped off his warm-up with a cheeky rainbow flick, leaving the fans excited. The Valencia faithful roared their approval, while Sevilla fans booed in equal measure, already invested in the young star¡¯s every move. The broadcast opened with the familiar voice of the lead commentator, setting the stage for what was shaping up to be an enthralling encounter. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Ram¨®n S¨¢nchez Pizju¨¢n for this highly anticipated La Liga clash between Sevilla and Valencia. The storylines are plenty, but all eyes are on one: Izan versus Sergio Ramos. The 16-year-old sensation versus the battle-hardened legend of the game. Youthful exuberance against defensive mastery. Can the young star outwit one of the game¡¯s most formidable defenders? Or will Ramos remind us all why he¡¯s considered one of the best of his generation? Stick with us, as this promises to be a night to remember!" The stadium roared as the teams made their way back to the locker rooms for final preparations, with the promise of a thrilling encounter. .... The Ram¨®n S¨¢nchez Pizju¨¢n was alive, buzzing with an energy that could almost be touched. As the players emerged from the tunnel, the deafening roar of the crowd shook the stadium to its core. Valencia, in their bold orange kits, lined up against Sevilla¡¯s iconic white and red, setting the stage for a classic La Liga battle. The match was billed as an intense contest, but the spotlight was fixed firmly on another duel between the emerging star Izan and the legendary Sergio Ramos. From the first whistle, Sevilla sought to assert their dominance, using quick passing to pin Valencia back. Izan, stationed in the middle, was Valencia¡¯s clear outlet for counter-attacks. His first encounter with Ramos came in the 8th minute. Izan received a long ball from Hugo Guillam¨®n who was replacing Pepelu for this match and immediately attempted to sprint past Ramos with a burst of pace. Ramos, reading the play like a seasoned grandmaster, stepped in and executed a perfectly timed tackle, drawing cheers from the home crowd. "Experience wins this round," the commentator quipped, adding, "Izan will need to dig deeper to get the better of Ramos." The Sevilla fans roared, while Valencia supporters offered a polite clap, acknowledging the masterclass. Izan, however, was undeterred. Minutes later, in the 15th, Izan retaliated. Picking up a loose ball near midfield, he turned sharply, evading two Sevilla players with a deft touch. Sprinting into the final third, he faced Ramos again. This time, a quick stepover followed by a sudden shift to his weaker right foot created just enough space for a low cross. Though the Sevilla defence cleared the danger, the crowd murmured with admiration. "That¡¯s what the boy brings," the co-commentator noted. "Fearlessness. That kid always does it but it never ceases to stop amazing me." The game settled into a rhythm as Sevilla controlled possession while Valencia relied on quick transitions. Ramos shadowed Izan with the precision of a hawk, often cutting off passing lanes and denying the youngster opportunities to exploit his pace. In the 33rd minute, Izan got his biggest chance of the half. A clever one-two with Gay¨¤ sent him streaking down the left. He cut inside, facing Ramos in a one-on-one. Izan feinted left, then right, before darting to the byline. Ramos, caught slightly off balance, recovered just in time to block Izan¡¯s attempted cross, saving Sevilla from conceding. The commentator¡¯s voice boomed over the noise, "What a duel this is! Ramos showing why he¡¯s one of the greats, but Izan¡¯s resilience is remarkable." Halftime arrived with the scoreline still 0-0. Fans took to social media, divided in their opinions: "Ramos schooling the kid. Legend!" "Izan¡¯s holding his own against Ramos! This boy is special." "Come on guys. Izan has already beaten Ramos before. Go watch their last encounter. That kid put the old man to dust" "I saw that match but I say Ramos was taking it easy" "Have you ever seen Ramos take it easy?" As the fans continued sharing their opinions, the second half began. --- The second half began with increased intensity. Sevilla ramped up the pressure, with Youssef En-Nesyri coming close to scoring twice, but Valencia¡¯s defence held firm. In the 58th minute, Izan finally got the upper hand after Hugo Guillam¨®n sent a lofted ball over Sevilla¡¯s defence. Izan controlled it expertly, his first touch taking him past Jes¨²s Navas. Bearing down on Ramos, he executed a dazzling roulette move, spinning away from the veteran and drawing gasps from the crowd. Ramos, forced into a desperate lunge, managed to clip the ball away, but not without leaving Izan sprawled on the turf. "Wow!" the commentator exclaimed. "Izan just turned Sergio Ramos inside out! The kid is on fire!" Though the attack didn¡¯t result in a goal, it was clear that Izan was growing into the game. --- After a bit of back and forth, something had to change. The breakthrough came in the 70th minute. Izan, cutting in from the left, danced his way past two Sevilla defenders, using his quick feet and body feints to create space. Ramos stepped up to stop him, but Izan anticipated the challenge, pushing the ball just ahead before feeling the slightest contact. The latter tumbled to the ground, arms spread wide open. The referee pointed to the spot upon seeing it but the Sevilla players protested furiously, Ramos leading the charge, but the decision stood. "Izan wins the penalty!" the commentator declared. "Crafty play from the youngster¡ªhe knew exactly what he was doing there." Hugo Duro stepped up, his face a picture of calm amidst the chaos. The home crowd tried to rattle him with deafening whistles, but Duro slotted the penalty into the bottom corner, sending the Valencia fans into ecstasy. "Valencia lead! And it¡¯s the 16-year-old Izan who made it happen!" Sevilla pushed hard for an equalizer, forcing Valencia into a defensive shell. Ramos, now playing as an auxiliary striker, had two headers saved by Mamardashvili. Despite Sevilla¡¯s relentless pressure, Izan continued to cause problems on the counter. In the 85th minute, he almost sealed the game. Picking up the ball near the halfway line, he embarked on a solo run, weaving past defenders before unleashing a curling effort that whistled inches wide with the stadium holding its breath. As the final whistle blew, the away section of the stadium erupted into cheers. Izan, visibly exhausted but elated, embraced his teammates. Ramos, ever the professional approached and shook hands with the youngster, offering a nod of respect. "I¡¯d love to play against you again," Izan said as he held Ramos¡¯ hands. "Me too chico, me too but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be with Sevilla after this season so stay focused and put your head in the game, am I clear " Ramos said like a stern uncle while Izan nodded. "Ramos may have won some duels, but Izan was the difference today. Winning that penalty against one of the best defenders of all time is no small feat." the commentator said before clocking out. Fans flooded social media: "Ramos showed his class, but Izan¡¯s potential is undeniable!" "Really wished I could hear what they were talking about," a fan said as two walked away. Chapter 184: Respite. After the match, the football fans flooded social media with their opinions, tweets and polls. "Ramos showed his class, but Izan¡¯s potential is undeniable!" "The old and the new. Wished Ramos was a few years younger. This encounter would have been the peakest. "Pretty sure that¡¯s not a word, my guy from the top" "Really wished I could hear what they were talking about," a fan said. ... In his post-match interview, Ramos was gracious: "He¡¯s got talent, no doubt. I see a bright future for him. Tonight, he played well, and he earned that penalty. It¡¯s always good to see young players stepping up." When asked about facing Ramos when it was his time for the interview, Izan replied humbly: "He¡¯s a legend. Playing against him was a dream. I learned so much tonight. I hope I get to meet more legends like him before they stop playing." The 1-0 win was a massive result for Valencia, but the match would be remembered for the thrilling duel between a rising star and a seasoned legend. Izan¡¯s fearless performance, coupled with Ramos¡¯ masterful defending, offered a glimpse of football at its finest¡ªa clash of generations that left fans on the edge of their seat. ..... The Valencia squad returned from Seville the next day, basking in the satisfaction of their hard-fought 1-0 victory. The atmosphere on the team bus was a blend of quiet exhaustion and subdued elation. Players leaned back in their seats, some with headphones on, some enjoying slight recreation while others exchanged smiles and light banter. The victory marked a significant boost in morale, reinforcing the team¡¯s belief in their ability to grind out results under pressure. Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja sat near the front, poring over notes and speaking occasionally with his assistants, already planning for the next challenge. The win was timely, as teams across La Liga were now hitting their stride with only 13 matches left in the season. Every club, from those chasing European dreams to those battling to avoid relegation, was focused on finishing strong. Training sessions were more intense, lineups more refined, and strategies more deliberate. Valencia, determined to secure their European position or even push higher, had found a rhythm that could propel them toward their goals. Meanwhile, the league itself was alive with intrigue. Each match carried weight, and every team seemed to sense the urgency. Strikers fought fiercely for Golden Boot honours, midfield generals dictated the tempo with increasing authority, and defenders sharpened their resolve to keep clean sheets. For Valencia, the journey was far from over, but their victory in Seville was a statement: they were ready for the final stretch. ... After arriving at the Cuidad, the Ruben Baraja gave the players a day off mentioning how they deserved it. Adding that to their rest day, the players now had two whole days to rest. "I want you guys back and sharper. No fooling around and no headlines" Baraja said, his gaze lingering on Izan because of the latter¡¯s ability to cause headlines when he wasn¡¯t even doing anything. They nodded in unison before dispersing. ..... The warm breeze of Valencia swept through the bustling streets as Miranda stepped out of a sleek black car in front of the Hernandez home, dressed in a tailored navy suit, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement, she carried an air of authority and purpose. She had flown in to finalize the details of Izan¡¯s six-month deal with YSL and to discuss the strategically chosen release date for the campaign¡ªthe same day as Valencia¡¯s upcoming clash against Real Madrid. Izan greeted her at the door, dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers with a water bottle in hand. "Miranda didn¡¯t expect you so soon," he said, stepping aside to let her in. Miranda smirked as she entered, her eyes briefly scanning the modest yet cosy apartment. "Time is money, Izan. Besides, I needed to deliver this news in person. It¡¯s too big for a phone call." Looking around, Miranda asked where Komi and Hori were. "Mom went to drop her off for her classes," Izan said as he glanced at the document Miranda had laid down. Intrigued, Izan gestured for her to sit at the small dining table. "All right, hit me with it." Miranda pulled out a sleek leather folder from her briefcase and laid it on the table. She flipped it open, revealing a detailed contract. "Let¡¯s start with the release date," she began. "YSL has agreed to launch the campaign on the same day as the Real Madrid match. This isn¡¯t a coincidence¡ªit¡¯s strategic. Your performance against Madrid will have all eyes on you, and the campaign¡¯s release will amplify your spotlight tenfold." Izan nodded, impressed by the coordination. "You already told me but still, that¡¯s clever. So, what are the specifics?" Miranda tapped the contract. "The campaign will run for six months, featuring your photos and likeness across major platforms¡ªbillboards, social media, and luxury magazines. YSL is banking on your rising star power as well as your face so they¡¯re putting serious money behind this." She leaned back, her tone shifting to a more triumphant one. "For this short-term deal, they¡¯re offering a base payment of €2 million. On top of that, there are performance-based bonuses. If the campaign achieves specific engagement milestones, you¡¯ll receive up to an additional €1.5 million." Izan blinked, momentarily stunned. "€2 million? For six months?" Miranda smirked. "Plus bonuses. And that¡¯s not all¡ªthey¡¯ve also included a travel and wardrobe allowance, ensuring you¡¯re always dressed in their latest collections. Think private fittings, exclusive events, and access to their VIP networks. This deal isn¡¯t just about the money, Izan¡ªit¡¯s about positioning you as more than just a footballer. They want you to be a global icon." Izan exhaled, trying to wrap his head around the numbers and the opportunities that came with them. "This is... nice." "It is," Miranda agreed, her tone firm but encouraging. "And it¡¯s only the beginning. But with great exposure comes great responsibility. The timing with the Real Madrid match is perfect, but it also means you¡¯ll need to deliver both on and off the pitch. YSL¡¯s reputation is riding on this as much as yours." Izan nodded, his expression serious. "I understand. I won¡¯t let this opportunity go to waste." Miranda smiled, closing the folder and sliding it across the table toward him. "Good. Here¡¯s the contract for you to review and sign. Once it¡¯s done, I¡¯ll handle the rest. And Izan," she added, her tone softening, "you¡¯ve earned this. Enjoy the moment, but remember¡ªthis is just a stepping stone to even bigger things." After Miranda finished her speech, she went to Komi¡¯s room to take a nap, leaving Izan alone to contemplate the contract. He read the contract and it was precise and clear, knowing Miranda would have cleared any bad terms. After reading through again, Izan took the pen Miranda had left and signed. The contract still needed the signature of his guardian since Izan was a minor and all so they had to wait for Komi to arrive. ..... Izan¡¯s two-day break in Valencia was a rare respite from the whirlwind of attention that had enveloped his life. The city¡¯s golden sunlight cast a soft glow on the cobblestone streets, creating a perfect backdrop for moments of calm with his family and friends. Izan, dressed in a simple white hoodie and jeans, strolled through the lively streets with Komi, Hori, and Miranda. Komi, ever the warm and supportive mother, was quick to point out interesting landmarks, her laughter blending with the chatter of tourists. Hori, always curious and energetic, darted ahead to check out street performers and colourful market stalls, her excitement infectious. Miranda, dressed casually but with her usual effortless charm, walked beside Komi, the two holding hands. As they stopped for ice cream at a quaint caf¨¦ by the Plaza de la Reina, Izan pulled out his phone and started a video chat with Olivia. Her cheerful face appeared on the screen, her auburn curls and green eyes catching the sunlight from her end of the call. "I wish I could be there," Olivia said with a wistful smile, her voice carrying a mix of longing and excitement. "Yeah, it¡¯s really nice here," Izan replied his tone light but his eyes betraying a flicker of understanding. "Maybe next time." Komi and Miranda exchanged knowing smiles while Hori leaned over to wave at Olivia, saying, "We¡¯re saving a spot for you!" The afternoon passed in a haze of laughter, shared stories, and moments of reflection. Despite the bustling streets and vibrant energy of Valencia, Izan found solace in the simplicity of being surrounded by the people who mattered most to him. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Even with Olivia miles away, her presence through the screen added another layer of warmth to the day. Arriving home, Komi was too exhausted from the day¡¯s activities to cook so the family ordered some Pizzas. Looking at the smiling faces around, Izan took a deep breath, cherishing all that was before him. "Thanks for choosing me, Max" Izan uttered to no one but a ding in his mind made him smile. "Did you say something?" Hori asked but Izan shook his head before continuing to indulge in the Pizza. Chapter 185: Izan Vs Bellingham. Despite the bustling streets and vibrant energy of Valencia, Izan found solace in the simplicity of being surrounded by the people who mattered most to him. Even with Olivia miles away, her presence through the screen added another layer of warmth to the day. Arriving home, Komi was too exhausted from the day¡¯s activities to cook so the family ordered some Pizzas. Looking at the smiling faces around, Izan took a deep breath, cherishing all that was before him. "Thanks for choosing me, Max" Izan uttered to no one but a ding in his mind made him smile. "Did you say something?" Hori asked but Izan shook his head before continuing to indulge in the Pizza. ..... The next day, in a brightly lit studio LaLiga pundits sat around the studio, their faces etched with excitement and intrigue as they dissected Valencia¡¯s grueling upcoming schedule. "Valencia is staring down the barrel of perhaps the toughest stretch of fixtures any La Liga team will face this season. It¡¯s nothing short of a hellish run, and it all kicks off with a daunting trip to the Santiago Bernab¨¦u to face Real Madrid. What do we think, gentlemen? Is this survivable?" The anchor, Eleanor Bohen said as she looked at the two men in front of her. "Survivable? Maybe, but barely. Real Madrid will be a massive test of Valencia¡¯s mettle, and it doesn¡¯t get any easier. Two days later, they face Mallorca in the first leg of the Copa del Rey semi-final. That¡¯s hardly enough time for recovery, let alone preparation," one of the pundits spoke. Eleanor looked on with a smile before looking at the other one. "Okay, Luis, we heard about Eric¡¯s opinion. What about yours?" "Well, it¡¯s the same for me, Eleanor. It will be difficult and three days after that, Valencia will face off against Villarreal. Another local derby, another must-win game. Valencia needs points in La Liga, and Villarreal won¡¯t make it easy for them. The squad depth is going to be tested to its absolute limit. Will they rotate? Or go all out every match?" Eleanor nodded at Eric¡¯s words as the latter continued speaking. "Well, for those of you watching "she said letting her words still for a bit, "Here¡¯s where it gets crazy. After Villarreal, Valencia faces Mallorca in La Liga. That¡¯s two games against the same side in just over a week. But the real kicker is the second leg of the Copa del Rey semi-final against Mallorca right after. So basically, they¡¯ll face the same opponent three times in quick succession. How do you even prepare for that?" Eleanor ended turning her attention to Luis. "It¡¯s hard Eleanor and just when you think it¡¯s over, they¡¯re greeted by Real Betis. No respite, no easy game. Oh, and Barcelona looms on the horizon after that. It¡¯s a nightmare. Let¡¯s not forget that Valencia isn¡¯t exactly blessed with the depth of some of the bigger teams. Their young players will be crucial, but even then, the mental and physical toll could derail their season. This could define their year ¨C for better or worse." "If they can somehow navigate this stretch and stay in the Copa del Rey while keeping their La Liga position intact, they¡¯ll come out stronger. But that¡¯s a huge ¡¯if.¡¯ This schedule is as unforgiving as it gets." Luis finished. [Once again, don¡¯t be dirty-minded. Not that kind of finish] Well, Luis, all eyes will be on Valencia over the next few weeks. Can they survive, or will this brutal schedule break them? Stay tuned." ........ After the segment went for a break, a few watching fans took to their Social Media handles, some expressing their dissatisfaction over the schedules while some worried for the players. The number of games in a single season had been increasing over the past years which in turn has caused a lot of injuries. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A while later, the segment returned, this time to talk about the players. .... Eleanor: "Now, let¡¯s talk about the squad management side of things. Ruben Baraja has a lot to think about here, especially with the depth¡ªor lack thereof¡ªon Valencia¡¯s bench. How crucial will the rotations be during this stretch?" Luis: "Hugely crucial. This kind of schedule doesn¡¯t just demand a strong starting eleven¡ªit requires the entire squad to step up. Players who haven¡¯t had much game time so far will need to contribute, and Baraja has to trust his bench. The likes of Amallah, Almeida, and new addition Sosa, if he rotates into different roles, will be key. But here¡¯s the real balancing act: ensuring that his stars don¡¯t burn out." ---- Eric: "And that brings us to Izan. He¡¯s been nothing short of sensational for Valencia. To me, he¡¯s been the best player in the league and he has everyone talking. But let¡¯s be honest¡ªhe¡¯s only 16. Baraja has to be careful not to overplay him, no matter how tempting it is to rely on his talent." Eleanor: "It¡¯s a fine line, isn¡¯t it? You want your best players on the pitch, especially during such a critical period. But at the same time, overworking a teenager¡ªno matter how gifted¡ªcan lead to injuries or fatigue. How should Baraja handle Izan?" Luis: "Personally, I¡¯d use him sparingly in La Liga during this stretch, perhaps as an impact sub against Real Madrid or Villarreal. The Copa del Rey semis are where you need him the most¡ªit¡¯s Valencia¡¯s best shot at silverware this season. But even then, Baraja has to manage his minutes wisely. You can¡¯t expect a 16-year-old to carry the weight of this brutal schedule on his shoulders." Eric: "Absolutely. This is where Baraja¡¯s experience as a player himself should come into play. He knows what it takes to survive these stretches, but he also knows the risks of overloading a young player. It¡¯s time for the senior players¡ªGaya, Marmadashvili, and others¡ªto step up and lead by example. They¡¯ve been through these battles before." Eleanor: "One final thought¡ªif Valencia¡¯s bench doesn¡¯t step up and if Izan is overplayed, could this spell disaster for their season?" Eric: "It could. This run of games is season-defining, and if they don¡¯t get it right, they could crash out of the Copa del Rey and lose ground in La Liga. The balance between ambition and sustainability is everything right now for Baraja." Luis: "Valencia fans will hope Baraja gets that balance spot-on. One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªthis is where great managers prove their worth. All eyes will be on Mestalla, and Izan, for better or worse, will be at the centre of it all." Eleanor: "Well folks, there you have it. High stakes, high drama¡ªValencia¡¯s season could be hanging by a thread, and it all starts this week. Let¡¯s see if they can rise to the challenge. I¡¯m Eleanor Bohen and this has been Laliga Insights." .... Valencia¡¯s training ground buzzed with intensity as the team prepared for their daunting clash against Real Madrid at the Mestalla. The players moved through drills under the watchful eye of head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja, who emphasized tactical discipline and sharp transitions. Izan, stood out as always¡ªhis touches crisp, his vision unparalleled. His composure and confidence during high-pressure scenarios continued to impress his teammates and staff alike. As Valencia focused on their preparations, LaLiga¡¯s official social media accounts sparked a storm with a post comparing the performances of Real Madrid¡¯s Jude Bellingham and Valencia¡¯s Izan. The numbers spoke volumes. Jude Bellingham: 16 goals and 5 assists in La Liga only, 20 goals and 9 assists in 36 games across all competitions. Izan: 16 goals and 14 assists in La Liga only, 22 goals and 17 assists in all competitions, becoming the youngest player in league history to achieve double digits in both goals and assists in a single season. After the stats came out, it came to the attention of the footballing world. "Izan is rewriting history at just 16 years old! 16 goals and 14 assists in La Liga? This kid is unstoppable. Future Ballon d¡¯Or winner incoming!" "Jude is great, but Izan is playing in a less star-studded team and still putting up these numbers. Respect!" "Real Madrid better watch out. Our boy Izan is ready to take on the Bernab¨¦u!" While neutral fans and Valencia fans praised Izan, the Real Madrid fans sought to discredit the kid a bit. "Bellingham has proven himself in the Champions League and at Dortmund. Izan has potential, but he¡¯s not on Jude¡¯s level yet." "Nice stats, but let¡¯s see how he performs against Rudiger and Alaba. Madrid will teach him a lesson." "Izan is good, but Jude is world-class already. No contest." ..... Back at Valencia¡¯s training ground, the team used the buzz as motivation. Baraja held a brief meeting, reminding his players to focus on their strategy and not get swept up in the media frenzy. Izan, ever composed, took it in stride, saying, "The stats are nice, but we¡¯re here to win as a team." Fans from around the world eagerly awaited the showdown, knowing they were about to witness something special again. A/n:Golden ticket chapter. Have fun. Chapter 186: New Frontier Back at Valencia¡¯s training ground, the team used the buzz as motivation. Baraja held a brief meeting, reminding his players to focus on their strategy and not get swept up in the media frenzy. Izan, ever composed, took it in stride, saying, "The stats are nice, but we¡¯re here to win as a team." Fans from around the world eagerly awaited the showdown, knowing they were about to witness something special again. ... Izan awoke to the faint hum of the city outside his window. Valencia¡¯s heartbeat seemed to echo through the walls of the hotel near the Mestalla. Due to preparation reasons, Coach Baraja had made the players all converge at the stadium for the night. It was match day, and the clash against Real Madrid at the Mestalla loomed like a storm on the horizon. A quick glance at his phone confirmed the time¡ª7:38 a.m. He had slept surprisingly well, but the anticipation coursing through his veins made staying in bed impossible. Sitting up in his bed, Izan glanced at his phone checking a few things, namely news of his collaboration with the Yves Saint Lauren brand but it looked like they hadn¡¯t posted anything yet. After looking through his phone for a while, Izan got up and freshened up before going down. Downstairs, the team trickled into the dining hall, clad in matching Valencia CF tracksuits. Izan joined his teammates, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the smell of warm toast and scrambled eggs. Captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ was already at the table, casually chatting about past encounters with Madrid. "The Mestalla is different," Gay¨¤ said, his voice calm but firm. "They¡¯ll feel it the moment they step out of that tunnel." The players ate in relative silence, the weight of the day settling in. It wasn¡¯t nerves; it was focus. Across the city, Madrid¡¯s squad went through a similar routine at their hotel. Luka Modri?, a veteran of countless high-stakes matches, cracked a rare joke to ease the tension. Jude Bellingham, Madrid¡¯s young sensation, nodded along, but his thoughts were elsewhere¡ªon the roaring crowd they would soon face. As his raging thoughts calmed, Jude looked at his phone after hearing a notification. Looking down, he found a message from Izan. After reading, Jude smiled before sending a reply of his own. ..... The highly anticipated match between Valencia and Real Madrid had left Valencia crippled as the fans streaked towards the stadium, and by midday, the city was already buzzing. Fans roamed the streets in Valencia¡¯s orange and white, debating tactics, cheering, and soaking in the pre-match energy. Izan, Valencia¡¯s young sensation, was the name on everyone¡¯s lips¡ªnot just for his footballing prowess, but for something far removed from the pitch. At exactly noon, Yves Saint Laurent dropped a bombshell. Their Instagram page posted the first image of Izan as the face of their newest campaign. A black-and-white masterpiece by Selene, the celebrated photographer, captured Izan in a moment of raw elegance. His striking blue eyes glowed against the shadows, his expression intense yet effortless, and his tailored black suit radiated a modern, rebellious sophistication. The caption read: "Izan: The Spirit of YSL. Captured by Selene, a muse reborn." In Paris, Selene sat in her studio, her heart racing as the clock struck noon. She had waited weeks for this moment, fine-tuning every detail of the campaign, agonizing over every shot. Izan was her muse¡ªa boy who had emerged from the football world with a face so magnetic it demanded the attention of the fashion elite. She refreshed her phone as the post went live. Within minutes, likes and comments poured in by the thousands. The world had seen what she had seen: a face that could stop time, eyes that seemed to hold stories untold. Selene¡¯s assistant burst into the room, phone in hand. "It¡¯s everywhere," she said breathlessly. "Everyone¡¯s talking about it." Selene allowed herself a small smile, leaning back into her chair. "Of course they are," she said. "It¡¯s Izan." In Milan, a legendary designer paused a fitting session to study the photo on his phone. "Who is this boy?" he asked, showing the image to his team. "He¡¯s... impossible." In New York, a renowned supermodel shared the campaign on her Instagram story, writing: "A face like this comes along once in a generation. Selene, you¡¯ve outdone yourself." In London, fashion critics took to Twitter with rapid-fire commentary: "YSL¡¯s collaboration with Izan is pure genius. Selene captured the soul of a rising star." "Those eyes. That suit. That energy. The campaign is an instant classic." Even rivals in the fashion world begrudgingly acknowledged the brilliance of YSL¡¯s move. The photos weren¡¯t just campaign images; they were statements, cementing Izan as a force far beyond football. Back in Valencia, fans were already streaming into the Mestalla, many of them glued to their phones. Screens lit up with YSL¡¯s post, and murmurs quickly turned into loud discussions. "Have you seen Izan¡¯s campaign?" a young fan asked his friends as they queued for tickets. "He looks like a movie star!" another replied, holding up his phone for all to see. Social media exploded. Football fans and fashion enthusiasts clashed in the comments, debating whether Izan belonged more on the runway or the pitch. Hashtags like #IzanForYSL, #SeleneVision, and #BlueEyedIcon began trending globally. Inside the stadium, Valencia¡¯s players sat in the locker room, preparing for the game. Hugo Guillam¨®n scrolled through his feed and burst out laughing. "Look at this," he said, holding his phone up for the team to see. The room erupted in playful teasing. "Model boy," Pietro said, shaking his head. "You better play as good as you look today!" Izan grinned, embarrassed but pleased. "Focus on the game," he muttered, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him. As the campaign continued to spread, Izan¡¯s name became the bridge between two worlds. Football analysts, prepping for the match, couldn¡¯t help but mention the YSL collaboration. Fashion editors debated his potential longevity in the industry. But for Izan, the day was about more than just stunning photos or an iconic campaign. It was about stepping onto the pitch and proving himself where it mattered most. As the clock ticked closer to kickoff, he sat in the tunnel, tying his boots, his thoughts oscillating between the roars of the Mestalla and the quiet power of Selene¡¯s lens. Back in her studio, Selene refreshed the post one last time before shutting her laptop. She leaned against the window, watching the Paris skyline. "He¡¯s going to dominate that match," she said quietly to herself, confident that her muse would shine, whether in front of a camera or under the stadium lights. As the sun set over Valencia, the world continued to marvel at the boy with the piercing blue eyes, unaware that by nightfall, his brilliance on the pitch would match his elegance in the photo. .... The Mestalla buzzed with anticipation as the clock ticked closer to kickoff. Above, the stadium reverberated with chants from thousands of fans, their voices weaving together into a singular roar. But down in the tunnel, the atmosphere was charged with a quieter intensity¡ªthe kind that precedes a clash of giants. Izan leaned against the cool concrete wall, arms crossed, his boots tapping lightly on the floor as he tried to keep himself calm. He had done this before¡ªplenty of times¡ªbut today felt different. The morning release of his YSL campaign still lingered in his mind. It wasn¡¯t just the endless notifications or the press coverage; it was knowing that for the first time, his name was being spoken in worlds far beyond football. "Oi, superstar!" The familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Jude Bellingham, Real Madrid¡¯s golden boy, walking toward him with an easy grin. "Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you here looking all serious," Jude teased, clapping him on the shoulder. "I thought you¡¯d be too busy signing autographs for fashion editors." Izan laughed, shaking his head. "You saw it?" "Mate, everyone saw it," Jude replied, standing next to him. "My whole team couldn¡¯t stop talking about it at lunch. Even our coach mentioned it¡ªsaid something about how footballers are turning into models now." "Great," Izan said, rolling his eyes. "Exactly what I needed before the match" "Honestly, though," Jude said, leaning against the wall beside Izan, "those pictures are insane. Selene¡¯s got a gift, but you¡ªyou killed it. It¡¯s not easy to pull that off, especially with those eyes of yours. They¡¯re lethal, man." "Thanks," Izan said, his cheeks reddening slightly. "She made it easy. But still, it¡¯s weird having the whole world looking at me for something other than football." "Get used to it," Jude said with a smirk. "It¡¯s only going to get bigger. You¡¯ve got that face, and now everyone knows it." A few players from Real Madrid walked past, throwing Jude questioning looks, clearly wondering why their star midfielder was so chummy with Valencia¡¯s teenage sensation. Jude waved them off with a laugh. "They¡¯re jealous," he said, nudging Izan. "You¡¯re stealing the spotlight." S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Stealing? Please," Izan shot back. "You¡¯ve been living in it since you were at Dortmund." "Fair enough," Jude admitted, grinning. "But you¡¯re catching up fast. Just don¡¯t forget who told you to take those opportunities." "I won¡¯t," Izan said with a small smile. "But don¡¯t think I¡¯m going easy on you out there." "I wouldn¡¯t expect you to," Jude said, his tone playful but firm. "Just make sure you can back up all this model talk with your game. You¡¯ve got a lot of eyes on you now¡ªon and off the pitch." As the players lined up, the chatter in the tunnel grew louder. Izan could feel the stares from both sides, but he didn¡¯t flinch. Hugo Guillam¨®n, standing behind him, leaned in. "Your boyfriend¡¯s being nice to you," he joked, nodding toward Jude. "Shut up," Izan muttered, laughing. Jude caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow. "What¡¯s he saying?" "Nothing," Izan said quickly. Jude looked at the former and nodded before looking ahead. A/n: Have fun. Chapter 187: Controversy As the players lined up, the chatter in the tunnel grew louder. Izan could feel the stares from both sides, but he didn¡¯t flinch. Hugo Guillam¨®n, standing behind him, leaned in. "Your boyfriend¡¯s being nice to you," he joked, nodding toward Jude. "Shut up," Izan muttered, laughing. Jude caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow. "What¡¯s he saying?" "Nothing," Izan said quickly. Jude looked at the former and nodded before looking ahead. As the referees called the players to line up, Izan turned to Jude one last time. "Good luck out there," he said. "You too, superstar," Jude replied, his grin widening. "But don¡¯t forget¡ªit¡¯s Real Madrid you¡¯re facing." "And it¡¯s Valencia you¡¯re underestimating," Izan shot back. Jude chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got." Far away in her Paris studio, Selene watched the campaign¡¯s reach grow. She had seen the comments, the headlines, the frenzy. But in the back of her mind, she wondered how Izan was handling it all. "He¡¯ll be fine," she said to herself, pulling up the live feed of the game. "He always finds a way to shine." As the players walked out onto the pitch, the Mestalla roared. Izan took his place among Valencia¡¯s starting eleven, his thoughts sharp, his mind clear. The cameras would be on him, scrutinizing his every move. And as he glanced across the pitch and saw Jude in the centre circle, he smiled to himself. This was his stage now¡ªon the field and beyond. .... Referee Juan Martinez Munera looked at his watch for the last time before sending the game underway. Jude, once again in his False 9 role kicked off and passed to Vinicius after the referee blew the whistle. The winger took hold of the ball under the pressure of Fran Perez on the right wing who was backed up by Hugo Guillam¨®n also approaching from the middle. The two tried to dispossess Vinicius Jr. but they couldn¡¯t after the latter used a feint to go behind them. Vinicius looking up, sent the ball in the air, his target Jude Bellingham looking up to control the ball but before he could, Izan appeared in front of him, with a smile. The latter shot up into the air, before trapping the ball with his chest. Jude Bellingham, smirking tried to destabilise Izan¡¯s landing but the latter was firmer in the air than he thought. After Izan landed, Jude tried to hold onto his shirt but Izan had other plans as he immediately slapped the farmer¡¯s hand away after it held onto his jersey. Turning and twisting, Jude soon found Izan halfway across the field. "Fast" he uttered before he started to give chase. Valverde, strong and fast as always, tried to intercept Izan on his run but Izan had already sent the ball over to Fran Perez by the time Valverde got to him. The crowd watched as the Fran P¨¦rez and Ferland Mendy battled it out on the right flank and it looked like the latter was winning their encounter. Fran P¨¦rez tried his best but he wasn¡¯t winning any time soon. Izan who had already seen this started his run to assist Fran P¨¦rez. Seeing help on the way, Fran Perez tried to get out of Mendy and now Kroos¡¯ encirclement with a little head-on battle allowing Izan to get there. The two, with their eyes, said all that needed to be said before Izan bolted behind them. Fran P¨¦rez sent the ball around Mendy who gave chase but by the time he got to where Izan was, the ball was already streaking towards the box. The stadium held its breath, watching in anticipation, trying to find out if this could be the first goal of the game. Hugo Duro, using Rudiger¡¯s shoulder as a sort of ramp, lunged into the air, towards the ball. Hugo Duro¡¯s head met the ball in the air, directing it towards Courtois. There were shouts of the Real Madrid players in the background but Hugo Duro was focused on putting this one in the net. The ball shot from Duro¡¯s head and found itself headed towards the goal. Thibaut Courtois put up a strong hand to it but the ball ricocheted off the post in the back of the net. Hugo Duro ran towards the corner flag and the Mestalla was ready to celebrate with him but the referee¡¯s whistle sounded. Duro turned back to look at the referee only to see him put up his hands for a foul while pointing to R¨¹diger on the ground. "Oh come on" Duro said as he ran to check up on R¨¹diger. "Valencia had scored but the goal won¡¯t stand. It looked as if Duro had fouled R¨¹diger when he was going up for the ball. The score remains, 0-0 after 4 minutes." The Valencia players approached the referee stating that the goal should stand since the contact was minimal but the referee didn¡¯t even look at them. Ruben Baraja who saw this on the bench, approached the fourth official to complain but he was told to behave or risk being carded After R¨¹diger got up, referee Juan Munera restarted the match, in favour of Real Madrid who quickly sent the ball to the opponent¡¯s half. ..... The Mestalla was a cauldron of noise after Hugo Duro¡¯s header in the 4th minute was ruled out for a foul, a decision that left Valencia¡¯s players and fans fuming. The home side, undeterred, doubled down on their efforts, led by Izan, who was orchestrating their attack with flair and determination. Valencia¡¯s attacking set, featuring Izan, Guillam¨®n, Diego L¨®pez, Fran P¨¦rez, Gaya, and Duro, relentlessly pressed forward, determined to draw first blood. Real Madrid, under pressure but composed, responded with precision counterattacks. Toni Kroos and Valverde dictated play in midfield, while Vin¨ªcius Jr. and Rodrygo posed constant threats on the flanks. The back-and-forth nature of the game was electrifying, with both sides creating chances. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In the 10th minute, Izan danced through Real Madrid¡¯s midfield with a clever combination of skill and speed, slipping a pass to Fran P¨¦rez, whose low cross was narrowly cleared by Antonio R¨¹diger. Fran P¨¦rez¡¯s poor effort left Ruben Baraja nervous on the bench but he quickly composed himself. Moments later, Real Madrid nearly capitalized on a break, after Toni Kross intercepted a pass from Guerra before sending it to Vin¨ªcius Jr. who was sprinting down the left. Thierry Correia tried to stop the Brazilian¡¯s run but he could oy watch as Vinicius delivered a dangerous cross that narrowly evaded Rodrygo in the box. The Valencia fans sighed in relief while the Real Fan started getting a bit impatient. This was their team¡¯s first shot since the start of the match so they had to be. Marmadashvili, who hadn¡¯t been tested much since the start of the game picked the ball before passing it to Gaya. Valencia¡¯s captain, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, was instrumental in keeping the tempo high, surging forward to overlap and deliver crosses that kept Real¡¯s defence on edge. Real Madrid, now sharpened also responded in their own way after 2 shots from Valverde hit the post. The Real Madrid fans were itching for the ball to fall into the back of the net while the home side prayed against it. In the 16th minute, Diego L¨®pez came inches from scoring, his header from Izan¡¯s corner thundering off the crossbar. The Mestalla erupted in frustration but continued to push their team forward. Real Madrid responded with Jude Bellingham pulling the strings in the final third. A slick one-two with Rodrygo in the 20th minute forced Giorgi Mamardashvili into a brilliant diving save to deny the Englishman. "Not exactly a good day for you huh?" Izan said with a humble smile that almost looked cheeky to Jude for a second. The latter dropped his hand from his head, staring at the latter. "Well, the score is still goalless so you aren¡¯t having it easy either," Jude said as he turned to face Marmadashvili who was taking the goal kick. "Very soon, Jude, Very soon," Izan said before walking away. The back and forth went on for a while until the Mestalla erupted into chaos in the 28th minute when a controversial decision shifted the game¡¯s dynamic. Real Madrid, breaking quickly from a Valencia corner, sent Vin¨ªcius Jr. sprinting down the left flank. The Brazilian winger, using his blistering pace, cut inside and charged into the box, with Valencia¡¯s Guillam¨®n and Correia in pursuit. As Vin¨ªcius approached the six-yard line, he appeared to stumble under minimal contact, tumbling theatrically to the ground. Referee Juan Munera immediately pointed to the spot, triggering outrage from Valencia¡¯s players and fans. The home side rioted a bit causing unrest in the stadium. Under the influence of the announcer, the fans calmed down a bit after the replay was shown. Replays on the big screen showed the contact was negligible, further enraging the home crowd. Izan and Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ led the protests, pleading with the referee to consult VAR, but the decision stood. The Mestalla became a wall of whistles and jeers, their fury palpable as Vinicius JR. stepped up to take the penalty. A/n: Sorry for the late release. Have fun Chapter 188: Feint The home side rioted a bit causing unrest in the stadium. Under the influence of the announcer, the fans calmed down a bit after the replay was shown. Replays on the big screen showed the contact was negligible, further enraging the home crowd. Izan and Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ led the protests, pleading with the referee to consult VAR, but the decision stood. The Mestalla became a wall of whistles and jeers, their fury palpable as Vinicius JR. stepped up to take the penalty. From the stands of the Mestalla, the fans were livid, their collective outrage palpable as the controversial penalty decision unfolded. What began as a shock at the referee¡¯s quick whistle quickly turned into a thunderous cacophony of boos and whistles. Fans waved their arms furiously, pointing at the replay on the big screen, which clearly showed Vin¨ªcius Jr. going to ground with little to no contact from Guillam¨®n. "He barely touched him! What kind of call is that?" one fan shouted, echoed by others around him, their voices hoarse from jeering. Some fans hurled chants of "Ladrones!" (thieves), accusing Real Madrid of being favoured, while others called for VAR to intervene. When the referee refused to overturn the decision, the Mestalla became a boiling pot of fury. Fans pounded their seats and railings, creating an intimidating wall of noise. The penalty itself was greeted with relentless whistles, an attempt to unsettle Vinicius Jr. as he stepped up. Commentator: "And now, amidst the storm of controversy, Vinicius stands over the ball. Can Valencia¡¯s Mamardashvili rise to the occasion, or will Real Madrid capitalize on this gift? The tension here is unbearable." Vinicius, calm and composed, sent Mamardashvili the wrong way, slotting the ball coolly into the bottom right corner. When the ball hit the back of the net, a wave of indignation swept through the crowd. Fans behind the goal screamed in frustration, while others held their heads in disbelief. ... Commentator: "Goal for Real Madrid! Vinicius delivers, but you can hear what the Mestalla thinks of that decision. Listen to the noise!" Valencia fans exploded with anger, chanting furiously against the referee as white-hot frustration rippled through the stadium. A group of ultras began singing defiant chants, rallying the rest of the stadium to stand behind their team. "It¡¯s always the same with Madrid!" one fan fumed, voicing what many believed: that the giants of Spanish football had once again been handed an unfair advantage. Their anger turned into loud support, urging Valencia¡¯s players to fight back. The players, visibly agitated, regrouped, determined to channel their anger into a response, particularly Izan who was fuming. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He had seen the whole encounter so claiming it was a penalty and it being given enraged him. "He could have at least pretended to use VAR" Izan muttered as he walked to his position. Jude who had seen Izan fuming smiled wryly before returning to his half. After the restart, it was all Valencia. Real Madrid a team, known for its attacking prowess and fast-break football had now retreated into their half. All because of one kid. "Get the ball to me" Izan had said to Correia after the ball went out for a throw. The latter didn¡¯t know what Izan was planning but whatever he was doing, it had to be good. After playing around the Madrid setup but finding it hard to go on, Izan dropped deep to take the ball. As he did this, Camavinga was baited as he followed Izan into his half. Kroos screamed at Camavinga to come back but it was all in vain. Izan sent a pass that went behind, Valverde before slipping through the legs of Carvajal and finally settling in the path of Diego L¨®pez. The pass from Izan was met by a deafening cheers from the crowd as Diego L¨®pez continued progressing with the ball. Getting to the byline, Diego L¨®pez came face to face with Carvajal but before he could think too much, a shadow flashed behind Carvajal, causing Diego L¨®pez to slip the ball behind the veteran full-back. The shadow was none other than Izan who hadn¡¯t stopped running after passing. The ball led Izan for a bit but Izan quickly covered the distance. ¨¦der Milit?o rushing from beside Izan found the ball slipping through his legs after Izan nudged it slightly. The Valencia fans, now on the edge of their seats, watched like they had found a pot of gold and found they had. [Knuckle Ball activated] With a thunderous shot, Izan sent the ball towards the goal. The Real Madrid players tried to put their bodies in the way but the ball would somehow evade them. The Valencia fans watched on hoping for a goal but a last-ditch fingertip save from Courtois killed their hopes of equalizing. Izan looked at the keeper in disbelief. "Well you have to save that considering that trait of yours but can you do it over and over again," Izan thought as he glanced at one of Courtois¡¯s traits. [ Titan¡¯s Reach: Standing as tall as a mountain peak, his arms extend like the branches of an ancient world tree, capable of deflecting attacks from realms beyond sight. 20% chance of triggering a word class save] "Damn," Izan thought as he walked towards the right corner flag. The Real Madrid players that had just escaped conceding focused on the corner being taken. After getting to the spot, Izan set the ball down, amidst jeers from the Real Madrid crowd that roared behind him. As the players waited for the ball, Izan made a short pass to Correia who had sneaked near him before going behind the latter. After seeing Vinicius approach, Correia sent the ball behind him to Izan who was now at the corner of the edge of the box. Spotting the run being made by Gaya, Izan sent a ball across the box to the other side where Gaya stood. The Veteran left back stalled for a while causing both players and fans to guess what he was doing. Well, that was until the saw Izan appear on the edge of the box. Gaya immediately sent the ball through the sea of bodies to Izan on the edge of the box. The Valencia fans this time were sure that the ball was going in. Bellingham and Valverde, who were in front of Izan moved to block the shot, but Izan¡¯s raised left leg drew the ball inside onto his right foot, faking both players. "What Confidence. Izaaaaaaaaaannnnnn" the commentator roared as Izan smacked the ball with the instep of his boot. The ball moved outwards, Courtois diving towards it before the ball started curling back inside, homing into the back of the net. "Glorious, Glorious, Glorious. Izan, a piece of his mind. Valencia are now back in business" the commentator roared as Izan ran towards the corner flag. Reaching the corner flag, Izan blew two kisses, directed at the two beautiful women, one mature and one young sitting in the crowd. "Thatsss my brother" Hori shouted as he joined the sea of fans in celebrating the goal. Carlo Ancelotti, typically composed and calm, rose swiftly from his chair on the touchline, his face a blend of disbelief and frustration. His sharp gaze scanned the field, zeroing in on his defenders who had been caught off-guard by Izan¡¯s brilliance. Adjusting his suit jacket with a firm tug, he paced a few steps forward, his gestures measured but brimming with intensity. His usually soft-spoken demeanour gave way to a stern tone as he barked instructions, his hands slicing through the air to emphasize his points. The Real Madrid players froze under his piercing glare, knowing they had let their experienced manager down. The stadium buzzed with anticipation, not just from Izan¡¯s wonder goal, but also from the rare sight of Ancelotti delivering a fiery wake-up call to his team. "Well Calma Ancelotti is not Calm anymore as he barks at his players but can you blame them? That¡¯s some brilliant piece of football from Izan but maybe Ancelotti thinks his players should have done more" the commentator said as the Valencia players returned to their half. [I¡¯m good at this. Calma Ancelotti] While Ancelotti was fuming, Barcelona fans took this chance to ridicule their rivals. A recent slump in form had caused them to slip up on the table with Real Madrid now in first place so any occasion like this was welcomed. On fan forums, debates raged about whether Barcelona should break the bank to sign the teenager, with one user commenting, "Get him to Camp Nou before Real Madrid does!" Video reels captured clips of the goal, paired with captions like, "This kid just silenced those Real blockheads!" Barcelona fans united in admiration, claiming Izan as one of their own, despite his neutral stance in their footballing world. Meanwhile, trolls mocked Real Madrid¡¯s defense, with posts like, "Izan just schooled the Galacticos!" GIFs of Ancelotti¡¯s frustrated reaction went viral, adding fuel to the fiery online discourse. The rival fans were truly having a field night. [Get it. Cause field day but they are playing at night so li-. My puns are horrible] Chapter 189: Speedster After the restart, both teams played in a relatively calm way. Valencia played long balls without advancing too much for fear of Real Madrid¡¯s fast break while Real Madrid also played conservatively fearing Valencia¡¯s counter-attacking football. This however didn¡¯t stop Izan from attacking. A pass from him almost led to a go if not for the timely intervention of the offside flag. After a few sets of passes led to Kroos, being in possession of the ball, the Real Madrid fans started chanting for the away team to attack. As if responding to the fans, Toni Kroos sent the ball diagonally, switching play to the right flank of Real Madrid where Rodrygo stood. Seeing the switch in play, Valencia¡¯s midfield and defence compacted. The home side focused on crowding their box with their players. They had the height advantage of Real Madrid¡¯s forwards so any cross would be ultimately cleared. Rodrygo still with the ball, went head-on against Jose Gaya. The Brazilian winger tried a few moves but Jose Gaya wasn¡¯t taking the bait. Ultimately, Rodrygo decided to pass back to restart the match. What he hadn¡¯t noticed was Izan lurking behind him. "Oh No! Rodrygo has given away the pass. This could spell trouble here" the commentator said after Izan started running. Izan dashed down the pitch with an intensity that left the crowd gasping. His legs moved like a blur, his feet dancing around the ball with impeccable precision. He weaved in and out of Real Madrid¡¯s players in the midfield, their attempts to block him only leading to more failed challenges as he glided past them effortlessly. Rodrygo had given chase immediately after he lost the ball but he was now some steps behind Izan who was running with the ball. "How is he so fast" Rodrygo thought as Izan slipped through the grasp of Valverde who had tried to bring the former down. While everything was so fast, things looked a lot less slow to Izan. [Speedster trait Activated], the system kept sounding for a while before going quiet. The Real Madrid defenders, towering figures with years of elite training, were left standing in Izan¡¯s wake as he accelerated away from them, his speed leaving them trailing hopelessly behind. The stadium buzzed with disbelief. Fans exchanged astonished looks, some even rising to their feet, as they watched a display of skill and pace that seemed almost supernatural. Real Madrid¡¯s defenders, often regarded as some of the best in the world, found themselves helpless in the face of Izan¡¯s mastery. He shifted the ball with delicate feints, every touch precise and calculated, and each move was executed with a fluidity that made it impossible for them to get close. His speed was something more than just raw pace; it was a combination of explosive bursts and seamless control that allowed him to glide through tight spaces, keeping the ball glued to his feet while leaving defenders grasping at thin air. With each stride, the fans wondered aloud¡ªhow could anyone move with such velocity while maintaining such perfect dribbling technique? It was as if Izan was defying the laws of physics, effortlessly controlling the ball while outrunning the best defenders in the world. Carlo Ancelotti, on the touchline, couldn¡¯t sit still. "Don¡¯t let him get near the box" he roared but his instructions were lost in the gasps and cheers of the home crowd. As Izan surged forward, the ball almost seemed to follow him, perfectly in sync with every step he took. Even when it looked like he might lose control or be forced wide, Izan¡¯s quick thinking and even quicker feet ensured that he stayed one step ahead. The crowd caught in awe, could barely keep up with his movements. A final flick of the ball past the last defender left them in disbelief, but Izan was already charging towards the goal with no one left to stop him. Or so he thought, as Valverde suddenly appeared in front of him. "Oh, come on," Izan thought as he looked at the words flashing at the top of Valverde¡¯s head. [Undying Guard: 15% stats boost when the holder¡¯s team is in a precarious situation.] Now face to face with Valverde, Izan tried to use a few moves to slip away from the Uruguayan but the latter wasn¡¯t having any of it. Steadying himself, Valverde lunged in for the ball but Izan had other plans. Izan smoothly executed the La Croqueta as Valverde lunged in, trying to intercept the ball. With a quick flick of his foot, Izan shifted the ball past Valverde¡¯s outstretched leg, leaving the midfielder off balance. In one seamless motion, he tried to accelerate away, but the midfielder grabbed onto him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The home side erupted into shouts calling upon the referee. The Valencia players ran towards the scene right after seeing Izan fall. The referee wanting to prevent any altercation between the two sides, rushed in between the two sides. Facing Valverde, the referee just warned him without issuing any card causing an outburst among the home fans. Ruben Baraja, in a fit of rage, approached the fourth official, speaking his mind but the fourth official didn¡¯t pay him any heed. For fear of Ruben Baraja being sent off, Assistant Coach Moreno immediately approached and dragged the latter back to the bench side. "Sorry. I had to do what I had to do" Valverde said with his arm stretched towards Izan after the referee¡¯s warning. Izan who was fixing his shin guard on the ground, looked up and saw the outstretched hand of Valverde. Not wanting to show unsporting behaviour, Izan held onto the former¡¯s arm. "Thank you" Izan uttered at Valverde after standing up causing the latter to look at him weirdly. As the match reached a crucial point, the tension in the air was palpable. Izan stood over the ball, ready to take a dangerous freekick just outside the penalty box. "Valverde¡¯s challenge was necessary. If he had let Izan go any further, Real Madrid would have been on the back foot but this isn¡¯t any better" the commentator said, as the replay showed the midfielder¡¯s clever foul. "What the fans don¡¯t like is the lack of a reprimand. That should have least been a yellow card if not a red one" With Valverde¡¯s foul setting up a dangerous freekick, all eyes were on Izan once more. The commentator noted the pressure mounting on the young player, who now had the chance to make something decisive happen. "It¡¯s been a while since he scored one but this little magician is also a freekick specialist. This is a pivotal moment," the commentator remarked, "the freekick could be the game-changer, with the defence scrambling to organize and the goalkeeper¡¯s focus sharp." The tension was thick as Izan took a few steps back, preparing for the potentially game-altering kick, while Valverde, now with a guilty look on his face, could only watch helplessly from a distance. "So that¡¯s why he said ¡¯thank you¡¯" Valverde thought as he stood in the wall. "Izan looking at the goal with pure focus, as if he wants to bore holes in the net with his gaze". [Meanwhile Izan] "Curler or Rocket. Maybe a Knuckleball, topspin. Courtois¡¯s Titan¡¯s reach is really problematic in instances like this. Oh well, if it goes in it goes, if it does not, someone will tap in". After the referee made sure all was well with both sides, he went behind Izan. The goalkeeper, Thibaut Courtois, stood steadfast, his long frame planted firmly at the centre of the goal, waiting for the inevitable strike that would come at him from above. But Izan had a different idea. [Curler activated] He surveyed the scene with a knowing gleam in his eyes, his body radiating confidence. As the referee blew the whistle, signalling the start of his run-up, the defenders in the wall shifted slightly, expecting the usual high-flying shot. Izan¡¯s foot, however, moved with a deceptive grace¡ªhe took only a few deliberate steps before executing a masterstroke of technique. With the precision of a surgeon, Izan didn¡¯t launch the ball into the air. Instead, he struck it with a gentle, controlled finesse. The low-driven ball skimmed the ground, curling beneath the jumping defenders, slipping through the narrowest of gaps between their outstretched legs. The wall¡¯s collective leap was in vain, their towering figures casting shadows over the turf, but no shadow could reach the ball that sailed effortlessly under them. Courtois, rooted in place and ready for the traditional strike, watched in disbelief as the ball sliced through the air with a subtle curve, defying the expected path. His gaze flicked to the lower corner, but it was too late. The ball kissed the inside of the post with a soft, but determined touch before nestling into the back of the net. The stadium erupted in stunned silence before it burst into ecstasy. Izan stood with his arms raised, a grin playing on his lips as his teammates surrounded him. Courtois, the great Belgian wall, could only watch as his immovable frame had been outwitted by a stroke of pure brilliance. As the ball flew beneath the wall and nestled into the corner of the net, the commentator¡¯s voice erupted with a mix of astonishment and excitement. "Unbelievable! Izan has done it! What a moment of pure genius! The freekick looked like any other... but no, he¡¯s gone for the unthinkable! Under the wall¡ªunder the very eyes of Courtois¡ªhe¡¯s executed a masterstroke! The defenders leapt in vain, and Courtois... he never saw it coming! What a brilliantly calculated strike! The ball, driven low with such precision, almost seemed to defy the laws of physics as it bypassed the giant wall and found its way into the corner of the net. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Absolutely sensational! Izan! The stadium is in raptures! He has just pulled off one of the most audacious goals you¡¯ll ever see in football!" Chapter 190: Shadows And Spotlights[ Golden ticket chapter] "Unbelievable! Izan has done it! What a moment of pure genius! The freekick looked like any other... but no, he¡¯s gone for the unthinkable! Under the wall¡ªunder the very eyes of Courtois¡ªhe¡¯s executed a masterstroke! The defenders leapt in vain, and Courtois... he never saw it coming! What a brilliantly calculated strike! The ball, driven low with such precision, almost seemed to defy the laws of physics as it bypassed the giant wall and found its way into the corner of the net. Absolutely sensational! Izan! The stadium is in raptures! He has just pulled off one of the most audacious goals you¡¯ll ever see in football!" High up in the shadows of the Mestalla¡¯s VIP section, Florentino P¨¦rez sat, his sharp gaze fixed on the pitch below. Dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, his expression was unreadable, a man accustomed to the weight of decisions shaping destinies. Around him, the usual murmurs and clinking glasses of the elite filled the air, but P¨¦rez seemed impervious, absorbed entirely by the spectacle unfolding on the field. The moment Izan struck the low-driven free-kick, threading the ball like a bullet through the smallest gap in the wall and into the bottom corner, P¨¦rez barely moved. His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a faint line, betraying a flicker of intrigue. As the crowd erupted, he leaned back in his seat, stroking his chin thoughtfully, his mind clearly working faster than the celebrations below. Without looking away from the pitch, he spoke in a low, measured tone. "Call Valencia¡¯s president," he said to his assistant, who stood nearby with a tablet in hand. The assistant hesitated for a moment as if to confirm, but P¨¦rez¡¯s calm yet commanding voice left no room for doubt. "Tell him I¡¯d like to have a word after the match," P¨¦rez added, his gaze still locked on Izan, now jogging back to midfield with the poise of someone unaware he¡¯d just sent tremors through Spanish football. The assistant nodded, stepping aside to make the call, while P¨¦rez remained seated, his fingers steepled. The flickering stadium lights cast long shadows across his face, adding an air of mystery to his stoic demeanour. To any observer, it was clear: Florentino P¨¦rez had seen something that intrigued him, and when he moved, it was never without purpose. ... Henri Duval, YSL¡¯s suave marketing director, sat in his sleek office chair, the soft glow of Parisian lights spilling through the glass walls. Despite his usual air of composure, the moment Izan¡¯s low-driven free-kick rippled the net, Henri bolted upright, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the screen. His polished exterior cracked for just a second as he muttered, "Incroyable." Elise, his astute assistant, hurried over, tablet in hand. Her excitement mirrored the energy on the pitch. "Henri, social metrics are skyrocketing. Izan¡¯s association with YSL is driving insane engagement¡ª75% higher during this match. Our logo placement in his recent ads? Trending globally. This kid is a goldmine." Henri exhaled slowly, the gears in his mind turning. He adjusted his pocket square, stood, and reached for his phone, his fingers expertly navigating to a contact labelled Miranda. The phone rang twice before Miranda picked up, her voice crisp and professional. "Henri, I assume this isn¡¯t a social call." "Bien s?r, Miranda," Henri began smoothly, pacing by the window with deliberate strides. "I just watched your boy pull off something extraordinary. That goal wasn¡¯t just skill¡ªit was artistry. The kind that cements legends. I think we need to revisit our current arrangement." There was a slight pause on the line, followed by Miranda¡¯s measured reply. "The Euros are the focus, Henri. The campaign runs until then. What¡¯s on your mind?" Henri smiled to himself, savouring the opportunity. "A three-year extension option, post-Euros. This boy isn¡¯t just a rising star¡ªhe¡¯s the sun, and everyone¡¯s orbiting him. If he continues like this, brands will clamour to sign him. YSL has the chance to lock in early and ride the wave of his inevitable global stardom." Miranda didn¡¯t reply immediately, and Henri could picture her weighing her options, always calculating. Finally, she spoke. "Henri, you know I don¡¯t make decisions lightly. This kind of extension would need significant adjustments¡ªboth in terms of exposure and compensation." Henri chuckled lightly. "Of course, Miranda. We¡¯ll make it worth your while¡ªand Izan¡¯s. This partnership is already paying dividends, but tonight has proven it can be so much more. He¡¯s performing magic on the pitch, and YSL wants to ensure the world sees him draped in elegance off it." There was a brief silence, and then Miranda¡¯s voice softened slightly. "I¡¯ll think about it, Henri. But you¡¯d better have something compelling when we sit down to talk." "I wouldn¡¯t expect anything less," Henri replied, his tone dripping with charm. As he ended the call, he turned to Elise, a confident grin on his face. "Prepare the revised proposal," he said. "This isn¡¯t just business. It¡¯s history in the making." Back on the screen, Izan¡¯s name flashed in bold letters, the replay of his celebration igniting the room. Henri poured himself a glass of wine, his smile lingering. The boy was extraordinary, and Henri knew YSL¡¯s future was brighter with Izan in its orbit. ... As the referee signalled for play to resume, Real Madrid wasted no time asserting their rights to pure fast-break football. The ball zipped between the white shirts, moving fluidly as the team built up their attack. Vin¨ªcius J¨²nior, electric as ever, received the ball on the left flank. His first touch sent Thierry Correia scrambling, and with a burst of pace, he darted toward the edge of the box. Scanning the field, Vin¨ªcius spotted Jude Bellingham making a late run into the danger area. With a perfectly weighted pass, Vin¨ªcius threaded the ball into Jude¡¯s path. The Englishman took a touch to steady himself, the defenders closing in, and unleashed a thunderous shot with his right foot. The ball flew like a missile, smashing against the inside of the post. The sound of the impact was met with gasps from the crowd as it ricocheted across the goalmouth. For a split second, time seemed to freeze. The ball spun dangerously in the six-yard box, but before Bellingham or another Madrid player could pounce, the opposing defender cleared it to safety with a desperate lunge. The referee¡¯s whistle pierced through the tension, signalling the end of an exhilarating first half. The players began to jog toward the tunnel, some exchanging words, others shaking their heads in frustration. Jude ran his hand through his hair, a wry smile on his face as Vin¨ªcius patted him on the back, offering words of encouragement. In the stands, fans buzzed with excitement, reliving the near-miss and discussing what the second half might hold. Meanwhile, the coaches huddled with their staff in the dugouts, preparing adjustments for the next 45 minutes. The halftime break promised to be brief but vital in a game poised on a knife¡¯s edge. ..... In the home locker room, Valencia¡¯s players sat in high spirits but with a determined focus. The air was thick with both sweat and the scent of victory, though their job was far from done. Izan sitting with a towel over his head was patted on the back by some of the bench players, commending him for his dominant first-half performance. "I would have done better" Pietro said breaking the mood. The whole locker room stared at him but the players were too happy with their lead to pay him any mind. "Great work so far," Ruben Baraja said after he entered the room, his voice sharp but encouraging. "But we cannot afford to sit back. They¡¯ll come at us even harder in the second half." He pointed at the board, illustrating how Real Madrid¡¯s fullbacks were pushing up and leaving space behind. "Keep exploiting those channels. Guerra, stay close to Bellingham. Don¡¯t give him room to breathe. And, Guillam¨®n, I need quicker decisions in transition. We¡¯ve got them on the ropes¡ªdon¡¯t let them recover!" The players nodded, a mix of determination and fatigue etched on their faces. A couple of them towelled off while others sipped water or stretched, gearing up for the next 45 minutes. In the visiting locker room, the mood was tense but resolute. Real Madrid¡¯s players sat in a semi-circle around their head coach, Carlo Ancelotti who had a marker in hand and a fierce look in his eyes. "This is not over," he began, his voice firm and steady. "We¡¯ve controlled possession, but we¡¯re not making it count. Vin¨ªcius, keep driving at them. Push harder into the box. Jude, I need you to control the tempo. Find the gaps and take the shots when they come." He tapped the board, illustrating new passing lanes and movements for the second half. "Rodrygo, drop deeper and pull their center-backs out of position. And keep pressing high¡ªwe can force mistakes. As for that kid. I¡¯ll leave him to You and R¨¹diger" Ancelotti said pointing to Carvajal. As the coach finished his instructions, the players exchanged glances, a collective fire igniting in their eyes. Luka Modri? who was on the bench stood and clapped his hands, rallying his teammates. "Let¡¯s turn this around, boys. This is our game." The referee¡¯s whistle echoed faintly from the tunnel, signalling the imminent start of the second half. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Both teams rose, their minds sharpened and their bodies primed, ready to write the next chapter of an enthralling contest. A/n: So I was chilling in my Porsche[what an utter lie] but some reader named Malo71 decided to give the book 30 Golden tickets. So here i am. It would have been a while, but I had an extra chapter so have it. Love you¡¯ll and I¡¯ll see you Tomorrow Chapter 191: In Control. The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the tunnel began to stir with movement. First came the unmistakable navy white kits of Real Madrid, their players walking out with steely determination. Faces like Frederick Valverde¡¯s bore a calm yet fierce intensity, while Jude Bellingham exuded the confidence of a man ready to turn the game around. Behind them, Valencia emerged to a thunderous roar from their fans. The players, in their classic white shirts with black shorts, exuded a unified energy, their strides purposeful and their heads high. Leading them was their star of the first half, Izan, who had set the stadium alight with two stunning goals. As the players marched onto the pitch, Izan, walking just behind the captain, tugged at the sleeves of his long-sleeved jersey. With a quick motion, he pulled them off, revealing toned arms that glistened faintly under the floodlights. It was a small act, but one that carried a weight of confidence and swagger, sending the Valencia faithful into a frenzy. The commentator¡¯s voice boomed over the stadium speakers and television sets alike: "And here comes the young sensation, Izan! Two goals in the first half against none other than Real Madrid, and he¡¯s looking every bit like he¡¯s ready for more. What a performance so far from the teenager!" In the stands, Valencia fans erupted into chants of his name, their pride and belief in the young star palpable. Scarves waved, and voices carried his name across the stadium like a battle cry. "Izan! Izan! Izan!" Reaching one of the stands near the tunnel, a fan stuck his hand out for Izan. Not wanting to leave the faithful hanging, Izan slapped his palm. The fan who had high-fived Izan leaned over to his friend who had seen the whole encounter, while grinning ear to ear. "He¡¯s a pretty chill guy," his friend said as Izan stepped onto the pitch. Another fan shouted, "He¡¯s taking Madrid apart! He¡¯s unstoppable!" As Izan adjusted his socks and exchanged a nod with a teammate, the stadium seemed to vibrate with energy. It was clear to everyone present: Izan wasn¡¯t just here to hold the lead¡ªhe was here to make a statement. .... As the referee prepared to blow his whistle for the second half, the commentator¡¯s voice rose above the hum of the crowd, setting the stage: "Welcome back to the Mestalla, where we¡¯ve witnessed an absolutely thrilling first half in this clash between Valencia and Real Madrid. It¡¯s 2-1 to Valencia, thanks to a scintillating performance from their teenage prodigy, Izan, who scored both goals to put his team ahead. Real Madrid, though, are no strangers to adversity, and you can bet they¡¯ll come out firing on all cylinders in this second half." The camera panned to Carlo Ancelotti on the Madrid bench, his expression calm but calculating. "Ancelotti has surely had words with his players during the break. Madrid¡¯s stars like Bellingham and Vin¨ªcius Jr. will be desperate to find a way past this resilient Valencia defence." The shot switched to Valencia¡¯s manager, barking instructions to his players near the touchline. "On the other side, Valencia will be looking to their young talisman to keep up the pressure. Can Izan maintain his magic and lead his team to a famous victory? Or will Madrid¡¯s experience prove too much in the end? We¡¯re about to find out!" As the referee¡¯s whistle pierced the air, signalling the start of the second half, Hugo Duro stood over the ball at the centre circle. The Valencia striker adjusted his posture, eyes scanning the Real Madrid defence with intent. His body language radiated determination, his cleats lightly tapping the ball as he awaited the signal to kick off. "And we¡¯re off!" the commentator announced as Duro gave the ball a sharp tap backwards to his midfield. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices amplifying the charged atmosphere in the Mestalla. Valencia¡¯s midfield immediately sprang into action, with quick, short passes designed to assert control early. Hugo Duro jogged forward, positioning himself to challenge Real Madrid¡¯s defensive line at the first opportunity. "Valencia starting this half with intent," the commentator added. "And why not? They¡¯ve got the lead, they¡¯ve got momentum, and they¡¯ve got the home crowd behind them. But can they keep up this intensity against one of the best teams in Europe?" The ball moved swiftly to Javi Guerra, who twisted away from his marker with a neat turn. "Guerra with a lovely touch there, keeping Valencia on the front foot." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Real Madrid, however, quickly closed in, showing the composure of a team used to high-pressure situations. Eduardo Camavinga intercepted a loose pass, initiating a counterattack. "But here come Madrid! Camavinga snatches possession, and suddenly Valencia have to defend!" The Mestalla crowd rose to their feet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Amidst it all, Izan jogged back toward his own half, signalling to his teammates with a calm composure beyond his years. "Look at Izan," the commentator observed. "Not just a goal scorer¡ªhe¡¯s already tracking back, leading by example. This is a young man who understands the game at a level far beyond his age." The second half was shaping up to be as dramatic as the first, with both teams refusing to back down. The game unfolded like a chess match played at lightning speed, with the ball darting between players as both Valencia and Real Madrid searched for an opening. Valencia, buoyed by the roars of their fans, pressed high, their midfielders swarming around the ball like a hive of bees. Guillam¨®n and Javi Guerra combined brilliantly to win back possession, their intricate passes drawing cheers of approval from the crowd. "Valencia really putting on a show here," the commentator noted. "They¡¯re keeping Madrid on their toes with quick transitions and sharp movement off the ball." But Real Madrid were no strangers to such pressure. Toni Kroos, the veteran orchestrator, dropped deep to collect the ball and began pulling the strings. A slick one-two with Jude Bellingham who had dropped deep opened up space, and the away fans erupted in hopeful cheers as Vin¨ªcius Jr. received the ball near the touchline. "And here¡¯s Vin¨ªcius, skipping past one... past two! He¡¯s got pace to burn!" The Mestalla crowd held its breath as the Brazilian surged forward, but Cenk Ozkacar swooped in with a perfectly timed tackle to snuff out the danger. The Valencia supporters roared in appreciation, their chants rising in unison to lift their players¡¯ spirits. The ball was back with Valencia. Izan, dropping deep, took control with an effortless first touch. The fans buzzed with anticipation every time the teenager touched the ball. His head moved around taking in the view and the positions of his teammates before settling on one. With a sharp movement Izan, sent a precise diagonal pass to Hugo Duro, who chested it down and spun away from his marker. The Valencia striker unleashed a shot from outside the box, but it sailed just over the bar. Gasps filled the stadium, followed by applause for the effort. "Oh, so close! Hugo Duro not far off there! You can feel the tension rising with every attack." Back and forth the ball went, each team testing the other¡¯s resolve. Madrid pushed forward again, this time with Jude Bellingham driving through the midfield. A quick give-and-go with Rodrygo split the Valencia defence, but goalkeeper Giorgi Mamardashvili was quick off his line to smother the danger. The crowd erupted once more, chanting the goalkeeper¡¯s name as he rose to his feet, clutching the ball tightly. "Mamardashvili keeping Valencia in it! What a save! This game is on a knife¡¯s edge, and the fans know it." The tension in the Mestalla was palpable, each pass, tackle, and shot met with either cheers or groans. Both teams were desperate to find the net, but for now, the ball remained elusive, teasing them as it danced from end to end. The game exploded into life as Valencia seized an opportunity on the counter. A misplaced pass from Camavinga was intercepted by Javi Guerra, who instantly sprang into action. His quick one-two with Guillam¨®n bypassed the Madrid midfield and sent the ball flying upfield to Hugo Duro, who surged down the left wing like a man possessed. "Here come Valencia on the break! Look at the pace¡ªthey¡¯re flying forward!" the commentator bellowed. The Mestalla crowd roared, their collective voices rising with the speed of the attack. Duro glanced up, spotting Izan making a darting run into the box. With a perfectly weighted cross, Duro delivered the ball, slicing through Madrid¡¯s defence. The ball hung in the air, spinning slightly, as all eyes locked on Izan. The teenager didn¡¯t hesitate. With breathtaking athleticism, he leapt into the air, his body twisting as he adjusted to the flight of the ball. Time seemed to slow as Izan¡¯s figure arched in midair, his back parallel to the ground. His right foot lashed out in perfect synchronization, connecting with the ball just as it descended. Chapter 192: Goal Of the Season Contender With a perfectly weighted cross, Duro delivered the ball, slicing through Madrid¡¯s defence. The ball hung in the air, spinning slightly, as all eyes locked on Izan. The teenager didn¡¯t hesitate. With breathtaking athleticism, he leapt into the air, his body twisting as he adjusted to the flight of the ball. Time seemed to slow as Izan¡¯s figure arched in midair, his back parallel to the ground. His right foot lashed out in perfect synchronization, connecting with the ball just as it descended. The crack of the connection echoed through the stadium, followed by a gasp from the crowd. The ball rocketed toward the goal, a blur of white streaking past defenders and goalkeepers alike. "IZAN GOES FOR THE BICYCLE KICK! OH MY WORD!" The Mestalla collectively held its breath as the ball smacked against the underside of the crossbar with a resounding thud, bouncing down onto the goal line before spinning out. Chaos erupted. Fans jumped to their feet, some screaming in disbelief, others clutching their heads in stunned awe. Izan scrambled to his feet, his face a mixture of confusion as the ball was cleared by a frantic Madrid defender. "What was that" Izan thought as he faced Courtois. "So close! Inches away from one of the goals of the season! Izan with a bicycle kick that nearly sent the Mestalla into orbit!" In the stands, Komi clutched her scarf tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. Hori jumped up, shouting, "That was insane! Did you see that?" As play resumed, the crowd broke into applause, their chants of "IZAN! IZAN!" filling the air. Though the goal hadn¡¯t come, the moment had already been etched into the hearts of every Valencia fan. The game settled back into its frantic rhythm, with both teams exchanging attacks like lightning strikes. Valencia continued to press forward with intensity, but Real Madrid wasn¡¯t about to let the momentum slip away. Rodrygo was everywhere, his footwork sharp, his vision sharp. He darted between defenders, picking up the ball in midfield and driving at the heart of Valencia¡¯s defence. On the right wing, he found a sliver of space, just enough to cut inside, and with a deft touch, he shaped the ball onto his left foot. "Rodrygo looking to make an impact! He¡¯s got space to shoot!" the commentator¡¯s voice rose in anticipation. With a smooth, fluid motion, Rodrygo curled the ball towards the far top corner of Mamardashvili¡¯s goal, the ball bending as it soared through the air. The Mestalla crowd collectively gasped, knowing that if the shot found its target, it would be an impossible save. But Mamardashvili was ready. His eyes locked onto the ball, tracking its curve with unblinking focus. The Georgian keeper launched himself to his right, stretching every muscle, fingers just grazing the edge of the ball. He managed to deflect the shot with a fingertip, sending it whizzing out towards the corner flag. "WHAT A SAVE! Mamardashvili with a truly spectacular stop!" The crowd erupted, their hearts racing from the sheer brilliance of the goalkeeper¡¯s reflexes. Mamardashvili scrambled to his feet, his teammates rushing to congratulate him, but it was clear that Real Madrid wasn¡¯t finished. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Rodrygo stood with his hands on his hips, frustration mixed with admiration for the keeper¡¯s heroics. "Unbelievable from Mamardashvili! That could have been the equalizer right there!" Madrid quickly gathered themselves for the resulting corner. Toni Kroos, with his trademark calmness under pressure, stepped up to take the kick. As the ball swung in from Kroos¡¯ corner, Valencia¡¯s defenders jostled with Madrid¡¯s attackers, their eyes fixed on the aerial battle unfolding. The ball was delivered with pinpoint accuracy, floating dangerously toward the penalty spot. Valencia¡¯s centre-backs rose to meet it, but it was Federico Valverde who emerged as the unlikely hero for Madrid. From the edge of the box, Valverde, ever the dynamo, made a late, surging run. As the ball dropped from the air, he launched himself at it with devastating power. His right foot connected with the ball in a thunderous volley that seemed to freeze the stadium in time. "Valverde¡ªOH MY GOODNESS! What a strike!" the commentator¡¯s voice thundered, barely able to contain his amazement. The ball rocketed past Mamardashvili with incredible speed, and though the keeper flew to his right, there was no way he could stop the shot. The ball slammed into the top corner of the net with a resounding crack, sending Madrid fans in the stands into ecstatic jubilation. "That¡¯s one for the highlight reels, folks! Valverde, with a volley that could well be a goal-of-the-season contender! What an absolute thunderbolt!" The Mestalla fell into stunned silence for a split second before the Madrid supporters erupted in celebration. Their players, as one, rushed to Valverde, lifting him off his feet as they mobbed him in pure joy. In contrast, Valencia¡¯s players stood motionless for a heartbeat, the magnitude of the strike sinking in. Izan, in particular, stood with his hands on his hips, watching the Madrid celebration unfold in front of him, with admiration etched on his young face. "Would be nice if I could get a volley-related skill" Izan said as he turned towards the kick off spot. "Valverde has just levelled the playing field with one of the finest goals you¡¯ll ever see," the commentator continued, still in awe. "A rocket from the Uruguayan midfielder, and now we¡¯re all tied up at 2-2!" Komi and Hori, sitting in the stands, exchanged a glance filled with both admiration for the sheer quality of the goal and frustration at losing the lead. "That was unreal," Hori said, her eyes wide. "But we¡¯ll get it back. We can¡¯t let them control this now." Komi nodded, taking a deep breath, her heart racing. "We¡¯ve seen what Izan can do. He¡¯ll bring it back." With the game now wide open, the tension between the two teams was palpable, and both sides knew that this goal was just the beginning of a battle that could go either way. The game resumed with a fresh intensity, the equalizer igniting both teams with renewed energy. As the referee signalled for play to restart, both sets of players were already in full stride, neither side willing to take a step back. Valencia, determined to regain their advantage, surged forward quickly. Izan was everywhere¡ªdrifting between the lines, pulling defenders out of position, and demanding the ball at every opportunity. Hugo Duro, ever the tireless worker, fed a pass into Izan¡¯s path, but Madrid¡¯s defence was quick to close him down. Still, the young star¡¯s every touch was met with roars of approval from the home fans. Real Madrid, buoyed by Valverde¡¯s brilliant strike, began to find their rhythm in midfield. Kroos, now pulling the strings from deeper in the centre, dictated play with his usual poise, while Rodrygo and Vin¨ªcius Jr. began to stretch the wings, looking to exploit any gaps in Valencia¡¯s defence. "Both teams are refusing to take a step back. It¡¯s as if the first half never happened. The game is wide open, and any moment could be the one that tips the scales," the commentator noted, his voice rising with excitement. But as the clock ticked on, fatigue began to creep in. Both managers, sensing the importance of fresh legs, began to make their moves. For Real Madrid, Carlo Ancelotti made his first change, sending on Luka Modri? and Brahim D¨ªaz in place of Valverde, who had just scored the equalizer, and Jude Bellingham, who had been quiet for much of the match. "A tactical change here from Ancelotti¡ªModri?¡¯s experience and Brahim¡¯s pace could be crucial in this final stretch," the commentator observed. Valencia quickly followed suit. With the game still tightly contested, manager Rub¨¦n Baraja turned to his bench. He brought on Pietro, a fresh pair of legs for the midfield, replacing Guillam¨®n, who had put in a solid shift but was beginning to tire as well as Almeida, for Diego L¨®pez with Izan now switching to the left wing. The change was met with a burst of energy from the crowd, who knew that the changes could bring a spark. After the restart, both teams started getting into their stride but it wasn¡¯t long after another change was made. Mark, who had been warming up on the sidelines, stepped onto the pitch in place of Mouctar, who had gestured to the bench for a substitution. Mouctar, his face flushed and tired, nodded in appreciation to his teammates as he made his way off the field. "A key change here¡ªMark, the defensive workhorse, comes on for Mouctar, who¡¯s been putting in a gritty performance in the back," the commentator remarked. As the changes took place, the tempo of the game shifted slightly. The fresh legs injected new energy into both sides, and the match became even more frantic, with each team battling for control of the middle of the park. But there was a sense that the next goal would be decisive¡ªwhoever could seize the moment first would likely walk away with the three points. The fans, on edge, began to chant louder, urging their teams forward. Each touch, each pass, seemed to carry the weight of the game, and the atmosphere at Mestalla was electric. Chapter 193: Etching Greatness As the changes took place, the tempo of the game shifted slightly. The fresh legs injected new energy into both sides, and the match became even more frantic, with each team battling for control of the middle of the park. But there was a sense that the next goal would be decisive¡ªwhoever could seize the moment first would likely walk away with the three points. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The fans, on edge, began to chant louder, urging their teams forward. Each touch, each pass, seemed to carry the weight of the game, and the atmosphere at Mestalla was electric. The match had reached the 82nd minute, and the atmosphere in the Mestalla was electric. Real Madrid, possessing more of the ball at this point tried to score but Valencia were saved by the defensive antics of Mark and Marmadashvili. After a goal kick was issued, the ball was played out wide to Izan, who controlled it with a silky first touch. "And here comes Izan again," the commentator¡¯s voice rose as the teenager received the ball on the left flank. "This boy has been electric tonight, giving the Real Madrid defense nightmares." Izan, after controlling the ball, turned sharply to face Dani Carvajal. The experienced full-back wasted no time, closing down the space with determination. Izan hesitated, feinted left, then exploded to the right, leaving Carvajal wrong-footed. "Oh, that¡¯s brilliant from Izan! He¡¯s left Carvajal for dead!" The veteran defender, caught out, grabbed a handful of Izan¡¯s jersey, yanking him back. The referee¡¯s whistle pierced through the noise of the crowd, and Carvajal received a stern warning. "You can see the frustration there from Carvajal," the co-commentator added. "He just can¡¯t handle Izan¡¯s pace and trickery." Minutes later, Izan was at it again, this time cutting inside with the ball glued to his feet. Antonio R¨¹diger stepped up, his towering figure casting a shadow over the young forward. Izan attempted a clever nutmeg, but R¨¹diger anticipated it, lunging forward with a crunching tackle. The ball was won, but the force of the challenge sent Izan sprawling to the turf. The referee waved play on, much to the dismay of Izan¡¯s teammates and the jeers of the home fans. The pressure mounted as Izan grew threatening by the passing second, dancing past defenders with breathtaking skill. Frustration seeped into Madrid¡¯s backline. R¨¹diger resorted to sly nudges and subtle elbows in aerial duels, while Carvajal blocked Izan¡¯s path with deliberate body checks. But Izan, undeterred, picked himself up each time, his determination to leave his mark on the game unwavering. "It¡¯s getting a bit rough here. The referee should be giving a few cards out " the commentator said after Jose Gaya shoved R¨¹diger after the latter fouled Izan again. The final minutes of the match unfolded like a symphony of chaos, each note struck with desperation and raw emotion. The tension in the Mestalla was unbearable, the kind that had fans biting their nails, clutching scarves, and screaming themselves hoarse. Both teams refused to back down, knowing that a single moment of brilliance¡ªor a single mistake¡ªwould decide the outcome. Valencia, spurred on by the deafening chants of their home crowd, surged forward with a determination that bordered on recklessness. Pietro, newly introduced but already fully involved, was everywhere in midfield. His sharp movements and precise passing carved out openings that hadn¡¯t existed moments before. One such pass threaded the ball perfectly to Hugo Duro at the edge of the box. Duro, with defenders closing in, turned sharply and unleashed a low drive that skimmed the grass like a bullet. Courtois, Madrid¡¯s giant between the posts, dived low to his left, his outstretched fingertips just enough to push the ball wide of the post. "What a save by Courtois! Hugo Duro so close to putting Valencia ahead!" the commentator bellowed, his voice trembling with excitement. But Madrid wasn¡¯t sitting back. They countered with terrifying speed, Rodrygo and Vin¨ªcius Jr. combining down the left flank in a dazzling display of quick feet and silky dribbling. Vin¨ªcius broke free and sent in a cross that seemed destined for Brahim D¨ªaz at the far post. The Madrid attacker leaped, meeting the ball with a powerful header, but Mamardashvili was a wall once again. The Georgian goalkeeper flew to his left, stretching every inch of his towering frame to palm the ball away. The crowd erupted in relief and admiration, chanting his name as he quickly scrambled to his feet to organize the defense. "Mamardashvili with another stunning save! He¡¯s keeping Valencia in this game! This is football at its best. A save at the other end and just a few seconds later, another save has been pulled at the other end." The clock ticked mercilessly toward full time, the seconds feeling like hours. Every pass, every tackle, every clearance carried the weight of the match. The players, visibly exhausted, pushed themselves beyond their limits, driven by sheer willpower and the deafening energy of the crowd. As the game approached the 90th minute, it seemed destined for a draw. But then, in a moment that would be replayed for months if not years to come, the game shifted. Pietro, on the pitch with the sharpest mind, intercepted a loose ball in midfield. His first touch was immaculate, and he immediately drove forward, his head up, scanning for options. He spotted Izan, who had drifted into space between Madrid¡¯s midfield and defense. "Pietro finds Izan... and here we go!" The pass was perfectly weighted, splitting the Madrid defense. Izan took off, his first touch silken as he brought the ball under control. The crowd roared as he charged forward, his pace leaving Camavinga and Milit?o scrambling to catch him. Approaching the edge of the box, Izan feinted left, then shifted right, creating just enough room to take his shot. Milit?o lunged desperately, but Izan was already a step ahead, his weaker left foot striking the ball cleanly. [Curler LV 2 activated] "Yes!" Izan thought aloud after the ball left his leg. The Mestalla fell silent for a heartbeat as the ball soared through the air, curling beautifully toward the far post. Courtois leaped, his massive frame stretching as far as it could go. His fingertips brushed the ball, but the shot was too perfect, too powerful. It struck the top corner of the net with a sound like a gunshot. The silence shattered as the Mestalla erupted. Fans screamed, hugged, and jumped in unison, the stadium shaking from the sheer force of their joy. The commentator¡¯s voice cracked with emotion as he shouted: "IZAN! HE¡¯S DONE IT! THE TEENAGE PHENOM HAS WON IT FOR VALENCIA IN THE DYING SECONDS!" Izan sprinted toward the corner flag, his arms wide, his face lit with an expression of pure ecstasy. He slid to his knees, the Valencia crest on his chest glinting under the floodlights. His teammates piled on top of him, their cheers lost in the cacophony of the crowd chanting his name: "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" In the stands, Komi stood frozen, a smile etched on her face as she watched her son bask in the glory of the moment. Beside her, Hori was screaming at the top of her lungs, waving her scarf wildly and shouting, "That¡¯s my brother! That¡¯s my brother!" "Is this Valencia? I¡¯d say it is but this isn¡¯t Valencia. This is a single boy from Alboraya. This is what Izan can do. Keep watching this young man because he can do things. A lot of things" The Real Madrid players, both on the bench and on the field seemed to fall onto the ground. Their fans heartbroken by the goal but didn¡¯t show. They tried to revamp the support they were giving their players but it wasn¡¯t easy. "Come on guys. We are Real Madrid. We¡¯ve done it before, and we can do it again " an older fan in the stands near the pitch said, rekindling the fighting spirit in the away fans. As the Real Madrid players stood on the pitch, their fans began their chants. Fueled by the unbroken spirit of the Real Madrid fans, the players stood up. The referee allowed Madrid to kick off once more. The players tried to launch one last attack, but there was not enough time after the final whistle blew seconds later, and the Mestalla exploded again. Fans flooded the aisles, the chants and cheers echoing into the Valencian night. "Valencia have done it! A 3-2 victory over Real Madrid! And it¡¯s the 16-year-old wonderkid Izan who seals it with a moment of pure magic! This is a night no one here will ever forget!" The commentator¡¯s voice trembled with the weight of the moment, rising above the deafening roars of the Mestalla. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the kind of match that stays with you, the kind of moment that defines careers, lives, and legacies. Valencia and Real Madrid, two teams locked in an epic battle, refusing to yield. But out of all the stars on this pitch¡ªBellingham, Vin¨ªcius, Modri?¡ªit¡¯s the 16-year-old boy who has stolen the show once more." He paused, his voice heavy with emotion, as the replay of Izan¡¯s goal played on the screen. The ball curved magnificently into the top corner, a piece of artistry destined to be replayed for generations. "Izan. Remember that name. That goal wasn¡¯t just a strike; it was poetry in motion, a moment of pure brilliance. The camera panned to Izan, standing by the flag, surrounded by his teammates, hands clasped together as he applauded the fans. "And look at him now. This is what football is about¡ªraw talent, passion, and the power to inspire. A boy who, just a year ago, was playing in youth tournaments, is now lighting up the Mestalla under the brightest lights against one of the greatest teams in football history. Izan has given us a moment we¡¯ll be telling our children and grandchildren about." The crowd¡¯s chants of "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" filled the air, drowning out even the most fervent Madrid protests. "This stadium, this city¡ªthey¡¯ll remember this night forever. The night when a teenager, barely old enough to drive, stood toe-to-toe with giants and emerged victorious. And it wasn¡¯t just the goal; it was the poise, the vision, the relentless determination to leave everything on the pitch." As the referee blew the final whistle, the commentator¡¯s voice dropped to a reverent tone, carrying the weight of the night. "Valencia have done it. A 3-2 victory over Real Madrid. And it¡¯s Izan¡ªyes, Izan¡ªwho sealed it with a goal that will be talked about for decades. Football isn¡¯t just a game. It¡¯s moments like this that remind us why we love it, why we live for it. Tonight, the world has a new star, and his name is Izan." Chapter 194: Second of Many. As the celebrations began to settle, Izan stood at the center of the Mestalla pitch, still basking in the chants of his name echoing around the stadium. The Valencia players formed a loose circle around him, clapping in unison as the stadium announcer¡¯s voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight¡¯s Man of the Match¡ªand the scorer of a stunning hat-trick¡ªIZAN!" The crowd erupted once more, their chants growing even louder. Izan walked toward the podium set up on the sideline, his boots clicking softly against the grass as the crowd cheered. His cheeks a bit flushed as he shook hands with the presenter, who handed him the gleaming Man of the Match trophy and the match ball, signed by the referee. He looked at the trophy in his left hand, then down at the ball cradled in his right arm¡ªthe ball that marked the second hat-trick of his career. "Hello, Izan," the reporter said, looking at him. Izan nodded at the reporter signalling for her to go on. "The last time you held a ball in an instance like this was against Atl¨¦tico Madrid which marked your first career hat-trick. Tonight, you earned your second, and it was against none other than Real Madrid. A team you scored two goals against the last time the two sides met. Should we be expecting you to earn a lot more balls" [Please not that balls] The cameras zoomed in on his face as he raised the microphone to his lips. "First of all," he began, his voice steady despite the roar of the crowd, "I want to thank everyone here tonight. The fans, my teammates, my coaches¡ªyou¡¯ve made this moment unforgettable." The crowd cheered wildly, chanting his name again. "And yes," he held up the match ball, his voice softening, "I don¡¯t plan on stopping. When I get onto the pitch, I want to help my team win so if the chances come, I¡¯ll take it." In the stands, Komi stood, a smile etched on her face, while Hori stood beside her. The cameras caught their reactions, and the image was displayed on the stadium screens, drawing another wave of cheers from the crowd. Izan looked at his mother and sister but then turned back to the crowd, his expression thoughtful. His eyes scanned the stands until they landed on a young boy sitting near the front row, wearing an oversized Valencia jersey with Izan¡¯s name and number scribbled on the back in marker. The boy¡¯s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open in disbelief as he realized Izan was looking right at him. Izan walked over to the barrier, the ball in his hand. The boy¡¯s father nudged him forward, and he cautiously stepped closer. Izan leaned over, offering the ball with a warm smile. "This is for you, champ," Izan said. "Keep dreaming big." The boy hesitated for a moment before accepting the ball, his hands trembling. Tears filled his eyes as he clutched the ball to his chest, unable to speak. The crowd erupted in cheers, chanting Izan¡¯s name louder than ever. "What a Good lad," the commentator said, his voice filled with emotion. "Izan has not only delivered a masterclass on the pitch but has shown the humility and heart of a true star." As Izan walked back toward his teammates, he glanced back at the boy, who was now hugging the ball tightly, tears streaming down his face. The Mestalla roared one final time as the team made their way toward the tunnel, Izan leading the way. After the dust of celebration had settled and the players retreated to the locker rooms, Izan was called to the post-match press conference by Baraja. He had tried refusing, but Baraja didn¡¯t take no for an answer. The media room was packed, buzzing with anticipation, as reporters from across the footballing world waited to hear from the young star who had just delivered one of the most remarkable performances in La Liga history. Dressed in Valencia¡¯s tracksuit, his hair still slightly damp from the post-match shower, Izan entered the room with a mix of confidence and humility. The cameras flashed incessantly as he took his seat behind the microphone, the Man of the Match trophy. He glanced at them briefly before offering a shy smile to the crowd of journalists. The moderator began, "Let¡¯s open the floor for questions." The first journalist stood up, a grin on his face. "Izan, congratulations on an unforgettable performance. At just 16, you¡¯ve already accomplished what many players dream of their entire careers. How do you feel right now?" Izan chuckled lightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table. "Thank you. Honestly, it feels surreal. To score a second hat-trick and help the team win against a club like Real Madrid... it¡¯s a dream come true. But more than anything, I¡¯m just happy we got the three points. That¡¯s what matters most." The room buzzed with murmurs of admiration. Another journalist leaned forward. "You dedicated your performance to your family during the post-match presentation. Can you tell us more about that?" Izan nodded, his expression softening. "My mom and sister, Komi and Hori, are everything to me. They¡¯ve sacrificed so much to support my dreams. Tonight, I wanted to show them how much that means to me. They¡¯ve been my rock, and I wouldn¡¯t be here without them." The room fell silent for a moment as the reporters absorbed his heartfelt words. Then, a foreign journalist spoke up. "One final question, Izan. You gave the match ball to a young fan in the stands. What inspired you to do that?" S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan smiled warmly. "I saw him during the game, cheering so passionately. He reminded me of myself when I used to watch matches with my family. I know how much it would have meant to me back then, so I wanted to give him something to remember. Football isn¡¯t just about what happens on the pitch¡ªit¡¯s about inspiring the next generation." The room erupted into applause, a rare gesture for a press conference. Izan, slightly embarrassed, rubbed the back of his neck but couldn¡¯t hide his grin. The moderator leaned in, signaling the end. "That¡¯s all for now. Thank you, Izan, and congratulations again." As Izan left the stage, flashes from cameras followed him, and reporters murmured about the humility and maturity of the young star. ... The bus carrying the Valencia squad rumbled down the streets of the city, the players still buzzing with excitement after their thrilling 3-2 victory over Real Madrid. The sky was dark, but the streets of Valencia seemed alive as if the city itself was celebrating the team¡¯s remarkable performance. Fans lined the streets, waving scarves and chanting the names of their heroes. Despite the long, tiring match, there was an unmistakable energy in the air. As the bus approached Paterna, the training ground where Valencia¡¯s facilities were located, the mood inside was one of camaraderie and relief. The players were exhausted, but their faces were all smiles. Some cracked jokes, while others simply sat back, savoring the thrill of the win. The bus made its way past familiar landmarks, and as they neared Paterna, the players began to wind down, chatting amongst themselves. Izan gazed out the window, the thought of what would happen if he won a major trophy seeping through to his mind. When the bus finally pulled into Paterna, the players began to file out, heading straight for the locker room to grab their belongings before making their way home. Izan grabbed his bag and walked out of the building, the night air cool against his skin. He glanced around, his mind still racing with the memories of the match. Waiting for him outside, just as they had every time after a home game, were Komi and Hori. They stood together near the entrance, their eyes scanning the players as they emerged. The moment they spotted Izan, both women broke into huge smiles. "Izan! You were incredible! That goal¡ªwas just... wow!" Hori squealed as she ran up to him, throwing her hands around trying to describe the goal. Izan laughed, hugging his sister tightly. "It was a good one, huh?" he said, his voice laced with modesty. Komi stepped forward, pride in her eyes. "Lets go home" she said with Izan nodding to her words. With the night winding down, the trio made their way to Komi¡¯s car, the warm, familiar comfort of home on the horizon. The city outside was still alive with celebration, but for Izan, the only thing that mattered now was the journey ahead with his family. As they drove through the streets, the car filled with easy chatter. Hori, still high from the match, recounted every moment of Izan¡¯s performance, while Komi asked about his thoughts during the game. As they pulled into their driveway, the weight of the evening began to settle in. Izan had helped Valencia secure a monumental victory. He had scored a hat-trick, including the decisive goal in the dying moments of the match. But, more than that, he had made his family proud. They were his foundation, the ones who had always supported him, and tonight was as much their victory as it was his. After a quiet dinner at home, they sat together on the couch, the sound of the game replaying on the television in the background. Komi rested her head on Izan¡¯s shoulder, and Hori curled up beside them, her energy finally waning. The trio shared a quiet moment, a rare moment of peace after a whirlwind day. "What a day," Izan muttered, his eyelids heavy. Komi smiled, rubbing his arm. "The best day," she replied softly. As the night grew deeper, Izan finally allowed himself to relax, the weight of the world lifted by the love and pride of the family that had been with him every step of the way. [Sweet home Alabama. Naa jk] Chapter 195: Next Challenge The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the small dining room. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the air as Komi set the table, humming softly to herself. Hori, still in her pajamas, sat cross-legged on a chair, munching on a croissant and scrolling through her phone. Izan, wearing a relaxed hoodie and joggers, sat at the table with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. His hair was slightly messy from sleep, but his face glowed with the lingering pride of the previous night¡¯s victory. The atmosphere was light and filled with laughter as Hori replayed a clip from the game on her phone. "Look at you trying to act all cool after that goal!" Hori teased, turning the screen to Izan. "You didn¡¯t even smile until everyone piled on you." Izan chuckled, taking a sip of his orange juice. "I was too busy making sure I didn¡¯t trip while celebrating. That would¡¯ve been embarrassing." Komi laughed softly as she placed a bowl of fresh fruit on the table. "You handled yourself perfectly, Izan. The whole city is proud of you." She paused, her gaze warm and filled with pride. "We are proud of you." Izan looked up, his smile gentle. "Thanks, Mom. But remember, it was a team effort. We all worked hard for that win." Komi looked at her son, knowing that in every fleeting moment that passed, her son matured into something. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, moving from last night¡¯s match to Hori¡¯s plans for the weekend. Just as Izan was finishing his second slice of toast, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen and saw Miranda¡¯s name flashing. "It¡¯s Miranda," he said, picking up the call. He stood and walked to the corner of the room, leaving Hori and Komi to exchange curious glances. "Morning, Miranda," Izan greeted, his tone cheerful. "Good morning, Phenom. Not my naming by the way. The morning papers are having a blast !" Miranda¡¯s voice was animated. "I won¡¯t take up much of your time, but I¡¯ve got some great news. YSL has approached us to extend your contract beyond the Euros. They¡¯re very keen to lock you in." Izan raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. He glanced back at the table, where Komi and Hori were pretending not to listen, their curiosity evident. "That¡¯s flattering," Izan replied, keeping his voice steady. "But I think we should hold off for now. Let¡¯s wait until after the Euros. If I perform well there, my value will increase. We can negotiate from a stronger position." There was a brief pause before Miranda¡¯s laugh crackled through the line. "Izan, if it were anyone, I¡¯d say that¡¯s a bold claim to consider yourself already among the Euros squad, but I guess I shouldn¡¯t. Anyways, that¡¯s a genius plan. I was hoping you¡¯d say that. You¡¯re right¡ªtiming is everything. I¡¯ll inform them that we¡¯ll revisit the conversation after the tournament." "Thanks, Miranda," Izan said with a smile. "I trust you to handle it." "You¡¯ve got it. Enjoy your breakfast. You¡¯ve earned it." As the call ended, Izan returned to the table, his expression relaxed but focused. "What was that about?" Hori asked, unable to contain her curiosity. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan sat down and shrugged casually. "Just some stuff about the YSL deal. Nothing to worry about right now." Komi smiled knowingly. "You¡¯re handling all of this so well, Izan. Remember to take it one step at a time." "I will," Izan promised. "But for now, let¡¯s focus on this breakfast. Hori, pass me another slice of bread" The room filled with laughter again as the trio settled back into their easy rhythm. After the whirlwind of the match and the busy morning, the quietness of the afternoon was welcome. The faint hum of life from the streets below mixed with the soft rustling of leaves from a nearby tree. Izan opened his phone, scrolling through messages from a few people until he came across Olivia¡¯s name in his chat list. Without overthinking, he tapped the call button. The phone rang a couple of times before Olivia¡¯s voice came through, light and cheerful. "Izan! Look who¡¯s finally remembered I exist!" Izan laughed, a genuine sound that carried a sense of comfort. "Hey, I¡¯ve been a little busy, the hectic schedule and all." "Oh, poor you," Olivia teased, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "How ever do you manage?" "It¡¯s a mystery," he quipped back, smiling. "But seriously, how are you, Liv?" Her voice softened slightly. "I¡¯m good. Just busy with classes. But enough about me¡ªyou¡¯re the one everyone¡¯s talking about. I saw the match last night. Izan, that goal... it was unreal!" Izan rubbed the back of his neck, a little bashful. "It wasn¡¯t just me. The whole team played their hearts out. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time." "You¡¯re too humble, Izan," Olivia said warmly. "But that¡¯s one of the things I like about you. You could have the world screaming your name and still find a way to stay grounded." That made him pause, her words sinking in. "I guess it helps having people like you, Komi, and Hori keeping me in check. I wouldn¡¯t be where I am without you guys." "I miss you" Olivia slipped the words through as Izan talked. The latter kept quiet for a while, creating the impression that he hadn¡¯t heard what Olivia had said before he responded. "I miss you too Olivia and I promise we¡¯ll find time for us after all this is over, okay" "Hmm" Olivia sounded before responding after seeing Izan wouldn¡¯t hear her nod. The two talked for a while longer, their conversation meandering through shared memories, jokes, and dreams for the future, a reminder of the connection they had despite the growing demands on Izan¡¯s As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink, Izan leaned back in his chair, phone still in hand. "I¡¯m glad I called, Liv. I needed this." "Me too," Olivia said softly. "Now go rest. You¡¯ve got a lot more matches to win." "Love Liv. Talk soon, yeah?" " Love Izan, Definitely," she said, her voice light but sincere. ... After their hard-fought encounter with Real Madrid, Valencia CF shifted their focus to the highly anticipated Copa del Rey clash against RCD Mallorca at the iconic Mestalla. The team returned to training with a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that the semi-final represented a critical step toward potential silverware. The players¡¯ energy was palpable, with every session intensifying as the game drew closer. Among them, Izan trained with quiet determination, his talent shining. His sharpness and flair caught the eyes of onlookers, yet behind the scenes, head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja and his assistant Moreni were deep in strategic discussions. The duo had spent hours analyzing Mallorca¡¯s strengths and weaknesses, crafting a tactical plan they believed would exploit their opponents¡¯ vulnerabilities. In the quiet confines of Valencia CF¡¯s coaching office, head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja sat across from his trusted assistant, Moreno. The tension of the upcoming Copa del Rey clash against Mallorca hung in the air, and the two were deep in conversation about their tactical plans. Baraja leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "I¡¯ve been thinking about Izan," he began, his voice steady but tinged with hesitation. "The kid¡¯s been phenomenal¡ªno one can deny that. But he¡¯s still developing, Moreno. The weight of these matches, the intensity... I¡¯m starting to wonder if we¡¯re asking too much of him too soon." Moreno nodded, leaning forward. "I¡¯ve had the same thoughts, Rub¨¦n. He¡¯s special, no doubt, but we have to protect him. If we keep pushing him in every big game, we risk burning him out¡ªor worse, injuring him." Baraja sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly. He¡¯s still growing, physically and mentally. I don¡¯t want him caught in the middle of that. Maybe it¡¯s better if we let him rest, keep him on the bench for this one. If we need him, he can come on as an impact player." Moreno crossed his arms, considering the idea. "It¡¯s a good plan. It also sends the right message to the team¡ªthat no one¡¯s indispensable, not even Izan. It keeps the balance in the squad." Baraja smiled faintly. "And it shows Izan that we¡¯re looking out for him. He¡¯s got a long career ahead. One match isn¡¯t worth risking his future. Let¡¯s talk to him tomorrow after training and make sure he understands." Moreno nodded in agreement. "He¡¯ll take it well. He¡¯s mature for his age, Rub¨¦n. He knows we have his best interests. After careful consideration, the two reached a crucial decision: Izan would start on the bench for this high-stakes match. The decision wasn¡¯t easy, as the young player had proven his mettle repeatedly, but Baraja and Moreno agreed that the pressure of the semi-final required experience on the pitch from the first whistle. Chapter 196: Pedrag Rajkovic After careful consideration, the two Coaches, Baraja and Moreno reached a crucial decision: Izan would start on the bench for this high-stakes match. The decision wasn¡¯t easy, as the young player had proven his mettle repeatedly, but Baraja and Moreno agreed that the pressure of the semi-final required experience on the pitch from the first whistle. .... Ruben Baraja and Assistant Coach Moreno sat across from Izan in the small, sunlit meeting room at the training facility. The air was a bit tense despite their warm smiles. Baraja, the head coach, leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His voice was calm but firm. "Izan," he began, his tone measured. "We¡¯ve been watching you closely in training, and your performance has been exceptional. But for the match against Mallorca, we¡¯ve decided to start you on the bench." Izan¡¯s chest tightened, though he maintained a composed expression. His eyes flickered, betraying a hint of surprise and disappointment, but he quickly masked it with a nod. Moreno, the assistant coach, jumped in, his tone softer. "This isn¡¯t about your ability, Izan. You¡¯re a key part of this team. We just need to manage both you and the game carefully, and we believe bringing you on later could be the best strategy." Izan shifted in his seat, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself. Inside, he was disappointed, but he refused to let it show. "I understand," he said evenly, his voice devoid of emotion. Baraja studied him, his expression unreadable. "We know this isn¡¯t nice to hear, but it¡¯s about the team¡¯s needs. When your moment comes, we¡¯re counting on you to make an impact." "Of course," Izan replied, his tone steady but distant. "I¡¯ll be ready." As Izan stood to leave, Baraja and Moreno glanced at each other before returning their gazes to Izan¡¯s retreating back. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "He¡¯ll understand," Moreno said before he also stood to leave with Baraja remaining behind. ... Valencia CF pressed on with their preparations for the Copa del Rey semi-final against Mallorca, the training sessions at Paterna brimming with intensity and focus. The media buzz around the match was impossible to ignore, with pundits and fans debating Valencia¡¯s chances and speculating on Rub¨¦n Baraja¡¯s tactics. Headlines highlighted the high stakes, with many wondering whether young Izan, the star of Spanish football, would play a pivotal role. Meanwhile, on the training pitch, Izan continued to dazzle. His touch was sharp, his movement relentless, and his creativity unmatched. He was playing as if the semi-final was already underway, leaving teammates and coaches in awe of his abilities. Yet, there was a noticeable edge to his game ¨C a drive that seemed almost excessive. His teammates couldn¡¯t help but notice him holding onto the ball longer than he would in sessions, practicing free kicks and sprints well past the team¡¯s usual wrap-up time. Baraja and Moreno observed all this quietly from the sidelines. They had delivered their decision to bench Izan for the match earlier in the week, and while the young prodigy had taken the news maturely, his actions on the field spoke volumes. "Overtraining," Moreno muttered during a break, watching as Izan lined up another shot long after most of the squad had left for the recovery room. Baraja nodded, a mix of admiration and concern in his expression. "Trying to get the edge off I think. He¡¯s a bit disappointed about not starting." "Do we say anything?" Moreno asked, though he already knew the answer. Baraja shook his head. "No. He¡¯ll find his balance. He¡¯s young, but he¡¯ll figure it out. Sometimes, the best lessons are learned in silence." As the team wrapped up their final preparations, Izan continued playing around with the ball. ..... The next day, the city of Valencia was alive with excitement as fans flooded the streets, draped in the iconic black and white of Valencia CF. The Mestalla, bathed in the glow of stadium lights, became a cauldron of passion and anticipation as thousands of fans gathered hours before kick-off. Chants echoed through the air, banners waved proudly, and flares painted the sky in shades of orange and white. For Valencia supporters, the Copa del Rey semi-final against Mallorca was more than a game; it was a statement of their club¡¯s resilience and ambition. The Mallorca faithful had also traveled in numbers, bringing their red-and-black flair to the occasion. Though vastly outnumbered, their chants were loud and defiant, as they rallied behind their team in hopes of an upset. Inside the stadium, the energy was spectacular. The players emerged onto the pitch for their warm-ups, greeted by deafening cheers from their respective supporters. Valencia¡¯s Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ and Andr¨¦ Almeida led the team¡¯s drills, while Mallorca¡¯s captain orchestrated his squad with equal intensity. The clash promised to be one of tactical mastery and raw emotion. As the clock ticked towards kick-off, the lineups for both sides were released. Most Fans, knowing it would be the same, didn¡¯t bother checking, and even if they missed something, the announcer would announce it. After a while, the announcer also began. Valencia fans eagerly awaited the announcement of their prodigious star. When his name was read out as a substitute, a mix of reactions rippled through the crowd. Valencia fans were initially surprised. Murmurs filled the stands as they processed the absence of the young sensation from the starting eleven. Some questioned Baraja¡¯s decision, while others, trusting the coach¡¯s judgment, applauded. The Mestalla faithful remained united, though, their focus shifting back to cheering for the team. On the other side, Mallorca fans seemed relieved. Izan had been a growing nightmare for opposing teams, and his absence from the starting lineup felt like a small victory. Their supporters cheered louder, hoping their team could capitalize on the decision. Izan sat on the bench, visibly composed but with a quiet intensity in his eyes. Baraja and Moreno exchanged a glance, sensing the emotions brewing within the young player. They knew he would make an impact when called upon, but for now, the team needed his patience and composure. As the players lined up in the tunnel, the noise from the Mestalla grew deafening. The stage was set, and while the spotlight wasn¡¯t yet on Izan, the story of the night was far from written. ... The first half of the Copa del Rey semi-final between Valencia and Mallorca at the Mestalla was a pulsating affair, defined by Valencia¡¯s relentless attacking and Mallorca¡¯s resolute defense. From the opening whistle, the home side took control of the game, feeding off the electrifying energy of the fans who roared with every forward surge. Valencia¡¯s midfield trio of Andr¨¦ Almeida, Pepelu, and Javi Guerra dictated the tempo, threading incisive passes to stretch Mallorca¡¯s backline. "Valencia has come out of the gates flying," the commentator exclaimed. "They¡¯re pinning Mallorca deep in their half. It¡¯s clear they want an early goal to settle the nerves." The first clear chance came in the 8th minute when Diego L¨®pez danced down the left flank, cutting inside to unleash a curling effort towards the far post. The Mestalla erupted in anticipation, only for Mallorca¡¯s goalkeeper, the inspired Pedrag Rajkovic, to stretch and tip the ball around the post. Rajkovic¡¯s heroics set the tone for the evening as he repeatedly thwarted Valencia¡¯s best efforts. "What a save by Rajkovic!" The second of the two commentators shouted. "He¡¯s single-handedly keeping Mallorca in this tie. Lopez did everything right, but Rajkovic was up to the task!" By the 20th minute, Valencia had camped in Mallorca¡¯s half, launching wave after wave of attacks. Andre Almeida and Hugo Duro combined beautifully on the right, with Duro firing a fierce shot that looked destined for the bottom corner, but again Rajkovic intervened. [I swear this keeper used to turn into prime Kahn when he meets Valencia] On the ensuing corner, Mouctar Diakhaby¡¯s towering header was cleared off the line by Mallorca¡¯s captain, Antonio Ra¨ªllo, further frustrating the home crowd. "It¡¯s incredible! Valencia is knocking on the door, but Mallorca is holding firm. How much longer can they resist?" Amid the action, Izan sat on the Valencia bench, his expression calm but his eyes keenly focused on the game. His teammates on the pitch were doing everything right except for finding the back of the net, and he occasionally glanced toward Baraja. His presence, even off the field, was felt, with some fans chanting his name during a lull in the action, urging their coach to bring him on. "You can hear it now," one of the commentators noted. "The Mestalla faithful are calling for Izan. They believe the young star might be the key to unlocking this Mallorca defense." Mallorca, though under siege, refused to fold. Their defense, led by Ra¨ªllo and Martin Valjent, threw themselves into every challenge. In the 33rd minute, Valencia¡¯s Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ drove into the box and fired a low cross that ricocheted off multiple players before falling to Almeida, whose thunderous strike from close range was somehow parried by Rajkovic. The Mallorca fans in the corner of the stadium erupted in cheers, sensing their goalkeeper was crafting something special. "This is unbelievable from Rajkovic! How has he kept that out? Almeida must be wondering what more he can do!" As halftime approached, the tension in the Mestalla grew palpable. The home fans cheered with every attack but groaned louder with each missed opportunity. On the other hand, the Mallorca supporters grew increasingly vocal, encouraged by their team¡¯s resilience and Rajkovic¡¯s brilliance. When the referee blew for halftime, the scoreboard remained 0-0, much to the frustration of the Valencia faithful. The players trudged off the pitch, heads down but determined. Baraja walked past Izan, briefly meeting the youngster¡¯s gaze before disappearing into the tunnel. "It¡¯s been all Valencia so far," the commentator summed up. "But Mallorca¡¯s defense, and especially Pedrag Rajkovic, are putting on a masterclass. Something has to give in the second half." The Mallorca fans celebrated the goalless draw at the break as if it were a victory, applauding their team¡¯s grit. Meanwhile, the Valencia crowd buzzed with mixed emotions¡ªadmiration for their side¡¯s dominance yet anxious murmurs about the inability to capitalize. The stage was set for a dramatic second half. Chapter 197: Crumbling The players trudged off the pitch, heads down as they walked towards the tunnel. Baraja walked past Izan, briefly meeting the youngster¡¯s gaze before disappearing into the tunnel. "It¡¯s been all Valencia so far," the commentator summed up. "But Mallorca¡¯s defense, and especially Pedrag Rajkovic, are putting on a masterclass. Something has to give in the second half." The Mallorca fans celebrated the goalless draw at the break as if it were a victory, applauding their team¡¯s grit. Meanwhile, the Valencia crowd buzzed with mixed emotions¡ªadmiration for their side¡¯s dominance yet anxious murmurs about the inability to capitalize. The stage was set for a dramatic second half. ... The Valencia dressing room was tense, the air thick with frustration and silence, save for the distant hum of the crowd outside. Ruben Baraja stormed in, his expression a storm cloud of suppressed anger. He paced to the center of the room, hands on his hips, before exploding. "Is this what we¡¯ve become? A team that can¡¯t break down Mallorca? A team that wastes every chance?!" he barked, his voice reverberating off the walls. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on each player as if daring them to respond. "We are Valencia! We fight, we create, we finish! And yet here we are, unable to put the ball in the back of the net! This isn¡¯t a one-man show!" His gaze, sharp as a dagger, briefly landed on Izan. It wasn¡¯t long, but it was long enough for the implication to hang in the air like smoke. "If you¡¯re waiting for one player to do it all for you, you¡¯ve already lost." Baraja turned sharply to face the squad again, his tone a bit soft this time but disappointed "Every single one of you has a responsibility out there. Play as a team. Support each other. Create space. Take your chances. This game isn¡¯t won on talent alone¡ªit¡¯s won on grit, on heart, and on belief." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, before finishing with an icy calm. "If you step onto that pitch in the second half expecting someone else to save you, don¡¯t bother stepping on it at all. You¡¯re better than this. Prove it." As Baraja turned away, the players exchanged uneasy glances. Izan sat still, his expression unreadable. The coach¡¯s words had struck home, and the room buzzed with renewed resolve as the players prepared to reclaim the second half. .... "Welcome back, football fans, to the second half of this electrifying semi-final clash between Valencia and Mallorca! The tension here at the stadium is palpable as both sides gear up for what promises to be an intense 45 minutes of football. With a spot in the final on the line, neither team is willing to back down. Valencia has shown glimpses of their attacking brilliance, but Mallorca has been resolute in defense, with moments of counterattacking flair. The players are making their way back onto the pitch, the crowd is roaring, and the stage is set for a thrilling conclusion. Will Valencia¡¯s creativity breakthrough Mallorca¡¯s stubborn backline, or will Mallorca find that decisive moment to steal the spotlight? It¡¯s all to play for¡ªget ready for a second half full of drama, skill, and passion!" ..... The second half began with a tense atmosphere, the Valencia players jogging back onto the pitch as the crowd roared their support. Ruben Baraja stood on the sidelines, his arms crossed and his jaw set like stone. Izan remained on the bench, his face a mask of focus, but the weight of the situation was clear in the way he leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching every movement on the pitch. Valencia started with purpose, moving the ball more sharply than they had in the first half. Baraja¡¯s halftime tirade seemed to have sparked some life into them, and for a moment, it felt like a goal might be on the cards. The players pressed higher up the pitch, forcing mistakes from Mallorca, and the crowd fed off their energy, growing louder with every interception and attack. But the cohesion Baraja had demanded wasn¡¯t fully there. Passes still went astray, and the final ball lacked precision. The frustration began to creep in again. Izan watched from the sidelines, his foot tapping against the ground as he resisted the urge to warm up prematurely. He could see the gaps, the missed opportunities, the lack of conviction in their runs. In the 55th minute, the unthinkable happened. A careless turnover in midfield handed possession to Mallorca. Their winger wasted no time, darting down the left flank, leaving Valencia¡¯s Correia in his wake. The defense scrambled to recover, but the damage was done. The winger delivered a low, driven cross into the box. Valencia¡¯s center-backs hesitated for a split second, and Mallorca¡¯s striker capitalized, ghosting in at the far post to tap the ball into the net. The roar of the Mallorca fans cut through the stunned silence of the Mestalla. "Oh, what a match we have here. Valencia has conceded so suddenly. We thought we might see a goal at their end but now, Valencia are on the back foot. Is this the start of an upset?" On the Valencia bench, Baraja kicked a water bottle in frustration. On the pitch, the Valencia players looked shaken, their heads hanging low as they trudged back to the center circle for the restart. They exchanged blame-filled glances, with defenders gesturing angrily at each other. The cracks in their unity were becoming more apparent by the second. Baraja turned to his bench, his eyes scanning the substitutes. Izan sat still, his gaze fixed on the pitch. The teenager¡¯s jaw was tight, his fingers gripping the hem of his training jersey. He could feel the coach¡¯s eyes on him, but Baraja hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to throw the young star into a situation where the entire team seemed to be relying solely on his brilliance to save them. "Izan, warm up," Baraja finally barked, his voice sharp. The bench stirred as Izan rose, pulling off his bib and jogging down the touchline. The crowd noticed immediately, their cheers growing louder as they realized their rising star was about to enter the fray. Baraja watched Izan closely as he stretched, his thoughts a swirl of frustration and expectation. He knew the boy had the talent to change games, but he couldn¡¯t shake the worry that the team¡¯s over-reliance on him was a recipe for disaster. The game continued, but Valencia¡¯s confidence had taken a hit. Passes grew sloppier, and their pressing lacked the conviction of the opening minutes. On the sidelines, Baraja shouted himself hoarse, urging his players to wake up, to fight, to play with the passion that the club demanded. Izan finished his warm-up and stood by the touchline, waiting for the break in play. The teenager glanced at Baraja, who gave him a firm nod. The moment was coming, but for now, all eyes were on the team that seemed to be crumbling under the weight of their expectations. The game had already become a frustrating affair for Valencia. They dominated possession but lacked the cutting edge to break Mallorca¡¯s disciplined defense. As the minutes ticked by, the frustration among the players was palpable. On the sidelines, Izan stood by the fourth official, stripped of his training bib, bouncing on his toes, ready to come on. The crowd noticed him and began to cheer, their hope resting on the teenager¡¯s shoulders. Baraja had already barked instructions at him. "Be smart, Izan. Link up, move, and create. Don¡¯t try to do it all alone," he had said, though even he knew how much weight the substitution carried. Izan stood at the touchline, eyes glued to the play, heart pounding with anticipation. The fourth official held up the substitution board, and the fans¡¯ cheers grew louder. But then, it happened. A misplaced Valencia pass in midfield was all Mallorca needed. Their midfielder pounced, intercepting the ball and immediately releasing their winger down the right flank. Valencia¡¯s defense, caught out of position, scrambled to recover. "Track back! Get back!" Baraja screamed from the touchline, his voice rising above the noise of the stadium. But the damage was already done. The winger raced forward, unopposed, his pace carrying him deep into Valencia¡¯s half. The defenders converged too late, leaving a gap in the center. Seeing the opportunity, the winger cut the ball back to the edge of the box, where Mallorca¡¯s captain was waiting. With one touch to steady himself, he unleashed a thunderous strike. The ball sailed past the outstretched arms of Marmadashvili, crashing into the top corner of the net. The stadium fell silent, save for the wild celebrations of the Mallorca players and their fans in the corner of the stands. Izan stood frozen on the touchline, his boots on the grass but his debut in the match, delayed by the cruel timing of the goal. His heart sank as he watched the ball hit the net. Around him, the Valencia players sagged, their heads dropping in collective despair. Baraja¡¯s face turned red with frustration, and he punched the air in anger. "Unbelievable!" he muttered, shaking his head as he turned to the bench. The fourth official glanced at Baraja, who gave a curt nod. The substitution proceeded as planned, but the energy in the stadium had shifted. Izan jogged onto the pitch, greeted by applause from the fans desperate for a miracle, but the weight on his young shoulders had just doubled. The scoreboard now read Valencia 0 - 2 Mallorca, and with less than 30 minutes to play, the task ahead seemed monumental. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan looked to the heavens as he took his position, exhaling deeply, before clapping his hands to rally his teammates. If there was a way back, it would take every ounce of his talent and resolve. Chapter 198: Optimum Route The fourth official glanced at Baraja, who gave a curt nod. The substitution proceeded as planned, but the energy in the stadium had shifted. Izan jogged onto the pitch, greeted by applause from the fans desperate for a miracle, but the weight on his young shoulders had just doubled. The scoreboard now read Valencia 0 - 2 Mallorca, and with less than 30 minutes to play, the task ahead seemed monumental. Izan looked to the heavens as he took his position, exhaling deeply, before clapping his hands to rally his teammates. If there was a way back, it would take every ounce of his talent and resolve. ... "It¡¯s the 74th minute now and Valencia are witnessing a change of personnel with Izan coming on for Fran P¨¦rez who, today on the pitch, looked like he had never played a game of football before. Izan usually playing on the left or in the middle will have to play on the right today. May I remind you if you are just coming in, it is Valencia 0, Mallorca 2" After getting into position, the Valencia fans wanted Izan to at least give them something to be hopeful for but it was easier said than done. Mallorca¡¯s Coach, seeing Izan enter the fray, put two players on him and it seemed to be working after a few attempts at creating space by Izan proved effective. The Valencia crowd were a bit down about Izan¡¯s slow start to the game but they weren¡¯t fazed. After a while, Izan seemed to be settling and getting more involved in the game. After a sharp interception from the midfield sent the ball bouncing into his path near the sideline, Izan controlled it with a deft touch, his eyes scanning the pitch. A Mallorca defender closed in, but Izan feinted to the right before slipping the ball left, leaving the man flat-footed. The crowd cheered, their belief, now returning with every flick of his boots. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. For the next few minutes, Izan moved like a catalyst through the chaos. His energy was infectious, his passes crisp and deliberate. He tracked back to intercept a dangerous through ball, earning a roar of approval from the stands. Then he darted forward, linking up with Valencia¡¯s midfielders, his movements smooth and purposeful. A one-two with Almeida sent him darting down the right flank, where he whipped in a cross that just missed Hugo Duro¡¯s outstretched leg. The clock ticked past the 79th minute. Izan could feel the urgency growing. Mallorca had begun to sit deeper, content to defend their large but slim lead. Valencia probed, pushing forward in waves, but the final ball always seemed to evade them. Izan took up a position near the corner of the box, waiting for his moment. And that moment came in the 82nd minute. A misplaced clearance from a Mallorca defender fell to Izan just outside the penalty area. He controlled it with one touch and immediately drove forward, weaving between two defenders. A third came sliding in, but Izan danced over the challenge, the ball glued to his feet. After getting to the edge of the box, the crowd roared as he cut inside and unleashed a shot toward the top corner however the keeper dived, parrying it out for a corner. The Valencia fans were not happy with the result but a corner was also good for them. Izan jogged toward the corner flag, his face calm despite the noise around him. The Mestalla rose to its feet, sensing the importance of the moment. He placed the ball carefully, taking a deep breath as he glanced into the box. Players jostled for position, shirts were tugged, and the referee¡¯s whistle blew sharply to warn against pushing. [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2 activated], the system sounded after a short word from Izan. With a short run-up, Izan struck the ball cleanly. It sailed into the box, spinning with precision, dipping dangerously into the crowded six-yard area. Chaos ensued. A Mallorca defender leaped to clear it, but the ball ricocheted off his teammate¡¯s shoulder and dropped awkwardly. Hugo Duro reacted first, his body twisting as he unleashed a volley that smashed into the roof of the net. The Mestalla exploded in celebration, a sea of arms and scarves rising as one. Izan raised his fists, his teammates rushing to surround him and Duro. The scoreboard flashed: 1-2. Valencia were back within one, and the teenager who had ignited the spark stood at the center of it all, ready for more. As the players rushed towards him, Izan evaded them gesturing for them to follow back as he grabbed the ball, running towards the halfway line. The Mestalla was a cauldron of noise, Valencia¡¯s supporters roaring their team forward, unwilling to accept defeat. But with the clock ticking past the 85th minute, the scoreboard still read: Valencia 1¨C2 Mallorca. Despite pulling a goal back, the home side had yet to find the equalizer they desperately craved. In the center of it all was Izan. The 16-year-old¡¯s presence belied his age¡ªhe was the calm in the storm, yet the storm itself. Every Valencia attack seemed to flow through him. His touch was impeccable, his vision extraordinary, and his determination contagious. Mallorca, sensing the threat, had parked nearly all their players behind the ball, defending in a compact block. But even their stoic resistance struggled to contain Izan. In the 87th minute, he received the ball just outside the box. A defender lunged in to dispossess him, but with a quick shift of his weight, Izan nutmegged the opponent, slipping past another challenge to a chorus of cheers from the stands. He didn¡¯t shoot, though. Instead, he lifted his head and threaded a pass into the feet of Hugo Duro, who spun and fired a low shot. The Mallorca goalkeeper, Pedrag Rajkovic was sharp, diving low to parry the effort away, the rebound hacked clear by a scrambling defender. B On the touchline, Ruben Baraja was a picture of controlled chaos. He gestured wildly, urging his players to maintain their intensity. Beside him, Mallorca¡¯s coach barked orders, his voice hoarse, as he demanded his players keep their discipline. "Valencia are throwing everything at Mallorca! And Izan¡ªwhat a player" "He¡¯s been phenomenal," his colleague agreed. "But time is running out. Mallorca are clinging to this lead, and it¡¯s becoming a question of whether Valencia can break them down before the clock runs out." The 88th minute brought another heart-stopping moment. Izan received the ball from a quick throw-in, turning sharply to evade his marker. The crowd held its breath as he carried the ball into the box, skipping past one defender, then another. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a Mallorca defender slid in with a last-ditch tackle, sending the ball out for a corner. The fans erupted in frustrated cheers, willing their team to make this corner count. Izan jogged over to take it, his face a mask of focus. The Mallorca fans felt nervous, after all, Valencia¡¯s early goal was from a corner so they had every right to be. He raised his arm, signaling his intent, Izan whipped in a precise, curling ball toward the near post. Cenk Ozkacar rose highest, meeting it with a powerful header that looked destined for the back of the net, but the Mallorca keeper was there again, tipping it over the bar. The Mestalla groaned, but the fans refused to let their energy waver. "Valencia! Valencia!" they chanted, their voices growing louder with each passing second. The commentators rambled on in awe: "This is relentless from Valencia! They¡¯re pounding on the door, but Mallorca just won¡¯t break!" "And Izan¡ªmy goodness¡ªhe¡¯s been sensational. This young man is carrying the hopes of an entire stadium." The clock struck 90, and the fourth official raised the board: 5 minutes of added time. The crowd erupted in renewed hope, the chants growing louder as Valencia pushed everything forward. Izan clapped his hands, urging his teammates to stay focused. Mallorca, however, continued to frustrate them, blocking every cross, clearing every loose ball. "Max, Can I get the optimum route for a dangerous chance," Izan said with a thought after the ball went out for a throw. After a moment, the system came through. Ding, [That will be 10000 LP points] "Expensive" Izan uttered before permitting the system to deduct the points. [This is to discourage you from relying too much on the system] As Izan glanced at the Mallorca goal, a barrage of information hit him causing him to wince slightly. "What the fuc-[ Hey, Hey, hey PG. Sorry guys, Author¡¯s intervention ] Ruben Baraja who had been watching Izan caught the expression and thought Izan might be injured so he even called Assistant Coach Moreno to prepare a substitute. "Who¡¯s coming off?" Moreno asked in confusion after Baraja pointed to Izan but before they could continue, the crowd roared. Baraja and Moreno both turned to look at the field and saw Izan running towards, Marmadashivil. Chapter 199: Closure As Izan glanced at the Mallorca goal, a barrage of information hit him causing him to wince slightly. Ruben Baraja who had been watching Izan caught the expression and thought Izan might be injured so he even called Assistant Coach Moreno to prepare a substitute. "Who¡¯s coming off?" Moreno asked in confusion after Baraja pointed to Izan but before they could continue, the crowd roared. Baraja and Moreno halted their conversation and turned their heads toward the source of the crowd¡¯s frantic state only to find Izan running toward Marmadashvili. "What is he doing" Baraja uttered as Izan ran toward Marmadashvilli. The game had reached a tense crescendo, the kind of moment that demanded calm heads and quick thinking. The scoreboard remained 2-1 in Mallorca¡¯s favor and they were trying to keep it that way, and every player on the pitch knew that a single moment of brilliance could tip the balance. Izan, standing just outside the center circle, glanced around the field with a sharp, calculating look. His markers had stuck to him like glue all evening, wary of the young star¡¯s ability to carve open defenses with a flick or a burst of pace. But then, without warning, Izan turned on his heel and began sprinting full tilt¡ªtoward his own goal. The shift in momentum was so sudden and unexpected that the stadium fell into a momentary hush. Fans blinked, puzzled, as Izan tore through the midfield, his long strides carrying him past surprised teammates who barely had time to react. Giorgio Marmadashvilli, the towering goalkeeper, stood near the edge of his penalty box with the ball in hand, his towering frame calm and composed as always. "What is Izan doing?" a fan near the touchline shouted, voicing the question on everyone¡¯s mind. The commentators, equally baffled, tried to make sense of the play. "This is highly unusual from Izan. He¡¯s running back¡­ toward his own goalkeeper? What could he be thinking?" Izan¡¯s markers, caught off guard by the sudden change in direction, hesitated for a brief moment. Then, unsure of whether to maintain their shape or stay close to him, they chose to follow, darting after him in a tight cluster. Their eyes flicked nervously between Izan and Marmadashvilli, trying to anticipate what might happen next. The retreating motion disrupted their defensive line, dragging midfielders and even one of the center-backs out of position. By now, the murmur of confusion had grown louder around the stadium. Some fans stood, craning their necks to get a better view of the bizarre scene unfolding. Izan, undeterred by the chaos he was causing, kept running until he was just a few yards from Marmadashvilli. The goalkeeper, seemingly unfazed, held the ball aloft for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the field. Then, just as his markers closed in on him, Izan made his move. He gestured for Marmadashvilli to release the ball, and the goalkeeper obliged with a quick, sharp throw directly to Izan¡¯s feet. The moment the ball touched his boots, Izan pivoted sharply and sent a no-look pass hurtling across the field toward the left wing, where an unmarked teammate stood in acres of space. [A few moments earlier] "Is this what you want me to do?" Diego Lopez said as he fixed his socks. Izan who stood beside him wipes the sweat around his mouth before nodding. Diego Lopez, a bit skeptical decided to do it anyway. ...¡­.. The crowd erupted in a mixture of applause and astonished cheers. Izan¡¯s audacious maneuver had completely dismantled the opposition¡¯s defensive structure. By drawing his markers deep into his own half, he had created a vacuum of space in the midfield, leaving his teammates free to exploit the opening. "That was pure genius!" one of the commentators exclaimed. "Izan¡¯s awareness is just incredible. He baited his markers, lured them out of position, and opened up the entire field with one move." As the ball was carried upfield by teammate, Diego Lopez, Izan turned and began sprinting back into the attacking third, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Marmadashvilli watched him go, his expression as calm and stoic as ever, but there was the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. The crowd, now fully alive with energy, roared Izan¡¯s name as he rejoined the attack, his every move a reminder that he wasn¡¯t just playing the game¡ªhe was controlling the game. " Diego Lopez now has the ball. Is this Valencia¡¯s chance to equalize? He¡¯s all Alo- Oh wait, Izan has entered the fray" As the commentator rambled on, Izan burst past the Mallorca players The stadium buzzed with energy as Diego L¨®pez ran towards the opponent¡¯s goal, the ball at his feet. He lifted his head, scanning the field. Izan, now sandwiched between two defenders, looked the more appealing option since he was the only option. L¨®pez hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing his options, before deciding to take the risk. With a firm strike, he sent a low, driven pass skimming across the grass toward Izan. The ball seemed to hang in the air for just a moment too long. The defenders saw their chance and began to close in, anticipating they could intercept it before Izan could react. But then Izan exploded into action. In a flash, he turned and accelerated, his blistering pace immediately setting him apart from his pursuers. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The defenders, caught off guard by his sudden burst of speed, scrambled to keep up, their legs pumping furiously but to no avail. Izan reached the ball first, his touch effortless as he turned it forward without breaking strides. The distance between him and his markers grew with every step, the sound of his boots pounding the turf echoing in the stunned silence of the chasing defenders. "That¡¯s just unreal!" one commentator exclaimed. "Izan didn¡¯t just beat them to the ball¡ªhe¡¯s left them for dead!" The crowd¡¯s murmurs turned to roars as Izan surged into the attacking third, his pace leaving everyone in awe. Behind him, Hugo Duro was already making his run, sprinting toward the edge of the box. Izan, closing in with frightening speed, narrowed the gap to the goal, drawing cheers from the stands with every stride. The entire stadium held its breath as Izan bore down on goal, one-on-one with Rajkovi?. The goalkeeper crouched low, bracing himself for the inevitable. Every fan, commentator, and player expected Izan to fire the ball into the back of the net and claim the glory for himself. But then came the twist. At the last possible moment, Izan slowed his pace slightly, lifting his head to scan his surroundings. The crowd watched on hopefully praying for Izan to fire away but Instead of taking the shot, he slid the ball across the goal with a delicate touch, threading it past the outstretched arms of Rajkovi? and into the path of Hugo Duro. The home crowd watched as Hugo Duro, perfectly positioned and unmarked thanks to Izan¡¯s decision, tapped the ball into the empty net with ease. The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, the realization of Izan¡¯s genius hitting them all at once. Ruben Baraja on the bench pumped his fist in the air, ensuing assistant Coach Moreno in a hug while the players on the bench joined in. "What an assist!" the commentator roared. "Izan could¡¯ve taken that himself, but instead, he¡¯s just handed Hugo Duro the easiest goal of his life. That¡¯s vision, selflessness, and pure footballing brilliance!" [Izan: I¡¯m not selfless, the author decided to stop me from scoring since he can¡¯t keep count] Izan turned with a wide grin, raising his arms to the fans as they chanted his name. Hugo ran to embrace him, pointing back to Izan as if to say, This is all you. Their teammates soon joined, mobbing the duo in celebration. Meanwhile, the defenders stood frozen, heads in their hands, replaying the sequence in disbelief. They had been outpaced, outthought, and outclassed by a player who was operating on an entirely different level. The Valencia fans celebrated their draw and why wouldn¡¯t they? They were on the verge of losing but they had been able to salvage a point and that was something to be happy for. The Mallorca fans on the other hand were dissatisfied about their team throwing away a 2-goal lead but not too much since they knew their players had done their best. They had simply failed to stop one boy and that boy alone had caused their situation. After the restart, Valencia tried to attack one last time but couldn¡¯t after the referee¡¯s whistle sounded. " It¡¯s all level, here at the Mestalla. Both teams will have to look forward to the second leg in Mallorca¡¯s home ground. It was 2-0 for Mallorca in the 82nd minute but after 8 minutes and an additional 5, Valencia have been able to level the scores, courtesy of one man, Izan Hernandez. I¡¯m really looking forward to what this young man can accomplish in football. Well, that¡¯s all for today. As always I¡¯m Gabriel Solano together with Jhaime Verona, have a good night folks." Chapter 200: Derby The final whistle at the Mestalla brought an end to an exciting yet frustrating 2-2 draw between Valencia and Mallorca. While the match offered moments of brilliance and grit, it also left many Valencia fans with a lingering sense of disappointment. A game they had expected to dominate ended in a stalemate, and the absence of Izan, the teenage sensation, became the primary focus of discussion. The murmurs started even before kickoff when the team sheets were announced. Izan¡¯s name was conspicuously absent from the starting XI, left on the bench. Social media immediately lit up with reactions. "How do you leave out your best player on the bench for such an important match?" one fan tweeted, tagging Rub¨¦n Baraja. In the stadium, pockets of fans could be heard debating the decision as they waited for the game to begin. Despite chances to secure the win, Valencia¡¯s attack seemed to lack the spark and unpredictability that Izan consistently brought. With every missed opportunity, fans grew more vocal. "This is exactly where Izan makes the difference," one shouted from the stands. "We¡¯re too predictable without him!" By the time the final whistle blew, the frustration was palpable. Fans leaving the stadium had mixed reactions. "This should have been an easy win," one supporter said, shaking his head. "Izan would¡¯ve torn their defense apart. He¡¯s the only one who can make those runs and create something out of nothing." On Twitter, one fan posted a picture of Izan celebrating a past goal with the caption, "We needed him today." However, not all reactions were critical of Baraja¡¯s decision. A more measured section of the fanbase took to forums and social media to defend the coach. "Let¡¯s remember Izan is still only 16 despite his stature and maturity," one post read. "If we overplay him now, we¡¯ll burn him out. Baraja¡¯s thinking long-term, not just one game." Another fan added, "Remember Ansu Fati? Too many games, too young. Baraja¡¯s doing the right thing." [Before Lamine, there was Ansu. I really hope he regains his confidence] In his post-match press conference, Baraja addressed the growing criticism. "I understand the fans¡¯ frustration, but this is a decision we made with Izan¡¯s future in mind. He¡¯s been playing a lot recently, and we have to manage his development carefully. He¡¯s a special player, and we want to keep him healthy and growing." While some fans appreciated the coach¡¯s reasoning, others remained unconvinced. "It¡¯s about balance," one fan argued in a group chat. "Yes, he¡¯s young, but this was a winnable game. We lost the chance to gain an advantage before the second leg at the Mallorca stadium because we lacked creativity, and Izan is our most creative player." By the end of the evening, the debate raged on. Some fans pointed to the upcoming fixtures as justification for resting the teenager, while others couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that Valencia had let two vital points slip away. Regardless of which side they took, all agreed on one thing: Izan¡¯s absence had been keenly felt. The young prodigy had already become a pivotal part of Valencia¡¯s team, and the match served as a stark reminder of just how much influence he wielded on the pitch. ...¡­. Immediately after the game with, Mallorca, Valencia transitioned to getting ready for the derby of the community against Villarreal. The draw had been frustrating, but there was no time to dwell on it. A derby was more than just a game; it was a battle for regional supremacy, a fixture that ignited passions on both sides of the community. The atmosphere at the Paterna training ground was intense the next day. Coach Rub¨¦n Baraja wasted no time addressing the squad. He stood at the front of the locker room, his voice steady but commanding. "Mallorca is done. Focus on Villarreal. This is our derby. This is about pride, about showing who owns this region." The players nodded, their faces serious. Baraja didn¡¯t need to say much more. The weight of the occasion was clear to everyone. Training sessions that week were grueling but purposeful. The coaching staff had studied Villarreal¡¯s recent matches in detail. Their midfield was compact, their attack clinical, but their backline had weaknesses that Valencia could exploit. Baraja designed drills to capitalize on those vulnerabilities, focusing on quick transitions and wide play. "Izan," Baraja called during one session, waving the teenager over. "They¡¯ll try to close you down quickly. Stay calm, pick your moments, and when you see the space, attack it. Use your speed to stretch them." Izan nodded, his expression a bit dull. He had become Valencia¡¯s plan A in games and he was starting to feel the weight. During scrimmages, the team worked on breaking down Villarreal¡¯s compact defensive lines. Hugo Duro practiced holding up the ball under pressure, while Diego L¨®pez focused on threading quick, incisive passes through midfield. Izan, as always, was electric, darting past defenders with ease, his pace and precision drawing murmurs of admiration from his teammates. Off the pitch, the preparation was just as intense. The medical team worked to ensure every player was in peak condition, while the media department ramped up promotions for the derby, releasing videos of past victories and calling on fans to pack the stands. The players could feel the city¡¯s growing anticipation. Fans gathered outside the training ground every day, chanting and waving banners. Many called for Izan, their young star who had become a beacon of hope for Valencia¡¯s future to step up and lead the team to victory. Inside the locker room, the mood was a mix of focus and camaraderie. Players joked to ease the tension, but there was an unspoken understanding that this match was bigger than most. Veteran players like Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ offered advice to the younger ones, reminding them of the significance of the derby. "Derbies aren¡¯t just about skill," Gay¨¤ told Luka Kovac who had been recently appointed as the second-choice keeper as they laced up their boots. "It¡¯s about heart. You give everything¡ªno excuses." As the day progressed, the tactical drills became sharper, and the players were more unified. By the eve of the next day, Valencia was ready. The team knew Villarreal would be a tough opponent, but they also knew they had something special¡ªa squad fueled by youthful energy, experienced leadership, and the fiery passion of their fans. When Baraja gathered the players for the final meeting before match day, his message was simple. "We play for each other. We play for this city. Leave everything on the pitch." The room erupted in cheers. The Derbi de la Comunitat was here, and Valencia was ready to fight for their place at the top of the region. ...¡­ The Mestalla was alive with energy long before kickoff, its stands a sea of white and black, punctuated by the occasional bright yellow of the traveling Villarreal fans. The Derbi de la Comunitat was more than a football match¡ªit was a battle for pride, a clash that divided households and ignited passions across the region. Valencia¡¯s supporters, renowned for their intensity, had arrived early, chanting and waving their flags as they transformed the stadium into a cauldron of noise. The massive blanquinegre mosaic displayed across the stands during the players¡¯ entrance was a masterpiece of unity, spelling out "Orgull de Val¨¨ncia" (Pride of Valencia). As the players emerged from the tunnel, the roar of the crowd became deafening. Valencia¡¯s team, led by captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, walked out with purpose, their white kits gleaming under the stadium lights. Izan, just 16 but already the team¡¯s most important player this season, strode confidently behind Gay¨¤. The young star glanced around the stadium, taking in the atmosphere, his expression calm but his eyes betraying the energy in them. Villarreal¡¯s squad followed, their bright yellow kits stark against the passionate sea of Valencia¡¯s colors. Led by Dani Parejo, a former Valencia captain turned rival, the visitors were met with loud boos from the home fans, a reminder that Mestalla was hostile territory. Before the whistle, the teams lined up for the traditional handshakes, and Izan found himself face-to-face with Parejo. The Villarreal captain offered a small nod, and Izan, already accustomed to being in the spotlight, returned it with quiet confidence. After that, the two captains met at midfield for the pre-match coin toss, their handshake brief but respectful. Gay¨¤, with a subtle smirk, pointed toward the end Valencia would defend in the first half, ensuring the team would attack toward the Curva Nord¡ªthe heart of Valencia¡¯s most fervent supporters¡ªin the second. The pre-match tension was palpable, but it didn¡¯t dampen the energy of the crowd. The fans waved scarves, sang club anthems, and beat drums that reverberated through the stadium. Chants of "Amunt Val¨¨ncia!" rang out, the call echoing like a battle cry. As the teams huddled one final time, Gay¨¤ spoke with the authority of a leader. "This is our house. They don¡¯t win here. Fight for the badge, for the fans, for each other." Izan stood at the edge of the huddle, feeling the weight of the atmosphere. He looked up at the stands, where banners proclaiming his name hung alongside the club¡¯s crest. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He wasn¡¯t just a teenager playing football anymore¡ªhe was a symbol of hope for Valencia. The whistle blew to signal the start, and the Mestalla erupted in a wall of noise that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium. The derby had begun, and Valencia, with their young star at the heart of the action, was ready to fight for the region¡¯s pride. Chapter 201: Derby[2] The whistle blew to signal the start, and the Mestalla erupted in a wall of noise that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium. The derby had begun, and Valencia, with their young star at the heart of the action, was ready to fight for the region¡¯s pride. The first half of the Derbi de la Comunitat was a frenetic, edge-of-your-seat spectacle, and from the opening moments, it was clear this was a game that would not be decided easily. Mestalla, packed to the rafters with Valencia supporters, was a cauldron of noise, the white-and-black-clad fans creating an electric atmosphere. Every cheer, every chant, was a wave of energy that flowed through the team. Among the players, the most visible was Izan. "The young star has quickly established himself as Valencia¡¯s most important player this season as unarguably the best player in the league and tonight, in the derby, he was proving just why. And here comes Izan, looking dangerous as always! He¡¯s taken the ball in midfield and is already making a run at Villarreal¡¯s defense. You can feel the tension rising here at Mestalla¡ªhe¡¯s got the pace to burn." As Izan picked up the ball just inside the halfway line, the crowd¡¯s roar escalated, a wave of anticipation building around him. He had already made a name for himself as a player who could turn a game with a single burst of speed, and tonight, in front of his home fans, he was showing just how lethal he could be. "Izan¡ªhe¡¯s gone past Bailey! What a turn! He¡¯s left him for dead!" In a moment that seemed to freeze time, Izan shifted the ball past Eric Bailey with a deft flick, accelerating into space. The Villarreal defender, caught flat-footed, could do little but watch as the young player¡¯s blistering pace surged forward. The crowd gasped and then erupted into cheers, the atmosphere inside Mestalla crackling with excitement as Izan moved toward the penalty box. "Ra¨²l Albiol¡¯s closing in¡ªwill he catch him?" But Izan was already a step ahead. With the ball under his control, he feinted to the inside, drawing Albiol into a tackle, only to skip effortlessly to the outside. It was a move so smooth, so effortless, that the veteran Villarreal defender was left trailing in his wake. "This is incredible! Izan, weaving through Villarreal¡¯s defense like it¡¯s training ground stuff¡ªhe¡¯s made it to the edge of the box. He¡¯s got a chance here!" As Izan closed in on the goal, the roar of Mestalla reached deafening levels. The tension was palpable, every fan willing him on. It was as if the entire stadium was holding its breath, waiting to see whether the 16-year-old could convert his dazzling run into a moment of magic. But instead of taking the shot himself, Izan looked up and, with a perfect pass, laid the ball off to Hugo Duro, who was perfectly positioned at the near post. "And Izan plays it to Duro¡ªDuro, he¡¯s got it¡ªGOOOOAL! Valencia lead! What a brilliant move from the teenager, and Duro with the tap-in!" The stadium erupted in joyous celebration. The fans screamed, clapped, and jumped in unison, the collective relief and exhilaration at the opening goal sending waves of euphoria through the stands. Izan¡¯s role in the goal was undeniable¡ªhis dribbling, vision, and composure had been central to the move, and Duro¡¯s finish was a mere formality. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The forward held his arms out, acknowledging the assist from Izan, and the two players shared a brief, but powerful moment of connection. "That was a masterclass in dribbling and decision-making from Izan. He took on two defenders, showed incredible skill, and then made the perfect pass. It¡¯s a sign of maturity beyond his years, and it¡¯s put Valencia in front in this crucial derby." However, Villarreal was not to be outdone. Just 20 minutes later, they showed their quality. A flowing move through the midfield saw Gerard Moreno receive the ball in the box, and with clinical precision, he slotted it past Giorgi Marmadashvili to equalize. The Villarreal fans in the away section celebrated their team¡¯s equalizer, and the tension in Mestalla rose once more. "And Villarreal respond¡ªwhat a finish from Gerard Moreno! There was no stopping that one. 1-1. This game is far from over." The rest of the half was a back-and-forth affair, with both teams creating chances. Valencia thought they had regained the lead just before halftime. A stunning move from the midfield saw Izan once again threading the needle, putting Duro through on goal. Duro made no mistake, striking the ball past the Villarreal keeper, but the linesman¡¯s flag was quickly raised. "And it¡¯s offside! Duro thought he had scored, but the flag is up! What a heartbreaker for Valencia, but the decision was tight." The disappointment in Mestalla was palpable. Duro¡¯s disallowed goal was a cruel twist in a half filled with promise for Valencia. But the players didn¡¯t dwell on it for long, knowing they had 45 more minutes to settle the score. As the players made their way down the tunnel for halftime, the crowd gave them a resounding round of applause for the first-half show which was better than the lifeless performance they showed against Mallorca. It had been a thrilling first half, and while Valencia would be frustrated not to have had the lead, they could hold their heads high knowing they had the talent to outplay their rivals. For Izan, it was another reminder of his growing influence on the pitch. The derby was far from decided, but with him at the heart of the attack, anything was possible. ...¡­ The second half of the Derbi de la Comunitat began with an electric intensity, the players eager to break the deadlock and claim the three points. Valencia came out with renewed vigor, eager to assert themselves after the narrow disallowed goal in the first half. Mestalla was alive, the home crowd¡¯s chants rising to a crescendo as they willed their team forward. As the game ticked into the 56th minute, the breakthrough many had been waiting for arrived. Izan was once again at the heart of it all. Picking up the ball near the center circle, he immediately accelerated, his trademark pace eating up the ground as he charged toward the Villarreal defense. His vision was sharp, and with a perfectly timed pass, he sent Hugo Duro through on goal, clear of the Villarreal backline. Duro didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe controlled the ball expertly and slotted it past Villarreal goalkeeper Sergio Asenjo, sending the crowd into raptures. However, the roar of excitement from Mestalla was short-lived. As soon as Duro found the back of the net, the referee blew his whistle. The assistant referee had his flag raised, signaling for a foul in the build-up. "Valencia, they¡¯ve taken the lead¡ªDuro with the finish, but hold on a second¡­ the referee has blown his whistle!" The replay was shown on the big screen, and it quickly became clear that a foul had occurred just moments before the goal. Izan, as he received the ball from a teammate, had been on the receiving end of a soft challenge from Villarreal¡¯s ¨¦tienne Capoue. The contact, although slight, had been enough for the referee to call a foul, ruling out the goal and sparking groans of frustration from the Valencia supporters. "It¡¯s a foul in the build-up! The goal is disallowed! Izan was fouled just before the assist, and that¡¯s why the goal doesn¡¯t stand. The fans are not happy with that decision, and you can feel the tension mounting here." The disallowed goal left the Mestalla faithful in a mixture of disbelief and frustration. For a moment, the stadium fell into a heavy silence, the excitement quickly dissipating. Valencia¡¯s players, visibly frustrated but undeterred, gathered themselves and looked to refocus on the task at hand. Villarreal, on the other hand, looked to settle into the rhythm of the game, buoyed by the decision. As time wore on, the game became more and more frantic. Valencia continued to press forward, with Izan again leading the charge, his pace and ball control a constant threat to Villarreal¡¯s defense. But the more the minutes ticked by, the more the crowd grew anxious, desperate for a breakthrough. Every misplaced pass, every errant clearance from Villarreal, only added to the tension that hung in the air. The crowd, which had once been electric, now murmured and shifted uneasily in their seats. The minutes were slipping away, and with each passing second, the pressure mounted on Valencia. Every time the ball was passed to Izan, the stadium held its collective breath, hoping for a spark of magic. But Villarreal¡¯s defense remained compact and resolute, making it harder for Valencia to create clear chances. Then, in the 87th minute, the moment the fans had been waiting for arrived. "And now¡ªwait for it¡ªValencia have a free kick! This could be the moment to steal all three points!" Izan, making one of his signature runs down the left side, was fouled just outside the Villarreal penalty box. The crowd¡¯s frustration seemed to dissipate in that instant, replaced by a renewed sense of hope. This was it¡ªValencia had a chance to make up for the disallowed goal and finally claim the lead. The referee marked the spot, and a hush fell over the stadium. All eyes turned to Gaya, Valencia¡¯s free-kick taker, who stood over the ball. But there was an air of anticipation, a feeling that perhaps Izan, with his pinpoint delivery and creativity, could take this opportunity. Gaya, knowing how crucial this moment was, nodded toward Izan, giving him the green light to take the shot. Chapter 202: “?Amunt Valencia! "Gaya and Izan are both over the ball. It looks like Gaya will take this one, but let¡¯s not forget that Izan has become something of a free-kick specialist this season. In fact, he¡¯s scored 6 free kicks already this campaign. His accuracy, his technique¡ªhe¡¯s proven he can deliver in moments like this." As the commentator rambled on, the atmosphere in Mestalla grew even more electric as fans shifted nervously, knowing that Izan had the potential to make this a moment of magic. The youngster¡¯s reputation for scoring spectacular free kicks had only grown throughout the season since his debut one against Espanyol the previous season. His precise, curling strikes had been a feature of Valencia¡¯s attacking play, and there was no better time than now to add to his tally. "Izan¡¯s free-kick ability has been one of the talking points of the season. His composure and accuracy in such moments have been nothing short of brilliant. Could this be the moment that defines this derby?" With a deep breath, Izan positioned himself over the ball. The eyes of everyone in Mestalla were on him¡ªhis calm demeanor in moments of pressure was legendary, and tonight, the stakes couldn¡¯t be higher. The crowd, holding their breath in anxious anticipation, was about to see if the teenager could deliver one more moment of magic. Izan, looking at the goal, steadied himself. His body was relaxed, yet every muscle in his frame was taut with focus. This was his moment, the moment that could decide the outcome of the derby and secure Valencia¡¯s place at the top of the table. "Here it is! Izan stands over the ball¡ªcan he make history here? The crowd is on its feet, the tension unbearable. This could be the defining moment of the match." With the stadium watching, Izan took a deep breath, preparing to strike. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as he locked his gaze on the target. Ding, [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 2 activated] [Curler activated] [System has detected, two traits in use. Commencing UNI-¡ê=**$] [PROCEDURE FAILED. Focus too low] "Guess I¡¯m not in the zone enough for that," Izan said as he looked at the ball. Time seemed to freeze as the 16-year-old prodigy stepped back, his eyes scanning the Villarreal wall and beyond it, the target he needed to hit. Valencia fans murmured nervously, their voices hushed with anticipation. On the other side, Villarreal supporters jeered, trying to unsettle the teenager. But Izan was unfazed, his expression one of steely determination. His every movement was deliberate¡ªhis breathing steady, his body loose yet coiled like a spring ready to unleash. Raul Albiol, the experienced Villarreal defender, stood at the center of the wall, barking instructions to his teammates. "Hold your ground! Don¡¯t jump too early!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. Behind them, the Villarreal goalkeeper crouched low, bouncing on his toes, his gloves clapping together as he prepared for the inevitable test. The referee blew his whistle, and every fan in the stadium inhaled sharply. Izan began his run-up, each step purposeful, his gaze fixed on the ball. With surgical precision, he struck it with his left foot, sending it curling over the wall. The ball¡¯s trajectory was immaculate, bending beautifully toward the top corner of the net. But just as it seemed destined to ripple the back of the net, Raul Albiol leaped, his head barely brushing the ball. The faint deflection sent it slightly off course, and it clipped the outside of the post with a resounding clang. The Mestalla erupted in a mixture of gasps and groans as the ball ricocheted into the crowded penalty area. Villarreal defenders scrambled desperately, swinging at the ball in the chaos. One managed a clearance, but it was far from convincing¡ªa sliced, awkward effort that sent the ball skidding out toward the edge of the box. The whole stadium watched to see who would get the ball and once again, there he was¡ªIzan. As if summoned by destiny, the teenager appeared again, his body poised, his eyes locked onto the loose ball as it rolled into his path. The crowd rose as one, the tension unbearable, every heart pounding in anticipation of what would come next. As Baraja stood on the touchline, he could feel the nervousness, both from the fans and from his fellow Coach who stood beside him, shouting at his players to prevent Izan from shooting. As Izan controlled the ball, he nudged it a bit to his right before steadying himself to shoot. The Villarreal defense, seeing Izan poised to shoot, tensed before throwing their bodies in the way after Izan¡¯s leg came down, but they were wrong. Dragging the ball with the inside of his right foot, Izan faked the whole Villarreal defense, save for the keeper, but there was little the shot-stopper could do after Izan¡¯s left leg rammed into the ball. The stadium watched in silence as the ball flew towards the goal before rippling the net, causing the momentary silence to linger for a while before the home fans erupted into cheers. The Valencia players turned their attention to Izan, ready to celebrate but the latter was already running towards the bench. "Goooooaaaaal. Valencia steals it at the last courtesy of Izan¡¯s ingenuity. It¡¯s the 89th minute, and this is surely it for Valencia. We thought the freekick was it but Izan said no! You know why because he had a plan. Valencia takes the lead, 2 to 1 here at the Mestalla. " The Villarreal fans and players all felt heartbreak but they couldn¡¯t sit still. If Valencia could score, so could they. The referee signaled for the match to restart after the Valencia players returned from the touchline area. Villarreal hurried to get the ball rolling again. The scoreboard now read 2-1 in favor of Valencia, and the Mestalla was a cauldron of noise. Izan¡¯s stunning strike from the loose ball moments earlier had sent the fans into raptures, their chants echoing across the stadium like thunder. Villarreal pushed forward immediately, desperate to salvage a point. Their players surged upfield, flooding Valencia¡¯s half with intent, their quick passes zipping across the pitch. But Valencia, buoyed by the electric atmosphere and their newfound lead, stood firm, intercepting passes and closing down spaces with renewed energy. As the fourth official raised the board indicating four minutes of stoppage time, the crowd roared in anticipation, willing their team to hold on. Izan, still buzzing from his earlier heroics, dropped deeper into midfield, tracking back to help his teammates while keeping a watchful eye for any opportunity to counter. In the 95th minute well over the added time, with Villarreal throwing everything forward, Izan seized his moment. A loose ball broke free in midfield after Ettiene Capoue lost the ball but before he could recover, Izan suddenly appeared as if he was expecting him to lose the ball. Darting past the Villarreal players who tried to hold him back, Izan lifted his head, scanning the field. With impeccable vision, he spotted Thierry Correia making a darting run down the right flank. Izan¡¯s pass was sublime¡ªa perfectly weighted ball that split Villarreal¡¯s defense and landed at Correia¡¯s feet. The right-back surged forward, the crowd rising to their feet as the counterattack unfolded. Correia¡¯s touch was sharp, and he raced toward the byline before sending a low, driven cross into the box. There, arriving at the perfect moment, was Valencia captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The full-back, known for his attacking prowess, struck the ball first-time with his left foot, sending it flying past the Villarreal keeper and into the net. The Mestalla erupted, an explosion of joy and relief that shook the very foundations of the stadium. Fans screamed, hugged, and waved their scarves wildly in celebration. On the pitch, Gay¨¤ sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched, before being mobbed by his teammates. Izan, though visibly exhausted, was right there in the mix, his smile as bright as the floodlights above. The Villarreal fans fell to the ground, exhausted by the past minutes¡¯ antics by Valencia. The referee blew the final whistle moments later, confirming Valencia¡¯s dramatic 3-1 victory. The players, led by Gay¨¤ and Izan, applauded the fans, who chanted their names with unrelenting fervor. .... The locker room was buzzing with energy and adrenaline after Valencia¡¯s dramatic 3-1 victory over Villarreal. Players laughed and recounted the thrilling moments of the match, their voices echoing in the confined space. Despite the excitement, Rub¨¦n Baraja, the head coach, stood calmly in the center of the room, a faint but proud smile on his face. "Alright, alright, settle down," Baraja said, clapping his hands to get everyone¡¯s attention. Gradually, the room fell silent, the players turning their attention to their coach, eager to hear his words. Baraja looked around, his eyes meeting each player¡¯s. "You showed heart out there tonight," he began, his tone firm but warm. "That¡¯s the kind of performance that defines us¡ªnot just as a team, but as a family. We didn¡¯t just play football; we fought for every inch, and you never gave up. That¡¯s what it means to wear this badge." Baraja¡¯s expression grew serious as he shifted the focus to what lay ahead. "This win was massive, but we can¡¯t let it get to our heads. Next up, Mallorca. They¡¯ll be tough, no doubt, but this is a chance for us. A chance to solidify our position in the top four. You all know what that means for this club. For the fans. For our future." He paced slowly, his voice growing in intensity. "We¡¯ve worked hard to get here, and now we¡¯re on the brink of something special. Fourth place is about earning our spot in Europe and showing the world what Valencia is capable of." Baraja stopped and looked at his players again, his voice steady but resolute. "I want you to rest tonight and enjoy this victory. You¡¯ve earned it. But tomorrow, we focus. We prepare. Because Mallorca won¡¯t hand us anything as you saw last time. We¡¯ll need to fight for it, just like we did tonight." The players nodded in unison, their exhaustion replaced by a renewed sense of determination. The locker room was filled with a quiet conviction, a shared understanding of the task ahead. Baraja smiled, sensing the shift in the room. "Alright, boys, let¡¯s keep this momentum going. One game at a time, and we¡¯ll make this season one to remember. ?Amunt Valencia!" "?Amunt Valencia!" the players shouted back, their voices echoing with belief and unity. Chapter 203: Time Away Baraja sat in his modest office at Paterna, leaning back in his chair as he dialed Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. The Valencia coach knew this conversation was crucial¡ªboth tactically and emotionally. His team was in the thick of the season, with every decision under scrutiny, but this one had to be handled delicately, especially as it involved Valencia¡¯s lifeline. When Gay¨¤ answered, his tone was relaxed but attentive. "M¨ªster, everything okay?" After Gaya picked up, Baraja wasted no time. "Jos¨¦, I¡¯ve been thinking about our game in hand against Mallorca. It¡¯s just three days before the second leg of the Copa del Rey semifinal, and I want to manage our squad wisely. I¡¯ve decided to rest some of the key players for that match, including Izan." Gay¨¤ paused for a moment, processing the news. Baraja continued, his voice firm but empathetic. "Izan¡¯s been phenomenal for us¡ªno one can deny that but he¡¯s still young. He might not show it since he wants to play always but I don¡¯t want to burn him out. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His performance in the first leg was incredible, but we¡¯ll need him fresh and at his best for the second leg." The captain nodded, even though Baraja couldn¡¯t see him. "Makes sense, M¨ªster. But Izan might take it hard. You know how much he thrives on being in the thick of the action." Baraja smiled slightly, already anticipating the young player¡¯s reaction. "That¡¯s why I¡¯m calling you, Jos¨¦. You¡¯re the leader of this team, the leader most look up to. I want you to explain it to him¡ªmake him understand that this is for the good of the team and his development. Let him know I have complete faith in him and that he will start in the Copa match and as for the reason why I¡¯m not telling him myself, I¡¯m assuming you already know." Gay¨¤¡¯s voice was steady, reassuring. "I¡¯ll talk to him, M¨ªster. I¡¯ll make sure he understands. He¡¯s young, but he¡¯s mature beyond his years. He¡¯ll get it." Baraja exhaled, relieved. "Thanks, Jos¨¦. I knew I could count on you. Let him know how proud I am of him and that resting him isn¡¯t about doubt¡ªit¡¯s about preserving his brilliance for the moments that matter most." After hanging up, Baraja sat back, his mind already on the upcoming matches. He trusted Gay¨¤ to handle Izan¡¯s emotions and knew the team captain¡¯s bond with the young star would make all the difference. For now, his job was to prepare the squad for the battles ahead. ...¡­.: The next morning, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ stood at Paterna, leaning on the rail near the training ground. The air was crisp, with the hum of early preparations drifting in the background. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Izan¡¯s number, knowing the conversation ahead required just the right balance of leadership and understanding. "Buenos d¨ªas, capit¨¢n," Izan answered cheerfully, his youthful energy unmistakable. "Buenos d¨ªas, crack," Gay¨¤ replied warmly. "How are you doing? Rested?" "Yeah, I¡¯m good. Just finished breakfast with Mom and Hori. What¡¯s up?" Gay¨¤¡¯s smile widened. He could hear the eagerness in the young star¡¯s voice¡ªalways ready, always hungry for the next challenge. "I had a conversation with the m¨ªster yesterday. He wanted me to pass on something important about the Mallorca game." Izan¡¯s tone shifted slightly, curious but cautious. "What about it?" "The m¨ªster has decided to rest most of the key players for that game," Gay¨¤ began. "And that includes you." He let the words sink in before continuing. "It¡¯s a tactical choice. He wants you fresh and fully prepared for the second leg of the Copa del Rey semifinal. You¡¯re one of our most important players, Izan, No probably our most important player. He doesn¡¯t want to risk overloading you before such a crucial match since we¡¯re stable in the league" Izan was silent for a beat, the initial surprise evident even through the phone. "I won¡¯t even be on the bench?" "That¡¯s right," Gay¨¤ confirmed, his tone calm. "But don¡¯t take it the wrong way. This isn¡¯t about doubts¡ªit¡¯s about long-term thinking. You¡¯ve already shown your brilliance on the big stage, and the m¨ªster knows how much we¡¯ll need you at your best for the semifinal. It¡¯s a sign of how much he values you." Izan exhaled, then, to Gay¨¤¡¯s surprise, let out a small laugh. "Honestly, I¡¯m okay with that. It actually works out perfectly for me." "Oh?" Gay¨¤ asked, intrigued. "Why¡¯s that?" "Well," Izan began, a hint of embarrassment in his voice, "I was thinking of asking for some time off anyway. I have been planning to visit someone in Madrid and I¡¯ve been putting it off because of the schedule. This is the perfect opportunity." Gay¨¤ grinned, leaning against the railing. "Ah, Olivia," he teased lightly. "So that¡¯s where your mind¡¯s been. That¡¯s good too kid¡ªsometimes taking a step back off the pitch helps you on it. She¡¯s been good for you, hasn¡¯t she?" "Yeah," Izan admitted softly. "She helps me keep my head on straight with everything going on. I think I need this, even if it¡¯s just for a day or two." Gay¨¤ nodded, impressed by the maturity in Izan¡¯s voice. "That sounds like a great plan. Balance is everything at this level, Izan. Just make sure you use the time wisely¡ªrelax, recharge, and come back ready to give everything for the second leg. We¡¯re counting on you." "You don¡¯t have to worry about that, captain," Izan said confidently. "I¡¯ll be ready." "I never doubted it," Gay¨¤ replied with a chuckle. "Enjoy Madrid¡ªand Olivia¡ªbut remember, your best moments are still ahead of you on the pitch. If you need anything while you¡¯re away, just call me." "Thanks, Jos¨¦. I really appreciate it," Izan said sincerely. As the call ended, Gay¨¤ stood for a moment, reflecting. Izan had taken the news better than expected, and his maturity shone through once again. Baraja¡¯s decision had unintentionally given the young star a chance to recharge¡ªboth physically and emotionally. Now, all that remained was for Izan to channel that energy into the performance of his life in the crucial semifinal ahead. ...¡­. Izan stood in his room, packing his sleek black duffel bag for the trip to Madrid. Leaning against the doorframe, Hori watched with a teasing grin. "So," she began, drawing the word out, "big date with Olivia?" "It¡¯s not a date," Izan said, not looking up. His tone was calm, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. Hori smirked, stepping into the room. "Right, because flying to Madrid just to see your ¡¯not girlfriend¡¯ is totally normal." Before Izan could respond, Komi walked in with a folded scarf in her hand. "Don¡¯t forget this," she said, setting it on top of his bag. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she added, "And remember, Olivia probably sees enough headlines about you. Try not to end up in anymore while you¡¯re there." Izan groaned, zipping his bag with an exasperated sigh. "I¡¯m not going to Madrid for drama, Mom. She¡¯s been helping me through a lot, and I just¡­ I just want to spend some time with her." Komi softened, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We know, Izan. We¡¯re just teasing. It¡¯s good you have someone like Olivia in your corner. But remember, you¡¯re still 16¡ªenjoy this time without overthinking everything, okay?" Izan nodded, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder as his phone buzzed. It was a message from Miranda confirming the flight she¡¯d booked for him. He glanced at the time¡ªbarely enough to get to the airport. "Alright," he said, heading for the door. "I¡¯ll call you when I land." "Don¡¯t forget to send Olivia our regards!" Hori called after him, her laughter following him down the hall. At Valencia Airport, Izan tugged his hoodie over his head, pulled the strings tight, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He was no stranger to the cameras or fans eager for a glimpse of their rising star. Today, though, he wanted no part of it. He walked briskly, keeping his head down and his movements purposeful. The terminal was bustling, but he¡¯d mastered the art of blending in¡ªor at least trying to. At the security checkpoint, he spotted a group of teenagers wearing Valencia jerseys and chatting animatedly. His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively veered left, keeping as much distance as possible. Handing over his boarding pass and ID, Izan offered the attendant a quick smile, hoping his sunglasses and slouched posture would keep her from connecting the dots. She scanned the documents and waved him through without a second glance. Once past security, Izan found a quiet corner near his gate and settled into a seat. Pulling out his phone, he typed a quick message to Olivia: "All set. Can¡¯t wait to see you." Her reply came almost instantly: "Me too! Safe flight" He leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in weeks, the constant pressure of being Valencia¡¯s youngest star eased just a little. Chapter 204: Olivia [2] As the plane landed in Madrid, Izan¡¯s heart beat a little faster. He tapped his fingers lightly on his knee, not out of nervousness but from a growing excitement to see Olivia. It had been weeks since they¡¯d last spent time together, and though they kept in touch daily, nothing compared to being face-to-face. He retrieved his black duffel bag from the overhead compartment, his movements efficient and deliberate. Pulling his hoodie over his head and slipping on his sunglasses, Izan tried to blend into the bustling crowd of passengers. He wasn¡¯t afraid of being recognized¡ªhe was used to that by now¡ªbut he didn¡¯t want any distractions. Today wasn¡¯t about football or fame; it was about Olivia. Navigating the terminal, Izan walked with purpose, his long strides carrying him toward the arrivals area. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, and then he saw her. Olivia stood near the exit, her phone in hand, looking around occasionally as if searching for him. She wore a soft cream sweater under a denim jacket, her auburn hair falling loose over her shoulders and her green eyes looking a whole lot expectant. The moment their eyes met, a smile spread across her face, lighting up her features. Izan couldn¡¯t help but smile back, his pace quickening as he approached. "Finally," Olivia said, slipping her phone into her pocket as he stopped in front of her. "I was starting to think you¡¯d changed your mind." "Not a chance," Izan replied, his voice warm. "I couldn¡¯t stay away, even if I wanted to." Her cheeks flushed slightly at his words, but she matched his tone with ease. "Good. Because I didn¡¯t get all dressed up just for you to stand me up." He chuckled softly, reaching for her hand. "You didn¡¯t need to. You look perfect as always." [Damn, bro is 16. How old are you?] Olivia¡¯s smile widened as she gave his hand a light squeeze. "Let¡¯s get out of here before someone recognizes you," "Good idea," he agreed, leading the way toward the exit. Outside, a sleek black car was waiting by the curb. The driver stepped out to open the door for them, and Izan gestured for Olivia to go first. "Such a gentleman," she teased as she slid into the backseat. "Always," Izan replied, climbing in after her. As the car pulled away from the airport, the cityscape of Madrid unfolded around them. Olivia turned to him, her expression soft. "It¡¯s really good to see you, Izan." "Same here," he said, his tone sincere. "I¡¯ve been counting the days." "Me too," she admitted, her gaze lingering on him. "I¡¯ve missed this¡ªjust us." Izan reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "So have I. No cameras, no reporters, and no team schedules. Just us." For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. The city lights blurred into the background as they sat there, their fingers entwined. "So," Olivia said, breaking the comfortable silence, "what¡¯s the plan for the weekend?" "I was hoping we could keep it simple," Izan replied. "Spend time together, go for a walk, Watch our game for the weekend, maybe grab dinner somewhere quiet. I don¡¯t need anything fancy, just you." Olivia stared at Izan as her lips curved into a soft smile. "That sounds perfect." When they arrived at Olivia¡¯s family home in Madrid, she led him inside, her hand still in his. The warm, inviting space was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, and her parents greeted him with friendly smiles. "Welcome, Izan," Olivia¡¯s mom said warmly. "You have grown into a handsome young man from the time we haven¡¯t seen you." "Hello Ms. Riviera, you also look beautiful," Izan said with a polite grin. "I never thought you would win Olivia but there was always a possibility from how she always hung out around you in Valencia. Never knew Olivia liked younger ones " Olivia¡¯s dad chimed in with a wink, earning a playful glare from Olivia. Izan laughed, shaking their hands. "Thanks for having me." "Not a problem. Now why don¡¯t you go upstairs for a while? I¡¯ll come to you after I¡¯m done cooking Later that evening, as the two sat on the small balcony outside Olivia¡¯s room, the city lights twinkling in the distance, Izan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on her. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I could get used to this." "To what?" she asked, looking up at him. "This. Being with you. Not worrying about anything else." Olivia¡¯s cheeks flushed, but she didn¡¯t look away. "You don¡¯t have to get used to it, Izan. This is us. It¡¯s always been us." He reached for her hand, pulling her a little closer. "And it always will be." She smiled, her eyes shining. "I like the sound of that." As the evening settled over Madrid, Izan and Olivia, now sat cross-legged on the soft carpet of her bedroom, a notebook and pen between them. The faint hum of the city drifted in through the open window, mingling with the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Izan leaned back against the bed, his hoodie discarded, wearing a plain white t-shirt. Olivia sat opposite him, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a playful spark in her eyes as she twirled the pen between her fingers. "Okay," she began, tapping the notebook. "So, tomorrow¡¯s our first full day together. What do you want to do, Mr. Superstar?" He smirked at her teasing but didn¡¯t miss a beat. "Something simple. No crowds. Just you and me. What are my options?" "Well," Olivia said thoughtfully, flipping to a fresh page, "there¡¯s a park nearby. It¡¯s quiet, and they¡¯ve got this amazing caf¨¦ by the lake. We could grab breakfast there and maybe rent one of those rowboats." Izan raised an eyebrow. "Rowboats?" "They¡¯re fun!" she insisted, laughing. "Besides, I¡¯d like to see if your coordination on the water is as good as it is on the pitch." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, you¡¯re on. What else?" "There¡¯s a little gallery in the city center," she continued, her voice softening. "It¡¯s small, but it has some incredible pieces. I think you¡¯d like it." Izan tilted his head, intrigued. "A gallery? That¡¯s unexpected." Olivia shrugged, her cheeks slightly pink. "You¡¯ve got an eye for detail. I thought it might be something different, something we could enjoy together." He nodded slowly, appreciating the thought behind her suggestion. "Alright. Park in the morning, gallery in the afternoon. Then what?" She leaned forward, her tone more playful now. "Dinner. There¡¯s this amazing Italian place not far from here. Cozy, private. The perfect way to end the day." "Sounds perfect," Izan said, his gaze locking with hers. "But only if I get to pick the dessert." "Deal," she replied, grinning. The rest of the evening was spent ironing out the details. They talked about what time to leave, and what they¡¯d wear, and even debated over the best way to get around the city without drawing attention. Izan wanted to keep things as private as possible, while Olivia argued for a more relaxed approach. By the time they finished planning, the notebook was filled with scribbled notes and playful doodles¡ªOlivia¡¯s handiwork. "Alright," Izan said, standing up and stretching. "I think we¡¯ve got a solid plan. You happy?" "Very," Olivia said, looking up at him with a smile. "It¡¯s going to be perfect." The next morning, the plan unfolded seamlessly. They arrived at the park just after breakfast, the sun filtering through the trees as they strolled hand in hand. True to her word, the caf¨¦ by the lake served some of the best croissants Izan had ever tasted, and they sat by the water, enjoying their coffee and light conversation. After breakfast, they rented a rowboat, much to Olivia¡¯s delight. Izan took charge of the oars, his strong, measured strokes guiding them across the calm water. Olivia laughed as she reached over to splash him playfully, and for a moment, they felt like two regular teenagers, far removed from the weight of their worlds. In the afternoon, they visited the gallery, where Olivia¡¯s prediction proved spot-on. Izan was fascinated by the intricate details of the artwork, and they wandered through the exhibits, sharing their thoughts and discovering each other¡¯s tastes. As evening fell, they found themselves at the cozy Italian restaurant Olivia had mentioned. The dim lighting and warm ambiance made it feel intimate, and they spent the meal sharing stories, laughing, and stealing bites from each other¡¯s plates. When dessert came¡ªa rich tiramisu they both agreed on¡ªIzan leaned back in his chair, watching her with a soft smile. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Why are you staring at me" Olivia said taking the spoon out of her mouth. Taking a tissue, Izan wiped the stain beside her mouth. "Today was perfect," he said quietly before putting the tissue down Olivia looked up, her eyes sparkling. "It really was" her face forming a smile. As they walked home later that night, the city lights glowing softly around them, they both knew this was a day they¡¯d remember for a long time¡ªa day that was just theirs. A/n: Sorry for the single release yesterday guys. Today will be 3 chapters to make up yesterday¡¯s. First of the day Chapter 205: Affection The moon was high in the Madrid sky as Olivia and Izan returned to her family home. The warmth of the day still lingered between them, their laughter soft as they stepped through the door. Olivia¡¯s parents had already retired for the night, leaving the house quiet save for the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet. Izan set his bag by the couch, stretching his arms lazily. "I¡¯m beat" he admitted, though the contentment in his voice was undeniable. "Long day," Olivia agreed, smiling as she leaned against the doorframe. "But worth every second." He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. "I¡¯ll see you in the morning." "Goodnight, Izan," she replied softly, watching as he made his way to the guest room. Hours later, the house was steeped in silence, the faint glow of moonlight spilling into the rooms. Izan lay sprawled on the bed, his breathing deep and even as sleep took hold. His face was relaxed, the sharp edges of his usual focused expression softened in rest. Quietly, Olivia opened the door, the faintest creak of the hinge causing her to pause. Barefoot, she padded into the room, her heart beating slightly faster with every step. She wasn¡¯t sure why she felt nervous¡ªit wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d been alone like this¡ªbut something was thrilling about the moment. Standing beside the bed, she hesitated briefly, then leaned down to brush a stray curl of hair from his forehead. A small smile played on her lips as she whispered, "You even look serious in your sleep." Izan stirred slightly but didn¡¯t wake. Gently, Olivia slipped under the covers beside him, lying on her side so she could watch him. The steady rhythm of his breathing was calming, and soon enough, her eyelids began to grow heavy. She rested her hand lightly against his arm, allowing herself to drift off beside him. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. Olivia blinked awake to the faint sound of someone bustling in the kitchen. She sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Izan, who was still deep in sleep. After freshening up, she made her way to the dining area, where her mother, Mrs. Riviera, was busy preparing breakfast. The older woman glanced up as Olivia entered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Good morning, darling," she said, her tone teasing. "Did you sleep well? Or should I ask, did Izan sleep well?" Olivia froze for a moment before recovering, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. "Mom!" she protested, grabbing a piece of toast from the counter to occupy herself. Mrs. Riviera chuckled, clearly enjoying her daughter¡¯s embarrassment. "Relax, Olivia. I was young once, too. Besides, Izan is a good boy." Olivia tried to change the subject. "Do you need help with anything?" Mrs. Riviera smirked but let it go, waving her daughter off. "Go wake up your boyfriend before breakfast gets cold." Olivia, not wanting to stay a minute ran to the room where Izan was with her mother laughing behind. Olivia stood outside the door, hesitating for a moment as she smoothed her sweater and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Taking a quiet breath, Olivia gently pushed the door open. Inside, Izan was still sprawled on the bed, his face serene in the grip of sleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically under the soft covers. The sight of him so at peace made her smile, and she took a small step closer. "Izan," she called softly, not wanting to startle him. When he didn¡¯t stir, she edged closer to the bed, her voice a little louder this time. "Izan, wake up. Breakfast is ready." But before she could say anything else, Izan stirred, his hand darting out with surprising speed to grab her wrist. Olivia gasped, losing her balance as he tugged her toward him, her knees sinking into the edge of the mattress. "Got you," Izan murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but carrying a teasing edge. His eyes fluttered open, dark and warm as they locked on hers. "Izan!" she exclaimed, her cheeks already beginning to flush. "Let go. Mom¡¯s waiting for¡ª" Before she could finish, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist and silencing her with a kiss. It wasn¡¯t hurried or casual¡ªit was deep and consuming, the kind that made her knees weak and her heart race. "I¡¯ve missed you," he whispered between kisses, his voice low in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Izan," she managed to protest weakly, though her hands had somehow found their way to his shoulders. "We¡¯re supposed to be eating breakfast¡­" "Breakfast can wait," he murmured against her lips, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk. Olivia felt her face grow hotter as his lips trailed along her cheeks, and for a moment, she forgot all about the kitchen, her mother, and breakfast She could only focus on him. The moment was broken only when the door creaked open, and Mrs. Riviera¡¯s voice cut through the air like a splash of cold water. "Olivia! Izan! What on earth is taking so¡ª" She froze in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly at the scene in front of her. Olivia shot up like a startled cat, her face blazing as she quickly straightened her sweater. "Mom! I was just¡ªuh¡ªcalling him for breakfast!" Mrs. Riviera raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. "Calling him? Looked more like you were trying to feed him breakfast already." "Mom!" Olivia exclaimed, mortified, while Izan, to his credit, didn¡¯t look nearly as flustered. He simply leaned back against the pillows, his lips curving into a faintly smug smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Riviera," he said casually, as though nothing had happened. "Good morning, Izan," Mrs. Riviera replied, her tone overly sweet. She turned to Olivia, who was still red-faced and avoiding her gaze. "Your father¡¯s already at the table, and breakfast is getting cold. I suggest you both come down before I have to call you again." "Yes, Mom," Olivia mumbled, practically fleeing from the room. As she disappeared down the hall, Mrs. Riviera cast one last knowing glance at Izan before closing the door behind her. Izan chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair as he got out of bed. "Definitely worth waking up for," he muttered under his breath, grabbing a clean shirt and heading downstairs with a satisfied grin. .... After breakfast, Olivia and Izan spent the day exploring a nearby market, enjoying the simple pleasure of strolling hand in hand among the colorful stalls. They sampled local treats, bought a few trinkets, and laughed over shared jokes. It was the kind of day that felt effortless, the hours slipping by without them even realizing it. By late afternoon, they returned home, just in time to catch Valencia¡¯s league clash against Mallorca. The two settled on the couch, Olivia leaning into Izan as the game kicked off. Valencia started strong, dominating possession and creating several chances, but Mallorca¡¯s defense held firm. The first half ended in a tense 0-0, with Izan, occasionally offering quiet commentary on the tactics being used. Olivia listened intently, impressed by how deeply he understood the game. In the second half, Mallorca struck first, capitalizing on a defensive lapse to take the lead. Izan sat forward, his jaw tightening as he watched his team fight to regain control. Valencia pushed relentlessly, and in the dying minutes of the match, substitute Pietro delivered a stunning equalizer. The house erupted with excitement as Izan leaped to his feet, punching the air. "Yes!" he shouted, his usual composure giving way to raw emotion. Olivia laughed, standing to join him. "Looks like Pietro saved the day." "He likes to joke but he was the one doing clutch moments before I came," Izan replied, his grin wide. As the final whistle blew, sealing the 1-1 draw, Izan sat back down, his energy still buzzing. "Not the result we wanted," he admitted, "but it keeps us in the race." Olivia rested her head on his shoulder. "You¡¯ll get them in the next match. I know it." "Enough about it. We only watched because I wanted to see something. Now let¡¯s come back to us" Standing Izan looked at Olivia like prey but the latter was already running. Izan hot on her heels, gave chase. Olivia seeing Izan behind her nudged him toward the couch, her laughter spilling out as Izan tried to dodge her playful shove. But his quick movement backfired, causing both of them to lose their balance. With a surprised yelp from Olivia and a low laugh from Izan, the two tumbled onto the couch together in a tangle of limbs. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Smooth," Olivia teased breathlessly, her voice carrying a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Hey, you pushed me," Izan countered with a smirk, one hand braced on the back of the couch while the other rested lightly on her arm. Their laughter began to fade as they realized how close they were. Olivia was lying partially beneath him, her auburn hair fanned out across the cushions, her face just inches from his. Izan¡¯s hand lingered on her arm, his gaze softening as it locked with hers. The room seemed to grow quieter, the distant sounds of the city fading into the background. Neither of them spoke as they stared into each other¡¯s eyes, their expressions shifting from playful to something much deeper. Olivia¡¯s laughter was replaced by a shy smile, her cheeks warming under Izan¡¯s steady gaze. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter. There was no rush, no urgency¡ªjust a quiet moment of understanding, as though the world had slowed just for them. "Izan," Olivia whispered, her voice barely audible. He didn¡¯t reply. Instead, his hand moved from her arm to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was tender, his fingers grazing her cheek in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. "Olivia," he murmured, his tone soft but filled with emotion. She didn¡¯t move, her breath catching as his gaze flicked down to her lips for the briefest second before returning to her eyes. It was all the confirmation she needed. Slowly, Izan leaned down, and Olivia tilted her head slightly, closing the small distance between them. When their lips met, it was gentle at first, a soft and tentative exploration that deepened as they melted into the moment. The kiss was unhurried yet full of meaning, a shared promise spoken without words. Olivia¡¯s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers curling lightly against his shirt as Izan¡¯s hand cupped her cheek. For a while, time ceased to exist. There was only the warmth of their connection, the soft press of lips, and the unspoken emotions. When they finally pulled apart, their faces remained close, their foreheads touching as they shared a quiet, breathless laugh A/n: Second chapter of the day. Have fun Chapter 206: Separation The day dawned quietly, the early rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains in Olivia¡¯s room. Izan stirred awake to the faint sounds of birds outside and the comforting presence of Olivia beside him, still asleep. He watched her for a moment, her features soft and peaceful in the morning light. A small smile touched his lips¡ªthis was a rare moment of stillness for him, a break from the chaos of his rising football career. They began their day in a leisurely manner, with Olivia insisting on making breakfast. Izan followed her into the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter as she bustled about, tying her hair back in a loose ponytail. "You sure you know what you¡¯re doing?" Izan teased, his smirk mischievous. Olivia shot him a playful glare. "I¡¯m making pancakes, not building a rocket. Even you can¡¯t mess this up." "Careful," he replied, stepping closer to steal a piece of the chocolate Olivia was setting aside for topping. "You¡¯re talking to a world-class athlete. My skills are unmatched." "Oh, really?" she said, raising an eyebrow before swatting his hand away. "Keep your world-class hands off my ingredients, Izan." Their banter continued as Olivia managed to finish the pancakes, though a few turned out less than perfect. Izan, of course, pointed out the imperfections with a grin, only to be silenced by Olivia pressing a piece of pancake into his mouth. "Happy now?" she asked, laughing as he chewed. "Very," he said with his mouth full, earning an eye roll from her. --- After breakfast, the two settled into the living room, the warmth of the morning sun spilling through the windows. Olivia curled up on the couch with a book while Izan sat at the other end, scrolling through his phone. The space between them seemed to shrink naturally, their legs brushing now and then until Olivia finally let her feet rest in his lap. "What are you reading?" Izan asked, looking up from his phone. Olivia tilted the book to show him the cover. "Some romance novel my mom recommended. It¡¯s decent." "Anything like us?" he teased, his hand resting lightly on her ankle. She chuckled. "Not quite. The guy in this one¡¯s a pirate." Izan smirked. "I can pull off a pirate look." "Maybe," Olivia said, pretending to assess him. "You¡¯ve got the charm for it." As the hours wore on, their interactions became increasingly intimate. Izan shifted closer, eventually pulling Olivia against him as they lay side by side on the couch. His hand wandered absently, tracing patterns along her arm while she nestled into him. At one point, he leaned down to kiss her temple, the gesture soft and unspoken. The tension between them grew naturally, unhurried and comfortable. They kissed deeply, their movements slow but full of meaning. Olivia¡¯s hands tangled in his hair as his lips trailed down her jawline, her soft sighs the only sound in the quiet house. --- By the time evening fell, the golden light of the setting sun bathed the living room in a warm glow. Izan and Olivia sat side by side on the floor, leaning against the couch after a day of stolen moments and shared laughter. The house was quiet, their solitude uninterrupted. "This has been perfect," Olivia murmured, her head resting on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "It really has," Izan agreed, his arm draped casually around her waist. "I needed this¡ªtime with you. Away from everything else." Olivia smiled but didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, she reached out, intertwining their fingers as silence settled between them. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Izan," she began, her eyes fixed on their joined hands. "I¡¯ve been thinking¡­ I feel selfish." Izan frowned, turning to look at her. "Selfish? Why would you say that?" "Because I don¡¯t want you to go tomorrow," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I know you have so much waiting for you¡ªyour matches, your career¡ªbut I just¡­ I want you to stay here, with me. Even though I know I shouldn¡¯t." Izan shifted, his free hand moving to cup her cheek gently. "Olivia, you¡¯re not selfish. You¡¯re human. I don¡¯t want to leave either, but you know I have to. It¡¯s part of what I do, part of who I am." She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know. It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s hard. It feels like every time we¡¯re together, the time flies by too quickly." "I know," he said softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "But we¡¯ll figure it out, Olivia. We always do. No matter where I go, you¡¯re always with me." She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch. "You make it sound so simple." "It¡¯s not," Izan admitted, his voice steady but sincere. "But that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s impossible. You¡¯re worth it. We¡¯re worth it." Olivia blinked back her tears, managing a small smile. "You¡¯re too good at this, you know." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I¡¯m good at a lot of things. Keeping you happy is just one of them." She laughed, the sound light but genuine, and he couldn¡¯t help but smile in return. As the night deepened, they stayed there, talking quietly about their dreams, their fears, and the moments they had shared. And when they finally fell asleep, curled up together on the couch, the weight of tomorrow faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of their connection in its place. The morning came all too quickly. The sky was still painted in soft shades of pink and orange as Olivia drove Izan to the airport. The hum of the car engine filled the silence between them, neither wanting to break the fragile peace of their last few moments together. Olivia stole glances at him, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Izan, sitting in the passenger seat, reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her knee. "You¡¯re awfully quiet this morning," he said softly. Olivia managed a small smile, though it didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. "Just trying to hold it together. I¡¯m fine." "You don¡¯t have to pretend with me," he replied, his tone gentle. Her grip on the wheel loosened slightly, and she let out a soft sigh. "It¡¯s always hard saying goodbye, Izan. Even if it¡¯s just for a little while." He nodded, understanding all too well. "I know. But it¡¯s not forever. We¡¯ll see each other again before you know it." When they reached the airport, Olivia parked the car and walked with him to the departure terminal. The bustling crowd around them moved with purpose, but for Izan and Olivia, time seemed to slow. They stopped just before the security checkpoint, and Olivia turned to face him, her eyes already glistening with unshed tears. "You¡¯ll text me when you land?" she asked, her voice wavering. "Of course," Izan said, his gaze unwavering as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Olivia¡¯s hands fidgeted at her sides, and Izan stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. She melted into the embrace, burying her face in his chest as he held her tightly. "I¡¯m going to miss you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I¡¯ll miss you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But you know I¡¯ll be thinking about you the whole time." Olivia pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his chest as she looked up at him. "You better be." With a soft smile, Izan leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss. It was slow and tender, a bittersweet goodbye filled with unspoken promises. Olivia¡¯s arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back, savoring the moment despite the ache in her heart. Unbeknownst to them, a reporter standing nearby had noticed the young couple. Recognizing Izan immediately, he snapped a few discreet photos of the pair, intrigued by the sight of the rising football star sharing such an intimate moment. When they finally pulled apart, Olivia¡¯s cheeks were flushed, but her sadness was momentarily replaced by a shy smile. Izan cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear. "Take care of yourself," he said softly. "You too," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. With one last lingering look, Izan turned and walked toward the security checkpoint. Olivia stood there for a moment, watching him until he disappeared into the crowd. Only then did she turn and head back to her car, her heart heavy but full of love. As Izan sat in his seat on the plane, he began reminiscing about the moments he had spent with Olivia. "I understand why she said that now," Izan said as he looked outside the window. After a while, the pilot¡¯s voice came out of the comms, telling the passengers to get ready for the flight. Heeding, Izan snapped his seatbelt together before laying his head on the headrest. A/n: 3RD OF THE DAY. This is to make ammends for yesterday¡¯s singular release. Chapter 207: Power Couple A reporter, Emilio Vargas, was a seasoned photojournalist who had spent most of his career covering sports. He had a knack for capturing the human side of athletes, the raw moments that revealed their vulnerabilities and joys beyond the field. Emilio wasn¡¯t chasing headlines when he spotted Izan and Olivia at the airport that morning; he was simply there, camera slung over his shoulder, observing the world as he always did. The candid scene of the young couple had caught his eye immediately. Izan, the football prodigy who had taken La Liga by storm, and the girl whose quiet presence seemed to ground him. Emilio couldn¡¯t resist. The light, the emotion, the natural intimacy¡ªit was a photographer¡¯s dream. By the afternoon, Emilio had sorted through the photos and selected the perfect one: Izan leaning in to kiss Olivia, his hands tenderly cradling her face, while Olivia¡¯s arms rested gently around his neck. The moment radiated pure affection, untouched by the chaos of fame or the prying eyes of the public. Emilio uploaded the photo to his social media account with a caption that read: "Valencia¡¯s rising star Izan was spotted sharing a heartfelt goodbye at the airport today. A glimpse of the personal side of football¡¯s newest sensation. Love like this? It¡¯s priceless. Does anyone recognize the girl?" The post went live just past noon, and within minutes, it began to gain traction. The comments section lit up as fans, followers, and football enthusiasts flooded in with reactions. "Wait, is that Izan?? No way! Is he dating someone??" "She looks so familiar¡­ wasn¡¯t she the girl from the Real Madrid match? She walked onto the pitch with him!" "Yes! That¡¯s her! She was on the pitch after Valencia drew with Real Madrid earlier this season. She¡¯s stunning!" "Forget the match; Izan is winning in life too. Look at how he¡¯s holding her. This is so sweet." "Power couple vibes. She seems so down-to-earth¡ª but at the same time, so beautiful. She is exactly what he needs." [How do you know? ??] The photo was soon reposted by fan pages and football news outlets, spreading like wildfire across social media. The Fans pieced together Olivia¡¯s connection to Izan, sharing pictures from Izan¡¯s various social media handles that had Olivia somewhere in it. One popular thread included side-by-side images of Olivia: one from the airport and another from an iconic post-match moment. "Same girl, same grace. Izan¡¯s got great taste," the caption read. Some fans were struck by the authenticity of the moment. "This isn¡¯t some staged PR thing," one comment read. "This is real. You can tell by how they¡¯re looking at each other." Others marveled at Olivia¡¯s natural beauty. "She¡¯s gorgeous without even trying," a fan wrote. "No wonder Izan¡¯s so smitten." The positivity extended to discussions about how their relationship seemed to humanize Izan. "We always see him as this football prodigy, but moments like this remind us he¡¯s also a 16-year-old boy in love. It¡¯s wholesome." As the post continued to circulate, Emilio watched the reactions with a small smile. He wasn¡¯t one to chase fame for himself, but he appreciated how one simple photograph could spark such widespread joy. For Emilio, it wasn¡¯t just about capturing a moment¡ªit was about telling a story. And in Izan and Olivia, he had found a story that resonated far beyond the boundaries of the pitch. Later that evening, Olivia couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the whirlwind Emilio Vargas¡¯ photo had caused online. Notifications kept pinging on her phone as the post continued to spread, her face now unmistakably recognized alongside Izan¡¯s. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She decided to call him, unable to keep her thoughts to herself. Izan picked up almost immediately, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "Hey, Liv. Miss me already?" "Don¡¯t start," she said, though her smile was evident in her tone. "Have you seen what we caused? The entire internet is talking about us." "Us?" Izan teased. "I think they¡¯re talking about me and the ¡¯mystery girl.¡¯ You¡¯ve gone viral, Liv." Olivia groaned, flopping back onto her bed. "It¡¯s so embarrassing. They¡¯re analyzing every little thing, like that moment after the Real Madrid match. Someone even called me ¡¯graceful.¡¯ Me? Graceful?" "You are graceful," Izan said matter-of-factly. "In a clumsy, adorable way." "Wow, thanks," Olivia said, rolling her eyes. "That¡¯s not the point. It¡¯s just¡­ surreal seeing people dissecting our relationship. And some of them know I¡¯m older than you." Izan chuckled softly, his tone turning teasing. "Speaking of which, you do realize how funny it is that you act like a little girl when you¡¯re with me, right? And you¡¯re supposed to be the mature one." "I do not act like a little girl," Olivia protested, though her voice wavered with a hint of laughter. "You do," Izan insisted, leaning into his playful tone. "The way you pout when you don¡¯t get your way, or how you cling to me like I¡¯m going to disappear. Very mature, Olivia." She laughed despite herself, her cheeks warming. "Oh, come on. You make me like that. You¡¯re too¡ª" she paused, searching for the right word, "irresistible." "See? You¡¯re proving my point." "Izan," she said, exasperated but unable to stop smiling. "You¡¯re impossible." "And you love me for it," he said confidently. She sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, I do." They both laughed, the kind of warm, easy laughter that only came from two people perfectly in sync. After the moment settled, Olivia¡¯s voice softened. "It¡¯s just crazy, you know? Being in the spotlight like this. But¡­ I don¡¯t mind, as long as it¡¯s with you." Izan¡¯s voice took on a reassuring tone. "Don¡¯t worry about it, Liv. Let them talk. Let them post. At the end of the day, it¡¯s just you and me, and that¡¯s all that matters." Olivia smiled, comforted by his words. "Yeah. You¡¯re right." "Always am," he quipped. "Okay, Mr. Football Prodigy," she said, shaking her head. "Don¡¯t let it get to your head." "Too late," Izan said with a chuckle. Their conversation continued late into the evening, filled with teasing, laughter, and reassurance. ........ The buzz surrounding Izan and Olivia¡¯s airport moment hadn¡¯t died down by the time Izan arrived at Valencia¡¯s training grounds the next morning. If anything, the teasing from his teammates began the moment he stepped into the locker room. "Look who¡¯s here!" shouted Pietro, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "The man of the hour! Or should I say, the man of love?" Behind him, Sosa and Fran Perez acted out the picture. "He, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised," Izan said pointing to Pietro, "but you two?". Laughter erupted around the room, and a few of the older players whistled as Izan walked in, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Come on, guys," Izan said, rolling his eyes, though a small smirk betrayed him. He placed his bag down at his locker, avoiding Pietro¡¯s mischievous gaze. Pietro leaned against the bench, his arms crossed. "So, you¡¯re just casually dropping kisses at the airport now, huh? And here I thought you were shy!" "Not shy," Izan shot back, unzipping his training jacket. "Just not usually in the mood to give the paparazzi a show nor entertain a clown" "Paparazzi? Clown? Me?" Pietro exclaimed, feigning shock. "No, no, no, my friend, I am not a clown and this my friend, this was art! You¡¯ve gone extra international, Izan. Even my mom sent me the photo saying, ¡¯Why can¡¯t you be romantic like this?¡¯" The room erupted into laughter again, and Izan couldn¡¯t help but laugh along, shaking his head. "Your mom would say that." Javi Guerra, chimed in, holding up his phone. "I mean, look at this. You¡¯ve got fans calling Olivia the queen of Valencia now. This might be the first time a player¡¯s girlfriend is as popular as the player himself." Pietro walked up to Izan and gave him a playful slap on the back. "Seriously though, you and Olivia¡ªyou¡¯re killing it. But don¡¯t get too distracted. We¡¯ve got a big game tomorrow." Izan shot him a confident look. "When do I ever get distracted? Focus is my thing." "Oh, really?" Pietro teased, raising an eyebrow. "Because it looked like your focus was entirely on her lips yesterday." Izan grabbed a towel and playfully whipped it toward Pietro, who dodged it with a laugh. "Okay, okay, I¡¯m done," Pietro said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But seriously, man, good for you. " Izan nodded, his tone softening. "Thanks." "I feel sorry for Mark" Sosa said from behind Izan causing the players to look at the defender who was holding a female action figure. The camaraderie in the locker room shifted toward a more serious tone as the players began preparing for training. The Copa del Rey semi-final second leg against Mallorca loomed large. The first leg had been tightly contested, with Valencia scraping out a 2-all draw in the last minute, but this return leg at Mallorca¡¯s home ground was bound to be a battle. Once out on the pitch, the focus was entirely on football. The team ran through tactical drills, emphasizing defensive organization and quick transitions¡ªkey strategies for holding onto their aggregate lead. Baraja emphasized discipline, reminding the squad to stay compact and patient against Mallorca¡¯s pacey and wing-prone attacking style A/n: So here¡¯s the romance. Not all that good but that¡¯s what I can write for now since I¡¯m single.[I need your sister¡¯s and auntys¡¯ IG. Of course any woman is appreciated so I can consult them for my love life.] Chapter 208: Opponents The Copa del Rey semi-final second leg against Mallorca loomed large. The first leg had been tightly contested, with Valencia scraping out a 2-all draw in the last minute, but this return leg at Mallorca¡¯s home ground was bound to be a battle. Once out on the pitch, the focus was entirely on football. The team ran through tactical drills, emphasizing defensive organization and quick transitions¡ªkey strategies for holding onto their aggregate lead. Baraja emphasized discipline, reminding the squad to stay compact and patient against Mallorca¡¯s pacey and wing-prone attacking style After an intense training session at Paterna, the Valencia CF squad gathered in the media room. The players, sweaty and still catching their breath from a session designed to fine-tune their tactical approach to the second-leg Copa del Rey semi-final against Mallorca, were now preparing to watch the other semi-final clash between Atl¨¦tico Madrid and Athletic Bilbao. The first leg had ended in a 2-2 draw, so this match was pivotal, and head coach Rub¨¦n Baraja thought it would be valuable to observe the other semifinal to draw insights for their own upcoming match. As the players filed in, there was a quiet buzz of excitement. The room was a mix of young talent and seasoned experience. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, Pepelu, and the rest of the veterans, alongside rising stars like Javi Guerra, and of course, Izan, the team¡¯s star player, all found their seats. While Gay¨¤, as the captain, was a source of leadership and focus, all eyes inevitably turned to Izan. At just 16, the young forward had been carrying Valencia through a remarkable season, earning praise not only for his goals but for his ability to influence every aspect of the game. He was now the standout player, and his presence was undeniable. Even the veterans deferred to him, often looking to him for direction on the field. Izan settled in his seat, taking a moment to glance around. He was no longer just a hopeful teenager; he was now Valencia¡¯s most reliable performer, their creative spark, and the player everyone relied on. The match between Atl¨¦tico Madrid and Athletic Bilbao kicked off with a raucous atmosphere from the San Mam¨¦s crowd, a vibrant mix of colors and noise. As the game unfolded, the Valencia players leaned forward in their seats, eager to see how their potential final opponents¡ªshould they get past Mallorca¡ªmanaged the high stakes of a Copa del Rey semi-final. The first 15 minutes showcased the high-pressing style of Athletic Bilbao. Nico Williams, the dynamic winger, immediately caught the attention of the Valencia players. In the 12th minute, he made a dazzling run down the right wing, leaving Atl¨¦tico¡¯s defenders scrambling. His perfectly timed cross was almost met by ¨¢lex Berenguer in the box, but Atl¨¦tico¡¯s Jos¨¦ Gim¨¦nez cleared it just in time. "That¡¯s how you stretch a defense," Gay¨¤ said, turning to Izan. "They press high and use the flanks to exploit space. If Mallorca presses us, we need to stretch them like that." Izan nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen. "They¡¯re smart about it. It¡¯s not just the wingers; their full-backs push up to support. If we move quickly, we can do the same." Baraja, who had been watching closely, paused the video. "Izan¡¯s right. Pay attention to how Bilbao uses the full-backs and their midfielders to flood the wide areas. This is the kind of play we¡¯ll need to replicate against Mallorca. Move the ball quickly, get it out wide, and keep the pressure up" After a while, the match grew boring but then the first goal of the match came. In the 28th minute. Dani Garc¨ªa intercepted a loose pass in midfield and slid the ball perfectly into the path of I?aki Williams. Racing through on goal, Williams showed poise and precision as he slotted the ball past Atl¨¦tico¡¯s goalkeeper Jan Oblak to give Bilbao a crucial 1-0 lead on the night. "That¡¯s clinical," said Pepelu, nodding. "He saw the opening and didn¡¯t hesitate. If we get those chances, we need to be just as ruthless." Izan watched closely, already thinking ahead. "That¡¯s the thing with Williams. He¡¯s not flashy, but when the moment comes, he¡¯s deadly. We have to be the same in the second leg against Mallorca. Don¡¯t waste chances. Take them when they come." Baraja, clearly impressed by Izan¡¯s maturity, said, "Exactly, Izan. You¡¯ve been showing that kind of composure all season. We need the entire team to think like that in these moments." A few of the players shook their heads at Baraja¡¯s glazing, even Izan but they had gotten used to it at this point. After some time, the first half came to an end causing some of the players to go to the snack bar for some snacks, though Baraja had those limited to 1 per player. As the second half began, Atl¨¦tico pushed for an equalizer, but Bilbao¡¯s defense stood firm. Their pressing and defensive structure made it difficult for Atl¨¦tico to break through. Despite Atl¨¦tico¡¯s attempts to control the game, Bilbao¡¯s compact shape and quick transitions continued to frustrate them. "Look at how Bilbao defends as a team," said Gay¨¤, observing their defensive shape. "They never give Atl¨¦tico any time on the ball. Everyone is involved, even their forwards are dropping back to help." Izan, whose mind was always on how to improve, added, "It¡¯s a unit. The midfield drops in to cover, and the forwards never stop working. They¡¯re always in the right place, always ready to press when the ball turns over. That¡¯s something we can bring into our game, especially when we¡¯re playing against teams that sit back like Mallorca." [show off] ,the system sounded causing Izan¡¯s expression to falter before regaining his composure. Baraja smiled, clearly pleased with his star forward¡¯s input. "Exactly. We need to press high and make it difficult for Mallorca to play out from the back. It¡¯s all about winning the ball quickly and moving forward at speed." In the 61st minute, Nico Williams struck again. Picking up the ball halfway into Atl¨¦tico¡¯s half, he took on three defenders in a dazzling solo run. With a burst of pace, he carved through Atl¨¦tico¡¯s backline and finished with a clinical strike into the top corner of Oblak¡¯s net. "That¡¯s a fantastic goal," said Correia. "But we¡¯ve also got players who can do that. Taking on defenders and making them pay." Izan¡¯s eyes never left the screen as he spoke. "It¡¯s all about timing. He knows when to accelerate and when to go for it. That¡¯s the kind of confidence we need to show, especially when we have a chance to break on Mallorca." Baraja nodded approvingly. "Exactly, Izan. Confidence and timing are key. But don¡¯t forget¡ªthis doesn¡¯t happen without hard work and knowing your teammates. When we break, we have to move together, and we have to make it count." As Atl¨¦tico pushed forward in the latter stages of the game, they left themselves exposed at the back. In the 84th minute, Gorka Guruzeta sealed the victory for Bilbao, tapping in a rebound after Oblak had parried an effort from Iker Muniain. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The 3-0 scoreline on the night effectively ended the tie, with Bilbao advancing to the Copa del Rey final with a 4-0 aggregate score. "That¡¯s a killer instinct," said Paulista, watching as Bilbao celebrated. "Even when they had the game in hand, they didn¡¯t stop pushing." Izan leaned back in his chair, contemplating. "You never know when another goal can change the course of a match. We have to be like that¡ªrelentless. Even if we¡¯re ahead, we keep pressing for the next goal." Baraja looked at the group, his eyes locking on Izan. "Izan¡¯s right. This game is about never settling. Whether we¡¯re ahead or behind, we must keep that intensity. And that¡¯s what I expect from every single one of you in the second leg against Mallorca." As the match ended, the room was silent for a moment. The players absorbed the lessons from the match, seeing how Athletic Bilbao¡¯s pressing, defensive organization and clinical finishing had been the difference in their commanding 3-0 victory. "We¡¯ve seen what it takes to get to the final," Baraja said, breaking the silence. "Bilbao showed us the right mentality¡ªaggressive in attack, relentless in defense. That¡¯s what we need to bring to the second leg. If we do that, Mallorca will be in for a tough game." "I agree," Gay¨¤ said. "If we press like they did, take our chances, and stay disciplined, we have every chance of winning. Mallorca won¡¯t know what hit them." Izan, now fully locked into the mindset of a player who carried his team, added, "We need to show them we¡¯re the better team. We press, we score, and we don¡¯t let them breathe. We¡¯ve been here all season. Let¡¯s finish what we started." With that, the Valencia players, inspired and united, headed into the club¡¯s recovery rooms on orders of Ruben Baraja, his reasoning, well to recover and manage any cramps that had affected his players. A/n: Second of the day Chapter 209: Young Leader Izan, now fully locked into the mindset of a player who carried his team, added, "We need to show them we¡¯re the better team. We press, we score, and we don¡¯t let them breathe. We¡¯ve been here all season. Let¡¯s finish what we started." With that, the Valencia players, inspired and united, headed into the club¡¯s recovery rooms on orders of Ruben Baraja, his reasoning, well to recover and manage any cramps that had affected the players. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª- After a brief recovery period, the Valencia CF squad had settled into their usual routine. Some players were already in the locker room, others chatting among themselves in the gym, but Izan found himself walking out of the recovery room, feeling the weight of the upcoming match against Mallorca pressing on his mind. As he stepped into the hallway, he spotted Rub¨¦n Baraja standing alone by a set of double doors, his arms crossed, eyes focused on the floor, lost in thought. It was rare to see the usually composed coach in a moment of quiet reflection, so Izan hesitated for a moment before walking over. "Coach," Izan began, his voice tentative but filled with respect. "I wanted to ask you something if you have a moment." Baraja turned, his face softening when he saw the young forward approaching. "Izan," he said with a small nod. "What¡¯s on your mind?" Izan stood still for a moment, the seriousness of the situation settling in. "I know how important this match is for all of us," he started, "but it feels¡­ heavier this time. With the way things went in the first leg against Mallorca, I feel like there¡¯s more at stake than just qualifying for the final." Baraja studied Izan for a second, sensing the weight of the young player¡¯s words. "You¡¯re right. It¡¯s not just about the Copa del Rey, it¡¯s about the bigger picture¡ªthis club, the fans, the history. And yes, for me personally, it¡¯s about my first trophy as a manager," he admitted, his voice quiet but earnest. "I¡¯ve been through a lot with this team. We¡¯ve all fought together for this moment. It¡¯s more than just winning a match. It¡¯s a chance to lift a trophy for the first time, to give these players a piece of history." Izan absorbed the words, understanding the deeper meaning behind them. Baraja was no longer just a coach for the team; he had invested his heart and soul into Valencia¡¯s journey. It wasn¡¯t just about the players anymore¡ªit was about the shared dream of success. "We¡¯ve worked so hard this season, and we¡¯re so close," Baraja continued, his gaze steady. "But we cannot lose to Mallorca. We have to qualify for that final. We¡¯re not just aiming to get to the final for the sake of it. It¡¯s about giving everything to beat Mallorca, and then we face Athletic Club de Bilbao, a team that¡¯s been on a roll, but one we can take down." Izan nodded, feeling the weight of Baraja¡¯s words. He had always admired Baraja¡¯s passion for the club, and in that moment, he felt even more compelled to push himself harder. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "We won¡¯t let you down. I! I won¡¯t let you down, Coach," Izan said with determination in his voice. "We won¡¯t lose to Mallorca. We¡¯ll fight for that final." Baraja smiled slightly, placing a hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "I know you won¡¯t. This team has heart, and you, Izan, you¡¯ve proven time and time again that you¡¯ve got the talent to change games. But more than that, it¡¯s your mentality¡ªyour understanding of what it means to play for Valencia¡ªthat makes the difference." Izan¡¯s heart swelled with pride. He wasn¡¯t just playing for himself anymore; he was playing for something much bigger than individual glory. It was about bringing success to a club with a rich history and passionate fans. "You¡¯re not alone in this," Baraja added. "We¡¯re all in this together. The final is within reach. But first, we take care of Mallorca, with everything we¡¯ve got. And then, when we face Bilbao, we¡¯ll be ready." Izan stood a little taller, a renewed sense of purpose filling him. "I understand, Coach. We¡¯ll make it happen." His voice was firm and full of commitment. Baraja gave a nod of approval. "Good. Now, get some rest." As Izan walked away, the weight of what lay ahead didn¡¯t seem as heavy. He felt a renewed determination to not just fulfill his dreams, but to give everything for the team, for the manager who believed in him, and for a club that had already given him so much. [well they tried to release you so this is more or less them trying to make up for that] ...¡­ Valencia CF¡¯s journey to Palma de Mallorca began with an air of quiet determination. The players, dressed in their sleek travel gear, boarded the team bus at Paterna. Conversations were muted but purposeful, and the focus on their faces was unmistakable. Their destination: Son Moix Stadium, where the roar of a passionate home crowd would await. As the bus rolled toward the airport, the mood was a blend of focus and camaraderie. Some players scrolled through their phones, checking match previews and pundit predictions, while others leaned back, headphones in place. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, ever the leader, reviewed tactical notes in the front seat, occasionally glancing out the window. Izan, seated midway down the aisle, kept a calm demeanor as always, engaging briefly with Sosa, Pietro, Correia, and Javi Guerra. "Thierry," Izan said casually, gesturing toward a nearby screen displaying a clip of Mallorca¡¯s recent matches, "watch how they defend in a low block. They leave gaps between their midfield and backline. If we time our runs right, we can exploit that space." Thierry nodded. "Good eye, Izan. I¡¯ll be ready to overlap on those counters." Baraja, sitting just behind the driver, couldn¡¯t help but smile as he overheard the exchange. The youngster I wasn¡¯t just a talent on the pitch; he had become a student of the game. As Valencia made their way to the airport, the footballing world was abuzz with predictions. Analysts debated the strengths and weaknesses of both teams on sports networks and social media platforms. "Mallorca at home is a formidable side," said a well-known pundit. "With Vedat Muriqi leading their attack, Valencia¡¯s defenders will need to be at their sharpest. And don¡¯t forget Pedrag Rajkovic¡¯s solid wall in goal" Another analyst was quick to point out Valencia¡¯s attacking edge. "It¡¯s Izan¡¯s season. The kid is unstoppable. His vision, pace, and finishing make him Valencia¡¯s key to breaking through Mallorca¡¯s defense. If he finds space, it could be game over for the home side." Fans added their voices to the mix. Valencia supporters were confident, one tweeting, "Mallorca may have their home crowd, but we have Izan. The boy¡¯s on fire this season. Trust the process, and we¡¯ll be in the final." Mallorca fans countered with optimism of their own. "Son Moix is a fortress," one posted. "With Muriqi up top and our defense solid, Valencia won¡¯t have it easy." [Izan literally single-handedly destroyed that defense. WTFDYM] The buzz surrounding the match was a testament to its importance. The Copa del Rey wasn¡¯t just a competition¡ªit was a chance at glory. The Valencia team arrived in Palma in the early evening, greeted by a small contingent of traveling supporters. They waved and cheered as the players stepped off the bus and into the warm Mallorcan air. The hotel, tucked away in a quiet part of the city, offered a serene environment for the squad to rest and prepare. Dinner that evening was light yet lively, with the players discussing tactics and potential match scenarios. Mosquera and Dimitri Foulquier shared jokes to ease any tension, but the seriousness of the occasion lingered in the background. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª The next morning, Valencia held a light training session at a facility near Son Moix. The players focused on set pieces and final touches, with Baraja directing drills and offering encouragement. As the session wound down, the Mallorca squad arrived for their own training, and a brief overlap occurred. There was no animosity, but the air between the two groups carried a quiet tension. Players exchanged polite nods, though a few couldn¡¯t resist playful banter. Sergi Darder, formerly of Olympique Lyon approached Gay¨¤ and Pepelu with a grin. "I hope you¡¯re ready for what¡¯s coming tomorrow," he teased. Gay¨¤ laughed. "We¡¯re always ready, Sergi. Let¡¯s see if you can handle Izan." Darder chuckled, glancing toward the young star, who was speaking with Thierry near the goalposts. "He¡¯s a genius, I¡¯ll give you that. But Son Moix is a tough place to shine." Izan caught the glance and walked over, his demeanor calm but confident. "Good to see you again, Darder," he said. "I¡¯ve heard a lot about Son Moix. Should be a good test." Darder smiled before speaking, "We¡¯ll see if you can handle the pressure. Good luck tomorrow." "You too," Izan replied, turning back to his teammates. A/n: First of the day Chapter 210: Near Olympico The next morning, Valencia held a light training session at a facility near Son Moix. The players focused on set pieces and final touches, with Baraja directing drills and offering encouragement. As the session wound down, the Mallorca squad arrived for their own training, and a brief overlap occurred. There was no animosity, but the air between the two groups carried a quiet tension. Players exchanged polite nods, though a few couldn¡¯t resist playful banter. Sergi Darder, formerly of Olympique Lyon approached Gay¨¤ and Pepelu with a grin. "I hope you¡¯re ready for what¡¯s coming tomorrow," he teased. Gay¨¤ laughed. "We¡¯re always ready, Sergi. Let¡¯s see if you can handle Izan." Darder chuckled, glancing toward the young star, who was speaking with Thierry near the goalposts. "He¡¯s a genius, I¡¯ll give you that. But Son Moix is a tough place to shine." Izan caught the glance and walked over, his demeanor calm but confident. "Good to see you again, Darder," he said. "I¡¯ve heard a lot about Son Moix. Should be a good test." Darder smiled before speaking, "We¡¯ll see if you can handle the pressure. Good luck tomorrow." "You too," Izan replied, turning back to his teammates. ------------ The morning sun bathed Palma de Mallorca in a golden glow as the city prepared for one of the most anticipated matches of the season. It was the day of the Copa del Rey semi-final second leg, and Valencia¡¯s players awoke to an air thick with expectation. At their luxury hotel overlooking the Mediterranean, the team gathered for a light breakfast, their faces betraying a mix of focus and nerves. Izan sat, eyes scanning his plate before proceeding to empty it. The players, once again went through a short run of exercises after breakfast before they were sent away. By mid-afternoon, the Valencia team bus was ready to leave. As it rolled out of the hotel driveway, a small group of traveling fans gathered nearby, waving flags and cheering loudly. The players acknowledged them with polite waves from the tinted windows. Izan leaned back in his seat, earbuds in, visualizing the game ahead and he knew that tonight would be no different from what he does regularly. The journey to Son Moix was anything but serene. As the bus weaved through Palma¡¯s narrow streets, it was met with jeers, whistles, and chants from Mallorca fans lining the sidewalks. Many held up red and black scarves, waving them furiously, while others banged on the bus as it passed. "This is hostile territory," remarked Valencia¡¯s coach, Ruben Baraja to assistant coach Moreno, glancing out the window. "The fight for the last place in the cup final has elevated their hostility," Moreno said as he glanced at a fan holding a flare in hand. Izan sitting by the window, unfazed, kept his focus, though he couldn¡¯t help but notice one young Mallorca fan running alongside the bus, shouting something inaudible before stopping to hurl his scarf at the vehicle. Izan shook his head at the kid¡¯s action before smiling at his loyalty towards Mallorca. As the bus pulled into the stadium grounds, security personnel worked to keep the boisterous Mallorca fans at bay. A cacophony of whistles and boos erupted, their echo resonating through the bus as the players disembarked. Jose Gaya led the team out, his expression stoic as they made their way into the bowels of Son Moix. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was tense but focused. The players began their pre-match routines: stretching, listening to music, or quietly talking tactics with the coaching staff. Izan, as always, kept to himself, methodically tying his boots before slipping on his warm-up kit. While Valencia prepared inside, the stadium filled to capacity. The home fans were in full voice, chanting and waving flags, their energy infectious. The pundits, stationed in a pitchside studio, provided their insights as the players warmed up on the field. "Tonight is a test of resilience," one analyst said. "Valencia have the quality, especially with Izan pulling the strings, but Son Moix is a fortress. Mallorca¡¯s fans will make it as difficult as possible." Fans from both sides were interviewed, their opinions adding to the pre-match drama. "Izan is good but he doesn¡¯t know what a place in the final of a cup trophy could do to a team," a passionate Mallorca supporter declared. "We¡¯ll show him tonight that he¡¯s still a little boy" Meanwhile, a traveling Valencia fan countered, "He¡¯s 16 and already the best player on the pitch. Watch what he does tonight!" The commentators echoed the fans¡¯ sentiments as the teams returned to the locker rooms to change into their kits. "The stage is set. The players are ready. Can Valencia handle the pressure in this hostile environment?" The referee¡¯s whistle pierced the air, and the game began with an intensity that mirrored the charged atmosphere in the stands. Mallorca pressed high, their players snapping into tackles that drew roars of approval from the home crowd. In the 6th minute, Izan picked up the ball near the halfway line. A hush fell over the crowd as he turned elegantly, gliding past two Mallorca midfielders with a body feint and a quick change of pace. "Look at that from Izan!" the commentator exclaimed. "He¡¯s playing with such composure in the face of relentless pressure!" The home fans, however, were less appreciative, whistling and jeering every time Izan touched the ball. While the match went back and forth for a while, the first major flashpoint came in the 10th minute. Izan, picking up the ball in midfield, launched a perfectly timed through ball that split Mallorca¡¯s defense. Valencia¡¯s striker, Hugo Duro latched onto it and fired past the goalkeeper, but the assistant referee¡¯s flag shot up the next moment. "Offside again! Valencia can¡¯t catch a break!" The Valencia players tried to debate but the replay showed the striker was inches ahead of the last defender. The Valencia bench protested vehemently, but the decision stood. Just ten minutes later, another moment of brilliance from Izan led to a second disallowed goal. Drifting to the left wing, he danced past his marker with a series of stepovers before delivering a curling cross. Diego L¨®pez appeared and volleyed it into the net, only for the flag to go up once more. "Oh, the frustration for Valencia!" the commentator cried. "Two goals ruled out, and Izan¡¯s magic is going unrewarded." The Mallorca fans celebrated both decisions as if they had scored themselves, chanting "Fuera! Fuera!" (Offside! Offside!) at the Valencia supporters. With the 30th-minute mark approaching, Valencia won a corner in the 41st minute after sustained pressure. "And Valencia have a corner here. Can they make it count as Izan steps up to take the corner" Izan jogged to the corner flag, the home fans behind him hurling insults and waving flags in an attempt to unnerve him. He placed the ball down and raised his hand, signaling his intention. [Curler activated] [Pinpoint Accuracy activated] Izan, glancing at the keeper, who was off his line a bit, had an idea. The stadium, which was rioting for a moment, fell into a tense hush as Izan ran up to the ball and curled it toward the near post. The delivery was precise, curling wickedly toward the goal. The Stadium went silent for fear of disturbing such a serene scene As it dipped, the ball struck the inside of the post and ricocheted outward. For a split second, the ball seemed to hang in the air before striking the back of Mallorca¡¯s goalkeeper, Pedrag Rajkovi?. The Mallorca players could only watch on as time seemed to freeze, the ball rolling agonizingly over the line. The stadium went silent save for the away section of the stands that had the Valencia fans jumping for joy. "Goal! Goal for Valencia!" the commentator screamed. "What a bizarre sequence! Izan¡¯s corner has somehow found its way in!" The away fans erupted, their cheers drowning out the furious boos from the home crowd. The Mallorca players swarmed the referee, claiming a foul in the box when the players were fighting for the ball but VAR confirmed the goal. Izan, initially subdued in his celebration, clenched his fists and shouted toward the Valencia fans, who chanted his name. "What composure from Izan!" the analyst noted. "Even under this immense pressure, he¡¯s delivered for his team." The home fans were livid, their chants turning hostile as they waved their scarves furiously. Meanwhile, the Valencia bench celebrated wildly, their relief palpable after two disallowed goals. Mallorca pushed hard for an equalizer before halftime, winning a dangerous free kick in stoppage time. Their talisman, Vedat Muriqi, stepped up, curling the ball over the wall and just inches over the bar. After that effort, the halftime whistle blew with Valencia leading 1-0. The players walked off to a mix of cheers and jeers, the tension palpable. In the studio, pundits debated the bizarre goal and praised Izan¡¯s performance. "It wasn¡¯t pretty, but Valencia have the lead," one analyst said. "Mallorca will feel hard done by, but credit to Izan for stepping up in the big moment." As the players prepared for the second half, the atmosphere remained electric. For Valencia, the battle was far from over. For Mallorca, it was a matter of pride and survival. And for Izan, it was another chapter in a story that seemed destined for greatness. A/n: Another 3 chapters coming right up. 2 for the day and 1 extra for the Golden Tickets. Chapter 211: Extra Man The shrill sound of the referee¡¯s whistle signaled halftime, the Valencia players began their slow march toward the tunnel. Despite leading 1-0, their faces betrayed little joy. The first half had been a grueling test of discipline and resolve, with two well-crafted goals from Valencia disallowed for razor-thin offsides. The crowd at Son Moix, relentless in their hostility, made every moment feel like a battle. The stadium erupted into a mix of boos and chants as the Valencia players walked off. Izan, who had created much of Valencia¡¯s attacking threat, remained stoic. He ignored the jeers raining down from the stands, his mind already racing through scenarios for the second half. Behind him, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, Giorgi Mamardashvili, and the rest of the squad trudged forward, mentally bracing for the war to come. Commentators filled the broadcast with their analysis as cameras panned to the Valencia squad disappearing into the tunnel. "What a first half we¡¯ve had! Valencia could easily be out of sight but for those two disallowed goals. Izan, once again, has been instrumental. His ability to read the game, pick a pass, and glide past defenders is simply astonishing." "But let¡¯s not write off Mallorca," another pundit added. "They¡¯re a different beast in the second half, especially here at Son Moix. Valencia will need to keep their focus. A one-goal lead is never safe in a game like this." The Valencia dressing room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the pitch. Players slumped onto benches, sweat dripping from their faces, as they gulped water and caught their breath. The air was thick with tension, but there was also a sense of quiet determination. Rub¨¦n Baraja, the Valencia coach, stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed. His eyes scanned the players, his expression firm but calm. He clapped his hands to get their attention. "Listen up," Baraja began, his voice steady. "We¡¯ve done well out there. You¡¯ve kept your shape, stayed disciplined, and created chances. But this is only half the job." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Mallorca is going to come at us in the second half. They¡¯ll throw everything they have at us. But you need to stay calm. Stay compact. Trust each other." Baraja turned to Izan, who sat near the middle of the room, his young face a mix of puzzlement and focus. "Izan, keep doing what you¡¯re doing. You¡¯re causing them problems every time you touch the ball. Be ready for those moments¡ªthey¡¯ll come." The coach¡¯s gaze shifted to the rest of the squad. "This is our game to lose. Don¡¯t let the noise, the pressure, or the referee get to you. Forty-five minutes, boys. Give it everything." The players nodded, their confidence bolstered by Baraja¡¯s speech. Izan leaned back, his mind replaying the first half¡¯s key moments and thinking about how he could do more. After the 15-minute period passed, the Valencia players returned to the pitch to a cacophony of boos and whistles. The Mallorca fans had not relented, their voices filling every inch of Son Moix. Flares lit up the stands, and chants in Mallorqu¨ª echoed across the stadium. It was a hostile environment, and Valencia needed to stay composed. As the second half kicked off, Mallorca immediately ramped up the intensity. They pressed higher, tackled harder, and moved the ball faster. Every touch from a Valencia player was met with jeers, while every Mallorca tackle drew thunderous applause. In the 51st minute, Mallorca found their equalizer under controversial circumstances. A long ball from the midfield found Vedat Muriqi, who appeared to be clearly offside. The linesman kept his flag down, and Muriqi raced toward goal, calmly slotting the ball past Mamardashvili. The stadium erupted in deafening cheers. Valencia¡¯s players surrounded the referee, their protests passionate but in vain. Izan stood on the edge of the group, his arms outstretched in disbelief. "Ref, he was offside! You have to check it!" he pleaded, his voice carrying over the chaos but the referee just walked away, threatening to book any player who approached "Oh, this is a shocking decision! Muriqi was clearly offside when that ball was played. VAR should intervene here." But VAR did not intervene, and the goal stood. The Valencia fans in the stands showed their disappointment at the refereeing but that was all they could do. The injustice rattled Valencia. Seven minutes later, Mallorca struck again. This time, Dani Rodr¨ªguez picked up a loose ball after what seemed like a clear foul on Gay¨¤ in the buildup. He drove into the box and unleashed a low shot into the corner. The home crowd exploded, flares and scarves waving in celebration. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On the touchline, Rub¨¦n Baraja was livid. He stormed toward the fourth official, shouting, "That was a foul! How can you let that go?" The referee approached and showed Baraja a yellow card, but the Valencia coach did not back down. "This is a disgrace!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the pitch. A second yellow followed, and Baraja was sent off. The camera zoomed in on Baraja as he walked toward the tunnel, shaking his head in frustration. "Two questionable goals for Mallorca, and now Baraja is sent off for defending his team. This is an absolute farce! I¡¯m not one to say but the referee will have a whole lot of trouble coming his way after this match." Despite the chaos, Izan refused to let his team crumble. He clapped his hands, shouting, "Come on, guys! Heads up! We can still do this!" His voice cut through the noise, and his teammates rallied around him. "So we know they have an extra man in the referee by now but I don¡¯t care about that. I will book a place in the final for us so now I¡¯m asking, ¡¯Are you worthy of that final?" His words sounded a bit presumptuous but as Izan spoke, the players listened attentively, every word resonating with them because they knew he would do it. "We are relentless. We are Valencia, so fight". The Valencia players roared at the former¡¯s words as they each dispersed to their positions. [This is really giving off "THIS IS SPARTA" vibes Ngl] After the restart, Valencia were relentless as they tried to level the score. In the 75th minute, Izan began to take control. Picking up the ball deep in his own half, he skipped past two defenders with ease, his balance and close control mesmerizing. The home crowd booed furiously, but they couldn¡¯t help but gasp when he nutmegged another player and drove forward. "Izan is taking this game by the scruff of the neck. What a talent this kid is!" the commentator exclaimed. Izan, with the ball at his feet, galloped across the field skipping past players like they had never played football a day in their life. Getting to the arc of the box, Izan slipped the ball through to Hugo Duro but before the latter could shoot, a sliding tackle came from Sergi Darder to send the ball away for a throw. "Having it tough aren¡¯t ya?" he said to Izan with a subtle smirk but Izan didn¡¯t give him the attention he wanted but instead ran towards the throw line for the ball. With the ball in hand, Gaya hurled it at Izan who had run into space but before Izan could steady himself, he found Sergi Darder ramming into him from behind. Izan winced slightly but held his ground." This is a bit irritating" Izan muttered before proceeding to glance at the ball. With a subtle flick, Izan lifted the ball before kicking it over Sergi Darder. Caught off guard by the sudden skill, Sergi Darder tried to turn and hold Izan but slipped. After seeing Darder fall, several Mallorca players approached Izan but he juggled the ball over them, sending it towards the edge of the box. "Flashy but effective, Izan is away and it¡¯s Izaaaaannn " With the whole stadium watching on, Izan planted his left foot in the grass before sending a rocket from the Volley. The ball skimmed on the grass before slowly rising as it went. Pedrag Rajkovic tensed before lunging at the ball, his right palm getting to the ball but the power behind the ball was too great to be held. Under the eyes of the crowd, the ball rustled the net with many fans wondering "What in the world have I seen?" For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the Valencia fans erupted, their cheers drowning out the jeers. "Ohhhhh my word!!! Izan is truly the man for the job. What a goal from HIM. Heartbreak for Mallorca who thought it was over" Izan sprinted toward the corner flag, his fists clenched, roaring in triumph before putting his index finger to his mouth as if shushing the fans. Izan¡¯s teammates mobbed him, their earlier frustrations replaced by pure elation. "What a goal! Izan, take a bow! From 32 meters out, he¡¯s produced an absolute rocket to drag Valencia back into this game," the commentator shouted. The Mallorca fans were in shock, their voices momentarily silenced. Boos soon followed, but the tension in the air was palpable. With the aggregate score tied at 4-4, the final minutes were a whirlwind of tension. Mallorca pushed desperately for a winner, but Valencia defended with everything they had. Izan, despite dragging Valencia into the game single-handedly, was everywhere¡ªtracking back to help his defenders, holding up the ball to relieve pressure, and driving forward whenever the opportunity arose. As the referee blew the final whistle, the Valencia players collapsed to the ground, exhausted but proud. Izan stood tall, his name echoing from the away section as the traveling fans chanted his name. A/n: 2 out of 4. Have fun reading. Chapter 212: Place In The Final With the aggregate score tied at 4-4, the final minutes were a whirlwind of tension. Mallorca pushed desperately for a winner, but Valencia defended with everything they had. Izan, despite dragging Valencia into the game single-handedly, was everywhere¡ªtracking back to help his defenders, holding up the ball to relieve pressure, and driving forward whenever the opportunity arose. As the referee blew the final whistle, the Valencia players collapsed to the ground, exhausted but proud. Izan stood tall, his name echoing from the away section as the traveling fans chanted his name. ... "Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, with the score locked at 4-4 on aggregate after 90 minutes of intense football at Son Moix. Both Mallorca and Valencia have left everything on the pitch, but it will take an additional 30 minutes to decide who advances to the final and if that doesn¡¯t help, then we could be heading toward a penalty shooting" Tensions are sky-high, and the stakes couldn¡¯t be greater, because this is for a chance to play in the final". the commentator declared as the players gathered for the next half of the match. The camera zoomed in on Valencia¡¯s players, their faces a mix of fatigue and focus. Izan, stood in the center of the huddle with Gaya, speaking with authority that belied his age. His leadership had been pivotal throughout the match and the players knew it. On the other side, Mallorca¡¯s players, buoyed by their home crowd, looked equally determined to capitalize on the momentum they had built in the second half. "The question now is, who has the stamina, the mental strength, and the quality to make it through these 30 minutes? Both sides have fought tooth and nail, and it¡¯s going to take something special to break the deadlock," the co-commentator added. Fans watching in the stadium and their homes couldn¡¯t help but be nervous about what was coming. After a while, the whistle blew, and extra time began. Immediately, the intensity ratcheted up another notch. The Mallorca fans were as loud as ever, urging their team forward with chants that reverberated across the stadium but the Valencia fans weren¡¯t the type of crowd to back down either. Valencia, started cautiously, prioritizing their defensive shape and looking for opportunities to counter. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As the match went on, Mallorca almost found an early breakthrough when Vedat Muriqi rose above the Valencia defense to meet a cross in the 94th minute. His powerful header was destined for the top corner, but Giorgi Mamardashvili, Valencia¡¯s towering goalkeeper, made an incredible diving save. The away fans erupted in cheers, while the home crowd groaned in frustration. "What a save by Mamardashvili! That could¡¯ve been the moment for Mallorca, but Valencia¡¯s keeper stands tall once again," the commentator exclaimed. Wanting to shift the momentum to their side, Valencia responded through Izan. Picking up the ball near the byline, Izan danced past two defenders with effortless skill, drawing gasps from the crowd. His surging stint ended with a clever through ball to Hugo Duro, who fired a low shot that was narrowly saved by Predrag Rajkovi?. "Izan is just magical tonight. Every time he gets the ball, you feel something could happen," the co-commentator remarked. The first half of extra time ended with both sides creating chances but failing to find the net. The tension was palpable as the players took a brief break to regroup. In the depths of the stadium, Rub¨¦n Baraja sat in front of a screen, watching the match unfold. Having been sent off in the second half, the Valencia coach was now a spectator, his emotions written all over his face. He clenched his fists as Mallorca came close and erupted in frustration when Valencia squandered opportunities. When Mamardashvili made his stunning save, Baraja leaped to his feet, punching the air. "That¡¯s it, Giorgi! Keep us in this!" he shouted, pacing back and forth. Baraja¡¯s connection to the team was unshakable, even from afar. As the players returned to the pitch for the second half of extra time, he muttered under his breath, "Come on, boys. One moment of brilliance. That¡¯s all we need." The final 15 minutes of extra time began with both teams visibly fatigued but refusing to back down. Tackles flew in, with the crowd reacting to every challenge. Izan was once again the focal point for Valencia, weaving through Mallorca¡¯s midfield with his quick feet and uncanny vision. In the 112th minute, Mallorca nearly scored when a loose ball fell to Dani Rodr¨ªguez at the edge of the box after Mark who had been subbed on for Mosquera blocked a shot. The former¡¯s shot was powerful but narrowly missed the target, brushing the side netting. The home fans let out a collective groan, while the Valencia supporters breathed a sigh of relief. Valencia, sensing the urgency, began to push forward. Izan dropped deeper to collect the ball, orchestrating attacks with composure and creativity. In the 117th minute, he delivered a perfectly weighted pass to Fran P¨¦rez, whose cross into the box was headed just over the bar by Hugo Guillam¨®n. "Valencia is turning the screw here. They can sense an opportunity, but time is running out," the commentator said. As the back and forth went, the crowd pumped the energy in the atmosphere with their chants but then came the moment that would define the night. With the clock ticking into the 121st minute¡ªone minute of additional time added to the second half of extra time¡ª Valencia won a throw-in deep in Mallorca¡¯s half. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ quickly threw the ball to Izan, who was surrounded by defenders near the corner flag. With a burst of energy that seemed impossible given the circumstances, Izan spun past his marker, using a clever flick to create space. "Izan taking the game by the scruff of the neck. We¡¯ve seen him do wonders but what can he do here again" Izan darted toward the edge of the box, his every movement tracked by the crowd with the ball at his feet. Just as a defender lunged in to stop him, Izan slipped a perfectly timed pass to Javi Guerra, who was waiting near the penalty spot. With the crowd on the edge of their seats, Guerra took a touch and unleashed a low, driven shot. The ball slipped under Rajkovi?¡¯s outstretched arm and into the back of the net. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the away section exploded with joy. Valencia¡¯s players rushed toward Guerra, piling on in celebration. Izan, who had collapsed to his knees after the pass, was quickly swarmed by his teammates. "Incredible! Javi Guerra scores in the dying seconds of extra time, and it¡¯s Izan with the assist! This young man has done it again¡ªwhat a performance!" the commentator roared. The scenes in the stands were polarizing. Valencia¡¯s fans, packed into the away section, were a sea of limbs and scarves, their voices echoing across the stadium. On the other hand, the Mallorca supporters sat in stunned silence, their hands on their heads in disbelief, some, mostly the older fans with tears in their eyes. Baraja, watching from the locker room, erupted in celebration. He punched the air, shouting, "Yes! Yes! That¡¯s how it¡¯s done!" He grabbed one of the staff, pulling them into a jubilant embrace. "Izan, you genius!" he yelled at the screen, a proud smile on his face. Back on the pitch, Izan was mobbed by his teammates, their energy renewed despite their exhaustion. The young star hugged Guerra tightly, his face lit up with a mix of relief and joy. "What a way to win it! Valencia, against all odds, have pulled off a dramatic victory. And who else but Izan to deliver when it mattered most? This young man is writing his own legend." As the referee blew the final whistle, the Valencia players sank to the ground, overcome with emotion. Some cried tears of joy, while others simply lay on their backs, staring up at the night sky. Izan stood in the middle of the chaos, his hands on his hips, taking it all in. "That is it. It is all over and Valencia are now in the finals of the Copa del Rey. Kudos to Valencia and Kudos to Izan for carrying his team into the final" The Mallorca players, meanwhile, looked devastated. Many sat on the pitch, heads in their hands, as their fans applauded them for their effort. Valencia¡¯s supporters stayed long after the whistle, chanting Izan¡¯s name and celebrating their team¡¯s resilience. The young star walked toward the away section, applauding the fans who had traveled to support them. In the locker room, Baraja waited for his players with open arms. When Izan walked in, the coach pulled him into a tight hug. "You were incredible out there," Baraja said, his voice thick with emotion. "You¡¯ve made all of us proud." "Well, I said I¡¯d win silverware before I leave. Now let¡¯s make it all worth it in the final" The first parts of Izan¡¯s words made Baraja frown slightly but he smiled after the next part. "Let¡¯s do that then," Baraja said before letting Izan go. A/n: God I¡¯m tired. Anyways 3/4 Chapter 213: European Ambitions The morning after Valencia¡¯s dramatic victory at Son Moix, the headlines across Spain were ablaze with praise for Los Che and their young prodigy, Izan. Every sports channel, newspaper, and online platform buzzed with talk of Valencia¡¯s first major final in a while. "Valencia¡¯s Revival: Izan Leads the Charge," read the front page of Marca. Another outlet, AS, declared, "At 16, Izan Is Already Writing History." On television, pundits dissected the match and analyzed how Valencia, against all odds, secured their place in the final. Izan¡¯s decisive contribution was at the center of every discussion. "What we witnessed last night was nothing short of extraordinary," one commentator said during the morning sports segment. "This is a Valencia team that has endured its fair share of struggles in recent years, but with players like Izan stepping up, the future looks bright. That assist in the 121st minute¡ªcalm, precise, visionary¡ªit tells you everything about his potential." The Spanish Football Federation¡¯s official website posted a poll shortly after the match, asking fans to vote on who they believed would win the upcoming final: Valencia or Athletic Bilbao. The poll quickly went viral, with fans passionately debating the matchup on social media. "Athletic Bilbao has the players and the experience, but with Izan in this team, Valencia can beat anyone," one user tweeted. "Don¡¯t forget, Betis beat Valencia in the Copa del Rey round matches last year. This could be payback," said another. Meanwhile, back in Valencia, the players were granted a much-needed day of rest. Izan, however, woke up early, his legs sore and his body drained from the grueling match. Freshening up a bit, Izan went down and was greeted by smiles and hugs from Komi and Hori "I¡¯m so proud of you, Izan," his mother, Komi, said as she set a plate of breakfast in front of him. "But you need to rest. You¡¯ve been running yourself ragged." Izan smiled but couldn¡¯t hide the fatigue in his eyes. "I¡¯ll rest after the final," he said, his voice quiet but determined. Komi smiled wryly at his answer, "Just make sure you¡¯re up for it before putting yourself in any tight situations Ok". Izan nodded at her mother¡¯s words before proceeding to wolf down the food while Hori sat beside telling him of her plans for the summer as vacation approached. After breakfast, Izan headed to Valencia¡¯s training facility for a light recovery session. The medical staff monitored him closely, applying ice to his knees and stretching out his muscles. Although there were a few bruises, Izan was relatively fine. Izan spent most of the session in the hydrotherapy pool, letting the water soothe his aching body. While he rested, his teammates drifted in, one by one, for their own recovery routines. With Pietro¡¯s antics, the players could forget about the looming challenges ahead. Hugo Guillam¨®n and Giorgi Mamardashvili shared a laugh about the previous night¡¯s nerve-wracking moments, while Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the team captain, walked over to Izan. "You were incredible out there, kid," Gay¨¤ said, ruffling Izan¡¯s hair. "That assist at the end¡ªpure class." "Thanks, captain," Izan replied with a grin. "But it was a team effort. We all fought for that win." Gay¨¤ nodded, his respect for the youngster evident. "True, but moments like that? They make the difference. Keep it up, Izan. We¡¯re going to need you against Betis in Laliga." The Build-Up to Real Betis As the day passed, the focus shifted to the impending Laliga clash against Real Betis. The players returned to full training, and Baraja emphasized the importance of maintaining their momentum. Though he had been sent off during the Mallorca match, his leadership and tactical expertise were never in doubt. In training sessions, Baraja worked tirelessly with his squad to prepare them for Betis¡¯s strengths. Izan was given a central role in the drills, practicing his link-up play with the forwards and fine-tuning his ability to dictate the tempo from midfield. "Izan, remember," Baraja said during one session, "Betis will try to isolate you. They know you¡¯re our key player. Stay sharp, stay calm, and trust your instincts." The young star nodded, his focus unwavering. While the players trained, the anticipation for the final that was nowhere near was at an all-time high. Nico Williams of Athletic Bilbao had taken to one of his Social Media handles to make a post about his vacation plans after winning the Copa del Rey final causing a few Valencia fans to be irked by how he had already assumed he would be winning the final. On the other end of things, News outlets ran features on Valencia¡¯s resurgence, focusing on their journey to the final and the pivotal role Izan had played. One television special titled "The Boy Who Carries Valencia" delved into Izan¡¯s meteoric rise, from his breakout performance against Mallorca earlier in the season, his performances while he carried Valencia to win against Atl¨¦tico Madrid and Real Madrid to his heroic showing in the semifinal. The program included interviews with his family, teammates, and coaches, all of whom praised his humility, work ethic, and extraordinary talent. "I¡¯ve coached a lot of players," Baraja said in the interview, "but Izan is special. He has this rare combination of skill, intelligence, and composure. And at 16? It¡¯s incredible." While these off-pitch antics went on, Valencia kept preparing for the Laliga clash. ..... The day of the clash against Real Betis had arrived, and the anticipation was palpable. Though Valencia¡¯s Copa del Rey final against Athletic Bilbao loomed large, tonight¡¯s La Liga game at Mestalla was crucial for the club¡¯s European ambitions. A victory over Betis, a direct rival for European spots, would be a massive boost for Valencia¡¯s confidence and league position with the team in a stable 4th position with Athletic behind in 5th and Betis, hot on their heels in 6th place. Izan woke up early in his apartment, sunlight streaming through the curtains. After a quick breakfast prepared by his mom, Komi, he spent some time on the balcony, looking over the city. Below, fans were already starting to gather, dressed in orange and black, singing Valencia chants. His phone buzzed with messages of encouragement. Olivia sent a short but reassuring text: "You¡¯ve got this, Izan. One step at a time. I¡¯ll be watching." After responding with a grateful smile, Izan headed to the training ground, where the team was gathering before the match. At the training complex, the players sat in a briefing room, listening to Rub¨¦n Baraja¡¯s final tactical instructions. "Betis will press high and attack through the flanks," Baraja explained, pointing at the board. "We must stay disciplined and compact. Izan, you¡¯ll play slightly deeper today. Use your vision to pick out Diego Lopez and Fran P¨¦rez in transition." Izan nodded as he understood his role perfectly. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After the session, the players had some downtime before heading to the stadium. Izan spent it chatting with his old academy teammates, joking and reminiscing about their early days. Though now the centerpiece of Valencia¡¯s squad, these moments reminded him to stay grounded. "You¡¯re still that kid from the academy," Hugo Guillam¨®n teased, clapping him on the back. "Except now I¡¯ve got more responsibility," Izan shot back with a grin. By the time the team bus arrived at Mestalla, the streets were a sea of orange and black. Fans chanted, waved flags, and banged on the sides of the bus. Inside, the players could feel the energy vibrating through the vehicle. Izan sat by the window, watching as young kids held up signs with his name on them. One read: "Izan, Our Future!" He smiled and gave them a wave, knowing how much their support meant. As the team entered the stadium, they were met with cameras and flashing lights. Izan kept his head down, his focus entirely on the game ahead. The dressing room was alive with nervous energy. Players laced their boots and adjusted their kits, while Baraja walked around, offering individual words of encouragement. "Izan," he said, stopping in front of the teenager. " Stay composed, and remember: the simple pass can be just as important as the spectacular one." Izan nodded. "I¡¯m ready, coach." As the players lined up to head out, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the captain, gave a rallying speech. "This is our house. Let¡¯s show them who we are. No fear. No hesitation. We fight for every ball." The players jogged onto the pitch to a deafening roar. Mestalla was alive with energy, the fans¡¯ chants echoing in unison. Izan took a moment to soak it all in before jogging across the field, exchanging passes with Fran P¨¦rez and Pietro as well as Sosa for a bit. "Welcome folks to an exciting fixture with Valencia going against Real Betis here at the Mestalla. Two sides each with hopes of European football but only one can take all three points. We are minutes away from kickoff and I¡¯d like to see the exciting football that Valencia plays under Izan¡¯s influence. After a while, the referee¡¯s whistle sounded to start the match. Betis started aggressively, pressing high and looking to exploit Valencia¡¯s backline. The visitors had an early chance in the 7th minute when Isco cut inside and fired a shot just wide of the post. Izan, tightly marked by Betis¡¯s midfielders, struggled to find space early on. However, he gradually grew into the game, dropping deeper to collect the ball and dictate play. In the 20th minute, he skipped past two Betis players with a smooth drag-back and turn, earning a loud cheer from the crowd. "That¡¯s brilliant from Izan! The composure and skill this young man has are unbelievable," the commentator exclaimed. The fans roared their approval, chanting his name as the match went on and on Valencia had their first big chance in the 34th minute. Izan played a perfectly weighted through ball to Almeida, who broke free down the left. His cross found Fran P¨¦rez, but the winger¡¯s header was straight at Rui Silva. Betis responded with a counterattack, forcing Mamardashvili into a diving save to deny Borja Iglesias. The Mestalla crowd held its breath as the ball was cleared. A/n: okay so I couldn¡¯t make it four chapters yesterday. I¡¯ll make it up to you by adding the extra chapter today. Anyways have fun. Chapter 214: Sly As the clock ticked closer to halftime, the score remained deadlocked at 0-0. The atmosphere in the Mestalla Stadium was electric, the passionate fans chanting and cheering, urging their team to break the deadlock With just five minutes left in the first half, Izan jogged toward Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the captain and a veteran leader on the pitch. Almeida and Pietro joined them near the edge of the penalty box during a brief lull in play after winning a throw-in. The four formed a tight huddle, speaking in hushed tones to avoid giving away their strategy. "Alright," Izan began, his voice steady despite the pressure. "We need to catch them off guard. Gaya, you overlap down the left and pull their right back out of position. Almeida stays central and draws their defensive midfielder away from the edge of the box. Pietro, make a near-post run to drag the center-backs. I¡¯ll come in late for the second ball. If they hesitate for even a second, we¡¯ll punish them." The players nodded, each visualizing their role in the sequence. Gay¨¤ clapped Izan on the shoulder. "You¡¯ve got this, kid. Let¡¯s make it happen." As play resumed, Valencia earned a throw-in deep in the opponent¡¯s half. Gay¨¤ quickly took it, passing it to Almeida, who immediately laid it off to Izan. Izan, with his signature blend of composure and flair, executed a feint that left his marker stumbling. He passed back to Gay¨¤, who had sprinted into the overlapping position as planned. Gay¨¤ sent a low-driven cross into the box, just as Pietro darted toward the near post, dragging both center-backs with him. Almeida hovered just outside the penalty area, drawing the defensive midfielder. The ball skimmed past Pietro, exactly as designed, and found its way to Izan, who had positioned himself perfectly at the edge of the six-yard box. Without hesitation, Izan unleashed a curling first-time shot with his left foot, sending the ball sailing past the outstretched goalkeeper into the top corner of the net. The stadium erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, the roar deafening as Valencia fans celebrated the breakthrough. "Gay¨¤ with the overlap¡­he whips in a low cross¡­Pietro¡¯s movement is brilliant, and¡ªwait! Here¡¯s Izan at the back post! He hits it! GOOOOOOAL!!! Izan does it again! What a strike from the 16-year-old sensation! Valencia leads 1-0 just before halftime!" The commentator¡¯s voice crescendoed with excitement, his words echoing the disbelief and joy of the fans. The Mestalla erupted into pandemonium. Fans jumped to their feet, waving scarves and flags, chanting Izan¡¯s name. The Ultras in the Curva Nord section ignited flares, their passion illuminating the already electric atmosphere. "Izan! Izan! Izan!" the chants grew louder, as supporters embraced one another in celebration. On the pitch, Izan was mobbed by his teammates, Gay¨¤ lifting him off the ground in a bear hug. Almeida and Pietro ruffled his hair, grinning from ear to ear. Izan, though composed, couldn¡¯t hide the spark of pride in his eyes. He pointed to the sky in a quiet moment of gratitude before turning to the fans, raising his arms to acknowledge their support. As the referee blew the whistle to signal halftime, Valencia walked off the pitch with renewed energy, their one-goal lead a testament to their teamwork and Izan¡¯s brilliance. The fans continued to cheer, their belief in their young star soaring to new heights. In the locker room, the players rallied around Izan. "You¡¯re a magician, kid," Gay¨¤ said, clapping him on the back. Izam smiled at Gaya¡¯s words before simply walking to his locker. ..... On the other hand, the atmosphere in the Real Betis locker room was tense. The players sat on benches, some catching their breath, others replaying Valencia¡¯s goal in their minds. The coach, a sharp-eyed tactician with a reputation for analyzing young talent, strode in with purpose. He clapped his hands, commanding attention. "Listen up!" he barked. "We¡¯ve been outplayed by a 16-year-old. That¡¯s unacceptable, as we expected, but I think I might have figured him out." [At this point, every coach does] The players exchanged glances, some skeptical, others intrigued. The coach grabbed a marker and stood in front of the tactics board, circling Izan¡¯s position repeatedly. "This kid¡ªthis Izan¡ªis brilliant, no doubt," he admitted. "But brilliance often comes with predictability, especially with players so young. He thrives in space, he loves late runs, and he¡¯s always thinking two steps ahead. We¡¯re going to cut off his supply and isolate him." He pointed at his midfielders. "First, double-mark him whenever he drops deep to collect the ball. Don¡¯t give him time to think. Juanmi, that¡¯s on you. Press him hard, but don¡¯t foul unless you absolutely have to. Make him rush his decisions." Turning to his defenders, the coach continued, "Second, if he tries those late runs, we stick to zone marking. Don¡¯t follow Pietro or Almeida if they drag you out of position. Stay compact and force Izan to run into traffic. The moment he hesitates, we win the ball back." Finally, he addressed the team as a whole. "We¡¯re not just stopping him¡ªwe¡¯re frustrating him. He¡¯s young; if we shut him down early in the second half, he¡¯ll lose confidence. Then, we hit them on the counter. Let¡¯s turn this game around!" The players nodded, their confidence slowly returning. One defender, Chadi Riad smirked. "He¡¯s good, but let¡¯s see how he handles being suffocated." The coach gave a tight smile. "Exactly. Make him invisible, and Valencia will crumble. Now get out there and show them what we¡¯re made of!" As the players filed out of the locker room, there was a renewed determination in their eyes. Whether or not the plan would work, one thing was certain¡ªReal Betis wasn¡¯t going to make things easy for Izan in the second half. The second half kicked off with Real Betis executing their coach¡¯s instructions to the letter. Izan found himself swarmed every time he touched the ball, with Juanmi pressing him aggressively and another midfielder cutting off his passing lanes. The Valencia fans grew restless as their team struggled to find the same rhythm that had led to the first goal. Izan, however, remained calm. Every time he received the ball, he absorbed the pressure, playing short, safe passes back to his midfielders. To the untrained eye, it seemed like he had been neutralized. But in Izan¡¯s mind, the game was a chessboard, and he was setting up the next move. In the 68th minute, Valencia managed to recover possession deep in their half. Gay¨¤ quickly pushed forward, feeding the ball to Almeida, who in turn passed it to Izan near the halfway line. Once again, the Real Betis players converged on him like moths to a flame. The commentary team noticed the shift and commented on it. "Real Betis have done an excellent job of shutting Izan down so far in this half. Every time he gets the ball, he¡¯s got two, sometimes three players around him." "Exactly. It looks like the teenager is struggling to find space or make an impact like he did in the first half." But Izan wasn¡¯t struggling¡ªhe was baiting them. With a quick glance, he spotted Hugo Duro making a darting diagonal run between the center-backs. Izan feigned a pass to Gay¨¤ on the wing, drawing the defenders toward the left. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then, with a moment of sheer brilliance, he slipped a perfectly weighted through ball between two Betis players, threading the needle like a seasoned maestro. Duro latched onto the pass, his first touch immaculate as he raced toward goal. The goalkeeper rushed out, but Duro kept his composure, slotting the ball past him and into the bottom corner. "What a pass! Izan, out of nowhere, with a defense-splitting through ball! Hugo Duro is in¡­and GOOOOOOOOAL! Valencia doubles their lead, and it¡¯s that young man again orchestrating the magic!" "Incredible vision from Izan! Just when we thought Real Betis had him under control, he proves why he¡¯s the best player on this pitch tonight!" The Mestalla erupted once more, the fans now chanting not just Izan¡¯s name but also Hugo Duro¡¯s. The Valencia players swarmed Duro in celebration, while Izan, grinning knowingly, pointed to his temple as he jogged back to his half. The camera panned to the Real Betis coach on the sidelines, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. He threw his hands up, muttering under his breath as he turned to his assistant. "He played us¡­" On the pitch, the Real Betis players were visibly rattled. Juanmi, who had been tasked with marking Izan, slammed the ball into the ground in frustration. "How did he see that pass?" he muttered, shaking his head. The Valencia supporters were in full voice now, the Mestalla rocking with chants of, "?Izan, Izan, nuestro campe¨®n!" One fan, holding up a banner that read "The Wizard of Mestalla", turned to the person next to him and shouted, "Amunt? Valencia" As the players reset for the restart, Izan gave a quick nod to Hugo Duro and a sly smile to the Real Betis defenders. They had tried to stop him, but Izan had proven once again that he was always a step ahead. The second goal wasn¡¯t just a moment of brilliance¡ªit was a statement: Izan could adapt to anything. A/n: second of the day. Sorry guys I updated the wrong chapter. Anyways have fun and I¡¯ll see you in a bit. Chapter 215: Opportunist[Golden ticket chapter]] As the players reset for the restart, Izan gave a quick nod to Hugo Duro and a sly smile to the Real Betis defenders. They had tried to stop him, but Izan had proven once again that he was always a step ahead. The second goal wasn¡¯t just a moment of brilliance¡ªit was a statement: Izan could adapt to anything. With Valencia now leading 2-0, Real Betis knew they had to respond quickly. Their coach, visibly agitated, barked orders from the sidelines, urging his players to push higher up the pitch and commit more bodies forward. The away side began to play with desperation, flooding Valencia¡¯s half with numbers in search of a goal. Valencia, however, stood resolute. Cenk and Mark marshaled the defense brilliantly, cutting off crosses and making crucial interceptions. In midfield, Almeida and Pietro worked tirelessly to disrupt Betis¡¯ rhythm, while Izan drifted in and out of the action, carefully picking his moments to influence the game. In the 77th minute, the visitors found a breakthrough. A quick counterattack caught Valencia¡¯s defense out of shape, and Betis¡¯ star striker slotted home a low shot from just inside the box. The score was now 2-1, and suddenly, the Mestalla grew tense. "Game on! Real Betis have clawed one back, and with just over ten minutes left, it¡¯s anyone¡¯s game now!" As the Betis players celebrated, Izan calmly retrieved the ball from the net and jogged back to the center circle. His face was stoic, his mind already racing through scenarios to close out the game. Gay¨¤ approached him, clapping him on the back. "Keep us steady, kid. This is where we show our mettle." Izan nodded. "We¡¯ll finish this." From the restart, Valencia slowed the tempo, passing the ball with precision to frustrate Betis. Izan became the heartbeat of the team, dictating play from the center of the pitch. Despite Betis pressing high, he rarely put a foot wrong, gliding past challenges and finding pockets of space to relieve pressure. As the game entered stoppage time, Betis threw everything forward, leaving their defense exposed. Izan, ever the opportunist, spotted the chance to seal the game. After intercepting a loose pass near Valencia¡¯s box, Almeida quickly fed the ball to Izan, who turned and sprinted up the field with breathtaking pace. The Betis defenders scrambled to keep up, but Izan was unstoppable. As he approached the edge of the penalty area, he feinted a shot, drawing two defenders toward him, before slipping a no-look pass to Fran P¨¦rez on the right. P¨¦rez blasted the ball into the roof of the net, sending the Mestalla into raptures for the 3rd time in the match. "It¡¯s Fran P¨¦rez! GOOOOOOAL! Valencia makes it 3-1, and it¡¯s that man Izan pulling the strings again! He¡¯s unstoppable tonight! What a counterattack!" "That¡¯s the hallmark of a world-class player. He¡¯s not just a goal scorer¡ªhe¡¯s a game-changer. Valencia are going home with all three points!" Moments later, the referee blew the final whistle, and the Mestalla erupted in celebration. The fans sang in unison, waving scarves and banners high in the air. Valencia¡¯s players embraced on the pitch, their hard-fought victory secured. Izan, as always, was at the center of it all. As he clapped for the fans, they chanted his name with fervor: "Izan! Izan! Izan!" As always, the pundits couldn¡¯t stop praising the young star. "He¡¯s only 16, but he plays like he¡¯s been in the game for a decade. Izan didn¡¯t just survive the pressure tonight¡ªhe thrived under it." "If Real Betis thought they had him figured out, they¡¯ve learned the hard way that you can¡¯t predict genius. This kid is special." As the team walked off the pitch, Gay¨¤ draped an arm around Izan. "You¡¯re something else, you know that?" he said, grinning. Izan laughed softly. "We all are. I just played my part." In the tunnel, the Betis coach watched Izan disappear toward the Valencia dressing room, shaking his head. "Figured him out," he muttered to himself. "Yeah, right." Valencia¡¯s 3-1 victory solidified their standing in the league, and Izan¡¯s performance left no doubt that the prodigy was destined for greatness. As the fans filtered out of the Mestalla, one thing was clear: the future of Valencia might be brighter than ever, and its glow came from the young star at the heart of it all but the brighter it shined, the sooner it died out and with other top clubs on the hunt for their "Game changer", Izan could soon be snapped up. ...¡­ Rub¨¦n Baraja entered the room filled with reporters, still visibly pleased from the 3-1 victory over Real Betis. The flashes of cameras lit the room as he took his seat, Valencia¡¯s emblem glowing behind him on the backdrop. The coach adjusted his microphone and gestured for the reporters to begin. A journalist from Marca started: "Rub¨¦n, congratulations on the victory. What are your thoughts on the team¡¯s performance tonight?" Baraja smiled. "Thank you. I¡¯m proud of the team. Real Betis is a tough opponent, well-organized and dangerous on the counter, but we executed our game plan well. In the first half, we controlled the tempo and took our chances. The second half was more challenging¡ªthey adapted, and we had to dig deep. But we showed resilience, and our quality came through in key moments. I think the fans enjoyed what they saw." Another reporter from AS jumped in: "Real Betis tried to target Izan specifically in the second half, but he still managed to deliver two decisive assists. How do you assess his performance tonight?" Baraja leaned forward. "Izan is¡­ a phenomenon, isn¡¯t he? He¡¯s only 16, yet he reads the game like someone with years of experience. Betis tried to shut him down, but great players always find solutions. What impressed me the most was how he stayed calm under pressure, made adjustments, and played for the team. That through ball for Hugo Duro¡¯s goal? Pure class. And his involvement in the third goal showed his ability to lead counterattacks. He¡¯s a special talent, but we must protect him and keep him grounded." As the questions flowed, a reporter from El Pa¨ªs asked: "Your next game is a big one¡ªBarcelona at the Mestalla. They¡¯ve been in great form. How do you approach a game like that?" Baraja¡¯s expression grew more serious. "Yes, Barcelona is one of the best teams in the world, and they¡¯re always a challenge. They have players who can change the game in an instant, so we¡¯ll need to be at our very best. But we¡¯re playing at the Mestalla, and that gives us an edge. Our fans are incredible¡ªthey create an atmosphere that pushes the players to another level. We¡¯ll study Barcelona carefully, look for their weaknesses, and prepare to exploit them. We¡¯ll need to be disciplined defensively and clinical in attack." He paused, then added, "Matches like this are also a chance for players like Izan to test themselves against the very best. These are the games where you grow." "Rub¨¦n, speaking of Barcelona, one of their standout players this season has been Lamine Yamal. At just 16 years old, he¡¯s making waves, much like Izan. What¡¯s your assessment of him?" a reporter followed after Baraja finished. Baraja leaned back, a thoughtful smile crossing his face. "Lamine Yamal is an extraordinary talent. It¡¯s rare to see a player so young with such confidence, technique, and ability to influence games at the highest level. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Watching him play, you can see he has that natural flair and creativity that makes defenders nervous every time he gets the ball." He paused before continuing. "I admire how mature he is for his age. Barcelona have done well to trust him and integrate him into their team. It¡¯s not easy to perform consistently at that level when the spotlight is on you, but Lamine handles it well. He¡¯s already a decisive player for them, whether it¡¯s his dribbling, his eye for a pass, or his ability to score in big moments." Baraja tried to cut the interview short after that but before he could do so, a follow-up question came: "Do you see similarities between Lamine Yamal and Izan?" Baraja, already up, sat back down and nodded. "In some ways, yes. Both are incredibly gifted and have a natural understanding of the game that you can¡¯t teach. They also share that rare ability to decide matches despite their young age. But they¡¯re different types of players. Lamine is more of a creative winger, someone who thrives in one-on-one situations and loves to take risks in the final third. Izan, on the other hand, is more versatile. He can play deeper, dictate the tempo, and still be decisive in the final third. "What they both share is a bright future, and I think it¡¯s exciting for football fans to witness two young stars rising at the same time." After this Baraja ended with a compliment: "Lamine Yamal is a great player, and I look forward to seeing him and Izan on the same pitch. Matches like this, with players of such talent, are why we love football." After his words, Baraja got up, with the moderator ending the session. Chapter 216: looming Challenges The debate unfolded during a popular football show, F¨²tbol Total, where the spotlight was firmly on Valencia¡¯s upcoming fixtures: a high-stakes La Liga clash with Barcelona at the Mestalla, followed by the Copa del Rey final against Athletic Bilbao. The central question? Should Valencia go all-out against Barcelona or prioritize resting players for the Copa del Rey final against Athletic Bilbao? Pundit 1: Raul G¨®mez "Look, Valencia can¡¯t afford to back down against Barcelona, especially at the Mestalla. It¡¯s not just about three points; it¡¯s about momentum, belief, and showing they can compete with the very best. Resting players before the final sends the wrong message to the squad and the fans. What if you rest players and still lose the final? Then you¡¯ve lost everything. Play your strongest XI against Barcelona, build confidence, and carry that into the final. Big teams play to win every game!" Pundit 2: Carlos Sanz "Raul, that¡¯s idealistic but reckless. The Copa del Rey final is Valencia¡¯s best chance to win silverware this season. Athletic Bilbao is a strong team, and Valencia will need their key players fresh. Barcelona is a tough opponent¡ªplaying full strength against them risks injuries or fatigue ahead of the final. You have to be pragmatic. Rotate the squad against Barcelona, focus on the cup final, and give your players the best chance to lift that trophy." Pundit 3: Andrea Molina "I understand both perspectives, but why does it have to be one or the other? Valencia can field a mix of starters and bench players against Barcelona. Keep key players like Izan and Gay¨¤ in for the first hour to stabilize the game, then sub them off if things are under control. It¡¯s about smart management. You can¡¯t completely sacrifice a league game, especially against Barcelona, but you can¡¯t risk the final either. Balance is the key." The debate spilled over onto social media, with Valencia fans passionately weighing in. "You don¡¯t rest players against Barcelona at the Mestalla. It¡¯s an insult to the fans who show up for these big games!" "Momentum matters! If we beat Barcelona, it¡¯ll give us confidence for the final. We need to keep fighting on all fronts." "The final is the priority. A trophy is more important than three points against Barcelona. Rest Izan, Gay¨¤, and the others!" "We¡¯ve waited years for silverware. Don¡¯t risk it for one league game. Prioritize the final, no question." "Why can¡¯t we play a mix? Start Izan but sub him out early. Same with Gay¨¤. Protect them but don¡¯t give up the game." "We need to trust Baraja to manage the squad properly. He knows what¡¯s at stake." As the debate raged on, the host of F¨²tbol Total posed a final question to the panel: "At the end of the day, Valencia fans want both¡ªresults against Barcelona and the Copa trophy. But if you had to choose, what would be more important for Valencia right now? Three points to boost their league campaign, or bringing home the Copa del Rey?" The camera panned to each pundit as they gave their final thoughts. Raul G¨®mez: "The league¡ªit¡¯s the backbone of the season. You don¡¯t abandon it." Carlos Sanz: "The Copa¡ªit¡¯s a tangible reward for the fans and the club." Andrea Molina: "Both are important, but the Copa is history in the making. That has to come first." The show cut to a commercial, but the debate was far from over. Fans across Valencia continued to argue, knowing that the next two games could define their entire season. Meanwhile, all eyes were on Rub¨¦n Baraja, who now faced one of the most difficult decisions of his managerial career. ...¡­ Rub¨¦n Baraja sat alone in his office at Valencia¡¯s training ground, the light from his desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The evening had been quiet until the phone call came. The club¡¯s board representative delivered the message in no uncertain terms: "Rub¨¦n, the Copa del Rey is the priority. We need that trophy¡ªit¡¯s been too long. The game against Barcelona is important, of course, but we cannot risk our best players ahead of the final. Find a balance, but don¡¯t jeopardize the final." Baraja leaned back in his chair after hanging up, his mind racing. He had expected the conversation but still felt the weight of the directive pressing down on him. As much as he valued the board¡¯s input, he knew this decision wasn¡¯t just about strategy¡ªit was about the identity of Valencia CF, the fans, and his belief in what his team could achieve. He stared at the tactical board in front of him, which displayed his lineup options. On one side, the full-strength XI stood bold and confident, featuring Izan, Gay¨¤, Almeida, and Hugo Duro. On the other side, a rotated squad was pinned, with key players either rested or set to start on the bench. Baraja muttered to himself, "Do I pull back against Barcelona? At the Mestalla? With 45,000 fans chanting our name? What message does that send to the players? To Izan, who thrives on challenges like these?" He knew the fans wouldn¡¯t take kindly to fielding a weakened side against Barcelona. The Mestalla was a fortress, and the pride of Valencia demanded they fight, no matter the opponent. But the Copa final against Athletic Bilbao was tantalizingly close¡ªa chance to end the trophy drought and etch this team¡¯s name into the club¡¯s history. Baraja stood up and began pacing the room, weighing his options. After a few moments, he returned to the tactical board, picked up a marker, and started scribbling changes. "We keep Izan in," he decided aloud. "But we manage his minutes. Gay¨¤ starts¡ªwe need his leadership¡ªbut we¡¯ll sub him off if the game drags. Almeida and Hugo Duro¡­ they¡¯ll rotate in depending on how the match unfolds." He stepped back and surveyed the adjusted lineup. It wasn¡¯t full strength, but it wasn¡¯t surrender, either. It was a calculated risk. ... The next morning, Baraja gathered his coaching staff in the briefing room. The atmosphere was tense as they waited to hear his decision. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Here¡¯s the plan," Baraja began, pointing to the board. "We¡¯re going to balance this. The board wants us to prioritize the Copa final, and we will. But we¡¯re not rolling over for Barcelona. We¡¯ll field a mix of starters and reserves. Izan will play, but I want him off after 60 minutes if the situation allows or he¡¯ll come off the bench. Gay¨¤ starts, but we¡¯ll rotate him, too. We¡¯ll fight to stay in the game and, if the opportunity comes, we¡¯ll go for it. This isn¡¯t about giving up¡ªthis is about being smart." The staff nodded, some looking relieved, others still processing the challenge of facing Barcelona without going full throttle. "One more thing," Baraja added. "Make sure the players know this is not a step back. This is about making every moment count, whether it¡¯s Barcelona or the Copa final. They need to be sharp, focused, and ready to adapt." The staff nodded at Baraja¡¯s last words before they dispersed to fulfill their various activities. ...¡­ The Valencia squad¡¯s WhatsApp group was usually filled with lighthearted banter¡ªjokes, memes, and the occasional complaint about training. But with the matches against Barcelona and Athletic Bilbao looming, the mood had shifted. The players were buzzing with speculation about what Rub¨¦n Baraja¡¯s plan would be. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤: "Alright, boys, who wants to bet Baraja starts rotating the squad against Bar?a? You know the board¡¯s probably breathing down his neck about the Copa." Izan: "If he rotates, he¡¯s definitely keeping me in. Can¡¯t risk taking a break when we¡¯re up against Barcelona. That¡¯s the game where I shine." Hugo Duro: "Oh, come on, Izan. We know you love playing against the big teams, but what about the final? You want to limp into it because Bar?a¡¯s midfield decided to smash your legs for 90 minutes?" Andr¨¦ Almeida: "True. Those guys don¡¯t hold back, especially when they know how important you are to us. I wouldn¡¯t mind sitting this one out a bit if it means going full gas in the final." Pietro: "Come on, Andr¨¦. It¡¯s Barcelona! Who doesn¡¯t want to play against them? I don¡¯t care if I have to run myself into the ground, I want to be out there at the Mestalla." Gay¨¤: "We all do, but let¡¯s not kid ourselves. The Copa is our biggest shot at a trophy. We win that, and we make history. The board knows it, and Baraja knows it too." Izan: "But what about the fans, though? Imagine rotating against Bar?a at home. The Mestalla will go crazy if we don¡¯t show up with everything we¡¯ve got." Hugo Guillam¨®n: "He¡¯s got a point. The fans won¡¯t forgive us if we don¡¯t at least try to beat Barcelona. They see that game as just as important as the final." Javi Guerra: "Yeah, but they¡¯ll forgive us if we win the Copa. Lose the final and they¡¯ll forget whatever happened against Barcelona. It¡¯s about the trophy, man." Cenk ?zkacar: "Here¡¯s the real question¡ªdo we think Baraja will try to balance both? A mixed lineup maybe? Rotate some of us but keep the core guys in?" Gay¨¤: "He¡¯s probably thinking about that right now. You know how he is. He¡¯ll want us to stay competitive but protect the players he knows he¡¯ll need against Athletic." Thierry Correia: "Okay, but what if he rests Izan? Think about it: no crazy flicks, no dribbles, no risky runs into three defenders. What will we even do with the ball?" Izan: "Haha, very funny, Thierry. I¡¯ll make sure to nutmeg you in training tomorrow for that one." Gay¨¤: "Settle down, kids. Let¡¯s focus. No nutmegs until after we beat Barcelona and Bilbao." With the tension a bit reduced, the players readied themselves for the preparations ahead. A/n: sorry guys for the late releases. My lectures have been a bit awkwardly placed so I¡¯m suffering but there will be changes soon Chapter 217: Simulation The anticipation for the clash against Barcelona lingered in the air like an unspoken truth. It was all anyone at Valencia could think about. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players moved with purpose during training, each pass and run carrying a sense of urgency. For the past few days, the coaching staff had drilled the team relentlessly, trying to prepare them for the tactical challenges of facing one of the best teams in Europe. Izan was the focal point of their plans. Even though he had been told he wouldn¡¯t start, the coaches spent considerable time working on scenarios where he could turn the tide as a substitute. For Izan, this was both an honor and a frustration. He wanted to be out there from the first whistle, to lead his team in what was arguably the most important game of their season so far. "You¡¯ve got to be sharp, Izan," said coach Ruben Baraja, pulling him aside after a particularly grueling drill. "When you come on, you won¡¯t have time to ease into the game. You¡¯ll need to make an immediate impact." Izan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "I¡¯ll be ready, coach. Just tell me when to go, and I¡¯ll deliver." Despite his confidence, a knot of frustration had settled in his chest. He had worked so hard to reach this level, to prove he could perform against the very best. To sit on the bench, even for tactical reasons, felt like a step back. The day before the match, Valencia held their final training session at the Paterna training intensity and camaraderie, with players encouraging each other as they refined their tactics. The coaching staff had set up a series of drills to simulate Barcelona¡¯s high press and intricate passing game. "Izan, you¡¯re on the counterattack group," Baraja called out. Izan jogged over to join the group of players tasked with breaking quickly from defense to attack. This was where he thrived¡ªhis speed, vision, and composure under pressure made him deadly on the counter. As the drill began, Izan received a pass from the defender and turned sharply, leaving his marker trailing. He spotted the run of his teammate, Valencia¡¯s striker Hugo Duro, and threaded a perfectly weighted through ball into his path. Duro, taking control calmly slotted it past the keeper, and the small group cheered. "Textbook, Izan!" shouted one of the assistants. The team moved on to set-piece practice, focusing on defending corners and free kicks. Izan, though not the tallest player, was often positioned on the edge of the box to launch counterattacks. During one drill, he intercepted a wayward clearance and sent a curling shot toward the top corner, forcing the goalkeeper into a stunning save. "That¡¯s what I like to see!" Baraja yelled, clapping his hands at Izan¡¯s shot at goal as well as Marmadashvili¡¯s save. As training wrapped up, the players gathered in a circle for a final pep talk. Ruben Baraja addressed them with a calm but determined tone. "Tomorrow, we face one of the toughest teams in the league. But remember¡ªthey¡¯re human, just like us. Stick to the plan, trust each other, and don¡¯t give up, no matter what. We¡¯ve worked too hard to back down now." The players clapped and cheered, their spirits high. Izan looked around at his teammates, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. They weren¡¯t the biggest club, nor the richest, but they had heart. And sometimes, heart was enough. ...... The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the skyline as Izan left the training ground, his legs tired from the day¡¯s intense session. The Paterna facility had emptied out, with the last few players trickling off to their cars. Izan, still in his Valencia training kit, walked to the car he had booked in the far corner of the parking lot, his steps slow and methodical. [Damn, driver must have it hard] The sound of his slides crunching against the gravel echoed in the quiet space, the occasional shout of a teammate or the hum of a passing car the only interruptions. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of fresh grass and sweat¡ªfragrant reminders of a day well spent. It was at moments like this, between the high stakes and expectations of his professional life, that Izan felt the weight of it all settle in. Sliding into the car, he let out a quiet sigh, resting his head against the headrest for a moment as the driver drove away. Izan on the other hand, stared out at the empty training ground in his rearview mirror, taking one last look for the day. --- The drive through Valencia¡¯s streets was peaceful, a sharp contrast to the chaotic energy of training and the upcoming matches. It wasn¡¯t the adrenaline of the game or the pressure of performing that occupied his mind. No, today his thoughts circled back to something simpler. Home. The driver made his way through the streets Izan knew so well¡ªthe same ones he¡¯d rode through on countless occasions, long before he had signed his first professional contract. As he passed familiar buildings and small caf¨¦s, memories of childhood drifted into his mind: the weekend walks with Komi and Hori, those lazy afternoons playing football with friends in the park. .... "Is that my favorite footballer?" Komi called from the kitchen, her voice light and teasing as she heard the door creak. "Of course," Izan replied with a grin, hanging his keys on the hook by the door. "How was your day, Mom?" "Same as usual, keeping everything running smoothly around here," she answered, though there was a hint of pride in her voice. She had always managed to make it sound like she was doing far less than she really was. He kicked off his shoes and moved toward the kitchen, where he found Komi stirring something on the stove. The smell of home-cooked food filled the air, making him feel instantly more at ease. "I was thinking of making my famous stew tonight," Komi said with a knowing smile, glancing at him over her shoulder. "What do you think?" "That¡¯s a yes from me," Izan said, moving to grab a glass of water from the counter. "I¡¯m starving." "Good, because Hori¡¯s already gone through half the bread," Komi added with a chuckle. As Izan sat down at the kitchen table, he let his thoughts wander. The day had been tough¡ªtraining had pushed him harder than usual. Izan reached for his phone, scrolling through a few messages¡ªmostly fans wishing him luck for the upcoming match, and a few from Olivia. He tapped out a quick reply before placing the phone back down, focusing back on the simple, grounding conversation with his mother. "By the way," Komi started as she set a bowl of stew in front of him, "your sister wants to watch a movie tonight. I told her we could all watch something, but you might need to pick since she and I are clearly out of touch when it comes to movies these days." Izan chuckled. "I¡¯ll choose something decent. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got this." The food, the familiar rhythm of his family¡¯s banter, and the easy laughter that filled the air¡ªit all grounded him. It wasn¡¯t glamorous, it wasn¡¯t fast-paced or filled with the flashing lights of the stadium. It was real. And for a young player like Izan, it was the one thing that kept him tethered to the person he was, not just the footballer the world was starting to take notice of. "So, have you been practicing those free kicks like I told you?" Komi asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "Of course," Izan said, smiling. "I¡¯ve got a few new tricks I¡¯m working on. I¡¯ll show them in the match if I come on." "That¡¯s my boy, and not if it¡¯s when you come on," Komi replied with a satisfied grin. The trio sat down to watch the movie before each went to their rooms to sleep. With the excitement coursing through his mind, Izan couldn¡¯t sleep and that¡¯s where a thought came into his mind. With mental flex, Izam called up the system before initiating the system¡¯s simulation. The moment he activated it, the world around him dissolved into an intense, immersive experience, but this time, the feeling was even more profound. The system didn¡¯t simply interact with his senses; it synced with his mind, body, and soul, pulling him into a hyper-realistic state that pushed him beyond physical limitations. As the digital recreation of the Mestalla unfolded around him, Izan could feel every beat of his heart, every subtle twitch of his muscles, as if the match were happening in real time. The system tapped into his neural pathways, amplifying his reflexes and perception and enhancing his instincts. It wasn¡¯t just about playing football¡ªit was about testing his limits, forging him into something greater. The moment the whistle blew, Izan was already in motion, his body reacting instinctively. Barcelona¡¯s high press was unrelenting, and in this world, the simulation adapted instantly to every move he made. As soon as he received the ball, Pedri was on him, closing the gap with astonishing speed. He tried to dribble, but the simulation responded with the precision of an elite opponent. Balde was already there, cutting off his options. Izan¡¯s mind raced, his thoughts sharp and clear, but the system was pushing him¡ªtesting his composure and his decision-making under pressure. For a split second, the tension was overwhelming. He felt himself begin to falter, the weight of the challenge sinking in. A small mistake¡ªan errant pass¡ªwas punished by the simulation, and Barcelona capitalized with a swift counter. The virtual crowd roared as the ball hit the back of the net. He paused, the flood of frustration rushing through him. "This isn¡¯t real", he reminded himself. "You control this." As the system pulsated with an almost ethereal hum, Izan felt the invisible connection deepen. His breath slowed. He could almost hear the system itself urging him forward, not with words, but with a sensation¡ªa quiet whisper in his mind, a nudge of confidence. You¡¯re not just a player. You¡¯re a force. With renewed determination, Izan reset himself. He focused on the flow of the game, reading the movements of his virtual opponents before they even happened. As Barcelona continued to press, Izan filtered through his options. He stopped overthinking, trusting the system to guide him. With a swift, precise touch, he threaded a perfect pass through the defensive line to a teammate, then immediately started his run, anticipating the return ball. Chapter 218: Prelude As the system pulsated with an almost ethereal hum, Izan felt the invisible connection deepen. His breath slowed. He could almost hear the system itself urging him forward, not with words, but with a sensation¡ªa quiet whisper in his mind, a nudge of confidence. You¡¯re not just a player. You¡¯re a force. With renewed determination, Izan reset himself. He focused on the flow of the game, reading the movements of his virtual opponents before they even happened. As Barcelona continued to press, Izan filtered through his options. He stopped overthinking, trusting the system to guide him. With a swift, precise touch, he threaded a perfect pass through the defensive line to a teammate, then immediately started his run, anticipating the return ball. With Izan getting into his groove, the simulation adjusted, ramping up the challenge once more. But Izan had found his rhythm. He was no longer just reacting¡ªhe was controlling the game. A quick one-two with a teammate allowed him to slip past a sliding Gavi, and now, with space in front of him, Izan surged forward. As he neared the penalty box, he felt the system sync with his every muscle, pushing him to an almost supernatural level of sharpness. A pass came into his feet from the left wing, and without hesitation, Izan shifted his weight, calmly lifting the ball past the diving Ter Stegen in goal, watching it curl into the far corner of the net. The crowd in the simulation erupted, the sensation of victory flooding through him. But it wasn¡¯t over. The simulation was relentless, pushing Izan even harder now. Barcelona responded fiercely, locking him down at every opportunity, increasing the intensity of their attacks. As he dodged and weaved through their defense, each movement felt almost effortless, as if his body had been attuned to the rhythm of the game. He was a part of it now, not just playing but becoming the game. Finally, in the dying moments, with Barcelona pressing for an equalizer, Izan intercepted a pass in midfield. His vision expanded as the system enhanced his awareness, showing him the field in sharp detail¡ªevery movement, every passing lane. A quick flick of his wrist and the ball was sent forward in a perfect through ball for a teammate. He didn¡¯t wait to see the result; his focus was absolute, every ounce of his energy channeled into what was next. After a while, the simulation ended, leaving Izan breathless, his body buzzing with adrenaline. He pulled off the headset, his mind racing, but a sense of calm had settled over him. He had faced Barcelona, had been pushed to the edge of his abilities, and had come out stronger. The system had tested him¡ªnot just as a player but as a person¡ªand in that moment, he knew he was ready. Ready to take on Barcelona in the real world, and more importantly, ready for the final that awaited him. ...¡­ The morning of the match against Barcelona began with an almost surreal stillness. Izan woke up to the soft glow of sunlight slipping through his curtains, the muffled sounds of the city already alive with anticipation. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality of the day settle over him. It wasn¡¯t just any matchday. This was Barcelona. Camp De Mestalla. He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, the tension from the restless night ebbing slightly. His room felt unusually quiet, though he could hear faint echoes of life outside¡ªcars honking, voices calling out, and the occasional chant of "?Amunt Valencia!" rising from the streets. Valencia was buzzing. This was more than just another game; it was a chance for the team to prove themselves against one of the best. Izan went through his morning routine methodically. He splashed cold water on his face, letting the sharp chill wake him fully. After a quick shower, he stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His heart was steady, but there was an undeniable energy coursing through him¡ªa mix of nerves and excitement. In the kitchen, Komi was already up, her apron tied neatly as she prepared a light breakfast for him. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread filled the room, comforting and familiar. "Good morning," Komi greeted him with a soft smile, her calm demeanor grounding him. "Did you sleep well?" Izan shrugged as he sat down at the table. "Yeah. Really well." Komi placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of him. "That¡¯s good then," she said. "Big days like this always feel heavy. But you¡¯ve trained for this, Izan. You¡¯ll do well." As he ate, Hori bounded into the room, her phone in hand. "You¡¯ve seen this, right?" she asked, showing him a video of Valencia fans gathering outside the stadium. The streets were packed with supporters, waving scarves and flags, chanting songs of pride and encouragement. "That¡¯s crazy," Izan muttered, a small smile creeping onto his face. Seeing the fans so passionate about the game filled him with a sense of responsibility. "They¡¯re all waiting for you to show Barca who¡¯s boss," Hori said, punching his shoulder lightly. "No pressure." After breakfast, Izan grabbed his bag and checked his phone. His teammates had already started texting in their group chat, sharing hype videos, pre-match memes, and last-minute messages of encouragement. Baraja¡¯s message stood out: "Stay focused. Stay disciplined. Play for the badge, not for the occasion." By mid-morning, Izan stepped out of his home, the sun now fully up, casting a golden glow over Valencia. The city felt alive. Fans were everywhere, donning orange and black jerseys, their faces painted with Valencia¡¯s colors. Some waved at him as he walked to his mother¡¯s car, calling out his name. "?Izan! ?Vamos!" He waved back, smiling but keeping his focus. He could feel their belief in him, in the team. It was uplifting and humbling at the same time. Komi staring at the scene in front felt pride well up inside her. The drive to the Paterna training ground was quick, though the streets were more crowded than usual. By the time he arrived, the atmosphere among his teammates was a mixture of intensity and camaraderie. The locker room buzzed with energy as players greeted each other with handshakes and jokes, though the seriousness of the day lingered just beneath the surface. Outside, fans had gathered at the gates of Paterna, cheering as the players began to arrive. The chants of "?Valencia, Valencia!" echoed even inside, a steady reminder of what lay ahead. Baraja entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. "This is it, gentlemen," he began, his voice firm yet calm. "You¡¯ve worked hard to get here. Barcelona will test us, no doubt, but remember who we are. Remember why we fight. Play for each other. Play for this city. And play with everything you have." As the final preparations were made, the team boarded the bus that would take them to Camp De Mestalla. Izan sat by the window, his earbuds in, but instead of music, he listened to the faint roar of the fans outside. The streets of Valencia were alive with hope. The fans believed, his teammates believed, and now, so did he. It wasn¡¯t just another match. It was a chance to prove that Valencia belonged on the biggest stage, and Izan was ready to play his part. ... S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The buzz surrounding the clash between Barcelona and Valencia was electric, and analysts across Spain were buzzing with opinions, predictions, and tactical breakdowns. On television screens and radio waves, the discussion centered on two key narratives: Barcelona¡¯s dominance in laliga and Valencia¡¯s resurgence under Rub¨¦n Baraja. "Barcelona comes into this match as the clear favorites," one pundit stated, pointing to their formidable lineup featuring Lewandowski, Pedri, and Gavi. "Their attacking fluidity and ability to dominate possession will be difficult for Valencia to contain. Xavi¡¯s team thrives in big games like this." Another analyst countered, "Valencia has proven to be a team that can punch above their weight, especially with players like Izan stepping up this season. He¡¯s been a revelation, bringing energy, creativity, and goals. Even though Baraja plans to start him on the bench, we can¡¯t underestimate the impact he could have if introduced." The tactical battles were dissected in detail. Barcelona¡¯s high press and intricate passing patterns were expected to test Valencia¡¯s defensive organization. However, Valencia¡¯s counterattacking prowess was highlighted as a potential game-changer. "Baraja has drilled this team to be compact and lethal on the break," another analyst added. "If players like Hugo Duro and Andr¨¦ Almeida can exploit the spaces left by Barcelona¡¯s attacking fullbacks, they might cause problems." Fan sentiment also became a talking point. "Let¡¯s not forget the emotional boost Valencia will have," said a commentator. "Their fans have been incredible, rallying behind the team despite the odds. That passion can fuel a performance at Camp De Mestalla." As the analysts wrapped up, one final comment echoed the growing anticipation: "It¡¯s a battle between Barcelona¡¯s pedigree and Valencia¡¯s hunger. Tonight, we¡¯ll see who wants it more." Chapter 219: Underway The sun began to set over the vibrant city of Valencia, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple as the Camp de Mestalla buzzed with anticipation. Thousands of Valencia fans had gathered hours before kickoff, their chants echoing through the surrounding streets, creating a carnival-like atmosphere. Every corner of the city seemed to be alive with the sound of drums, flares, and songs celebrating their beloved team. This wasn¡¯t just any match¡ªit was Valencia against Barcelona, one of the most anticipated fixtures of the season. A fleet of buses pulled up outside the stadium, and the crowd roared as the first one came into view. It was Barcelona¡¯s team bus, its sleek design adorned with the club¡¯s iconic crest. Security formed a tight cordon as the doors opened and the players began to disembark. The likes of Lewandowski, Pedri, and G¨¹ndo?an stepped off, their faces a mix of calm focus and quiet confidence followed by another gem of a player who had been turning heads whenever he played. "Lamine, Lamine. Can I get a picture" a fan said to Yamal as he joined his group. Dressed sharply in their navy suits, they carried an air of professionalism that only heightened the tension in the air. The home fans jeered and whistled as the Catalan giants entered the stadium, the hostility a reminder that they were stepping into enemy territory. Moments later, the unmistakable Valencia team bus arrived, greeted by a deafening roar that shook the very foundation of Mestalla. Fans waved flags, held up scarves, and chanted, "?Amunt Valencia!" in unison. The players could feel the energy even before stepping off the bus. This was their fortress, their city, and their people. As the doors opened, Izan was one of the first players to emerge, dressed in Valencia¡¯s signature black-and-orange tracksuit. The young star was met with cheers that bordered on worship. Fans surged forward, waving jerseys, footballs, and scraps of paper, desperate for a moment of his time. Izan smiled, his face lighting up as he stepped closer to the crowd. "?Izan! ?Izan!" they called, holding out pens and phones. He crouched slightly to sign a young boy¡¯s jersey, ruffling the kid¡¯s hair with a grin before moving on to the next. The crowd¡¯s admiration was palpable, their belief in him unwavering. "Can you score for us tonight?" a fan shouted. Izan laughed, shaking his head playfully. "We¡¯ll see what the coach decides, but I¡¯ll give everything I¡¯ve got." As he made his way along the line of supporters, his interactions felt genuine, almost familial. He paused for selfies, exchanged handshakes, and thanked fans for their support. His humility stood out even as the pressure of the occasion loomed. Nearby, other players, including captain Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, also took time to engage with fans, the unity between the team and the supporters evident in every gesture. After the interaction with the fans, the players walked inside the stadium where the energy from the fans outside seemed to follow them, buzzing in the air around them as they made their way into the Mestalla. The corridor leading to the locker room was narrow, the walls adorned with photos of Valencia legends and historic moments. Each step felt heavier with the weight of the club¡¯s legacy, but the players carried themselves with a mix of determination and camaraderie, feeding off each other¡¯s confidence. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, ever the leader, walked at the front, his voice carrying above the sound of footsteps. "Alright, lads, this is our night. Let¡¯s remind everyone who we are." Behind him, Hugo Duro and Thierry Correia joked lightly, their laughter breaking the tension in the air. "Thierry, if I get the ball in their box, you better be making that overlapping run," Hugo teased, flashing a grin. "Relax, Hugo," Thierry shot back with a smirk. "I¡¯ll probably have to clean up after your missed shots instead." The group erupted into light chuckles, the banter easing their nerves. Even Baraja, walking a few steps behind, smiled faintly at their exchange. Izan was quieter as he walked with Javi Guerra and Andr¨¦ Almeida, his earbuds around his neck but no music playing. The group¡¯s laughter echoed down the hall, a reminder that despite the pressure, this was still a team united by friendship. As they approached the locker room door, Baraja¡¯s voice cut through the chatter. "Alright, enough jokes now. Focus up. This is where the real work begins." The players nodded, the shift in atmosphere immediate. The joking eased, replaced by quiet determination. They filed into the locker room, each player taking their place. Izan looked around, catching the serious expressions on the faces of his teammates. .... Inside the stadium, the atmosphere grew even more electric. The stands were filling quickly, the fans transforming Mestalla into a cauldron of noise and color. The players could hear the chants from the locker rooms, a steady reminder of the passion that would drive them on the pitch. The roar of the crowd reverberated through the stadium, shaking the very foundations of the pitch. The Valencia faithful were in full voice, waving scarves and flags, their chants drown out any nervous energy that may have lingered. Izan jogged out with his teammates, his cleats tapping against the freshly watered grass as they came out for their warm-ups. He took a deep breath, taking in the sight of the packed stands, the sea of orange and black creating an almost magical backdrop. This was home, and every corner of Mestalla seemed to echo its unwavering belief in the team. As Izan began his stretches near the halfway line, he caught sight of Pedri across the field, leading Barcelona¡¯s warm-up. The Barcelona midfielder spotted him too and jogged over, a sly grin on his face. "Haven¡¯t heard from you in a bit. You ready for this?" Pedri asked, playfully nudging Izan as he reached him. Izan smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Always. The real question is if you¡¯re ready to spend ninety minutes chasing shadows." Pedri laughed, shaking his head. "Big talk for someone who¡¯s starting on the bench. But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll save some energy for when you come on." Their easy banter drew a few glances from nearby teammates, but neither seemed to care. Despite the rivalry, there was mutual respect¡ªa shared understanding of the pressure that came with being a young star in La Liga. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After finishing their warm-ups, the players from both sides returned to their locker rooms to get ready for the game. ..... After both sets of players were done with their preparations, they came out of the tunnel under the fiery chants of the crowd. With the referee leading, the players underwent the pre-match pleasantries. "Welcome to the Mestalla where are in for arguably the biggest matchup of the matchday. It is Barcelona facing Valencia here at the Camp De Mestalla. My name is Juan Hernan and I¡¯ll be your commentator for this game. Joining me is expert analyst Jorge Savin. Good evening Jorge and welcome to this exciting fixture..." As the players finished the pre-match pleasantries and took their positions, the stadium announcer¡¯s voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the starting lineups to the roaring crowd. The excitement in the Mestalla grew louder with each name called, every fan eagerly anticipating the showdown against the Catalan giants. Valencia Starting XI (4-4-2) Goalkeeper: Giorgi Mamardashvili Defenders: Thierry Correia, Gabriel Paulista, Mouctar Diakhaby, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ (C) Midfielders: Fran P¨¦rez, Hugo Guillam¨®n, Pepelu, Diego L¨®pez Forwards: Hugo Duro, Andr¨¦ Almeida Substitutes: Cristian Rivero, Dimitri Foulquier, Cristhian Mosquera, Javi Guerra, Jes¨²s V¨¢zquez, Selim Amallah, Pablo Goz¨¢lbez, Izan, Alberto Mar¨ª The Mestalla erupted when the announcer mentioned Izan¡¯s name, even though he was starting on the bench. The young star had become the face of Valencia¡¯s resurgence, and his presence alone felt like a talisman for the fans. Barcelona Starting XI (4-3-3) Goalkeeper: Marc-Andr¨¦ ter Stegen Defenders: Joao Cancelo, Jules Kound¨¦, Andreas Christensen, Alejandro Balde Midfielders: Frenkie de Jong, Ilkay G¨¹ndo?an, Pedri Forwards: Lamine Yamal, Robert Lewandowski, Gavi Substitutes: I?aki Pe?a, Marcos Alonso, Eric Garc¨ªa, Ferran Torres, Oriol Romeu, Raphinha, Ronald Ara¨²jo, Fermin Lopez, Ansu Fati "As the referee prepares to blow the whistle, the atmosphere here at the Mestalla is nothing short of extraordinary. Valencia¡¯s passionate supporters have turned this historic stadium into a cauldron of noise, and their players will need every ounce of that energy tonight against a Barcelona side brimming with world-class talent. For Valencia, it¡¯s a night to stand tall. Baraja has gone with a balanced lineup, relying on Hugo Duro and Andr¨¦ Almeida to spearhead the attack, while young sensation Izan starts on the bench, a weapon Baraja could unleash later in the game. On the other side, Xavi¡¯s Barcelona has brought their heavy hitters¡ªLewandowski, Pedri, and the ever-dynamic Lamine Yamal, a player who seems to thrive in big moments. The battle between youth and experience promises to be one for the ages. The referee glances at his watch¡­ the whistle blows¡­ and we¡¯re underway at the Mestalla!" Chapter 220: Trailing The opening 45 minutes of Valencia vs. Barcelona at the Mestalla was nothing short of mesmerizing, a whirlwind of passion, drama, and footballing brilliance that had the packed stadium hanging on every moment. In the stands, the energy was palpable. Among the sea of Valencia supporters were Izan¡¯s family: his younger sister, Hori, and their mother, Komi. Both were dressed in Valencia colors, proudly wearing Izan¡¯s jersey number, though he wasn¡¯t starting the game. Komi sat with calm confidence, clapping rhythmically as the fans around her chanted, but her eyes betrayed her nervous anticipation. Hori, on the other hand, was all energy. She leaned over the railing, waving a small Valencia flag and shouting at the top of her lungs. "Izan will come on and turn this game around! Just wait!" she declared to no one in particular, drawing amused glances from the fans nearby. Komi chuckled, patting her daughter¡¯s shoulder. "Let¡¯s support the whole team first, Hori. The coach knows when to use Izan." Nearby fans joined in, laughing and agreeing. "She¡¯s right, though," one man said. "When Izan gets on, Barcelona will feel it! " ... The match began with Barcelona immediately asserting their control. Their midfield trio of Frenkie de Jong, Ilkay G¨¹ndo?an, and Pedri showcased their mastery of the ball, effortlessly dictating the tempo. Valencia, aware of Barcelona¡¯s tendency to dominate possession, sat deep, looking to hit on the counter. Within the opening minutes, Lamine Yamal showcased his flair, skipping past Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ on the right flank and delivering a dangerous low cross into the box. Cenk Ozkacar cleared it, but the Mestalla held its breath¡ªthis Barcelona side was looking sharp. Juan Hernan: "Barcelona is coming out with real intent, Jorge. Look at Yamal¡ªjust 16 years old and already playing with this kind of confidence." Jorge Savina: "Absolutely, Juan. But Valencia looks ready to absorb and counter. Baraja knows they¡¯ll need patience tonight." After Cenk¡¯s clearance, Barcelona took the throw-in but the ball was intercepted by Javi Guerra who had been lurking around the Barcelona players. With a sharp turn, Javi Guerra sent the ball to his left, giving Diego Lopez the chance to run at it but before he could make use of it, he was bodied away by Jules Kounde. The Valencia players raised their hands in appeal but the referee waved play on. The Valencia crowd flared up and cheered on the players after seeing their team go head-to-head with Barcelona but a few minutes later, they were silenced. In the 14th minute, Barcelona found their breakthrough. A clumsy challenge by Hugo Guillam¨®n on Gavi just outside the box handed Barcelona a free kick in a dangerous position. Frenkie de Jong stepped up, curling a teasing ball into the six-yard area. The Valencian players took positions near the Barcelona boys. But Lewandowski, with his impeccable sense of positioning, rose above everyone else and nodded it into the back of the net. "Goooaaaaaaaaaaallll. Barcelona draws first blood, courtesy of Robert Lewandowski. Is this the start of something good?" The Barcelona fans in the corner of the stadium erupted in cheers, while the rest of the Mestalla groaned in frustration. On the touchline, Baraja threw up his hands in exasperation, shouting at his defenders to tighten their marking. In the stands, Hori crossed her arms with a pout. "That was too easy! How did they let Lewandowski get free like that?" Komi, ever calm, replied, "They¡¯ll regroup. It¡¯s only one goal. We¡¯ve seen them come back before." Around them, the crowd began chanting louder, determined to lift their team back into the game. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Spurred on by their fans, Valencia responded with purpose after the restart. Fran P¨¦rez and Hugo Duro began linking up well in attack, testing Barcelona¡¯s defense with quick combinations. In the 25th minute, a clever through ball from Pepelu found Duro in space. The striker¡¯s low shot forced Ter Stegen into a sharp save, and the crowd roared their approval, sensing a shift in momentum. Barcelona also responded in earnest but it didn¡¯t amount to anything after Marmadashbilli smothered the shot from Lamine Yamal. Valencia on the other hand didn¡¯t have to wait long for their reward. In the 30th minute, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ surged forward down the left wing, leaving Joao Cancelo trailing after Mark¡¯s splendid pass. Outpacing a few players, Gaya found space and burst forward his leg poised to cross. His whipped cross into the box caused chaos among Barcelona¡¯s defenders but the ball fell kindly to Hugo Duro, who smashed it into the roof of the net from close range. Juan Hernan: "GOOOOAL! Hugo Duro! Valencia is back in it!" Jorge Savina: "Brilliant play from Gay¨¤ to create the chance. And Duro¡ªlook at the composure on that finish! Mestalla is absolutely rocking now!" The fans exploded into cheers, a wall of sound that reverberated throughout the stadium. In the crowd, Hori jumped up and down, waving her flag furiously. "I told you, Mama! I told you they¡¯d score!" Komi smiled, clapping along with the fans. "Let¡¯s see if they can keep this momentum going." On the Valencia bench, Izan and the substitutes were on their feet, clapping and cheering. The equalizer set the tone for the rest of the half, with both teams trading attacks. Lamine Yamal came close to restoring Barcelona¡¯s lead in the 36th minute, weaving past two defenders before firing a shot that forced a stunning save from Giorgi Mamardashvili. Moments later, Fran P¨¦rez nearly put Valencia ahead with a long-range effort that sailed just over the bar. On the touchline, Baraja and Xavi were both animated, barking instructions and reacting passionately to every decision. When the referee waved off what Baraja thought was a clear foul on Pepelu, the Valencia coach erupted, throwing his arms in the air and shouting at the fourth official. Juan Hernan: "Baraja is absolutely furious there! He thought that was a foul in the buildup." Jorge Savina: "And you can¡¯t blame him, Juan. It looked like Pepelu was clearly brought down. These moments can change games." Xavi, meanwhile, was just as vocal on the Barcelona bench. After Gavi was shown a yellow card for a late challenge on Thierry Correia, Xavi stormed to the edge of his technical area, shouting at the referee, "That¡¯s not a yellow! He got the ball!" The intensity on the sidelines mirrored the battle on the pitch, with both coaches living every moment of the game. As the first half drew to a close, it seemed destined to end level. But in the 45th minute, disaster struck for Valencia. Barcelona earned a corner after a deflected shot from Gavi. Ilkay G¨¹ndo?an delivered a perfect inswinger into the crowded box. Under pressure from Lewandowski, Mark misjudged his header, and the ball ricocheted into the back of his own net. The Mestalla fell silent, the stunned crowd unable to believe what had just happened. The Barcelona players celebrated, while Mark stood motionless, hands on his head. Juan Hernan: "Oh no! An own goal from Mark! That¡¯s heartbreaking for Valencia!" Jorge Savina: "You have to feel for Valencia born and bred defender there. He was under so much pressure from Lewandowski, but that¡¯s a huge blow for Valencia just before the break." On the Valencia bench, the players were visibly disappointed. Izan shook his head, muttering, "Unlucky. Mark had no chance with that pressure." Baraja looked furious, pacing back and forth before turning to his assistant coach, Moreno for a quick discussion. "We can¡¯t let this shake us," he said firmly. In the stands, Hori looked red with anger. "Why does this always happen to us?" she asked, gripping her scarf tightly. [Ummmm because I write it that way. What the hell did she think? Hahahaha.] Komi leaned over and whispered, "It¡¯s not over yet, Hori. There¡¯s still a whole second half to play." After the restart, the referee added two minutes of stoppage time to the clock. Seeing this, Baraja urged his players to try and make use of the time and they almost did after Fran Perez¡¯s solo run ended in a pass into the Barcelona box. The fans watched as Javi Guerra appeared to meet the ball but his first-time shot was nudged out of the way by a spectacular save by Ter Stegen. "The shot was saved but at least we have a corner" was what the fans were thinking but that was until the referee¡¯s whistle sounded for the halftime break. The Valencia players approached the referee confused about his decision to end the half when they had got a corner but the referee argued the time was well over what he had added. The referee¡¯s whistle brought an end to a dramatic first half. Barcelona led 2-1, but the game was far from decided. As the players made their way to the tunnel, the Valencia fans began chanting once more, rallying behind their team for the second half. "A very exciting first half here with the score 2-1 in favor of Barcelona. Valencia haven¡¯t fallen behind but they need to be steady to avoid having to climb a hill should they concede another goal. Anyways this is it at halftime and see you after the break Chapter 221: Start Of The Final Act After the restart, the referee added two minutes of stoppage time to the clock. Seeing this, Baraja urged his players to try and make use of the time and they almost did after Fran Perez¡¯s solo run ended in a pass into the Barcelona box. The fans watched as Javi Guerra appeared to meet the ball but his first-time shot was nudged out of the way by a spectacular save by Ter Stegen. "The shot was saved but at least we have a corner" was what the fans were thinking but that was until the referee¡¯s whistle sounded for the halftime break. The Valencia players approached the referee confused about his decision to end the half when they had got a corner but the referee argued the time was well over what he had added. The referee¡¯s whistle brought an end to a dramatic first half. Barcelona led 2-1, but the game was far from decided. As the players made their way to the tunnel, the Valencia fans began chanting once more, rallying behind their team for the second half. Juan Hernan: "And that¡¯s the whistle for the end of the first half here at the Mestalla. Barcelona heads into the break with a narrow 2-1 lead, but what a gripping 45 minutes of football we¡¯ve just witnessed!" Jorge Savina: "It¡¯s been everything we expected and more, Juan. Barcelona showed their class early on, with Lewandowski doing what he does best. But Valencia refused to be intimidated. Hugo Duro¡¯s equalizer brought this place to life, and they¡¯ve shown they can trouble Xavi¡¯s side." Juan Hernan: "Absolutely. That own goal from Mark right before halftime will sting, though. You could see the heartbreak on his face. But this Valencia side has resilience, and with players like Izan waiting on the bench, you have to feel they¡¯re far from out of this one." Jorge Savina: "Right you are. Baraja¡¯s halftime talk will be crucial here. Can he steady his players and remind them they¡¯ve already put Barcelona under pressure? Meanwhile, Xavi will want his team to stay focused and keep their foot on the gas." Juan Hernan: "One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªthe Mestalla is still buzzing with energy. The home fans know this game is far from over. Don¡¯t go anywhere; the second half promises to be just as thrilling as the first!" As the players headed down the tunnel, the atmosphere in the stands remained electric. Groups of fans stood discussing the first half, passionately analyzing every key moment. "I can¡¯t believe Mark¡¯s mistake," one fan muttered, shaking his head. "We were holding our own so well." Another quickly replied, "He was under so much pressure! That¡¯s Lewandowski for you¡ªhe causes chaos in the box. Mark will bounce back." Nearby, Hori continued waving her Valencia flag, her voice defiant. "We¡¯ll come back! It¡¯s just one goal. Izan hasn¡¯t even played yet!" A man sitting in front of her turned around with a smile. "You¡¯ve got faith in him, huh?" Hori puffed out her chest. "Of course! He¡¯s my big brother. When he comes on, Barcelona won¡¯t know what hit them." The man laughed. "I like your confidence. Let¡¯s hope he¡¯s ready for the challenge." Komi, seated beside her daughter, was more composed. She spoke softly to the fan next to her, a middle-aged woman draped in Valencia colors. "It¡¯s been a tough first half, but we¡¯ve seen this team fight back before. They just need to keep their composure." The woman nodded. "You¡¯re right. And with Izan on the bench, we¡¯ve got a game-changer waiting. If Baraja brings him on, Barcelona¡¯s defense will be in trouble." Above the chatter, the chants of "?Amunt Valencia!" continued to echo through the Mestalla. Fans waved their scarves and clapped rhythmically, refusing to let their spirits wane despite the scoreline. Even in frustration, their passion was unwavering. As the halftime show began on the pitch, the Valencia faithful remained glued to their seats, discussing strategies, sharing optimism, and placing their hopes on the second half. For them, the match wasn¡¯t over¡ªit was just beginning. ...¡­.. [ Valencia¡¯s Locker Room] The Valencia players trudged into their locker room, frustration etched on their faces. Mark, his head hung low, took a seat at the far end of the room, still replaying the own goal in his mind. Baraja entered moments later, clapping his hands loudly to get everyone¡¯s attention. "Listen up!" he began, his voice sharp but steady. "That was a tough end to the half, but this match is far from over. We¡¯ve shown we can hurt them. That goal from Hugo was exactly what I wanted to see¡ªdecisive, clinical. Now, we need to believe we can do it again." Baraja paced in front of his players, locking eyes with each of them. "Barcelona is good¡ªno doubt about it. But we¡¯ve already exposed their weaknesses. Cancelo and Christensen are vulnerable to quick transitions, and Gavi¡¯s temper is boiling over. We need to exploit that!" Turning to Mark, Baraja softened his tone. "Mark, don¡¯t let that own goal sit in your head. Mistakes happen, and you¡¯ve been solid all season. I trust you. The team trusts you. Now go back out there and lead." Mark nodded silently, his teammates offering him supportive pats on the back. Baraja then walked over to Izan, who had been quietly observing from the bench area. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Baraja spoke firmly but encouragingly. "Izan, you¡¯re coming on in the 60th minute. I need you to bring your energy, your creativity, and your composure. Don¡¯t overthink it. Trust your instincts like you always do and when you step onto that pitch, I want you to change the game." Izan met his coach¡¯s gaze, focus gleaming in his eyes. "I¡¯ll be ready, Coach." Baraja nodded. "I know you won¡¯t." He clapped Izan¡¯s shoulder before addressing the room once more. "Let¡¯s make the Mestalla proud. Give everything out there. This is our game to win!" ...¡­ [ Barcelona¡¯s Locker Room] In the Barcelona locker room, the mood was intense but controlled. Xavi stood in the center, surrounded by his players, many of whom were hydrating and catching their breath. "Well done in the first half," Xavi began, his voice calm but authoritative. "We¡¯ve dominated possession, and you¡¯ve executed our game plan well. But let me be clear¡ªwe haven¡¯t won anything yet. Valencia is still in this game, and they¡¯ll come at us hard in the second half, especially with their fans behind them." He pointed to Lewandowski. "Robert, keep making those runs. You¡¯re dragging their center-backs out of position, and that¡¯s opening space for Pedri and G¨¹ndo?an. Keep it up." Turning to Gavi, Xavi¡¯s tone became sharper. "Gavi, you need to calm down. The yellow card was unnecessary, and we can¡¯t afford to lose you to a second one. Play with fire, but don¡¯t burn yourself. Understood?" Gavi nodded, though he still looked frustrated from his earlier booking. [funny but we all know what Izan, helped by the author is cooking for Gavi right now] Xavi continued, addressing the team as a whole. "The second half will be even harder. They¡¯ll likely make changes, maybe bring on that kid, Izan. I won¡¯t talk much since most of you have experienced how dangerous he is before. If he comes on, I want our midfield to close him down immediately. Don¡¯t give him space to create." Xavi walked toward Frenkie de Jong and G¨¹ndo?an. "You two need to keep controlling the tempo. Don¡¯t let Valencia turn this into a frantic game. If we stay disciplined, they won¡¯t be able to break us down." Finally, Xavi clapped his hands, signaling the end of his speech. "Let¡¯s finish the job. Stay sharp, stay focused, and remember¡ªthis is our game to win." As both teams prepared to return to the pitch, the energy in the locker rooms shifted. At Valencia¡¯s locker room, there was a renewed sense of purpose, bolstered by Baraja¡¯s belief in his players and the impending introduction of Izan. At Barcelona, Xavi¡¯s calm authority ensured his team remained focused, knowing the second half would require every ounce of their quality and composure. The stage was set for an electrifying final act at the Mestalla. ...¡­. Juan Hernan: "Welcome back folks, to the Mestalla, where we¡¯re set for what promises to be an electrifying second half between Valencia and Barcelona. The first 45 minutes delivered everything¡ªgoals, drama, and intensity. Barcelona holds a narrow 2-1 lead, but you can¡¯t help but feel this match has more twists and turns in store." Jorge Savina: "Absolutely, Juan. Barcelona struck first through Lewandowski, but Valencia showed their grit with that equalizer from Hugo Duro. Unfortunately for them, an own goal by Mark just before halftime handed Barcelona the lead. Still, this game is far from decided. Valencia has looked dangerous in spells, and with their passionate home support, you get the sense they¡¯re not done yet." Juan Hernan: "And let¡¯s not forget the wildcard on the Valencia bench¡ª16-year-old Izan, who¡¯s been the talk of the footballing world this season. We¡¯ve just heard from the sidelines that Ruben Baraja plans to bring him on around the hour mark. Jorge, do you think he can make the difference?" Jorge Savina: "No doubt about it. Izan has shown time and again that he thrives in these high-pressure moments. If he gets on the pitch, he¡¯ll be looking to exploit any gaps in Barcelona¡¯s midfield and defense. But it¡¯s a big ask against a team of this quality. It¡¯s all about how Valencia sets him up when he comes on." Juan Hernan: "And speaking of setups, Xavi¡¯s team looks sharp tonight. Lewandowski, Pedri, and Lamine Yamal have all been heavily involved, while Frenkie de Jong and G¨¹ndo?an have bossed the midfield. They¡¯ll look to maintain control and not let Valencia gain any momentum." Jorge Savina: "The first few minutes of this half will be crucial. If Valencia can hit back early, we¡¯ll have a real fight on our hands. But if Barcelona finds a third goal, it could be game over." Juan Hernan: "The players are back on the pitch, the crowd is roaring, and the second half is about to get underway. Strap yourselves in, folks¡ªthis is going to be a thrilling 45 minutes at the Mestalla!" S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After the players got into position, the referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the match. Jorge Savina: "The referee checks his watch¡­ and there¡¯s the whistle! The second half begins!" Chapter 222: Final Act [1] The second half began with Barcelona intent on asserting their dominance, immediately launching a series of intricate attacking moves that had the Mestalla crowd on edge. In the 47th minute, Barcelona¡¯s midfield took control. Frenkie de Jong picked up the ball in their half of the circle and drove forward, shrugging off pressure from Javi Guerra. Spotting Lewandowski making a run, De Jong played a perfectly weighted pass between the Valencia center-backs. Lewandowski controlled the ball deftly, turned sharply, and fired a low shot toward the bottom corner but Giorgi Mamardashvili reacted brilliantly, diving to his right to parry the shot away. The ball ricocheted toward Lamine Yamal, who looked set to pounce, but Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ lunged in with a last-ditch tackle from behind, sending the ball out for a corner. Juan Hernan: "What a save by Mamardashvili! Lewandowski was inches away from doubling Barcelona¡¯s lead." Jorge Savina: "And credit to Gay¨¤! That tackle on Yamal was perfectly timed. Valencia is living dangerously, though." In the stands, fans clutched their Valencia scarfs tightly. "Come on, Giorgi!" some shouted nervously, while others leaned forward in their seat, hands clasped together. Just three minutes later, in the 50th minute, Lamine Yamal dazzled the Valencia defense with his footwork. Picking up the ball near the right flank, he danced past two defenders with a quick step-over and burst of pace. Cutting inside, he threaded a pass to Pedri, who found himself in space just outside the penalty area. Pedri took a touch and unleashed a curling effort aimed at the top corner. The Mestalla held its breath as the ball arched through the air. Mamardashvili leaped again, fingertips grazing the ball to push it onto the crossbar. The players fought for the rebound but the ball ultimately fell to Gavi, whose hurried attempt flew over the goal. Juan Hernan: "Barcelona is relentless! Pedri nearly produced a moment of magic there, denied only by Mamardashvili and the crossbar!" Jorge Savina: "And look at the Valencia bench¡ªthey¡¯re all on their feet, urging their team to hold on. Baraja looks like he¡¯s already thinking about changes." On the Valencia bench, Ruben Baraja signaled to Assistant Coach Moreno to get Izan warmed up for the match. Just a minute after the shot from Gavi, Valencia found themselves on the defending end after the goal kick fell to G¨¹ndogan who orchestrated another breathtaking move. Receiving the ball from G¨¹ndo?an, Pedri glided past Pepelu with ease, nutmegged Javi Guerra, and charged into the penalty area. The Valencia defense scrambled to close him down, but Pedri slipped a pass to Lewandowski on the left. The Polish striker faked a shot, cutting inside before unleashing a powerful strike. This time, Mark bravely blocked the shot, the ball bouncing back into the melee before Gay¨¤ cleared it into touch. The Mestalla erupted in a mix of cheers and nervous applause. Juan Hernan: "What a run from Pedri! He¡¯s slicing through Valencia¡¯s midfield like butter!" Jorge Savina: "Valencia¡¯s defense is bending, but they haven¡¯t broken yet. Mark redeemed himself with that block." On the bench, Izan, stretching on the sidelines, looked at the scenes on the pitch and sighed. "We need to break their rhythm," he muttered under his breath. In the 60th minute, the Blaugrana nearly delivered a killer blow after Lamine Yamal, relentless down the right, danced past Gay¨¤ with a clever turn and whipped in a cross. Lewandowski rose above Cenk, connecting with a powerful header that seemed destined for the bottom corner. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Mamardashvili, however, was unbeatable. The Georgian goalkeeper flung himself to his left, palming the ball away spectacularly. Juan Hernan: "Mamardashvili again! What a performance he¡¯s putting on tonight!" Jorge Savina: "He¡¯s the reason Valencia is still in this. But how long can he keep this up?" The Mestalla was buzzing with tension as the clock hit the 61st minute. On the Valencia bench, Ruben Baraja clapped his hands and turned toward the sideline. "Izan! Get ready." The 16-year-old stood up immediately, his face painted with focus. As the crowd caught sight of him removing his training bib and pulling on his jersey, a deafening roar erupted across the stadium. Fans began chanting his name: "Izan! Izan! Izan!" In the stands, Hori was practically bouncing in her seat, waving her Valencia scarf in the air. "He¡¯s coming on! Mom, he¡¯s coming on!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with pride. Komi looked at Hori¡¯s excited expression and smiled before turning to look at Izan. Izan pulled his jersey over his head, the bright white and orange of Valencia¡¯s home kit clinging to his lean but athletic frame. He strapped on his shin guards and tugged at his socks before stepping into his boots, lacing them tightly with deliberate precision. Beside him, assistant coach Moreno leaned in, giving him final instructions while pointing at the tactical board. Izan nodded, his eyes never leaving Baraja, who stood at the touchline, clapping and urging his players forward. As the fourth official raised the substitution board showing Izan¡¯s number, the Mestalla roared again. Izan jogged toward the sideline, his hair bouncing slightly under the floodlights. He high-fived Andre Almeida, the player he was replacing, and stepped onto the pitch. Juan Hernan: "Listen to that noise! The Mestalla has come alive as Izan, the teenage sensation, makes his way onto the field. What a moment for them¡ªand for Valencia. As Izan took his position in the attacking midfield, Pedri gave him a knowing smirk from a few yards away. "Ready for this, kid?" Pedri teased, recalling their friendly banter from the warm-ups. Izan responded with a slight grin. "Always, and you are not that old so stop with the ¡¯kid act¡¯ Lamine Yamal jogged past and added, "Don¡¯t get too comfortable. We¡¯re here to win." Izan just nodded, his focus unshaken. The Valencia fans were electric, standing on their feet, waving scarves, and chanting louder than ever. Hori screamed, "Go, Izan! Show them what you¡¯re made of!" while Komi whispered another prayer under her breath, her eyes fixed on the pitch. On the Valencia bench, Baraja clapped encouragingly, yelling, "Let¡¯s go, Izan! Be brave! Trust yourself!" The rest of the substitutes leaned forward, watching intently as the teenager positioned himself, already barking instructions to his teammates. On the opposite sideline, Xavi stood with arms crossed, signaling to Frenkie de Jong and G¨¹ndo?an. "Stay on him. Don¡¯t let him breathe." Juan Hernan: "And here we go! Izan is now in the thick of things, and you can feel the energy shift. Valencia fans believe he can turn this game around." Jorge Savina: "The pressure on this kid is immense, but he¡¯s shown time and again that he thrives in moments like this. Let¡¯s see if he can write another chapter in his incredible story tonight." The match was restarted, and the game resumed with Valencia in possession. Izan took his first touch, controlling the ball smoothly and swiveling away from Gavi¡¯s challenge. The crowd cheered wildly, sensing that something special was about to unfold. Valencia, buoyed by the energy of their supporters and Izan¡¯s introduction, began to surge forward with renewed intent. In the 68th minute, Izan found himself at the heart of a promising attack. Positioned just inside Barcelona¡¯s half, he received a crisp pass from Pepelu, his first touch sublime as he spun away from Frenkie de Jong with an elegant turn. The Mestalla roared as Izan surged forward, weaving through Barcelona¡¯s midfield. Gavi closed in, eager to make amends for being bypassed earlier, but Izan feinted to his right before cutting sharply to his left, leaving the young midfielder chasing shadows. Pedri sprinted toward him, but Izan spotted the run of Thierry Correia on the overlap. With a deft touch, Izan threaded a perfectly weighted through ball between two defenders, drawing audible gasps from the crowd. Correia latched onto the ball near the byline and squared it back to Izan, who had continued his run into the edge of the penalty area. Izan controlled the ball with his chest and flicked it over Christensen, the audacity of his play sending the Mestalla into delirium. Just as Izan prepared to unleash a shot, Jules Kound¨¦ lunged in from behind, clipping Izan¡¯s heel and sending him tumbling to the turf. The referee¡¯s whistle blew sharply, signaling a free kick on the edge of the box. The Barcelona defenders raised their arms in frustration, while Izan rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his jersey with a determined look on his face. Juan Hernan: "What a run by Izan! He¡¯s single-handedly torn through Barcelona¡¯s midfield and drawn a dangerous foul in a perfect position." Jorge Savina: "That¡¯s what he brings to this team¡ªfearlessness, creativity, and the ability to make something out of nothing. Barcelona¡¯s defense couldn¡¯t handle him there." The Mestalla was alive with anticipation as Izan stood over the ball, his expression calm but focused. He adjusted his stance, eyes scanning the cluster of players in the box before striking the ball with precision. The cross was a thing of beauty, curling away from Ter Stegen and into the heart of the penalty area. Mark leaped high above the Barcelona defense, timing his header perfectly. The crowd held its breath as the ball connected with his forehead, powering toward the top corner. "And it¡¯s Mark" the commentator roared as the ball met Mark¡¯a head in the air. Chapter 223: Final Act [Brave Passion] The Mestalla was alive with anticipation as Izan stood over the ball, his expression calm but focused. He adjusted his stance, eyes scanning the cluster of players in the box before striking the ball with precision. The cross was a thing of beauty, curling away from Ter Stegen and into the heart of the penalty area. Mark leaped high above the Barcelona defense, timing his header perfectly. The crowd held its breath as the ball connected with his forehead, powering toward the top corner. "And it¡¯s Mark" the commentator roared as the ball zoomed towards Ter Stegen. ... Mark¡¯s header was a moment of pure perfection, the ball flying through the air like an unstoppable force of destiny. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ter Stegen, despite his incredible reflexes, could only watch as it soared past him, smashing into the back of the net. The Mestalla erupted into pandemonium, a sea of orange and white exploding with raw emotion. Mark, overcome with adrenaline, roared as he sprinted toward the corner flag, fists clenched, his veins pulsing with pride. But almost instinctively, his eyes locked onto Izan, the young maestro who had delivered the perfect assist. Abandoning the corner, Mark pivoted and dashed toward the teenager, his arms outstretched. Izan, standing just outside the penalty area, was momentarily frozen by the chaos around him. The roar of the crowd, the flash of flares in the stands, and the thunderous stomping of feet all seemed to melt away. All he could see was Mark barreling toward him, a wide grin breaking across his face. Mark grabbed Izan by the shoulders, lifting him slightly off the ground. "You¡¯re unreal, Bro!" he shouted over the deafening crowd, his voice filled with equal parts gratitude and disbelief. Their teammates swarmed them, forming a jubilant huddle that pulsed with energy. Juan Hernan: "What a moment! Mark has equalized for Valencia, and it¡¯s the 16-year-old Izan who has made the immediate impact! That cross¡ªoh, that cross¡ªwas a masterpiece, and Mark met it like a freight train!" Jorge Savina: "Juan, this is why football is the greatest drama in the world. A teenager, barely old enough to drive, steps onto the pitch and changes the entire complexion of the game in just minutes. Izan¡¯s courage and precision have reignited Valencia, and the Mestalla is shaking to its core!" Juan Hernan: "The poetic symmetry of this game¡ªValencia¡¯s center-back Mark, haunted by an earlier mistake, redeems himself with a goal, set up by the youngest player on the pitch. The beauty of football is alive here tonight!" In the stands, Hori screamed so loudly her voice cracked, leaping into the air and grabbing Komi, who had tears welling in her eyes. "He did it, Mom! He set it up!" Hori shouted, her face glowing with pride. Komi¡¯s voice trembled as she celebrated with the fans around. As the celebrations finally calmed and the players reset for the kickoff, Izan jogged back into position, his face a mask of quiet determination. The Mestalla, still buzzing from the equalizer, began chanting in unison: "Izan! Izan! Izan!" The boy who had stepped into the fire was now Valencia¡¯s beacon of hope. ... The match became a pulsating back-and-forth battle as both teams traded blows, their attacking intent igniting the Mestalla in a whirlwind of noise and drama. From the 65th minute onward, Barcelona and Valencia showcased their offensive firepower, creating moments that left fans teetering on the edge of their seats. In the 72nd minute, Barcelona nearly struck back. Lamine Yamal picked up the ball on the right wing, weaving past Gay¨¤ with lightning speed. His cutback found Pedri at the edge of the box, who chipped a delicate pass over the Valencia defense for Lewandowski. The Polish striker¡¯s volley was crisp and on target, but Mamardashvili was once again Valencia¡¯s savior, diving low to parry the ball out of danger. Juan Hernan: "Lewandowski is inches away, but Mamardashvili has been sensational tonight! The Mestalla owes him a standing ovation for this performance." Jorge Savina: "Barcelona isn¡¯t letting up. Their precision in attack is world-class, but Valencia, somehow, continues to hold firm." Valencia responded just minutes later in the 71st. Izan, now fully in control of the midfield, picked up the ball deep in his half, skipped past Gavi with a clever flick, and sprinted into space. His vision was evident as he delivered a diagonal pass to Thierry Correia, who darted into Barcelona¡¯s final third. Correia¡¯s cross into the box found Hugo Duro, but the striker¡¯s header flew just over the bar, prompting groans of frustration from the home fans. Izan clapped his hands, rallying his teammates as he shouted, "Let¡¯s keep going!" His calm yet commanding presence was evident as he gestured for the midfield to press higher. Juan Hernan: "Izan is growing into this game. He¡¯s playing beyond his years¡ªhis composure, his vision. That pass to Correia was sublime." Jorge Savina: "And his leadership, Juan. You can see how he¡¯s galvanizing this Valencia side. He¡¯s not just playing; he¡¯s orchestrating." In the 75th minute, Pedri and G¨¹ndo?an combined beautifully in midfield, unlocking Valencia¡¯s defense with a slick one-two. Pedri threaded a pass to Raphinha, who had come on moments earlier. The Brazilian winger unleashed a venomous strike, but Paulista bravely threw himself in the way, the ball deflecting out for a corner. Xavi paced the sideline, barking instructions. On the Valencia bench, Baraja watched intently, urging his players to hold their shape. The Mestalla held its breath in the 78th minute as Izan nearly conjured a moment of magic. Picking up the ball near the center circle, he danced past Christensen with a feint and burst of pace. Spotting Hugo Duro¡¯s run, Izan slipped a perfectly timed through ball between Kound¨¦ and Balde, splitting Barcelona¡¯s defense wide open. Duro reached the pass and fired a low shot, but Ter Stegen dived to his right, making a fingertip save that sent the ball agonizingly wide. The Mestalla roared in disbelief, the fans on their feet, applauding the breathtaking interplay. Juan Hernan: "Oh, my word! Izan, with a pass of sheer brilliance, nearly sets up Valencia¡¯s go-ahead goal!" Jorge Savina: "You can¡¯t teach that, Juan! That vision, that weight on the pass¡ªit¡¯s extraordinary. Valencia are knocking on the door!" Both teams continued to surge forward, their attacking play relentless. Barcelona probed with their intricate passing, while Valencia relied on Izan¡¯s creativity and grit to carve out chances. The game teetered on a knife¡¯s edge, both sides searching for the breakthrough as the clock ticked toward the 80th minute. The Mestalla trembled with anticipation, every fan sensing that one moment could define the night. .... In the packed stands of the Mestalla, a group of Valencia fans was huddled together, their voices rising above the hum of the crowd during a brief pause in play. Among them was a man in his late 30s, dressed in a classic orange and white Valencia scarf and a jacket that had seen many seasons of football. His name was Mateo, a diehard supporter who had lived and breathed Valencia since childhood. "You know," Mateo began, leaning over to his friend Carlos, "I can¡¯t lie¡ªI¡¯m relieved we¡¯re holding Barcelona to a draw right now. These guys are like machines, man." He gestured toward the pitch where Pedri and Lewandowski were orchestrating another intricate attack. "But a win¡­ oh, that would be something else." Carlos nodded, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "You think we¡¯ve got it in us? I mean, that kid Izan¡ªhe¡¯s special, no doubt¡ªbut Barcelona? They¡¯re relentless." Mateo smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, I¡¯ve got faith, my friend. We¡¯ve won against Real Madrid once and Atletico Madrid, back to back so why not add Barcelona to the mix for this season? Plus I¡¯ve also got a little more riding on this one than usual." "What do you mean?" asked Diego, another of their group, who had been listening intently. Mateo leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a grand secret. "I¡¯ve got Valencia down for a win on my bookies," he said with a grin. "Not much¡ªjust enough to make things interesting. You know, keep the heart pumping a little faster." Carlos burst into laughter, shaking his head. "You¡¯re a madman, Mateo. Betting on a win against Barcelona? Brave or foolish, I can¡¯t decide." "Hey, a man¡¯s gotta dream, right?" Mateo replied, throwing his arms up in mock defense. "Besides, look at the fight we¡¯re putting up. Izan¡¯s been phenomenal since he came on, and Mark redeemed himself with that header. We¡¯re in this!" Diego chimed in, pointing toward the pitch. "I¡¯ll give you that. If anyone¡¯s going to pull off a win tonight, it¡¯s that kid. He¡¯s got something about him¡ªa spark. And if we win, drinks are on you." Mateo laughed, clapping Diego on the back. "If Valencia wins tonight, I¡¯ll buy the whole Mestalla a round!" Their laughter was cut short as the game resumed, and their attention snapped back to the action on the field. But as Mateo adjusted his scarf and leaned forward, he couldn¡¯t help but dream about the possibility of walking away with both a Valencia win and a little extra in his pocket. A/N: last of the week or second of the new week. However you like it. Anyways I decided to drop by and see how my readers are doing. Comment how the start of the year is for you and have a nice read Chapter 224: Final Act[ 2] In the packed stands of the Mestalla, a group of Valencia fans was huddled together, their voices rising above the hum of the crowd during a brief pause in play. Among them was a man in his late 30s, dressed in a classic orange and white Valencia scarf and a jacket that had seen many seasons of football. His name was Mateo, a diehard supporter who had lived and breathed Valencia since childhood. "You know," Mateo began, leaning over to his friend Carlos, "I can¡¯t lie¡ªI¡¯m relieved we¡¯re holding Barcelona to a draw right now. These guys are like machines, man." He gestured toward the pitch where Pedri and Lewandowski were orchestrating another intricate attack. "But a win¡­ oh, that would be something else." Carlos nodded, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "You think we¡¯ve got it in us? I mean, that kid Izan¡ªhe¡¯s special, no doubt¡ªbut Barcelona? They¡¯re relentless." Mateo smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, I¡¯ve got faith, my friend. We¡¯ve won against Real Madrid once and Atletico Madrid, back to back so why not add Barcelona to the mix for this season? Plus I¡¯ve also got a little more riding on this one than usual." "What do you mean?" asked Diego, another of their group, who had been listening intently. Mateo leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a grand secret. "I¡¯ve got Valencia down for a win on my bookies," he said with a grin. "Not much¡ªjust enough to make things interesting. You know, keep the heart pumping a little faster." Carlos burst into laughter, shaking his head. "You¡¯re a madman, Mateo. Betting on a win against Barcelona? Brave or foolish, I can¡¯t decide." "Hey, a man¡¯s gotta dream, right?" Mateo replied, throwing his arms up in mock defense. "Besides, look at the fight we¡¯re putting up. Izan¡¯s been phenomenal since he came on, and Mark redeemed himself with that header. We¡¯re in this!" Diego chimed in, pointing toward the pitch. "I¡¯ll give you that. If anyone¡¯s going to pull off a win tonight, it¡¯s that kid. He¡¯s got something about him¡ªa spark. And if we win, drinks are on you." Mateo laughed, clapping Diego on the back. "If Valencia wins tonight, I¡¯ll buy the whole Mestalla a round!" Their laughter was cut short as the game resumed, and their attention snapped back to the action on the field. But as Mateo adjusted his scarf and leaned forward, he couldn¡¯t help but dream about the possibility of walking away with both a Valencia win and a little extra in his pocket. ... The match had reached a fever pitch as the clock ticked into the 82nd minute. Barcelona, sensing the urgency to restore their lead, ramped up their tempo. Xavi¡¯s tactical adjustment was clear¡ªmore men forward, quicker passing, and relentless pressure. The ball zipped across the pitch with precision, from Frenkie de Jong to G¨¹ndo?an, out wide to Balde, then back to Pedri in the center. Valencia, however, refused to crumble under the weight of Barcelona¡¯s attacking brilliance. The Mestalla roared with every block, tackle, and clearance, willing their team to hold firm. Izan, in the heart of the midfield, was everywhere¡ªtracking runs, intercepting passes, and organizing his teammates like a seasoned veteran. In the 84th minute, Barcelona¡¯s breakthrough seemed inevitable after Pedri slipped a clever ball into space for Lamine Yamal, who had positioned himself on the right wing. Gay¨¤, exhausted from his tireless defensive work, was a step too slow as Yamal surged past him with a burst of speed. The young Barcelona winger cut into the box, the ball glued to his feet as he prepared to fire a cross into the danger zone. The Mestalla collectively held its breath, the Valencia defenders scrambling to cover. Barcelona¡¯s bench rose to their feet, anticipating the killer pass that would break the deadlock. But just as Yamal cocked his foot to deliver, a blur of white and orange came flying in and it was from nine other than Izan. The teenager had tracked back at a full sprint, covering the ground Gay¨¤ couldn¡¯t, and hurled himself into a perfectly timed slide tackle. His boot connected cleanly with the ball, sending it skidding away from Yamal¡¯s feet and out toward the edge of the penalty area while the Barcelona winger fell to the ground. Juan Hernan: "Izan! What a tackle! When did he even get here" Jorge Savina: "What pure determination Juan! Yamal was through, and Izan came out of nowhere to save Valencia! That¡¯s as good as a goal!" The Barcelona bench groaned in frustration, Xavi throwing his hands up in disbelief. Meanwhile, Baraja was on the touchline, clapping ferociously. "That¡¯s it, Izan! That¡¯s how you fight!" The Mestalla erupted into chants of Izan¡¯s name as the teenager picked himself up, dusted off his shorts, and urged his teammates to push forward. Barcelona, now fully committed to finding a late winner, piled players into Valencia¡¯s box. Every pass seemed laced with intent, and the Mestalla trembled with nervous anticipation. In the 84th minute, Frenkie de Jong received the ball just outside the penalty area. With a quick turn, he lofted a high, curling cross toward the far post, where Lewandowski and the newly introduced Raphinha awaited. The ball hung in the air, and time seemed to slow. Valencia¡¯s defenders scrambled to position themselves, a wall of white and orange rising to meet the incoming threat. Raphinha leaped, his header aimed back across goal, creating chaos in the six-yard box. The ball ricocheted off Correira and into the air once more, setting off a mad scramble. As it came back down, Jules Kound¨¦ rose to meet it, his powerful header sending it toward Lewandowski, who swung his boot to take a shot. But before the Polish striker could connect, the ball appeared to deflect off the outstretched arm of Hugo Guillam¨®n. Immediately, Barcelona¡¯s players threw their hands into the air, surrounding the referee with shouts of "?Mano! ?Mano!" Raphinha was particularly vocal, gesturing wildly and pointing at Guillam¨®n, while Xavi stormed out of his technical area, shouting at the fourth official. Juan Hernan: "And now the Barcelona players are screaming for a handball! Was that an arm from Guillam¨®n?" Jorge Savina: "It¡¯s bedlam in the Valencia box, Juan! The ball did seem to strike something, but was it intentional? The referee¡¯s got a big decision to make here!" The referee, calm amidst the chaos, immediately waved his arms, signaling for play to continue. The Mestalla erupted in a mix of cheers and jeers, Valencia fans roaring in approval while Barcelona supporters whistled furiously. Lewandowski and Pedri continued their protests, but the referee was resolute, shaking his head as he gestured for them to get back into position. "?Sigan, sigan!" he shouted, urging the game to continue. On the Valencia bench, Baraja jumped to his feet, his face flushed with tension as he shouted encouragement to his players. "Hold the line! Focus!" Meanwhile, Xavi paced furiously, his face a mask of frustration. In the stands, Mateo, the fan with the bookie bet, turned to his friends with a wry grin. "I don¡¯t see any handball there. Clean as a whistle!" he said, though his voice betrayed his nerves. But before the fans could celebrate further, the referee halted play. " Oh, the referee has stopped play here. We could be seeing something different here." The Valencia players rushed towards the referee who had his finger on his earpiece but he sent them away. After a while, the referee took a few steps, then made the unmistakable gesture, the rectangular outline in the air. "Oh. The referee is going to look at the VAR. This could be heartbreak for Valencia." As the referee reviewed the footage on the VAR monitor, the Mestalla held its collective breath. The Valencia players stood frozen, their eyes trained on the official as he turned back toward the pitch. The Barcelona players were already inching closer to the penalty spot, their body language confident, as if they knew the decision would go their way. After a while the referee jogged back to the edge of the penalty area, paused for a moment, and raised his arm, pointing decisively to the spot. Penalty for Barcelona. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Mestalla erupted into chaos. Deafening whistles and boos rained down from the stands, the Valencia faithful furious at the decision. Players in white and orange swarmed the referee, their protests vehement but controlled enough to avoid bookings. Hugo Guillam¨®n, the accused, approached with his hands clasped together, pleading his case. "It hit my chest first!" Guillam¨®n insisted, pointing to where the ball had grazed him before deflecting onto his arm. "It¡¯s not deliberate!" The referee, however, shook his head and gestured for the players to move away. "The decision has been made now back to your positions." Juan Hernan: "And there it is¡ªpenalty for Barcelona! The referee has given it after that VAR review, and the Mestalla is absolutely furious!" Jorge Savina: "Oh, Juan, you can hear the whistles echoing all across Valencia! It¡¯s harsh on Guillam¨®n, but by the letter of the law, if the arm¡¯s in an unnatural position, it¡¯s a penalty. Still, you have to feel for the Valencia players here." On the Valencia bench, Rub¨¦n Baraja was livid, pacing back and forth as he yelled at the fourth official. "How is that deliberate? He couldn¡¯t have avoided it!" he shouted, his arms flailing in frustration. Meanwhile, Xavi stood calm but resolute on the Barcelona sideline, nodding in approval at the decision. Mateo, the fan with the bookie bet, groaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is it. We¡¯re done for. I swear, the refs always favor the big clubs," he muttered bitterly to his friends, who nodded in agreement. Chapter 225: Final Act [3] On the Valencia bench, Rub¨¦n Baraja was livid, pacing back and forth as he yelled at the fourth official. "How is that deliberate? He couldn¡¯t have avoided it!" he shouted, his arms flailing in frustration. Meanwhile, Xavi stood calm but resolute on the Barcelona sideline, nodding in approval at the decision. Mateo, the fan with the bookie bet, groaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is it. We¡¯re done for. I swear, the refs always favor the big clubs," he muttered bitterly to his friends, who nodded in agreement. ... Lewandowski stepped up to take the penalty, the Polish striker exuding calm confidence. He placed the ball on the spot, took a few steps back, and stared down Giorgi Mamardashvili, who stood tall between the posts, bouncing on his toes in an attempt to unsettle the striker. The Mestalla erupted into a cacophony of noise, the fans whistling and chanting to distract Lewandowski. Izan, standing just outside the box, clenched his fists and muttered under his breath, willing his goalkeeper to come up with something miraculous. Juan Hernan: "This is it. Lewandowski, one of the most clinical finishers in world football, against Mamardashvili, who¡¯s been Valencia¡¯s hero tonight. Can the Georgian keeper pull off something special?" Jorge Savina: "Lewandowski thrives under pressure, but these fans will do everything they can to throw him off. The tension is unbearable!" Lewandowski stood still the Mestalla bracing for what could be a decisive moment in the match¡­ ....::: In a quiet, modest home on the outskirts of Valencia, two elderly fans sat on their worn sofa, their eyes fixed on the small television screen. The flickering light of the match illuminated their anxious faces, and the tension in the Mestalla echoed in their modest living room. The man, Manuel, a lifelong Valencia supporter with a scarf draped over his shoulders, held his hands together in prayer. Beside him, his wife, Rosa, clutched a rosary tightly, whispering prayers under her breath. "Please, let him miss. Let Mamardashvili save us," Manuel muttered, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. Rosa nodded fervently, her lips moving silently as she whispered to herself. The camera on the screen zoomed in on Robert Lewandowski, who stood over the penalty spot, calm and composed, ready to strike. The Mestalla¡¯s noise, though distant in the room, seemed deafening in their ears. Back at the Mestalla, Lewandowski adjusted the ball one last time, his laser-focused gaze locking onto Mamardashvili, who crouched low on his line. The crowd was a cauldron of noise, Valencia fans whistling and screaming to rattle the Polish striker. Juan Hernan: "Here we go, Jorge. The entire stadium is holding its breath. Lewandowski, against Mamardashvili. This could change everything." Jorge Savina: "It¡¯s a moment of pure tension, Juan. Lewandowski rarely misses, but Mamardashvili has pulled off miracles tonight. The stakes couldn¡¯t be higher." Lewandowski took a deep breath, then began his slow, deliberate run-up. Silence momentarily fell in the living room of Manuel and Rosa, the only sound Rosa whispered, "Por favor, Se?or." Lewandowski struck the ball cleanly, a powerful shot aimed low to the right. Mamardashvili dived, but the ball streaked past his outstretched gloves. It was perfect¡ªuntil it wasn¡¯t. A metallic clang reverberated through the stadium as the ball smashed against the inside of the right post and ricocheted back into the box. The Mestalla erupted in a deafening roar of disbelief and hope, the sound washing over the players like a tidal wave. Juan Hernan: "He¡¯s hit the post! Lewandowski has hit the post!" Jorge Savina: "Oh, my word, Juan! It¡¯s chaos! The ball¡¯s still in play!" The ball rebounded out to Raphinha, who reacted instinctively, charging forward to strike the loose ball. The Valencian defenders scrambled desperately, but it was Raphinha who reached it first with the Brazilian winger unleashing a fierce shot toward the goal, aiming high. The fans were sure that this was it but Mamardashvili, still on the ground from his dive, somehow sprang back to life. With extraordinary reflexes, he punched the ball upward with both fists, sending it soaring away from the goal and toward the edge of the box. The Mestalla exploded in cheers, the fans roaring as if Valencia had just scored. Juan Hernan: "Mamardashvili! Incredible! What a save from the Georgian keeper! He¡¯s kept Valencia alive!" Jorge Savina: "That¡¯s pure instinct, Juan! From hitting the post to Raphinha¡¯s rebound, this could¡¯ve been over, but Mamardashvili has pulled off a miracle!" Manuel and Rosa, watching from their home, jumped to their feet, Manuel¡¯s fist pumping the air as he shouted, "?Vamos, Giorgi! That¡¯s how you save us!" Rosa clutched her rosary even tighter, her face breaking into a relieved smile. "I told you," Manuel said, his voice trembling with emotion, "he¡¯s our angel tonight." On the pitch, Mamardashvili, still lying on the ground, pounded the turf with his fists, shouting to rally his teammates. As the chaos subsided and the Mestalla roared in approval, the ball, still alive, spun toward the sideline. Barcelona¡¯s players hesitated for a split second, assuming it would roll out for a throw-in. But they underestimated Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ who seemed to have had new life breathed into him. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Valencia captain sprinted full throttle, his every stride determined, fueled by the roaring support of the crowd. Sliding just in time, Gay¨¤ hooked the ball back into play, preventing it from crossing the line. His desperate effort was met with another thunderous cheer from the stands. Juan Hernan: "Gay¨¤ isn¡¯t giving up on anything tonight! Look at him chase that down¡ªwhat heart from the Valencia captain!" Jorge Savina: "That¡¯s the spirit of this team, Juan. They¡¯re fighting for every blade of grass. Gay¨¤ knows what¡¯s at stake, and he¡¯s giving everything to keep Barcelona on the back foot." Gay¨¤ quickly got to his feet, scanning the pitch as Barcelona players began surging forward to press. With one glance, he spotted Izan drifting into space down the left flank. The young midfielder raised his hand, signaling for the ball, his eyes burning with intent. Gay¨¤ didn¡¯t hesitate. He whipped a precise, curling pass toward Izan, bypassing a cluster of Barcelona players in midfield. The ball glided through the air with precision, landing perfectly at Izan¡¯s feet. Izan¡¯s first touch was immaculate, killing the ball instantly as if it were a part of him. The Mestalla erupted again, their excitement renewed by the sight of their prodigy with the ball at his feet. The Barcelona players immediately reacted, sprinting back to close him down, but Izan was already scanning the pitch. Juan Hernan: "Oh, here we go, Jorge. The ball¡¯s with Izan. You can feel the electricity in the air every time he gets involved." Jorge Savina: "Barcelona¡¯s going to have to stay sharp now. Izan¡¯s vision and quick thinking could flip this game on its head in an instant." With Pedri closing in on him from behind and Araujo stepping forward to intercept, Izan flicked the ball to his right with a deft touch, evading Pedri¡¯s challenge. He then feinted left before cutting sharply to the right, leaving Araujo flat-footed. Ding,[Speedter trait activated] the system sounded. With a sharp breath, Izan glanced ahead before bursting forward. The crowd roared louder as Izan surged forward, the ball glued to his feet. Lamine Yamal sprinted back to join the defensive effort, while Frenkie de Jong tracked his run, attempting to box him in. But Izan was in full control, his every movement purposeful. He spotted Amallah making a darting run ahead of him on the right and sent a clever through ball into his path. Amallah¡¯a speed forced Barcelona¡¯s backline to shift, and as they did, Izan continued his run into the center, ready to receive the return pass. In the stands, the tension was palpable. Fans jumped to their feet, shouting encouragement. Mateo, still shaken from the penalty drama, leaned forward in his seat, his heart pounding. "This kid¡­ he¡¯s magic. Just watch him!" Juan Hernan: "Look at that. What pace from Izan, blazing through the field like a wild horse." Amallah after seeing Izan in space, sent the ball back to him with a clever one-touch pass, and the young midfielder found himself in space just outside the box Barcelona¡¯s defense rushed to close him down, but Izan, with a quick flick of his right boot, sent the ball wide to Gay¨¤, who had continued his run down the left. The Barcelona players, now fully committed to defending, were forced to retreat rapidly. The Mestalla was alive, the noise deafening as Valencia turned the tide, forcing Barcelona to chase the ball. The tension was mounting, and everyone knew something special could happen at any moment. As Gay¨¤ surged down the left flank, his head lifted to scan the box. Valencia¡¯s players were making their runs, but none stood out as much as Izan, hovering just outside the penalty area. Gay¨¤ hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing his options, before cutting the ball back toward Izan with a crisp, low pass. Izan met the ball with an almost casual touch, rolling it forward with the inside of his foot to control the pace. Frenkie de Jong was already charging toward him, intent on closing down the space before Izan could make his next move. The Mestalla held its breath as Izan looked up, sensing the pressure but refusing to panic. With a quick, deliberate motion, Izan flicked the ball upward with the outside of his boot, sending it arcing over De Jong¡¯s head. The Dutchman skidded to a halt, caught entirely off guard as the ball soared over him. The crowd erupted in awe, a collective gasp filling the stadium as Izan turned sharply on his heel, his body flowing effortlessly with the motion of the ball. Juan Hernan: "Oh my word! Izan, magnificent touch" [I know I write it but the glazing is too much] As the ball began its descent, Izan was already in motion, spinning with precision to track its trajectory. The Barcelona defenders were frozen for a split second, their focus entirely on him as the ball dropped back toward the earth. The stadium seemed to stand still, every fan on their feet, every voice silenced in anticipation. The ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, and Izan timed his leap perfectly. Twisting his body, he prepared to connect with it mid-air. The tension in the Mestalla reached its breaking point as Izan¡¯s boot swung forward to meet the ball. Juan Hernan: "Here it comes! Izan¡ª!" Chapter 226: Final Act [4] As the ball began its descent, Izan was already in motion, spinning with precision to track its trajectory. The Barcelona defenders were frozen for a split second, their focus entirely on him as the ball dropped back toward the earth. The stadium seemed to stand still, every fan on their feet, every voice silenced in anticipation. The ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, and Izan timed his leap perfectly. Twisting his body, he prepared to connect with it mid-air. The tension in the Mestalla reached its breaking point as Izan¡¯s boot swung forward to meet the ball. Juan Hernan: "Here it comes! Izan¡ª!" As Izan¡¯s boot struck the ball, the crack of the connection reverberated through the tense atmosphere of the Mestalla. The ball soared off his foot, spinning with vicious precision. It carved through the air like an arrow, rising and curving slightly outward before dipping back toward the goal. Ter Stegen¡¯s eyes locked onto the ball immediately, his instincts kicking in as he exploded off his line. The Barcelona goalkeeper stretched his entire frame, his body arched midair, his outstretched fingertips aiming to meet the ball¡¯s path. The stadium collectively held its breath, the ball traveling in a perfect arc toward the top corner. The spin added by Izan¡¯s strike caused the ball to dip sharply, its movement almost hypnotic as it grazed past Ter Stegen¡¯s fingertips. The lightest touch wasn¡¯t enough to alter its destiny. The ball struck the underside of the crossbar with a resounding clang, the force sending vibrations through the woodwork. For a split second, it bounced downward, hanging on the brink of the goal line, before it nestled satisfyingly into the back of the net. The net rippled violently, the ball spinning in place for a moment as if savoring its triumph. Time seemed frozen, the roar of the Mestalla delayed by an instant of collective disbelief. And then the sound came¡ªa deafening explosion of cheers, the entire stadium erupting in unison. Fans screamed, waved flags, and threw scarves into the air. The energy of the moment was palpable, a tide of raw emotion sweeping through every corner of the ground. Juan Hernan: "GOOOOOOOOOOAL! IT¡¯S IN! IT¡¯S IN! Izan has done it! What a strike!" Jorge Savina: "Unstoppable! Ter Stegen couldn¡¯t do a thing about that! What a moment! Valencia is alive, and the Mestalla has lost its mind!" Izan didn¡¯t even wait to process the scene. He took off in a mad sprint, leaping over the ad boards and diving straight into the Valencia crowd. Fans reached out, grabbing at him, patting his shoulders and head as he stood there, arms raised, soaking in their adoration. From the Valencia bench, players and staff poured out, rushing toward the scene. Gay¨¤ and Hugo Guillam¨®n were the first to reach Izan, following him into the mass of fans, their arms around him in jubilant celebration. Rub¨¦n Baraja stood on the touchline, fists clenched, roaring in approval as his staff embraced one another. The Mestalla was a cauldron of joy and chaos, the celebration spilling over onto the pitch as chants of "VALENCIA! VALENCIA!" reverberated through the stands. Izan thumped the badge on his chest as he turned to face the fans, pointing to the orange crest as if to say, "This is for you". .... The match restarted with urgency radiating from the Barcelona players. Lewandowski immediately pushed forward, playing a quick one-two with Pedri to break Valencia¡¯s initial press. The Catalans were relentless, determined to salvage something from the game. The fourth official held up the board, indicating six minutes of stoppage time, prompting a mixture of groans and cheers from the Mestalla faithful. Juan Hernan: "Six minutes added on! Six minutes for Valencia to hold on, but you can bet Barcelona will throw everything at them now!" Jorge Savina: "Valencia will have to dig deep, Juan. Barcelona isn¡¯t just going to roll over. Expect wave after wave of attack." --- Barcelona¡¯s intent was clear¡ªthey wanted a goal, and they wanted it now. Frenkie de Jong launched an inch-perfect long ball toward the right flank, where Lamine Yamal was waiting. The teenage sensation controlled it expertly, darting past Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ with a burst of pace. Yamal whipped in a dangerous cross that sailed toward the six-yard box. Lewandowski rose high, his head meeting the ball with force. The Mestalla gasped, but Giorgi Mamardashvili was once again Valencia¡¯s savior, diving low to his left to make a crucial save. The rebound fell to Raphinha, who unleashed a venomous shot. The ball seemed destined for the back of the net, but Hugo Guillam¨®n threw his body in the way, blocking it with everything he had. The crowd roared their approval, rallying behind their team. Valencia dropped deep, and every player was now behind the ball. Izan, despite his attacking instincts, was back in his own box, tracking Ferran Torres. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He intercepted a pass meant for the former Valencia player, toe-poking it out of danger before it could harm Valencia. Hugo Duro, known more for his contributions up front, was also seen sliding into challenges and chasing down loose balls. The striker cleared a cross from Balde at the near post, pumping his fist as if he¡¯d scored a goal. Juan Hernan: "Look at the commitment from Hugo Duro! This Valencia side is fighting for every inch of grass right now!" Jorge Savina: "It¡¯s not just the defenders, Juan. It¡¯s the entire team¡ªevery single player is giving their all to protect this lead." --- The Mestalla was alive, the fans practically acting as a 12th man. Chants of "AMUNT VALENCIA!" rang through the air, their intensity never wavering. Komi and Hori were on their feet, screaming encouragement at the top of their lungs. "Come on, boys! Just hold on!" Komi shouted, her scarf clenched tightly in her hands. Hori was leaning forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing. "Clear it! Get it out!" she yelled as another Barcelona attack loomed. --- Barcelona¡¯s final chance came in the 95th minute with a free kick just outside the box being awarded after Guillam¨®n¡¯s clumsy tackle on Lewandowski. The Mestalla fell silent as Raphinha stood over the ball, his focus razor-sharp. The referee¡¯s whistle blew, and Raphinha curled the ball toward the top corner, but Mamardashvili, yet again, leaped, his outstretched hand brushing the ball onto the crossbar. The ball bounced back into play, but Izan was there, heading it clear to the edge of the box. Pedri collected it and attempted a quick shot, but Hugo Duro blocked it again, hacking the ball downfield. Juan Hernan: "Mamardashvili saves it! And Duro clears! Valencia are seconds away!" Jorge Savina: "This is extraordinary, Juan! Every player is defending like their lives depend on it!" The referee glanced at his watch as the ball was hoofed into Barcelona¡¯s half. He raised the whistle to his lips and blew three sharp blasts. The Mestalla erupted in celebration, the roar shaking the very foundation of the stadium. The players collapsed to the ground, exhausted but triumphant. Izan raised both fists in the air, letting out a roar of victory before being swarmed by his teammates. Juan Hernan: "It¡¯s over! Valencia have done it! They¡¯ve defeated Barcelona at the Mestalla!" Jorge Savina: "What a performance! This was more than just a game¡ªit was a battle, and Valencia emerged victorious!" The stands were a sea of joy, fans singing and celebrating as the players embraced each other on the pitch. It was a night to remember, a testament to Valencia¡¯s resilience and heart. And at the center of it all stood Izan, the prodigy who had made the difference. .... As the final whistle blew and the jubilant celebrations continued around him, Izan slowly made his way toward the center of the pitch, where a few Barcelona players were gathering, their faces still set with frustration from the defeat. Pedri caught his eye and gave him a nod, walking over with a tired but respectful smile. Pedri: "Great performance tonight, bro. You really made the difference." Izan: "Thanks, Pedri. It was a tough match, but we all fought till the end." The two young midfielders shared a brief, knowing look. Pedri¡¯s smile widened, as he gestured toward the stands, where the Valencia fans were still roaring in delight. Izan chuckled, understanding what Pedri was getting at. He nodded, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. Just as the conversation continued, Lamine Yamal, who had been chatting with his teammates a few steps away, looked over at them. Pedri waved him over, and with a grin, Yamal jogged over to join them. Pedri: "Hey, Lamine, come over here! Let¡¯s make it official. I think Izan¡¯s already offering to give me his shirt." Yamal grinned widely, eyes sparkling with that familiar youthful energy. Yamal: "No chance you¡¯re getting away with that, Pedri. You got it last time and I¡¯m taking that shirt for myself!" Izan: "Come on, Pedri. You have to feel for the kid" Lamine: Yeah. Wait, we¡¯re the same age" The three players exchanged a lighthearted laugh, as the tension of the match finally gave way to camaraderie. After a few moments of friendly banter, Izan unbuttoned his Valencia jersey and handed it to Yamal. The young Barcelona winger accepted it with a grin. Izan: "Make sure to hang it up in a special place. I expect it to be framed one day." Yamal: "I¡¯ll make sure to hang it right next to my first Barcelona shirt! But seriously, that was a class goal today. You really got the crowd going." Izan nodded in appreciation. "Thanks, Lamine. You¡¯re going to be a big star for Barcelona and for Spain. Keep at it" Izan said a matter of factly. Well, he had to; after all, he was staring at Lamine¡¯s status window. "Damn," Izan muttered before looking away. Pedri, patting Izan¡¯s back spoke, "Good luck with the final against Bilbao. I hope you win" Izan nodded at the former¡¯s words and with that, the three exchanged final smiles before Izan jogged back toward his teammates, the fans still chanting his name in the background. A/n: End of the match ArC. Have a nice read and continue to support the book with you gifts and stones as well as tickets Chapter 227: Finale After a few moments of friendly banter, Izan unbuttoned his Valencia jersey and handed it to Yamal. The young Barcelona winger accepted it with a grin. Izan: "Make sure to hang it up in a special place. I expect it to be framed one day." Yamal: "I¡¯ll make sure to hang it right next to my first Barcelona shirt! But seriously, that was a class goal today. You got the crowd going." Izan nodded in appreciation. "Thanks, Lamine. You¡¯re going to be a big star for Barcelona and Spain. Keep at it" Izan said a matter of factly. Well, he had to; after all, he was staring at Lamine¡¯s status window. "Damn," Izan muttered before looking away. Pedri, patting Izan¡¯s back spoke, "Good luck with the final against Bilbao. I hope you win" Izan nodded at the former¡¯s words and with that, the three exchanged final smiles before Izan jogged back toward his teammates, the fans still chanting his name in the background. ...¡­. The post-match analysis kicked off with Carlos Dom¨¦nech and Clara Mart¨ªnez seated at the desk, the energy in the studio still buzzing from Valencia¡¯s 3-2 victory over Barcelona. Replays of the game¡¯s highlights rolled behind them, particularly the decisive moments involving Izan. Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "Valencia¡¯s win tonight was significant, not just because it was against Barcelona, but because it showed how far this team has come in terms of resilience and quality. Once again, Izan played a pivotal role. His contributions in this match¡ªassisting Mark¡¯s equalizer and scoring the winner¡ªwere the difference." The screen cut to a replay of Izan¡¯s free kick assist, the ball curling perfectly into the box before Mark rose to head it in. Clara Mart¨ªnez: "That assist was no fluke. The delivery was precise, calculated, and placed where only Mark could reach it. It¡¯s something Izan does consistently, creating opportunities in high-pressure situations. He¡¯s been godly for Valencia this season, and as always, tonight he delivered when it mattered most." Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "And then there¡¯s the goal. Let¡¯s not overlook how much composure it takes to strike the ball like that, especially in a game of this magnitude. The way he flicked the ball over de Jong. The way he positioned himself and unleashed that shot¡ªit was flashy but clinical." The screen shifted to Izan¡¯s goal, with slow-motion replays of the strike showing how the ball swerved past Ter Stegen into the net. Clara Mart¨ªnez: "That goal wasn¡¯t just about power; it was about technique. He kept his body over the ball, struck it cleanly, and left one of the best goalkeepers in the world with no chance. These are the moments that win games, and Izan has a knack for producing them." The analysts moved on to discuss Izan¡¯s role beyond just his attacking play, highlighting key moments in the latter stages of the match when Barcelona pushed for an equalizer. Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "It¡¯s not just what he does going forward; Izan also played a critical role defensively tonight. Late in the game, when Barcelona threw everything at Valencia, he was tracking back, making crucial interceptions, and even helping to clear the ball. That interception against Lamine Yamal near the end¡ªthose are the small details that make a big difference." Clara Mart¨ªnez: "And that shows his maturity. At his age, many players would focus solely on their attacking responsibilities, but Izan recognizes the importance of working for the team. That¡¯s a huge asset for Valencia, especially in high-pressure games like this." After a while, the discussion naturally transitioned to Valencia¡¯s upcoming Copa del Rey final against Athletic Bilbao. Footage showed Bilbao¡¯s recent games, along with Ernesto Valverde watching from the stands at Mestalla. Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "Tonight¡¯s win couldn¡¯t have come at a better time for Valencia. Beating Barcelona gives the team massive momentum heading into the Copa del Rey final. But more importantly, it puts Athletic Bilbao on high alert. Valverde would have been watching closely tonight, and he¡¯ll know that stopping Izan will be absolutely key for Bilbao if they want to win." Clara Mart¨ªnez: "Exactly. Bilbao is a strong, physical team, but tonight we saw that Izan can handle physicality and still deliver. He was marked tightly by Barcelona at times, but he still found space to create. That¡¯s the kind of player Bilbao will have to plan for because if he¡¯s given an inch, he¡¯ll punish them." The screen cut to a split shot of Izan celebrating with the Valencia crowd and the Athletic Bilbao players warming up during their last league game. Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "Another thing Bilbao will need to think about is the connection Izan has with his teammates. That assist for Mark tonight wasn¡¯t just about skill¡ªit was about chemistry. He knows where his teammates will be, and that understanding is what makes Valencia¡¯s attack so dangerous. If Bilbao focuses too much on Izan, players like Hugo Duro and Mark will capitalize." Clara Mart¨ªnez: "And let¡¯s not forget his versatility. We saw it tonight¡ªhe was attacking one moment, defending the next. Bilbao will need to be prepared for the fact that Izan can influence the game in multiple ways. They¡¯ll also need to deal with his set-piece delivery. That free kick assist tonight was a reminder of how deadly he can be in those situations." The analysts also took a moment to reflect on Valencia¡¯s overall progression this season, with Izan at the center of their resurgence. Carlos Dom¨¦nech: "Valencia¡¯s improvement this season has been remarkable, and Izan has been at the heart of it. This team now plays with belief, and tonight¡¯s win against Barcelona showed that they can compete with the best. The Copa del Rey final is going to be a massive test, but this performance will give them confidence." Clara Mart¨ªnez: "Confidence and momentum, Carlos. Beating Barcelona isn¡¯t easy, especially when you¡¯re coming off a challenging season. But this group, led by Baraja, has shown that they can rise to the occasion. And with a player like Izan driving them forward, anything feels possible. Athletic Bilbao will have their work cut out for them." The segment ended with a final replay of Izan¡¯s goal and the Mestalla crowd erupting in celebration, a reminder of the night¡¯s significance. Valencia¡¯s win over Barcelona wasn¡¯t just a victory¡ªit was a statement ahead of their biggest game of the season. ... Ernesto Valverde stood in his office at the San Mam¨¦s training complex, the remnants of Valencia¡¯s game against Barcelona still fresh in his mind. The TV screen was blank now, but his thoughts were filled with the game¡¯s defining moments: Izan¡¯s match-winning strike, his intelligent assist, and the relentless energy Valencia had displayed throughout. The Copa del Rey final was only days away, and this would be the third time his Athletic Bilbao side faced Valencia this season. Familiarity with their style didn¡¯t make the task ahead any easier¡ªit made it more dangerous. He picked up his notepad, now filled with notes from their two previous encounters and tonight¡¯s game. Despite the past matchups, Izan remained a player who could disrupt any defensive plan. His growth over the season was undeniable, and Valverde knew stopping him would require more than just tactical preparation¡ªit would require focus and discipline for 90 minutes, maybe more. Leaving the office, Valverde made his way to the players¡¯ lounge. Inside, the mood was serious yet subdued. I?aki Williams sat with a sports drink in hand, while Oihan Sancet and Unai Sim¨®n sat forward on the couch, their eyes glued to the highlights playing on the TV. The replay of Izan¡¯s goal flashed across the screen once more, and the three exchanged quiet remarks about the technique and timing of the strike. Valverde entered, and the room quieted slightly, the players acknowledging him with respectful nods. "You¡¯ve played them twice already," Valverde began, his voice calm but firm. "You know what they¡¯re capable of. What stood out to you tonight?" I?aki leaned forward, thoughtful. "They¡¯ve stepped it up, especially Izan. He was good the first time we faced him, better the second, but now¡­" He shook his head. "He¡¯s different. He¡¯s carrying the team when they need him most." Valverde nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And what makes him difficult to stop?" Unai Sim¨®n was the first to reply. "It¡¯s not just his skill¡ªit¡¯s his decision-making. When he¡¯s in the final third, he knows exactly when to pass, when to shoot, or when to take a defender on. That assist for Mark tonight? He saw the space before anyone else. And his goal¡ªhe didn¡¯t think twice." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Valverde turned to Sancet. "What about when he doesn¡¯t have the ball? What did you notice?" Sancet leaned back, frowning slightly. "He¡¯s never static. Even when he¡¯s being marked, he¡¯s constantly moving, dragging defenders around, opening up gaps for Gaya or Hugo Duro to exploit. You can¡¯t just mark him¡ªyou have to keep the whole system in check." Valverde nodded again, his fingers drumming against the table. "And you¡¯ve seen what happens when you focus too much on him," he said. "It leaves Gaya, Almeida, or Duro with too much space. They¡¯re not just a one-man team, but he makes them tick." The players nodded, their expressions serious. While they knew Izan well from their past encounters, his performance tonight had reminded them of just how much of a threat he posed. Valverde stood, glancing at each player. "We¡¯ve faced them twice, and we¡¯ve held our own. But this is a final, and Valencia will come for us with everything they¡¯ve got. We¡¯ll focus on the details in training tomorrow. Tonight, just think about what you¡¯ve seen. Analyze it. And remember¡ªwe¡¯ve beaten bigger odds before." With that, he left the players to their thoughts, his mind already moving to the next step. The familiarity between the two teams would make this final a chess match of the highest order. Valverde knew that neutralizing Izan would be critical, but it wouldn¡¯t be the only challenge. This wasn¡¯t just about stopping Valencia¡ªit was about ensuring Athletic Bilbao imposed their own game. Chapter 228: Day-Off Valverde stood, glancing at each player. "We¡¯ve faced them twice, and we¡¯ve held our own. But this is a final, and Valencia will come for us with everything they¡¯ve got. We¡¯ll focus on the details in training tomorrow. Tonight, just think about what you¡¯ve seen. Analyze it. And remember¡ªwe¡¯ve beaten bigger odds before." With that, he left the players to their thoughts, his mind already moving to the next step. The familiarity between the two teams would make this final a chess match of the highest order. Valverde knew that neutralizing Izan would be critical, but it wouldn¡¯t be the only challenge. This wasn¡¯t just about stopping Valencia¡ªit was about ensuring Athletic Bilbao imposed their own game. ..... The Valencia team bus rumbled into the Paterna training facility, its presence a silent testament to the warriors it carried. The journey from Mestalla had been a mixture of exhaustion and quiet celebration, the team still processing the magnitude of what they had just accomplished. The victory against Barcelona was fresh, and as the bus slowed to a stop, the players stirred, stretching sore limbs, exchanging weary but satisfied nods. As they stepped off one by one, the crisp Valencia night wrapped around them, a contrast to the heated battle they had fought on the pitch. The floodlights at Paterna cast long shadows over the pavement, illuminating the fatigue in their bodies but also the pride in their movements. Waiting for them at the entrance was Rub¨¦n Baraja, his eyes scanning his players with the satisfaction of a general whose soldiers had returned victorious. As the last of them filed into the facility, he clapped his hands together, drawing their attention. "Boys," Baraja started, his voice steady but filled with emotion, "I don¡¯t think I need to tell you what you¡¯ve just done." A few chuckles rumbled through the squad. They knew. They had felt it. He continued, his eyes meeting each player¡¯s gaze. "You¡¯ve played through a schedule that would have broken most teams. Seven games in 15 days, and not just against anyone. Against Real Madrid. Against Barcelona. And the only result that wasn¡¯t a win was that draw against Mallorca in the first leg of the semi-final clash." Some players smirked, remembering the Mallorca match¡ªa game they had dominated but failed to win. Baraja smiled slightly. "You know what that tells me? That tells me that you are a team that doesn¡¯t make excuses. That no matter how tired you are, no matter who the opponent is, you fight." He paced slightly, his voice filled with conviction. "The board is beyond pleased. They see what we are building here. They see the heart, the grit, the commitment to something bigger than just winning games. They see a team that is capable of competing at the highest level. And do you know what else they see?" He let the silence stretch for a moment before answering his own question. "They see a team that is ready to win a final." At the mention of the Copa del Rey Final against Athletic Bilbao, the players exchanged glances. The reality of their season¡¯s biggest moment loomed ahead, but after what they had just done to Barcelona, they knew they were ready. Baraja¡¯s voice softened, but his words carried just as much weight. "But before we think about that, before we start working on our next battle, you all deserve something. Two days off." A murmur of approval swept through the room, with some players nodding in relief. It had been a brutal stretch of games, and the thought of a brief escape from the grind was welcomed. Some were already thinking about sleeping in, others about spending time with family, and a few about simply sitting at home doing nothing. But before Baraja could continue, a voice cut through the atmosphere. "Two days off for everyone¡ªexcept Izan, who has school tomorrow." The room erupted into laughter. Players clapped Izan on the back while some ruffled his hair as they teased him Izan, arms crossed, smirked. "Yeah, well, someone has to keep up the good name of Valencia on and off the pitch." Even Baraja chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands. "Let the kid breathe. He¡¯s earned it as much as anyone." The energy in the room shifted from exhaustion to warmth. These were the moments that made a team stronger¡ªnot just victories on the field, but moments like this, shared in locker rooms, in buses, in training facilities, where they were more than just teammates. As the players started to disperse, some lingered to wash away the sweat accumulated from the night¡¯s game. Hugo Duro and Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤ each, stood in one of the bathroom stalls, discussing the key moments of the match. "That clearance in stoppage time," Duro said, shaking his head. "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen a team defend like that in my life." Gay¨¤, still feeling the adrenaline, grinned. "And Izan¡¯s goal? My God. The kid doesn¡¯t just score; he makes it look like something out of a movie." Thierry Correia, who had been listening, chimed in. "I swear, when he hit that ball, the entire Mestalla stopped breathing for a second." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The conversation drifted between the players, each recalling their favorite moments. Hugo spoke about Mark¡¯s header, while Gaya was all about Giorgi Mamardashvili¡¯s crucial save after the missed penalty. They all agreed on one thing¡ªthis win was special. As the last few players gathered their things, Baraja addressed them one last time. "These two days? Use them well. Rest, recover, and reset your minds. Because when we come back, everything we do will be for that final." He glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of his warriors. "We¡¯ve earned our place there. But I don¡¯t want to just be in the final. I want to win it." The weight of his words settled over the room. The victory against Barcelona had been incredible, but it was only a step toward something greater. One by one, they left Paterna, heading to their cars, some calling loved ones, others just taking a deep breath and letting the night¡¯s events sink in. Izan lingered for a moment before heading out. As he walked towards the exit, Gay¨¤ called after him. "Hey, don¡¯t forget your schoolbooks. You still have homework." Izan rolled his eyes but grinned. "I¡¯ll tell my teachers I was too busy scoring against Barcelona." The laughter followed him out into the night as the team finally went their separate ways, knowing that their journey for the season was far from over. ...¡­ The soft hum of his alarm filled the room, gradually pulling Izan from the depths of sleep. His body felt heavy, the previous night¡¯s battle against Barcelona still lingering in his muscles as he blinked himself awake. With a deep breath, Izan sat up, stretching his arms above his head before swinging his legs off the bed. His feet met the cool wooden floor, and almost instinctively, his body reminded him of the toll the match had taken. Soreness crept through his calves, his lower back ached slightly, and his hamstrings felt tight. Nothing unusual. "And I didn¡¯t even play the full match. I wonder how those guys must be feeling" Izan muttered as he thought of his teammates. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through a message from the club¡¯s performance app. As expected, it had assigned him a set of recovery exercises tailored to his physical condition after the intense match. "I¡¯d use the recovery drug but that thing still doesn¡¯t feel as good as the exercise when you¡¯re done". Dressed in training gear, Izan made his way to the small workout space he and Hori had set up in the house. He placed his phone on a stand and opened the app, which guided him through each movement. He started with foam rolling, pressing into the sore muscles of his legs, releasing any tightness that had built up. The discomfort was sharp at times, but he knew this was necessary to keep his body in peak condition. Next came dynamic stretching¡ªa slow series of hip openers, hamstring sweeps, and spinal rotations. Each movement felt stiff at first, but as his muscles warmed up, the stiffness gradually eased. The app then moved him into mobility drills. Deep lunges with thoracic rotations, ankle mobility stretches, and controlled leg swings. These were the small details that made the difference in long seasons, preventing injuries and keeping his movement fluid on the pitch. Then came core stability work¡ªplanks, dead bugs, and slow, controlled leg raises. The match had drained his energy, but this was about rebuilding, ensuring his body was aligned and strong. As he wrapped up the session, Izan took a sip of water, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His muscles felt looser, more awake. With the recovery routine done, he checked his phone but before he could continue, the system sounded, displaying the tasks for the morning. [ Damn. I forgot the novel had a system.] Izan sighed, a small smirk forming. There truly was no such thing as a full day off in football. He grabbed his running shoes and headed out, the morning sun warming his skin as he stepped onto the streets of Valencia, ready to tackle the day ahead. Chapter 229: The Day Won’t End Izan¡¯s breath was steady as he slowed his pace, the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the pavement gradually fading. The morning sun was climbing, casting a golden glow over the quiet Valencia streets. He could feel the lingering burn in his legs, a satisfying ache that reminded him of last night¡¯s match. His hoodie was damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his back, but he didn¡¯t mind. The run had done its job¡ªhis muscles felt awake, and his mind was clear. As he approached his home, he stopped just outside, hands on his hips as he took in a few deep breaths. His heart rate was beginning to settle as he entered the house, the cool air greeting him the moment he stepped inside. The familiar scent of coffee wafted through the hallway, mixed with the faint trace of Komi¡¯s floral perfume. He could hear the distant hum of the television, and the sound of Hori¡¯s laughter echoing from the living room. After removing his running shoes, he made his way to the bathroom, peeling off his hoodie and tossing it into the laundry basket. His reflection in the mirror was a reminder of the match from last night¡ªhis hair was a mess, his skin glistening with sweat, but there was also a quiet satisfaction in his expression. They had beaten Barcelona. He let out a small chuckle to himself before stepping into the shower. The hot water was a welcome relief, washing away the sweat and tension from his body. His muscles, which had felt stiff earlier, were beginning to loosen up under the steady stream. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to simply exist in the warmth before finally reaching for the soap. .... After he finished bathing, his stomach let out a low grumble, reminding him that he hadn¡¯t eaten since last night¡¯s post-match meal. As he stepped into the living room, the first thing he saw was Komi seated at the dining table, her phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Hori was next to her, dressed for school, scrolling through her tablet with an almost lazy disinterest. "There he is," Komi said, setting her phone down. "Finally back from your personal Olympics." Izan rolled his eyes as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "It was just a run." "Uh-huh." Komi gave him a knowing look. "Anyway, your school called earlier. They said you should take the day off. Something about giving you time to recover after your ¡¯professional commitments.¡¯" Izan raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-drink. "Wait, what? Really?" Komi smirked. "Apparently, they don¡¯t want their star student collapsing in class. I think the principal might be a Valencia fan." Before Izan could respond, Hori let out an exaggerated groan, dramatically dropping her tablet onto the table. "This is so unfair." Izan smirked, taking a seat across from her. "What is?" "This! You get to stay home and chill while I have to sit through boring classes all day?" She jabbed her toast with her fork, as if personally offended by the news. "I get good grades too, you know. Where¡¯s my day off?" "You¡¯re not a professional athlete," Izan pointed out. Hori scoffed. "Oh, please. You just kicked a ball for ninety minutes. Meanwhile, I have to suffer through math for the day. If anyone needs recovery time, it¡¯s me." Izan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I¡¯ll be sure to tell the school that." Komi, who had been sipping her coffee through their bickering, finally spoke up. "So, how are you going to spend your day, Izan?" Izan leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. "I don¡¯t know yet. Maybe I¡¯ll go out for a bit. Take it easy." Hori shot him a suspicious look. "You? Take it easy?" Komi laughed softly. "She¡¯s got a point." "Hey," Izan said, raising his hands in mock defense. "I can relax." Hori snorted. "Yeah, I¡¯ll believe that when I see it." Komi chuckled, shaking her head. "Just don¡¯t forget to eat properly, alright? You know how you get when you¡¯re focused on something." Izan rolled his eyes. "Got it, Mom." Hori sighed, slumping against the table. "Still jealous." Izan reached over and ruffled her hair, earning a swat on his hand. She tried to act annoyed, but he could see the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. As much as she complained, he knew she wasn¡¯t hurt by it. Breakfast had been lively, filled with Hori¡¯s exaggerated complaints and Komi¡¯s amused remarks, but now the house was settling into a quieter rhythm. Izan stood by the door, watching as Komi adjusted Hori¡¯s collar, making sure everything was in place before they left. "Don¡¯t forget your lunch," Komi reminded, handing Hori a small bag. "I won¡¯t," Hori grumbled, though her attention was clearly elsewhere. She glanced over her shoulder at Izan, narrowing her eyes. "I swear, if I come home and find out you spent the whole day playing video games, I¡¯m going to be mad." Izan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Why do you care?" "Because it¡¯s a waste of a free day! Go outside, live a little." She sighed dramatically as if his lack of plans was personally disappointing to her. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Komi placed a gentle hand on her back, steering her towards the door. "Alright, enough lecturing. Let¡¯s go before you¡¯re late." She then turned back to Izan, giving him a small smile. "Take it easy today, okay?" Izan nodded. "Yeah, I will." "Good," she said before stepping out with Hori, who was still mumbling something about unfairness. Izan watched as they walked down to the driveway. He waited until their car disappeared around the corner before shutting the door, the click echoing through the now-quiet home. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the silence. It wasn¡¯t often that he had the place to himself. Between training, matches, and school, moments like these were not common. With a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back towards the living room. Now, the question was¡ªwhat was he actually going to do with his day off? With no immediate obligations, Izan sank into the couch, controller in hand, and let the world of gaming pull him in. His fingers moved instinctively over the buttons as he navigated through a high-paced football match on the screen. It wasn¡¯t quite the same as playing on the real pitch, but it kept his mind engaged. He leaned forward, focused, as he maneuvered his virtual player past defenders and struck the ball cleanly into the top corner. The game¡¯s commentators erupted in celebration, and Izan let out a satisfied breath. But after a few matches, the excitement wore off. He tossed the controller onto the cushion beside him and stretched his arms over his head. The clock read 10:47 AM. He had been playing for nearly an hour, yet the day still felt like it had barely started. His phone vibrated beside him, and when he picked it up, Sosa¡¯s name flashed on the screen. A small smirk played on his lips as he answered. "You actually have time to pick up my calls now?" Sosa said before he could even say hello. "Shocking, right?" he shot back, settling further into the couch. "Guess what? The school gave me the day off." "I know," he replied, unimpressed. "They mentioned it in class. Everyone¡¯s talking about how unfair it is." Izan laughed. "Even the teachers?" "Especially the teachers," he joked. "Anyway, what are you doing with all this free time?" "Not much. Played some games, and now I¡¯m just sitting here." "Sounds thrilling," Sosa deadpanned. "You should go out or something. Do something fun." "I was thinking about it," Izan admitted. "Maybe I¡¯ll go for a walk." "Alone?" "Yeah, but I¡¯ll go undercover," he said, grinning to himself. "Cap, mask, hoodie¡ªthe whole thing." "Bro, just don¡¯t," Sosa said with a sigh but Izan didn¡¯t reply. The two talked for a moment, exchanging light banter, before Sosa had to return to class. Once the call ended, Izan decided he might as well go outside. Throwing on a black hoodie and a cap, he left the house and started walking, keeping his head low. The city had a different energy when he wasn¡¯t rushing to training or school¡ªshops setting up, people going about their day, the smell of fresh pastries drifting from a nearby caf¨¦. He wandered aimlessly, weaving through narrow streets and occasionally stopping to glance at shop windows. Nobody seemed to notice him, which was exactly what he wanted. But after about an hour of walking, the feeling of excitement wore off. He had roamed the streets, breathed in the fresh air, and still¡ªwhen he got home and checked the time¡ªit was barely past noon. Letting out a groan, he flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "This day is never going to end, is it?" Chapter 230: Teammates Admiration The city had a different energy when he wasn¡¯t rushing to training or school¡ªshops setting up, people going about their day, the smell of fresh pastries drifting from a nearby caf¨¦. He wandered aimlessly, weaving through narrow streets and occasionally stopping to glance at shop windows. Nobody seemed to notice him, which was exactly what he wanted. But after about an hour of walking, the feeling of excitement wore off. He had roamed the streets, breathed in the fresh air, and still¡ªwhen he got home and checked the time¡ªit was barely past noon. Letting out a groan, he flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "This day is never going to end, is it?" ...¡­.. Lying on the couch, Izan drummed his fingers against his stomach, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the apartment was getting to him. If he stayed here any longer, he was going to lose his mind. Just as he considered playing another round of games, his phone buzzed. Pietro¡¯s name flashed on the screen. Pietro: Yo, you free? Izan exhaled, relieved to have something to do. Izan: Yeah, what¡¯s up? Pietro: Come out. I¡¯m bored, and you look like you need to touch grass. Izan smirked. This guy. Pietro sometimes had a way of making things sound like he was doing Izan a favor. He wasn¡¯t wrong, though. Within minutes, Izan grabbed his hoodie and cap again, heading out to meet his teammate. They two met at a small plaza near the city center, where Pietro was already lounging on a bench, scrolling through his phone. "Finally," Pietro greeted, standing up. "For a guy who sprints up and down a football pitch, you sure take your time walking." Izan rolled his eyes. "You called me five minutes ago. And why are you talking like that" Pietro just shrugged before walking away. The duo spent the next hour wandering around, occasionally stopping to mess around with a ball Pietro had brought. They found a quiet side street and passed it between them, showing off a few tricks, drawing amused looks from passersby. "I should be resting," Izan muttered after flicking the ball back to Pietro. "You should, but you¡¯d be bored out of your mind." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Fair point." Just then, Pietro¡¯s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and smirked before answering. "Ava. What¡¯s up?" Izan raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this was going. Pietro talked for a bit, nodding along, and when he hung up, he looked at Izan with a guilty grin. "Bro code, right?" Pietro said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Izan sighed. "You¡¯re ditching me." "It¡¯s not ditching if I give you a heads-up." Izan crossed his arms. "That¡¯s exactly what ditching is." Pietro clapped him on the back. "You¡¯ll survive. Go do¡­ whatever it is you do when you¡¯re not carrying Valencia." Izan shook his head as Pietro jogged off. "Unbelievable." With nowhere else to go, Izan decided to head back home. The house was still empty, which made him wonder when Komi and Hori would be back. He checked the time¡ªstill early evening. Then, an idea hit him. He hadn¡¯t done anything all day except wander around. Maybe he could at least surprise Komi by making dinner which he hadn¡¯t done in a while. Cooking wasn¡¯t exactly his strong suit, but he had watched Komi enough times to pick up a few things. After searching the kitchen for ingredients, he settled on something simple¡ªrice with a meat sauce. The rice went fine. The sauce, however, was a different story. At some point, the seasoning felt off, and when he tried to adjust it, he realized he might have gone a bit overboard. Still, it looked decent when he plated everything. Just as he finished cleaning up, the door opened, and Komi walked in first, followed by Hori. The smell hit them immediately. "You cooked?" Komi asked, a bit surprised. Izan nodded, trying to look casual about it. "Yeah. Figured I¡¯d make something before you got home." Komi smiled, clearly touched. "That¡¯s sweet of you." Hori, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You cooked?" "Yes." "And it¡¯s edible?" "Try it and find out." They all sat down to eat, and for a while, there was silence as they dug in. Komi nodded approvingly, but Hori¡­ "This is terrible," Hori said bluntly. Izan frowned. "You¡¯re literally on your second serving." "That doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s good." Komi chuckled. "Hori." "What? I¡¯m just saying." She took another bite. "It¡¯s bad, but I¡¯m hungry." Izan shook his head, exasperated. "Unbelievable." Despite her complaints, Hori finished her plate. Komi gave Izan an appreciative look. "It really was a nice surprise. Thank you." Izan shrugged, but he couldn¡¯t hide his small smile. At least the day hadn¡¯t been a complete waste. ... The next day passed without much excitement¡ªat least for Izan. Training was still a day away, meaning he had another quiet day to himself. He went through his usual recovery exercises, responding to messages from teammates and friends, but there was only one real topic dominating every conversation: the Copa del Rey final. The shift in attention was undeniable. Every Spanish football outlet, every analyst, every fan discussion was centered around the upcoming clash between Valencia and Athletic Bilbao. The final was only days away, and for Valencia, this was their biggest shot at silverware since they last won one in 2019. On TV, sports programs dissected every possible angle of the match. Would Valencia¡¯s recent form give them the edge? Could they maintain their intensity after a brutal schedule? How would Bilbao, known for their resilience, respond to Valencia¡¯s direct attacking play? And of course, there was plenty of discussion about Izan¡ªhis recent performance against Barcelona had only solidified his reputation as one of the best young talents and big-game players, fueling the hype. Even as he scrolled through social media, he couldn¡¯t escape it. Fans were debating lineups, predicting results, and posting highlights from Valencia¡¯s recent games. His assist to Mark. His goal against Barcelona. The debates over whether he should start or if Baraja would keep him as a super-sub again. At home, Komi and Hori had picked up on the tension in the air. "This is the biggest final Valencia¡¯s had in years," Komi remarked over dinner. "You must be feeling the pressure." Izan shook his head. "Not really. At least, not yet." Hori leaned forward. "You say that now, but wait until matchday. You¡¯ll be feeling it then." She wasn¡¯t wrong. The pressure, the expectations¡ªit was only going to build as the final approached. ..... As the staff at Paterna prepared for the day¡¯s training, the atmosphere was bustling with activity. The players had arrived early, eager to start their day, and made their way to the cafeteria. Baraja, standing by the coffee machine, greeted them with a focused but friendly demeanor. As the players gathered in the cafeteria, the buzz of anticipation for training filled the air. Baraja stood near the counter, already sipping his coffee, while the players made their way in. They all found their seats, but it was Pietro who quickly noticed something was off. "Wait, hold up," Pietro said, scanning the room. "Where¡¯s Izan?" The players, already settling into their morning routine, glanced around, shrugging. "He¡¯s still at school," Hugo replied with a grin, the usual calmness of Izan¡¯s routine making his absence no surprise. Pietro, however, raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair with a dramatic flair. "Ah, right, school," he said, tapping his fingers on the table like he was piecing together a mystery. "How could I forget? The kid¡¯s literally out there playing for Valencia, taking the world by storm¡­ and he¡¯s still somehow managing to top his classes. What¡¯s his secret¡ªdoes he have a personal tutor who¡¯s also a time traveler?" The table erupted in chuckles. Pietro flashed a grin, continuing with exaggerated theatrics but before he could continue, Correiratook over. "I mean, is he hiding a cheat code for life? Like, ¡¯press A to dominate football, press B to ace every test¡¯? How does he do it?" The players laughed harder, a few even slapping the table in agreement after Correira¡¯s words. "That¡¯s what I mean. But, seriously," Pietro resumed, pointing at the group. "I¡¯m over here struggling to finish a cup of coffee before training, and Izan¡¯s probably already solved the world¡¯s problems and is halfway through his next exam. If this were a video game, he¡¯d have unlocked the ¡¯Superhuman¡¯ mode by now." The players shared a few knowing nods, the playful banter blending with genuine admiration. Pietro leaned back, shaking his head. "Honestly, though," he said with a wink, "I don¡¯t know if I want to find out if he¡¯s got some magic trick up his sleeve. The kid¡¯s got enough pressure without us making him a superhero. But hey, I wouldn¡¯t mind a few tips myself!" The lighthearted teasing continued, but everyone knew Pietro¡¯s remarks came from a place of respect¡ªthough no one could quite figure out how Izan seemed to do it all so effortlessly. Chapter 231: Looming Final By the time Izan arrived at training in the afternoon, Paterna was already alive with intensity. The sun hung high over the complex, casting long shadows across the pristine training pitch. Valencia¡¯s players were gathered in small groups, stretching, chatting, or listening intently to the coaches. Everything about the atmosphere felt different today. The usual relaxed energy had been replaced by something sharper¡ªmore focused. The Copa del Rey final was days away, and everyone knew it. Izan stepped onto the pitch, dressed in his training kit, feeling the shift immediately. Conversations were brief, and the laughter that usually filled warm-ups was more controlled. Even the staff moved with a heightened sense of urgency, setting up cones, mannequins, and goalposts with precision. As Izan jogged to join his teammates, a few of them acknowledged him with nods and smirks. "Finally," Pietro muttered, nudging him with his elbow. "Some of us have been grinding all morning." "You mean standing around drinking coffee?" Izan shot back, earning a few chuckles from the players nearby. But the moment Baraja blew his whistle, the joking stopped. Training had officially begun, and Valencia went into full serious mode. Sharpening the Blade The session started with high-intensity drills¡ªshort, crisp passing sequences that demanded quick decision-making. Izan moved between the lines, receiving and releasing the ball under pressure, testing his touch and awareness. His movements were sharp, his focus unwavering. Next came the tactical drills. Baraja was relentless, running them through their attacking patterns, ensuring every player knew their roles inside out. He emphasized their transitions¡ªthe moments where Valencia thrived best. "Quick recovery! Move it forward with purpose!" Baraja barked. The drills progressed into scrimmages, and this was where Izan came alive. Placed on the ¡¯starting¡¯ team, he immediately took control of the attacking sequences. His presence in the final third dictated the tempo. In one sequence, he picked up the ball between the lines and drove at the defense, skipping past a challenge before threading a perfectly weighted through ball to Mark, who slotted it past the keeper. A few minutes later, Izan received the ball on the left side, feigned inside, then suddenly cut back onto his right foot, whipping in a dangerous cross. The defenders scrambled, but Hugo was there to meet it with a thumping header into the net. As the session continued, he linked up with his teammates effortlessly, whether it was short, intricate passes in tight spaces or quick, decisive movements into the box. Every attack seemed to flow through him, reinforcing why he had become such a pivotal figure for the team. Baraja halted the game momentarily to instruct the midfielders on better positioning, but even as he spoke, the energy remained high. The players knew they were sharpening themselves for battle. Beyond the fences of the training ground, a crowd was beginning to gather. At first, it was just a few fans, but as the scrimmages continued, the numbers grew. They lined the edges of the complex, some pressing against the barriers, others waving flags and banners. Signs of encouragement filled the space: "Vamos Valencia!" "Bring the Copa home!" "Izan, destroy them!" Some fans held up flyers with the squad¡¯s faces printed on them, while others chanted songs that echoed through Paterna. Baraja, noticing the rising enthusiasm, called a pause in training. "Alright, let¡¯s acknowledge them," he said, gesturing for the players to walk over. The team jogged toward the edge of the pitch, waving and clapping in appreciation. Izan spotted a young fan holding a handmade sign with his name on it, and he gave the kid a thumbs-up, earning an excited cheer in return. Pietro, always one for theatrics, blew kisses to the crowd, prompting laughter from the players. Hugo exchanged words with a few supporters, while others took a moment to interact with the fans who had come to show their unwavering support. After a few minutes, Baraja clapped his hands. "Alright, back to work!" With that, the players turned and refocused, but the presence of the fans only added to the weight of the occasion. The city was behind them, and they couldn¡¯t afford to let them down. Meanwhile, over in Bilbao, the Athletic Club was conducting their own training session. Their approach was just as intense but far more reserved. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. There were no crowds gathered around their training ground, no banners waving through the air¡ªonly a quiet determination hanging over the pitch. Their coach drilled them on defensive structure, ensuring they remained compact and disciplined. Bilbao was known for their resilience, their ability to absorb pressure, and strike when the moment was right. They didn¡¯t rely on star names or flashy football¡ªthey thrived on unity and grit. Ra¨²l Garc¨ªa, one of their most experienced players, led by example, barking instructions and setting the tone. Their strikers worked on finishing drills, their midfielders on closing down spaces, and their defenders on repelling waves of simulated attacks. There were no distractions here. Only preparation. Because they knew Valencia would come at them with everything they had. And they had no intention of making it easy. Back at Paterna, training wrapped up with set-piece drills¡ªan area Baraja wanted them to exploit against Bilbao. Izan took his position behind the ball, whipping in pinpoint accurate crosses one after the other with the fans watching as the deliveries came in. One by one, the players attacked the ball with precision. As the session came to an end, Izan took a deep breath, feeling the slight burn in his legs. It had been a long, demanding session, but necessary. As he grabbed a bottle of water, Pietro walked over, nudging him with his shoulder. "Not bad, superstar. Think we¡¯re ready?" Izan exhaled, glancing at the banners still waving in the distance. He didn¡¯t hesitate. "We have to be." The Copa del Rey final was closing in. And Valencia had only one goal¡ªa win. ...¡­ After an exhausting session at Paterna, Izan slumped into the passenger seat of Pietro¡¯s car, his body heavy with fatigue. The air conditioning blasted cool air against his face, offering a slight relief from the lingering heat of the day. Pietro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled out of the training facility, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Man, if we play like that in the final, Bilbao¡¯s gonna have a long night," Pietro said, shaking his head. Izan let out a tired chuckle. "Yeah. Let¡¯s just hope we don¡¯t burn out before then." Pietro shrugged. "Speak for yourself. I¡¯m built differently." Izan rolled his eyes but didn¡¯t have the energy to fire back. The exhaustion was setting in, a reminder of how much they had pushed themselves that day. They drove through the quiet streets of Valencia, the city settling into its evening rhythm. People strolled along the sidewalks, restaurants filled with chatter, and the faint smell of grilled seafood drifted through the air. Pietro pulled up in front of Izan¡¯s home complex, shifting the car into park. "Alright, superstar. Get some rest. Big day soon." Izan unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, but before stepping out, he glanced at Pietro. "You not going out tonight?" Pietro feigned offense. "What, and ruin my perfect professional image?" He grinned. "Nah, I¡¯ll be in bed early. Big game and all that." Izan smirked. "Right." With a final nod, he stepped out and shut the door. Pietro drove off, leaving Izan standing there for a moment, inhaling the crisp evening air. He adjusted the strap of his bag before heading inside. As Izan stepped into the house, he immediately sensed that something was different. The warm aroma of Komi¡¯s cooking filled the air, but there was also another presence¡ªsomeone else was here. Then he heard a familiar voice. "In the end, it¡¯s about patience. We don¡¯t want to rush anything too soon." Izan turned the corner into the living room and spotted Miranda sitting comfortably on the couch. Across from her, Komi sat with her legs crossed, listening intently, her expression a mix of interest and quiet amusement. Miranda turned her head as Izan walked in. "Ah, there he is." Izan dropped his bag by the door and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn¡¯t know you were coming." "She surprised me too," Komi added, standing up to head toward the kitchen. "I told her she could¡¯ve at least given us a heads-up." Miranda smiled. "I prefer spontaneous visits. Keeps people honest." Izan walked over and plopped down on the couch, stretching out his legs. "So, what¡¯s up?" Miranda leaned back, her sharp eyes studying him. "Nothing urgent, just a few things to go over. With the final coming up, your name is everywhere. The demand for interviews, sponsorship deals, and media appearances is growing." Izan sighed. "Great." Miranda smirked. "You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing." "Because it is," he muttered, earning a chuckle from Komi as she returned with a glass of wine, taking a seat beside Miranda. As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Komi rested her head against Miranda¡¯s shoulder, exhaling in contentment. Miranda responded with a casual arm around her waist, her fingers lightly tracing small circles against the fabric of Komi¡¯s dress. Izan shook his head. "You two are acting like I¡¯m not even here." Komi smiled but didn¡¯t move. "You¡¯ll survive." Miranda chuckled. "You¡¯d better get used to it." Izan rolled his eyes but couldn¡¯t help the small grin tugging at his lips. It was strange, but at the same time, kind of reassuring. No matter how chaotic things got in his career, at least some things remained constant. Chapter 232: Final Countdown As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Komi rested her head against Miranda¡¯s shoulder, exhaling in contentment. Miranda responded with a casual arm around her waist, her fingers lightly tracing small circles against the fabric of Komi¡¯s dress. Izan shook his head. "You two are acting like I¡¯m not even here." Izan shook his head. "You two are acting like I¡¯m not even here." Komi smiled but didn¡¯t move. "You¡¯ll survive." Miranda chuckled. "You¡¯d better get used to it." Eventually, the conversation returned to football. Miranda outlined the offers that had been coming in¡ªendorsement deals, a potential long-term brand partnership, and of course, growing interest from other clubs. "I know your focus is on Valencia," Miranda said. "And that¡¯s exactly where it should be. But that doesn¡¯t mean we ignore what¡¯s happening around us." Izan nodded. He had been through enough media noise to know how these things worked. "So, what do we do?" "For now? Nothing. Play the final. Win it. The rest will follow." Miranda said as she brought Komi¡¯s wine glass to her mouth. Simple enough. As the night wound down, Miranda eventually stood to leave. Komi walked her to the door, and Izan noticed the way they lingered for a moment, exchanging quiet words he didn¡¯t quite catch. As the door closed behind Miranda, Komi turned back toward the living room, catching Izan¡¯s knowing look. "What?" she asked. Izan smirked. "Nothing." Komi gave him a playful shove on the shoulder before heading toward the kitchen. "Get some sleep. You¡¯ll need it." "I think you should too" Izan shot back and ran before Komi could recover from the situation. Getting to his room, Izan fell onto the bed, sinking into the sheets. Acteraying there for a while, he stretched as he stood up, exhaustion finally winning over. As he made his way to his bathroom, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a little more at ease. .... The days leading up to the Copa del Rey final were nothing short of relentless at Paterna. Training had shifted into an entirely different gear¡ªno more casual drills, no more lighthearted banter. Every session was a battle, with every player pushing themselves to the limit. The air was thick with tension, but also with hunger. They knew what was at stake. On the training pitch, Baraja stood with his arms crossed, watching as his players ran through tactical exercises. The defensive unit worked tirelessly on shape and transitions, ensuring they could withstand Bilbao¡¯s aggressive pressing. Meanwhile, Izan led the attacking drills, orchestrating plays with a sharpness that left his teammates both impressed and exhausted. During one of the scrimmages, Izan picked up the ball near the byline, quickly glancing up to assess his options. With a burst of acceleration, he drove past two defenders before slipping a perfectly timed pass through to Hugo Duro, who finished with a crisp strike into the bottom corner. Baraja nodded approvingly. "That¡¯s the kind of movement we need in the final. Quick, decisive, and clinical." Pietro jogged past Izan, shaking his head. "Man, you¡¯re making us look bad." Izan smiled before speaking, "Try keeping up." "Yeah. Easy for you to say" Pietro said before chasing after the ball again. Despite the exhaustion, the squad¡¯s morale remained high. They could feel the weight of the final looming over them, but there was no fear¡ªonly determination. At the end of training, Baraja gathered the team in a circle. "Listen up," he said, voice firm. "We¡¯re one game. Just one game away from something special. One game away from bringing this club back to where it belongs. Lets Play like warriors. Play with heart. And most of all¡ªenjoy it. These moments don¡¯t come often." A collective nod went around the squad. They knew. Outside the training ground, the footballing world was buzzing. Every Spanish sports channel, every online debate, and every radio discussion was centered around one thing¡ªthe Copa del Rey final. Journalists dissected every angle of the upcoming clash, comparing the strengths and weaknesses of both teams. Statistical breakdowns flooded the airwaves: Valencia¡¯s top scorer: Izan (26 goals this season in all competitions. 21 in Laliga) Athletic Bilbao¡¯s top scorer: I?aki Williams (16 goals this season in LaLiga) Valencia¡¯s key playmaker: Izan (18 assists in all competitions) Athletic Bilbao¡¯s most creative player: Oihan Sancet (7 assists, 9 goals) Head-to-head record in the last five meetings: 2 wins each, 1 draw "Valencia¡¯s resurgence this season has been nothing short of remarkable," one analyst said on national television. "But Bilbao has the experience. This is going to be a battle of energy versus resilience." Fans online engaged in heated discussions, debating everything from starting lineups to predicted scores. Some believed Valencia¡¯s attacking prowess, led by Izan and the others, would be too much for Bilbao¡¯s defense. Others argued that Bilbao¡¯s ability to grind out results in high-pressure games gave them the edge. Meanwhile, betting sites saw a surge in activity as people placed their wagers. .... In a small caf¨¦ in Valencia, Mateo sat with a few friends, his phone in hand as he scrolled through betting odds. His eyes lit up as he saw the numbers¡ªValencia to win in regular time was going for decent odds. He leaned forward, tapping on his stake. "All in on Valencia," he said with a grin. His friend Rafa raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Bilbao is tough." Mateo shrugged. "Izan, Duro, and the boys are in form. This is their moment. Plus, they won me a lot against Barcelonaso I should be ready to stake at least this much" The group laughed, some agreeing while others remained skeptical. Regardless of their opinions, the excitement was undeniable. "Just imagine," Mateo continued, "if they pull it off. The city¡¯s going to erupt." ..... On Valencia¡¯s official social media accounts, the buildup to the final was in full force. Fans flooded the club¡¯s Twitter and Instagram pages with messages of encouragement, desperation, and anticipation. @ValenciaCFFan94: Please, bring the cup home. We¡¯ve waited long enough. @IzanMagic: Izan, this is your time. Show them why you¡¯re the best! @VCFHeart: Whatever it takes. Just win. JUST WIN. The club¡¯s official account finally responded with a simple but powerful message: "We hear you. We see you. And we¡¯ll do whatever it takes." The post went viral almost instantly, spreading across fan forums and news outlets. The connection between the club and its supporters had never felt stronger. As the city of Valencia settled into the evening before the final, the atmosphere was electric. Restaurants and bars were filled with fans discussing the game, their voices tinged with a mix of excitement and nerves. Inside the team hotel, the Valencia squad had finished their final preparations. The coaching staff had gone over the game plan one last time, reminding the players of their roles and responsibilities. In his hotel room, Izan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed with messages from friends, family, and teammates, but he kept his replies short. He needed to stay locked in. A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. It was Gaya. "You good?" Gaya asked, stepping inside. Izan nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking." Gaya smirked. "About how many goals you¡¯re going to score?" Izan chuckled. "Something like that." They stood in silence for a moment before Gaya clapped him on the shoulder. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we make history." As Pietro left, Izan took a deep breath. The time for talk was over. Tomorrow, it was all or nothing. Meanwhile, in the northern city of Bilbao, their team was going through its final training session. Unlike Valencia¡¯s high-intensity, attack-focused drills, Bilbao¡¯s preparation was methodical and calculated. Their emphasis was on defensive structure and counter-attacks¡ªreadying themselves for the inevitable waves of pressure Valencia would bring. Coach Ernesto Valverde drilled into his players the importance of discipline. "They will come at us with speed, but we control the pace. Our time will come." As they finished training, the message in the Bilbao camp was clear: they were ready for war. The final hours before the Copa del Rey showdown were eerily calm. In Valencia, fans went about their routines, but the anticipation was unbearable. At home, Komi and Hori sat watching the pre-matchday analysis that night. "You nervous for him?" Komi asked with a small smile. Hori shrugged. "Maybe a little. But he¡¯ll be fine." Komi leaned back. "He¡¯s worked hard for this." As the cameras zoomed in on Valencia¡¯s training footage, a reporter spoke over the highlights. "Izan, just 16 years old, has already made a name for himself as one of Spain¡¯s most exciting young talents and solidified his stance as an object of interest to most teams. But tomorrow, arguably, the biggest test of his career awaits." Hori smirked. "No pressure, right?" Komi exhaled, looking at her phone where messages from family and friends filled her notifications. The entire city was behind Izan. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. No matter what happened tomorrow, it was already clear¡ªthis final was going to be unforgettable. A/n: first of the day. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you with the second in the afternoon. Byeeee Chapter 233: The Calm Morning at Paterna The sun had barely risen over Paterna, but inside Valencia CF¡¯s training complex, the players were already awake, dressed, and gathered in the cafeteria for their pre-match meal. It was quiet. Unusually quiet. There was no joking, no casual conversations¡ªjust the clinking of cutlery against plates and the occasional shuffle of chairs as players adjusted their seating. The tension was palpable. Izan sat across from Hugo Duro and Pietro, staring at his plate. He had barely touched his food, picking at his eggs absentmindedly. Across the room, Jos¨¦ Luis Gaya, Valencia¡¯s captain, sipped his coffee in silence, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The usual pre-match ritual was different today. They had been in big games before, but this? This was a final. From the corner of the room, coach Rub¨¦n Baraja watched his players carefully. He knew what was running through their minds. Finals weren¡¯t just about tactics; they were about mental strength. The team that could handle the pressure better would have the edge. Near the entrance, members of the coaching staff spoke in hushed tones. "Bilbao is going to sit deep and counter," one of the analysts murmured. "They¡¯ll try to frustrate us early," another added. "We need to move the ball fast and stretch them wide." Baraja nodded, his eyes never leaving his squad. "We play our football. We control the tempo." Meanwhile, in the equipment room, the kit managers were busy preparing the players¡¯ gear¡ªfreshly pressed jerseys, match-ready boots, socks neatly folded. Every detail had to be perfect. The tension wasn¡¯t fear. It was focus. After the morning had gone by, the team finally boarded the bus that would take them to the airport. The airport was different as well. Fans stood beside the road, waving at the bus as it passed by. Some held the banners of the club while others stood still as if saying a silent prayer. After entering the airport, the players went through a few pre-boarding processes before they went onto the plane that would take them to Seville, where Estadio de La Cartuja awaited. The trip in the air was supposed to be short. An hour and a quarter to be exact, but for the players, it was grueling long. Izan sat near the window, earbuds in, eyes closed, the low hum of the engine and the occasional turbulence disturbing the peace in the plane. Pietro, seated beside him, nudged his arm. "Not even a little nervous?" Izan smirked but didn¡¯t open his eyes. "You?" Pietro scoffed. "Terrified." That got a small chuckle from the players nearby. From the front, Gaya turned his head toward the squad. "Boys, just remember¡ªwhen we step on that pitch, it¡¯s still football. We¡¯ve done this a million times." Hugo Duro leaned forward with a grin. "Except this time, the whole country is watching." Izan finally opened his eyes. "Then let¡¯s give them something to talk about." Baraja, listening to the exchange, allowed himself a small smile. The tension was lifting¡ªjust enough. As the plane continued its journey, players alternated between listening to music, watching old match footage, and staring out the window, lost in their thoughts. For some, this was their first final. For others, possibly their last. --- In Seville, La Cartuja was already alive with anticipation. The Valencia faithful, dressed in their signature orange and white, filled the streets around the stadium. Banners waved, chants echoed through the city, and the energy was contagious. A reporter wove through the crowd, microphone in hand. "What would it mean for Valencia to win tonight?" A middle-aged fan, holding his young son on his shoulders, smiled. "It would mean everything. We¡¯ve been waiting for a night like this for too long." Further down the road, the Athletic Bilbao supporters had gathered in their own section, just as passionate. Their red-and-white scarves painted a sea of unwavering loyalty. One reporter approached an elderly fan, his hands trembling slightly as he held onto his cane. "How long have you been a Bilbao fan?" The old man chuckled. "My whole life. Sixty years." "And how special would a win be tonight?" His voice wavered slightly, emotion creeping in. "It would mean everything. I was a young man the last time we lifted a trophy. If we win tonight¡­ it will be one of the greatest days of my life." Around him, younger fans clapped him on the back. "Aupa Athletic!" they chanted, the passion in their voices undeniable. The reporter smiled. "Valencia and Athletic Bilbao, , Two teams, one trophy. One way or another, history will be made tonight." --- The Valencia team were ushered into the bus as soon as their flight arrived in Seville. A few Valencia faithful had also gathered at the airport to see a glimpse of the warriors that would be going to battle for the pride of the club. Izan, as polite as ever, asked for a few minutes from Baraja to which the latter granted to interact with the fans. As the Valencia bus made its way through the packed streets toward the stadium, the noise from the fans grew deafening. Thousands of supporters had lined the roads, chanting and waving scarves. Inside the bus, players began their final mental preparations. Izan looked out the window, watching the sea of orange and white. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "We¡¯re really here," Pietro muttered. Izan nodded. "Yeah." The bus pulled into La Cartuja, and the energy outside reached a fever pitch. Fans swarmed toward the vehicle, banging on the sides and chanting the names of their heroes. Security personnel worked quickly, keeping the crowd at bay as the players stepped off one by one. Izan was one of the last to exit. The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave. This was different. Bigger. Just as they entered the stadium, another roar erupted. The Bilbao bus arrived at the same time, creating a moment of intense energy as both sets of fans clashed in chants. The two teams crossed paths briefly in the hallway, exchanging measured glances as they were led to their respective locker room. There was no hostility¡ªjust respect and the unspoken promise of battle. Inside the dressing room, the players found their kits neatly arranged, their numbers glowing under the fluorescent lights. ... As the Valencia players stepped onto the La Cartuja pitch for their warm-up, the stadium was already buzzing with energy. The sea of orange and white on one side clashed against the red-and-white wall of Athletic Bilbao on the other. Chants, songs, and the rhythmic beating of drums filled the air. Izan jogged onto the field, his boots sinking into the perfectly cut grass. He took in a deep breath, letting the atmosphere settle over him. This was it. Around him, his teammates moved through their routines. Hugo Duro and Pietro exchanged short passes, their touches sharp and precise. Gaya and the defenders worked through positioning drills, led by one of the assistant coaches barking instructions. From the sidelines, Baraja observed everything, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. On the other half of the field, Bilbao¡¯s players mirrored their movements. I?aki Williams, the team¡¯s talisman, ran quick sprints, his explosiveness on full display. His younger brother, Nico Williams, worked through dribbling drills, his footwork mesmerizing. Above the field, in the commentary box, the broadcast team settled in. "Welcome to Seville, where tonight, Spanish football will witness another chapter of history unfold. It¡¯s Valencia versus Athletic Bilbao, two teams desperate for glory. It¡¯s youth versus experience, speed versus resilience." Another commentator chimed in, his voice steady. "And all eyes will be on one name¡ªIzan. The 16-year-old who has taken La Liga by storm. With 26 goals and 18 assists in all competitions, he has been the driving force behind Valencia¡¯s resurgence. This stats is a great player¡¯s prime stats, but this kid is churning these numbers out even before he turns 17. This is utter madness But can he deliver on the biggest stage of his young career?" The camera zoomed in on Izan, who had just finished a quick stretch before juggling the ball effortlessly between his feet. Down on the touchline, the Valencia fans erupted when he waved in their direction. The broadcast cut to a slow-motion clip of I?aki Williams striking a shot into the top corner during warm-ups. "And let¡¯s not forget Bilbao¡¯s leader¡ªI?aki Williams. A warrior, a finisher, and the heartbeat of this team. If Bilbao are to win tonight, his name will surely be written in the headlines." The analysts debated tactics, lineups, and the psychological edge each team might have. The tension was growing by the second. ----------- After warm-ups, the players made their way back into their locker rooms, their jerseys now damp with sweat from the intense drills. The energy had shifted. The casual movements from earlier had been replaced with something sharper, more focused. Izan pulled his jersey over his head, adjusting the sleeves as he took a deep breath. Gaya, now fully in captain mode, stood in the center of the room, waiting for everyone to settle. "We¡¯ve worked too hard for this moment. Let¡¯s finish what we started." Hugo Duro grinned. "We bring this trophy back home, yeah?" A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the squad. Then, the stadium announcer¡¯s voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final of the 2024 Copa del Rey!" Izan closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, and clenched his fists. It was time. ....... Chapter 234: A Nation Hold Its Breath Izan pulled his jersey over his head, adjusting the sleeves as he took a deep breath. Gaya, now fully in captain mode, stood in the center of the room, waiting for everyone to settle. "We¡¯ve worked too hard for this moment. Let¡¯s finish what we started." Hugo Duro grinned. "We bring this trophy back home, yeah?" A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the squad. Then, the stadium announcer¡¯s voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final of the 2024 Copa del Rey!" Izan closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, and clenched his fists. It was time. ... The players now stood in the tunnel, waiting for the match officials to arrive. As Izan adjusted his wrist tape, he felt a presence nearby. Looking up, he locked eyes with I?aki Williams. There was no hostility in the stare¡ªjust quiet intensity. The unspoken acknowledgment between two players who knew they were about to go to war. Nico Williams stepped up beside his brother, his own gaze sharp and unwavering. "You ready for this?" he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips. Izan didn¡¯t blink. "Always." I?aki finally gave a small nod, breaking the stare first. "Then let¡¯s give the fans what they came here for." Just then, the referee¡¯s voice broke the moment. "Alright, gentlemen. Let¡¯s go." The teams lined up, the tunnel narrowing as they prepared to step out onto the pitch. Outside, the roar of 57,000 fans awaited. The Copa del Rey trophy gleamed under the stadium lights, sitting on a podium at the edge of the field. Izan clenched his fists. No more talk. No more buildup. It was time. ..... The Final Begins The moment the referee signaled for the players to step onto the pitch, Estadio de La Cartuja erupted into a deafening noise. The flares, the banners, the synchronized chants¡ªeverything blended into a breathtaking spectacle of football passion. As the two teams walked out side by side, the commentators¡¯ voices rose above the noise, setting the stage for what was about to unfold. **"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand stage¡ªthe 2025 Copa del Rey final! A night of history, a night of destiny, and for these two clubs, a night of no return. It¡¯s Valencia versus Athletic Bilbao, two teams that have fought through adversity, through intense battles, and now stand just ninety minutes away from glory!" The camera panned across the field, capturing the intense expressions on the players¡¯ faces. Some had their eyes closed in deep concentration, others took quick glances at the roaring stands, absorbing the sheer energy of the moment. "And let¡¯s go through the starting lineups, beginning with Valencia, who have been a revelation this season under Rub¨¦n Baraja." Valencia Starting XI (4-3-3) Goalkeeper: Giorgi Mamardashvili Defenders: Thierry Correia, Mark, Cenk ?zkacar, Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ (C) Midfielders: Pietro, Javi Guerra, Andr¨¦ Almeida Forwards: Izan, Hugo Duro, Diego L¨®pez "No surprises in Valencia¡¯s lineup. Baraja sticks with the attacking trio that has terrorized defenses all season¡ªIzan, Hugo Duro, and Pietro. And in midfield, Javi Guerra and Pepelu will look to provide the balance between creativity and control." The Valencia fans erupted when Izan¡¯s name was announced over the stadium speakers. The young star gave a small nod as the camera zoomed in on his determined face. The commentary switched over as the camera cut to the opposing side. "Now, onto Athletic Bilbao¡ªled by their experienced manager, Ernesto Valverde, who has instilled a disciplined and aggressive playing style in this team." Athletic Bilbao Starting XI (4-2-3-1) Goalkeeper: Unai Sim¨®n Defenders: De Marcos, Yeray, Vivian, Yuri Berchiche Midfielders: Dani Garc¨ªa, Oihan Sancet, Mikel Vesga Forwards: Nico Williams, Iker Muniain (C), I?aki Williams "This is a battle-tested Athletic side. I?aki Williams leads the line, while his younger brother Nico provides the pace and flair from the left. Watch out for Sancet¡ªhe¡¯s the creative spark in midfield and can be dangerous in transition." As the players walked toward the center circle, the anthem of the Copa del Rey played through the stadium speakers. The trophy sat glistening on a podium nearby¡ªa reminder of what was at stake. Izan glanced at Hugo Duro, who gave him a subtle nod. Then, he shifted his gaze toward I?aki Williams, who was already waiting for the coin toss with the captains. The tension was thick. The stage was set. The final was about to begin. .... As the players reached the center circle, the referee, Juan Mart¨ªnez Munuera, stood waiting with his two assistants. He held the match ball in one hand and the coin in the other. The two captains stepped forward¡ªJos¨¦ Gay¨¤ for Valencia and Iker Muniain for Athletic Bilbao¡ªtwo experienced warriors leading their teams into battle. The stadium noise dimmed slightly, the anticipation tightening. "Alright, gentlemen," the referee began, his voice steady. "Standard procedure. Heads or tails?" Muniain, calm and composed, called it. "Tails." S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The referee flipped the coin high into the air. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. It landed on the referee¡¯s palm¡ªheads. Gay¨¤ gave a slight nod, already knowing what he wanted. "We¡¯ll attack toward our fans in the second half." Muniain exhaled but remained unfazed. "No problem." The referee turned toward both captains. "Alright, Valencia will choose the side, and Athletic Bilbao will kick off. Let¡¯s have a clean game." The men shook hands before jogging back to their teams. The decision was made¡ªValencia would defend the goal closest to the Bilbao supporters in the first half, aiming to attack toward their own fans in the second. As Gay¨¤ returned to the Valencia huddle, Baraja clapped his hands together on the touchline. "Alright, boys. This is it." The players formed a tight circle, their arms draped over each other¡¯s shoulders. Gay¨¤¡¯s voice cut through the tension. "We¡¯ve fought too hard to let this slip. No regrets. We play with heart. With passion. We fight for each other." Izan felt the energy rising. He wouldn¡¯t say he had dreamt of this moment, but here it was. Now, it was real. On the other side, Muniain was delivering a similar message to his team. "We¡¯ve waited 40 years for this moment. We don¡¯t let it pass. We play like lions." The teams took their positions. I?aki Williams stood over the ball, his gaze locked in. Behind him, Nico Williams and Muniain were poised, ready to break forward at the first opportunity. Izan crouched slightly, his eyes narrowing. He knew exactly what Bilbao wanted¡ªto control the pace early, to test Valencia¡¯s defense. "You ready, Max," Izan said. [As ready As you¡¯ll ever be] the system sounded. "Then let¡¯s go win this," Izan said, before looking ahead. The referee blew his whistle. Kickoff. The Copa del Rey final had begun .... In a cozy apartment in Valencia, a young boy named Leo sat glued to the television, his legs bouncing with excitement. As soon as the referee blew the whistle, he grabbed the remote, increasing the volume as he called his parents, who were still in the kitchen. "?Pap¨¢! ?Mam¨¢! It started! Come quick!" His father, still holding a bowl of popcorn, rushed into the living room, while his mother, balancing a tray of drinks and chips, followed closely behind. "We¡¯re coming, we¡¯re coming!" his father laughed, setting the bowl down on the small table. His mother placed the drinks carefully before flopping onto the couch beside them. The screen showed I?aki Williams taking the first touches of the ball, pressing forward as Valencia¡¯s defense quickly organized. Leo¡¯s eyes widened. "Izan is going to score today. I know it!" His father ruffled his hair. "Let¡¯s hope so, hijo. This could be a special night." .... In Bilbao, in a small bar just outside the city center, a group of lifelong Athletic Club supporters sat around a wooden table, their eyes locked onto the television. An elderly man, wearing a scarf from the club¡¯s last Copa del Rey final 40 years ago, clutched his glass of cider. His grandson, barely ten years old, sat beside him, mimicking his grandfather¡¯s intense stare at the screen. "It¡¯s time, abuelo," the boy whispered. The old man nodded. "Yes, mijo. Maybe¡­ just maybe, tonight is our night." ..... In Madrid, at a student apartment filled with football lovers, a mix of Valencia and Bilbao fans sat together, already arguing over tactics. "If Bilbao sits too deep, they¡¯re going to suffer," one Valencia supporter said, munching on a sandwich. "We don¡¯t suffer. We endure," a Bilbao fan shot back. "And then we strike." The others laughed, but no one took their eyes off the screen. All over Spain, in homes, in bars, in crowded squares with massive outdoor screens, people held their breath as the final unfolded. In Valencia and Bilbao, the emotions ran deeper. This wasn¡¯t just a match. This was a chance at history. A/n: So, bonus chapter for the Golden tickets. Keep churning them out to keep me churning out those extra chapters. Have fun reading and I will see you tomorrow with the regular two chapters. Also check out my new book, Against the ropes. It¡¯s about boxing. Chapter 235: First Blood Drawn. The Copa del Rey final was well underway, and from the moment the whistle blew, it was clear¡ªthis was not going to be a cautious game. Both Valencia and Athletic Bilbao had come to fight, to impose their will on the pitch, and to seize history. The first ten minutes were a whirlwind of quick passes, sharp tackles, and relentless pressing. Every touch was contested, every clearance met with another wave of attack. The crowd at Estadio de la Cartuja fed off the intensity, voices rising and falling with each near-miss, each burst of speed, each crunching tackle. In the 4th minute, Izan received the ball on the left flank, his first touch taking him away from ¨®scar De Marcos. The moment he felt space open up, he turned on the afterburners. "Here goes Izan! Look at that acceleration!" the commentator exclaimed. The Bilbao full-back gave chase, but Izan was already ahead, cutting inside and spotting Pietro making a run through the middle. "Pietro! Hold it!" Izan shouted. Pietro controlled the pass under pressure, shielding the ball from Dani Vivian before flicking it backward toward Hugo Duro at the edge of the box. Hugo Duro took a touch and let fly with his left foot¡ªThe crowd watching on. BLOCKED! Yeray ¨¢lvarez threw himself into the shot, the ball ricocheting away. It fell to Andre Almeida, who struck first-time¡ª JUST WIDE! A collective groan echoed from the Valencia fans behind the goal. On the sidelines, Baraja clapped his hands together. "That¡¯s good! That¡¯s good! Keep pushing!" he encouraged. He turned to his assistants, Moreno and Marchena who were analyzing Bilbao¡¯s structure. "They¡¯re cutting off Izan¡¯s inside runs, but their full-backs are too high. If we get the timing right, we can exploit that." Marchena nodded. "We need Pietro and Javi Guerra pushing up more when we have the ball. Let¡¯s give Izan more options inside." Baraja stepped forward, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Pietro! Push up higher! Give Izan support!" The midfielder nodded from across the pitch, adjusting his positioning. After a while, the match restarted, the ball being passed around in the half of Bilbao. For all of Valencia¡¯s early dominance, Athletic Bilbao wasn¡¯t just here to defend. The Basque side had built its reputation on being relentless, direct, and fearless in transition. And that showed when I?aki Williams picked up the ball near the halfway line after running deep. "And now here comes Bilbao! Look at the space for I?aki!" The forward surged forward, his long strides eating up the grass, Gay¨¤ scrambling to keep up. Before anyone could close him down, he whipped a cross into the box. Nico Williams was there! The younger Williams brother launched himself at the ball, meeting it with a thumping header¡ª but Marmadashvili was there. "MAMARDASHVILI SAVES!" The Valencia goalkeeper reacted brilliantly, diving low to his right to parry the shot away. The Bilbao fans threw their hands up in frustration, some already celebrating before realizing the ball hadn¡¯t gone in. Meanwhile, the Valencia bench breathed a sigh of relief. "That was close," Moreno muttered. Baraja remained focused. "We need to control the pace. If we let them get into a rhythm, it¡¯s going to be a long night." After Bilbao¡¯s near miss, Izan called out to his teammates as they prepared for their next attack. "Javi! Move between the lines faster! We need to break their midfield press!" Javi Guerra gave him a thumbs-up, adjusting his positioning accordingly. "Pietro! Hold the ball if you have to, but stay open! I¡¯m running inside more!" Pietro smirked. "So you finally admit I have the better hold-up play?" Izan rolled his eyes but remained focused. "We¡¯re winning this battle. Stay sharp." Rallied by their fans, Valencia cleared the corner from Athletic Bilbao before proceeding to press. The next time Valencia won possession, Izan immediately dropped deeper, collecting the ball from Pietro. He turned quickly and played a sharp diagonal pass into the path of Thierry Correia, who was already sprinting down the right flank. The Portuguese full-back didn¡¯t hesitate as he whipped in an early cross toward Duro in the box. Duro rose high, beating Yeray to the ball but the former¡¯s header was just over the crossbar. ... In the stands, the fans were already on edge. A group of Valencia supporters had their hands on their heads. "?Dios m¨ªo! That was so close!" one shouted. Another fan, still holding his beer, let out a deep breath. "I swear, this team is going to kill me before the night is over." On the other side of the stadium, the Bilbao fans breathed a sigh of relief. An older man, who had been a fan since the last time they won the Copa del Rey, shook his head. "We can¡¯t let them play like this. We need to slow the game down." His grandson, barely ten years old, held onto his scarf tightly. "We¡¯re going to win, right, Abuelo?" The old man exhaled. "We¡¯ll see, mijo. We¡¯ll see." ..... Back on the touchline, Baraja and Moreno, together with Marchena continued their tactical discussion. "They¡¯re playing dangerously, Carlos." Marchena nodded. "If we get the first goal, they¡¯ll have to open up. That¡¯s when we finish them." Baraja glanced at his watch before looking at the players again. He could feel it¡ªsomething big was coming. As the minutes ticked by, the intensity refused to drop. Valencia pushed, but Bilbao resisted. A true cup final battle. The next moment of magic was coming. It was only a matter of who would take it first. .... "Valencia are getting more and more threatening by the second but Athletic Bilbao are relentless with their defending. And can we just take a moment to appreciate what Izan has done this season" "Yeah George, it¡¯s 26 goals, 18 assists in 38 games for him this season. This is just utter madness. If I were to tell you a year ago that there would be this 16-year-old called Izan getting these numbers, I wouldn¡¯t be here right now. Maybe an asylum at best. Taking a deteriorating team like Valencia and carrying the team on your back in your first full season, in a league like Laliga is just a fantasy." "Was! It was just a fantasy, Mikel, cause Izan has done that. And just as we are speaking, Izan moves forward with the ball, driving on towards goal, facing his opponent....." ..... "Ven por la pelota[ Come for the ball]," Izan said to Hugo Duro, who had his back to the goal. The Bilbao player who was marking Hugo heard what Izan said and, therefore, prepared to move according to Duro. Just then, Hugo moved, and Vivian also went with him, but the pass Izan slipped behind the Athletic Bilbao defensive line from his side made Vivian rethink his life choices. The whole Cartuja got up from their seats as they watched Diego Lopez latch onto the ball. The Winger tried cutting inside but he was quickly getting surrounded due to the timely response of Athletic Bilbao¡¯s midfield. Being one-on-one with the full-back from Bilbao, Diego L¨®pez used a few rushed stepovers to provoke the fullback into a challenge, but the fullback was having none of it. From the corner of his eye, Diego Lopes saw a white figure streaking towards him, and without much thought, he sent the ball towards the edge of the penalty box. Izan, who had escaped his marker, ran towards the ball, the Bilbao players chasing him down, but the latter had one thought. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ding, [Pinpoint Accuracy Variation: Bend it Like Bec-] [Ahem, we can¡¯t deal with the copyright. Anyways, continue] With a resounding thud, and the weight of the stadium pressed upon his shoulders, Izan sent the ball curling towards the far end of the box. "Izan, looking for???" The Valencia fans watched, hoping someone would latch onto the ball, And their prayers were heard, Pietro rising to the occasion. The latter jumped and using his head, redirected the ball towards the middle of the 8-yard area where the ball was met with a volley from Hugo Duro. "Huuugooooooooooooo" the commentator roared, the stadium watching on as the ball rustled the net. "Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllll, Valenciaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" "AMUNT! AMUNT!AMUNT? Valencia" "Created by Izan. Set up by Pietro and finished by Hugo Duro. Valencia Ball at its finest. Do not leave that kid alone but it seems the Athletic players have forgotten their Coach¡¯s instructions. Look at Ernesto fuming on the bench. That goal was avoidable had they just marked Izan well" With the fans, roaring behind his back, Hugo Duro ran towards the bench, sliding in front of Baraja, who came to hug him. The Valencia bench as well as the players on the pitch joined in on the hugs, pressing Hugo Duro down under their weight. "Okay, okay boys. Keep it cool" Baraja muttered as the players returned to their half. "And we are off to a blazing start as Valencia draws first blood in the 14th minute here at the Estadio Cartuja, here in Seville. It¡¯s Valencia 1, Athletic Bilbao, nil" Chapter 236: New Gen [Luxury Car chapter.] With the fans, roaring behind his back, Hugo Duro ran towards the bench, sliding in front of Baraja, who came to hug him. The Valencia bench as well as the players on the pitch joined in on the hugs, pressing Hugo Duro down under their weight. "Okay, okay boys. Keep it cool" Baraja muttered as the players returned to their half. "And we are off to a blazing start as Valencia draws first blood in the 14th minute here at the Estadio Cartuja, here in Seville. It¡¯s Valencia 1, Athletic Bilbao, nil" S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ...¡­ After the restart, the Athletic Bilbao fans rallied behind their team for fear of them succumbing to the pressures of a cup final and losing themselves before they even lost the match but their fears were for naught. Athletic Bilbao were wounded but not broken. The goal had stung, but if anything, it ignited a fire within them. Ernesto Valverde, standing near the touchline, clapped his hands and barked out instructions. "Move the ball quicker! Find the space!" The Basque side were known for their resilience, for their ability to fight through adversity, and the next few minutes showed exactly that. In the 17th minute, Dani Garc¨ªa picked up possession just inside Valencia¡¯s half. He looked up, scanning the pitch before zipping a pass to De Marcos, who had already begun his sprint down the right. The Valencia players adjusted quickly, but Bilbao¡¯s intent was clear¡ªthey were stretching the field, trying to pull Valencia¡¯s defensive line out of shape. De Marcos took a touch before sending in a wicked cross, low and fast, across the six-yard box. I?aki Williams was waiting. The recently turned, Ghanaian international had peeled away from Mark, darting toward the near post where he met the ball with a sharp, instinctive touch. DEFLECTED! The shot clipped off Cenk ?zkacar¡¯s outstretched leg, sending it looping awkwardly toward goal. Valencia¡¯s goal-stopper, Giorgio Mamardashvili dived¡ªbut he too was beaten. The ball spun toward the net, seemingly in slow motion. From the stands, the Bilbao fans rose, ready to celebrate¡ª Only for Mark to appear out of nowhere. The young center-back, reacting quicker than anyone, raced toward the goal line and launched himself into a desperate clearance. With his right foot stretched out, he managed to hook the ball away inches before it crossed the line. "WHAT A CLEARANCE!" The Valencia fans erupted, their cheers almost as loud as they had been for the goal. On the pitch, Mark lay on his back for a brief moment, catching his breath, before Javi Guerra helped him up, slapping his back in appreciation. "You saved us there, hermano," Javi grinned. Mark, breathing heavily, simply nodded. "Stay focused. They¡¯re coming at us hard." On the Bilbao bench, Ernesto Valverde ran a hand through his already minimal hair, shaking his head. "That was in," he muttered. After the clearance, Athletic Bilbao sought an opportunity to level the score, with Valencia proving tough but that game didn¡¯t stop them. Valencia, on the other hand, sensing an opportunity, immediately went on the offensive, pressing with all their might. Izan, positioned near the center circle, had been waiting. As soon as Mark¡¯s clearance was made, he exploded forward, calling for the ball. Javi Guerra, still high up the pitch, intercepted an attempted pass from Dani Garc¨ªa. The challenge was aggressive but clean¡ªor so it seemed. He turned quickly and, without hesitation, slid the ball into Izan¡¯s path. "Here come Valencia again! It¡¯s Guerra, into Izan!" Izan, with a defender on his back, executed a brilliant first-touch flick to Pietro, who took off at full speed down the right wing before laying off the ball back to Izan. .... There are moments in football that defy reason, that send a charge through the veins of those who witness them. Moments that make stadiums tremble, that make fans leap to their feet as if some unseen force has pulled them upward. And in the 22nd minute of the Copa del Rey final, it looked as if Izan would do the same. After Pietro¡¯s ball found its way to Izan, He didn¡¯t hesitate. The first touch was immaculate, killing the ball before flicking it forward. One spark and the inferno began. ¨®scar De Marcos was the first to approach, eyes locked on Izan¡¯s feet, waiting for his move. But waiting was a mistake. With a subtle drop of the shoulder, Izan ghosted past him, knocking the ball forward before exploding into space. De Marcos reached out and lunged¡ªbut by the time his foot arrived, Izan was already gone. The Valencia fans erupted, their voices rising with each touch of the ball. But Bilbao had a second line of defense. Dani Vivian, a no-nonsense center-back with a reputation for well-timed tackles, saw the danger and stepped up, angling his body to block Izan¡¯s path. Izan slowed for a fraction of a second, letting Vivian believe he had him under control. Then, with a delicate touch, he rolled the ball through the defender¡¯s legs. A gasp swept through the stadium, followed by a roar of delight. Vivian turned, desperate to recover, but Izan was already accelerating away, his white Valencia kit billowing behind him like a banner of war as the former tried to grab his shirt. The byline was in sight, but one final obstacle remained. Yuri Berchiche, the left back, had tracked back, anticipating Izan¡¯s next move. He wasn¡¯t about to be another victim. Izan, reading the challenge before it came, dragged the ball back with his right foot, causing Berchiche to shift his weight ever so slightly. That was all the invitation Izan needed. With a devastating combination¡ªa quick elastico followed by a burst of pace that left Berchiche lunging at thin air, like a man grasping at shadows. The Valencia faithful lost themselves in the spectacle, a rolling thunder of cheers echoing through the stadium. Izan, now at the byline, slowed, lifted his head. He had broken the lines, shattered the defensive wall. And now, with breathless anticipation, the Cartuja awaited his final move. The Athletic Bilbao defense was now caught flat-footed. Izan, scanning his options, saw Duro making a near-post run. Perfect. With a perfectly weighted pass, he slid the ball into the striker¡¯s path. Duro controlled, took a step inside, and rifled a shot past Unai Sim¨®n¡¯s outstretched hand to make it two for Valencia on the night. "GOOOOOOOAL VALENCIA. THEY HAVE TWO¡ªNO! WAIT! NO, THEY HAVEN¡¯T " The celebrations were cut short as the referee put his hand to his earpiece. The Bilbao players surrounded him, furiously pointing toward midfield. Javi Guerra stood near the referee, arms outstretched. "What? I won the ball!" Gaya, frustrated, gestured toward the monitor. "Check it, then!" The referee walked over to the touchline as the VAR review began. On the Valencia bench, Baraja shook his head, muttering under his breath. "This is going to be close." Moreno crossed his arms. "It looked clean to me, but you know how VAR is. Slow-motion makes everything look worse." The tension inside the stadium was unbearable. Fans from both sides held their breath, watching the referee inspect the footage. After what felt like an eternity, the referee turned back to the pitch¡ªhe waved his hands. NO GOAL. The Valencia fans exploded with anger. "?Ladr¨®n! ?Eso no es falta!" (Thief! That¡¯s not a foul!) The players swarmed the official. Izan was one of the first to protest. "Come on! He got the ball first!" Javi Guerra simply stood there, hands on his hips, a look of disbelief on his face. On the Bilbao bench, Valverde smirked, shaking his head. "We got away with one there." The Bilbao fans cheered loudly, celebrating the reversal as if they had just scored themselves. "Well, well, well! Valencia thought they had doubled their lead, but VAR says otherwise!" "It¡¯s a tough one, George. Javi Guerra¡¯s tackle looked fine in real-time, but VAR always makes things complicated. A debatable call, but Bilbao won¡¯t complain." ..... As the match restarted, the commentators took a moment to discuss Valencia¡¯s incredible academy talent on display tonight. "It¡¯s no secret that Valencia¡¯s youth system has been one of the best in Spain for years," Mikel began. "They¡¯ve produced top players like Ferran Torres, Carlos Soler, and, of course, club captain Jos¨¦ Luis Gay¨¤." "And now, we¡¯re seeing the next wave¡ªMark, Pietro, and the one everyone is talking about: Izan." "Let¡¯s not forget Mark¡¯s goal-line clearance earlier. That was pure instinct, and he¡¯s only 18. Pietro? His movement, his composure in tight spaces¡ªhe¡¯s been immense." "But, Mikel, as good as they are, you have to admit, Izan is overshadowing everyone." Mikel laughed. "And can you blame him? A 16-year-old leading Valencia in a Copa del Rey final, already scoring over 25 goals this season¡ªit¡¯s insane." "It¡¯s the way he plays, George. The confidence, the maturity, the vision. He¡¯s commanding his teammates like a veteran. A once-in-a-generation talent." "And tonight, he¡¯s already making his mark. Let¡¯s see if he can lead Valencia to glory." The game was still wide open, and if the first twenty minutes were any indication¡ªthis final was far from over. A/n: Luxury Car chapter. Brought to you by Sam Kupers. Chapter 237: Halftime[ Golden ticket Chapter] Izan wiped the sweat from his brow as he glanced toward the scoreboard. One-nil. They had the lead, but the game felt anything but safe. The disallowed goal had left a bitter taste, but there was no time to dwell. Bilbao were growing into the game, and Valencia couldn¡¯t afford to drop their intensity. From the touchline, Baraja cupped his hands around his mouth. "Keep moving! Be sharp!" His voice barely cut through the roar of the crowd, but Izan understood the message. Bilbao were beginning to probe more dangerously. Their full-backs pushed higher, their midfielders zipped passes between the lines. Every clearance Valencia made was met with another wave of pressure. They had to do something fast or they would lose the lead they had worked so hard for. Then came the moment. Javi Guerra, always a step ahead in midfield, won a loose ball near the halfway line. Before Dani Garc¨ªa could react, Guerra had already played the pass. Izan felt it before he saw it¡ªthe weight of the ball was perfect, leading him into space. He let it roll across his body, taking his first touch with his left foot before accelerating. Dani Vivian gave chase, but Izan could hear his footsteps growing fainter. He was now, One-on-one with the keeper. Izan contemplated his options, thinking. "Should he chip or should he go for power" He glanced up and spotted Sim¨®n shifting his weight. The far corner was open. With a quick step to set himself, Izan shot, the ball curling away from the goalkeeper¡ª The ball skidded past Sim¨®n¡¯s fingertips, but instead of rustling the net, it kissed the outside of the post and went wide. Izan froze. For a second, he swore he had scored. He exhaled sharply and shook his head. From the bench, Baraja clapped, urging him on. "Next one! Keep going!" "Seems even Izan has moments like these where the ball doesn¡¯t quite match his shot." Unai Sim¨®n, meanwhile, stayed seated for a moment, catching his breath. He had been beaten¡ªonly the goalpost had spared him. With the pressure slightly shifted, Valencia tried to take control of the game but the basque side would not allow that. Valencia barely had time to reset before Bilbao hit back. Muniain, sharp as ever, found Nico Williams in space. The younger Williams brother had been quiet so far, but Izan knew better than to assume he¡¯d stay that way. Thierry Correia tried to step in, but Nico had already tapped the ball past him, knocking it forward with the outside of his boot. The acceleration was frightening¡ªCorreia barely had time to react before Nico was gone. The entire Valencia defense retreated. Nico slowed slightly, baiting Mark into committing, then chopped inside at full speed. It was seamless, effortless as Mark¡¯s lunge missed by half an inch. Coming up against Cenk Ozkacar, the shot came instantly¡ªno wind-up, no hesitation. A thunderous right-footed strike toward the top corner. Cent tried putting his body in the way but the ball missed. Faced with such a shot, Mamardashvili didn¡¯t think¡ªhe just moved. His right hand shot up, his fingertips brushing the ball, just enough to send it over the crossbar. A collective gasp rippled through the stadium before the Bilbao fans erupted in frustration. Nico put his hands on his head. "No puede ser¡­" (No way¡­) Mamardashvili sat up, chest heaving. The Georgian was calm, always calm, but even he took an extra second before getting to his feet. On the touchline, Valverde let out a slow breath, his arms crossed. "He¡¯s too quick for them," he murmured to his assistant. The corner from Nico¡¯s shot amounted to nothing much after Marmadashvilli smothered the ball from the set piece. Valencia felt the momentum shift. Bilbao pressed harder, forcing long clearances, making every second on the ball a battle. Pietro was in the thick of it, his jersey tugged, his ankles clipped, yet he never stopped. Every time he won the ball, he was hit late. Dani Garc¨ªa made sure of it. At one point, Pietro shoved the Bilbao midfielder after a particularly nasty challenge. "Try that again," he muttered, his breath heavy. Dani Garc¨ªa just smiled. "I will." The referee blew the whistle, giving Bilbao a soft free kick. Seeing the way things were going, Gaya jogged over to Pietro to try and calm things down. "Relax, chico. They want you to react." Pietro exhaled, nodding. He knew better. But the war in midfield wasn¡¯t over yet. Then Izan had the ball again. Gay¨¤ found him in space, and he wasted no time turning into his defender. The touch was tight, and controlled, the kind only a special kind of player could execute at full speed. Berchiche stepped forward but Izan read him. The first movement¡ªa slight shift of his body¡ªmade it look like he was cutting inside. Berchiche bit the bait. Then came the real move¡ªa quick tap with the inside of his foot, shifting the ball to his left, skipping past the defender in one smooth motion. Izan lifted his head. Sim¨®n was off his line, anticipating the strike. Izan saw the gap at the near post and went for it¡ª [Curler LV 2] But Sim¨®n was ready. A full-stretch dive, fingertips to the ball, sending it spinning away from the goal. "That trait of his is awfully ridiculous !" Izan said, staring at the goalkeeper, who had just pulled off his second ridiculous save of the night. Sim¨®n sat up and smirked. "Not today, kid." Izan didn¡¯t react. He just jogged back, shaking his head. With the game entering the late stages of the first half, Athletic Bilbao mounted one last attack. Nico Williams, relentless as ever, refused to let the half end quietly. He drove down the left, his speed unchanged despite forty-five minutes of exhausting play. Mark had learned from earlier. He didn¡¯t lunge this time. He stayed patient, waiting, reading Nico¡¯s movements. Nico feinted left, then right. Mark however didn¡¯t flinch. Frustrated, Nico tried to cut inside, but Mark was there. A perfectly timed step. A clean tackle. The ball spilled loose, and before Bilbao could react, Correia cleared it long. " Seems like Valencia will go into the break on a one-goal lead," one of the commentators said after the referee checked his watch. Fweeeeeeeeee, Fweeeeeee. After the referee¡¯s whistle sounded, the players on the pitch all turned to the tunnel. One goal separated them, but it didn¡¯t feel like enough. Izan caught Nico Williams¡¯ eye as they neared the tunnel. The Bilbao winger gave him a knowing smirk. "Close one, huh?" Izan exhaled. "Yeah." Nico chuckled. "Next half¡¯s gonna be different though ." Izan smiled, he didn¡¯t doubt it. ...¡­.. Halftime ¨C Inside the Dressing Rooms Izan slumped onto the bench, his jersey clinging to his skin, soaked with sweat. His breathing was steady, but his body told a different story. The pace of the game was brutal¡ªevery sprint, every touch had been contested like life depended on it. Across the room, Hugo Duro leaned back against the wall, his head resting against his hands. Javi Guerra sat on the floor, stretching his legs, while Mark rubbed his knee, where a fresh bruise had formed from an earlier collision. Baraja stood in front of them, arms crossed, his face unreadable. He waited a moment before speaking. "We¡¯re leading, but we¡¯re not in control," he said, his voice measured. "They¡¯re finding space. They¡¯re testing our fullbacks. And they¡¯re coming for us even harder in the second half." Gaya, the captain, nodded. "They¡¯re pushing their wingers inside more. Nico¡¯s looking for that cut-in shot, and Muniain keeps floating between our lines." Baraja turned to Mamardashvili. "That save was huge. We need more of that." The Georgian nodded, still sipping his water. Baraja exhaled. "This is a final. It won¡¯t be pretty. They want to drag us into a fight. Let them get frustrated, not us." His eyes scanned the room before landing on Izan. "And you¡­" Izan, still catching his breath, sat up straighter. "You¡¯ve been brilliant. But they¡¯re targeting you." "I know," Izan muttered, his fingers grazing his left ankle. A dull pain pulsed through it from Dani Vivian¡¯s late challenge earlier. Nothing serious, but enough to bother him. Baraja studied him for a second. "Are you good?" Izan nodded without hesitation. "Yeah." The coach held his gaze a moment longer before shifting his attention. "Good. Because we¡¯ll need you again." But Izan wasn¡¯t listening anymore. The ankle was throbbing more than he expected. Quietly, he stood and slipped toward the back of the dressing room, heading for the bathroom. The fluorescent light buzzed as Izan stepped inside. His reflection in the mirror showed the sweat still dripping from his forehead, his face flushed from exertion. Ignoring the fatigue, Izan called out to the system, the ethereal screen materializing in front of him. Pressing the small icon that looked like a shack, Izan entered the system inventory and took out one conditioning and recovery fluids. He drank the two simultaneously, instantly getting assaulted with a wave of energy, his ankle getting better. Slowly, but eventually. The door creaked open. Pietro peeked in. "Hey, you alright?" Izan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah." Pietro smirked. "You better be. We¡¯re not done yet." Izan let out a small chuckle. "No, we¡¯re not." The two bumped fists before heading back out. [Athletic Bilbao Dressing Room] On the other side of the stadium, the atmosphere was tense. Ernesto Valverde stood near the tactics board, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of frustration and expectation. "We¡¯re playing well," he started. "But we¡¯re losing." The words stung. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Dani Vivian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Nico Williams wiped his face with a towel, his mind still replaying the chance Mamardashvili had saved. Valverde continued. "We know their weakness. We¡¯ve seen it. Their fullbacks struggle when we overload them. We¡¯ve pinned them back. Now we finish the job." Muniain leaned forward. "And Izan?" Valverde¡¯s expression darkened slightly. "He¡¯s a problem. But we¡¯ve already gotten to him once." His eyes flicked toward Dani Vivian, who nodded. "Let him know we¡¯re there. But be smart about it." Dani Garc¨ªa smirked. "Oh, he knows we¡¯re there." Nico Williams spoke up. "They¡¯re quick in transition. We have to track back faster, or we¡¯ll keep getting caught." Valverde nodded. "Yes. But more importantly, we take our chances. We¡¯re not here to play¡ªwe¡¯re here to win." There was silence. Then Muniain clapped his hands together. "Alright then," he muttered. "Let¡¯s take the damn trophy." Chapter 238: Last dance. As both teams emerged for the second half, Izan found himself walking just behind Nico Williams. Nico glanced at him, grinning. "That ankle okay?" Izan met his gaze, unreadable. "You¡¯ll find out soon." Met by the roaring crowd, both teams positioned themselves in their respective halves. After that, the referee glanced at his watch before sounding his whistle. The second half was now underway. " Welcome viewers once again to the second half of this enthralling fixture. Valencia lead, for now, because with the way the opponents are playing, it won¡¯t be long before the ball ends up in the back of the Valencia net." "The second half began with a sharp intensity, the air thick with anticipation. The one-goal lead felt like a fragile thread, ready to snap at any moment. Athletic Bilbao came out of the tunnel like men possessed, their pressing even more aggressive, their tackles heavier. Izan knew what was coming. He had barely made it through the first half unscathed, and now every Bilbao player who got close made sure to leave something behind¡ªan elbow, a shoulder, a stomp just a little too hard to be an accident. They were trying to wear him down, using all sorts of foul tactics that were sure to evade the eye of the referee. Then came the moment in the 52nd minute. After passing around Athletic Bilbao¡¯s aggressive press, the ball found its way into Gaya¡¯s path: the latter passing the ball into Javi Guerra¡¯s run. Javi Guerra, under immense pressure, managed to control the ball and slip a pass to Izan just past the center circle. The ball rolled perfectly into Izan¡¯s stride as he poised himself to turn on the jets but as he turned¡ª A sudden impact flooded his senses. Dani Garc¨ªa came in like a battering ram, his entire body crashing into Izan¡¯s left side. But it wasn¡¯t just the collision¡ªit was the way Garc¨ªa¡¯s boot caught his already bruised ankle.l Pain. It shot up his leg like fire, twisting, tearing, screaming through his nerves. Izan didn¡¯t fall immediately. His body refused to accept it. He staggered forward, one step, two¡ªbefore his ankle finally gave out, sending him tumbling onto the pitch. The referee¡¯s whistle sounded. A chorus of outrage erupted from the Valencia bench, players swarming the referee. Gay¨¤ shoved Dani Garc¨ªa back as Pietro grabbed the official¡¯s arm, shouting for a card. Garc¨ªa just stood there, unfazed, adjusting his socks like nothing had happened. Izan lay motionless, staring up at the floodlights. The pain pulsed in waves, hot and unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He heard footsteps. The physios. Then Suddenly, Baraja¡¯s voice. He felt hands on him, voices murmuring in rushed, concerned tones. "He can¡¯t continue," one of the medics said, shaking his head. Izan¡¯s eyes snapped open. "No." Baraja squatted beside him, his brow furrowed. "Izan, listen¡ª" "No," Izan repeated, forcing himself up onto his elbows. The pain was still there, like a knife buried deep in his ankle, but he ignored it. "I can still play." One of the medics reached for him. "You can¡¯t even put weight on it¡ª" Izan shoved his hand away. He turned to Baraja, his breathing ragged. "Believe in me." A silence. The world seemed to pause in that moment. Baraja¡¯s eyes searched his, looking for something¡ªhesitation, weakness, doubt. But there was none. Finally, he exhaled. "Alright." The medics stared in disbelief. The commentators who were informed of the pitch side decision were shocked, to say the least. "Wait, what? They¡¯re letting him stay on?!" "This is reckless! The kid is clearly hurt but Baraja still keeps him on! I don¡¯t know the intensity of the injury but this could be career-ending should he succumb to the ankle pain "Izan is limping, struggling even to stand, and Baraja still refuses to take him off. What is he thinking?" No one understood. But Izan wasn¡¯t listening to any of it. Because he knew. He had to stay. Staying on, however, came at a price. Minute by minute, the pain worsened. Every touch, every pivot, every sprint sent agony shooting through his leg. Bilbao saw it. And they exploited it It started with Nico Williams. The winger had been relentless, testing Correia every chance he got. This time, he didn¡¯t need to beat him. He only needed space. A sharp cut inside. A glance up. A perfectly curved cross. Gorka Guruzeta rose above Cenk ?zkacar, his timing impeccable. The header was clinical¡ªangled perfectly, the ball sailing over Mamardashvili¡¯s desperate fingers. A second of silence. Then¡ªchaos. The net bulged and the stadium roared. 1-1. Bilbao¡¯s bench exploded in celebration as Guruzeta sprinted toward the corner flag, pumping his fists in the air. " Athletic Bilbao level the score here in this Cop del Rey Final. We are all square here at the Estadio Cartuja" After the restart, Valencia barely had time to process the equalizer before the next wave hit. Muniain, their ever-dangerous captain, ghosted between the lines, finding space where there was none. His first touch was soft, a whisper against the grass. His second¡ªa dagger. A through ball. A perfect through ball. It sliced through the Valencia backline like a scalpel, sending Berenguer through on goal. Mamardashvili rushed out, arms wide, making himself as big as possible. Berenguer however didn¡¯t panic. One touch. Two touches. Pulling his left leg back, Betenguer let the ball fly, escaping the outstretched hands of Marmadashvilli. 1-2. Valencia had collapsed. The Cartuja was no longer a stadium. It was a battlefield. The boos were deafening. Objects rained down onto the pitch¡ªplastic bottles, torn-up paper, even a flare in the upper stands. The security scrambled. The fourth official grabbed his mic, relaying messages to the officiating team. Moments later, a voice boomed through the stadium speakers: "Any further disruption will result in the removal of spectators from the stadium." But it wasn¡¯t just the fans. The commentators were losing their minds. "WHAT IS GOING ON? Why is Izan still on the pitch?!" "This is suicide! They¡¯re throwing the final away!" One of the analysts, a former player, shook his head. "I¡¯ve played in finals. I understand belief. But belief doesn¡¯t win you games when you can¡¯t even run." On the touchline, Baraja remained still. Every instinct screamed at him to make the change. The logical move¡ªthe right move¡ªwas to sub Izan out but he didn¡¯t. He watched the boy carefully. The clenched fists. The trembling shoulders. The fire in his eyes, still burning, still alive. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And he knew. Izan wasn¡¯t finished. Baraja turned to his assistants. And did nothing. " Come on guys. We are still in this. Keep your cool and don¡¯t let the pressure get to you" Gaya said as he glanced at Izan. The Valencia captain too was distraught with the arrangements Baraja had made but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to say anything since he knew that they wouldn¡¯t be here had Izan not After a bit of back and forth. Athletic Bilbao had the ball. Dani Garc¨ªa looked up, searching for options¡ª But before he could react, a flash of orange and white lunged in. Izan. In a last, desperate burst of energy, he threw himself into the challenge. He didn¡¯t just win the ball¡ªhe took it with him, rolling back to his feet despite the pain screaming through his body. The stadium froze. Javi Guerra reacted first, scooping up the loose ball and surging forward. One pass. Two. Hugo Duro, at the edge of the box, took a deep breath. He knew he had to hit it and hit he did as he let the ball fly from the half volley. The thunderous strike streaked towards the Bilbao goal. Hugo Duro¡¯s curler kissed the post¡ª And nestled into the back of the net. 2-2. The Valencia crowd erupted. The Valencia bench spilled onto the pitch chasing after Hugo Duro who had ran towards where Izan lay on the ground. " At this point, Izan just isn¡¯t normal. With an ankle injury and not being able to play well, Izan proves that he can still be useful with that perfectly time tackle.This Copa del Rey final is definitely one for the books" "Get ready to bring Fran Perez in," Baraja said as he glanced at Izan who now sat on the pitch, his teammates surrounding him. "Seems like Baraja has finally regained his senses as I can see Fran Perez warming up. The match is as open as ever and with the scores like this, it¡¯s anyone¡¯s game. 79 minutes played and it¡¯s Valencia 2, Athletic Bilbao" After finally getting up, Izan joined his teammates in Valencia¡¯s half of the pitch. Glancing down the touchline, Izan saw Fran Perez warming up. " I need to do something before I¡¯m taken out," Izan thought as he stared at the Athletic Bilbao goal. "Max, Can you forcefully numb the pain in my ankle for a few minutes" Izan asked and got no response from the system for a while. [ I can but the system recommends it not because the backlash the host will face after this will be severe if not Career-ending] Izan, caught between winning the final and his well-being chose the former after the system gave its input. [Commencing Frantic state: Host will be in a frantic state for 1 minute 30 seconds where all abilities and senses are heightened but after the state ends, the user cannot mobilize strength in his legs for a while.] "That¡¯s good enough" Izan said as Athletic Bilbao kicked off. Chapter 239: Ego Crown "Max, Can you forcefully numb the pain in my ankle for a few minutes" Izan asked and got no response from the system for a while. [ I can but the system recommends it not because the backlash the host will face after this will be severe if not Career-ending] Izan, caught between winning the final and his well-being chose the former after the system gave its input. [Commencing Frantic state: Host will be in a frantic state for 1 minute 30 seconds where all abilities and senses are heightened but after the state ends, the user cannot mobilize strength in his legs for a while.] "That¡¯s good enough" Izan said as Athletic Bilbao kicked off. ...¡­. The Estadio La Cartuja pulsed with raw emotion, a living, breathing beast that roared with every pass, every tackle, every desperate gasp of a fan watching their team cling to hope. The scoreboard read 2-2, but it did nothing to reflect the storm that had unfolded over the past 81 minutes. For Valencia, it had been a night of agony and resilience. For Izan, it had been a battle against nature itself. His ankle was ruined¡ªevery step he took sent a white-hot pain searing up his leg. He could barely stand, let alone sprint, but his mind had overridden the body¡¯s protests. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The system¡¯s [Frantic State] had taken over. His senses burned with clarity, every movement around him unfolding like pages in an open book. Izan took it all in, as much as he could, his head turning and scanning the positions of various players on the pitch. "Whooooohhhh", with a large sigh, Izan moved into space, his ankle numbed to the point that it felt like it wasn¡¯t there. Izan moved around waiting for the moment to show the fans why he was kept on the pitch despite his injury. Then it happened. The moment. Dani Garc¨ªa, overconfident and careless, let the ball roll a fraction too far. Izan, waiting like a cheetah in the hunt, pounced in. His movement, It wasn¡¯t graceful. If anything it looked more desperate. His injured foot planted down awkwardly, but he threw his body into the challenge, his left leg sweeping through the ball with the last of his strength. He ripped possession away, sending Garc¨ªa stumbling backward. The Bilbao players raised their hands for a foul but the referee waved play. The world blurred as Izan forced himself upright, blinking through the pain. The ball was at his feet. He had no time to think¡ªonly to act. A quick glance forward. Hugo Duro was making a run into the box. Javi Guerra peeled away to his left. But something inside Izan told him¡ªthis moment was his. He had suffered. He had endured. And now, he would decide the final. Ding, [New trait shard generated], the system sounded but Izan had no time to think [ He walks the pitch, a king untamed, A throne of turf, his name inflamed. The world bends low to watch him dance, Each touch, a stroke¡ªpure arrogance. The ball obeys, his servant true, Defenders kneel, the grass bows too. He lifts his chin, his glare ignites, A monarch born for floodlit nights. Yet in his heart, a storm collides, A hunger vast, a war inside. For though he reigns, untouchable, The fall is swift, inevitable] [Ego Crown: 1 out of 10 ego plays unlocked.] Izan felt a slight wave of energy being infused in him. Although small, in that moment, it felt like a gold mine for Izan. Although his left foot barely held his weight as he pushed forward, dragging his broken body toward the penalty arc, Izan was still terrifying. The Bilbao defenders scrambled, panic flashing in their eyes as they realized what was happening. Izan was about to shoot. Unai Sim¨®n, Spain¡¯s number one, adjusted his stance, gauging the actions of his fellow Spain international. The crowd sucked in their breath as Izan planted his right foot beside the ball. A bolt of agony shot through his ankle like a dagger, forcing his body to stagger¡ªhis form broken, his balance shattered. But still, he struck the ball. And time stopped or to the fans, it did. The ball didn¡¯t just fly¡ªit soared, carving through the air with a vicious, dipping swerve. Unai Sim¨®n lunged. Fingertips brushed leather but it was not enough. The ball struck the underside of the crossbar¡ª Bounced down¡ª And kissed the net. GOOOOOOAAAL! "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN! THE BOY IS A HERO!" The commentator¡¯s voice cracked with disbelief. "ON ONE LEG! HE HAS DONE THE IMPOSSIBLE!" The stadium detonated. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, everything stood still. Then¡ªchaos. The Valencia players exploded into celebration. Hugo Duro sprinted toward Izan, arms outstretched, a scream of sheer joy bursting from his lips. Javi Guerra was right behind him, followed by the entire bench. But Izan? He collapsed. His body pushed past its absolute limit and crumpled onto the grass. His vision swam. His chest heaved. His right leg, the source of so much agony, lay limp beneath him. And then he felt it. Arms. Javi Guerra crashed into him first, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. Hugo Duro piled on, his laughter mixing with something dangerously close to tears. Then came Gaya. Correia. Cenk. Mamardashvili. Pietro. One by one, they all threw themselves onto Izan, wrapping him in a mass of elation and disbelief. The fans, once doubters, once furious at Baraja for not taking Izan off, had turned into believers. "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" They screamed his name, fists pounding the air, voices hoarse from the sheer madness of what they had witnessed. Some fans clutched their heads, others collapsed into their seats, overwhelmed by emotion. A few had tears running down their faces, their bodies trembling from the sheer euphoria. The commentators were losing their minds. "THIS IS FOOTBALL! THIS IS HISTORY! THIS IS A FINAL FOR THE AGES!" "RUB¨¦N BARAJA¡ªHOW COULD YOU LEAVE HIM ON? BUT HOW CAN YOU DOUBT HIM? WHAT DID WE JUST WITNESS?" On the touchline, Baraja stood frozen, watching his players engulf Izan, their celebrations raw, unrestrained. He had known keeping Izan on was reckless. Suicidal, even. But now, as the stadium worshipped the boy lying motionless beneath his teammates, he knew¡ª This was beyond logic. Beyond tactics. This was something only football could create. Yet, as the realization of the goal settled, so did the consequences. Baraja¡¯s joy was tinged with dread. Because now, Izan wasn¡¯t moving. The weight of his teammates was lifted, one by one, as they noticed it too. Izan lay on his back, his face twisted in pain, his right leg completely unresponsive. The medical staff sprinted onto the pitch. The celebration came to an abrupt halt. Izan blinked up at the floodlights, his chest rising and falling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had given everything. Every ounce of himself. And now, he had nothing left. Baraja clenched his fists. "Get Fran P¨¦rez ready." Izan¡¯s night was over. The fans, realizing this, rose as one. A standing ovation. A farewell to their fallen hero. As Izan was helped off the pitch, his right arm draped around the shoulders of the medical staff, his left hand clutched at his badge¡ª The stadium sang his name. The same voices that had questioned him. The same fans that had doubted him. Now, they worshipped him. Because this was football. And Izan had just written his legend. "Take it in. Just take it all in. Because this¡­ this is a moment we will never forget." One of the commentators spoke with emotion in his voice. Seeing as his mate couldn¡¯t carry on, the second commentator took over. "A standing ovation from every single Valencia fan in this stadium. Every single one of them is on their feet, chanting his name, showing their love, their admiration, their gratitude for what this boy has just done. And look at the Bilbao fans¡­ stunned, frozen in silence. They don¡¯t know what to do, what to feel. They¡¯ve just witnessed something truly extraordinary. They¡¯ve seen a boy, barely sixteen, defy every limit of his body, his pain, and the laws of football itself to drag his team into the lead." After a regaining his composure, the first commentator nodded at his mate, saying a curt thanks before taking over. "Rub¨¦n Baraja should have taken him off when he got injured. We all said it. Every single person watching this match thought it was over for him. And yet, look what he¡¯s done. Look how he¡¯s leaving this pitch¡ªnot defeated, not broken, but as a hero. Izan is limping, barely able to put weight on that right foot, his face twisted in pain¡­ but look at his hand. Look at his chest. He¡¯s gripping the badge. He¡¯s still holding onto it, as if to say, ¡¯This was for you. This was for Valencia.¡¯" "And listen to that sound! That ovation! His name echoing through the night in Seville! If there was ever a question about what this boy meant to this club, to these fans, this is your answer." "Football is cruel. It¡¯s brutal. It takes and takes and takes. But on nights like this, it gives us something magical. Something immortal. Izan might be walking off the pitch¡­ but he has just written his name into history. In the minds of the Valencia fans and in the annals of Spanish football." Chapter 240: Curtain Closes The night air in Seville was electric. The Estadio La Cartuja trembled under the weight of 57,000 souls witnessing a war of attrition. The scoreboard read 3-2 in favor of Valencia, but the game was anything but over. Fran P¨¦rez had just sprinted onto the pitch, replacing Izan, who had given his very body for the cause. The boy had fought beyond his limits, dragging his team into the lead before collapsing under the weight of his sacrifice. Now, he sat on the bench, his right leg wrapped in ice, his body limp, but his eyes¡ªhis eyes were still burning, locked onto the pitch. He wasn¡¯t leaving. He had suffered for this moment. He would witness it to the end. But Athletic Bilbao weren¡¯t done. As the match progressed towards the end, Bilbao¡¯s desperate Siege began. In the 86th minute, the Basque club launched wave after wave of attacks. Their manager, Ernesto Valverde, stood at the edge of his technical area, barking instructions, urging his men forward. Dani Garc¨ªa, panting heavily, picked up the ball near the center circle. His shirt clung to his sweat-soaked torso as he scanned the field. Every Bilbao player, except their goalkeeper, was inside Valencia¡¯s half. They were going all in. Garc¨ªa swung a searching ball to the right flank, where I?aki Williams, a blur of speed and power, raced forward. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, Valencia¡¯s captain, was in his path, but exhaustion weighed on his legs. He had been playing a relentless game for 90 minutes, and now, he had to stop one of La Liga¡¯s fastest players. Williams feinted right, gauging to see what Gaya would do, but the weight of the moment caused Gay¨¤ to bite. In an instant, Williams cut inside, leaving Gay¨¤ half a step behind. That half-step was all he needed as he whipped a curling cross toward the six-yard box, dipping dangerously toward Nico Williams, his younger brother, who had peeled off his marker. For a moment, time seemed to slow. Nico rose, eyes locked on the ball, his neck muscles tensing as he generated power¡ª Boom. A bullet header. It was flying in. The Athletic Bilbao fans and players alike were ready to celestial, but Mamardashvili saw it. The 6¡¯6" Georgian goalkeeper, a silent guardian all night, reacted like a panther. He pushed off his line, flinging himself to his right, stretching his massive frame. Fingertips met leather¡ª The ball changed direction¡ª before the contact sounded. It smashed against the post and rebounded into the chaos of the box. Gasps tore through the stadium. The Valencia fans behind the goal had already feared the worst. They had seen that ball go in their nightmares. Now, they saw a miracle. Mamardashvili wasn¡¯t done. He scrambled up just as I?aki Williams lunged at the rebound, boot slicing through the air. A rocket of a shot¡ª S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But Mark came flying in the way. The ball slammed into his shoulder and ricocheted behind for a corner, some of the Bilbao players calling for handball but the referee paid no heed. Mark hit the ground, his chest heaving, but as he turned his head, he saw Gay¨¤ screaming at him, fists clenched, eyes blazing. "LET¡¯S GO, MARK!" Gay¨¤ bellowed, slapping the center-back on the back. "One more! Hold the line!" Mark roared, pounding his fist into the grass before jumping back to his feet. The crowd, seeing his passion, erupted into wild cheers. On the Valencia bench, Izan threw his fist into the air, teeth gritted. "That¡¯s it! Fight! Fight!" he growled, his voice raw with adrenaline. With the clock ticking past the 92nd-minute mark, Athletic Bilbao threw everything at Valencia, hoping for that break. Unai Sim¨®n, Bilbao¡¯s goalkeeper, sprinted forward, joining his mates in the Valencia box. It was the ultimate gamble. Every Bilbao player except one was now inside Valencia¡¯s box. If they scored, extra time awaited. If they failed, Valencia could counter into an empty net. The stadium buzzed with an unbearable tension. Oihan Sancet placed the ball near the flag, his eyes flickering between his teammates in the box. He took a deep breath. This was it. He raised his hand, signaling before he sent a wicked in-swinger curling into the penalty area, dropping fast as the Bilbao players tried to get a touch on it. Bodies leaped¡ªarms tangled¡ªlegs thrashed. And once again¡ª Mamardashvili soared above them all. The Georgian snatched the ball mid-air, his giant hands crushing it to his chest. For a second, it seemed like the world paused. Then, he fell to the ground and clutched the ball like it was the most valuable thing in existence. The Valencia players around him pumped their fists, screaming in triumph. Hugo Duro, voice hoarse, slammed his hands against Mamardashvili¡¯s shoulders. "YOU¡¯RE A MONSTER, GIORGI!" But the job wasn¡¯t done. Mamardashvili, wasting precious seconds, took a deep breath and launched a massive goal-kick. The ball soared through the Seville night, traveling the length of the field. It bounced near the corner flag. Fran P¨¦rez chased it, shielding it as the clock ticked past 94:00. Seeing this, the referee glanced at his watch before ultimately deciding to end the game. It was over. Fweeee, Fweeeeee, Fweeeeweeeeeeeeee! The whistle cut through the night. A beat of silence¡ª Then, a deafening eruption. VALENCIA WERE COPA DEL REY CHAMPIONS! The players collapsed in a mix of exhaustion and pure euphoria. Some dropped to their knees, others sprinted in celebration, fists punching the air. Gay¨¤ fell onto his back, hands covering his face, overcome with emotion. Hugo Duro ripped his shirt off, racing toward the stands, screaming himself hoarse. Baraja, the man who had gambled on Izan, stood frozen on the touchline, his hands in his hair, disbelief and joy crashing over him. And then¡ª Izan. The medical staff wheeled him onto the pitch. The moment his teammates saw him, they rushed toward him. Javi Guerra reached him first, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and pushing him forward into the huddle. "This is yours too, hermano!" Javi yelled, gripping Izan¡¯s hand tight. Gay¨¤ and Duro lifted him from the chair, supporting him, letting him stand among them. Izan, broken and battered, looked around at the thousands of fans screaming his name. A small, exhausted, but triumphant smile crept onto his face. He had given his soul to this match. And now¡ª They had won. The Valencia fans behind the goal were in tears, hugging strangers, climbing onto barriers, screaming their love for their heroes. Even the Bilbao fans stood in stunned silence. They had just witnessed something legendary. The commentators could barely contain themselves. "THIS IS WHAT FOOTBALL IS ABOUT!" one of them roared. "THIS IS HISTORY!" His co-commentator, voice shaking, simply whispered: "Izan... you absolute warrior. This night belongs to you." The cameras cut to Izan handing over his badge, gripping it tight. He had made a promise to Valencia. And tonight¡ª He had delivered. .... The Estadio La Cartuja was a storm of voices, a chaotic, beautiful symphony of celebration and heartbreak. In the VIP section, Komi, Hori, Miranda, and Olivia were on their feet, their emotions raw and unfiltered. Komi¡¯s hands were clasped together over her mouth, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She wasn¡¯t one to cry in public, but this¡ªthis was different. This was her son, her Izan, out there, celebrated like a king, having just written his name into football history. Next to her, Hori had lost all sense of composure. She was screaming, jumping, clutching at Olivia¡¯s arm as if to confirm that this wasn¡¯t a dream. "HE DID IT! HE DID IT!" she yelled, shaking Olivia. The blonde, despite being the calmer one, wasn¡¯t faring much better. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her hands trembled as she clapped furiously. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs after witnessing Izan¡¯s impossible goal. She had been terrified when he collapsed, her breath stolen away, but now, seeing him being lifted by his teammates, seeing the stadium chant his name¡ª Pride swelled in her chest. Next to her, Miranda was grinning, shaking her head as she watched the celebrations unfold. "God¡­" she muttered, exhaling sharply. "Do you know how busy I¡¯m about to get?" Olivia turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Busy?" Miranda gave her a look. "His face is about to be everywhere, Olivia. EVERYWHERE. This¡ªthis isn¡¯t just a Copa del Rey win. This is a moment, has now been etched in the annals of the copa del rey history as the night, 16 year old Izan won the copa del rey for Valencia. My phone is already blowing up." She held up her screen, showing dozens of notifications. "Interviews, sponsorships, media requests¡ªIzan¡¯s name will probably be in the news again for a while" Komi finally turned to her, wiping the corner of her eye. "Make sure he rests first," she said, her voice warm but firm. "He¡¯s my son before he¡¯s your client." Miranda chuckled, raising her hands in surrender. "Of course, Komi. Of course. But¡­" She turned back toward the pitch, where Izan was still surrounded by his teammates. "This is only the beginning." Hori grinned. "So¡­ we just witnessed the start of his era, huh?" Olivia, eyes still locked on Izan, whispered, "Yeah¡­ we did." A/n: First of the day. Golden ticket chapter will be up in a bit. So IRL Athletic Bilbao played and won against Mallorca so sorry to the Bilbao fans. Anyways have fun and I¡¯ll see you in a bit. Chapter 241: As the celebrations went on, the Valencia team were eventually led toward the presentation area, where their medals awaited them. The eyes of some of the Bilbao players were red from crying. They had worked hard and were so close to clinching the title but it had all been for naught because of one boy. The Valencia players walked up one by one, shaking hands with the Copa del Rey officials with their fans cheering behind them. At the center of it all stood Fernando Hierro, a Real Madrid legend. When Izan was wheeled onto the stage, Hierro stepped forward. The Spanish football icon, who had captained Real Madrid and Spain, extended his hand. Izan shook it firmly, looking up at the legend before him. "You," Hierro said, smiling, "are special." Izan, exhausted but still sharp, grinned. "Gracias." Hierro leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only Izan could hear. "Join Madrid," he murmured. "You belong at the biggest club in the world." Izan¡¯s breath hitched. For any sixteen-year-old, being courted by Real Madrid wasn¡¯t just flattering¡ªit was a dream most players never even got close to. Izan took a second, absorbing the weight of Hierro¡¯s words. Then, he nodded. "It would be an honor to play for Madrid one day." Hierro smiled, sensing something more in Izan¡¯s tone. "But?" Izan straightened slightly, his voice steady. "But right now¡­ I¡¯m staying at Valencia." Hierro studied him for a moment before chuckling. "Loyalty is rare in football, kid. I respect that." He patted Izan¡¯s shoulder. "But one day¡­ Madrid will come for you again. They already did once." Izan smirked. "Then we¡¯ll see what happens." Hierro laughed, stepping aside as Izan was presented with his winner¡¯s medal. Finally, it was time. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the captain, stood at the center of the podium, his hands outstretched as the Copa del Rey trophy was handed to him. The weight of history, of suffering, of years spent clawing for moments like this¡ªit all led to this one moment. Gay¨¤ turned to his teammates, lifting the trophy high into the Seville night. The stadium detonated. Fireworks exploded into the sky as Golden confetti rained down. The Valencia players erupted into cheers, jumping, embracing, screaming their joy to the heavens. Izan, still in his wheelchair, was pulled into the group. They wouldn¡¯t leave him out. Guerra and Duro grabbed his shoulders, lifting him slightly so he could touch the trophy. When his fingers brushed against the silver surface, a new roar erupted from the fans. They knew. They knew this trophy wouldn¡¯t have been possible without Izan. He wasn¡¯t just a young talent. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He wasn¡¯t just a rising star. He was the hero of the final. As the celebrations raged on, the fans¡¯ roar for that day reached an all-time high. Valencia CF had reclaimed their glory. And at the heart of it all¡ª A sixteen-year-old boy had just become immortal. At least, the people of Valencia who had witnessed this moment were going to talk about it for a long time. ... As the Valencia players continued their celebrations, security, and officials made an exception for special guests, families, and people associated with the players. Komi, Hori, Miranda, and Olivia were escorted onto the pitch, the golden confetti crunching beneath their feet as they made their way toward Izan. Komi led the way, her eyes glossy with emotion. Her son had just won the Copa del Rey. Olivia walked beside her, her heart pounding. She had seen Izan fight, struggle, and triumph tonight. And she had never been prouder. Miranda, always the professional, had her phone out, already capturing clips and angles that would flood sports headlines across Spain. And then there was Hori. She had a massive grin on her face, but the moment she reached Izan, she dramatically gasped and put her hands on her hips. "Wow," she said, shaking her head. "So, you¡¯re disabled now? That¡¯s crazy." Izan, still sitting in his wheelchair, narrowed his eyes at her. "Hori¡ª" "Like," Hori continued, grinning wickedly, "I don¡¯t wanna be insensitive, but¡­ I can¡¯t have a disabled brother. Who¡¯s gonna get me all the new Saint Laurent stuff now?!" Izan groaned as Olivia buried her face in her hands, trying not to laugh. Miranda, always quick on her feet, aimed her camera straight at Izan¡¯s face. "You¡¯re gonna wanna remember this moment," she teased. Komi chuckled, bending down slightly to look at Izan. "Ignore your sister, mi amor. You were incredible tonight." For a moment, Izan just looked at his family. The ones who had his back most of the time. The people who meant the most to him were now all around him. Just then, Javi Guerra appeared behind him, holding the Copa del Rey trophy. "Alright, alright," Guerra grinned. "Family photo time!" Izan¡¯s family gathered around him, the Copa del Rey trophy gleaming in the middle. Hori, still smirking, made bunny ears behind Izan¡¯s head, earning an eye-roll from him. Olivia, standing beside him, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She didn¡¯t say much, but the way she looked at him¡ªlike he was the most extraordinary person in the world¡ªsaid enough. Komi stood proudly next to her son, her eyes still shimmering with emotion. And Miranda, even as she posed for the picture, was already planning headlines in her head. Click. The camera flash went off. A moment frozen in time. The boy who defied the odds. The family that stood by him. The trophy that sealed his legend. And a night that would never be forgotten. .... As the night wore on and the fans slowly began to clear from the stands, Hori, Komi, Olivia, and Miranda knew it was time to let Izan celebrate with his team. "You owe me a shopping spree when you can walk again," Hori teased as she ruffled his hair. Izan swatted her hand away. "You¡¯re insane." Komi bent down and pressed a soft kiss on Izan¡¯s forehead. "Rest well, mi amor. We¡¯ll see you later." Olivia squeezed his hand before stepping away with a smile. "You¡¯re going to be insufferable after this, aren¡¯t you?" Izan smirked. "I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about." With that, his family and Olivia left the pitch, giving Izan one last moment to soak in the sight of the stadium that had witnessed his legend being written. Then, he turned toward the tunnel. ... The Valencia locker room was already shaking by the time Izan was wheeled inside. Music blasted. Players sprayed bottles of champagne and beer into the air. Laughter, shouts, and cheers echoed against the walls. It was pure, unfiltered joy. As soon as Izan entered, Javi Guerra and Hugo Duro grabbed him and wheeled him straight into the madness. "Izan, you¡¯re in the way!" Thierry Correia shouted, laughing. "Not my problem," Izan said as he was pushed straight into the heart of the celebration. Then, someone started it. First, a few voices. Then more. Until the whole room erupted in unison. "Vaaaaalencia, club de f¨²tbol! ¨¦s el millor de tots!..." The Valencia anthem shook the walls. The players belted out every word with pure passion, banging against lockers, jumping, and throwing drinks into the air. When the anthem ended, they went straight into the next song¡ª "CAMPEONES, OLE OLE!" The room turned into an earthquake. Shirts were swung in the air; boots were kicked aside, and champagne flowed like water. Izan, despite his battered body, laughed harder than he had in a while. This was real. As the celebrations hit a crescendo, the door opened. All eyes to the door where the chairman stood. The noise died down slightly as Valencia¡¯s club chairman stepped in. He was dressed sharply in a navy suit, but the exhaustion and emotion on his face were evident. He clapped slowly, surveying the team with a small smile. "What you have done tonight¡­ what you have given this club¡­ is something that will be remembered forever." The players cheered, clapping back in appreciation. The chairman¡¯s gaze moved slowly across the room, taking in his warriors. And then, his eyes landed on Izan. There was something almost longing in his expression. Like he was regretting something. But whatever thoughts were in his head, he didn¡¯t voice them. Instead, he simply gave Izan a slow nod. Izan held his gaze, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He knew. The chairman knew. The world had just seen what he could do. Now all that was left was what was coming. The celebration continued, but after a while, Rub¨¦n Baraja approached Izan. "Izan," he said, his voice quiet, serious. "Come with me." Javi Guerra shot Izan a questioning glance, but Izan simply nodded and let himself be pushed out of the room. .... Baraja led him down a quieter hallway, away from the music and chaos of the locker room. Then, he turned, facing Izan fully. For the first time since the match ended, Baraja¡¯s eyes softened. "I just wanted to say¡­ thank you." Izan tilted his head slightly. "For what?" "For giving everything. For pushing yourself beyond what anyone thought possible. For¡ª" Baraja hesitated, exhaling. "For making this happen." Izan looked at him for a long moment before offering a small grin. "You left me on, coach. You believed in me." Baraja chuckled, shaking his head. "I don¡¯t know if it was belief or recklessness." A pause. Then, he placed a hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "But I don¡¯t regret it." And neither did Izan. Chapter 242: Return Baraja led him down a quieter hallway, away from the music and chaos of the locker room. Then, he turned, facing Izan fully. For the first time since the match ended, Baraja¡¯s eyes softened. "I just wanted to say¡­ thank you." Izan tilted his head slightly. "For what?" "For giving everything. For pushing yourself beyond what anyone thought possible. For¡ª" Baraja hesitated, exhaling. "For making this happen." Izan looked at him for a long moment before offering a small grin. "You left me on, coach. You believed in me." Baraja chuckled, shaking his head. "I don¡¯t know if it was belief or recklessness." A pause. Then, he placed a hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "But I don¡¯t regret it." And neither did Izan. "Well I¡¯ve said all I had to say. Lets go back now" Baraja said, Izan nodding to it as he was wheeled away. ...... The celebrations in the locker room raged on, but eventually, it was time to head back home. Valencia had just won the Copa del Rey, but their night wasn¡¯t over yet. Club officials came in to usher the players toward the team bus, reminding them that they had a long journey ahead. Some players were still soaked in champagne. Others carried their jerseys in their hands, waving them like flags. Izan, still in a wheelchair, was one of the last to leave. As the players stepped out of the stadium, they were met by a crowd of Valencia fans who had waited long after the final whistle. Fans had gathered Outside La Cartuja Hundreds had gathered, still buzzing from the victory. Some held banners, others waved flags, and every single one of them was singing. "Vaaaaalencia, club de f¨²tbol! ¨¦s el millor de tots!" When the players emerged, the fans erupted into cheers. Hugo Duro, with the trophy in hand, lifted it into the air. "?Campeones!" he shouted. The crowd responded immediately. "?CAMPEONES, OLE OLE!" Izan wheeled out behind the group and couldn¡¯t help but grin. He had seen celebrations like this on TV. But now? Now, he was inside it. The fans chanted his name¡ª"Izan! Izan! Izan!"¡ªas he was helped onto the team bus. Before the door closed, a young boy pushed through the crowd. "Izan! Can I have your shirt?" Izan looked down at his mud-streaked jersey. He could barely move, but he still managed to pull it over his head and toss it to the kid. "Take care of it, alright?" The boy¡¯s face lit up like he had just been given the world. "The publicity team won¡¯t be happy about that,," Correira said as he claimed the bus. "Well guess they won¡¯t" Izan replied. And with that, the doors of the bus shut, and the journey home began. ... The inside of the bus was still loud, but it wasn¡¯t as chaotic as before. The exhaustion was finally creeping in. Izan sat at the back, his head resting against the window. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, the dark road illuminated only by streetlights and passing cars. As he scrolled through his phone, the news was already flooded with Valencia¡¯s triumph. Headlines flashed across social media: "IZAN THE IMMORTAL! The 16-year-old wonderkid defies pain to win the Copa del Rey for Valencia!" "A NEW LEGEND IN SPAIN: Izan¡¯s goal seals a historic victory!" "MADRID, BARCELONA, LOOK OUT¡ªIZAN HAS ARRIVED." Even major broadcasters had interrupted their regular programming to talk about it. On a Spanish sports channel, the pundits and analysts were still losing their minds: "I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve ever seen something like this before. A 16-year-old, playing on one leg, scoring the winning goal in a cup final? It¡¯s absurd!" Another journalist chimed in: "This is beyond football. This is pure cinema. The kind of story that will be told for generations." Izan sighed, locking his phone. It hadn¡¯t been long, but he had already made his mark, but this was just the start. ..... The team bus rolled into Valencia just as the sun was rising. But instead of an empty city, they were met with an ocean of people. Thousands of Valencia fans had gathered, flooding the streets in orange and white, waving banners, and setting off flares. It was a hero¡¯s welcome. As the bus crawled forward, fans banged on the sides, chanting and singing. When the doors opened, the cheering became deafening. Players stepped out one by one, and each was met with roaring applause. At the center of the crowd, a small stage had been set up. The players climbed up, one after the other, to display the Copa del Rey trophy to their people. Hugo Duro lifted it first. The fans exploded. Then Gaya. Then Javi Guerra. But soon, a chant began: "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" Hugo turned and grinned at Izan, who was still sitting in his wheelchair below. "You heard them," he said, handing the trophy to Javi Guerra. Javi bent down and placed it in Izan¡¯s lap. The fans went wild. Izan, exhausted beyond belief, lifted the trophy with both hands. It wasn¡¯t just a trophy anymore. It was proof that he had done something unforgettable. A fan near the front of the crowd shouted up at him. "We¡¯ll never forget this, Izan! Never!" Another yelled: "Sixteen years old, and you¡¯re already a legend!" Izan couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Fans really are what make soccer, football [Small shade at American Rugby and MLS] After the celebrations with the fans, the players were taken to Paterna, Valencia¡¯s training ground. From there, most of them would go home to rest. Izan, still barely able to stand, was about to get into a car when Baraja stopped him. "Come back in the afternoon," the coach said. Izan blinked. "For what?" "Assessment," Baraja said simply. "We need to know exactly how bad your ankle is." Izan let out a slow breath. He knew this was coming. Still, he nodded. "Alright. I¡¯ll be here." Baraja patted his shoulder. "Good. Now go home. You¡¯ve earned it." As Izan was driven away from Paterna, he finally let himself exhale. The last 24 hours had been a blur. The injury. The goal. The celebration. Now, as he looked out at the streets of Valencia, filled with people still celebrating, he realized something. He had made history. And no matter what happened next¡ªwhether he stayed at Valencia or moved on to something bigger¡ªthis moment would always belong to me. ..... As Izan¡¯s car pulled up to the house, exhaustion finally sank in. Komi was already waiting for him at the door, arms crossed. "You scared me half to death, Izan." Izan sighed as he was helped out of the car. Hori stood beside Komi, grinning. "You looked dramatic as hell lying on that pitch, though. Like some tragic hero." Izan rolled his eyes. "Not now, Hori." She smirked. "No, seriously. When you got injured, I was about to cry. Then you scored? I was screaming my lungs out. But when you collapsed? I thought, ¡¯Damn. My brother¡¯s broken forever. Who¡¯s gonna get me those Saint Laurent¡¯s now?¡¯" Komi smacked her lightly on the arm. "Don¡¯t joke about that." Hori just laughed. Izan shook his head. As Komi led him inside, she sighed. "You should rest, Izan. You¡¯ve put your body through enough." Izan nodded, too tired to argue. ... The next afternoon, Izan was back at Paterna for his medical assessment. His body still ached, his ankle throbbed, but he had no choice. Inside the medical room, Dr. Luis Navarro¡ªthe club¡¯s head physician¡ªstudied his swollen ankle with a deep frown. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Baraja stood nearby, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. After a few tests, Dr. Luis finally looked up. "Izan... this is incredible." Izan raised an eyebrow. "That bad?" Ramos shook his head. "No. That¡¯s just it. It looked career-threatening last night... but you¡¯re only going to miss a few games." Baraja¡¯s eyes widened. "Wait, what?" The doctor nodded. "Your ankle is sprained, but there¡¯s no break, no ligament tear. Given the way you collapsed, we expected something far worse." Baraja ran a hand through his hair, still in disbelief. "Are you telling me he played through that much pain, on an ankle that wasn¡¯t even fully broken?" Dr. Ramos exhaled. "Honestly? The fact that he lasted that long... it doesn¡¯t make sense." Izan, still seated on the examination table, smirked. "Guess I¡¯m just built differently." Baraja shook his head with a chuckle. "Or maybe you¡¯re just insane." The doctor added, "You¡¯ll still need rest. Three, maybe four weeks out. No rushing back." Baraja clapped him on the shoulder. "Take the time to recover, Izan. You¡¯ve done more than enough." Izan nodded, but deep down, he was already thinking ahead. Four weeks? That was nothing. He¡¯d be back before they even knew it. Especially when he had a helper. ..... [Dear readers, system speaking. Please help me raise the petition that author Bro will put me more into the story by voting with your Golden tickets. He started ignoring me ever since I started talking back to him. Hel- He-] A/n: sorry for that interruption from that mechanical ass. Have fun reading. Chapter 243: Beginning of a Storm The meeting room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the large screen at the front displaying a list of names. Several high-ranking officials sat around a polished wooden table, deep in discussion as the summer transfer window loomed closer. "We need reinforcements on the wings. Our depth isn¡¯t good enough if we¡¯re going to challenge next season," one of the senior members said, tapping his pen against the table. "We¡¯ve had our scouts monitoring a few names, but none of them quite fit the profile we need." "What about the South American lad? The one playing in Portugal?" another voice asked. A younger executive shook his head. "Talented, but raw. He¡¯d need a season to adapt, and that¡¯s not a luxury we have. We need immediate quality especially with all that¡¯s going on with that winger." The conversation continued, shifting from midfield reinforcements to defensive options. A few names were thrown around, some dismissed instantly, others met with nods of approval. The discussion was methodical, and the decision-making process was cold and calculated. Then, almost inevitably, the conversation took a turn. A new slide appeared on the screen. One name. One player. Izan Hernandez. For the first time in the meeting, the room fell completely silent. A long pause. Then, finally, someone spoke. "We¡¯re talking about him?" "He¡¯s the best young talent in Spain. Possibly in all of Europe. If we want to take a serious step forward, we have to at least discuss the possibility," said one of the club¡¯s top executives, leaning forward. "It¡¯s not just about talent. He¡¯s got that aura. The ability to win games on his own. A player like that changes a team. Changes a club. He¡¯s marketable too. Look at Valencia¡¯s shirt sales at the start of the season and right now. He¡¯s got the people in a chokehold too." Another executive exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It sounds great in theory. But let¡¯s be realistic. First, he¡¯s going to cost a pretty penny. Second, we don¡¯t even know if he¡¯s willing to move. He¡¯s made his stance on Valencia clear. And third¡ª" "And third, we don¡¯t even know if Valencia are willing to sell," another person finished. A brief murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Izan¡¯s contract situation was stable. Valencia were under no pressure to sell or at least that was what it looked like. And after what he had just done in the Copa del Rey final, his value had skyrocketed. One of the senior officials leaned back in his chair. "So what are we saying? That we shouldn¡¯t even try?" Silence again. Then, finally, another voice broke through. "I¡¯m saying that if we go after him, we better be ready for a war." The weight of those words lingered in the air. The meeting room remained still, the air thick with contemplation. The decision on whether to pursue Izan Hernandez was not one to be made lightly. Finally, the club¡¯s sporting director reached for his phone. Without hesitation, he dialed the club president¡¯s number. The room held its breath as the line rang. A crisp, authoritative voice answered. "Yes?" The sporting director didn¡¯t waste time. "We¡¯re moving on one of the biggest talents in football. It won¡¯t be easy, and it won¡¯t be cheap, but if we want to take the next step, we need to make this happen." A brief silence. Then¡ª "You¡¯re talking about Izan Hernandez, aren¡¯t you?" The room exchanged glances. Of course, he already knew. "We are. We believe he¡¯s worth the pursuit." The president sighed on the other end. "You¡¯re not wrong. He¡¯s a generational talent. But Valencia will fight tooth and nail to keep him, and the boy himself has already expressed his desire to stay. Do you understand what you¡¯re getting into?" "Completely." Another pause. Then¡ª "Alright. You have my approval. Start discussions with Valencia. And when the time is right¡­ I¡¯ll personally step in to make sure Izan understands why he belongs with us." The sporting director nodded, despite the president not being there to see it. "Understood. We¡¯ll begin the process immediately." The call ended. The room remained quiet for a moment before a smirk spread across the sporting director¡¯s face. "Let¡¯s get to work." ...¡­.. The contrast between the atmosphere in Valencia¡¯s boardroom and the previous one was stark. While the other club was preparing an ambitious pursuit, the Valencia board was dealing with a looming crisis. The room was filled with tension. The club¡¯s financial department head ran a hand through his thinning hair, his expression weary. "We¡¯ve managed to navigate the last few seasons well, but we¡¯re still treading a dangerous line. We¡¯ve avoided a financial disaster so far, but that doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re out of the woods. If things don¡¯t change, we¡¯ll be forced into a corner." The sporting director frowned. "Selling one of our assets, you mean." A heavy silence settled over the table. Everyone knew what "asset" was being referred to. Then, the club president¡ªthe most composed figure in the room¡ªfinally spoke. "Let¡¯s not jump to conclusions just yet. I¡¯ve already made a plan for the worst-case scenario." That sentence made everyone shift uncomfortably. The other board members exchanged wary glances. Worst-case scenario? For a club like Valencia, that could only mean one thing. Their most valuable player. Izan Hernandez. The tension in the boardroom was suffocating. The members sat rigidly in their seats, staring at the club president as if waiting for him to elaborate on his cryptic statement. One of the directors, an older man with a sharp gaze, finally broke the silence. "The worst-case scenario? You don¡¯t mean¡ª" The president exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers on the polished surface of the table. "Izan Hernandez is the best player to come out of our academy in decades. He¡¯s already one of the top young talents in the world. His market value is astronomical, and it will only rise. If we were to sell, it could ease many of our financial burdens." Another director shook his head. "Selling Izan? That would be a PR disaster. The fans would riot. They already worship him after the Copa del Rey final. We¡¯d be the villains of Spain." The president nodded as if he had anticipated this reaction. "Which is why we must do everything in our power to avoid that scenario. We don¡¯t have many options. But let¡¯s be realistic¡­ if a top club from England or Germany approaches with a serious offer, and if Izan himself is tempted, then we will have a decision to make. Although he said he doesn¡¯t want to leave, we don¡¯t know when he¡¯ll have a sudden change of heart." The room fell silent again. Everyone in that room understood the reality of modern football. Valencia wasn¡¯t like Real Madrid or Barcelona, clubs that could afford to keep their best players no matter what. They had lost David Villa, David Silva, Juan Mata, Ferran Torres, and countless others to bigger clubs before. Would Izan Hernandez be next? One of the executives leaned forward, his voice cautious. "And what if we fight to keep him? What if we offer him a new contract and refuse to negotiate?" The president offered a wry smile. "Then we pray that Izan¡¯s love for the club outweighs his ambition. And we pray that no club comes with an offer so large that it forces our hand." The sporting director sighed, rubbing his temples. "We¡¯ll have to monitor the situation carefully. If the media catches wind of this, it will be chaos." The president leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. As the sun rose over Spain, the media world erupted. Football headlines across Spain, England, and Germany were dominated by one name. IZAN HERNANDEZ. The Copa del Rey final had already cemented his reputation as one of the most electrifying players in Europe. Now, speculation about his future had once again taken center stage. ? Marca: "Will Valencia Be Able to Keep Their Crown Jewel?" ? AS: "Big Clubs Circle Around Izan Hernandez ¨C A Summer Saga Incoming?" ? Sky Sports: "English Clubs Interested in Valencia¡¯s Wonderkid?" ? Bild: "Bundesliga Giants Enter the Race for Izan Hernandez?" The talk shows were buzzing. On El Chiringuito de Jugones, the panelists debated heatedly. "There¡¯s no way Valencia can keep him long-term. This kid is a future Ballon d¡¯Or winner!" "But does he want to leave? Izan has always been loyal to Valencia!" "Loyalty means nothing if a club like Real Madrid or an English giant comes in with at least €100M bid which I believe Izan is worth. Even if Izan says no, who is to say Valencia won¡¯t be tempted." Meanwhile, on social media, Valencia fans were growing restless. #IzanisValencia was trending across Twitter as fans flooded his posts with messages begging him to reject any offers. But it wasn¡¯t just Valencia fans talking. Fans from clubs across Europe were already imagining him in their colors. "Bring Izan to Bayern. He¡¯s the missing piece!" sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "If Real Madrid gets him, they¡¯ll dominate football for the next decade." "Imagine Izan playing under Klopp in Liverpool. Unstoppable." The season hadn¡¯t even ended yet but the storm had begun. And everyone was waiting for Izan¡¯s next move. Chapter 244: Footballing World With the Copa del Rey final now in the history books, the footballing world turned its eyes to the final stretch of the La Liga season. Five games remained, and the battle for the title, European spots, and survival was intensifying. Though Valencia had just lifted a trophy, the celebrations were already being overshadowed by the looming challenge ahead¡ªsecuring a Champions League spot. It wasn¡¯t just about prestige. It was about finances, future transfers, and ensuring the club remained relevant at the top level. The talk shows and football analysis programs across Spain quickly shifted their discussions from the Copa del Rey triumph to the upcoming La Liga fixtures. On a segment of El Chiringuito, the analysts wasted no time dissecting the league standings and what was at stake for the clubs still in contention. "The Copa del Rey was an incredible achievement for Valencia, but they can¡¯t celebrate too long because the race for fourth place is still wide open," said Crist¨®bal Soria, shaking his head. "That¡¯s right. Valencia sits 4th with 66 points, but Athletic Bilbao is right behind them with 63. One slip-up and Bilbao could overtake them." The La Liga table flashed onto the screen, showing just how tight the competition was. # Club Points 1 Real Madrid 84 2 Barcelona 82 3 Atl¨¦tico Madrid 76 4 Valencia 66 5 Athletic Bilbao 63 "Look at that table! Real Madrid and Barcelona are battling for the title, Atl¨¦tico is comfortably third, but Valencia and Athletic? That¡¯s where the real fight is. One of them is going to make the Champions League, and one of them won¡¯t." Another analyst, Paco Buyo, weighed in. "And let¡¯s not forget¡ªthis isn¡¯t just about Champions League football. The difference between 4th and 5th place is massive in terms of finances. The Champions League brings in tens of millions in revenue. A club like Valencia, which isn¡¯t financially strong, absolutely needs that money." A graphic of the remaining fixtures of both clubs appeared on the screen. Valencia¡¯s final five games: 1. Alav¨¦s (A) 2. Rayo Vallecano (H) 3. Real Sociedad (A) 4. Girona (H) 5. Celta Vigo (A) Athletic Bilbao¡¯s final five games: 1. Getafe (H) 2. Almer¨ªa (A) 3. Osasuna (H) 4. Sevilla (A) 5. Rayo Vallecano (H) "Looking at these fixtures, Valencia¡¯s run-in is tougher," said Josep Pedrerol, the host of the show. "They have to go away to Alav¨¦s, Real Sociedad, and Celta Vigo¡ªall tough games. And Girona at home? That¡¯s not an easy game either, considering how well Girona have played this season." Soria nodded in agreement. "Athletic Bilbao, on the other hand, have an easier schedule. Getafe, Almer¨ªa, and Osasuna are all winnable games for them. Sevilla away is the only truly difficult match, but even that depends on how motivated Sevilla are by then. Valencia have to be very, very careful." Pedrerol then brought up the elephant in the room. "And they¡¯ll have to do it without Izan Hernandez." With Izan Hernandez sidelined for 3-4 weeks, he was expected to miss four of the last five games, meaning Valencia¡¯s bench would have to step up in his absence. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Journalist Alfredo Rela?o wrote in AS: "Izan has carried this team offensively all season. His absence will be a real test for Ruben Baraja and his squad depth. Players like Sergi Can¨®s, Andr¨¦ Almeida, and Fran P¨¦rez will now have to step up. Youngsters like Pietro and recently Sosa too must prove their worth within this period. And Hugo Duro, the team¡¯s primary striker, must take full responsibility in front of goal. The pressure is on." The injury was a huge blow, and many believed that it might end up costing Valencia their Champions League dream. However, not everyone was convinced that Valencia would collapse. On another football show, Tiempo de Juego, pundit Jorge Valdano was more optimistic. "Yes, Izan is out. Yes, Valencia will suffer without him. But this is a team that has played well all season. Ruben Baraja has built a strong defensive unit, and let¡¯s not forget¡ªValencia have one of the best defensive records in the league. [SMH] If they stay solid at the back and grind out results, they can still hold onto 4th place." But there was no doubt that the pressure was now on. While La Liga had its own intense battles, the other top five European leagues were seeing their own drama unfold. ? Premier League: Manchester City, Arsenal, and Liverpool were locked in a three-way title race, while Aston Villa and Tottenham fought for the final Champions League spot. ? Bundesliga: Bayern Munich and Bayer Leverkusen were battling for the title, with RB Leipzig, Stuttgart, and Borussia Dortmund fighting for the top five after UEFA added another spot to their league for the new Champions League format. ? Serie A: Inter Milan were running away with the title, but Juventus, AC Milan, Atalanta, and Bologna, a new dark horse that season were in a tight battle for Champions League qualification. ? Ligue 1: PSG had already secured the title, but Monaco, Marseille, Brest, and Lille were competing for the final UCL spots. Every league was reaching its climax, and in Spain, Valencia was at the heart of one of the most crucial battles of them all. With Izan out, Valencia¡¯s game plan would have to change. Baraja was already making adjustments in training, working on a more defensive setup to ensure the team could grind out results. The upcoming match against Alav¨¦s was the first challenge. ? Could Valencia survive without their best player? ? Would the backup players rise to the occasion? ? Or would the absence of Izan prove to be too much? The answers would come on the pitch in the next five weeks. But one thing was certain: The final battle for La Liga¡¯s top four had just begun. ...¡­ As La Liga¡¯s battle for Champions League qualification heated up, the focus of the football world also turned to the final stages of the UEFA Champions League. The tournament had already delivered thrilling matches, dramatic comebacks, and shocking eliminations, leaving just four clubs standing in the semifinals. With the 2023/24 Champions League final set for Wembley Stadium, the remaining teams were on the verge of footballing immortality. Fans and pundits alike were eager to see who would take the final step toward European glory. The 2023/24 UEFA Champions League semifinals had produced two blockbuster clashes: Real Madrid vs. Bayern Munich Dortmund vs. Paris Saint-Germain Each matchup was a clash of footballing giants, featuring clubs with rich histories, ambitious superstars, and legendary managers. Spanish media, while covering Valencia¡¯s fight for a Champions League spot in La Liga, was also highly focused on Real Madrid¡¯s pursuit of their 15th Champions League title. "This is what the Champions League is all about! Two absolute heavyweight duels. Madrid and Bayern¡ªarguably some of the greatest clubs in this competition¡¯s history¡ªgoing head-to-head. And then, on the other side, you have the modern powerhouse PSG going against the young dreamers of Borussia Dortmund. Can money finally buy the trophy, or will Dortmund have a chance at the title once more since Klopp¡¯s era?" said Crist¨®bal Soria on El Chiringuito. ..... Marca ran the headline: "Madrid vs. Bayern ¨C The Real Final?" The football world knew this was more than just another semifinal. It was history repeating itself¡ªMadrid and Bayern had met countless times in this competition, with Madrid often finding ways to win. Real Madrid, the undisputed kings of the Champions League, were on another dream run. Led by Jude Bellingham, Vin¨ªcius Jr., and Rodrygo, they had navigated past tough opponents to reach yet another semifinal. The club¡¯s DNA in this competition was unmatched¡ªwhenever they reached this stage, they were favorites. However, Bayern Munich had unfinished business with Madrid. The German club had suffered several painful eliminations at the hands of Los Blancos over the years. From Sergio Ramos¡¯ iconic header in 2014 to Cristiano Ronaldo¡¯s masterclass in 2017, Bayern had been haunted by Madrid¡¯s dominance. This time, they wanted revenge. German outlets like Kicker and Bild focused on how Bayern¡¯s key players¡ªHarry Kane, Jamal Musiala, and Joshua Kimmich¡ªwould need to step up if they wanted to break Madrid¡¯s spell over them. "Madrid always seems to find a way. If Bayern want to reach Wembley, they must be perfect over 180 minutes. No mistakes. No missed chances. Because if you give Madrid even a little hope, they will destroy you, just like they always do." On the other side of the draw, one of the two biggest modern football powerhouses were set to clash with Dortmund. For PSG, the question remained the same: Could they finally win the Champions League? Despite their massive spending and collection of superstars over the years, the trophy had always eluded them. For, Dortmund, it was a chance to claim the title they last won in 1997. A / n: first of the day. Have fun reading and don¡¯t forget to vote with your Golden tickets. I¡¯ll be back with another two chapters. One as usual and one for the golden tickets. Love ya¡¯ll Chapter 245: Five finals [1] With the euphoria of winning the Copa del Rey having started to settle, reality began to creep back in for Valencia CF. The players had celebrated, the city had rejoiced, and the trophy was now proudly displayed at the club¡¯s headquarters. But football never stops. With five crucial games left in La Liga, Valencia¡¯s focus had to shift quickly. Their battle for a Champions League spot was far from over, and with Athletic Bilbao breathing down their necks, there was no time to relax. Training resumed at Ciudad Deportiva de Paterna, and the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and determination. The squad was still riding the high of their cup triumph, but they knew that a tough road lay ahead, starting with Deportivo Alav¨¦s. For Izan, the days following the final had been frustrating and slightly dull. His injury meant that, instead of joining his teammates in full training, he was stuck in a cycle of recovery and rehabilitation. Every morning, he made the trip from home to Paterna, where Luis Navarro and the medical staff oversaw his treatment and sometimes it was the other way round. Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation (RICE)¡ªthat was the plan for now. His swelling had gone down, but he still had a slight limp, and the doctors had ruled him out for three to four weeks. "Honestly, it¡¯s a miracle you¡¯ll be back so soon," Navarro had told him once again during one of his sessions. "We thought you¡¯d be done for the season. But you¡¯re young. Your body heals fast. Just don¡¯t rush it." Izan sighed. He had prepared thoroughly for moments like this after picking up that injury before but the injury now was horrendous to the extent that it would still take 3-4 weeks to heal even after taking in the injury fluid. "With how things are going, I should probably work on my physicality in the next upgrade," Izan thought silently as the doctors went about their business. - - - - - Out on the training pitches, Rub¨¦n Baraja put the players through their paces, preparing them before throwing them into the heat of things. The session started with light rondos before transitioning into tactical drills. With Izan unavailable, Valencia had to adjust. Andre Almeida, Diego L¨®pez, and Fran P¨¦rez as well as Sosa were all expected to step up in his absence. As the players ran through their drills, the usual banter filled the air. "Feels weird not seeing Izan running around, right?" said Hugo Guillam¨®n as he jogged alongside Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤. "Yeah. The first time he missed a game, I felt it and now that he¡¯s injured again, I still feel his absence. But at least, no one is here to torment me with those mazy runs" Gay¨¤ replied with a grin. "The kid¡¯s a machine. Now that he¡¯s not here, we finally get a break from his nonsense." They laughed, but deep down, they knew how much Izan¡¯s absence would affect the team. On the other side of the pitch, Javi Guerra and Diego L¨®pez were discussing the upcoming match. "Alav¨¦s are going to park the bus, aren¡¯t they?" Guerra muttered. "Obviously. Every team does that against us now. Sit deep, wait for us to make a mistake, and counter." "Which is why we need to be sharp," interrupted Baraja, who had overheard them. "If they sit back, we¡¯ll break them down. No excuses. We¡¯re better than them. We play like a Champions League team. Understood?" "Yes, coach!" the players responded in unison ... While the starters from the final went through light gym sessions and stretching, the rest of the squad trained on the pitch, with coaches overseeing possession drills and positional work. After sessions, Rub¨¦n Baraja gathered his players inside the meeting room for a video analysis session. A large screen displayed footage of Alav¨¦s¡¯ recent matches, and the players listened as their coach dissected their opponent¡¯s tactics. "They sit deep in a compact 4-4-2," Baraja pointed at the screen. "They don¡¯t press high, but they¡¯re disciplined. They¡¯ll look to frustrate us. If we get too impatient, they¡¯ll pounce on the counter." The players nodded. They had seen this pattern before. Against smaller teams, Valencia often found it difficult to break through packed defenses. Without Izan¡¯s creativity, it was going to be even tougher. "That¡¯s why we need width," Baraja continued. "Use the flanks. Stretch them. Make them uncomfortable. If we play through the middle, they¡¯ll suffocate us." As the session ended, the players left with a clearer picture of what to expect. "Basically, we¡¯re gonna have to run a lot, huh?" Fran P¨¦rez muttered to Diego L¨®pez as they walked out. "Welcome to football, hermano," Diego replied with a smirk. The intensity ramped up midweek. With Alav¨¦s expected to defend deep, Baraja designed training sessions to break down low blocks. The squad split into two teams for small-sided games, where one side defended deep while the other was forced to create chances. Baraja constantly stopped play to give instructions. "No! Too slow! Move it faster!" he shouted after a sluggish attack. When Hugo Duro tried forcing a pass into traffic, Baraja blew his whistle again. "Not through the middle, Hugo! Use the wings! Stretch them! Make space!" Duro nodded and jogged back into position. On the sidelines, Izan who was done with his recovery for the day watched quietly, analyzing the drills as he stretched his legs. He wished he could be part of it. He could already see spaces and movements where he would have made a difference. With Izan missing, someone else had to take free kicks and corners. Baraja made sure to dedicate a full session to set pieces, knowing they could also be the key to unlocking Alav¨¦s¡¯ defense. Pepelu and Andre Almeida stepped up to deliver crosses from dead-ball situations, while Hugo Duro and Cenk ?zkacar positioned themselves to attack the deliveries. "More pace on the ball, Pepelu! Whip it in!" shouted one of the assistant coaches. On one occasion, Pepelu¡¯s cross found Gay¨¤, who rose above his marker and buried a header into the top corner. The team cheered, knowing that against a team like Alav¨¦s, a set-piece goal might be the difference. ... The day before the match was all about fine-tuning details. Baraja had his final meeting with the squad, confirming the starting XI and tactical plan while revising with the team on what to expect. "They will try to slow the game down. We don¡¯t let them. High tempo, quick passing, and we use the wings. We need control. We need discipline." The players then went out for a short, sharp session, running through attacking patterns and defensive shapes. The mood was focused, but there was quiet confidence among the group. Later in the afternoon, Baraja faced the media. "With Izan out, will Valencia struggle to create chances?" one journalist asked. Baraja smirked. "Izan is an incredible talent, but we are a team, not just one player. Others will step up. I have full confidence in my squad." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Most of the questions asked of Baraja were either about Izan or related to Izan with some even asking about his personal life. "Valencia really is Izan" Baraja muttered under his breath as he looked at the reporters in front of him. ..... Saturday arrived, and Mestalla was buzzing. Fans gathered outside the stadium hours before kickoff, chanting and waving their scarves. Despite Izan¡¯s absence, the optimism was high. Izan on the other hand arrived at the stadium in casual wear, walking carefully as he made his way inside. As he entered the dressing room, his teammates were already getting ready. "Look who decided to show up," Hugo Guillam¨®n teased as he entered. Seeing who Guillamon¡¯s voice was directed at, the players quickly surrounded Izan. Izan grinned. "Someone has to keep you guys in check," he said, responding to Guillamon¡¯s earlier question. ...¡­ As the final preparations were made, Baraja gave one last speech. "This is a game that will test us. No Copa del Rey hangover. We go out there, play smart, and take the three points. Champions League football is in our hands¡ªlet¡¯s not throw it away." The players nodded, focused. Baraja nodded back at the players where he met Izan¡¯s gaze before he walked off. After Baraja left, the players talked a bit before they were told to join the others in the tunnel. " Well guess I¡¯ll see you from the stands. You guys have to start by winning this so I can get a shot at the Champions League next season okay" Izan said with a slight laugh as he walked out. With that, the players all exited the room, joining the Alaves players in the tunnel where the roar of the crowd reverberated. " This isn¡¯t going to be easy," Pietro who stood behind Gaya said causing the latter to turn to face him. "Football never is so let¡¯s go out there and pour our hearts out on the pitch," Gaya said before looking ahead once more. " Guess your ready gentlemen" the official¡¯s voice sounded as he joined the players in the tunnel. " lets get this match underway" he added before looking at the entrance and with that, they stepped onto the pitch. Chapter 246: Five Finals [ Alaves: 2] The sun had begun to set over Mendizorrotza, casting long shadows across the pitch as Valencia emerged from the tunnel, greeted by the thunderous roar of their home crowd. The energy in the stadium was electric¡ªthis wasn¡¯t just another game; every point mattered now even to Alabes who were also battling to avoid relegation. *" Welcome to the Mendizorrotza, home of Deportivo Alaves, where the atmosphere is absolutely electric tonight! It¡¯s Matchday 34 in La Liga, and with just five games left, every point is crucial. Valencia, sitting in fourth place on 66 points, are fighting to secure Champions League football next season, but standing in their way tonight is Deportivo Alav¨¦s, a team desperate to climb further away from the relegation zone. The absence of Izan is a big blow for Valencia, but Rub¨¦n Baraja¡¯s men will have to find a way without their star. Can they rise to the occasion, or will Alav¨¦s spoil the party?"* "The players are in the tunnel, the crowd is on their feet, and here they come! Valencia, in their traditional white and black, and Alav¨¦s, in their deep blue kits, step onto this historic pitch. " As the players stepped onto the pitch, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar as each fan of the two sides tried to outdo the other. "The noise levels are deafening¡ªValencia fans know just how much this game means." the commentator said as the players lined up in front of the crowd. After they were done with the pleasantries, the players positioned themselves in their respective halves. "The referee checks his watch¡­ and we are underway at Mestalla! Valencia attacking from left to right, Alav¨¦s in their compact shape early on. Let¡¯s see what this crucial fixture has in store for us!" Valencia immediately took control, asserting their dominance from the start. Their midfield trio of Javi Guerra, Pepelu, and Pietro dictated the tempo, moving the ball with confidence. Despite Izan¡¯s absence, there was an urgency in their play, as if they wanted to prove they could step up in his stead. Responding in kind to Valencia¡¯s opening intensity, Alaves defended exceptionally in their box. The match had been one-sided so far but no goal had come. The fans were growing a bit restless at how the match had panned out in the early stages. Alaves¡¯ fans thought their team would take advantage of Izan¡¯s absence and the home-ground advantage to strike but they had been defending since the match started. The away fans also thought their team would have scored after all the attacking chances but they hadn¡¯t been able to penetrate their opponents¡¯ defence. After some more back and forth, the breakthrough came in the 22nd minute. Valencia had been knocking on the door, testing Alav¨¦s¡¯ defense with quick interchanges and sharp movements. Javi Guerra, with the ball at his feet, slipped a perfectly weighted pass between the lines to Fran P¨¦rez, who darted down the right flank before delivering a low cross into the box. Hugo Duro, ever the poacher, timed his run to perfection, evading his marker before sliding in to meet the ball first time. GOOOOAAALLL! The away section of the stadium erupted as the ball nestled into the bottom corner. "HUGO DURO! VALENCIA STRIKE FIRST!" the commentator bellowed. "A brilliantly worked goal, and what a delivery from Fran P¨¦rez!" On the sidelines, Rub¨¦n Baraja clapped approvingly but quickly gestured for his players to stay focused. They couldn¡¯t afford complacency. After the restart, Alav¨¦s tried to respond, but Valencia¡¯s press was relentless. Every time the visitors attempted to build out from the back, they were swarmed by white shirts. The away side smothered any attempt at Alav¨¦s gaining momentum, forcing them into rushed passes and poor decisions. 15 minutes after the first goal, Valencia¡¯s high press paid off again. Javi Guerra intercepted a sloppy pass and drove forward, causing panic in the Alav¨¦s defense. Looking in space, he slipped a ball through to Diego L¨®pez, who cut inside, looking for an opening. Before he could shoot, Diego Lopez was clipped from behind. The referee pointed to the spot! Penalty for Valencia! The away fans celebrated the chance to go two goals ahead of Alaves. Andr¨¦ Almeida stepped up, placing the ball on the spot. The Portuguese midfielder exuded calm as he took a deep breath, locked eyes with the keeper, and then sent him the wrong way with a coolly placed shot into the bottom corner. 2-0 VALENCIA! Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "ALMEIDA MAKES NO MISTAKE! VALENCIA ARE CRUISING!" the commentator shouted. The Valencia fans were in full voice. It had been a dream first half for Baraja¡¯s men. The Alaves players, distraught by their first-half performance headed towards the tunnel as soon as the referee¡¯s whistle sounded. "We thought Valencia would have a hard time breaking down Alaves¡¯ defense but they have proven their worth here. Javi Guerra in particular has been unplayable this half with two of his passes resulting in both goals. It is the First half here at the Mendizorrotza and its Valencia 2, Alaves 0 As the players returned to the dressing room, Baraja walked in with a measured look. He was pleased but cautious. "We¡¯ve done well," he started, his eyes scanning the room. "We¡¯ve played with intensity, with control. This is how we should always play." The players nodded, still catching their breath. "But listen," he continued, his voice firm. "This game is not over. They will come at us. They have nothing to lose. We cannot drop our focus. Keep your shape, and keep punishing them when we get the ball." His words rang in their ears as they returned to the pitch. Ruben Baraja jinxed and whatever Luis Garc¨ªa Plaza told his Alav¨¦s side at halftime was showing from the get-go. The visitors came out like a team possessed, pressing high and winning second balls. Valencia, perhaps too comfortable, struggled to match their intensity. Then, in the 51st minute, disaster struck. Alav¨¦s worked the ball wide, and a dangerous cross was whipped into the box. Valencia¡¯s defenders hesitated for a second¡ªjust enough time for Luis Rioja to ghost in at the back post and stab the ball home. "GOAL FOR ALAV¨¦S! LUIS RIOJA PULLS ONE BACK!" The Mendizorrotza fell silent for a moment before exploding into cheers. Murmurs arose in the away stand of the stadium as the Los Che¡¯s fans tried to will their players back into the match. Then, just seven minutes later, it got worse. A poor clearance from Valencia¡¯s backline fell straight to an Alav¨¦s player outside the box. Without hesitation, Jon Guridi unleashed a rocket of a strike that curled past Mamardashvili¡¯s outstretched fingers. "WHAT A STRIKE! ALAV¨¦S HAVE DRAWN LEVEL! FROM TWO GOALS DOWN TO 2-2 IN A FLASH! IS THIS THE START OF AN UPSET" Valencia players stood in shock. Baraja raged on the touchline. "Wake up!" he shouted, motioning for them to get their heads back into the game. Stung by the collapse, Valencia finally woke up. Pietro and Almeida regained control in midfield, trying to dictate the pace while Fran P¨¦rez and Diego L¨®pez were relentless on the flanks, delivering crosses into the box. But chance after chance went begging. In the 78th minute, Hugo Duro came inches away from restoring the lead, only for his powerful header to be denied by a fingertip save from Alav¨¦s¡¯ goalkeeper. Valencia kept knocking, but the ball refused to go in. With just five minutes left, Baraja made a desperate change. He called Cristhian Mosquera and Sosa from the bench. "Sosa, get in there. Find space. Be ready." After the change, it was still the same with no signs of change. As the clock ticked into the 89th minute the Mendizorrotza was restless. One side prayed that they wouldn¡¯t concede while the other prayed for a goal. Then¡ªone last push. Soda, taking the ball from the right side of the midfield, combined with Hugo Duro who slipped a pass behind the Alaves backline. Fran Perez, controlling the ball whipped it back into the path of Sosa who let the ball fly the first time. The whole stadium went silent for that shot only for it to be saved by the Alaves¡¯ shot-stopper. The Alaves breathed a sigh of relief but a corner too wasn¡¯t the best of situations and they were quickly proved right after Almeida swung in a vicious delivery. The ball curled dangerously towards the far post, where Sosa leaped higher than anyone- BANG. The ball smacked against his chest. With the ball still suspended in the air, Sosa ran his left leg through the ball as the Alaves players threw their bodies into the way. The whole stadium watched on as the ball rifled into the net. GOOOOOAAAAALLL! "SOSAAAAAAAAA! HE¡¯S WON IT FOR VALENCIA!" The away section exploded into cheers. Sosa ripped his shirt off, sprinting towards the corner flag as his teammates chased him, mobbing him in celebration. "UNBELIEVABLE SCENES! SOSA, THE SUPER SUB, WITH A LAST-GASP WINNER!" The Valencia players roared in triumph, hugging and piling on top of Sosa. In the dugout, Baraja clenched his fists, letting out a yell of relief The final whistle blew. Valencia had survived. The team huddled together, exhausted but elated. They had been tested, they had nearly crumbled, but they had found a way. As the fans sang their hearts out, Sosa walked over to the stands, raising his arms. Mestalla answered back with deafening cheers. "This is a massive win for Valencia," one of the pundits said post-match. "They were made to suffer, but they showed character. And in the race for the top four, moments like this are what make the difference." For Valencia, it was one step closer to Champions League football. But with four more battles ahead, they knew¡ªthe war was far from over. Chapter 247: Five Finals [Vallecas: 3] The final whistle blew. Valencia had survived. The team huddled together, exhausted but elated. They had been tested, they had nearly crumbled, but they had found a way. As the fans sang their hearts out, Sosa walked over to the stands, raising his arms. Mestalla answered back with deafening cheers. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "This is a massive win for Valencia," one of the pundits said post-match. "They were made to suffer, but they showed character. And in the race for the top four, moments like this are what make the difference." For Valencia, it was one step closer to Champions League football. But with four more battles ahead, they knew¡ªthe war was far from over. .... The sun peeked through Izan¡¯s bedroom window, casting golden streaks across his walls the next morning. His body still ached, and his ankle was stiff from the recovery process, but that was nothing new. He had gotten used to the discomfort¡ªthe quiet price he paid for his ambitions. The echoes of last night¡¯s match still rang in his ears. Valencia¡¯s narrow 3-2 win against Alav¨¦s had been a rollercoaster. It had been frustrating watching from the stands, unable to influence the game, but when Sosa scored the last-minute winner, Izan had felt the same rush of euphoria as if he had been on the pitch. Now, it was back to reality. He was still a high school senior, just a few months away from completing his studies. His name was becoming a worldwide football sensation, but in school, he was still just another student¡ªalbeit one with an absurd amount of media attention. He knew balancing football and school was tough, but he couldn¡¯t afford to let one suffer because of the other. He sighed and pushed himself out of bed, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured leg. He had a long day ahead¡ªrecovery at Paterna, school, and then back home to study. ... Izan arrived at school to the usual sight¡ªstudents whispering and stealing glances at him. Some walked up to congratulate him on Valencia¡¯s win. Others, mostly younger students, tried to take photos when they thought he wasn¡¯t looking but he had seen them. He had gotten used to it by now, but he still found it amusing how quickly things had changed. Just a year ago, he was just another teenager playing youth football. Now, he was a La Liga star. "Izan!" a familiar voice called out. He turned to see Sosa jogging toward him, his face beaming with excitement. "Yesterday was definitely one of the best days of my life," Sosa said, slinging an arm over Izan¡¯s shoulder. "The Mendizorrotza went crazy after my goal. I think I almost lost my hearing." Izan chuckled. "I know dummy. I was there but good technique for that goal." Sosa smirked. "What can I say? I learn from the best." They both laughed, walking side by side toward the school building. Even though they were teammates, their bond extended beyond football. "So, how¡¯s recovery?" Sosa asked. Izan sighed. "About 3 weeks left. The physios have me on RICE¡ªrest, ice, compression, elevation. I¡¯ll probably only be back for the last game of the season." Sosa whistled. "Damn. That¡¯s gotta be frustrating." "It is," Izan admitted. "Watching you guys play while I¡¯m stuck on the sidelines? It¡¯s torture." "You¡¯re missing the best part of the season too," Sosa added. "The fight for the top four is getting crazy. We needed that win yesterday, but there¡¯s no room to slip up." Izan nodded. "Yeah. Bilbao are right behind us. We can¡¯t afford to drop points." Sosa leaned in slightly. "And Madrid?" Izan gave him a knowing look. "They¡¯re running away with it. If they don¡¯t bottle it, the league is theirs." "But Barcelona won¡¯t let it go that easily," Sosa countered. "They¡¯ve been on fire." "True. Either way, we have our own battle to focus on," Izan said. Sosa stretched his arms dramatically. "And that means I might have to score in every game until you get back." Izan laughed. "Then you better get your scoring boots on because that is a hard task to fulfill. I would not want someone to take your place" They both chuckled, but there was truth in their words. Football was ruthless. No matter how good you were, someone was always waiting to take your place. As they reached the school entrance, Sosa groaned. "I almost forgot¡ªI have an exam today." Izan raised a brow. "You studied, right?" Sosa shrugged. "I mean¡­ kind of?" Izan shook his head. "Man, you can¡¯t slack off now. We¡¯re almost done with school. Just a little more effort." "Easy for you to say," Sosa muttered. "You¡¯ve always had your school stuff together." Izan sighed. It wasn¡¯t easy keeping up with his studies while being a professional footballer, but he had made a promise to himself¡ªand to his family¡ªthat he wouldn¡¯t neglect his education. "Look, if you need help, I can send you my notes," Izan offered. Sosa¡¯s face lit up. "Bro, you¡¯re a lifesaver." Izan smirked. "Just don¡¯t fail, or I¡¯ll have to stop associating with you." They laughed as they entered the school, blending into the chaos of students rushing to their classes. For a moment, it almost felt like a normal day¡ªtwo teenagers going about their business, cracking jokes, and dealing with school stress. But deep down, they both knew that their paths were anything but normal. They weren¡¯t just students. They were professional footballers, fighting for their place in the sport they loved. .... The week moved quickly for Izan, yet each day felt painstakingly slow. His body was stuck in recovery mode, but his mind raced constantly, filled with thoughts of the team¡¯s next match. He was supposed to be out on the pitch helping Valencia, not watching from the sidelines. But the reality was reality¡ªhe had to recover properly if he wanted to return stronger. Every morning, Izan made his way to Paterna, Valencia¡¯s training complex, where he continued his rehabilitation under Luis Navarro and the club¡¯s medical staff. The swelling in his ankle had reduced significantly, and he had started light mobility exercises, but full training was still a few weeks away. "You¡¯re progressing faster than expected," Navarro told him on Wednesday morning as Izan pushed against a resistance band with his injured leg. "But don¡¯t let that get to your head. We need you back at 100%, not 80%." Izan exhaled and nodded. "I know." Navarro chuckled. " You don¡¯t want to miss games and I get it. That¡¯s the mentality of a top player, but trust me, this break might do you some good. You¡¯ve been pushing yourself hard all season. Use this time to recharge, mentally and physically." That was easier said than done. Izan was still balancing his final year of high school, and with exams approaching, his mother Komi had been particularly strict about his studies. At home, Hori took every opportunity to tease him. "Imagine failing your exams after all this football hype," she smirked one evening. "What will the headlines say? ¡¯Valencia¡¯s Golden Boy Can¡¯t Solve X + Y¡¯?" Izan rolled his eyes. "I¡¯ll be fine. Just focus on your grades" Even though Izan¡¯s daily schedule revolved around training and recovery, school was still a major part of his life. He met Sosa between classes on Thursday, and the two found themselves discussing Valencia¡¯s last match. They both knew the upcoming game was a critical one. Valencia was still in the thick of the race for a Champions League spot, and with only four games remaining after this, every point mattered. By Saturday morning, the anticipation had fully settled in. Even though Izan wasn¡¯t traveling with the team, he woke up early, already restless. The squad¡¯s group chat was buzzing. Hugo Duro: "Matchday, boys. Another three points incoming." Sosa: "A goal is guaranteed from me, don¡¯t worry." Mamardashvili: "Just make sure you defend better than last game after you came on." Thierry Correia: "@Sosa, stop chatting and deliver on the pitch." Gay¨¤: "Focus, guys. Vallecas isn¡¯t easy." Izan smirked at the messages. The squad¡¯s chemistry was solid, even in tense moments. He sent a quick response: ? Izan: "Make sure you win. Don¡¯t make me suffer watching another stressful game." After breakfast, he turned on his laptop and rewatched Rayo Vallecano¡¯s last match to analyze their strengths and weaknesses. They were a compact, aggressive side, strong at home and relentless in pressing. Valencia would have to be sharp in possession and clinical with their chances. As the hours passed, his nerves built up. No matter how much he tried to relax, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of wanting to be on that pitch. The team had prepared all week, but now it was time to execute. At 8:30 PM, the match would kick off at Estadio de Vallecas, and Izan would be watching from his couch, hoping his teammates could deliver. A/n: I¡¯m really tired. Anyway, have fun reading. I¡¯ll see you in the afternoon with an extra chapter or tomorrow. Byee. I¡¯m really down bad for the euros chapters. Chapter 248: Five Finals [Vallecas:4] The night air in Madrid was thick with tension as the Estadio de Vallecas roared in anticipation. Under the floodlights, Rayo Vallecano and Valencia CF lined up on opposite sides of the pitch, both knowing what was at stake. For Valencia, this was another crucial step toward securing a Champions League spot. Athletic Bilbao, their direct rivals for the top four, were also in action tonight. Every goal, every mistake, every moment would count. In his living room, Izan sat forward on the couch, his heart already racing. His injured ankle rested on a cushion, but his mind was far from recovery¡ªhe was living every moment as if he were on the pitch himself. After they got they got the prematch antics, the referee¡¯s whistle pierced through the stadium, and the match was underway. Right from the start, Rayo pressed high, suffocating Valencia¡¯s defenders as they tried to build from the back. Hugo Guillam¨®n, now playing as the deep-lying playmaker in place of Pietro barely had a second on the ball before a Rayo midfielder was breathing down his neck. The first ten minutes were brutal¡ªshoulder-to-shoulder battles, aggressive tackles, and constant midfield skirmishes. In the 12th minute, Valencia had their first real scare after Rayo¡¯s winger, ¨¢lvaro Garc¨ªa, broke down the left, dancing past Thierry Correia before whipping in a low cross. The expectant Vallecano fans went silent for a moment looking on as Ra¨²l de Tom¨¢s met it first-time, sending a shot screaming toward the bottom corner. The ball was destined for the net but the away side were saved by the Heroics of Giorgi Mamardashvili ; Valencia¡¯s ever-reliable goalkeeper who reacted in a flash, diving low, and getting his fingertips on the ball to push it away from danger. The home crowd groaned in frustration. Commentator 1: "What a save from Mamardashvili! That could have easily been 1-0!" Commentator 2: "And this is what Valencia needs to be careful about. Rayo will punish them if they lose focus." At home, Izan let out a breath. His teammates needed to settle down before the unimaginable happened. After Vallecano¡¯s threatening plays, Valencia responded in kind. In the 19th minute, Sosa, operating as the central midfielder, received the ball on the edge of the box from Gaya who had overlapped to the left wing. With a clever turn, he skipped past his marker and let fly with his right foot. The shot was fierce, heading straight for the top corner¡ª But Rayo¡¯s goalkeeper, Dimitrievski, was just as sharp, tipping the ball towards the corner flag. Valencia¡¯s fans in the away section erupted, sensing their team was growing into the game but the chance still wasn¡¯t over. Gaya, who had been lurking around that area, picked up the ball before whipping a cross into the box. Valencia¡¯s players, however, were not able to make much of that chance. --- The next twenty minutes were a warzone. Rayo refused to give Valencia an inch of space, and every duel in midfield felt like a fight to the death. Javi Guerra and Guillam¨®n were constantly harassed and forced into rushed passes. In the 34th minute, tempers flared. Sosa chased a loose ball near the touchline, only for Rayo¡¯s fullback to crash into him, sending him tumbling. The Valencia bench exploded in protest. Valencia coach Rub¨¦n Baraja stormed out of his technical area, shouting. "That¡¯s a foul! Are you blind?!" The referee, however, ignored him and waved play on. After a while, the cameras cut to the other side of things, where Athletic Bilbao¡¯s game was still 0-0. Good news for Valencia. Back in Madrid, the first half crawled toward its conclusion but just before the whistle, Rayo nearly struck. A defensive lapse allowed Isi Palaz¨®n a free shot from 20 yards, but once again, Mamardashvili was there, blocking the effort with his legs. With that, the referee¡¯s whistle sounded, sending the match into halftime with the two sides level. --- Inside the Valencia dressing room, the air was thick with tension. Players slumped onto benches, breathing heavily after a grueling first half. Sweat dripped down their faces, and their jerseys clung to their skin. Despite the 0-0 scoreline, they all knew¡ªthey were in a battle. Rub¨¦n Baraja paced in front of them, hands on his hips, his face tense but composed. He wasn¡¯t shouting, but his voice carried an unmistakable intensity. "Listen up," he started, his eyes scanning the room. "This is exactly the kind of game we expected¡ªtough, physical, hostile. They¡¯re pressing us like animals, and we haven¡¯t found our rhythm yet. But you know what?" He paused, letting the silence stretch. "They¡¯re starting to tire." A few heads lifted. "They threw everything at us in the first half, but we held firm. Now, we turn the screw. Now, we impose our game." Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He turned to Hugo Guillam¨®n and Javi Guerra. "I need you two to move the ball faster. One-touch, two-touch¡ªdon¡¯t let them press you into mistakes. Keep it simple. Once we get them chasing, spaces will open up." Then, he pointed at Fran P¨¦rez and Diego L¨®pez. "You have to be braver. Take them on. Drive at their fullbacks. They¡¯re aggressive, but that means they¡¯re vulnerable behind. Exploit that." Finally, his gaze landed on Sosa, who was still catching his breath. "You¡¯re doing well holding the ball, but I need more movement. Keep dragging their center-backs out of position so Hugo Duro can go in behind. Make their lives hell." He stepped back, letting the words sink in. Then his tone softened slightly. "Boys, we¡¯ve fought all season to be in this position. Four games left. Every point counts. If we win tonight, we edge closer to Champions League football. But we won¡¯t win by playing scared. We win by playing our football." Baraja looked around, making eye contact with each player. "No regrets. No excuses. Second half¡ªwe take this game." A beat of silence. Then¡ª "VAMOS!" The players clapped, fists clenched, their energy renewed. They rose to their feet, ready for war. As they stepped back onto the pitch, the message was clear. ... As the players emerged from the tunnel, Izan heard the familiar sound of footsteps behind him. Komi and Hori entered the living room, carrying snacks. "You look stressed," Komi said, sitting beside him. Hori grinned. "Are they losing?" "No. But it¡¯s tense." Komi patted his knee. "They¡¯ll win." Back in Vallecas, the second half began¡ªand Valencia started brighter. Their passes were more directed and threatening, causing the Vallecano players to retreat into their box, but that was what Valencia wanted. In the 50th minute, Valencia finally broke through. Sosa, receiving a long ball from Gay¨¤ turned sharply. Spotting an opening, he slipped a through ball to Fran P¨¦rez, who had darted behind Rayo¡¯s defense. With one touch, P¨¦rez brought it under control¡ªthen slotted it past Dimitrievski under the gazes of the Valencia crowd in the away section. GOAL! Commentator 1: "VALENCIA LEAD! Fran P¨¦rez with an ice-cold finish!" Commentator 2: "And what a pass from Sosa! Absolutely brilliant!" Izan pumped his fist. "Vamos!" Hori was already checking social media. "People are saying Sosa is cooking." Izan nodding at Hori¡¯s words turned to face the game because he knew that with this goal, the match would be much more livelier. And true to his word, Vallecano¡¯s response came ten minutes later. A corner kick was swung into Valencia¡¯s box, and chaos ensued. The ball pinballed between defenders before dropping at the feet of De Tom¨¢s, who smashed it into the roof of the net to put Vallecano on level terms. 1-1. The stadium exploded as the home crowd rioted. "Vallecano have roared back to life. The match isn¡¯t over yet and Valencia should be wary of crumbling because the momentum is definitely with Rayo Vallecano now" The home fans also took to social media to express their joy while the away fans encouraged each other. @RayoFan95: "LET¡¯S GO! We¡¯re not done yet!" @ValenciaCore: "We can¡¯t drop points here. Come on!" After the goal, the game became pure chaos. In the 75th minute, Rayo nearly stole the lead. A blistering counterattack saw Palaz¨®n one-on-one with Mamardashvili, but the Georgian keeper pulled off yet another heroic save. Commentator 1: "Mamardashvili is keeping Valencia alive!" Izan, by now, was practically sweating. "We need a goal. Fast." Then, in the 83rd minute, it happened. Valencia won a free kick just outside the box. Guillam¨®n stood over it, eyes locked on the goal. "It might have been more dangerous had Izan been the one behind this setpiece but let¡¯s not right Guillam¨®n off" With a deep breath, Guillamon ran towards the ball and curled it around the wall¡ª And into the top corner. GOAL! "Hugo Guillamon has just made me swallow my words. What a beauty. Something the setpiece greats would admire" the commentator went on about. Valencia¡¯s bench erupted. Baraja sprinted down the touchline, fists pumping. The away fans drowned out the stadium. Commentator 1: "WHAT A GOAL FROM GUILLAM¨®N! VALENCIA BACK IN FRONT!" Commentator 2: "That is world-class!" In Izan¡¯s living room, Hori jumped up. "That was sick!" Komi laughed. "One more goal, and we can relax." The final minutes were pure tension. Rayo threw everything forward, launching desperate attacks, but Valencia¡¯s defense held firm. Mamardashvili made one last incredible stop in the 90th minute, palming away a powerful header. Then, at last¡ª The final whistle blew. Valencia had survived. Full-time: Rayo Vallecano 1-2 Valencia. Izan exhaled in relief. His phone exploded with messages. Sosa (10:30 PM): "We did it. Four more finals left." Izan (10:31 PM): "Huge win. Proud of you guys." Then came another update¡ª Athletic Bilbao had drawn their game. Valencia had gained crucial ground in the top-four race. Komi hugged Izan¡¯s shoulder. "That was intense. Your team plays with my heart." Hori grinned. "Next game, you¡¯re making popcorn." Izan just smiled. This was football. The highs, the lows¡ªthe never-ending battle. And Valencia were one step closer to their dream. Chapter 249: Edging Closer Full-time: Rayo Vallecano 1-2 Valencia. Izan exhaled in relief. His phone exploded with messages. Sosa (10:30 PM): "We did it. Four more finals left." Izan (10:31 PM): "Huge win. Proud of you guys." Then came another update¡ª Athletic Bilbao had drawn their game. Valencia had gained crucial ground in the top-four race. Komi hugged Izan¡¯s shoulder. "That was intense. Your team plays with my heart." Hori grinned. "Next game, you¡¯re making popcorn." Izan just smiled. This was football. The highs, the lows¡ªthe never-ending battle. And Valencia were one step closer to their dream. .... The final whistle echoed through the Estadio Vallecas, signaling the end of a brutal contest. Valencia¡¯s players dropped to the turf, exhausted but victorious. Rayo Vallecano had pushed them to their limits, but Guillam¨®n¡¯s stunning free-kick had sealed a crucial 2-1 win. As the players exchanged handshakes and jerseys, Giorgi Mamardashvili clapped his gloves together, celebrating another night of heroics between the posts. Baraja, still catching his breath after sprinting down the touchline in celebration, embraced his coaching staff before he walked towards the opponent manager to shake hands. In the stands, the traveling Valencia fans sang into the Madrid night, their voices hoarse but defiant. In his living room, Izan leaned back into the couch, exhaling as his phone vibrated in his palm. Sosa (10:30 PM): "We did it. Three more finals left." Izan (10:31 PM): "Huge win. Proud of you guys." His eyes flickered to the screen, where a breaking news alert appeared. ATHLETIC BILBAO DRAW IN SAN SEBASTI¨¢N ¨C VALENCIA GAINS CRUCIAL ADVANTAGE IN TOP-FOUR RACE. Izan sat up straight. That was massive. This wasn¡¯t just about three points¡ªit was a power shift in the Champions League battle. Beside him, Hori tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "So¡­ what now?" Komi, still holding onto Izan¡¯s shoulder, smiled. "Now, we keep winning." Izan nodded, but his mind was already racing ahead. ... The Valencia dressing room was a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Some players were still sprawled on the benches, catching their breath. Others were buzzing, checking their phones, refreshing the league table. Baraja stepped in, clapping his hands once. Silence fell. "Well done," he said, scanning the room. "We showed grit. We showed heart. But this is just 2 out of 5. We have to hold on until the end." He turned to Mamardashvili, who was unlacing his gloves. "Giorgi, those saves kept us alive. That¡¯s what a big-game goalkeeper does." Mamardashvili simply nodded humility in his expression. Baraja stared at the goalkeeper, for a while, thinking of what would be happening. Then, Baraja pointed at Guillam¨®n, who was still beaming. "And that free kick? Madre m¨ªa¡ªif I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d think you were practicing with Izan." Laughter rippled through the room. "But listen," Baraja continued, his tone sharpening. "Enjoy this tonight. But tomorrow? We move. This league won¡¯t wait for us. And if we want that Champions League spot, we have to take it." The players nodded. They understood. Outside the stadium, the team bus waited, engines humming. Valencia¡¯s players moved through the mixed zone, stopping briefly for reporters. Gaya, still drenched in sweat, spoke into the microphones. "This was a tough game. Rayo never made it easy, but we stayed patient, and we took our chances. We know what¡¯s at stake. We know what we¡¯re fighting for." Sosa on the other walked towards the bus, his phone in hand. As he walked away, his phone buzzed again. A message from Izan. Izan (10:45 PM): "You¡¯re getting better at those through balls. But you¡¯re still not beating me in FC." Sosa smirked, typing back. Sosa (10:46 PM): "Just hurry and get back already. I¡¯m feeling suffocated on the pitch." As the team bus rolled out of Vallecas and into the Madrid night, Valencia CF had taken another step toward their dream. But there were still three battles left. And every moment would count. The team bus rumbled through the streets of Madrid, bound for the airport. Players leaned against their seats, some watching highlights on their phones, others lost in thought. Sosa sat beside Mamardashvili, headphones on but not playing music. His fingers tapped against his knee¡ªresidual energy from the match still coursed through him. Across the aisle, Guillam¨®n scrolled through social media. His free-kick had gone viral. Valencia fans were flooding his mentions. @ValenciaForever: GUILLAM¨®N MASTERCLASS. TAKE A BOW, SIR. @LaLigaXtra: When Valencia needed a hero, Hugo Guillam¨®n delivered. What a hit. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Izan¡¯s still the set-piece guy, though." Diego L¨®pez, sitting next to him, smirked. "Tonight, it was you." Further back, Baraja was speaking quietly with his assistant coach, pointing at a tablet. Already reviewing footage. Already preparing for the next battle. Back in Valencia, Izan should have been asleep. His ankle still needed time. His body needed rest. But he couldn¡¯t turn his mind off. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The match played in his head like a film reel¡ªSosa¡¯s through ball, Fran P¨¦rez¡¯s finish, the chaos after Vallecano¡¯s equalizer, Guillam¨®n¡¯s moment of brilliance. Taking his phone, Izan checked to see any activity in the group but it was silent. Thinking about how tired his mates might be, Izan just typed "Goodnight guys" before putting his phones down. ..... The sun hung low over Valencia¡¯s training complex the next day but the place was quiet. The players had the day off save for the recovery sessions in the afternoon but not everywhere was quiet. Inside the physio room, Izan worked through his rehab routine, guided by the club¡¯s medical staff. Resistance bands. Light jogging. Balance work. Komi had called earlier, reminding him to be patient. Hori had sent him a clip of Guillam¨®n¡¯s goal with a simple caption: "That could¡¯ve been you." He smirked. Could¡¯ve been. Would be soon. As he wrapped up his session, he heard voices from the hallway¡ªhis teammates arriving for their recovery session. Izan wiped the sweat from his forehead as he stepped out of the physio room. His ankle still wasn¡¯t perfect, but today had been a good session. No sharp pain, no discomfort¡ªjust steady progress. As he walked toward the recovery area, he could already hear his teammates¡¯ voices. Laughter, light banter¡ªthe kind of energy that came after a hard-fought victory. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The room was filled with players in club-issued training gear, sprawled across massage tables, foam rolling, or sitting in ice baths. Pietro was, as always, causing chaos. "Look at me," Pietro announced dramatically, balancing on one leg while attempting to stretch the other. "I am the most flexible player in Valencia!" Before anyone could react, he lost his balance and crashed onto the mat. The room erupted in laughter. Gaya, still sore from the game, shook his head. "Pietro, if you get injured doing recovery, I¡¯m not defending you." Sosa smirked. "You weren¡¯t going to defend him on the pitch either." Pietro shot him an exaggerated look of betrayal. "Wow. Et tu, Sosa?" Izan chuckled as he grabbed a foam roller and sat next to Fran P¨¦rez, who was stretching his hamstrings. "So, did you guys sleep at all, or were you up watching your own highlights?" The players all turned to Izan who was now sitting beside Fran Perez. Fran grinned. "I forgot you were still in recovery. Anyway, I tried sleeping, but my phone wouldn¡¯t stop buzzing. Apparently, I¡¯m the next big thing now." Guerra, lying face-up on the mat, smirked. "Enjoy it while it lasts. One bad game, and they¡¯ll be calling you a fraud." Guillam¨®n, who was checking his phone, lifted an eyebrow. "Speaking of frauds, who saw the tweet calling me ¡¯Valencia¡¯s David Beckham¡¯?" The entire room groaned. "Here we go," Diego L¨®pez muttered. "You score one free kick, and suddenly, you¡¯re Beckham?" Gaya teased. Izan smirked. "You hit a great one, Hugo. But I would do better." Authors¡¯ blog[Yeah no shit. I gave you a system] Guillam¨®n scoffed. "Let¡¯s see. Who scored a free kick last night? And who was sitting on his couch?" Pietro, still on the floor, gasped theatrically. "Ohhh, he got you there, Izan!" Izan shook his head, rolling his ankle carefully. "Enjoy it while you can. I¡¯m back soon." Sosa, sitting in an ice bath, turned to him. "How soon?" Izan sighed. "Not sure. Maybe a week. Maybe two." The room quieted slightly. They all knew how much Izan wanted to be back, especially with three crucial games left. Fran nudged his shoulder. "Take your time. We need you at your best." Pietro, in a rare moment of wisdom, nodded. "Yeah, man. Plus, we need someone to carry us in FC. Sosa and I are suffering without you." Sosa glared. "Don¡¯t include me in your suffering. I carry myself just fine." Laughter broke the brief tension. Diego L¨®pez stood up, shaking out his legs. "Anyway, we all know the real test is coming. Three games left. Every point matters." Gaya nodded. "And we¡¯re going to need every single one of us." Chapter 250: Return[2] The sun hung low over Valencia¡¯s training complex, casting long shadows across the pristine pitches. With three games left in the season and Champions League football within reach, every touch, every sprint, and every tactical adjustment carried extra weight. Rub¨¦n Baraja stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, watching his squad move through the drills. The players, still riding the high of their 2-1 victory over Rayo Vallecano, knew that the challenge ahead would be even tougher¡ªa trip to San Sebasti¨¢n to face Real Sociedad, one of the trickiest away fixtures in La Liga. Across the field, the session was in full swing. Giorgi Mamardashvili, fresh off his heroics against Rayo, dived low to his right, palming away a fierce strike from Fran P¨¦rez. On the other side, Hugo Guillam¨®n and Javi Guerra tested each other in tight midfield duels, while Gaya and Thierry Correia worked on overlapping runs. Diego L¨®pez and Fran Perez exchanged sharp one-twos, the ball zipping between them before Sosa came out of nowhere and curled a shot toward the top corner¡ªonly for Mamardashvili to stretch out a glove and tip it over. Baraja clapped his hands together. "Good tempo! Keep moving it fast! Sociedad won¡¯t give us time on the ball!" At the far end of the pitch, away from the main group, Izan finished a separate drill under the watchful eye of Luis Navarro, the team¡¯s head physiotherapist. It had been weeks since his injury, and after rigorous rehab, he had finally been medically cleared to return to full training. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His passes were crisp, his movement sharp, but there was still a lingering hesitation in his step¡ªa subconscious fear of pushing too hard. Navarro noticed. "Izan, how does it feel?" Izan wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Better. Not perfect, but better." Navarro nodded, watching the teenager closely. "You¡¯re moving well, but you¡¯re still holding back on quick changes of direction. That¡¯s natural. The real test is how you react when the pressure is real." As Izan stretched his leg, he saw Baraja walking toward them. The coach stopped in front of Navarro. "So? Is he ready?" he asked his eyes still set on Izan. Navarro took a deep breath before responding. "Cleared to train fully, yes. Cleared to travel, yes. But should he play? No." Baraja frowned. "He¡¯s that far off?" "Not necessarily. Physically, he¡¯s at 80%, but mentally, he¡¯s not there yet. It¡¯s one thing to pass a fitness test; it¡¯s another to be thrown into a high-intensity match away at Sociedad. He needs more time. If it were another player, I wouldn¡¯t even risk clearing them but he¡¯s different" Baraja glanced at Izan. The teenager was listening but didn¡¯t say anything. Ruben Baraja sighed, then turned back to Navarro. "Alright. He¡¯ll travel with us. But no minutes unless it¡¯s absolutely necessary. Agreed?" Navarro nodded. "Agreed." Izan exhaled through his nose, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He understood why Navarro was cautious, but he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was ready. Baraja clapped him on the back. "Be patient and recover well. You have all the time in the world to play." As training continued, Izan returned to the main group, jogging into position beside Sosa, who gave him a knowing look. "So, what¡¯s the verdict?" Sosa asked. Izan rolled his eyes. "I can travel, but I¡¯m not supposed to play." Sosa smirked. "They¡¯re just being careful. You know how it is. But hey, at least you get to be there. You might not start, but who knows? Maybe we¡¯ll need a hero in the last ten minutes." Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "That sounds like something out of a movie." "Yeah, but football is better than movies." [Um have you seen Braveheart] With the session wrapping up, the players cooled down, stretching as Baraja gathered them in a circle. "Listen up. We all know Sociedad Away is one of the toughest games in the league. They press high, they move the ball fast, and they don¡¯t give you space to breathe. But we¡¯ve fought too hard to let this slip now." His voice carried the weight of a season¡¯s worth of effort. "We go there with one goal¡ªwin, nothing more, nothing less. Because we control our fate. Not Bilbao. Not Sociedad. Us." The players nodded, their focus sharpened. Valencia¡¯s next battle was just days away. And even if Izan wasn¡¯t supposed to play, football had a way of writing unexpected scripts. The day before the match, the news about Izan¡¯s sudden return spread like wildfire. @VCFOfficial: Izan has been medically cleared and will travel with the squad to San Sebasti¨¢n. The official account went into the detail but the first part was all Valencia fans needed to hear. Social media exploded. @VCF_Forever: HE¡¯S BACK. OUR GOLDEN BOY IS BACK. @BlanquinegreFC: Perfect timing. This game decides everything. If Izan even steps on the pitch, we¡¯re winning. @LaLigaXtra: Real Sociedad vs. Valencia just got even bigger. Izan could make his return in a season-defining clash. At the club¡¯s training ground, a small group of fans waited outside, chanting Izan¡¯s name as the team boarded the bus for the airport. As Izan stepped onto the bus, a young fan held up a sign: SIEMPRE CREEMOS EN TI, IZAN. (We always believe in you, Izan.) He smiled and gave a small wave before taking his seat beside Sosa. "You see that? They think I¡¯m about to do something special." Sosa smirked. "Maybe you are." The news didn¡¯t go unnoticed in the Basque Country. In San Sebasti¨¢n, Real Sociedad fans were less enthusiastic. @RealSociedadFans: Just our luck. Valencia¡¯s best player returns just in time. @TxuriUrdinDaily: We should have known. La Liga scriptwriters working overtime again. The Author too be doing the most on the side. Pray he doesn¡¯t make him come of the bench to score 4 goals in 1 minute at stoppage time. At Sociedad¡¯s Zubieta training complex, the players had just finished their final session when the whispers started. Mart¨ªn Zubimendi checked his phone and let out a low whistle. "Izan¡¯s traveling." Brais M¨¦ndez, stretching nearby, raised an eyebrow. "Didn¡¯t he just come back from injury? He won¡¯t be match sharp." Mikel Merino wasn¡¯t convinced. "Match sharp or not, he¡¯s Izan. If he plays, we need to be ready." The squad murmured in agreement. Meanwhile, their manager, Imanol Alguacil, addressed the media. "Valencia are a strong team, with or without Izan. We will play our game. But yes, we know his quality. If he plays, we will be prepared." The headline in the local newspaper, El Diario Vasco, summed up the feeling among the home fans: "IZAN RETURNS ¨C A NEW CHALLENGE FOR LA REAL." That night, in the Valencia team hotel, Izan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could feel the anticipation in the air. He knew he wouldn¡¯t play but he hoped that Baraja would look his way. ... The morning of the match, the Valencia squad gathered for their final meeting at the team hotel in San Sebasti¨¢n. The atmosphere was intense but focused. Baraja stood in front of them, hands in his pockets. "We¡¯ve fought too hard to let this slip now. Real Sociedad are strong at home, but we are stronger together." His eyes scanned the room before settling on Izan. "And we have a full squad. That means everyone is ready." Izan shifted slightly in his seat, feeling the weight of expectation. He wasn¡¯t even sure if he¡¯d play, but the possibility alone had changed the mood. After breakfast, the team boarded the bus to the stadium. Fans lined the streets, waving Valencia scarves, and chanting their names. Izan had seen this before, but something about today felt different. His name was being sung louder than anyone else¡¯s. Inside the away dressing room at the Reale Arena, Izan sat on the bench, taping his wrists when Luis Navarro approached him. "Izan, listen," Navarro said quietly. "You¡¯ve been cleared to travel, not to play." Izan looked up. "But if Baraja calls on me¡ª" Navarro sighed. "Then I¡¯ll do my job and remind him why you shouldn¡¯t." He placed a firm hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder. "I know what you can do. But your body needs more time. One wrong move, and we¡¯re back to square one." Izan clenched his jaw, nodding. He understood. But that didn¡¯t mean he liked it. Across the hall, Real Sociedad¡¯s dressing room was buzzing. Zubimendi zipped up his jersey, shaking his head. "They¡¯re keeping it vague, but if Izan¡¯s here, he¡¯s at least on the bench." Mikel Merino tied his boots tighter. "We can¡¯t focus on him alone. Valencia are dangerous with or without him." Their coach, Imanol Alguacil, stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Izan or no Izan, we impose our game. No fear. No hesitation. They need this win, but so do we. Let¡¯s show them what La Real is made of." The team rose, a unified force. Outside, the stadium roared to life. The match was moments away, and both teams were ready for war. Chapter 251: Five Finals. [Real Sociedad:5] The tunnel at the Reale Arena was a pressure cooker. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of the crowd vibrating through the concrete walls. The supposed third final moment had arrived. Valencia players stood shoulder to shoulder, adjusting their socks, rolling their shoulders, trading last-minute words of encouragement. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, the captain, ran a hand through his hair before turning to the team. "This is ours. We fight for every ball, every inch. They won¡¯t hand us anything." Beside him, Javi Guerra bounced on the balls of his feet, his fingers drumming against his thighs. Behind, Hugo Guillam¨®n exhaled slowly, his mind already processing passing lanes and defensive cover. Soda who had formed a midfield trio with Guerra and Guillamon stood behind the latter, his face showing some slight signs of nervousness Wanting to get rid of that, Sosa nudged Fran P¨¦rez causing the latter to turn towards him."You ready?" Fran cracked a small grin at Sosa before replying. "Always." Across the tunnel, Real Sociedad¡¯s players were just as intense. Mikel Merino cracked his neck, his gaze sharp. Mart¨ªn Zubimendi clapped his hands together. "Let¡¯s make them suffer for it. Just like they did us in their Copa del Rey title win" he said like a petty child. From the touchline, Baraja watched his team emerge onto the field, his expression unreadable. Inside, his heart pounded. This was it. The stadium erupted as the teams stepped onto the grass. Blue and white flags rippled through the stands as the Sociedad faithful belted out their club anthem. In the away section, Valencia¡¯s traveling fans made their voices heard, defiant against the sea of hostility. Among them was a massive banner: "VOLVEMOS A EUROPA" (We¡¯re returning to Europe). Izan sat on the bench, clad in his warm-up gear, his knee wrapped for extra protection. He felt the energy, the weight of the moment. "Would be nice to play today" he muttered loudly causing Pietro to turn towards him. The latter stared at Izan before gesturing towards Luis Navarro who had traveled with the team for fear of Baraja playing Izan. Izan shook his head in understanding before returning his gaze to the pitch. " Good evening people, it¡¯s a cold evening here in the Basque Country. And it¡¯s Valencia going against Real Sociedad here at Anoeta Stadium. A very exciting fixture especially when it entails the possibility of qualifying for European football. Valencia have a whole lot to play for so let¡¯s see if Real Sociedad will make them work for it. My name is Jose Alina and we are seconds from kickoff " From the onset, Real Sociedad pressed hard, pinning Valencia back. Their midfield moved like clockwork, cutting off passing lanes, suffocating every attempt from Valencia to build from the back. Valencia, on the other hand, were not going to take it while lying down but it proved difficult to escape Sociedad¡¯s aggressive press. Once such situation occurred In the seventh minute when Mikel Oyarzabal found space down the left after forcing a mistake out of Valencia. Reaching the byline, the Spanish forward glanced up and curled a dangerous cross into the box. The Valencia players rushed to clear it but Takefusa Kubo appeared suddenly and met it first time. The ball shot towards goal, the gazes of the Valencia players all turning towards the direction of the ball. Giorgi Mamardashvili, tensed a bit as the ball came towards him before he flew to his left, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to send it onto the post. The rebound fell to Brais M¨¦ndez but his shot was blocked by Mark. The Valencia fans sighed out in relief that the score was still goalless. They knew that if something didn¡¯t change in their team, they would soon be on the back foot. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On the touchline, Baraja kept barking instructions but his voice was drowned in the noise of the stadium."Settle! Keep the ball!" Perhaps struck by the realization that they might lose even before the game ended, the Valencia players came back to their senses. Guerra and Guillam¨®n started winning the battles in midfield, feeding Diego Lopez and Fran P¨¦rez out wide. In pure attacking fashion, both teams went at it with an attack beginning as soon as it ended at the other end yet, no one could still break the deadlock. That was until the 18th minute when Fran P¨¦rez played a one-two with Diego L¨®pez before whipping in a cross. The Real Sociedad full-back tried to force Lopez outside the box but with some deft touches and a nice change of pace, Diego Lopez went around the latter and whipped in a cross into the box. The ball curled toward the far post, with most of the Real Sociedad players breathing in relief but that was until Sosa appeared at the far end. Seeing as the angle was bad for a shot, Sosa controlled the ball before faking the Sociedad left back. "Sosa!!" Hugo Duro shouted as he gestured for the ball. Without much deliberation, Sosa sent the ball towards Duro who curled it past the outstretched palms of Alex Remiro. GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAL! Silence rang through the stadium, save for the shouts of Pure euphoria from the Valencia bench and fans. " Nice pass from Sosa, Lovely finish from Hugo Duro. Even without their talisman, Valencia have proved relentless and it is showing by their goal right now." Hugo Duro sprinted toward the away section, kissing the badge, fists pumping. The traveling fans roared in approval as he pumped his fists in their direction. After the restart, Valencia now led but Sociedad weren¡¯t folding. In the 27th minute, Garcia went in late on Guillam¨®n, their legs meeting in a sharp impact causing the Valencia midfielder to fold on the ground, clutching his shin. The referee blew his whistle and issued a Yellow card. Baraja stood on the touchline, tense after Guillamon didn¡¯t stand up for a while. But after a moment, Guillam¨®n, grimacing, got up and shook his head, running off the fall he took. Baraja paced near the sideline, shouting at the referee to be more vigilant and strict but all he got was a warning from the fourth official. After the free kick, Real Sociedad kept turning up the heat. Oyarzabal and Kubo kept probing, their movements, relentless and Marmadashvilli faced the brunt of it with the duo combining for a total of 5 shots taken in a few minutes. After this episode, Valencia tried to turn momentum and Zubimendi had been watching, waiting. Valencia¡¯s defensive line pushed a fraction too high, a crack in their armor causing Zubimendi to go on the offense. Without hesitation, he lifted his head and sent a chipped pass so precise it felt like poetry in motion, sailing over Valencia¡¯s scrambling defense. M¨¦ndez, already sprinting between the center-backs, read it perfectly. With deft movements, he took it on his chest, absorbing the weight of the ball while the defenders lunged in desperation. But it was too late. One bounce. A sharp pivot. Then a ferocious strike followed. The ball rocketed past Mamardashvili, grazing the fingertips of his outstretched glove before slamming into the net. BOOM. The Reale Arena erupted into bedlam. San Sebasti¨¢n roared like a storm had been unleashed, the kind of noise that made the air tremble, that shook bones and rattled hearts. Flares lit up the night. Scarves whirled in a frenzy. Fans leaped onto seats, arms raised to the heavens as the Real Sociedad fans celebrated their equalizer. M¨¦ndez tore away in celebration, pounding his chest, and screaming at the sky before sliding near the corner where his teammates started piling onto him. On the Valencia bench, Izan exhaled sharply, his heart pounding. Beside him, Mouctar muttered a curse under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face. The entire Valencia dugout sat in stunned silence, their lead now taken away. Baraja clenched his jaw, arms folded tightly across his chest. He knew it had been coming. Sociedad had been circling like sharks, and now they¡¯d found their bite. On the pitch, Gaya picked up the ball from the net and shouted at his teammates to reset. Mamardashvili, still on one knee, stared at the goal in frustration before slamming the turf with his glove. .... Takefusa Kubo had been Valencia¡¯s biggest headache all night, twisting and weaving through spaces that barely existed. But Gay¨¤ had had enough. When Kubo danced toward the left flank for the umpteenth time that match, the Valencia captain timed his challenge to perfection. He slid in, boots skimming the grass, slicing through the ball, and taking just enough of Kubo to send him tumbling. The Reale Arena erupted in fury. Sociedad players swarmed the referee. Zubimendi shouted, arms flailing while Mikel Merino pointed to the turf, demanding an explanation. Kubo, still on the ground, smacked his palm against the grass in frustration and pain while Gay¨¤ stood calmly¡ªhe knew the tackle was clean. But he also knew what was coming. The referee didn¡¯t hesitate. Yellow card. Gay¨¤ accepted it with a nod, barely reacting before he turned and jogged back into position, already resetting his mind. Juno now standing, walked to the ball and took a quick free kick but his pass forward was smothered by Marmadashvilli who spotted Sosa. Sosa had been waiting for his moment. Chapter 252: Five Finals[Oryazabal’s Challenge: 6] Juno now standing, walked to the ball and took a quick free kick but his pass forward was smothered by Marmadashvilli who spotted Sosa. Sosa had been waiting for his moment. The ball came to him near the halfway line, Sociedad¡¯s midfield press closing in. But with a sharp feint, Sosa sent one defender flying the wrong way. Then, he turned. And he ran. His legs pumped, and his breath came sharp. The green grass opened in front of him, the away crowd also gasping for air like they were the ones running with the ball on the field. Valencia had space and Sosa intended to use it. But then¡ªa sudden impact rocked his body. Le Normand. A full-body check. No pretense of playing the ball. Just brute force ent Sosa sprawling, skidding across the grass, his arms scraping against the turf. The whistle shrieked and the Valencia players surrounded the referee this time, voices raised in protest. Le Normand held his hands up, pretending innocence, but the referee had seen enough. Yellow card. Sosa pulled himself up, rolling his shoulder. He turned to Le Normand and smirked. "Go easy on me okay?" The French defender didn¡¯t respond and just stared at the former. Sosa looked back before he walked off awkwardly. With a couple of minutes on the clock for the first half, Valencia weren¡¯t content with going into halftime on edge. They wanted more and they worked for it. Guillam¨®n took control of the ball in midfield, his eyes scanning for an opening. Sociedad had fallen into a cautious stance, trying to protect themselves before the break and that was their mistake. Guillam¨®n didn¡¯t hesitate. He slid a pass into the left channel, threading it through a sea of blue and white. Diego L¨®pez was already moving before the ball even reached him. He took the first touch on the run. A flick of his boot to set himself up and before long, he found himself inside the box. The angle was tight. A shot was possible¡ªbut not the right choice. So he didn¡¯t take it. Instead, a sharp cut inside caused a Sociedad defender to lunge but he missed, sliding past him helplessly. L¨®pez looked up and Fran P¨¦rez was there. Perfectly placed, Lopez sent the ball toward Fran Perez. The pass came in¡ªcrisp, clean, almost inch-perfect. Fran took one touch to settle. A second to set. And then¡ªa low, ruthless drive towards Alex Remiro. The Real Sociedad fans prayed for a save but Alex Remiro was a few inches short. The ball kissed the grass as it shot forward, past the outstretched leg of a defender, beyond the diving hands of the goalkeeper, and Straight into the net. The net rippled violently. A second of silence. Then¡ªpandemonium. Fran screamed into the night sky, veins in his neck bulging as his teammates mobbed him, grabbing his jersey, and shaking him in pure adrenaline-fueled ecstasy. On the touchline, Baraja clenched his fists and let out a roar, veins popping at his temples as Valencia celebrated their halftime lead The referee¡¯s whistle followed soon after. Halftime. Valencia led. But the war was far from over. The Reale Arena was a storm of contrasting emotions as the referee blew for halftime. For the Valencia fans, packed tightly in their section, it was a scene of absolute jubilation. Their voices had never wavered, but now, leading 2-1 away in one of the toughest stadiums in Spain, they were deafening. Flags waved wildly. Drums pounded in a chaotic rhythm. Some fans clutched their scarves tightly, as if willing this fragile lead to hold. Others simply screamed. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. @VCF_Forever: WE¡¯RE TAKING CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FOOTBALL BACK TO MESTALLA. @BlanquinegreFC: SOSA.HUGO.FRAN. THIS TEAM HAS ICE IN THEIR VEINS. Among the crowd, the Valencia fans stood, smiles streaking across their faces. They had seen Valencia rise and fall and tonight, under the glistening lights in San Sebasti¨¢n, their team were not faltering. "This," an older fan in the stands whispered, gripping his scarf, "is the Valencia I remember." On the opposite side of the stadium, the mood was far from joyful. The Sociedad fans were restless and frustrated. This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go and they showed it online. @TxuriUrdinDaily: We¡¯ve been the better team. How are we losing? @RealSociedadFans: We need to wake up. This is retribution against Valencia for that Copa del Rey elimination. Some fans sat in stunned silence, arms crossed tightly. Others stood, shouting into the night, urging their players to respond. The most passionate supporters near the pitch berated the referee as he walked off, convinced that Valencia¡¯s aggression had gone unpunished. "Referee, where¡¯s the second yellow for Gay¨¤?!" a furious fan yelled. Another clapped his hands aggressively. "We¡¯ve been the better team! We just need one chance, one damn chance!" As the players walked off the field, the tension didn¡¯t subside. Sociedad¡¯s Mart¨ªn Zubimendi shook his head in frustration, muttering to his teammates. "They¡¯re not better than us. We¡¯re letting them dictate the game." Walking beside him, Mikel Merino gnashed his teeth slightly at Zubimendi¡¯s words. Behind them, Take Kubo sighed in frustration before joining his mates who were ahead. For Valencia, it was the opposite. Fran P¨¦rez, still buzzing from his goal, turned to Sosa. "They¡¯re rattled." Sosa smirked. "That¡¯s Good then. Let¡¯s finish the job." Gay¨¤, ever the leader, reminded them all. "We¡¯re 45 minutes from making a statement. Keep your heads. They¡¯ll throw everything at us." Baraja walked behind his squad, his mind racing. They had the lead. Now, could they hold onto it? From the bench, Izan watched everything unfold, hands gripping his shorts. He felt the weight of the moment. He wasn¡¯t supposed to play. But deep down, he had a feeling¡ªthis night wasn¡¯t over for him. ...¡­ The tunnel was heavy with unspoken tension as both teams emerged from their dressing rooms. The Valencia players moved as one, their expressions focused, their bodies coiled with anticipation. A few exchanged low murmurs, but the real communication was in their eyes¡ªthe unspoken understanding that these next forty-five minutes would define the night. Gay¨¤, the ever-present leader, strode with authority, a reminder to his teammates that this fight was far from over. On the other side of the tunnel, Real Sociedad were simmering. Zubimendi clenched his jaw, his mind replaying the first half. They had dominated stretches of the game but still found themselves trailing. That wasn¡¯t acceptable. "We¡¯re the better team," he muttered under his breath. "We just have to prove it." Mikel Oyarzabal, their captain and talisman, had no doubts. He had been here before¡ªbig moments, big pressure. As he walked out, his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. No emotion, no words. Just intent. The referee checked his watch. The second half was about to begin. Blow the whistle. Restart the war. After the restart, Valencia barely had time to settle before the danger arrived. Real Sociedad came out swinging, their attack moving like a relentless tide. Zubimendi picked up the ball deep in midfield, lifting his head for options. He didn¡¯t hesitate. A smooth turn. A quick pass and that was all they needed to breach Valencia¡¯s defensive form M¨¦ndez, lurking between the lines, received it. His first touch was perfect, setting him up before Guillam¨®n could close him down. Valencia¡¯s defense was compact, but Sociedad were patient. M¨¦ndez feinted once, waiting for the briefest gap to appear. There it was. A slip of space between the center-backs. M¨¦ndez slid a pass into the box, slicing through Valencia¡¯s defensive wall like a scalpel. Oyarzabal was already moving before the ball even arrived. His instincts were razor-sharp, his timing impeccable. He stretched, reaching for the ball, but just as he controlled it¡ª Contact. A tangle of legs. A stumble. Oyarzabal went down. The whistle shrieked and the stadium froze for a second. Penalty. The Reale Arena erupted. The entire stadium shook with the force of the home crowd¡¯s celebrations, voices merging into an avalanche of noise. The referee pointed to the spot, unwavering in his decision. The Valencia players lost it. Gay¨¤ was the first to charge toward the referee, his face contorted in disbelief. "No! No way that¡¯s a pen! He threw himself to the ground!" Hugo Guillam¨®n spun in frustration, hands on his head. "He¡¯s looking for it! He goes down every time!" Even Assistant Coach Moreno, usually composed on the touchline, let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his forehead beside Baraja who was fuming. This was the worst possible start to the half. Oyarzabal, however, was unmoved. He had the ball in his hands before the protests even died down. He didn¡¯t argue, didn¡¯t react. He simply walked to the penalty spot, placed the ball down, and took three steps back. Mamardashvili adjusted his gloves, bouncing on the goal line. His eyes locked onto Oyarzabal, reading his body language, searching for a hint of hesitation. Nothing. The referee signaled. The whistle blew. Oyarzabal took a breath. A stutter-step. A pause and sent the ball towards the goal. Mamardashvili lunged left but he had been sent the wrong way. The stadium erupted. The Reale Arena was a cauldron of euphoria. Fans threw their arms into the air, scarves waving in a sea of blue and white. The ground itself seemed to tremble under the sheer force of the celebrations. Oyarzabal didn¡¯t celebrate wildly. No sprint, no outburst. Instead, he jogged toward the corner flag, raising one finger in the air¡ªa statement, a message. He had done this before. He had expected this. But then, just as he turned back toward midfield, he stopped. He turned his head. His eyes locked onto the Valencia bench. And then, he pointed. Not at the coach. Not at the substitutes warming up. At Izan. The cameras caught it. The entire stadium saw it. A silent callout, a deliberate gesture. The crowd roared louder, feeding off the moment. And on the bench, Izan smiled. Not a smirk. Not a forced grin. A calm, knowing smile. Chapter 253: Five Finals [Pandemonium:7] The score was level, but the game was anything but balanced. Real Sociedad had their tails up. The equalizer had been gasoline poured onto a roaring fire, and now they pressed forward with unrelenting aggression. Valencia, however, refused to fold. Their defense bent but did not break. Their midfield fought for every blade of grass. Their forwards lurked, waiting for their own chance to strike. The next goal felt inevitable. The only question was¡ªwho would get it first? The atmosphere inside the Reale Arena was suffocating. On the touchline, Imanol Alguacil paced like a man possessed. His shouts echoed over the roaring crowd, his hands slicing through the air as he urged his team to keep pressing. On the opposite sideline, Rub¨¦n Baraja stood stone-faced, arms crossed, unreadable. But the way his fingers dug into his biceps? That betrayed the storm beneath. Every duel, every tackle, every misplaced pass sent waves of emotion through both benches. Marchena, Baraja¡¯s assistant, was locked in a constant back-and-forth with the fourth official. "You see that? Do you see that? They¡¯re getting every call!" he barked, pointing toward the pitch. Meanwhile, Sociedad¡¯s substitutes were on their feet, feeding off the crowd¡¯s energy, ready to explode at any moment. Then¡ªSociedad struck. And it started with a single touch. Deep in his own half, Mart¨ªn Zubimendi received the ball under pressure. Hugo Guillam¨®n was closing in, fast and aggressive, but Zubimendi didn¡¯t flinch. With a single turn, he shook Guillam¨®n off, shifting his body just enough to shield the ball. Then, a glance up. A heartbeat. And then¡ªa pass. A lofted ball, perfectly weighted, arcing through the air like a guided missile. It soared over Valencia¡¯s midfield, bypassing Sosa and Javi Guerra. The defenders turned, eyes wide, bodies tensing. But it was too late. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Takefusa Kubo was already moving. Kubo had been waiting for this. His body coiled like a spring, his acceleration instantaneous. He left his marker behind in the first two steps, his stride eating up the distance between him and the ball. The crowd felt it before it happened. The anticipation. The sharp intake of breath. The ball dropped perfectly into his path, like destiny pulling strings. Cenk ?zkacar sprinted desperately alongside him, muscles burning, heart pounding, knowing he was losing the race. Kubo took one touch¡ªa feather-light caress that didn¡¯t break his stride. Then another, drawing Mamardashvili out. The Valencia keeper charged forward, his frame a towering wall, arms spread wide, eyes locked on the ball. Kubo saw him coming. The angle was tight. The pressure was suffocating. But Kubo was ice-cold. One flick. A delicate, measured chip. Not a blast. Not a panic-driven strike. A simple, calculated lift. The ball floated over Mamardashvili¡¯s outstretched arms and the stadium held its breath. Time slowed. The ball hung in the air¡ªsuspended in a moment of cruel inevitability. Then¡ªnet. The ball kissed the back of the net, rolling gently into the goal before bouncing once, mocking the silence before the explosion. Pandemonium A single second of stunned silence before the stadium detonated. A hurricane of sound ripped through the Reale Arena. Kubo sprinted toward the corner flag, fists clenched, eyes wide with raw emotion. His teammates swarmed him, bodies colliding, voices lost in the deafening roar of celebration. Behind them, the Sociedad bench erupted. Imanol sprinted down the touchline, fists pumping. His staff roared in triumph. Substitutes leaped onto the field, hugging, and screaming. The fans? Madness. Scarves whirled above heads. Flares ignited in the stands. Grown men clutched each other, shaking, screaming, crying. The ground itself seemed to shake under the sheer force of unrestrained joy. The scoreboard now read: Real Sociedad 3-2 Valencia. The silence on the Valencia bench was thunderous. Baraja stood frozen, jaw tight, staring at the pitch. Gay¨¤ slammed his hands on his knees, shaking his head in disbelief. Guillam¨®n wiped sweat from his forehead, eyes darting toward his teammates, searching for answers that weren¡¯t there. Fran P¨¦rez, still catching his breath, muttered, "Damn it¡­" before kicking at the turf. On the sidelines, Assistant Coach Moreno turned away, rubbing his temples. "Unbelievable." Then, the camera panned back to the bench. To Izan. Sitting, watching, absorbing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath. Baraja saw it. He turned. And their eyes met. The storm wasn¡¯t over. ... The goal had done everything but demoralized the Valencia players. Their midfield trio now consisted of Pietro who had come in for Sosa, Javi Guerra, and Pepelu who had also replaced Guillamon. The trio worked like unleashed bulls, clearing balls and making threatening passes but Valencia couldn¡¯t convert. Real Sociedad on the other hand, had their lead but they wanted more. The game was now chaos¡ªfast, violent, breathless. Every duel felt like a battle within the war. Every clearance, every interception, every moment carried the weight of something decisive. Kubo, Oyarzabal, and Merino carved through the Valencia defense like a blade through the fabric. On the other end, Diego L¨®pez and Fran P¨¦rez launched themselves forward, desperate to spark something¡ªanything. And then, in the 72nd minute, the match tilted on its axis. Kubo had the ball again, terrorizing the right wing, a blur of white and blue. He cut inside, feinted past Gay¨¤, and drove into the box. Cenk ?zkacar lunged, his leg pushing the ball away but simultaneously, Kubo went down. The whistle behind them caused the players to turn towards the referee, thinking Kubo might have been offside but they saw the referee point to the spot. For a second, nobody reacted. Then¡ªoutrage. The Valencia players swarmed the referee. Disbelief on their faces, rage in their voices. Gay¨¤ threw his arms up. "No way! He went down too easily!" ?zkacar, eyes wild, pointed at the turf. "I got the ball! I got the ball!" but the referee had made his decision. Baraja was furious, storming toward the fourth official. "You¡¯re ruining the game! That¡¯s soft! That¡¯s ridiculous!" The Sociedad players? Ecstatic. The stadium? A furnace of pure, deafening euphoria. Scarves waved, fists pumped as fans roared in celebration, the decision treated as a goal in itself. Kubo picked himself up, grinning while Mikel Oyarzabal grabbed the ball. He didn¡¯t think the call was right but there wasn¡¯t much he could do. Mamardashvili stood on his line, jaw tight, eyes dark, a man made of pure defiance. The penalty was given. The chance to end the game. After getting rid of all the complaints, the referee joined Marmadashvilli and Oryazabal in the box. Oyarzabal placed the ball on the spot. One step back. Then two, his eyes never leaving Mamardashvili. The stadium buzzed with anticipation. The chants of the home fans grew louder, faster, feverish. Mamardashvili stretched his arms, bouncing on his toes, his frame massive in the goal. The referee¡¯s whistle pierced the night air. Oyarzabal took his run-up, his heartbeat running amok at the chance to probably kill the game. Halfway through the runup, Oryazabal looked like he had made his decision. A strike¡ªlow and hard to the left. But Mamardashvili exploded into action with godly instincts. A full dive. A desperate stretch. Then came contact. Marmadashvilli felt his fingertips tip the ball and that was enough as the ball was pushed away. The rebound fell loose¡ªchaos. The Reale Arena, which had been a roaring beast, froze in collective shock save for the ever-growing shouts of the Valencia fans who were ecstatic at their goalkeeper¡¯s save. Valencia scrambled the ball clear. Then? Bedlam. "HE¡¯S SAVED IT!" the commentator¡¯s voice cracked, barely audible over the eruption of noise from the traveling Valencia fans. "Giorgi Mamardashvili has kept Valencia alive! That is a MASSIVE moment!" The other commentator chimed in, voice sharp with excitement. "Do you know what? That could be a blessing in disguise for Valencia! Real Sociedad thought they had the game sealed, but now¡ªNOW¡ªthe momentum shifts completely!" And shift it did. Valencia came alive. Fran P¨¦rez burst forward, driving down the right. The pass came inside. Javi Guerra touched it past his marker. The Sociedad defense was retreating, legs heavy, minds shaken. The ball found Pietro who was a short distance past the halfway line. Trapping the ball carefully, he turned towards Real Sociedad¡¯s goal with a swift motion. He sliced through the midfield, carving Sociedad apart, a blur of orange. Then, the killer ball¡ªslipped through for Diego L¨®pez, cutting between the center-backs. The keeper charged out trying to intimidate Diego L¨®pez but the forward didn¡¯t hesitate. A first-time strike, Low and Ruthless went past the keeper and Into the net. The Anoeta rang with silence, the home fans finding it hard to believe what had happened. Then? The bench erupted. Players sprinted down the touchline. Diego L¨®pez slid on his knees, fists clenched, screaming toward the night sky. Pietro caught him in the celebration, arms wrapping around his teammate, the raw fire of a comeback burning in his chest. And in the commentary booth, the words came fast, breathless. "UNBELIEVABLE! Valencia have done it! From almost being finished, they¡¯ve clawed their way back!" His partner echoed the sentiment. "The penalty save changed everything! This is why football is the greatest sport in the world! One second, you¡¯re dead and buried¡ªthe next, you¡¯re level!" Baraja punched the air as his assistants, Moreno and Marchena grabbed each other, roaring in triumph. On the other side, Imanol Alguacil stood frozen, hands on his head. Sociedad¡¯s players looked at each other, stunned, shaken, desperate for answers. But there were none. Chapter 254: Five Finals [8] The Reale Arena was a battlefield. Valencia had dragged themselves back from the edge of the abyss, but Real Sociedad were far from done. The game had reached a fever pitch¡ªchaos, pure and unfiltered. On the touchline, Rub¨¦n Baraja stood with arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the pitch, but his mind was elsewhere. He could feel it. Something was missing. His team had fought like warriors, clawing their way back from the brink, but they still lacked the one spark that could tilt the game fully in their favor. His gaze drifted toward the bench. Toward Izan. The boy sat still, elbows resting on his knees, his expression unreadable. He wasn¡¯t fidgeting. He wasn¡¯t whispering to his teammates. He wasn¡¯t slumped in frustration like some of the other substitutes. He was watching, almost boring holes into the pitch with his stares. Waiting. Baraja exhaled sharply. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to bring him on, would it? Maybe, just maybe, Izan could conjure something from nothing. But just as he turned toward his assistants, his eyes met another¡¯s. Luis Navarro. The veteran physician, sitting just a few feet away, didn¡¯t speak. He didn¡¯t need to. The look he gave Baraja was enough. Not yet. Baraja clenched his jaw. His fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeve. Not yet he thought before he turned back to the field. The trio of Pietro, Pepelu, and Javi Guerra now played like rabid dogs, snapping at the heels of Sociedad¡¯s playmakers, intercepting, pressing, and driving forward whenever possible. But Sociedad weren¡¯t relenting. The game had turned into a war of attrition. Every duel, every tackle, every moment carried the weight of something decisive. Takefusa Kubo, possessed by fury, danced through Valencia¡¯s defense like a phantom, his touch electric, his movements unpredictable. Oyarzabal prowled alongside him, his presence a constant threat. On the other end, Diego L¨®pez and Fran P¨¦rez refused to sit back. They launched themselves forward at every opportunity, desperate to spark something¡ªanything. And then, in the 88th minute, the match tilted again. Sociedad struck. A cross from the right sent the players scrambling in the box. And then¡ª A thunderous strike from Oyarzabal sent the ball zooming toward goal. The net rippled. The Reale Arena detonated. Baraja felt his stomach drop. The Sociedad players sprinted toward the corner flag, a mass of blue and white, fists clenched, screaming in triumph. On the touchline, Imanol Alguacil roared, pumping his fists, his face twisted in raw exhilaration. The Valencia bench sank. Baraja¡¯s hands balled into fists. No. No. But then the whistle sounded. Mikel Oryazabal who was celebrating turned to find that the linesman¡¯s flag was up. Offside. The noise in the stadium was a mix of celebration cut short, frustration, and pure disbelief. Oyarzabal froze, his arms still half-raised in celebration. "NO!" he shouted, his voice ragged as he rushed towards the referee. Imanol stormed down the touchline, gesturing furiously at the officials but the referee didn¡¯t condone him and issued a yellow card. Imani tried to "reason" again but his assistant came and pulled him out of the way. The Real Sociedad players all rushed towards the referee but the latter was unmoved. The home players called for a VAR check, looking to overturn the referee¡¯s decision. The referee under the urging of his officiating team played along. The VAR confirmed it within seconds. No goal. The scoreboard still read: 3-3. The home crowd erupted in rage, whistling and jeering, their voices a thunderous wall of discontent. But the decision stood. Baraja exhaled sharply. "We got lucky," Moreno muttered beside him. Baraja didn¡¯t disagree. But luck was part of football. With minutes left on the clock, neither side had the strength to push for more. The battle had drained everything from them. And when the final whistle blew, it felt almost¡­ anti-climactic. FULL-TIME: REAL SOCIEDAD 3-3 VALENCIA. For a moment, there was silence. Then¡ª The players dropped, exhaustion taking over. Some pounded the turf in frustration. Others simply lay there, staring at the sky. The full-time whistle had blown, but the energy inside the Reale Arena still crackled like a lingering storm. The scoreboard read 3-3, but it felt like both teams had won¡ªand lost¡ªat the same time. Players from both sides lingered on the pitch, catching their breath, and exchanging exhausted handshakes, some still processing what had just transpired. Valencia had escaped. Sociedad had faltered. And yet, it had been a spectacle. Izan walked onto the pitch slowly, his boots crunching against the grass, his mind replaying every moment. He hadn¡¯t played a single minute, but he had lived every second of it. He had been so close to stepping on the pitch¡ªhe had felt it. But Baraja had held back. Not yet. Not tonight. And that was fine. Izan knew patience. But he also knew himself. His time would come¡ªand when it did, he¡¯d make sure there was no doubt. As he moved toward the tunnel, he caught sight of Mikel Oyarzabal, standing just outside the penalty box, hands on his hips, staring at the ground. His shirt was drenched in sweat, his expression unreadable. Izan changed direction. "Mikel." Oyarzabal lifted his head at the familiar voice, his furrowed brow relaxing slightly when he saw Izan approaching. Despite the frustrating end to the game, a tired smile crept onto his face. "Hombre," Oyarzabal said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "What are you doing here? I was expecting to see you running at me in the last ten minutes." Izan smirked. "So was I." Oyarzabal exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "I swear, I still don¡¯t know how we didn¡¯t win that." He glanced at the goal behind him, where Mamardashvili had made the game-changing penalty save. His voice was laced with frustration, but there was no bitterness. Just disbelief. Izan nodded. "Mamardashvili is a monster." Oyarzabal laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah. You don¡¯t need to remind me." They stood there for a moment, letting the night settle around them. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by exhaustion. "You played well," Izan said. Oyarzabal scoffed. "Doesn¡¯t feel like it. Feels like I should¡¯ve done more. We all should¡¯ve." He turned to Izan, his eyes narrowing slightly. "When are you getting back in the national team?" Izan raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you miss me." Oyarzabal smirked. "Well, you could increase our chances this summer." Izan shrugged. "That¡¯s not up to me," Izan responded while thinking about Oryazabal¡¯s words. "Anyways, you should¡¯ve scored that penalty," Izan teased, nudging Oyarzabal¡¯s shoulder. Oyarzabal groaned. "Don¡¯t remind me." He sighed, glancing toward the tunnel. "Anyway, go celebrate your robbery. We¡¯ll get you next time." Izan chuckled. "We¡¯ll see about that." Oyarzabal extended his hand. "Good seeing you, hermano." Izan took it firmly. "Likewise." ...¡­ Inside the LaLiga TV studio, the tension was palpable. The 3-3 draw between Valencia and Real Sociedad had left the league table delicately poised, with the battle for fourth place now boiling down to two teams: Valencia and Athletic Club. At the sleek, curved analyst desk, host Alberto Romero turned to his panel of experts, his expression animated. "Gentlemen, after tonight¡¯s result, Valencia remain in fourth place, but just barely. Athletic Club are right behind them, and this race for the final Champions League spot is shaping up to be an absolute thriller." Behind him, the screen displayed the updated league table: 4th - Valencia | 70 pts 5th - Athletic Club | 68 pts sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Romero gestured toward the numbers. "Valencia had the chance to extend their lead, but they leave San Sebasti¨¢n with just a draw. Does this put more pressure on them, or do they still control their own destiny?" Former Valencia midfielder Gaizka Mendieta exhaled. "Alberto, the good news for Valencia is that they¡¯re still in the driver¡¯s seat. They didn¡¯t lose tonight. But the problem is¡­ Athletic Club are relentless. A two-point lead is vital at this stage of the season but it is not all there is." Seated beside him, Luis Garc¨ªa, the ex-Liverpool and Spain winger, nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Valencia remain fourth, but the margin is razor-thin. If they slip up just once, Athletic will pounce and with two games left, this is going to the wire." Romero leaned forward. "So you¡¯re saying this race is still wide open?" Mendieta nodded. "Absolutely. Two points is not a cushion¡ªit¡¯s a warning. Athletic Club have been one of the most consistent teams this season, and Valencia need to be at their absolute best in their last two fixtures to keep their position." Luis Garc¨ªa added, "And let¡¯s not forget¡ªValencia still have to play Girona before the season ends. A team that has been overshadowed by the rise of Valencia. They currently sit sixth and should finish like that if nothing too drastic happens" Romero smirked. "A straight duel between two historic clubs for a Champions League spot. It doesn¡¯t get better than this." Mendieta sat back. "Valencia have the edge right now, but one bad result, and it¡¯s gone. It¡¯s all in their hands." Garc¨ªa smiled. "One thing¡¯s for sure: this race isn¡¯t over." The show cut to a commercial break, leaving fans eagerly awaiting the next chapter in the battle for fourth place. Chapter 255: Five Finals [Last Dance:9] "And that¡¯s it! Full-time at Bala¨ªdos, and Valencia drop points yet again! A two-all draw against Celta Vigo, and it¡¯s another frustrating night for Los Che!" "That¡¯s two draws in a row, two opportunities wasted. Baraja¡¯s men had the lead, but they just couldn¡¯t hold onto it!" "And the story remains the same¡ªno Izan once again despite being cleared to play. Two matches, zero minutes. The fans have been patient, but how long can that last?" "Well, patience is a luxury Valencia can¡¯t afford right now, because with this result, the fight for fourth place is going to the final matchday. Valencia are still clinging onto fourth, but only just. They sit level on points with Athletic Bilbao¡ªboth at 71¡ªbut they only stay ahead on head-to-head advantage." "And what does that mean? It means next week, at the Mestalla, against Girona, Valencia will have to do what they haven¡¯t done in their last three games: WIN." S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Make no mistake, this is it. One final battle for a place in next season¡¯s Champions League. One final test to prove they belong among Europe¡¯s elite." "Valencia¡¯s fate is still in their hands. But the question is¡ªdo they have the strength left to take it?" [A few hours ago] The Bala¨ªdos was alive with noise, the chants of the home fans mixing with the echoes of the traveling Valencian faithful. The tension hung thick in the air, the stakes undeniable. Valencia had arrived knowing the importance of three points. They needed a statement. Instead, they found themselves in yet another battle. From the first whistle, Celta Vigo pressed aggressively. Valencia, sluggish from their previous disappointments, struggled to find their rhythm. The opening exchanges were a chaotic blur¡ªmisplaced passes, hurried clearances, and a sense of unease that spread through the squad like a virus. Then, in the 14th minute, disaster struck. Gabri Veiga received the ball just outside the penalty area, turned sharply, and unleashed a strike that swerved viciously in the air. The Valencia defense threw bodies into the but that action didn¡¯t amount to anything and also seemed to cause more harm as it blocked Marmadashvilli¡¯s vision. Mamardashvili reacted late¡ªtoo late. The ball nestled into the top corner. 1-0, Celta Vigo. The Bala¨ªdos erupted as the Vigo fans celebrated. Valencia, on the other hand, stood frozen. The early setback was a punch to the gut. On the touchline, Baraja barked orders, urging his men forward. Slowly, Valencia settled, regaining some control. Pepelu and Javi Guerra began to dictate the tempo, looking for openings, probing Celta¡¯s defense. And then, in the 32nd minute, the breakthrough came. Fran P¨¦rez darted down the right flank, twisting his marker inside out before whipping in a cross. Diego L¨®pez met it at the near post, a glancing header that flew past Iv¨¢n Villar. 1-1. The celebration was quick and determined. Valencia had their response. The game grew scrappier as halftime approached, both teams battling for control. Celta remained a threat, with Iago Aspas orchestrating their attacks, but Valencia held firm. .... When the second half resumed, the intensity only grew. The visitors looked sharper, hungrier. And in the 58th minute, their persistence paid off. Javi Guerra, ever the midfield engine, slipped a perfectly weighted pass into the box. Hugo Duro latched onto it, took a touch, and rifled his shot into the net. 1-2. Valencia had turned the game on its head. The away end exploded with noise, banners waving, voices roaring. The players huddled together, knowing how much this meant. But just like before¡ªjust like the last few matches¡ªthey couldn¡¯t hold onto it. With fifteen minutes left, Celta pushed forward in desperation. A hopeful cross from the left seemed harmless, but confusion in Valencia¡¯s defense led to a weak clearance. The ball fell to J?rgen Strand Larsen, who wasted no time in firing a low shot past Mamardashvili. 2-2. The away stand was filled with groans. The Bala¨ªdos roared. Baraja turned away in frustration, running a hand through his hair. Another lead squandered. And through it all, Izan remained on the bench. His fingers dug into his palms as he sat there, looking slightly unbothered. Two matches now. Two games where he had watched his team struggle, knowing he could make a difference but never getting the chance. He didn¡¯t move though and neither did he complain. After the leveler, Valencia tried wholeheartedly to take the lead, with one of their corners even leading to a goal-line clearance by Iago Aspas but that was all there was. The final whistle arrived like a dull blade to the heart. Celta Vigo 2, Valencia CF 2. After the match had ended, the Valencia players walked toward the traveling fans, arms raised in apology. But the response wasn¡¯t anger¡ªit was disappointment. A deep, weary disappointment that settled like a heavy fog. The murmurs in the stands spoke volumes. "This isn¡¯t good enough." "Two matches, two wasted chances." "Why isn¡¯t Izan playing? What is Baraja waiting for?" The whispers had been growing louder over the past week. Now, they were becoming demands. Baraja, for his part, maintained his composure in the post-match press conference. "We are still in fourth place. Our destiny is in our hands." But the unease was spreading. The pressure was mounting. And in the shadows, Izan remained silent. Waiting. ...¡­.. The team bus cut through the quiet streets of Valencia, the night outside an endless blur of dimly lit buildings and deserted intersections. Inside, silence reigned. No music. No idle chatter. Just the occasional sigh of frustration and the low hum of the engine beneath them. The draw against Celta Vigo still clung to the players like an unshakable weight. Izan sat by the window, his elbow propped against the glass, fingers resting idly against his temple. His expression was unreadable. Detached. His gaze drifted over the cityscape, watching as each streetlight flickered past. He didn¡¯t tap his foot anxiously like some of his teammates. He didn¡¯t glare at the floor, drowning in regret. He was just¡­ there. Watching. Thinking. At the front of the bus, Rub¨¦n Baraja sat stiffly, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He barely moved, barely blinked. He looked like a man lost in the depths of his own thoughts. The weight of Valencia¡¯s season pressed down on his shoulders like a silent storm. When the bus pulled up to the team hotel, the players filed out one by one, their movements slow, their heads slightly lowered. There was no murmured conversation, no exchanges of encouragement¡ªonly exhaustion. Izan descended the steps at his own pace, unhurried, shoulders loose. But just as he reached the pavement, a voice called out behind him. "Izan." He stopped and turned to see Assistant Coach Moreno standing a few feet away. The older man had his arms crossed, his brows drawn slightly together. His voice was calm, and measured, but there was something beneath it¡ªsomething heavier than frustration, quieter than anger. Izan studied him for a moment before stepping closer. "You look like you want to say something," Izan remarked, his tone light, but his eyes sharp. Moreno exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You¡¯re not worried?" Izan let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly. "We¡¯re still fourth." "That¡¯s not what I meant," Moreno said, lowering his voice. Izan glanced toward the entrance, where Baraja had just disappeared inside. He knew exactly what Moreno meant. "The pressure is getting to him. Do you think he¡¯s afraid?" Izan asked, his voice carrying no judgment¡ªjust curiosity. Moreno was silent for a moment before answering. "That I can not say. But I think he¡¯s at least scared of what happens if he hesitates again." Izan shifted slightly, his gaze dropping for just a second before he looked back up. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "He¡¯ll figure it out." Moreno studied him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I¡¯m glad you gave Valencia a chance." Izan smiled slightly at Moreno¡¯s words but didn¡¯t say anything. A comfortable silence stretched between them before Moreno sighed, shaking his head. "Keep your boots tight. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say." Izan¡¯s smile didn¡¯t fade, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. He didn¡¯t need to ask what that meant. With a small nod, he turned and started toward the hotel, his movements as unbothered as ever. Far behind them, in the shadows of the parking lot, Baraja stood with his arms folded, watching the exchange from a distance. His jaw was tense. His eyes unreadable. Then, with a slow inhale, he turned and disappeared into the hotel. ..... [Laliga Tv] "And so, here we are. The final matchday of the season and everything is still up for grabs!" "Valencia and Athletic Bilbao both sit on 71 points. The only thing keeping Valencia in fourth place? Their superior head-to-head record." "And let¡¯s be clear¡ªthis is an all-or-nothing scenario. Valencia CANNOT afford to drop points. A win against Girona at the Mestalla guarantees them Champions League football. But if they slip? If they draw or lose? Then it all depends on what Bilbao do against Rayo Vallecano." "The pressure doesn¡¯t get bigger than this. One last match. One last fight. Ninety minutes to decide whether Valencia returns to Europe¡¯s elite¡ªor if they throw it all away." "And one more thing¡ªwill Baraja finally call upon Izan? Will the young star be given the chance to make the difference?" "The Mestalla will be a fortress on the final day. The fans will demand victory. The players will feel every ounce of pressure." "This is it. The biggest game of Valencia¡¯s season." "One match. One destiny. The Champions League awaits¡ªbut only for those who dare to seize it." Chapter 256: Five Finals [Ghosts Of The Mestalla: 10] Golden Ticket chapter [LaLiga TV ¨C Matchday Coverage] "And so it all comes down to this¡ªninety minutes, one final game, and the fate of a season hanging in the balance!" "Valencia. Athletic Bilbao. Two teams tied on points, one spot left for the Champions League." "The equation is simple¡ªValencia must win. A draw might not be enough, not with Athletic Bilbao playing against a relatively weaker side, Rayo Vallecano as compared to Valencia¡¯s Girona but football is unpredictable since we never know what might happen at the end of the 90 minutes!" "And the setting? The Mestalla. A cathedral of football, a fortress where dreams have lived and died. Tonight, it is a battlefield." ...¡­ The city of Valencia pulsed with energy. From the beaches to the plazas, from the narrow alleyways to the grand avenues, there was only one conversation: the final game. The streets were flooded with white and black, fans marching towards the Mestalla with banners, scarves, and the undying hope that their team¡ªtheir Valencia¡ªwould rise to the occasion. Inside the stadium, the air was thick with nervous anticipation. The chants were relentless, voices intertwining in a symphony of belief and desperation. Smoke from flares curled into the night sky, mixing with the floodlights that bathed the pitch in an ethereal glow. "Ninety minutes. That is all that remains. A season¡¯s work, a thousand battles, now distilled into one final war. The Mestalla does not whisper tonight¡ªit roars. The ghosts of past glories, the echoes of legends, they all linger in the air, watching, waiting. Will these warriors rise, or will history cast them aside?" ...¡­ The Mestalla tunnel was a world of its own¡ªa long corridor of steel and concrete where emotions crashed against each other like waves. At one end, the Valencia players stood in silence, some bouncing on their toes, others lost in their own thoughts. At the other end of Spain, inside the San Mam¨¦s, Athletic Bilbao stood in their own tunnel, waiting for the very same whistle. Their battle against Rayo Vallecano would begin at the exact same second as Valencia¡¯s. Two teams. Two stadiums. One fight. - - - - - - - - - All the Valencia players standing in the tunnel had something going on for them. A reason. A reason to win. For Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤, standing at the front of the Valencia lineup, it was about history. A chance to lead his boyhood club back to Europe¡¯s elite. For Pepelu, it was about redemption. About proving that he and his teammates were more than just a nearly-there squad. For Baraja, standing on the touchline, arms folded, it was about everything. His coaching career. His reputation. His future. And for Izan¡ªstill benched, well it wasn¡¯t much but it was a chance to fulfill the wishes of the Valencia fans. He had seen the headlines, heard the murmurs, felt the weight of the crowd¡¯s frustration over the past two weeks. Two games. Zero minutes. The fans wanted him. The journalists questioned Baraja¡¯s decision. But Izan simply waited for his time. The referee walked onto the pitch. His whistle hovered near his lips. "Here we go," the commentator¡¯s voice rang through the broadcast. "Two teams. Two stadiums. One Champions League spot. Kickoff is just moments away!" The Mestalla roared. On the other side, the San Mam¨¦s shook. A final breath. The whistle sounded spurring the game into life. .... From the very first touch, the tension was suffocating. Valencia, in their black and white, moved forward cautiously, trying to feel their way into the game. Girona, already safe in the league, had nothing to lose¡ªand that made them dangerous. Meanwhile, hundreds of kilometers away, Athletic Bilbao surged forward at San Mam¨¦s, their intent clear. They weren¡¯t waiting. They were attacking. In the 3rd minute, Valencia was spurred on by individual brilliance. A long ball over the top from Javi Guerra sent Hugo Duro through on goal. The Mestalla rose to its feet. A dream start? But it wasn¡¯t to be after Juanpe slid in at the last moment, knocking the ball away. The chance was gone. "Opportunity knocks, but not all doors open. The first attack, the first breath of hope¡ªbut football is cruel, and tonight, it will not be generous." The commentator went about his Job. At about the same time, in Bilbao, I?aki Williams broke free on the right. With a sudden cutback, he laid off the ball but the shot from Oihan Sancet was saved! Both games were electric. Both games were desperate and it showed and their movements. For a few minutes, nothing extraordinary went on but in the seventh minute at the Mestalla, disaster struck. Starting from a save after Fran Perez¡¯s shot, Girona¡¯s counter was quick and brutal. A simple one-two between Savinho and Tsygankov split Valencia¡¯s backline open like paper. A diagonal ball. A run into the box. And there was Artem Dovbyk, Girona¡¯s talisman who had somehow sneaked in to be La Liga¡¯s top scorer ahead lewandowski and Izan after a series of nigh unplayable performances. The Ukrainian forward, stood still waiting to finish and he did. The Girona man took a touch, before firing a low drive past Mamardashvili. Goal. 0-1, Girona. "And Mestalla falls silent! It had barely begun, and already, Valencia are staring at the abyss! Look at the faces of the Mestalla faithful, utter disappointment." On the other side of things, Bilbao kept pushing. A corner. A scramble in the box. And then¡ªGorka Guruzeta struck from close range. Goal. 1-0, Athletic Bilbao. Valencia were losing. Bilbao were winning. For the first time tonight, Valencia were out of the Champions League spots according to the live standings. "Football is time, but time is merciless. Ten minutes in, and already, the dream wavers. The Champions League slips from their fingers¡ªbut can they pull it back? After the restart, it was all Girona. Valencia, a team that had reinstated their status as an attacking team that season were now seen defending for their lives. For ten minutes, Valencia wobbled. Passes went astray. The crowd murmured. Then¡ªsomething shifted. Fran P¨¦rez picked up the ball on the right. His burst of pace took him past two defenders before he whipped in a cross. The ball was headed for Eric Garcia, an opponent play but then, Pietro, unmarked, rose like a giant. His header was perfect¡ªbullet-like, impossible to stop as it rustled the net. GOAL! 1-1! The Mestalla erupted, and the players huddled together, fists pumping. The fight wasn¡¯t over. "The light flickers, but it does not go out. Valencia breathes again, the battle rages on! The scenes are exciting here but what about in San Sebasti¨¢n? Take us there Juno" the commentator said handing over the baton. ..... At the other end of Spain, Athletic Bilbao were merciless. They could smell blood, they could feel destiny calling. Nico Williams danced down the left, a flash of red and white against the floodlit pitch. His cross was pinpoint, dipping just over the outstretched leg of the last defender. Sancet didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe cushioned it with his chest, the ball dropping perfectly for Vesga at the edge of the box. A strike. A roar. Goal. 2-0, Athletic Bilbao. San Mam¨¦s exploded. The crowd surged forward in waves, the noise crashing against the night sky. The players huddled together, fists clenched, knowing they were almost there. And with that goal, something shifted in the air. Far away, in Valencia, the Mestalla felt it. A shadow creeping in. A truth they didn¡¯t want to face. They were losing the race. The ball was lost in midfield, a moment of hesitation, a fraction of a second where doubt crept in¡ªand Girona pounced. Savinho broke free. He weaved between defenders like a phantom, his feet moving too fast, too precise, too deadly. The Mestalla screamed for someone¡ªanyone¡ªto stop him. Nobody did. With a single, effortless shift of his body, he cut inside and unleashed a curling shot that bent and arced like fate itself, kissing the far post before sinking into the net. Goal. 1-2, Girona. And this time, there was no explosion of noise. No stunned gasps. Only silence. The kind of silence that doesn¡¯t just linger¡ªit weighs. Valencia¡¯s players stood frozen. Their faces were blank, but their eyes betrayed the horror that clawed at their insides. Baraja turned away, pressing his fingers to his temple. He had seen too much football not to know what this moment meant. The Mestalla, a place of fire, of rebellion, of impossible dreams¡ªstood still. Not even the angriest of fans could summon a curse. Not even the most faithful could find a prayer. Because deep down, they all knew. This was slipping away. The Champions League dream. The miracle season. Everything. Fweeeeee, Fweeeeeeeeeeeeee The whistle blew, but nobody moved. The players trudged toward the tunnel, heads lowered, bodies heavy, like condemned men walking toward their fate. The crowd remained seated, staring blankly ahead, as if afraid that standing would make it real. Some buried their faces in scarves. Some whispered curses at the wind. Some simply sat there, unmoving, as the screen above the stadium showed what they all feared most: Athletic Bilbao 2-0 Rayo Vallecano. They weren¡¯t just losing. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. They were losing everything. And yet¡ªon the bench, amid the wreckage, amid the silent surrender of an entire stadium, there was one who did not move. Izan. He did not slump forward like the others. He did not rub his face in frustration. He did not break. Instead, he sat still. His gaze locked onto the pitch, his fingers laced together. Because while the Mestalla whispered of doom, while the ghosts of past failures wrapped their hands around the throats of those on the field, Izan knew something they did not. This game. This night. This moment. It would come to him. Chapter 257: Five Finals[Introduction] Fweeeeee, Fweeeeeeeeeeeeee The whistle blew, but nobody moved. The players trudged toward the tunnel, heads lowered, bodies heavy, like condemned men walking toward their fate. The crowd remained seated, staring blankly ahead as if afraid that standing would make it real. Some buried their faces in scarves. Some whispered curses at the wind. Some simply sat there, unmoving, as the screen above the stadium showed what they all feared most: Athletic Bilbao 2-0 Rayo Vallecano. They weren¡¯t just losing. They were losing everything. And yet¡ªon the bench, amid the wreckage, amid the silent surrender of an entire stadium, there was one who did not move. Izan. He did not slump forward like the others. He did not rub his face in frustration. He did not break. Instead, he sat still. His gaze locked onto the pitch; his fingers laced together. Because while the Mestalla whispered of doom, while the ghosts of past failures wrapped their hands around the throats of those on the field, Izan knew something they did not. This game. This night. This moment. It would come to him. [The Dressing Room ¨C Halftime] The air inside the Valencia dressing room was suffocating. Not with heat, not with sweat, but with something worse¡ªdefeat. Some players slumped on the benches, heads buried in their hands. Others sat motionless, eyes staring at the floor as if searching for answers in the cracks. Nobody spoke. Not even a murmur. The scoreboard outside told the truth they couldn¡¯t escape: 1-2, Girona. And worse, across the country, 2-0, Athletic Bilbao. Valencia were losing the battle. The Champions League dream was evaporating. Then¡ªBaraja stepped forward. For a long moment, he said nothing. He let them sit in their misery, let the silence weigh on them like chains. Then, he took a deep breath and spoke. "I want you all to listen to me. And listen well." His voice was low but firm. A voice honed through years of battles, a voice that once roared as a player, now demanding the same fight from his men. "Look at yourselves. Look at the way you¡¯re sitting, the way you¡¯re acting. Like we¡¯ve already lost. Like the game is over, but let me tell you something¡ªit¡¯s not over. It¡¯s far from over." He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping across every face in the room. "Do you think this is how we end our season? Do you think this is how we let this story be written? That after everything we¡¯ve been through, we roll over and let Girona and Bilbao decide our fate?" Nobody answered. Some lifted their heads; some clenched their fists. Baraja nodded. Good. They were listening. "I want you to remember who you are. I want you to remember what you¡¯ve built this season. A team that fights. A team that never gives up. A team that refuses to be broken. I mean, what haven¡¯t we faced? We are Copa del Rey champions, for crying out loud. We have performed a double peat over Atletico and won against Madrid and Barca, but tonight you are not playing like that team " He pointed at Gay¨¤. "You. How many years have you worn this badge? How many times have you seen us counted out only to fight back?" Gay¨¤, jaw clenched, nodded. Baraja¡¯s eyes moved to Pepelu. "You came here to prove yourself. This is your moment to do it." Then to the rest of them. "All of you. You are playing for the fans outside, for the thousands in the stands who believe in you, even now. For this badge. This club. For the history of Mestalla!" His voice rose, fierce and unwavering. "The first half is over. It¡¯s done. But the second half is still to be written. And let me tell you something, boys¡ªyou are the ones who will write it. Nobody else." His eyes locked onto each of them, his voice sharp as a blade. "If you are going to lose, fine. But you are going to lose fighting. You are going to make Girona regret every single second they spend on that pitch. You are going to make them bleed for this win. You are going to leave them gasping for breath, praying for that final whistle. And if you do that¡ªif you give everything¡ªyou might just find that football has one last twist waiting for you." Silence. Then, a shift. A flicker in their eyes. A spark that had been missing. Baraja nodded, satisfied. He exhaled, taking a final look around before stepping toward the door. Just before he left, he glanced back. His gaze lingered on one person. Izan. The boy sat still, his expression unreadable, but his eyes¡ªthose crystal lenses told a different story. Baraja said nothing. He only nodded. Then, he left, shutting the door behind him. The players sat for a moment, breathing it in. Then, one by one, they stood. The second half awaited. ... The Mestalla, though wounded, was still standing. The Valencia players emerged from the tunnel, no longer looking like men condemned to fate but men who were about to defy it. After settling into their positions, the whistle sounded And the game reignited. The first five minutes were a storm. Valencia pressed higher, harder. The ball moved with more urgency and more aggression. There was a bite to their play, a desperation that forced Girona onto the back foot. In the 48th minute, Fran Perez proved why he was a threat. A surging run down the right ended in a low-driven cross to the near post after he escaped from his marker. Bodies were being thrown around, but Hugo Duro lunged and met the ball first time with a flick of his boot, but his shot was saved comfortably by the goalkeeper. The Mestalla groaned in agony at the chance but started clapping after Hugo Duro got up. Their team had come out of the second half firing, so they needed to be supportive to encourage them. After Valencia¡¯s threatening plays, Girona retreated to their half, hell-bent on ending the game like this despite it being only the 53rd minute. And that was never a good idea. Javi Guerra, spotting a run from Pietro, sent the ball toward the latter. The ball faltered a bit on its way towards Pietro, who had to cope with the now loose ball at the edge of the box. But he was not the only one fighting for the ball. Eric Garcia was, too, and not wanting to make a waste of the chance, he struck it with venom. Deflected! The ball looped toward the goal, past the outstretched arm of the goalkeeper before It clipped the post and bounced out. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the fans groaned at the missed chance. Another chance. Another heartbreak, but Valencia were relentless, throwing everything at Girona. It was all going fine for Valencia until that decided to happen. In the 56th minute, a misplaced pass in midfield caused a sudden break. Girona had numbers, too many to track. Savinho, who now had the ball, drove at the heart of Valencia before a sudden through ball sliced past the defense and sent Tsygankov through on goal. Mamardashvili rushed out, but the Girona man was ice-cold. A delicate chip. The ball floated through the air, slow, merciless, inevitable, before It dropped into the net. 1-3. Girona. Silence. The dream was slipping away. The fans could feel it. Some clutched their heads, others simply closed their eyes, refusing to believe. And then¡ªmovement on the Valencia bench. Baraja turned. His voice was calm but firm. "Izan. Warm up." A ripple of reaction spread through the stands. Some still believed. Others shook their heads. "Too late." "I love Izan, but this is hard to do." "Not even Izan can save this." But Izan? He didn¡¯t care. He stood, stretched, and then began to jog down the touchline. As he warmed up, the Mestalla, for the first time in a long time, watched him. Some were hopeful. Some had given up. But all of them knew one thing. If there was even the faintest ember of a miracle left tonight¡ª It had to come from him. And so, in the 64th minute, the moment arrived. Baraja called him over. One last instruction. One last nod. And then¡ªIzan stood at the edge of the pitch, waiting for the fourth official to raise the board. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The number went up. #25 ¨C Fran P¨¦rez OFF #21 ¨C Izan ON A murmur in the crowd. A flicker of curiosity. As he stepped onto the pitch, the camera caught his face. No fear. No hesitation. Just fire. He turned to the ball, his eyes scanning the field. And as the game resumed, one thought burned in his mind. This game belongs to me. A/n: Wow. It¡¯s been a while. Hope you guys are having fun while reading. So the end it her season approaches and Im excited to bring the Euro chapters. Keep on supporting the book with your Power stones, Golden tickets and Gifts as usual. Love you all and stick around. Byees Chapter 258: Five Finals [ Belter Protocol] The number went up. #25 ¨C Fran P¨¦rez OFF #21 ¨C Izan ON A murmur in the crowd. A flicker of curiosity. As he stepped onto the pitch, the camera caught his face. No fear. No hesitation. Just fire. He turned to the ball, his eyes scanning the field. And as the game resumed, one thought burned in his mind. "I¡¯m hungry". [Jk. Thought it would be funny] . . ~~~ The Mestalla was drowning in sorrow. Hope, fragile as glass, teetered on the edge of a cliff. But then¡ªIzan touched the ball. A subtle weight shift. A glance forward. Something changed. The ball rolled to his feet, and suddenly, the world around him slowed. Girona¡¯s midfielders collapsed inward, swarming, a red wall forming to smother him before he could even turn. "He¡¯s boxed in!" "No way through!" The commentators said but Izan disagreed. A delicate feint to the right, a flick to the left¡ªone defender twisted the wrong way and Izan was through. But the danger was far from over. Another Girona player lunged, boots flashing but Izan let the ball roll, waited a fraction of a second¡ªthen snapped a roulette spin, Zidane-esque, slipping between two bodies as if he belonged to another plane of existence. The Mestalla gasped. "OH, STOP IT! STOP IT, YOUNG MAN!" The commentator roared in approval. At this point, Girona¡¯s midfield had shattered like glass. Three more players. Three desperate red shirts threw themselves at him. But Izan just kept gliding through them. One step over, then two before his feet started moving like the wings of a helicopter. The Girona players retreated trying to stall for time but Izan didn¡¯t have that leisure. His right foot hovered over the ball, teasing, baiting before a sudden drop of his shoulder sent another defender stumbling. Seeing as their waiting game wouldn¡¯t work, the next came barreling in, but Izan¡ªcalm, cold, ruthless¡ªlifted the ball past him with an outrageous scoop flick. "IZAAANN. HE¡¯S TAKING SOULS OUT THERE!" The final defender stood his ground at the edge of the box slowing Izan down. The two locked eyes, the crowd holding its breath. Then¡ªan explosion of movement. A lightning-quick elastico. The defender, Eric Garcia blinked, and Izan was already past him. "OH MY WORD! THIS IS NOT NORMAL. HE NEVER WAS!" And now, there was nothing left. Just him. The ball. And Gazzaniga¡ªthe Girona goalkeeper, frozen on his line, eyes wide, unsure whether to rush out or pray. Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. His left foot is planted. His right foot swung¡ªan outside-of-the-foot rocket, slicing through the air like a comet. Gazzaniga dived but there was no way he was getting to that ball. The ball EXPLODED into the top-left corner, a firework against the night sky sending the Mestalla into a frenzy. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH MY WORD!!" "IZAAAAAAAAAN! STOP THAT! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!" "STOP THE COUNT! GIVE HIM THE PUSK¨¢S AWARD NOW!" "THAT IS OUTRAGEOUS! THAT IS A PUSK¨¢S CONTENDER! THAT IS A GOAL OF THE SEASON CONTENDER!" "WHAT HAVE WE JUST WITNESSED?!" Izan wasn¡¯t watching. He had already sprinted into the net, grabbing the ball, turning, and running back to the halfway line. The stadium was still stuck in awe. Girona¡¯s players stood frozen, their coach slack-jawed, their fans holding their heads. "Izan is not normal. We heard Pele. We heard Maradona. We hear Messi and we hear Ronaldo and now what are we hearing? Yes Izan, that¡¯s what we¡¯re hearing" "THIS KID JUST PULLED VALENCIA BACK FROM THE DEAD! It¡¯s Girona 3, Valencia 2. Can Izan bring back the hope? " Baraja, on the touchline, didn¡¯t even celebrate. He simply pointed. "Again." As Izan placed the ball at the center circle, sweat dripping, breathing heavily, fire raging in his eyes¡ª Everyone knew. This wasn¡¯t over. ...¡­. The ball rolled again, Girona restarting the game, but the air had changed. Izan was no longer playing in this match. He was conducting it. "AND HERE COMES IZAN AGAIN! LIKE A MAN POSSESSED!" The moment a Girona player received the ball, Izan was on him, snapping at heels, forcing rushed passes. And when Valencia had it? It was a mad symphony. He dropped deep to collect, turning with grace, evading pressure like he was built for it. A quick one-two with Pepelu. A darting run forward. Then a lofted outside-the-boot pass cut open the entire midfield, landing at the feet of Diego L¨®pez on the left flank. The Mestalla roared. Diego L¨®pez surged forward, Izan sprinting alongside him, demanding the return pass. The former punted into space making sure what he intended to do before going around another Girona player. " Valencia have been pumped to life. Diego Lopez now slips the pass to Izan". Izan didn¡¯t even need to take a touch¡ªa first-time flick redirected the ball toward the opposite wing, where Pietro had filled in. A Girona defender slid in but his effort came too late. Pietro brought it down, his marker scrambling before whipping in the cross. The box was chaotic with both sides fighting for possession of the ball but among them, there was a more determined player. Hugo Duro rose high! A powerful header directed at the goal but his effort was blocked off the line by the defensive heroism of Eric Garcia who looked to make up for his error against Izan earlier but it looked as if fate was playing tricks. The cleared ball bounced out only to find Izan who met it with a thunderous volley! "OH! BLOCKED AGAIN! BUT LOOK AT THE RELENTLESSNESS FROM VALENCIA!" Girona scrambled the clearance, but the Mestalla was alive again. They believed. Because Izan was making them believe. In the 75th minute, Girona tried to slow down the tempo of the game. They passed sideways, stalling, killing time but the new Valencia was not taking that for an answer. They refused and moreover, they couldn¡¯t rest when Izan was on the pitch. The latter hunted them, one by one. He forced mistakes. A misplaced pass? He was there. A loose touch? Snatched away. By the 77th minute, Girona stopped playing through the middle. Because Izan was in the middle. "GIRONA CAN¡¯T BREATHE! THEY CAN¡¯T FUNCTION!" Baraja saw it. He adjusted. "Give him the ball. Let him work." And work he did. A sudden flick behind his standing leg took out a defender, drawing "oohs" from the crowd followed by a cheeky nutmeg in midfield which sent the Mestalla into raptures. "WHAT ARE WE WATCHING?! THIS IS A ONE-MAN SHOW!" Izan had resurrected Valencia but time was ticking. They needed to win to have a sure chance but right now, they were losing. "Max, activate, Ego Crown and Pinpoint Accuracy simultaneously" Izan intentioned with a mental flex. Ding, [ Ego Crown(incomplete) activated] [Pinpoint Accuary Lv 3 activated] [Two traits Activated; Forming UNION] 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 With the system counting down, Izan spun away to receive the ball and he did after Gaya slipped the ball to him deep into his own half. A slide came from behind but Izan spun away from the challenge and rolled the ball with his studs before bolting forward. Izan moving forward kept scanning for a more defined path and the system gave him one. Settling in on a target, Izan sent a through ball. No. A laser. The ball, Diagonally split three defenders, curling perfectly into the path of Hugo Duro who bodied his marker before continuing on his run, charging at the goal like a lost bull. Duro took a touch and now he was one-on-one! The Mestalla held its breath. But his shot, well, "SAVED!" The commentator roared after Gazzaniga pushed the ball away. Gasps. Hands in hair. Hugo Duro clutched his head in disbelief. Izan? No reaction. He grabbed Duro by the shoulders. "Again." And so, they went again. Valencia attacked in waves. But Girona would not break. Until they did. Izan received the ball near the edge of the box, a Girona defender lunging in desperately but Izan dragged the ball past him escaping them before they could encircle him. Another defender charged but Izan knocked it past him and turned the other way. Hugo Duro saw the opening. He darted into the gap, and Izan fed him instantly. Duro took a touch, winding up for a shot but¡ª CRACK. The tackle came from behind. Hugo Duro collapsed onto the ground clutching his ankle. The whistle blew. The Mestalla EXPLODED. "FREE KICK! FREE KICK FOR VALENCIA!" The referee stood over the scene, already reaching for his pocket¡ªa yellow card for the Girona defender. But nobody cared. Because the ball was now being cradled in one player¡¯s hands. Izan. The Mestalla knew. They had seen him do it before. And now, they could see it again. ... Izan placed the ball down, his fingers pressing into the leather, feeling its weight, its shape. It had to be perfect. He took two steps back, then another. His eyes lifted, scanning the goal, the wall, the goalkeeper. The distance didn¡¯t matter. The pressure didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered except the strike. The Mestalla had fallen into a hush, the kind of silence that wasn¡¯t silence at all. It was anticipation, thick and electric. A thousand murmurs held in breaths. Baraja stood still, arms crossed. Not in doubt. Not in fear. But in understanding. He had played this game long enough to know what was about to happen. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Across the pitch, the Girona goalkeeper shuffled on his line, squinting at Izan, trying to read his intent. The wall was set¡ªfour men strong, bodies rigid. They knew. They all knew. This was his moment. Izan took one last breath before issuing a slight command to the system. "Max, load the previous template," Izan said earning a slight buzz from the system. Ding, [ Belter protocol loading] After hearing this, Izan looked back at the Goalkeeper. Then, he moved. One step. Two. Three. Then¡ª Chapter 259: Five Final [Curtain Closes] Izan took one last breath before issuing a slight command to the system. "Max, load the previous template," Izan said earning a slight buzz from the system. Ding, [ Belter protocol loading] After hearing this, Izan looked back at the Goalkeeper who was still arranging his wall. After making sure everything was set, the referee came back and stood behind Izan before sounding his whistle. Then, he moved. One step. Two. Three. Then¡ª Izan¡¯s final step sent his foot slicing through the ball with the precision of an artist¡¯s brushstroke¡ªpure, vicious, and absolute. The strike was unlike any other. The ball did not float. It did not curl lazily over the wall. It ripped through the air with a violent whip, bending outside the post only to return like a guided missile. The goalkeeper barely reacted. His eyes tracked it, his body tensed, but his feet¡ªrooted. Because this shot was impossible. It dipped. It curved. It accelerated as if time itself had broken. The fans couldn¡¯t believe what they were seeing. The ball which was streaking towards the stands had now turned towards goal. Under the gazes of the whole Mestalla crowd. The ball kissed the underside of the crossbar, rattling the net with a sound so sweet, so devastating, that for a second¡ªjust a second¡ªthe Mestalla froze. Then¡ª BEDLAM. ¡ª¡ª "?GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!" The entire stadium detonated in a frenzy of limbs and voices. Fans leaped onto their seats, scarves waved frantically in the air, voices raw from screaming. The sound wasn¡¯t just loud. It was earth-shaking. It was history being written in real-time. It was faith restored. A man in the front row collapsed to his knees, hands in his hair, disbelieving. Children screamed their hero¡¯s name. Flares ignited in the stands, orange light flickering against the chaos. In the coaching box, Baraja clenched his fist but barely moved. He had seen legends before. He had played with them. And now, he was watching one being made! Girona on the other hand, were stunned to silence, particularly their fans. One moment they were two goals up and the next, they were level. On the pitch, Girona¡¯s players stood as if struck by lightning. Hands on hips. Knees slightly bent. Wide eyes tracking the ball inside the net¡ªas if refusing to believe. The goalkeeper, Gazzaniga, still hadn¡¯t moved. He stood frozen, arms limp, head tilted back in sheer exasperation. One of the defenders, Daley Blind, ran both hands down his face, muttering curses into his gloves. Another simply crouched down, staring at the grass, shaking his head. Their manager? He didn¡¯t even shout. Didn¡¯t protest. He just turned away, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek. Because what could you even say to that? For the other side though, it was pure euphoria. Hugo Duro sprinted toward Izan first, arms wide, screaming. "?LOCO! ?LOCO! ?ERES UN LOCO, T¨ªO!" (Crazy! Crazy! You¡¯re insane, man!) Fran P¨¦rez, from the bench, tackled him to the ground with Diego L¨®pez on top, the entire squad piling in. Gaya screamed into the night sky, pounding his chest as if trying to tear his jersey apart. Players ran from the bench, substitutes were barely able to contain themselves. It wasn¡¯t just a goal. It was a declaration Commentator 1: "NOOOOOOO. NO. NO. NO. WHAT HAVE WE JUST SEEN?! THIS IS MADNESS! THIS IS¡ªTHIS IS PURE, UNFILTERED, UNREAL MADNESS!" Commentator 2: "I CAN¡¯T BELIEVE IT. I CAN¡¯T¡ªHE¡¯S DONE IT AGAIN! HE¡¯S DONE IT AGAIN, THIS KID IS NOT HUMAN!" Commentator 1: "MY HANDS ARE TREMBLING. LOOK AT THE STADIUM! LOOK AT MESTALLA! THIS IS FOOTBALL. THIS IS¡ªNO, THIS IS LEGENDARY!" Izan after escaping from the pile of bodies, ran again. He sprinted to the corner flag, arms spread wide, before leaping into the air, legs kicked forward, fists clenched as he ROARED at the top of his lungs. He landed, turned, and pointed both fingers to the sky. Then¡ªhe ripped his shirt off. The crowd lost it. Teammates swarmed him, again, shaking him, slapping his back. The referee jogged over, a yellow card already in hand. Didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered except the ball and the comeback. As the chaos still rippled through the stadium, Izan, now turned and walked straight into the net, retrieving the ball with calm, measured steps. He turned. Ran back. Placing the ball at the center circle. His chest rose and fell, sweat dripping, body still vibrating from adrenaline. His eyes burned. Valencia 3 ¨C 3 Girona. The time? 82:54. The mission? Win. The match restarted, Girona knocking the ball around cautiously, trying to reset, to breathe. But Izan did not let them and it wasn¡¯t only him though. The Valencia team attacked as a whole forcing amateurish mistakes from the Girona players. They were on them. Like a shadow that clung too close, too tight. The moment Girona¡¯s midfield hesitated, Valencia pounced. A loose touch? Gone. A slow pass? Intercepted. A moment of doubt? Punished. The Mestalla could sense it¡ªthe momentum shifting, the scales tilting, the feeling that something inevitable was about to unfold. ... Minute 85, Izan picked up the ball deep, in his own half, surrounded. Girona¡¯s press tightened, swarming him, desperate to shut him down. But Izan had already mapped the exits. A quick pirouette, then a chop between two lunging defenders. The ball stuck to his foot like it was tied with an invisible string. One touch. Two. And then, Ding, [Speedster trait activated]¡ª HE WAS OFF. A burst of acceleration sent him tearing through the lines, dodging tackles, leaving defenders in his wake. Reaching the edge of the box, Izan looked for his number but seeing as he couldn¡¯t find any, he let the ball fly at the Girona goal. BOOM. Outside the box. An absolute cannon off his right foot, bending, swerving, destined for the bottom corner. "IZAN GOES FOR GOAL¡ª!" But Gazzaniga, somehow, somehow, clawed it away. "Gazzaniga denies him! How?! How has he saved that?!" The Mestalla screamed in frustration. Hands yanked through hair. Fans leaped, then collapsed back into their seats, disbelief painted across their faces. Izan clenched his fists. But he did not stop. In the 87th minute, Valencia got another chance. Another strike. Izan once again, curled one from 30 yards, the ball dipping, the crowd already halfway into celebration but before they could celebrate¡ª CLANG. The post. A cruel, metallic ring that sent hearts dropping. Girona scrambled to clear while Izan watched the ball bounce away. He wiped his mouth. Still no reaction. He simply turned and pointed at Gaya who had given the pass before showing a thumbs-up sign. From behind, Gaya looked at Izan who was reminiscent of a war hero. "Izan is playing like a man possessed! He wants this! Valencia want this! But fate is toying with them!" ...¡­ The Mestalla had seen many great nights, but this? This felt different. It was as if the very air carried something heavy, something inevitable. Valencia were throwing everything forward. The four minutes of added time had begun ticking down, but Valencia did not rush blindly. They hunted with purpose. They moved like a team possessed, a team with a singular belief¡ªa goal was coming. And at the heart of it all was Izan. A quick combination with Pietro released the latter but he quickly returned the ball back to Izan. Then, Izan to Diego L¨®pez. A flick. Diego L¨®pez to Gay¨¤. A one-two, then a cut inside. Girona¡¯s defense Waa being stretched to its limit. Bodies in white and red scrambled, lunging, hacking, throwing themselves into desperate blocks. The Mestalla screamed for a breakthrough. Jose Gaya pulled his foot back and struck the ball but a foot was stuck out! The ball deflected, looping high into the air. Time slowed. The fans held their breath. The defenders turned, tracking it. For a second, it seemed like Girona¡¯s Eric Garcia would get there first. But then¡ª Izan appeared. Like a ghost slipping into the moment. His body twisted mid-air¡ªadjusting¡ªpreparing. And then¡ª BOOM. A SCISSOR KICK. A connection so pure, so violent, the ball exploded off his foot. The Mestalla froze. The shot was a bullet. Gazzaniga dove. Fingertips stretched. But it wasn¡¯t enough. "OH MY GOD! OHHHH MY GOD! THAT IS NOT NORMAL! THAT IS NOT NORMAL! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN WE NEEDED YOU. THEY ASKED FOR HIM AND NOW HE HAS GIVEN IT" "HERNANDEZ IZAN MIURA¡­ WITH THE GREATEST GOAL YOU WILL EVER SEE IN FOOTBALL! THE MESTALLA IS SHAKING! THE ROOF IS GONE! IZAN¡¯S HATTRICK MIGHT WELL AND TRULY SEND VALENCIA TO CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FOOTBALL" Limbs. Everywhere. Chaos. In the stadium, grown men wept. Some collapsed into their seats, hands on their heads, eyes wet, muttering "No puede ser¡­ no puede ser¡­" Others leaped over rails, seats, and bodies¡ªpure pandemonium. The away section? Silent. Stunned Girona fans sat motionless, mouths slightly open, faces blank. On the pitch, Gazzaniga lay still. Staring at the sky. Beaten. Completely, utterly beaten. ¡ª¡ª- In bars across Valencia¡ª Beer spilled. Tables knocked over. Shouting, hugging, disbelief. At a small caf¨¦ in Izan¡¯s hometown, a group of old men watching on a flickering television stood frozen, their breath held just a little longer. In a quiet living room, Komi pressed both hands to her face, her heart hammering, while Hori screamed, jumping onto the couch. ¡ª¡ª Izan didn¡¯t think. Didn¡¯t care. He ripped his jersey off, veins bulging, fists clenched, a roar from the depths of his soul. Mestalla screamed back at him. A king. A warrior. His teammates mobbed him, bodies piling onto him, hands pulling at his hair, slapping his back, shaking him, screaming into his face. The cameras captured it all. The veins on his neck. The sweat dripped down his bare chest. The fire in his eyes. But then¡ª The whistle. The referee walked over, expression blank. A card. Yellow. A second one. Then red. Izan stood there, breathing hard. The realization hit. Sent off. For a second, a flicker of something¡ªshock, maybe amusement. Then? A grin. He turned to the fans. Lifted both arms. And soaked it all in. Because tonight? Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This was his kingdom. Chapter 260: Europe!!, Here Valencia Come. In Bilbao, the Athletic Club locker room had been a scene of unfiltered celebration. They had done their part¡ªbeating Rayo Vallecano 3-0 with a dominant performance. Oihan Sancet had stolen the show with a brace, and the players basked in the glory of what they believed to be a season-defining moment. "Champions League football, boys!" I?aki Williams had shouted, his voice hoarse from shouting, his arms around his brother Nico. The coaching staff, players, and even club officials had joined in, smiles, laughter, and backslaps all around. Then, the news came. It started as a murmur, a background noise from the television mounted in the corner of the locker room. Some staff were still tracking live scores, but no one really paid attention¡ªuntil the commentator¡¯s voice cut through the celebrations like a blade. "Wait, wait, WAIT! STOP EVERYTHING! THIS CAN¡¯T BE REAL! VALENCIA HAVE SCORED AGAIN! OH. MY. WORD. THEY LEAD 4-3 AT MESTALLA! HERN¨¢NDEZ IZAN MIURA, THE TEENAGE SENSATION, HAS COMPLETED HIS HAT TRICK!" Silence. Dead silence. I?aki, halfway through a sip of water, froze. Nico turned sharply toward the screen. Oihan Sancet¡¯s smile faded. Dani Vivian¡¯s fingers, which had been untying his boots, clenched. The realization hit. Valencia weren¡¯t just winning. They were overtaking Athletic Bilbao. On head-to-head. The celebrations stopped instantly, replaced by tension. Players shuffled closer to the screen, staring, disbelieving. "No¡­ No way," Oihan muttered, standing up. "It was 3-1." "How?!" Dani Garc¨ªa barked, shaking his head. "How the hell is this possible?!" The television replayed Izan¡¯s scissor kick goal in slow motion, the Mestalla vibrating with madness. The Valencia players piling onto their young talisman. The sheer delirium in the stands. The commentator¡¯s voice, still cracking from disbelief. "MIURA HERN¨¢NDEZ IZAN! REMEMBER THE NAME! HE HAS SINGLE-HANDEDLY DRAGGED VALENCIA TO THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE!" Then, the red card. Izan, shirtless, veins bulging, arms spread wide. The second yellow. The sending-off. But none of it mattered. He had done it. And with that goal, Valencia had done it. The camera panned to Athletic Bilbao¡¯s points tally. 74. Then, to Valencia¡¯s. 74. I?aki¡¯s fingers tightened around the water bottle before he crushed it, sending water spilling onto the floor. "This¡­ this is a joke, right?" Nico asked, his voice quieter now. But there was no joke. No mistake. No more hope. Valencia had stolen the final Champions League spot right out of their hands. Coach Ernesto Valverde, who had been standing at the doorway watching the reaction unfold, let out a slow, tired breath. He ran a hand through his hair, expression unreadable. They weren¡¯t just watching a football match anymore. They were watching their fate slip away. But in Mestalla, the war was still raging. Izan had walked off, jersey in hand, sweat glistening on his skin under the floodlights. His expression was unreadable. His night was over. Yet, his job was done. He had carried Valencia back from the dead. Now, it was up to the remaining ten men to defend the dream he had ignited. As he neared the tunnel, the Mestalla rose for him. Applause. Chants. A standing ovation that shook the very foundation of the stadium. "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" Baraja met him near the dugout, grabbing his shoulders. "You¡¯re incredible Izan. Thank you," he whispered, his voice drowned out by the chaos. Izan simply nodded with a smile before leaving. Then, the whistle. The restart. Valencia¡ªdown to ten men. Girona¡ªthrowing everything forward. These final minutes weren¡¯t just football. They were war. Girona came like a hurricane. Savinho, furious from the earlier tackle, tore down the left wing, skipping past Correira with terrifying speed. He cut inside, lifted his head¡ªand saw Dovbyk peeling away at the back post. The cross came in. Mestalla gasped. Dovbyk met it with his forehead, drilling it down into the ground, the ball bouncing toward the corner of the net. Mamardashvili however sprang like a panther¡ª A full-stretch save! The rebound fell to Tsygankov who struck it but once again, BLOCKED BY MOSQUERA! Bodies flew everywhere, desperate defending, the ball hacked clear while the Mestalla roared.Three more minutes. Under pressure, Valencia gave a corner to Girona. Another chance. The away fans behind the goal stood, arms raised, praying. Even Gazzaniga, their goalkeeper, rushed forward. One last throw of the dice. The ball swung in¡ª Headed away once more! But it fell to Aleix Garc¨ªa at the edge of the box¡ª AND HE HIT IT FIRST TIME. A rocket. A thunderbolt. Straight for goal¡ª But in the middle of it all¡ª GAY¨¤ THREW HIMSELF AT IT! The captain. The leader. His body took the full brunt of the shot, the ball smashing against his ribs and ricocheting away. Mestalla screamed in admiration. Gay¨¤ didn¡¯t move for a second. The shot had knocked the wind out of him. His teammates pulled him up, slapping his back, shouting encouragement. He clenched his fists, nodded, and turned back toward the fight. The clock struck 90+4 This was it. Girona had one final attack. The ball was worked to Savinho again after the throw-in. One-on-one with Mosquera who had been subbed on for Diego Lopez to provide more defensive coverage. A quick step-over, then a sudden burst of speed forced Mosquera to lunge but Savinho skipped past him! The latter was now right inside the box. The Mestalla held its breath. A single pass would equal a goal and he knew it. Savinho squared it¡ª DOVBYK WAS THERE¡ª But before he could strike¡ª CENK OZKACAR LAUNCHED HIMSELF FORWARD¡ª CLEARING THE BALL. The referee looked at his watch¡ª the Mestalla held it breath. One last glance¡ª AND BLEW THE FINAL WHISTLE! FULL TIME! VALENCIA HAD DONE IT! ¡ª The stadium ERUPTED. Bodies collapsed onto the pitch¡ªsome in exhaustion, some in pure disbelief. Gay¨¤ fell to his knees, fists clenched, eyes wet. Mosquera pounded the ground in triumph. Mamardashvili sprinted, screaming toward the stands. The fans? A sea of arms. Of tears. Of limbs flailing in madness. Beer thrown. Flares lit. Grown men weeping into their scarves. The dream was real. After years of suffering. After being left for dead. After all the doubt, all the struggle¡ª Valencia were going to the Champions League. ¡ª- Back in Bilbao, no one spoke. The television showed Mestalla shaking, and the Valencia players celebrating. The Athletic players simply sat there, staring. Some rubbed their faces. Others just exhaled. I?aki threw his water bottle against the wall. It exploded, water spilling everywhere. They had lost. They had been overtaken in the standings now, despite having the 3-point gap earlier in the live standings. Their dream had been snatched away in the cruelest, most dramatic fashion possible. And it was all because of one kid. Izan. ¡ª As the Valencia players celebrated, Izan reappeared from the tunnel. Jersey still off. Sweat glistening. The crowd saw him¡ª And the chants returned. "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" Izan seeing this, sprinted onto the pitch, arms spread wide as he leapt into the celebration. His teammates engulfed him, hands slapping his back, ruffling his hair, and screaming in his ears. Mestalla was shaking. The noise was deafening, the stands a crowd of bodies jumping, scarves swinging, tears streaming down faces. Hugo Guillam¨®n grabbed Izan¡¯s shoulders, his voice hoarse from shouting, "You¡¯re insane, hermano!" Mosquera pulled him into a hug. "I don¡¯t know how you did it, but I swear I¡¯ll never forget this night." Gay¨¤, exhausted, still kneeling on the grass, looked up at him with an emotional smile. "This is your kingdom now, chaval." The cameras caught it all¡ªthe raw, unfiltered joy, the disbelief, the historic moment that would be replayed for years. Valencia CF, written off at the start of the season, were back in the Champions League. ¡ª Inside the locker room, the air was thick with sweat, exhaustion, and pure euphoria. Players slumped into their seats, their bodies drained but their spirits high. Beer bottles clinked. Water sprayed. Someone blasted music from the speakers. Baraja, standing near the center, watched it all with a proud, almost fatherly expression. He clapped his hands once, signaling for silence. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The players turned to him, some still grinning, some still catching their breath. "I don¡¯t even know what to say," Baraja began, shaking his head with a smile. "But what you¡¯ve done today, what we¡¯ve done this entire season¡­ it¡¯s special. No one gave us a chance. No one believed we would make it this far. But look at us now." He paused, letting the moment sink in. "For years, Valencia has suffered. For years, we¡¯ve been fighting just to stay afloat. But tonight, we¡¯ve brought this club back where it belongs." Applause. A few shouts of agreement. Baraja turned toward Izan, who was leaning against his locker, arms folded, listening. "And Izan¡­" The room quieted. Baraja exhaled, shaking his head in admiration. "I don¡¯t think there are words for what you¡¯ve done tonight. For what you¡¯ve done all season. But I¡¯ll say this¡ªyou¡¯ve not only given Valencia Champions League football. You¡¯ve given me my first European experience as a coach." The players cheered, clapping, some chanting Izan¡¯s name again. Izan, ever composed, simply nodded, his usual smirk appearing. "Just doing my job, m¨ªster." Laughter. More cheers. Baraja smiled. "Then keep doing it. Because this is just the beginning." [Author-san: SMH] The celebrations continued, but in the back of everyone¡¯s mind, they knew¡ª This wasn¡¯t the end of the story. It was only the start of something far, far greater. Chapter 261: The Press[Massage chair by Nameyelus] The players cheered, clapping, some chanting Izan¡¯s name again. Izan, ever composed, simply nodded, his usual smirk appearing. "Just doing my job, m¨ªster." Laughter. More cheers. Baraja smiled. "Then keep doing it. Because this is just the beginning." [SMH] The celebrations continued, but in the back of everyone¡¯s mind, they knew¡ª This wasn¡¯t the end of the story. It was only the start of something far, far greater. .... S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The press room was overflowing. Journalists packed every seat, some even standing at the back, cameras ready, microphones extended. The tension and excitement were palpable¡ªthis wasn¡¯t just another post-match interview. It was a historic moment for Valencia CF, and everyone wanted answers. Rub¨¦n Baraja entered, still in his suit, still visibly emotional. His hair was slightly damp¡ªeither from sweat or the water and beer showers in the locker room. As he took his seat, the murmurs died down. He adjusted the mic, glanced at the sea of reporters in front of him, and nodded to the press officer standing to his left. "Let¡¯s begin," the press officer said. The first hand shot up immediately. ¡ª "Rub¨¦n, first of all, congratulations. This is an incredible achievement. You¡¯ve taken Valencia from a team struggling in mid-table to the Champions League. Can you put into words what this means for you, for the club, and for the fans?" Baraja exhaled, tapping his fingers on the table for a moment before speaking. "It¡¯s difficult to describe. When I arrived, the club was in a difficult place. There were doubts, there was fear, and there was a lack of belief. But from day one, I told the players that Valencia is too big to settle for mediocrity. That we had to fight, to suffer, to dream again. And tonight, we¡¯ve done it. We¡¯ve made history." His voice softened slightly as he continued. "This is for the fans. For those who have suffered through these recent difficult years. For those who kept coming to Mestalla, who kept believing in the badge even when things looked hopeless. This is their moment. This club belongs in the Champions League. And now, we¡¯re back." The room erupted into furious note-taking, the sound of fingers hammering keyboards filling the air. Before long, another journalist quickly took the floor. ¡ª "Tonight¡¯s match will be remembered for many reasons, but above all, it will be remembered for one name¡ªHern¨¢ndez Izan Miura. What do you make of his performance? What does he mean to this team?" Baraja smiled, shaking his head slightly as if still processing what he had just witnessed. "What can I say?" He chuckled. "Izan is different. You don¡¯t see players like him often. What he did tonight¡ªit wasn¡¯t normal. We were dead. The game was slipping away. And then, with a teenager leading the charge, we turned it around. He has something special. That fire, that courage, that belief. It¡¯s not just talent¡ªit¡¯s mentality. Big players show up when it matters most, and Izan showed up in a way that very few can. He¡¯s only 16, but he plays like he¡¯s been doing this for years. And that¡¯s the scary part¡ªthis is just the beginning." After he finished answering, another reporter quickly raised a hand and cut in. "With all due respect, coach, performances like these will attract attention from big clubs across Europe. Do you believe Valencia can keep him next season?" Baraja¡¯s expression hardened slightly. He expected this question. Everyone did. "We are building something here," he said firmly. "This isn¡¯t just about one season. Valencia is his home. He loves this club. The fans adore him. And now, we¡¯re in the Champions League. That¡¯s where players like Izan belong. Of course, in football, anything can happen. But if you ask me? He is staying." The conviction in his voice was unmistakable. ¡ª "Speaking of the Champions League, what are Valencia¡¯s ambitions for next season? Can this team compete at that level?" Another journalist intercepted. Baraja leaned back slightly, nodding. "The Champions League is another level, we know that. But Valencia has a rich history in Europe. This is not a small club. We¡¯re not just going there to participate. We¡¯re going there to compete. Will it be difficult? Yes. But we have a young, hungry squad. We will reinforce, we will prepare, and we will be ready. The most important thing is that we¡¯ve given this club back its identity. We¡¯ve shown that Valencia can dream again." The people and the room put pen to paper while some wrote on their electronic devices. After they were done, the conference continued. "You¡¯ve built a strong foundation, but as you mentioned, reinforcements will be necessary. What areas do you believe need strengthening?" Baraja rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That¡¯s something we¡¯ll discuss internally with the board and the sporting director. But of course, we know where we need to improve. We need depth. The Champions League is unforgiving, and we need to have a squad capable of handling both La Liga and Europe. The key is to find players who fit our philosophy¡ªplayers with hunger, with character, with quality. We¡¯re not just looking for names. We¡¯re looking for warriors." ¡ª "One last question about Izan¡ªSpain has the Euros coming up. Do you believe he deserves a spot in the national team?" Baraja smiled knowingly. He had expected this one. "That¡¯s a question for Luis de la Fuente," he said, lifting his hands slightly. "But if you ask me? Look at what he¡¯s done. Look at how he plays. Of course, I think he has the quality. But it¡¯s not my decision. The national team coach will make his choices based on what he thinks is best. What I do know is that Izan will keep working, and keep improving. Whether it¡¯s now or in the future, his time with La Roja will come." ¡ª The press officer signaled that time was almost up, but one last question was allowed. "Rub¨¦n, this is your first full season in charge. And now, you¡¯ve taken Valencia to the Champions League. What does this mean for you personally? And how do you reflect on your journey so far?" Baraja paused. His eyes flickered with emotion. "When I played for Valencia, I felt what this club means. I experienced the highs, the lows, the magic of Mestalla. Now, as a coach, I feel it even more deeply. This is my club. My home. And to be the one leading this team back to where it belongs¡ªit¡¯s a feeling I can¡¯t describe. But this is just the beginning. Valencia is back, and we¡¯re not stopping here." ¡ª With that, the press conference ended. Baraja rose from his seat, nodding to the reporters before making his way out. But as he stepped into the tunnel, the chants from the stadium could still be heard faintly in the distance. "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" A small smile crossed his face. This was only the start of something far, far greater. ...¡­. The night in Valencia stretched deep into the early hours, the city still trembling with celebration. Mestalla had long emptied, but the echoes of its madness lingered in the streets. Thousands of fans had flooded the roads, honking, chanting, setting off fireworks¡ªthis was a night they would never forget. Inside the team bus, the Valencia players sat in varying states of exhaustion. Some leaned against the windows, watching the city blur past, while others scrolled through their phones, already seeing their names trending domestically and somewhat internationally too. Izan sat near the back, his body finally feeling the weight of the match. He had given everything and emptied himself on the pitch, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, all that remained was sheer exhaustion. His phone vibrated nonstop with messages¡ªhis mom, his sister Hori, Olivia, teammates, journalists, agents. A text from Olivia stood out. Olivia: Superstar. You¡¯re insane. Enjoy this moment and Call me when you can. He smirked but didn¡¯t reply yet. Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes as the voices of his teammates faded into the background. Baraja, sitting near the front, glanced back at his squad. The satisfaction was evident on his face. They had done the impossible, brought the club back to the Champions League. But he also knew¡ªthis was just the beginning. The bus pulled up at the training ground, where players collected their cars to head home. Izan walked toward his own, greeted by Komi and Hori waiting for him. His mother wrapped him in a tight hug, while his sister punched his arm playfully. "You¡¯re a menace, you know that?" Hori grinned. "You¡¯ve made half of Spain either love you or hate you tonight." Izan chuckled. "That¡¯s football." As they got into the car, Komi placed a hand on his. "We¡¯re proud of you. No matter what happens next." He nodded. No matter what happened next. Because now, the footballing world was shifting its attention to something even bigger. A/n: Extra chapter sponsored by nameyelus. Thanks for the massage chair and have fan reading. [Get it cause you¡¯re a fan and you have fun but then fan..... Ok I¡¯ll stop good night from here] Chapter 262: Outside Spain. The bus pulled up at the training ground, where players collected their cars to head home. Izan walked toward his own, greeted by Komi and Hori waiting for him. His mother wrapped him in a tight hug, while his sister punched his arm playfully. "You¡¯re a menace, you know that?" Hori grinned. "You¡¯ve made half of Spain either love you or hate you tonight." Izan chuckled. "That¡¯s football." As they got into the car, Komi placed a hand on his. "We¡¯re proud of you. No matter what happens next." He nodded. No matter what happened next. Because now, the footballing world was shifting its attention to something even bigger. ..... The next morning, Valencia awoke to a new reality¡ªone shaped by triumph, by history, by the name that now echoed across Spain and beyond. Izan had done the impossible. At just 17, he had claimed the Pichichi Trophy, sharing the top scorer title with Girona¡¯s Artem Dovbyk at 24 goals, while also leading the league in assists with 17. A season like this was unprecedented. A teenager, in his first full campaign at the top level, dominating La Liga from start to finish. Mestalla was still standing, but barely. The city had shaken overnight, the streets flooded with jubilant fans, their chants, their fireworks, their disbelief turning into roars of celebration. Valencia was back in the Champions League, and now, they had a superstar leading them into a new era. And the footballing world had taken notice. Headlines flooded sports media: ? MARCA: "Izan makes history: Youngest Pichichi in LaLiga history, Valencia¡¯s new icon." ? AS: "A Golden Boy season: Izan dominates La Liga at just 17." ? Mundo Deportivo: "Barcelona, Madrid, and Europe take notice¡ªCan Valencia keep Izan?" ? The Athletic: "Izan¡¯s season by the numbers: A generational talent emerges." Even LaLiga¡¯s official Twitter account posted a tribute: "Hern¨¢ndez Izan Miura. 17 years old. 24 goals. 17 assists. Youngest Pichichi ever. A season for the ages." The response was immediate and Clubs, legends, pundits¡ªall eyes turned to Valencia¡¯s crown jewel. ? Cesc F¨¤bregas: "Izan is different. At 17, to dominate like this? Unreal. Future Ballon d¡¯Or winner if he keeps this up." ? Rio Ferdinand: "Not many players have that it factor. Izan has it. A natural-born star." ? Gary Lineker: "This kid is special. To do what he¡¯s done in La Liga, at this age? Phenomenal." ? Fernando Morientes: "Reminds me of the greats. Valencia has a diamond." While the football world erupted, Izan¡¯s Valencia teammates flooded social media with their own tributes. Jos¨¦ Gay¨¤ (@JoseGaya_14): "What a season. This kid is special. We are lucky to have you, @IzanMiura!" Javi Guerra (@JaviGuerra8): "We all knew he was crazy, but 24 goals and 17 assists?? That¡¯s next level. Proud of you, hermano @IzanMiura." Hugo Guillam¨®n (@HugoGuilla24): "Youngest Pichichi ever. If you don¡¯t respect his name now, I don¡¯t know what to tell you. @IzanMiura ????." Even in the Valencia team chat, the messages poured in: Gay¨¤: "Take a bow, Miura. Historic." Thierry Correia: "Pichichi at 17? Insane. Dinner on you when we get back." Mamadou Diakhaby: "If he¡¯s like this at 17, imagine in five years¡­" Pepelu: "If you leave Valencia, we riot." Izan, as always, kept it simple. Izan: "Just getting started." But It wasn¡¯t just Valencia. Other young stars¡ªhis closest football friends¡ªalso sent their congratulations. Pedri (@Pedri): "You keep breaking records, hermano. Time to celebrate soon. ????????" Jude Bellingham (@BellinghamJude): "Absolute madness. Happy for you, bro. Enjoy it!" Lamine Yamal (@Lamine_Yamal): "Pichichi at 17?! Wish I could do that. Nah, that¡¯s not normal. Let¡¯s link up soon." Antony7(@Antony7): Wow. Someone¡¯s here to challenge my throne. As his phone kept buzzing, Izan finally posted his own message to the world. Izan Miura (@IzanHernadez): "Pichichi. Assist leader. Champions League. History. Gracias, Valencia. This is just the beginning though so buckle up for another season" The post exploded¡ªmillions of likes, thousands of comments, the world reacting to the birth of football¡¯s next global superstar. A day later, Izan was thousands of feet above the ground, watching the endless blue stretch beneath the plane. Beside him, Komi was flipping through a magazine, while Hori had her headphones in, scrolling through her phone. The flight to Tokyo was long, but Izan didn¡¯t mind. This wasn¡¯t just any trip¡ªthis was home. His mother¡¯s home. His home, in a way. The place where his roots lay, even if Spain was where he had grown into the player the world now recognized. He had been to Japan the year before but not like this. Not as the biggest name in Spanish football right now. His phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced down. Olivia. Olivia: Superstar. Can¡¯t believe you¡¯re actually gone already. Izan: You make it sound like I left for war. Olivia: Might as well have. Feels like you¡¯re gonna be gone forever. He smirked, shaking his head. They had spent all of last night talking, yet she still made it seem like he had vanished off the planet. Olivia: I should¡¯ve come with you. Izan exhaled, adjusting his seat. They had talked about this¡ªshe wanted to come, but it wasn¡¯t possible this time. Izan: Next time, I¡¯ll bring you. Olivia: Promise? Izan: I promise. There was a pause before she replied. Olivia: Good. Because I¡¯m holding you to it. He smiled, locking his phone and leaning his head back. Tokyo was still hours away. But he knew¡ªthis trip wasn¡¯t just about rest. It was about something deeper. Because when he returned? The next battle awaited. ...¡­.. The plane touched down at Narita International Airport just as the afternoon sun bathed the runway in golden light. Izan stretched in his seat, rolling his shoulders as the announcement crackled overhead. Beside him, Hori blinked awake, rubbing her eyes, while Komi closed her magazine with a soft sigh. "Finally," Hori muttered. "Longest flight of my life." Izan smirked. "It wasn¡¯t that bad." She shot him a glare. "Says the guy who slept for half of it." As they disembarked, the familiar rush of warm, humid Tokyo air hit them. It was different from Spain¡ªthicker, heavier, filled with a scent Izan couldn¡¯t quite place but had known since childhood. Their grandparents were waiting just outside the arrival gates. The moment Komi spotted them, her face softened, her eyes shining with something deep, something nostalgic. "Kaasan," she whispered before quickly walking forward. Their grandmother, a petite woman with silver-streaked hair, broke into a warm smile, pulling Komi into a tight embrace. "Hont¨­ ni hisashiburi," she murmured. (It¡¯s been so long.) Their grandfather stood behind her, taller, quieter, his expression unreadable for a moment¡ªuntil he saw Izan. Then, a slow nod of approval. Before they could continue, Izan¡¯s grandmother roared. "Why are you acting like you are the main character of the novel? Come and hug your grandkids you old sag." The words caused people to turn in their direction but Izan¡¯s grandmother didn¡¯t care. Their grandfather under the roar of their grandmother obediently approached and hugged them while looking at her wife like he wanted some sort of approval but she didn¡¯t bat an eye. Komi and Hori laughed while Izan stood in the back, a smile etched on his face. With his family, he wasn¡¯t "Izan, the footballer" but a son, a brother, and a grandson. ...¡­. The drive through Tokyo felt natural¡ªlike slipping into a well-worn routine. They had been here just last year, but somehow, Japan always felt new and old at the same time. Their grandparents welcomed them with warm smiles and familiar embraces, their small traditional house just as they had left it. The wooden veranda, the neatly arranged tatami mats, the faint scent of tea brewing in the air¡ªit was all the same. "You¡¯ve grown," their grandfather observed, eyeing Izan with his usual measured gaze. Izan smirked. "You said that last year." "And it¡¯s still true," his grandmother chimed in, leading them inside while his grandfather shied away. Izan looked at her grandfather, always admiring his interactions with his wife. Komi moved through the house like she never left, touching old photo frames, adjusting small decorations, and falling back into childhood memories that still lingered in these walls. Hori, already comfortable, stretched out on the veranda, letting the afternoon breeze wash over her. Izan, however, took his time. This place was part of him, in a way, but not in the same way Valencia was. It was quieter here. A different kind of home. As he stood in the doorway, his phone buzzed. Olivia. Olivia: Landed? Izan: Yeah. Just got to my grandparents¡¯ place. Olivia: Lucky. Wish I was there. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan: I meant what I said. Next time, I¡¯ll bring you. Olivia: Okay Izan smirked, pocketing his phone. For now, he would enjoy this time with his family. Because soon enough, the world would be waiting for him again. A/n: Good evening reader. Sorry but today will be a one chapter release. I had a lot of stuff to do and my stockpile got finished so I couldn¡¯t update twice. Anyways I¡¯ll try to make it up before the week ends. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see ya Chapter 263: Tokyo, Tranquillity, and Turmoil The morning air in Tokyo was different¡ªcrisp but humid, filled with the distant murmur of the city awakening. Izan sat on the wooden veranda of his grandparent¡¯s home, a cup of steaming green tea in his hands. The scent was earthy, and calming. A reminder that, for once, he wasn¡¯t being watched by thousands, wasn¡¯t being analyzed by pundits, and wasn¡¯t a name on the transfer rumor mill. For now, he was just Izan. Across from him, his grandfather sat in quiet contemplation, hands resting on his knees. The old energetic old man now sat silently, not speaking much. Izan liked this side of him but if he had to choose, it would be the chatty old man who was afraid of his grandmother. It was something he had always admired about him. There was a quiet wisdom in his presence, an unspoken strength. "Your mother," his grandfather said suddenly, voice deep and measured, "was not meant to stay in Spain forever." Izan turned slightly, caught off guard. "She left for a reason," the old man continued, staring out at the small, well-kept garden. "But the world has a way of pulling you back to where you belong." Izan sipped his tea, unsure if this was meant to be advice. His life had always felt split between two worlds¡ªhis roots in Japan, and his rise in Spain. His grandfather¡¯s gaze sharpened. "You¡¯re at a crossroads, aren¡¯t you?" Izan hesitated. Was he? But before he could answer, his phone vibrated. Miranda. He let out a breath. He had expected this call. "Miura," Miranda¡¯s voice came through with its usual smooth efficiency. "Hope I¡¯m not interrupting family time." "You always are," Izan muttered, standing up and stepping away from the veranda. He could hear Hori laughing inside. Miranda chuckled. "Well, I¡¯ll make it worth your time. First off, congratulations on being the most talked-about footballer in Spain. You¡¯re officially a global brand now." Izan rolled his eyes. "Is this about deals?" "Among other things." A pause. "Japan is big for you, Miura. You¡¯re part of a new wave of footballers who can bridge Europe and Asia. The biggest brands here see you as the perfect face for that." Izan exhaled. He had always known this would come¡ªthe commercial side of the game. "Three major offers on the table," Miranda continued. "One from a luxury watch brand¡ªglobal reach, perfect for your image. Another is from a sportswear giant that wants to expand in Japan. And the last one¡­ well, that one¡¯s personal." Izan raised an eyebrow. "Personal?" "The biggest manga publisher in Japan wants to collaborate with you for a football-themed project." The mention of a manga collaboration caught his attention. "They see you as a modern-day football protagonist," Miranda added, amusement in her tone. "Your name alone could make it a best-seller." Izan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I¡¯ll think about it." "Of course you will." Miranda¡¯s voice turned slightly more serious. "Oh and, Also, a message from Selene." That made him pause. "She¡¯s actively building her team for the Muse Project. She wants you to know things are moving fast, and when you¡¯re ready, you¡¯ll have a big role in it." Izan nodded to himself. Miranda¡¯s voice softened. "Izan, you¡¯re at the center of everything right now. Be smart about your next steps." sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan smirked. "I always am." "I know you are but just be more careful okay? Now greet Komi for me" Miranda added but Izan made a disgusted sound before telling her to call Komi herself. ... Meanwhile, in Valencia¡­ Inside Valencia CF¡¯s offices, the atmosphere was tense. Behind closed doors, club executives sat around a long table, their faces tight with worry. Javier Sol¨ªs, Valencia¡¯s general director, rubbed his temples. "We need to be honest with ourselves. The financial situation is¡­ difficult." "Difficult?" One of the board members scoffed. "We are barely staying afloat. The Champions League money helps, but it¡¯s not enough. We are still bleeding from past mismanagement." Sol¨ªs glanced toward the end of the table, where the club¡¯s representatives from Meriton Holdings sat. Their expressions were unreadable. "We have a golden asset," another board member muttered. "An asset that could solve a lot of problems." The room fell silent. They all knew what he meant. Izan Miura. The teenage sensation was now the most valuable player Valencia had ever produced. The offers would come. In fact, they already had. Sol¨ªs leaned forward, voice low. "We cannot let this reach Baraja or the players. The moment they hear about financial struggles, we lose our dressing room." One of the Meriton representatives finally spoke. "We are not saying we will sell him." Another leaned in. "But we should listen." The meeting ended with no official decisions¡ªonly a quiet understanding. For now, Valencia remained Izan¡¯s home. But if the right offer came? Nothing was off the table. ...¡­.. Just as Valencia¡¯s boardroom discussions remained hidden from the public, another story was starting to make waves¡ªone that could have major implications for the national team. A well-known football journalist, Manu Carre?o, had reported an exclusive leak regarding Spain¡¯s squad selection for the upcoming Euros. According to sources close to Luis de la Fuente, the first five players locked into the squad were: ? Rodri (Manchester City) ? Pedri (Barcelona) ? Nico Williams (Athletic Club) ? Marc Cucurella (Chelsea) ? ¨¢lvaro Morata (Atl¨¦tico Madrid) The list itself wasn¡¯t surprising¡ªeach player had been a key part of Spain¡¯s recent success. But the fact that the list had leaked at all raised eyebrows. Where was Izan¡¯s name? Some speculated that de la Fuente was waiting to announce younger players later. Others whispered about the possibility that Valencia¡¯s situation¡ªboth on and off the pitch¡ªwas creating uncertainty about his future role in the squad. If the leaks were true, it meant that the coach had prioritized experience over form. Izan had dominated La Liga. He had made history. Yet, somehow, his name wasn¡¯t among the first five? The media frenzy had already begun. And soon, Izan would have to face it. Back in Japan, the streets of Tokyo were alive with color, motion, and sound. Izan walked alongside his mother and sister through a busy shopping district, his cap pulled low, blending into the crowd. He liked it this way¡ªjust another person in the city, not a superstar. They stopped at a small traditional sweets shop, a place Komi had loved as a child. She smiled as she picked out different treats, reminiscing about her youth. Hori nudged Izan. "So, when are you telling Mom about the brand deals?" Izan shot her a look. "No. Miranda probably has. She can¡¯t keep her mouth shut In front of Mom." Hori smirked. "What about Olivia?" "She already knows," Izan muttered. Hori grinned. "She¡¯s definitely sad you came here without her." Izan chuckled. "She¡¯ll survive." As they walked through the streets, Izan couldn¡¯t shake a feeling¡ªsomething lingering beneath the surface. There was peace here, in Japan. But in Spain? Storm clouds were gathering. And soon, they would reach him. ..... For the first time in months, Izan wasn¡¯t waking up to the sound of his alarm or the rigid schedule of training. He wasn¡¯t rushing to the training ground, taping his wrists, or running tactical drills under Baraja¡¯s watchful gaze. Instead, he opened his eyes to the soft light filtering through the sh¨­ji screens, the faint hum of the city in the distance, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea drifting in from the kitchen. His grandfather was already up, sitting on the wooden veranda with a cup in hand again, gazing at the small garden outside like he had something to ask. He gave Izan a nod of acknowledgment as he walked past. No words needed. Just a quiet understanding but his peace couldn¡¯t last long after Komi¡¯s mother pulled him to the kitchen. After staying in the house all day, Izan went out with Hori later that afternoon, and they spent the day wandering through Harajuku. They walked through Takeshita Street, sampling street food, browsing stores. Hori made him try a ridiculous pink crepe, which he admitted¡ªreluctantly¡ªwasn¡¯t bad. "Crazy how people here don¡¯t recognize you," she commented. Izan shrugged. "I kinda like it." He still got some stares, mostly from people who probably recognized him but weren¡¯t sure enough to approach. But it was nothing like Spain, where he couldn¡¯t go five steps without being stopped. As the evening rolled in, they found a rooftop spot overlooking the city. Hori scrolled through her phone. "Another Spain announcement." Izan glanced at her screen. Another batch of players had been revealed. Still no Izan. The debates online were getting louder. Some argued that Luis de la Fuente was just announcing players in waves. Others were convinced something was off. Izan exhaled. "They¡¯ll call me if they call me. If not, whatever." Hori studied him for a moment. "You don¡¯t really believe that." He didn¡¯t respond. Because the truth was¡ªthis did bother him. Even if he didn¡¯t want to admit it. For now, Izan pushed it out of his mind. He focused on the moments in front of him¡ªfamily dinners, wandering through Tokyo, training lightly at a local gym just to keep himself sharp. But the world wasn¡¯t stopping. Every day, new Spain call-ups were announced. Every day, the conversation grew. And back in Valencia, unseen by him, the club¡¯s financial situation was creeping toward a point of no return. Whether he realized it or not, this trip to Japan wasn¡¯t just a break. It was the calm before the next storm. Chapter 264: Behind the Scenes The Spanish national team¡¯s announcement strategy for the upcoming Euros was unconventional. They released the squad list in batches over several days keeping the people in suspense. Initially, fans welcomed this approach, anticipating a blend of seasoned veterans and emerging talents. The first batch had already been listed and included expected names: Rodri, Pedri, Nico Williams, Marc Cucurella, and ¨¢lvaro Morata. As subsequent batches were unveiled, the excitement turned to confusion and then to outrage. Izan Miura, the teenage sensation who had taken La Liga by storm, was conspicuously absent. This wasn¡¯t a clerical error or an oversight. It was a deliberate decision by head coach Luis de la Fuente to exclude the league¡¯s top scorer and assist leader. The reaction was immediate and intense and social media platforms became hotbeds of dissent: ? "Leaving out Miura? Are we even trying to win?" ? "He dominated La Liga, and we choose benchwarmers instead? I like De la Fuente but this is not okay. I don¡¯t even think this was his decision. Probably those old people trying to limit Izan¡¯s influence he gets too big" ? "This is a travesty. Miura deserved that spot." Football analysts and pundits were equally baffled. On El Chiringuito, a popular football talk show, host Josep Pedrerol was visibly agitated. "If Spain had an abundance of attacking talent, maybe, just maybe, this decision would make sense. But we don¡¯t. Miura is a goal machine, a playmaker, and a match-winner. And yet¡­ he¡¯s not on the plane." Even some Former Spanish internationals voiced their disapproval: ? David Villa: "Spain is making a mistake. Miura should be there." ? Sergio Ramos: "If we want to win, we bring our best players. Miura is one of them. Simple." The pressure on Luis de la Fuente was mounting and some things needed to be addressed soon. Facing the media storm, de la Fuente addressed the elephant in the room. "Coach, how do you justify leaving out Spain¡¯s top scorer and assist provider?" De la Fuente, appearing prepared for this line of questioning, responded: "We carefully analyzed all our options. Izan is an exceptional player, no doubt. But we had to make decisions based on the needs of the team. The players we selected fit the structure and balance we are looking for in this tournament." Another journalist pressed further. "But isn¡¯t Miura exactly the kind of player Spain needs?" De la Fuente maintained his composure, although he also looked like he was fed up with something. "We believe in the squad we¡¯ve chosen. These are the players who will represent Spain at the highest level." His responses, however, did little to quell the growing discontent. ..... In Tokyo, Miranda was livid. She had been coordinating Izan¡¯s brand engagements when the squad list was released. The omission felt like a personal affront. She immediately called Izan. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Izan." A brief pause. "I saw it." "This is insane. This is bad. Do you have any idea what this does to your image? Brands want global superstars, not players ignored by their own country." Izan sighed. "It is what it is, Miranda." "No, it¡¯s not. And if Spain flops, de la Fuente will have to answer for this." Izan remained silent, the weight of the situation evident. ..... Despite the controversy, Spain¡¯s preparations continued unabated. The squad engaged in high-intensity training sessions, focusing on tactical drills and team cohesion. Then, disaster struck. During a routine rondo exercise, Marco Asensio chased a loose ball. As he attempted a sharp turn, his left foot planted awkwardly, and his knee buckled. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his knee in agony. The training session halted immediately. Teammates and medical staff rushed to his side. The initial assessment was grim: a serious knee injury. Minutes later, Asensio was stretchered off the field. His participation in the Euros was in serious doubt. At first, it was small but then news of Asensio¡¯s injury spread rapidly. "BREAKING: Marco Asensio suffers injury in training, Euros participation in doubt." Fans wished the former Madrid man well but debate over his potential replacement ignited instantly. Fans and pundits speculated on possible substitutes. Would de la Fuente opt for another winger? A midfielder? Or perhaps the most in-form Spanish player currently overlooked? In every discussion, Izan¡¯s name resurfaced prominently. .... Back in Japan, Izan saw the headlines but remained composed. His phone buzzed with a message from Miranda. Miranda: "Are you seeing this?" Izan: "Yeah." Miranda: "If de la Fuente has any brain cells left, your phone should be ringing soon." But it didn¡¯t. Not that night. Not the next morning. Spain¡¯s replacement decision remained pending, and Izan was left in limbo. As the national team grappled with the sudden vacancy, Izan continued his commitments in Japan. He attended promotional events, including a football clinic for young players, where he shared his experiences and skills. The event garnered significant media attention, portraying him as not just a footballer but an ambassador for the sport. In the leading days, he also met with representatives from a leading manga publisher interested in creating a football-themed series inspired by his journey. Reviewing early concept art, Izan was intrigued by the portrayal of a character mirroring his own experiences. "So, what do you think?" the editor inquired. Izan smirked. "I think I need to score some impossible goals in this." They laughed, and discussions progressed. ...¡­ Meanwhile, in Spain¡­ The national team faced mounting pressure. The omission of Miura had already been controversial, and Asensio¡¯s injury exacerbated the situation. Fans and media outlets clamored for Miura¡¯s inclusion as a replacement. However, internal deliberations within the Spanish Football Federation were complex. Concerns ranged from team dynamics to media scrutiny. The decision was not straightforward. ..... Behind closed doors at the Spanish Football Federation headquarters, tension thickened the air. Luis de la Fuente sat across from a panel of senior officials, his expression impassive but his patience razor-thin. "We need to address the replacement," he said, his voice measured. One of the officials, an older man with silver-streaked hair, leaned back in his chair. "We¡¯ve already discussed this, Luis. The squad was carefully selected." De la Fuente¡¯s jaw tightened. "Asensio is out. That changes things." Another official, younger but equally composed, folded his hands. "We understand the situation. But Miura¡¯s exclusion was deliberate. We stand by that decision." De la Fuente exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And I¡¯m telling you now¡ªthat decision was wrong. Miura is the best-performing Spanish player this season. He should have been in the squad from the start. This is our chance to correct that." Silence. A flicker of discomfort passed between the officials. The older man sighed. "Luis, you know this isn¡¯t just about football." De la Fuente¡¯s eyes darkened. "And that¡¯s the problem. It should be." He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "If you don¡¯t let me call him up, I¡¯ll go on record. I¡¯ll tell the press exactly what happened here. That this wasn¡¯t my decision. That Spain¡¯s best player was left out for reasons beyond football." A slow, heavy pause followed. "You¡¯re making threats now?" the older man asked, his voice carefully neutral. De la Fuente held his gaze. "I¡¯m telling you the truth. And you know as well as I do that this won¡¯t go away. The fans, the media, even former players¡ªeveryone is asking the same question. How long do you think you can keep ignoring it?" Another silence. This one longer, heavier. Finally, the younger official cleared his throat. "We¡¯ll review our position." De la Fuente stood, nodding once. "Do that." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving the room in uneasy quiet. ¡ª In Tokyo, Izan wasn¡¯t waiting for a call. If it came, fine. If it didn¡¯t, life moved on. His phone buzzed. Miranda. "Still nothing?" she asked without preamble. "Nothing," Izan replied. She exhaled sharply. "They¡¯re running out of excuses." Izan didn¡¯t answer. He simply glanced at the city skyline, the neon lights reflecting in his window. If Spain wanted him, they knew where to find him. .... The night was still in the quiet neighborhood where Izan¡¯s grandparents lived. From his room, he could hear the faint hum of cicadas outside, a familiar sound from past visits. He sat on the tatami floor, leaning against the wooden frame of his futon, scrolling through his phone. The conversation around his omission hadn¡¯t died down¡ªit had only intensified. Then, his phone rang. Unknown number. Spanish country code. Izan hesitated for a moment before answering. "Hello?" A pause. Then a voice he recognized immediately, though it sounded unusually subdued. "Izan. It¡¯s Luis de la Fuente." Izan sat up straighter, his fingers tightening around the phone. Although he had been nonchalant about it with Miranda, he was a bit nervous about it. "I wanted to call you personally," de la Fuente continued. "You¡¯re being called up. We¡¯ll make the official announcement soon, but I didn¡¯t want you to hear it from the media first." Silence stretched between them. "I know this has been¡­ frustrating," de la Fuente said, his voice carrying an edge of regret. "And I won¡¯t pretend I handled it perfectly. You should have been in the squad from the start. That decision wasn¡¯t entirely in my hands." Izan exhaled slowly. He wasn¡¯t sure how to respond to that. "You deserve this," de la Fuente added. "And Spain needs you." A beat passed before Izan finally spoke. "When do I fly out?" "Tomorrow." ¡ª The news broke just minutes later. "OFFICIAL: Izan Miura has been called up to the Spain squad for the Euros, replacing the injured Marco Asensio." The announcement sent shockwaves through Spanish football. TV networks interrupted their broadcasts. Social media exploded. Journalists scrambled to rewrite headlines. On El Chiringuito, Josep Pedrerol pointed at the camera, shaking his head. "This was inevitable! Spain needed Miura, and now they¡¯ve been forced to fix their mistake." David Villa took to Twitter: "Should¡¯ve been there from the start. But let¡¯s go, Izan. Show them why they had no choice." Fans also flooded the internet, showing their satisfaction at how things had turned out. ? "Miura is coming. Spain, be ready." ? "Justice. Finally." ? "De la Fuente really folded under pressure, huh?" Even in Japan, where it was well past midnight, Izan¡¯s name dominated local news. The teenage sensation, the Pichichi winner, was finally heading to the Euros. At his grandparents¡¯ house, Izan put his phone down, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Then, quietly, he smiled. Chapter 265: Second Coming at La Rojas The night air in Tokyo was warm, the scent of summer carried through the open window of Izan¡¯s room. The cicadas hummed steadily outside, their rhythmic buzz filling the quiet. Inside, he sat on the tatami floor, his phone screen still glowing with the notification of his official call-up. For a moment, he just stared at it. The chaos, the controversy, the back-and-forth and it had all led to this. He was finally going to the Euros. His fingers hovered over his phone screen before he instinctively opened the team chat. A flood of unread messages had poured in the moment the news broke. Lamine: About time they did. Nico: Welcome to the tournament, Pichichi, winner Gaya: You deserve this, hermano. See you soon. Pedri: Sorry you had to wait longer than you should have, but now, let¡¯s move forward. .... The next morning, Izan awoke to the smell of miso soup and grilled fish drifting from the kitchen. It was an early summer morning in Japan, the air still crisp before the heat of the day would set in. The house was quiet, save for the occasional sound of his grandfather flipping through a newspaper and his grandmother moving around the kitchen. He lay there for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Last night¡¯s call still lingered in his mind. Spain had finally come for him. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He rolled over, reaching for his phone. Miranda had sent a dozen messages overnight, all capitalized and furious: MIRANDA: DO NOT LET THEM ACT LIKE THEY ARE DOING YOU A FAVOR. MIRANDA: THIS WHOLE THING IS A PR DISASTER. WE WILL TALK AT THE AIRPORT. MIRANDA: ALSO, BRANDS ARE ALREADY REACTING. GOOD FOR BUSINESS. OBVIOUSLY. MIRANDA: YOU KNOW, I¡¯M NOT EVEN MAD. JUST VINDICATED. Izan smirked. Typical Miranda. He got up, stretched, and stepped out into the hallway. The sliding doors to the dining room were partially open, revealing his mother, Komi, sitting at the table with his grandparents. Hori was next to her, sipping a glass of iced tea. They looked up as he entered. "Morning," he said, rubbing his eyes. His grandmother smiled. "You¡¯re finally up" Izan nodded at his grandmother¡¯s words before glancing at his mother, Komi who gestured for him to sit. "Eat," she said. You¡¯ll need it before the flight." Izan sat down and picked up his chopsticks. The meal was simple but comforting. Some steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables. He ate in silence for a while, listening to the morning news playing softly on the television. His name had already made it into Japanese headlines and it looked like it would linger for a while. Hori, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. "So, you are really leaving today?" Yeah." Izan glanced at her. "I told you last night." "I know," she muttered, pushing her food around her plate. "It just sucks that you get to go on holidays in Germany." There was a pause. Izan sighed. Firstly, I¡¯m going to play football. Secondly, you can come after I go. You just have to ask Mum" he ended, prompting Hori to look in the direction of her mother. Komi exhaled sharply but didn¡¯t say anything. As they finished eating, Izan stood up and stretched. He glanced at Hori, who was still sulking as her mother hadn¡¯t confirmed anything. "Hey," he said, nudging her shoulder. "How about this? If Spain makes the final, I¡¯ll bring you to Germany." Hori looked up, eyes narrowing. "You¡¯re not just saying that?" "I promise." She studied him for a second, then gave a small nod. "You better win, then." Izan grinned. "That¡¯s the plan." ¡ª Tokyo¡¯s Narita Airport was bustling as always, but Izan barely noticed. The moment he stepped into the terminal, Miranda was waiting, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently. "You," she said, pointing at him as soon as he approached, "owe me an explanation." Izan raised an eyebrow. "For what?" "For not calling me the SECOND de la Fuente rang you." "You found out within minutes anyway." "Not the point." She adjusted the sleeves of her blazer. "We should¡¯ve planned a response." Izan sighed. "Miranda¡ª" "No, listen. The way they handled this was an absolute joke. You were snubbed for days while they dragged their feet. Now suddenly they ¡¯need¡¯ you? That¡¯s not a favor, Izan. That¡¯s them backtracking." "I know." "Do you?" Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Because this is more than football. This is your reputation. This affects your brand. Your legacy. You¡¯re not just some talented kid anymore. You¡¯re the youngest Pichichi in history. You led La Liga in assists. And they left you out. Until they had no choice." Izan knew she was right. But he also knew that, at the end of the day, he just wanted to play. "I get it," he said. "But I¡¯m going." Miranda exhaled, shaking her head. Then, after a moment, she nodded. "Good but go remind them why they should¡¯ve picked you first." - - - - - By the time Izan landed in Spain, the media frenzy had reached a peak. Cameras flashed as he stepped out of the airport, but security quickly ushered him into a private car arranged by the federation. His destination: Las Rozas, the Spanish national team¡¯s training center. As the car drove through Madrid, Izan glanced out the window. He hadn¡¯t been here since the last call-up. The city¡¯s skyline passed by in streaks of gold and blue as the sun began to set. Finally, they arrived at Las Rozas. Izan stepped out of the car, adjusting his duffel bag. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass from the nearby training pitches. He took a deep breath, then walked inside. The first thing he noticed was the silence. The team had already finished their training session for the day. The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional voice drifting from one of the meeting rooms. Then, a familiar voice broke the stillness. "Well, look who finally decided to join us." Izan turned. Pedri stood there, arms crossed, smirking. "Pedri." Izan couldn¡¯t help but grin. Pedri shook his head. "Man, you took your time. You know how many people lost their minds over this?" "Yeah, I noticed." They started walking toward the main lounge, where other players were gathered. As Izan entered, conversations paused. Nico Williams was the first to react, grinning wide. "Look who it is!", he roared in Izan¡¯s direction. Lamine who was at the back also waved before settling down. A few of the players clapped or nodded in greeting. Some, like Morata and Rodri, gave small, approving nods. Others, Izan noticed, were more reserved. He could feel it. The unspoken tension. Not everyone had been thrilled about his late addition. Some players had fought for their spots. Izan? He had been parachuted in at the last moment. De la Fuente, who had been speaking with some staff members, noticed Izan¡¯s arrival and walked over. "Glad you¡¯re here," he said. His tone was polite but firm, his expression unreadable. Izan nodded. "Ready to work." De la Fuente held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Because we don¡¯t have time to waste." ..... Later that evening, Izan lay on his bed in the team¡¯s hotel quarters, staring at the ceiling. His official training kit was folded neatly on the chair. His boots sat by the door, ready for the morning. His phone buzzed. A message from Hori. HORI: Still mad at you. HORI: But also¡­ go score goals. Izan smirked. Then, another message. MIRANDA: I hope you know the entire footballing world is watching you now. Izan exhaled. He already knew that. Tomorrow, training started. And with it, the biggest test of his career so far. ... The morning air was crisp, the Madrid sky stretching in an endless blue above Las Rozas. The players filed onto the pristine training pitch, their boots sinking into the freshly cut grass. Conversations hummed around the group, a mix of groggy complaints and sharp-witted banter. Izan walked out in his Spain training kit, the red and gold fabric unfamiliar on his skin. The late call-up still lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside. He was here now. That was all that mattered. Across the field, Pedri and Nico Williams were already passing the ball between them, their movements light and effortless. Rodri stood nearby, quietly speaking with Morata and Cucurella, while some of the younger players stretched in small clusters. Luis de la Fuente and his coaching staff were gathered at the touchline, their expressions serious. This wasn¡¯t a club session. This was the Spanish national team. Every second counted. Izan bent down to tighten his laces. As he straightened, he caught a few glances in his direction¡ªsome curious, others unreadable. He wasn¡¯t just another squad member. He was the late arrival. The outsider who had forced his way into the team at the last moment. The whistle blew sharply, cutting through the morning air. "Alright, everyone," one of the assistants called out. "Let¡¯s get moving. Warm-ups. Standard routine." Izan exhaled, stepping forward. The session had begun. Chapter 266: Feels About Right The morning air was crisp, the Madrid sky stretching in an endless blue above Las Rozas. The players filed onto the pristine training pitch, their boots sinking into the freshly cut grass. Conversations hummed around the group, a mix of groggy complaints and sharp-witted banter. Izan walked out in his Spain training kit, the red and gold fabric unfamiliar on his skin. The late call-up still lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside. He was here now. That was all that mattered. Across the field, Pedri and Nico Williams were already passing the ball between them, their movements light and effortless. Rodri stood nearby, quietly speaking with Morata and Cucurella, while some of the younger players stretched in small clusters. Luis de la Fuente and his coaching staff were gathered at the touchline, their expressions serious. This wasn¡¯t a club session. This was the Spanish national team. Every second counted. Izan bent down to tighten his laces. As he straightened, he caught a few glances in his direction¡ªsome curious, others unreadable. He wasn¡¯t just another squad member. He was the late arrival. The outsider who had forced his way into the team at the last moment. The whistle blew sharply, cutting through the morning air. "Alright, everyone," one of the assistants called out. "Let¡¯s get moving. Warm-ups. Standard routine." Izan exhaled, stepping forward. ..... The session had barely begun, yet Izan was already making it clear¡ªhe wasn¡¯t here to blend in. He was here to dominate. From the very first drill, the squad realized something: Izan was better than most of them if his performances for the season hadn¡¯t made it clear. He was fast. Not just in a straight-line sprint, where Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal had always been considered the quickest. Not just in reaction time, where Pedri and Rodri thrived. But in everything that required speed. The moment the acceleration drills began, it was over. First sprint test? Izan crossed the line ahead of everyone. Second? Same. By the third, Nico Williams let out an exasperated laugh. "Nah, this is crazy." Lamine Yamal shook his head. "Where the hell was this speed at Valencia? I mean he was fast but not this fast" Pedri smirked. "Probably saving it for moments that matter." Even the agility ladder drills, meant to test quick footwork, turned into another Izan showcase. No wasted steps, no hesitation¡ªjust clean, sharp movements, faster than anyone expected. By the time they hit the 5v5 rondos, it became something else. Izan¡¯s pressing was suffocating. His ball control was absurd. His dribbling? Near unstoppable. At one point, he twisted past two defenders in a tight space, flicked the ball over a lunging tackle, and rolled a pass between Cucurella¡¯s legs to set up Pedri. De la Fuente¡¯s assistants exchanged glances. "Did we really almost leave him at home?" one muttered as Izan smacked the ball into the back of the net. If there were two players who refused to let Izan just waltz through training, they were Rodri and Morata as well as the defensive head of Real Madrid, Carvajal. Rodri, Spain¡¯s metronome, tested one of Izan¡¯s strengths, positioning but the former proved why he was the best defensive midfielder in the world. When Izan pressed him, Rodri always seemed to turn into space just before the pressure arrived. When Izan thought he had the angle covered, Rodri¡¯s awareness placed him one step ahead. After one particular sequence where Izan lunged for an interception only for Rodri to send the ball the other way with a simple touch, the older midfielder smiled. "You can¡¯t outrun everything," he said. Izan exhaled, nodding. "Guess I¡¯ll have to find another way through." Rodri¡¯s grin widened. "Now you¡¯re thinking." Then there was Morata. As the team¡¯s main striker, he was expected to some extent to shine in the shooting drills¡ªBut somehow, the veteran striker was ruthless in front of goal today. Near post. Far post. One touch, two touches¡ªMorata buried everything. When Izan finally stepped up, he was sharp, but not flawless. A couple of shots hit the post and a few were also saved. Morata patted him on the shoulder. "Gotta respect your elders, kid." but Izan smirked. "Enjoy it while it lasts." Luis de la Fuente stood at the touchline, arms crossed. He stood watching his players seamlessly transitioning from drill to drill and one such drill had caught his eye. Izan now found himself against Dani Carvajal. It had started with a simple 1v1 exercise. The attacking players took turns receiving the ball on the wing, tasked with beating their defender and delivering a cross. The defenders? Their job was simple¡ªstop them at all costs. Carvajal was first up against Nico Williams. Nico, ever the trickster, feinted left, pushed right, and managed to create just enough space to whip in a cross. Not a clean win, but a win nonetheless leading to follow-up tries where Carvajal showed why he was among the best of his generation. Then came Lamine. Carvajal timed his lunge perfectly, stopping the young winger in his tracks although his age shined through some time. "Clean," Rodri murmured from the side. "His timing is ridiculous." After Yamal, Izan rolled his shoulders. He was up The ball came to him. Carvajal was already in position, his low, aggressive stance making it clear¡ªhe wasn¡¯t letting this kid past him. Izan took his first touch, sharp and purposeful, dragging the ball toward the inside. Carvajal reacted instantly, stepping in to block the lane. He wants me to go wide, Izan realized. Instead, Izan flicked the ball back to his right, shifting gears in a burst of acceleration. But Carvajal, quick as ever, stuck with him. The veteran full-back read the move perfectly, cutting off the angle and forcing Izan to halt his run. Whistle. "No breakthrough," de la Fuente called. Carvajal smirked. "Gotta do better than that, Pichichi." Izan exhaled sharply. Again. This time, when the ball came, Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. He took one step forward¡ªthen stopped, his foot hovering just over the ball. Carvajal flinched, expecting another burst of speed. That was all Izan needed. He tapped the ball through Carvajal¡¯s legs and exploded past him, leaving the veteran full-back spinning. Before Carvajal could recover, Izan had already curved his run and whipped in a sharp cross to the far post. Morata rose to meet it, heading it cleanly into the net. The watching players erupted in laughter and cheers. Carvajal, shaking his head, jogged back into position. "Alright," he muttered. "Now I¡¯m actually going to defend." Izan just smiled. "Good. I need the challenge." The next ball came again with Izan and Carvajal moving in sync, their duel now an unspoken game of deception and adaptation. Izan faked inside, but Carvajal didn¡¯t bite this time. He held his ground. Smart. Izan cut back, but Carvajal was already there. The full-back threw out a strong arm, making it clear that physicality was going to be a factor now. Izan, undeterred, felt the contact and instantly reacted. Instead of trying to go past, he leaned into it¡ªabsorbing the challenge before using it against Carvajal. With a swift spin, he rolled off the defender¡¯s pressure and took off down the flank. Carvajal lunged, desperate to recover but it was too late. Izan had already sent in a dangerous low cross, forcing a scramble in the box. Whistle. De la Fuente clapped once. "That¡¯s the intensity we need." Carvajal, breathing hard, gave Izan a look. Then, he grinned. "Should have come earlier Hermano." Izan smirked but didn¡¯t say anything. ¡ª ¡ª ¡ª ¡ª By the time training neared its end, the whispers had turned into full-blown discussions among the coaching staff. Nobody had outworked Izan. Nobody had outrun him. Nobody had outplayed him in almost everything¡ªexcept Rodri¡¯s positioning and Morata¡¯s finishing. Luis de la Fuente watched closely, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to his assistant. "Call the medical team. We should have done this the moment he arrived". The latter nodded at De La Fuente¡¯s words before moving to the task. ¡ª Inside the facility, Izan was put through rapid testing. Hydration levels. Heart rate. Fatigue markers. The results were clear: he wasn¡¯t just fine¡ªhe was operating at peak physical condition. The doctor frowned slightly. "You¡¯re sure you haven¡¯t overtrained?" Izan raised an eyebrow. "I feel fine." "Any performance boos-" the doctor tried to say but Izan cut him off. " Drugs. No. " The doctor glanced at De la Fuente but the latter just nodded. "Good. But pace yourself. The tournament hasn¡¯t even started." Izan met his gaze, expression steady. "It has for me." S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ¡ª After the session, the coaching staff gathered the players. "No more scrimmages," De la Fuente announced. "Rest until the evening session. Then medicals tomorrow. After that, we fly to Germany in 2 days." The squad nodded. They knew the real work was about to begin. As they walked off, Pedri nudged Izan. "So? How¡¯s it feel?" "How does what feel?" "To be the problem every defender in Europe has to deal with." Izan smirked, jokingly adjusting the collar of his training kit. "Feels about right." Chapter 267: Next Stop-Germany [In The Evening] The recreational room at Las Rozas was buzzing. Some players lounged on the sofas, scrolling through their phones. Others were at the gaming setup, where Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal were deep into a heated FC match, both were trying so hard not to curse at the screen. In the middle of the room, Izan sat with Pedri, Rodri, and Morata, the four of them idly chatting when Pedri suddenly leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. "Alright," he said, setting his phone down. "I¡¯ve got a challenge." Rodri raised an eyebrow. "This better not be another dumb FIFA bet." Pedri smirked. "It¡¯s football-related. And fair for everyone." Now, everyone was listening. "Go on," Morata said. Pedri leaned back, stretching his arms. "Since we¡¯re heading to the Euros, let¡¯s see who¡¯s got the best tournament mentality." Izan tilted his head. "And how exactly do we measure that?" Pedri grinned. "Simple. We play a ¡¯Golden Goal Gauntlet.¡¯ One-on-one, rotating attackers and defenders. The first person to score wins the round, stays in. Loser swaps out. But here¡¯s the twist¡ªyou can only take one touch before shooting. No dribbles, no second chances." A ripple of excitement spread through the room. "That¡¯s actually good," Rodri admitted. "Fast decisions, precise finishing," Morata mused. "I like it." Lamine, hearing the challenge from across the room, turned around. "Wait, we¡¯re doing this? I¡¯m in." Nico Williams abandoned his FIFA match entirely. "Nah, this sounds too fun to miss." Within minutes, the players had shifted the furniture to clear space in the middle of the room. The setup was simple: ? One player would start as the attacker. ? Another would defend. ? The attacker received a pass from a neutral player and had one touch to score past an imaginary goal (marked by two chairs). ? If the attacker scored, they stayed. If they missed or got blocked, the defender stayed and the attacker rotated out. And First to five would win. ¡ª The two players that began the golden gauntlet were Lamine and Nico. Lamine received the first pass, flicked it instantly with the outside of his boot, and sent it toward the makeshift goal¡ªonly for Nico to block it at the last second with his foot. "Defender stays!" Pedri announced. Next up, Morata. His sequence was cold-blooded¡ªa quick touch, then a perfect finish. "Striker¡¯s mentality," Morata shrugged as Nico groaned, swapping out. Then came Izan. The ball came to him, and before anyone could react, he had already clipped it over Morata with a subtle flick of his boot. The ball dropped perfectly into the goal. "Bro," Lamine muttered, shaking his head. Nico whistled. "Nah, that was dirty." Morata, laughing, clapped his hands. "Alright, now I¡¯m taking this seriously." ¡ª Round after round, players rotated in and out, but one matchup started drawing the most attention. Izan vs. Rodri. Rodri was impossible to shake. His positioning¡ªjust like in training¡ªwas flawless. Twice, he read Izan¡¯s intentions before the ball even arrived, cutting off passing lanes and forcing mistakes. "Again," Izan muttered, stepping back into position. Pedri rolled the ball toward him. Izan took a split-second glance at Rodri¡¯s stance. Then, he moved. Instead of going for a direct shot, he let the ball run past him, using his speed to shift around Rodri¡¯s block. Before the midfielder could react, Izan slammed the ball into the net. A brief silence. Then, Lamine burst out laughing. "He studied you, Rodri!" Rodri exhaled, shaking his head. "That¡¯s what I get for teaching him too much." Izan just grinned. "I learn fast." ¡ª- Eventually, it came down to two players with four points each. Izan and Morata. The squad gathered closer. This was the real test¡ªSpain¡¯s youngest and fastest star against their most clinical finisher. [Pfttttt. That¡¯s why this is a novel. No hard feelings Morata] Pedri rolled the ball toward Izan. Izan¡¯s touch was immediate, a quick side-foot shot toward the bottom corner. But Morata had anticipated it. He lunged, deflecting the shot with his thigh. Groans and cheers erupted as Izan stepped aside, shaking his head. "One chance," Morata murmured, stepping up to his turn. Pedri sent the ball toward him. Without hesitation, Morata backheeled it straight into the goal. The room exploded. "NAH, GET OUT!" Nico shouted, laughing. Lamine grabbed his head. "He really did that." Morata, grinning, threw his arms up. "I told you. Striker¡¯s mentality." Izan chuckled in response " Respect" he added before walking to his seat. ...¡­. [Next Day] The morning at Las Rozas was a blur of activity. Players and staff moved with purpose, finalizing their last preparations before boarding the flight to Germany for the European Championship. Cameras flashed as media members gathered near the gates, eager for any updates before Spain¡¯s highly anticipated tournament run. Inside the medical wing, players underwent their final pre-flight checkups¡ªa routine but necessary step. Rodri, ever composed, finished his flexibility test and stepped aside as Izan took his turn. "You good?" the Manchester City midfielder asked. "Yeah," Izan nodded, stretching his leg out as the physio made notes. "Easy stuff." Nico Williams, however, wasn¡¯t as calm. He was seated a few booths over, eyeing the needle in the nurse¡¯s hand with exaggerated suspicion. "Man, I swear they take more blood every year," Nico grumbled, leaning back in his chair. Pedri, standing nearby, laughed. "Relax. You act like you¡¯re not built like a machine." Across the room, Lamine Yamal finished his tests and clapped his hands together. "Alright, who¡¯s ready to go off in Germany?" "First, let¡¯s get there in one piece," Morata responded dryly, stretching his arms. Once cleared, the players moved into the gym for a light activation session. Luis de la Fuente and his staff observed as the squad went through mobility drills, jogging lightly, stretching, and working on quick footwork to keep their muscles primed before the flight. Though the session wasn¡¯t intense, competition still brewed among the younger players. Lamine and Nico turned the agility drills into an impromptu race, darting through the cones at full speed while their teammates egged them on. "Last one through is washing our boots!" Nico yelled. Pedri, watching from the side, smirked. "Imagine spending energy before a six-hour flight." Even in a casual setting, the group¡¯s competitive fire burned strong. By noon, the squad had showered and changed into their official Spain travel suits¡ªpolished navy blazers, crisp white shirts, and deep red ties. As they exited Las Rozas, cameras flashed from all directions, capturing every moment of their departure. On the bus ride to Madrid-Barajas Airport, the atmosphere was lively. Some players reclined in their seats, scrolling through their phones, while others engaged in animated discussions about the Euros group stage matchups. S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Morata and Rodri sat toward the front, chatting quietly with De la Fuente and his assistant coaches. Further back, Izan sat beside Pedri, the two exchanging thoughts on Spain¡¯s potential knockout round opponents. "You think England is as strong as people say?" Izan asked. Pedri shrugged. "They¡¯ve got crazy talent, but tournaments aren¡¯t won on paper. We¡¯ll see if they handle the pressure." The conversation was cut short when Lamine turned around from the seat ahead of them. "Who¡¯s placing bets on the first person to fall asleep on the flight?" "Nico," Izan and Pedri said at the same time. "Bro, what?" Nico protested. The players burst into laughter Nico¡¯s retort. The team arrived at the private departure terminal, where reporters, fans, and airport staff had gathered to see them off. The media, sensing a story in every interaction, bombarded the players with questions as they walked through security. "Izan! How do you feel about your first senior tournament?" a journalist called out. Izan glanced over, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Excited." The reporter pushed for more. "Do you feel pressure after the season you just had with Valencia?" Izan only offered a small smile. "Football is pressure." Nearby, Morata and Rodri handled the heavier questions. "Do you think Spain is one of the favorites this year?" Rodri, ever measured, responded, "We believe in our team, but we know every game will be a challenge. We have to prove everything on the pitch." "What do you think about the squad selections? Any surprises?" Morata, unfazed, simply said, "The coach made his choices. Now it¡¯s up to us to deliver." Some reporters, already stirring debates online, were focused on the players who hadn¡¯t been gotten the chance to be called up. Fans lined the airport barriers, waving Spanish flags and snapping pictures as the players passed through. Some lucky ones got autographs and selfies, while others shouted their favorite players¡¯ names. The anticipation was undeniable¡ªSpain was heading to the Euros, and expectations were sky-high. As the team reached their private jet, they spotted the massive aircraft with "Selecci¨®n Espa?ola de F¨²tbol" emblazoned along the side. Inside, the seating was spacious, designed for comfort on the journey to Germany. Some players claimed window seats immediately¡ªLamine being the first, much to no one¡¯s surprise. "Window seat secured," he declared proudly. Nico, taking the seat beside him, shook his head. "Watch him fall asleep in two minutes." Rodri, already settling in, chuckled. "I give him one." Izan chose a seat near Pedri again, plugging in his headphones as the engines began to roar to life. As the aircraft taxied down the runway, the squad exchanged glances. Some were relaxed. Others, like Morata, sat deep in thought. This was it. Chapter 268: Arrival and Euros Opening The Spanish national team plane soared above Europe, cutting through a bed of soft clouds as it made its way toward Munich, Germany. The squad was in high spirits. Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere was relaxed but buzzing with anticipation. Some players rested with their headphones on, lost in their own worlds. Others were glued to their phones, scrolling through social media or replying to family messages. But at the center of it all, the youngsters of the squad were causing chaos. "Lamine, tell me you packed a suit this time," Nico Williams called out, turning in his seat. Yamal, slouched against his chair with his hood up, groaned. "Man, leave me alone." Izan smirked. "He definitely forgot." Pedri, sitting across the aisle, shook his head dramatically. "Bro, we told you¡ªthis is the Euros. Press conferences, team events, the works. You can¡¯t be out here dressing like you¡¯re pulling up to a PlayStation party." "I packed fine!" Yamal protested. "I swear¡ª" "Yeah?" Nico interrupted. "What¡¯s in your suitcase?" Yamal hesitated. The silence was damning. Morata, overhearing, leaned in from a few rows ahead. "Don¡¯t tell me you only brought tracksuits." Yamal huffed, slumping lower in his seat. "Bro, why would I need a suit? We¡¯re here to play football, not get married." Laughter erupted throughout the cabin. "Unbelievable," Rodri muttered, shaking his head. Pedri grinned. "Lamine, do you understand what tournament football is?" Izan nodded in mock seriousness. "See, this is why people say Gen Z is finished." Yamal rolled his eyes. "You guys are acting like you¡¯re not my age." "Yeah, but we have sense," Nico fired back. Another round of laughter followed, with Yamal groaning as he covered his face with his hood. Just then, Morata turned to one of the team¡¯s staff members. "Um, Miss, please tell me you guys packed an emergency suit for this lost child." The staff member chuckled. "We¡¯ll handle it." Pedri winked at Yamal. "We¡¯re gonna make you the sharpest-dressed 16-year-old in Germany, don¡¯t worry." "Well, what about Izan? Why didn¡¯t you guys press him too about his suit?" The players turned to Izan who took his phone and showed a video Hori had taken when he was packing. "I¡¯m more mature even though we¡¯re the same age. That¡¯s why they didn¡¯t ask." Izan shot back after showing them the video. As the banter continued, the plane began its descent. The joking subsided as the realization set in¡ªthis was it. They were about to touch down for one of the biggest tournaments of their lives. ... The Spanish national team touched down at Munich International Airport just before noon. As the aircraft taxied to the private terminal, Izan peered out the window, catching glimpses of the German cityscape in the distance. They had officially arrived. The Euros had begun. As the squad disembarked, they were greeted by UEFA officials, security personnel, and media representatives who had been stationed at the airport to capture Spain¡¯s arrival. A few fans cordoned off behind barriers and cheered as their national heroes stepped onto foreign soil. Lamine, eager to make up for the plane bullying, waved enthusiastically. Pedri and Morata offered polite nods, while Rodri, ever the leader, turned to the younger players as they walked toward their transport. "This is where it starts. Enjoy the moment¡ªbut remember why we¡¯re here." Izan nodded. His first senior international tournament. The excitement, the pressure, the weight of representing Spain¡ªit was all settling in. The team¡¯s bus took them to their designated training base¡ªa luxurious sports complex on the outskirts of Donaueschingen, Baden-W¨¹rttemberg, where they would prepare for their group-stage matches. Inside, everything was set up to perfection. Custom Spain-themed rooms, a fully equipped training ground, and an indoor facility for recovery sessions. Once they settled in, Luis de la Fuente immediately called for a short team meeting. "Welcome to Germany, gentlemen," he began. "We¡¯ve worked hard to get here, but now the real challenge begins. Every game will be a battle. We respect every opponent, but we fear no one. Our goal is clear¡ªto lift that trophy on July 14." The players sat attentively, absorbing his words. Then, the projector screen at the front lit up with the official Euro 2024 group stage draw: UEFA Euro 2024 ¨C Group Stage Draw Group A: ???????? Germany ???????? Hungary ???????? Switzerland ???????? Scotland Group B: ???????? Spain ???????? Croatia ???????? Italy ???????? Albania Group C: ???????? Slovenia ???????? Denmark ???????? Serbia ???????? England Group D: ???????? Poland ???????? Netherlands ???????? Austria ???????? France Group E: ???????? Belgium ???????? Slovakia ???????? Romania ???????? Ukraine Group F: ???????? Portugal ???????? Turkey ???????? Czech Republic ???????? Georgia A quiet murmur ran through the room as the players analyzed the matchups. "That¡¯s a tough group," Rodri noted. "We expected nothing less," Morata said. "But if we want to win this tournament, we need to prove ourselves against the best." Spain¡¯s first match was against Croatia¡ªjust three days away. De la Fuente looked around the room. "Rest up, because tomorrow, we start our final preparations. Training, film study, set-piece drills¡ªeverything will be fine-tuned for Croatia." There were no objections. This was their moment. The next day, the squad gathered in the team lounge to watch the Euro 2024 opening ceremony. The Munich Football Arena was bathed in lights as thousands of fans filled the stadium, their excitement radiating through the screen. The ceremony opened with a tribute to Franz Beckenbauer, the legendary German footballer who had passed away earlier in the year. As his image appeared on the big screens, the stadium rose in unison, offering a heartfelt ovation. Germany¡¯s two European Championship-winning captains, Bernard Dietz (1980) and J¨¹rgen Klinsmann (1996), walked onto the pitch with the Henri Delaunay Cup, symbolizing the nation¡¯s rich football heritage. Fireworks erupted into the sky, illuminating the flags of all 24 participating nations, each waving proudly as the tournament¡¯s theme song played. The players sat back, absorbing the moment. "It¡¯s real now," Izan muttered. Lamine grinned. "Hope Germany doesn¡¯t flop in the opener after all that hype." Pedri smirked. "You just want drama." Morata leaned forward, watching intently. "This is the dream. And now, it¡¯s our turn." The ceremony concluded, and the cameras zoomed in on the pitch, where Germany and Scotland lined up for the tournament¡¯s first match. The Euros had begun. ...¡­. The Spanish team¡¯s lounge was abuzz with anticipation as the giant screen lit up with the live broadcast of Germany¡¯s opening match at the Allianz Arena. The energy of the packed stadium, the roar of the crowd, and the crisp commentary filled the room, mingling with the residual laughter and teasing from their flight. Nico nudged Lamine with a mischievous grin, "Bet you still haven¡¯t found that emergency suit we joked about on the plane, huh?" Lamine groaned good-naturedly while the others chuckled, the camaraderie of youth and ambition palpable in every remark. Within minutes, the match burst into life. In the tenth minute, Florian Wirtz received a sublime pass and unleashed a shot that curled past Scotland¡¯s goalkeeper, igniting the stadium and drawing impressed murmurs from the Spanish bench. Pedri¡¯s eyes lit up as he remarked, "Damn. They came out with a bang," his voice thick with admiration. The German side¡¯s relentless, orchestrated play soon became apparent. Their passing was crisp, their movement synchronized¡ªa display of precision that made even the most seasoned observers nod in approval. Then, in the 25th minute, Kai Havertz doubled the lead. He drifted into space as if dancing on air, controlled the ball with a single, deft touch, and fired it low into the corner. The goal, executed with clinical perfection, elicited a round of low, appreciative murmurs. "They¡¯re like a well-oiled machine," observed Rodri quietly, absorbing the brilliance of the play. Meanwhile, the Spanish youngsters exchanged amused glances and teasing jibes, their banter a mix of light-hearted ribbing and genuine respect for the spectacle unfolding on screen. The intensity escalated further when, in the 43rd minute, Scotland¡¯s Ryan Porteous was shown a red card for a reckless challenge on Ilkay G¨¹ndogan. The ensuing penalty, taken by Havertz himself, saw the ball sail into the net, cementing Germany¡¯s 3-0 lead. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A hush of disbelief mixed with admiration settled over the room. Izan¡¯s voice was soft as he remarked, "That¡¯s brutal, but it¡¯s football." Nico couldn¡¯t resist adding, "Every good show needs its dramatic twist." As the match went on, Scotland managed a flicker of hope in the 58th minute when an unfortunate own goal by a German defender briefly reduced the margin, a moment that stirred the Spanish team into a mix of disbelief and wry amusement. Yet, Germany¡¯s momentum was unyielding. In the 68th minute, substitute Niclas F¨¹llkrug thundered a shot past the keeper, restoring the cushion, and in stoppage time, Emre Can¡¯s curling finish sealed the emphatic 5-1 victory. As the final whistle echoed through the arena, the Spanish players sat back in thoughtful silence, their earlier joviality replaced by a reflective calm. Pedri, with a wry smile, mused, "If this is how Germany kicks off, just wait until it¡¯s our turn." Laughter soon bubbled up again, mingling with a sense of shared purpose. De La Fuente who stood behind watches his players, a slight smile etched on his face. [Izan bout to use the power of friendship and Family to speed run the Euros for Spain. Also, system update coming up] Chapter 269: Buildup. After Germany¡¯s emphatic 5¨C1 victory, the Spanish national team¡¯s lounge remained quiet, save for the soft hum of the television as the post-match analysis played. The screen now displayed highlights¡ªGermany¡¯s relentless pressing, their clinical finishing, and Scotland¡¯s failed attempts to withstand the onslaught. Pedri sat back on the couch, his hands clasped together as he rewatched a sequence leading up to Germany¡¯s third goal. "They never let up," he murmured, shaking his head. "Even after the first two goals, they played like they needed five more." "They made Scotland look like they weren¡¯t even in the same tournament," Merino added, adjusting his posture. "That intensity from the first whistle¡ªthat¡¯s what makes the difference." IIzan, seated near the corner, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He hadn¡¯t spoken much throughout the match, but he had taken in every detail¡ªthe speed of Germany¡¯s transitions. The way they flooded the box when attacking, how their midfield controlled the game without giving Scotland a moment to breathe. Rodri, who had been standing by the refreshment table pouring himself a glass of water, finally spoke. "We already knew they¡¯d come out strong, but this was something else. There¡¯s a reason they¡¯re considered favorites." The players nodded at Rodris¡¯s words, their eyes still glued to the screen. Morata nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah. But every tournament has surprises. We¡¯ll see how they hold up when someone pushes back." The players continued watching the analysis, noting the key talking points from the commentators. The discussion ranged from Germany¡¯s tactical setup to whether they had peaked too early. The idea of momentum in a tournament like this was tricky¡ªtoo strong of a start could sometimes lead to a burnout before the knockout stages. Nico Williams stretched his arms and leaned back. "I think what stands out most is how quickly they recover the ball. Every time Scotland tried to build, they were swarmed immediately." "You can feel the pressure just watching it," Pedri said. "That¡¯s something we have to be ready for if we face them later on." Izan exhaled slowly, eyes still on the screen as another replay of Germany¡¯s crisp passing sequences played. "It¡¯s also about composure. Scotland panicked after the second goal. We can¡¯t afford to let any team do that to us." The room fell into a comfortable silence as the highlights concluded. The discussion wasn¡¯t just about admiration or concern¡ªit was about understanding. They weren¡¯t just spectators; they were analyzing every movement, every tactical decision, every shift in momentum. As the screen switched to previews of the next day¡¯s matches, the tension in the air eased slightly. The players stretched, some reaching for their phones to check messages, others discussing lighter topics now that the match had been dissected. But even as conversations shifted, the weight of what they had just seen lingered. The tournament had already begun in full force, and their turn was coming soon. ...¡­. The morning sunlight seeped through the curtains of Izan¡¯s room the next day, casting faint patterns on the walls. The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the space as he stirred, eyes fluttering open. His mind took a moment to adjust, still lingering in the haze between sleep and wakefulness. Then, as the weight of where he was settled in, so did the anticipation. He reached for his phone on the nightstand. A flood of notifications greeted him¡ªfootball analysts predicting Spain¡¯s lineup for their first match, articles about Germany¡¯s dominant start, and UEFA¡¯s latest poll on the tournament¡¯s potential winner. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Who will win Euro 2024? The options beneath were predictable: ? Germany ? France ? England ? Portugal ? Spain ? Other Spain was holding a solid percentage in the voting, but Germany had surged after their ruthless opening performance. Izan scrolled through a few discussions before locking his phone. He wasn¡¯t one to get caught up in media noise. It was part of the job, but ultimately, the answers would come on the pitch. With a stretch, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand through his hair before heading to the bathroom. A splash of cold water on his face shook off the last remnants of sleep, and after a quick shower, he threw on his Spain training gear and left for breakfast. ...¡­ The cafeteria was already alive with conversation when Izan arrived. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and scrambled eggs mixed with the morning air. Players sat in small groups, some mid-conversation, others still waking up over their plates. On a table nearby, Nico Williams was deep in an animated debate with Ferran Torres, waving a fork in emphasis. "Bro, you can¡¯t tell me that Germany didn¡¯t send a message yesterday. They¡¯re playing like they¡¯ve already won the thing." "They looked good," Ferran admitted, stabbing at his eggs. "But tournaments aren¡¯t won in the first game. Let¡¯s see how they handle a real test." Rodri, seated nearby, chimed in without looking up from his bowl of oats. "They were sharp, but it¡¯s about consistency. One big game doesn¡¯t mean much if they can¡¯t sustain it." Izan who had watched enough, grabbed a plate and went through the serving line, scooping up a balanced breakfast before settling next to Pedri, Olmo, and Lamine Yamal. "See the predicted lineup?" Pedri asked, nodding toward Izan¡¯s phone. Izan gave a small shrug. "Yeah, but it¡¯s just guesses at this point." Lamine leaned in, grinning. "You¡¯re playing, though. No doubt about it." "Nothing¡¯s official." Olmo, who was practically playing the same position as Izan smirked. "Come on, you know you¡¯re in." Izan didn¡¯t argue. He had felt it, too¡ªthe trust in training, the way the coaching staff had been shaping things. But he wasn¡¯t the type to assume anything until it was confirmed. After a while, Luis de la Fuente entered the cafeteria moments later, exchanging nods with players as he grabbed a coffee. The room naturally quieted slightly as his presence was felt, but the mood remained relaxed. "Eat well," he reminded them. "Session starts in an hour. By the time the players reached the pitch, the morning sun had already risen fully. The crisp grass was damp with morning dew, and a slight breeze ran through the complex. The energy was focused but light¡ªthis was the first full session in Germany, and while intensity was expected, the heavy tactical work would come in the next few days. After warm-ups and rondos¡ªwhere the competitive fire sparked early between defenders and attackers¡ªthe group was split for positional drills. Izan was with the attacking midfielders, working through tight-space exercises with Pedri, Olmo, and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz. As the drill intensified, Izan¡¯s sharpness showed. His close control in tight areas made it difficult for defenders to close him down, and his quick turns sent a few of them lunging into empty space. One sequence saw him flick a first-touch pass into Olmo¡¯s path before immediately spinning away from his marker, receiving the return ball, and slotting it through to a sprinting Ferran Torres. Luis de la Fuente observed keenly, arms folded, exchanging murmurs with his assistants. It wasn¡¯t about domination, but Izan was making himself noticed¡ªfluid in his movement, decisive in his passing, and rarely making the wrong choice. To close out the session, the team was split into two sides for a small-sided scrimmage on a condensed pitch. The ball zipped around at a high tempo, players fighting for every inch of space. Izan¡¯s team, which included Pedri, Morata, and Lamine, faced off against Rodri, Nico, Olmo and Ferran¡¯s group. From the first whistle, the intensity shot up. Rodri dictated play in midfield, breaking up attacks and feeding runners, while Nico¡¯s speed stretched the game. But Izan and Pedri¡¯s link-up play was sharp, carving through pockets of space. One moment saw Pedri slip Izan through on the left and without breaking stride, Izan feinted a shot, causing his marker to hesitate before cutting inside and laying it off for Morata¡ªwho finished first time. 1-0. The match continued, shifting back and forth. Olmo equalized moments later with a near-post finish, but the little battle wasn¡¯t over. Izan wasn¡¯t overly dominant, but his presence was felt. His ability to operate under pressure made him a reliable outlet, and whenever his team needed an escape, he was there, offering quick passes and fluid movement. In the closing moments, with the score tied 2-2, he received the ball near the edge of the box, turned sharply away from pressure, and clipped a lofted pass to Lamine, who controlled and rifled it into the net ending the scrimmage. As the players caught their breaths, de la Fuente clapped his hands together. "Good work. That¡¯s the level we need." The session ended with cool-down stretches and a few passing drills before the players were dismissed for recovery. As they walked back to the facility, Pedri nudged Izan with a grin. "You¡¯re feeling it, huh?" But Izan chuckled and responded with a slight smirk. The days leading up to Spain¡¯s first match passed quickly. Training sessions grew sharper, tactical meetings became more intense, and the squad continued to watch other teams play. They gathered in the lounge for key matches¡ªanalyzing England¡¯s approach, dissecting France¡¯s defensive setup, and noting Portugal¡¯s attacking patterns. Each game was another layer of preparation, another glimpse into what they might face down the road. As Spain¡¯s matchday neared, the focus within the team sharpened. The outside noise¡ªthe lineup predictions, the polls, the hype¡ªfaded into the background. Their moment was coming. And when it did, they would be ready. Chapter 270: OVR Boost The days rolled by in a measured rhythm¡ªtraining, recovery, analysis, rest. The closer Spain got to their first game, the more the intensity built. Every session had a purpose. Every drill had an edge. The battle for starting spots was fierce, and Izan was right in the thick of it. The team¡¯s preparations remained meticulous. Watching their competition had become routine, and in every match they analyzed, there were lessons to be learned. Croatia was first on Spain¡¯s path, and everyone knew what they were up against. Modri?. Kova?i?. Gvardiol. Peri?i?. A team seasoned by experience, fueled by tactical intelligence, and hardened by years of deep tournament runs. They weren¡¯t a side that crumbled under pressure. They dictated play, broke teams down, and punished mistakes with ruthless efficiency. This wasn¡¯t just a match. It was a game that could send a statement of their arrival at the Euros. That they were not there to play second fiddle but to challenge for the title By the time the night before the opener arrived, the weight of expectation settled over the squad like a thick fog. The Spanish national team gathered in the briefing room after dinner. Luis de la Fuente stood at the front, flanked by his coaching staff, while the players settled into their seats. A projector hummed softly, displaying a tactical breakdown of Croatia¡¯s tendencies¡ªhow they pressed, how they built up, and where they were vulnerable. But everyone knew what they were really waiting for. The lineup announcement. As de la Fuente clicked to the next slide, the starting eleven appeared on the screen. Silence. Then, a ripple of murmurs. Izan wasn¡¯t there. Instead, Dani Olmo had been given the nod in the attacking midfield role. Izan sat motionless, his expression unreadable, but he could feel the glances from his teammates. Pedri turned slightly, almost as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Even Morata and Rodri¡ªsenior figures in the squad¡ªhad taken a second glance at the screen as if checking to see if they had misread it. Lamine Yamal shifted in his seat, frowning slightly. It wasn¡¯t that Olmo was a bad choice. He was experienced, technical, and had proven himself at the highest level. But Izan had been flawless in training. De la Fuente¡¯s voice cut through the tension. "This is the team that starts tomorrow," he said firmly. "But everyone here has a role. Whether you start or not, be ready. This is a long tournament." Izan nodded along with the others, keeping his expression neutral, but inside, his mind was running. He understood tournament football. He knew rotations were necessary. But still¡ªhe had felt it in training. The chemistry. The fluidity. The sharpness. He had expected to start but it seemed the coach had other plans. Later that night, the team returned to their rooms, the tension lingering in the air. Some players messaged family, some watched highlight reels of past Spain games, and some just lay in bed, letting their thoughts settle. Izan sat on the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, the screen dark. He wasn¡¯t frustrated. Frustration was an emotion that clouded the mind. He wasn¡¯t angry either. Anger was wasted energy. But he was determined. If de la Fuente didn¡¯t think he was the best option right now, then he would become the best option. Not just for this game. Not just for the group stages. For the whole tournament. He took a slow breath. Then, he made a decision. "Guess it¡¯s time for an upgrade," Izan said as he thought of his system. The tool that had elevated him to the level he was now. And tonight, he would push it further. He closed his eyes briefly before speaking. "Max." A soft, digital hum filled his ears. [SYSTEM ONLINE. AWAKE AND FUNCTIONAL. HELLO HOST. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE THAT DUMB FUXK(Author) DOES NOT LET ME APPEAR] Izan¡¯s gaze hardened at the system¡¯s words before wording his instructions. "Open the system." A small whirring sound filled Izan¡¯s mind before the holographic screen materialized in front of him. He stared at the familiar interface for a while before proceeding to his personal hub. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[16] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM SYSTEM EVALUATION:[WONDERKID] PLAYER RATING: [85/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[93] LEGEND POINTS:[280,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [540] STAT POINTS: [64] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 94 Body Control: 86 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86 Shooting: 86 Passing: 90 Body Strength: 85 Defending: 66 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion > **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : Equipped (offline) : Equipped(online) : Equipped (offline) : Equipped (online) S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. : Equipped (online) : Equipped(offline) Izan looked at his stat points reminiscing the influx of points he had gotten after winning the Copa del Rey with Valencia and he was going to go all in today. After staring for a while, Izan didn¡¯t waste much time and began with his upgrade. Looking at his 80-rated shot power, Izan spent 10 stat points directly before adding another 5 stat points to his strength bringing all his attributes in the body strength category to a 90 rating. [Host has improved. Displaying stats attributes now] Body strength:85>90 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stamina:90 Strength:85>90 Shot power:80>90 Izan nodded at the system¡¯s announcement before quickly moving on to something that had been his weakness for a while. Defending:66 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Tackles:59 Defensive awareness:74 Interceptions:64 Aerial prowess:66 Although it wasn¡¯t a requirement as a pure attacking midfielder, Izan didn¡¯t like the feeling of the sensation when a player blew past you. "Add 6 stat points to tackles to bring it up to par then add 1 to defensive awareness then share the 8 stat points equally among interceptions and Aerial Prowess." Immediately Izan finished speaking, the changes reflected on the screen, his defensive capabilities now brought to par with a decent defender. Defending:66>70 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Tackles:59>65 Defensive awareness:74>75 Interceptions:64>68 Aerial prowess:66>70 With his weakness curbed a bit, Izam moved to an attribute that could be the deciding factor in big-game moments. Shooting:86 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:87 Long shot:87 Freekick:85 Penalties: 85 Izan glanced at the remaining 37 stat points and decided to go all out and splurge them on the finishing stat. He turned his attention to the freekick and Penalties attribute before designating 5 stat points to each bringing both attributes to the 90-rated barrier. With that away, Izan continued to spend 10 stat points equally on finishing and long shots bringing both attributes to a similar 92 rating. Shooting:86>91 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Finishing:87>92 Long shot:87>92 Freekick:85>90 Penalties: 85>90 Ding, [ 4th 90-rated attribute unlocked. The host has gained an additional 10 stat points. Stats points available are now: 27] Izan who intended to stop saw the stat points in stock and decided to use them before the author used some stupid plot sword to strike down his armor. He glanced at his technique attribute which had stagnated since he won the Uefa youth league and opened it. Technique:86 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Dribbling:86 Ball control:86 Without much thought, Izan splurged 8 stat points each bringing those two attributes to the same as his speed attribute. Technique:86>94 ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Dribbling:86>94 Ball control:86>94 With 11 stat points left, Izan decided to hold onto them in case of any emergency where he needed to suddenly one-up his opponents. With that Izan returned to his personal hub where his newly upgraded attributes were reflected. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[16] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: VALENCIA FC/ SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM SYSTEM EVALUATION:[PHENOM] PLAYER RATING: [88/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[96] LEGEND POINTS:[280,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [540] STAT POINTS: [11] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 94 Body Control: 86>90 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 86>94 Shooting: 86>91 Passing: 90 Body Strength: 85>90 Defending: 66>70 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion > **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö : Equipped (offline) : Equipped(online) : Equipped (offline) : Equipped (online) : Equipped (online) : Equipped(offline) Ding, [Host¡¯s OVR has increased from 85 to 88] After hearing the sound of the system, Izan fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as he thought of what he would do when he came on tomorrow. After a while, Izan quickly succumbed to the grasp of sleep, letting his body rest as he prepared mentally for the game tomorrow. Chapter 271: Croatia[1] The morning of the match arrived with an electric charge in the air. A quiet tension settled over the Spanish camp as the players woke up, stretching out the stiffness of sleep and letting reality sink in. This was it. The start of their Euro 2024 journey. Breakfast was subdued¡ªplayers focused on their meals, minds already on the game. Some watched clips of Croatia¡¯s recent matches, while others kept their routines the same, not wanting to overthink. Izan sat with Pedri and Lamine Yamal, eating in silence, his thoughts sharp and measured. He wasn¡¯t in the starting eleven, but that didn¡¯t matter now. What mattered was being ready. After the final team meeting, where de la Fuente reinforced their tactical approach, they boarded the team bus. As they pulled out of their hotel, fans lined the streets, waving Spanish flags and chanting. Some held up signs with names and messages of support, and among them, Izan caught sight of one that made him smirk. "Izan Is that guy." A simple message, but a bold one. The team bus weaved through Berlin¡¯s streets, approaching the colossal Olympiastadion, the legendary venue that would host their opening clash against Croatia. The moment they arrived, cameras swarmed, flashing relentlessly as the Spanish players stepped off the bus. Fans roared from the stands above the entrance, their cheers echoing through the stadium tunnels. Izan walked with his teammates, his expression calm but focused. The weight of the tournament sat on all their shoulders, but it was something he welcomed. Inside, staff members moved efficiently, setting up the locker room. Jerseys hung neatly at each player¡¯s designated spot, and boots were lined up underneath. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As Izan approached his locker, something caught his eye. A black Adidas shoebox, different from the standard-issued pairs. Three silver-embossed letters glinted under the lights: HIM. His gaze sharpened as he picked it up, lifting the lid to reveal a pair of boots unlike any he had worn before. White, with gold accents. The material woven with intricate patterns¡ªa fusion of Spanish and Japanese elements. On the heel, his initials were engraved in gold, followed by the words: "Hungry. Intelligent. Merciless." But Izan knew the deeper meaning. HIM. Hern¨¢ndez. Izan. Miura. A folded card rested inside the box. We made these for the future. But the future starts now. ¡ªAdidas Football Izan smirked slightly, running a hand over the textured surface. He had a pair ready for warm-ups, but these? These were for something bigger. After changing into his warmup gear, Izan followed his teammates down the tunnel and out onto the pitch for warmups. The Olympiastadion was already filling up, Spanish and Croatian fans turning the stadium into a sea of red and white. As he jogged along the sidelines, Izan took a moment to interact with the Spanish supporters, tossing a few signed footballs into the crowd. Some fans chanted his name, others held up banners¡ªa few of them referencing his Pichichi win. Lamine jogged up beside him, nudging him slightly. "Already a fan favorite, huh?" he teased. Izan smirked but said nothing, shifting his focus back to the drills. Despite not starting, he trained with the same intensity as if he were. Every touch, every pass¡ªsharp, deliberate, purposeful. And across the field, he felt the eyes on him. The Croatian players, finishing their own warmups, had noticed. Luka Modri?, the eternal maestro, glanced at him briefly, expression unreadable. Mateo Kova?i?, jogging past, gave him a quick look of acknowledgment. Josko Gvardiol, stretching near the halfway line, also watched him for a moment longer before turning away. They knew who he was. And they knew, even if he wasn¡¯t starting, he wasn¡¯t just another squad player. After warmups, the team returned to the locker room, where de la Fuente delivered his final words. "This is our moment. Trust each other, trust the work we¡¯ve put in, and play without fear. We make a statement today." With that, the players stood, adjusting their kits, and tightening their boots. Izan sat calmly, rolling his shoulders as the adrenaline built inside him. Soon, they were led back down the tunnel, where they met Croatia face-to-face. The atmosphere shifted¡ªa quiet storm of tension and anticipation. Rodri stood at the front, shoulders squared, eyes locked ahead. Morata cracked his knuckles absently. On the Croatian side, Modri? stood with the same calm aura he had carried for years. Gvardiol, imposing as ever, sized up his Spanish counterparts. Peri?i? exchanged a knowing look with Morata, a veteran recognizing another. Nico, standing further back, locked eyes with Kova?i? for a brief second. The Croatian midfielder gave him the smallest of nods¡ªa sign of respect. But the time for silent messages was over. The referee stepped forward. It was time. The players marched onto the pitch, greeted by a deafening roar from the Olympiastadion. The Euros had begun. The Olympiastadion pulsed with energy as the Spanish and Croatian players lined up on the pristine grass. The sea of red and white in the stands created a striking visual¡ªSpain and Croatia, two nations with unfinished business on this grand stage. The broadcast feed captured everything¡ªthe players¡¯ focused expressions, the tension in their movements, the sheer weight of the occasion. "Live from Berlin, welcome to the UEFA European Championship 2024. It¡¯s Spain against Croatia in this highly anticipated Group B clash at the Olympiastadion. Two nations with rich footballing heritage, meeting once again in a tournament setting." "Spain, under Luis de la Fuente, brings a new generation of talent, headlined by Pedri, Lamine Yamal, and of course, the youngest-ever Pichichi winner, Izan Hern¨¢ndez. But he starts on the bench today, a decision that has certainly raised some eyebrows." "And Croatia¡ªled by the timeless Luka Modri?¡ªare here to prove that their golden generation still has one last run in them. They reached the World Cup final in 2018, the semifinals in 2022¡­ and now, they want to go all the way in the Euros." The camera panned across the players, capturing close-ups of their faces. Modri?, standing in front of the Croatian line, his expression unreadable. Rodri, Spain¡¯s leader in midfield, exuded quiet authority while Morata, bounced on his toes, waiting for the match to begin. The pre-match formalities began with the national anthems. Croatia¡¯s anthem, "Lijepa na?a domovino", echoed through the stadium first, their players standing tall, many of them singing with closed eyes, a moment of deep national pride. Then, "Marcha Real" rang through the Olympiastadion. The Spanish players stood shoulder to shoulder, some staring at the ground, others looking into the distance. Izan, positioned in the seat just behind Jesus Neves and Oryazabal, kept his gaze forward. No singing, just focus. The fans added their voices, creating a spine-tingling backdrop of chants and passion. With the anthems concluded, both captains¡ªModri? and Morata¡ªstepped forward for the coin toss, shaking hands with the match officials. The referee flipped the coin, and Modri? called it. Heads. Croatia won the toss and chose to kick off. As the players dispersed to their positions, the final moments of pre-match rituals unfolded. Spain¡¯s defenders clapped their hands together in unison, a small gesture of unity. Croatia¡¯s midfielders huddled for a quick last-second word from Modri?. The substitutes took their seats, though Izan remained standing for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. Then, with the stadium at full voice and millions watching around the world, the referee blew his whistle. Euro 2024 had officially begun for Spain. ..... The opening whistle was drowned out by the roar of the Olympiastadion. The tension, thick enough to cut, snapped into motion as Croatia knocked the ball around from the kickoff, probing Spain¡¯s shape. Luka Modri? dictated the first touches, playing a simple pass back to Marcelo Brozovi?. From the sidelines, De la Fuente and Zlatko Dali? stood with arms crossed, scanning the field like chess masters analyzing an early sequence. Spain pressed high immediately. Lamine Yamal darted forward, shadowing Borna Sosa¡¯s movement down the left. On the other side, Nico Williams hounded Josip Juranovi?, forcing Croatia to recycle possession. Rodri, ever composed, hovered in midfield, eyes locked on Modri?¡¯s every step. The Croatian maestro, even at 38, moved with an effortless grace, shifting angles to evade the press. The first real test came in the 3rd minute. A neat Croatian build-up saw Kova?i? slip a pass into Andrej Kramari?, who peeled away from Le Normand. He turned and fired quickly¡ªbut Unai Sim¨®n was alert, diving low to smother the shot. Spain responded immediately. Pedri, smooth as ever, picked up the ball in midfield and slalomed through Croatian shirts before threading a pass into ¨¢lvaro Morata, who took a deft touch past Gvardiol and let fly. Dominik Livakovi? stretched out a strong palm¡ªdenying an early Spanish breakthrough. The match had ignited. By the 10th minute, it was clear¡ªthis was a war for midfield control. Rodri and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz took turns engaging Brozovi? and Modri?. The Croatians, masters of short passing under pressure, moved the ball just fast enough to escape Spain¡¯s clutches. Pedri, meanwhile, floated between the lines, a silent predator waiting for space to exploit. Every time Spain recycled the ball, he was there, head swiveling, orchestrating the next move. Chapter 272 - 2 Goals in 5 minutes By the 10th minute, it was clear¡ªthis was a war for midfield control. Rodri and Fabian Ruiz took turns engaging Brozovi? and Modri?. The Croatians, masters of short passing under pressure, moved the ball just fast enough to escape Spain¡¯s clutches. Pedri, meanwhile, floated between the lines, a silent predator waiting for space to exploit. Every time Spain recycled the ball, he was there, head swiveling, orchestrating the next move, and one such move saw, Yamal through on the byline. Lamine Yamal, a blur of movement, skipped past Sosa on the right and curled a cross toward the back post. The stadium watched on as Nico Williams rose above Juranovi?, heading the ball powerfully downwards. The stadium held its breath sensing a golden moment but Livakovi? reacted instinctively, kicking the ball away with his left boot. Another near miss. "Spain are relentless here" the commentary box sounded. Although Spain had most of the ball, Dali?¡¯s men weren¡¯t passive. In the 15th minute, they nearly silenced the Spanish crowd. A sweeping move saw Gvardiol step forward, carrying the ball into midfield before slipping a pass to Kramari?. The striker held it up and squared it to Modri?, who spotted an unmarked Peri?i? at the far post. A deadly moment¡ªPeri?i? wound up and struck a volley toward the bottom corner. Sim¨®n, at full stretch, pushed it wide! Croatia¡¯s bench rose in unison clapping at their team¡¯s efforts while Dali? clenched his fists. "We can¡¯t afford to not make chances like that count" he muttered to his assistant. Sensing the danger, Spain adjusted. Rodri dropped deeper, allowing the fullbacks to push higher. Pedri and Fabian Ruiz began to find more pockets of space and the rhythm shifted and the following minutes saw Spain strike again. A diagonal ball from Rodri found Nico Williams near the edge of the box. The winger took one touch to control and another to drive past Juranovi? before firing a low shot toward the near post. Livakovi? was beaten¡ª But the ball shaved the outside of the post and rolled out! Gasps filled the stadium. Spain was knocking, but Croatia refused to break. As the 20th minute arrived, both teams had thrown their first punches. The deadlock remained, but the message was clear¡ªthis was a match between equals, a battle waiting to explode. Spain¡¯s attacking momentum remained relentless. The fluid interplay between Pedri, Fabi¨¢n Ruiz, and Rodri kept Croatia pinned, their defensive line stretched thin but the latter side didn¡¯t let up. After Croatia forced a corner, the leading set piece saw Gvardiol meet the ball almost putting Croatia ahead but Aymeric Laporte cleared the ball off the line. On the other end, Izan leaned forward on the bench, eyes narrowing. "That was too close," he muttered. De la Fuente turned to his assistants. "We need better control in transition." Quickly, his assistants got to work finding ways to break down Croatia¡¯s setup on paper. Back to the other technical area, Dali? urged his players on. "Keep exploiting the space! Stay aggressive!" Rodri, sensing the danger, dropped deeper to stabilize Spain¡¯s shape. Pedri and Fabi¨¢n found more pockets of space, re-establishing control and the rhythm shifted again. Online, fans showed their approval at the match where there was never a dull moment. At least up till now even though there was no goal. ..... @MadridistaX: Nico Williams is a PROBLEM. Juranovi? can¡¯t handle him. @CroatianPride: Modri? is still running this game at 38. Absolute legend. .... In the Spanish dugout, Izan shook his head. "That was the one," he muttered after Spain wasted another chance. Beside him, Oyarzabal exhaled. "We¡¯re knocking. Feels like a goal is coming." Zubimendi, still locked into the game, muttered, "One more chance and it¡¯s in." "Spain knocking on the door, but Croatia refuses to break." "And you can feel the tension rising. These are two teams trading their best punches." As the half-hour mark dawned, both teams had landed their early blows. The deadlock remained, but the message was clear¡ªthis was a match between equals, a battle waiting to explode and the first strike would come soon. The Olympiastadion buzzed with nervous energy. Both teams had tested each other, but now, Spain made their move. It started with a crisp build-up from the back, Rodri dictating the tempo, before shifting the ball wide to Yamal. The 16-year-old, fearless as ever, darted forward, cutting inside Sosa (Croatia) before laying it off to Morata at the edge of the box. "Morata¡¯s always in the right place at the right time," the commentator said, as Morata took a moment to size up the situation. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Morata, always aware, saw the run. Fabi¨¢n Ruiz ghosted between the lines, received the pass, and lifted a perfect through ball over the Croatian defense. "A beautifully weighted pass from Fabi¨¢n¡ªMorata¡¯s in!" Morata was through. One touch. One finish. "Morata, he¡¯s got a clear shot¡­ and it¡¯s in!" The ball nestled into the bottom corner past Livakovi?. GOAL! SPAIN 1-0 CROATIA. The crowd exploded, the Spanish fans sending a wave of joy through the stadium as Morata wheeled away, arms outstretched, his face alight with pride. "And that¡¯s why he¡¯s the leader!" the commentator shouted, a nod to the veteran striker¡¯s poise and class. On the bench, Izan clapped, smirking. "The captain delivers." Ferran Torres nodded. "He¡¯s sometimes just inevitable, isn¡¯t he?" "Other times, he just wastes time them," Oryazabal said with a small grin Across the pitch, Modri? clenched his fists, rallying his teammates. Croatia had conceded, but they weren¡¯t out of this yet. "Spain strike first in Berlin! Morata gets the goal, and now Croatia must respond quickly," the commentator continued. "You can¡¯t afford to let a team like Spain build confidence." Dali?, Croatia¡¯s coach, was already gesturing from the sideline, urging his players to refocus. "Get the ball moving quicker!" he shouted, as his players gathered in a huddle. The camera cut back to Spain¡¯s bench, where the atmosphere was tense but confident. Izan¡¯s eyes narrowed. ... The commentary box was alive with excitement, the tension palpable as the match progressed. Both teams had been testing each other relentlessly, and the atmosphere was electric, with the result hanging in the balance. Commentator 1: "Well, we¡¯re now approaching the 33rd minute, and what a match this has been so far! Spain have been dominant in possession, but Croatia, with their trademark composure, haven¡¯t let the Spaniards have it all their own way. You can feel both teams are itching for the breakthrough." Commentator 2: "Absolutely, Spain have been building with real intensity. Rodri and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz have been pulling the strings in midfield, and the movement of players like Yamal, Pedri, and Nico Williams is just too good. It has been causing all kinds of problems for the Croatian defense." Commentator 1: "And don¡¯t forget about Croatia! Modri?, despite being 38, is still playing with the vision of a man half his age. The way he¡¯s orchestrating from deep has been incredible. It¡¯s no wonder he¡¯s one of the best midfielders to ever play the game. But Spain¡­ Spain are relentless. They¡¯re knocking and knocking, and it feels like a matter of time before they break through again." Commentator 2: "That¡¯s the thing about this Spain side, they¡¯ve got that hunger. When they¡¯re in possession, they¡¯re not just looking to control the game¡ªthey¡¯re looking to pierce through defenses, and they¡¯ve got the players to do it. Nico Williams, in particular, has been a problem for Croatia¡¯s right-back, Juranovi?. He just can¡¯t keep up with the pace of Williams." Commentator 1: "And we¡¯re seeing that again right now¡ªSpain are just attacking with such fluidity. Look at Yamal, so confident, so composed. His combination with Fabi¨¢n and Morata in the build-up to the first goal was sublime. This is a well-drilled Spain team, but Croatia is not making it easy for them. They¡¯re responding well, defending resolutely, but can they withstand this pressure for long?" Commentator 2: "It¡¯s a battle of willpower now, and Croatia can¡¯t afford to let Spain¡¯s momentum build. But Spain, look so clinical when they go forward. You can sense that another goal is coming¡­" Suddenly, as if responding to the commentary, Spain surged forward again. Commentator 1: "Hold on a second! Spain are on the attack again! Rodri sprays a perfect ball out to the left¡­ Yamal¡¯s off¡ªhe¡¯s quick¡ªhe¡¯s got the defender on his back¡­" Commentator 2: "This kid is a menace! Yamal dances past Sosa again, cutting inside¡ªhe¡¯s looking for options, looking for the right pass¡­" Commentator 1: "And here comes the ball into the box¡ªFabi¨¢n¡¯s there! He¡¯s got space¡ªhe lays it back for¡­ Pedri! No, it¡¯s Fabian Ruiz again! HE¡¯S IN! HE¡¯S IN!" Commentator 2: " Fabian Ruiz. Can he finish?" Commentator 1: "One touch, one shot¡ªOH, IT¡¯S A GOAL! Ruiz doubles Spain¡¯s lead, what a finish!" The crowd erupted, the Spanish supporters in full voice, waving flags and cheering as Fabian Ruiz celebrated with his teammates, hands raised to the sky, a look of sheer determination on his face. Commentator 2: "What a finish! Ruiz¡¯s clinical strike gives Spain a 2-0 lead. You have to admire his composure under pressure. The pass from Yamal was inch-perfect, and Ruiz didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe took the shot first time and buried it into the bottom corner. Livakovi? had no chance." Commentator 1: "The quality of this Spanish side is undeniable. The way they¡¯ve moved the ball, the precision in the final third¡ªit¡¯s what separates the top teams from the rest. Croatia has had their moments, but Spain have made theirs count." The camera shifted to Izan on the bench, his focus unbroken, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Commentator 2: "And as we see on the bench, Izan, who had been a standout in the Spanish league this season, looks pleased with what he¡¯s seeing. His team is in control now. But there¡¯s still a long way to go. Croatia won¡¯t go down without a fight." Commentator 1: "Absolutely, and with players like Modri? still pulling the strings, we know Croatia has the talent to create something special. But this Spain team, they look like they¡¯ve turned a corner in this match. What a performance, and what a moment for Ruiz." As the celebrations continued on the field, Spain were now two goals up, and the stadium buzzed with the intensity of what had just transpired. Both coaches had their work cut out for them, but for now, Spain held the advantage. The battle had shifted, but the war was far from over. Chapter 273: Great Start As the celebrations continued on the field, Spain were now two goals up, and the stadium buzzed with the intensity of what had just transpired. Both coaches had their work cut out for them, but for now, Spain held the advantage. The battle had shifted, but the war was far from over. ...¡­ The Olympiastadion was alive. Spanish flags rippled in the stands, the echoes of celebration reverberating through the Berlin night. The scoreboard read Spain 2-0 Croatia, but La Roja weren¡¯t finished. They could smell it now¡ªthe third goal, the dagger that would all but end this contest before halftime. Croatia looked weary. Luka Modri?, their eternal general, urged his teammates to stay sharp, but the weight of Spain¡¯s relentless pressure was beginning to show. Every duel, every chase, every misplaced clearance chipped away at their confidence. S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Spain, in contrast, had grown bolder. Lamine Yamal, the 16-year-old sensation, had spent the last forty-five minutes tormenting Borna Sosa on the right flank. Twisting and turning, forcing the Croatian left-back into uncomfortable, panicked lunges. He wasn¡¯t just playing¡ªhe was dictating. And as the clock ticked into stoppage time, Yamal¡¯s eyes locked onto the ball at his feet once more. Rodri, always composed, spotted Yamal in space and sent a crisp diagonal pass to him near the right wing. The ball fizzed across the grass, skipping past a lunging Peri?i?. Yamal didn¡¯t let it slow down. His first touch was a caress, soft but precise, setting him up to accelerate down the line. Sosa rushed in¡ªagain. The Spaniard dropped his shoulder. A feint to the right, a flick to the left, and Sosa was beaten before he even realized it. Commentator 1: "Yamal, breathtaking again¡ªhe¡¯s got Sosa in knots!" A Croatian defender stepped forward to cover, but Yamal was already moving. His body shifted, his boot carved under the ball, and he whipped a perfect cross into the box. Commentator 2: "It¡¯s a brilliant delivery¡ªdangerous area¡ªwho¡¯s there?" For a split second, time seemed to freeze. The Croatian defense reacted too late. A wall of red and white jerseys scrambled toward the six-yard box, but in the middle of it all, one man had timed his run to perfection. Dani Carvajal. The veteran right-back, known more for his defensive solidity than his goal-scoring, had drifted into the penalty area unnoticed. The ball curved toward him, teasingly just out of Livakovi?¡¯s reach. Without hesitation, Carvajal lunged forward, stretching his boot¡ª A delicate touch. A flick. A goal. The ball bounced past Livakovi? and nestled into the net. 3-0. Spain were running riot. The stadium exploded. Commentator 1: "Carvajal! Would you believe it? Dani Carvajal has his first-ever goal for Spain, and what a time to get it!" The Spanish players swarmed him in celebration. Carvajal slid onto his knees, punching the air as his teammates mobbed him, their cheers lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. On the touchline, Luis de la Fuente clenched his fist, a rare grin breaking his usually reserved demeanor. He turned to his staff, nodding. "Let the others start warming up," he muttered. On the other side, Croatia¡¯s bench sat in stunned silence. Dali? rubbed his face, frustration evident. His team had just been overwhelmed. The Croatian players had barely recovered from the goal when the referee glanced at his watch. A few more seconds ticked by before¡ª Peeeeep! Halftime. Commentator 2: "And that¡¯s the whistle! A dominant, dominant first half from Spain. Three goals. Complete control. And Croatia¡ªshell-shocked." On the Spanish bench, Izan exhaled, shaking his head. The intensity of the match had kept him locked in, his body almost leaning forward with every Spanish attack. Oyarzabal, sitting beside him, let out a low whistle. "This team is something else, huh?" Izan smirked. "Yeah. It is. It really is," his voice going silent as he neared the latter words. He stood, stretching his arms before jogging toward the tunnel with the rest of the squad. The Spanish players moved with energy and confidence¡ªthey knew what they had done. Behind them, the Croatian team followed, their heads low, their shoulders sagging. As the players disappeared into the tunnel, the scoreboard remained, glowing brightly in the Berlin night. SPAIN 3-0 CROATIA. A warning had been sent to the rest of Europe. ..... England Camp ¨C Blankenhain, Germany In England¡¯s training base, the players gathered in the common room, watching the Spain vs. Croatia game unfold on a massive screen. The atmosphere had started off as relaxed, but as Spain¡¯s dominance grew, the mood shifted. Declan Rice leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. "They¡¯re making it look easy," he muttered. Jude Bellingham, sitting beside him, nodded slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen as the Spaniards walked off the pitch at halftime, heads high. "They¡¯re in full control. Croatia can¡¯t even breathe." Bukayo Saka exhaled. "Three-nil in one half? That¡¯s not normal at this level." Phil Foden shook his head. "And Izan hasn¡¯t even played yet." That drew a few glances. Bellingham smiled knowingly. "Yeah, but you know how he is¡ªhe¡¯s probably fine with it. He¡¯s patient." He pulled out his phone and fired off a quick message. Not bad, bro. Guess you¡¯re just chilling tonight? Izan¡¯s reply came almost instantly. Gotta let the old guys have their fun. Bellingham chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, he¡¯s good." Harry Kane, watching from the other side of the room, finally spoke. "Spain are serious contenders. They¡¯ve got depth, they¡¯ve got balance." He turned to Rice. "They remind me of us¡ªsolid midfield, young attackers, experienced defenders." Rice exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, but they play faster. The way they rotate possession, you never know where the danger¡¯s coming from." Saka crossed his arms. "Think we¡¯ll face them?" Bellingham leaned forward, eyes flickering with anticipation. "If we do, it¡¯s gonna be a battle. ..... The Spanish players emerged from the tunnel, their bodies loose, their expressions sharp. The Olympiastadion still pulsed with energy, the echoes of their first-half dominance lingering in the Berlin night. On the Croatian side, the contrast was stark. Their shoulders sagged, and their eyes carried the weight of the scoreline. But pride dictated they wouldn¡¯t roll over. Not yet. Spain, however, had no intention of easing up. Luis de la Fuente stood on the touchline, hands clasped behind his back, watching as Croatia attempted to press higher up the pitch. He turned to his assistant. "They¡¯ll be desperate now. More aggressive, but also more open." A nod. De la Fuente shifted his gaze toward the Spanish bench. Options. So many options. Beside him, players warmed up, stretching, jogging, shaking out their limbs. Izan was among them. He knew the cameras would be on him¡ªwaiting, anticipating his introduction. But he remained unfazed, eyes locked on the game, absorbing every movement. Spain probably wouldn¡¯t need him tonight. Not yet. Instead, de la Fuente called for others. Minute 60 ¨C Substitutions Dani Olmo. Mikel Merino. Ferran Torres. These Fresh legs now ensured more control and more energy. Commentator 1: "Three changes for Spain, but notably, Izan remains on the bench. A sign that de la Fuente doesn¡¯t want to push too far?" Commentator 2: "Perhaps. At 3-0, there¡¯s no need to force the issue. But let¡¯s not mistake this¡ªSpain could score more if they wanted to." Izan simply nodded as Olmo jogged past him onto the pitch, offering a fist bump. He knew the decision wasn¡¯t about ability or form. It was about balance. No overkill. No unnecessary risks. Just a clean, dominant victory to start the tournament. Croatia fought to restore pride. They pressed harder, threw more bodies forward, and forced Unai Sim¨®n into a sharp save off a Kramari? effort. But Spain remained unshaken. Rodri and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz dictated the tempo, slowing the game when needed, and slicing through Croatia¡¯s lines when the opportunity arose. Pedri, operating with the freedom of a maestro, played with a calm arrogance, his touches silken, his vision effortless. Lamine Yamal, still brimming with confidence, teased the Croatian defenders, daring them to commit. And the Spanish fans? They savored every second. The Oles began in the 75th minute. Every completed pass, a dagger to Croatia¡¯s spirit. On the touchline, de la Fuente crossed his arms. No frantic gestures, no barking of orders. This was Spain at its purest. Even Izan, standing by the bench with his bib still on, couldn¡¯t help but smirk at how comfortable it all looked. Peeeeep! Final whistle. Spain 3-0 Croatia. No late drama. No frantic defending. Just control. Total control. The Spanish players exchanged handshakes, pats on the back, and knowing glances. They had sent a message to the rest of Europe tonight. As they walked toward the traveling Spanish fans, applause rained down. Flags waved, and chants echoed into the night. Izan followed behind his teammates, jogging toward the crowd, offering his own applause in return. His time would come. But tonight, Spain had made their statement. And the rest of the tournament had taken notice. A/n: Hello guys. So it¡¯s mid-sem next week and I just wanted to say I might not be releasing as much as I would. You know what. F**k mid-sem. Let¡¯s make Izan the GOAT. Okay maybe not literally but you get me right. Chapter 274: Media Izan followed behind his teammates, jogging toward the crowd, offering his own applause in return. He had not played. But tonight, Spain had made their statement. And the rest of the tournament had taken notice. [France Camp ¨C Bad Lippspringe, Germany] The French squad had been watching from their sleek training facility, gathered in the lounge with their recovery gear still strapped on. A few were on foam rollers, others sipping protein shakes, but all eyes had been locked on the screen as Spain calmly dismantled Croatia. The final whistle barely blew when Theo Hern¨¢ndez exhaled and shook his head. "Pff¡­ pas mal, hein?" Aur¨¦lien Tchouam¨¦ni stretched out his legs, cracking his neck. "No, not bad at all." Marcus Thuram, lounging with his feet up, let out a low whistle. "They made Croatia look ordinary. That¡¯s not easy." Kylian Mbapp¨¦ was quiet. He sat near the back, hoodie up, watching the screen even after the broadcast had switched to post-match analysis. Antoine Griezmann caught his expression and smirked. "You thinking what I¡¯m thinking?" Mbapp¨¦ finally glanced at him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "That they¡¯re a problem?" Griezmann laughed. "Oh, we knew that already." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "But we¡¯ll deal with them if it comes to it. Like always." Tchouam¨¦ni crossed his arms. "Their midfield is sharp. Rodri, Fabi¨¢n¡­ even Pedri. They¡¯re not just passing for possession. They¡¯re slicing through." Jules Kound¨¦, scrolling through his phone, raised an eyebrow. "And they didn¡¯t even need Izan tonight. That kid was awfully terrifying when we met them. I didn¡¯t even want to approach him since I knew it was going to be futile" Kounde¡¯s words got a few nods. Eduardo Camavinga, who had been mostly silent, finally spoke. "That¡¯s what makes them dangerous. They don¡¯t rely on one player. They have weapons everywhere." Mbapp¨¦ stretched out his legs. "Yeah, but so do we." His tone wasn¡¯t cocky¡ªjust matter-of-fact. "Let¡¯s see how they look when it¡¯s not all going their way." Griezmann grinned. "Exactement." No panic. No overreaction. Just recognition. And quiet confidence. [Germany Camp ¨C Herzogenaurach, Germany] The mood in the German camp was different. Not tense, but serious. The Spanish performance had been¡­ instructive. Ilkay G¨¹ndogan sat beside Toni Kroos, both watching the highlights replayed on the big screen in the players¡¯ lounge. Kroos, ever composed, leaned back in his chair, sipping water. "They looked sharp." G¨¹ndogan nodded. "Controlled the entire game." Jamal Musiala, standing nearby, ran a hand through his hair. "They played with so much rhythm. Never rushed, never panicked." Kai Havertz, arms crossed, exhaled. "It¡¯s not just their attack. Their pressing was perfect. Croatia never got comfortable." Kroos set his bottle down. "Spain always start strong in tournaments. That¡¯s not new. What matters is if they can maintain it." Antonio R¨¹diger, who had been leaning against the wall, finally spoke. "You know what I see? A team playing free. No pressure. No stress. That makes them dangerous." Musiala nodded. "But they haven¡¯t been tested yet." G¨¹ndogan glanced at Kroos. They both knew better than to dismiss Spain too quickly. Kroos stood up, stretching. "We¡¯ll find out soon enough." There was no fear in the German camp. Just focus. And a shared understanding: If they wanted to win this tournament, they¡¯d have to be even better. ... Spain¡¯s 3-0 demolition of Croatia had set the tone for their Euro 2024 campaign, and the country woke up to a wave of euphoria. The newspapers, the morning radio shows, the television debates¡ªevery platform was dominated by La Roja¡¯s emphatic performance. The major sports dailies captured the mood perfectly: MARCA: "Exhibici¨®n de Espa?a: Un Debut de Ensue?o" (Spain¡¯s Exhibition: A Dream Debut) AS: "La Roja Avisa a Europa" (La Roja Warns Europe) Mundo Deportivo: "Toque, Magia y Poder: Espa?a, Favorita" (Touch, Magic, and Power: Spain, A Favorite) Sport: "Espa?a Deslumbra en Berl¨ªn" (Spain Dazzles in Berlin) The analysis was unanimous: Spain had played one of the most dominant football of the tournament so far. The movement, the pressing, the technical superiority¡ªit had all been breathtaking. Rodri had controlled the midfield with effortless authority. Pedri and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz had combined like artists in full flow. Lamine Yamal, at just 16 years old, had tormented Croatia¡¯s defense, proving that his age was irrelevant when placed against his sheer ability. And Dani Carvajal¡¯s goal? The cherry on top. Yet, despite the endless praise, one question hung over the discussions: What about the other 16-year-old? Why didn¡¯t Izan play? It wasn¡¯t just a minor footnote¡ªit was the biggest talking point on every post-match show. On El Chiringuito, Josep Pedrerol wasted no time in stirring the conversation. "Luis de la Fuente had the chance to unleash Spain¡¯s biggest young star¡ªand he didn¡¯t! What does this mean? Is there a message here? Is he holding Izan back?" His words set the stage for a fiery back-and-forth among the panelists. Some argued that Izan¡¯s absence was simply part of squad management, while others questioned whether the coach was being overly cautious. On Cadena SER, the approach was calmer. "It¡¯s not about distrust," said commentator Antonio Romero. "De la Fuente simply didn¡¯t need to use him. When your team is up 3-0, you don¡¯t make changes just for the sake of it." Still, among fans, frustration simmered. Social media was filled with reactions: @JuanmaRCF: "How are we up 3-0 and not even giving Izan 10-15 minutes? This is our best player!" @Alvaro_89: "Relax. This was about managing the tournament. He¡¯ll play when we need him." @Lucia_Spain: "Yamal was brilliant, but imagine Izan and Yamal together¡­ De la Fuente is too conservative." Even El Pa¨ªs, known for its measured takes, published an article by Diego Torres questioning the decision: "Spain showed they can dominate without relying on Izan. That¡¯s a great sign. But sooner or later, they will need their difference-maker. When that moment comes, will he be ready?" It was clear¡ªSpain was thrilled by their team¡¯s performance, but the absence of their golden boy had left many wanting more. In the host country, the reaction to Spain¡¯s performance was just as intense, though the focus was different. Rather than questioning Izan¡¯s absence, the German media emphasized just how terrifying Spain looked. Kicker: "Spanien Schockt Europa" (Spain Shocks Europe) Bild: "Perfektion in Berlin: Sind Sie Unschlagbar?" (Perfection in Berlin: Are They Unbeatable?) Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung: "Spanien setzt den Ma?stab" (Spain Sets the Standard) On Sky Germany, former national team player Lothar Matth?us gave his verdict: "Spain played at a different speed. Their pressing, their passing¡­ everything was fluid. If they continue like this, they are title contenders." Meanwhile, on ZDF, the post-match panel agreed: "This wasn¡¯t just a win. This was a statement. Spain didn¡¯t need a late goal, a moment of luck, or individual brilliance. They dominated from start to finish. That¡¯s the sign of a real tournament team." For Germany, watching from afar, the message was clear: Spain weren¡¯t just contenders. They were a real threat. By midday, Spanish sports talk shows had moved on from simply praising Spain to breaking down why Luis de la Fuente had left Izan on the bench. On Movistar F¨²tbol, former Spain midfielder Marcos Senna gave a tactical breakdown: "Bringing Izan on at 3-0 would¡¯ve been unnecessary. The team was already in control. What does de la Fuente gain by risking fatigue or injury for a game that¡¯s already won?" Santi Ca?izares, speaking on COPE, put it even more bluntly: "Would Izan have loved to play? Of course. But this is a month-long tournament, not a one-off match. De la Fuente is managing this squad with the long game in mind." Meanwhile, on LaLiga TV, Guillem Balagu¨¦ expanded on the strategic side of the decision: "This wasn¡¯t about Izan. This was about balance. You don¡¯t use all your weapons in the first battle. Spain were dominant without him. That¡¯s a luxury." Even tactical analysts on The Athletic weighed in, with Michael Cox writing: "De la Fuente likely sees Izan as a weapon for the tighter matches¡ªthe ones where Spain need a moment of magic. Yesterday, there was no need for magic. Just control." Over on ESPN FC, Alejandro Moreno laughed at the outrage, dismissing it outright: "This is hilarious. People are acting like Izan was dropped. He wasn¡¯t. He just wasn¡¯t needed. Spain were up 3-0! He¡¯ll play when they need him. Simple." By the afternoon, the mood among fans had settled. What had started as frustration had slowly given way to understanding. Yes, they all wanted to see Izan on the pitch. But Spain had shown that they weren¡¯t dependent on him. And in a long tournament, that was a good thing. With Spain¡¯s next match approaching, the discussion naturally shifted: Would Izan start against Italy? Most analysts believed de la Fuente would keep his lineup unchanged. After all, why fix what wasn¡¯t broken? Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But others argued that Italy would demand something different. A tougher midfield battle, a game that might require Izan¡¯s creativity to break through. Luis de la Fuente had kept one of his biggest weapons in reserve. The only question now was when he would decide to use it. Chapter 275: First XI With Spain¡¯s next match approaching, the discussion naturally shifted: Would Izan start against Italy? Most analysts believed de la Fuente would keep his lineup unchanged. After all, why fix what wasn¡¯t broken? But others argued that Italy would demand something different. A tougher midfield battle, a game that might require Izan¡¯s creativity to break through. Luis de la Fuente had kept one of his biggest weapons in reserve. The only question now was when he would decide to use it. .... The euphoria of the Croatia win had barely settled when Spain¡¯s players found themselves back in their training kits, stepping onto the lush training grounds in the heart of Germany. The morning air was crisp, the sky a soft gray, and the distant hum of media crews setting up for the open portion of training served as a reminder¡ªEuro 2024 wasn¡¯t stopping for anyone. Luis de la Fuente and his coaching staff gathered the squad before the session, their voices firm but measured. "Enjoying the victory is fine," de la Fuente told them, scanning the group. "But Italy is a different kind of beast. They won¡¯t give us space. They won¡¯t let us breathe. We need to be sharper." The message was clear. Croatia had been a statement win, but Italy was something else entirely. As the warm-ups began, the mood was light, with the players joking among themselves. But as soon as the tactical drills started, the intensity ramped up. Izan moved with quiet determination, his touches sharp, his movements precise. He hadn¡¯t played against Croatia, but his body felt ready, almost desperate for action. Rodri, Spain¡¯s midfield general, took charge during positional drills, instructing Pedri and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz on when to press and when to hold their ground. The defenders worked separately, with Aymeric Laporte and Dani Carvajal adjusting their shape under the guidance of assistant coach Pablo Amo. De la Fuente called for an 11v11 drill, simulating Italy¡¯s defensive structure. With Nacho playing as a makeshift Alessandro Bastoni, the focus was on breaking through a compact block. Izan, positioned as an inside forward on the left, found himself locked in duels with Carvajal, who wasn¡¯t giving him an inch. "If you want minutes, Izan, you¡¯ll have to earn them," Carvajal muttered after dispossessing him cleanly. Izan exhaled sharply but didn¡¯t respond. He liked Carvajal¡ªrespected him¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t here to prove himself in training. He had already done that for a season at Valencia. He just needed a chance. That evening, Spain¡¯s squad gathered in the hotel¡¯s media lounge, watching Italy¡¯s opening game against Albania. Plates of light snacks¡ªfruits, yogurt, protein bars¡ªwere scattered around as the players relaxed into the couches. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It took 16 seconds for Albania to shock the Italians with a goal. "What the hell?" Laporte murmured, sitting forward. Lamine Yamal, next to Izan, laughed. "Well, that¡¯s one way to start a game." But Italy responded immediately, equalizing through Bastoni before Barella¡¯s strike made it 2-1. The game settled into a familiar rhythm¡ªItaly controlling possession, suffocating Albania with their compact defensive structure. Izan watched intently, noting how Federico Chiesa moved in the attack. Quick, aggressive, relentless. If he played, he¡¯d likely be up against Giovanni Di Lorenzo¡ªan experienced right-back who would test his patience. Meanwhile, Rodri and Pedri were deep in conversation about how to break Italy¡¯s defensive shape. "They drop into a back five when they defend," Rodri pointed out. "Which means we¡¯ll need movement between the lines. Static players won¡¯t work against them." "That¡¯s where we can use someone like Izan," Pedri added, glancing at him. "Quick feet, tight control. Someone who can create something out of nothing but at the end of the day, it¡¯s up to De la Fuente." Izan didn¡¯t react outwardly, but inside, he took note. He wasn¡¯t being ignored by his teammates¡ªfar from it. They knew his value. As the game ended, de la Fuente stood from his seat. "We have what we need. Tomorrow, we finalize our plan." The last training before matchday was shorter but even more intense. De la Fuente split the squad into two groups¡ªone working on attacking movements, the other on defensive structure. Izan found himself in an attacking drill with Morata, Pedri, and Yamal. The objective was simple¡ªbreaking down a deep defensive line in the final third. De la Fuente and his assistants watched closely, occasionally stepping in with adjustments. "Quicker combinations," he instructed. "Italy won¡¯t let you take three touches in the box." Izan received a pass from Yamal, turned sharply, and found Pedri in stride with a delicate outside-foot pass. The midfielder slotted the ball past the training keeper. De la Fuente clapped once. "That¡¯s it! Fast and decisive!" But nothing was given away about who would start. After the session, Izan sat on the grass, retying his laces when his phone rang. After picking up, a familiar voice interrupted him before he could speak. "Izan, can you talk?" Miranda. He sighed, already bracing himself before he stepped aside. "You¡¯re seriously telling me you flew to Germany just to watch the game from the bench?" she fumed. "Miranda, it¡¯s the first game. Chill." "No, I will not chill. You could¡¯ve stayed in Japan and made millions in endorsements while this coach keeps you in bubble wrap!" Izan exhaled. "It¡¯s a tournament. You know it¡¯s not about individual minutes." "Whatever. Just don¡¯t forget your commitments. I¡¯m rescheduling some things in case this coach keeps being an idiot." The call ended, and Izan shook his head. Miranda cared, but sometimes, she cared too much. Later that evening, just as he was about to unwind, his phone buzzed again. Komi & Hori were calling. A small smile formed as he answered. "Izan!" Hori¡¯s excited voice came through first. "Are you playing tomorrow?" "I don¡¯t know yet, Hori. We¡¯ll see." "If the coach doesn¡¯t put you in, I¡¯m flying to Germany," she threatened. "Hori," Komi¡¯s voice cut in, amused but firm. "You are not flying to Germany." Izan chuckled. His mother¡¯s voice softened. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" "Yeah, Mom. I¡¯m good." "We¡¯re proud of you," she said. "No matter what happens." Those words meant more than she probably realized. After hanging up, Izan hesitated before making another call. "Izan?" Hearing Olivia¡¯s voice instantly eased the tension in his chest. "Hey," he murmured. "Hey yourself," she teased. "I was starting to think my boyfriend forgot about me." "Never," Izan said sharply. Hearing that, Olivia laughed softly. "How¡¯s Germany?" she asked after composing herself. "Cold. Intense. Feels like a long way from home." "You¡¯ll make it home soon¡ªwith a trophy." Izan leaned back against his pillow. "You believe in me that much?" "Always." There was a pause, a quiet comfort between them. Then, softly, Olivia said, "I miss you." "I miss you too." "Win tomorrow," she whispered. "For me." "For you?" he grinned. "That¡¯s pressure." "You handle pressure just fine." His heart ached a little but in the best way. "I¡¯ll call you after the match." "You better." As the call ended, Izan lay there for a moment, holding onto the warmth of her voice. The team gathered in the meeting room, the air thick with quiet anticipation. Luis de la Fuente stood at the front, the team sheet in his hand. "This is our XI," he began. Izan straightened in his seat. This was it. The room was still. The only sound was the faint rustling of paper as Luis de la Fuente unfolded the team sheet. Every player sat upright, waiting. No one wanted to miss what came next. De la Fuente glanced around, his expression unreadable. "This is our XI," he said, finally breaking the silence. The lineup appeared on the screen behind him. David Raya Carvajal ¨C Le Normand ¨C Laporte ¨C Cucurella Rodri ¨C Pedri Lamine Yamal ¨C Izan ¨C Nico Williams Morata For a split second, Izan didn¡¯t react. Then, the realization sank in. He was starting. And not just anywhere¡ªhe was playing in the No. 10 role, directly behind Morata. A position that gave him the freedom to create, to exploit spaces, to make something happen. A second striker, almost. Pedri, seated a few spots away, turned toward him, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like you got your chance." Izan nodded slowly, his mind already processing what this meant. He wasn¡¯t coming in as a winger or a traditional attacking midfielder. De la Fuente wanted him central. A Harry Kane type of play. It was a gamble, a shift in approach. And Izan was the key to it. Rodri, seated nearby, gave an approving nod. "This means more direct play. Faster transitions. You¡¯ll have space to run at them." De la Fuente stepped forward, pointing to the screen as he explained the tactical shift. "Italy¡¯s defensive structure makes it difficult for traditional buildup play," he began. "They¡¯re compact, disciplined, and they don¡¯t allow time on the ball. But they also have weaknesses." The screen changed, displaying clips of Italy¡¯s match against Albania. "Barella and Jorginho will press high, which leaves gaps in midfield. That¡¯s where we attack. Izan, this is why you¡¯re starting." Izan felt the weight of every eye in the room, but he didn¡¯t flinch. "You¡¯re playing in the hole between their lines," de la Fuente continued. "Di Lorenzo and Dimarco will be aggressive on the flanks, meaning Yamal and Nico Williams will stretch them wide. Your job is to exploit the space left behind and drive at their center-backs. Force them into decisions they don¡¯t want to make." He turned to Morata. "Alvaro, you¡¯ll pin Bastoni and Mancini. Keep them occupied." Morata nodded. "Got it." De la Fuente¡¯s eyes returned to Izan. "This is your game to change. When we win the ball, you¡¯re our first option." Izan nodded once, his mind sharpening. He understood. De la Fuente scanned the room one last time. "We¡¯ve prepared for this. Trust each other. Trust the plan. We beat Croatia¡ªnow we beat Italy." He closed the team sheet, signaling the end of the meeting. Players rose from their seats, some stretching, others exchanging quiet words of encouragement. Pedri patted Izan¡¯s back as he walked by. "Big day ahead," he said jokingly. "I know," Izan replied with a slight shove. Lamine Yamal who was beside them grinned. "No pressure" Izan smirked. "Don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve told you but they almost added no pressure to my name." And on the day, he would prove it. Chapter 276: La Roja’s No. 10 De la Fuente scanned the room one last time. "We¡¯ve prepared for this. Trust each other. Trust the plan. We beat Croatia¡ªnow we beat Italy." He closed the team sheet, signaling the end of the meeting. Players rose from their seats, some stretching, others exchanging quiet words of encouragement. Pedri patted Izan¡¯s back as he walked by. "Big day ahead," he said jokingly. "I know," Izan replied with a slight shove. Lamine Yamal who was beside them grinned. "No pressure" Izan smirked. "Don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve told you but they almost added no pressure to my name." And on the day, he would prove it. While Luis de la Fuente finalized his tactical approach, the outside world buzzed with one burning question: "Would you start Izan against Italy?" From Spanish sports networks to international pundit panels, Izan¡¯s name dominated discussions. His first start in a major tournament wasn¡¯t just a personal milestone¡ªit was a declaration of intent. Could Spain¡¯s youngest-ever Pichichi unlock Italy¡¯s famed defensive resilience? This wasn¡¯t just another group-stage fixture. It was a clash of footballing philosophies. Spain¡¯s game revolved around fluidity, technical brilliance, and relentless movement. Italy, on the other hand, thrived on defensive organization, tactical discipline, and deadly counterattacks. And in the heart of this debate was the weight of expectation on Izan¡¯s young shoulders. On El Chiringuito, the atmosphere crackled with tension. Josep Pedrerol, leaning forward with the intensity of a man on a crusade, directed the discussion. "Gentlemen, let¡¯s not play around¡ªthis is Spain¡¯s biggest test yet. And now, for the first time in this tournament, Izan starts. But is he really the right choice for such a role?" Tomas Roncero, ever the emotional man, nodded vigorously. "Izan is a generational talent. Nobody doubts that. At this point, nobody even should! But playing in the No. 10 role against Italy? That¡¯s a huge responsibility. This isn¡¯t Valencia, Pedrerol. This is EURO 2024." Crist¨®bal Soria on the side scoffed. "Oh, come on, Tomas. You say nobody should doubt him but aren¡¯t you belittling him? We¡¯re talking about the youngest Pichichi in history. The kid who single-handedly propelled Valencia into the Champions League. If there¡¯s one player who can handle pressure, it¡¯s him." Jota Jordi, who sat beside Cristobal listened but was still a bit more skeptical. "Experience matters. Italy¡¯s midfield is full of battle-hardened players¡ªJorginho, Barella, and their defense with Bastoni and Di Lorenzo. These aren¡¯t guys who panic easily. Do you think Izan will be given enough room to truly influence the game? Let me answer that myself, I DO NOT THINK SO" While these pundits went about their own, the debate had already spilled beyond Spain¡¯s borders. On ESPN FC, English pundits had their takes. ...¡­. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Steve Nicol chuckled. "This kid, Izan¡ªhe¡¯s got something, no doubt. But he¡¯s stepping into the deep end against Italy. If he¡¯s not careful, they¡¯ll eat him alive." Craig Burley smirked. "Or maybe he¡¯ll eat them alive." Ale Moreno added, "Izan in the 10 role is a wildcard but Baraja had played him there most of the time in Valencia although he will be dropping deeper this time. If Spain finds a way to get him the ball in dangerous positions, he can unlock that defense. But if Italy shuts him down early, then Spain¡¯s creativity could be stifled." But beyond Izan, another young Spanish talent had already made history¡ªLamine Yamal. The 16-year-old had become the youngest player ever to appear in a European Championship. And now, Spain was fielding another teenage prodigy in Izan, who, also just a few months younger than Yamal, could potentially break his record for the youngest Spaniard to start a Euros match. Guillem Balagu¨¦, speaking on BBC Sport, marveled at Spain¡¯s unprecedented wealth of young talent. "This is extraordinary. We are witnessing a new golden generation. Lamine Yamal has already shattered the record, and now Izan Hernandez is poised to do the same. To have two teenage sensations in the same squad, both ready to make a difference in a high-stakes game against Italy¡ªit¡¯s something special." Julien Laurens added, "Most countries would be lucky to have even one talent like this. Spain? They have two, both under 18, both capable of defining matches. It¡¯s frightening." Away from the pundits, Social media erupted as Izan¡¯s name appeared in the official starting XI. @SpanishFooty: "Izan getting his chance in the 10 role. I¡¯ve been waiting for this moment since he cooked Girona on the last day of La Liga. Let¡¯s go, La Roja!" @TifosiItalia: "Spain playing a kid behind Morata? Barella and Jorginho are going to eat him for breakfast. Italian defense never sleeps!" @IzanElite: "I don¡¯t want to hear ¡¯he¡¯s too young¡¯ when he drops a masterclass against Italy. This kid¡¯s magic is undeniable!" Beyond rivalry, some posts simply celebrated Spain¡¯s youth movement. @BarcaDNA: "If Izan and Pedri cook together, we are winning the Euros. Trust the process!" In Madrid¡¯s Puerta del Sol, fans gathered around large screens, chanting Izan¡¯s name. In small towns across Spain, children wore his replica jersey, holding handmade signs that read, "?Vamos Izan!" A viral video captured a die-hard supporter, eyes glistening with emotion, making a personal promise: "If Izan lights up the pitch, I¡¯ll celebrate every goal like it¡¯s my own." The passion was unmistakable. From Barcelona¡¯s bustling streets to Seville¡¯s quiet caf¨¦s, the country was rallying behind its young prodigies. ...¡­ In the secluded team hotel, the squad¡¯s final preparations unfolded with quiet intensity. Players followed their routines¡ªsome in the gym, others analyzing video clips. Izan sat at a corner table, watching footage of Italy¡¯s defensive patterns. Lamine Yamal, munching on a banana beside him, glanced at the screen. "They don¡¯t like getting stretched out wide." Izan nodded. "Yeah. But they press hard in the middle. If we don¡¯t move quickly, they¡¯ll close us down completely. But why are you here though? I thought you had homework to do" Lamine caught off guard, replied to Izan¡¯s question with the same question but before Izan could respond, Pedri joined them, setting down his plate. "He skipped a few grades because of how good a brain he has. This guy was already unfair but this is just wrong" Pedri answered before stuffing some bread into his mouth. Lamine stared at Izan for a while before he turned towards the laptop. Izan after staying quiet for a while returned to the previous conversation." Anyways I guess what this means is that I have to deal with Barella and possibly Jorginho all game." Yamal smirked. "Have fun with that then." ...¡­.. The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the hotel room in muted gold. The silence was almost sacred, disturbed only by the occasional rustling of bedsheets or the distant murmur of a hallway conversation. Izan blinked awake, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. His body was calm, but his mind wasn¡¯t. Not nerves. Anticipation. He turned his head. Lamine Yamal was still asleep in the bed across the room, the covers tangled around his legs. His slow breathing filled the space. Izan sat up, rubbing his face before checking his phone. Messages poured in¡ªfamily, friends, former teammates at the youth level, and even some La Liga rivals wishing him luck. He didn¡¯t respond. Not yet. Instead, he reached for his small towel before cleaning his face a bit. With that, Izan activated the simulation. [ Matchday Simulation Online] A familiar virtual pitch materialized in his mind. It wasn¡¯t a video game¡ªit was his own training space, a visualization system where he could rehearse movements, anticipate patterns, and refine instincts before stepping onto the real field. Spain vs. Italy. The same lineup, the same stadium, the same conditions. Izan took his position in the No. 10 role scanning and turning but Barella closed in immediately. "Just like it will happen tonight." Izan thought as he looked at the Simulated version of the former. After the mode started, Izan received the ball, felt the virtual pressure, and tested different solutions. For the First attempt¡ªhe held onto it too long causing Barella to pounce, dispossessing him. The next attempt was a quick one-touch pass to Pedri. Safe, but ineffective. After seeing a pattern, Izan had an idea. After receiving the ball¡ªa feint, a body shift, then a disguised ball into Nico Williams. That one worked. Izan played through five full sequences, adjusting his decisions each time. Every failed attempt taught him something. Every successful move embedded itself into his instincts. After 20 minutes, he exited the simulation. The real match awaited. And now, he was sharper than before. The team gathered in the dining hall, the mood focused but light. Some players kept to their usual routines¡ªRodri, ever meticulous, ate a precise portion of eggs and toast, while Morata drank his coffee in silence, eyes locked on nothing in particular. Izan sat with Pedri, Lamine, and Nico Williams. They spoke in short bursts, mostly about the game but occasionally breaking into laughter. Luis de la Fuente walked through the hall, exchanging brief words with players. When he stopped by Izan¡¯s table, he simply placed a hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy it." Izan nodded. No need for more words. Chapter 277: First blood Drawn. The bus ride was silent. Players had their own ways of preparing. Some listened to music, headphones clamped tight. Others stared out the window, watching the streets of Gelsenkirchen blur past. Izan sat near the back, earbuds in, but he couldn¡¯t really hear the music. His mind ran through different situations and different solutions. Beside him, Lamine nudged him. "You always think too much before a game." Izan smirked, pulling out one earbud. "And you don¡¯t think enough." Lamine grinned. "That¡¯s why I¡¯m a winger." They both chuckled before settling into silence again. Ahead, the Veltins-Arena loomed. The stadium¡¯s sleek steel-and-glass structure gleamed under the afternoon sun, a fortress waiting to be conquered. Izan clenched his jaw. It was almost time. The tunnel opened into the vast arena, a roaring sea of red and blue. Spanish flags waved furiously on one side, while the Italian faithful responded with their own anthems. After changing into their training kits, Izan stepped onto the pitch for warm-ups, taking in the electric atmosphere. The squad split up for drills. De la Fuente and his staff orchestrated everything¡ªone-touch rondos, short passing sequences, quick transitions. Izan was sharp, moving between lines, scanning constantly. Every touch had a purpose. Every pass carried weight. At one point, Lamine Yamal received a ball on the wing, jinked inside, and clipped a cross. Izan met it first with his left foot¡ªa driven shot into the bottom corner. The little display caused a ripple of cheers from the Spanish fans. Izan, jogged back to position, shaking out his arms, controlling his breathing. Across the pitch, the Italian squad warmed up with the same intensity. Federico Chiesa fired a shot past Donnarumma while Bastoni barked instructions. On the other side of things, Barella moved with that sharp, aggressive energy Izan had studied. Their eyes met for the briefest second. No words. Just recognition. They were going to war. The team re-entered the dressing room. The atmosphere was calm but charged, like the quiet before a storm. De la Fuente stood in the center. "We¡¯ve prepared for this. You know what to do. But remember¡ªthey will test you immediately." He looked directly at Izan. "That includes you." Izan nodded. He already knew. Morata stood and adjusted his armband. "First five minutes, we set the tone. We show them we¡¯re here to win." Rodri clapped his hands. "Vamos." They stood, grabbing their jerseys. This was it. ...¡­. The tunnel was alive with tension. Spain and Italy stood side by side. The energy between them was almost physical¡ªtwo teams on the brink of collision. Izan adjusted his shin guards, rolling his shoulders. Next to him, Pedri nudged him. "Nervous?" Izan exhaled. "A little. But that just means I care." A few paces away, Barella smirked. "Hope you¡¯re ready, ragazzo." Izan met his gaze calmly. "For what?" Barella chuckled. "For 90 minutes of hell." Izan¡¯s smirk was brief. "We¡¯ll see." The referee gave the signal. Spain¡¯s captain, Morata, adjusted his armband. "Let¡¯s go." Izan stepped forward, heart pounding. The stadium erupted and Europe watched as Spain and Italy set onto the pitch. "The stage is set. Gelsenkirchen, the Veltins-Arena, a battleground for two European giants. Spain. Italy. A place in the knockout rounds at stake." "Good evening, wherever you¡¯re watching from. This is the match we¡¯ve all been waiting for. A classic rivalry in European football, renewed under the bright lights of Euro 2024." "Spain, under Luis de la Fuente, have dazzled in possession, blending their trademark control with a new cutting edge. And leading that evolution? The 16-year-old sensation, Izan. The youngest-ever Pichichi winner, a playmaker with ice in his veins, a player the world is watching." "And on the other side, Italy¡ªthe reigning champions. A team built on resilience, tactical discipline, and a midfield trio that knows how to suffocate opponents. Luciano Spalletti¡¯s men may not have the flair of past Italian sides, but they have something just as dangerous¡ªrelentless determination." "And here they come, stepping onto the pitch. Alvaro Morata, Spain¡¯s captain, leading his team out. Across from him, Gianluigi Donnarumma, a towering presence in Italy¡¯s goal." "Listen to that atmosphere! Spanish fans, red and gold, filling one-half of the stands. The other? A sea of blue. Italian voices ringing loud, their anthem belted with passion." "The handshakes, the coin toss¡ªformality before the storm. Players take their positions. The referee checks his watch." "And here we go! Spain versus Italy. A battle of styles, a battle of giants. Who will take control?" And as the referee¡¯s whistle blew, Izan¡¯s moment in the spotlight began. The opening whistle barely had time to echo before the intensity set in. Italy pressed high, their midfield line squeezing forward, denying Spain any comfort on the ball. Izan didn¡¯t need long to realize the game would be played on a razor¡¯s edge. And Barella wasted no time making his presence felt. The first time Izan received the ball, it was with his back to goal. A standard check-in, simple enough¡ªuntil Barella arrived. Hard. A shove into the back and a quick swipe at his ankle. Izan stumbled but kept possession, immediately shifting it wide to Cucurella before the whistle finally blew. Foul. The referee pointed to the spot and gave Barella a sharp look, one that said: I see what you¡¯re doing. But Barella didn¡¯t stop. Minutes later, Izan turned away from Jorginho, ready to burst forward¡ªonly for Barella to slide in recklessly, catching his shin in the process. This time, the referee was quicker. A sharp whistle. A warning. Spain¡¯s players circled around, voices raised as they felt that the challenge should have been punished. "Barella¡¯s been told already¡ªone more like that, and he¡¯s in the book," the commentator warned. Izan didn¡¯t flinch. He simply picked himself up, dusted off his shorts, and adjusted his socks. If Barella wanted to fight, fine. He just had to make sure Barella spent the next 45 minutes chasing ghosts. Spain adjusted. Rodri and Pedri started dictating the tempo, stretching Italy from side to side, forcing them to break their defensive shape. But Izan? He dictated the moments. A deft first touch under pressure before sending in a disguised pass that broke two lines. Followed by a sudden change of pace that left Jorginho standing still. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Now, Spain played through him. In the 18th minute, Izan picked the ball up near the center circle, twisting away from Cristante before slipping a perfectly timed pass behind Italy¡¯s backline. Morata was through. One-on-one with Donnarumma. The Spanish man hesitated. A second too long causing Donnarumma to pull out a spectacular save. "Morataaaaa. Oh, he has to bury that! What a pass from Izan, but the finish is lacking!" Morata turned to apologize but Izan waved it off, exhaled before jogging back into position. Five minutes later, another opportunity. This time, Lamine Yamal skipped past his marker, cut inside, and rolled a perfect ball across the box. Morata went again but his first-time shot went straight at Donnarumma. "Morata, no! That¡¯s another wasted chance. Izan and Yamal are carving through Italy, but the finishing touch is missing! Seems like he didn¡¯t bring his shooting boots today" Izan clenched his jaw. The frustration threatened to creep in, but he forced it down. The patterns were there. The execution would come. Then, in the 29th minute, it happened. Izan collected the ball at the edge of the box, Barella pressing tight behind. One touch to settle. The second? A sharp flick through Barella¡¯s legs. Gasps from the crowd rang through the stadium Izan didn¡¯t stop. A drop of the shoulder took him past Jorginho, and suddenly, the space opened up. A pass to Pedri, quick and precise. Pedri controlled, took one step, and slotted it past Donnarumma. "GOOOOOOAAAALLL" The Spanish bench erupted. Izan turned, pumping his fist, only to see the assistant referee¡¯s flag raised. Offside. "What the heck. How was that offside" Morata asked but the referee shunned him. The Spanish players thought they were being treated unfairly and were disappointed as VAR confirmed it moments later. "Spain thought they had the breakthrough, but Pedri was just off! It stays 0-0!" Izan exhaled, hands on his hips. Close. Too close. The disallowed goal only fueled Spain¡¯s aggression. Italy responded by tightening their shape, sitting deeper, forcing Spain to break them down piece by piece. That¡¯s when Izan decided to change the equation. Just before halftime, in the 43rd minute, he received the ball inside his half. Barella lunged hands first but Izan danced past him. The Italian manager called for someone to step up and Jorginho did, cutting off the inside lane. Izan however didn¡¯t hesitate, rolling the ball through Jorginho¡¯s legs. The crowd erupted. Cristante was next. A physical, clumsy presence, throwing his weight forward but again Izan spun away with a drag-back, his acceleration sudden and devastating. Now, space. Now, danger. He sprinted forward, defenders scrambling, lungs burning. Chiesa chased but couldn¡¯t catch him. Bastoni lunged, but Izan was already past him, a slight feint sending the center-back the wrong way. The box opened up. Pedri arrived and Izan saw him. A perfectly weighted pass, delicate yet sharp was sent into the box. Pedri met it in stride¡ª Side-footed, pass the outstretched hand of Donnarumma. Bottom corner. GOOOOOOOOAL! The stadium exploded. Pedri sprinted toward the corner flag, Izan right behind him. Rodri arrived, slapping his back. The Spanish bench spilled out in celebration. "A moment of magic from Izan! He tore Italy apart, and Pedri applies the finishing touch! Spain lead 1-0!" Izan took a breath, steadying himself as his teammates mobbed him. He glanced toward the scoreboard. 44 minutes played. They had the lead. But this war was far from over. Chapter 278: Euros Chiesa Inside the Italian dressing room, the mood was tense. The air was thick with frustration, the echoes of Spain¡¯s first-half dominance lingering like a bad taste. Players sat scattered, some catching their breath, others staring at the floor. The only sound was water bottles being squeezed and the occasional deep sighs. Luciano Spalletti stood in the middle, his voice steady but edged with irritation. "We¡¯re being played through too easily," he said, his hands cutting through the air. "Rodri, Pedri, and that kid¡ª" His jaw tightened. "Izan. He¡¯s dictating everything." Barella, still catching his breath, wiped sweat from his brow. "He¡¯s quick. And smart." Spalletti nodded sharply. "That¡¯s the problem. He¡¯s not just some kid with flair¡ªhe¡¯s a decision-maker. And we¡¯re giving him too much space." He turned to Jorginho. "You, cut off his passing lanes. Make him play sideways, make him hesitate." Then to Cristante. "Be physical. He¡¯s too comfortable running through us. Next time he gets the ball, make him feel you¡¯re there." The manager¡¯s gaze swept over the team. "This is still 1-0. If we score early in the second half, the momentum flips." Chiesa sat up, stretching his legs. "We need to be more aggressive. We¡¯re letting them dictate." Spalletti pointed at him. "That¡¯s exactly it. We press harder, we win second balls, and we disrupt them. If we do that, we break their rhythm." He exhaled, glancing around. "This is still winnable. But we fight. Understand?" A chorus of nods. The mood shifted slightly¡ªnot lighter, but sharpened. Italy weren¡¯t out of this yet. ........ In the other Spanish dressing room, the atmosphere was different. Not relaxed, but focused. A sense of control, a feeling that the game was in their hands. Luis de la Fuente stood before them, arms crossed, scanning the room before he spoke. "Good half." His voice was even, but there was a weight to it. "We controlled the tempo. We played our game. And Izan¡ª" He looked at him. "That was exceptional." Izan, sitting near Pedri and Lamine, gave a small nod. He wasn¡¯t one for over-celebration. There was still another 45 minutes to play. De la Fuente¡¯s expression shifted slightly. "But we should be up by more." His gaze moved to Morata. The captain already knew what was coming. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "You had two clear chances," De la Fuente continued. "Maybe three. If even one of those goes in, Italy are finished. Instead, we gave them hope." Morata nodded, lips pressed together. "I want you sharp," the coach said, his tone firm but not scolding. "You¡¯re getting the movement right. You¡¯re in the right spaces. Now finish." Rodri spoke up, voice calm. "They¡¯ll come at us harder. We need to be ready." De la Fuente nodded. "They¡¯ll press, they¡¯ll foul, they¡¯ll throw everything at us. Stay calm. Stay precise. One more goal, and we kill this game." He clapped his hands once. "Let¡¯s go." The players stood, grabbing their shirts, and adjusting their shin guards. As the players filed out of the dressing room, Luis de la Fuente placed a firm hand on Izan¡¯s shoulder, holding him back for a moment. The others moved ahead, their cleats clicking against the tunnel floor, but Izan remained, meeting his coach¡¯s gaze. De la Fuente¡¯s voice was low, and calm, but edged with urgency. "Izan, listen to me. This game is in your hands now." His grip tightened slightly, not out of pressure, but as a reminder. "I need you to take charge out there. Don¡¯t just play¡ªdictate. Make them follow your rhythm." Izan nodded, his jaw tightening. He had already been playing well, but this was different. This was an instruction. A demand. The coach¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t waver. "No hesitation. No second-guessing. If there¡¯s space, take it. If there¡¯s a gap, exploit it. Be the player they fear." Izan exhaled, feeling the weight of those words settles inside him¡ªnot as pressure, but as clarity. Then De la Fuente patted his back and nodded toward the tunnel. "Go on." Izan stepped forward, breaking into a jog as he caught up with his teammates. His mind was set. His pulse steady. Time to take the game. The teams lined up again, side by side in the tunnel. This time, the energy was different. Italy had a fire in their eyes, a new edge to their posture. Izan rolled his shoulders, locking eyes with Barella. No words. Just an understanding. This wasn¡¯t over. The referee gave the signal. The second half was about to begin. ......¡­ The teams emerged from the tunnel, stepping onto the floodlit stage once more. The energy was different now¡ªcharged, volatile, like flint scraping against steel. Spain had control, but Italy had fury. Izan didn¡¯t need to look at De la Fuente to know what the message had been. Keep playing. Keep moving. Keep cutting through them. On the other side, Luciano Spalletti had been far less composed. The Italian coach had barked at his players, his voice sharp and commanding. "We are Italy! We do not wait. We do not watch. We hunt. The next time they pass, you bite." And when the whistle blew, they bit. Italy pressed forward immediately, their defensive line pushing up, their midfield squeezing Spain¡¯s lungs. The elegance of the first half was gone¡ªnow it was a war of attrition. Izan barely had time to adjust before Barella slammed into him, an elbow nudging against his ribs, boots scraping his ankle as he spun away. The referee let it go. The crowd roared in approval. Chiesa was already in full sprint. Cucurella tried to track him, but the Italian winger was moving like a man possessed, his strides long and effortless. The ball arrived at his feet, and in one fluid motion, he shifted inside, leaving Cucurella lunging at air. Izan recognized the danger instantly and darted in, cutting off the direct path. Chiesa didn¡¯t hesitate. A flick of his boot, a sudden feint and he was gone. The ball zipped past Izan¡¯s outstretched foot as Chiesa accelerated again, pushing into open space. The stadium gasped. "Look at that from Chiesa! First Cucurella, now Izan¡ªhe¡¯s skipping past challenges like they¡¯re not even there!" Laporte stepped up next, feet set, body braced. But Chiesa didn¡¯t slow. He shifted right, then left, his balance perfect, sending Laporte into a moment¡¯s hesitation. That was all he needed. One more touch, a step into shooting range, and then, BOOM. The shot ripped through the air, swerving violently toward the far post. David Raya flung himself at it, fingertips stretching¡ª CLANG. The ball smashed against the post and ricocheted out, skimming across the grass before Rodri hacked it clear. The Italian fans erupted in frustration. Spalletti punched the air on the touchline, furious. De la Fuente, arms crossed, exhaled through his nose before screaming a set of instructions to Carvajal who was nearby. The ball found Pedri who sent it back to Rodri. The latter restarted play quickly, cutting through the tension with a pass to Izan. The moment the ball touched his boot, the field shifted. Jorginho closed in. Barella lurked nearby and Izan felt them before he saw them, his awareness sharp, honed. His first touch was soft, absorbing the pressure, inviting them forward. Then¡ª A flick. A twist. A sudden roll of the ball through Barella¡¯s legs again. The Italian midfielder barely had time to react before Izan was gone, slipping past Cristante with a subtle body feint. "Oh, that¡¯s brilliant! Izan just glided through the press!" The pitch opened before him. Lamine Yamal darted down the right, stretching the backline and Morata moved into position, peeling away from Bastoni. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan barely looked before slicing a disguised pass through the lines. It was weighted perfectly, rolling between the center-backs into Lamine¡¯s path. The Barca teenager took one touch, lifted his head¡ª And squared it for Morata. The ball zipped through the Italian defense before finding Morata. The striker lunged¡ª But Bastoni arrived with a desperate clearance, toe-poking it away at the last moment. Spain groaned. De la Fuente turned away, muttering something under his breath. Spalletti, on the other hand, clapped. "Faster! Don¡¯t let them settle!" Italy countered in an instant. Chiesa, again. The ball reached him in stride, and he wasted no time, flipping his first touch inside before charging forward. Carvajal stepped in, trying to slow him down. Chiesa didn¡¯t stop. A shimmy of his shoulders, a drag-back, and a sudden burst of acceleration, all one motion, so fluid it was almost hypnotic. Rodri read it but reacted too late. Chiesa was already slicing through the gap, already bearing down on Laporte once more. Spain¡¯s bench tensed. Izan tracked back, closing the angle. But Chiesa was relentless, shifting left, then right, keeping defenders guessing. Then, he saw the gap. A sharp cut inside left Laporte scrambling, and suddenly, he was in the box. Le Normand suddenly lunged. Chiesa didn¡¯t stop. He dragged the ball just as Le Normand¡¯s knee clipped his ankle and before anyone could get to the loose ball, the whistle shrieked. Penalty. "Oh, what do we have here? Drama in Gelsenkirchen! Chiesa wins a penalty, and Italy have a way back into the match!" The Spanish players erupted, surrounding the referee. Rodri¡¯s voice was sharp. "He was looking for it! That¡¯s soft!" But the decision was made. De la Fuente sighed, shaking his head. He turned to his bench, muttering, "We gave him too much space. That¡¯s what happens when you don¡¯t control a threat ." Chiesa placed the ball down with deliberate calm, rolling his shoulders as if steadying himself for the moment that would change everything. David Raya crouched low, his hands twitching and his eyes locked with an intensity that cut through the deafening roar of the crowd. The whistle split the air, and in that suspended second, the world narrowed to the small patch of green between them. With measured composure, Chiesa took his steps, his focus absolute, and struck the ball with a low, precise power. The shot flew just out of reach; Raya dove desperately to his right, his body stretching in a final, futile bid to make contact. The ball skimmed past, kissing the post before slipping into the net. The net rippled as the Italian fans exploded in a surge of blue jubilation. "ITALY ARE LEVEL! Federico Chiesa delivers, and suddenly, it¡¯s a brand-new game!" echoed around the stadium. Meanwhile, Spain¡¯s players sank in disbelief while De la Fuente rubbed his face, his mind already calculating the next move. On the pitch, Izan exhaled slowly, rolling his neck to steady his racing pulse. The score was 1-1, and in that electrifying heartbeat, the war had just begun. Chapter 279: Italian Fortress Gelsenkirchen was a cauldron of noise. The blue sea of Italian fans roared in euphoria, their chants shaking the stadium, while Spain¡¯s supporters sat frozen in stunned silence. Chiesa had buried the penalty, and just like that, all of Spain¡¯s first-half dominance had been erased. On the pitch, Izan exhaled, tilting his head back, his pulse steady despite the chaos around him. His jaw tightened. He knew what this meant. Italy had tasted blood, and now they would fight like hell to rip the game away. But he wasn¡¯t about to let that happen. Luis de la Fuente called out instructions from the touchline, his voice lost beneath the cacophony. Izan didn¡¯t need to hear them. He knew exactly what had to be done. Spain couldn¡¯t sit back. They couldn¡¯t let Italy dictate. No hesitation. No second-guessing. It was time to take control. The ball rolled back into play after the referee whistled, and Italy came flying. Chiesa, emboldened by the goal, was the first to surge forward, forcing Carvajal into a hurried pass. Jorginho and Barella snapped into challenges, their intensity suffocating the Spanish midfield and the fans around the stadium could see something shifting. Izan seeing what was going on didnt flinch. Instead, he stepped deeper into his half, demanding the ball from Rodri. And It came to him with pace, skipping slightly off the turf. Jorginho rushed forward, eager to press the former. Izan¡¯s first touch was soft, absorbing the impact, his body shifting ever so slightly to feint left, and Jorginho bit. "Too easy" Izan muttered as he looked at the Arsenal ma. With a sudden flick of his foot, Izan spun in the opposite direction, leaving the Italian midfielder stumbling. "Lovely football by Izan, he¡¯s absorbed the pressure and now started an attack" the commentator roared. A pocket of space opened, just enough for him to push forward forcing Barella to come to him. The latter lunged next, but Izan was already moving. A quick one-two with Pedri, the ball bouncing between them like clockwork, before Izan shifted gears. A sharp burst of acceleration and a blur of red darting between blue shirts was the only thing the fans saw. Spalletti, Italy¡¯s coach saw the danger and immediately shouted at his players nearby but they couldn¡¯t hear him under the cheers and gasps of the Spanish fans. Italy¡¯s Cristante finally tried to close him down but it was too late. Izan threaded a pass through the smallest of gaps, slipping it to Morata inside the box. The Spanish captain twisted, searching for an angle before firing one away. The fan watched as the ball streaked towards goal, Donnarumma rooted to the spot until Bastoni stretched out a desperate leg, diverting the ball away. But Spain weren¡¯t done. The clearance was poor, skidding toward the edge of the box, where Pedri arrived like a bullet. A one-touch pass. Straight back to Izan. He didn¡¯t stop to think. Ding, [Curler] He struck it the first time. A vicious, bending shot curling toward the bottom corner and for a moment, time slowed, at least for some who sat on the edge of their seats. Donnarumma, already shifting to his left, threw himself at it, the tip of his glove barely making contact but enough to send the ball skimming past the post. Izan¡¯s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but his mind was anything but calm. He had struck that ball perfectly¡ªperfectly¡ªand still, Donnarumma had denied him. The Italian keeper stood tall inside the goal, shaking his gloved hands out, his towering frame radiating confidence. The replay flashed across the stadium screens, showing the faintest of touches, the ball skimming past the post by mere centimeters. Izan exhaled sharply, but instead of frustration, something else burned in his eyes. Excitement. "Max, show me his trait" Izan muttered as he stared above Donnarumma¡¯s head. " You have got to be kidding me," Izan said. ["Aegis Reflex" ¨C The keeper enters an enhanced reflex state when facing shots inside the box. If the shot is within six yards, time slightly slows for the keeper, allowing them to react with near-instantaneous precision. Additionally, their reach momentarily extends beyond normal human limits, as if anticipating the shot before it even happens. This trait makes one-on-one situations and point-blank saves feel almost impossible to beat, frustrating strikers who think they¡¯ve already scored.] "How do I get out of this one" Izan said as he turned towards the corner flag. From the stands, Spanish fans groaned at the missed chance, but their voices soon rose again, chanting Izan¡¯s name. They had seen him dance through defenders all night and they knew if anyone could break down the Italian setup, it would be Izan. The Italian fans, however, roared in response, banging the barriers. "Donnarumma! Donnarumma!" The man was a fortress. But Izan had broken fortresses before. Pedri trotted to the flag, raising a hand as he scanned the box. Laporte and Le Normand jostled for space among the towering Italian defenders. Morata adjusted his run. Izan? He stood outside the box, watching. Calculating. The whistle blew. Pedri swung it in¡ªwhipped with pace, bending away from goal. Izan exploded forward. Barella tried to step in, but Izan swerved around him like water slipping through cracks. His timing was perfect. His leap was clean. The ball met his thigh, controlling it sweetly before he powered it toward the bottom corner. The ball was fast and Precise, but then a flash of black and yellow. Donnarumma had already reacted. Already moving before the ball even left Izan¡¯s head. A dive. A stretch. The ball was millimeters from crossing the line¡ªmillimeters. And then, his fingertips pushed it away. The entire stadium gasped. "WHAT A SAVE FROM DONNARUMMA! SPAIN HAVE BEEN KNOCKING AGAIN, AND AGAIN BUT THIS MAN IS KEEPING ITALY IN IT." The Italian keeper crashed onto the ground, ball smothered against his chest, eyes locked on Izan. A challenge. Izan grinned. "So that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to be?" "Alright, Gigio. Let¡¯s see just how untouchable you are." Izan muttered as he turned towards his half. ... After spending some time on the ground, Donnarumma sent the ball into the middle of the field but the ball cycled back to Rodri, who coolly controlled it, shifting the tempo. Izan jogged into space, heart still racing, but his mind was running, thinking about how to render Donnarumma¡¯s trait useless. Pedri, who now had the ball played it inside to Izan. The latter took it on the half-turn, feeling Cristante¡¯s breath on his neck before a flick of his boot sent him slipping into space once more. Morata dragged Bastoni wide. A pocket of green opened up and Izan charged in. A step. A feint. A strike. Low. Driven. Right into the near post. The ball was a blur¡ªunstoppable for most. But not Donnarumma. The Italian giant dropped like a boulder, hand already there. A brutal palm to the ball, deflecting it out for another corner. The Spanish bench stood in disbelief. Luis de la Fuente ran a hand down his face. "That¡¯s impossible." The Italian fans reacted instantly. "Gigio! Gigio!" But Spain weren¡¯t stopping. Corner taken quickly¡ªRodri, first-time pass. Izan again. One touch. Shot. Blocked. Donnarumma again. A third chance, Pedri feeding it through. Izan lifted it, adjusting mid-shot¡ª Palm. Another deflection. The stadium erupted. Donnarumma was everywhere. Izan stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the keeper like he was some kind of myth brought to life. The fans loved it. The Spanish supporters were in awe, hands in their hair. The Italian fans were roaring. Even the commentators couldn¡¯t contain themselves. "Donnarumma is putting on a goalkeeping masterclass! Izan has tried everything, and still, the Italian wall stands tall!" Izan stood still in silence as Carvajal went for the throw. Donnarumma had denied him again and again¡ªpalming away shots that should have been goals, stretching beyond human limits to claw the ball away, moving before the strike even left Izan¡¯s boot. The name hovered above Donnarumma¡¯s head in bright, golden letters. Izan could see it, taunting him. The ability that made the impossible possible. He had tried everything. Power? Denied. Placement? Read before impact. Reflex shots? Donnarumma was already there. Every time he shot within the box, it felt like time itself slowed for the Italian keeper. The moment the ball left his foot, Donnarumma moved, stretching impossibly, bending reality to keep the goal untouched. Izan exhaled, his breath steady despite the chaos. How do you beat something that predicts the future? The answer? You force it to react to something that isn¡¯t real. Pedri held possession near the edge of the box, scanning the field as the Italians dropped deeper, their defense tightening. Izan took a step back. Then another. Bastoni tracked him, watching his movements. The Italian defender was sharp, but he wasn¡¯t Gigio. The moment he stepped forward, Izan was gone. A sharp sprint¡ªbehind enemy lines. Pedri saw it. So did Lamine. The ball came from Pedri¡ªa perfect, lofted pass into the danger zone. Izan was inside six yards. Donnarumma¡¯s trait activated instantly. [Aegis Reflex¡ªEngaged] Time slowed. To everyone else, the ball was dropping in at normal speed. To Donnarumma, it was as slow as a drifting feather. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He saw everything. Izan¡¯s angle. The potential shot choices. Every possible outcome. And then he moved¡ªbefore Izan even made contact. A textbook reaction save. His left hand already shifting toward the bottom corner, where a volley would likely be struck. His right foot, adjusting mid-air in case Izan went near-post. It was over before it even started. That¡¯s what Donnarumma thought. Until Izan did something that broke the sequence. A/n: Hello guys author here. I know I haven¡¯t kept my word with the Golden ticket chapters. I am in the middle of an exam so I can only write two a day and I don¡¯t want to sub one out for the golden ticket chapter. It would be unfair to you so please keep on spamming the Golden tickets and I will supply you with the chapters after I finish my exam Chapter 280: Izan, You Cheeky Boy The ball came from Pedri¡ªa perfect, lofted pass into the danger zone. Izan was inside six yards. Donnarumma¡¯s trait activated instantly. [Aegis Reflex¡ªEngaged] Time slowed. To everyone else, the ball was dropping in at normal speed. To Donnarumma, it was as slow as a drifting feather. He saw everything. Izan¡¯s angle. The potential shot choices. Every possible outcome. And then he moved¡ªbefore Izan even made contact. A textbook reaction save. His left hand already shifting toward the bottom corner, where a volley would likely be struck. His right foot, adjusting mid-air in case Izan went near-post. It was over before it even started. That¡¯s what Donnarumma thought. Until Izan did something that broke the sequence. He let the ball drop. Donnarumma, mid-air, already diving, had anticipated a first-time shot. But Izan hadn¡¯t shot at all. Instead, with a delicate touch, he flicked the ball backward with his heel. A blind pass. A hesitation trap. Donnarumma, still in his enhanced reflex state, couldn¡¯t stop his body from following the wrong prediction. For the first time all night¡ªhe had committed too early. And that¡¯s when Izan struck. The ball floated backward. Lamine, who had ghosted in behind, cut through the defense in a blur. A one-touch return pass. Back to Izan. Donnarumma, still in recovery, lunged¡ªbut he was too late. Izan¡¯s boot met the ball first time. A thunderous strike. Top corner. No keeper in the world was stopping that. Not even Aegis Reflex. The net rippled violently. The stadium erupted. Spanish fans lost their minds. The commentator¡¯s voice cracked as he screamed, "IZAN! HE¡¯S BROKEN THROUGH! HE¡¯S BEATEN DONNARUMMA! SPAIN LEAD!" Izan sprinted to the corner flag, arms spread wide, soaking in the moment. His teammates swarmed him. Pedri was screaming in his face. Lamine slapped his back so hard he nearly fell over. Even Rodri, usually composed, was shouting in his ear. He had done it. He had cracked the impossible trait. As the Spanish players celebrated, the cameras cut to Donnarumma. He sat on the ground, staring at the ball in the net. For the first time in the match¡ªhe looked human ...¡­.. Spain had the opportunity to qualify for the knockout rounds before meeting Albania in their 3rd group game should they win and they were determined to do so. But Italy were never dead. A team of warriors. Fighters. Champions. And champions never surrender without a battle to the last breath. Spain knew it. Italy knew it. Everyone watching knew it. And so, with time slipping away, the Azzurri threw themselves forward. Rodri was shouting orders, barking at his teammates to hold the line. Laporte and Le Normand braced themselves against the blue tide. Cucurella was gasping for air after chasing Chiesa all game. Dani Carvajal, Spain¡¯s oldest warrior, was still sprinting, refusing to break. The Italians came in waves. A shot from Chiesa¡ªblocked by Le Normand. A stinging drive from Barella¡ªparried by David Raya. A back-post header from Raspadori¡ªLaporte cleared it off the line! Spain refused to be broken. And then¡ªthe break came. A moment of hesitation in the Italian midfield. A loose ball, spinning wildly near the center circle. Pedri saw it first. The moment Italy committed too many men forward, leaving just two men at the back. Pedri¡¯s vision snapped forward. He didn¡¯t hesitate. A perfect, splitting pass¡ªthrough the heart of Italy¡¯s midfield. And before anyone else could react¡ªhe struck. A one-touch pass. A single, splitting, deadly ball through the heart of Italy. Straight to Izan and the Chase Began. Izan took off. The stadium roared as one. He was clear. Only two men stood between him and the kill shot. Donnarumma. And Bastoni, desperately trying to close the distance. But Izan was faster. His feet devoured the pitch, the ball glued to his boots. Bastoni pumped his legs as hard as he could, arms flailing, chasing a shadow. 30 yards from goal. Donnarumma had already decided. He wasn¡¯t waiting. The giant broke from his line like a charging titan. With every monstrous step, the gap between him and Izan disappeared. He wasn¡¯t diving early this time. No, this time, he would smother the danger at the source. 25 yards to the goal and the mind games had already started. Izan knew. He saw the keeper rushing out, closing the angles. He could feel Bastoni¡¯s breath on his shoulder. He could hear the screams of thousands around him. And yet¡ªhis mind was silent. 20 yards. Glancing up slightly, Izan saw Donnarumma¡¯s trait activating. [Aegis Reflex¡ªEngaged] The latter¡¯s world slowed. He could see Izan¡¯s every twitch, every muscle movement. Donnarumma wasn¡¯t guessing¡ªhe was predicting. Izan raised his leg. The shot was coming. Donnarumma committed. A massive dive, body shifting to cut off the far corner. But there was no shot. Izan had raised his leg¡ªbut he had no intention of shooting. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Instead¡ªhe flicked the ball backward. A delicate, feather-light backheel, caressed with the perfect touch. The entire stadium froze. The ball rolled behind Izan. Straight into the feet of Morata. Donnarumma was helpless. He had gambled and lost. His entire body was leaning the wrong way, momentum dragging him out of position. And Morata? He had time. Enough time to look up. To see the keeper scrambling back. To know¡ªthis was over. The chip. It wasn¡¯t just a shot. It was a masterpiece. The ball lifted gracefully, sailing into the night sky of Berlin. Donnarumma, despite his massive frame, could only watch. His outstretched hand grazed empty air. The ball dropped. And nestled perfectly into the net. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLL" The Spanish fans erupted. The Italian fans went silent. The cameras shook with the force of the celebrations. "MORATAAAAAA! IT¡¯S GONE IN! IT¡¯S GONE IN! SPAIN HAVE DESTROYED ITALY! IZAN YOU NAUGHTY BOY AND MORATA WITH THE FINISH, SPAIN ARE CRUISING" The commentator¡¯s voice cracked, drowning under the roars of thousands. People were hugging strangers, limbs flailing in ecstasy. Some fans fell to their knees, unable to process what they had just witnessed. The backheel assist. The audacity. The sheer disrespect. Izan stood over Donnarumma. The Italian keeper was still on the ground, hands planted, eyes locked on the ball inside his net. His expression said it all. He had been beaten. Izan didn¡¯t say a word. He just turned¡ªand ran. Straight to Morata. Morata was already pointing at him, laughing as he sprinted over. "You cheeky bast¡ª" Morata started, but before he could finish, Izan tackled him to the ground. The entire Spanish team swarmed them. Pedri jumped onto Izan¡¯s back, shaking him violently. Rodri was laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. Even Carvajal, who had seen plenty of magic himself, was staring at Izan like he had just witnessed the impossible. The replays kept rolling. The moment frozen in time. Izan flicking it backward without looking. Donnarumma lunging the wrong way. Morata lifting it over the helpless keeper. One of the most disrespectful assists in Euro history. One of the most iconic goals in Spain¡¯s modern era. And the world would be talking about it for years. And then the aftermath. On the Italian bench, players had their heads in their hands. Luciano Spalletti stood motionless, staring at the pitch. Donnarumma finally got to his feet. But as he walked back to his goal, he didn¡¯t look at Izan. He didn¡¯t need to. He knew. Tonight belonged to Spain. And Izan? He had just added another masterpiece to his legend. ..... The final whistle rang through the Olympiastadion, a sharp, definitive sound that split the tension hanging in the Berlin air. Spain had done it. Players in red fell to their knees, some from exhaustion, others from sheer emotion. The substitutes stormed onto the pitch, engulfing their teammates in celebration. But across the field, Italy weren¡¯t dead. They weren¡¯t knocked out. They still had one more game¡ªone more chance. And every player in blue knew it. Donnarumma stood motionless in front of his goal, his hands still resting on his hips. His gaze flickered toward the giant screen, where the replay looped for the fourth time. The flick. The chipped finish. The roar of the Spanish crowd. Even knowing what was coming, it still stung. He exhaled slowly. There was nothing he could have done. But that didn¡¯t make it any easier. He finally turned away, lifting his gloves to his face before wiping the sweat from his brow. Italy¡¯s campaign wasn¡¯t over. But their margin for error? Gone. As Spain¡¯s players celebrated near their fans, Izan caught a glimpse of Donnarumma. Still standing. Still processing. Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. Through the sea of bodies, he jogged toward him. Donnarumma noticed. Their eyes met. Izan stretched out his hand. The Italian keeper hesitated, then gripped it firmly. Neither spoke for a second. Then Izan nodded. "I don¡¯t think anyone else saves what you did today," he said through some slightly broken Italian. Donnarumma¡¯s brows furrowed before he exhaled sharply¡ªhalf a tired chuckle, half frustration. "Didn¡¯t feel like enough." Izan shook his head. "It was. But football¡¯s cruel." A beat of silence. Donnarumma¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. Then he pulled Izan in briefly, their shoulders bumping as he muttered, "We¡¯re not done." Izan smirked. "I hope not." With that, Donnarumma turned and walked toward the Italian dugout. They still had Croatia. And if there was one thing about Italy¡ªthey never went out without a fight. As Izan made his way back to the Spanish huddle, the first waves of reaction were already hitting the internet. The goal. The assist. The sheer audacity at his age and it got Millions talking and football legends weren¡¯t an exception. ? Cesc F¨¤bregas: "Izan plays like someone who grew up watching Zidane and Ronaldinho at the same time. The confidence? Unreal." ? Sergio Ramos: "That backheel assist was a crime. And I loved every second of it." ? Francesco Totti: "Italy are still in this. But that moment from Izan? Pure class." And then there were the Spanish fans. Some were still jumping in the stands, arms around strangers, singing chants that would echo through the Berlin streets long into the night. Others were on their phones, watching replays of Izan¡¯s flick, over and over, trying to convince themselves it had actually happened. This was a moment that would be remembered. Not just in Spain. Not just in Italy. But across the world. As Spain walked down the tunnel, the reality of the tournament set in. They had beaten Italy. But there were bigger battles ahead. The matches ahead would decide everything. And for Izan, one thing was clear¡ª He wasn¡¯t finished yet. Chapter 281: Spain or Milking it[Golden ticket chapter] As Spain walked down the tunnel, the reality of the tournament set in. They had beaten Italy. But there were bigger battles ahead. The next match would decide everything. And for Izan, one thing was clear¡ª He wasn¡¯t finished yet. ..... The football world had been watching Spain closely. A squad full of young stars, bursting with talent, but with questions lingering about whether they could truly challenge the established favorites. But against Italy, those questions were answered. Spain didn¡¯t just win¡ªthey won in fashion. From the very first whistle, La Roja played with intensity, precision, and confidence. Izan, the youngest player on the pitch, danced through Italy¡¯s defense, playing with a maturity beyond his years. Nico Williams was electric on the left, stretching the defense and creating space. Lamine Yamal, barely 17, weaved through challenges with a veteran¡¯s composure. And in midfield, Pedri controlled the tempo like a seasoned maestro. Italy had moments, but David Raya stood firm, denying them any lifeline. Rodri and Laporte marshaled the defense, keeping things organized while allowing the attack to flourish. It was a performance that sent a message across Europe¡ªSpain weren¡¯t here just to compete. They were here to win. ...¡­. Inside the BBC studio, Gary Lineker shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face. "Well, if there was any doubt about Spain before this match, I think we can put that to bed now. That was a statement performance." Cesc F¨¤bregas, nodding in agreement, leaned forward. "It¡¯s not just the result, Gary. It¡¯s the way they played. They controlled this match. Italy are no pushovers, but Spain made them look like one." Rio Ferdinand interjected, grinning. "And that¡¯s because of players like Izan, Nico Williams, and Lamine Yamal. They just ran Italy ragged. Every time they got the ball, you could see Italy¡¯s defenders panic. They had no clue how to deal with them." Zabaleta, ever the tactician, pointed at the replay screen. "But it wasn¡¯t just the attack. Look at this moment¡ªRodri stepping in, intercepting the pass, and immediately setting the tempo. That¡¯s why Spain looked so dominant. He gives the attack freedom." Alex Scott chimed in, nodding. "And let¡¯s not forget David Raya. He had some huge moments in goal. People were wondering if Unai Sim¨®n being dropped would affect Spain, but Raya showed tonight that he¡¯s more than capable." Lineker laughed. "So, Cesc, let me ask you¡ªhow far can this Spain team go?" F¨¤bregas didn¡¯t hesitate. "If they keep playing like this? They can win the whole thing." ... Meanwhile, in Italy, the mood was grim. Alessandro Del Piero sat in the Sky Italia studio, arms crossed. "This was tough to watch," he admitted. "Spain were just¡­ better. Everywhere. I thought after Chiesa¡¯s goal, we might be able to spur back to life. They had more energy, more ideas, and more quality in the final third." Fabio Capello, always brutally honest, sighed. "We were outplayed. Completely. Izan? Magnificent. Lamine Yamal? Unstoppable. Nico Williams? Dangerous all night. And then Pedri, just orchestrating everything in midfield. Spain made us chase shadows." Del Piero gestured at the screen. "Look at how Spain¡¯s attack moves together. Izan drops deep, Pedri slides into space, and Lamine pulls defenders away¡ªit¡¯s all so fluid. Compare that to Italy, where we struggled to string five passes together in the final third. It¡¯s the difference between a team that knows exactly what they want to do¡­ and a team that doesn¡¯t." Capello nodded. "Spain are a machine right now. And if they keep playing like this, I don¡¯t see many teams stopping them." ...¡­. Over in the CBS studio, Thierry Henry couldn¡¯t hide his admiration. "Izan stole the headlines, and rightfully so. But this wasn¡¯t just about him. This was about a team." Guillem Balagu¨¦, ever the tactician, jumped in. "Exactly, Thierry. Everyone played their part. Lamine Yamal¡ªso smooth in possession, always making things happen. Nico Williams¡ªelectric, direct, fearless. Pedri¡ªdictating the tempo, keeping Spain ticking. And let¡¯s talk about David Raya. He made some huge saves." Henry pointed at the screen. "And let¡¯s not forget the defense. Rodri was immense. He¡¯s the glue that holds it all together. He gives Izan, Pedri, and Lamine the freedom to attack without worrying about what¡¯s behind them. That¡¯s why Spain looks so balanced." Balagu¨¦ nodded. "And that¡¯s what makes them scary. They don¡¯t rely on one star. They have multiple players who can hurt you." Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With six points from two games, Spain had secured their place in the Round of 16 with a match to spare. That gave them a valuable advantage: the ability to rotate and rest key players before the knockout rounds. Alex Scott, back in the BBC studio, analyzed the situation. "Spain are already through, and that¡¯s huge. Now they can manage their squad, give some players a break, and make sure they¡¯re fresh for the knockout rounds. That¡¯s something the other big teams might not have the luxury of doing." Zabaleta nodded. "And it¡¯s not just about rest¡ªit¡¯s about keeping everyone involved. Maybe we see Dani Olmo get more minutes, or Ferran Torres. Spain have depth, and that could be crucial later in the tournament." Gary Lineker smiled. "Spain have arrived, haven¡¯t they?" Cesc F¨¤bregas leaned back, confidence in his voice. "Oh, they¡¯ve more than arrived, Gary. They¡¯re here to win." But this wasn¡¯t just about Izan¡ªit was about a squad full of players hitting their stride at the right time. Lamine Yamal. Nico Williams. Pedri. Rodri. Raya. The list of standouts was long. And that¡¯s what made Spain so frightening. They didn¡¯t just have one superstar. They had a team. A team that looked ready to go all the way. ... The bus ride back to Spain¡¯s training camp was lively, the energy still buzzing from the night before. Players leaned back in their seats, scrolling through their phones, reading reactions, and watching highlights of their dominant win over Italy. The younger ones¡ªLamine Yamal, Nico Williams, and Izan¡ªlaughed at memes circulating on social media. "Look at this one," Nico grinned, turning his phone toward Izan. It was a still image of him sprinting past an Italian defender, captioned: Check your mirrors, Nico Williams is coming. Izan smirked, but his focus was elsewhere. He glanced at the comments under his post¡ªa flood of praise, shock, and excitement. His name was everywhere. Some called him the breakout star of the tournament. Others compared his performance to past legends. He locked his phone and leaned his head against the window. Spain had made a statement that day, but there was still a long way to go. ..... When the team bus pulled into their training complex, the mood was relaxed but upbeat. Some players stretched their legs as they stepped off, others slung their bags over their shoulders, already thinking about recovery sessions. The crisp night air greeted them as they made their way inside. Just as they were about to split off, Luis de la Fuente gathered them in the common area. "Listen up, everyone." His voice carried over the quiet murmurs. "Morning training is canceled." A few eyebrows raised. Normally, even after a match, there was a light session¡ªrecovery work, tactics, and video analysis. "You¡¯ve earned a morning off," De la Fuente continued a small smile on his face. "Do what you want¡ªrest, explore, get a massage, whatever helps you recharge. Just be back for the team lunch at three." A murmur of approval spread through the squad. Some players immediately started discussing plans. "Golf?" Rodri suggested, turning to Laporte and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz. "I¡¯m in," Laporte nodded. "I might check out the lake," Pedri mused, already picturing a quiet morning. "Spa," Morata said firmly, stretching his back. "Definitely the spa." Nico Williams nudged Lamine Yamal. "Let¡¯s go check out the basketball court." Izan stood quietly for a moment, considering his options. He had expected another intense day of training. Now, with a free morning ahead, he had time to breathe. Time to think. As his teammates dispersed, he made his way toward his room. He had an idea of how he wanted to spend his next morning. And it didn¡¯t involve staying inside. .... Izan¡¯s eyes flickered open to the faint hum of the early morning. No alarms, no urgent knocks at his door¡ªjust a quiet stillness that felt almost unnatural after days of rigid schedules. He exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, the ache in his legs a reminder of last night¡¯s battle. The floor was cool as he stood, rolling his neck to shake off the last traces of sleep. His phone sat face down on the bedside table, buzzing occasionally with notifications, but he ignored it. He already knew what they¡¯d say. Instead, he walked to the sink, splashing cold water on his face, the shock jolting him fully awake. Within minutes, he was dressed¡ªlight tracksuit, sneakers laced tight. He grabbed his headphones and tossed them into his bag. He wasn¡¯t staying inside. He had a different kind of morning in mind. A/n: Have this dear readers. I know I¡¯m milking it but we can¡¯t jump right to the final boss right. But the next few matches will be fast, especially with Albania and the round of 16 match too so we can get this over with. IRL, Spain won by 1-0 so sorry to the Italian readers. Love y¡¯all Chapter 282: Perfect Record Spain had already secured their place in the knockout rounds. After dominant wins over Croatia and Italy, they had nothing to lose against Albania. But for Luis de la Fuente, this match wasn¡¯t meaningless. It was a test¡ªof depth, of mentality, of hunger. "We don¡¯t take our foot off the gas," he had told his players the night before. "Three games, three wins. That¡¯s the standard." For the likes of Ferran Torres, Joselu, and Mikel Oyarzabal, it was a chance to stake their claim in the squad. For Izan, who had exploded onto the scene with a goal and two assists against Italy, it was about keeping his momentum. The team hotel was calm in the early morning, the quiet hum of conversations and clinking cutlery filling the dining hall. Some players sat in small groups, sipping coffee and discussing the upcoming game. Others scrolled through their phones, reading headlines about Spain¡¯s dominant performances. At one of the tables, Pedri, Rodri, and Nico Williams sat together, scanning the latest sports news. Rodri read aloud, "France or Germany in the quarterfinals if we go through as expected." Nico let out a low whistle. "That¡¯ll be a war." Pedri shook his head. "You¡¯re thinking too far ahead. One game at a time." A few tables away, Izan and Lamine Yamal sat side by side. Lamine had one AirPod in, watching his own highlights from the Italy game. Izan glanced at the screen, unimpressed. "You watching yourself again?" he asked. Lamine grinned. "You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing. Gotta analyze my work, bro." Izan smirked. "You just like seeing yourself embarrass defenders." Across the room, ¨¢lvaro Morata nudged Ferran Torres, who was in today¡¯s starting lineup. "Pressure¡¯s on you," Morata teased. "Better make it count." Ferran flashed a confident smile. "Relax, captain. I¡¯ll get my goal. Just sit back and enjoy." At 10:30 AM, the squad assembled for the pre-match meeting. De la Fuente¡¯s voice was steady as he addressed the team. "We know Albania will fight," he said. "This is their last chance, and they¡¯ll play with everything they have. But we control the game. We stay patient, break them down, and when we strike, we strike with precision." The lineup was announced: ? Goalkeeper: David Raya ? Defenders: Jes¨²s Navas, Dani Vivian, Aymeric Laporte, Alejandro Grimaldo ? Midfielders: Mikel Merino, Mart¨ªn Zubimendi, Dani Olmo ? Forwards: Ferran Torres, Joselu, Mikel Oyarzabal Izan was on the bench, a decision he understood. At 16, managing his workload was essential. But he was ready, knowing his moment would come. The atmosphere inside D¨¹sseldorf¡¯s Merkur Spiel-Arena was electric. Spanish fans in red and yellow filled the stands, their chants loud and unwavering. But Albania¡¯s supporters, though smaller in number, matched them in energy. From the first whistle, Spain took control. Their passing was crisp, their movement fluid. Albania set up in a deep 5-4-1, remained compact, their game plan clear¡ªfrustrate Spain and hit on the counter. Ferran Torres nearly broke through in the 7th minute, darting behind the Albanian backline, but his first touch let him down. Moments later, Dani Olmo tried his luck from a distance, the ball whistling past the post. Then came the breakthrough. In the 13th minute, Dani Olmo spotted Ferran making a diagonal run. With a perfectly weighted pass, he split the Albanian defense. Ferran took one touch to steady himself, then slotted the ball past Thomas Strakosha. 1-0 Spain. Ferran jogged toward the corner flag, turning to Morata on the bench. "Told you," he mouthed with a grin. Morata laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright." Spain continued to dominate, but Albania had their moments. In the 34th minute, Kristjan Asllani tested David Raya with a fierce long-range shot, forcing a strong save. By halftime, it was still 1-0. Spain controlled possession, but Albania refused to break. ... The second half began with Spain holding onto their 1-0 lead, dictating the tempo, but Albania remained stubborn, their defensive lines refusing to break. The Spanish passing carousel continued¡ªshort, precise, probing. But the final touch was missing. Luis de la Fuente observed the match with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The game needed a spark, and fresh legs to unsettle Albania¡¯s disciplined structure. At the 60th minute, the first change came. "Lamine, get ready," an assistant coach called. Lamine Yamal stood up from the bench, stretching his legs before heading toward the touchline. Ferran Torres, who had scored the opening goal, exchanged a firm handshake with him before walking off. And Lamine was electric from the moment he stepped on. His quick feet and sharp dribbles pinned Albania¡¯s left-back deep, forcing them even further into a defensive shell. But still, the final ball eluded Spain. Ten minutes later, ¨¢lvaro Morata came on for Joselu, offering more fluid movement up front. Yet Albania remained compact, frustrating Spain¡¯s advances. De la Fuente¡¯s eyes then shifted toward the bench, toward the teenager who had already left his mark against Italy. In the 84th minute, the call finally came. "Izan, you¡¯re in for Dani," one of the assistants told him. Izan, already expecting this, adjusted his shin guards, pulled up his socks, and jogged toward the coach. De la Fuente placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy yourself," he said. "Find the spaces, keep the tempo, and if you get a chance, be decisive." Izan gave a sharp nod and stepped onto the pitch. The Spanish fans erupted. They had seen what he could do. They wanted more. From the moment Izan touched the ball, there was a different energy. His first involvement was simple¡ªdropping between the lines, playing a quick one-two with Zubimendi. His second was a sharp turn past his marker, forcing Albania to retreat deeper. Then, in the 89th minute, he found the pocket of space he loved. Mart¨ªn Zubimendi spotted him just outside the box and played a crisp pass into his feet. Izan¡¯s first touch was perfect, drawing two Albanian defenders toward him. His second was even better¡ªa quick shift past his marker, his movement fluid, his intentions disguised until the very last moment. Medon Berisha lunged in, desperate to stop him. But he mistimed his challenge. There was contact. Not a heavy one, but enough. Izan felt the clip on his boot, lost balance, and went down inside the box. The referee didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªwhistle to the lips, arm extended. Penalty. The Albanian players exploded in protest. "No way! He dived!" one shouted, hands in the air. Berisha, the defender responsible, pointed at Izan furiously. "He went down too easy!" The referee tapped his earpiece, listening to VAR. A pause. A tense wait. The stadium held its breath. Then came the confirmation. The penalty stood. Morata stepped forward. The captain picked up the ball, took a deep breath, and placed it on the spot. He locked eyes with the goalkeeper, then exhaled. One smooth run-up. A composed strike. Bottom right corner. 2-0 Spain. Game over. Izan was still catching his breath when his teammates swarmed him. Lamine patted his head. "You just love making things happen, huh?" Oyarzabal grinned. "They¡¯ll call you a diver now." Izan only shook his head. He wasn¡¯t interested in arguments. He played football. That was all. As the final whistle blew, Spain¡¯s players exchanged handshakes and jerseys with their Albanian counterparts. The group stage was complete¡ªnine points, eight goals scored, and one goal conceded. Spain had been the best team in Group B, but now, the real tournament was beginning. Izan walked off the pitch with a composed expression, but inside, his mind was racing. He had played only a few minutes, yet his impact had been felt. The mixed zone was chaotic after the game, with reporters scrambling to get their questions in. De la Fuente was the first to face A journalist from Marca spoke first. "Coach, another strong performance from Izan. What do you make of his impact, even in limited minutes?" De la Fuente smiled knowingly. "He¡¯s special, isn¡¯t he? Izan is a player who never hides. He wants the ball, he wants responsibility, and today, he showed again why he¡¯s an important part of our team." Another reporter followed up. "There¡¯s already debate about the penalty decision. Some say it was soft. What¡¯s your take?" The coach remained composed. "There was contact. The referee made the call, and VAR confirmed it. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. That¡¯s football. But let¡¯s not focus just on the penalty¡ªlook at his overall impact. He created danger, controlled the ball well, and played with confidence." A Cadena SER journalist then turned to the man himself. "Izan, walk us through that penalty incident. Did you feel clear contact?" Izan, calm as ever, replied, "I felt it, yes. It wasn¡¯t a huge foul, but enough to throw me off balance. I wasn¡¯t looking for it, I was trying to go past him. The referee made the decision." Another journalist pressed him. "Some Albanian players seemed frustrated after the call. Do you think it was fair?" Izan¡¯s answer was measured. "Every player will have their opinion. I¡¯m not a referee, I just play. Once the decision is made, it¡¯s out of my hands." The questions kept coming. "How do you feel about your tournament so far?" Izan shrugged. "I just try to help the team. We have big games ahead, so we have to keep working." "Do you feel you should be starting in the knockout rounds?" Izan chuckled. "That¡¯s not my decision. I¡¯ll be ready whenever I¡¯m needed." With the interviews wrapped up, Izan joined his teammates as they boarded the team bus. The knockout rounds loomed. No more safety nets. No more second chances. As he took his seat by the window, watching the lights of D¨¹sseldorf pass by, he felt the weight of the tournament settle on his shoulders. Chapter 283: Knockout Football. With the interviews wrapped up, Izan joined his teammates as they boarded the team bus. The knockout rounds loomed. No more safety nets. No more second chances. As he took his seat by the window, watching the lights of D¨¹sseldorf pass by, he felt the weight of the tournament settle on his shoulders. ......¡­ The team bus rumbled quietly through the streets of D¨¹sseldorf, cutting through the night as it made its way back to the team hotel. The atmosphere inside was a mix of quiet satisfaction and mental exhaustion. Spain had done their job¡ªthree games, three wins. The group stage was behind them. Izan sat near the window, watching the city lights flicker past. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake. He could still feel the weight of the penalty decision, the way the Albanian players had protested, the way reporters had framed their questions. Some had called it soft. Others said it was smart play. To Izan, it didn¡¯t matter. Contact was contact. He had played football, the referee had made a decision, and that was it. Next to him, Lamine Yamal scrolled through social media, grinning. "You see this?" he nudged Izan, showing him a post from a Spanish sports page. IZAN: SPAIN¡¯S GOLDEN BOY OR JUST ANOTHER DIVER? S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan barely reacted. "That took them, what? Five minutes after the final whistle?" Lamine laughed. "People love a controversy. The more they talk about you, the bigger you get." Across the aisle, Pedri leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "They¡¯re just looking for something. We dominated the group, so now they have to make drama." Rodri, sitting a row ahead, turned slightly. "That¡¯s the game. Headlines drive clicks. Just don¡¯t let it get to you." Izan nodded, but deep down, he didn¡¯t care about what was being said. All he cared about was football. The real tournament was about to begin. ........ The morning after the match was slow. No alarms, no rush. Just a quiet, easy start to the day. The players gathered in the hotel dining hall, some still shaking off sleep as they sipped coffee and picked at their breakfast. The coaching staff had made it clear¡ªtoday was for recovery. Izan grabbed a plate of fruit and sat across from Nico Williams and Mikel Oyarzabal. "Bro," Nico said between bites of toast, "did you see Georgia last night?" Izan nodded. "Yeah. They went crazy against Portugal." Georgia¡¯s 2-0 win over Portugal had been one of the shocks of the tournament. Nobody had expected them to make it out of their group, let alone take down one of the favorites. "They play fearless," Oyarzabal added. "They know they¡¯re the underdogs, and they don¡¯t care." Rodri, who had just joined the table, set down his coffee. "That¡¯s what makes them dangerous. They have nothing to lose." Later that morning, Luis de la Fuente gathered the team for their first tactical meeting after the Albania game. The players sat in a conference room, facing a massive screen as the coaching staff analyzed Georgia¡¯s game plan. "Georgia are not here by accident," de la Fuente said, his voice calm but firm. "They fight for everything. They press aggressively, they counter fast, and they are clinical when given space." On the screen, clips played of Georgia¡¯s pressing traps against Portugal. Their fullbacks pushed high, their midfielders collapsed onto the ball, and their star forward, Khvicha Kvaratskhelia, lurked like a predator, waiting to pounce on any mistake. "They live off transitions," one of the assistant coaches pointed out. "They don¡¯t care about possession. They want chaos. They are way different than when we met them" Izan watched closely. Georgia reminded him of teams that had frustrated Valencia in LaLiga¡ªlow possession, deep defense, but deadly on the break. De la Fuente clicked the next slide. "Our job?" He looked around the room. "We control the pace. We dictate the rhythm. We starve them of space and force them to defend for 90 minutes. We will play it safe but we won¡¯t hesitate to strike with Nico or Yamal." Rodri leaned forward. "And if they sit back?" "Then we need players who can unlock them," de la Fuente replied. His eyes briefly met Izan¡¯s before moving on. The message was clear: patience and precision. Georgia would not break easily. The next four days were all about preparation. Training sessions were intense but calculated. The coaching staff drilled the team on how to break a compact defense¡ªquick rotations, third-man runs, and low-driven crosses. Izan looked sharp. His touches were clean, his movement crisp. Even when he wasn¡¯t supposed to be, he treated every session like a match. During a small-sided game, he and Lamine combined on the right wing, exchanging rapid passes before Lamine clipped a perfect cross into the box. Morata met it with a volley. Goal. The team erupted in applause. Even de la Fuente smiled. "That¡¯s the speed we need," he called out. ...¡­.. That afternoon, after another training session, Izan returned to his room and checked his phone. A missed call from Miranda. "She rarely calls without a reason," Izan said as he dialed her back. She answered immediately. "Izan! How¡¯s Germany treating you?" "All good," he said, stretching out on the bed. "What¡¯s up?" "I wanted to let you know¡ªI¡¯m coming to Germany after the quarterfinal," she said. "Sponsors want meetings. We or I have a few things to talk about with Adidas concerning the boot deal as well as a few other brands who want to collaborate. Oh and also for the deal with Selene" Izan rubbed his temple. "Already?" "Of course. You¡¯re the most talked-about young player in the Euros. Every brand wants you. You¡¯re making headlines every match." Izan exhaled. He wasn¡¯t against sponsorships, but right now, his focus was on football. Miranda must have sensed his hesitation. "Relax. Nothing happens without your say. Just keep playing and as usual, I¡¯ll handle everything else." "Alright," he said. "We¡¯ll talk after the quarterfinal." "Perfect." She paused. "Also¡ªdon¡¯t let the penalty talk get to you." Izan smirked. "I don¡¯t care about that." "Good," she said. ...¡­.. The last full day before the match was all about team chemistry. In the morning, the Spanish squad did light training, just to keep their legs fresh. Afterward, press obligations. Izan was paired with Pedri for a joint interview with Spanish television. One journalist asked, "Spain have been the best team so far, but Georgia thrive as underdogs. Are you worried about their unpredictability?" Pedri answered first. "We respect them, of course. But we focus on our own football." Izan added, "We know they¡¯re dangerous in transitions. We¡¯ll be ready." The journalists pushed for more¡ªabout the penalty, about his rising stardom. Izan remained calm. He wasn¡¯t interested in hype. After the media session, the team relaxed. Some players played FIFA in the lounge. Others, like Rodri and Morata, sat outside with coffee, enjoying the evening air. Izan joined a small group that played table tennis¡ªLamine, Nico, and Ferran Torres. "I¡¯m taking all of you down," Ferran said confidently, spinning the paddle. Lamine smirked. "We¡¯ll see." Laughter, jokes, relaxed energy. It was moments like this that kept the pressure from suffocating them. De la Fuente ran the team through their last tactical drills. There was no tension, only focus. That night, at the team hotel, de la Fuente gathered the players for his final words. "Tomorrow, we step into the knockout rounds. This is where you etch your name in football history." His eyes scanned the room. "We know how Georgia play. But this is our game. Our tournament." Then, he smiled. "Now get some rest. Tomorrow, we fight." Izan lay in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, the real tournament began. No second chances. No excuses. ..... The next day, an alarm buzzed somewhere down the hall, followed by the muffled shuffling of feet as players stirred from their sleep. Izan blinked awake, the weight of the occasion settling in his chest. No nerves¡ªjust focus. He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, feeling the tension in his muscles from days of preparation. Down in the dining hall, the team gathered for breakfast. It was quick and the team wasted no time in finishing. After breakfast, they returned to their rooms for final preparations. Some players listened to music, others visualized the game. Izan laced up his boots, then checked his phone¡ªno distractions, no messages. Just game time. An hour later, dressed in their Spain tracksuits, they boarded the team bus. The ride to the stadium was silent. Through the tinted windows, D¨¹sseldorf passed by in a blur, but no one was paying attention. Every player was locked in their thoughts. De la Fuente sat at the front, arms folded. The tension was thick, but it wasn¡¯t fear¡ªit was readiness. Before they could realize it, the bus had already rolled into the stadium. A/n: alright let¡¯s get this over with. I have a computing exam tomorrow. Have fun reading. Chapter 284: Knockout Football [Georgia] The bus doors hissed open. A wave of cameras and flashing lights met the Spanish national team as they stepped onto the pavement outside RheinEnergieStadion The air was thick with anticipation¡ªthis was the Round of 16, and mistakes could not be undone. Izan adjusted the strap of his bag and followed the team inside, the rhythmic chants of the Spanish supporters reverberating through the tunnels. The stadium was already filling, pockets of red and yellow dominating the stands. This was not just another game; this was where the tournament truly began. Inside the dressing room, the players settled into their routines. Pedri sat on the bench, lacing up his boots with a quiet focus. Rodri stood near the tactical board, exchanging final thoughts with the coaching staff. Lamine Yamal, leaned against the lockers, bobbing his head to the music playing through his headphones. Izan took his place on the bench and began wrapping his wrists. He wasn¡¯t in the starting eleven today. Luis de la Fuente had opted for Dani Olmo in the midfield, a move that made sense tactically. But he knew he would be needed today. Luis de la Fuente stepped to the center of the room. The conversations died down instantly. "Alright, listen up." His voice carried the authority of a man who had been here before. "We know what Georgia brings. They¡¯re going to sit deep, hit us on the counter. We cannot afford to be careless in transition. Control the tempo, move the ball quickly, and be patient. The goal will come." He turned to Olmo. "Dani, drop between the lines and give them problems. Find the gaps." Then, to Rodri, "Dictate the pace. Keep everyone calm." The final moments before kickoff passed in a blur. Jerseys pulled on. Boots tightened. A last-minute stretch. Then the signal came. It was time. The players walked down the tunnel, stepping into the arena where the noise swelled to a deafening roar. Izan jogged onto the grass, taking in the atmosphere. Even from the bench, he could feel it¡ªthe weight of expectation, the thrill of the unknown. The anthem played. The referee checked his watch. The stadium held its breath. The whistle blew. ... " Good evening folks and welcome to the RheinEnergieStadion! We are already underway and Spain, in their traditional red, immediately take control, while Georgia, in white, set up in their deep defensive shape, looking to strike on the counter." From the opening minutes, Spain¡¯s dominance was clear. The ball zipped between Rodri, Pedri, and Dani Olmo as they searched for gaps in Georgia¡¯s disciplined defensive structure. Lamine Yamal, hugging the right touchline, saw plenty of the ball early. In the 6th minute, he received a switch from Cucurella, sized up Kakabadze, and then burst inside with a sharp cut. A quick one-two with Morata sent him into the box, but Kverkvelia slid in with a perfectly timed challenge to clear the danger. "Early warning signs from Spain! Lamine Yamal already causing problems down that right-hand side!" Spain kept up the pressure. Pedri, always scanning, slipped a delicate ball through to Olmo, who turned sharply and fired from the edge of the box¡ªMamardashvili got down well to smother it. But Georgia were dangerous. They waited patiently, then struck with terrifying speed. "Ohhh, would you believe it?! Georgia take the lead, and it¡¯s a nightmare moment for Robin Le Normand!" It started with a simple clearance. Spain had Georgia pinned back, but a long ball from Chakvetadze flipped the game in an instant. Kvaratskhelia sprinted into space, leaving Navas behind. He looked up, spotted Mikautadze making a run, and drilled a low cross into the box. Le Normand, trying to cut it out, mistimed his touch. The ball skidded off his shin and flew past Unai Sim¨®n at the near post. Stunned silence. Then, an explosion of noise from the Georgian fans. Le Normand buried his face in his hands. Kvaratskhelia pumped his fists, roaring toward his teammates. "This was not in the script! Georgia lead, and now Spain have to chase!" Spain didn¡¯t panic, but there was an immediate shift in intensity. The ball moved faster, and the passes were sharper. Morata, frustrated with Georgia¡¯s deep block, dropped into midfield to link up play. In the 23rd minute, he received the ball near the center circle, turned, and sent a perfectly weighted through ball to Nico Williams. The winger raced into the box, chopped inside onto his left foot, and curled a shot toward the far corner¡ª "Ohhh, just wide! Nico Williams inches away from the equalizer!" Spain kept pushing. Pedri and Olmo combined on the edge of the box, Pedri flicking the ball into space for Lamine Yamal. The 16-year-old let it roll across his body then unleashed a left-footed strike¡ª Blocked! Kverkvelia threw himself in the way. The ball bounced loose, and Rodri followed up with a thunderous volley¡ª Saved! Mamardashvili reacted brilliantly, diving to his right to parry the shot. "Spain knocking on the door, but Georgia refuse to let them in!" And yet, Georgia were not just surviving¡ªthey were still threatening. In the 31st minute, a misplaced pass from Cucurella sparked another Georgian break. Kvaratskhelia picked up the ball in midfield and drove forward with a terrifying pace. Spain scrambled to recover, but he slipped a pass to Mikautadze, who found himself in space just outside the box. He opened his body and curled a shot toward the top corner¡ª "Mikautadze¡­ just over! A huge let-off for Spain!" Spain couldn¡¯t afford to keep conceding these chances and they knew it. A few minutes after Georgia¡¯s attack, a goal came and it came from persistence. Spain had been hammering away, and finally, Georgia cracked. A quick switch from Pedri found Nico Williams, who drove at his defender and won a corner. Lamine Yamal swung it in, the ball was half-cleared to the edge of the box¡ª Rodri was waiting. One touch to set himself, then a low, precise strike through the crowded penalty area. The ball skimmed past defenders, past outstretched legs¡ª And into the bottom corner. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLL" "RODRI! SPAIN ARE LEVEL!" S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. No celebration concurred. Rodri just picked up the ball and jogged back toward midfield. There was no time to waste. The Spanish fans roared, knowing this was just the beginning. .... The players walked down the tunnel at the RheinEnergieStadion, Spain having restored parity but still locked in a battle with Georgia. The tension was thick. In the Spanish dressing room, Luis de la Fuente paced near the tactical board, speaking in measured but firm tones. "We¡¯re controlling the game, but we¡¯re letting them breathe too much," he said, pointing at the defensive third. "Their counters are fast, and if we lose concentration for even a second, they will punish us again." Rodri, still breathing heavily from his equalizer, nodded. Spain¡¯s midfield had dictated play, but Georgia remained dangerous. De la Fuente continued, shifting focus. "We need to stretch them more. Lamine, Nico¡ªwider. Dani, move between the lines. Morata, stay central. We keep the pressure on. The next goal must be ours." In a quieter corner of the room, Izan finished adjusting his gear. He exchanged a brief nod with a couple of teammates before quietly taking his seat among the substitutes. He didn¡¯t vocalize his thoughts or inner resolve; instead, he simply absorbed the tactical instructions and the measured tone of the coach¡¯s voice. ...¡­. Back on the pitch, the second half was about to begin and the fans were all in for it. The crowd¡¯s roar swelled as the players re-emerged from the tunnel. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric¡ªa blend of expectancy and focus that set the stage for the unfolding drama. On the bench, Izan watched as his teammates came onto the pitch. The collective energy was palpable, with every instruction from de la Fuente resonating in the careful spacing and calculated runs that had already started to reshape the game. After a while, the whistle blew to signal the restart. In the first minutes of the second half, Spain maintained their methodical approach. Pedri slid a crisp pass to Dani, who quickly exchanged one-twos with Morata along the edge of the box. Lamine drifted wide, stretching the Georgian defense as planned, while Nico found pockets of space near the sideline to receive a long diagonal ball. "Spain are clearly implementing the halftime adjustments," the commentary boomed over the stadium speakers. "The players are moving wider, and the pressure is mounting on the Georgian defense." As Spain pressed forward, the game began to take on a back-and-forth quality. A sequence of rapid exchanges saw Dani and Pedri linking up to break through a momentary gap in the opposition¡¯s defense. A well-timed cross from Lamine met Nico¡¯s path, forcing a scramble among the Georgian defenders. The ball ricocheted off a body, landing at the feet of Rodri, who attempted a low drive toward goal in the same manner he had when he scored in the first half. Giorgi Marmadashvilli was alert and managed to nudge the shot away, maintaining the balance for a brief spell. The Spanish fans groaned at the save but they knew, something was edging close. Chapter 285 - 5 In 2 As Spain pressed forward, the game began to take on a back-and-forth quality. A sequence of rapid exchanges saw Dani and Pedri linking up to break through a momentary gap in the opposition¡¯s defense. A well-timed cross from Lamine met Nico¡¯s path, forcing a scramble among the Georgian defenders. The ball ricocheted off a body, landing at the feet of Rodri, who attempted a low drive toward goal in the same manner he had when he scored in the first half. Giorgi Marmadashvilli was alert and managed to nudge the shot away, maintaining the balance for a brief spell. The Spanish fans groaned at the save but they knew, something was edging close and in the 55th minute, Spain¡¯s patience paid off. Fabian Ruiz, now pushing higher up the pitch, found himself in space just outside the box as Lamine Yamal dragged defenders wide before slipping a pass back inside. Ruiz took one touch to steady himself, then unleashed a left-footed strike that curled past Mamardashvili¡¯s desperate reach and into the far corner. "GOOOOOAAAAALLL!! FABIAN RUIZ MAKES IT 2-1!" The commentator roared in delight. The Spanish bench erupted, and the fans behind the goal burst into celebration, red and yellow flags waving in furious unison. Ruiz sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees as his teammates swarmed him. Behind them, the Georgian players stood frozen. The cracks in their defense had finally split open. Spain smelled blood. Georgia¡¯s midfield, which had battled so fiercely in the first half, looked spent. After the restart, the Spanish midfield trio of Rodri, Pedri, and Fabian Ruiz dictated every move, carving open spaces between the lines. Dani Olmo, playing as the link between midfield and attack, had been finding more pockets of space, drifting between the defenders, and in the 65th minute, he made Georgia pay. Pedri, always scanning, spotted the Leipzig midfielder peeling off his marker. A delicate, disguised pass split the defense, and Olmo darted onto it with perfect timing. A touch to shift the ball out of his feet, a glance up¡ªthen a crisp, controlled finish into the bottom right corner. "GOOOOAAALLL! DANI OLMO! SPAIN ARE PULLING AWAY NOW!" The Spanish players surrounded Olmo in celebration, while Georgia¡¯s shoulders slumped. Their fight was fading. Spain could sense it. On the bench, Izan, now stood clapping after Dani Olmo scored. Luis de la Fuente turned, scanning the substitutes, then nodded. "Izan, get ready." Nico Williams had signaled to the bench moments earlier, feeling the effects of his relentless running and the coaching staff had agreed that Izan was the right man to finish the job. The young Spaniard peeled off his tracksuit, his mind already visualizing what was to come. De la Fuente walked over, gripping his shoulder. "Take the left wing. Use your pace to keep them pinned back. Attack with purpose, but be disciplined. If there¡¯s a chance to kill the game, take it." Izan nodded, absorbing the words, then jogged over to the fourth official. The board went up: Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. N. Williams 11 OFF, Izan Hernandez 21 ON. As he stepped onto the pitch, the Spanish fans roared in approval. A ripple of applause turned into a chorus of cheers and just like that, the game was now his to control. From the moment Izan received his first pass, the difference was clear. Georgia, exhausted and mentally drained, now had to deal with fresh legs¡ªlegs that carried a devastating mix of pace and deadly precision. He wasted no time testing his marker, driving down the left before cutting inside and forcing a hurried clearance. It was all Izan a few minutes after he came on and then came his first major contribution. A well-worked move saw Pedri and Fabian Ruiz work the ball to Izan near the edge of the box. The teenager, eyes locked on the defense, darted inside before dinking a delicate pass over the fullback to Carvajal. The Real Madrid fullback, let the ball lead him slightly before crossing the ball into the box. The Georgian players scrambled and forced a clearance but the danger was still not over. Dani Olmo, who was now in the false-9 role met the ball with a powerful first-time strike but it was pushed just wide. The warning was there but it didn¡¯t look like Georgia had paid heed. Minutes later, Izan earned a corner, forcing Kverkvelia to put the ball behind after another aggressive run. He jogged to take it himself, placing the ball carefully before scanning the penalty area. [Pinpoint Accuracy: Engaged] [Maestro trait: Active] The delivery was perfect. The whole stadium watched as a whipped ball, dipping viciously, evaded the first defender and found Robin Le Normand surging toward the back post. The Atletico Madrid man lunged and met the ball with a firm header and Marmadashvilli could only watch as his net rippled. "GOOOOOAAAAALLLLL! LE NORMAND REDEEMS HIMSELF! SPAIN HIT FOUR! What a delivery for Izan. 3 assists in two games. What a ball" Izan clenched his fists in triumph as his teammates mobbed Le Normand. The final minutes played out with Spain in total control. The passing was crisp, the movement fluid. The game had turned into a showcase, and the Spanish players reveled in it. In the 88th minute, a flowing move saw Ferran Torres cut inside from the right and unleash a thunderous strike toward the top corner. Mamardashvili, Georgia¡¯s best player on the night, produced yet another stunning save, getting a strong palm to the shot. But the ball spilled loose. And there was Izan. Sharp, instinctive, ruthless. A quick step forward, a composed finish into the empty net. "GOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLL! IZAN GETS HIS GOAL! What is up with this boy? This phenomenon. That¡¯s 5 goal contributions in 1 full game and 30 minutes." The Spanish fans erupted, the bench rising to applaud the young forward. Izan barely celebrated, just a grin as he jogged back, surrounded by teammates ruffling his hair. Georgia had nothing to play for again so it was all Spain until the final whistle blew. Spain¡¯s players raised their arms in triumph. A 5-1 demolition, a ruthless second-half display, and a warning to the rest of the tournament. The cameras focused on Izan as he exchanged words with Pedri, the two laughing as they walked toward the Spanish fans. After applauding, the echoes of their fans¡¯ cheers trailed behind them as they entered the tunnel, a mix of sweat and satisfaction clinging to their jerseys. Izan wiped his face with the back of his wrist, his heartbeat steady but his body still buzzing with adrenaline. He had played just over 30 minutes, but his impact had been undeniable. As he stepped into the brightly lit locker room, a mixture of laughter, pats on the back, and shouts of excitement filled the air. "?Vaya paliza les hemos dado!" (We destroyed them!) Dani Olmo grinned as he plopped onto the bench, stretching his legs out. Rodri, always composed, simply nodded as he unwrapped the tape around his ankles. "They gave us a tough first half, but we wore them down." Pedri, still catching his breath, turned to Izan with a smirk. "And this guy just keeps making things happen. What¡¯s that now? Five goal contributions already?" Izan only shrugged, unlacing his boots. "It helps when you¡¯re playing with guys who make the right runs." The room erupted in amused shouts. "Humilde, eh?" Ferran Torres teased. Fabian Ruiz tossed a towel over to Izan. "Just say you¡¯re the best already." Izan caught the towel with a grin but said nothing, reaching for his water bottle. Across the room, Lamine Yamal and Nico Williams sat side by side, scrolling through their phones, checking reactions online. "Everyone¡¯s talking about how dangerous we are on the wings," Nico said, showing his screen to Lamine. "They think defenders are going to have nightmares about us." Lamine laughed. "Good. Let them." The energy was high, but Luis de la Fuente and his staff knew they couldn¡¯t linger too long. There was another reason they were moving quickly¡ªSpain¡¯s potential quarterfinal opponents were playing next. Germany vs. Denmark "Alright, chicos, get changed," de la Fuente instructed, stepping into the middle of the locker room. "We¡¯ll watch the second half together. That¡¯s who we¡¯re playing next." A wave of excitement spread through the team. This was the match everyone had been waiting for. Izan pulled off his jersey, dropping it into the laundry bin before grabbing a fresh training top from his locker. Around him, the rest of the team did the same, the room filled with the sound of jerseys being tugged over heads and shin pads hitting the floor. Some players opted for ice baths or massages, but most simply wanted to get comfortable and watch the game. Le Normand, still fresh from his goal, ran a towel through his damp hair. "So who do we want? Germany or Denmark ?" "Is that even a question? No offence but, Denmark ," Rodri said without hesitation. "Not that I don¡¯t trust us but why take the hard way when there is an easier option." " Well it¡¯s Germany for me. Why choose Denmark when we can go on a terrifying Euros run." Lamine Yamal said with a grin, causing de la Fuente who stood at the gate to laugh. Izan pulling on a hoodie, listened to the debate as they headed toward the lounge. Whoever it was, he was ready. Chapter 286: Clash Of The Titans As the Spanish players settled into the lounge, the television screens flickered to life, displaying the second half of Germany vs. Denmark. The match was finely poised, with Germany leading 1-0 after a first-half goal from Kai Havertz. From the opening minutes of the second half, it was clear Denmark had no intention of backing down. They pressed aggressively, forcing mistakes in the German backline and In the 57th minute it paid off. A loose clearance from Antonio R¨¹diger fell to Christian Eriksen, who wasted no time rifling a precise shot into the bottom corner. "?Qu¨¦ golazo!" Fabian Ruiz muttered, shaking his head in admiration. The Spanish squad watched intently as Denmark, now revitalized, looked to push for another. But Germany, battle-hardened in tournament football, responded with force. Their midfield duo of ?lkay G¨¹ndo?an and Florian Wirtz dictated play, probing the Danish defense. Then, in the 72nd minute, Jamal Musiala produced a moment of magic. Receiving the ball near the edge of the box, he shifted past two defenders with a sharp turn before curling a shot into the far post. The German fans erupted, the stadium rocking with noise. The Spanish players exchanged glances. "Was there ever any doubt that he would miss that," Pedri uttered looking at the screen where Musiala was celebrating his goal. "He¡¯s sharp and fast," added Dani Olmo, who had played against Musiala at Leipzig a few times. After Germany¡¯s goal, Denmark pushed desperately in the final minutes, but Germany stood firm. In stoppage time, Niclas F¨¹llkrug sealed the game with a towering header off a Joshua Kimmich cross. The final whistle blew. Germany 3-1 Denmark. The Spanish lounge was filled with murmurs. "Well, there you have it," Rodri exhaled. "We¡¯re facing Germany." Luis de la Fuente, who had been watching with arms crossed, turned to his squad. "We knew this was a possibility. This is why we prepare. Tomorrow, we start working." .... The following morning, the Spanish squad arrived at their training ground, the mood focused yet tinged with a hint of anticipation. The upcoming quarterfinal against Germany was the most anticipated clash of the tournament so far, and every player knew what was at stake. Izan, pulling on his training kit, could feel the difference in intensity from the moment the session began. The coaching staff observed, noting every movement, every touch, every decision. And one thing became clear as training progressed¡ªsomething about Izan was different. "Is it just me, or is he getting sharper every day?" one of the assistants murmured to de la Fuente as they watched Izan weave through a tight possession drill, barely misplacing a pass. De la Fuente, arms folded, nodded. "It¡¯s not just you. I see the same thing" The session continued with tactical drills, focusing on breaking Germany¡¯s structured defense and exploiting spaces in transition. Izan, as usual, absorbed every instruction. But beyond just following orders, he was adding something of his own¡ªsubtle movements, quick adjustments, the kind of instincts that couldn¡¯t be taught. A few of the staff exchanged looks. "He¡¯s getting faster and sharper than expected," another coach commented. "Every session, he¡¯s finding new ways to impact the game." De la Fuente didn¡¯t say much, but inwardly, he was thinking the same. At least, even he could see, that Izan was evolving. And against Germany, they would need every bit of that brilliance. ...¡­.. The day after Germany¡¯s victory over Denmark, the football world erupted. The quarterfinal matchup was set¡ªSpain vs. Germany, two of the tournament¡¯s heavyweights. Every sports channel, every football debate show, and every online discussion revolved around the upcoming clash. "This could be the game of the tournament," one analyst declared on a Spanish football show. "Two teams that love to attack, full of young stars, both with a point to prove." S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Over on German television, the focus was on Spain¡¯s dangerous front line. "They have speed, creativity, and an in-form midfield. But let¡¯s not forget, Germany is Germany. This is our stage." Pundits highlighted key battles¡ªRodri vs. G¨¹ndo?an, Pedri vs. Wirtz, and perhaps the most hyped of all, Nico Williams, Lamine Yamal and Izan vs. Thomas M¨¹llerJamal Musiala and Leroy San¨¦. Clips of Spain¡¯s dominant 5-1 victory over Georgia played alongside highlights of Germany¡¯s strong second-half performance against Denmark. On social media, debates raged. "Musiala and Wirtz will cook Spain¡¯s midfield." "Izan and Lamine are going to be Germany¡¯s nightmare." "Spain is better on the ball, but Germany is more efficient." "Don¡¯t forget, Germany are the hosts. This is their tournament to win." The excitement was undeniable. And within Spain¡¯s camp, the players could feel it. ... The morning training sessions now had a different energy. The jokes and casual atmosphere that had followed the win over Georgia were replaced with sharp focus. The quarterfinal was three days away and they would need every bit of time they had. As soon as the squad finished their warm-ups, Luis de la Fuente gathered them in a huddle. "This is the game we¡¯ve been waiting for," he said, scanning the determined faces around him. "Germany will test us in ways we haven¡¯t been tested yet. But let¡¯s be clear¡ªthey will have to deal with us too." The message was simple: respect the opponent, but fear no one. After his speech, the session kicked off with tactical drills, focusing on the defensive organization needed to withstand Germany¡¯s quick transitions. Rodri, as always, dictated the pace, guiding his teammates on positioning. Then came the attacking drills. The coaching staff wanted Spain¡¯s wingers to exploit Germany¡¯s aggressive fullbacks. And that meant a lot of emphasis on Izan, Lamine, and Nico Williams as well as guys like Morata and Olmo Izan always impressed in training, but he was moving on a different plane that day. At one point, he cut inside from the left, feinted past two defenders, and curled a shot into the far corner. The ball hit the net before Unai Sim¨®n even had time to react. The coaching staff exchanged looks. "Did you see that?" one murmured to another. "Izan is¡­" The assistant trailed off, shaking his head in quiet amazement. De la Fuente had noticed too. He didn¡¯t say much, but his nod of approval spoke volumes. Izan wasn¡¯t just maintaining his level¡ªhe was elevating it. [Afternoon] Izan scrolled through his phone, seeing his name everywhere. Pundits, former players, journalists¡ªeveryone had something to say about him. A well-known Spanish analyst on El Chiringuito put it bluntly: "Five goal contributions in 120 minutes of football? That¡¯s not normal. This is a kid playing his first major tournament, and he looks like he¡¯s been doing this for years." On German television, the discussion had a different tone. "Germany must be ready for Izan," a former Bundesliga coach warned. "He isn¡¯t just fast. He¡¯s smart. He picks his moments. We saw what he did against Italy, then again against Georgia. If you give him space, he will punish you." The talk of "Spain¡¯s Golden Boy" continued into the night. But inside the Spanish camp, the players weren¡¯t caught up in the hype. ... The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of air conditioning and the occasional muffled laughter from the hall. Izan lay back on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through endless debates and predictions about the Spain-Germany quarterfinal. Some fans saw him as the decisive factor, others questioned whether he could sustain his level against tougher opposition. He wasn¡¯t surprised. That was football¡ªone match and you were a hero, the next they questioned everything. His phone buzzed the screen lighting up with a familiar name. Mam¨¢. He sat up, swiping to answer. "Hey." "Izan." His mother¡¯s voice was warm, steady. "How are you feeling?" He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Good. Tired, but good." She hummed knowingly. "I saw the training videos." Izan frowned. "What training videos?" "Clips. The media is posting everything¡ªyour shots, your movement. Everyone¡¯s talking about you." Izan sighed. "People always talk." Komi chuckled softly. "And you always act like you don¡¯t care. But I know you, Izan. You¡¯re thinking about the match already, aren¡¯t you?" He hesitated, then nodded, even though she couldn¡¯t see him. "Yeah. It¡¯s Germany, Mam¨¢. They¡¯re tough. And it¡¯s their home tournament." "They¡¯re tough, yes," she agreed. "But so are you." There was a brief silence, then a second voice cut in¡ªlighter, more energetic. "You promised." Izan smirked. "Hori." His sister¡¯s voice sharpened with playful accusation. "Don¡¯t ¡¯Hori¡¯ me. You promised." He knew exactly what she meant but played dumb anyway. "Promised what?" "If you guys reach the final, I can come and watch!" Izan chuckled, leaning back into his pillow. "I remember." "Good," she said, satisfied. Then, a second later, "So don¡¯t lose." Izan laughed. "Yeah, yeah. No pressure, right?" "Exactly. No pressure at all," she teased. Komi sighed in mock exasperation. "Izan, your sister is already planning her trip to Berlin, as if the match is won." Hori scoffed. "Manifesting, Mam¨¢. It¡¯s called manifesting." Izan shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice. "Alright, alright. Just be ready if we make it." Hori gasped dramatically. "When you make it." Izan smiled. "When we make it." "Now that¡¯s better." Komi¡¯s voice softened. "No matter what happens, we¡¯re proud of you." Izan closed his eyes briefly, letting the words settle. "Thanks, Mam¨¢." "Get some rest, okay?" "Yeah. Love you both." "Love you too!" Hori¡¯s voice came first, before Komi added a gentle, "Te quiero, hijo." The call ended, and Izan sat there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the faint city noise outside, the distant chatter of teammates in the hallway. But all he focused on was his sister¡¯s words. Don¡¯t lose. He smirked. Yeah. No pressure. Chapter 287: False 9 The afternoon sun hung low as Spain¡¯s players wrapped up another intense training session. Every drill was sharpened with purpose, every movement carrying the weight of the quarterfinal against Germany. The coaching staff pushed them hard, knowing they would need every edge against the tournament hosts. The final drill was a high-intensity game scenario. De la Fuente set up the team to simulate Germany¡¯s aggressive pressing and their tendency to overload central areas. Rodri, Pedri, and Olmo were at the heart of Spain¡¯s buildup, testing their ability to keep possession under pressure. Izan, Nico Williams, and Lamine Yamal were given a clear task¡ªexploit the spaces Germany¡¯s fullbacks left behind. Izan thrived. At one moment, Cucurella pinged a diagonal ball to him on the left flank. His first touch was immaculate, gliding past Dani Carvajal before cutting inside and threading a perfectly weighted pass to Morata. The striker shot first-time, but the ball clipped the outside of the post. De la Fuente clapped. "That¡¯s it! That¡¯s what we need! More of this. And Morata, be more sharp" As the drill concluded, the players jogged toward the benches, sweat dripping from their brows. De la Fuente gathered them together. "Good session. This is how we prepare¡ªby understanding the game before we even step onto the pitch." He took a step forward, scanning the group. "Now, go shower, eat, and rest. After dinner, I want all of you in the video room." The players nodded at the former¡¯s words before turning towards the exit. ...¡­. Dinner was always a mixture of recovery and routine, but tonight, there was an added layer of focus. The atmosphere was lighter than training but still carried an underlying edge. Izan sat with Pedri, Lamine Yamal, and Nico Williams, all piling food onto their plates. As Izan settled in, Pedri wasted no time, picking up where he had left off days ago. "You know," he began, casually stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork, "if you came to Barcelona, you wouldn¡¯t have to do all this counter-attacking nonsense." Izan sighed. "Not this again." Lamine grinned. "He¡¯s been going on about this all week, bro. I swear he¡¯s got a full PowerPoint ready." "I don¡¯t need a PowerPoint," Pedri said, waving him off. "It¡¯s common sense. You like having the ball, right?" Izan shrugged. "Yeah." "And you like playing with intelligent players?" "Obviously." "Then it¡¯s settled! Barcelona is perfect for you." Nico Williams shook his head, laughing. "You¡¯re relentless, man." Izan took a sip of water. "I don¡¯t think Valencia would be happy hearing this conversation." Pedri smirked. "Valencia... is a great club. But¡­ let¡¯s be real, if we win the Euros, you¡¯ll have to think about it." Izan didn¡¯t say anything. Pedri took that as a small victory. "See? He¡¯s thinking about it!" Lamine grinned. "Izan at Bar?a? That¡¯d be scary." "Exactly," Pedri said. "We¡¯d cook everyone." Before Izan could respond, Morata called over jokingly from the next table. "Pedri, leave the kid alone. You tried the same thing on me years ago." Pedri grinned playing along to Morata¡¯s joke"And look how that turned out. You went to Atl¨¦tico instead." Morata chuckled. "Yeah, and we knocked you out of the Copa del Rey ." The table erupted in laughter, even Pedri shaking his head. After a while, the conversation shifted, with players debating which Spanish city had the best food. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "San Sebasti¨¢n," Rodri argued. "Easy." "No way," Dani Olmo countered. "Valencia has the best food. Proper paella, not the tourist stuff." "You guys just eat rice," Carvajal joked. "Better than Madrid food," Olmo shot back. Rodri laughed. "Madrid¡¯s food is elite. But fine, I¡¯ll give you paella." Izan listened, amused but quiet. His mind was already on the game. As dinner wrapped up, the players stretched, pushed their plates aside, and made their way toward the video room in small groups. .... The team filed into the video room in orderly silence, the atmosphere weighted with expectation rather than anxiety. The lights were dimmed, and the large screen at the front of the room displayed the tactical board along with clips of recent matches. De la Fuente waited for the murmurs to subside before speaking. "Gentlemen," he began, his gaze sweeping over every face, "tonight we¡¯re going to analyze what we can expect from Germany. We need to understand their structure, how they press, and where we can find our advantages." He clicked the remote, and the first clip appeared: a sequence from Germany¡¯s match against Denmark. The footage clearly demonstrated how Germany¡¯s high press and relentless movement had forced errors. The camera panned over to reveal how the midfield duo¡ªG¨¹ndo?an and Wirtz¡ªwere constantly shifting positions to close passing lanes. De la Fuente paused the clip, pointing to a specific moment on the screen. "Watch here," he instructed, "as Germany forces the opposition wide. They sacrifice central solidity to win the ball higher up. This is their signature. They¡¯re aggressive, but that aggression can be countered by quick, precise transitions." The room absorbed his analysis. Rodri interjected quietly from the middle row, "If we can get them to overcommit, we¡¯ll have the space to operate in the middle." De la Fuente nodded. "Exactly. It¡¯s about control. We need to dictate the pace and force them into uncomfortable positions. Look at how their players move during transitions¡ªwhen one player steps forward, another covers. That¡¯s where we can disrupt their balance." He switched to another clip¡ªthis time showing a rapid counterattack by Germany, culminating in a goal scored after a momentary lapse in their formation. The screen showed how their aggressive forward movement left a gap at the back. Pedri, always quick with his insights, added, "They leave space behind their advancing fullbacks. We can exploit that if we¡¯re quick with our passing." "Precisely," replied De la Fuente. "Our buildup must be fluid and unpredictable. We need our midfield to link seamlessly with the attack and to maintain composure under pressure." De la Fuente, together with the other coaches, spent several minutes dissecting Germany¡¯s patterns, highlighting technical details. The pressing traps, the coordination between midfield and forward lines, and the timing of their counterattacks. His analysis was crisp and incisive, leaving little room for doubt about the tactical adjustments Spain would need to implement. After the detailed review, De la Fuente¡¯s attention shifted to a topic that had stirred many conversations in the days leading up to this match. He paused, ensuring that every player was fully engaged. "We¡¯ve discussed our roles, our responsibilities in midfield and on the flanks," he said. "Now, we need to address our final piece in the attacking third." A hush fell over the room. It was well understood among the players that one spot remained in the forward line¡ªa role traditionally filled by a natural striker. The expectation, by many, was that Morata would fill this position given his experience and physical presence. Several teammates exchanged glances that conveyed both anticipation and resignation at the likely announcement. De la Fuente continued, "Our system demands that we not only score but also control the game from the front. While Morata is an excellent option in many situations, the tactical challenge posed by Germany calls for something different this time." His eyes swept the room, and every player¡¯s focus intensified. "I¡¯m opting for a different approach," he said deliberately. "I need an attacking midfielder who can drop deep, link up with our creative core, and create spaces for our wingers to exploit. Someone with vision, pace, and the ability to read the game¡ªqualities that go beyond just finishing chances." A quiet ripple of surprise moved through the players. All eyes turned toward the attacking midfielders. The expectation had been clear, but now the coach was signaling a change. De la Fuente paused for a beat before announcing, "That player, who will operate in a false nine role, is Izan." A moment of still silence followed as some players turned to look at Izan who met the coach¡¯s gaze with a calm, measured confidence. His expression was one of quiet determination, fully aware of the tactical nuance behind this decision. The choice wasn¡¯t an experiment¡ªit was a calculated move designed to unlock the fluidity and unpredictability required to break down a disciplined opponent like Germany. Morata¡¯s expression remained inscrutable, though the tension in the room was tangible. Some of the players, who had silently expected the traditional striker to be given the nod, now processed the new reality. Instead of simply occupying the advanced forward position, Izan¡¯s role would require him to oscillate between the midfield and the attacking line, drawing defenders out of position and linking up with Pedri and Olmo to craft scoring opportunities. De la Fuente elaborated, "Izan will have the freedom to roam, to drop deep, and to combine with our midfield. His movement will be key in disrupting Germany¡¯s defensive shape. He¡¯s not here to just finish moves¡ªhe¡¯s here to create them. This false nine role will allow him to exploit the space that opens up when their fullbacks push high." The players listened intently, and even those who had initially questioned the decision began to see the merit in the tactical plan. De la Fuente concluded the session by summarizing the final starting eleven. "Let me outline our lineup for tomorrow," he said. "In goal, we have Unai Sim¨®n. Our back four will consist of Carvajal, Le Normand, Laporte, and Cucurella. In midfield, Rodri, Pedri, and Olmo will anchor our play. On the left wing, Nico Williams; on the right wing, Lamine Yamal; and upfront, operating in a false nine role, is Izan." The room was charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. The decision was unconventional, yet it underscored the tactical adaptability the coach had instilled in his team. Every player now understood that tomorrow¡¯s match against Germany would require them to execute a plan that deviated from traditional roles, challenging the opposition with innovative play. De la Fuente¡¯s final words resonated in the quiet room, "We have a strategy that leverages every one of your strengths. Tomorrow, we implement this plan with precision. Let¡¯s show them what we¡¯re made of." As the lights dimmed and the session wrapped up, the players dispersed with a renewed sense of purpose. The decision to start Izan as a false nine was not a gamble¡ªit was a bold statement of intent, built on careful analysis and the unwavering confidence of the coaching staff. In that moment, every player in the room knew that they were not just following orders, but participating in a meticulously crafted plan to overcome one of the tournament¡¯s toughest challenges. Chapter 288: Clash Of Titans[2] The morning of the match unfolded in slow, deliberate motions. The air inside the players¡¯ quarters was thick with a focused intensity, the kind that built steadily in the hours leading to battle. Even the smallest routines carried a weight to them. Rodri was one of the first to rise, already moving through his pre-match stretches before the rest of the team had fully woken up. Dani Carvajal sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face as he muttered something about needing coffee. Across the hall, Lamine Yamal scrolled through his phone with his headphones on, nodding to whatever song he was using to set the tone for the day. Izan lay still for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His mind wasn¡¯t racing, nor was he nervous¡ªjust¡­ waiting. The buildup was familiar by now, but today carried an added weight. He could still hear De la Fuente¡¯s voice from last night, the certainty in his decision. You will be our false nine. Izan finally sat up, drawing a deep breath before pulling his training top over his head. With a mental flex, he called out the holographic aid that had helped him get to where he was now. [Out Of Your Comfort Zone: De La Fuente has assigned you the false 9 role. Play to the fullest and show your versatility while aiding Spain to the win. Rewards: 15 stat points New Position trait Failure: Elimination from the Euros and the system goes offline for the first month of next season¡¯s football. ] Looking at the message, Izan was further motivated. By the time he stepped out for breakfast, the atmosphere had shifted completely. Some of his teammates were silent, keeping to themselves, while others found comfort in casual conversation. Pedri and Olmo exchanged quick words about Germany¡¯s midfield, revisiting last night¡¯s analysis as if they hadn¡¯t already memorized every detail. Morata laughed softly at something Cucurella said, but the way he stirred his coffee showed his mind was elsewhere. Izan grabbed a plate, stacking it with just enough food to refuel without weighing himself down. He took his seat across from Nico Williams, who gave him a knowing nod but didn¡¯t say anything. No words were needed. One by one, they finished eating, returning to their rooms to dress in their travel kits. White polos with the Spanish crest neatly embroidered over their hearts. Black joggers. Matching sneakers. By the time they reassembled in the hallway, fully geared up, the energy had changed completely. No more casual talk. No more lighthearted banter. This was the moment they had been waiting for. The staff moved swiftly, guiding them toward the hotel exit where their bus was already waiting, its red and yellow frame gleaming under the midday sun. Rodri led the way out, his face a mask of composure. Lamine followed behind, headphones still on, while Nico adjusted his sleeves, muttering something under his breath. Izan walked near the middle of the group, gaze locked forward. A few fans had gathered outside the hotel entrance, waving Spanish flags and calling out names, their voices filled with raw excitement. A few players acknowledged them with quick waves, but no one stopped. The bus doors slid open with a soft hiss, and one by one, they stepped inside. The moment the doors shut behind them, the bus became its own world. Rodri took his usual seat, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, his mind already deep in thought. Next to him, Pedri tapped his fingers on his knee, lost in his rhythm. Izan for once, sat near the center, earbuds in, but no music played. Instead, he let the sounds of the bus¡ªthe faint hum of the engine, the soft murmurs of his teammates¡ªsettle around him. He wasn¡¯t one for overloading his mind with analysis at this stage. That work had been done. Now, it was about being ready when the moment arrived. Lamine sat with his hood up, staring at his phone screen as he flicked through highlights of past goals. Morata, beside him, rubbed his hands together slowly, the only sign of nerves he ever let show. At the front, De la Fuente spoke in low tones with his assistants, likely making final tactical confirmations. The ride was long enough for tension to build but short enough that no one fully slipped into relaxation. The closer they got to the stadium, the quieter the bus became. Until finally, they arrived. As the bus rounded the final corner, the noise hit them like a tidal wave. The streets outside the stadium were a battlefield of sound, a war of voices clashing in the summer air. Germany¡¯s fans had filled every inch of the surrounding area, their white jerseys a sea of unity. They chanted, their anthems rolling like thunder through the city. Flags waved high, black, red, and gold rippling against the sky. But Spain was here, too. Though outnumbered, the Spanish fans had come in force, their red and yellow banners flashing like fire against the German tide. They sang, their voices raw with passion, refusing to be drowned out. The bus slowed as it approached the entrance, security forming a barrier to allow them through. Even with the tinted windows, the players could feel the energy outside¡ªthousands of eyes fixed on them, thousands of voices either cheering or jeering. As soon as the bus parked, the doors hissed open once more. Rodri was the first to step off, greeted by a fresh wave of sound. Pedri followed, then Carvajal, then Olmo. One by one, they emerged, each step onto the pavement drawing louder cheers and jeers from the opposing crowds. Izan was near the middle, and the moment he stepped out, he felt it. The weight of expectation. The magnitude of the occasion. The undeniable thrill of walking into battle. Spanish fans screamed his name, their belief in him unwavering. German supporters responded with their chants, trying to rattle him before he even entered the stadium. He didn¡¯t react. Didn¡¯t wave. Didn¡¯t look around. Just kept walking forward, into the heart of the arena where fate awaited. The players disappeared into the stadium tunnels, their footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. The moment had arrived. Spain vs. Germany. A place in the semifinals is on the line. ..... "The stage is set in Stuttgart, where two European giants collide in what promises to be a thrilling quarterfinal between Spain and Germany. The players have just arrived at the stadium, stepping off the team buses with the weight of expectation on their shoulders. The atmosphere is electric, with German fans vastly outnumbering the Spanish contingent, but the roar of La Roja¡¯s faithful has been just as deafening." The camera panned to the tunnel entrance, where Spain¡¯s players were making their way toward the dressing room, their expressions locked in quiet focus. Germany¡¯s squad had already entered, led by Joshua Kimmich and Antonio R¨¹diger, their presence alone a statement of intent. Seated in the commentary booth were two familiar voices: veteran football commentator Martin Tyler and former Spanish international Cesc F¨¤bregas, offering expert analysis. Tyler: "Cesc, these are two teams with incredible history in this tournament. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Germany, the three-time European champions, have made it to the quarterfinals for the fifth time in the last six editions. Spain, also three-time winners, last lifted the trophy in 2012. And these two nations have given us some memorable battles over the years." F¨¤bregas: "Absolutely, Martin. The last time they met in a Euros knockout match was the 2008 final, when Spain won 1-0 thanks to Fernando Torres¡¯ goal. That was the start of Spain¡¯s golden era. Since then, we¡¯ve seen different iterations of these teams, but their footballing DNA remains the same. Spain with their technical precision and Germany with their disciplined power." As the broadcast displayed the pre-match statistics, the numbers painted a clear picture of both teams¡¯ strengths. Key Statistics ¨C Spain vs. Germany Head-to-Head in Major Tournaments: 5 matches (Spain 2 wins, Germany 2 wins, 1 draw) Last Meeting: Spain 1-1 Germany (World Cup 2022 group stage) Germany¡¯s Key Players: Jamal Musiala (3 goals, 1 assist this tournament), Florian Wirtz (2 goals, 2 assists), Ilkay G¨¹ndogan (captain, 91% pass accuracy) Spain¡¯s Key Players: Lamine Yamal (2 assists, most dribbles completed in the tournament), Rodri (94% pass accuracy, 2 goals), and Izan Hernandez,(2 goals, 3 assists) Tyler: "Now, let¡¯s talk about Spain¡¯s young sensation, Izan Hernandez. He came into this tournament off a spectacular season for Valencia, winning the pichichi as well as Laliga assist leader and he¡¯s lived up to the hype." F¨¤bregas: "He¡¯s been nothing short of spectacular, Martin. Barely 17 and he¡¯s already got 2 goals and 3 assists in this tournament, including that fantastic debut against Italy where he had a hand in all three goals. What stands out is his decision-making¡ªhe¡¯s not just about flair; he knows when to take on defenders and when to create for his teammates. He¡¯s also Spain¡¯s leading chance creator in open play, which is remarkable for someone playing his first major tournament." Tyler: "And tonight, he¡¯s starting as Spain¡¯s false nine. That¡¯s a bold decision by Luis de la Fuente, but it speaks to the trust he has in the young man." The camera cut to the Spanish dressing room, where players were making their final preparations. Izan sat near Pedri, tying his boots with deliberate care. Across the room, Dani Olmo adjusted his shin pads, while Morata and De La Fuente exchanged a few words. Meanwhile, in the German dressing room, Musiala was seen lacing up his boots, his expression unreadable. Manuel Neuer, Germany¡¯s veteran goalkeeper, leaned against the lockers, listening to final instructions. Back in the commentary booth, the excitement was building. Tyler: "The tension is rising, and so is the noise inside this packed stadium. The players have just stepped onto the pitch for their warmups, greeted by a deafening roar from the stands. Spain in their traditional red and blue, Germany in their classic white and black. The stakes couldn¡¯t be higher, Cesc." F¨¤bregas: "No, they couldn¡¯t. A spot in the semifinals is on the line. One of these teams will move a step closer to the trophy, and the other will be heading home. This is what the Euros are all about." The camera zoomed in on Izan as he jogged onto the pitch, stretching his arms before giving a light pass to Pedri. The crowd was alive and roaring afterall, they were only a few minutes away from witnessing greatness. Chapter 289: KickOff The pre-match warm-up was a necessary ritual, a moment to shake off any lingering tension and let muscle memory take over. The ball moved between players in short, crisp exchanges, loosening their touches, and sharpening their instincts. Izan controlled a pass from Pedri, rolling it forward with the inside of his boot before flicking it back with ease. Across the pitch, Germany¡¯s players were going through their own drills, but the energy was different. As the Spanish players rotated through their warm-up routines, Izan glanced up and caught Jamal Musiala and Florian Wirtz heading his way. Musiala, a familiar presence flashed a grin as he approached. Wirtz, more reserved, trailed a step behind. Pedri and Lamine Yamal noticed the approach, slowed their movements, and formed a loose circle. "Hey," Musiala greeted, his German accent softened by years in England. "Figured we¡¯d come over before the game starts and we¡¯re not allowed to be friendly anymore." Izan smirked, shifting the ball under his foot. "Friendly? I thought you were already plotting how to kick me off the pitch." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Musiala chuckled. "You¡¯re the one playing false nine. We should be worried about you." Wirtz, standing beside him, nodded slightly before glancing at Yamal. "You guys have been killing it this tournament." Yamal, who had his hands on his hips, gave a lazy shrug. "We¡¯re just getting started." The confidence in his voice was unmistakable. Wirtz looked at Izan then, expression more serious. "Honestly, your season was unreal. First season in La Liga and you win the Pichichi? Top assister too?" Pedri chimed in with a smirk. "And don¡¯t forget, youngest ever Pichichi." Musiala nodded, amused. "Izan¡¯s going to have his record book soon." Izan shook his head. "You¡¯re talking like you don¡¯t have your ridiculous stats, Jamal. You¡¯ve been carrying Bayern all season. I feel really sorry for Harry though. Wirtz¡¯s team spoiled the party" Wirtz grinned, but Musiala turned his attention back to Izan. "And now the Copa Trophy. Everyone knows you¡¯re the frontrunner." The award¡ªthe one given to the best young player in the world¡ªhad been a major point of discussion in recent weeks. Izan had finished fourth the previous year, with Jude Bellingham taking the trophy. But this time? After his La Liga dominance and his performances in the Euros, the general consensus was that it was his to lose. Izan shrugged. "We¡¯ll see." Musiala raised a brow. "Come on, you know you¡¯ve got it this year." Pedri smirked, nudging Izan¡¯s shoulder. "He¡¯s being humble. If he doesn¡¯t win it, we will riot" "Then hopefully Lamine wins next year. Probably in a universe without this guy" Pedri said pointing at Izan," You might have won" he ended while gesturing towards Yamal. Yamal laughed. "Tell me about it" Wirtz smiled slightly but didn¡¯t press further. Instead, he glanced toward the stadium, where the atmosphere was swelling. "Well, either way, I have a feeling this isn¡¯t the last time we¡¯ll all be playing against each other." Izan met his gaze, recognizing the quiet determination in it. "No," he agreed. "It¡¯s not." Musiala clapped him on the shoulder lightly before stepping back. "Alright, we should probably stop acting like we¡¯re not about to try and knock each other out of the tournament." Izan smirked. "Too late." Musiala laughed, turning back toward his side. "See you on the pitch, then." Wirtz gave a small nod before following him. As they walked away, Pedri exhaled. "Musiala and Wirtz together are dangerous." Yamal smirked. "Yeah, but so are we." Izan didn¡¯t say anything. He just looked out at the stadium, feeling the moment settle into place. The warm-up was nearly over. Soon, everything would begin. ...... The air in the Spanish dressing room carried a charged stillness, the kind that settled just before the storm. Players moved with precision¡ªno wasted movements, no unnecessary chatter. Izan took his seat beside Pedri, untying his training boots with steady hands. Across the room, Dani Olmo adjusted his shin pads, while Rodri sat with his back against the wall, eyes closed, mentally locked in. Lamine Yamal muttered something under his breath as he swapped his warm-up top for the match jersey, his expression unreadable. Cucurella, ever restless, bounced his knee as he taped up his socks. Luis de la Fuente stood near the tactics board, making small final adjustments with his assistants. He wasn¡¯t one for long speeches right before a match. The messages had already been drilled in. Now, it was about execution. Izan slipped on his jersey, feeling the familiar weight of the Spanish crest over his heart. The number 21 didn¡¯t reflect the role he had to play¡ª False nine. He had already visualized the movements, the link-ups, the spaces he¡¯d need to exploit. Now, it was time to bring them to life. A single knock on the door. "Five minutes." The room moved in sync¡ªshin pads strapped, boots laced, last-minute stretches. Some players tapped their thighs, others muttered to themselves. Izan simply flexed his fingers, letting the moment settle in his bones. Rodri was the first to stand, setting the unspoken cue. One by one, they followed, adjusting their sleeves, cracking their necks, shaking out their limbs. With a deep breath, Izan rose. It was time. .... The tunnel leading to the pitch looked like a world of its own¡ªdimly lit, cool despite the heat outside, and thick with unspoken tension. Spain stood in one line, Germany in another. Carvajal stood at the front, the armband snug around his bicep. Rodrigo beside him, jaw set, eyes ahead. Behind them, Pedri and Olmo stretched their calves, while Izan found his place between Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal. Across the way, Germany¡¯s players mirrored their focus. Joshua Kimmich, their captain, stood tall, exchanging quiet words with Antonio R¨¹diger. Musiala rolled his shoulders. Wirtz adjusted his gloves. Manuel Neuer, ever the veteran, exuded a calm authority. Izan met Musiala¡¯s gaze briefly. No words. Just an understanding. This was it. A FIFA official gave the signal. "Let¡¯s go." With a deep breath, Rodri took the first step forward. The rest followed. The roar hit them instantly. "And here they come!" Martin Tyler¡¯s voice soared above the stadium¡¯s fevered roar. "The players are stepping onto the pitch, and listen to that noise! Spain in their iconic red and blue, Germany in their classic white and black. The anticipation in Stuttgart is off the charts." Cesc F¨¤bregas, seated beside him, nodded. "This is what the Euros are about, Martin. Two giants of the game, a spot in the semifinals at stake. The tension is almost suffocating." The camera zoomed in on Rodri and Kimmich as they shook hands at the center circle, their expressions firm. Referee Anthony Taylor stood between them, delivering his final words. The assistants checked their watches. The captains exchanged pennants. The teams then moved down the line, shaking hands. Izan grasped Wirtz¡¯s hand briefly. A small nod. He then exchanged a glance with Musiala. No words¡ªjust the understanding of young talents carrying the weight of their nations. Rodri clapped his hands once as he turned back toward his teammates. The referee stepped back, checking his whistle. The noise reached its peak. The camera focused on Izan, standing in position at the center. This was it. Spain vs. Germany. The battle for the semifinals. "Kickoff is next." The commentator said as the referee brought the whistle to his mouth. With a resounding shriek, the referee sent the whole stadium into a frenzy. ...¡­. [Madrid, Spain ¨C A Packed Sports Bar] The dimly lit sports bar in the heart of Madrid was already overflowing, fans dressed in red and yellow packed shoulder to shoulder. The walls trembled with chants of "?Vamos Espa?a!" as the massive screen flickered with the pre-match coverage. In the middle of the crowd, a group of friends leaned in, their eyes locked on the TV. "Man, Izan¡¯s starting as a false nine," one of them muttered, gripping his beer. "De la Fuente trusts him." The guy next to him, wearing a Spain jersey with 21 IZAN on the back, grinned. "Of course, he does. The kid¡¯s built for moments like this." The national anthem began playing through the speakers, and suddenly, the entire bar fell into a respectful hush before roaring back to life as kickoff neared. On the other end of things, a family of four sat in Berlin huddled around their massive TV, tension thick in the air. The father, a long-time Toni Kroos fan had his arms crossed, nodding approvingly as Kroos and R¨¹diger appeared on the screen. "We have the experience," he muttered. "Spain is young. They¡¯ll crack under pressure." His teenage son, draped in a Musiala jersey, barely reacted, his focus glued to the screen. "Spain¡¯s midfield is scary, though." The mother, usually indifferent to football, smiled at their youngest daughter, who was holding a homemade sign: "Let¡¯s go, Jamal!" As the German anthem played, the father and son exchanged a glance. No more debates. The battle was about to begin. Despite the time difference, a small rooftop bar in Tokyo was buzzing with energy. Most of the crowd was made up of neutral football fans, but a group of Spanish exchange students had claimed a corner table, wearing Spain scarves despite the humid night air. One of them, a young woman, clutched her phone. "Izan¡¯s family is part Japanese, right?" Her friend nodded. "Yeah, half. His mom¡¯s from here." Another guy leaned forward. "If he scores, Japan will claim him as one of our own." Laughter followed, but as the teams lined up, the mood shifted. The bartender turned the volume up, the excitement spreading. No matter the country, no matter the background¡ªeveryone was here for one thing. Some Good Football. Chapter 290: Speed Demon Despite the time difference, a small rooftop bar in Tokyo was buzzing with energy. Most of the crowd was made up of neutral football fans, but a group of Spanish exchange students had claimed a corner table, wearing Spain scarves despite the humid night air. One of them, a young woman, clutched her phone. "Izan¡¯s family is part Japanese, right?" Her friend nodded. "Yeah, half. His mom¡¯s from here." Another guy leaned forward. "If he scores, Japan will claim him as one of our own." Laughter followed, but as the teams lined up, the mood shifted. The bartender turned the volume up, the excitement spreading. No matter the country, no matter the background¡ªeveryone was here for one thing. Some Good Football. ... The whistle shrieked, piercing through the stadium¡¯s roaring anticipation. Kai Havertz nudged the ball back to Toni Kroos, and the quarterfinal was underway. A wave of noise swept through the Stuttgart Arena as Germany settled into their rhythm. Their passes were crisp and precise¡ªeach touch measured, each movement calculated. The opening exchanges weren¡¯t chaotic, not yet. Germany played with confidence derived from years of tournament experience. And Spain? They weren¡¯t pressing immediately. Instead, they waited, and observed, feeling out the game¡¯s tempo. Izan watched as Kroos dictated the early moments, shifting the ball between the German backline and midfield, searching for gaps. He jogged into position, staying within passing lanes, but already he could feel it¡ªthis was different. The pressure on him. It was his first start in a knockout match at a major tournament. No matter how many times he told himself he was ready, no matter how much he had played at the highest level in La Liga, this was the Euros. The world was watching. And Germany weren¡¯t about to let him ease into the game. A simple pass came Izan¡¯s way¡ªa routine back-pass from Pedri just inside Spain¡¯s half. Nothing complicated. Just control and recycle. But in his attempt to turn quickly, his first touch wasn¡¯t clean. It skidded off his boot, rolling further than he intended. Before he could react, Wirtz was on him. The German playmaker pounced, reading the mistake instantly, stretching his leg to poke the ball forward. Izan lunged to recover, but it was too late. Wirtz had already slipped a pass into the gap, and suddenly, Germany were surging forward. Kimmich received the ball in stride, his vision, razor-sharp as he threaded it between Cucurella and Laporte. Musiala¡ªquick, elusive¡ªghosted into the space behind Spain¡¯s defense before spraying a pass toward the chaos of the box. The stadium erupted as Kai Havertz took Musiala¡¯s ball, his first touch cleanly, angling toward goal. Dani Carvajal sprinted back, closing in with everything he had. Havertz hesitated for half a second and that was all Carvajal needed. A perfectly timed lunge, a scrape of studs against the ball, and the danger was snuffed out. The ball ricocheted out for a throw-in, the crowd reacting with a mixture of relief and excitement. But Izan didn¡¯t hear any of it. He was still standing in midfield, jaw clenched, eyes staring at the spot where he lost the ball. He exhaled sharply, trying to shake it off, but the frustration stuck to his skin. [Host¡¯s heartbeat is increasing. System suggest trait Activation: {Focus LV 3}] the system suggested but Izan didn¡¯t hear any of it. As Germany prepared to take the throw, Izan felt a firm grasp on his shoulder. Pedri. The midfielder didn¡¯t say anything at first¡ªjust held his gaze, his expression calm. Then, with quiet confidence, he murmured, "You got this." Just three words. But they hit exactly where they needed to. Izan blinked, his breathing steadying. The weight in his chest didn¡¯t disappear completely, but it shifted¡ªno longer a burden, but a reminder. He wasn¡¯t alone in this. ..... David Raum stood over the throw-in near the halfway line, scanning his options. Spain¡¯s defensive line was set, their shape compact, but Germany had begun to find small openings. The crowd hummed in anticipation as Raum finally made his decision, launching the ball toward Florian Wirtz, who had been a constant threat in the early moments. Wirtz controlled it with ease, but just as he turned¡ª A blur of red and blue streaked into view. Izan. He had read the pass a fraction of a second before it left Raum¡¯s hands, closing the gap between himself and Wirtz with frightening acceleration. His foot shot out, cutting through the space like a blade, poking the ball away just as Wirtz tried to shift his body. The German playmaker barely had time to react before Izan was already moving. One touch. Then another. The ball rolled perfectly into his stride, and in an instant, Spain were countering. Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. He knew exactly where Nico Williams would be¡ªfurther up the left flank, lurking near the touchline, waiting for a chance to burn his own marker. With a single sweeping motion, Izan unleashed a diagonal ball, slicing through the air like an arrow. The weight was perfect. It curved away from Joshua Kimmich, spun just past Antonio R¨¹diger¡¯s attempted interception, and fell onto the rushing path of Nico, who barely had to break stride. The Stuttgart crowd erupted as Spain surged forward. Germany, caught in transition, scrambled to recover. Raum was already backpedaling, trying to cut off Nico¡¯s space. Kroos, deeper in midfield, pointed frantically, signaling for his teammates to close down the gaps. But none of them noticed. None of them saw Izan still running. Ding, [Speedster] At first, it wasn¡¯t obvious. Izan was deep when he played the pass, his body slightly off-balance from the stretch. But the moment the ball left his foot, he took off. The first strides were explosive, propelling him forward with a power that felt unnatural for a player known more for his creativity than his raw athleticism. Then came the second gear. He accelerated like a sprinter out of the blocks, his strides lengthening, his upper body tilting forward with terrifying intent. One by one, he passed them¡ª Wirtz, who had barely turned around. Kimmich, who was still gesturing for his teammates to shift. Even R¨¹diger, one of the fastest defenders in world football, found himself trailing behind. Izan was moving at a speed that defied expectations, his legs eating up the ground like he was running downhill. " Izan now turning on the afterburners. What pure speed. What is he going to do here." The commentator roared as Izan closed the gap. The stadium gasped. Even the cameras struggled to keep up. For a brief moment, it felt unreal¡ªlike a glimpse of something beyond the ordinary. By the time Nico reached the edge of the box, Izan was already there. Nico barely had to think. One touch. A simple cutback into the path of the streaking 16-year-old. Izan didn¡¯t take a touch. Instead, he let the ball roll across his body, dragging it inward, knowing exactly where his next move was. A perfect layoff. Dani Olmo arrived right on cue, his left foot swinging forward as the ball entered his shooting lane. The strike was clean. Crisp. It flew low, skipping off the turf¡ª Straight into Manuel Neuer¡¯s waiting gloves. Neuer, ever the composed veteran, barely flinched. He cradled the ball, his massive frame absorbing the shot with ease before quickly bouncing to his feet. A moment of danger, instantly neutralized. But the message had been sent. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Neuer rolled the ball out to R¨¹diger, who immediately spread it wide to Kimmich. Spain reset their shape, pressing with intelligent restraint, waiting for the right trigger. Germany, patient as ever, resumed their crisp passing, shifting Spain from side to side, looking for an opening. Izan, still pulsing with adrenaline from his electrifying burst, remained locked in. His early mistake had vanished from his mind¡ªthe game had already moved on, and so had he. Germany¡¯s attack moved through the center, Toni Kroos dictating with surgical precision. He received the ball under minimal pressure, scanning ahead before threading a pass to Musiala. The Bayern prodigy glided forward, hips swaying as he danced past Pedri, but Rodri anticipated the move and stepped in, cutting the ball off cleanly. Rodri didn¡¯t rush. He played it simple¡ªone touch to Pedri, who instantly found Izan between the lines. The moment Izan turned, the German defense reacted. Kroos and Andrich closed in, but Izan flicked the ball past them with an effortless feint, gliding into space. Nico was wide. Olmo was dragging S¨¹le away with a near-post run. Yamal ghosted behind Raum on the far side. And Izan picked his option. A disguised pass zipped toward the left, perfectly weighted for Nico. The winger trapped it in stride, feinted right, then burst left, breezing past Kimmich and whipping in a cross. Yamal lunged for the ball but before he could get to the ball, R¨¹diger threw himself at it, deflecting it behind for a corner. " Lovely cross from Nico but an equally impressive clearance by Rudiger. This match is just beginning but you can feel the intensity it¡¯s coming with" From the set-piece, Lamine Yamal curled in a teasing ball, his delivery vicious and dipping. Rodri rose highest, outmuscling Havertz, but his header sailed just over the bar. Spain were growing into the game now. " What an exciting first few minutes here in Stuttgart. And as we talk, Wirtz has the ball, driving forward. He takes on one, and now he lays it off to Musiala,...¡­. MUUSIIALAAA!!!!!!!!" Chapter 291: Clash Of Titans[3] A disguised pass zipped toward the left, perfectly weighted for Nico. The winger trapped it in stride, feinted right, then burst left, breezing past Kimmich and whipping in a cross. Yamal lunged for the ball but before he could get to the ball, R¨¹diger threw himself at it, deflecting it behind for a corner. " Lovely cross from Nico but an equally impressive clearance by Rudiger. This match is just beginning but you can feel the intensity it¡¯s coming with" From the set-piece, Lamine Yamal curled in a teasing ball, his delivery vicious and dipping. Rodri rose highest, outmuscling Havertz, but his header sailed just over the bar. Spain were growing into the game now. " What an exciting first few minutes here in Stuttgart. And as we talk, Wirtz has the ball, driving forward. He takes on one, and now he lays it off to Musiala,...¡­. MUUSIIALAAA!!!!!!!!" S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In a crowded sports bar in Berlin, packed with German supporters draped in black, red, and gold, the energy was crackling with nervous excitement. Among the sea of fans, Sebastian, a lifelong German supporter, sat at the edge of his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden table so tightly his knuckles had turned white. A half-empty beer sat untouched beside him, condensation dripping down its glass. The early exchanges had been intense. Spain had threatened through Izan¡¯s electrifying speed, but Germany had found their rhythm, and now¡ª Musiala had the ball. The bar collectively held its breath as Wirtz darted forward, slipping a quick pass to Musiala at the edge of the box. Musiala¡¯s first touch was perfect. He feinted past Carvajal with a quick flick of his right foot, leaving the Spanish defender scrambling. Sebastian shot to his feet. "JA! LOS, JAMAL!" Musiala took one more step forward. The net was in sight. The shot came¡ª The bar ERUPTED. "TOOOOOOOOOORRRRR¡ª" But then, silence. The celebrations froze mid-air, cheers dying on their tongues as the referee¡¯s whistle cut through the noise. A foul play had occurred in the buildup. Sebastian¡¯s hands ran through his hair, disbelief etched onto his face. "Was zum Teufel¡­?" (What the hell¡­?) Replays flashed on the screen- Raum had taken the ball unfairly. The groans of frustration echoed across the bar. Some slammed their fists on tables, others buried their faces in their hands. Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He only needs one chance," he muttered, eyes fixed on the screen as Musiala looked up at the replay, disappointment flashing across his face. Back in the commentary booth, the broadcasters echoed his thoughts. Martin Tyler: "And there it is¡ªa warning from Germany. Jamal Musiala, even with the smallest opening, can slice through a defense in a heartbeat. Spain got lucky there, but they won¡¯t always be so fortunate." Cesc F¨¤bregas: "That¡¯s exactly why he¡¯s one of the most dangerous young players in the world. His movement is unpredictable, his balance incredible, and if you give him space inside the box, you¡¯re finished." As the camera panned to Musiala, who was already refocusing, F¨¤bregas continued. F¨¤bregas: "But let¡¯s not forget¡ªSpain has a player just like that. If Musiala can hurt you in one moment, so can Izan." Tyler: "Absolutely, Cesc. We¡¯ve already seen glimpses of Izan¡¯s explosiveness in these opening minutes. The way he initiated that counterattack earlier was terrifyingly fast. And with his ability to create something out of nothing, Germany has to stay alert every second." Just as the conversation flowed, Unai Sim¨®n suddenly launched the ball forward. ... Neuer had barely finished organizing his defense when Sim¨®n hurled a long throw toward Nico Williams near the halfway line. The Spanish winger, ever alert, let the ball bounce once before cushioning it with his chest. His touch was perfect, absorbing the momentum before swiftly laying it off to Izan, who had already started his run. The counter was ON. Tyler: "AND JUST LIKE THAT¡ªSPAIN BREAKS!" F¨¤bregas: "This is where they¡¯re lethal. Izan, running at a scrambling defense, is the last thing Germany wants to see!" The Stuttgart crowd rose as one, sensing danger. Izan took his first touch¡ªa clean, sweeping motion that sent the ball rolling perfectly into his stride. Then he exploded forward. For a brief second, all eyes were on him. ... On the German bench, Julian Nagelsmann shot to his feet, his voice booming over the roaring stadium. "ZUR¨¹CK! ZUR¨¹CK! ALLE ZUR¨¹CK!" (BACK! BACK! EVERYONE BACK!) His arms waved frantically, demanding his defenders drop deeper, but the transition was too quick. Spain were coming. Luis de la Fuente, in contrast, remained composed. He stood near the edge of his technical area, arms crossed, eyes locked on Izan as he surged forward. His expression betrayed nothing¡ªbut inside, he knew this moment was critical. This was where Izan could be devastating. As Izan sprinted toward the final third, R¨¹diger stepped up. A wall of power, experience, and aggression. For a moment, Izan hesitated. His first real 1v1 battle of the match. Nagelsmann¡¯s voice rang again: "STOP HIM! DON¡¯T LET HIM THROUGH!" R¨¹diger, as if responding to Nagelsmann¡¯s words, lunged in¡ªfast, precise, hunting for the ball and Izan reacted instinctively. With a feint to the right, he baited R¨¹diger in. Then, in a split second, he flicked the ball through the defender¡¯s legs. A nutmeg. The stadium gasped. Izan moved to collect the ball on the other side, but¡ª WHAM. R¨¹diger, realizing he had been beaten, stuck out a leg and took Izan down. The whistle shrieked. Izan tumbled onto the turf, rolling before planting his hands down to push himself up. The Spanish players swarmed the referee. Rodri was the first to reach Anthony Taylor, his arms outstretched. "That¡¯s a last-man foul! He was through!" Pedri joined in, frustration written across his face. "Come on, that¡¯s stopping a clear goal-scoring chance!" R¨¹diger, meanwhile, raised his hands in protest. "It was a tactical foul!" He glanced at the referee, his face unreadable. Taylor wasted no time. Yellow card. The Spanish players erupted. Dani Olmo shook his head, gesturing furiously. "If that¡¯s anywhere else on the pitch, it¡¯s red!" On the touchline, de la Fuente simply exhaled, his face betraying the slightest flicker of amusement. He turned to his assistant and murmured, "R¨¹diger knows exactly what he¡¯s doing." As the debate raged on, Izan slowly picked himself up, brushing bits of grass off his shorts. His eyes locked onto the ball. A dangerous free kick. A chance for Spain. The noise inside the Stuttgart Arena didn¡¯t die down. If anything, it grew. The Spanish fans, fueled by the injustice of what they believed should have been a red card, whistled furiously. The German supporters, relieved that they still had eleven men on the pitch, countered with jeers. But amidst the chaos, Izan had already placed the ball down. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders, exhaling slowly. It wasn¡¯t the perfect angle for a direct shot¡ªa bit too central, about 26 yards out¡ªbut it was still within his range. He had scored from these positions before. Behind him, Dani Olmo and Lamine Yamal hovered¡ªa decoy, making it unclear who would take it. Neuer, standing tall between the posts, barked orders at his wall. "ZUSAMMEN! BLEIBT FEST!" (Stay together! Stay firm!) Germany¡¯s four-man wall was solid¡ªR¨¹diger, Kimmich, Kroos, and Havertz. A line of experience, strength, and tactical intelligence. But Izan? He wasn¡¯t looking at them. He was looking at Manuel Neuer. Martin Tyler: "Izan Hernandez¡­ lining up the free kick¡­ the youngster who has already shaken up this tournament. Could this be another moment?" Cesc F¨¤bregas: "It¡¯s not an easy position, but if he gets the dip right, it¡¯s a nightmare for the keeper." Izan took four steps back, planting his left foot firmly. His right leg tensed. One last breath, Izan thought before closing his eyes. [Knuckleball: Activated], the system sounded, and with that, he took off. His run-up was short but precise¡ªnot a full swing, not a curling effort. Instead, he struck it clean and pure with the inside of his foot, sending the ball knuckling through the air. The trajectory was unnatural. It started high¡ªalmost too high¡ªbut then dipped suddenly. The ball swerved violently, moving away from the wall at the last second, curling back inward toward the top corner. Neuer reacted instantly and For all the talk of Neuer¡¯s age, he was still a monster in goal. He exploded off his line, his massive frame stretching out. His left hand shot up¡ªa reflex as sharp as ever¡ªand made contact. The ball didn¡¯t just deflect. It ricocheted. It slapped against Neuer¡¯s fingertips, then clipped the underside of the crossbar before bouncing back into play. The Spanish fans screamed. At first, a roar of belief, thinking it had gone over the line. Then, a collective groan as they realized Neuer had kept it out. Tyler: "OH MY WORD¡ªWHAT A STRIKE FROM IZAN! AND AN EQUALLY IMPRESSIVE SAVE FROM NEUER" F¨¤bregas: "Izan caught that perfectly! It had everything¡ªpower, swerve, dip¡ªbut Neuer¡­ oh, that¡¯s world-class goalkeeping." Izan, still standing near the free-kick spot, didn¡¯t move for a second. His chest rose and fell, his breath steady. Then, slowly, he turned towards his half. Chapter 292: We Can Do It Too The match had settled into a fierce rhythm¡ªfast, technical, and intense. Every movement felt like it carried weight, every pass loaded with the possibility of something special. Yet, for all the quality on display, the ball refused to hit the back of the net. Inside bars, living rooms, and fan parks across the world, the tension was thick. "This is great football, but a goal would be nice." A fan in the stands said. "We are playing well but I¡¯m still nervous since just a single goal could be dangerous at this point of the tournament". His friend, sitting beside glanced up at him. "Feels like one is coming, though. Spain look sharp, but Germany aren¡¯t sitting back either." They weren¡¯t wrong. Spain and Germany were locked in a battle of wits and intensity, neither willing to give an inch. Back on the pitch, Pedri, constantly scanning, spotted the gap and zipped a pass to Izan. The teenager received it near the halfway line, one touch to set himself, the next flicking it over Andrich¡¯s incoming challenge. Tyler: "Izan, so smooth under pressure! And here comes Spain again!" Yamal peeled wide on the right, waiting for the pass but he didn¡¯t get it. Izan had already spotted Nico Williams in full flight on the opposite flank. With a precise diagonal switch, he sent the ball floating toward him. Williams brought it down effortlessly, his first touch killing the ball¡¯s momentum, his second touch knocking it past Kimmich, and before the latter could turn, Nico had bolted away. "Brilliant pass from Izan and a lovely control to match. Now Nico with the ball, what can Spain do here." The German defense backpedaled frantically, R¨¹diger shifting across to close the space. But Williams had already squared up to Raum, shuffling left, then right¡ªthen bursting past him. His sudden Acela sent him towards the byline. Glancing up to see his number, Nico Williams slowed down before he whipped a cross in. The German defense scrambled to clear it and thankfully Schlotterbeck got there first, stretching a leg to deflect the ball away. Tyler: "Brilliant defending from Schlotterbeck! That was dangerous!" The ball rolled out to the edge of the box and now Rodri was there. One touch, then a strike¡ª Blocked! Germany weren¡¯t out of trouble yet. The rebound fell to Yamal, who didn¡¯t hesitate. He chopped past Andrich, shifting the ball onto his left foot, then let fly¡ª "Yamal!!!!" the commentator roared but Neuer punched it away! The stadium gasped as the German captain launched himself to his right, pushing the ball out of the danger zone with a strong hand. F¨¤bregas: "Neuer with a huge save! But Spain are knocking on the door!" Spain recycled possession quickly. Laporte found Pedri, who shifted the ball to Izan, now hovering just outside the penalty area. Izan feinted to shoot and Kroos bit. Then with a subtle touch, he slid the ball through Kroos¡¯ legs and kept moving. The German crowd held its breath as Izan lined up a curling shot¡ª But Kimmich arrived at the last second, stretching out a boot to deflect it wide! Tyler: "Just inches away! Kimmich denies what could¡¯ve been a special goal from Izan!" ... Back in the bar in Berlin, Lukas clapped his hands together. "Damn. That was close." Sebastian exhaled. "Germany need to wake up. Spain look like scoring every time they attack." And the German players must have heard him. Because suddenly, they turned the tide. Germany struck back with their own attack, moving like a machine. Musiala, always electric, wriggled free in midfield, skipping past Pedri with a silky touch. His balance was absurd¡ªRodri tried to push him off, but Musiala rode the challenge, somehow staying on his feet. He played it to Wirtz, who instantly flicked it to Havertz. One touch, back to Wirtz. Germany were speeding forward now, their movements fluid, precise. Tyler: "This is what Germany can do! One-touch football at its finest!" Wirtz threaded it through to Raum, who had bombed forward on the left. Raum took a breath, scanned the box¡ªand then delivered a cross with deadly intent. It was perfect. Curving, dipping, just the right amount of speed. Spain¡¯s defense reacted too late. And Havertz moved first. Ghosting between Laporte and Le Normand, he met the ball with a delicate, glancing header¡ª Unai Simon stretched to the fullest but couldn¡¯t get to the ball. The net rippled. "TOOOOOOORRRRR!!, the Stuttgart Arena roared as the German fans sprung to life. Tyler: GOOOOAAAALLL. WONDERFUL WELL WELL-WORKED GOAL. KAI HAVERTZ PUTS GERMANY AHEAD. 39 MINUTES AND ITS GERMANY 1 SPAIN, NIL" Nagelsmann roared on the touchline, pumping his arms while the German players swarmed Havertz, slapping his back, ruffling his hair. F¨¤bregas: "What a goal! That was a textbook German attack¡ªquick, incisive, and executed to perfection!" The Spanish players were stunned. De la Fuente stood frozen for a moment, then clapped his hands. "Vamos. Responde." And Spain did. Barely sixty seconds after restart, they came roaring back. Pedri played it short to Rodri, who immediately switched it to Yamal. The teenager didn¡¯t hesitate. He controlled, turned, and sprinted forward. Germany still thinking about their goal were caught scrambling to organize themselves. Andrich rushed in hoping to buy some time but Yamal flicked it past him before coming one one-on-one with Wirtz. The Bayer Leverkusen man lunged at Yamal but the teenager skipped away. Seeing more bodies approach, Yamal slowed down before looking for his teammates. And after settling on one, he threaded a pass to Izan, right at the edge of the box. Tyler: "Izan, back to goal¡ªwhat can he do here?" As soon as Izan got the ball, three German players collapsed toward him. Izan didn¡¯t flinch. Ding, [ Trickster and Incisive traits activated.] [Activating Union LV 1] With an outrageous flick of his left foot, Izan sent the ball slicing through the press¡ª Straight to Dani Olmo. F¨¤bregas: "OH, WHAT A PASS!" Olmo, already anticipating the move, latched onto it and burst into the box. Neuer rushed out but Olmo stayed ice-cold. He opened up his body¡ªand then slotted the ball towards the bottom left corner. Neuer dived but could only watch as the ball rolled smoothly into the net. "GOOOOOOLLLLLLLAAAAAAASSSOOOO" Tyler: ". WHAT EVEN WAS THAT PASS. SPAIN RESPONDS IMMEDIATELY! IZAN WITH THE PASS, DANI OLMO WITH THE EQUALIZER!" F¨¤bregas: "That is an unreal assist from Izan! The vision, the execution¡ªit¡¯s world-class!" Olmo pointed straight at Izan in celebration, grinning. The teenager barely reacted, just smirking as his teammates piled onto Olmo. Nagelsmann, furious from conceding, threw his hands up in frustration. Germany had led for barely a minute. Now, it was all square again. "The match is now electric, with both teams fully unleashed." Germany, still stinging from Spain¡¯s rapid equalizer, immediately tried to reclaim their lead. Musiala, their brightest spark since the start of the match, picked the ball up in midfield and turned sharply, evading Pedri¡¯s challenge. Tyler: "Jamal Musiala¡ªjust gliding through midfield like a ghost!" Rodri stepped in, this time making contact, but the ball had already been shifted wide to Kimmich. The Bayern man surged forward before curling a teasing cross into the box. Havertz was there again, rising between Laporte and Le Normand¡ª But this time, Unai Sim¨®n was ready. The Spanish keeper leaped high, catching the ball cleanly before immediately rolling it out to Laporte. Spain wasted no time. Laporte to Rodri. Rodri to Pedri. Pedri to Izan. The transition was seamless, almost mechanical in its precision. Izan, always aware, let the ball run across his body before stabbing it forward with his left foot, threading it between the lines to Olmo. F¨¤bregas: "Spain are playing through Germany like a hot knife through butter!" Olmo turned and spotted Yamal already making his run. The teenager, fearless, burst forward, sprinting past Raum. The German fullback grabbed at his shirt, desperate to slow him down, but Yamal shrugged him off with a powerful stride. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Tyler: "Here comes Yamal again! He¡¯s been a menace all night!" Yamal approached the box, scanning the situation. Williams was darting to the back post. Izan hovered near the penalty spot. Olmo ghosted in late. Yamal faked a shot, drawing in Andrich, before slipping the ball sideways¡ª Straight to Izan. One touch to control. Another to shift the ball away from R¨¹diger¡¯s desperate lunge. The goal was there. The entire stadium held its breath¡ª And then¡ª F¨¤bregas: "No! Not yet! Schlotterbeck with a last-ditch block!" The German defender had thrown himself in the way, deflecting Izan¡¯s effort wide. Spain, undeterred, rushed to take the corner. The ball was whipped in, curling menacingly toward the near post-¡ª Rodri jumped¡ª Header¡ª Blocked! Another scramble, bodies crashing together in the box¡ª It fell to Nico Williams! A half-volley¡ª Deflected! The ball ricocheted out of the box, but Spain refused to let it go. Izan, stationed outside the area, controlled the loose ball on his chest. One last moment. One last attack. He took a breath¡ª And struck it. Low. Tyler: "AND Izan¡ª" Chapter 293: Halftime The German defender had thrown himself in the way, deflecting Izan¡¯s effort wide. Spain, undeterred, rushed to take the corner. The ball was whipped in, curling menacingly toward the near post-¡ª Rodri jumped¡ª Header¡ª Blocked! Another scramble, bodies crashing together in the box¡ª It fell to Nico Williams! A half-volley¡ª Deflected! The ball ricocheted out of the box, but Spain refused to let it go. Izan, stationed outside the area, controlled the loose ball on his chest. One last moment. One last attack. He took a breath¡ª And struck it. Low. Tyler: "AND Izan¡ª" The ball screamed off his left boot, slicing through the air like a missile. Neuer, already diving, stretched desperately¡ª S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But the shot was faster. A sharp, resounding clang! Echoed through the stadium as the ball crashed off the inside of the post. The entire crowd gasped. For a split second, time seemed to pause. Then¡ª The ball bounced back into play, rolling toward the penalty spot. Kroos reacted first. The German veteran rushed in and booted it clear, sending the ball soaring into the night sky. F¨¤bregas: "So close! Inches away! Izan nearly gave Spain the lead right before halftime!" On the touchline, Julian Nagelsmann exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping in relief. He clapped his hands together and shouted toward his team. Luis de la Fuente, on the other hand, clenched his jaw and turned to his assistant. "That would have been perfect to kill their momentum.." he muttered, shaking his head. Spain recycled possession again, but this time, Germany didn¡¯t allow any gaps. The intensity in the final minutes was feverish¡ªSpain knocking, Germany holding firm. Then¡ª The referee glanced at his watch and put the whistle to his lips. Fweee, Fweeeeew Halftime. Tyler: "What a first half! End-to-end, high-quality football at its absolute best! Spain and Germany go into the break level at 1-1, but both teams have had their chances!" F¨¤bregas: "That was relentless. Spain responded brilliantly after conceding, and Izan nearly put them ahead in the dying seconds. But Germany are just as dangerous when they go forward. The second half is going to be massive." On the pitch, players stretched their arms, some wiping sweat from their brows, others shaking their heads in frustration. Izan glanced at the goalpost, exhaling through his mouth before jogging toward the tunnel alongside his teammates. Germany¡¯s players did the same, some exchanging nods with their Spanish counterparts. Nagelsmann clapped Havertz on the back as they walked off, while De la Fuente pulled Rodri aside for a quick word before heading in himself. The Stuttgart Arena buzzed with excitement, fans discussing what they¡¯d just witnessed. One thing was certain¡ª There was still everything to play for. ...¡­. The broadcast returned to the BBC studio, where, Cesc F¨¤bregas and now Bastian Schweinsteiger, Xabi Alonso, as well as J¨¹rgen Klinsmann sat around the analysis desk. The first-half highlights played behind them as they prepared to break it all down. "What a fantastic first half¡ªtwo top teams going at it, no fear, no holding back. Let¡¯s start with Germany¡¯s goal. Bastian, walk us through it." Elena Boa, the host said, looking at the football greats in front of her. The screen showed the sequence leading up to the goal¡ªMusiala playing a quick one-two with Kimmich before slipping the ball wide to Raum. Bastian Schweinsteiger: "This is classic Germany. It¡¯s about efficiency and precision. Look at Musiala¡ªhe takes out two Spanish players with one pass. Raum delivers an excellent cross, and Havertz does what great strikers do¡ªgets between defenders and finishes with perfect timing." Xabi Alonso: "From Spain¡¯s perspective, though, they could have done better. Le Normand and Laporte hesitate for just a second, and that¡¯s all Havertz needs. Against Germany, you cannot afford to be reactive¡ªyou must anticipate." The footage switched to Spain¡¯s instant response, showing Izan¡¯s flick setting up Olmo¡¯s goal. Cesc F¨¤bregas: "And then to that. This is what makes Spain so dangerous. Izan¡ªlook at this¡ªhe¡¯s surrounded, but his first touch is perfect, and the flick is pure class. It takes four German players out of the equation. Olmo does the rest. That¡¯s what Spain needed¡ªan immediate reaction." J¨¹rgen Klinsmann: "It¡¯s a wonderful response. Spain are fearless when they have the ball. But what impresses me most is how quickly they turned Germany¡¯s press against them. One mistake, one moment of brilliance, and they¡¯re in." The screen switched to Izan¡¯s shot that struck the post, with the ball inches from giving Spain the lead. Schweinsteiger: "In my opinion, Germany got lucky here. Neuer was beaten. Izan makes his own space and hits it so cleanly¡ªnine out of ten times, that¡¯s a goal." Alonso: "It¡¯s coming. He¡¯s feeling the game now. If Germany don¡¯t adjust, Izan will punish them." Lineker: "So, what needs to change in the second half?" Klinsmann: "Germany must be braver in midfield. Right now, Spain¡¯s quick passing is forcing them deeper. They need to push higher, press harder." F¨¤bregas: "For my nation Spain, they need to be careful with Germany¡¯s counters. They¡¯ve controlled the ball well, but one mistake and Germany will hurt them. But if Izan and Lamine Yamal keep growing into the game, I fancy Spain to win this." The broadcast faded into a commercial break, but inside the dressing rooms, the battle was still raging. ....... Luis de la Fuente stood at the center of the room, his voice measured but firm. His players sat around him, catching their breath, some sipping water, others staring at the floor in thought. Izan sat near Pedri, stretching out his legs, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Good first half, but we can be better. We reacted well to their goal, but we let them get too comfortable before that. We have to control the tempo. Germany want us to rush our passes, to lose our shape¡ªthat¡¯s what led to their goal." He turned to the midfield trio. "Rodri, keep dictating. Olmo, I need you closer to Izan in the final third. Pedri¡ªkeep finding the spaces. You¡¯re this close to breaking them." After that, he pointed at Lamine Yamal and Nico Williams. "We need more from the wings. Raum and Kimmich are pushing up, which means space behind them. Exploit it. Izan, you¡¯re dropping deep and pulling them apart¡ªthat¡¯s good. But if you get the chance, be ruthless." Izan nodded, focused. He felt the momentum shifting in his favor. He had beaten R¨¹diger a few times already¡ªone clean shot, and it would be his moment. "Now, listen¡ªGermany will come at us harder. If we play into their tempo, we lose. But if we dictate, if we stay composed, we win." The players nodded, murmuring in agreement. Rodri clapped his hands together, rallying the group. ...... In the other dressing room, Julian Nagelsmann paced in front of the whiteboard, his expression intense. "We started well, but we let them grow into the game. That cannot happen. They punished us for one mistake, and they nearly scored again before the break. We need to be sharper!" He pointed at Kimmich and Kroos. "Midfield¡ªwe decide the tempo, not them. Kroos, be quicker with the transitions. Kimmich, don¡¯t let Izan turn. Every time he gets on the ball, we¡¯re in trouble." Kimmich nodded, jaw clenched at Naglesmann¡¯s words knowing that the latter was right. Nagelsmann then turned to R¨¹diger. "Izan is playing between the lines. If he drops deep, someone steps up. Don¡¯t let him face forward¡ªforce him backward." Then he pointed at Musiala and Wirtz. "We need more from you two. If Spain want to push up, fine¡ªmake them pay for it. Be direct, take risks, and test Unai Sim¨®n." His voice lowered slightly as he walked forward. "This is knockout football. We play at our tempo, our way. We¡¯ve seen what Spain can do¡ªnow let¡¯s show them what we can do." The German players let out a collective "Jawohl!" before standing up, shaking off the first half¡¯s frustrations. ....... The tunnel doors swung open, and the Stuttgart Arena exploded with noise. Fans roared as Spain and Germany emerged, the air thick with anticipation. Izan jogged out, his gaze locked ahead, jaw set in quiet determination. Beside him, Pedri adjusted his shin pads, while Rodri exchanged a firm handshake with Kimmich before taking his position. Across the pitch, Havertz clapped his hands, rallying his teammates. Nagelsmann¡¯s voice rang out from the touchline, urging Germany forward. Martin Tyler: "And here they are! The second half of this titanic battle is about to begin. Spain and Germany¡ªtwo European giants¡ªlocked at 1-1, with everything still on the line." Cesc F¨¤bregas: "Spain responded brilliantly after going behind. Now, it¡¯s about control. Keep dictating the tempo, and chances will come." J¨¹rgen Klinsmann: "But Germany won¡¯t sit back. Expect them to push higher, to test Spain¡¯s defense. The first ten minutes here could decide everything." The camera panned to Luis de la Fuente, arms folded, eyes scanning his players. On the other side, Nagelsmann barked final instructions, his intensity unmistakable. The referee glanced at his watch. Fweeeee! This was it! Chapter 294: Down To The Wire The referee¡¯s whistle shrieked through the Stuttgart Arena, signaling the start of the second half. The tension was almost palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. Germany took possession right away, but something was¡­ off. Instead of immediately pressing forward, they slowed the tempo, calmly exchanging passes at the back. R¨¹diger to Kroos. Kroos to Kimmich. Kimmich to Tah. The ball pinged between the German defenders and midfielders with surgical precision, yet their movement was restrained¡ªdeliberate. Spain, eager and hungry, advanced, tightening their shape as they pressed forward. Rodri gestured for his teammates to step up. De la Fuente, watching from the sidelines, narrowed his eyes. This wasn¡¯t normal. Germany weren¡¯t just holding the ball to keep possession. They were baiting. Nagelsmann, standing near the technical area, remained still, his expression unreadable. His team wasn¡¯t attacking, nor were they pushing Spain back. Instead, they were waiting. And Spain took the bait. Rodri stepped higher than he should have and Pedri followed. Olmo pushed closer to Izan, and Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal positioned themselves on the wings, ready to spring forward the moment the ball was lost. De la Fuente, stood still, arms folded and exhaled sharply. "This isn¡¯t good," he muttered. He turned to his assistant. "They¡¯re drawing us in," he said. But before he could signal for the midfield to hold their line¡ª ¡ªKroos struck. A single moment. One devastating pass. A sharp, piercing through ball, perfectly timed and threaded between the lines, slicing through Spain¡¯s entire midfield like a scalpel. Pedri¡¯s heart sank as he turned his head, eyes widening. Rodri had been a step too high. And now¡ª The floodgates had been breached. The second Kroos¡¯ pass broke the midfield barrier, and the entire tempo of the game flipped in an instant. Boom. Germany exploded forward. Wirtz¡ªalready anticipating the move¡ªdarted into the open space, his first touch clean, his second touch pushing the ball into full sprint. Spain were scrambling. Le Normand and Laporte turned, immediately backpedaling. Rodri, realizing the trap had been sprung, lunged in desperation, but Wirtz was already gone, ghosting past his outstretched boot. Martin Tyler: "There it is! Germany waited, waited¡ª and then they have struck like lightning!" The Spanish fans sucked in a collective breath as they saw the danger unfold. From the touchline, De la Fuente¡¯s voice rang out. "TRACK BACK! NOW!" but his instruction was drowned out in the Stuttgart noise. Now Germany had the numbers. Wirtz surged forward, the ball glued to his feet. Izan, still high up the pitch, turned and sprinted back as fast as he could, but he was too far to affect the play. Then¡ªanother killer pass. Wirtz slid the ball out to Musiala on the left. The Bayern Munich star took off, his acceleration electric. Lamine Yamal desperately chased, but Musiala had a step on him. The stadium roared as Germany flooded the final third. Laporte stepped up¡ªMusiala feinted right then cut left! Laporte hesitated for half a second¡ªtoo late! Musiala burst past him and entered the box. Spain¡¯s defense was stretched to its limit, the backline pulled apart like a fraying rope. And then came the final act. The cutback. Musiala, instead of shooting, fired a pass across the face of the goal, fizzing through the box like a bullet. Every Spanish defender¡¯s head snapped to the ball. Unai Sim¨®n dived forward, his gloves reaching¡ª But it never reached him. Because waiting, completely unmarked at the far post¡ª Kai Havertz. Martin Tyler: "Oh no¡ªNO¡ªHAVERTZ!" With the calmness of a veteran, Havertz met the ball with the inside of his boot. A controlled finish. No power, just precision. The ball rolled smoothly into the open net. "GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL," rang out through the stadium as the German fans celebrated their lead. A sea of white shirts surged into celebration as Havertz wheeled away, pumping his fists, his teammates mobbing him in triumph. Martin Tyler: "PERFECTION! That is how you execute a counterattack! And now Germany lead again tonight. Germany¡¯s patience pays off! They lure Spain in, and with three passes, they rip them apart! It¡¯s 2-1!" Behind the goal, German fans exploded with joy. Flags waved, fists pumped, and voices filled the air with deafening chants. On the Spanish bench, faces fell. De la Fuente clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists. Rodri, panting, slammed his hands onto his knees, staring at the ground. Laporte threw his arms up in frustration. Izan had arrived at the box, too late, just in time to see the ball hit the net. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. A cold, bitter realization settled over Spain. They had been trapped. And now¡ª They had to respond. As the Germans finished celebrating, Spain gathered at the center circle, hands on hips, heads slightly bowed. Pedri looked at Izan, his expression unreadable. Rodri turned to the team. "Heads up. We go again." De la Fuente barked instructions from the sidelines, urging his team to reset. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Germany had landed a heavy punch. But the fight wasn¡¯t over. Not yet. The referee blew his whistle. Spain took the kickoff¡ª And immediately surged forward. A storm was brewing. And the Spanish players were right in the thick of it. ...¡­.. Spain surged forward like a wave, crashing against Germany¡¯s defensive wall with unrelenting force. The urgency in their play was electric¡ªfast, intricate passing sequences and fearless dribbles. Every touch carried weight, every run filled with desperation. They needed an equalizer. Martin Tyler: "You can feel the tension inside the Stuttgart Arena! Spain refuses to go down without a fight!" Pedri, in midfield, threaded a piercing pass between the lines. His ball found Olmo, who spun away from his marker, took a sharp touch, and fired toward goal but- "Olmo¡ªOH! Deflected!" The ball took a wicked bounce off R¨¹diger¡¯s outstretched boot and looped agonizingly over the crossbar. A groan rippled through the Spanish supporters. They were knocking at the door, but Germany refused to open it. Izan jogged to take the corner, wiping sweat from his brow. He raised his hand, signaling a planned routine. He whipped in a vicious in-swinger¡ª Rodri leaped! "Rodri¡ª!"Martin Tyler roared, But Neuer, reacted instantly, his reflexes cat-like, slapping the ball away before it could nestle in the top corner. The rebound fell to Nico Williams at the edge of the box and without hesitation, he struck it on the volley¡ª The shot screamed toward the bottom corner¡ª "This must be it". The commentator roared, But the ball smacked off the woodwork and spun away to safety. Nico dropped to his knees in disbelief. On the Spanish bench, De la Fuente ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. It was happening again¡ªchance after chance, but no breakthrough. Germany could feel the pressure mounting. Nagelsmann waved his hands frantically, urging his side to stay compact, to hold on. But Spain was relentless. After a few moments, another Spanish attack came. Pedri, shifting the tempo with a disguised turn, slipped the ball to Izan on the right. The latter cut inside, weaving between two defenders before curling a cross to the far post¡ª Lamine Yamal darted in¡ªand met it with his head but Joshua Kimmich threw himself at the ball, blocking it just inches before it could cross the goal line. A collective gasp rang out through the stadium, mainly in the Spanish section but eh German fans sighed, relieved that they had been let off. De la Fuente slammed his hands together on the touchline. He turned and glanced at his bench before looking at his assistants. "Tell Morata to warm up," he told his assistants as the match restarted. Izan sprinted to the corner flag once more. But this time, he wasn¡¯t looking at the chaos inside the box. His eyes flickered toward the edge of the area. He saw him. Dani Carvajal, standing just outside the penalty arc, completely unmarked. A silent understanding passed between them. Izan¡¯s delivery wasn¡¯t the usual lofted cross into the penalty area. Instead, he curled it away from goal, dropping it perfectly onto Carvajal¡¯s path. Martin Tyler: "This is different¡ªoh, what¡¯s this? It¡¯s fallen for Carvajal!" One touch to settle. One heartbeat. Then¡ªBANG. Carvajal unleashed a thunderous volley. The ball rocketed through the air under the hopeful gazes of both sides, each with a prayer. The ball zoomed towards goal, slicing past the bodies in the box, before smashing into the back of the net. Neuer didn¡¯t even move. The Spanish fans couldn¡¯t believe their eyes and were caught in a momentary lapse before they roared in pure ecstasy. Martin Tyler: "OH, THAT IS SPECTACULAR! DANI CARVAJAL! OUT OF NOWHERE! CAPTAIN FANTASTIC. FOOTBALL AT ITS FINEST." Bedlam. Carvajal tore away, fists clenched, screaming toward the Spanish fans. Izan sprinted after him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and shaking him in sheer exhilaration while the other players caught up. De la Fuente punched the air in celebration, the Spanish bench erupting. Germany looked stunned. Their trap, their calculated defense¡ªit had finally cracked. Rodri ran up to Carvajal, ruffling his hair while Pedri stood beside them, grinning and shaking his head in disbelief. Spain had done it. "It had to be something special to beat Neuer tonight¡ªand my word, that was SPECIAL! IT IS ALL LEVEL HERE IN THE STUTTGART ARENA. 79 MINUTES PLAYED, SPAIN 2, GERMANY 2,". Chapter 295: Heartbreak The stadium was a cauldron of tension, bubbling with energy, as the final ten minutes of normal time ticked away. The scoreboard flashed Spain 2 ¨C 2 Germany, but neither team had any intention of settling for extra time. Spain surged forward with fresh hunger, while Germany, relentless in their counterattacks, refused to back down. The match had transformed into a battlefield, both sides throwing themselves into challenges, running on fumes, but driven by the desire to find that one decisive moment. Every pass felt like a risk, every movement laced with desperation. And the fans¡ªoh, the fans¡ªwere living through every second of it. The Spanish supporters, voices hoarse from the relentless chanting, leaned forward in their seats, hands clasped together in hope and anxiety. Meanwhile, the German fans drummed their feet in the stands, roaring encouragement with every touch of the ball. This wasn¡¯t just a match anymore. This was war. 85¡¯ Chaos unfolded on the pitch after Pedri weaved his way through midfield, his feet dancing over the ball as he evaded Kroos with a quick feint. With a flick of his boot, he slipped the ball through to Nico Williams, who exploded into the final third. The German defense scrambled back. Williams cut inside, eyes locked on goal. He wound up for the shot but then¡ª Thump! A crunching tackle. Antonio R¨¹diger lunged in, his boot meeting the ball cleanly just as Williams fired. The ball ricocheted upward, spinning wildly into the night sky before dropping near the edge of the area. Izan was already moving. He rushed forward, chesting the ball down, feeling a German shadow closing in. He turned sharply, about to lay it off but then once again, THUD! He went flying. Joshua Kimmich had bulldozed into him from behind, sending him sprawling onto the grass. The Spanish bench erupted, furious. De la Fuente stormed to the edge of his technical area, arms raised. "?Eso es falta! ?Eso es falta!(That¡¯s a foul)" Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But the referee¡ªcold, unmoved¡ªsimply gestured for play to continue. Boos cascaded from the Spanish fans but the German players weren¡¯t shook. Kimmich wasted no time recovering the ball and immediately releasing it forward, launching Germany into another devastating counterattack. Germany stormed forward. The ball was worked wide to Florian Wirtz, who surged down the left flank, his pace electric. Cucurella, already drained, tried to keep up, but San¨¦ was too quick. Wirtz twisted his body and whipped a cross into the box. It was dangerous¡ªlow, driven, and fast. Le Normand and Laporte lunged to clear it, but neither could reach in time. And then¡ª A sudden stoppage. The ball smacked off Marc Cucurella¡¯s outstretched hand. For half a second, the stadium froze. Then came the German screams. Arms shot up, and voices roared. "HANDBALL! HANDBALL!" Cucurella¡¯s face twisted in horror as he immediately turned to the referee who seemed to not have seen. The match was about to continue but then the referee immediately blew his whistle and pointed to the spot. Penalty. The Stuttgart Arena or the German fans exploded. The Spanish players swarmed the referee, furious. Rodri led the protests, his voice sharp. "No, no! That was unintentional! He couldn¡¯t get out of the way!" Cucurella shook his head frantically, pleading his case, but the referee wasn¡¯t interested. On the touchline, De la Fuente¡¯s hands clenched into fists. "MALDITA SEA,(Damn)" he cursed under his breath. But there was no changing the decision. Germany had a penalty. And Spain¡¯s Euro hopes were hanging by a thread. Wirtz stepped up, placing the ball carefully on the spot as the whole stadium watched on. He took a deep breath. Unai Sim¨®n, standing tall on the goal line, rolled his shoulders. His eyes burned with focus, reading every little movement. The stadium buzzed with anticipation as the referee signaled them ready before blowing the whistle. Wirtz took his run-up¡ª And then struck. A smooth, placed shot toward the bottom right corner. Sim¨®n dove¡ª But he was a split second too late. The ball kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the net. Wirtz wheeled away, arms spread wide, screaming in triumph as his teammates mobbed him. Martin Tyler: "GERMANY LEAD AGAIN! FLORIAN WIRTZ FROM THE SPOT¡ªAND IS THAT THE GOAL TO SEND THEM INTO THE SEMI-FINALS?" "A nightmare for Spain! They have battled so hard to level it, only to concede a penalty at the worst possible time. And now, with just minutes left¡­ can they respond?" Cucurella covered his face, devastated while Rodri let out a frustrated growl. As Wirtz and his German teammates celebrated, the scene cut to the other side of the world. Valencia¡¯s training facility¡ªwhere Jaume Dom¨¦nech, Hugo Guillam¨®n, and Fran Perez among others sat motionless in front of the screen. The entire squad had gathered to watch, expecting a battle, but now their worst fears were unfolding. Jaume let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Mierda¡­" "That might be it," Guillam¨®n muttered, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair. Fran didn¡¯t speak. He simply stared at the screen, his face unreadable. Across Spain, in Madrid, thousands of fans at Plaza Mayor slumped in disbelief. Some buried their heads in their hands, others simply stood still, staring at the giant screen. A teenager in an Izan jersey punched the air in frustration. "How is that a penalty?!" His father sighed. "It¡¯s over, kid." Meanwhile, in Tokyo, inside a dimly lit room, Komi and Hori sat on the edge of their seats while Komi¡¯s parents stared at the television before glancing at each other in resignation. Komi held her breath. "Izan¡­" Hori eyes wet, arms wrapped around her knees, simply whispered, "Not yet. He said I¡¯d come for the final" ...¡­.. On the pitch, Izan stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the German celebrations, then exhaled sharply. "I¡¯ve been too worried about a lot of useless things" Izan muttered, his expression lifeless as he glanced toward the ball in his net. With fury burning in his veins, Izan grabbed the ball from the net and sprinted back to the center circle. ...¡­. [England Camp] Jude Bellingham leaned back against the couch, watching the celebration unfold surrounded by his teammates. "That¡¯s done," he murmured causing Pickford to glance at him. He then took his phone, tapped his phone screen, and opened his texts. Bellingham: Rough one, bro. The penalty was harsh. But he didn¡¯t hit send. Something stopped him. On the screen, as the ball rolled out of the net, Izan was moving. And Bellingham knew that look. ...¡­ [Back to the pitch ] Rodri jogged beside Izan panting. "We don¡¯t have time. We go long." but Izan didn¡¯t pay heed. He got to the center circle and placed the ball down before waiting for the referee¡¯s instructions. The referee signaled for five minutes of added time. Five minutes to save their tournament. Spain kicked off, launching forward with everything they had left. Izan drifted into the half-space, scanning the field like a predator. He saw a gap between R¨¹diger and Tah. He sprinted into it. Pedri spotted his movement and chipped a ball forward. Izan controlled it beautifully, his first touch killing the pace before he cut inside, dragging Kimmich with him. A feint to the left, then to the right saw Kimmich tumbling to the ground and Izan skipped past him, pushing into the final third. And then¡ª KROOS SLAMMED INTO HIM. A brutal, cynical challenge. Izan crashed onto the grass. The Spanish fans erupted in anger, screaming for a free kick. The referee hesitated for a moment¡ª Then waved play on. The Spanish bench exploded in fury. But Cucurella, still angered and rattled by the penalty, instinctively threw out a leg to bring Kroos down. Whistle. Another decision. But this time¡ªagainst Spain. The referee pointed in Germany¡¯s favor. Cucurella quickly got off the ground and rushed toward the referee before voicing out his frustrations. "So you can see. I thought you were blind if you were able to call this foul, then you should have been able to call the previous one." The referee stood silently listening to Cucurella¡¯s words before putting his hands into his pocket and issuing a yellow card. The Spanish players crowded over the referee, disbelief written across their faces. Rodri shoved a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "This is insane." Izan still lay on the ground for a moment before getting up slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes¡ªhis eyes burned. Enough was enough. As Germany restarted play, Izan hunted Kroos down. A crunching tackle, this time the German fans appealed for the foul but the referee seemed to not mind. The ball rolled free and Izan was up in an instant, sprinting onto the loose ball, and driving toward the edge of the box. He felt a body coming¡ªR¨¹diger. A quick flick¡ªgone. And then¡ªcontact. R¨¹diger clattered into him, and Izan went down right on the edge of the area again. This time, the whistle blew. Spain had a free kick. Rodri stood over the ball, hands on his hips. "This is probably our last play," he muttered. "We need to work it. Don¡¯t go direct." Izan nodded. "Got it." But deep down¡ªhe had other plans. The referee arranged the wall. Neuer shouted instructions to his defenders, pointing, and adjusting their shape. The Spanish fans held their breath. This was it. One strike could decide their fate. Izan exhaled slowly, staring at the ball. He had already made up his mind. The referee raised his whistle to his lips¡ª And blew. Izan stepped forward¡ª The Spanish fans, the German fans, the world¡ª Held their breath for what was to become a moment that could be talked about for decades. Chapter 296: Lifeline The Stuttgart Arena was frozen in time. Even the German fans, still basking in their lead, couldn¡¯t look away. Izan took his stance, body coiled like a spring, eyes locked on the ball. The stadium lights bathed the pitch in a golden glow, illuminating the moment. Behind the goal, Spanish supporters clutched scarves to their faces, barely able to watch. Some murmured silent prayers. Others stood still, breathless, waiting. In the German wall, R¨¹diger and Kimmich exchanged tense glances. Neuer bounced on his toes, arms outstretched, calculating. Martin Tyler: "Two minutes left. This¡­ this might be Spain¡¯s last chance." "Every single pair of eyes in this stadium¡ªon him. Every Spanish heart¡ªpraying for a miracle, me included" Cesc Fabregas said fidgeting behind the pundit counter. "Well is Spain going to bow out of the euros or is there going to be something we haven¡¯t seen before" The stadium held its breath, a vast sea of red and white, of tension and prayer. In the Spanish dugout, De la Fuente stood frozen, eyes locked on the ball. His entire staff stood beside him, unmoving. No one spoke. No one breathed. On the other side, Nagelsmann had his arms folded, his sharp gaze fixed on the scene before him, eyes narrowing. The referee¡¯s whistle had blown. Izan took his first step. The world¡ªwatching. The Spanish fans¡ªpleading. The German wall¡ªbracing. Neuer¡ªpoised. Izan¡¯s body shaped as though he was going to curl the ball into the box. The German defenders tensed, expecting an aerial duel. But then¡ª Instead of striking it, Izan nudged the ball sideways. Straight to Pedri. Gasps rippled through the stadium. A collective intake of breath. Pedri stood just beside the German wall, the ball rolling toward him, his right foot poised¡ª And then¡ª A flick. A delicate, effortless flick, lifting the ball off the ground. Everything slowed. The world stopped turning. [Earlier] Izan, eyes burning, whispering under the stadium floodlights. "I¡¯m going to pass it to you." Pedri had blinked, startled. "What?" "Lift it for me." A pause. Pedri stared at him. "You want me to¡ª?" "Trust me." Pedri had exhaled, shaking his head. "You¡¯re insane." But then he¡¯d looked into Izan¡¯s eyes, and despite everything¡ª He believed him. [Now¡ªback in the present¡ª] The ball was in the air. Floating. Rising above the grass, inches from perfection. Izan¡¯s mind was blank. His body, however, was electric. The system inside him activated¡ª VOLLEY INSTINCT [EX] ¨C activated. Trait description "A moment of perfect control. When the ball is airborne, the world slows." Izan¡¯s eyes sharpened. Every calculation snapped into place. The angle. The drop. The movement. One step forward¡ª Twist. Body alignment¡ªperfect. Left foot¡ªplanted. Right foot¡ªcoiled, loaded, primed like a gun. Then¡ª he released it. CRACK. The sound cut through the night like a gunshot. A rocket. A bullet. A perfect connection. The ball tore through the air. Neuer saw it. His reflexes kicked in. His arms shot out¡ª prying for the save. The ball moved¡ªunstoppable. The world¡ªwatched. Izan¡ªheld his breath. The ball was moving but it felt like an eternity with the gazes of some of the fans alternating from Izan¡¯s shot to Neuer¡¯s stretch. Izan¡¯s frozen gaze. Neuer¡¯s fingers stretching. The ball¡¯s relentless path. Nagelsmann¡¯s expression tightened. De la Fuente¡¯s jaw clenched. The Spanish bench¡ªon their feet. The German bench¡ªmotionless. And then¡ª Martin Tyler: "OH MY¡ª!" Time slowed to a crawl. Neuer still¡ªdiving. The ball¡ªblurring through the air, a missile streaking toward its destination. Neuer¡¯s gloved fingers stretched, reaching¡ª A desperate swipe¡ª Did he get it? Did he stop it? The entire stadium watched in stunned silence. Izan¡ªwatched. The ball was past Neuer. And then¡ª The net. Did it move? Did it bulge? Did it go in? And then¡ª The explosion. "GOOOOAAAAALLLLLAAAASSSSOOOO" The sound of the Spanish fans detonating all at once, a deafening roar of pure disbelief and unfiltered euphoria. The net had rippled. Spain had scored. The camera flickered between shots¡ªNeuer¡¯s body on his he floor, Izan¡¯s frozen expression, the Spanish bench¡¯s collective gasp, Nagelsmann¡¯s tightening jaw, and De la Fuente¡¯s blooming smile The players on the pitch erupted. Lamine Yamal sprinted toward Izan, arms wide, his face a picture of sheer joy while Nico Williams followed, yelling incoherently. Izan still hadn¡¯t moved. Still hadn¡¯t breathed. The ball had left his foot. And now it was in. His ears rang from the noise. His body felt weightless. Then¡ªcontact. Pedri crashed into him, arms around his shoulders. "YOU¡¯RE NOT REAL!" he shouted into Izan¡¯s ear. Then came Rodri, Dani Olmo, Cucurella¡ªswarming him, hands gripping his jersey, shaking him, screaming his name. The bench had cleared. De la Fuente had his hands in his hair, disbelief etched across his face. Luis Enrique, Spain¡¯s former manager watching from the stands, just mouthed, "Wow." The camera then cut to Nagelsmann¡ªhis expression unreadable, his arms still crossed, his jaw tight. And Neuer¡ª Still sitting in the net, staring at the ball, his gloved hands resting on his knees. He had thrown everything at it. And still¡ª Izan had beaten him. "IZAN HERNANDEZ ¡­ HAS JUST SET EURO 2024 ON FIRE! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? FORGET THE KOPA¡¯S, GIVE THIS BOY THE BALLON D¡¯OR ALREADY. A BOY IN A MAN¡¯S WORLD. IZAN IS THE NEW NORMAL" Spain was in Euphoria, Germany in Desperation Across Spain, chaos reigned. In Madrid, bars turned into battlegrounds of celebration. Glasses clashed midair, beer foamed over tabletops, and strangers clung to each other, screaming. Some had climbed onto stools, waving jerseys over their heads, while others collapsed to their knees in disbelief, hands on their faces. In Valencia, La Cartuja, and Seville, fireworks cracked through the night. Streets flooded with fans, flags draped over shoulders, car horns blaring in an endless rhythm of celebration. In Barcelona, the famous Pla?a Catalunya had become a sea of red and yellow. Thousands of fans chanted Izan¡¯s name like a war anthem, their voices carrying through the city. ¡ªTokyo, Japan. At home, Hori buried her face into Komi¡¯s shoulder, her small body trembling. Tears poured freely, but her lips curled into a wide, shaky smile. "He did it," she whispered. "He actually did it." S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Komi, overwhelmed, held her tighter, her own eyes glassy. She didn¡¯t say anything¡ªjust ran a hand through Hori¡¯s hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Still in Japan, a small Izan fan club, gathered in a sports bar, had erupted in madness. One fan, wearing a jersey three sizes too big, screamed into his phone while replaying the goal. "IZAN-KUN! SUGOIIIII!" ........ Back in Stuttgart, the Spanish bench was still celebrating. Players had cleared their seats, their joy uncontainable. De la Fuente, usually composed, had his hands on his head. His mouth moved, but words failed him. Assistant coach Pablo Amo grabbed his shoulders. "We¡¯re not done yet!" Because¡ªon the pitch¡ªGermany were already waiting. The referee blew his whistle. "VAMOS, VAMOS! BACK TO POSITION!" No time to breathe. Kroos had the ball under his arm, his expression cold, unreadable. M¨¹ller who had been subbed on clapped aggressively, barking at his teammates. Nagelsmann was shouting now. His calm demeanor? Gone. "DREI MINUTEN! GO! GO! GO!" Germany had been stabbed. Now, they wanted revenge. They threw everything forward. Kimmich tapped the ball to G¨¹ndo?an. Spain barely had time to settle before Germany struck. A pass¡ªdirect. Vertical. Ruthless. Musiala darted forward, his close control mesmerizing, slipping between defenders like a shadow. Pedri, legs spent, gave chase, but couldn¡¯t catch him. Florian Wirtz hovered, waiting for the final pass. A one-two between G¨¹ndo?an and Kroos¡ªGermany were already in the final third. The Spanish dugout screamed. Rodri and Laporte organized the backline, barking orders. Dani Olmo tracked back, lungs burning. But Germany were faster. Hungrier. Kroos chipped the ball over the top. Musiala¡ªone touch. Two touches. He squared it¡ª "WIRTZ." Martin Tyler screamed. HE STRUCK IT! DEFLECTION! The ball spun wildly, curling toward the post. The stadium gasped as Muller tried to reach the ball but Rodri¡¯s last-ditch tackle sent happened. Bodies collided. The ball ricocheted¡ª And rolled dangerously toward the sideline. Out? No. Because a blur of red and blue exploded into the scene. IZAN. He was moving like a bullet, cutting across the pitch like lightning. German fans previously chanting along their team¡¯s attack were now screaming for the whistle. The referee glanced at his watch slightly keeping the German fans hopeful. The ball was inches from crossing the throwline but still, the referee kept¡ªsilent. Izan stretched. His right boot met the ball just before it crossed keeping the ball out of bounds. A collective gasp rang. The Stuttgart Arena held its breath. Izan didn¡¯t stop. He turned. He ran. It was now just Rudiger between him and Neuer. Ding, [Speedster trait: activated] As if entering a higher plane of existence, Izan bolted away from Sane making the Bayern speedster look like a snail. Rudiger suddenly caught between approaching and staying put couldn¡¯t get much time to think as Izan galloped across the pitch, bringing the fight to him. Finally choosing what to do, R¨¹diger acted. A/n:" I guess this is it. Thanks for going through this with me and I¡¯ll cherish every moment I have with you" is what I would say if I were your bf/gf and we were breaking up but unfortunately, you¡¯re stuck with me????. Anyways, guess what happens next if your favorite writer ends the next chapter or keeps milking it like the genius he is. Have fun and Grant me your gifts and Golden tickets. Alright. Good night, morning and afternoon. Chapter 297: Pride Of La Roja The ball rolled into open space, and Izan Hern¨¢ndez was already in full stride, chasing it down like a hunter locked onto his prey. The German defense scrambled, white shirts surging back in desperation. But Izan was already ahead of them, already breaking through. Ahead¡ªonly one man stood between him and history. Antonio R¨¹diger. The last defender. The colossus. The warrior who never backed down. Izan barely heard the roars around him, barely felt the pounding in his chest. His mind was clear. Focused. Beat R¨¹diger. Beat Neuer. Win the game. Behind him¡ªthe storm followed. Kimmich, Havertz, and G¨¹ndo?an as well as Sane in the lead were closing in, sprinting with everything they had left in their legs, their lungs, their hearts. They knew. If they didn¡¯t stop him now, it was over. Izan kept running. R¨¹diger was ready, his wide stance cutting off the path to the goal. His arms spread, and his body tensed like a wall of muscle and steel. The two locked eyes for a fraction of a second. Izan moved first. A sharp feint to the right. R¨¹diger reacted¡ªjust a little and that was all Izan needed. A swift flick of the boot sent the ball to his left, the movement lightning-fast, razor-sharp. But R¨¹diger didn¡¯t lunge. He wasn¡¯t an amateur. He kept his balance, his stance strong. Izan smiled. Good. Another feint¡ªthis time to the left. His body shifted. His hips turned. R¨¹diger followed. And then¡ª Snap. Izan dragged the ball back with his sole, twisting in the opposite direction, his movement liquid, effortless. R¨¹diger¡¯s balance wavered. His feet tangled. His body tilted. Then¡ª He fell. Flat on his back. Arms flailing. Legs giving out beneath him. R¨¹diger¡ªthe unbreakable warrior, the fortress of Germany¡ªwas broken. The Stuttgart crowd exploded. "R¨¹DIGER IS ON THE FLOOR!" Fabregas¡¯ voice cracked. "HE¡¯S DOWN! IZAN HERN¨¢NDEZ JUST SAT DOWN AN ELITE DEFENDER!" The German bench froze. Nagelsmann¡¯s eyes widened, his lips parting in shock. On the pitch, Kimmich, G¨¹ndo?an, and Sane were still chasing¡ªbut it was too late. Izan was gone. And now¡ª It was only him and Neuer. One-on-one. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The greatest goalkeeper of his generation against the boy who had the world at his feet. Neuer stepped forward, arms stretched wide, his towering presence cutting down the angles. Izan slowed. His chest rose and fell, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Neuer didn¡¯t flinch. His icy blue eyes locked onto Izan¡¯s every movement, waiting for him to make the first mistake. Izan took another step. Fifteen yards. Neuer adjusted his stance. Ten yards. Neuer lunged forward. Izan saw it. A trap. Neuer wanted him to panic. To take the shot early. To hesitate. But Izan wasn¡¯t a kid anymore. [Well technically, he still is] He was a killer. Neuer dived¡ª And Izan chipped him. Soft. Perfect. Effortless. The ball sailed over the German¡¯s outstretched gloves, floating like a whisper in the night. Neuer twisted in midair, eyes following the ball, hands stretching¡ª Too late. The net rippled. And then¡ª Chaos. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!" The stadium detonated. Spain 4. Germany 3, the scoreboards displayed. Izan didn¡¯t think. Didn¡¯t stop. He ran. Past the corner flag. Past the advertising boards. And then¡ª He jumped Into the crowd. A sea of red swallowed him whole. Fans reached for him, screaming, crying, shaking him, their hands gripping his jersey, his arms, his shoulders¡ªpulling him into their euphoria. His teammates weren¡¯t far behind. Pedri was the first to leap over the ad boards, his face a mix of disbelief and pure joy. Lamine Yamal followed, Nico Williams right behind him. Rodri, Cucurella, and Morata stormed in, crashing into the chaos. Bodies clashed. Arms wrapped around shoulders. Hands grabbed heads. Izan felt himself being crushed, lifted, shoved, and celebrated. This wasn¡¯t a goal. This was an exorcism. Spain had conquered Germany. In their own country. With a kid who was supposed to be too young for this moment, too inexperienced for this pressure. And yet¡ª He had done it. The boy had shattered them. Martin Tyler was shouting into his mic, voice cracking. "IZAN HERN¨¢NDEZ HAS JUST¡ªHE HAS JUST WON THIS GAME ON HIS OWN! LOOK AT THESE SCENES! LOOK AT THE TEARS IN THE CROWD!" On the giant screens, German fans were shown weeping. Young boys with painted faces, their dreams crushed. Older fans with hands on their heads, silent in disbelief. A woman in a Germany jersey, tears streaking down her face, shaking her head slowly as if she couldn¡¯t accept reality. Because this was the end. The final whistle hadn¡¯t even blown, but they all knew. Germany were out. Luis de la Fuente was sprinting down the touchline, arms in the air, roaring like a man who had just witnessed the impossible. The Spanish bench emptied. Subs, coaches, staff¡ªeveryone ran to celebrate. And still¡ªIzan was in the crowd. Tangled in the arms of people who didn¡¯t know him personally but loved him now as if he were their own. Security guards tried to break through, but even they knew¡ªthis was his moment. ..... Izan finally stumbled back onto the pitch, breathless, his jersey nearly torn from the wild celebrations. His teammates were still yelling, still hugging, still trying to process what had just happened. Germany had barely even reset when the referee put the whistle to his lips. A sharp blast. Game over. Spain had done it. The moment the whistle blew, the Spanish bench erupted again. Players stormed onto the pitch, some collapsing to the grass in pure exhaustion, others running straight to Izan. Pedri tackled him first, shouting something he could barely understand. Lamine Yamal grabbed his head with both hands, shaking him while laughing while Rodri pulled him into a tight hug, his voice barely audible over the deafening stadium. On the other side, the German players stood frozen. Havertz looked toward the referee, hands slightly raised in frustration. Kimmich let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. R¨¹diger, still wiping sweat from his forehead, turned to the officials, his expression unreadable. The final seconds of extra time had stretched far past what was expected. And now, the German players were quietly debating whether the referee should have blown the whistle before Izan even touched the ball. But it was too late. Spain were in the semifinals. And Izan Hern¨¢ndez was the hero. ¡ª After the celebrations had settled slightly, an official guided Izan toward a small podium set up near the touchline. The Man of the Match award was already waiting. The trophy gleamed under the stadium lights, and as Izan stepped forward, the stadium announcer called out his name. A fresh wave of cheers erupted from the Spanish fans still celebrating in the stands. Izan took the trophy, his grip firm but his mind still struggling to process everything. Then¡ªthe interview. A journalist held up a microphone, still buzzing with excitement. "Izan, congratulations! A last-minute goal to send Spain to the semifinals. How are you feeling right now?" Izan exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. He was still catching his breath. "I don¡¯t even know what to say," he admitted, shaking his head with a small laugh. "It¡¯s unbelievable. We fought so hard, and to win it like this¡­ it¡¯s just crazy." The journalist nodded eagerly. "Walk us through that moment. You had R¨¹diger in front of you, Neuer in goal, and the pressure of the entire stadium on your shoulders. What was going through your mind?" Izan smiled slightly, replaying it in his head. "I knew I had to keep my cool. R¨¹diger is one of the best defenders in the world, so I had to be smart. I just reacted. And then with Neuer¡­ I saw him come out, and the chip felt like the best option." "Did you know it was going in the moment you hit it?" Izan chuckled. "I hoped so." The journalist grinned. "Spain are in the semifinals now. What¡¯s the mindset heading into the next game?" Izan¡¯s expression turned serious. "We¡¯re not done," he said firmly. "We came here to win the Euros. We¡¯re going to keep fighting for it." Behind him, his teammates were still celebrating, and the cameras caught every moment. Pedri and Lamine Yamal pointed at him, laughing and shouting his name. The Spanish fans were still singing. The moment belonged to him. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª- The press room was packed. Journalists from across Europe had filled every available seat, eager for their questions. Luis de la Fuente sat at the table, still looking slightly overwhelmed by the match that had just unfolded. The first few questions were expected¡ªabout Spain¡¯s performance, about the team¡¯s resilience. But it didn¡¯t take long for the conversation to shift. A journalist leaned forward. "Coach, can you talk about Izan Hern¨¢ndez¡¯s performance tonight?" De la Fuente smiled. "Izan was incredible. He¡¯s a special player, and we¡¯re lucky to have him. Not just because of his talent, but because of his mentality. He thrives in big moments." Another journalist jumped in. "Is this the best individual performance of the tournament so far?" De la Fuente didn¡¯t hesitate. "For me, it is. 2 goals and an assist against Germany for a child barely 17, yes. Yes it is" More questions followed. "What does this mean for Spain¡¯s chances going forward?" "How do you manage the expectations on such a young player?" "Has Izan proven he¡¯s the future of this national team?" But then¡ªa shift. A German journalist raised a hand. "Coach, there are debates already forming about the referee¡¯s decision. The game had gone well past the expected time when Izan got the ball. Some believe the whistle should have blown before he even had the chance to score. What¡¯s your response?" A slight murmur went through the room. De la Fuente kept his expression calm. "We trust the referees," he said simply. "They make the decisions, and we respect them. If there is anything that needs to be clarified, I¡¯m sure they will address it." The German journalist pressed. "So you don¡¯t think the timing was controversial?" De la Fuente¡¯s lips twitched in a small smile. "I think the controversy would be different if Germany had scored, no?" A few reporters chuckled. The tension eased. The press conference continued, but one thing was clear¡ª Spain had won. And nothing would change that. Chapter 298: Pending Record A slight murmur went through the room. De la Fuente kept his expression calm. "We trust the referees," he said simply. "They make the decisions, and we respect them. If there is anything that needs to be clarified, I¡¯m sure they will address it." The German journalist pressed. "So you don¡¯t think the timing was controversial?" De la Fuente¡¯s lips twitched in a small smile. "I think the controversy would be different if Germany had scored, no?" A few reporters chuckled. The tension eased. The press conference continued, but one thing was clear¡ª Spain had won. And nothing would change that. Continue ..... The bus ride back to the Spanish camp was electric. Music blasted through the speakers, a chaotic mix of hip-hop, and Spanish classics. The players, still buzzing from the match, were either on their feet, singing at the top of their lungs, or slumped into their seats, exhausted but grinning. Izan sat by the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, watching the city lights blur past. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, still feeling the phantom weight of the ball at his feet, the lingering pressure of Neuer¡¯s presence, and the deafening roars of the Stuttgart crowd. He had done it. The goal was everywhere. Social media was on fire. Clips of him sending R¨¹diger to the ground had already gone viral, some calling it the filthiest move of the tournament. Others were debating whether his chip over Neuer was one of the coldest finishes in Euros history. Pedri nudged him from the aisle seat, smirking. "You good, Estrella?" Izan exhaled, finally pulling himself from the post-match haze. He turned to his teammate. "Yeah. Just¡­ processing." Pedri laughed. "Processing what? You cooked Germany in their own backyard. Nothing to process. Just enjoy it." Rodri, a few seats ahead, turned back with a small chuckle. "He¡¯s right. You¡¯ve just made history, kid." Izan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I know but I can¡¯t bring myself to do that after what I did to R¨¹diger." he ended with a firm. The players all turned towards Izan after his words trying to find what had made him say this but Carvajal burst out laughing. "Never do that," he said between sobs-like laughter. "Just be humble but I¡¯ll let R¨¹diger know you felt sorry for him. Well after we win the Euros" "I¡¯m just playing. It¡¯s just that everything is great and I find it hard to reel it in" Izan added after the players had finished laughing. "Well, do that," Rodri said. "Because the whole world is talking about you now. I should let the Sheikh know about you" Rodri said while taking his phone. " You think he doesn¡¯t know already. He must have already set aside a bidding fee for Izan by now" Pedri spoke with a laugh from behind causing Rodri to put his phone down with a wry smile. Across the aisle, Lamine Yamal and Nico Williams were still watching replays of the goal on someone¡¯s phone, laughing every time R¨¹diger hit the floor. "Bro," Nico wheezed, "look at his face!" Lamine grinned. "Izan, you might have to apologize to him, man." Izan only shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Izan looked around, his teammates laughing and taking in the scene. The moment he had spent years dreaming of. And yet, part of him felt like he was standing on the edge of something bigger¡ªsomething he couldn¡¯t quite see yet. Izan heard a "ding" sound and at that moment, he smiled. "Of course. What would I do without you" ...¡­ The bus rolled into the team hotel, and the players spilled out, still buzzing, still talking about the match. Izan headed straight to his room. He wanted to shower, to sit with his thoughts for a moment, to breathe. But as soon as he stepped inside, his phone lit up. Miranda. Izan exhaled, already knowing this wasn¡¯t just a check-in. He answered. "Felicidades, campe¨®n," Miranda¡¯s voice came through, warm but laced with something heavier underneath. Izan smiled slightly. "Thanks but we still have to play one of France and Portugal. I take it you watched?" "Watched? The whole world watched. You just turned the Euros into your show." He chuckled. "I don¡¯t know about that." "You don¡¯t have to. The numbers do. Your name has been trending for hours, and every club in Europe is watching." Izan sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand over his face. "So¡­ what¡¯s the damage?" Miranda hesitated. "Well¡­ let¡¯s just say your price tag just got a lot more interesting." He sighed. "Who¡¯s calling?" "A few clubs. But I turned them all away for now." Izan leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "You¡¯re sure about that?" "You already know my answer." Silence stretched between them for a moment. Izan knew Miranda was keeping something back. He could hear it in her tone. "Alright," he said, sitting up. "What is it? What aren¡¯t you telling me?" Another pause. Then¡ª "It¡¯s Valencia." Izan straightened, his grip tightening on the phone. "What about them?" Miranda exhaled. "I wasn¡¯t going to bring this up right now, but¡­ I heard some things. And if it¡¯s true, we need to be prepared." His heart kicked up a notch. "Miranda, what are you talking about?" She sighed. "Financial issues." Izan felt something cold settle in his stomach. "What do you mean financial issues?" "Well, it had to do with some bad balancing of the books before you got promoted into the first team. It had been going on for a while but it got worse when sales from players among others weren¡¯t put back into the club" Izan sighed rubbing his hand over his face. "How bad?" "Bad enough that I made a few calls to get the full picture. There¡¯s a lot of noise about the club¡¯s situation behind the scenes. Some people are saying it¡¯s nothing serious, but others¡­ others are talking about another possible sale to balance the books." A sharp silence. Izan¡¯s jaw clenched. "Sales." She didn¡¯t say it outright. She didn¡¯t need to. The implication was clear. His name would be on that list. What better way to gain urgent money than to sell your fattened-up cash cow? Izan pressed a hand against his forehead. "The fans might take it as a betrayal should anything happen. And they haven¡¯t even told me anything?" S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not yet. But they might not even want to if they think keeping you in the dark is better for negotiations." The anger came fast, sharp, and hot. This was his club. They had not nurtured him that much but they had at least placed some faith in him, showing in his early debut for the club. And now¡ªafter everything¡ªhe was hearing about financial problems from his agent instead of them? Miranda¡¯s voice softened. "Izan, listen to me. We don¡¯t know the full story yet. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to Valencia first thing tomorrow to talk to them directly. If something is happening, we¡¯re going to get ahead of it." Izan exhaled, rubbing his temples. His mind was still whirling, still trying to piece everything together. "Alright," he muttered. "Alright. Just¡­ tell me everything as soon as you know." "I will," Miranda assured. Then, a brief pause. "Also¡­ there¡¯s something else." Izan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course there is." Miranda¡¯s tone lightened slightly. "Relax. It¡¯s not as heavy as the Valencia thing. Just a little milestone you should be aware of." He frowned. "What?" "Five goals." Izan blinked. "What?" "If you score five more goals in this tournament, you¡¯ll break the all-time Euros goal record." A beat of silence. Izan sat up straight. "Wait¡ªseriously?" "Yes. Ronaldo and Platini hold it at nine. You¡¯re on 5 right now. That means five more, and you become the highest scorer in the history of the tournament." His mind went blank for a second. Five goals. In two matches. That was it. Five goals and he would carve his name into history but it would be nigh impossible. Miranda laughed lightly. "Yeah, let that sink in." Izan exhaled, shaking his head. "I wasn¡¯t even thinking about that. And we only have two matches left." "Well, think about it now. And you scored 2 today. What shows that you can¡¯t bust a hat trick in each of the remaining games should you go to the final." He chuckled, despite everything. "Yeah. I guess so." Another pause. Then, Miranda¡¯s voice softened again. "Get some rest, Izan. You¡¯ve got a lot ahead of you." He nodded. "I will. And, Miranda¡­ thanks." "You don¡¯t have to thank me, kid. Just keep doing what you do." The call ended, leaving Izan sitting in the darkened room, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders. His mind was still spinning. The goal. The celebrations. The records. The uncertainty. Valencia. He clenched his jaw. No. Not yet. For now, he had a tournament to win. And if the world was watching¡ª He was going to give them a show they¡¯d never forget? Chapter 299: Breaking Point The morning after the Germany match, the Spanish camp was quieter than expected. Not silent¡ªSpain had just eliminated the tournament hosts, and the energy from the win still lingered¡ªbut there was a shift. The euphoria of last night was beginning to settle, replaced by the creeping weight of what lay ahead. Izan woke up later than usual, sunlight slipping through the curtains of his hotel room. His body ached in that satisfying way that only came after a war on the pitch. His mind, though, was restless. His phone was a mess. Notifications flooded every app¡ªcongratulations, analysis, memes of R¨¹diger hitting the floor, Neuer¡¯s reaction to the chip, the endless debates about whether Spain had just become the tournament favorites. His name was everywhere. Izan sighed and set the phone aside, running a hand through his hair. A knock at the door broke his thoughts. "Breakfast," came Pedri¡¯s voice. Izan got up, stretching as he walked over. He opened the door to find Pedri, Rodri, and Dani Olmo waiting. "You¡¯re up late," Rodri smirked, handing him a banana from the plate he was carrying. "Let the kid rest," Olmo added. "He ran Germany ragged last night." Izan chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. The team usually ate downstairs together, but on recovery days like this, small groups would gather in rooms instead, talking about the match, upcoming games, or whatever was making the rounds in football news. They settled in, stretching out across the chairs and bed. "So," Pedri started, taking a bite of toast, "do you feel it yet?" Izan frowned. "Feel what?" "The shift," Pedri said. "This isn¡¯t just a good tournament for you anymore. You¡¯ve crossed into something else. You¡¯re the story now." Rodri nodded. "Germany wasn¡¯t just another knockout game. You didn¡¯t just play well¡ªyou took them apart. The football world sees you differently today than they did yesterday." Izan exhaled. " Come on guys. Not you too. I¡¯ve seen a lot on my phone since waking up. Let¡¯s not go o-" Before he could continue, Lamine Yamal and Nico Williams barged in, still laughing about something. "You see the latest?" Nico grinned, flipping his phone to show a meme. It was a still of R¨¹diger mid-slide, exaggerated with motion blur, next to a picture of a fish flopping out of water. The caption? Rest in peace, R¨¹diger. Killed by Izan Hernandez. Izan rolled his eyes, but a small laugh escaped. "You lot have too much time on your hands." Lamine grinned. "Bro, we just have to keep you humble." Rodri smirked. "Enjoy it. Not every day you embarrass one of the best defenders in the world on this stage." Izan only shook his head, but deep down, he knew it was bigger than just a viral moment. This goal, this performance¡ªit meant something. ...¡­.. Later that evening, the entire Spanish squad gathered in one of the hotel lounges, watching the Portugal vs. France quarterfinal. The room was packed, players sprawled across couches and chairs, some leaning forward in anticipation, others casually eating from the spread of snacks the staff had set up. The mood was relaxed, but there was an underlying awareness¡ªwhoever won this match would be their next opponent. Izan sat between Pedri and Aymeric Laporte, watching as Cristiano Ronaldo led Portugal onto the field, his face set in stone. "Could be his last Euros game," Laporte murmured. Pedri nodded. "Crazy to think about. He¡¯s been here forever." The game was tense. France had the better chances early on, but Portugal were resilient, holding them off. Ronaldo wasn¡¯t as electric as in his prime, but his presence alone was a constant threat. Every time the ball got near him, the stadium held its breath. When the match reached extra time still at 0-0, the tension in the Spanish camp rose. Players leaned in, murmuring strategies, debating who looked more vulnerable. Then, penalties. Ronaldo stepped up first and scored, calm as ever and doing the same as his Idol, Mbapp¨¦ responded the same way. Each kick felt heavier than the last. Then came Jo?o F¨¦lix. He stepped up, struck the ball cleanly¡ª And hit the post. Gasps filled the lounge. F¨¦lix clutched his head in disbelief. France buried their next penalty. Then another. When Theo Hern¨¢ndez scored the decisive kick, it was over. Ronaldo stood frozen, staring at the Portuguese fans, his eyes unreadable. Izan swallowed. The camera zoomed in on him, his expression tightening as he turned away, walking off the pitch. It was done. One of the greatest careers in football history had just ended its European Championship chapter. Silence hung in the Spanish camp for a moment. "Man," Nico whispered. "That¡¯s tough." Pedri exhaled. "You think that¡¯s it for him?" Rodri nodded slowly. "Maybe. Or maybe he¡¯ll push for one last World Cup." Izan didn¡¯t say anything. He just watched as Ronaldo disappeared down the tunnel, knowing that, one day, he could face that same moment. But not today. For now, his tournament was still alive. .... Luis de la Fuente didn¡¯t waste any time. The next morning, as Spain gathered for their team meeting, he made it clear: the celebrations were over. "France," he started, his tone sharp, "is different from Germany." A screen behind him lit up with tactical breakdowns¡ªMbapp¨¦¡¯s heatmaps, Griezmann¡¯s movement, Rabiot¡¯s passing networks. "They are disciplined, physical, and dangerous in transition. Against Portugal, they absorbed pressure and punished mistakes. They will not let us play as freely as we did against Germany." [ They always say this only for Izan to dismantle the team but let¡¯s just play along, Kay.] He turned to face them. "If we give them space, they will kill us." The room was silent. Every player understood. France had just ended Portugal¡¯s dreams. If Spain weren¡¯t careful, they would be next. De la Fuente gestured to the coaching staff. "We¡¯ll have an intense session tomorrow. Recovery today, analysis, and then we prepare. No distractions." Izan¡¯s jaw tightened. No distractions. Except one. After the meeting, as players split off, he pulled out his phone and opened his messages. Miranda: Call me when you¡¯re free. His stomach twisted. He hadn¡¯t spoken to her since yesterday. And after what she¡¯d told him about Valencia¡¯s financial situation¡­ He exhaled and walked outside, finding a quiet spot before dialing. She picked up on the second ring. "You¡¯ve been busy," she greeted. Izan leaned against the railing. "You find anything out?" A pause. Then¡ª "Yeah. And it¡¯s not great." His grip on the phone tightened. "How bad?" Miranda sighed. "Valencia¡¯s finances are worse than we thought. There are serious talks about player sales. And, Izan¡­ you¡¯re at the top of the list." A slow, cold anger settled in his chest. "They haven¡¯t even spoken to me," he muttered. "They probably won¡¯t," she said. "Not unless they have to." Izan exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. He wasn¡¯t ready for this. Not in the middle of a tournament. But clearly, Valencia was. "I will not focus on it," he muttered. "For now, I have a game to win." Miranda¡¯s voice softened. "I know. And Izan¡­ whatever happens, we¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s on your terms." He nodded, even though she couldn¡¯t see it ... The mood inside Valencia¡¯s boardroom was grim. Club president Layhoon Chan sat at the head of the long mahogany table, fingers interlocked, listening as the finance team laid out the cold, unforgiving truth. [Okay guys, Valencia¡¯s president-like figure is a Singaporean financial adviser called Layhoon Chan. I¡¯ve been using the old president for a while so I decided to change it to match real life.] Around her, executives, directors, and legal advisors sat in silence, the weight of reality settling over them like a suffocating fog. "We¡¯ve exhausted every alternative," one of the financial officers admitted, adjusting his glasses. "The sponsorship deals we pursued didn¡¯t bring in enough liquidity. The stadium rights negotiations have stalled. And LaLiga¡¯s financial control committee is breathing down our necks." Javier Sol¨ªs, the club¡¯s corporate director, leaned forward. "What about restructuring our debts? Pushing for more time?" "We¡¯ve already done that," the finance officer responded. "The league isn¡¯t buying it anymore. We need immediate revenue, or we¡¯ll be in violation of financial fair play." Layhoon exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the man sitting quietly at the far end of the table. Miguel ¨¢ngel Corona, Valencia¡¯s sporting director. He had been the one pushing hardest to avoid player sales. He believed in this squad. But even he knew that belief wasn¡¯t enough. "LaLiga is already on us," the finance officer continued. "They want a clear financial plan before the window closes, or we¡¯ll be blocked from making new signings. And if we don¡¯t act soon, they¡¯ll start imposing sanctions." Layhoon pinched the bridge of her nose. This was what they had been trying to avoid. Selling key players wasn¡¯t just a financial decision¡ªit was a death sentence for the project they had spent years trying to build. Corona finally spoke, his voice measured but tense. "If it comes to player sales¡­ we have to control the narrative. We cannot look desperate, or clubs will lowball us." "Control the narrative?" one of the directors scoffed. "The moment news gets out, every club in Europe will know we¡¯re vulnerable." A heavy silence followed. Then, Layhoon broke it. "Who¡¯s on the list?" Corona hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he picked up a document and slid it forward. "The ones we can actually sell for significant money," he said. Layhoon glanced down. The first name on the list? S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan Hernandez. She closed her eyes for a moment. This was always going to happen. He was their golden boy, their most valuable asset. They had hoped Champions League qualification would stabilize the club, but the financial hole was deeper than they had admitted¡ªdeeper than they had even told the players. "What offers have we received?" she asked. Corona hesitated. "Nothing official yet. Clubs are circling, but no one wants to move first. They know we¡¯re in trouble." Layhoon looked up. "Then we need to start serious conversations. Izan is at the Euros. The moment Spain¡¯s tournament ends, things will move fast." A murmur spread across the room. Some executives looked uneasy. Others resigned. "Are we informing him?" one of them asked. Layhoon shook her head. "Not yet." But deep down, she knew¡ªhe would have already found out. If not then she prayed it stayed the same. Chapter 300: Out Of It The day after France¡¯s win over Portugal, the Spanish camp fell into a routine¡ªrecovery, media duties, tactical briefings¡ªbut a new kind of tension had settled in. The semi-finals were here. They were two games away from something historic. Izan followed the motions, going through his recovery drills in the gym, soaking in the ice bath, stretching under the watchful eye of the physios. But his mind wasn¡¯t in it. Valencia. The financial situation. The inevitable storm waiting for him when this tournament ended. He exhaled, rubbing a towel over his face as he stepped out of the ice bath. "Man, you look dead," Lamine Yamal muttered, leaning against the wall nearby. His legs were submerged in the ice, his face twisted in discomfort. Izan forced a small smirk. "Speak for yourself." Nico Williams walked over, tossing a water bottle at Lamine. "He has a point though. You good?" "Yeah." Izan ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking off the fatigue. "Just thinking about the game." It wasn¡¯t a lie. Just not the whole truth. Nico grinned. "Bro, if you¡¯re worried, just send R¨¹diger¡¯s ghost after them. France won¡¯t stand a chance." Izan let out a short laugh, shaking his head while still engaging in the banter with the two of the youngest aside from him. Across the room, Pedri stood drying himself while looking at Izan. The others might have let it go, but Pedri, who had been watching from across the room, didn¡¯t look convinced. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. By midday, most of the squad had migrated to the lounge, where the physios worked on them while they bantered and rewatched their highlights from the Germany game particularly Izan¡¯s moves against Rudiger. Morata sat with his feet propped up, scrolling through his phone. "They¡¯re still debating the penalty shout on Carvajal," he muttered. Dani Olmo scoffed. "Bro, if that was given, we¡¯d be in prison for some of the stuff we¡¯ve done on set-pieces." Laughter rippled through the room. Rodri, who had been getting his thigh massaged, looked up. "Izan, did you see that debate on El Chiringuito?" Izan blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Huh?" Rodri frowned. "You good, man? You¡¯ve been zoned out all morning." Heads turned toward Izan. Even Pedri, who had been quiet, set his phone down. "I¡¯m fine," Izan said quickly, shifting in his seat. "Just focused." Morata studied him for a moment. "You sure? You¡¯re not usually like this." Izan nodded, forcing a small smirk. "Big game coming up. Just getting in the zone." The answer seemed to satisfy most of them. "Understandable," Rodri finally said, stretching out. "France is a different kind of opponent. But don¡¯t stress it, man. We¡¯ll be ready." Pedri, however, wasn¡¯t convinced. He knew Izan too well. This wasn¡¯t nerves. It was something else. But if Izan wasn¡¯t saying anything, then maybe he wasn¡¯t ready to. So Pedri just nodded, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah," he murmured. "We will be." ...¡­.. Luis de la Fuente had seen enough. He wasn¡¯t the type to interfere with the players¡¯ moods unless necessary, but Izan¡¯s demeanor wasn¡¯t something he could ignore. The boy wasn¡¯t himself. Not completely. It wasn¡¯t nerves¡ªDe la Fuente had been around too long to mistake it for that. Izan was young, yes, but he was made for these moments. He had seen him in the biggest games of his career already, had watched him dismantle defenses without an ounce of fear. No, this was something deeper. So the day before the France game, just as the team finished their final training session, De la Fuente pulled one of his assistants aside. "Tell Izan I want to see him in my office." Izan wiped sweat off his forehead as he walked down the hallway. He had been expecting this. Wordlessly, he knocked on the door. "Come in," De la Fuente¡¯s voice called out. Izan stepped inside. The room was simple¡ªjust a desk, a few chairs, and a tactical board covered in scribbled notes about France¡¯s movements. De la Fuente didn¡¯t waste time. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit." Izan obeyed, sitting down with his hands clasped. For a moment, there was silence. De la Fuente studied him carefully. Izan didn¡¯t squirm under the gaze, but he didn¡¯t quite meet it either. Then, finally¡ª "You¡¯ve been different." Izan stiffened slightly, but De la Fuente continued. "I¡¯ve watched you in training, in the gym, in the lounge with the others. You¡¯re still working hard, still doing everything right¡ªbut your head isn¡¯t here, is it?" Izan exhaled slowly. "It¡¯s nothing, m¨ªster. Just a lot on my mind." De la Fuente leaned forward. "I¡¯m not here to push. But I need to know if it¡¯s something that will affect you tomorrow." "It won¡¯t," Izan said quickly. De la Fuente studied him. "Because if it does, I need to know now. The semi-finals aren¡¯t just another match. This is France. This is the game that defines whether we fight for the trophy or go home." Izan¡¯s jaw tightened. "I know." A pause. "Is it Valencia?" Izan¡¯s fingers twitched slightly, but he masked it well. De la Fuente caught it anyway. He sighed, leaning back. "I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening over there, but I do know this¡ªwhatever it is, you can¡¯t carry it onto the pitch with you. Not tomorrow. Not in a game like this." Izan exhaled. "I won¡¯t." "You sure?" "Yes." De la Fuente watched him a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. Because Spain needs you at your best. You¡¯ve done something special in this tournament, Izan. Everyone sees it. But you need to finish what you started." Izan nodded, the weight in his chest still heavy but just a little lighter. De la Fuente glanced at the tactical board. "Go get some rest. You¡¯ll need it." Izan stood up. Just as he reached the door, De la Fuente spoke again. "One more thing." Izan turned. "If you ever need to talk about anything¡ªnot as a coach, but as someone who¡¯s been around this sport long enough to understand¡ªI¡¯m here." Izan held his gaze for a moment. Then, with a small nod, he stepped out, closing the door behind him. ...¡­.. Izan didn¡¯t go straight to his room. Even though he had promised De la Fuente he¡¯d rest, sleep wasn¡¯t coming anytime soon. So instead of heading to bed, he walked through the quiet corridors of the training facility, eventually finding himself outside. The air was cooler at this hour, the night calm except for the faint hum of crickets in the distance. A voice broke the silence. "Couldn¡¯t sleep either, huh?" Izan turned to see Pedri leaning against a railing, arms crossed before sighing. He wasn¡¯t surprised. Pedri had always been the type to notice things others didn¡¯t, and after the way he had been watching him all day, it was clear he wasn¡¯t going to let this slide. Izan let out a breath, stepping forward. "Just thinking." Pedri arched an eyebrow. "That¡¯s what you said earlier." Izan huffed a quiet laugh. "And it was true." Pedri didn¡¯t push right away. Instead, he gestured to the spot beside him. "Sit." Izan hesitated for a moment before joining him. For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, gazing out at the dimly lit facility. Pedri finally broke the silence. "You know, you don¡¯t have to tell me. But you also don¡¯t have to carry everything alone." Izan exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. He didn¡¯t want to talk about it but..... "It¡¯s Valencia," Izan admitted after a long pause. "The situation there¡­ it¡¯s bad." Pedri nodded slowly. "I figured. You¡¯ve been off ever since we got past Germany." Izan chuckled dryly. "Yeah, well¡­ it¡¯s not something I can fix right now." Pedri tilted his head. "Then why let it eat you up the night before a semi-final?" Izan looked down at his hands. He knew Pedri was right. He knew that none of this would matter once the whistle blew tomorrow¡ªthat, for ninety minutes, all that existed would be the pitch, the ball, and the fight for the final. But knowing that didn¡¯t make the weight disappear. Pedri sighed, nudging him lightly. "Listen, man. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gonna happen with Valencia, but right now, you¡¯re here. With us. You¡¯ve been unreal this whole tournament, and tomorrow, we need you locked in. Whatever¡¯s waiting for you after, deal with it then." Izan glanced at him, lips curling slightly. "Is this your way of saying you love me?" Pedri snorted. "Shut up." A beat of silence. Then Izan sighed. "Thanks." Pedri shrugged. "Anytime." Just as Izan was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, glancing at the screen. Olivia Pedri saw the name and immediately grinned. "Ohh. Now it makes sense. The real reason you¡¯re not sleeping." Izan rolled his eyes. "Shut up." Pedri stood, stretching. "Nah, I¡¯ll let you two have your little moment." He gave Izan a teasing pat on the shoulder before heading back inside. "Just don¡¯t start whispering sweet things too loud. Some of us actually need sleep." Izan shook his head, waiting for Pedri to disappear before answering the call. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Hey," Olivia¡¯s voice came through, warm and familiar. "I figured you¡¯d still be awake." Izan exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just a little. "Yeah¡­ just had a lot on my mind." Olivia hummed knowingly. "Want to talk about it?" He didn¡¯t, not really. But just hearing her voice made everything feel a little less heavy. So he leaned back against the railing, looking up at the night sky. "Not right now," he murmured. "Just¡­ stay on the line for a bit?" Olivia smiled on the other end. "Of course." And for the first time all night, Izan let himself relax. Chapter 301: La Bleus Vs La Roja[ Golden Ticket]] The morning of the semi-final arrived with a quiet intensity. The Spanish squad went through their usual matchday routine, but everything felt heavier. There was no escaping it now. France stood between them and the final. Izan woke early, but he hadn¡¯t slept much. Olivia had stayed on the line with him for a while, talking about nothing and everything, but eventually, the exhaustion won. He had drifted off, phone still in hand, only to wake up a few hours later with the weight of the day pressing down on him. He exhaled, pushing himself up from bed and reaching for his phone, only to see a missed call. Komi. Izan frowned slightly, but before he could call her back, his phone buzzed again. He swiped to answer. "Hey, Mom," he murmured, his voice still rough from sleep. "Finally," Komi huffed. "I¡¯ve been calling." "Yeah, sorry. I was¡ª" He ran a hand through his hair. "¡ªsleeping." Komi sighed on the other end. "I figured. I just wanted to check on you." Izan leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "I¡¯m fine." "Are you?" Komi¡¯s tone softened, but there was something firm beneath it, something knowing. "Because when I see you on TV, you don¡¯t look fine. And I know my son, Izan." Izan closed his eyes briefly. He should¡¯ve known she¡¯d notice. He had been off these past few days, and if Pedri could tell, then of course his mother could too. "I¡¯m just¡­ thinking a lot," he admitted. Komi was silent for a moment, then said, "Listen to me, Izan. I know your mind is probably in a million places right now, but you have to remember why you¡¯re here. This is one of the moments you¡¯ve worked for your entire life. This moment. This match." Izan swallowed. "You¡¯ve fought through everything," Komi continued. "The injuries, the doubts, the setbacks. You¡¯ve broken records, carried Valencia when no one else could, made Spain believe in you. And now you¡¯re one step away from the final of your first major tournament. Hell you even made me start watching football" Izan exhaled, gripping the edge of the sheets before laughing at the latter statement. "I know, Mom." "Then don¡¯t let anything¡ªanything¡ªtake your focus away from it," Komi said firmly. "You¡¯ll deal with all of that when the time comes. But right now, you need to be present. For yourself. For your teammates. For the dream you¡¯ve been chasing since you were a little boy." Izan pressed his lips together. She was right. He knew she was right. Before he could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. "Tell him not to be a loser!" Izan blinked. "Hori?" There was a rustling sound as the phone was passed, and then his little sister¡¯s voice came through clearer. "Hey, dummy," Hori said cheerfully. "So, I heard you¡¯re being all moody and weird, which means I had to step in and save the day." Izan smirked despite himself. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. So here¡¯s the deal¡ª I have a surprise for you but you¡¯ll probably see it during the match" Izan raised an eyebrow. "A surprise? During the match" "Yep." "What kind of surprise?" Hori snickered. "Not telling. But it¡¯s a good one. So don¡¯t mess up." Izan let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You know, this isn¡¯t exactly how motivation speeches are supposed to go." "I don¡¯t care," Hori said. "Just don¡¯t embarrass us, okay?" Izan sighed, but there was something lighter in his chest now. "I won¡¯t," he murmured. "Good." Hori handed the phone back to Komi. "Listen, Izan," his mother said, her voice softer now. "No matter what happens tonight, we¡¯re proud of you. We always will be. So clear your head. Play your game. And finish what you started." Izan nodded, even though she couldn¡¯t see him. "I will," he promised. "Good," Komi said. "Now go eat. And don¡¯t let Pedri talk your ear off." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan chuckled. "No guarantees." They said their goodbyes, and when Izan finally hung up, the weight in his chest had eased¡ªjust a little. ... He dressed in silence, pulling on his training gear before heading to the team breakfast. The cafeteria was buzzing with energy, but the usual lighthearted jokes were dialed down. There were nods of acknowledgment and a few quiet laughs, but the tension sat thick in the air. Izan grabbed a plate and found a seat next to Pedri, who gave him a knowing look but didn¡¯t say anything. Across the table, Morata and Rodri were discussing last-minute tactical adjustments, while Lamine and Nico exchanged smirks over their phones. "Bro, look at this," Lamine nudged Izan, flipping his phone around. Izan glanced at the screen. It was a clip from a fan compilation¡ªhis moves against R¨¹diger set to dramatic music, with exaggerated commentary in the background. Nico chuckled. "They still got R¨¹diger looking like he¡¯s seeing ghosts." Izan smirked, shaking his head. "Y¡¯all need to focus." "Oh, we¡¯re focused," Lamine said, grinning. "Just hyping up the main character before the big game." Rodri leaned over. "As long as the ¡¯main character¡¯ remembers we have to actually win." The table chuckled, but the reminder hit home. They were currently in one of the most important matches of their careers. ...¡­. The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric. The Spanish fans were loud, but the French supporters matched them. It was a battlefield before a single ball had been kicked. Izan stepped onto the grass, breathing in the cool evening air as the team started their warm-up drills. France¡¯s squad was already on the other side, going through their own routine. Mbapp¨¦, Griezmann, Camavinga¡ªall of them locked in. Izan could feel their eyes on him. Whether it was the crowd, the cameras, or the French players themselves, it didn¡¯t matter. He just needed to focus. "Ready?" Pedri murmured beside him. Izan flexed his fingers, feeling the energy course through him. The doubts, the noise, and everything else faded. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah." ..... The warm-up ended with the Spanish squad going through their final stretches. The coaches monitored every movement, scanning for any sign of tension or nerves, but there was no hesitation in their players now. The work had been done. There was nothing left to refine¡ªonly to execute. As the team jogged off the pitch, Izan felt the roar of the stadium. A deafening roar, a mix of Spanish red and French blue clashing in the stands. This was the last hurdle before the final. They entered the tunnel, the tension thick in the air as they returned to the locker room. The players took their seats, some closing their eyes, others staring at the floor, lost in thought. Luis de la Fuente stood before them, but he didn¡¯t say much. He didn¡¯t need to. The speeches had been made, the tactics drilled into their minds. Instead, the manager surveyed the room, his eyes sharp as they moved from player to player. When his gaze landed on Izan, De la Fuente gave a small nod before speaking. "Leave everything on that pitch." His voice was calm but firm. "That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say." With that, he turned back toward the door. The players exchanged looks, their nerves morphing into something sharper¡ªdetermination. Morata was the first to stand, rolling his shoulders. "Let¡¯s go, boys." Izan rose to his feet, shaking out his limbs. He was ready. The tunnel was silent apart from the occasional shuffle of boots and murmured conversations. The Spanish and French players lined up, waiting for the signal to walk out. Izan glanced up. Mbapp¨¦ was a few places ahead, talking quietly with Griezmann, but as if sensing eyes on him, the French captain turned. His gaze met Izan¡¯s for a brief moment. A silent acknowledgment. Mbapp¨¦ didn¡¯t smile, didn¡¯t say anything. Just a subtle nod. Izan returned it. They both knew what was coming. A match that would demand everything from them. The noise hit like a wave. The moment their boots touched the grass, the stadium erupted into an explosion of chants, cheers, and deafening whistles. This was it. The semi-final of the Euros. Spain vs. France. As the players spread out for the national anthems, the cameras zoomed in on the key figures. Mbapp¨¦, the face of French football. Pedri, the orchestrator of Spain. Izan, the rising star. The world was watching. .... "Under the floodlights of Munich, two giants collide. Spain, youthful and fearless, against France, seasoned and relentless. A battle of generations, a clash of philosophies. The elegance of La Roja against the ruthlessness of Les Bleus." "And what a story it has been for this Spanish side. A team reborn. The veterans provide the spine¡ªRodri, Morata, Carvajal¡ªbut it is the youth that has stolen the headlines. Lamine Yamal, the prodigy. Nico Williams, the electrifier. Pedri, the artist. And Izan¡ªSpain¡¯s sensation, the one who has made this tournament his stage." "They have dazzled, they have conquered, and now they stand one step away from the final. But in their path, the might of France. The former world champions know what it takes. They have seen the bright lights before. And they will not bow easily." "It is a night for the bold. A night for the brave. And a night that will be remembered for years to come. My name is Peter Drury and I¡¯ll be your host for this exciting fixture" [This commentator is the GOAT. His commentary just gives me the chills. Particularly the one in South Africa¡¯s 2010 World Cup where South Africa scored] Chapter 302: Cruel Start [1] The noise hit like a wave. The moment their boots touched the grass, the stadium erupted into an explosion of chants, cheers, and deafening whistles. This was it. The semi-final of the Euros. Spain vs. France. As the players spread out for the national anthems, the cameras zoomed in on the key figures. Mbapp¨¦, the face of French football. Pedri, the orchestrator of Spain. Izan, the rising star. The world was watching. .... "Under the floodlights of Munich, two giants collide. Spain, youthful and fearless, against France, seasoned and relentless. A battle of generations, a clash of philosophies. The elegance of La Roja against the ruthlessness of Les Bleus." "And what a story it has been for this Spanish side. A team reborn. The veterans provide the spine¡ªRodri, Morata, Carvajal¡ªbut it is the youth that has stolen the headlines. Lamine Yamal, the prodigy. Nico Williams, the electrifier. Pedri, the artist. And Izan¡ªSpain¡¯s sensation, the one who has made this tournament his stage." "They have dazzled, they have conquered, and now they stand one step away from the final. But in their path, the might of France. The reigning world champions know what it takes. They have seen the bright lights before. And they will not bow easily." "It is a night for the bold. A night for the brave. And a night that will be remembered for years to come. My name is Peter Drury and I¡¯ll be your host for this exciting fixture" ..... [A few days ago] Days before the match, Adrien Rabiot had made headlines with his comments. The French midfielder had dismissed Spain¡¯s young core, saying experience would be the difference. "They¡¯re talented, but talent isn¡¯t enough. We¡¯ve been here before. We know how to win these games. Let¡¯s see if they do." It sparked debates and fueled discussions. The Spanish youth had been questioned before, but they had answered every time. And this time, they answered together. Hours before kickoff, Lamine Yamal posted on social media. "Doubt us if you want. We¡¯ll keep showing you." A photo accompanied the message¡ªLamine, Nico, Pedri, and Izan, arms around each other in training. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A united front. A reminder, that this was about finishing what they started. ...¡­.. The captains stepped forward for the coin toss¡ªMorata for Spain, Mbapp¨¦ for France¡ªmeeting the referee at the center circle. The official, standing tall between them, exchanged brief words, ensuring both understood the rules before flipping the coin high into the air. Morata called it. The coin landed. The referee glanced down and nodded toward the French captain. "France wins the toss," he announced, pointing towards the side of the pitch they would attack first. Mbapp¨¦ nodded and turned toward his teammates. Spain would kick off. Izan stood among the Spanish ranks, rolling his shoulders as he watched the brief exchange. A few feet away, Pedri adjusted his shin guards, Nico Williams bounced lightly on his toes, and Lamine flicked his gaze toward the French midfielders, his expression unreadable. As the two captains shook hands, Mbapp¨¦ turned slightly, eyes locking onto Izan¡¯s again before going back to his side of the pitch. This match was a meeting of talent, ambition, and the relentless pursuit of glory. The referee signaled for the teams to get into position. The pleasantries were over. Now, it was war. .... Peter Drury¡¯s voice carried the weight of the occasion, painting the battlefield before the first blow was even struck. "And so, under the bright lights of Munich, two footballing giants lock horns. Spain, youthful, fearless, and eager to reclaim lost glory. France, experienced, ruthless, and unwilling to let go of their throne." "This is a clash of generations. A test of belief, of talent, of nerve." "The lineups tell their own stories¡ªSpain¡¯s dazzling attack led by the exuberance of Lamine Yamal, Nico Williams, and Morata. Behind them, the steady hands of Pedri and Rodri dictate the rhythm, while Izan dictates. And then, at the back, a line of warriors stand ready." "For France, it is a side built for war. Kylian Mbapp¨¦, the captain, the talisman, the inevitable force. Antoine Griezmann, the architect. Eduardo Camavinga, the engine. And a backline forged in steel, with Dayot Upamecano and Jules Kound¨¦ guarding Maignan¡¯s goal." "It is a night where heroes will rise. A night where history will be written." "The whistle sounds. Spain vs. France. And Spain¡ªoh, Spain¡ªhave come to fight!" The moment the ball rolled, Pedri¡¯s pass zipped across the grass, finding Lamine Yamal before France had even settled. Camavinga closed in, but he was already beaten. Lamine¡¯s first touch was sharp, his second even sharper, and suddenly, the teenager was gliding past him, leaving the French midfielder grasping at air. "Oh, and Yamal is away! A flick, a burst, and he is flying!" The Munich crowd roared as Spain surged forward with intent. The French defense backpedaled. Lamine¡¯s vision was razor-sharp, his eyes scanning the field in a split second. He spotted it¡ªan opening, a lane, a golden path. Izan was moving. Lamine didn¡¯t hesitate. His pass was perfectly threaded, slicing between Upamecano and Kound¨¦ like a dagger. Izan exploded forward. Kound¨¦ reacted a fraction too late, his boots churning the grass as he tried to recover. But Izan was already there, already taking his first touch to shift the ball inside, his body moving with the confidence of a player who knew what came next. The goal was in sight. The crowd held its breath. "And Izan is through! It¡¯s opened up for him¡ªthis could be an electric start!" Upamecano lunged, but Izan ghosted past him, his right foot cocking back, his entire frame coiling like a spring. This was it. His strike was clean, precise, and brutal. A bullet hurtling toward the bottom corner, the kind that usually rippled the net before the goalkeeper even saw it. The Spanish fans got up, ready to celebrate a legendary start to a Euro semi-final and it should have been a goal. But Mike Maignan had other plans. A blur of yellow shot across the frame. The French goalkeeper stretched out an impossible hand, fingertips grazing the ball at full extension, altering its course by the barest of margins. For a split second, time seemed to pause. The stadium inhaled. Then¡ª A loud thump as the ball deflected off Maignan¡¯s glove and spun past the post. No goal. "Oh, MAIGNAN! That is outrageous! That is breathtaking! Izan struck it true, struck it clean, but Maignan¡ªoh, Maignan¡ªhas just torn a goal away from him with a save that defies belief!" Izan exhaled sharply, his hands on his hips, eyes flicking toward the goalkeeper in stunned disbelief. That had been perfect. That had been a goal. Maignan pushed himself up, his expression cool, unfazed, as if he had expected to make that save all along. Izan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he glanced up at the scoreboard. "I would want to see his trait but tell me if it¡¯s bad first" Izan issued with a mental gesture causing Max to wiggle slightly. "I¡¯m cooked" he muttered. But there was no time to dwell. He jogged toward the corner flag, the ball already nestled in place. The Spanish fans behind the goal were still buzzing, hands in their hair, groaning at what had just unfolded. But Izan didn¡¯t let it shake him. He could still make this count. A deep breath. A measured step back. His delivery was inch-perfect. The ball curled menacingly into the six-yard box, dipping at the last moment. A nightmare for defenders. Le Normand rose highest. His header connected¡ªbut it lacked power, direction, everything it needed. The ball floated harmlessly into Maignan¡¯s grasp. Spain groaned again. Maignan wasted no time. With a single glance, he spotted his target. Mbapp¨¦. Lurking near the halfway line, barely marked, coiled like a spring. The French goalkeeper hurled the ball with unerring precision, sending it arcing through the air, cutting through Spain¡¯s high press like a knife through butter. The stadium gasped. "Oh, and here they come! Spain thought they had them pinned, but in an instant, France have flipped the script! From one end to the other, Maignan to Mbapp¨¦¡ªthis is what they do! This is why they are feared!" Mbapp¨¦¡¯s acceleration was devastating. One touch to control, another to burst into space. Carvajal scrambled back. Laporte turned his head, scanning frantically, realizing they were exposed. And just like that, Spain were the ones gasping for air. The roar of the French fans grew, rising with every step Mbapp¨¦ took. Izan had barely turned around from the corner when he saw it¡ªthe blur of blue, the unfolding disaster. His stomach twisted. Spain had started like a storm. But France had answered with lightning. On the touchline, Luis de la Fuente was a storm of motion. Arms flailing, voice cutting through the chaos. He bellowed instructions with the urgency of a man seeing his worst nightmare unfold. "Get back! Dani, hold your ground!" His suit jacket flapped as he gestured frantically, demanding structure, demanding discipline. But even as Carvajal struggled to retreat, one figure had already reacted. Izan. A blur of red, tearing across the pitch, his terrifying speed eating up the distance. Eyes locked on Mbapp¨¦, heart pounding, he chased like a predator, desperate to halt the French captain¡¯s charge. Chapter 303: Cruel Start [2] Mbapp¨¦ was flying, his strides eating up the pitch with terrifying ease. Each step felt inevitable, every touch on the ball a declaration of his dominance. The French fans roared, sensing danger, anticipation crackling through the air. Carvajal, retreating with everything he had, angled his body, determined to slow the French captain. He knew he couldn¡¯t stop him alone¡ªbut he just needed to stall, just a second, just enough. And then came the answer. Izan. A blur of red. Like a missile locked onto its target, he surged forward, his electric pace igniting gasps from the crowd. He was moving faster than anyone else on the pitch, slicing through space, closing the impossible gap with a terrifying inevitability. The Spanish fans erupted in disbelief. "Look at Izan! Look at him go! My word, he is flying!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice trembled with awe. Mbapp¨¦ felt the presence before he saw it. A shadow creeping into his periphery. He pushed the ball forward, one more touch to set up the strike¡ª But Carvajal lunged. A half-second intervention, just enough to force Mbapp¨¦ slightly wider. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was everything. Because Izan was there. Mbapp¨¦ pulled back his foot¡ªa fraction of space, just enough for the shot. He swung. Then¡ª A red flash. Izan, lunged, throwing his body across, his outstretched leg cutting off the shot at the last possible moment. A deafening THUMP as the ball ricocheted violently off his boot. Gasps. A collective shockwave rippling through the stadium. "OH, WHAT A BLOCK!" The French fans groaned in stunned disbelief. The Spanish fans roared in euphoric relief. The ball spun wildly toward Unai Sim¨®n, who reacted sharply, diving forward to clutch it against his chest, cradling it like salvation itself. Izan, chest heaving, pushed himself off the grass, his face unreadable, but his mind racing. Mbapp¨¦ stared at him, the usual confidence in his gaze flickering for just a second before walking away. Izan had matched him. Step for step. A new side of Spain¡¯s golden boy had been revealed. "He¡¯s not just a magician going forward," Drury marveled. "That was defensive brilliance. That was warrior¡¯s instinct. That was Izan proving he is a force at both ends of the pitch!" And in the stands, thousands of Spanish fans chanted his name. .... The match had found its rhythm¡ªa tense, gripping battle where neither side could fully assert dominance. Spain¡¯s youthful exuberance clashed against France¡¯s battle-hardened experience, creating a game of moments¡ªsharp flashes of brilliance, defensive stands, and breathless transitions. France, rigid in structure, absorbed Spain¡¯s fluid attacks, waiting for the perfect chance to pounce. Spain on the other hand, fearless and relentless, weaved their intricate patterns, searching for the one thread that would unravel the French defense. Peter Drury narrated the spectacle with reverence. "The initial storm has settled, but make no mistake¡ªthis remains a knife-edge contest. A game played at the very limits of concentration. The attacks may not be as frenzied as before, but the threat lingers, always waiting to explode." Spain held possession in midfield, dictating the tempo with short, sharp passes. Izan, the architect of their movement, adapted to the ebb and flow with an understanding beyond his years. He was controlling the game like a master at his craft. There were moments when he darted between defenders, a flick of his boot sending him into open space. Other times, he slowed things down, shielding the ball, inviting the pressure, and using his body to manipulate the French defense. Kound¨¦ once pressed him near the halfway line, eager to steal possession but Izan absorbed the contact, planting his foot, his balance unshaken. With a subtle shift of weight, he rolled the ball under his sole and turned, using Kound¨¦¡¯s momentum against him. The defender stumbled just slightly¡ªenough for Izan to spin free. But instead of surging forward, he did something different. He stopped. Held the ball. Baited France¡¯s midfield into collapsing toward him. "And this is where he shows his intelligence," Drury noted. "Izan is not just a sprinter. He is a thinker too. He slows it down, he draws the opposition in, and then¡ª" A flash. A disguised pass, cut through the heart of midfield, slipping between Rabiot and Camavinga like a blade. Pedri, already reading the play, darted onto it. Gasps rippled through the Munich crowd. Pedri surged forward, eyes scanning for an opening, but Theo Hern¨¢ndez reacted quickly, cutting off the angle before Spain could exploit the space. France cleared, but the warning had been sent. Izan adjusted his wristbands, watching the play unfold with calm focus. He wasn¡¯t frustrated. He was calculating. And when Spain regained possession, he did it again. Receiving the ball on the right flank, Izan allowed the game to breathe for just a second. Kound¨¦, still wary from the last exchange, stepped in cautiously. Izan dropped his shoulder. A feint. Then, with sudden sharpness, he spun away¡ªhis movement so clean, so precise, that Kound¨¦ barely reacted in time. Upamecano rushed in. Izan, already a step ahead, flicked the ball past him with the outside of his foot, his frame twisting away as if moving through the eye of a storm. He had space now. He had vision. And he saw Nico Williams. The run had already begun, a streak of red bursting down the left flank, calling for the ball. And Izan delivered. Not with a simple pass. Not with a driven ball. With something audacious. Something magical. He struck the ball with the outside of his foot, sending it forward with wicked precision. But it didn¡¯t fly in a straight line. No¡ªthis was different. It zigzagged. A deceptive, curling masterpiece, veering inward just enough to bait Kound¨¦ into stepping toward it¡ªonly for the ball to suddenly bend outward, twisting mid-flight as if it had a mind of its own. It landed perfectly into Nico¡¯s path, bypassing the entire French defensive setup in one stunning stroke. "Oh, my word!" Drury gasped. "That¡­ that is wizardry! A pass that defies the laws of physics! Izan¡ªtake a bow!" The Spanish fans erupted in applause, recognizing the brilliance of what they had just witnessed. Even those neutral to the contest had to admire it. It was the kind of pass that belonged in highlight reels. The kind that made defenders question reality. And just like that, Spain were in again. Nico, eyes alight with intent, controlled the ball in stride, his body tilting forward as he tore down the left flank. Nico Williams streaked down the left, the ball glued to his feet as he tore past Pavard, his blistering pace forcing the French defense into full retreat. The Munich crowd rose in anticipation of what could happen in the following minutes. Pedri sprinted to support. Morata made his run into the box. But Nico had already spotted his target. Izan. Hovering just outside the penalty area, his posture loose, his eyes scanning, his mind moving faster than the game itself. The ball rolled toward him and before anyone could approach, he caught it with the inside of his boot, his first touch immaculate, killing the momentum but not the danger. Upamecano and Camavinga converged but Izan didn¡¯t panic. With the smoothest of movements, he rolled the ball forward with his sole, barely shifting his body weight¡ªjust enough to make Upamecano hesitate. Then, like a magician revealing his trick, he flicked his boot upward, lifting the ball delicately over the defense. A pass disguised as a whisper. A pass only Morata could reach. Gasps rippled through the stands as the ball arced over Kound¨¦, dipping perfectly onto Morata¡¯s path inside the six-yard box. The striker struck first time, a low, precise shot toward the bottom corner. Maignan lunged. He couldn¡¯t reach it. But Kound¨¦ did. A desperate lunge. A last-second clearance. The ball bounced off his shin, hit the crossbar, and spun away, inches from the line, denying Spain what seemed an inevitable goal. "Spain were there! Inches! CENTIMETERS away from taking the lead!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice cracked with excitement. The Spanish bench reacted, hands on heads, shouts of disbelief. Izan exhaled sharply, already backpedaling, already reading the next moment. Because this wasn¡¯t over. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. France weren¡¯t just clearing. They were countering. And it was deadly. Tchouam¨¦ni recovered the loose ball, lifting his head immediately. A single glance. That was all it took. A raking, diagonal pass. Mbapp¨¦¡ªalready on the move. The stadium roared. He controlled it on the run, an effortless touch that sent him flying into open space, like a predator released into the wild. "Now it¡¯s the French¡¯s time to attack" Carvajal sprinted, Rodri tracked back, but there was something inevitable about what was coming. Like a predator sensing weakness, France pounced. Mbapp¨¦, a blur of blue, devoured the space ahead of him. Carvajal lunged, stretching every fiber in his body¡ªbut he never stood a chance. A simple touch. A devastating shift of weight. Mbapp¨¦ skipped past him like he wasn¡¯t even there. The stadium held its breath. Rodri charged in¡ªa desperate last stand¡ªbut Mbapp¨¦ didn¡¯t even look at him. Because he had already seen the finish. The pass. One touch, perfectly weighted, slid through the seams of Spain¡¯s unraveling defense. The ball didn¡¯t just reach Kolo Muani, It summoned him. He arrived at full tilt, unmarked, unchallenged while the moment of silence stretched thin¡ª Then¡ª A clean, ruthless strike. The ball flew. Unai Sim¨®n dived¡ªarms outstretched, fingertips grazing air¡ª He couldn¡¯t reach it. A sickening ripple. The net bulged. Goal. 1-0, France. An explosion of sound. French fans erupted, voices crashing together in a wild, deafening roar. "KOLO MUANI!!!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice soared above the chaos. "AND JUST LIKE THAT¡ªFRANCE STRIKE FIRST! SPAIN WERE IN CONTROL, BUT FOOTBALL DOES NOT WAIT FOR PERMISSION! IT PUNISHES HESITATION! AND FRANCE¡ªWITH ICE IN THEIR VEINS¡ªHAVE LANDED THE FIRST BLOW! AND NOT OFTEN SEEN AS THAT BUT NICE ASSIST BY MBAPPE" The Spanish players stood frozen. Rodri, hands on his hips, exhaled sharply. Carvajal buried his face in his sleeve. Izan¡­ stared at the ball inside the net. Their goal was almost inevitable but now, under the bright Munich lights, they were the ones chasing. Chapter 304: Something Different Luis de la Fuente strode to the edge of his technical area, clapping his hands forcefully. "?Cabeza arriba!" Head up. The Spanish players stood frozen for a second, the weight of the goal pressing down on them. Their eyes flicked to the giant screen as the replay played again¡ªMbapp¨¦¡¯s run, the cross, Kolo Muani¡¯s finish. De la Fuente didn¡¯t let them dwell. "?Olvidadlo! ?Sacudidlo!" Forget it! Shake it off! His voice was firm, controlled. "We start again! Stick to the plan!" Rodri inhaled sharply, nodding. He turned, motioning to Pedri and Izan to reset. Izan exhaled through his mouth, hands on his hips for a brief second. Then he straightened, his gaze locking onto Morata¡¯s. Then Nico¡¯s. Then Pedri¡¯s. No words were said but a silent agreement formed in their midst. France jogged back with quiet confidence. Mbapp¨¦ and Kolo Muani exchanged grins. The French bench clapped, Deschamps, giving a small nod of approval. They thought they had control. But Spain weren¡¯t rattled. They were waiting. Rodri stepped forward, placing a hand on Pedri¡¯s shoulder. A brief, quiet exchange. De la Fuente saw it. The fire was still there. And that was enough. ...¡­. The French crowd¡¯s celebration rippled through the stadium, their fans in full voice, scarves whipping through the air as the giant screen replayed Kolo Muani¡¯s strike again and again, each slow-motion angle twisting the knife deeper. In the stands, the Spanish section had fallen eerily quiet. A few hands clapped in forced encouragement, but the energy had shifted. A nervous hum replaced the earlier euphoria. Even the commentator felt it. "Spain have been brilliant so far," Peter Drury mused, his voice measured. "But conceding against a team like France? It changes everything. Because now, France don¡¯t have to chase the game. Now, they can dictate how this plays out." Jim Beglin, Drury¡¯s co-commentator who the author just remembered to add spoke "And that¡¯s the real test for Spain. They¡¯ve been fluid, fearless¡ªbut can they find the same rhythm now? Can they break down a side that¡¯s built to absorb pressure and punish?" On the pitch, the French players were making small adjustments. Camavinga, eyes sharp, gestured toward Rabiot and Tchouam¨¦ni. He wanted them compact, disciplined. No gaps for Izan, no space for Pedri to weave his magic. Kound¨¦ jogged toward Mbapp¨¦ and muttered something before receiving a nod in response. They had Spain exactly where they wanted them. And they knew it. Izan exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing at his sides. For a moment, he just stared at the ball in the center circle, watching it rest there as if waiting for him to do something. His mind replayed the sequence. The ball loss. Tchouam¨¦ni¡¯s pass. Mbapp¨¦¡¯s acceleration. The moment Carvajal lunged, just a fraction too late. The weight of the pass. The ruthlessness of the finish. Everything had been precise. Devastatingly so. But something wasn¡¯t sitting right with him. He had felt it in the buildup. A half-second where France had hesitated before pouncing. They were disciplined, yes. Structured, yes. But they weren¡¯t untouchable. No defense was. He clenched his jaw, rolling his shoulders back. Then, slowly, he adjusted his wristbands. "Alright then. Let¡¯s try something different," he muttered before looking at Morata who stood over the ball. ...¡­ Spain restarted the match¡ªbut there was no cautious spell of possession. No slow, methodical buildup. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. No settling. Instead¡ª Izan took off. A blur of red streaked forward before the ball had even been played to him. His acceleration sent a momentary shock through the French line, catching them mid-adjustment, forcing an immediate reaction. Camavinga turned sharply¡ªtoo late. Pedri, always in sync, sent a first-time ball slicing through midfield, finding Izan¡¯s run with surgical precision. Upamecano stepped up, eyes locked on Izan. He expected a direct challenge. A dribble. A duel. But Izan didn¡¯t take a touch forward. He let the ball roll. And then, with one smooth movement¡ª A backheel. A flick, redirecting the ball into the empty channel between Kound¨¦ and Pavard. Nico Williams was already moving, his blistering pace carrying him past the stunned defenders. The stadium gasped. Peter Drury¡¯s voice surged with excitement. "Oh, my word, Izan has just split France apart with a stroke of genius! A backheel¡ª an audacious, impudent backheel¡ªto unlock an entire defense!"** The French backline scrambled, the realization hitting them too late. Nico Williams roared down the flank, the goal looming. Inside the box, Morata sprinted to position, his eyes wide with anticipation. The pass came¡ªwhipped across the face of goal, cutting through the six-yard box. Morata lunged. Missed it by inches. The ball skimmed past his boot, rolling just beyond the far post. A groan echoed from the Spanish section, a collective exhale of frustration. Peter Drury¡¯s voice softened, a touch of disbelief in his tone. "Spain were inches¡ª mere inches¡ªaway from an instant response! They carved France open in the blink of an eye, but the finishing touch eludes them!" On the touchline, de la Fuente clapped hard. "?Bien! That¡¯s it! More!" Izan jogged back, unfazed. He had seen what he needed to see. France were not comfortable. And that was all the opening he needed. The game resumed, but the shift was palpable. Spain weren¡¯t just trying to get back into the game. They were forcing the issue. And France, for the first time, looked uneasy. Pedri and Rodri began manipulating the tempo, weaving patterns that forced Tchouam¨¦ni and Rabiot into constant movement. Lamine Yamal, ghosting in from the right, demanded the ball. He danced past Theo Hern¨¢ndez once, then twice, teasing, testing. A sudden drop of the shoulder¡ªhe was gone. The cross fizzed in¡ª Cleared. But Spain were relentless now. Peter Drury felt it, his voice layering the intensity. "The matadors in red have raised their capes once more! Spain are playing with defiance, with urgency, with an unshakable belief that this is far from over!" Izan was at the heart of it. He found gaps that weren¡¯t there seconds before. He drifted between the lines, his movement dragging defenders into places they didn¡¯t want to be. Then¡ª A touch. A quick shift of weight. A pass¡ªno, a disguise. Rodri let it run, allowing Pedri to collect in space. France twisted, realizing too late¡ª Izan was already gone. Pedri, once again saw it instantly. The pass was delivered, feathered with the perfect weight. Izan was through. And for the first time, the French defense felt the sheer, terrifying speed of him at full tilt. Kound¨¦ chased. Upamecano lunged. But Izan had the edge¡ª One touch. Two. The goal in front of him. Peter Drury¡¯s voice crescendoed. "Izan to bring Spain level¡­!" A heartbeat. A flash of blue darting in from his left¡ª Theo Hern¨¢ndez, stretching, lunging¡ª or so he thought until Izan stopped his shooting motion mid-way. Theo Hernandez slid away like a figure skater and before the fans could realize it, Izan had already sent the ball hurling towards the French goal. "Izzaaaann, Ow wow. One of the best saves you will ever see in football" Drury roared as the ball rolled agonizingly past the post. Izan exhaled sharply, dragging his gaze from the ground as the ball rolled past the post. A roar of frustration thundered through the Spanish section, a wave of hands thrown into the air in disbelief. Theo Hern¨¢ndez was still on the turf, dazed, blinking at the grass as if it had betrayed him. [W, grass] Maignan, on the other hand, was already up, chest heaving, eyes scanning the field. He barked an order at his defense, urging them to stay sharp, but even he couldn¡¯t mask the hint of relief in his expression. Peter Drury, breathless, found his voice. "Izan thought he had it! We all thought he had it! But Maignan¡­ oh, Mike Maignan with a save that defies the laws of reaction! A hand¡ªjust a fraction of a fingertip¡ªenough to keep France ahead!" The French defenders scrambled to reset, their heads turning, searching¡ª But the ball was now out or so they thought. Yamal, as quick as ever lobbed the ball from the corner and Izan had already moved. A flash of red near the corner flag, his body twisting in mid-air as his boot stretched out¡ª [Control] A touch so absurdly delicate, so precise, that the ball obeyed him as if bound by unseen strings. The stadium gasped. The French defense barely had time to react before Izan shifted his weight, balancing on the edge of the pitch, his mind calculating. Lamine Yamal called for the ball back but the look on Izan¡¯s face said it all. The distance. The trajectory. The impossible angle. A normal player would recycle possession. Play it safe. Look for options. But Izan wasn¡¯t thinking about passing. His Rocket Trait flared to life. Power surged through his veins, coiling like a spring in his muscles. The energy was sharp, volatile, teetering on the edge of control. And then¡ª A snap. A burst. The shot left his foot like a missile. It screamed through the air, bending violently, swerving away¡ªthen back¡ªthen down¡ª Maignan¡¯s eyes widened. Peter Drury felt the moment before it even happened. "OH, MY WORD! IZAN HAS GONE FOR GLORY FROM THE DARKEST OF ANGLES¡ª" Maignan lunged. The ball dipped. Too late. It was past him. The net¡ª Chapter 305: Ronaldo’s Incarnation The French defenders scrambled to reset, their heads turning, searching¡ª But the ball was already out. Or so they thought. Lamine Yamal, quick as ever, lobbed it back into play from the corner, and Izan had already moved. A flash of red near the corner flag. His body twisting mid-air, his boot stretching out¡ª [Control] A touch so absurdly delicate, so precise, that the ball obeyed him as if bound by unseen strings. The stadium gasped. The French defense barely had time to react before Izan shifted his weight, balancing on the very edge of the pitch, his mind calculating. Lamine Yamal called for the ball, but the look on Izan¡¯s face said it all. The distance. The trajectory. The impossible angle. A normal player would recycle possession. Play it safe. Look for options. But Izan wasn¡¯t thinking about passing. His Rocket Trait flared to life. Power surged through his veins, coiling like a spring in his muscles. The energy was sharp, volatile, teetering on the edge of control. And then¡ª A snap. A burst. The shot left his foot like a missile. It screamed through the air, bending violently, swerving away¡ªthen back¡ªthen down¡ª Maignan¡¯s eyes widened. Peter Drury felt the moment before it even happened. "OH, MY WORD! IZAN HAS GONE FOR GLORY FROM THE DARKEST OF ANGLES¡ª" Maignan lunged. The ball dipped. Too late. It was past him. The net¡ª No. Jules Kound¨¦. A desperate leap at the goal line. A full-body stretch, his foot twisting mid-air¡ª Contact. The ball ricocheted off his boot, an inch from crossing the line. A collective gasp from the stadium. Maignan collapsed to his knees, his eyes trailing the ball¡¯s flight. Rodri. Pedri. Morata. Frozen, watching, waiting¡ª The ball spun wildly¡ªas if searching for someone. Peter Drury¡¯s voice exploded. "IT¡¯S STILL THERE! NICO WILLIAMS¡ª!" The ball landed at Nico Williams¡¯ feet. A perfect storm of chaos and opportunity. The French defense¡ªstill reeling, still gasping¡ªcouldn¡¯t react fast enough. Kound¨¦, sprawled from his last-ditch clearance, his foot still hovering in the air. Maignan, still on his knees, eyes wide, hands frozen in half-surrender. Upamecano, twisting, his body moving before his mind could process the danger. But Nico was already set. His right foot planted. His left leg swinging back. He didn¡¯t think. He didn¡¯t need to. Instinct took over. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then¡ª A thunderclap of contact. Boot. Ball. Explosion. The ball screamed off his foot, tearing through the air with unrelenting fury. A missile. A declaration. A moment etched in time. Maignan lunged but It didn¡¯t matter. The net rippled. Snapped. Even threatened to burst. GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAL! The stadium detonated. A shockwave of pure, unfiltered noise ripped through the air, crashing into the players, the fans, the very walls of the arena. Spanish supporters threw their arms skyward, scarves twisting, flags waving like wildfire. A roar surged from the stands¡ªnot just a cheer, but a collective outpouring of belief, of defiance, of something more. Spain were level. .... Peter Drury was in his element now, his voice soaring over the chaos, weaving poetry into the madness. "Oh, YES! Spain rise again! When all seemed lost, when France had shut every door, they found a window¡ªand crashed through it!" The replays flooded the screen. Izan¡¯s ridiculous control near the corner. The way he had calculated the impossible. The whiplash shot, powered by something beyond human limits. The last-ditch clearance from Kound¨¦. The ricochet. The ball spinning, hanging in the balance. Then Nico Williams, ready. The strike. The net. The eruption. And through it all, Peter Drury painted the moment with his words. "Football is cruel! Football is beautiful! Football is a game of inches, of heartbeats, of moments that defy reason¡ªand in the heart of it, Spain refuse to surrender!" ... The ball had struck the net. The stadium had erupted. And Nico Williams was wheeling away, his veins surging with adrenaline, eyes locked on the Spanish fans as he sprinted toward the corner where Izan and Yamal stood. Behind him, Pedri was already in motion, pounding toward them. As Nico reached the corner flag, he skidded to a stop, spinning on his heel¡ª And there they were. Izan. Lamine. Pedri. They knew. Without hesitation, Izan turned to Lamine, a mischievous grin flashing across his face. Lamine nodded. Nico and Pedri stepped back, giving them space¡ªbecause they knew exactly what was about to happen. Izan and Lamine raised their arms¡ª Left fingers touching right fingers¡ª Their bodies mirroring each other perfectly¡ª And then¡ª "FUSION¡­ HA!" The Spanish fans lost their minds. Dragon Ball Z. The Fusion Dance. Executed flawlessly. Peter Drury, his voice a crescendo of awe and delight: "What do we have here?! A moment straight out of the pages of childhood dreams! A celebration not just of brilliance, but of brotherhood, of the joy of the game! Izan and Yamal¡ªFUSING before our very eyes!" As their fingertips touched, they froze for a second¡ªjust like the legendary anime moment¡ªbefore Nico and Pedri charged in, tackling them both in a chaotic embrace. The crowd roared. The cameras flashed. The internet? Already on fire. One goal scored. And now¡ªone of the most iconic celebrations in football history. The camera cut to Didier Deschamps. Stone-faced. Arms crossed. But behind those calculating eyes, a flicker of frustration. The French players stood in shock. Maignan shook his head, lips pressed together in disbelief. Kound¨¦ clenched his fists, so close to keeping it out. Upamecano exhaled hard, eyes dark. They had done everything right. And yet¡ª The scoreboard had changed. The energy had shifted. France weren¡¯t in control anymore. On the Spanish touchline, de la Fuente roared, clenching his fists, his voice drowned out by the absolute bedlamaround him. "?Vamos! ?Eso es! Keep pushing!" On the pitch, Spain¡¯s players regrouped, their breath still heavy, their hearts still hammering¡ª But their eyes? Their eyes burned. Izan stood in the center of it all, his breathing slowing, his hands resting on his hips as he looked across the field. A storm was coming. And Spain was ready. ...¡­.. Peter Drury, still riding the adrenaline of the equalizer, let his voice soar, weaving words into something greater than mere commentary. "And perhaps, in the midst of all this, we forget. We forget that Izan is not even seventeen. That Lamine Yamal, who delivered the cross, is almost the same age. That Nico Williams, who buried the chance, is still only twenty-one. That Pedri, the architect of so many Spanish dreams, has only just begun to carve his legacy." The crowd still trembled from the goal, but Drury¡¯s words carved through the noise. "Because when they play like this when they rise in these moments, they do not feel like boys. They feel like forces of nature. Like they belong here¡ªnot in the future, not as promises¡ªbut now, as the ones shaping history before our very eyes." Jim Beglin chuckled, but his tone was laced with "Peter, they may be kids, but they¡¯re playing like men who¡¯ve seen it all." But before Drury could continue, Beglin¡¯s voice sharpened. "Hang on Peter¡ªMbapp¨¦¡ªdriving forward! Seems like he also wants to make a statement" Kylian Mbapp¨¦, the very embodiment of speed and devastation, surged down the left flank, his every touch sending alarms through the Spanish defense. The French captain had seen enough. No hesitation. No second thoughts. He wanted the ball. He wanted to break the game open again. But Dani Carvajal was waiting. Mbapp¨¦ feinted right. Carvajal mirrored him. A touch inside¡ªCarvajal didn¡¯t bite. Then Mbapp¨¦ burst forward, but Carvajal lunged in¡ªclean, decisive, ruthless. Boot to ball. A crunch. A perfect tackle. The Spanish crowd erupted, sensing what was coming next. Carvajal didn¡¯t just stop Mbapp¨¦. He turned defense into attack in a single heartbeat. Before the French defense could reset, he whipped his head up and¡ªwhipped the ball forward. A crossfield pass, spearing through the pitch, lasering toward Izan in the middle. The stadium held its breath. One touch. Then another. Izan took it in stride, his body flowing with the ball like they were one. He barely looked as Tchouam¨¦ni closed in. A dip of the shoulder, a sudden burst forward¡ªgone. Nico Williams peeled away to the left. Lamine Yamal sprinted up the right. Pedri trailed just behind, watching, waiting. But Izan? Izan was in full stride now, tearing through the midfield, the game unfolding in front of him. Then¡ª He looked up. The moment hung in the air¡ªa second stretched impossibly thin, the weight of the stadium pressing down on every heartbeat. Izan¡¯s gaze flicked forward. Maignan¡ªoff his line. A calculation. A realization. A decision made in the space between breaths. His left foot planted. His right foot rose¡ªthe perfect disguise. To the world, to the French defense, even to his own teammates¡ªit looked like a pass. His body language screamed it. A shift of weight, the posture of distribution¡ªtextbook deception. But before anyone could blink, before they could even process what was happening¡ª Ding, [Rocket Trait: Activated] THWACK. The sound cracked through the night like a gunshot. A strike of raw, unfiltered violence. The ball didn¡¯t just travel¡ªit detonated. It streaked through the air, cutting through the floodlights like a missile, carrying the sheer, unrelenting fury of a player who had seen the opportunity and refused to hesitate. Jim Beglin barely had time to react. "Oh¡ªOH MY WORD!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice spiraled upward, rising, rising, RISING. "IZAN FROM DISTANCE¡ªTHIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!" The ball twisted mid-flight, a vicious knuckle effect making it wobble¡ªveering left, right, then dipping suddenly, violently. Maignan¡¯s eyes widened¡ªtoo late. He threw himself backward, his body arching, hands stretching¡ª The ball screamed past him. For a fraction of a second, time froze. Then¡ª CRASH. The ball smacked against the underside of the crossbar with a deafening CLANG, ricocheting downward. The entire stadium watched, breathless¡ª Did it cross the line?! Maignan twisted in midair, desperately clawing at thin air¡ª The ball bounced off the turf¡ª Then ripped into the net. GOOOOOOOAAAAAAL! A goal of the gods. A goal only the audacious dared to dream of. The stadium ERUPTED. The Spanish players sprinted toward Izan, disbelief carved into their faces. Pedri had both hands on his head. Lamine Yamal stood frozen, mouth open in sheer awe. Nico Williams was already pointing at Izan, screaming. The crowd was shaking the very foundation of the arena. Peter Drury, in his element, voice a hymn of footballing madness: "STOP THAT! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! THIS IS NOT NORMAL! THIS IS NOT HUMAN! IZAN¡ªFROM THE DEPTHS OF HIS IMAGINATION¡ªHAS JUST LAUNCHED A MISSILE INTO ETERNITY!" The Spanish bench erupted as the replay flashed onto the screen. "Dios mio" De La Fuente muttered while grasping for hair on his bald head. The pass feint. The strike. The physics-defying knuckleball. The sheer, merciless execution. And through it all, Maignan¡¯s outstretched hand¡ªhelpless. Izan in celebration, ran towards the corner flag, pointing towards the stands before planting his foot down and pointing to his thigh. As if recognizing something, the camera cut to stands, searching for something before the camera finally landed on him. Cristiano Ronaldo His face? A knowing smile. A nod of respect. Legacy recognizing a new legacy. The fans seeing his face on the large screen screamed even louder as Izan was crashed into by his teammates. It was now, Spain 2-1 France. Chapter 306: Revamped The stadium was still trembling. Spanish fans roared. The red tide in the stands surged with energy, a wild, euphoric chaos that rippled across the arena. Izan¡¯s teammates swarmed him¡ªPedri, Lamine, Nico, Carvajal¡ªarms around him, voices lost in the deafening noise. But even in the celebration, in the firestorm of emotions, Izan¡¯s eyes flicked toward the other side of the pitch. France. Deschamps stood motionless. Arms crossed. Expression, unreadable. But something flickered in his eyes¡ªa calculation, an adjustment already forming. His players, though, were reeling. Maignan pushed himself off the turf, his face clouded with disbelief. The knuckle shot had left him grasping at thin air. Tchouam¨¦ni clenched his fists, muttering under his breath while Upamecano kicked the turf in frustration. Kound¨¦, his earlier clearance now meaningless, exhaled sharply before jogging back into position. Then there was Mbapp¨¦. Still. Expression blank. But his fingers curled, then uncurled. His jaw flexed. His breath slowed. He had seen enough. As Spain reset for the kickoff, Mbapp¨¦ took a deep breath and stepped toward the center circle. His head turned slightly¡ªtoward Griezmann, toward Tchouam¨¦ni, toward Kound¨¦. A silent agreement was reached between these players. They would not sit still ¡ª MINUTE 42¡¯ After the restart, France pushed forward with urgency, their passes sharp, their movements faster. The ball zipped between Camavinga and Tchouam¨¦ni before finding Griezmann in space. One touch, a glance up before a quick flick toward the left flank¡ªtoward the storm waiting to break loose. Mbapp¨¦. The stadium braced itself. He accelerated instantly, the first touch perfect, the second carrying him past Carvajal in a flash like the latter wasn¡¯t the one who stopped him earlier. The Spanish fullback barely had time to react before Mbapp¨¦¡¯s third touch sent him surging down the flank. The cut inside was brutal. Carvajal timed his run, and lunged¡ª and missed. Rodri stepped up to cover the space Caravajal had left behind but Mbapp¨¦, once again breezed past him. The French captain¡¯s body shifted weightlessly between challenges but none could stop him. As Mbapp¨¦ reached the edge of the box. His body tensed. And then¡ª A fake shot. Laporte bit, shifting his stance but for anyone watching, that was the wrong response. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Mbapp¨¦ snapped the ball onto his right foot, carving open an angle before following through. A release¡ª THUNDER. A devastating strike tore through the air. Unai Sim¨®n barely saw it coming. His hands shot up¡ª The ball struck his gloves. A desperate parry. A deflection. The ball spun out wildly¡ªstraight into the path of Griezmann. The stadium gasped. But before he could strike¡ª A blur of red. Pedri appeared. A lunging tackle, a flash of boots¡ª The ball ripped off Griezmann¡¯s feet, rolling toward the touchline. Griezmann stumbled, barely able to react before Pedri was back on his feet, clearing the danger. The Spanish bench erupted. De la Fuente clapped hard, his voice drowned in the noise. France had come close¡ªtoo close. Spain had survived. But Mbapp¨¦ wasn¡¯t done. ¡ª MINUTE 45+2¡¯ With seconds left in the first half, France launched one final assault. A quick, short corner. Theo Hern¨¢ndez drove inside, his left foot ready. A powerful cross, low and venomous¡ª Izan read it first. He darted across the box, stretching out¡ª Contact. A half-clearance. But the ball only rolled to the edge of the area¡ª Where Tchouam¨¦ni was waiting. The Real Madrid midfielder shifted his weight. And then¡ª A strike. A hammer of a shot, screaming through the air¡ª Straight at goal but¡ª BLOCKED! Rodri threw his body in the way, the impact crashing against his ribs. He winced, staggered¡ª But Spain had held firm. The ball spilled out wide. The referee checked his watch¡ª And blew the whistle. HALFTIME. ¡ª "A first half that crackled with fire, with fury, with football of the highest order!" "France struck first. Spain answered with two of the most breathtaking goals of the tournament. And yet¡ª" "Yet, you feel this war is far from over!" "Kylian Mbapp¨¦ has sparked to life! France have shown their fangs! But Spain have their young maestros, their fearless warriors, their belief burning ever brighter!" "Forty-five minutes remain!" "A final beckons!" "Who will rise? Who will fall? Who will write their name in history?" "We¡¯ll find out soon enough after the halftime break." ¡ª Sweat. Frustration. Unspoken anger. The French players sat scattered¡ªsome staring at the floor, others breathing heavily, minds racing. Maignan leaned forward, elbows on knees, shaking his head while Upamecano sat still, hands clenched together. Griezmann ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly while conversing silently with Kante who had been left on the bench. And Mbapp¨¦? Silent. Gaze locked forward. Deschamps entered. He was calm. Too calm. The tension in the room spiked immediately. He walked to the center of the dressing room. Paused. Then¡ª "Qu¡¯est-ce que je regarde?" His voice was soft. Controlled. "What am I looking at?" No one answered. Deschamps¡¯ expression didn¡¯t change. "You tell me, Jules," he said, turning to Kound¨¦. "Did you come here to be a spectator?" Kound¨¦¡¯s jaw tightened. "Dayot. Tchouam¨¦ni. Upamecano." His gaze swept across them. "You let 16 year olds, do that to you?" Some of the players frowned. The words they had heard, stung. "Do you know what they¡¯re saying out there?" His tone sharpened. "They¡¯re saying we¡¯ve lost control. That we¡¯re letting kids walk over us." He turned to Mbapp¨¦. "And you. Kylian." The room held its breath. Mbapp¨¦ met his stare. "You said we¡¯d answer." A pause. "Now show me." Silence. Then, a slow nod from the French captain. Deschamps took a step back, his voice lowering. "You think Spain is done? You think they¡¯ve won already?" He let the words hang. "No." "They¡¯re celebrating too soon." His eyes burned with cold fire. "So, what do we do?" A beat. Then Mbapp¨¦ spoke. His voice was quiet. Lethal. "We remind them. We remind them that the game isn¡¯t done." ¡ª [Opposite dressing room] The moment the players stepped into the dressing room, the energy was still electric. Spain had flipped the game on its head, turning a 1-0 deficit into a stunning 2-1 lead. The echoes of the fans¡¯ roars still rang in their ears. De la Fuente stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, a fire burning in his eyes. "This is not over." His voice cut through the adrenaline-charged atmosphere. The players sat down, catching their breath, but their minds were still racing. "You¡¯ve seen how they reacted after our second goal. France are angry. They¡¯re wounded. And a wounded team is dangerous," he continued, scanning their faces. "They¡¯re going to throw everything at us in the second half." He pointed at the tactical board. "Rodri, Tchouam¨¦ni is going to press higher now, which means you¡¯ll have to control the tempo even more. Don¡¯t get caught in a battle of chaos. Make them chase shadows." Rodri nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nico, Lamine¡ªstay wide. Pull their fullbacks apart. But when Izan drives forward, you attack the box. I want to see runs. You saw what happened last time. We caught them open. We can do it again." Nico Williams, still buzzing from his goal, tapped his boots together, ready to go again. Then, de la Fuente¡¯s eyes landed on Izan. The entire dressing room knew it¡ªhe was the spark, the heartbeat of Spain¡¯s attack. De la Fuente¡¯s expression softened for a moment. "Izan, they¡¯re going to come for you. Kante, although old hasn¡¯t come on yet and I think will for the second half. They¡¯ll foul you. They¡¯ll try to shut you down. But listen¡ªstay in the fight. Keep playing your game." Izan gave a short nod, his breathing still measured. He could feel it too. The coach turned back to the group. "You¡¯ve fought to take control of this match. Now, don¡¯t let go. We keep pushing. We keep believing. We kill this game before they can respond." A collective exhale from the team. "Vamos." De La Fuente left his men to recover some more but break time was soon over. The roar of the crowd was waiting for them. As soon as the dressing room door swung open, the sound crashed into them like a wave¡ªthousands of Spanish voices, alive with belief. Izan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he walked down the tunnel. The air was thick, charged with anticipation. Nico Williams jogged beside him, muttering under his breath, hyping himself up while Lamine Yamal cracked his neck. No one spoke, but the energy between them was electric. Focused. Determined. Then, as they reached the mouth of the tunnel, they saw them. The French players were looking at them like they wanted to kill. Izan smiled wryly before he met another player¡¯s gaze. Kante. The short Frenchman had been put on for Camavinga who had been somewhat lackluster after his pass to start the French goal counter. The Frenchman gave Izan the warmest smile he had ever seen in a while before turning towards the end of the tunnel. The referee gave the signal. The two teams stepped out together, side by side, into the deafening roar of the stadium. Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes to hold on. To fight. To finish what they started. And the fans were ready. Chapter 307: The Smiling Reaper. Izan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he walked down the tunnel. The air was thick, charged with anticipation. Nico Williams jogged beside him, muttering under his breath, hyping himself up while Lamine Yamal cracked his neck. No one spoke, but the energy between them was electric. Focused. Determined. Then, as they reached the mouth of the tunnel, they saw them. The French players were looking at them like they wanted to kill. Izan smiled wryly before he met another player¡¯s gaze. Kante. The short Frenchman had been put on for Camavinga who had been somewhat lackluster after his pass to start the French goal counter. The Frenchman gave Izan the warmest smile he had ever seen in a while before turning towards the end of the tunnel. The referee gave the signal. The two teams stepped out together, side by side, into the deafening roar of the stadium. Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes to hold on. To fight. To finish what they started. And the fans were ready. PETER DRURY: "And now¡­ the second act of this epic unfolds! Forty-five minutes remain in Munich¡ªforty-five minutes that will decide who moves on, who falls, and who carves their name into history!" JIM BEGLIN: "Spain, with their fearless brilliance, turned the game on its head before the break, but France¡­ they are far from beaten. We saw them wake up toward the end of the first half, we saw Kylian Mbapp¨¦ remind us of his threat. And now? Now, we see the change¡ª We see if France can carry on" PETER DRURY: "N¡¯Golo Kant¨¦. The man who, at his peak, devoured entire midfields, covered every blade of grass, and disrupted every plan. Didier Deschamps has called on his warrior. Camavinga makes way, and Kant¨¦ steps in." JIM BEGLIN: "And Spain? No changes. Why would they? De la Fuente believes in the eleven that flipped the script. But this battle is far from won. The stage is set, the players are ready, and we are about to witness a war." The stadium vibrated as the referee signaled the restart. Spain began in possession, their passing crisp, controlled¡ªexactly what De la Fuente had demanded. The ball cycled between Rodri, Pedri, and Laporte, weaving its way forward as Spain settled into their rhythm. Then it reached Izan. A smooth turn, a touch of silk, and he was already shifting his body, scanning the field for an opening. But then¡ª A shadow. A presence. Kant¨¦. Izan barely had time to react before pressure swallowed him whole. Kant¨¦¡¯s steps were light, almost effortless, but his body moved with the precision of a predator. Izan adjusted his footing, attempting to shift away¡ª But Kant¨¦ was already there. A nudge. A perfect, calculated step. Not a foul, just enough to unbalance. Izan fought to keep possession, turning his back to shield the ball¡ª Mistake. The moment he lingered, Kant¨¦ struck. A clean hook of the leg, a pivot of his frame¡ªgone. The ball ripped away in an instant. Kant¨¦ didn¡¯t even hesitate. His first touch wasn¡¯t to control¡ªit was to disrupt, to send the ball flying toward the flanks, where Dembele was already sprinting forward. The French attack ignited instantly. Demb¨¦l¨¦ latched onto the pass, his pace shredding through the right side before cutting in. His shot came quick, a venomous strike aimed low toward the corner. Blocked! Laporte threw his body in the way, the impact sending the ball spiraling toward the six-yard box. Chaos in the box. Rodri lunged, trying to clear¡ª Griezmann swung a boot¡ª Blocked again! But the ball didn¡¯t leave the area. It pinballed through the sea of legs before spilling loose¡ª To Mbapp¨¦. The French crowd erupted. "Shooooooot" they screamed at Mbappe but they needn¡¯t remind him. A split second. A touch. A shot. No hesitation. Mbapp¨¦¡¯s strike rifled through the bodies, past Sim¨®n¡¯s desperate reach¡ª before homing into the back of the net. GOOOOOOAAAALLLL! "OHHHH, KYLIAN MBAPP¨¦! SPAIN TRIED TO HOLD, THEY TRIED TO SURVIVE, BUT HE HAS TORN THEM OPEN!" PETER DRURY ROARED. JIM BEGLIN: "And it all started with N¡¯Golo Kant¨¦! He hounded Izan, stole possession, and triggered the entire move! And once the scramble began, France smelled blood!" French fans exploded in celebration, the blue tide roaring with renewed life. Izan exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. His teammates were already picking up the ball, shaking off the setback, but he¡ª He looked up. Kant¨¦ stood a few meters away, not gloating, not celebrating¡ªjust watching. He was smiling. Not in mockery. Not in arrogance. A warm, almost gentle smile. The kind a teacher gives a student who is about to learn a very difficult lesson. Izan swallowed, his heart still hammering. And then¡ª The system chimed. [SYSTEM MESSAGE: PLAYER SCANNED] [NAME: N¡¯GOLO KANT¨¦] [OVR: 88(91)] [TRAIT: SMILING REAPER] Izan¡¯s breath hitched as the text hovered above Kant¨¦¡¯s head. The system, Max, gave its description: "A force unseen, a predator without malice. The Smiling Reaper is the hunter who does not chase¡ªbecause he is already where you will be. His steps are silent, his presence weightless, but when he strikes, there is no escape. A beast not of power, but of inevitability. He does not fight to dominate. He fights because it is simply in his nature. And when he smiles¡ª" "¡ªyou have already lost." Izan blinked, his mind still processing the words floating before him. "A beast not of power, but of inevitability." He swallowed. His arms twitched. Was it cold in here? No. Goosebumps. He rubbed his forearm absentmindedly, shaking off the eerie sensation creeping up his spine. "Why does this sound like something out of a horror movie?" he thought. And that last line¡ª "When he smiles¡­ you have already lost." Izan peeked up at Kant¨¦. He was still smiling. Not in a taunting way. Not even in a way that suggested he enjoyed winning duels. It was just¡­ natural. Like he was happy to be playing football. Which somehow made it worse. "Bro, why do you play like a final boss but look like you¡¯d help me find my lost dog?" Izan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He needed to focus. Even as he tried to recompose himself, he couldn¡¯t deny the feeling lingering in his gut. Kant¨¦ wasn¡¯t fast, not in the way someone like Mbapp¨¦ was. He wasn¡¯t a towering physical monster like Camavinga. And yet¡­ He was already where you wanted to be. That was what made him terrifying. Izan clenched his fists. Fine. If that¡¯s how it was going to be, he¡¯d find a way through. Goosebumps or not. MINUTE 53¡¯ Izan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he jogged into position. The match had resumed in chaos, and for the past few minutes, he had been drowning in it. Not literally. But it felt that way. Because wherever he moved, whatever pocket of space he tried to drift into, one thing was constant. N¡¯Golo Kant¨¦ was there. Not in an aggressive, overbearing way. He didn¡¯t shove, didn¡¯t hack at his ankles like some defenders desperate to stop him. No. Kant¨¦ was a shadow. A presence that lingered just enough to suffocate. Every time Izan tried to receive the ball on the half-turn, he felt Kant¨¦¡¯s weight shifting, his body already reading the next movement. Every time he tried to accelerate, a well-timed step from Kant¨¦ nudged him just slightly off-balance, disrupting his rhythm. Every time he thought he had found a way out, Kant¨¦ had already closed the door. It was frustrating. Maddening, even. And it was working. Izan had barely touched the ball in the second half. Spain¡¯s fluid attack had lost a vital piece, and the French press had grown sharper. From the touchline, Luis de la Fuente watched closely, his hands behind his back. Beside him, one of his assistants whispered something. "Dani?" De la Fuente didn¡¯t respond immediately. His eyes were locked on Izan, watching the teenager struggle to escape Kant¨¦¡¯s orbit. Dani Olmo was warming up. It wasn¡¯t a bad idea. If Izan couldn¡¯t get going, then a more experienced player might be the answer. But De la Fuente hesitated. He had seen this before. Izan getting shut down. Izan struggling. Izan going quiet. And then¡ª Izan exploding. De la Fuente folded his arms. He wasn¡¯t making a move. Not yet. But the Spanish fans? They weren¡¯t as patient. In the stands, murmurs had started. "He¡¯s disappeared." "Kant¨¦¡¯s got him locked." "Izan has done exceedingly but Maybe it¡¯s time to bring Olmo on¡­" The shift in energy was tangible. Izan had gone from the heartbeat of Spain¡¯s attack to a ghost struggling to get a touch. Then¡ª MINUTE 57¡¯ A mistake. It was small. Almost invisible. But Izan saw it or at least he felt it. For the first time in the half, Kant¨¦ had slightly overcommitted¡ªnot much, just a half-step too far forward. It was enough. Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. He feinted to receive the ball on his right¡ªthen let it roll past him to his left, twisting away from Kant¨¦¡¯s reach. The Frenchman lunged. Too late. Izan was already gone. A spark ignited in the stadium. He was back. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 308: Fantastic Four [Golden ticket] Izan escaped. For the first time since the second half began, he had shaken off Kant¨¦¡ªnot by brute force, not by pace, but by pure instinct. The murmurs in the crowd transformed into roars. He was back. Spain¡¯s number 21 didn¡¯t hesitate. The moment he turned away from Kant¨¦, he accelerated, driving straight at France¡¯s defensive line. Pedri surged forward in support. Nico Williams sprinted down the left while Lamine Yamal hugged the right touchline, waiting. Izan was spoilt for choice¡ª But then, Kant¨¦ recovered. Spain¡¯s young star had won the first battle, but the war had just begun. Like a shadow reborn, Kant¨¦ chased, his movements eerily fluid, almost unnatural. His small frame barely seemed to touch the ground as he covered impossible distances in seconds. Izan sensed it¡ªhe had seconds before the Smiling Reaper struck again. He feinted left¡ªthen cut sharply to his right. Kant¨¦ followed. Izan stopped abruptly, shifting his weight in a fraction of a second. Kant¨¦ adjusted¡ª But it was just enough. Izan dipped his shoulder, dropped his hips, and¡ªexploded forward, leaving Kant¨¦ reaching for air. The French bench reacted immediately. Deschamps clenched his fists. "?Vamos!" shouted De la Fuente, urging his players forward. The game had shifted. MINUTE 59¡¯¡ª Izan played a quick one-two with Pedri, sliding the ball through the tightest gap before receiving it back on the turn. Kant¨¦ came again. But Izan was ready this time. A sharp body feint. A flick of his left foot to evade Kant¨¦¡¯s outstretched leg. The Munich-bound teenager was heating up. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Peter Drury¡¯s voice surged with excitement. "IZAN! OH, HE¡¯S FOUND HIS FEET AGAIN! SLIPS PAST KANT¨¦ LIKE WATER THROUGH FINGERS¡ªAND NOW SPAIN COME ALIVE!" Izan threaded a pass to Nico, who immediately whipped a cross toward Morata but¡ª Saliba intercepted. The French center-back sent the ball launching forward, straight to Mbapp¨¦. Danger. Carvajal rushed in but he was too aggressive and Mbapp¨¦ didn¡¯t let that chance go. He toyed with him. A roll of the ball under his studs. A flick to his left and now he was gone. The entire Spanish backline scrambled as the French captain tore into open space, his acceleration defying logic. Rodri lunged¡ªtoo slow. Laporte shifted across, the last line of defense. Mbapp¨¦ didn¡¯t hesitate. A strike¡ªferocious as it streaked towards goal. The whole stadium watched on as the ball moved with momentum. Unai Sim¨®n however pulled out a save he would be happy about for the rest of his life! A fingertip stop, the ball pushed just wide of the post. The Spanish fans exhaled. Another high threat escaped. Jim Beglin sighed in relief. "And breathe, Spain. Breathe." But Spain knew. France wasn¡¯t letting this go. MINUTE 63¡¯¡ª Spain now with the ball, built again, their Fantastic Four moving in tandem. Izan, Pedri, Nico, Yamal¡ªeach touch sharper, faster, weaving through the French midfield like threads in a masterpiece. Yamal danced past Rabiot. Nico burned Kound¨¦ down the left. Yamal toyed with Theo Hernandez on the right. And Izan? He was everywhere. Dropping deep to receive. Gliding forward with elegance. Dragging defenders into places they didn¡¯t want to be. Peter Drury could hardly contain himself. "OH, THIS IS SPECIAL FROM SPAIN! A DISPLAY OF PURE FOOTBALLING ARTISTRY! PEDRI, NICO, YAMAL¡ªAND IZAN, THE PUPPET MASTER, PULLING STRINGS!" Jim Beglin chuckled. "They¡¯re toying with France. But will they finish it?" Kant¨¦ wasn¡¯t beaten yet. A miscontrolled touch from Izan¡ªonly slight, but that was enough. Kant¨¦ struck. A lightning-fast poke. A shift of his body. Gone. The ball was his. Izan groaned, spinning immediately to press, but Kant¨¦ had already released it. To Tchouam¨¦ni. To Mbapp¨¦. To Dembele¡ªbreaking into the box! The pass was perfect, slicing through the Spanish defensive shape. Dembele squared it across goal¡ª Griezmann lunged¡ª And Rodri, OUT OF NOWHERE! A last-ditch slide tackle, sent the ball spiraling into the night sky. The stadium roared. Peter Drury gasped. "RODRI! OH, RODRI! THE WALL OF SPAIN REFUSES TO FALL!" Izan turned, chest heaving. The duel continued. MINUTE 68¡¯¡ª Spain¡¯s Fantastic Four linked up again. Izan received from Pedri¡ªinstantly spun past Rabiot and came face to face with Kant¨¦. The latter lunged, legs like pincers, clawing at the ball. Izan felt it and anticipated it. A disguised backheel flick¡ªsending the ball back to Pedri in a split second before Kant¨¦ could touch him. Pedri immediately slotted it to Yamal, who darted down the right. The La Masia graduate came one-on-one with France¡¯s left back but it seemed all too easy for the 16-year-old. Theo Hernandez lunged¡ª and missed and now, Yamal was free. The 16-year-old raised his head, eyes scanning, and found Morata, near post, immediately settling on the striker. The pass was perfect. Low. Driven. Deadly. Morata met it first-time¡ª and all France could do, was watch as the ball streaked past the outstretched legs of Maignan. A CLINICAL FINISH! GOOOOOOOOOOOAL! Munich exploded. Spain¡¯s players erupted. Peter Drury ROARED into the mic. "MORATA!!! THE CAPTAIN DELIVERS! SPAIN, RELENTLESS! SPAIN, IRRESISTIBLE! AND SPAIN¡¯S FANTASTIC FOUR¡ªOH, THEY CARVED FRANCE APART!" Jim Beglin shook his head in admiration. "Izan, Pedri, Nico, Yamal¡ªthese kids are terrifying. And the veteran? Morata? He¡¯s just finished off a move straight out of La Masia¡¯s textbooks. Well at least it¡¯s half from there with Yamal¡¯s input" Izan didn¡¯t celebrate wildly. He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto Kant¨¦. The Frenchman looked at him. Then smiled. A quiet, knowing smile. Izan exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. Kant¨¦ wasn¡¯t done. France wasn¡¯t done. And this match? It was far from over. ...¡­. Fweeeeeeee, the official signaled his whistle, urging the French players to restart the match h. "Spain smell blood. France, teetering. Can they survive this storm?" Peter Drury¡¯s voice hummed with tension as the half began. The ball barely left the center circle before Spain swarmed France again. The tiki-taka team now had no interest in sitting back. Tchouam¨¦ni received a pass¡ªbad idea. Izan pounced. A flick of the boot. A sharp read and now the ball was stolen. Jim Beglin barely had time to react. "Oh, that¡¯s a disaster for France¡ªIZAN TAKES IT!" A roar from the Spanish fans. Izan drove forward like a man possessed. Rabiot came in¡ªtoo late. Kant¨¦ filled up after Rabiot, the veteran Frenchman lunging for the ball but¡ªtoo slow. "IZAN! HE¡¯S SLALOMED PAST ONE, PAST TWO¡ªHE¡¯S STILL GOING!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice soared in the midst of it all. Saliba stepped up looking to end Izan¡¯s run but Izan didn¡¯t even hesitate. A sharp drop of his shoulder and he was¡ªgone. Jim Beglin let out a breath. "Oh, this kid! This kid is unreal!" Now the goal was in sight. Izan set himself¡ª And let it fly. The shot was pure venom, swerving towards the top corner. The stadium gasped at Izan¡¯s shot as it flew towards the goal. Maignan reacted on instinct. A desperate stretch. Fingertips grazing the ball and it was just enough. The ball deflected, spinning away from its destined glory. Peter Drury bellowed. "MAIGNAN¡ªWITH A SAVE WORTH ITS WEIGHT IN GOLD!" The French fans exhaled¡ªrelief flooding their faces. But they exhaled too soon. Jim Beglin saw it first. "WAIT, WAIT¡ªYAMAL! YAMAL¡¯S THERE!" Lamine Yamal had already reacted. A flash of red. A simple touch. A simple finish. GOOOOO¡ª the fans roared but. No. The whistle. The stadium¡¯s eruption turned into confusion. Peter Drury hesitated. "Hold on¡­ no, no¡­" The referee had his hand up. Offside. The Spanish celebrations died mid-motion. Yamal stood there, hands slightly raised, eyes wide. Then, slowly, he dropped them, shaking his head in frustration. Maignan picked himself up, exhaling deeply. Jim Beglin chuckled. "That¡­ that was close. That was so, so close." Peter Drury¡¯s tone was rich with promise. "Spain have sent a message. France are still standing, but for how long?" But Spain wasn¡¯t convinced. The moment the offside was called, red shirts surrounded the referee. Yamal turned to the assistant referee, his voice urgent. "?Pero no estaba en fuera de juego! I wasn¡¯t off!" Izan ran a hand through his damp hair, eyes narrowing as he scanned the replay on the big screen. "That¡¯s tight. That¡¯s really tight." Nico Williams shook his head, frustration evident. "If they disallow that, we need to see the lines. Where¡¯s VAR?" Morata, ever the captain, stepped in calmly. "Se?or, at least check. It was close." The referee gestured for patience, placing a hand in the air. The VAR check was underway. Pedri folded his arms, muttering under his breath. "This always happens. Always when we have momentum." Rodri, ever the composed leader, pulled Izan aside. "If they disallow it, we don¡¯t let up. We go again. Understand?" Izan nodded, jaw tight. "Of course." The referee pressed his earpiece, listening to the VAR officials. The stadium was silent. Then¡ª Decision confirmed. No goal. Groans erupted from the Spanish players and fans. Yamal clapped his hands together in frustration. "Rid¨ªculo." De la Fuente gestured wildly from the touchline, but there was no changing it. Peter Drury sighed. "Oh, Spain will feel hard done by. A matter of inches. A matter of moments." Jim Beglin exhaled. "But what a warning. What a warning to France that this young Spanish side is far from done." Maignan, with the ball in hand, looked up and saw a hand. Without much hesitation, he launched the ball towards the Spanish half. "Oh, Spain have been caught off guard here," Peter Drury roared as the ball found Giroud who had come on earlier. Chapter 309: Euro Finalists Maignan wasted no time. The moment the decision was confirmed, he launched the ball long¡ªbypassing Spain¡¯s pressing lines, sending it deep into the opposition half. Peter Drury¡¯s voice sharpened with urgency. "Oh, Spain have been caught off guard here!" Olivier Giroud, the veteran substitute, tracked the ball¡¯s flight, adjusting his position between Laporte and Rodri. With a masterful read of the trajectory, he took it down with his chest, absorbing the weight of the pass before flicking it toward Mbapp¨¦. And then, he moved. Like a striker who had done this a thousand times before, he peeled away, drifting into space between the Spanish defenders. Mbapp¨¦ saw it immediately. A quick glance and a perfect understanding was formed. Mbappe, with the outside boot, sent the ball traveling. The ball skidded across the turf with deadly precision, arriving at Giroud¡¯s feet in stride. The former Arsenal man took one touch¡ªthen a second. And then, an explosion. A left-footed rocket, struck with venom, curling towards the top corner. Unai Sim¨®n had already saved Spain once. Now, he had to do it again. The entire stadium braced itself. Giroud¡¯s shot was a thing of beauty, bending violently through the air, destined for the back of the net. Sim¨®n reacted. A desperate dive. Fingertips stretched to their absolute limit¡ª And hopefully-Contact. A glancing touch, barely there, but just enough to divert the ball over the crossbar. "UNAI SIM¨®N¡ªWITH A SAVE FROM THE HEAVENS!" Peter Drury erupted. The Spanish fans exhaled in sheer disbelief. Jim Beglin let out a breath. "Oh, what a save. Spain owe him everything right now." But the danger wasn¡¯t over. The ball had been parried, but it was still in play. And Kant¨¦ was already reacting. Like a hunter stalking wounded prey, he stormed into the box. Before any Spanish defender could recover, he lashed a right-footed drive towards goal. AGAIN! A blur of movement. A desperate block. The Spanish left-back threw himself into the shot, his outstretched leg deflecting the ball away before it could test Sim¨®n again. The stadium roared. Cucurella, still on the ground, pounded the turf in sheer determination. Peter Drury¡¯s voice thundered over the noise. "Cucurella¡ªWITH A BLOCK THAT COULD VERY WELL WIN SPAIN YHE EUROS!" Jim Beglin whistled. "Spain¡¯s defense, by sheer willpower, refuses to fall!" But France weren¡¯t slowing down. The corner was coming. And Spain were under siege. Minute 75¡¯¡ª As Theo Hernandez placed the ball for the corner, the French players gathered near the penalty area. S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Mbapp¨¦. Giroud. Saliba. Tchouam¨¦ni. All waiting. The Spanish defenders braced themselves. Rodri barked orders, directing Laporte and Cucurella. Izan and Nico Williams took up positions just outside the box, ready to launch a counter if the chance presented itself. The referee blew his whistle. Theo¡¯s delivery swung in. A wicked, curling cross¡ªaimed directly at the heart of the Spanish box. Bodies collided. Saliba rose¡ª But so did Laporte. A brutal aerial battle¡ªelbows, shoulders, sheer power¡ª And Laporte won it. A strong header sent the ball looping away from danger¡ª But only as far as Rabiot. The Juventus midfielder lined it up from twenty yards out. One touch. And then¡ª A ferocious volley. "RABIOT¡ªOH, IT¡¯S STRUCK WELL¡ª!" Peter Drury¡¯s voice hit a fever pitch as the ball streaked towards goal once more. Unai Simon tensed but Rodri¡ª again¡ª A last-second lunge, a perfectly timed block, sent the ball spinning out for another corner. Spain breathed. But only for a second. Because France weren¡¯t stopping. Jim Beglin shook his head. "Spain are surviving by inches. But how long can they hold out?" MINUTE 76¡¯¡ª The France corner curled into the box, bodies rising, jostling¡ª but the clearance sent the ball looping out. It dropped toward the far side of the box, toward the edge of the area¡ªtoward Izan. He read it in an instant. A perfect chest trap¡ª soft, controlled. Then a flash of movement. Kant¨¦ charged. Rabiot closed in. But Izan? He was already gone. A swift turn, a flick to his left boot¡ªand the escape began. Pedri saw it immediately, peeling away from his marker. Izan didn¡¯t hesitate. A quick pass¡ªthen he sprinted. Spain was on the counter. Pedri¡¯s return ball was instant, cutting through the press like a knife through silk. Izan, in full stride, latched onto it. The French backline scrambled. Theo Hernandez tracked back. Saliba braced himself. But Izan wasn¡¯t going for glory alone. He spotted movement¡ªYamal. A perfectly weighted slip pass¡ªcutting through France¡¯s defense. And Yamal met it first time. A quick shift onto his left¡ªand a curling strike. The ball glided through the air, past Rabiot¡ªthe same Rabiot who had spoken before the match. Now? Now he could only watch as Yamal¡¯s shot curled with perfection. It had pace. It had precision. It had venom. Maignan dove¡ªarms outstretched, body fully extended. But it didn¡¯t matter. The ball whipped past him¡ª ¡ªAND STRUCK THE INSIDE OF THE POST! A split second of silence. Then¡ª THE NET BULGED! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!! Lamine Yamal wheeled away, arms outstretched, pure electricity in his veins! Spain¡¯s bench erupted! De la Fuente punched the air! The Spanish players swarmed their 16-year-old prodigy, shaking him, and shouting into his ears. "LAMINE YAMAL¡ªA STAR BOY FOR SPAIN! HE HAS ARRIVED ON THE BIGGEST STAGE! AND FRANCE¡ªHAVE NO ANSWERS!" Peter Drury roared into the mic. Jim Beglin exhaled in disbelief. "What a strike. What a moment. And Rabiot? Oh, you just know he¡¯s regretting everything he said before this match." The camera panned to Rabiot, his expression frozen in disbelief. Izan jogged over, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He clapped Yamal on the back. "Perfect." Yamal grinned, breathless. "You gave me the chance." Izan exhaled, looking towards the French players gathering at the center circle. He met Kant¨¦¡¯s gaze. The Frenchman didn¡¯t smile this time. Spain had them on the ropes. And Izan? Izan stood amid the Spanish celebration, now smiling at the Frenchman. But for a split second, his gaze drifted. The stands. Hori had said she had a surprise for him¡ªsomething he¡¯d see in the stadium. He had assumed it was her. After all, she was in Japan before the match and Miranda had told him to expect something of that sort. But then¡ª His eyes locked onto a familiar face. Not Hori. Olivia. She was there. In the crowd. Her auburn hair, unmistakable even beneath the stadium lights. Her green eyes, bright with excitement, focused only on him. She was beaming. A sudden rush of emotions hit him. Surprise. Disbelief. Something warmer. For a moment, the game, the stadium, the roaring Spanish fans¡ªall of it faded. It was just her. And then¡ª A soft, knowing laugh escaped him. Hori. So this was her surprise. Izan exhaled, shaking his head, a smirk creeping onto his lips. Of course. But he couldn¡¯t think about it for too long. Because France had already restarted play. And the battle wasn¡¯t over yet. ......... Luis de la Fuente had seen enough. It was time to kill the game. With a sharp wave of his hand, the fourth official raised the board. Three changes simultaneously. Off came Morata, Pedri, and Nico Williams. And on came Fabi¨¢n Ruiz, Mikel Merino, and Mart¨ªn Zubimendi. Spain wasn¡¯t hiding it¡ªthey were shutting the door, bolting the locks, and welding them shut. Pedri clapped Izan on the shoulder as he walked past. "Finish it off, yeah?" Izan nodded, rolling his shoulders as the substitutions were completed. Morata, the captain, also stopped beside Rodri before heading off. "Lead them. Keep them focused." Rodri clenched his jaw and gave a single nod. Time-wasting had begun. Every throw-in, every restart¡ªslower. Every foul¡ªa few extra seconds on the ground. And then¡ª minute 87, De la Fuente played his last card. Lamine Yamal¡ªoff. Dani Olmo¡ªon. The 16-year-old had run himself into exhaustion, and as he walked off, the Spanish fans rose to their feet. A standing ovation. Yamal raised a hand in acknowledgment, before turning to Izan. "Close it out, then let¡¯s play some smash bros after this.." Izan smiled, "We will." Except¡ª France had one last trick left. MINUTE 89¡¯- The ball looped into the Spanish box¡ªseemingly harmless¡ªuntil Theo Hern¨¢ndez went down. The whistle blew. The stadium froze. Izan¡¯s head snapped to the referee. "No way." The official pointed to the spot. Penalty. For France. The protests were immediate. Rodri, hands in the air. "That¡¯s too soft! He barely touched him!" Cucurella shook his head, furious. "VAR needs to check this!" But the decision stood. "France have a way back. Could this be the start of a comeback" Kylian Mbapp¨¦ stepped up. Unai Sim¨®n bounced on his line, arms spread wide. The stadium held its breath. The whistle blew¡ª Mbapp¨¦ struck it cleanly. Goal. 4-3. France was back within one. After the restart, France threw everything forward. Griezmann. Mbapp¨¦. Theo. Kolo Muani¡ªall attacking. Spain dug in. Bodies on the line. Tackles. Clearances. Time bleeding away, second by second. 92¡¯¡ªGiroud¡¯s header¡ªsaved. 94¡¯¡ªMbapp¨¦¡¯s volley¡ªblocked by Laporte. 96¡¯¡ªA final long ball into the box¡ªRodri rose highest. Cleared. The referee checked his watch. Then¡ª Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! FULL-TIME. Spain had survived. SPAIN¡ª we¡¯re finalists of the Euros 2024 edition. Izan bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. He turned¡ªRodri grabbed him. "We did it." They did it. Peter Drury¡¯s voice soared. "SPAIN MARCH TO BERLIN! A NIGHT OF GRIT, OF FIRE, OF YOUTH¡ªAND THEY WILL PLAY FOR GLORY!" Izan closed his eyes, letting it sink in. And then¡ª He opened them. "Espana! Espana! Espana" the crowd roared. Chapter 310: One Of The Greats Izan lifted his gaze to the stands, to the sea of red and yellow. The Spanish fans roared, chanting his name, Yamal¡¯s, Rodri¡¯s¡ªevery hero on that battlefield tonight. The final whistle had been blown, but the reality was still sinking in. Spain were in the Euro 2024 final. The players embraced, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Rodri clapped Izan on the back, grinning. "One more game." Izan exhaled. "One more." The cameras caught every moment¡ªYamal and Nico Williams laughing as they waved at the Spanish supporters, Morata embracing Unai Sim¨®n, Cucurella still wide-eyed from the madness. Luis de la Fuente, always composed, let himself smile. He shook hands with Didier Deschamps before heading to his players, ruffling Yamal¡¯s hair before embracing Izan. "You were brilliant tonight," the coach said. "Every single one of you." Izan gave a small nod, still catching his breath. His mind briefly flickered back to the stands¡ªto Olivia, to the surprise he hadn¡¯t expected. But there was no time to dwell on it. Because the media storm had already begun. Elena Bohen¡¯s voice still buzzed in the background as Spain¡¯s players made their way to the cameras. And Morata was first. "You¡¯ve captained Spain to a Euro final¡ªwhat does this moment mean to you?" a journalist asked. Morata, sweat still dripping from his hair, took a deep breath. "It¡¯s incredible. We¡¯ve worked so hard for this. But we know¡ªit¡¯s not finished yet." Next was Yamal. "Lamine¡ª16 years old and scoring in a Euro semi-final! What¡¯s running through your mind?" Yamal, grinning, rubbed the back of his head. "I just saw the space and went for it. I didn¡¯t even think¡ªit just happened." He turned to Izan, smirking. "And Izan gave me the perfect pass, so I had no choice but to score." The camera turned to Izan now. "Izan," the journalist began, "another huge performance from you¡ªyour 7th goal of the tournament as well as your 5th assist, and yet again, your presence was decisive. You are now just two goals shy of equaling Platini¡¯s record and you have also joined the greats in record, scoring a brace in both quarter-final and semi-finals of the euros. What¡¯s your reaction to this win? And how are you feeling" Izan exhaled, wiping his face with his sleeve before speaking. "It was a battle. France are an incredible team. But we showed our character." He glanced toward the stands for a moment, as if still taking it all in. "And now, we have one more step. Also as you said, a brace so I¡¯m feeling excited. As for the record, I¡¯m not that focused on it but it would be nice to break it. " The questions kept coming. The energy was electric. Spain were in the final. The Spanish players were still on the pitch, soaking in the moment. Some had started to wind down, speaking to family and waving to the fans. Others, like Nico Williams and Lamine Yamal, were still buzzing, playing around with a ball near the touchline. Izan stood by the technical area. His phone vibrated in his hand. He ignored it at first, but then noticed something¡ªhe wasn¡¯t the only one. One by one, players started looking at their phones. Across the pitch, Dani Olmo was scrolling, his face lighting up with realization. Rodri glanced at his screen, then looked up, eyebrows raised. Then, from the far side, Ferran Torres shouted: "England won!" The news spread like wildfire. Izan unlocked his phone. England 2-1 Netherlands. A last-minute goal from Ollie Watkins. As if on cue, the notifications poured in. BBC Sport: "ENGLAND THROUGH! It¡¯s coming home? Southgate¡¯s men book a place in the final against Spain." Sky Sports: "Spain vs. England: A Final for the Ages." Marca: "Spain awaits England in Berlin¡ªcan La Roja lift another European title?" The Athletic: "Izan, Yamal, Pedri vs. Bellingham, Kane, Foden¡ªA Clash of Styles Awaits." Phones were passed around. Izan could hear murmurs from his teammates as they read the headlines. Nico Williams jogged over and leaned over Izan¡¯s shoulder, grinning. "Bro, the English fans already think they¡¯ve won." Izan smirked. "Let them." Pedri, a few feet away, chuckled as he scrolled through his messages. "Bellingham¡¯s gonna text me any second now." As if on cue, his phone buzzed. Izan¡¯s did too. Jude Bellingham: Final¡¯s gonna be fun. See you in Berlin. Izan stared at the message for a second before typing back. Izan: Looking forward to it. Just don¡¯t expect it to be easy. He locked his phone and exhaled, looking around at his teammates. They had come so far. One more game. One last battle. ......... Izan finally stepped off the pitch, the stadium still noisy. The chants of the Spanish fans echoed behind him, still reverberating through the stadium like an aftershock of the battle they had just won. He had done it¡ªthey had done it. Spain were in the final. The tunnel was crowded with staff, players, and officials, but a familiar presence made his steps slow. Komi. Hori. Olivia. His mother was the first to reach him, her expression caught somewhere between pride and exasperation. "You scared me with that collision in the first half," she said, referencing the moment Upamecano had barreled into him. Izan chuckled, rubbing his neck. "I¡¯m fine, Mom. Didn¡¯t even feel it." Komi gave him a look. "Oh, please." Before he could reply, Hori crashed into him with full force, nearly knocking him back. "You were insane!" she squealed into his chest. "That assist to Yamal, the press, the dribbles, the way you cookedTheo¡ª" She pulled back, eyes shining with excitement. "Finalist. My brother is a finalist." Izan let out a breath, still not fully believing it himself. "Not done yet." A new voice cut in, smooth and teasing. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not done yet, he says. As if he didn¡¯t just send Spain to the Euro final." Izan turned to see Miranda leaning against a barrier, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her face. She was dressed as sharply as ever, her manager persona fully intact even in the chaos of post-match celebrations. "Nice work, starboy," she said. "Your stock just skyrocketed. Hope you¡¯re ready for a million new brand deals." Izan rolled his eyes. "We¡¯ll talk about that later." "Of course." Miranda winked. "Go enjoy your moment. You earned it." Then, finally¡ªOlivia. She had been standing just a few steps behind, watching, waiting. When he met her gaze, she didn¡¯t say anything at first. Just smiled. It was soft and warm¡ªone of those smiles that made everything else quiet down for a moment. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Izan stiffened slightly. "Liv¡ªI¡¯m sweaty." "I don¡¯t care." She hugged him tighter. He exhaled, sinking into it, the weight of the night finally settling in. It was the biggest game of his life so far, and she was here, holding onto him like it was the only thing that mattered. [Hope Ya¡¯ll find your significant others. ] Then¡ª "Alright, that¡¯s enough." Hori wedged herself between them, prying Olivia away. "Izan is my brother first." Olivia groaned. "Hori." "Nope." Hori latched onto Izan¡¯s arm possessively. "We¡¯re celebrating together." Izan, amused, let her drag him a few steps before turning back to Olivia. "I¡¯ll see you later?" She huffed but smiled. "You better." Miranda, who had been watching the exchange like a spectator at a comedy show, shook her head. "Hori, you¡¯re dangerously close to starting a rivalry." Hori grinned. "I fear no one." After spending a few more minutes with his family, Izan finally excused himself, making his way back toward the locker room. His body ached, but the pain was dull, overshadowed by the thrill of what had just happened. The stadium corridors were buzzing¡ªstaff, media personnel, officials, all caught in their own whirlwind of post-match duties. He was almost at the room when he nearly walked into someone. "Nice goal by the way" the person spoke. Izan turned to look at the person well and it was no ordinary human. Cristiano Ronaldo. Izan stopped abruptly. Ronaldo, now dressed in a sleek black outfit, effortlessly exuded that aura of untouchable confidence. His Portugal had fallen to France in the quarterfinals, yet he was still here, watching, observing. And now, he was looking at Izan. Izan, who had faced defenders with no fear. Izan, who had just played the biggest match of his career. Izan, who¡ªright now¡ªfelt like a starstruck kid. Ronaldo gave him a small, knowing smirk. "Good game." Izan blinked. "Uh¡ª" He caught himself, straightening his posture. "Thank you. That means a lot." Ronaldo¡¯s smirk widened like he had seen that reaction a thousand times before. "Final¡¯s next. Big moment. You ready for it?" Izan swallowed, forcing himself to push through the daze. "Yeah. I think so." Ronaldo tilted his head. "Think so?" Izan exhaled, steadying himself. "I know so." Ronaldo¡¯s eyes gleamed with approval. "Good." He took a step past Izan, then paused, as if debating something. When he turned back, his expression had sharpened. "One last thing." Izan felt his heart rate pick up. "Yeah?" Ronaldo held his gaze. "Work a bit more on your leg strength. Talent is nothing without hard work." Izan absorbed the words, nodding. "I will." Ronaldo gave him one last look before turning away, and disappearing down the hallway. Izan exhaled, still trying to process what had just happened. Then, almost instinctively, he activated the system in his mind. Scan player: Cristiano Ronaldo. The interface responded instantly. Izan glanced at the results¡ªthen froze. His eyes widened. What the¡ª ......¡­.. Chapter 311: Late Night Antics Ronaldo¡¯s eyes gleamed with approval. "Good." He took a step past Izan, then paused, as if debating something. When he turned back, his expression had sharpened. "One last thing." Izan felt his heart rate pick up. "Yeah?" Ronaldo held his gaze. "Work a bit more on your leg strength. Talent is nothing without hard work." Izan absorbed the words, nodding. "I will." Ronaldo gave him one last look before turning away, and disappearing down the hallway. Izan exhaled, still trying to process what had just happened. Then, almost instinctively, he activated the system in his mind. Scan player: Cristiano Ronaldo. The interface responded instantly. Izan glanced at the results¡ªthen froze. His eyes widened. What the¡ª ......¡­.. [Cristiano Ronaldo Scanned Data: Prime Version] ? Name: Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro ? Height: 1.87m ? Weight: 85kg ? Preferred Foot: Right (but highly proficient with left) ? Position: Forward (LW, ST, RW) ? Club History: Sporting CP, Manchester United, Real Madrid, Juventus ? International Team: Portugal ? Peak Years: 2007-2018 ? Total Career Goals: 800+ ? Ballon d¡¯Or Titles: 5 ? Champions League Titles: 5 ? Domestic League Titles: 7+ ? International Trophies: European Championship (2016), Nations League (2019) Peak Attributes: ? Pace: 95 ? Dribbling: 94 ? Shooting: 97 ? Passing: 87 ? Physicality: 95 ? Defensive Work Rate: Medium ? Attacking Work Rate: High ? Skill Moves: 5¡ï ? Weak Foot: 5¡ï Staring at the screen in front of him, Izan couldn¡¯t help but be baffled until the system spoke. [Ronaldo¡¯s prime statistics showcase his evolution into a complete forward, blending elite athleticism with technical mastery. His ability to score from anywhere, dominate in aerial duels, and decide matches on his own made him one of the most feared players in history.] [Current Version Scanned¡­] ? Age: 39 ? Position: Forward ? Preferred Foot: Right ? Pace: 84 ? Dribbling: 83 ? Shooting: 92 ? Passing: 80 ? Physicality: 85 [Despite aging, Cristiano Ronaldo remains a lethal goalscorer. His physical attributes have declined, but his shooting, movement, and finishing instincts are still world-class.] Izan scanned through the information, the stark contrast between Ronaldo¡¯s prime and current form clear. Even with time catching up, the Portuguese legend still maintained an elite level¡ªproof of his obsession with excellence. But Izan wasn¡¯t here just to admire history. He was here to shape his own. "Well at least I¡¯m getting somewhere," Izan said before walking to the locker room. ......¡­.. The Spanish national team had no time to waste. De la Fuente had made the decision swiftly¡ªno extended celebrations, no delays. Spain was on the next flight out, heading straight for Berlin. The players moved through the Munich airport, a sea of red training kits standing out among the bustling crowds. Cameras flashed, and voices rose as reporters and fans swarmed the team¡¯s path. Security kept the worst of the chaos at bay, but it was impossible to avoid entirely. "Izan! Over here!" "Lamine! Spain¡¯s winning the Euros, right?" "Pedri! Just one picture, please!" Some fans had phones stretched high, desperate for a glimpse of their idols. Others reached out in vain, hoping for a handshake or a signature. The atmosphere buzzed with energy¡ªexcitement, pressure, expectation. One reporter managed to slip through the wall of security, extending his mic toward Rodri. "Rodri! Spain has been dominant so far, but what can we expect next?" Rodri, ever composed, met the reporter¡¯s gaze with a calm confidence. "We¡¯ve done well. I know there is only one match between us and the trophy but to us, the real tournament starts now. Every moment, every decision matters will matter. We¡¯re prepared, and we¡¯ll give everything to go all the way." His words carried the weight of a leader, someone who had seen it all before. Izan listened, absorbing the message. There was no room for complacency. Everything they had done so far led to this¡ªthe moment that would define them. As they boarded the plane, the anticipation only grew. Berlin awaited. And with it, the next battle. .........¡­. Spain¡¯s flight touched down in Munich under the cover of night, but despite the late hour, the energy among the players remained high. The moment they stepped off the plane, a quiet but palpable tension filled the air. The team moved through the near-empty airport quickly, escorted by security. No media, no distractions¡ªjust a direct route to the hotel, where De la Fuente wasted no time in enforcing discipline. "Straight to your rooms," the coach ordered as they entered the lobby. "No late-night nonsense. We have work to do." No one argued. They nodded, exchanged quick goodnights, and dispersed to their respective rooms. At least, that¡¯s how it seemed. Izan lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He should¡¯ve been asleep. He wanted to be asleep. But his body refused to relax. The rush of the tournament, the hype¡ªit was impossible to shut off. A sigh escaped his lips. Screw it. Sliding out of bed, he moved as quietly as possible, grabbed his room key, and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. He had no idea what he was even looking for¡ªmaybe fresh air, maybe just movement to shake off the restlessness. Then, just as he closed his door, another one down the hall creaked open. Izan froze. The figure stepping out was equally cautious, glancing left and right before moving toward the elevators. Lamine. Izan smirked. So he wasn¡¯t the only one. But before he could call out, another door opened¡ªPedri this time, rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. Then Nico Williams, who looked way too energized for someone who had supposedly been sent to bed, also stepped out. Within seconds, it was clear. They had all planned to sneak out. The realization settled between them in the dim hallway before Pedri chuckled. "No way¡­ we all had the same idea?" Lamine crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You guys are such bad liars." Nico grinned. "Like you weren¡¯t sneaking out too." Laughter broke out quietly among them as they made their way toward the lobby, pushing their luck just a little more. The lobby, silent and empty moments ago, soon became a battleground. At first, it was harmless¡ªjust quiet conversation, talk about the match ahead, their nerves, the weight of the occasion. But then, someone (Izan blamed Nico) suggested a quick game of table football in the lounge area. One game turned into two. Two turned into four. Then someone else (definitely Lamine) found a basketball, and soon enough, they were using the lounge trash bins as makeshift hoops. The noise level crept higher. The games got more intense. And that¡¯s when the veterans showed up. Rodri, Carvajal, and Morata had also failed to sleep and, upon hearing the commotion, made their way downstairs. Morata groaned. "You guys have no idea how to lay low, do you?" Carvajal rubbed his temples. "If De la Fuente sees this, we¡¯re all dead." Rodri exhaled through his nose. "You already woke me up. Might as well let me play." Lamine grinned. "Finally, someone with a proper mindset." The so-called "quiet night" spiraled into chaos. Nico Williams dribbled the ball between his feet, eyes locked on his opponent. On the other side of the makeshift court, Pedri stood in a defensive stance, arms out wide. "Come on, then," Pedri challenged. Nico feinted left, then bolted right, trying to get past him. But Pedri was quick, shifting his weight and cutting him off. Their teammates watched from the side, occasionally throwing in playful taunts. Izan leaned toward Lamine. "No way Pedri wins this." Lamine shook his head. "You¡¯re underestimating him." A sudden move¡ªNico spun sharply, slipping past Pedri and flicking the ball toward the trash bin they had turned into a hoop. The shot arced perfectly through the air¡ª And bounced off the rim. "Nooo!" Nico dropped to his knees dramatically as the others burst into laughter. Morata shook his head. "This is what happens when you play without a proper backboard." Rodri, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke. "I bet I can make it." The younger players turned toward him, skeptical. Lamine smirked. "You, Rodri? You barely shoot in real matches." Rodri didn¡¯t rise to the bait. He simply took the ball, lined up his shot, and¡ªwithout hesitation¡ªlaunched it. The ball sailed across the room and dropped cleanly through the trash bin. Silence. Then, chaos. The players erupted, shouting, laughing, clapping Rodri on the back. "He¡¯s been hiding his true skills!" Izan joked. Rodri simply shrugged. "Always be prepared." What ultimately doomed them was the burst of laughter that echoed across the lobby¡ªloud, unfiltered, impossible to ignore. And at that exact moment, De la Fuente arrived. The air shifted instantly. A sharp presence. A silence that cut through everything. Izan, still holding a ball in his hands, locked eyes with the coach from across the room. Time to run. Without hesitation, he bolted, shoving Lamine and Nico ahead of him as they dashed toward the stairwell. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The younger players scattered like thieves caught in the act, slipping away into the shadows of the hotel corridors. Left behind, Morata sighed. "Unbelievable." Rodri turned slowly to face De la Fuente, resigned. "Before you say anything, just know¡­ I told them this was a bad idea." Carvajal folded his arms. "No, he didn¡¯t." The coach exhaled through his nose, his gaze sweeping over the mess they had made. "You¡¯d better hope we win," was all he said. Then, without another word, he turned and left. Chapter 312: Youths Of Spain What ultimately doomed them was the burst of laughter that echoed across the lobby¡ªloud, unfiltered, impossible to ignore. And at that exact moment, De la Fuente arrived. The air shifted instantly. A sharp presence. A silence that cut through everything. Izan, still holding a ball in his hands, locked eyes with the coach from across the room. Time to run. Without hesitation, he bolted, shoving Lamine and Nico ahead of him as they dashed toward the stairwell. The younger players scattered like thieves caught in the act, slipping away into the shadows of the hotel corridors. Left behind, Morata sighed. "Unbelievable." Rodri turned slowly to face De la Fuente, resigned. "Before you say anything, just know¡­ I told them this was a bad idea." Carvajal folded his arms. "No, he didn¡¯t." The coach exhaled through his nose, his gaze sweeping over the mess they had made. "You¡¯d better hope we win," was all he said. Then, without another word, he turned and left. ...¡­. Read exclusive content at FreeNovelFire The morning sun streamed through the hotel windows, casting a warm glow over the Spanish national team¡¯s rooms. It was a picture of serenity¡ªuntil the alarm clocks started blaring like emergency sirens. Izan groaned as he peeled his face off the pillow, blinking blearily at his phone. He had barely closed his eyes before the relentless beeping yanked him back to reality. His body felt like a bag of cement, heavy and unwilling to cooperate. Across the room, Lamine Yamal wasn¡¯t doing much better. "Kill it," Lamine mumbled to no one in particular, his voice muffled against the sheets. Izan grunted, flopping an arm toward his phone and slamming it down, silencing the alarm. For a few blissful seconds, there was peace. Then- "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. What are you doing in my room" Izan said grabbing the sheets to cover himself like a woman who had just been defiled. But just then, their door burst open. "Wake up, idiot," Nico Williams announced, far too cheerful for someone who had been just as involved in last night¡¯s stupidity. "You too Izan. Breakfast in fifteen." "Wait, I¡¯m the only idiot?" Yamal said but Nico didn¡¯t pay him any mind. Izan groaned again, flipping onto his stomach. "I hate you." Nico smirked. "No, you hate yourself for thinking table football and trash bin basketball were good ideas at 2 a.m." Lamine barely lifted his head. "We would¡¯ve been fine if Rodri hadn¡¯t shown off." Izan chuckled despite himself. "Man drained that shot like he was Steph Curry." Nico laughed. "Rodri¡¯s a hidden baller, but De la Fuente¡¯s face when he caught us? I saw my life flash before my eyes." At the mention of their coach, Lamine finally sat up, rubbing his face. "Do you think he¡¯s still mad?" Izan exchanged a glance with Nico. "Mad? I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s plotting our downfall as we speak." Lamine groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the bed. "But I¡¯m not sure de la Fuente is that petty. We are so screwed." Nico grinned. "Not me. I ran faster than all of you." Izan threw a pillow at him. "Coward." Nico dodged it effortlessly. "Nah, just smart." Lamine finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, but be honest¡ªwho has the worst baggy eyes?" That was all it took. Izan and Lamine immediately turned toward each other, faces just inches apart as they examined the damage. Lamine squinted. "Damn, your eyebags are bad." Izan scoffed. "Look who¡¯s talking. You look like you haven¡¯t slept in a week." Nico burst out laughing. "This is the dumbest competition I¡¯ve ever seen." But it was too late. The challenge had been set. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. By the time they reached the breakfast hall, Izan and Lamine were locked in a heated argument about whose dark circles were worse. "I swear, mine are darker." "Yours are just puffy. Mine have depth." "Depth? What is this, an art critique?" Players who had managed a full night¡¯s sleep looked on in amusement as the two continued bickering. Pedri, sipping his coffee, raised an eyebrow. "You guys are really debating who looks worse?" Rodri, sitting nearby, shook his head. "This team is hopeless." Then, just as Izan and Lamine were about to ask for a third opinion, a shadow loomed over them. De la Fuente. The coach set down his coffee cup with deliberate precision, folding his arms. "Tell me," he said, voice dangerously calm. "Are you two really asking who has the worst eye bags?" Neither of them dared to speak. The entire breakfast hall had gone silent. De la Fuente exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like a man questioning all his life choices. "300 juggles. Each." Izan blinked. "Wait, what?" The coach¡¯s gaze hardened. "And if the ball touches the ground, you start over." A few players whistled, others stifled laughter. Nico clapped a hand over his mouth, barely holding in his reaction. Lamine tried one last time. "Coach, be honest¡ªwho has worse eyebags?" De la Fuente¡¯s expression darkened. "400." Izan slapped Lamine on the back of the head. "Nice job." .... The Munich training ground was merciless. Izan and Lamine stood side by side, sweat already forming on their brows. In front of them, a lone football. Behind them, the entire team watched like it was the greatest entertainment of the tournament. "I swear, I¡¯m never staying up past curfew again," Lamine muttered. Izan exhaled. "Shut up and juggle." They both started, focusing on keeping the ball in the air. For a while, it was fine¡ªsmooth, controlled, rhythmic. Then Nico walked by. "Wow," he mused, hands behind his back. "Legends in the making. Except¡­" He tilted his head. "Didn¡¯t Lamine mess up a simple pass in training yesterday?" Lamine¡¯s eyes twitched. "Ignore him." Nico wasn¡¯t done. He turned to Izan. "And you¡ªdidn¡¯t you sky a shot so bad it nearly hit the team bus?" Izan¡¯s touch slipped. The ball hit the ground. Silence. Then, De la Fuente¡¯s voice, ever patient. "Start over." Izan slowly turned toward Nico, murderous intent in his eyes. "I¡¯m going to end you." Nico grinned. "Not before you reach 400." Laughter rippled through the team. Izan sighed, picking the ball up again. "This is actual torture." Lamine nodded solemnly. "We did this to ourselves." But as much as they suffered, the punishment had its own kind of humor. Each time one of them dropped the ball, the other groaned dramatically, cursing their bad luck. Every now and then, Rodri or Morata offered fake advice in serious tones, as if they were analyzing a Champions League final. Even De la Fuente, despite his stern expression, was clearly holding back amusement. By the time they finished, drenched in sweat, exhausted beyond words, they collapsed onto the grass. Nico stood over them, smirking. "So, who had worse eyebags again?" Izan and Lamine, too tired to argue, groaned in unison. "Good answer." ..... The evening after training, the Spanish national team gathered in their hotel¡¯s private meeting room. The mood had shifted. The echoes of laughter from the morning¡¯s punishments had faded, replaced by the weight of what was ahead. The final was still a couple of days away, but the reality was setting in. Luis de la Fuente stood at the front of the room, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over his players. Some leaned forward, elbows on their knees, others sat back, arms crossed, but every single one of them was listening. He let the silence stretch for a few moments before speaking. "We¡¯re here," he said, voice steady. "Not by luck. Not by chance. We are here because we earned it." He let the words settle, watching as heads nodded slightly, as backs straightened. "There were people who doubted us before this tournament even began," he continued. "Said we were too young, too inexperienced. Said we weren¡¯t favorites. But we didn¡¯t listen. We fought. We played our football. And look where that has brought us." He turned slightly, pacing a few steps before facing them again. "I want you to take a moment and think about everything that got you here. The extra training. The sacrifices. The times you pushed through fatigue, through doubt, through pressure. Think about the games we¡¯ve played. Think about how much work it took to reach this point." He paused, his voice growing softer. "It would be a shame," he said, "to let all of that go to waste." Silence. Not the kind of silence that came from nerves, but the kind that came from understanding. De la Fuente nodded to himself, pleased with the way the message was landing. "These next few days, I don¡¯t want you to think about the pressure. I don¡¯t want you to think about the expectations. I just want you to remember one thing." He looked around the room, making sure every single player met his gaze. "We deserve to be here." A beat passed. "Now let¡¯s make it count." No cheers erupted. No dramatic responses. Just a deep, collective understanding. This was their moment. And they weren¡¯t going to waste it. Chapter 313: Field General De la Fuente nodded to himself, pleased with the way the message was landing. "These next few days, I don¡¯t want you to think about the pressure. I don¡¯t want you to think about the expectations. I just want you to remember one thing." He looked around the room, making sure every single player met his gaze. "We deserve to be here." A beat passed. "Now let¡¯s make it count." No cheers erupted. No dramatic responses. Just a deep, collective understanding. This was their moment. And they weren¡¯t going to waste it. ... As the meeting ended and the players rose from their seats, Izan remained still, his hands resting on his knees. A strange weight settled in his chest¡ªnot nerves, not pressure, but something deeper. A presence. Then, it happened. A pulse, like a silent tremor through his body, neither painful nor overwhelming, but undeniable. The edges of his vision flickered, and for a brief moment, the world felt sharper¡ªclearer. [System Notice: Title Unlocked] Precedent: First of many Title: "General on the Field" Description: Your presence commands the pitch. Your teammates move with greater confidence, their awareness heightened, their execution sharper. While the game is in session, they unconsciously look to you¡ªnot just as a player, but as a leader. You elevate them. Izan¡¯s breath came slow and measured, though his heart pounded. This was different. He clenched his fists, testing his own presence, but nothing outwardly changed. No grand revelation. No sudden burst of power. Just an underlying certainty, like a foundation being laid beneath his feet. "Oi, what are you doing?" The sudden voice made him blink. Lamine was staring at him, head tilted, arms crossed. Behind him, Nico stood with an eyebrow raised. "You alright?" Nico asked, glancing at him curiously. Izan shook his head slightly, pushing the system notification aside. "Yeah. Just thinking." Lamine squinted. "Thinking? That¡¯s weird." Nico nodded sagely. "Yeah, don¡¯t do that. It¡¯s bad for your health." Izan rolled his eyes. "Says the guy who almost got us killed this morning." Nico grinned. "And yet, I walked away unscathed. Think about that." Lamine smirked. "Yeah, while we were dying under the sun, you were lounging in the shade." "You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing," Nico said, slinging an arm around Lamine. "Now come on, if we don¡¯t move, Morata¡¯s gonna eat half the kitchen." Izan exhaled, standing up and stretching his arms. The system could wait. Whatever this new title meant, he¡¯d test it properly in training. ...¡­.. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting soft lines across the ceiling. Izan lay awake, staring up at them, his mind already moving. His body felt normal. No lingering effects from yesterday¡¯s notification. No residual tremors. But something had changed. He could feel it¡ªnot in a way that he could explain, but in the same way a player just knows when to make a run, when to shift their body, when to anticipate a pass before it happens. A presence. His. Izan exhaled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before pushing himself up. He wasn¡¯t about to overthink it. Not yet. There was still training ahead. That was where he¡¯d truly know if something had shifted. The scent of food filled the air as he stepped into the dining area, where the squad was already gathered, spread across several tables. The usual buzz of conversation and the occasional scrape of cutlery echoed through the room. Lamine and Nico were stationed near the middle, plates stacked dangerously high. Izan grabbed his own plate and approached just as he caught the tail end of their exchange. "I¡¯m just saying," Lamine argued, fork in hand, "you can¡¯t call yourself the fastest in the squad when I dusted you twice yesterday." Nico snorted, slicing into his toast. "Please. The first time, I slipped. The second time, I let you win so you wouldn¡¯t cry." Lamine blinked at him. "I don¡¯t cry." "That¡¯s not what your highlight reel says," Nico muttered, barely audible. "What?" "Nothing." Izan sat down across from them, fighting the smirk threatening his lips. "You two never get tired of this?" "No," they said at the same time. Izan shook his head, grabbing a piece of fruit from his plate. "You should focus on winning instead of arguing about who¡¯s faster." Lamine leaned forward. "Oh? And who do you think is faster?" Izan chewed thoughtfully, then tilted his head. "Mmm¡­ I¡¯d say Morata." Nico choked on his water. Lamine stared at him like he¡¯d lost his mind. "¡­I hate you," Lamine muttered, stabbing his eggs. Izan grinned. "Eat up, General. You¡¯ve got a long day ahead." ..... After dinner, the players moved about, getting their boots and tapes ready for the session before joining Luis de la Fuente outside. The pitch stretched before them, the grass dewed from the morning. Players jogged in groups, warming up, and chatting. Izan stepped onto the grass¡ª ¡ªand felt it activate. It was presence. Like stepping into a role that had always existed but was only now being acknowledged. [ Title Activated: General on the Field ] His senses sharpened. Not just his own positioning, but everyone¡¯s. His teammates¡¯ movements. Their spacing. Their body language. He turned his head instinctively¡ªLamine, bouncing on his feet, already itching to run. Nico, hands on his hips, stretching, loose but ready. Pedri, adjusting his socks, relaxed, composed. [ Scanning Selected Players¡­ ] Lamine Yamal OVR: 84 Traits: Rapid Acceleration, Close Control, Unpredictability Nico Williams OVR: 84 Traits: Explosive Pace, 1v1 Specialist, Off-Ball Movement Pedri OVR: 87 Traits: Visionary Playmaker, Press Resistance, Tempo Dictator Then, it shifted. Like an invisible tether connecting them, like an instinct honed through countless battles. Izan knew where they were before they even moved. [ Title Effect Applied: +1 Overall to Teammates During Play ] Lamine Yamal OVR: 85 (+1) Traits: Rapid Acceleration, Close Control, Minimalist dribbling Nico Williams OVR: 85 (+1) Traits: Explosive Pacer, 1v1 Specialist, Off-Ball Movement Pedri OVR: 88 (+1) Traits: Visionary, Press Resistor, Tempo Dictator Izan blinked. The numbers hovered in his mind, as natural as seeing a scoreboard. Not overwhelming, not intrusive¡ªjust there. Lamine nudged him. "What¡¯s with that look?" Continue your saga on FreeNovelFire Izan glanced at him. "What look?" "That look, like you just figured something out." Izan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "I guess we¡¯ll see." The ball rolled onto the pitch. Training had begun. ...¡­.. The rhythm of training was different today. From the moment the first rondo started, Spain wasn¡¯t just good¡ªthey were flowing. The ball zipped between feet with precision, every touch clean, every movement purposeful. Players instinctively filled spaces, offering options without hesitation. It wasn¡¯t forced, it wasn¡¯t rehearsed¡ªit was natural. Izan felt it all. Where the next pass should go? How the play would develop two, or three moves ahead. And more than anything, he felt how his teammates responded. They were sharper. More confident. And they knew it too. Lamine¡¯s touch was flawless, his turns tighter, defenders struggling to close him down. Nico¡¯s off-ball movement was ridiculous¡ªfinding gaps in an instant, darting into space even before the pass came. Pedri, already a mastermind, played like he had a second pair of eyes, his connection with Izan near telepathic. Luis de la Fuente stood by the sideline, arms crossed, observing carefully. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The coaching staff noticed it too. He turned to his assistant. "Record the drills. I want every sequence analyzed." The assistant nodded, gesturing to the analysts. Cameras focused in. Meanwhile, on the pitch, a passing drill turned into something more. One-touch passes, fluid rotations¡ªevery combination felt automatic. No wasted movement. No delay, almost like a moving artwork. After a particularly crisp sequence ending with Lamine threading Nico through on goal, Nico smashed a shot into the top corner before turning, grinning. "Alright, I¡¯m not crazy, right? This is different." Lamine nodded, barely winded. "Yeah. We¡¯re clicking too fast." Izan exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. He knew exactly why. And it didn¡¯t stop. When the scrimmage began, Spain played like a machine. One team dominated possession, suffocating the other with sharp, relentless pressing. Even when the second team got the ball, they couldn¡¯t breathe¡ªpassing lanes shut down instantly, and pressure was applied before they could react. De la Fuente narrowed his eyes. This isn¡¯t just cohesion. It¡¯s something else. Izan pulled the strings effortlessly. When to slow the tempo, when to accelerate it. When to drop deep, when to attack the space. The others responded without hesitation, feeding off his rhythm. He intercepted a loose pass, turned sharply, and immediately sent Nico sprinting down the wing. Perfect weight. Perfect angle. The ball arrived at Nico¡¯s feet like it was meant to be there all along. No hesitation¡ªcut inside, square pass¡ªLamine arrived. First-time shot. Net. Nico spread his arms, grinning. "Yeah, this is definitely different." Lamine shook his head, staring at Izan. "What the hell did you eat this morning?" Izan smirked. "Same as you." "Liar." The scrimmage continued, but the pattern never changed. Spain controlled everything. De la Fuente turned to his staff, voice low. "Make sure we get every second of this on tape." Something was happening here. And he wanted to understand exactly what it was. Chapter 314: Cohesion The sun dipped lower as training wrapped up, the final whistle cutting through the humid air. Players broke off into groups, some stretching, others hydrating, but the energy in the session lingered¡ªsomething was different today, and they all felt it. Izan wiped the sweat from his forehead, exhaling as he glanced around. His mind still buzzed with the sensation from earlier¡ªthe sharpened awareness, the seamless interplay, the way everything just clicked. Lamine and Nico were still talking about it. "I¡¯m serious," Lamine muttered, shaking his head. "That didn¡¯t feel normal. It felt like¡ª" He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "Like a game where we¡¯ve already played together a hundred times," Nico finished. He gestured vaguely. "Like we skipped the ¡¯figuring each other out¡¯ part." Izan leaned against the barrier near the sideline, watching their expressions. They weren¡¯t wrong. This wasn¡¯t just chemistry¡ªit was something deeper, something structured but effortless. "You are getting surprising each time Max," Izan thought causing the system to buzz in response. "You¡¯re overthinking it," Pedri said, walking past with a towel around his neck. He stopped next to them, thoughtful. "Or maybe not. We did look good today." "Good?" Nico raised a brow. "Bro, if we play like that in a match, we might actually scare teams before kickoff." Before anyone could respond, a voice cut through the air. "?Chicos!" De la Fuente. The squad turned toward their coach, who stood by the analysts and coaching staff. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his posture¡ªsomething aware. "I want all of you to get some rest," he said, his voice even. "Tomorrow¡¯s session will be lighter, but I want this intensity to stay. Keep this standard. What we just saw out there¡ª" he motioned to the pitch, "¡ªthat¡¯s not normal." Players exchanged glances. "The staff will be reviewing today¡¯s session closely," De la Fuente continued. "Some of you probably felt it. I know I did. Something clicked today." He let the words settle before nodding. "Now go. Recovery is key." As the squad started filing off, Izan remained behind a moment longer, his gaze shifting to the analysts, who were already deep in discussion. He knew what they were looking for but they wouldn¡¯t find it. At least not until they knew of his system title. After smirking at them, he walked away. And so, as the sun dipped lower and the training ground emptied, Spain¡¯s coaches pored over the footage. The screen flickered, showing different angles of the session. Every pass, every movement, every phase of play was broken down in slow motion. De la Fuente leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Beside him, his assistant, Pablo Amo, rewound a particular sequence. "Look at this transition," Amo murmured. The clip showed Izan winning possession and, in the same breath, threading a pass that shouldn¡¯t have been possible¡ªone that sent Nico through instantly. De la Fuente nodded. "He saw it before it happened." Amo tapped the screen. "And the others? Their reactions are near-instant. Look at Pedri¡ªhe already knows where to position himself before Izan even releases the ball." Another staff member, sitting by the data monitor, spoke up. "It¡¯s not just anticipation. Their overall reaction times improved. Even their off-the-ball movement was sharper." De la Fuente exhaled, watching the footage again. He knew Spain was talented. He knew this team had chemistry. But this wasn¡¯t just natural cohesion. This was something else. Another analyst gestured toward a chart on the screen. "If we compare this session to last week¡¯s training data, we¡¯re seeing an unusual spike in synchronized movement. It¡¯s like¡ª" he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "¡ªlike there¡¯s a central figure dictating the tempo without directly commanding it." The entire room went silent. They knew who it was. De la Fuente leaned back in his chair, glancing at the lineup sheet pinned to the board. "Izan," he said simply. Amo rubbed his jaw. "We knew he was special, but this¡­" He gestured toward the screen, where Izan¡¯s positioning influenced everything. "This is rare." De la Fuente exhaled through his nose. "Keep recording everything. Tomorrow, I want him mic¡¯d up in training." Amo raised a brow. "Think he realizes what he¡¯s doing?" De la Fuente thought about the way Izan carried himself, how he didn¡¯t seem overly surprised by his influence¡ªonly thoughtful like he was figuring it out. "He¡¯s learning," the coach said at last. "But so are we." Back in the player lounge, the mood was lighter. Some players lounged in compression boots, others got massages or scrolled through their phones. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan sat with his legs stretched out, rolling a recovery band around his wrist. Across from him, Lamine and Nico were still debating¡ªthis time about who had the best goal in training. "You just think it¡¯s yours because you scored," Lamine was saying. "Bro, I know it¡¯s mine because I hit top bins," Nico shot back. "You didn¡¯t even aim." "Didn¡¯t need to." Izan smirked, shaking his head. He glanced at Pedri, who had been watching the exchange like it was entertainment. "How are they always like this?" Pedri didn¡¯t even look away and just shrugged. The conversation shifted again, this time to Spain¡¯s upcoming match. Everyone could feel it creeping closer¡ªmatchday. The real test. As the players rested, and the coaching staff prepared for tomorrow¡¯s session, one thing became clear. Spain were getting ready for the final. ...¡­.. Pablo Amo leaned against the doorframe of De la Fuente¡¯s office the next day, arms crossed as he exhaled. "That was some training session." De la Fuente glanced up from his notes, nodding. "I saw." Amo walked in, taking a seat across from the head coach. "They clicked again. Same as yesterday, maybe even better. It¡¯s not just good chemistry¡ªit¡¯s seamless. Like they already know where to be without thinking about it." De la Fuente set his pen down, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And Izan?" Amo smirked. "He¡¯s the one leading it, whether he realizes it or not. The way the others adjust around him, it¡¯s¡­" He gestured vaguely. "I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s just natural. What I don¡¯t get is why it started just now. The chemistry was there but now it¡¯s elevated." De la Fuente hummed, leaning back in his chair. "Good." Amo arched a brow. "That¡¯s it? ¡¯Good¡¯?" De la Fuente chuckled. "What else do you want me to say? We¡¯ve got a team that understands each other, playing with confidence right before a major match. That¡¯s exactly where we want to be." Amo leaned back as well, considering that. "Yeah, I guess you¡¯re right." He shook his head with a slight grin. "It¡¯s just rare to see something click like that, especially this quickly." De la Fuente nodded again. "Enjoy it. And start shifting focus to the match. I¡¯ll handle the press conference." Amo pushed himself up from the chair. "Alright. Just don¡¯t let them bait you into saying too much." De la Fuente smiled. "I¡¯ll manage." As Amo left, De la Fuente turned his attention back to his notes. The team was in a good place and that was all that mattered. Stay connected through FreeNovelFire ..... The room was packed. Cameras clicked, microphones adjusted, and journalists murmured among themselves as they waited for Luis de la Fuente to take his seat. Spain¡¯s head coach walked in with measured steps, a composed expression on his face. He greeted the press with a small nod before settling in, the Spanish Football Federation¡¯s logo displayed prominently behind him. "Good afternoon, everyone," he began, glancing briefly at the media personnel in front of him. "Let¡¯s get started." A journalist from Marca raised his hand immediately. "Coach, training footage has surfaced showing what many are calling the best Spain has looked in years. The team seems incredibly in sync. Can you tell us what¡¯s changed?" De la Fuente offered a small smile. "I wouldn¡¯t say anything has ¡¯changed.¡¯ We¡¯ve been building towards this. The players are talented, and when you put great talent together, understanding develops. That¡¯s what you¡¯re seeing¡ªhard work, trust, and natural cohesion." A journalist from AS leaned forward. "Would you say Izan is a key reason for this? His influence seems undeniable." De la Fuente¡¯s smile remained, but his response was measured. "Izan is an excellent player, and like all great footballers, he has an impact. But football is a team sport. What you¡¯re seeing isn¡¯t about just one player¡ªit¡¯s about everyone buying into the same idea, playing for each other." Another journalist jumped in. "That may be true, but statistically speaking, Spain¡¯s attacking patterns seem to flow through Izan. Is he becoming the focal point of the team?" De la Fuente tilted his head slightly, choosing his words carefully. "We don¡¯t focus on one individual. We focus on the collective. That said, every team has players who naturally influence the game more, whether through movement, passing, or decision-making. Izan has qualities that make him stand out, but our strength is in how we function together." A journalist from El Pa¨ªs raised a hand. "Tomorrow¡¯s match is crucial. How do you approach it, especially against a strong opponent?" De la Fuente nodded. "With respect and preparation. We know the challenge ahead, but we also know our strengths. The players are ready. We¡¯ve worked hard to get here, and now it¡¯s about executing on the pitch." The questions continued¡ªsome about tactics, others about individual players, and a few about the pressure of expectations. De la Fuente handled them all with a steady demeanor, never giving too much away but never sounding dismissive. As the conference wrapped up, one final question came from the back. "Coach, a lot of fans are excited about the way Spain is playing. Do you believe this team can go all the way?" De la Fuente smiled, his eyes calm but unwavering. "We take it one match at a time. But I believe in my players." With that, the press conference ended. The cameras clicked one last time as De la Fuente stood and exited the room. Tomorrow, Spain would step onto the pitch. And the real test would begin. [Author: I¡¯m bouta cook. JK lower your expectations. I¡¯d go full bluelock but the damage done would be irreversible. Don¡¯t want this turning into a fantasy novel] Chapter 315: Hours Away The hotel¡¯s lounge was filled with the low hum of conversation, but most of the Spanish squad had gathered around the large TV mounted on the wall. Luis de la Fuente¡¯s pre-match press conference was being broadcast live, and while they should have been winding down for the night, the opportunity to analyze their coach¡¯s words¡ªand poke fun at each other¡ªwas too good to pass up. Izan sat near the back, arms crossed as he sipped from a bottle of water. He wasn¡¯t particularly invested in watching the conference, but he wasn¡¯t going to be the only one not paying attention either. On-screen, De la Fuente sat at the podium, his expression composed as the journalists took turns firing their questions. "Coach, tomorrow is your biggest match of the tournament so far. How do you feel about the team¡¯s preparation?" De la Fuente nodded slightly. "I¡¯m very pleased. The group has been training at a high level, and I see a strong sense of unity in the squad. These players trust each other, and that¡¯s invaluable in a match like this." From where he sat, Lamine scoffed, glancing at Nico. "He always says that." Nico smirked. "Yeah, but it¡¯s true." The next question came quickly. "A lot of people are talking about the way Spain is playing, particularly the fluidity in attack. Some analysts say it looks more instinctive than structured. What¡¯s your take?" De la Fuente didn¡¯t hesitate. "Football is a game of structure and instinct. When you have players who understand space and each other, movement becomes automatic. It¡¯s about trusting those around you, knowing where they¡¯ll be before they even get there." Several heads in the lounge turned toward Izan at that. He immediately frowned. "What?" "You," Lamine said, pointing at the screen. "That¡¯s literally just code for ¡¯Izan is making things easier for everyone else.¡¯" "Exactly," Nico added, nudging Pedri. "Bro, this guy might actually be De la Fuente¡¯s hidden son." That was all it took. The room burst into laughter, with several players jumping in at once. "Izan Fuente has a nice ring to it," Ferran joked. "Explains why the old man likes you so much," Dani Olmo added, grinning. Izan rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he set his bottle down. "You guys are reaching." "Are we?" Lamine smirked. "Because it¡¯s crazy how he just answered a question about you without saying your name." Morata, who had been leaning back on one of the sofas, chuckled and finally spoke. "You know what? If I were a coach, I¡¯d like a player like Izan too." That made the teasing stop for a moment. The squad turned to look at their captain, who had a knowing look on his face. "Let¡¯s be honest," Morata continued, shifting slightly. "He sees the game differently. Half the time, he makes my job easier without me even having to think about it." He gestured at Pedri and the others. "Same with you guys. We don¡¯t have to second-guess our movement because we know he¡¯s going to pick the right pass." Izan huffed, leaning back against the chair. "I didn¡¯t ask for a TED Talk, bro." That got another round of laughter, and the attention slowly shifted away from him as the players debated different moments in training and past matches. Izan was content to just listen¡ªuntil his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Olivia His brows furrowed slightly. It wasn¡¯t late, but she wasn¡¯t the type to call out of nowhere unless it was important. Before he could even think about standing up and leaving the room to answer, Nico noticed. And that was the continuation of his problems. "Ooooh," Nico said, drawing the syllable out dramatically. "Look who¡¯s getting a call." Izan shot him a flat look. "Don¡¯t." But it was already too late. Lamine saw the name flash across the screen from the way he stood behind Izan, and the way his face lit up spelled disaster. "Olivia?" Lamine grinned. "Oh, nah, you have to answer that here. Put it on speaker." "Not happening," Izan said immediately, standing up. The room was already getting louder, players whistling and egging him on. "Come on, bro," Pedri said, amused. "She¡¯s your girl, what¡¯s there to hide?" "I¡¯d rather not have twenty guys listening in while I talk to her." "Then answer and say that," Ferran smirked. "I just want to hear her reaction when she finds out we¡¯re all here." Izan gave them all a dry look. "You guys are children." "Children who really want to know what Olivia calls you in private," Dani Olmo added. Izan sighed, shaking his head as he walked toward the door. "Go find something productive to do." He slipped out before they could stop him, but their laughter still carried into the hallway. ... Izan leaned against the wall near the elevators, exhaling before answering the call. "Hey." "Hey," Olivia¡¯s voice was warm, but he immediately picked up on the slight hesitance. "I didn¡¯t wake you up, did I?" "No, I¡¯m still with the guys." He could hear her smirk. "That explains why you sound like you just ran for your life." Izan huffed. "They saw your name on my phone and lost their minds." She laughed. "And let me guess, they wanted you to put me on speaker?" S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Immediately." "I love that they think I¡¯d actually talk to you normally if they were listening." That made him smile. He could imagine her shaking her head on the other end. "Anyway," she continued, "I won¡¯t keep you long. I just wanted to call and say good luck for tomorrow. I know it¡¯s a big one." Izan felt some of the lingering tension from earlier ease away. "Thanks. Feels like it¡¯s been a long wait." "It has, but you¡¯ve been playing so well." She paused, then softer, "I¡¯m proud of you, Izan." Something about hearing her say it made his chest feel warmer. "I appreciate it," he murmured. There was a brief silence, a comfortable one before Olivia exhaled. "Alright, I¡¯ll let you go before they start looking for you." "They would actually do that." She chuckled. "Then I¡¯ll talk to you later." "Yeah. Goodnight, Liv." "Goodnight, Izan." The call ended, and Izan stood there for a second before pushing himself off the wall and heading back to the lounge. The moment he stepped in, all heads turned toward him. Lamine was the first to speak. "So¡­ what¡¯s the verdict? Are we allowed to know what nickname she calls you, or is that classified?" Izan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate all of you." "That wasn¡¯t a no," Nico smirked. Izan sighed, moving past them to his seat. He wasn¡¯t going to entertain their nonsense. But as the conversation shifted and the night wound down, he couldn¡¯t shake the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Tomorrow was the match. But for now, he let himself enjoy some peace. "Izan De La Fuente" Lamine started again. "Or not," Izan thought as his teammates continued laughing. ... Stay tuned to FreeNovelFire The hotel was quiet in the early hours, but there was an unmistakable weight in the air. . Izan lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the air conditioning. He had slept, but not deeply. His mind had been too alive, flicking through every possible scenario, every moment that could define the final. He turned his head slightly, glancing at the bedside clock. 7:23 AM. Too early to be up, too late to fall back asleep. A knock on his door broke the silence. He exhaled and sat up, running a hand through his hair before moving to open it. Morata stood there, already dressed in training gear. "Figured you¡¯d be up." Izan smirked slightly. "You came to check?" "Nah." Morata leaned against the doorframe. "Breakfast is in thirty. Some of the guys are already downstairs." Izan nodded, stepping aside so the captain could enter. "You good?" Morata asked, his voice easy, but Izan caught the way his gaze lingered¡ªsearching. "I¡¯m fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just thinking." "About?" "Everything." Morata smiled knowingly. "Yeah. It¡¯s one of those mornings." He didn¡¯t need to elaborate. Finals had a way of making time feel different. The quiet before the storm, the anticipation before the first whistle¡ªit was all part of it. "You¡¯ve done everything right to get here," Morata said, stretching his arms slightly. "You know that, right?" Izan exhaled. "Yeah." the weight of expectation settling in. Morata smiled slightly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let¡¯s eat. The last thing we need is De la Fuente noticing you¡¯re not at breakfast and thinking you¡¯re having some kind of existential crisis." Izan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed his phone. As they stepped into the hallway, they could already hear some of the squad talking down the corridor. The final was hours away. But it had already begun for the two countries involved. Chapter 316: Gearing Up The dining hall was buzzing with energy¡ªnot the usual relaxed atmosphere they had during the tournament, but something sharper, more focused. Conversations were quieter, movements more deliberate. Everyone was locked in for the final. Izan sat with Pedri, Yamal, and Nico, eating methodically, but his mind wasn¡¯t entirely on the food. It was on the match, on the thousands of possibilities the next few hours held. He wasn¡¯t nervous¡ªnot in the way a rookie might be¡ªbut he was restless. The kind of restlessness that came with knowing what was at stake. "You¡¯re eating like someone who¡¯s being forced," Pedri remarked, nudging his plate with his fork. Izan barely glanced up. "I¡¯m eating." "You¡¯re dissecting each bite like it¡¯s a tactical breakdown," Nico added with a smirk. [Bruh. Who writes Thi-. Sorry continue] Izan sighed, setting his fork down for a moment. "You guys ever get the feeling like everything is moving too slow and too fast at the same time?" Morata, who had been quiet, finally spoke. "That¡¯s how you know it¡¯s a final." They didn¡¯t need to say more. They all felt it¡ªthe tightening in the chest, the static in the air. This was the kind of match that could define a career, the kind that people would remember for decades. And Izan was right in the center of it. The players had been given some time to relax before their final tactical meeting, but as Izan made his way back to his room, a member of the Spanish staff intercepted him. "Hey, Izan. Adidas just sent something over for you." Izan blinked. "Adidas?" The staff member nodded, gesturing toward one of the small conference rooms. "They asked for you to check it out before the match." Izan didn¡¯t say anything, just followed. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of overhead lights. And in the center of the table, placed on a black display stand, was a pristine pair of football boots. His breath hitched. White, with golden accents. Sleek, elegant¡ªbut built for purpose. His eyes moved lower, toward the heel, where his initials were embedded in a bold, yet minimalistic fashion. HIM. He swallowed. The door closed behind him, and a rep from Adidas stepped forward. "You like them?" Izan didn¡¯t answer immediately. He stepped forward, reaching out to pick one up. The leather was soft but firm, the weight perfectly balanced in his palm. "They¡¯re the prototype," the rep continued. "We designed them with your playstyle in mind¡ªlightweight, responsive, built for quick changes in direction. And the colorway¡­ well, we thought it fit the occasion." White and gold. For the final. Izan exhaled slowly, running his thumb over the embossed initials. "You don¡¯t have to wear them today," the rep added. "It¡¯s just a first look. But if you do¡ª" "I¡¯ll wear them." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The words left his mouth before he fully processed them. He wasn¡¯t even sure why he said it so quickly, but the moment he did, it felt right. A final deserved something special. And these? These felt like a statement. The rep smiled. "We¡¯ll have them ready for you in the locker room." Izan nodded, setting the boot down gently before turning to leave. ...¡­.. The hallway was quiet except for the occasional murmur of voices behind closed doors. Most of the squad had already gathered when Izan stepped inside, the room dimly lit except for the large screen at the front. De la Fuente and his assistants stood near it, their expressions calm but expectant. Izan slid into a seat near Pedri and Nico, giving them a brief nod before turning his attention forward. "Good, you¡¯re all here," De la Fuente said, clasping his hands together. "This won¡¯t be long, just one final review before we leave." He gestured to the screen, where clips of England¡¯s recent matches had been queued up. The first was their semi-final against the Netherlands. "They¡¯ve been compact in possession, but they¡¯re vulnerable when the ball turns over," the coach began. "This is where we have to be at our sharpest. Izan, Nico, Lamine¡ªyou¡¯ll have to exploit the spaces left behind by their full-backs. Their defensive shape is strong when settled, but in transition, there are gaps." Izan nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the footage. He could already see where the opportunities would come. Beside him, Lamine whispered, "Trippier¡¯s gonna have nightmares, bro." Izan smirked. "If we do it right, yeah." The review continued, with each phase of the game broken down¡ªEngland¡¯s tendencies, Spain¡¯s countermeasures, and the small details that could decide a final. De la Fuente¡¯s tone was measured but firm, his belief in the squad clear. "Remember," he said as the session wrapped up, "this game will be won by the team that stays composed. Trust each other. Trust what got you here." There was a beat of silence before he nodded toward the door. "Alright, go grab your things. We leave in an hour." Stay connected with NovelFire.C?m The squad stood, some stretching, others quietly muttering to themselves. Izan rolled his shoulders, his mind already running through the match scenarios. The clock was ticking, and the final was drawing closer. .... The hotel lobby was a controlled storm of movement¡ªstaff ensuring nothing was left behind, security coordinating the team¡¯s safe exit, and the occasional murmur of passing words between players. Izan adjusted the strap of his bag, stepping out into the warm afternoon air. The moment he emerged, the crowd outside the hotel roared. "?Espa?a!" "?Vamos, Izan!" Phones lifted, banners waved, and voices filled the space between security barriers, all trying to capture a glimpse of La Roja before they departed for the biggest match of their lives. Izan barely had time to take it in before Morata clapped him on the back. "Come on, superstar," the captain said with a knowing smirk before walking ahead. Izan huffed a quiet laugh and followed, stepping onto the bus just behind Lamine and Pedri. Inside, the atmosphere was different¡ªquieter, heavier. The usual chatter was replaced with a more subdued energy, each player lost in their thoughts. The final was no longer something in the distance. It was real. Izan found his seat, settling in as the rest of the squad filtered in. De la Fuente was one of the last to board, nodding once to the players before exchanging a few words with the coaching staff. Then, the doors shut. The bus ride was quiet, each player caught between their thoughts and the weight of the moment. The occasional low conversation between teammates barely cut through the soft hum of the engine. As the team approached the Olympiastadion, the outside world came alive¡ªSpanish and English fans lining the streets, chanting, waving flags, creating a sea of red and white. When the bus pulled up to the designated entrance, security moved swiftly, ensuring a clear path for the squad. One by one, the players stepped off, passing through the flashing cameras and media presence that waited near the entrance. Inside, the stadium¡¯s corridors stretched ahead, polished and pristine. Staff members guided them toward the locker rooms, their footsteps echoing through the hallways. Izan walked alongside Pedri and Lamine, the three exchanging a few quiet words before entering the dressing room. The atmosphere inside was controlled but charged with anticipation. Some players moved straight to their lockers, some sat on the benches, and others exchanged brief conversations with the coaching staff. Izan reached his space and immediately noticed the neatly arranged kit waiting for him¡ªhis white Spain jersey with the bold red number 21 on the back. After checking out the jersey, Izan moved to his boots. Pristine white, golden accents catching the light, and on the heel, the initials "HIM"¡ªhis prototype boots with Adidas. Before he could even take them in his hands, a voice came from behind him. "No way." Lamine. Izan didn¡¯t even have to turn around to know the younger player was staring at the boots like he had just seen something unfair happen. "You got a prototype for the final?" Lamine¡¯s voice was half-impressed, half-incredulous. Before Izan could answer, Nico walked up and let out a dramatic sigh. "That¡¯s crazy. Some of us have been with Adidas longer and still don¡¯t have something like this." Izan smirked, picking up one of the boots and turning it slightly in his hand. The design was sleek, every detail, carefully crafted. Lamine folded his arms, shaking his head. "It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s whatever. I¡¯m not jealous or anything." Nico scoffed. "You literally are." Lamine ignored him. "But you know what? This means they expect Izan to be the main guy today." He nudged Izan. "You can¡¯t wear those and not do something crazy." Izan rolled his eyes. "You guys are acting like I asked for this." "That¡¯s what makes it worse," Nico muttered. "It just happens for you." Before Izan could respond, the sound of laughter came from the other side of the room. Some of the older players¡ªMorata, Rodri, and Carvajal¡ªhad been listening in. "Look at them," Carvajal smirked, shaking his head. "Final of the Euros, and these kids are arguing about boots." Rodri chuckled. "I swear, I don¡¯t think they even feel nervous. Back in the day, everyone would be locked in, focused¡ªnow we¡¯ve got them debating who Adidas loves more." "Not our fault you guys overthink everything," Lamine quipped, unbothered. Carvajal scoffed. "Oh yeah? We¡¯ll see when the first whistle blows." Izan shook his head, setting his boots down and beginning to change. He wasn¡¯t as outwardly relaxed as Lamine, but he wasn¡¯t drowning in nerves either. The weight of the match was there, pressing against his thoughts, but it was a feeling he knew well. It was always there before big games¡ªbefore he did something that mattered. A/n: Feeling cute. Might upload an extra chapter to thank you guys for the golden tickets. You¡¯ve been wonderful. Now I gotta leave. I have a meeting with Gege Akutami. Need advice on how to kill off a character. Chapter 317: Empire’s Echo [Golden Ticket Chapter] Izan turned, catching Bellingham¡¯s gaze as the England midfielder strolled toward him with an easy grin. The warmth of the smile didn¡¯t quite mask the intensity behind his eyes¡ªsharp, assessing. "Crazy, innit?" Bellingham repeated, gesturing toward the stadium around them. The Olympiastadion in Berlin was alive, a roaring cauldron of red and white, flags waving, chants echoing, a war cry in two tongues. The sheer weight of history pressed down on them both. These nights were carved into football¡¯s soul, moments that would be told and retold long after they left the pitch. Izan exhaled, nodding. "Yeah. Feels different when it¡¯s the last one, doesn¡¯t it?" Bellingham chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Biggest night of our lives." His gaze didn¡¯t waver. "Best man wins." Izan met his stare, expression unreadable. "Yeah. Best man wins." For a second, neither spoke, the words hanging between them. Friendly enough. Respectful. But beneath it¡ªan unspoken challenge. They weren¡¯t just here as players. They were symbols of their nations, carrying the hopes and dreams of millions. And when the whistle blew, that respect wouldn¡¯t mean a thing. Bellingham broke the moment first, tilting his head slightly. "See you out there." Izan gave a slight nod, watching as the England midfielder jogged back toward his squad. As he turned back to his own drills, he felt it¡ªthe shift. The lightheartedness from earlier had settled into something more focused. The final was here. Back in the locker room, Izan unzipped the bag, pulling out the pristine pair of boots. Izan caressed the object like one would a baby. Nico, lacing up his boots nearby, glanced over and whistled appreciatively. "Damn, those look clean, Izan. Saw it back then but now, they¡¯ve caught my eye now?" Izan grinned, slipping the boots on. "Perks of being a good player." Pedri walked over, running a hand over the smooth upper. "They¡¯ve brought back the tongue? Old school. I like it." Izan flexed his foot, testing the fit. "Yeah, they wanted to blend the classic feel with modern tech. Feels good so far." In the corner, Lamine Yamal sat with his arms crossed, a slight pout on his face. "Must be nice getting custom gear," he muttered. Izan looked up, smirking. "Your time will come, Lamine. Keep playing like you have been, and you¡¯ll have Adidas fighting to keep you." Yamal huffed, but the slight smile on his lips betrayed him. "Yeah, yeah. Just don¡¯t forget to get me one when it comes out." The room chuckled, the camaraderie easing the pre-match tension. But as the final words of banter faded, a stillness settled over them. Morata stood, stretching his arms. "Alright, time to get moving." The team rose in unison, the sound of boots shuffling against the floor echoing through the space. Izan rolled his shoulders, adjusting his kit. Around him, his teammates did the same¡ªsome bouncing on their toes, others letting out slow, deep breaths, grounding themselves. Then, one by one, they stepped out. ......¡­. The Olympiastadion was alive, a breathing entity of color and sound. A final like this wasn¡¯t just a football match¡ªit was theatre. It was war. It was destiny waiting to be written. High above the pitch, inside the broadcast box, Peter Drury adjusted his headset, glancing out at the spectacle below. His co-commentator, Alan Shearer, sat beside him, watching the Spanish and English players prepare for kickoff. Drury let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Alan, I cannot tell you how glad I am to be here. Nights like these¡­ they are why we do this. The stage is set for something truly special." Shearer nodded, a knowing smile on his lips. "It¡¯s a privilege, Peter. And what a game we have in store. Two teams, two footballing nations that have walked through fire to get here. Only one will stand at the end." Drury¡¯s voice softened for a moment, carrying that poetic reverence he was known for. "There is something about a final, isn¡¯t there? All roads converge to this singular moment. All the toil, the sacrifice, the whispered dreams of a child kicking a ball against a wall¡ªtonight, they all find their meaning." He adjusted his notes, exhaling as the cameras panned across the stadium. "Spain. Three-time champions, seeking to etch their name into history once more. England. A nation weighed down by ghosts of the past, chasing a night they have long dreamt of but never touched. And now, under the lights of Berlin, we will find our champion." ? [Tunnel] Izan stood still, his heartbeat a steady drum in his chest. The tunnel was thick with tension. England, on one side. Spain on the other. Shoulder to shoulder, breaths shallow, gazes fixed ahead. Explore more at NovelFire.C?m Morata, standing beside him, exhaled deeply. "Here we go." Izan didn¡¯t respond. He didn¡¯t need to. A few steps away, Jude Bellingham rolled his neck, shaking out his shoulders. He caught Izan¡¯s eye, offering a small grin. Izan smiled back before he could realize, they were following the referee onto the pitch. The tunnel spat them out into a world of blinding light and deafening sound. Berlin roared. A sea of red and white. Flags lifted high. The players stepped onto the pitch, the sacred grass beneath their boots, the weight of the occasion pressing down on them. Fireworks cracked overhead, illuminating the night sky. The cameras followed them, broadcasting their every movement to the millions watching from every corner of the world. And then¡ª Peter Drury¡¯s voice rose above it all, weaving poetry into the moment. "There are nights in football that exist beyond mere competition. Nights where the weight of history presses down on every touch, where the breath of a nation lives within its players. This¡­ is one of those nights." "Two nations, standing at the precipice. Spain, steeped in glory, seeking to reclaim what was once theirs. England, forever the dreamers, forever the hopeful, forever chasing a moment that has eluded them for generations." "And so, under the cathedral of Berlin, they gather. The old guard, the young stars, the hearts of millions resting upon their shoulders." "For some, this is just a game. For others¡­ this is everything." Alan Shearer¡¯s voice cut in, measured and firm. "It¡¯s all led to this. The journey through the group stage, the battles in the knockouts. And now, one final hurdle. Spain. England. Ninety minutes¡ªperhaps more¡ªto carve their names into eternity." Drury exhaled. "It is time." The stadium fell into a hushed reverence. Spain first. Hands-on hearts. Eyes closed. Voices steady. Then England. Their fans roared, God Save the King shaking the Olympiastadion to its core. The final notes faded, leaving only the thunderous pulse of anticipation. Morata and Kane stepped forward, the captains, the leaders of two footballing armies. A handshake. A nod. The coin flipped. England won. They chose to kick off. The players spread out, taking their positions. Izan adjusted his socks, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the England backline. Across from him, Bellingham did the same, stretching his arms once before settling into his stance. The referee raised the whistle to his lips. A collective inhale from the stadium. A moment of absolute stillness. Then¡ª Kickoff. "And we are off to what could become a crowning moment for these players on the field. Once more, my name is Peter Drury and this is the Euros 2024 final" S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball rolled under the floodlights, and the Euro 2024 final was officially underway. England knocked it around their backline, feeling out Spain¡¯s press. John Stones to Walker. Walker to Rice. Rice to Bellingham. The rhythm of an opening chess match, each pass a test, and each touch a probe. Izan moved instinctively, pressing forward the moment Rice hesitated. Spain¡¯s shape compacted, forcing England to retreat for a moment before Walker switched it long to Saka. And then, in an instant, the game truly began. ? Saka took his first real touch of the game near the halfway line, but Cucurella was on him immediately. A quick shove, a tight squeeze¡ªyet, no space to breathe. Bellingham dropped deeper, offering an option, and Saka flicked the ball inside. But Pedri was already reading it. The Barcelona midfielder pounced, sliding in with perfect precision to poke the ball away and It fell straight to Izan. He took one touch, then glanced up and then, he was off. He turned into space, his feet light, his mind already shifting to the offensive stride. Foden was backpedaling, Rice was shifting to close him down. But Izan saw the gap. A delicate flick with his instep, and he was through¡ªdriving at England¡¯s backline with terrifying speed. The Spanish fans rose to their feet. Could they be seeing an electric start here? Nico sprinted down the left, Lamine wide on the right. Morata peeled off, dragging Stones away. Izan had options. He feinted left, then cut sharply to his right, escaping Rice¡¯s lunge. The box was near. The moment was rising. Then¡ª Kyle Walker. A blur of movement. A last-ditch recovery run. Just as Izan pulled his foot back to shoot, Walker lunged in, his outstretched boot barely deflecting the ball away. The stadium gasped. Izan stumbled, regaining his footing as England scrambled to clear. First warning sign. Spain had arrived at the final Chapter 318: Cometh Hour, Cometh Boy The ball rolled under the floodlights, and the Euro 2024 final was officially underway. England knocked it around their backline, feeling out Spain¡¯s press¡ªJohn Stones to Walker. Walker to Rice. Rice to Bellingham. The rhythm of an opening chess match, each pass a test, and each touch a probe. Izan moved instinctively, pressing forward the moment Rice hesitated. Spain¡¯s shape compacted, forcing England to retreat for a moment before Walker switched it long to Saka. And then, in an instant, the game truly began. ? Saka took his first real touch of the game near the halfway line, but Cucurella was on him immediately. A quick shove, a tight squeeze¡ªyet, no space to breathe. Bellingham dropped deeper, offering an option, and Saka flicked the ball inside. But Pedri was already reading it. The Barcelona midfielder pounced, sliding in with perfect precision to poke the ball away and It fell straight to Izan. He took one touch, then glanced up and then, he was off. He turned into space, his feet light, his mind already shifting to the offensive stride. Foden was backpedaling, Rice was shifting to close him down. But Izan saw the gap. A delicate flick with his instep, and he was through¡ªdriving at England¡¯s backline with terrifying speed. The Spanish fans rose to their feet. Could they be seeing an electric start here? Nico sprinted down the left, Lamine wide on the right. Morata peeled off, dragging Stones away. Izan had options. He feinted left, then cut sharply to his right, escaping Rice¡¯s lunge. The box was near. The moment was rising. Read latest chapters at NovelFire.C?m Then¡ª Kyle Walker. A blur of movement. A last-ditch recovery run. Just as Izan pulled his foot back to shoot, Walker lunged in, his outstretched boot barely deflecting the ball away. The stadium gasped. Izan stumbled, regaining his footing as England scrambled to clear. First warning sign. Spain had arrived at the final ....... The clearance was desperate, yet decisive. Kyle Walker launched his boot high and long, sending the ball away from immediate danger. For a split second, the stadium held its breath¡ªa brief reprieve for England and a warning to Spain that every possession could turn into a battle. Peter Drury¡¯s mellifluous voice cut through the murmur of the crowd: [Learned that word today in my Communications class ?~?] "A clearance, not by elegance but by necessity¡ªa defiant surge in the chaos of battle. Yet even as England finds momentary solace, the seeds of counter-attack lie in wait." Immediately, the ball descended into the midfield. An English midfielder gathered it cleanly, pivoting to launch a swift counter. With a deft pass into space, Rice sought to exploit the fleeting gap left by Spain¡¯s aggressive press. The English bench tensed¡ªSouthgate¡¯s eyes narrowed, while on the Spanish side, Luis de la Fuente¡¯s jaw tightened in silent calculation. The ball threaded through, finding its way to Jude at the edge of the box. Bellingham, aware of the danger of a quick break, hesitated¡ªa moment of uncertainty that allowed Spain. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Real Madrid man sent the ball streaking towards the Spain box but Pedri, ever watchful, surged forward, intercepting the pass with a touch that whispered of impending retribution. "And Pedri steals! In a moment that crystallizes the fine line between chaos and brilliance, Spain reclaims possession!" Drury intoned his words melding with the roar of the crowd. For a heartbeat, the ball danced between English determination and Spanish ambition. The English midfielders tried to reassert control, but Pedri¡¯s and Izan¡¯s presence forced them to yield. The tempo shifted once more. The ball, now cradled by Spain, was rolled out wide to Nico, who eyed the crowded flank. Nico¡¯s pass was precise¡ªa delicate chip that sought to breach the English defense. Yet England, ever resilient, pressed back. Stones raced to intercept, his challenge forcing Morata, who had just controlled Nico¡¯s pass to adjust at the last second. Morata¡¯s shot ricocheted off Rice¡¯s boot and landed in the midfield, where Rodri and Bellingham collided in a tussle, each vying for dominance. "Here is the beautiful uncertainty of football¡ªwhere possession is fluid, and every challenge carries the weight of destiny," Drury murmured, as the camera panned over the anxious faces in the stands. English supporters, clad in white, roared encouragement, while Spanish fans chanted in a unified, fervent chorus. In this ebb and flow, neither side could settle. England countered with a deliberate, measured advance¡ªBellingham, with his characteristic tenacity, gathered the ball and advanced. His legs churned forward, but almost immediately, Spain pressed in. Rodri emerged from the heart of the Spanish midfield, colliding with the English runner. A clatter, a scramble, and the ball popped loose once more. The exchange was relentless¡ªa back-and-forth that stretched each second into an eternity. On the sidelines, Southgate barked orders, his voice tinged with urgency, while de la Fuente¡¯s steady gaze urged his players to be patient, to seize that decisive moment. The tension was palpable as the ball skittered between players on both sides, a symbol of the delicate balance in this grand contest. And then, amid this oscillating tide, the breakthrough began to form. England¡¯s throw-in deep in their half brought the ball back into play. The throw was precise¡ªan attempt to calm the oscillating rhythm¡ªbut Spain¡¯s eyes were fixed on it. Walker¡¯s clearance had bought England time, but Spain were relentless in their pursuit. Pedri surged forward once again, intercepting the throw with a deft touch that silenced a murmur of protest from the English bench. He pivoted and played a low, slicing pass to a midfielder positioned just outside the penalty area. The ball was now a tangible threat¡ªa promise of retribution against the English resilience. "And now, from the very depths of frustration, Spain weave their magic¡ªPedri, with that glint of genius, crafts an opportunity!" Drury¡¯s commentary soared, drawing every ear and eye. The English defense, scrambling to regroup, attempted a desperate clearance that found its way to Stones. But the pressure was mounting. The ball was once again drawn into the vortex of Spanish ambition. With another series of quick one-twos, Spain shifted the play from one flank to the other¡ªNico sprinting down the left, Lamine making a darting run on the right. The entire stadium was a canvas of movement and emotion. In this charged moment, Rice¡¯s hurried pass found its way to Izan. His eyes, sharp and determined, locked onto a fleeting gap. Yet even as Izan received the ball, the English defense, unwilling to relent, surged forward in a collective bid to stave off the inevitable. For a moment, the exchange continued¡ªa dizzying, chaotic interplay. Izan found himself caught in a duel with the indefatigable Kyle Walker. Every step he took was shadowed by Walker¡¯s unyielding pursuit. The English captain¡¯s presence was a constant reminder of the stakes at hand¡ªa reminder that no moment of brilliance would be allowed to pass unchallenged. But the stage was set. Amid the murmurs and shouts, amidst the clash of wills, Izan saw his opportunity. The ball was at his feet, and the defenders around him were forced to commit A moment of hesitation¡ªan artful feint that sent a ripple through the defense. John Stones, caught off-guard, flinched as if in slow motion. Then, with the world around him a blur of red and white, Izan shifted left¡ªjust enough¡ªand unleashed a shot. "IZAN SHOOTS¡ª" Drury¡¯s voice exploded, interlacing with the collective heartbeat of the crowd. Pickford, ever valiant, leaped. His fingertips brushed the leather¡ªa near miss that sent a jolt of disbelief through every soul present. The net rippled, as if in slow motion, and the Olympiastadion erupted in a cacophony of joy and despair. "GOLAZO! SPAIN STRIKE FIRST! And who else? Cometh the hour, cometh the boy! The youngest Pichichi in history, the crown jewel of Spanish football, and now¡­ a scorer in the final of the European Championship! Izan strikes, and Spain lead England in Berlin!" Drury bellowed, his words draped in the poetry of the moment. The Spanish stands exploded with ecstasy¡ªscarves whirling, voices merging into an ecstatic roar. In the VIP sections, shouts and smiles intermingled. Meanwhile, on the England bench, Southgate¡¯s eyes were dark with determination as he turned to his assistants, his tone resolute: "We respond. Now." Yet even as the Spanish bench surged in jubilant celebration, the battle was far from over. Jude Bellingham, his face a mask of intensity, gathered himself near the halfway line, eyes still locked on the horizon. The war for Europe was not decided by a single moment, however brilliant. It was a clash of titanic wills¡ªa contest of possession, passion, and perseverance. And as Izan¡¯s teammates enveloped him on the pitch, the atmosphere crackled with the promise of more drama to come. The war was only just beginning, and both nations braced themselves for the back-and-forth that was yet to unfold. "8 goals now for the Valencia man. Platini had nine. Can the little magician from Alboraya do it" Peter Drury flowed as the Spanish players returned to their half. Their fans roared behind them and although it was just a goal between them and the English, it was still something to be proud of. Chapter 319: Halfway Through Glory The ball was placed back at the center circle, but the weight of the moment lingered. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Spain¡¯s players jogged back to their positions, their celebrations still ringing in the stands, but on the pitch, their focus was unwavering. England, however, had no time for mourning. They gathered at the halfway line, Rice clapping his hands, Walker speaking urgently to Stones. Bellingham, standing with his hands on his hips, exhaled slowly, his mind already finding ways to break down the Spanish setup. "And so, Spain lead in Berlin. A goal struck with the audacity of youth, with the elegance of a player far beyond his years. Izan, the boy from Alboraya, the boy who dreamt under Valencian skies, has placed his nation in front. But now, now we see what England are made of." Peter Drury¡¯s voice carried the weight of history as the English players readied themselves. The whistle blew and play resumed. England didn¡¯t hesitate. The ball was knocked back to Stones, who immediately swept it to Walker. Spain pressed high again, but England had adjusted. This time, Walker didn¡¯t hesitate. He launched it long toward Kane, seeking to bypass Spain¡¯s suffocating midfield. Kane leapt trying to get to Walker¡¯s pass and Rodri leapt with him. Two warriors in mid-air. The two went for the header but the ball ricocheted off Rodri¡¯s shoulder and fell to Foden. A touch to settle, and then a turn to face forward. The Manchester City magician darted through a gap, weaving past Pedri, his movement liquid, his intent clear. "And now England look to respond! Foden, eyes up, driving at Spain¡¯s lines¡ª" Alan Shearer leaned forward in the commentary booth. Foden drove forward with intent but then a flash of red. Dani Carvajal lunged in, a veteran¡¯s timing, sweeping the ball cleanly from Foden¡¯s feet. The England winger stumbled but stayed upright, looking for the referee, yet No whistle. Carvajal was already moving, flicking the ball wide to Lamine Yamal, who controlled it with a velvet touch. And suddenly, Spain were flying again. Lamine darted forward, Saka backpedaling. The English winger, so often the tormentor, now found himself tormented. Yamal danced, feinted right, then left but Saka stayed disciplined, arms out, mirroring his every step. Then, a quick dart inside which saw Yamal thread the ball to Izan, who had peeled away from Rice. "It¡¯s Izan again! The boy is in the mood tonight!" Drury called. A turn, a shift in weight, a sudden burst and he was away, skipping past Rice with a ghostly elegance. Morata called for it, arms waving, but Izan saw something else. A fraction of space. A half-second window. He went for it. A curling strike from the edge of the box¡ªpure, deadly, precise. Stones threw himself in the way, the ball smacking off his outstretched leg, changing course, wobbling dangerously toward Pickford¡¯s goal. The England keeper reacted¡ªfast, desperate. A leap, a stretch¡ªfingertips brushing leather. The ball clipped the crossbar. Gasps. A collective shudder ran through the Olympiastadion. Some fans had already leaped to their feet, certain it was in. Alan Shearer exhaled sharply. "That was nearly two. That was inches. That was¡ªbloody hell." Peter Drury¡¯s voice followed, softer, yet no less profound. "Football¡­ a game measured in the finest of margins, where inches hold destinies, and here, here is proof. Spain are relentless. England are surviving." The English defenders regrouped, shaking off the scare. Pickford yelled at his backline, his voice hoarse, his frustration clear. But there was no time to dwell. The game refused to breathe. Spain¡¯s corner was taken quickly with Yamal passing to Pedri before the latter whipped in the cross. The Spanish players in the box rose high but none were higher than the hands of Pickford. The latter fell to the ground with the ball before standing up abruptly and launching England forward once more. The ball found Bellingham. Continue your saga on NovelFire.C?m And here, now, the young king of England took the reins. A touch, a turn, a storming run straight through the middle. His legs ate up the ground, his power on full display as he brushed past Rodri like a man moving through reeds. The Spanish midfield recoiled¡ªPedri scrambled to intercept, but Bellingham shrugged him off. Cucurella came flying in from the side, but Bellingham cut across his path, absorbing the contact and emerging unscathed. The English crowd rose as one. "Go on, Jude!" Shearer urged, his voice rising. Bellingham neared the box. Kane peeled away, Foden ghosted into space, and Saka sprinted wide. England had options. Many options. The Spanish defense braced. Le Normand took a step forward, trying to close the angle. Bellingham lifted his head. Then¡ª He fired. A strike, low and venomous, skipping off the turf like a skipping stone. Unai Sim¨®n reacted late, unsighted. His gloves met air. But¡ª The ball smacked against the post. Clang. A sound that sent tremors through the entire stadium. The rebound spun wildly, dangerously¡ª Kane lunged¡ª But Carvajal was faster. A desperate clearance. Spain had survived. The game was now breathless, furious, teetering on the edge of madness. Peter Drury¡¯s voice soared. "And now, Berlin shakes! England, a whisper from equalizing! A battle of inches, a war of hearts! Spain hold on, but for how long?!" The clock ticked. 35 minutes. Both teams felt the weight of the moment. The pace didn¡¯t slow. Saka found himself in a footrace with Cucurella, their arms tangling as they sprinted down the right. Saka won the duel, whipping in a cross, but Le Normand rose high to nod it away. Izan, dropping deep to help, gathered the clearance. And then he was off again. A darting run, a flick past Walker, another burst past Rice. The English midfield couldn¡¯t contain him. Stones stepped up. Izan saw it¡ªtoo late. A thudding collision. The Spaniard hit the turf, rolling once before springing up, wincing but refusing to show pain. The referee let play continue. Bellingham seized the loose ball, sized up his options, and sent the ball away. Straight to Kane. Kane held it up, nudged it left to Foden, and ran into space. A quick one-two, Kane received it again at the edge of the box. One touch to settle and then- Boom! Kane¡¯s shot rippled as it zoomed towards the Spanish goal. Unai Simon tensed, getting ready to meet the shot but- Blocked¡ªPedri threw himself in the way, the ball cannoning off his thigh and bouncing to Rodri. Spain¡¯s captain wasted no time. A quick pass to Izan. And just like that¡ªanother counter. The match was a heartbeat, an erratic, relentless pulse. Spain surged forward again¡ªYamal sprinting wide, Nico breaking through the left, Izan in the center, Morata dragging defenders. Izan saw the space. A final push before halftime. One last move before the whistle. A flick to Nico. Nico cut inside, ghosting past Walker, and followed through. A shot¡ª Pickford saved, parrying it wide. Yamal got the ball on the byline but before he could cross, the whistle sounded. Halftime. An exhale. A moment of reprieve. Players walked off, some shaking their heads, others clenching fists. The English fans roared encouragement. The Spanish supporters waved scarves, knowing the battle was far from won. "Forty-five minutes remain. Forty-five minutes to carve names into history. Spain lead by one. England chase shadows of redemption. The war resumes soon, and in this grand theater, heroes will rise¡­ or fall." ...¡­.. BBC Punditry Booth ¨C Host: "And there you have it. A grueling half which saw Spain lead at the break, but my word, that was played at an absolutely relentless pace. Peter Drury called it a battle of inches, and Jeff, it really does feel like that. Spain lead 1-0, but England have had their moments." Jeff Shreeves: "Absolutely. It¡¯s been a proper heavyweight clash, and neither side is holding back. Spain got their goal through Izan, and what a strike that was¡ªpure instinct, pure quality. But since then, it¡¯s been a war. England have had their chances. Jude Bellingham, my word, he was a whisker away from leveling it. That strike off the post¡­ you could hear the whole stadium hold its breath." Rio Ferdinand: "Yeah, it¡¯s those little moments that decide games at this level. England haven¡¯t been bad at all, they just haven¡¯t had that final bit of luck. Kane had a couple of half-chances, Foden has looked sharp, and Jude¡ªhe¡¯s carrying so much of this team¡¯s attacking intent. But Spain, they¡¯re so well-drilled. Rodri, Pedri, and Carvajal¡ªthese guys know how to kill momentum. And then there¡¯s Izan. You can¡¯t keep him quiet. The kid¡¯s a star, and England need a plan to stop him." Gary Lineker: "Yeah, he¡¯s been electric. He¡¯s playing with a confidence beyond his years. But England aren¡¯t out of this, not by a long shot. One goal changes everything. The second half is going to be massive." Host: "Well, the stage is set. 45 minutes remain. Will Spain hold on, or can England fight back? We¡¯ll find out soon." Chapter 320: England’s Knight [Golden Ticket] The Spanish locker room wasn¡¯t silent, but it wasn¡¯t loud either. It was a controlled hum of focus¡ªheavy breaths, the occasional murmur of conversation, the sharp hiss of water bottles being squeezed. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and grass, bodies still pulsing from the war waged in the first half. Izan leaned against his locker, rolling a cold bottle against his ribs. Stones had caught him hard earlier, and though the pain wasn¡¯t enough to bother him, he could still feel it beneath his fingertips. His goal had put Spain ahead, but that wasn¡¯t enough. Not yet. Across from him, Rodri sat on the bench, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. His face was unreadable, but his mind was working through the patterns of the game¡ªspaces, movements, the subtle shifts in England¡¯s approach. He was already in the second half before it had even started. Lamine Yamal, tying and retying his boots, finally spoke. "They came on relentlessly towards the end but I don¡¯t think that will be all.," he muttered, eyes down. Carvajal, adjusting his shin pads, nodded. "Yeah. They¡¯re desperate now." De la Fuente clapped his hands, pulling everyone¡¯s attention. "They will change something," the coach started, his voice calm but firm. "They¡¯ll go direct. Jude Bellingham is growing into the game. If he starts dictating, we suffer." Baraja, standing with his arms crossed, glanced at Izan. "You¡¯re stretching them well," he said. "Don¡¯t force it. If you see Nico or Lamine in space, trust them." Then he turned to Morata. "Hold your runs a second longer. We¡¯re pulling them apart, but we need to make it count." Rodri straightened, his voice sharp. "They want a battle. We don¡¯t give it to them. We control this game. We kill their rhythm." A murmur of agreement sounded. This wasn¡¯t a game they could let slip. As they stood, Carvajal exhaled, muttering under his breath, "Forty-five minutes from history. Stay tough for me guys, I need to win something with Spain before I hang up my worn boots." His old man antic caused the locker room to ease but the focus was still there. Meanwhile, in the England Locker Room¡­ The mood was different¡ªtense, but not defeated. Declan Rice wiped sweat from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Across from him, Jude Bellingham sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. His mind was racing. He had come inches away from scoring. Inches. Gareth Southgate walked to the center of the room, his voice measured but urgent. "We¡¯re still in this," he started, sweeping his gaze across the squad. "Spain have had control, but we¡¯ve had our moments. We hit the post. We forced them into mistakes. We are one goal away." Kyle Walker cracked his neck. "We know what we need to do." Southgate nodded. "We need to be direct. Jude, keep driving at them. Force them into situations where they have to react." Bellingham exhaled sharply, nodding. Southgate¡¯s eyes scanned the room. "This isn¡¯t over. It¡¯s never over until we say it is." As the players stood, claps echoed through the locker room. This was it. The Spanish fans waved their scarves, the red and yellow a sea of flickering color under the Berlin night. Some were jubilant, others restless. A group of older fans, veterans of past tournaments, watched with cautious optimism. They had seen too much heartbreak over the years to celebrate early. In the English section, it was different. A storm was brewing. A father and son, both draped in St. George¡¯s flags, exchanged nervous glances. The son, no older than ten, asked, "We can still win, right?" His father forced a smile. "Of course we can. And you¡¯ll see it soon" But in truth, he wasn¡¯t sure. Across the world, in London, pubs overflowed with fans. The streets were alive with tension, every big screen displaying the words: HALFTIME ¨C SPAIN 1-0 ENGLAND. Pints were sipped anxiously. Some fans debated Southgate¡¯s tactics, while others muttered prayers into their drinks. In Valencia, at a packed viewing area in Alboraya, Izan¡¯s hometown, the atmosphere was different. His name was being chanted. He had given them the lead. But no one dared celebrate too early. BBC Pundits Set Gary Lineker adjusted his earpiece as the cameras panned across the stadium. "Well, if you¡¯ve just joined us, Spain lead England 1-0 at halftime in this gripping Euro 2024 final," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the occasion. Rio Ferdinand shook his head. "This has been a proper game, a real final. We¡¯ve seen quality, we¡¯ve seen fights, and we¡¯ve seen some breathtaking moments. Spain deserved their lead, but England are right in this." Ian Wright leaned forward. "Jude Bellingham has been England¡¯s best player. He¡¯s carried them forward, hit the post, and you feel like if something¡¯s gonna happen, he¡¯s the man to make it happen." Micah Richards, never one to hide his emotions, grinned. "But let¡¯s talk about Izan, lads. What a player. Yet to be Seventeen years old, biggest game of his life, and he¡¯s playing like he¡¯s been here for years. That goal, that confidence¡ªunbelievable." Lineker nodded. "Spain¡¯s golden generation is forming before our eyes." Then he turned serious. "Forty-five minutes remain. A half of football that will define careers. Will Spain hold on, or can England claw their way back into this final? Over to you Peter and Alan " As he spoke, the players emerged from the tunnel, hot and ready for the second half. The fans of each nation roared behind their men as they settled into positions. After that, the referee blew his whistle. And just like that, the battle resumed. England, aggressive from the first touch, pushed forward. Declan Rice, demanding the ball, shifted it wide to Walker. Spain pressed, but Walker launched a deep pass toward Kane, trying to bypass the Spanish midfield. Kane rose, meeting it with a flicked header¡ª Bellingham stormed forward, taking it on the bounce. A sharp touch. A shift in weight. A surge of power. He danced past Pedri, shrugged off Cucurella, and bore down on goal. The English fans roared, sensing it. Bellingham shot¡ªlow, driven¡ª Sim¨®n saw it late, diving¡ª The ball clipped the outside of the post. Agonizingly close again. Gasps rippled through the crowd. On the England bench, Southgate clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. From the Spanish technical area, De la Fuente shouted at his players, urging them to regain control. Spain responded. Rodri, always calm, gathered possession and played out from the back. Izan dropped deep, took a sharp turn past Rice, and accelerated. He saw Nico sprinting down the left and threaded a perfect pass into his path. Nico cut inside, spotted Morata peeling away from Stones, and sent in a curling cross¡ª Morata dived¡ª Pickford reacted¡ª A save! The England keeper palmed it away desperately. The stadium shook with noise. Spain were relentless. England were defiant. A final that would be remembered forever was unfolding before the world¡¯s eyes. ... The match was tilting. Spain could feel it. The tide had shifted, and the red shirts were being pulled backward, deeper into their half. Every clearance now was a breathless attempt to hold on. Every English attack was another hammer striking at the door. And then¡ªEngland found their moment. Jordan Pickford, standing at the edge of his box, caught a lofted cross and wasted no time. The English fans behind him sensed it before it even began. A drop-kick¡ªlaunched into the night, high and searching. Harry Kane, battle-worn and relentless, was already moving. Laporte grappled with him, an arm across his chest, but Kane knew this duel. Find exclusive stories on NovelFire.C?m He jumped, the muscles in his neck tightening¡ª A flicked header. The ball spiraled through the air, and there¡ªlike a shadow cutting through the night¡ªJude Bellingham arrived. "Jude Bellingham¡ªJude Bellingham! He¡¯s carried England, he¡¯s driven them, and now¡ª" Peter Drury¡¯s voice rose above the stadium, alive with fate. A touch to steady. The stadium held its breath. Rodri lunged, too late. Cucurella twisted, reaching for the ball¡ª But Bellingham was already striking through the ball, a shot bursting with power and destiny. It rocketed past Unai Sim¨®n, a bullet of pure conviction¡ª And crashed into the net, faster than the fans could react. Then suddenly- BOOOOMM GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL "WHO WAS IT THEY ASK. WELL WHO ELSE? JUDE BELLINGHAM! ENGLAND ARE LEVEL!" The English half of the stadium erupted. A roar, a wave, a storm of white shirts and lifted arms. Alan Smith barely had time to exhale. "It had to be him! He has willed England back into this final!" S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Bellingham sprinted away, chest heaving, fists clenched. His teammates flooded toward him, dragging him to the ground in a heap of ecstasy. The Spanish players stood frozen, stunned. On the touchline, Southgate pumped his fist. De la Fuente turned away, lips pressed together. In the commentary booth, Peter Drury¡¯s voice soared again. "This young man, this force of nature¡ªhe refuses to let England fall! "This final¡ªthis war¡ªis not over yet! It¡¯s all Level here at the Olympiastadion." Chapter 321: King Harry ? Olympiastadion, Berlin Peter Drury: "And now the storm rages on! England, fueled by Bellingham¡¯s brilliance, come again! There is no pause, no breath¡ªjust white shirts flooding forward, hammering at Spain¡¯s walls and we are here for it." England pushed immediately after the restart. A quick throw-in¡ªWalker to Saka. A return pass. The ball moved like lightning. Alan Smith: "Spain need to weather this, Peter. England are relentless now. This is where the game tilts¡ªcan Spain hold firm, or will England drive the dagger deeper?" Rodri, ever the general, roared at his teammates. "Tighten up! Hold the line!" Spain compressed, but England didn¡¯t wait for them to organize. Walker, seeing the gap, launched a diagonal pass over the top. Peter Drury: "It¡¯s Walker! Sending it long¡ªoh, and Kane is there! Kane rising¡ª" Harry Kane, England¡¯s captain, muscled past Laporte, planting his feet and launching into the air. He met the ball cleanly, flicking it backward- Straight into Bellingham¡¯s path. Alan Smith: "Bellingham again! He¡¯s storming through!" Bellingham took it on the bounce, his touch immaculate. Pedri lunged¡ªtoo late while Cucurella tried to recover¡ªtoo slow. One stride. Two. Then¡ª A thunderous shot. Peter Drury: "Bellingham¡­ STRIKES¡ª!" The stadium held its breath¡ª Unai Sim¨®n, full stretch, barely got a hand to it! The ball rocketed off his fingertips, smashing the post before spinning away! Gasps erupted across the stadium. Alan Smith: "Oh my word! That was inches from sending England ahead! What a hit from Jude Bellingham!" On the England bench, Southgate clapped his hands sharply. "Keep pushing! We have them now!" ? But Spain weren¡¯t dead. Rodri, unfazed, gathered the loose ball from Cucurella¡¯s throw and instantly dictated the response. Peter Drury: "And Spain, like the champions they dream to be, refuse to stay down! Rodri¡­ cool, composed, orchestrating!" A sharp pass to Izan, who turned under pressure to face the English midfield. Declan Rice lunged¡ª but met air. Izan shifted left, letting the ball roll, then spun away in one smooth motion. The crowd gasped. Alan Smith: "Oh, that is elegant! The youngster, with a turn that belongs in football¡¯s grandest galleries!" Izan accelerated, burning past Rice and threading a pass to Nico Williams on the left. Nico, quick as ever, squared up Walker, dipped his shoulder, and exploded past him! Peter Drury: "Here comes Nico Williams! Blistering pace! Walker¡¯s beaten!" The cross came¡ªcurling, wicked, dangerous. Morata lunged. Stones lunged. Everyone looked on- Alan Smith: "IT¡¯S MORATA!!" The ball met his forehead cleanly¡ª streaking towards goal. Pickford, tensed, staring at the ball coming his way before he reacted on instinct! A reflex save! The ball ricocheted loose¡ª both colors fighting for the ball but it ultimately went to a red jersey. Lamine Yamal pounced¡ª and let one rip but- Peter Drury: "Yamal! BLOCKED BY GUEHI! Bodies on the line! My goodness, England survive!" The English defense scrambled, clearing desperately. ? On the touchline, two men barked orders¡ªtwo minds waging war from the sidelines. De la Fuente: animated, urgent. Southgate: poised, commanding. De la Fuente: "Rodri! We need control! Slow it down!" Southgate: "Declan, squeeze higher! Don¡¯t let them breathe!" Spain adjusted, cycling passes, and controlling possession while England pressed harder, forcing errors. Tactical moves, subtle but decisive, were unfolding in real-time. Peter Drury: "And this, Alan, is where managers earn their legacy. Southgate urges his men forward, knowing the tide is with them. De la Fuente counters, calling for calm. Two philosophies, two identities, colliding on football¡¯s grandest stage!" ? Every duel became personal. Every tackle left echoes in the stadium. Rice lunged at Pedri¡ªwon the ball, but sent him tumbling causing the Spanish fans to groan. On the other side, Rodri met Bellingham in midfield¡ªneither backed down, shoulders crashing like warriors in battle. Alan Smith: "Oh, it¡¯s feisty now! This isn¡¯t just football¡ªthis is a war of will, of grit, of heart!" On the left, Cucurella fought Saka for possession¡ªarms locked, legs tangled. Saka went down, screaming for a foul but the referee waved play on! Saka jumped up, furious, and went straight at Cucurella but the two sides were quickly separated by their teammates who couldn¡¯t afford to lose a man in the middle of an intense war. Peter Drury: "Oh, it¡¯s boiling now! Saka is furious! The referee says play on!" On the other end¡ª Izan charged into a loose ball, but Walker met him hard. A brutal shoulder-to-shoulder collision! Izan hit the ground but bounced up instantly, shoving forward. Walker snarled something at him. Izan, eyes burning, shot words right back. Alan Smith: "No fear from the youngster! This boy¡ªhe belongs on this stage, and he knows it!" The game was still open. Wild. Dangerous. England, patient, struck again. Rice stole possession, looked up, and saw Saka peeling wide. A quick switch¡ªbeautifully weighted. Saka took a touch, cut inside, and spotted Kane making a run between defenders. Peter Drury: "Harry Kane¡­ ghosting into space¡­ THIS IS THE MOMENT¡ª" Kane met the ball and struck it first-time¡ª A bullet of a shot¡ª Rodri lunged. Laporte lunged. But it was Unai Sim¨®n¡ªdiving, stretching¡ª FINGERTIPS TO IT! The ball deflected just enough to miss the post by inches! The England fans had half-risen from their seats¡ªthen collapsed in pure agony. Alan Smith: "So, so close! How is this still level?!" ? 75th Minute ¡ª Tension suffocated the stadium. The next goal felt like it was coming. Would it be England, riding the wave? Or Spain, refusing to fall? Both teams knew¡ªthe next moment, the next action, could define history. Peter Drury: "Fifteen minutes remain¡­ fifteen minutes for immortality." .........¡­ For the last ten minutes, England had been relentless. Their attacks were not just waves but a storm, crashing again and again against Spain¡¯s defense. The red shirts scrambled, cleared, and blocked, but they could not breathe. Even Izan was forced to defend. "That thing isn¡¯t helping. I thought my title was good but how do they even have a title now? And why is Jude¡¯s effect so hard to weather off." Izan thought as he glanced at Jude. [ Frantic state: Activated ] : Teammates experience a boost in abilities towards the latter stages of the game. Izan sighed standing from the ground before looking towards the English half where the ball was being zipped around. Peter Drury: "And still, they come! England, relentless! Spain are teetering, barely holding the line! The dam can only hold for so long!" Rodri was shouting, organizing, and dragging his teammates into position, but the Spanish legs were heavy. The game had been a war, and England could smell blood. Declan Rice, an engine that refused to tire, won the ball off Pedri in midfield and instantly launched another attack. Alan Smith: "It¡¯s suffocating, Peter! Spain just cannot get out! England are squeezing the life out of them!" The ball was worked wide¡ªBukayo Saka, electric all night, faced up Cucurella again. A feint inside saw Cucurella bite. And then, with a sharp burst to the outside, Saka was gone. Peter Drury: "Saka! Brilliant! He¡¯s past him! He cuts it back¡ªKANE!" Kane, always the predator, peeled away from Laporte and touched it past him. The ball spun loose, rolling toward the edge of the box. And then¡ªBellingham. Your next chapter is on NovelFire.C?m The boy England had pinned their hopes on. The boy who had led them here. Storming in, with all the force of a nation¡¯s will behind him. Alan Smith: "BELLINGHAM! OH, HE¡¯S TAKEN IT!" Laporte lunged but he was too late. And as if things couldn¡¯t get any worse, Bellingham went down. And then the whistle shrieked causing the Spanish players to freeze Peter Drury: "PENALTY! OH MY DAYS. ENGLAND HAVE A PENALTY IN THE 85TH MINUTE! THIS COULD BE IT" For a second, the stadium was frozen in shock¡ªthen came the eruption. England¡¯s fans exploded in celebration. Spain¡¯s players, furious, swarmed the referee. Rodri, eyes wide with rage, demanded a VAR check. Laporte shook his head, hands up in disbelief. Carvajal pointed to the screen, pleading yet the referee stood firm. Alan Smith: "Oh, you can see the fury, Peter! Spain are demanding a second look, but the decision has beenmade! The call stands!" On the touchline, Southgate pumped his fists in the air while de la Fuente stared on. As if his soul had been sucked out of his body. The stadium held its breath. Harry Kane. England¡¯s captain. The man they trusted in these moments. The penalty spot had seen legends made and broken. Kane stepped up, placed the ball down, and took a deep breath. Peter Drury: "Harry Kane. From twelve yards. For England. For glory." The whistle blew. And Kane, with the run-up, struck it low. Hard. Precise. Sim¨®n guessed right¡ªhe dived, fingertips grazing the ball¡ª But it wasn¡¯t enough. The ball clipped the inside of the post and buried itself in the net. Olympiastadion ERUPTED. Alan Smith: "HE¡¯S DONE IT! KANE SCORES! ENGLAND LEAD!" Kane sprinted away, arms outstretched, sliding on his knees as his teammates piled on top of him. On the touchline, Gareth Southgate¡ªso often composed¡ªpunched the air, a rare show of raw emotion. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Peter Drury: "Five minutes remain! Five minutes¡­ for England¡¯s immortality! Or is there another twist in this enticing fixture. I doubt it but football is never predictable " Chapter 322: Football, Not Coming Home The stadium was trembling. White shirts. White flags. White noise. The English fans were already singing. They had it all. It was done for them. There was no way Spain were scoring again. Gareth Southgate had punched the air, then turned to the bench with a clenched jaw, eyes ablaze with the hunger of unfinished business. His staff leaped onto each other. England¡¯s substitutes sprinted down the touchline, fists pumping, voices raw from screaming. In the heart of it all, Kane stood with his arms wide, his name echoing across Berlin. The king, once from north London had struck. Spain? Spain were staring into the abyss. They had stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Rodri had his hands on his knees, head down. Pedri was frozen in place, blank eyes watching the English celebration. Laporte stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief while Luis de la Fuente had gone completely still, his lips pressed tight. It was over. That¡¯s what they were probably thinking. But not him. Not Izan. He wasn¡¯t looking at the score. He wasn¡¯t looking at the celebrations. He was looking at England¡¯s shape. "They think it¡¯s over." They had dropped. They weren¡¯t pressing anymore. They were sitting in deep, suffocating space, killing time. "They think they¡¯ve won." Fine. Then he would tear them down. His body ached. His lungs burned. But his mind? Clearer than ever. Izan turned to Rodri, his voice cutting through the noise. "Give me the ball." Rodri hesitated. Just for a second. Then¡ª A nod. Spain restarted play. And Izan took flight. ? 87th Minute ¨C Rodri¡¯s pass zipped into Izan¡¯s feet under the urging of the small hopeful Spanish fans who still had some fight in them. Izan took one touch to kill the momentum behind the pass before flicking it past the oncoming Declan Rice. A body feint was next and the next English man bit. Gallagher lunged but Izan rolled the ball under his boot, spun away, and left him scrambling. Peter Drury: "Spain¡¯s golden boy¡­ refusing to bow to the inevitable!" Jude closed in, charging with the momentum of a sex-deprived bull. Izan, once again, dropped his shoulder¡ªtwitched left and dragged it right at the last second. Jude shifted his weight, trying to accommodate Izan¡¯s fluid movements but there was a limit to how flexible he could be. Alan Smith: "Look at Izan. He¡¯s gliding! Look at the balance, the poise, the elegance under pressure!" The England fans booed trying to mentally encroach on Izan. But he did not care. The other Spanish players moved into spaces to support Izan but it looked as if he was not done yet. Kyle Walker was coming. And fast Very Fast. But Izan was faster. The ball barely touched the ground as he weaved, shifted, and cut in behind¡ªleaving blades of grass screaming beneath his feet. Walker slid¡ª but missed. Izan was through. The Spanish crowd and the bench was on its feet. 87th Minute ¨C A red wave surged forward. It was coming. And then¡ª A crash. Declan Rice¡ªwho had recovered¡ªcame like a freight train, shoulder-first, straight into Izan¡¯s ribs. Izan¡¯s breath ripped from his lungs. His body folded. He hit the ground, hard. No whistle. The ball rolled away. And then¡ª A shadow. Kyle Walker was in his face, instantly. "Not this time." He loomed over Izan, chest puffed, nostrils flaring. Discover stories at FreeNovelFire Izan¡¯s head snapped up. A flicker of disbelief¡ªthen rage. He shoved himself up, eyes locked onto Walker. "That¡¯s a foul." Walker laughed. "Get up, kid." Jude Bellingham arrived, his face tight with frustration, grabbing Izan¡¯s arm. "Relax." he uttered but Izan yanked his arm free. " Don¡¯t tell me to relax Jude" Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Jude stared at Izan, as if he was seeing a different entity His blood was boiling. Rice strolled past, not even looking at him. "Stay down next time." That was it. Izan lunged forward. Walker¡¯s hands shot out, pushing him back. Nico Williams was there in a flash, shoving Walker. Bellingham grabbed Nico. Rodri charged in, screaming at the ref. "THAT¡¯S A FOUL!" The Spain bench erupted¡ªLuis de la Fuente stormed to the touchline, face red with fury. England¡¯s players surrounded the scene. Chaos. The referee finally blew his whistle. Not for a foul. For control. He pushed between Izan and Walker, arms out. "Enough!" Walker grinned, shaking his head. "He¡¯s rattled," he said to Jude while walking away. Izan¡¯s jaw locked. His heart thundered. But he wasn¡¯t rattled. He was ready. Rodri pulled him aside, his voice low. "Next time, go through them." Izan nodded. Eyes sharp. Lungs burning. This wasn¡¯t over. Not even close. Spain recovered possession. And Izan ran, jaw locked. His ribs burned. His lungs screamed. But he didn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t stop Again. Another attempt. This time, Stones stepped in¡ªbut Izan flicked it over him with an audacious scoop and ran onto his own pass. The stadium gasped. Alan Smith: "That is outrageous! Spain¡¯s young magician is weaving something special! But time is running out" England were rattled. The fourth official raised the board. +6 MINUTES. The English fans raised their voices in disapproval but they couldn¡¯t change the time. They rallied being their team, urging them to hold on. And so they did. Izan¡¯s legs were on fire. But the game was still alive. And then¡ª A break. John Stones collapsed, clutching his calf. England¡¯s medical team rushed on. Izan turned to the referee. He wasn¡¯t stopping the clock. They were killing time. "No. No. No." [Focus LV 2: Activated], the sound of the system rang through his consciousness His mind raced. Searching. Calculating. Then he saw it. Kyle Walker. For a split second, he turned to the bench, exchanging words with Southgate. A crack in focus. A sliver of an opening. Rodri saw him. Izan gave the signal. Rodri¡¯s pass¡ªpiercing, perfect, a missile cutting through England¡¯s midfield. Izan turned, one touch¡ª A backheel flick past Jude. The crowd gasped. Peter Drury: "He¡¯s playing jazz on the biggest stage of all! Spain¡¯s young maestro¡­ conducting his masterpiece!" Walker recovered, sprinting across. Izan feinted. Walker braced for the impact¡ªbut there was no impact. Izan had ghosted past him with a half-step, a shift of weight, a move so delicate it could only be felt, not seen. Spain surged forward. The world was watching. Izan had the ball at his feet, a storm in his veins. England¡¯s backline tightened, but he saw it unraveling. Kyle Walker¡ªtoo deep. John Stones¡ªhalf-injured, stepped out. A crack in the wall. Izan¡¯s pulse slammed against his ribs. Now. A delicate, teasing flick¡ªpast Stones. He was gone. Alan Smith: "HE¡¯S LEFT HIM BEHIND! COULD THIS BE IT?!" The Olympiastadion trembled. A seismic roar rolled across Berlin. People in plazas, in bars, in homes¡ªevery single Spaniard was on their feet. They saw it. Izan saw it. Nico Williams¡ªpeeling away. Wide open. Peter Drury: "IZAN SEES HIM! THE SLIDE-THROUGH! THE MOMENT!" Izan¡¯s foot kissed the ball¡ªa pass laced with pure magic. The ball slipped between desperate white shirts. A nation held its breath waiting for the decisive moment. Nico met it¡ª One touch. A heartbeat. A shot. A bullet. A GOAL. GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL, the stadium erupted, a cauldron of emotions as fans kissed, mingled with tears. Peter Drury: "NICOOOOO WILLIAMS!!! SPAIN! HAVE! RISEN! FROM THE EDGE OF OBLIVION TO THE GATES OF GLORY!!!" Spain erupted Madrid erupted. In Puerta del Sol, people threw drinks in the air, strangers embraced, screamed, and collapsed. Children cried, fathers roared, bars shook with the sheer force of the moment. In Valencia, fireworks split the night sky. In Seville, church bells rang. The entire nation¡ªunited in chaos. Alan Smith: "WHAT A RESPONSE! SPAIN, REFUSING TO DIE! REFUSING TO FADE! AND WHO ELSE BUT IZAN?!" On the pitch, Nico exploded. His shirt¡ªgone. His scream¡ªprimal. He sprinted towards the Spain fans, eyes wild, arms outstretched like a man possessed. Izan dropped to his knees, fists clenched, eyes burning while Yamal crashed into him. Rodri collapsed, hands in his hair. The Spain bench erupted. Luis de la Fuente¡ªhands in his face, eyes disbelieving. Spain¡¯s fans? They were in bedlam. But England? England were shattered. John Stones sat motionless, staring blankly at the grass. Declan Rice¡ªhands on his head. Walker¡ªon his knees, fingers digging into the turf, his face buried in frustration. And Jude Bellingham? Jude stood in the middle of it all. Hollow. His eyes blinked in shock. The moment¡ªthe dream¡ªhad been stolen. Peter Drury: "Football, at its cruelest. England, on the cusp of immortality, have been yanked back from paradise. Football is or was coming home. They saw the sun, and they tasted the sky¡ªbut Spain, indomitable Spain, have refused to kneel. From the depths of despair, they have willed themselves back into the light. And now, with time slipping through trembling fingers, the story is still waiting¡­ for one final name to write itself in legend." The scoreboard flashed. ENGLAND 2 - 2 SPAIN. The final minutes loomed. And Izan? He got to his feet, wiping sweat from his brow, his breathing heavy but his eyes fierce. He turned to Yamal. "One more." Yamal grinned through exhaustion. "One more." Chapter 323 - 30 Minutes Two minutes. Just two minutes. The weight of nations, the prayers of millions, the agony of uncertainty¡ªall squeezed into the final moments of normal time. Spain had equalized. Spain had refused to die. But England? England had their own history to make. Fweeeeeee¡¯ "And we¡¯re off again. It¡¯s still tense here at the Olympiastadion in Berlin. The crowd here is exceptional, both nations fighting for European glory." The ball zipped through the English midfield. Jude Bellingham drove forward, his lungs burning, his mind raging. Harry Kane, stood in-between the Spanish lines, the Wembley-born king, chasing a movement of Glory. "He¡¯s carried England before. Can he do it one last time?" Alan Smith¡¯s voice came through the speakers. Bellingham, still with the ball, feinted¡ªpast Rodri. Then a drop of the shoulder to send him away from the outstretched leg of Fabi¨¢n Ruiz who had just replaced Pedri and he was off. He lifted his head and saw Kane peeling wide. Bellingham didn¡¯t hesitate. A diagonal through-ball¡ªperfectly weighted. Kane¡ªon the turn¡ª didn¡¯t hesitate and cracked it with his right foot. It was flying. Flying into history. Peter Drury: "Harry Kane! Ohhh, what a hit¡ª" Unai Sim¨®n dived. A full-stretch, desperate, everything-on-the-line dive. Fingertips. The ball skimmed off his glove. It was still heading in¡ª but PING. THE POST. The goal rattled. A roar from the Spanish crowd¡ªpart relief, part disbelief. A hand on his mouth. A scream into the night. Harry Kane collapsed to his knees. Madrid erupted. Bars overflowed with beer and bodies. Plaza Mayor became a hurricane of tension. Peter Drury: "England gasping for air! Inches! A breath! A kiss off the post! And Spain¡­ still stand!" But there was no time to breathe. Unai Sim¨®n¡ªthinking quicker than anyone¡ªgrabbed the ball and threw it long. Straight to Izan. And the stadium rose again. This time, it was the turn of the England fans to panic. Izan controlled it¡ªeffortlessly before continuing in a turning motion, the ball still glued to his feet. Declan Rice rushed from behind but Izan flicked it over him, the ball never touching the ground. Then¡ªa drop of the shoulder. Walker lunged in. Izan pulled back at the last second¡ªWalker slid past him for the umpteenth time in the game. The Manchester City Man, turned to rise but, he only saw a shadow of the former. Izan had already taken off. The break was on. Nico Williams sprinted alongside him. England¡¯s backline scrambled, Stones, limping, Rice chasing shadows. Peter Drury: "And now, Spain come! Like fire! Like thunder! Like a hurricane roaring through the night!" Izan glanced up. He saw it. The space. The opportunity. He kept running. Peter Drury: "One last roll of the dice! One last breath! Could this be it?" Izan cut inside. He ignored Nico. He ignored everything. Twenty-five yards out. A moment of stillness. A breath... Ding, [Rocket trait: Activated] And then¡ªhe struck it. Pure. Sweet. Deadly. Experience new tales on FreeNovelFire A shot made for history. It curved. It swerved. It dipped. It zoomed. Pickford¡ªbeaten. Berlin froze. Madrid froze. London Froze Every living soul in between these two nations froze. Alan Smith: "IZAN! FROM DISTANCE! COULD IT BE¡ª" but CRACK. THE CROSSBAR. The fantasy shattered. The ball bounced out. Izan fell to his knees, hands on his head. Alan Smith: "UNBELIEVABLE. INCHES. MERE INCHES FROM GLORY." Peter Drury: "How? How does fate play with us so cruelly? Izan, the boy who has rewritten Spain¡¯s dreams, was half a heartbeat away from eternal legend!" And then¡ª The whistle blew. A long, sharp, final whistle. It was over. The match¡­ would go to extra time. Izan remained on his knees, staring at the crossbar like it had betrayed him. Walker, gasping for air, punched the turf. Bellingham, drenched in sweat, stood hands on hips, breathing like a man who had just survived a war. Spain¡¯s bench slumped. England¡¯s bench slumped. And in Plaza Mayor, in the streets of London, in Berlin¡¯s Olympiastadion¡ªa collective realization settled in. Thirty more minutes. Peter Drury: "Ninety minutes have given us heartbreak. Ninety minutes have given us poetry. But ninety minutes are not enough." The managers barked orders. The subs stretched. Water bottles were thrown, instructions shouted. The referee checked his watch. A deep breath. And then¡ª Extra time began. Another fight to the death. ------------©\---- Two nations. One trophy. Thirty minutes to decide it. Every breath, every heartbeat, every touch of the ball ached with tension. The first half of extra time began. 91¡¯ ¨C The first touch of the ball was heavy. The players¡ªdrained, battered, exhausted¡ªran on nothing but instinct and desire. And yet, from the whistle, England attacked. Declan Rice, somehow still running, shoved the ball forward. Bellingham met it. One touch. A spin. A flick into Foden. Alan Smith: "And England drives forward again! It¡¯s Bellingham¡ªit¡¯s Foden¡ªSpain are backpedaling!" Foden danced past Cucurella. Kane peeled away, once more, waiting. Foden whipped in a cross¡ªcurling, teasing¡ªbut Sim¨®n got there first and grabbed it comfortably. Spain survived. The counterattack came instantly. Rodri sent it long¡ªIzan! Peter Drury: "The boy wonder¡ªSpain¡¯s greatest hope¡ªracing into the English half!" Walker, lungs burning, chased. Izan¡ªspinning, shifting, moving. A sudden burst of acceleration and he had left Walker for dead. But John Stones, broken and battered, stepped in. Izan chopped left. Then right. Then¡ªa flick past him. Izan was through. Peter Drury: "IZAN! CAN HE FINISH IT?!" Pickford rushed out. Izan took the shot¡ªlow, driven, clinical¡ª But Pickford¡¯s scraped the ball, sending it out for a corner THE STADIUM GASPED. The miss galvanized England. Trent Alexander-Arnold, on as a fresh pair of legs surged forward. A deep cross¡ªKane! Header! UNAI SIM¨®N SAVED IT. Tha stadium gasped. Foden¡ªrebound! But Le Normand blocked it with his chest. Bodies flew everywhere. Berlin held its breath. And then¡ªa clearance! Spain escaped again. Peter Drury: "Neither will fall. Neither will break. This is football at its most punishing, at its most poetic." 103¡¯ ¨C The clock ticked down toward halftime in extra time. And then¡ª A STUNNING BURST FROM IZAN. A one-two with Olmo¡ªa sharp sprint past Rice and that was all Izan needed to slip past him in. [Bro, used the remaining of Diddy¡¯s oil] Izan, with a soft touch, lured Walker in. Then¡ªa delicate drag back. Walker lunged in earnest, trying to get the ball but fate would play tricks IZAN WENT DOWN. THE REF POINTED TO THE SPOT. A PENALTY. A roar from Spanish fans. Surely this was it now A scream from the England players. Alan Smith affirmed: "Oh my word! Penalty to Spain!" Walker buried his face in his hands, almost shedding tears as Kane came to comfort him. Bellingham, on the other hand, argued. Rice argued. But the decision stood. Peter Drury: "This is it. This is the moment. Spain¡ªon the brink of triumph. Who is the man to put them in the history books" Dani Olmo grabbed the ball. Izan stood still. Breathing heavy. Olmo, a picture of confidence, set the ball down and proceeded to have a staredown with Pickford The whistle blew. Olmo took a deep breath. He ran up. He struck it¡ª But HIGH. OVER THE BAR. NO. NO. NO. Peter Drury: "NOOOOO! IT¡¯S OVER THE BAR! SPAIN WERE GIVEN THE GIFT OF GLORY¡­ AND THEY THREW IT AWAY." The Spanish players collapsed in disbelief. The England fans erupted. Rice sprinted to Pickford and shoved him in celebration. Kane clenched his fists, yelling at his teammates: "WE GO AGAIN!" Izan¡ªstill standing¡ªcovered his mouth, his hands trembling. The first half of extra time was over. Both teams gathered, drained, shells of themselves. Luis de la Fuente grabbed Olmo by the shoulders. Izan looked up¡ªface locked in determination. The England players, clapping and rallying, huddled close. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Bellingham shook his head. Kane whispered something. This wasn¡¯t over. One last fight remained. The referee took a deep breath and blew his whistle. The second half of extra time¡­ began. The tension was unbearable. Every pass, every tackle, every glance toward the clock felt like history balancing on a knife¡¯s edge. Spain still reeled from Olmo¡¯s penalty miss. England smelled blood. Bellingham, relentless, tore through the midfield, dragging England forward. He laid it off to Kane, who took a touch and swiveled¡ªSHOT! Blocked! Le Normand flung himself in the way. The ball spilled loose¡ªFoden latched onto it, twisting, searching for space. A quick shift onto his left¡ªanother shot¡ª Sim¨®n punched it away! The rebound fell to Trent Alexander-Arnold. He struck it first time¡ª Over the bar! Peter Drury: "They keep knocking! They keep hammering! But Spain will not break!" Izan¡ªsilent, locked in¡ªwatched. Then, the moment arrived. A misplaced pass from Rice. A lifeline. Rodri intercepted and immediately turned. A single glance¡ª And then¡ªIzan was gone. The ball at his feet, Spain¡¯s last hope, their lightning bolt in human form. He sprinted, cutting inside as England scrambled. One last break. One last chance. Izan lifted his head. A pass? A shot? One decision. One strike for eternity. A/n: The next chapter will definitely be the end of the Euros Arc. Have fun reading and I¡¯ll see you in the next one. Chapter 324: King Of Spain 120+2¡¯ Izan¡ªshoulders hunched, breath short¡ªscanned the field¡ªone last chance. A pass? A shot? One decision. Spain surged forward, red blurs against the fading English resistance. The weight of history pressed down on them, yet Izan carried it like a warrior in his prime. Rodri, ever the general, looked up. A diagonal ball¡ªsharp, purposeful¡ªsent Dani Olmo into motion on the left flank. Peter Drury: "Spain¡¯s last breath¡ªone last whisper into the wind. Olmo, eyes up, heart pounding¡­ Is there still time? Is there space?" Olmo¡ªcornered¡ªfelt Declan Rice pressing, his presence like a wall of sheer will. The England midfielder had been a titan all game, but even Titans had their limits. Olmo hesitated, his muscles coiled with doubt, just enough to create the illusion that the moment had passed. But it hadn¡¯t. A ghost arrived. Izan. No one saw him. Not Stones, not Walker, not Pickford, not the thousands of English fans holding their breath, bracing for penalties. But suddenly, there he was, ghosting in from the right like a shadow slipping through the cracks of fate. Peter Drury: "Wait¡ªwait¡ªwho¡¯s that?! IT¡¯S HIM! IT¡¯S IZAN!" Olmo didn¡¯t think¡ªa first-time pass, curling away from Stones, curling toward destiny. The stadium gasped. Izan, running at full speed, caught it flush¡ªhis left foot carving through the air like an artist painting his masterpiece. [Nexus Flow and Pinpoint Accuracy Fused] [Host has activated a state and a trait simultaneously] [ Initiating UNION ] The sweet mechanical voice rang through his head as the ball left his foot. A curler. A dagger. A shot for eternity. The ball bent, wicked and precise, beyond Pickford¡¯s despairing reach. The English goalkeeper, arms outstretched, knew the moment it left Izan¡¯s boot¡ªhe was beaten. He turned his head, praying for mercy but there was none. The ball curled inside the far post¡ªkissing it¡ªbefore nestling into the back of the net. For a second, no one moved. Then¡ª Eruption. GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL Peter Drury: "OW, WOW. IZAN! IZAN! THE NAME THAT WILL LIVE FOREVER! FROM THE ASHES OF DESPAIR, HE DELIVERS SPAIN INTO THE LIGHT! A GOAL THAT BELONGS TO THE AGES! REMEMBER IT! REMEMBER WHERE YOU WERE! REMEMBER THIS NIGHT! BECAUSE SPAIN, OH SPAIN, THEY ARE GOING TO THE HEAVENS!" Alan Smith: "OH MY WORD¡ªUNBELIEVABLE. BEYOND UNBELIEVABLE. IN THE LAST SECOND OF EXTRA TIME, SPAIN HAVE SURELY WON IT! WHO DID HE THINK HE WAS, WAS WHAT THEY SAID. WELL THERE IT IS." The Spanish fans in Berlin didn¡¯t celebrate¡ªthey detonated. Madrid? It exploded. Tables were flipped. Drinks rained from the sky. Strangers collapsed into each other, screaming, crying, shaking as if their bodies could not contain the sheer force of what had just happened. Plaza Mayor became a riot of ecstasy. Spanish flags flooded the streets. In bars, in homes, in restaurants, people fell to their knees, hands clasped over their faces in disbelief. Some sobbed. Some roared. Some simply stood still, unable to process what they had just seen. And the Spanish bench? Gone. Every single player sprinted toward Izan. Luis de la Fuente¡ªusually a figure of measured control¡ªROARED. His fists punched the air as he sprinted down the touchline, his staff desperately chasing after him, unable to contain him, unable to control the sheer madness of the moment. And Izan? He ran. Not toward his teammates. Not toward the corner flag. He ran straight into the stands¡ªinto the soul of Spain itself. Into the crowd. He leaped¡ªarms spread, jersey off¡ªinto a sea of hands and bodies that swallowed him whole. They clung to him, held him, kissed him, and screamed his name like a prayer turned into reality. Peter Drury: "THEY WON¡¯T LET HIM GO! AND WHO CAN BLAME THEM?! THIS IS BEYOND FOOTBALL! THIS IS IMMORTALITY IN REAL TIME! A MOMENT TO LAST A LIFETIME¡ªA MOMENT TO LAST FOREVER!" S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Spanish bench reached the pile of limbs, diving into the madness, bodies upon bodies celebrating like men who had forgotten how to breathe. Rodri and Le Normand returned to the pitch and hauled Luis de la Fuente into the air, throwing him skyward as if he were the trophy itself. And then they turned¡ªthey lifted Izan too. Spain¡¯s new king. The boy who had won them the Euros. They hoisted him like a symbol, like a god. He was theirs, and they were his. ? In the VIP section¡ª Komi covered her mouth, her eyes shining with tears. Hori had collapsed into laughter, shaking Olivia as they screamed in disbelief as if their bodies didn¡¯t know how else to react. Miranda, however? Miranda had dollar signs in her eyes. Miranda: "Oh, my God. Oh my GOD. Do you know how much money he¡¯s going to make next season?! We¡¯re talking generational wealth. We¡¯re talking statues. We¡¯re talking¡ª" Komi: "Miranda." Miranda: "Yes?" Komi: "Shut up." Miranda: Ok! Olivia and Hori burst into laughter, doubling over as Miranda threw her hands up. And then¡ª A tap on Miranda¡¯s shoulder. A man in a black suit. Anonymous. Unreadable. He handed her a business card. "You¡¯re Izan¡¯s agent, correct?" Miranda blinked while taking the card. "We¡¯d like to talk. After the game." the man said before walking away, leaving Miranda and the rest of the women stunned. Miranda confused turned the back of the card and- "Oh Fuc-" [PG everybody. PG] ? Back on the pitch¡ª Bellingham stood at the center circle, hands on his hips, his entire body drenched in sweat. He exhaled slowly, staring at the Spanish players lost in their rapture, the sheer magnitude of their euphoria drowning out everything else. The dream had slipped from England¡¯s grasp. And Izan? Izan had stolen it. Kane approached, placing a hand on Jude¡¯s shoulder. [Of course, he did. Really wish he wins something this year] A silent understanding passed between them. Some wars aren¡¯t meant to be won. ? The reactions came in instantly. Twitter/X exploded. @B/R Football: IZAN. HISTORY. @Fabrizio Romano: Izan. A name that will echo through football history. More to follow¡­ @Gary Lineker: Football. Bloody hell. Izan is HIM. @Real Madrid Fans: Florentino, MOVE. RIGHT NOW. The entire world had just witnessed a new legend being born. The referee didn¡¯t even bother restarting the match. A final whistle. Spain were champions of Europe. And Izan? He had just written his name into eternity. The explosion of euphoria hadn¡¯t settled¡ªit had only intensified. Rodri grabbed Izan again, his embrace tight, firm, filled with something beyond words. Lamine Yamal was next, jumping onto Izan¡¯s back, laughing breathlessly. "You¡¯re unreal, man," Lamine said, shaking his head. "UNREAL." Continue your saga on FreeNovelFire Then Nico Williams¡ªpure, raw emotion in his eyes. "Bro. Bro. Do you even realize what you just did?!" Izan didn¡¯t know how to answer. His body felt weightless, as if reality itself had detached from him. But then¡ª A sudden force barreled into him. Luis de la Fuente. His coach¡ªhis manager¡ªhis mentor¡ªwrapped him in an iron grip, shaking him, eyes ablaze. "You," de la Fuente breathed, gripping Izan¡¯s face between his hands. "You madman¡ªyou legend¡ªdo you have any idea what you¡¯ve just done?!" Izan exhaled, his lips curving into something between a grin and sheer disbelief. "I think¡­" he started, breathless, "I just won us the Euros?" De la Fuente howled¡ªa sound of pure triumph, of unshackled joy¡ªand pulled Izan into him again. The Spanish players mobbed them both. More shouting, more shaking, more laughter¡ªan uncontainable eruption of Spanish pride. And then¡ª A camera zoomed in. Izan turned. Bellingham stood at the center circle, still motionless, still processing. Their eyes met. It was brief, just a flicker of shared understanding in the chaos. Jude exhaled sharply. Then, after a moment, he lifted a hand. A small nod. Izan returned it. The Spanish players were still lost in the chaos of celebration when the announcement came over the stadium speakers. "We will now proceed with the individual awards of UEFA Euro 2024." The roar of the Spanish fans didn¡¯t die down, but a different energy rippled through the air¡ªanticipation. The players, still breathless, gathered near the podium, draped in their country¡¯s flag, sweat still clinging to their skin. The first award¡ªBest Young Player of the Tournament. The announcer barely got the name out before the Spanish squad erupted. "Lamine Yamal!" Lamine blinked, stunned for half a second before his teammates shoved him forward. "This should have been yours," Yamal said when he got to Izan but thw latter just shoved him towards the podium. "I got a few coming up. I think that¡¯s why they decided to give this to you" Lamine laughed and nodded. " Yeah. You have" he laughed, shaking his head, before jogging up the podium, arms raised. One of Spain¡¯s youngest stars. The future is sealed. Peter Drury: "From the streets of Barcelona to the heights of Europe¡ªLamine Yamal has arrived, and my word, what a tournament he has had." The third award¡ªGolden Glove. The name rang through the speakers. "Unai Sim¨®n!" The Spanish goalkeeper, still recovering from the madness, let out a deep breath before stepping forward. If not for him¡ªhis saves, his leadership, his presence¡ªSpain wouldn¡¯t be here. Rodri wrapped an arm around him, grinning. "You deserve it, hermano." Sim¨®n lifted the trophy high, nodding to the Spanish fans, who roared in approval. And then¡ª The fourth award. Golden Boot. There was no debate. No question. No need for anticipation. "With 9 goals, equaling Michel Platini¡¯s all-time record for most goals in a single Euros¡­ the Golden Boot goes to¡ªIZAN!" The stadium detonated. The Spanish players shoved him forward, hands slapping his back, voices rising in disbelief. "Go on, Pichichi!" Nico Williams laughed, pushing him toward the stage. Izan, still overwhelmed, ran a hand through his damp hair before jogging up the podium ...... Chapter 325 325: Individual Honors[Golden tickets] And then, the fourth award. The one that was never in doubt. "With 9 goals, equaling Michel Platini''s all-time record for most goals in a single Euros¡­ the Golden Boot goes to¡ªIZAN!" The stadium detonated. The Spanish players shoved him forward, slapping his back, pushing him toward the stage with laughter and disbelief still written across their faces. "Go on, Pichichi!" Nico Williams grinned, practically launching Izan forward. Izan exhaled, his breath still unsteady from everything that had just happened. His boots felt heavier than before, his body, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer reality of this moment. The cameras zoomed in. And then¡ª A figure stepped forward, a trophy in his hands. Michel Platini. A legend. A relic of history. A man whose record had stood untouched for four decades. Until tonight. For a moment, the two of them just stood there. Platini stared at him, eyes measuring, scanning, searching for something. A flicker of amusement crossed his face as he finally spoke. "Neuf buts, hein?" Platini mused, shaking his head. "Tu ne pouvais pas t''arr¨ºter ¨¤ huit? Tu devais absolument me voler ce record?" (Nine goals, huh? You couldn''t have stopped at eight? You just had to steal my record?) The officials behind him chuckled. Some of the Spanish players down below raised their brows. But what happened next made them pause. Izan exhaled sharply, let out a small chuckle, and then answered¡ª "D¨¦sol¨¦, Michel," he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue with the ease of someone who had spoken them all his life. "Je voulais juste m''assurer que tu te sentes moins seul." (Sorry, Michel. I just wanted to make sure you didn''t feel too lonely.) Silence. Then¡ªmurmurs. Platini''s eyes widened. One of the UEFA officials tilted his head slightly. Even some of the journalists whispering among themselves seemed caught off guard. "He speaks French?" one of them muttered. "And fluently too. I didn''t know that." Izan caught the slight hesitation in Platini''s stance¡ªthe way the Frenchman took an extra second to process what he had just heard. The system function had done its job. [Language Mastery: Learn languages 10 times faster than ordinary people] Izan had unlocked, more like purchased it a while ago, though he hadn''t used it much outside of casual conversations. But now? Now it was paying off in ways he hadn''t even considered. He had studied French on and off for a while, but with the system enhancing his retention and fluency, he could sound native. Platini blinked¡ªthen he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, genuine laugh. "Bien jou¨¦, gamin. Bien jou¨¦." he said, shaking his head as he finally handed over the trophy. (Well played, kid. Well played.) Izan took the Golden Boot, feeling its weight, feeling its meaning. Platini clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy it, but if you ever break it, I''ll have to stop being so nice." he said this time, in English More laughter. Peter Drury: "The record remains¡ªshared, for now. Michel Platini, the legend¡­ and Izan, the future. A moment in time, a passing of history, sealed with a smile." The cameras flashed. The applause thundered. And as Izan lifted the Golden Boot high, standing next to Platini, the world knew¡ª This was only the beginning. But there was one more. One final individual honor. It could have gone to Rodri¡ªthe general, the heartbeat of Spain''s midfield. It could have gone to Jude¡ªthe man who had carried England on his back. But deep down, everyone knew. "UEFA''s Player of the Tournament¡­ IZAN!" If the stadium had exploded before, this was something else. Something biblical. The cameras caught the reactions instantly. Rodri grinned, nodding in satisfaction. Nico and Lamine slapping each other, shaking their heads. Jude¡ªhis hands on his hips, lips pressed together¡ªgave the smallest of nods. Izan exhaled. Then, a slow grin. A deep breath. He walked forward, step by step, toward history. The trophy was placed in his hands. A second one. More than just goals. More than just a moment. The best player of Euro 2024. The King of the Tournament. He turned, staring at the crowd, at his team, at the sea of Spanish fans losing themselves in this night. Then he lifted it. The world roared. But there was one last trophy to lift. The one that mattered most. Spain''s. The European Championship. The English players went first. One by one, they walked up the stage, faces heavy with disappointment, hands reluctantly accepting their silver medals. Some wore them. Some took them off the moment they stepped away. Jude Bellingham kept his on. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp, but he wore the medal proudly. He shook the UEFA president''s hand, nodding once, then made his way down. Declan Rice clapped him on the back as they rejoined their team. Some of the younger players, like Kobbie Mainoo, stared at the Spanish squad¡ªat Izan¡ªwith barely concealed frustration. Spain had won. The wait had been long, but the trophy was coming home¡ªto the right home. And now, it was their turn. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Spanish players moved forward, one by one, the gold medals shining under the stadium lights. Izan walked up the stairs, his heartbeat steady but strong. He greeted each official politely, accepting the congratulations with brief nods and firm handshakes. Then¡ª He reached the president of the Spanish Football Federation. The man smiled, his expression composed, and professional. But Izan hesitated. It lasted a second¡ªmaybe less. But in his mind, time-stretched. This man hadn''t wanted him here. He hadn''t been in the original squad. He had watched Spain''s preliminary list come out¡ªRodri, Pedri, Lamine, Nico, Morata, Cucurella¡ªone name after the other. But not his. Not Izan''s. His name had only been called after Asensio got injured. Would he have ever been picked if that hadn''t happened? If there was no need for him, would they have just let him watch the Euros from his couch? Would he still be ''just a promising talent'' instead of the best player in the tournament? Izan forced the thoughts down. Not here. Not now. He extended his hand. A quick shake. A polite nod. No words. Then he moved on. The UEFA president greeted him next. "Incredible tournament, young man," the older man said warmly as he placed the medal over Izan''s head. "One of the finest performances we''ve ever seen in a European Championship. Spain has a bright future with you." Izan nodded. "Thank you." As the Spanish players stood together, gold medals draped around their necks, the King of Spain and the royal family stepped forward. The cheers from the crowd somehow grew louder. The King greeted each player with warmth, shaking their hands, and offering words of congratulations. When he reached Izan, the air shifted. The cameras zoomed in. Because while Spain had a king¡ªthe people had crowned another. "Ah," the King mused, shaking Izan''s hand. "The hero of the night. The Golden Boot. The Player of the Tournament." Izan bowed his head slightly. "Your Majesty." The King smiled. Then, with perfect timing¡ª too perfect¡ªhe added: "You know, Infanta Sofia was watching this match very closely." Izan froze for a fraction of a second. His grip on the medal tightened. The Spanish players around him barely stifled their grins. Lamine Yamal was practically vibrating with unspoken commentary. The King noticed. And he laughed¡ªa deep, amused laugh¡ªbefore giving Izan a knowing look. A look that said: Relax, I''m only joking. Then a raised brow. As if saying: Or am I? Izan let out a slow breath, forcing a small chuckle. He glanced at the Queen, who was smiling way too politely, and then back at the King, who was enjoying himself way too much. "Well then," the King said lightly, patting Izan''s shoulder. "Congratulations, campe¨®n. Enjoy your night." And with that, he moved on, leaving Izan standing there¡ªhis mind catching up with what had just happened. Nico Williams elbowed him. "Man¡­ You just got set up by the King himself." Izan exhaled through his nose. "Shut up, Nico." Lamine Yamal finally broke. "Bro, you looked like you saw your whole career flash before your eyes." The laughter echoed. But Izan shook his head, refocusing. Because ahead of them¡ªit was waiting. The trophy. And it was finally time. The Spanish players walked forward as one. The noise from the Spanish fans had reached something indescribable¡ªa wall of sound, a force of nature, a nation''s heartbeat pounding in unison. Izan took it all in, face painted with a smile like a king, looking at his subjects The endless sea of red and gold. The flags waving madly. The raw, unfiltered euphoria crackled in the air. And at the very front¡ªthe trophy. The Henri Delaunay Trophy. The pinnacle of European football. Izan exhaled, tightening his grip on his medal as he stepped forward alongside Rodri, Spain''s captain. The UEFA president handed the trophy over, shaking Rodri''s hand. There were words exchanged, but Izan barely registered them. Because in that moment¡ªthe weight of everything hit him. A/n: Okay guys. Keep the tickets coming. Chapter 326 326: New Level [Golden Ticket] The Spanish players walked forward as one. The noise from the Spanish fans had reached something indescribable¡ªa wall of sound, a force of nature, a nation''s heartbeat pounding in unison. Izan took it all in. The endless sea of red and gold. The flags waving madly. The raw, unfiltered euphoria crackling in the air. And at the very front¡ªthe trophy. The Henri Delaunay Trophy. The pinnacle of European football. Izan exhaled, tightening his grip on his medal as he stepped forward alongside Rodri, Spain''s captain. The UEFA president handed the trophy over, shaking Rodri''s hand. There were words exchanged, but Izan barely registered them. Because in that moment¡ªthe weight of everything hit him. Everything. The heartbreak of not being selected at first. The frustration of being an afterthought. The doubt, the critics, the endless questions. The moment Asensio got injured, and the door finally opened. The fear that he would be distracted with all that was going on with Valencia. The first goal. The second. The third. The ninth. The Golden Boot. The Player of the Tournament. The Final. The moment they had just lived through. And now¡ªthis. Rodri turned, his eyes shining, his face unreadable for a split second before breaking into an unstoppable grin. "VAMOS!" He hoisted the trophy into the air. And the world erupted. Fireworks exploded into the night sky. Confetti rained down in waves of red and yellow. The Spanish players lost themselves. Izan threw his arms around Lamine and Nico as they jumped in wild celebration. Dani Olmo grabbed his head, shaking him like he still couldn''t believe it. Cucurella sprinted in from nowhere, tackling him in a chaotic hug. The cameras captured it all¡ªSpain''s young generation, their golden future, dancing under the raining confetti. Then¡ªthe moment. Rodri turned¡ªlooking for him. And when he found Izan, he nodded. "Vamos, Pichichi." Izan stepped forward. He gripped the trophy. It was cold. Heavy. Real. His fingers curled around the handles. He felt every groove, every engraving, every inch of history carved into it. The cameras zoomed in¡ªthe world watching, waiting. Izan turned. He faced the Spanish fans¡ªhis people. Then, with everything in him¡ªhe lifted it. The stadium detonated. Back home, the whole of Spain shook. Peter Drury''s voice soared, carrying the weight of the night: "A boy¡ªnow a king. A name¡ªnow a legend. Spain¡ªnow the champions of Europe!" "A tournament graced by his touch, by his vision, by his will to seize the moment. Nine goals, a record matched, a legacy born in the heart of Germany." "He arrived as a boy full of questions, full of doubts. Tonight, he leaves as an answer, as a truth etched into the annals of footballing history." "This, this is what dreams are made of. The sound, the sight, the feeling¡ªforever etched in the soul of Spain." "Europe, bow to your new champions." "And to you all, wherever you are watching my name is Peter Drury and¡ªgoodnight!" The celebrations did not stop. Rodri passed the trophy to Morata, who kissed it before hoisting it high again. The team gathered for photos, but chaos reigned. The confetti made it impossible to stand still. Players took turns running toward the fans, draping themselves in Spanish flags. Cucurella, his wild curls bouncing as he ran, grabbed the trophy and began sprinting wildly across the pitch. Dani Carvajal chased after him, arms flailing. Lamine and Nico threw their shirts into the stands. Fabi¨¢n Ruiz jumped onto Ferran Torres'' back. Then came the iconic moment. A cameraman focused in on Cucurella, who had just stopped running and turned, eyes wide in exaggerated shock, as if finally realizing what he had done. The frame was perfect. And just like that¡ªthe meme of the night was born. Izan, laughing, finally made his way to his family in the stands. His mother¡ªKomi, tears in her eyes. His sister¡ªHori, was waving a Spanish flag so wildly that it almost hit someone. He hugged them both, the warmth of their embrace cutting through the cold of the night. After a while, the players left the pitch to the locker rooms, but that didn''t stop the leaving fans from celebrating,, and neither did it stop the players. The Spanish dressing room was a war zone. Music blasted. Champagne sprayed. Players danced, sang, and screamed. Izan had barely stepped inside when a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over his head. "BIENVENIDO, PICHICHI!" someone roared. Nico and Lamine grabbed him, dragging him into the center of the madness. Rodri was standing on a bench, waving the Spanish flag like a king leading his army. Morata and Carvajal had already lost their shirts and were stomping their feet in rhythm, leading a chant: "?CAMPEONES, CAMPEONES, OL¨¦ OL¨¦ OL¨¦!" Izan, still dripping, threw his arms around them, shouting the words until his voice went hoarse. Then¡ªthe music cut out. Silence. Someone was typing. The Bluetooth is connected. And then¡ª "REAL MEN LISTEN TO SHAKIRA!" Absolute chaos. The players erupted. The beat dropped. Lamine and Nico hopped onto tables. Cucurella started jumping with his arms flailing. Dani Olmo and Ferran Torres did some horrendous dance moves that should have been illegal. Rodri grabbed the trophy and held it high as the entire squad jumped in rhythm, voices shaking the walls: "SPAIN''S ON FIRE! NANANANA!" Izan? Izan was in the middle of it all. Lost in it. Alive in it. The champagne. The music. The arms around his shoulders. A night that would never be forgotten. The night Spain conquered Europe. Then¡ªthe door swung open. Luis de la Fuente walked in. And instantly¡ªeverything stopped. The music. The jumping. The chanting. It was like someone had hit pause on a wild party movie. The players froze. Some still had bottles in their hands. Others were mid-jump. Rodri, still holding the trophy, glanced over like a kid caught red-handed. Luis de la Fuente looked around. Slowly. The tension was unbearable. Then¡ª "VAAAAAAAAAAMOSSSS!!!" He roared at the top of his lungs, throwing both fists in the air. The locker room exploded. The players charged at him. Nico and Lamine grabbed him by the shoulders. Rodri poured champagne on his head. Cucurella somehow ended up hugging him while screaming into the sky. Luis de la Fuente? The Spain manager? He was jumping. Jumping. With his players, his champions. And in that moment¡ªit didn''t matter who was coach, who was player. They were just Spain. The kings of Europe. ...... Izan shook his head, pushing through the chaos of the dressing room. The teasing continued behind him¡ªLamine dramatically blowing kisses in the air, Nico howling with laughter, Ferran shouting, "Don''t forget to send heart emojis, bro!" He ignored them. His pulse was still racing. The moment he stepped into the quieter hallway, he let out a slow breath. His hands trembled slightly¡ªnot from nerves, but from the residual energy coursing through him. Then, it appeared. [System Update: Euro 2024 Complete] His breath caught. [Congratulations! Spain has won the UEFA European Championship!] [Final Stats: 9 Goals | 4 Assists | 5 MOTM Performances] [Processing Rewards¡­] [Stat Points Earned: +50] That alone was massive. The system had never been this generous before. Every other time, it had been subtle, almost stingy with its rewards. But now? It felt like something had changed. He didn''t check the allocation menu yet, but he could feel it waiting. Then came the skills. [New Skill Moves Unlocked] La Croqueta (Advanced) ¡ú Mastered Hocus Pocus ¡ú Acquired Elastico ¡ú Mastered Berbatov Spin ¡ú Acquired Antony spin¡ú Acquired [OK so here me out. The last one is for a meme and recreational purposes, but it''s still good right?right?right??] Izan exhaled sharply. These weren''t just ordinary moves¡ªthey were flair-heavy, high-difficulty techniques used by some of the best dribblers in history. The kind of moves that could destroy defenders when executed perfectly. But what came next was even more intriguing. [New Feature Unlocked: Vision Mode] (Enhances spatial awareness, allowing for precise anticipation of opponent movements.) That alone was huge. If it worked the way he thought it did, it would let him read the game at an even higher level, processing everything faster than before. But the next one made his heart pound. [New Feature Unlocked: Reflex Boost] (Short-term reaction speed enhancement during crucial moments.) That was dangerous. In the right moment, a fraction of a second could make the difference between winning and losing. And then¡ª [New Title Unlocked: Champion''s Presence] (Subtly enhances confidence and aura, making teammates naturally look to you in high-pressure moments.) Izan''s breath caught. That... that was different. This wasn''t just physical. This wasn''t just technique. This was influence. This was what separated great players from those who defined an era. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still processing everything. The energy in his body hadn''t faded, but it wasn''t overwhelming¡ªit was like a door had opened, a potential he hadn''t tapped into yet. The weight of it settled in. He had reached a new level. And the world didn''t even know it yet. A sudden banging on the door snapped him back. "IZAN!" It was Lamine, his voice muffled but unmistakably mischievous. "YOU GOOD IN THERE, BRO? YOU NEED A MINUTE? NEED A CALL?" More laughter exploded from the hallway. "I THINK HE''S STARING AT HIS PHONE, MAN!" Ferran shouted. "Bro, he''s definitely smiling at the screen," Nico added. "Olivia''s getting a long text right now." Izan rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at his lips. "Idiotas," he muttered, shaking his head while getting up. He pushed open the door¡ª Only to be greeted by half the squad, all leaning against the wall, smirking. Rodri raised an eyebrow. "Well?" Izan exhaled dramatically. "Yes, I texted Olivia. Happy?" Lamine threw his arms up. "KNEW IT!" The squad erupted in cheers. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Dani Olmo clapped him on the back. "Respect, Pichichi. Even champions need romance." Cucurella draped an arm around him. "Now let''s go. We''ve got a party to finish." Izan laughed. His system had upgraded. His game had evolved. But right now¡ªhe was going to celebrate. A/n: This is the end of the Euros Arc. I wanted to release as part of tomorrow''s double update but some of you guys decided to spam the Golden tickets so here we are. Have fun Chapter 327 327: Roof-Top Celebrations [Golden tickets] The hotel was a battlefield of exhaustion and adrenaline. By the time the Spanish players arrived, it was well past 3 AM, but nobody was in a rush to sleep. The trophy had been passed around like a sacred artifact, everyone taking turns posing with it, kissing it, or just staring at it in disbelief. The entire hotel lobby had turned into an impromptu afterparty. Izan sat back on one of the plush couches, still feeling the weight of the night settle in. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His wet hair clung to his forehead from the champagne showers, his body ached from the sheer intensity of the final, but his mind? It was buzzing. Next to him, Nico Williams stretched his legs onto the table with the comfort of a man who had just conquered the world. "You know what, bro?" he said, staring at the ceiling. "I ain''t even tired." Lamine sprawled across another couch and groaned. "Don''t say that, man. My legs are gone." From the bar area, Cucurella raised a glass. "Bro, just admit it¡ªyou ain''t built for a full tournament like me." "YOU SPRINTED FOR A TROPHY AND ALMOST CRAMPED MIDWAY," Dani Olmo fired back. Cucurella dramatically placed a hand on his chest. "And yet I survived. That''s called champion mentality." Izan shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. This was what made it all worth it¡ªthe exhaustion, the battles, the pressure. Moments like these, where everything was stripped away, and they were just a group of young men who had written their names into history. But eventually, the inevitable happened. Bodies started slumping. Conversations slowed. The trophy, once the center of attention, now sat on the coffee table as if it were just another decoration. Rodri, ever the responsible captain, finally stood. "Alright. We fly out in the morning. Get some rest." Some groans. Some protests. But no real arguments. Izan didn''t even remember making it to his room. One moment, he was talking to Morata about something¡ªprobably about how surreal it all felt. The next, he was waking up to the sound of an alarm blaring through the hotel room. His entire body hated him. But the world outside? It was on fire. News outlets across the globe had one name plastered everywhere. IZAN HERNANDEZ¨C SPAIN''S GOLDEN BOY A Name Etched in History ¨C Izan Equals Platini''s Record From Afterthought to Legend ¨C The Tournament of Izan Valencia''s Golden Asset ¨C How Long Can They Keep Him? Every article, every broadcast, every social media post was centered around him. The nine-goal milestone had sent the football world into a frenzy. He was now tied with Michel Platini for the most goals in a single Euro tournament¡ªa record that had stood since 1984. The headlines were relentless. "Valencia are the luckiest club in the world right now." "Real Madrid and Barcelona are licking their lips." "Is this the moment Spain enters a new golden era?" But there was one particular detail that had certain journalists speculating. "Did Izan Hesitate When Greeting the Federation President?" A slowed-down video had surfaced online, analyzing the exact moment Izan shook hands with the Spanish Football Federation president. It was brief¡ªso brief that most wouldn''t have noticed. But now? Every angle was being dissected. "Did he almost pull back?" "Is something happening behind the scenes?" "Could this be Izan taking shots at the president for allegedly not calling him up?" Izan rubbed his temple, scrolling through the endless stream of takes as he sat on the team bus heading for the airport. "You''re way too deep in your phone," Rodri''s voice cut in from across the aisle. Izan looked up. "It''s crazy right now." Rodri smirked. "Enjoy it. This moment doesn''t come often." He wasn''t wrong. Dragging their bodies onto the plane was an ordeal. Ferran Torres tried to convince everyone to chant Campeones again, only to get pillows thrown at him. Cucurella somehow fell asleep before the plane even took off while Lamine and Nico spent half the flight editing their Instagram posts. Izan sat by the window, watching the clouds roll past, his mind still processing everything. Rodri, sitting next to him, nudged him. "You ever think about what comes next?" Izan hesitated. "What do you mean?" Rodri shrugged. "For you. Your future. This is just the beginning." Izan exhaled. He knew that. He felt that. "You know, Pep really liked you," Rodri said abruptly causing Pedri to laugh. "If I had done this, you would be on my neck but look at you too. Why don''t you call the Sheikh" the latter spoke. "Wait. That''s actually better. I think I have his contact" Rodri said while seriously scrolling through his phone. Pedri who was laughing suddenly faltered. "You know I''m joking, right? Right?" he said following Rodri through the aisle. Izan looked at the duo bantering while smiling. He would think of such scenes when he had to but right now, he just had to enjoy himself. .... The moment the plane landed, the noise was deafening. Thousands of fans had gathered outside the airport. The sheer volume of red and yellow flags, the banners, the flares¡ªit was chaos in the best way possible. The bus crawled through the streets of Madrid, packed on both sides with fans singing, chanting, and waving flags high into the evening sky. The sun was setting now, painting everything in shades of gold and red, as if even the city itself was celebrating. The trophy gleamed under the streetlights, held high in Rodri''s hands as the team basked in the love of their people. Izan leaned against the railing, taking it all in¡ªthe faces of thousands of fans, the sea of shirts with his name on them, the chants that echoed his goal from the final. "IIIIIZAAAN!" It was surreal. A kid, maybe ten years old, stood on his dad''s shoulders in the crowd, holding up a sign written in shaky but determined letters: "IZAN, NUESTRO ORGULLO. QU¨¦DATE EN VALENCIA." Izan swallowed. That word¡ª"qu¨¦date". Stay. Before he could process it further, Ferran Torres suddenly threw an arm around him, pulling him towards the mic before starting another round of singing with Izan. And then¡ªCucurella happened. At some point during the parade, someone handed him a mic. Big mistake. He immediately started singing: "Me como una paellaaaa, me bebo una Estrellaaaa!" The team lost it. Rodri was doubled over laughing. Dani Olmo had his phone out, already uploading it to Instagram. Within minutes, the internet had its newest viral moment. Izan wiped tears from his eyes. "Bro, you''re an era." Cucurella, grinning, pointed at the camera. "ESTA NOCHE SE BEBE!" Rodri, still holding the trophy, turned to Izan. "Your turn, Pichichi." Izan blinked. "What?" The team started chanting. "Speech! Speech! Speech!" He stepped forward. Took a deep breath. And then¡ª His voice rang through the streets of Madrid. "This is just the start." "Spain is back at the top of Europe, but we''re not done." "We are going to fill that trophy cabinet to the brim." The roar of the crowd was earth-shaking. Rodri clapped him on the back. "Now that''s a speech." Izan smiled back but before he could do anything, Olmo appeared, "Alright, Pichichi, time to show off those vocals!" The crowd erupted. Izan shook his head. "No chance." "Too late!" Dani Olmo was already turning up the volume on the speakers. The music blasted through the streets, the beat unmistakable. The entire team burst out laughing as Cucurella once again took center stage, arms outstretched like he was headlining a stadium concert. "Me como una paellaaa, me bebo una Estrellaaa¡ª!" The entire bus sang along this time, including Izan. The moment was so ridiculous, so chaotic, so perfect, that he couldn''t help but join in. Rodri, ever the steady one, wrapped an arm around Izan''s shoulder as they watched the madness unfold. "You''re going to remember this for the rest of your life, you know." Izan nodded. He knew. The night stretched on, Madrid refusing to sleep. The team eventually made their way to Plaza de Cibeles, the traditional site of Spain''s greatest football celebrations. The atmosphere was electric. Fireworks exploded overhead as the team lifted the trophy on the grand stage, basking in the adoration of their people. Then, the inevitable question arrived. The host of the event, microphone in hand, turned towards Izan with a knowing smile. "Espa?a tiene un nuevo h¨¦roe. (Izan, after a historic tournament, a Pichichi win, and now a European Championship¡­ everyone wants to know. What''s next?" The crowd hushed. Every camera, every phone, every journalist leaned in. Izan exhaled. And then, for the first time that night, he allowed a small, knowing smile. "Let''s just say¡­ I''m in good hands." The crowd erupted. Rodri patted his back, smirking. "Nice dodge." Izan laughed. "I learned from the best" ......¡­ The hotel was eerily quiet the next morning. Most of the team had finally crashed, exhaustion winning over celebration. Izan sat on the hotel balcony, sipping a cold glass of water, watching the city come to life below. His phone was buzzing with notifications, but one caught his attention. Miranda: Izan¡­ Valencia''s situation is improving. Fast. His breath hitched. They''re doing everything to keep you. For the first time in weeks, something settled in his chest. A thought. A possibility. Hope. And maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthat was enough for now. A/n: Okay so I was about to sleep but someone [Daoist Adquiro] decided to spam the Golden tickets. So here we are. I''ll still release the daily two but please let me sleep okay. Its 1 right now Chapter 328 328: Personal Commitments The city of Madrid was slowly waking up, but inside the hotel, silence reigned. After the wild celebrations, the exhaustion had finally caught up with everyone. Izan sat on the balcony, the cool morning air doing wonders for his aching body. The golden sunrise painted the skyline in warm hues, the quiet contrast to last night''s chaos almost jarring. He exhaled, sipping from a glass of warm water, the condensation dripping onto his fingers. His phone buzzed on the table. Miranda: Izan¡­ Valencia''s situation is improving. Fast. He blinked. For weeks, it had been nothing but uncertainty. Whispers of financial struggles, potential exits, and a growing storm behind the scenes. But now¡­ was there really a chance that everything could settle? Before he could respond, another message arrived. Miranda: They''re doing everything to keep you. Izan stared at the words, a slow breath leaving his lips. A possibility. A path forward. Hope. Then, another text. Miranda: That said, let Valencia do their job. We have ours too. You have commitments to fulfill. Izan rubbed his temple, already knowing where this was going. Izan: Muse shoot, right? Miranda: Yes. You and Selene for Saint Laurent. He stretched his legs, rolling his neck. He had nearly forgotten about that. Originally, the shoot had been scheduled for Germany, planned well before the Euros had even started. But with everything that had happened, he wasn''t even sure what the new arrangements were. Izan: Still in Germany? Miranda: No. Ibiza now. Selene is already there, setting things up. That made him pause. Ibiza? A slow, amused smile tugged at his lips. That¡­ wasn''t the worst thing in the world. A commercial shoot was still work, but if he had to work, he might as well do it somewhere he could rest at the same time. Miranda, sharp as ever, sent another message before he could even type. Miranda: You''re thinking about rest already, aren''t you? Izan: No comment. Miranda: I''ll take that as a yes. He shook his head, setting his phone down for a moment. The sun had risen higher now, casting long shadows across the city. Ibiza, huh? It was tempting. Very tempting. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Especially since, in truth, he had no intention of staying in Madrid much longer. The Spanish FA had scheduled a formal Euros Congratulatory Dinner for the team later that evening¡ªa final official event before everyone went their separate ways for the summer. But Izan had already made up his mind. He wasn''t going. He had made sure to inform Luis de la Fuente in advance, offering his apologies. The coach had taken it well, understanding that after a tournament like this, some players needed to step away sooner than others. And Izan? He had a different plan for the night. One that involved Olivia. He would see her in Madrid before heading off to Ibiza. His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn''t Miranda. Hori: You''re ditching us the second the Euros end? He let out a quiet laugh. She wasn''t wrong. He had barely spent time with his family since arriving back in Spain, and now, he was already making plans to leave again. Izan: Your leave ended when the Euros did. Not my fault. The reply came almost instantly. Hori: You''re so fake. Izan: Love you too. A longer pause this time. Then¡ª Hori: Enjoy your trip, superstar. Don''t get too comfortable in Ibiza. Also, thank Henry for the Apparel. Izan: No promises. Before Izan could set his phone aside, another message from Hori came. Hori: Check my IG story Izan raised a brow before maneuvering his way to Hori''s account where he saw a post of Hori holding a Saint Lauren bag with a caption titled, "Perks of being a loving sister. Love you, @IzanHernandez" beneath the post. Izan chuckled, setting his phone aside again. The day ahead was already set. First, Madrid. Olivia. Then, Ibiza. Work. Rest. A little bit of both. And after that? Well¡­ That was a problem for another day. ...¡­ The car pulled over. It was just past midday, the city still alive with lingering celebration. ¡ªSpain flags draped over balconies, newspapers displaying his face alongside the Euro trophy, people wearing his jersey with pride. But right now, he wasn''t here for that. He was here for her. Olivia. She was waiting for him at a small caf¨¦, tucked away from the chaos of the city center. As he stepped through the door, his gaze found her instantly. Auburn hair catching the light. Green eyes brightening when they locked onto him. And then, just like that¡ªshe was in his arms. "You look tired," she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Izan huffed a quiet laugh. "I feel worse than I look." She leaned back slightly, scanning his face. "You still look ridiculously good, though. Annoyingly so." He smirked. "I''ll take that as a compliment." "You should." She kissed him. It was soft, fleeting¡ªbut grounding. For a moment, the Euros, the parade, the interviews, the speculation¡ªnone of it existed. Just her. They took their time, sitting outside the caf¨¦, Olivia stealing half of his croissant, Izan pretending to be offended. They talked¡ªabout everything, about nothing. And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, he wished, for just a second, that this moment could stretch forever. But time, as always, moved on. ...¡­. Barajas Airport was packed with fans and media alike, the entire terminal still vibrating with the aftershocks of Spain''s Euros victory. Izan had barely stepped inside when heads turned. Whispers spread like wildfire. "Isn''t that Izan" "He looks so good" "Where is he going? I thought he would rest after the euros" He ignored most of it, his cap pulled low over his head. It didn''t matter¡ªhis presence alone was enough to stir a commotion. He adjusted his bag over his shoulder, moving through the crowd with the ease of someone used to this kind of attention. Then he spotted her. Miranda was standing near the private lounge entrance, dressed in a sleek, all-black outfit. The moment she saw him, she lifted her sunglasses slightly. "You look terrible." Izan smirked. "That wasn''t what Olivia said. Anyways Good to see you too." Miranda gave him an unimpressed look but said nothing, handing him a bottle of water. He accepted it, taking a slow sip as they walked inside. "How was your night?" she asked. "Didn''t sleep much." "Too much adrenaline?" "That¡­ and I was also with Olivia." Miranda gave Izan a raised brow before shaking her head. They reached the private jet terminal, where a Saint Laurent representative was already waiting. "You know, being a star isn''t all that bad," Izan said while looking at the Jet. His first time flying private. "Henry is in Ibiza already," Miranda informed him as they boarded the flight. "He wants to talk about expanding your deal." Izan raised a brow. "Already?" "You''re a marketing dream right now, Izan. The youngest Pichichi. La Liga assist leader. A Euros winner. The world can''t get enough of you." Izan exhaled, settling into his seat. It was strange. Months ago, everything had been about proving himself. Now, everything was about managing what came next. The jet taxied onto the runway, engines humming softly. Ibiza was calling. The sun was blinding as Izan stepped off the plane, the Mediterranean heat immediately pressing against his skin. The Saint Laurent team was waiting¡ªstylists, PR representatives, even Selene, who had flown in a day earlier to oversee the shoot. Selene waved the moment she saw him. "Look who finally decided to show up." Izan chuckled, pulling off his sunglasses. "Blame Miranda." Miranda scoffed. "Blame Saint Laurent. They''re the ones who want this wrapped up before the preseason kicks off." Selene shook her head. "Doesn''t matter. The location is ready, and trust me, Izan¡ªit''s exactly your vibe." The drive through Ibiza was scenic, the island''s vibrant life on full display. But as they arrived at the private villa Saint Laurent had rented, Izan realized what Selene meant. The setting was perfect. The ocean stretched endlessly behind the infinity pool, the entire place oozing class and exclusivity. The shoot wouldn''t just be work¡ªit would be a chance to breathe. Still, he had work to do. Henry arrived at the villa later that afternoon, dressed in his usual effortlessly expensive style. He greeted Izan with a firm handshake, his expression all business. "First of all, congratulations," Henry said, sitting across from Izan. "That was one hell of a tournament." "Thanks." Henry wasted no time. "We''re ready to expand the deal." Izan leaned back slightly. "Define expand." "You''ve elevated your brand massively. We''re talking about a long-term partnership, beyond just photo shoots. We want you involved in campaigns, and design collaborations¡ªa real face of the brand situation." Izan glanced at Miranda, who nodded subtly. Henry continued, "The numbers will reflect your status. We''re prepared to double the current deal." Double. Izan remained unreadable, but inside, he was impressed. His performance had shifted everything. "I''ll think about it," he said. Henry smiled. "Take your time. But not too much. Opportunities like this don''t wait forever." As the evening rolled in, Izan stood by the pool''s edge, the waves crashing softly in the distance. For the first time in weeks, he felt¡­ still. No games. No training. No relentless speculation about his future. Just this. The next chapter of his career was coming fast. But for now, just for a little while¡ªhe let himself enjoy the silence. Chapter 329 329: Unexpected Meeting The afternoon air was warm, tinged with salt from the sea breeze. Ibiza was slowly coming alive in the distance, music drifting faintly from the clubs and beachside bars, but Izan barely paid it any mind. He was still by the pool, watching the people go about their business. The villa had quieted down, most of the Saint Laurent team wrapping up for the day. The shoot with Selene had gone smoothly¡ªeffortless chemistry, sharp frames, everything exactly as the brand had envisioned. Selene had left a while ago, teasing him about "living the dream" before heading to her own plans for the night. Miranda was still in a meeting with Henry, fine-tuning contract details. That left Izan here, alone for the first time in what felt like forever. And he welcomed it. But, of course, peace never lasted long. A group of girls had gathered by the villa entrance, whispering and throwing glances in his direction. He caught bits of their conversation¡ªsoft giggles, a mention of his name, the unmistakable excitement in their voices. "That''s Izan, right?" "He''s even more handsome in person." "His eyes are insane¡ªdo you think they''re real?" "Is he single?" He exhaled through his mouth shaking his head with a quiet laugh. This wasn''t anything new. He had dealt with it in Spain, in Germany during the Euros, pretty much everywhere he went now. One of the braver girls, tall with sun-kissed skin and a confident stride, approached him with a bright smile. "Hi," she said, her voice lilting. "Sorry to bother, but my friends and I were wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink?" Izan smiled politely. "Appreciate it, but I''m good." Her lips curled in amusement. "Not much of a party guy?" "Not tonight." She pouted slightly, but she wasn''t pushy. "Well, if you change your mind¡­" She gestured toward her group before sauntering away, her friends immediately huddling around her, clearly eager to hear what he had said. Izan just chuckled to himself, shaking his head. If Olivia saw this, she''d be rolling her eyes so hard they''d get stuck. No¡ªscratch that. She wouldn''t just roll her eyes. She''d make a scene. He could already picture it: her staking her claim, her sharp green eyes narrowing at anyone who dared look at him too long. Olivia wasn''t the jealous type¡ªuntil she was. And in moments like this? Yeah, she''d definitely be jealous. She''d probably kiss him in front of everyone. Maybe even loop her arm around his waist and glare at any girl who so much as glanced his way. He smirked at the thought. Would''ve been fun to watch. But instead of getting caught up in that, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages. One stood out. Lamine: Ibiza, huh? Izan raised a brow before typing back. Izan: You too? Lamine: Obviously. If we were any smarter, we''d have planned this together. Izan: Last-minute trip. Lamine: Same. Want to link up? Izan glanced around. He had no plans for the day, and he could already hear Miranda''s voice in his head telling him to enjoy his break before preseason started. Izan: Where you at? Lamine: Beach near my hotel. Some people started a game. You in? A slow, amused smile tugged at Izan''s lips. Izan: Be there in 15. ¡ª¡ª¡ª The beach was alive with energy¡ªtourists, locals, music playing from portable speakers, the scent of salt and sunscreen in the air. The makeshift game was happening near the shoreline, a mix of people kicking a ball around in a casual, chaotic version of beach football. But the moment Izan stepped onto the sand, heads turned. Whispers started. "That''s Izan, right?" "No way¡ªhim and Lamine? This is insane." "They just won the Euros a few days ago." "Izan! Yamal! Join us!" Lamine spotted him first, grinning as he jogged over, his shorts dusted with sand. "Took you long enough." Izan smirked. "Didn''t know we had a schedule." Lamine nudged him toward the game. "Come on. Let''s give them a show." And that''s exactly what they did. Despite the uneven teams and the lack of any real structure, the game turned into a spectacle the moment Izan and Lamine got involved. Every touch was smooth, every pass sharp, every flick and trick pulled off with effortless ease. It wasn''t even about winning¡ªit was about having fun. Izan lobbed a perfectly weighted ball over two defenders, and Lamine, laughing, controlled it mid-air before attempting a ridiculous bicycle kick that sent the ball flying past the makeshift goalposts. The crowd erupted. Someone had started recording. Before long, the game had practically become a showcase, people gathering to watch two of Spain''s brightest young stars play in the purest form¡ªbarefoot on the sand, no pressure, no stakes, just love for the game. At one point, Lamine tried to nutmeg Izan. It didn''t work. Izan read it easily, trapping the ball between his feet and smirking. "Try harder." Lamine groaned, laughing. "I hate you." The game stretched into the night until exhaustion finally won. Izan and Lamine collapsed onto the sand, breathless but grinning. Someone tossed them bottles of water, and as they cooled down, a group of fans cautiously approached, phone cameras ready. "Can we take a picture?" Izan glanced at Lamine, who shrugged. "Might as well." They took photos, signed shirts, and exchanged a few laughs before finally breaking away from the growing crowd. As they walked back toward the main part of the beach, Lamine elbowed Izan. "So¡­ big summer ahead, huh?" Izan exhaled, looking toward the sea. "Yeah." Lamine smirked. "You staying at Valencia?" Izan didn''t answer immediately. Instead, he kicked at the sand, eyes thoughtful. "¡­Don''t know yet but it is the more plausible option." Lamine hummed. "Well, wherever you end up¡ªyou''ll kill it." Izan glanced at him, smiling slightly For a moment, there was just the sound of the waves, the distant chatter of people enjoying the Ibiza night. Then Lamine stretched, shaking out his limbs. "Alright. I''m starving. You in for food, or are you too busy being a supermodel now?" Izan snorted. "Shut up." Lamine grinned. "Come on, then." ...¡­ The sun was beginning to set, casting golden streaks across the sky as the game wrapped up. Laughter and cheers filled the air as Izan and Lamine exchanged a quick handshake, both catching their breath after the intense match. "You actually thought you were going to beat me?" Lamine teased, grinning. Izan rolled his eyes. "I was literally carrying my team." "Yeah, yeah, excuses," Lamine shot back, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby cooler and tossing one to Izan. As they drank, cooling off from the heat, Izan exhaled, glancing out at the ocean. A comfortable silence settled between them before he finally spoke. "Do you ever get tired of this?" Izan asked, nodding toward the crowd that had gathered earlier, the cameras, the constant eyes on them. Lamine blinked, then let out an exaggerated laugh. "No!" He said it so confidently that Izan actually chuckled. "Not even a little?" "Not even a little," Lamine grinned. "I mean, come on, we get to play football, live in the spotlight, and have the world at our feet. What''s there to complain about?" Izan shook his head, amused. "You''re built different." "You''re just overthinking it," Lamine said with a smirk. "But hey, if the attention ever gets too much, you can always send them my way." Izan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as they started walking off the beach. "Yeah, I''ll keep that in mind." They made their way back toward the parking area, chatting about random things¡ªfootball, summer plans, the madness of the Euros¡ªuntil they arrived at the entrance of their respective hotels. Or so they thought. Lamine stopped first, glancing at the sign. Then he turned to Izan, eyes narrowing. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Wait. This is your hotel too?" Izan stared at the building, then at Lamine. "You''ve got to be kidding me." Lamine burst out laughing. "Oh, this is great. You thought you were escaping me?" Izan exhaled in mock frustration. "Man, I thought I was going to get some peace." Lamine slung an arm around his shoulder. "Nope! Looks like you''re stuck with me. As they stood at the entrance of the hotel, still processing the fact that they were staying at the same place, a familiar voice cut through their conversation. "Figures I''d find you two together." Miranda. She stood near the entrance, dressed sharply despite the casual setting, her sunglasses pushed up onto her head as she assessed the pair of them. Lamine raised a brow. "Wait, how did you even know we were together?" Miranda smirked, pulling out her phone. "Because half of Ibiza does." She tapped the screen, and a video started playing¡ªa fan-recorded clip from earlier on the beach. The footage showed them in the thick of the game, Izan cutting inside before flicking a pass to Lamine, who danced past a defender and scored with a cheeky chip. The crowd in the background erupted, phones up, recording every second. Izan exhaled. "Of course." Lamine, on the other hand, grinned. "Damn, I look good." Miranda rolled her eyes. "You two basically hosted a live exhibition match for the entire beach. Did you think no one would notice?" Izan shook his head. "I was hoping for at least an hour of peace before this got online." Miranda gave him a flat look. "In what world was that realistic?" Lamine laughed. "Yeah, bro, come on. We''re the future of football. We don''t get peace." Miranda pocketed her phone and turned to Izan. "Anyway, Henry wants to meet you for dinner. Business talk." Izan groaned. "I thought I was done for the day." "You were. Now you''re not," Miranda said smoothly. Then, glancing at Lamine, she added, "You better not be corrupting him." Lamine gasped, mock offended. "Me? Corrupt Izan? I would never!" Miranda didn''t even dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned back to Izan. "Go shower. You smell like the beach." Lamine smirked. "He''s right at home then. Seawater and sweat¡ªthat''s a proper footballer''s perfume." Izan shook his head, grinning. "I''m ignoring both of you." Lamine laughed as they headed inside, and Miranda, as always, was already planning the next move. Chapter 330 330: Menacing Agent The hotel lobby was quiet, a stark contrast to the energy outside. The cool air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat of the beach, but Izan barely noticed it as he stepped into the elevator with Miranda. Lamine had peeled off toward his room, still grinning like he had just won the Champions League. Miranda pressed the button for his floor, then gave him a look. "So. You and Lamine." Izan ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp with sweat. "What about us?" She smirked. "You two act like you''re just having fun, but you do realize every moment like this adds to the hype, right?" Izan sighed, leaning against the elevator wall. "It''s just football. A casual game." Miranda raised a brow. "To you, maybe. But to fans? To brands? It''s a goldmine." She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through notifications. "Social media is already going crazy. ''Future of Spain''s attack,'' ''Golden duo,'' ''This is why we''re winning the next World Cup''¡ªyou get the idea." Izan exhaled. "I wasn''t thinking about any of that." "I know. That''s why it works," Miranda said, slipping her phone away. "But just be aware¡ªevery move you make now? People are watching. Closely." The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. Izan stepped out, Miranda beside him. "I''ll meet you downstairs in an hour," she said. "Henry''s waiting at the restaurant." "Yeah, yeah," Izan muttered, already unlocking his room door. As he stepped inside, the quiet of the suite wrapped around him. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto a chair before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water helped clear his mind, but Miranda''s words lingered. Every move you make¡­ people are watching. He had known that for a while now, but sometimes¡ªlike on the beach, when it was just him and Lamine, playing for the love of it¡ªit was easy to forget. By the time he was dressed and heading back downstairs, his phone was buzzing. A message. Olivia: Saw the video. How many girls stared at you today? Izan smirked as he typed back. Izan: Only half of Ibiza. No big deal. She replied almost instantly. Olivia: I hate you. Izan: Miss you too. Shaking his head, he slid his phone into his pocket and walked into the restaurant, where Henry and Miranda were already seated. Henry glanced up, smiling. "Ah, the star of the night arrives." Izan sighed. "Hi, Henry. My sister says she loves the bag by the way." Henry smiled before looking at Miranda. Miranda smirked. "Okay. Let''s get this over with." ... The restaurant was sleek and exclusive, the kind of place where multimillion-dollar deals were inked over glasses of fine wine. But Miranda wasn''t here for the ambiance. She was here to win. Izan sat beside her, his posture relaxed but observant. Across from them, Henry, Saint Laurent''s head of sports relations, looked completely at ease, as if the deal had already been sealed before the conversation even started. "Okay, Henry. The floor is yours" Miranda said, placing her glass down. The Saint Laurent executive laced his fingers together, his expression smooth. "Izan, we took a chance on you." He smiled. "A six-month contract, 2.2 million. At the time, you were a promising talent, but what you''ve done in these past months?" He exhaled with a shake of his head. "Let''s just say our gamble paid off." Miranda said nothing. She was waiting, letting Henry show his hand. "You''ve seen the numbers," he continued."Your name alone generated more media impact value than some of our A-list celebrity campaigns combined. Saint Laurent has become the brand of choice for young football fans¡ªbecause of you." He leaned forward slightly, smiling. "Which is why we''re here to discuss something bigger. We''re looking at a long-term deal, something that properly reflects your value." Henry leaned back, lacing his fingers together, a practiced, self-assured smile on his face. "You''ve seen what we''re offering," he said to Miranda before looking at Izan, "So let''s skip the warm-up." He slid the folder across the table. "Seventy million. Ten years." Izan blinked. Ten years? Miranda, however, didn''t even reach for the folder. Instead, she tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "No." Henry''s smile barely wavered. "I expected a counteroffer, but an outright rejection?" He let out a soft chuckle. "Let''s hear it, then." Miranda leaned forward slightly. "Ten years is too long. It''s a lifetime in football. You know that." Henry exhaled, shaking his head. "It''s security." "It''s Saint Laurent locking Izan in at a price that will soon be outdated." Henry chuckled again, though this time, it was tighter. "You act like we''re trying to rob him." "I act like I know how these deals work," Miranda shot back. "Izan''s stock isn''t stagnant." "He''s rising. The Euros proved that. If he keeps this trajectory, this deal will be undervaluing him within two years." Henry gave Izan a knowing look. "She''s good." Izan smirked. "I know." Henry exhaled, rubbing his chin. "Alright, Miranda. What do you have in mind?" She tapped her tablet. "Four years. Fifty million." Henry laughed. "Fifty for four? Come on." He gestured vaguely. "That''s an absurd leap. You want nearly the same money in less than half the time?" "Yes. And you''ll give it." Henry shook his head. "Miranda, that''s unrealistic." "Is it? Is it realistic for a player who just turned himself into one of the most talked-about names in football?" She arched a brow. "We both know Saint Laurent has already made millions from Izan''s unpaid media alone. This isn''t a gamble for you anymore. It''s a sure thing." Henry exhaled, shifting in his seat. "Ten years, seventy million is still better long-term." "For you." "For him, too. He wouldn''t have to worry about renegotiations or shifting market values." Miranda smiled, but it didn''t reach her eyes. "Henry, you and I both know that''s nonsense. Why should Izan lock himself into a long-term deal when he''s still growing?" Henry leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table. "Four years is too short. Seven." Miranda didn''t blink. "Five." Henry exhaled sharply. "Six." Miranda smiled. "Four." Henry: Wait you just said five Miranda just stared at him blankly. Henry let out a frustrated chuckle. "You don''t budge, do you?" "No." Henry sat back, rubbing his chin. Then, he let out a long breath. "Fine. Four years." Miranda nodded. "Now, let''s discuss clauses." Henry smirked. "I had a feeling you''d get to that." Miranda opened her tablet, scrolling through her notes. "Here''s what we''re adding." ? Performance Bonuses: If Izan wins a Ballon d''Or, he earns a five-million incentive. ? Publicity Boosters: If his association with Saint Laurent results in a 30% increase in engagement or sales, the contract will trigger a re-evaluation. ? Renegotiation Clause: If Izan''s valuation surpasses the current estimate within two years, the deal must be adjusted accordingly. ? Creative Control: Saint Laurent cannot use Izan''s image in campaigns without his team''s prior approval. Henry exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Ballon d''Or bonus? Do you think that''s realistic? Miranda didn''t hesitate. "Yes." Henry turned to Izan. "What do you think?" Izan smirked. "I like getting paid for winning." Henry shook his head but smiled. "Alright. I''ll concede on the Ballon d''Or bonus and the publicity clause." Miranda gave a single nod. "Good. Now, let''s hear your conditions." Henry flipped to the next page. "Saint Laurent has its expectations. ? Brand Exclusivity: Izan must wear Saint Laurent in all public meetings, press conferences, and non-football events. ? Social Media Usage: Any fashion-related posts must prioritize Saint Laurent unless explicitly approved otherwise. ? Image Restrictions: No collaborations with brands that conflict with Saint Laurent''s luxury image. ? Personal Branding Alignment: Saint Laurent reserves the right to ensure Izan''s image aligns with its aesthetic. Miranda scanned the list, then shook her head. "The public appearance clause is too broad. Izan will wear Saint Laurent in official settings¡ªpress conferences, interviews, and brand events. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But he won''t be forced to wear a suit to dinner with his family." Henry exhaled. "Fine." Miranda continued. "As for personal branding, we''ll agree that his image will align with Saint Laurent''s values, but it does not give Saint Laurent control over his creative direction." Henry chuckled. "You really don''t miss a single trap, do you?" "No." Henry drummed his fingers against the table. Then, he smirked. "Alright. Fifty for four. Performance incentives. Formal exclusivity. We have a deal?" Miranda studied him for a moment, then extended a hand. "We have a deal, for now. I''ll read over the details once again to make sure we are not selling out to the devil. In this case you" Henry shook it, still looking both amused and exhausted. "Miranda, you''re a menace." She smirked. "I''m just better at this than you." Henry turned to Izan, shaking his hand. "Looks like we''re in business for the long run." Izan smirked. "Looks like it." The trio talked a bit more after that before Henry left for other personal commitments. As they left the restaurant, Izan nudged Miranda. "That was insane." Miranda smirked. "That''s how you make sure they pay you what you''re worth." Chapter 331 331: Headlines Henry drummed his fingers against the table. Then, he smirked. "Alright. Fifty for four. Performance incentives. Formal exclusivity. We have a deal?" Miranda studied him for a moment, then extended a hand. "We have a deal, for now. I''ll read over the details once again to make sure we are not selling out to the devil. In this case you" Henry shook it, still looking both amused and exhausted. "Miranda, you''re a menace." She smirked. "I''m just better at this than you." Henry turned to Izan, shaking his hand. "Looks like we''re in business for the long run." Izan smirked. "Looks like it." The trio talked a bit more after that before Henry left for other personal commitments. As they left the restaurant, Izan nudged Miranda. "That was insane." Miranda smirked. "That''s how you make sure they pay you what you''re worth The two broke out into laughter as they walked towards the Villa. ...... The sun hung lazily in the sky as Izan stepped onto the rooftop terrace, where Selene was already waiting. She leaned against the railing, sunglasses perched on her nose, phone in hand. A team of photographers and stylists bustled around, setting up the shoot, but Selene barely acknowledged them. "You made them work for that contract, didn''t you?" she remarked, still scrolling. Izan smirked. "Miranda did." Selene finally looked up, pushing her sunglasses onto her head. "Same thing." She nodded toward the setup¡ªminimalist, sleek, Saint Laurent in every way. The campaign was a summer-themed collection, but not the loud, beachwear type. It was all about effortless luxury. "You''re getting good at this," she said, adjusting the cuff of his open white linen shirt. "You were good the first time but this is just next level." Izan chuckled. "I had good help" Selene gave him a look, then gestured for her crew to get ready. She walked behind the set and took her camera before settling into her stride like the legendary photographer she was. The shoot flowed easily. Izan had done enough of these to know how to hit the right angles, and how to make it feel natural. But it was still exhausting¡ªthe constant wardrobe changes, the subtle shifts in pose, the long stretches of waiting. Between takes, he leaned against a pillar, checking his phone. Another wave of notifications. Videos of him and Lamine playing football on the beach were everywhere. A new clip had surfaced¡ªsomeone had recorded them juggling a ball mid-stride while walking through the streets, seamlessly passing it back and forth. The comments were wild. "How are they casually doing this like it''s nothing??" "Ibiza is just Spain training camp at this point." "Izan and Lamine making the whole island look like a football ad." He smirked, shaking his head. Lamine was going to love this. The last set of shots wrapped up as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. Selene handed him a bottle of water, studying him. "You have to consider being a model when you retire?" she asked. Izan took a sip, then shrugged. "That''s still about 20 years early." Selene hummed. "Must be nice to be famous and have all the girls in a chokehold," she said but Izan shot back. "Says one of the most influential names in the fashion industry. Yeah it''s nice@ They stood in silence for a moment, the wind rustling through the terrace before breaking into laughter. Then, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and sighed. "I have to go deal with some brand drama." She patted his shoulder. "Try not to cause chaos while I''m gone." Izan smirked. "No promises." his phone vibrating as he spoke. "Yo, you done with the shoot" a voice came out after he picked up the phone. ? Lamine was already waiting when Izan stepped out of the villa, lounging against a parked scooter with his arms crossed. "Is Madam Selene done torturing you?" he asked. Izan rolled his shoulders. "For now." Lamine grinned. "Good. Then let''s go." They spent the next few hours weaving through Ibiza''s streets, hopping between restaurants, caf¨¦s, and bars. The island had a different energy at night¡ªstill vibrant, but more relaxed. As they walked along the promenade, something felt¡­ different. People were staring more than usual. Not in the usual oh, that''s Izan and Lamine way. It was more than that. A man at a food stall caught Izan''s eye and gave him a nod. "Hey, gracias for the business, hermano." Izan frowned slightly. "Business?" The guy grinned, gesturing at the bustling street. "Tourists have been coming in all day asking where you two have been hanging out. Saying they saw the videos." Lamine raised a brow. "You serious?" "Dead serious. Some of them don''t even care about football. They just wanna be where you''ve been." Izan exchanged a glance with Lamine, realization dawning. As they continued, more business owners greeted them¡ªbartenders, store clerks, even a rental shop owner. The pattern was the same: people were showing up just because Izan and Lamine had been there. Lamine let out a low whistle. "Bro¡­ we''re literally moving the economy." Izan snorted. "That''s dramatic." "Is it? We should start charging appearance fees," Lamine joked, nudging him. Izan shook his head with a smirk, but deep down, he felt the shift. This was different from just being famous. It was power¡ªthe kind that brands would kill for. Miranda had been right. Every move he made? People were watching. ? The next few days settled into a rhythm. Mornings were for brand shoots¡ªlong hours of posing under the sun, Selene directing with her usual sharp eye while Miranda made sure every detail was right. Afternoons were their own¡ªleisurely walks through Ibiza''s streets, late lunches at hidden gems, and the occasional dip in the sea. Izan and Lamine moved like they owned the island. People recognized them everywhere, but the attention wasn''t overwhelming¡ªit was electric. Kids ran up with balls, asking for a touch, a trick, anything. Tourists stopped them for pictures. The locals, initially indifferent, had started to take notice. Ibiza had always been a hotspot for celebrities, but there was something different. Something nice about seeing two of Spain''s most exciting young stars casually weaving through the city, playing pickup games with strangers, and making the island feel like their own personal training ground. And it wasn''t just them who noticed. "Bro, have you seen this?" Lamine asked, holding up his phone as they lounged on the beach one afternoon. Izan took a look. It was a clip of the two of them from the other night¡ªplaying barefoot against a group of teenagers in the sand. Izan''s first touch was perfect, flicking the ball over a defender before Lamine volleyed it home. The comments were ridiculous. "Spain got their own Neymar and Ronaldinho." "Lamine x Izan is the duo we need. Laporte, I know we''re broke but pleaseeee" "Ibiza is popping off because of them." Izan exhaled. "Folks are getting crazy over a beach game." Lamine grinned. "Yeah, but look at this¡ª" He scrolled down. The nightlife in Ibiza had been busier than usual. Local businesses were posting about it. Some were even tagging them. "It''s like we turned this place into a hotspot," Lamine said, shaking his head. Izan smirked. "Do you still want to start taking fees for appearances" Lamine laughed. "Nah, let''s just play." And so they did. The beach was packed, but as soon as they started juggling the ball between them, the crowd faded away. Lamine tried to get fancy early, rolling the ball up his shin before flicking it into the air. Izan caught it on his thigh, let it bounce once, and then popped it high with the outside of his boot. He watched it spin lazily downward, then¡ªwith impossible control¡ªtrapped it with the back of his heel, dragging it down smoothly into a perfect roll. "Okay, okay!" Lamine grinned. "That''s nice." Izan didn''t even respond. He flicked the ball back up, catching it on his shoulder, and balancing it like it was nothing. Then, with a quick twist, he let it roll down his back before snapping his foot up, backheeling it over Lamine''s head. Lamine barely reacted in time, managing to control it with his chest before bursting out laughing. "Bro, you''re playing like you got Brazilian blood." Izan smirked. "I''m just built different." The system buzzed at Izan''s shamelessness which was getting out of hand, causing Izan to laugh. The freestyle turned into something more¡ªeffortless, flowing, a showcase of pure skill. The crowd started gathering again, phones recording, murmurs of disbelief spreading through the air. At one point, Izan dribbled in place, shifting the ball between his feet so quickly that it became a blur. A little kid near the front gasped. "That''s not normal," someone muttered. Then, just as Izan prepared to pull off another move, he heard his name. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Izan!" He turned, spotting Miranda in the distance, barefoot in the sand, her hair slightly disheveled, like she had just sprinted the whole way. She was out of breath. "Izan," she panted, reaching them. "You need to see something. Now." Izan exchanged a look with Lamine before grabbing his towel. "What happened?" Miranda didn''t answer immediately. She just held up her phone. The screen was open to a news alert, the headline flashing bold across it. Izan''s stomach tensed. He took the phone and read. "What the Actually Fuc-" [Keep it PG for Christ''s sake. Damn] Chapter 332 332: Just A Player [Golden ticket] Valencia CF Administrative Boardroom For the first time in months, the mood in Valencia CF''s boardroom wasn''t suffocating. The usual tension, the desperate scrambles to patch financial holes, and the fear of losing their best players had, for a brief moment, subsided. Luis Cort¨¢zar, the club''s financial director, leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with the edge of his thumb as he exhaled. "We''ve done it," he murmured, almost as if he didn''t believe his own words. Across the polished oak table, Valencia''s key executives exchanged glances¡ªsome skeptical, some relieved. The last few months had been a brutal fight for survival. Cutting costs, restructuring debt, securing new sponsorship deals¡ªeverything had been a delicate balancing act. But they had managed. "We''re not in the clear yet," said C¨¦sar Moreno, the club''s legal advisor, tapping his pen against a thick stack of documents. "But if we stay on this path, we''ll meet LaLiga''s financial fair play requirements and avoid any real punishments." Layhoon Chan, the club''s president, nodded, her fingers laced together in front of her. "We''ve fought to keep Izan," she said, her tone measured. "The bids that came in¡­ any other club in our position would have folded." Real Madrid. PSG. Manchester City. Chelsea. They had all come knocking, waving obscene amounts of money for Izan. Some clubs had even included financial incentives just to make Valencia consider negotiating. But Valencia hadn''t cracked. "And yet," Cort¨¢zar mused, "we stood firm. We didn''t let go of our most valuable asset. The Champions League money, the sponsorships, the increased ticket sales¡ªit''s all finally paying off." The room was still cautious, but for the first time, there was something close to satisfaction. Then, the door burst open. A young assistant, barely able to catch his breath, stumbled into the room. His face was pale, his eyes wide with panic. A tablet was clutched in his hands like a live grenade. "You need to see this," he panted. The shift in the room was immediate. Layhoon''s expression turned cold. "What is it?" The assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned the screen around. A Marca headline flashed across the tablet in bold red letters: BREAKING: LA LIGA SUMMONS VALENCIA OVER FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES¡ªSEVERE CHARGES PENDING Silence. Luis Cort¨¢zar stiffened, his face draining of color. "What?" The assistant swallowed, licking his dry lips. "It''s everywhere. LaLiga has called for an emergency hearing with Valencia''s representatives. They''re investigating financial misconduct and¡­" He hesitated as if struggling to believe what he was about to say. "There are talks of serious penalties." C¨¦sar Moreno snatched the tablet from the assistant''s hands, scanning the article with sharp, rapid movements. His jaw clenched. "They''re accusing us of misreporting earnings. Of concealing losses." "That''s impossible," Cort¨¢zar snapped. His voice was sharp, bordering on furious. "We''ve been transparent¡ªevery document, every number, every financial move has been accounted for!" "There''s more." The assistant''s voice was tight. "LaLiga is considering banning us from making any new signings. We might even be forced to sell players." A stunned pause. The weight of the words settled like a hammer onto the table. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Layhoon''s fingers curled slightly. "Who leaked this?" "No idea," the assistant admitted. "But this isn''t just La Liga anymore. UEFA is also watching." The room was deathly silent. A soft buzzing sound filled the space¡ªphones vibrating with new messages, executives checking their screens as notifications flooded in. Layhoon exhaled, her mind already moving three steps ahead. This wasn''t just an investigation. This was a full-scale attack. Someone had set Valencia up for a war. ...¡­.. [Back in Ibiza] Izan''s grip tightened around Miranda''s phone as he read the headline again, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. VALENCIA CF CHARGED WITH FINANCIAL MISCONDUCT ¨C LA LIGA DEMANDS URGENT HEARING The article below was a blur. Words like misreporting earnings, salary cap violations, and concealing losses swam before his eyes. But the worst part came at the bottom. Potential penalties include transfer restrictions, significant fines, and¡ªif proven severe¡ªpossible relegation. Izan exhaled sharply. "What the hell is this?" Miranda crossed her arms, her expression tense. "It dropped less than 30 minutes ago. The media is already going crazy. La Liga is moving fast, and UEFA is watching." Lamine, who had been looking over his shoulder, let out a low whistle. "This is bad." Izan''s mind raced. This wasn''t just bad¡ªit was a disaster. He had just played the best season of his short career, fired Valencia into the Champions League, and even won the Euros, and now¡­ Relegation? That word alone made his stomach twist. His Valencia. His club. He forced himself to keep reading. The article mentioned that LaLiga had summoned Valencia''s board for an immediate hearing, demanding explanations. The accusations weren''t vague. Someone had dug deep into the club''s finances and found something¡ªsomething big enough to put everything at risk. "How did this even happen?" Izan muttered. "We were fine. We had to be fine. They said¡ª" "They said a lot of things," Miranda cut in, shaking her head. "But this isn''t just speculation, Izan. The league doesn''t call for urgent meetings unless they have something serious." Izan dragged a hand through his hair. He could already see it¡ªthe media frenzy, the pressure, the questions he wouldn''t have to answer even though he was just a player. "What do you want to do?" Miranda asked. "What do you mean?" She met his gaze. "You are the face of the club, Izan. No matter what happens, the media will look at you. They''re already talking about it. Fans are panicking. Your name is tied to this whether you like it or not." Lamine shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Bro, this could get ugly fast." Izan exhaled slowly. His mind flashed back to the board members in their offices, probably scrambling right now. To Baraja, who had fought so hard to rebuild the team. To the fans, who had suffered enough. Valencia couldn''t afford this. He couldn''t afford this. His phone buzzed again. Messages flooding in. Journalists asking for statements. Fans begging for answers. Izan clenched his jaw. This wasn''t how his summer was supposed to go. He stared at the screen, the words burning into his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the phone, his pulse drumming in his ears. Miranda kept talking but Izan barely heard her. His focus was on a video that had just gone live. A panel of football analysts on El Chiringuito¡ªone of Spain''s loudest football shows¡ªwas already tearing into the story. "The timing of this is terrible," one of them was saying. "They just qualified for the Champions League, they were preparing to build a squad around Izan¡­ and now this?" A second analyst shook his head. "If these charges hold, forget about the Champions League. They might not even stay in La Liga. We''ve seen it before. Malaga, Deportivo¡­ Valencia could be next." Izan''s grip on the phone nearly cracked the case. No. No way. This wasn''t happening. Izan felt his stomach twist. They had worked too hard for this. Fought through everything¡ªdoubts, pressure, injuries¡ªto bring Valencia back to the top. And now? "Where''s the club''s response?" he muttered, swiping through articles, looking for any official statement. Nothing. No press release. No denial. No damage control. Just silence. That was worse than anything. Valencia wasn''t ready for this. Miranda sighed, locking her phone. "Izan, you should prepare for questions. Reporters are already hunting for reactions. You know how it goes¡ªthey''ll want your opinion, your stance. Even if you don''t say anything, not saying something will be its own statement." Izan exhaled sharply. He wasn''t some club executive. He wasn''t the one who handled finances. He was just a player. And yet, somehow, this felt personal. Lamine nudged him. "Bro¡­ what''s your move?" Izan didn''t answer right away. His thoughts were spinning, calculating. He needed to think. To act. Because if Valencia was falling, he had to decide¡ªwas he going down with them? [A couple of hours later] Izan sat by the airplane window, his hood pulled over his head, headphones resting around his neck. Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly, but inside his mind, there was no peace. Miranda sat beside him, typing furiously on her laptop, her phone lighting up with notifications every few seconds. The moment the scandal had erupted, she had moved quickly¡ªsecuring the earliest flight back to Valencia, arranging a private exit at the airport, and briefing him on what to expect. But nothing could truly prepare him for this. Lamine had offered to come with him and even joked about being his bodyguard, but Izan had told him to stay. This was something he had to handle alone. He scrolled through his phone, refreshing the news. Every sports channel, every major publication, every pundit had the same story plastered across their screens. "Valencia in Crisis: Financial Charges Could Force Club to Sell Star Player" "LaLiga Investigates Valencia: Champions League Spot in Jeopardy" "Reports Indicate Izan Could Be Sold to Balance the Books" One channel was mid-discussion. "The reality is, that Valencia have been operating on thin margins for years. The moment they qualified for the Champions League, it was obvious they would have to reinforce the squad. But instead of focusing on signings, they''re now scrambling to prove they can even afford to function at this level." "And let''s be honest," another pundit cut in. "Izan is their biggest asset. If they''re in financial trouble, selling him is the fastest solution." "But do they want to? That''s the question." "They might not have a choice." Miranda glanced at him. "I know what you''re thinking, but we don''t have make any decisions yet." Izan didn''t respond. Just silently stared out the window. A/N: IM TIRED. We Might have to up the Glen ticket challenge. 20 golden ticket for an extra chapter seems like hell for me now Chapter 333 333: Sharks Circling Izan stepped off the private terminal at Valencia Airport, the air thick with humidity, carrying the weight of the storm waiting for him outside. Miranda had moved swiftly, making sure his arrival was under wraps¡ªno flight details leaked, no media tipped off. But even as he walked toward the waiting car, he sensed it. Something was off. Miranda''s phone buzzed in her hand. She checked it and let out a sharp sigh. "They know." Izan''s jaw tightened. He had been hoping for a quiet arrival, a chance to slip back into the city unnoticed. But it was impossible now. "How?" he asked, glancing at her. She was already scrolling through messages. "No idea. Maybe airport staff, maybe someone at the airline. But the press is outside. Cameras, mics, the whole circus." Izan exhaled through his nose. Of course. This wasn''t just a football story anymore. A crisis. And his return to Valencia was another piece of the puzzle for journalists to pick apart. Miranda gave him a look. "I can get you out through another exit, but it won''t be easy." Izan nodded. "Let''s just get home." ...¡­.. The airport''s underground exit was clear¡ªuntil the final turn. Through the tinted car window, Izan saw them. Reporters lined outside, cameras already flashing, microphones held out like weapons. The moment the car slowed down, they surged forward. "Izan! Have you spoken to the club?" "Are Valencia selling you?" "Do you feel betrayed?" "Will you stay if the club is punished?" The questions pounded against the glass. Izan didn''t flinch. Miranda kept her eyes on her phone. "No stops. Just drive." The driver obeyed, maneuvering through the chaos, but a few persistent journalists tried to keep up, knocking on the windows, shouting his name. Izan shut his eyes. He could already see the headlines. Izan Returns in Silence¡ªWhat Does It Mean for Valencia? The car finally cleared the crowd, speeding onto the open road. The tension in his chest didn''t ease, but at least he could breathe again. Miranda tucked her phone away and sighed. "I''ll handle the media. You just focus on what''s next." Izan didn''t reply. Because that was the problem. He didn''t know what was next. By the time they pulled up to his family''s house, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and purple across the sky. Izan stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders. The familiar scent of the ocean mixed with the warmth of home. For the first time since he had read that headline, something inside him settled. The front door opened before he could even reach it. Komi stood there, arms crossed, her face a mix of relief and worry. "Miura," she murmured. He barely had time to react before she pulled him into a hug, holding him tighter than usual. "I''m fine," he muttered, though even he didn''t fully believe it. She pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning him. "You don''t look fine." Hori''s voice came from the living room. "Let him breathe, Mom." Izan turned and saw his little sister lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She didn''t rush over like their mother, but the small smile she sent his way said enough. He managed a smirk. "No ''welcome home''?" She shrugged. "Didn''t think I needed to. You already live here." Komi shot her a look before turning back to Izan. "Are you hungry? I made food." Izan shook his head. "Not now." His mother studied him for a moment, then sighed. "I won''t push. But we need to talk later." Izan nodded. He had expected that. His mother wasn''t the type to ignore problems, especially ones this big. He moved further inside, dropping his bag by the stairs¡ªthen froze. Someone else was here. Sitting in the corner of the living room, curled up with a book in her hands, was Olivia. Izan blinked. For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. She looked up, green eyes locking onto his, and smiled softly. "Surprise." He stared at her. "What are you doing here?" Olivia stood, setting the book aside. "I was supposed to be in Madrid." She stepped closer. "But when the news broke, I figured you might need someone to talk to. So I came back." He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You didn''t have to do that." She tilted her head. "I wanted to." He studied her, searching for something¡ªmaybe reassurance, maybe understanding. Olivia had always been good at reading him and now was no different. She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "You don''t have to pretend you''re okay." For a moment, Izan just stood there. The world outside was chaos. But here, in this room, it was quiet. Safe. His fingers tightened around hers. "I don''t know what''s going to happen. I don''t want the fans to feel betrayed." Olivia nodded. "Then we figure it out together." Izan let out a slow breath. Maybe, for now, that was enough. .... The boardroom was dimly lit, the only light emanating from a large screen mounted at one end. On the screen, a relentless news ticker scrolled a damning headline in bold red letters: "VALENCIA IN CRISIS: LA LIGA INVESTIGATES FINANCIAL MISCONDUCT ¨C STAR PLAYER IZAN COULD BE SOLD." A heavy silence fell over the room as the figures in tailored suits exchanged glances. This was no ordinary transfer rumor; it was a full-blown crisis. For months, Valencia CF had been scrambling to balance their books, clinging to hope and determined to keep their prized asset, Izan. Now, with the club''s financial mismanagement laid bare for all to see, opportunity and desperation intertwined. The club''s sporting director, a man renowned for his ruthless precision in the transfer market, leaned forward, his voice measured yet crackling with intent. "This is our moment. Valencia never thought they''d be forced to sell, but now they have no choice." A senior executive, his tone laced with bitter amusement, interjected, "They rejected us before. They claimed Izan was untouchable. But look at them now¡ªbleeding out under financial pressure." Another voice from the back, calm but incisive, added, "If LaLiga clamps down with severe penalties¡ªtransfer bans, fines, even potential relegation¡ªthey won''t just be willing to sell; they''ll be desperate. And desperate sellers accept lower bids." The sporting director nodded as he turned his attention back to the screen, where highlight reels of Izan''s breathtaking plays. His slick dribbles, his match-winning goal in the Euros final, his electrifying celebrations¡ªplayed on a loop. "We want trophies. We want a player who delivers those. Izan is that player. We can acquire him for a fraction of his real value if we move quickly." A hushed murmur filled the room until the club''s president finally broke the silence. "What are we looking at in terms of valuation?" A junior financial analyst, nervously adjusting his glasses, offered, "Before this crisis, his price tag would be north of 130 million. But with the current pressure on Valencia? I''d estimate we can push it down to 80¨C90 million, maybe even lower if we strike while the iron is hot." A spark ignited in the sporting director''s eyes as he leaned back, fingers steepled. "Then we prepare our first move. Initiate discreet negotiations. We strike before the other predators'' circle." Across Europe, the whispers of opportunity had reached the corridors of other elite clubs. ...¡­. Real Madrid ¨C Santiago Bernab¨¦u Boardroom In a sunlit boardroom at the Santiago Bernab¨¦u, Florentino P¨¦rez sat at the head of a sleek table, listening intently as his advisors dissected the unfolding situation. "Valencia''s crisis opens a window," one advisor noted. "They never entertained our offers before; now, with desperation setting in, we have leverage." Another advisor added, "Izan has already proven himself on the grand stage. If we time it right, not only do we secure a phenomenal talent, but we also drive down the cost dramatically." P¨¦rez''s gaze was steely. "He fits our vision perfectly. Let''s make sure our proposal is irresistible and force Valencia''s hand." ... Not far away, in a glass-walled boardroom overlooking the sprawling cityscape of Manchester, Ferran Soriano and Txiki Begiristain discussed the opportunity with quiet urgency. "Izan is exactly the type of player Pep would relish," Begiristain murmured, scrolling through detailed performance metrics on his tablet. "His ability to read the game, his vision, his technical flair¡ªit''s the complete package." Soriano nodded thoughtfully. "And Valencia''s financial woes mean we have less competition for him. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. They need cash now. We have both the funds and the strategic need for a transformative player." "Then we move decisively," Soriano said. "Let''s get our team ready to make an offer. We can''t afford to hesitate when the market is this favorable." As these top clubs covertly aligned their strategies, the football world buzzed with speculation. News channels and pundits dissected every detail. Analysts on live TV debated how Valencia''s financial missteps would force their hand¡ªarguing that the club''s inability to balance the books could lead to immediate transfer restrictions and harsher sanctions. Amid this maelstrom, one thing was clear: Valencia''s misfortune was a golden opportunity for clubs with both the ambition and the resources to act swiftly. The sharks were circling, ready to pounce on the club''s prized asset. Chapter 334 334: Hottest On The Market Valencia- Paterna The ride to Valencia''s training ground was quiet. Izan sat by the window, earphones in, the blurred city passing him by. Every now and then, he caught glimpses of fans lining the streets, holding signs¡ªsome desperate, some defiant. "IZAN, DON''T LEAVE." "VALENCIA NEEDS YOU." "STAY AND FIGHT." Their faith in him felt heavier than ever. Izan leaned back against the seat, eyes fixed on the passing scenery. It should''ve felt normal¡ªreturning for preseason, slipping back into routine. But there was nothing normal about this. Not when the club''s financial crisis loomed like a storm over everything. Not when he knew, deep down, that his future might no longer be in his hands. When the training complex came into view, he exhaled slowly, bracing himself. He had expected tension, and uncertainty¡ªmaybe even resentment from his teammates. Instead, as he stepped into the locker room, Pietro was the first to break the silence. "Look who decided to show up," Pietro smirked, arms crossed. "Didn''t think we''d see you again, Estrella." Izan raised an eyebrow, setting his bag down. "You think I''d miss preseason? I''m not that soft." Sosa, stretching near his locker, chimed in. "Man, we were starting to think you''d already packed your bags for Madrid or Manchester." He grinned. "Should we be worried you''ll disappear mid-session?" Izan rolled his eyes but appreciated the lightheartedness. "Relax. I''ll at least finish the warm-ups before I betray you all." Laughter rippled through the locker room, cutting through the unease. "Good to have you back," Gaya said as he pulled Izan in for a hug. There was still an underlying tension, but it wasn''t from his teammates¡ªit was the situation, the storm brewing over the club. Javi Guerra nudged him on the way to his locker. "No matter what happens, you know we''ve got your back, right?" Izan met his gaze, nodding. That meant more than he could say. ..... When the players gathered on the pitch, Rub¨¦n Baraja watched Izan closely. The boy had carried Valencia on his back last season, lifting them into the Champions League with performances beyond his years. And now, through no fault of his own, he was being dragged into a mess he never created. Baraja knew how much Izan meant to this club and how much it meant to him. That''s why this was cruel. As the players went through warm-ups, the head coach pulled Izan aside. His voice was quiet, steady. "I know this isn''t fair to you." Izan didn''t reply immediately. He kicked at the grass, glancing toward the stands where more fans had gathered. Then, finally, he met Baraja''s eyes. "Is it true?" he asked. "Are they going to sell me?" Baraja hesitated. He wasn''t the one making those decisions, but he had heard the whispers, and seen the reports. The truth was, if the financial crisis got worse, Valencia might not have a choice. But looking at Izan now¡ªat the fire still burning in his eyes¡ªhe couldn''t bring himself to say it outright. "They''ll fight to keep you," Baraja said carefully. "But we both know football isn''t always about what''s right. No matter what happens, you''ve already given everything to this club." Izan clenched his jaw. That wasn''t the answer he wanted. Baraja patted his shoulder before stepping back. "Let''s get to work. The only thing we control is what happens on this pitch." Izan nodded, exhaling. It wasn''t much, but for now, it was enough. ...¡­ Despite the uncertainty, life in Valencia continued as if nothing had changed. Because of the somber mood surrounding the club, Izan wasn''t able to receive the normal tradition of going through the line of players to congratulate him for his euros win. Instead he had to settle for a cheat meal from the cafeteria. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. [I know Valencia is broke and all in this timeline but really, McDonald''s for winning the euros is a new level of low. Wonder who wrote this sheit] Training sessions were intense, but routine¡ªBaraja''s voice echoing through the Paterna training ground as he pushed the players through drills. Izan fell back into the rhythm of it, exchanging quick passes with Javi Guerra, darting past Thierry in one-on-ones. Finishing moves with the same sharpness that had made him LaLiga''s youngest Pichichi. For two days, there were no tense meetings, no late-night phone calls¡ªjust football. The locker room jokes continued, with Sosa and Pietro making light of the situation. "You sure you''re not holding back, Estrella?" Pietro smirked after Izan barely squeezed a shot past Mamardashvili. "Wouldn''t want your future club to think you''ve lost your touch." Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "What future club? You lot act like I''ve already packed my bags." Sosa grinned. "Hate to break it to you, but the whole world thinks you''re gone." It was said in jest, but they all knew the truth¡ªthis wasn''t in Izan''s hands. ...¡­.. The third morning, everything changed. Izan and Miranda were called to a meeting with Layhoon Chan, Valencia''s president, and several Valencia executives. They sat across from the club''s representatives in a quiet office, the air thick with something between guilt and inevitability. Layhoon sighed before speaking. "Izan, you know how much we value you. If we had any other choice, we wouldn''t be here." Izan already knew what was coming. He didn''t say anything. "We have to listen to offers," she continued, her voice heavy. "This is not about your performances or your commitment. It''s about survival." Izan leaned forward, fingers interlocked. "So that''s it? After everything?" "We don''t want to sell you," another executive said, "but we need your cooperation. If we''re forced into a sale, we have to maximize it¡ªnot just for financial reasons, but to ensure we retain the rest of the squad and invest in reinforcements." Miranda, arms crossed, was visibly displeased. "You''re asking my client to negotiate against the club that''s going to buy him." Layhoon nodded slowly. "Yes." It was an uncomfortable situation¡ªunprecedented even. Izan, a 16-year-old, had to sit at the table with clubs that wanted him, not to get the best personal deal, but to ensure Valencia didn''t collapse under its weight. Layhoon leaned forward. "Izan, we''re not asking you to do this out of duty or because you owe us anything. We know that''s not fair to you. But we need you. If we lose you for a cut price, we risk not just this season¡ªbut the club''s entire future." Miranda was ready to refuse. But before she could, Izan spoke. "I''ll do it." Miranda turned to him, surprised. "Izan¡ª" "If they''re selling me, I want to make sure the club gets what it needs." He exhaled sharply, locking eyes with Layhoon. "Just promise me one thing: Don''t waste the money like you did in the past. Make sure this team competes." Layhoon hesitated before nodding. "We will." Miranda wasn''t happy, but Izan had made up his mind and a few hours later, Valencia released a statement: **" After careful evaluation of our financial situation, Valencia CF confirms that we will be listening to offers for Izan Hernandez during this transfer window. This decision has been made with deep regret but in the best interest of the club''s stability and future. We want to assure our fans that every effort is being made to reinvest in the squad and retain our key players. We acknowledge the failures that have led to this point, and we sincerely apologize to our supporters. Valencia CF remains committed to building a competitive team that honors our legacy. We will communicate further updates when appropriate."** The moment it went live, the footballing world exploded. Izan''s name was trending worldwide. Valencia fans flooded social media with anger, disbelief, and heartbreak. The streets of Valencia were eerily different that evening. It wasn''t just the usual frustration that followed a disappointing transfer window¡ªit was something deeper. The fans had always feared the club might reach this point, but seeing it confirmed in an official statement made it real. Outside the Mestalla, groups of supporters gathered, some chanting, others too stunned to even speak. They had fought so hard to protect their best players over the years, but now their brightest star, the boy they had placed their hopes on, was being put up for sale. Banners that once celebrated Izan now carried messages of defiance. "Izan, don''t let them sell you." "We won''t forgive this betrayal." "Save Valencia, not the executives." At a local bar near the stadium, the discussion was heated. The usual crowd¡ªlongtime season-ticket holders and younger fans who had grown up idolizing the club''s past legends¡ªsat around a table, all fixated on the news flashing across the television. "This club never learns," one of the older fans muttered, shaking his head. "They did it with Silva. They did it with Mata. Sold our best players and lied to us about reinvestment. And now Izan? After what he did last season?" A younger fan, barely out of his teens, slammed his drink onto the table. "What''s the point of Champions League football if we''re just going to give up our best player before we even play a match? What a joke." The others nodded in agreement. No one believed the board''s words about reinvestment. They had heard it all before. Social media was even worse. Hashtags like #IzanNoSeVende (Izan is not for sale). #LimOut flooded timelines, with fans from across Spain¡ªand beyond¡ªexpressing their outrage. But it wasn''t just Valencia fans reacting. The entire footballing world had been waiting for this moment. Chapter 335 335: Early Bids[1000 Top Fans special ] In offices across Europe, executives, sporting directors, and agents were already making calls. At Real Madrid, Florentino P¨¦rez sat in a meeting with Juni Calafat and Jos¨¦ ¨¢ngel S¨¢nchez. This was exactly the kind of opportunity they thrived on. A generational talent, Spanish, available and at just 16 years old? It was too perfect. But there was a complication¡ªMadrid''s priority for the summer was Kylian Mbapp¨¦. "His price will be high," Calafat remarked. "But if we wait, someone else will get to him first." P¨¦rez steepled his fingers, thinking. "Contact Valencia. Let''s see what number they give us." .... At Manchester City, Txiki Begiristain was already on the phone with Pep Guardiola. City had been monitoring Izan for almost a year, and now he was on the market. The problem? They had just spent big on a winger the previous summer. Money wasn''t something to stop them but with the 115 charges on their neck, they had to be wary. "Izan is special, Pep," Txiki said. "You''ve seen the data, the vision, the versatility. And if we don''t move, United or Madrid will." Guardiola sighed. "You know I love the player. But where does he fit?" "We find a way," Txiki replied. "We can''t ignore this. Also, Kevin is getting old and Wirtz would cost us more. Izan doesn''t lose to Wirtz in ability. Valencia''s situation helps us" Pep nodded at the latter''s word but he still had some reservations. ...¡­ Across town, Manchester United had their discussions. Sir Jim Ratcliffe and INEOS wanted a statement signing, and Erik ten Hag had always been a fan of Izan''s skillset. [Of course he is.] "He''s young, but he''s got that mentality," Ten Hag said in a board meeting. "Look at what he did for Valencia. This is the type of player we build around." The board members sat around the table nodding. "Get in touch with his agent," one of the executives said. "Let''s make it clear we''re serious." .... Back in Spain, Deco sat in Xavi''s office, arms crossed. "We can''t afford him," Xavi said, frustration evident in his voice. "We''re struggling to even register players." Deco exhaled. "That hasn''t stopped us before." Laporta was desperate to reinforce the squad after a disappointing season, but could they really afford to enter this race? "We''ll monitor it," Deco said. "If there''s a way, we''ll find it." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Meanwhile, in Paris¡­ Luis Campos at PSG had already made a call to Valencia. With Mbapp¨¦ leaving, they needed their next star. And Izan fit the bill. Young, Spanish, dynamic¡ªsomeone they could build their attack around for years. "Make contact with his agent," Campos instructed. "Let him know we''re interested." Valencia __________ Miranda had expected interest, but even she wasn''t prepared for the sheer volume of calls flooding in. Sporting directors, club executives, and intermediaries were all reaching out. Some were subtle, some were direct. She sat at her desk, scrolling through the unread messages and missed calls. Real Madrid. Barcelona. Manchester City. Manchester United. PSG. And that was just the first wave. She had barely finished reviewing the messages when her phone rang again. This time, it was Valencia''s own sporting director. "Miranda," he greeted, sounding drained. "We need to set up meetings. The offers are coming in fast." "How much is the club asking for?" Miranda asked, leaning back. "Around 100 million." Miranda sighed. "That''s a high number." "We need it to be high. This is even a bargain considering Izan''s talent and age" the director replied. "We don''t want to lose him, but if it happens, it has to be on our terms." Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. This was moving faster than she wanted. But she knew one thing¡ªwhatever happened next, Izan would have to be ready. ...¡­. With the transfer market getting busy, football talk shows across Europe had only one topic dominating their discussions¡ªIzan is for sale. On El Chiringuito, Josep Pedrerol leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Gentlemen, let''s be clear: this is the biggest transfer saga of the summer. Mbapp¨¦? Yes, he''s a superstar. But his deal with Madrid has been in the works for years. Izan? He''s the wildcard. Young, explosive, and unselfish, already dominating La Liga even before he turns 17. And unlike Mbapp¨¦, he''s not commanding 50 million a year in wages." Crist¨®bal Soria scoffed. "So, what are you saying? That Madrid should spend money on Izan after Mbapp¨¦?" "Why not?" Pedrerol shot back. "He''s Spanish. He''s the future. And with Valencia in financial chaos, the price could be much lower than his true value." ...¡­ On Sky Sports, Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher were deep in discussion. "If you''re a top club and you''re not looking at Izan, you''re making a mistake," Neville said. "This is a 17-year-old who led Valencia to the Champions League. He didn''t just score goals, he created them. He''s got the best final ball of any teenager I''ve seen since Messi." Carragher nodded. "And let''s talk about the price. Valencia needs the money. You''re telling me that, for around 80 million, a club could sign a player like Izan? That''s a bargain in today''s market. Madrid spent 100 million on Bellingham. City spent nearly that on Grealish. If I''m United, if I''m Arsenal, if I''m Liverpool, I''m throwing my hat in the ring." Over on ESPN FC, Craig Burley wasn''t convinced. "You can''t compare him to Mbapp¨¦. Mbapp¨¦ is a proven Champions League winner. Izan is a kid with one breakout season." Alejandro Moreno cut in. "But let me ask you this, Craig¡ªwhere was Mbapp¨¦ when he was 17? Playing in Ligue 1, sure. But was he carrying Monaco the way Izan carried Valencia? No. And here''s the key difference: Izan is cheap relative to his ability. If you''re Real Madrid, do you really let him go to Man City or United and become a superstar there?" ...¡­.. At Valdebebas, Real Madrid''s executive team was the first to act. Juni Calafat made the call to Valencia that evening. "We''re interested," he told Valencia''s sporting director. "Let''s start negotiations." "Make an offer, and we''ll discuss it," the Valencia director replied cautiously. Real Madrid didn''t waste time. Hours later, their official bid was sent¡ª€65 million plus add-ons and Valencia''s response came swiftly. Rejected. It wasn''t just a rejection; it was a statement. They weren''t going to be bullied into a quick sale. Florentino P¨¦rez, after receiving the news, remained calm. "They''re testing us," he said. "We won''t rush. Let someone else make the next move." ...¡­. Across Europe, the phone calls, negotiations, and tactical maneuvering intensified. With Valencia rejecting Real Madrid''s opening bid, it was clear that the Spanish giants would not get their way easily. And that meant other clubs had a window of opportunity. At Paris Saint-Germain''s headquarters, Luis Campos was deep in discussion with Nasser Al-Khelaifi. "Izan is exactly what we need," Campos insisted. "Mbapp¨¦ is leaving. We can''t replace him overnight, but Izan is the kind of player we build around." Nasser nodded. "What''s the price Valencia wants?" "They''re sticking to €100 million, but they''ll negotiate. Madrid went in with 65 plus add-ons and got rejected. If we go in stronger, we set the tone." Nasser leaned back, fingers drumming against the table. "Prepare a bid¡ª€75 million guaranteed plus €10 million in add-ons. Let''s put pressure on them." Campos immediately picked up his phone. PSG weren''t waiting anymore. ? At Manchester United''s London offices, Sir Jim Ratcliffe, new to the world of football transfers, had one thing clear¡ªUnited needed a marquee signing. He turned to United''s Director of Football. "City are looking at him, Madrid too. If we hesitate, we''re out." Erik ten Hag had been pushing hard. "He fits perfectly into our rebuild. He''s not yet 17, but mentally, he''s a winner." Ratcliffe exhaled. "Fine. What''s the bid?" "€80 million fixed, plus 5 in bonuses." "That should get Valencia''s attention." Within minutes, United made their official bid. Now, PSG and United were locked in a battle for Izan. ? Miranda sat in a private office at the Valencia headquarters, going through the flood of emails and calls. Two bids had just landed. ? PSG: €80M + €10M in add-ons ? Manchester United: €85M + €5M in add-ons The offers were finally hitting the club''s asking price range. She called Valencia''s sporting director. "We have serious bids on the table." The director exhaled. "We knew this moment would come." "We need to decide how to proceed," Miranda said. "PSG or United?" The director hesitated. "We wait. We make them sweat." "But if we wait too long, other clubs will panic and rush in. We might lose control of the price," Miranda warned. The director nodded. "Alright. Let''s let it leak to the media that we have two bids. That should force City and Madrid to react." ? Late that night, El Chiringuito was the first to break the story. Josep Pedrerol leaned in, voice sharp with excitement. "Exclusive news¡ªValencia has received two official bids for Izan. PSG and Manchester United have made their moves. €85 million is on the table." Crist¨®bal Soria smirked. "So where is Real Madrid?" Pedrerol grinned. "They''re waiting. But they can''t wait much longer." Meanwhile, on Sky Sports, Fabrizio Romano confirmed the development. "Manchester United and PSG have both submitted formal offers. Valencia will now decide whether to accept or wait for a counter-offer from Real Madrid or Manchester City." A/n: I dedicate this chapter to thank you guys for your support even though my work is subpar [not being humble. That''s the truth]. I sometimes see works on NovelFire which I think should be in a better position than mine but mine is somehow one of the top sports book on the platform and I owe it all to the readers. Thanks for liking my imagination and I''ll work extra hard to keep you guys entertained. My dream is to enter the Top ten for the Golden ranking spot so I can''t stop caring about my Power stones for once????.Let''s see Izan through on this journey. Also the transfer Saga will last 2 to 3 chapters so comment which team you''d like to see Izan join and who knows, he might just join yours. Chapter 336 336: Paris’s Sincerity Late that night, El Chiringuito was the first to break the story. Josep Pedrerol leaned in, voice sharp with excitement. "Exclusive news¡ªValencia has received two official bids for Izan. PSG and Manchester United have made their moves. €85 million is on the table." Crist¨®bal Soria smirked. "So where is Real Madrid?" Pedrerol grinned. "They''re waiting. But they can''t wait much longer." Meanwhile, Fabrizio Romano confirmed the development on Sky Sports. "Manchester United and PSG have both submitted formal offers. Valencia will now decide whether to accept or wait for a counter-offer from Real Madrid or Manchester City." ? Pep Guardiola, back in Manchester, had just finished a training session when he was informed. Txiki Begiristain''s voice was urgent. "PSG and United have submitted bids." Guardiola sighed. "So, what do we do?" Txiki was firm. "We need to act now. If we hesitate, he''ll be gone." Pep nodded slowly. "Okay. Get approval from the board. If we move, we do it properly." That night, City prepared their bid. The transfer war was reaching its breaking point. ..... The battle for Izan was in full swing, but the two clubs expected to dominate the race¡ªReal Madrid and Manchester City¡ªhad yet to make their final moves. With PSG and Manchester United already at the table, time was running out. ? At Valdebebas, the mood was tense. Florentino P¨¦rez sat at the head of the table, flanked by Juni Calafat and Jos¨¦ ¨¢ngel S¨¢nchez. "PSG and United have bid," S¨¢nchez reported. "€85 million." P¨¦rez exhaled, eyes sharp. "We knew this would happen." Calafat leaned forward. "Izan is Madrid material. We can''t let City or PSG take him." S¨¢nchez hesitated. "Mbapp¨¦ is coming. If we sign Izan, that''s two huge investments in one window." P¨¦rez smirked. "When has that ever stopped us?" There was silence. Then, with finality, he spoke: "Make it €90 million plus €10 million in add-ons. Submit it tonight." Madrid had moved. ? Across England, at Manchester City''s offices, Txiki Begiristain and Ferran Soriano received the alert¡ªMadrid had sent a stronger bid. Guardiola was already watching clips of Izan on his tablet when he heard the news. "How much?" "€90 million plus bonuses." Pep sighed. "Madrid don''t play around." Begiristain leaned in. "We can still win this. We free up space, and we don''t have to fork out €150 million-plus for Wirtz. Atletico have been monitoring Alvarez so we can expect something from them. Izan gives us everything¡ªvision, movement, flexibility." Pep nodded. "Then we do it. Tell the sheikh" [Call the sheikh like he was summoning a final boss from Elden ring ] And just that evening, Manchester City submitted their offer¡ª€95 million plus €10 million in add-ons. The message was clear. They weren''t backing down. ? Back in Valencia, Miranda sat in her office, watching the new offers roll in. Madrid. City. PSG. United. Each one edging higher. She took a deep breath. Izan''s future was being decided right now. Her phone buzzed. Valencia''s sporting director. "These numbers are getting serious," he said. "Yes," Miranda replied. "But we''re still missing something." "What''s that?" Miranda looked at her messages¡ªone club had yet to make a move. But she knew they were watching. The silent admirer in the race. ? At London Colney, Edu and Mikel Arteta were in deep discussion. "Madrid, City, PSG, United. They''re all going for him," Edu said. Arteta, arms folded, nodded. "Then we do it differently." Edu frowned. "How?" Arteta''s eyes were sharp. "We show our sincerity. We don''t lowball. We offer more than anyone." Edu raised an eyebrow. "More than €100 million?" "Yes," Arteta said firmly. "We don''t compete¡ªwe convince." Edu leaned back, impressed. "And what about Izan himself?" Arteta smiled. "I''ll talk to him personally." That night, Arsenal officially entered the race, offering €110/ million plus €10 million in add-ons¡ªthe highest bid yet. And Arteta picked up his phone. "Miranda," he said when she answered, his voice calm yet firm. "I want to speak with Izan." ......¡­. [3 weeks Ago Berlin-Olympiastadion] The Olympiastadion exploded. Izan''s shot had barely hit the net when the realization dawned¡ªSpain had won the Euros. Down on the pitch, red shirts swarmed him, an avalanche of bodies colliding in celebration. A nation roared his name, their newest hero, their golden boy. Up in the VIP section, the reaction was just as intense. Komi had tears streaming down her face, hugging Hori so tightly that the girl squealed. Olivia had her hands over her mouth, stunned, before she let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. Miranda? She allowed herself a small smile, exhaling as the noise of 70,000 voices merged into one deafening echo. But then¡ªa light tap on her shoulder. Miranda turned, her expression cooling instantly. A man stood beside her. Tall, well-dressed, composed. Not wearing the usual club lanyards or media badges. "Miranda Llorente?" he asked in a calm voice. Miranda''s brows arched slightly. "Depends on who''s asking." The man offered a polite smile. "Someone who would prefer a quieter conversation." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Immediately, Komi and Olivia turned toward them. Miranda had been in football long enough to recognize when someone wasn''t just a random figure. This wasn''t an ordinary agent or journalist. She studied him for a moment before speaking. "And if I refuse?" His expression didn''t change. "Then someone else will deliver the same message, just later." That made her pause. For a brief second, Miranda glanced back at the field, at Izan being lifted onto his teammates'' shoulders, the Spanish flag draped over him. She exhaled. "Fine. Lead the way." Komi leaned in. "Are you sure about this?" "I''ll be fine," Miranda murmured, already standing. She was too curious to walk away. The man led her out of the main VIP section, past the security-controlled entrance, and into a more secluded lounge reserved for high-profile guests. There, standing near the window, watching the fireworks over Berlin, was Ars¨¨ne Wenger. Miranda stopped, momentarily caught off guard. Of all the people she expected to see tonight, he was not one of them. Wenger turned as she approached, his expression calm but knowing. "Miranda," he greeted. "I appreciate you taking the time." She exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. "I wasn''t expecting this." Wenger smiled faintly. "Few do." The man who had led her here stepped aside, leaving them alone. Wenger gestured to a nearby seating area. "Sit, if you''d like." Miranda didn''t. She wanted to know exactly why she was here. Wenger didn''t waste time. "Izan is a special talent. He is the kind of footballer who doesn''t just play the game¡ªhe defines it. Arsenal want him." Miranda crossed her arms. "I already know. Everyone is interested." Wenger tilted his head slightly. "You know Arsenal are watching. But do you understand how much we want him?" Miranda studied him. This wasn''t a casual offer. Wenger stepped forward, his voice steady, deliberate. "This is not just a transfer negotiation. This is about the future. Mikel Arteta believes Izan can be the cornerstone of Arsenal''s next era. The way I once saw Thierry Henry, Fabregas, or even a young Van Persie." Miranda''s expression didn''t change, but her grip tightened on her wrist. "You''re telling me," she said carefully, "that Arsenal don''t just want to sign Izan. They want to build around him?" "Yes," Wenger confirmed. "And if you allow it, Arteta would like to speak to him personally when the situation arises. For now, we know Izan''s commitment to Valencia." She inhaled slowly. This changed things. Wenger must have seen it in her eyes because his smile deepened. "Then," he said softly, "we will talk again soon." ...¡­.. [Back To Present] The afternoon sun lingered over Paterna as Izan finished his final set of shooting drills, the crisp thud of the ball echoing off the goalposts. He wiped his face with his sleeve, breathing in the scent of freshly cut grass. Training had been sharp and focused. He had felt good¡ªlight on his feet, every touch precise. As he walked toward the dressing room, his phone vibrated. Miranda. He picked up, still catching his breath. "Yeah?" Miranda''s voice was calm, professional. "You''re done with training?" "Just finished." "Good." A brief pause. "Get dressed. Something sharp." Izan frowned, grabbing a towel. "Why?" "Dinner meeting." Another pause, deliberate this time. "PSG." That made him stop. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. He had known this moment was coming¡ªthe first serious move in the transfer war. But hearing it confirmed sent a different kind of rush through his veins. He glanced at the time. "Where?" "Marina Beach Club. Private dining room. 9 PM." Izan nodded. "Alright." Miranda''s voice softened slightly, a rare moment of familiarity breaking through. "Wear something nice. You have a Saint Laurent deal¡ªuse it." Izan smirked. "Got it." She hung up. Izan stood there for a second, feeling the weight of it all settle on his shoulders. Then, without another thought, he headed for the showers. ? Dressed in a slim black Saint Laurent suit, Izan stepped out of the car in front of Marina Beach Club. The scent of the sea mixed with the faint aroma of expensive cologne as he adjusted his cuffs, the city lights reflecting off the sleek entrance. Miranda was already waiting near the doors, effortlessly composed in a fitted blazer. She gave him a quick once-over and nodded in approval. "Ready?" Izan exhaled, glancing at the glass doors where the PSG entourage was waiting inside. "Yeah," he murmured, stepping forward. The first meeting had begun. Chapter 337 337: Lucrative Offer Miranda''s voice was calm and professional. "You''re done with training?" "Just finished." "Good." A brief pause. "Get dressed. Something sharp." Izan frowned, grabbing a towel. "Why?" "Dinner meeting." Another pause, deliberate this time. "PSG." That made him stop. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. He had known this moment was coming¡ªthe first serious move in the transfer war. But hearing it confirmed sent a different kind of rush through his veins. He glanced at the time. "Where?" "Marina Beach Club. Private dining room. 9 PM." Izan nodded. "Alright." Miranda''s voice softened slightly, a rare moment of familiarity breaking through. "Wear something nice. You have a Saint Laurent deal¡ªuse it." Izan smirked. "Got it." She hung up. Izan stood there for a second, feeling the weight of it all settle on his shoulders. Then, without another thought, he headed for the showers. Dressed in a slim black Saint Laurent suit, Izan stepped out of the car in front of Marina Beach Club. The scent of the sea mixed with the faint aroma of expensive cologne as he adjusted his cuffs, the city lights reflecting off the sleek entrance. Miranda was already waiting near the doors, effortlessly composed in a fitted blazer. She gave him a quick once-over and nodded in approval. "Ready?" Izan exhaled, glancing at the glass doors where the PSG entourage was waiting inside. "Yeah," he murmured, stepping forward. ..... Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan entered with Miranda, the quiet murmur of the restaurant shifting as staff immediately recognized them. The private dining room was set apart from the main floor, a dimly lit space overlooking the water. A waiter guided them inside, where two men were already seated. Luis Campos, PSG''s sporting director, rose with a polite smile. Beside him sat Nasser Al-Khelaifi, the club''s president, his expression composed yet watchful. "Izan," Campos greeted warmly, extending a hand. "It''s a pleasure to finally meet you." Izan shook his hand firmly. "Likewise." Miranda took her seat beside him, her posture poised. Al-Khelaifi leaned forward slightly, steepling his fingers. "You had an incredible season," he said smoothly. "And an even more incredible summer." Izan nodded, keeping his expression unreadable. He had been in enough high-pressure matches to know that this was just another kind of game. Campos took over. "We''re here because we see your future, Izan. We see you as a pillar of our next great team." His voice was measured, and persuasive. "Mbapp¨¦ is leaving. We''re reshaping PSG, and we want you to be at the heart of it." Miranda remained silent, letting Izan absorb the weight of their words. He knew what this was. They weren''t just offering him a contract; they were offering him a throne. Al-Khelaifi leaned forward slightly, his expression composed but his tone carrying unmistakable intent. "Izan, we see you as a generational talent¡ªnot just for today, but for the long-term future of this club." Campos nodded in agreement, placing a sleek black folder on the table. "That''s why we''re offering a contract that reflects your stature and potential." Miranda reached for the folder but didn''t open it immediately. She let the moment breathe, allowing the weight of Campos'' words to settle. Izan remained still, his fingers interlocked as he listened. Al-Khelaifi continued. "We''re prepared to offer you a seven-year deal¡ªa commitment that secures your place at PSG through your prime years." Miranda''s expression didn''t shift, but Izan caught the subtle flicker in her eyes. Six years. That was longer than the usual top-level contracts. Four to Five years was standard; six was PSG locking him down with little room for maneuver later but seven was too much. Campos, sensing the moment, pressed on. "Naturally, a commitment of this magnitude comes with a salary that reflects your value. We''re offering €18 million per year to start, with increases built in¡ªby your third season, that rises to €22 million per year." Miranda finally flipped the folder open, skimming the numbers while keeping her expression neutral. Izan could tell she was processing it all swiftly, calculating the weekly wage in her head¡ª€346,000 per week to start, rising to over €420,000 weekly. Al-Khelaifi allowed a small pause before adding, "We''re also including a €5 million signing bonus upon completion of the deal, plus performance incentives. Win the Ballon d''Or? That''s another €2 million. Ligue 1 top scorer? €1 million. A Champions League victory with you playing a key role? €3 million." The numbers were staggering, but Miranda was already flipping to the key clauses, and Izan knew why. The seven-year term. "The duration," Miranda said smoothly, lifting her gaze. "It''s a long commitment." Al-Khelaifi met her gaze evenly. "Because we''re building something around Izan. We don''t see him as a short-term investment¡ªwe want him at the heart of PSG''s future." Miranda nodded, then tapped her finger against the page. "Image rights?" Campos answered immediately. "Izan keeps 80% of his image rights, with the club retaining 20%¡ªa fair balance." That was significant. Some clubs demanded a far larger cut, especially for a player of Izan''s commercial appeal. "We also ensure full luxury accommodation, a private property of your choice in Paris, concierge services, a personal chef, security¡ªwhatever you need to settle in," Campos continued. "And, of course, the club provides a luxury vehicle of your choosing." Izan remained composed, but he could feel the weight of what they were offering. This wasn''t just a contract¡ªit was a statement. They wanted him to be the face of PSG''s next era. Miranda closed the folder, exhaling softly. "It''s an interesting offer. But seven years¡­" She let the words linger, making it clear that was a sticking point. Al-Khelaifi''s smile was polite, but there was a quiet determination in his eyes. "We believe it''s a sign of trust. A commitment to something bigger." Izan met his gaze, his mind working through it all. The money, the prestige, the incentives¡ªthey were all massive. But the duration? That changed things. Miranda didn''t give anything away. She simply nodded. "We''ll review it carefully." And just like that, the ball was back in Izan''s court. ...¡­. The dinner wound down with an air of quiet satisfaction. The PSG delegation had made their pitch, and while no signatures had been put to paper, they left the table with the confidence of men who believed they had planted a seed that would bear fruit. Izan and Miranda, however, were less eager to rush to conclusions. They knew better. As the plates were cleared and small cups of espresso were set before them, Al-Khelaifi leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "This has been a fantastic conversation. Izan, we believe in you. We see you as more than just a footballer¡ªyou''re someone who can define an era. And at Paris, you''d have everything you need to reach that level." His voice was steady, deliberate. The kind of tone that carried weight in boardrooms across Europe. Miranda nodded, her expression poised. "It''s an important decision, and we appreciate the clarity. As I mentioned, we''ll take the time to go over everything in detail." Campos, who had been mostly observant through the night, finally leaned forward. "That''s all we ask. But I hope you know, Izan, this project is built for someone like you. Whatever you need, we can make it happen." There it was again. The quiet promise that at PSG, the rules bent for those who mattered. Miranda smiled. "Noted." With that, the conversation wrapped. Firm handshakes were exchanged, and the PSG delegation took their leave, their tailored suits vanishing into the Parisian night. As soon as Izan and Miranda slipped into their car, the city lights painting streaks across the tinted windows, Miranda let out a quiet exhale. "They think they have you." Izan scoffed, shifting in his seat. "They really do." She shook her head. "They''ll learn." Not five minutes had passed when Miranda''s phone buzzed. She glanced down, and for the first time that evening, her expression changed¡ªnot surprised, but slightly amused. She turned the screen toward Izan. Real Madrid ¨C Requesting a meeting for tomorrow''s lunch. Izan read it twice before exhaling. "Tomorrow? I can''t. I have training." His own phone buzzed before Miranda could even respond. It was the Valencia squad group chat. Valencia CF (Team Chat): Valencia Staff: "Morning training canceled. Players advised to rest." Izan blinked. Another message popped up. Mamadou: "Izan got training canceled? Say less." Cenk: "Lmao he''s bigger than the club now." Mosquera: "Man''s negotiating Champions League-level wages, let him rest." Guerra: "Izan moving like Mbapp¨¦." Diego L¨®pez: "Watch him ''rest'' in Madrid tomorrow." Yarek: "He''s probably reading this from a penthouse in Paris rn." Thierry: "Bro is getting pampered while we''re out here struggling." Mamadou: "He''s one of them now." Cenk: "New tax bracket, new priorities." Izan shook his head, already tired. Miranda, reading over his shoulder, smirked. "Well, would you look at that?" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I''m free after all." Miranda didn''t miss a beat. She tapped her phone screen, fingers moving fast. Lunch tomorrow works. Send. Izan leaned back, staring out at the passing streets. One meeting had barely ended. Another was already locked in. And this time, it was Real Madrid. Chapter 338 338: Pulling Power Of Los Blancos Izan shook his head, already tired. Miranda, reading over his shoulder, smirked. "Well, would you look at that?" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I''m free after all." Miranda didn''t miss a beat. She tapped her phone screen, fingers moving fast. Lunch tomorrow works. Send. Izan leaned back, staring out at the passing streets. One meeting had barely ended. Another was already locked in. And this time, it was Real Madrid. .... The sun had barely risen over Valencia when the news broke. "IZAN MEETS WITH PSG: A TRANSFER IN THE MAKING?" The headline spread like wildfire, accompanied by pictures of Izan stepping out of the Marina Beach Club in his sleek Saint Laurent suit, Miranda by his side. Another shot showed him shaking hands with PSG''s sporting director, Lu¨ªs Campos. The reactions came instantly, but the Wider Football World Wasn''t As Kind @PremierTalk: Another young star chasing money. PSG will have him playing in the Farmers'' League for years. @LaLigaCorner: They always say they want to compete at the highest level¡­ then they take the check. @MadridWave: I hope he enjoys the Ligue 1 parade when he could''ve been winning the Champions Leagues. @CuleForLife: First Mbapp¨¦, now Izan? PSG making their usual power moves. Although fans of other clubs were throwing Izan around online, the Valencia Fans Fought Back @CFValenciaFan: Let the kid breathe. He''s just listening to offers. It''s part of the business. @BlanquinegresPuro: If Valencia could afford to keep him, this wouldn''t even be a discussion. Don''t blame Izan for looking at options when the club isn''t secure. @Guerra_Mode: Man gave us a UCL return. He doesn''t owe us his life. The online storm brewed fast, but Izan wasn''t looking at any of it. He had seen enough transfer sagas to know this was just the beginning. Instead, he focused on the day ahead. Because if last night was a pitch, today was something else. This was Real Madrid. ? The private car ride was smooth, the Spanish countryside slipping past as Izan and Miranda traveled to Madrid. They hadn''t spoken much, both knowing the importance of the day ahead. Miranda, as always, was composed. But Izan could feel the weight of the moment. Madrid wasn''t like the others. They didn''t chase players; they made them come to them. When they arrived at Valdebebas, Real Madrid''s training complex, the difference in approach was immediate. No executives in suits waiting at the door. No aggressive pitches. Just a quiet, confident welcome. They were met by a small entourage: Juni Calafat, the man behind Madrid''s biggest scouting moves, and Jos¨¦ ¨¢ngel S¨¢nchez, the club''s general director. "Bienvenido," Calafat said, shaking Izan''s hand with a smile. "We figured we''d start by showing you what matters." And with that, the tour began. The facilities at Valdebebas were pristine¡ªultramodern but designed with the weight of Madrid''s legacy. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda asked a few questions, mostly about structure and long-term plans, while Izan took everything in. He could already tell Madrid''s approach was different. They weren''t selling him a future. They were showing him one. Then, as they reached the main hallway leading to the trophy displays, footsteps sounded behind them. A voice, smooth and unmistakably authoritative, cut through the air. "Let me take it from here." Izan turned. Florentino P¨¦rez. The president of Real Madrid, a man whose presence alone carried the weight of the club. He greeted them with an easy confidence, extending a hand to Izan first. "Izan, it''s a pleasure." The handshake was firm. Florentino turned to Miranda, nodding. "Miranda. You''ve brought him at the perfect time." She smiled, always unreadable. "That depends on what Madrid has to offer." Florentino chuckled, then gestured forward. "Walk with me." And just like that, the meeting took on a new weight. ? They left Valdebebas and headed straight for the Santiago Bernab¨¦u. Unlike PSG''s private restaurant setting, Madrid did not need theatrics. They took Izan straight to the heart of the club. The stadium, still fresh from its massive renovations, gleamed under the Madrid sun. The retractable roof was partially open, allowing natural light to spill onto the pitch. Florentino led the way, speaking in his signature calm but commanding manner. "Every great player steps onto this pitch and feels it¡ªthe history, the expectation. It''s not just about money. It''s about legacy." Izan nodded, standing near the tunnel, staring out at the empty stands. The stadium felt alive, even without a crowd. Florentino continued, his voice unwavering. "PSG will offer you many things¡ªmoney, security, maybe even comfort. But Madrid offers something different." He gestured around them. "You see this stadium? It is not built on comfort. It is built on ambition." Izan listened, silent but focused. He could feel it¡ªthe difference in how Madrid saw things. Florentino turned to him directly. "We do not buy stars. We make them." A simple sentence, but it carried weight. Then, with a small smile, he added, "Shall we eat?" .... The restaurant wasn''t extravagant, just refined. Classic Madrid. A private room, a quiet setting. No staged presentations. Just a conversation. Florentino sat at the head of the table, with Calafat and S¨¢nchez on either side. Izan and Miranda sat across from them. The mood was steady. No rush, no urgency. Madrid didn''t need to convince anyone. When the waiter had left, Florentino spoke again. "You know why we''re here, Izan. We believe you belong at Real Madrid." Juni Calafat placed a single white folder on the table. He slid it toward Miranda, who picked it up and opened it without hesitation. The terms were clear. Five-year contract. Starting salary: €15 million per year, rising to €18 million if some targets were achieved. Performance bonuses: Ballon d''Or (€3M), LaLiga title (€500,000K), Champions League victory (€1M). 70% image rights control. A direct role in Madrid''s next era. Miranda read through it, her expression impassive, but Izan could tell she was processing every number. Florentino leaned back slightly, watching them. "You see the difference," he said simply. Miranda closed the folder. "Shorter contract than PSG''s, but lower base salary." Florentino nodded. "Because we don''t need to trap players with long deals. They stay because they want to." Izan met his gaze, understanding the underlying message. Then S¨¢nchez spoke. "Let''s be honest, Izan. You don''t need the biggest salary. You''ll make more than enough from sponsorships. What matters is where you play, what you win, and what you leave behind." Florentino nodded. "And at Madrid, you will win." Silence filled the room for a moment. Not an uncomfortable silence¡ªjust the weight of the decision pressing down. As the plates were cleared and the evening moved into a more relaxed rhythm, Miranda leaned forward slightly, her fingers tapping the white folder now resting on the table. Her expression, always measured, showed the slightest hint of calculation. "There''s one thing I need clarity on," she said, her voice even. "Madrid is building something. But you''ve already secured Endrick, you''re being closely linked with Davies, and, most importantly, you have Mbapp¨¦ arriving. With all these moves, where does Izan fit?" There was no hesitation from Florentino. "You misunderstand something, Miranda," he said smoothly. "Real Madrid does not sign players to fit them in. We sign the best. And the best carve their place." Juni Calafat nodded in agreement. "Mbapp¨¦ is a Gal¨¢ctico. Izan is a different kind of player. He doesn''t need to be a marketing icon to be one of the most important pieces of the team. Look at Vin¨ªcius. Look at Bellingham." "But they had space to grow," Miranda countered. "Izan will be arriving at the same time as another superstar. I don''t need to tell you how these things work. When clubs invest so much into one player, they expect him to be the focal point." Florentino''s smile didn''t waver. "Madrid has always had multiple stars. Figo, Ronaldo, Zidane. Benzema, Bale, Cristiano. Success is not built on one player¡ªit''s built on competition. Izan will not have to wait for his moment. If he deserves it, he will take it." S¨¢nchez leaned forward. "We have spoken to Carlo. If Izan joins, he will not be a backup plan. He will not be a secondary option. He will be part of Madrid''s next great cycle. With or without Mbapp¨¦, this club is about winning." Miranda watched them for a moment before leaning back, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she gave a small nod. "That''s what I needed to hear." Florentino simply smiled. Then, finally, Miranda spoke. "We''ll review it carefully." Florentino smiled as if he expected nothing less. "Take your time. But remember¡­" He gestured slightly, a quiet confidence behind his words. "Madrid doesn''t wait forever." The talks continued, the conversation shifting to football, to history, to vision. No pressure, no desperation. Just Madrid being Madrid. By the time they left the restaurant, Izan could feel it¡ªthe decision growing heavier on his shoulders. A/n: Okay. Still asking for your feedback on the teams. Most of you got some pretty interesting picks for the teams. [Even got United LOL. We are writing a Career not ending it]. Anyways keep the tickets coming and keep commenting. Love you all Chapter 339 339: New Competition Then, finally, Miranda spoke. "We''ll review it carefully." Florentino smiled as if he expected nothing less. "Take your time. But remember¡­" He gestured slightly, a quiet confidence behind his words. "Madrid doesn''t wait forever." The talks continued, the conversation shifting to football, to history, to vision. No pressure, no desperation. Just Madrid being Madrid. By the time they left the restaurant, Izan could feel it¡ªthe decision growing heavier on his shoulders. ...¡­ As Izan and Miranda stepped out of the restaurant, the Madrid night air was crisp, carrying with it the quiet hum of the city. Their driver was already waiting, the blacked-out car idling by the curb. Izan was silent, deep in thought. Two clubs, two visions, two futures. And he had to choose one. Behind them, still inside the restaurant, Juni Calafat remained seated across from Florentino. He waited a beat, then glanced toward the club president. "By the way," Calafat said, his voice lower. "Mbapp¨¦''s camp reached out this morning." Florentino didn''t react immediately, simply swirling his wine glass once before setting it down. "And?" "They want to confirm he''s still the priority. They''re sensing the shift." Florentino''s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Let them wonder," he said. .... The moment Izan and Miranda returned to their hotel, her phone was already lit up with new messages. Calls from different numbers, and emails flagged as urgent. It was expected. The football world moved fast, and now that Madrid had made their stance clear, others would follow. Miranda calmly set her phone on the table, glancing at Izan as he loosened the collar of his shirt. "Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow will be busy." He didn''t argue. ¡ª The next morning, before Izan had even finished his breakfast, Miranda was already sitting across from him with her tablet open. "Manchester United have officially submitted their offer." Izan, still sipping his coffee, raised an eyebrow. "And?" Miranda tapped the screen, bringing up the details. "Contract length: six years. Base salary: €17 million per year. Bonuses include Champions League qualification, goals, and assists. They''re also offering a major signing-on fee." Izan exhaled. United had been interested for a while, but this was the first time they were moving aggressively. "They''re willing to make you the face of their rebuild," Miranda added. "Ten Hag sees you as a key player to turn things around." Izan leaned back. He respected United''s history, but they were in a different place than Madrid. Their project wasn''t guaranteed success¡ªit was a gamble. Still, the contract was strong. Before he could dwell on it, Miranda moved on. "Manchester City." Now this was different. "Pep is involved personally," she said. "They''ve structured their offer to fit within their wage model, but they''re willing to be flexible." She slid the tablet across the table so he could see. "Five-year deal. €15 million per season, but with performance bonuses that could push it higher. Champions League bonus is massive, and they''re offering a clear pathway into the squad." Izan studied the details. Unlike United, City didn''t need him to save them. They were already dominant, and their offer reflected that. "Guardiola had a direct message for you," Miranda added. "He said, ''You''re one of the few players who can change the way a team plays. If you come, I''ll make you even better.''" Izan let out a small chuckle. Pep had a way with words. But before he could say anything, Miranda''s expression shifted slightly. "There''s another one." Izan blinked. "Another club?" Miranda nodded. "Liverpool." That caught his attention. They hadn''t been in the race before. "They submitted a bid this morning," she continued. "And they''re moving fast. Klopp is gone, but the new manager is ambitious. They want to build their next era around you." She pulled up the offer. "Five-year contract. Salary starting at €16 million, rising to €19 million. Huge bonuses for domestic and European success. They''re also offering significant control over your image rights, similar to Madrid''s deal." Izan frowned slightly, processing it. Liverpool had a strong squad, a great football culture, and a fanbase that lived for big moments. But they were stepping into a transition phase. It was a risk, like United, but one with real potential. Miranda watched him carefully. "They''re serious. The bid is in, and if you want, they''ll fly out to meet us today." Izan exhaled. In just 24 hours, the entire landscape had changed. PSG. Real Madrid. Manchester United. Manchester City. Now Liverpool. Five clubs. Five different paths. Miranda closed her tablet. "It''s decision time." Izan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his coffee cup. His mind was running through every offer, every possibility, every consequence. Madrid had given him the weight of history. PSG had thrown money and control at him. City offered tactical brilliance, while United promised to make him the face of their revival. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But Liverpool¡­ "That one''s interesting," he muttered, glancing at Miranda. She didn''t look surprised. "Because?" He exhaled, setting his cup down. "United''s tempting, but I don''t want to gamble on a rebuild. Too many unknowns. Madrid¡­" He hesitated. "It''s Madrid. But I''d have to fight just to start. And even if I do, I''m just one of their stars, not the guy. There''s always another big name coming in." Miranda nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Madrid didn''t revolve around any one player. Even legends were eventually replaced. Izan continued. "City''s probably the safest choice, but I''d be slotting into a system. No real freedom. PSG¡­" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "I don''t know if I want my whole career defined by that." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "But Liverpool? Salah is probably leaving next summer. That opens up a space where I could slide in seamlessly. No understudy role. No waiting. I step in, and I matter immediately." Miranda raised an eyebrow. "So you''re leaning toward them?" Izan didn''t answer right away. He was still processing. But there was no denying it¡ªLiverpool''s late entry had changed things. "They were late to the table," he admitted. "But maybe that''s what makes it more intriguing." Miranda folded her arms, watching Izan closely. "Liverpool''s offer came in late, which means they weren''t planning for this. Are you sure you want to walk into a club that wasn''t even thinking about you until now?" Izan ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "Maybe they weren''t expecting Salah to leave this soon. Or maybe they just assumed I was Madrid-bound and didn''t bother." Miranda tilted her head slightly. "Or maybe they saw the market shift and decided to make a move out of desperation." Izan exhaled. "That''s possible. But it''s also possible that they''ve looked at their attack and realized I fit their style better than anyone else. Klopp leaving made things uncertain for a while, but if they''ve sorted that out, I''d be walking into a team that plays fast, aggressive football. And I''d be a key part of their next era." Miranda tapped her fingers on the table. "Alright, let''s break it down. Madrid offers you history and a near-guarantee of trophies, but you''d be fighting for minutes from day one." Izan nodded. "Yeah. And there''s the Mbapp¨¦ factor. Even if they say I won''t be sidelined, we both know what happens when he walks into a dressing room." Miranda smirked. "Exactly. PSG offers you everything¡ªmoney, control, even a team built around you¡ªbut it''s PSG. No guarantee of long-term success and Ligue 1''s reputation isn''t helping." Izan let out a small chuckle. "I''d rather not have my name dragged through ''Farmer''s League'' debates for the next five years." Miranda continued. "City gives you structure, a coach who''ll refine you, and a team designed to dominate Europe. But there''s a clear system, and you''d have to adapt to it, not the other way around." Izan pursed his lips. "Pep''s a genius, but he''s also rigid. I''d be learning under him, not defining my own game." Miranda nodded. "United wants to build around you, but they''re a gamble. Too much uncertainty, too much reliance on ''what ifs.''" Izan didn''t hesitate. "Exactly. I don''t want to wait five years just to see if they figure things out." Miranda leaned back. "And then there''s Liverpool. Late to the table, but offering you a direct path to replacing Salah. A legendary club, a passionate fanbase, and a style that suits you. But also a new coach, a transition period, and an ownership group that isn''t known for reckless spending." Izan exhaled. "It''s not perfect, but none of them are." Miranda studied him. "So what''s the priority for you? Legacy? Money? Stability?" Izan went quiet for a moment, then looked up. "I want to play. I want to win. And I want to matter." Miranda nodded slowly. "Then we need to decide who gives you the best chance at all three." A/n: Second of the day. Keep the tickets coming and I''ll also keep the chapters coming. Have a good night. Chapter 340 340: Things Changed [Luxury Car chapter. Daoist Adquiro] Miranda exhaled and closed the folder containing the details of all the offers. "Alright, let''s start cutting." She tapped Madrid''s offer first. "We both know this one isn''t happening." Izan nodded. "It''s Madrid. It''s everything a player dreams of, but¡­" He paused, searching for the right words. "I don''t want to fight for my place every week just to prove I belong. Not when they already have Jude, Mbapp¨¦, Vin¨ªcius, Rodrygo, and Endrick." Miranda arched a brow. "Not to mention that ''we don''t trap players'' line. Sounds noble, but it also means they wouldn''t hesitate to replace you." Izan exhaled. "Yeah. Madrid is Madrid, but this isn''t the right time for me." Miranda moved on. "City?" Izan barely hesitated. "If Pep personally called, I''d have thought about it longer. But I can already tell I''d be a piece in his system, not the focal point. I don''t want to spend three years being molded into ''Guardiola''s version of me.''" Miranda nodded, flipping the page. "And United?" Izan shook his head. "Too much uncertainty. They want a star to define their new era, but I don''t know if they''ll even be competing for trophies in the next few years. I can''t risk my career on a ''maybe.''" Miranda didn''t argue. She slid the United and City folders aside, leaving two remaining. PSG and Liverpool. Miranda leaned back. "Alright. Now we''re down to it." Izan let out a small chuckle. "The safe choice versus the intriguing one." Miranda smirked. "Pretty much." She placed a hand on PSG''s folder. "You go there, and you''re the face of the club, full stop. They''ll build around you, protect you, and make sure you''re the main man. You''ll get the best contract, the best treatment, and the easiest domestic league to dominate." Izan nodded but didn''t say anything. Miranda then tapped Liverpool''s folder. "Here, you step into the Premier League, the most competitive league in the world. You replace Salah when he leaves, fill the biggest void in their squad, and instantly become a fan favorite. But it''s also a transition period, and there''s risk involved." Izan leaned forward, thinking out loud. "PSG guarantees me star status, but I''ll always have people questioning the level I play at. Liverpool is a challenge, but if I succeed, my legacy is unquestionable." Miranda studied him carefully. "So, which one matters more to you?" The room was quiet as Izan and Miranda sat there, the weight of the decision pressing down on them. Izan absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table, staring at the two remaining folders. "I know what PSG offers," he murmured. "Security. Status. A guaranteed path." "But?" Miranda prompted. Izan exhaled. "Liverpool is¡­ exciting. Uncertain, but exciting. The Premier League is a battlefield, and if I thrive there, no one can question me." Miranda nodded, but before she could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and something in her expression shifted¡ªjust for a fraction of a second. Then, as if nothing had happened, she picked up. She didn''t say a name. "Yes?" Izan watched her, his curiosity piqued as she listened in silence. Her face remained unreadable, but her fingers curled slightly against the table. A pause. Then the voice on the other end spoke again. "You should check online," the man said, his tone measured and deliberate. Miranda''s brows furrowed slightly as she pulled out her tablet and refreshed her browser. Her eyes flicked across the screen, scanning the newest headlines. "Arsenal enter the race for Izan¡ªhuge bid submitted." Her grip on the device tightened slightly, but her tone remained calm. "I see." The voice continued. "Mikel would like to speak with him." Miranda said nothing for a beat. Then, "I''ll get back to you." She ended the call and set the phone down. Izan was watching her closely now. "Who was that?" Miranda didn''t answer. Instead, she reached for his phone. "Wait," Izan frowned, pulling back slightly. "What are you¡ª" Before she could make a call, another vibration interrupted them. Izan glanced at the screen. Valencia''s sporting director. Miranda picked up without hesitation. There was a moment of silence as she listened, then a slight lift of her brow. "I see. When did this come in?" Another pause. "Understood." She ended the call and leaned back, exhaling. This time, she didn''t hesitate before looking Izan in the eye. "That was Valencia," she said. "Arsenal just sent in a bid." Izan''s frown deepened. "Arsenal?" Miranda nodded. "120 million. That''s fifteen more than PSG''s 105" Izan blinked. He didn''t say anything at first, just reached for his phone and unlocked it. Within seconds, his screen was flooded with notifications. Fabrizio Romano''s latest tweet was pinned at the top. "BREAKING: Arsenal have submitted a €120M bid for Izan with 5 as add ons¡ªnow the most expensive proposal on the table. Talks are progressing but Arsenal are yet to start Personal negotiations ." Izan let out a slow breath, scrolling through the responses. Miranda watched him, arms crossed. "And just like that¡­ the equation changes." ...¡­. Miranda leaned back in her chair, watching Izan as he scrolled through the news. His expression was unreadable, but she could tell his mind was already working through the implications. Arsenal. A bid bigger than PSG''s. A new factor in a decision they thought was nearly made. She exhaled, then spoke. "There''s something I should tell you." Izan glanced up, waiting. "I met Ars¨¨ne Wenger during the Euros final," she said. "Someone approached, just as you scored telling me someone wanted to meet." Izan frowned slightly. "Wenger?" Miranda nodded. "He was there in an official capacity, but it wasn''t just about congratulating Spain. He spoke to me about you." Izan straightened slightly. "What did he say?" "That Arsenal were watching. That they saw you as a player who could define their next era. But at the time, you weren''t looking to leave Valencia, so I didn''t bring it up." Izan held her gaze for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "So they''ve been lurking in the background this whole time?" Miranda smirked. "Seems like it." She tapped the table. "And now, they''ve made their move." Izan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "So that call just now¡­?" Miranda didn''t confirm or deny it, but her expression said enough. "Let''s just say Arsenal isn''t making a bid this big without a plan." Izan leaned back in his chair, his thoughts shifting. PSG, Liverpool¡­ and now Arsenal, entering the fray with an offer that couldn''t be ignored. The decision had just gotten a lot more complicated. Miranda let out a sigh, shutting her laptop and stretching her arms. "We should call it a night." Izan sat back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. The weight of the past few hours lingered¡ªthe offers, the choices, the uncertainty. Across from him, Komi and Hori sat quietly, having listened in on most of the discussion without interfering. Komi stood, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don''t have to decide everything tonight, Izan." Hori, curled up in an armchair, yawned. "Yeah. Sleep on it. Your brain''s probably fried by now." Miranda shut the folder containing the latest bid updates. "She''s right. Arsenal''s entry changed things, but we don''t have to rush. Think it over, and we''ll talk tomorrow." Izan nodded, though he knew his mind wouldn''t rest that easily. The Premier League was calling¡ªLiverpool, Arsenal. Two different paths, both tempting in their own way. And PSG was also tempting. Miranda grabbed her bag and gave him a knowing look. "Don''t overthink it." He huffed a quiet laugh. "You know that''s impossible." She smirked but didn''t push further. "Goodnight, Izan." S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Night," he murmured, watching as she left. Komi gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading upstairs. "Don''t stay up too late." Hori gave him a teasing look. "Try not to explode from all the overthinking." Izan rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Goodnight, Hori." She grinned before heading to her room, leaving Izan alone in the dimly lit living room. He sat there for a while before finally moving to his bed, phone in hand. Liverpool. It was the logical choice. The biggest challenge. The one that would solidify his name in football history if he succeeded. Arsenal had stormed in at the last moment, but deep down, his mind was already made up. He exhaled, thumb hovering over Miranda''s contact, ready to call her. But then¡ª A low hum filled the room. It wasn''t from his phone. It wasn''t from the street outside. The air in front of him trembled. A ripple, like disturbed water. Then¡ªit twisted. Bending in on itself, folding, until something materialized. Izan''s breath caught. His grip on the phone tightened. A glowing interface now hovered before him, its light casting eerie shadows across the room. Then¡ªsomething appeared on the display. His heartbeat hammered in his chest. His gaze locked onto the screen, scanning the text that had just surfaced. And in that instant, everything had changed. A/n: Okay. So it was coming and now it''s here. Feast on this chapter and have fun. Also don''t hate me too much for the cliffhangers. I just can''t help it. This chapter is proudly sponsored by Daoist Adquiro. Another Luxury Car chapters is in the works so be sure to be around in about 3 hours or 4. I don''t know might be more. Anyways love you and thanks for the support. Chapter 341 341: Decisions [luxury Car by Sam Kupers] Izan rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Goodnight, Hori." She grinned before heading to her room, leaving Izan alone in the dimly lit living room. He sat there for a while before finally moving to his bed, phone in hand. Liverpool. It was the logical choice. The biggest challenge. The one that would solidify his name in football history if he succeeded. Arsenal had stormed in at the last moment, but deep down, his mind was already made up. He exhaled, thumb hovering over Miranda''s contact, ready to call her. But then¡ª A low hum filled the room. It wasn''t from his phone. It wasn''t from the street outside. The air in front of him trembled. A ripple, like disturbed water. Then¡ªit twisted. Bending in on itself, folding, until something materialized. Izan''s breath caught. His grip on the phone tightened. A glowing interface now hovered before him, its light casting eerie shadows across the room. Then¡ªsomething appeared on the display. His heartbeat hammered in his chest. His gaze locked onto the screen, scanning the text that had just surfaced. And in that instant, everything had changed. ...¡­ Izan stared at the glowing interface, his breath slowing as the words materialized before him. [NEW CHALLENGE UNLOCKED: BRING BACK THE GLORY] Condition: Join Arsenal Objective: Lead Arsenal to their first Premier League title since 2004 and Champions League triumph within 3 seasons. His eyebrows lifted slightly. He blinked, but the words didn''t disappear. "What the hell¡­" he muttered under his breath, shifting forward. He''d seen the system do strange things before, but this? It was like it was trying to push him toward a decision. Not just offering guidance, but actively influencing his next move. His gaze dropped lower as more text unfolded. Completion Rewards: Trait: The Invincible Right ¨C A special trait that grants a heightened sense of touch in the opponent''s 18-yard box. Offers an 80% chance of scoring from first-time shots when shooting with the right foot in the 18-yard box. Skill Boost: Clutch Mastery ¨C Enhanced composure and decision-making in crucial moments, allowing for game-changing plays when it matters most. Exclusive Perk: Tactical Synchronization ¨C Improved adaptability in any tactical system, accelerating chemistry with teammates and coaches. Izan scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "So, the system wants me at Arsenal?" It was almost absurd. Of all the options, why Arsenal? He hadn''t even taken them seriously until today. PSG and Liverpool were the clear frontrunners, the offers he and Miranda had been weighing all night. Arsenal had stormed in at the last minute with a huge bid, but he hadn''t truly considered them yet. And yet, here was the system, practically dangling an irresistible challenge in front of him. He knew what this meant. He could decline. Nothing was forcing him to accept. But if he walked away from it, the rewards would vanish. And they weren''t minor incentives¡ªthey were game-changing. The Invincible Right? Tactical Synchronization? Clutch Mastery? Those weren''t just perks. They were transformations. Tools that could push him beyond even his own expectations. Izan exhaled, running a hand down his face. The safe choice was still Liverpool. The competitive, proven environment. The biggest challenge. But now? Now, Arsenal was the intriguing one. His mind spun. Could he actually see himself there? The face of their rebuild, the leader of a new era? The one to bring Arsenal back to the top after two decades? It was an insane thought. But the system didn''t deal in dreams¡ªit dealt in realities. And if it believed this was possible, that meant¡­ It was. His heart pounded slightly faster. Three seasons to achieve both. The league and the Champions League. No guarantees. No shortcuts. Just a promise¡ªthat if he succeeded, he''d leave a legacy like no other. Izan leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the glow of the interface still flickering in his peripheral vision. "¡­Shit." He had a decision to make. ... Izan tossed and turned in bed, but sleep never came. His mind was too restless. Every time he closed his eyes, the system''s challenge reappeared in his thoughts, flashing the words "Bring Back the Glory" like a taunt. He wasn''t sure if he was overthinking it, but it felt like the system had never been so direct in nudging him toward a specific path. And the worst part? It worked. Even as the hours dragged on, even as the early morning light seeped through his window, he couldn''t stop thinking about it. When his alarm finally went off, Izan sighed and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He had bigger things to deal with today. School. With everything going on¡ªthe Euros, the transfer saga, the constant speculation¡ªit was easy to forget he still had to complete his education. His days as a student were numbered, but they weren''t over yet. And today, for the first time in a long while, he had to sit in class and pretend like his entire career wasn''t on the verge of a massive change. But that was easier said than done. From the moment he arrived, it was clear that he wasn''t going to have an easy day. His classmates were more animated than usual, whispering among themselves before eventually approaching him. "So, it''s really happening?" one of them asked as they walked into the classroom. Izan raised an eyebrow. "What is?" The guy scoffed. "Come on, man. Your transfer. Everyone''s talking about it." "Yeah," another chimed in. "You''re trending everywhere right now. So? Where are you going?" Izan smirked slightly, shaking his head. "Dunno. You tell me." A few of them groaned at his non-answer, while others laughed. They knew he wasn''t going to just spill it, but the curiosity was eating them alive. "Enough questioning. Leave the kid alone" a voice said from behind. Izan turned towards the source of the voice and found their class teacher staring at him. Izan nodded in appreciation before looking back outside. ...¡­.. Throughout the day, it didn''t stop. Whether it was in the hallways, during lunch, or even from some of his teachers, the same questions followed him. Was he really leaving? Which club was it? Was it PSG? Liverpool? Arsenal? At one point, someone even shoved their phone in his face, showing Fabrizio Romano''s latest post about Arsenal''s offer being the highest on the table. "Look at this, bro. You really considering Arsenal?" Izan just shook his head again, feigning indifference. "I''m considering everything." But in reality, his mind was nowhere else. Even as he sat through lectures, even as he tried to focus, his thoughts never left the decision ahead of him. He could feel the weight of it pressing down, the realization that soon¡ªvery soon¡ªhe''d have to choose. By the time the day ended and he headed to the training ground, he was exhausted. But as soon as he stepped into the familiar environment, something shifted. The moment his teammates saw him, there was no awkwardness, no tension. They had all seen the news. They had all read the reports. They all knew what was coming. And yet¡ª Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Nothing changed. They didn''t ask him about all the noise. They didn''t press him for any information. Instead, they talked to him like he wasn''t going anywhere. Pietro was the first to throw an arm around his shoulder. "Took you long enough to come back. What, forgot where the training ground was?" Izan smirked. "Had to remind myself." Sosa clapped him on the back. "You''ve been away too long, man. We might''ve forgotten how you play." "Doubt that." Mark leaned in with a grin. "Don''t worry, bro. I''ll go easy on you. Don''t want to embarrass you on your first day back." Izan chuckled. "Big words. You sure you can back them up?" The team shared a few laughs, the banter flowing effortlessly. It was like nothing had changed, even though they all knew it had. Even though they all knew he was as good as gone. But no one acknowledged it. No one treated him like he was already halfway out the door. They trained, they joked, they played like they always had¡ªlike he was still one of them. And for the first time that day, Izan felt like he could breathe. ...¡­.. The training session wrapped up with the usual cooldown, scattered conversations, and the lingering warmth of exertion under the setting sun. Izan stayed a little longer on the pitch, stretching his legs, and rolling his shoulders. No one had said it outright, but he could feel it in the way they looked at him¡ªthe silent understanding that these moments were numbered. Sosa jogged past, lightly tapping his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, yeah?" Izan nodded. "Yeah." He wasn''t sure if it was true. By the time he got home, the exhaustion had settled deep in his bones. The day had drained him¡ªnot physically, but mentally. Too many questions, and too much speculation. And now, it was time. Miranda was already waiting when he walked in. She sat at the small dining table, laptop open, phone beside her, an iced coffee in hand. She looked up as he entered, her sharp eyes scanning him like she already knew what was coming. "Long day?" she asked, leaning back. Izan exhaled as he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "You could say that." Miranda closed her laptop. "You''ve made a decision." It wasn''t a question. He met her gaze. A beat of silence passed. "I choose.... A/n: Okay. So it was coming and now it''s here. Have fun Also don''t hate me too much for the cliffhangers. I just can''t help it. This chapter is proudly sponsored by Sam Kupers Chapter 342 342: Decision Made By the time he got home, the exhaustion had settled deep in his bones. The day had drained him¡ªnot physically, but mentally. Too many questions, and too much speculation. And now, it was time. Miranda was already waiting when he walked in. She sat at the dining table, laptop open, phone beside her, an iced coffee in hand. She looked up as he entered, her sharp eyes scanning him like she knew what was coming. "Long day?" she asked, leaning back. Izan exhaled as he pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "You could say that." Miranda closed her laptop. "You''ve made a decision." It wasn''t a question. He met her gaze. A beat of silence passed. Then¡ª "I choose....Arsenal." Miranda didn''t react immediately. No surprise, no skepticism. Just a slow, considering nod. "You''re sure?" Izan ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I mean¡­ I think so." Miranda studied him for a moment before reaching for her phone. "Then let''s get to work." Komi and Hori sat beside Izan, both smiling, their expressions filled with a mixture of pride and quiet relief. "You really thought this through," Komi said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "That''s what matters." Izan nodded. He had. It hadn''t been easy, but now that the decision was made, a strange sense of peace settled over him. Hori nudged him playfully. "You took your time, though. I was starting to think you''d leave it until deadline day just to stress everyone out." Izan rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, Hori had already pulled out his phone from its coffers. Her fingers danced over the screen as she typed out a message. It didn''t take long for a reply to come through. Izan caught the slight shift in Hori''s smile before she turned the screen away from him. He didn''t have to ask. He already knew. Olivia. A moment later, another buzz. Olivia had responded. Hori glanced at the message before looking at Izan. "She''s happy for you," she said, then hesitated. "But¡­" Izan already knew what was coming. He reached out and snatched the phone from her hand before she could stop him. There it was. "Arsenal?!! OMG, I''m so happy for you!! I knew you''d pick the challenge over comfort. I''m so proud of you, Izan <3" A small smirk tugged at his lips. He could practically hear her voice in his head, that mix of excitement and admiration. But then, another message came in right after. "But I wish you''d chosen Madrid¡­ You know that, right?" Izan exhaled through his nose, handing the phone back without replying. Komi looked at him knowingly. "You could''ve been closer to her." "She understands," Izan said, more to himself than to her. And she did. Olivia had never once pushed him toward Madrid, never tried to convince him. But he also knew that, deep down, she had hoped. Komi squeezed his shoulder. "No matter where you go, the people who care about you will always support you." Izan gave a small nod. It wasn''t just Olivia. His teammates, his friends, his family¡ªeveryone had their preferences, their own ideas of what would be best for him. But in the end, the choice had always been his. And he had made it. ...¡­.. Miranda leaned against the kitchen counter, phone in hand, as she waited for the call to connect. Across the city, inside one of Valencia CF''s boardrooms, the atmosphere was tense. The club''s director sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by others¡ªexecutives, legal representatives, members of the coaching staff. They had all been waiting for this. When Miranda''s name flashed on the director''s screen, he answered immediately, putting the phone on speaker. A beat of silence. Then Miranda''s voice came through, calm and direct. "Izan has made his decision." The room stilled. Miranda exhaled lightly. "He''s joining Arsenal." A brief silence. Then, a measured response. "Understood." "You know what to do," she said simply. "We''ll inform them immediately." Miranda ended the call and placed the phone down. She exhaled, glancing at Izan, who sat across from her, arms folded as he watched her work. Neither of them had to wait long. Her laptop screen flickered, a call coming in. Mikel Arteta. Miranda arched an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Izan before she answered. Arteta''s face appeared on the screen, his expression composed but undeniably pleased. "Miranda." His eyes then flickered past her. "And Izan." Izan gave a slight nod. "I don''t want to take up too much of your time," Arteta started, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable energy. "I just wanted to say how glad we are about your decision." Miranda, however, leaned forward before Izan could respond. "Let''s not get ahead of ourselves," she said smoothly. "A choice has been made, yes. But nothing is set in stone until everything is agreed upon." Arteta chuckled. "Of course." "And while Izan doesn''t play football for money, that doesn''t mean we ignore that aspect," she continued. Arteta nodded knowingly. "I understand." "Good." There was a brief pause before Arteta''s smile returned, his voice lighter. "We''ll send over the personal terms after this call." Miranda nodded and then Arteta''s expression softened slightly as he leaned forward. "Izan," he began, his tone shifting to something more direct. "I won''t waste your time¡ªI know what kind of player you are. I''ve watched you for a long time. We''re not bringing you here to just be another signing." Izan listened, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "We want you as the face of our attack," Arteta continued. "Your intelligence, your movement, your ability to create and score¡ªwe need that. I see you thriving on the right, but also moving inside, attacking the spaces, dictating play when needed. You won''t be restricted." Izan didn''t respond immediately, absorbing the words. "Your style fits us perfectly," Arteta pressed on. "You''re technical, but you play with intensity. You press, you work hard, you make things happen. That''s exactly what I want. And more than that¡ªwe''re building something here, Izan. You would be a pillar of it." Izan finally tilted his head, his voice even. "And how do you see me alongside the squad? How does it work tactically?" Arteta''s smile widened slightly. "Seamlessly." He shifted forward. "We''re flexible, but we have principles. Fluidity in attack, control in possession, aggression in transitions. You fit all of that. I can see you linking with Martinelli, with ?degaard, with Saka. The chemistry would be natural." Izan remained quiet, his mind processing the vision. Arteta then exhaled, his voice turning slightly lighter. "I won''t take up more of your time. I just wanted you to hear it from me directly." He nodded slightly. "We''ll handle the rest. And when it''s done¡ªI''ll be glad to see you in North London." Not long after the call ended, Miranda''s laptop chimed with a new email notification. She glanced at the screen, already knowing what it was before she even clicked it open. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Contract Proposal ¨C Arsenal Football Club She wasted no time scanning through the document, her eyes narrowing as she processed the details. As expected, Arsenal wasn''t holding back. "Izan," she said, motioning him over as she scrolled further. "They''ve sent the personal terms." Izan leaned in beside her, glancing at the screen as she continued reading. "Base salary will be fifteen million pounds per year," she noted. "But with performance bonuses and clauses¡­ it jumps to twenty million annually." Izan blinked, his expression neutral, but even he couldn''t ignore the magnitude of the offer. It was clear that Arsenal wasn''t just signing him¡ªthey were making him their highest-paid player and that reflected their trust and what they expected of him. Komi and Hori, still sitting nearby, exchanged glances. Hori let out a low whistle. "That''s insane." Miranda continued scrolling. "There are goal bonuses, assist bonuses, and a significant Champions League incentive. If you win the Premier League, another boost. And, of course, a loyalty clause that increases your salary if you stay beyond three seasons." Izan folded his arms, exhaling. "They''re serious." Miranda nodded. "Very." She glanced at him. "What do you think?" Izan didn''t answer immediately. He wasn''t the type to chase money¡ªit had never been his primary motivation. But he wasn''t ignorant either. The financial aspect was part of the game, and whether he liked it or not, it was a reflection of value. More than anything, this proved that Arsenal saw him as their key player. Not just another signing, but the signing. His fingers tapped lightly against his arm as he processed everything. His decision had already been made, but now, with the contract in front of him, it felt real. Miranda watched him carefully before closing the laptop with a soft click. "Sleep on it," she said. "We''ll go over everything again in the morning before making things official." Izan nodded, but he knew sleep wouldn''t come easily. Not with everything that was about to change. A/n: There it is folks. Izan is officially joining Arsenal. It was coming and now it is finally here. Your boy is about to create the greatest success stories with Arsenal. Anyways see you with the second chapter in a while and hopefully, a golden ticket chapter for all your efforts. Thanks for reading. Chapter 343 343: Done Deal Izan trudged down the stairs, barefoot, yawning as he ran a hand through his hair. The sun filtered through the living room windows, casting a warm glow over the dining table where Miranda was already seated, her laptop open, tablet in hand, and contract papers neatly arranged in front of her. Komi sat beside her, while Hori scrolled through her phone, occasionally glancing at the documents. "You''re finally up," Miranda said, smirking as she watched Izan stretch. He mumbled something incoherent before pulling out a chair and dropping into it. "Didn''t realize contract talks started this early." Miranda tapped her stylus against the tablet. "It''s never too early when we''re talking about millions." Izan exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Alright. What are we looking at." Miranda swiped to a page on her tablet. "Let''s go step by step. Your base salary is set at €15 million per year¡ªthat''s your guaranteed income before bonuses. It puts you at the very top of Arsenal''s wage structure, just below a few players, but still leaves room for structured increments." Izan''s brow furrowed. "Structured increments?" "Performance-based increases," Miranda clarified. "Each season, if you meet certain targets¡ªappearances, goal contributions, and overall impact¡ªyour base salary will rise accordingly. Arsenal wants to ensure long-term motivation." Izan nodded slowly. "And bonuses?" Miranda swiped again, revealing a new breakdown. "Your contract includes several performance bonuses: ? Goals & Assists ¨C Fixed payouts at different thresholds. The more you score or assist, the higher the bonuses. ? Team Achievements ¨C Winning the Premier League, Champions League, or domestic cups triggers additional earnings. Even qualification for certain knockout stages adds bonuses. ? Individual Accolades ¨C If you win major awards like the Premier League Player of the Season, Golden Boot, or even Ballon d''Or, you''ll receive extra financial incentives." Izan exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "They really covered everything." "They did," Miranda said, shifting to another section. "Then there''s the appearance clause¡ªArsenal wants a commitment of at least 30 competitive games per season, excluding injuries. If you meet that, there''s a loyalty bonus on top." Komi, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "That means he''s expected to play most of the season?" "Yes," Miranda confirmed. "It''s Arsenal''s way of making sure a player is regularly contributing." Izan tapped his fingers on the table. "What about image rights?" Miranda''s lips curved slightly. "Good question. That''s a big part of this deal." She pulled up a different section on her tablet. "Arsenal is offering a 70-30 split¡ªyou keep 70% of your image rights revenue, while the club gets 30%. That''s a solid percentage considering they''ll be using your likeness in promotional content, ads, and merchandise." Izan glanced at her. "How does that compare to other top players?" "It''s right up there," Miranda replied. "Some clubs go for a 50-50 split, but Arsenal understands your marketability. They also included a separate clause allowing independent sponsorships, meaning you can sign personal deals outside of Arsenal''s existing partnerships¡ªas long as there''s no direct conflict." Hori looked up from her phone. "So brands that don''t clash with Arsenal''s sponsors?" "Exactly," Miranda said. "For example, if Arsenal has a deal with Adidas, you can''t sign a personal deal with Nike but you won''t have that problem since you are already signed to Adidas. Outside of what I said before, your sponsorships are your own." Izan leaned back, thinking it through. "And accommodation?" Miranda pulled up another document. "Arsenal will assist in finding a home in North London. They''re offering a luxury apartment close to the training ground for the first six months while you settle in. After that, they''ll help with a permanent residence if you prefer a house instead." Komi crossed her arms. "And transport?" Miranda glanced at her. "Since Izan turns 17 in November, Arsenal will apply for a special driving license that allows him to legally drive in the UK before he turns 18. Until then, they''ll provide a private driver." Izan grinned. "So I can drive myself in a few months?" Miranda nodded. "Yes, but there will be some restrictions¡ªcurfew hours, vehicle types, and speed limits. It''s not full independence, but you''ll have more freedom." Miranda smirked. "Also, you''re getting number 10." Izan exhaled. "I thought this normally happened after I signed for them." "Well, that''s how sincere they are," Miranda said taking a sip of her tea. Izan raised an eyebrow. "Who had it before? I don''t want to start on the wrong foot with my teammates before I even get there." "Emile Smith Rowe." Izan blinked. "Wait¡ªhe''s leaving?" Miranda nodded. "He''s moving to Fulham, so Arsenal is handing the number 10 to you. Number 10s at Arsenal aren''t just regular players¡ªit''s a symbol of creativity and responsibility." Izan absorbed that, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded. "I like that." Miranda shut her laptop. "Good. Because once we finalize everything, you''ll officially be an Arsenal player." Izan exhaled, staring at the contract. The reality of his decision was fully sinking in. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda leaned back in her chair, exhaling as she tapped on her phone. "Alright, time to make it official before the signing." She scrolled through her contacts and selected the number for Valencia''s sporting director and after a few rings, the call connected. "Miranda," the director greeted, his tone composed but with an air of inevitability. "I assume this is about Izan?" "Yes," Miranda said smoothly. "He''s agreed to personal terms with Arsenal. The contract is structured, the financials are set, and all that''s left is the official signing in London." There was a slight pause before the director spoke again. "Understood. So you''re giving us the green light to announce it?" "Yes," Miranda confirmed. "You can go ahead and release the statement. Keep it clear¡ªhe''s agreed to personal terms, but the signing will take place once he arrives in London." Another brief silence. "I''ll inform the club''s communications team. Expect an official announcement soon." "Good," Miranda said, glancing at Izan, who was listening attentively. "And one more thing¡ªlet''s ensure there''s no confusion. Make it clear that everything has been conducted professionally and respectfully. No unnecessary narratives about him ''betraying the club in desperate times'' or any bad blood. It''s a transition, not a breakup." The director gave a small chuckle. "We''ll handle it properly. Valencia is grateful for everything Izan has done. He''s leaving on good terms." "That''s what I want to hear." Miranda nodded. "I''ll see you when we wrap up the formalities." With that, she ended the call and set her phone down, stretching her arms. "That''s done. Valencia will announce soon." Izan let out a slow breath. "So it''s really happening." Komi smiled gently. "It''s been happening, Izan. Now the world will know." Miranda smirked. "And once it''s out, expect things to get even crazier." .... Within minutes of Miranda''s call, Valencia''s official social media accounts released the long-awaited statement: "Agreement reached: Izan has chosen Arsenal. The player has agreed to personal terms with the English club, with the official signing to take place in London. The club has stated that a portion of the transfer fee will be set aside for reinforcing the squad Thank you for everything, Izan. You will always be one of us. ?Amunt Valencia!" The announcement was met with an immediate explosion of reactions. For weeks, a significant portion of football fans had been convinced that Paris Saint-Germain would be Izan''s next destination. The club had been pushing aggressively behind the scenes, and the belief that they would secure his signature was strong. So strong that some PSG supporters had already started making compilation videos of "Izan x Mbapp¨¦" forgetting that the latter might be leaving. Now, their reaction was pure disbelief. @PSGUltra94: Ain''t no way¡­ WE GOT SCAMMED @MbappeFanatic: We were all so sure. The media said PSG and Liverpool were leading the race! How did Arsenal pull this off? @Ligue1Finesse: Galtier had a whole plan for him. I was ready for Izan-Mbapp¨¦-Dembele cooking, man. Wait, Mbappe''s leaving. Pain @TacticoParis: We offered him €20M+ wages. He chose Arsenal for less?? The sentiment was the same across PSG''s fanbase¡ªconfusion, frustration, and outright disbelief. The disappointment wasn''t just among the fans. Inside PSG''s offices, there was a sense of frustration. The sporting director had been confident their financial offer would be too good to refuse, and losing Izan to Arsenal, a club that hadn''t been as financially aggressive, was a tough blow. "We matched any wage demands he could have had," one executive muttered. "And he still chose England." In Manchester, Pep Guardiola had personally called Izan days ago, selling him the vision of becoming a key figure at City. But City had also been clear: they weren''t willing to break their structured system of play. Now, as the news broke, some within the club felt that Arsenal had taken advantage of the emotional side of the deal, something City had refrained from doing. "He''d have been perfect here," a City scout sighed. "But if he wanted Arsenal, it means he''s after something beyond just trophies." Shortly after Valencia''s announcement, the biggest transfer insider in football, Fabrizio Romano, delivered his "Here We Go" confirmation and provided a detailed breakdown of the deal: "Izan to Arsenal, here we go! The Spanish talent has chosen Arsenal after considering multiple offers from top European clubs. An Agreement has been reached between the player and Arsenal on personal terms. Contract until 2029. Base salary: €15M per year, with performance-related bonuses taking it up to €20M annually. Valencia is to receive €105M fixed fee, plus €15M in add-ons. Signing to take place in London next week after medicals. The deal is done." Fabrizio''s tweet was retweeted over 100,000 times within minutes, with fans from all over the world flooding the replies. Arsenal supporters were celebrating, rivals were reacting, and the footballing world was fully locked into the transfer saga. Chapter 344 344: Last Session [Golden Ticket chapter] For better reading experience,[To me] Read this while Listening to Forever and a day by Benson Boone. I don''t know why but it sounded nice with it. The last part is what I mean. ....... The news of Izan''s blockbuster transfer to Arsenal spread like wildfire, and naturally, the English media wasted no time dissecting every aspect of the deal. On Sky Sports, the conversation quickly turned to the financial side of the transfer. Gary Neville (Former Manchester United defender and pundit on Sky Sports): "Look, there''s no doubt Izan is a fantastic player. What he did at Valencia was extraordinary. But €15 million a year? Before bonuses? That''s an astronomical amount for a 17-year-old. Arsenal are putting a lot of pressure on a kid who is still a minor. I think he should''ve lowered his demands, at least for the first few years, and then earned that kind of money through performances." Jamie Carragher (Former Liverpool Player, Sky Sports Pundit): "I get what you''re saying, Gary, but let''s not pretend this is some unproven talent. Izan was the best player at Valencia. He dragged them into the Champions League. If he was 22 instead of 17, we wouldn''t be having this conversation. This is what top clubs pay for world-class talent these days. Arsenal didn''t overpay¡ªthey paid the market rate for a player who''s already proving he belongs at the highest level." Roy Keane (Former Manchester United captain, Sky Sports Pundit): "Listen, if the lad performs, no one will care about the money. Football isn''t about what you deserve; it''s about what you negotiate. Arsenal think he''s worth that much, so fair play to him. But what I''ll say is this¡ªwhen you''re earning that kind of money, there are no excuses. You have to deliver, every single game. The pressure is on now." Over on TalkSPORT, the discussion was even more heated, with some pundits questioning the wisdom of spending over €120M on a teenager who had dazzled for just a single season. Simon Jordan (Former Crystal Palace owner, TalkSPORT Pundit): "We''re entering dangerous territory here. Football clubs are throwing money around like confetti, and it''s setting a precedent. €15M a year for a 17-year-old? I don''t care how talented he is¡ªthis is madness. Arsenal could have structured a better deal rather than setting him up with such ridiculous expectations." Darren Bent (Former England striker, TalkSPORT Pundit): "Simon, you''re looking at it the wrong way. Arsenal aren''t just buying a player¡ªthey''re buying their future. Izan is already one of the best in La Liga, and he''s only getting better. If he plays like he did for Valencia, this will look like a bargain in two years." Martin Keown (Former Arsenal defender, TalkSPORT Pundit): "I agree with Darren. This is what elite clubs do. Arsenal want to compete with City, Real Madrid, Bayern, and Barcelona¡ªyou need world-class players to do that. People are focusing on his age, but if he''s good enough, he''s old enough. He''s taking the number 10 shirt at Arsenal, which tells you everything about how much belief the club has in him." As the debate raged on, one voice that carried immense weight in Arsenal circles stepped in to offer his perspective¡ªArsenal legend and former captain Thierry Henry. Appearing on CBS Sports, Henry addressed the criticisms head-on: "People need to stop treating this like it''s a charity. Arsenal aren''t just handing out money¡ªthey''re investing in a player they believe can take them to the next level. If Izan plays like he did at Valencia, every bit of that money will be well deserved." The Frenchman then pointed out the hypocrisy in how young players are judged differently based on their age. "When you''re young, people say you should ''prove yourself first'' before earning big money. When you''re older, they say you''re past your peak and shouldn''t demand too much. It''s always something. The reality is, if you have the talent, you get paid what you''re worth. And Izan? He''s worth every bit of this deal." Henry then delivered a direct message to those questioning whether Izan''s age should factor into the financial side of his move: "Football has changed. The old ideology that young players should wait their turn is gone. If you''re good enough, you''re ready. We saw it with Mbapp¨¦, we saw it with Bellingham, and now we''re seeing it with Izan. He''s not just a kid¡ªhe''s a game-changer. Arsenal know it, and soon, the Premier League will know it too." With that, the conversation began to shift. What started as skepticism about Izan''s wages slowly turned into an acceptance. Arsenal had just made a statement signing¡ªone that could reshape the Premier League for years to come. ¡­.::... With the contract details nearly settled, Miranda shifted her focus to an important but often overlooked part of high-profile transfers¡ªeducation. Izan was still in his final year of school in Spain, and while football was his priority, he had upcoming final exams that were set to take place after his move to London. With that in mind, Miranda placed a call to the head administrator of Izan''s school. After a few rings, a polite but firm voice answered. "Se?ora Miranda, a pleasure to hear from you. I assume this is about Izan''s situation?" "Exactly," Miranda replied. "As you know, he''s finalizing his move to Arsenal, which means he''ll be relocating to London soon. However, his final exams are scheduled after his move. We''d like to explore solutions that would allow him to complete them without major complications." The administrator sighed as if she had been expecting this. "Izan has been an excellent student, and we''d hate for this to disrupt his academic progress. There are a few options we can explore." Miranda leaned forward, pen in hand. "I''m listening." "First, if he intends to return to Spain at any point before the season begins, he could sit the exams in person here. We could arrange flexible scheduling within a reasonable window." Miranda glanced at Izan, who had been quietly listening. "Not ideal, considering preseason will take up most of his time. What''s the second option?" "The second option is remote examination. It''s more complicated because final exams are strictly monitored, but we have protocols in place for international students. He could take his exams under supervised conditions in London¡ªpossibly at a designated exam center or through the Spanish consulate." "That sounds more reasonable," Miranda said, scribbling notes. "And the third option?" "If neither of those works, he could defer his exams until the next available session. It''s not ideal, but we''d grant him an exception given the circumstances." Miranda looked at Izan. "What do you think?" Izan rubbed his chin. "I''d rather not delay it if possible. If I can take them remotely while in London, I''d prefer that." Miranda nodded and returned to the call. "We''ll go with the remote exam option. Let''s start working on the arrangements." "Understood. I''ll coordinate with our academic board and provide you with the necessary guidelines. We''ll ensure Izan has the best possible support while balancing his football commitments." "Perfect," Miranda said. "I appreciate the cooperation." As the call ended, Izan exhaled. "Well, at least that''s sorted." Miranda smirked. "Welcome to life as a high-profile athlete. Football isn''t the only thing you have to think about." "Well, we''re done but not quite there. Go wash up," Miranda said, shutting her tablet. "We still have things to finish at Valencia." Izan sat there for a moment, staring at the contract papers on the table. His name wasn''t signed yet, but it didn''t matter. The world already knew. His teammates already knew. This was happening. He exhaled, rubbing his face before pushing back his chair. "Yeah¡­ alright." Komi watched him stand, her usual soft demeanor softening more for a moment. "It''s going to feel different today." Izan gave a small nod before heading upstairs. ¡ª The water ran cold at first before warming against his skin. He stood under the shower longer than usual, letting the spray drum against his back. His thoughts drifted¡ªto the first time he walked onto the Paterna pitch, to the fights for a starting spot, to the Champions League qualification battle, to the friendships he had built here. This place had made him. And now, he was leaving. When he finally stepped out, he moved with practiced motions¡ªdrying off, dressing quickly, running a hand through his damp hair. He grabbed his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder before heading downstairs where Miranda was already waiting. "Ready?" she asked. He swallowed and nodded. ¡ª The drive to Paterna was quiet. Miranda worked on her tablet, but she wasn''t talking much. Komi and Hori had stayed back, understanding this was something Izan needed to do alone. When they arrived, Izan stared out the window for a second before stepping out of the car. The familiar sounds of footballs being struck, of teammates calling out to each other, of coaches shouting instructions¡ªit was all the same. Except today, it wasn''t. He walked through the entrance, past the staff who had watched him grow from a talented kid into the club''s best player in just a season. Some smiled at him, some patted his shoulder as he passed, but there was an unspoken understanding in all their eyes. Inside the locker room, his boots were still in his usual spot. His jersey still hung where it always did. For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. Then the door opened. Baraja stepped inside, hands in his pockets. He looked at Izan, then at the boots. "You still think you''re a Valencia player?" Izan let out a small chuckle. "Haven''t signed yet." "Exactly," Baraja said. "Which means you''re training today." Izan blinked. "I¡ª" Baraja raised an eyebrow. "What? You think just because you''re leaving, you get a free pass?" Izan stared at him before breaking into a smile. He dropped his duffle bag and grabbed his boots. "Guess not." ¡ª S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. When Izan stepped onto the pitch, the conversations died down. His teammates turned, some holding their breath, others shifting awkwardly. For the first time since he arrived at Valencia, Izan felt like an outsider. Then Hugo Guillam¨®n broke the silence. "Took you long enough." It was enough to crack the tension. Pepelu jogged over, nudging him with his elbow. "Did Arsenal approve this training session, or are we gonna get a call from Arteta?" Izan smirked. "Haven''t signed yet." Thierry Correia grinned. "Then that means you''re still ours." The group gathered around him, some clapping his back, others pulling him into quick embraces. There were no dramatic speeches, no forced goodbyes¡ªjust the unspoken understanding that this was the last time. The last training session as a Valencia man. ...¡­. Once the drills started, everything felt normal again. Izan moved through the rondos, playing crisp passes, teasing Mamardashvili with a cheeky nutmeg. The laughter, the energy¡ªit was all still there. Then they switched to small-sided games. Izan drove forward, weaving past two defenders before slipping a pass to Fran P¨¦rez, who buried it in the bottom corner. A goal. A celebration. For a second, it felt like any other day. But then Fran pulled Izan into a hug instead of running back to reset. And that was when it truly hit. One by one, the others joined, arms draped over shoulders, some ruffling Izan''s hair, some just standing there, breathing in the moment. Pietro sighed. "Man¡­ this is weird." Guillam¨®n nodded. "Yeah. Don''t like it." Izan swallowed hard. "Neither do I." No one spoke for a while after that. The whistle blew. Baraja called them in. The training was over. Izan exhaled, glancing around. The grass. The goals. The sky above Paterna. One last time. A/n: Fuck. I won''t keep it PG this time. I teared up a little writing this. Here''s to the friends we''ve lost along the way and I hope we keep the ones we have right now for a long time. Fuck!!! Anyways cheer me up with the Golden tickets. Chapter 345: Arrival In Colney The hum of the airplane was steady, a soft vibration beneath Izan¡¯s fingers as he tapped absentmindedly against the armrest. He wasn¡¯t nervous¡ªat least, not in the way people might expect. He wasn¡¯t scared. He wasn¡¯t doubting himself. But there was a weight to all of this. A finality. Next to him, Miranda was flicking through her tablet, skimming over a few last-minute details. When she caught him staring out the window, she nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You thinking about a lot of things?" Izan exhaled, leaning back into the seat. "More like everything at once." Valencia. His teammates. The training session had felt more like a farewell disguised as normalcy. And then the goodbyes. ? The drive to the airport had been quiet at first, but the moment they arrived, the atmosphere shifted. Komi had been composed, her usual gentle smile hiding the emotions she always kept under control. But Hori¡ªHori hadn¡¯t even tried. The moment she realized he was leaving, she burst into tears, hitting him softly with her fists in frustration. "You¡¯re a traitor," she sniffled, wiping at her face. "Leaving me behind like this." Izan chuckled, grabbing her wrist gently before she could hit him again. "You can come visit whenever you want, Hori. Whenever Mom has time, you two can fly out. And when you start high school next year, you can move for real." Hori hiccupped, looking up at him with watery eyes. "Promise?" "Promise." That seemed to settle her, though she still clung to his hoodie for a while longer before letting him go. Then came Olivia. She hadn¡¯t cried¡ªnot like Hori¡ªbut her eyes were red, her usual brightness dimmed. When they finally stood face to face, she just looked at him for a moment before shaking her head with a small, bittersweet smile. "I hate that you¡¯re leaving," she admitted, voice soft. "I know." "But I¡¯m also so proud of you." He exhaled through his nose, lowering his forehead against hers for a second. "I¡¯ll come back whenever I can." "I know." Then she kissed him, quick but lingering, her arms wrapping around him tightly. When she pulled away, she let out a shaky breath. "You better be great there." Izan smirked. "You think I¡¯d settle for anything less?" She laughed, smacking his shoulder before stepping back. And that was it. One last wave. One last look. Then the airport swallowed him up. ? Now, as the plane began its descent, Izan gripped the armrest slightly, feeling the shift in altitude. Miranda put away her tablet, stretching slightly. "Brace for impact." Izan smirked. "What, for the landing or for what comes after?" Miranda chuckled. "Both." Through the window, the city below came into view¡ªhis new home. The Emirates Stadium wasn¡¯t visible from here, but he knew it was waiting. Everything was waiting. A new league. A new club. A new chapter. He exhaled slowly, gripping the armrest a little tighter. The turbulence was light, but the weight in Izan¡¯s chest was heavier. Through the small airplane window, the skyline of London stretched beneath him¡ªvast, unfamiliar, waiting. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest as he exhaled slowly. Miranda glanced at him. "Nervous?" Izan scoffed lightly. "No." She arched an eyebrow. "¡­Okay, maybe a little," he admitted. She smirked. "Good. Means you care." The seatbelt sign flickered on, and the pilot¡¯s voice crackled through the intercom, announcing their descent. "Brace for impact," Miranda murmured, half-joking. Izan rolled his shoulders, adjusting in his seat. This was it. As soon as they stepped off the jet bridge, the reality of the moment set in. A group of Arsenal representatives stood waiting, dressed sharply in club attire, their expressions a mix of excitement and business-like efficiency. At the front was Edu Gaspar, Arsenal¡¯s Sporting Director, and Per Mertesacker, head of the academy. Behind them, media liaisons and club staff waited to guide Izan through the next steps of his new life. "Izan," Edu greeted warmly, extending a hand. "Welcome to London." Izan shook it firmly, keeping his posture straight. "Thank you." Mertesacker smiled. "The fans are already waiting." That much was clear. Even before stepping outside, he could hear them¡ªchants, cheers, a growing roar of anticipation. Miranda exhaled, checking her watch. "I assume you¡¯ve arranged a secure path?" Edu nodded. "Yes, but¡­" He glanced at Izan. "They¡¯re excited. Would you mind greeting them?" Izan¡¯s lips pressed together. He wasn¡¯t a stranger to passionate fans¡ªValencia¡¯s had been relentless. But this? This was different. This was a new country, a new club, a new chapter. He nodded. "I¡¯ll stop for a moment." As they exited, the noise hit like a wave. Hundreds of Arsenal fans had gathered, packed tightly behind barriers, holding banners, scarves, and phones aloft. The chant was simple but deafening: "IZAN! IZAN! IZAN!" His pace slowed as he took it in. They were here for him. Izan lifted a hand, acknowledging the crowd with a small wave. That alone sent a ripple of excitement through them, the chants growing louder. Then, out of the sea of red and white, he noticed a young kid near the front¡ªhis small hands gripping two Arsenal scarves, his wide eyes pleading for attention. Izan stepped closer. Security tensed, but he gestured that it was fine. The kid hesitated, then shakily held out both scarves. Izan took them gently. He signed one, pressing it back into the boy¡¯s hands. "This one¡¯s for you." Then, without hesitation, he looped the second one around his neck. The boy¡¯s face lit up. A moment to remember for a lifetime. The crowd erupted. Phones flashed. Cameras clicked. The moment was immortalized before Izan even realized what had happened. A nearby journalist muttered, half to himself, "The prince arrives¡­ let¡¯s see if he can become an emperor." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And just like that, the headlines wrote themselves. IZAN LANDS IN LONDON: THE PRINCE ARRIVES TO CLAIM HIS THRONE. Izan exhaled, pulling the scarf tighter around his neck. "Welcome to Arsenal." A banner behind him read. ...¡­.. Izan walked toward the convoy of sleek black vehicles waiting outside the airport, flanked by Arsenal representatives and security personnel. The crowd of Arsenal fans still buzzed behind the barriers, their cheers echoing through the terminal¡¯s exterior. Some chanted his name, others waved scarves and jerseys, desperate for one last glance before he disappeared into the London streets. He had already made their day. Stopping despite the arranged security route, he had waved, signed a scarf for a young fan, and draped another around his neck¡ªa small but powerful gesture that instantly spread across social media. Miranda nudged him as they reached the car. "You¡¯re already making headlines."she said, showing him the blog Izan chuckled but didn¡¯t check his phone. As soon as they settled into the car, the convoy moved smoothly out of the airport, heading toward London Colney, Arsenal¡¯s training ground. Edu, Arsenal¡¯s technical director, sat in the seat across from Izan. "You made a good impression," Edu said with a small smile. "They already love you." Izan adjusted the scarf around his neck. "Let¡¯s see if they still do after I step on the pitch." Edu smirked. "That¡¯s why we¡¯re here. And before that¡ªthere¡¯s someone who wants to meet you first." Izan raised an eyebrow, but he already knew. Mikel Arteta. The meeting had been planned before his medicals. It wasn¡¯t just about signing a player. It was about making sure the player and the manager were aligned, and that the philosophy matched. Arteta had a clear vision for Arsenal, and Izan was supposed to be a key piece of it. As the car sped through the streets of London, Izan leaned back, staring out the window. He had felt this weight before. In Valencia. In Spain¡¯s red. But this was different. A new league, a new challenge. A new chapter. And it was about to begin. ...¡­. The convoy rolled through the gates of London Colney, Arsenal¡¯s state-of-the-art training facility. The sun had barely crested the sky, casting long shadows over the pristine training pitches. Even from inside the car, Izan could make out the neatly cut grass, the Arsenal crest stamped onto the walls of the buildings, and a few academy players jogging in the distance. As the car came to a halt, Arsenal¡¯s medical staff and club officials were already waiting. A few players who had arrived early for training glanced over, clearly aware of the buzz surrounding his visit. Izan emerged, dressed in a sleek, casual fit, still with the scarf wrapped around his neck. Arteta was there to greet them. "Welcome to Colney." His voice was firm yet welcoming, his gaze analytical as it briefly sized Izan up. Izan nodded. "Thanks, coach." Arteta gestured towards the entrance. "We¡¯ll get straight to the medicals. Everything is prepared." No unnecessary words. Straight to work. ... Inside, Izan was guided through a series of tests, moving from one station to the next with the efficiency of someone who had done this before. It started routine enough: ? Height, weight, body composition. Good shape ? Joint mobility, and flexibility. Clean. ? Reaction tests. Sharp. Then things shifted. When they moved to the VO2 max test, something changed in the room¡¯s atmosphere. Izan pushed himself harder than necessary, sustaining his peak effort long past where most players would slow down. The medical team exchanged brief glances. By the time they reached the strength and explosive power tests, murmurs had started. Izan¡¯s sprint acceleration, lower-body power, and muscular endurance weren¡¯t just good¡ªthey were pushing past elite benchmarks. One of the physiologists frowned as the numbers updated on his screen. The final red flag came when they checked the recovery time. After max exertion, a player¡¯s heart rate should take time to settle. Izan¡¯s normalized too fast, as if his body barely registered the fatigue. The lead doctor tapped the screen, double-checking the data. Silence filled the room. The tension was subtle but present. Mikel Arteta, who had been waiting nearby, finally stepped forward. "What¡¯s going on?" His tone was calm but firm. The head doctor hesitated before tilting the monitor towards him. "Look at this." Arteta¡¯s eyes scanned the numbers. VO2 max at extreme levels. Muscle composition and endurance suggested a player deep into the season, not fresh off vacation. Acceleration and agility beyond projections. The physiologist beside him muttered, almost to himself, "These numbers aren¡¯t normal." Another doctor, arms crossed, added, "It¡¯s like he never stopped training. But even then¡­ this is unnatural." Arteta didn¡¯t react immediately. His gaze flicked to Izan, who sat on the bench, toweling off sweat, his breathing steady. He wasn¡¯t oblivious to the attention, but he didn¡¯t acknowledge it either. The Arsenal manager¡¯s expression remained unreadable. He exhaled through his nose, then simply nodded. "Alright. Continue." The medical team hesitated but complied. Meanwhile, Arteta turned away, his mind already working through what this truly meant. Chapter 346 346: Unveiling The final test concluded, and Izan wiped his face with a towel. His breathing was still controlled as if the grueling medical examination had been nothing more than a warm-up. The tension in the room hadn''t dissipated¡ªif anything, it had thickened. The murmurs among the medical staff had turned into quiet exchanges, cautious glances directed at the screens displaying Izan''s test results. Mikel Arteta, arms crossed, watched in silence before finally motioning to a few of the doctors. "Step outside with me." The moment they were out of Izan''s earshot, Arteta turned to the group, his tone low but firm. "Be honest with me. Are these numbers natural?" A pause. A few of the doctors exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. One of them finally cleared his throat. "It''s¡­ difficult to say." Another doctor, shifting uncomfortably, added, "We''ve never seen numbers like these from a player who just came off vacation. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His endurance levels are something you''d expect at peak mid-season form, not now." Arteta''s expression didn''t change. He wasn''t a stranger to elite athletes, nor to the extremes some went to in pursuit of an edge. His voice dropped even lower. "Has he taken anything?" The silence stretched. Before any of them could answer, the door to the medical room opened, and the head of the medical department walked in. He had been overseeing another player''s rehabilitation and had only now gotten a proper look at the reports. Without hesitation, he shook his head. "No. He''s clean." Arteta turned to him, watching carefully. "You''re sure?" The doctor exhaled, stepping closer to the screen. "If he had taken performance enhancers, we''d see clear markers¡ªdisruptions in his hormonal balance, irregular oxygen uptake levels, muscle inflammation beyond normal thresholds. There''s none of that." He tapped on the screen, pointing at specific parameters. "His body''s not reacting like someone who''s artificially boosted. It''s reacting like someone who''s built for this. A genetic anomaly, maybe. But not unnatural." Arteta didn''t respond immediately. He stared at the data for a moment longer before the doctor straightened, offering a small shrug. "He''s simply a beast of nature." Arteta exhaled through his nose. The weight of that statement lingered between them. He glanced towards the room where Izan sat, speaking quietly with Miranda and Henry. His posture was relaxed, but Arteta could see it now¡ªthe coiled energy beneath the surface, the controlled intensity in how he moved, the way his body operated at a level beyond normal limits. Not manufactured. Not altered. Just built different. Arteta nodded. "Alright." With that, he turned on his heel and walked back inside. ...¡­ With the medicals completed, the doctors gave the final green light, and the atmosphere shifted. The uncertainty that had clouded the room moments ago was gone. Now, everything moved with precision¡ªthe formalities of sealing a top signing. Izan stepped out of the medical room, greeted by he head doctor. Miranda, ever the professional, checked her phone before nodding. "That''s done. Now, we move to the paperwork." Arteta, who had remained silent for most of the process, finally stepped forward. He looked at Izan, eyes sharp but unreadable. "You ready?" Izan met his gaze. "Of course." A brief pause¡ªthen Arteta gave a small nod, motioning for them to move forward. They exited the medical wing and stepped into the club''s inner offices. Arsenal''s media and legal teams were already in position. The next steps were routine but essential: signing the contract, media obligations, and, of course, the long-anticipated club announcement. The contract signing came first. Inside a sleek, well-lit room, Izan took his seat at a long table. Documents were spread before him, neatly organized. Arsenal''s director of football, along with key club representatives, sat opposite him. Miranda sat by his side, carefully scanning through every clause, though most had already been settled in prior negotiations. When the final paper was placed before him, Izan didn''t hesitate. He picked up the pen, scrawled his signature, and sealed his move to Arsenal. A handshake followed¡ªArteta first, then the club officials, then Miranda. The moment was captured by cameras in the room, images that would soon flood Arsenal''s official channels and social media. Next came the official photos and videos. Izan changed into a full Arsenal kit, the No. 10 printed on the back. He stood before the club''s emblem, cameras flashing as he posed with the jersey, a signature smirk on his face. A short video followed, with him simply stating, "I''m here." Behind the scenes, Arsenal''s social media team worked rapidly. They knew the weight of this signing. The graphics were pre-made, the captions pre-written. Moments later, a tweet went live: "The wait is over. Welcome to Arsenal, Izan." The engagement exploded instantly. Meanwhile, Izan was led towards another area¡ªone final step before his unveiling at the Emirates. The first meeting with his new teammates. .... After the contract was signed and the official media duties were completed, Izan was led toward the heart of the training ground¡ªthe locker room. This was the moment that made a transfer feel real: stepping into the squad, meeting new teammates, and finding his place in an already well-structured team. As the door swung open, the atmosphere inside was lively but controlled. A few players were already gathered, some sitting on the benches, others standing, engaged in casual conversations. When Izan stepped in, the talking slowed¡ªnot in an awkward way, but with the natural curiosity that came with a high-profile signing. Jorginho was the first to approach. The Italian midfielder was one of the more vocal leaders in the squad, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had seen it all. He extended a hand, his expression warm yet appraising. "Welcome to Arsenal, my friend." Izan took the handshake firmly and, to the surprise of a few, responded in fluent English. "Thanks, man. Happy to be here." A few heads turned at that. Though most knew Izan had played in Spain, the ease with which he spoke English was unexpected. Jorginho raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "Your English is good." Izan smirked slightly. "Gotta be ready for everything, right?" A chuckle spread through the room. The ice had been broken. More players came up next. Martin ?degaard, the captain, introduced himself with a firm handshake, his tone friendly yet serious. "Good to have you here, man. Looking forward to playing with you." Bukayo Saka, ever the energetic presence, leaned in. "Nah, we need to see how sharp you are first." A few laughs followed, but the underlying message was clear. Respect was given, but it had to be earned. And then, Declan Rice stepped up. His grin was wide, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ahh, here he is! The Heartbreaker." Izan raised an eyebrow, but Rice wasn''t done. He patted his chest, feigning an exaggerated sigh. "You know, I''ve had a tough summer, mate. I thought bringing it home was finally happening. And then¡­" His hand gestured toward Izan, his eyes narrowing in mock disappointment. "You. Ruined. Everything." The room erupted in laughter. Saka clapped his hands, ?degaard shook his head with a knowing smirk, and even the usually reserved Ben White let out a chuckle. Izan, completely unfazed, tilted his head slightly. "You played well, man," he said with a shrug. "Just not well enough." That earned a few "Oooohs" from the squad, with Rice doubling over dramatically. "Nahhh, that''s cold!" he laughed, pointing at Izan. "I can''t wait to kick you in training." Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "We''ll see about that." There was a moment of understanding there¡ªa competitor recognizing another competitor. The introductions continued. Gabriel Jesus, Tomiyasu, Ben White, Partey, Havertz. Each player welcomed him in their own way, some with nods, others with quick jokes. It was a team with clear chemistry, and Izan was stepping into something strong. As the small talk faded, Mikel Arteta entered the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. "Alright, everyone," he said, clapping his hands once. "We''ll have plenty of time for introductions, but Izan has something else to get to." That was the cue. The unveiling at the Emirates awaited. With one last glance around the room, Izan exhaled and followed the coaching staff out. The real journey was just beginning ... The convoy pulled up outside the Emirates, and even before Izan stepped out, he could hear them. The low hum of thousands of voices¡ªrestless, eager, waiting. Arsenal had kept everything tight-lipped, no leaks, no advance teasers. Yet somehow, word had spread like wildfire. As he walked through the tunnel, flanked by club officials, the energy became palpable. The stadium wasn''t just half full. It was more than that¡ªand growing. Fans continued streaming in, filling the stands, the lower tiers packed while the upper levels saw clusters growing by the second. Some waved Spanish flags, others had homemade banners welcoming him. And despite the sheer number of people, the Emirates was silent. Holding its breath. And then¡ª Izan stepped onto the pitch. A/n: sorry for being late with this one. I was down with a cold since the morning so I couldnt write anything. Anyways Have fun reading Chapter 347 347: Unveiled The convoy pulled up outside the Emirates, and even before Izan stepped out, he could hear them. The low hum of thousands of voices¡ªrestless, eager, waiting. Arsenal had kept everything tight-lipped, with no leaks or advance teasers. Yet somehow, word had spread like wildfire. As he walked through the tunnel, flanked by club officials, the energy became palpable. The stadium wasn''t just half full. It was more than that¡ªand growing. Fans continued streaming in, filling the stands, the lower tiers packed while the upper levels saw clusters growing by the second. Some waved Spanish flags, others had homemade banners welcoming him. And despite the sheer number of people, the Emirates was silent. Holding its breath. And then¡ª Izan stepped onto the pitch. The eruption was immediate. A deafening roar thundered through the stadium, rolling like a wave. The cameras shook slightly as the sheer force of the cheers filled the air. It wasn''t just applause; it was a statement. They had been waiting for him. Izan walked forward, boots pressing into the pristine grass of what was now his new home. He took in the scale of the stadium¡ªthe weight of what it meant to play here. A chant broke out, "Izan! Izan! Izan!" Raw, powerful, spreading fast. And still, more fans poured in. The late arrivals rushed to find seats, unwilling to miss a moment of this. The unveiling had turned into something bigger¡ªa spectacle, a moment in Arsenal history. The chanting refused to die down, rolling through the Emirates like a relentless tide. Izan stood in the center of the pitch, looking every bit like he belonged in that jersey. Then, someone tossed a ball his way. Izan caught it with his chest, then let it drop to his foot, balancing it effortlessly. The crowd reacted immediately, a fresh wave of cheers swelling as they sensed what was coming. Then a single flick. The ball popped into the air, and in a seamless motion, Izan controlled it on his thigh, keeping it there like it was glued to him. Then he let it bounce once before launching into a series of crisp, rhythmic juggles, his touch flawless, his control effortless. The cameras zoomed in, capturing every motion¡ªthe relaxed shoulders, the calm intensity in his expression, the way he barely looked at the ball yet never lost control. He played with it, shifting between feet, adding flair, letting the Arsenal fans see a glimpse of what was to come. A few tricks, a flick behind the leg, a casual roll onto his shoulder before dropping it down, catching it on his foot again. And then¡ª He launched it high. The ball soared into the sky, almost too high, before dropping perfectly back into his control. The stadium erupted. Chants of his name rang out again, even louder now. Some fans jumped, some clapped furiously, and others simply shook their heads, grinning at what they had just witnessed. A final flick, a smooth stop¡ªthen Izan picked up the ball and walked towards the microphone stand set up at the touchline. The stadium, now almost at full capacity, quieted just enough to hear him speak. He adjusted the mic slightly, the scarf still around his neck, and took a moment to look at them¡ªthe thousands who had come just for this. Then he finally spoke. "Thank you." A simple opening, but the weight of it was clear. The journey had begun. Izan took a moment, letting the weight of the atmosphere settle. Thousands of faces stared back at him, expectant, excited, some still in disbelief that he was actually here. The Emirates wasn''t just welcoming him¡ªit was embracing him. He leaned slightly toward the microphone, his voice steady but carrying the quiet fire that had always burned within him. "From the moment I arrived, you extended a welcoming hand toward me. From the airport to Colney, and now here, I have felt nothing but passion and belief from all of you." A fresh wave of cheers rippled through the stands. Izan paused, his blue eyes sweeping across the stadium. Then, without hesitation, he raised his voice. "And so I will repay that belief¡ªwith ambition." The noise dialed down slightly, anticipation tightening the air. "Within three years¡ª" he continued, his tone unshaken, "Arsenal will win the Premier League and the Champions League," he uttered thinking about the challenge he had to complete. For a brief second, there was silence. A stunned silence. Then, a shout. It wasn''t a full roar¡ªmore of a skeptical cheer, scattered but growing. Arsenal fans had seen many great players come through, and many big declarations¡ªbut this was different. Izan smirked slightly. "If you don''t believe it¡­" he said, his voice sharpening, "then how can someone who has just arrived believe it?" And then, he raised his fist. "So I''ll ask again. If you believe Arsenal will win it all¡ªROAR ." This time, the response shook the ground. A full-throated, undeniable roar. It wasn''t just excitement anymore¡ªit was a challenge accepted. On the touchline, Mikel Arteta exhaled, shaking his head with a wry smile. He knew exactly what had just happened. Izan hadn''t just introduced himself. He had lit a fire. And now, there was no turning back. ... BBC Sport Broadcast ¨C The screen showing Izan''s unveiling cut to the BBC Sport studio, the familiar backdrop of highlights and transfer graphics glowing behind the panel. The headline bar at the bottom of the screen read: "IZAN SIGNS FOR ARSENAL ¨C RECORD-BREAKING TRANSFER UNVEILING AT EMIRATES" At the desk sat three pundits: former Arsenal legend Ian Wright, tactical analyst Chris Sutton, and transfer specialist David Ornstein. Across the screen, footage from the Emirates unveiling played¡ªthousands of fans. To Izan''s ball control display, and finally, his bold declaration about Arsenal winning the Premier League and Champions League within three years. Host: "Well, there you have it. Izan officially unveiled at Arsenal, and let''s be honest, that was more than just a standard presentation. It was a statement." Ian Wright grinned while shaking his head, "Oh mate, I''ve seen a lot of signings, a lot of unveilings at this club, but this one¡­ this was different. The energy, the crowd, and what he said at the end? ''Arsenal will win the Premier League and Champions League within three years?'' That''s not just confidence¡ªit''s a challenge. And he''s only just walked through the door." Chris Sutton, sitting beside the latter crossed his arms, "Look, I love the ambition, I really do, but we''ve heard big words before from big players. Arsenal are building something under Arteta, but the Premier League is brutal. City, Liverpool, even Chelsea and United will always be in the mix. And the Champions League? That''s a whole different level. It''s not just about talent¡ªit''s about experience, mentality, and squad depth." Shortly after Sutton spoke, David Ornstein countered, "And that''s why Arsenal made this move. They see him as the missing piece¡ªthe game-changer, the player who elevates them from a team in contention to a team that wins." The screen changed to a graphic of the most expensive transfers in football history, updated with Izan''s move: 1. Neymar ¨C €222m (Barcelona to PSG, 2017/18) 2. Mbapp¨¦ ¨C €180m (Monaco to PSG, 2018/19) 3. Coutinho ¨C €145m (Liverpool to Barcelona, 2018/19) 4. Demb¨¦l¨¦ ¨C €130m (Dortmund to Barcelona, 2017/18) 5. Jo?o F¨¦lix ¨C €127m (Benfica to Atl¨¦tico, 2019/20) 6. Izan ¨C €125m (Valencia to Arsenal, 2024/25) Host: "That''s what stands out the most. €125 million. That''s the biggest fee Arsenal have ever paid, and it ranks as the sixth-most expensive transfer in football history." David Ornstein: "Yeah, and that''s no small statement. Arsenal are not a club that traditionally throws that kind of money around. The previous record was Declan Rice at €116m, and before that, Nicolas P¨¦p¨¦ at €80m. This is a new era. The Kroenkes, Edu, and Arteta have clearly decided that Izan is the player to take them to the very top." Ian Wright: (grinning again) "Listen, I don''t care what anyone says¡ªthis kid is special. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. You don''t just spend that kind of money without knowing you''re getting a generational player. He''s the Pichichi winner, he''s got the assists, he''s got the mentality. Arsenal needed someone like this, someone who isn''t just here to be another piece in the puzzle but someone who''s here to say, ''We''re winning it all.''" Chris Sutton: (raising an eyebrow) "Alright, but let''s talk pressure. Because a price tag like that? A speech like that? He''s put a target on his back. Every defender in England is going to be coming for him. Every pundit is going to be analyzing his first touch, his first assist, his first goal. He won''t get a honeymoon period. Can he handle that?" Ian Wright: (without hesitation) "Yes. One hundred percent. This kid''s built different." The studio fell silent for a moment as the footage of Izan standing in the center of the Emirates replayed, his fist raised to the roaring crowd. Host: "Well, whether you believe in his three-year challenge or not, one thing''s for sure¡ªArsenal just changed the game." The broadcast cut to a commercial, leaving the football world buzzing. Chapter 348 348: New Scenery As the echoes of the crowd''s roar still lingered in the Emirates, Izan took one last look around before stepping off the pitch. The presentation was over, but the moment had already cemented itself in Arsenal''s history. Fans remained in the stands, still chanting his name, reluctant to leave even as the event concluded. Some leaned over the barriers, hoping for a final wave, a last interaction. Izan obliged. He turned and raised a fist, and the response was immediate¡ªanother deafening cheer, a final exclamation to end the day. Then, he disappeared down the tunnel. As he walked through the back halls of the stadium, Arsenal staff moved efficiently around him, still riding the high of the unveiling. Edu caught up with him, clapping him on the back. "That speech," he said with a grin, "you might have just made Arteta''s job harder." Izan smirked but didn''t reply. He knew exactly what he had done. In one of the private rooms, cameras were set up for post-unveiling media duties. He went through the motions¡ª ? An exclusive club interview, talking about his decision to join. ? Photoshoots for promotional material, both in the home kit and the new training gear. ? A brief recording session for future Arsenal content, where they made him say things like, "Glad to be in the Emirates" and "See you soon, Gunners." It was all standard procedure, but Izan handled it with ease. Eventually, Arteta called him aside. "You''re free to go," the manager said. "Get some rest, settle in. We''ll see you at training soon." As Izan finally left the Emirates, the weight of the day settled in. The unveiling had been massive, but it was just the beginning. His car was waiting outside, the London evening settling over the city. For the first time since landing, he had a moment to himself. Tomorrow, he''d wake up in his new home. But tonight¡ª London was his to explore. ...¡­. The blacked-out car glided through the London streets, the city alive with energy even at this late hour. The unveiling at the Emirates was still fresh in Izan''s mind, but now, with the stadium lights behind him, reality was starting to sink in. He was here. London was home now. Miranda, sitting beside him, tapped on her phone, responding to messages¡ªprobably from Arsenal staff or brand representatives already trying to line up deals. "You''re awfully quiet," she noted, glancing at him. Izan smirked slightly. "Taking it in." "Good," she said, locking her phone and leaning back. "Because you won''t have much time to breathe once training starts." The car slowed as they entered Central London, where the glow of streetlights bathed the wet pavement in gold. It had rained earlier, and the air smelled clean and fresh. Miranda tilted her head toward the window. "Since you just landed, figured I''d show you around a bit before you lock yourself in training mode." Their first stop wasn''t extravagant. Just a quiet drive along the Thames, where the city reflected itself in the dark waters. Big Ben stood tall in the distance, the London Eye slowly turning, red lights dotting its frame. "Ever been here before?" Miranda asked. Izan shook his head. "Only in passing," remembering one of the U19 tournaments he participated in with the Valencia youth. "Never really explored," he added. She grinned. "Well, don''t worry. You''ll have time¡ªassuming Arteta doesn''t run you into the ground first." The car carried them further through the city''s veins¡ªpast Trafalgar Square, through the neon glow of Piccadilly Circus, before finally looping toward North London. ... Eventually, the car pulled up to a private, modern apartment complex, tucked away in an area where privacy was guaranteed. Arsenal had arranged everything¡ªa temporary residence until he settled. Miranda stepped out first, stretching slightly. "Alright, your fortress awaits." Izan followed, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he looked up at the building. It was sleek, and high-end, but unfamiliar. That would change. Miranda handed him a key card. "You''ve got the essentials inside¡ªfood, training gear, everything you need to survive for now." Izan raised an eyebrow. "And if I need anything else?" She smirked. "Then welcome to London. Figure it out." He scoffed but didn''t argue. She took a step back toward her own car. "Take these couple of days, settle in. Because once training starts, there''s no slowing down." Izan nodded. "Yeah." Miranda lingered for a second, then gave a lazy salute. "Don''t get lost." Then she was gone. Izan watched the taillights disappear before turning back toward the building. London was his now and it was time to own it. ...¡­.. The phone screen split, showing Komi, Hori, and Olivia all seated together in their home in Valencia while Izan sat on a couch. "You''re really in London," Komi said first, her voice warm yet carrying that familiar motherly concern. Hori leaned in closer, eyes scanning the screen. "So? Show us! What does Arsenal''s golden boy''s apartment look like?" Izan smirked and flipped the camera. "Alright, here''s the grand tour." He stood up, starting with the living area. "This is the living room. Nothing crazy. Just a couch, a TV, and some furniture." "It''s neat," Olivia commented, "but kinda empty." Izan shrugged. "It''s temporary. Arsenal''s still helping me sort out a proper place." Komi hummed in approval. "At least they''re taking care of you." Moving into the kitchen, he gestured at the sleek countertops and modern appliances. "And here''s the kitchen¡ªdon''t get too excited, I''m probably not gonna use it much." Hori laughed. "Yeah, we all knew that." Komi shot him a disapproving look. "Izan, you need to eat properly." "I know, I know," he said quickly, steering the camera toward the hallway. "Anyway, here''s the bedroom." S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He opened the door, revealing a simple but well-furnished space. A large bed, a wardrobe, and a floor-to-ceiling window that let in the London skyline. "That view is nice," Olivia murmured. Hori, however, had other concerns. "Bro¡­ where''s all your stuff?" "Still in my bags." Komi sighed. "Unpack, Izan. You''ll feel more settled once you do." He chuckled. "Alright, alright." "Bathroom?" Olivia asked, and Izan turned the camera toward the en-suite. "Oh wow, that shower looks fancy," Hori noted. "Try not to break it." Izan shook his head with a smirk before flipping the camera back to himself. "So? Satisfied?" Komi smiled. "It''s a good place. As long as you take care of yourself." Olivia leaned forward, her green eyes soft through the screen. "How are you feeling?" Izan hesitated just for a second, then exhaled. "Good. It''s a lot, but¡­ I''m ready for it." They talked a little longer¡ªKomi reminding him to rest, Hori teasing him about getting lost in London, Olivia quietly listening¡ªbut eventually, it was time to say goodbye. "Talk soon, yeah?" Olivia said before the call ended. Izan stared at the screen for a moment, then leaned back into the couch. The apartment was quiet again. But it didn''t feel empty. It just felt like the start of something new. ... The air was crisp, a touch cooler than the summer mornings in Valencia. London''s rhythm was different¡ªquieter in some ways, yet always moving. Izan''s footsteps tapped against the pavement in a steady beat, his breath controlled, his body already settling into the familiar cadence of his runs. It wasn''t about pushing himself today. It was about feeling the city. He took a route through the quieter parts of the neighborhood, past townhouses with their uniform brick facades, small caf¨¦s just opening up, and a few joggers and early risers making their way through the morning. Despite the hoodie he had pulled up, people noticed him. A man walking his dog paused mid-step, his eyes widening slightly before he gave a knowing nod. A woman on a run of her own stole a second glance. A pair of teenagers on bikes slowed just a bit, nudging each other, their whispers barely audible over the city sounds. In Spain, this might have been different. Someone would''ve pulled out a phone. Someone would have shouted his name. Here, there was curiosity¡ªrecognition¡ªbut also a sort of quiet respect. No one stopped him. No one broke the peace of the morning. London was different. And for the first time in a while, Izan felt like he could breathe. His run took him down a winding path before looping back toward his apartment, the warm-up complete, his muscles loose but nowhere near fatigued. He could have kept going. He wanted to, even. But there would be time for that later. As he reached his apartment building, he took a deep breath, taking in the moment before stepping inside. The door shut behind him with a soft click, the air inside still cool from the night before. And then¡ª Ding. A familiar sound. The notification appeared in his vision. Daily Task Completed. Izan exhaled, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders. A routine he had followed for years, in Spain and now in London. A new city. A new club. A new chapter. But some things never changed. Chapter 349 349: New League, New Upgrades[Golden Ticket Chapter] Izan rolled his shoulders as he entered his apartment, his body still warm from the run. His breath had steadied, but the lingering energy in his muscles reminded him that he was built for more than just casual jogs. He made his way to the bathroom, peeling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a nearby chair before stepping under the cool stream of water. The sensation was refreshing, washing away the sweat and tension from his morning routine. As the water ran over him, he let himself think¡ªnot about football, not about expectations, but simply about the city. London was still unfamiliar in many ways, but there was something about it that he liked. The way people moved. The way they gave him space. By the time he stepped out, towel around his shoulders, the scent of fresh air and lingering cologne clung to his skin. Ding. The sound echoed through the apartment. Izan glanced at the system notification first out of habit, but this time, it wasn''t from that. It was the food delivery. Pulling on a simple T-shirt and joggers, he made his way to the door, running a hand through his slightly damp hair before unlocking it. A neatly packed paper bag sat on the floor, the delivery driver already gone. Izan picked it up, the warmth of the meal seeping through the packaging. He carried it inside, setting it on the kitchen counter. The morning was still quiet. The city, the club, the expectations¡ªthey could all wait. For now, he just wanted to eat. ...¡­.. Izan set his chopsticks down, the last remnants of his meal finished. The warm flavors still lingered on his tongue, but his mind had already moved on. He leaned back slightly, stretching his arms over his head before exhaling. Then, with a slight shift in his gaze, he called it out. "System." A familiar hum resonated¡ªnot in the air, but in his mind. [SYSTEM ONLINE.] The text materialized in his vision, clean and sharp, accompanied by that familiar pulse of energy that only he could feel. [Congratulations, Izan. Your transfer to Arsenal has been completed. A new chapter begins.] "Thank you Max" Izan said with a slight grudge at the system influencing his decision in choosing a club. He watched as the words faded before the system continued. [With this transition, your career trajectory has shifted. New opportunities, new challenges, and new objectives will be presented in due time.] His fingers tapped idly against the table. Then, without hesitation, he spoke again. "Open my personal hub." [ACCESSING PERSONAL HUB.] The air seemed to tighten for a brief moment before the interface unfolded before him¡ªfamiliar yet ever-changing. **PLAYER INFO** ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE:[16] HEIGHT:[1.85m (6''1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS:[SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: ARSENAL FC/ SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM SYSTEM EVALUATION:[PHENOM] PLAYER RATING: [88/100] POSITION:[Wing forward/Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL:[96] LEGEND POINTS:[300,800/507,000 to lv5] SIMULATION POINTS: [540] S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. STAT POINTS: [61] STATS ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö ¡ö Speed: 94 Body Control: 90 Spatial Awareness: 85 Technique: 94 Shooting: 91 Passing: 90 Body Strength: 90 Defending: 70 Weak Foot Strength:5 stars Skill Move:5 stars SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion > **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö trickster: Equipped (offline) Incisive Pass: Equipped(online) rocket: Equipped (offline) pinpoint accuracy: Equipped (online) speedster: Equipped (online) Knuckeball: Equipped(offline) Izan''s eyes scanned over the familiar interface, his player info displayed as precisely as ever. His name, age, and stats were all the same¡ªunchanged. But as his gaze settled on the section listing his club, he noticed it. TEAM: ARSENAL FC / SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM The words "Valencia CF" were no longer there. For a moment, he simply looked at it. Not with nostalgia, not with regret, but with the quiet acceptance of reality. It was official in every sense now. His new club, his new surroundings, his new future. Izan exhaled softly through his nose, shifting his focus. His player rating stood at 88, an elite number for someone his age or any player, but not the peak. The potential was there¡ª96¡ªa number that loomed over him like an unfinished task. Then there were the numbers beneath it. Legend Points: [300,800/507,000 to lv5] Simulation Points: [540] Stat Points: [61] Izan leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping the side of the table as he considered his next steps. His skills were progressing steadily. Some were on the verge of breakthroughs, others still needed refinement. His traits, equipped and unequipped, sat there like weapons in an armory, waiting to be drawn at the right time. But all of it boiled down to one thing¡ªhe had work to do. Arsenal had invested. Now, it was up to him to deliver. Izan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes flicked over his stats again. Numbers, ratings, percentages¡ªit was all structured, measurable, and in some ways, comforting. But they only told part of the story. The Premier League wasn''t La Liga. He had watched enough of it to know that. It was faster¡ªmore relentless. Every team, from the title contenders to the ones fighting relegation, played at an intensity that could break players who weren''t prepared. The physicality was different too. La Liga had its share of tough battles, but England? Here, defenders threw themselves into challenges without hesitation. The duels were harder, the demands higher. He needed to adapt. His speed was already elite at 94, and his body control at 90 gave him the balance to weave through defenders. That wouldn''t change. But he''d need to fine-tune how he used it. Defenders in England were aggressive¡ªthey''d rush in, commit, and if he wasn''t careful, they''d clatter into him before he even got a chance to turn. His body strength at 90 was solid, but was it enough? The defenders here were built differently. Taller, broader, used to wrestling strikers off the ball. He''d need to improve his ability to hold them off, especially if he played centrally at times. Then there was his spatial awareness¡ª85. It was good, but he knew it needed to be better. The Premier League moved too quickly for hesitation. Passing lanes closed in an instant, pressing traps were set before you even received the ball. He''d have to process the game faster and make decisions in a heartbeat. His defending at 70 wasn''t a major concern for now, but it couldn''t be ignored either. Arsenal played a high-pressing game. If he wanted to stay in Arteta''s plans, he couldn''t just be a luxury player who switched off without the ball. Then there were his skills. La Croqueta. Cruyff Turn. Sombrero. Roulette. He had worked on them, but he needed more than just technique¡ªhe needed efficiency. In LaLiga, there had been moments to express himself, to take his time. In England, every move had to serve a purpose. He exhaled. It wasn''t about reinventing himself. It was about refining and evolving. And that was what he was here to do. Izan exhaled, his gaze fixed on his personal hub. He navigated to his stats, his fingers hovering over the allocation menu. Without hesitation, he allocated 10 stat points, splitting them evenly between Vision and Positioning, pushing both from 85 to 90. Immediately, he felt a shift¡ªnot physical, but an awareness settling in. His ability to read the game, to anticipate movements, had sharpened. Next, he turned his attention to Press Resistance, another crucial aspect of his game. He allocated another 10 stat points, raising it from 75 to 85. With that, his Spatial Awareness¡ªthe fusion of Vision, Positioning, and Press Resistance¡ªsolidified at 88. A subtle pulse of confirmation ran through the system. With his Spatial Awareness settled, Izan shifted his focus. Shooting. It had always been one of his strongest attributes, but he wasn''t satisfied. His finishing was elite, his long shots deadly, but in the Premier League, small margins could make the difference. A tighter angle, a split-second decision¡ªperfection wasn''t an option. It was a necessity. He allocated 3 points each to Finishing and Long Shots. [FINISHING: 91 ¡ú 94] [LONG SHOTS: 90 ¡ú 93] Then, without hesitation, he spent 5 points each on Penalties and Free Kicks. [PENALTIES: 90 ¡ú 95] [FREE KICKS: 90 ¡ú 95] His Shooting Attribute adjusted. [SHOOTING: 91 ¡ú 94] The numbers settled. Izan leaned back slightly, eyes sharp. This wasn''t just about scoring. It was about control, about knowing that in any scenario¡ªwhether a tight space or a distant strike¡ªhis technique wouldn''t fail him. Before Izan could move on, a notification pulsed in his vision. [NEW SKILL AVAILABLE] A red glow that looked inviting, pulsed but it appeared under the Spatial Awareness category. He flexed an instruction, his eyes narrowing slightly as the details loaded. Skill: Phantom Step Level: 1 (0%) Description: A high-level off-the-ball movement technique that allows the user to manipulate defensive lines by feinting positioning and shifting their body weight subtly. When mastered, defenders will struggle to track movement, creating pockets of space where none seemed to exist. Izan leaned back, exhaling slightly. This¡­ was different. Most skills were about what he did with the ball. This was about how he moved without it. A skill like this meant defenders would have an even harder time marking him. With his already elite speed and awareness, it would make him even more elusive¡ªa ghost in the attacking third. He had seen players with similar movements¡ªInzaghi in his prime, David Silva weaving between lines, even Thomas M¨¹ller, the Raumdeuter himself. Now, it was his turn. A smirk tugged at his lips. This was getting interesting. Chapter 350: One Of The Best Izan could move on, a notification pulsed in his vision. [NEW SKILL AVAILABLE] A red glow that looked inviting, pulsed but it appeared under the Spatial Awareness category. He flexed an instruction, his eyes narrowing slightly as the details loaded. Skill: Phantom Step Level: 1 (0%) Description: A high-level off-the-ball movement technique that allows the user to manipulate defensive lines by feinting positioning and shifting their body weight subtly. When mastered, defenders will struggle to track movement, creating pockets of space where none seemed to exist. Izan leaned back, exhaling slightly. This¡­ was different. Most skills were about what he did with the ball. This was about how he moved without it. A skill like this meant defenders would have an even harder time marking him. With his already elite speed and awareness, it would make him even more elusive¡ªa ghost in the attacking third. He had seen players with similar movements¡ªInzaghi in his prime, David Silva weaving between lines, even Thomas M¨¹ller, the Raumdeuter himself. Now, it was his turn. A smirk tugged at his lips. This was getting interesting. ......¡­. Izan sat still, eyes locked on the phantom steps. He had 33 stat points left after his upgrades, and Phantom Step was sitting there, waiting to be developed. He navigated to the skill menu, the red glow pulsing faintly. [Phantom Step ¨C Unlock for 30 Stat Points?] He smiled wryly at the thought that the system was ripping him off but he shook his head and confirmed the purchase. A surge of sensation rippled through him¡ªnothing overwhelming, just a subtle shift as if his instincts sharpened in real time. [Phantom Step ¨C Level 1 (Acquired)] As the notification faded, another prompt appeared in his vision. [Due to significant attribute and skill upgrades, recalibrating overall rating¡­] A brief pause. Then¡ª [New Overall Rating: 89] Izan¡¯s gaze lingered on the number. From 88 to 89. Not quite 90. He exhaled through his nose, then let out a small, wry smile. Even after spending 30 stat points, all that grinding, all that refining¡ªhis overall rating had only gone up by one. One. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. Of course. Progress was never easy, but this was something else. As if reading his thoughts, the system chimed in. [Expecting more?] Izan arched a brow. Before he could even respond, another line followed. [It¡¯s only going to get harder from here. Blame the author.] Izan blinked. Once. Twice. Then, despite himself, he let out a quiet chuckle. "¡­Figures." No shortcuts. No easy leaps. If he wanted to break through to 90, to push beyond it, he¡¯d have to work even harder. Fine by him. He glanced at the remaining 3 stat points. Not enough for another major upgrade, so he left them for later. With a final command, he reopened his Personal Hub. ? PLAYER INFO ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ] AGE: [16] HEIGHT: [1.85m (6¡¯1")] PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER] STATUS: [SENIOR TEAM PLAYER] TEAM: ARSENAL FC / SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM SYSTEM EVALUATION: [ONE OF THE BEST IN THE WORLD] PLAYER RATING: [89/100] POSITION: [Wing forward / Attacking midfielder] POTENTIAL: [96] LEGEND POINTS: [300,800/507,000 to Lv.5] SIMULATION POINTS: [540] STAT POINTS: [3] ? ATTRIBUTES ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Speed: 94 Body Control: 90 Spatial Awareness: 90(¡ü from 85) Technique: 94 Shooting: 94 (¡ü from 91) Passing: 90 Body Strength: 90 Defending: 70 Weak Foot Strength: ¡ï¡ï¡ï¡ï¡ï(5) Skill Moves: ¡ï¡ï¡ï¡ï¡ï(5) ? SKILLS POSSESSED ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion **TRAITS ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö trickster: Equipped (offline) Incisive Pass: Equipped(online) rocket: Equipped (offline) Pinpoint accuracy: Equipped (online) speedster: Equipped (online) Knuckeball: Equipped(offline) Phantom Step: Equipped(offline) ? Izan¡¯s gaze flickered to the System Evaluation. Before, it had read Phenom. Now? One of the best in the world. It wasn¡¯t a title he cared for. Not yet. He hadn¡¯t done anything in England. But it was a sign. A sign that what he believed about himself was now something the world would have to accept. Izan closed the interface and stretched his arms over his head, rolling his neck. That was done. His attributes were stronger, his skills sharper, and his valuation had shifted. His phone buzzed on the counter. Miranda. Izan picked up the call. "Tell me you have something interesting." Miranda scoffed. "You¡¯ve been in London for two days, and you¡¯re already restless?" Miranda exhaled, then got straight to it. "Alright. We¡¯ve got some new brand opportunities to go over. Some expected, some¡­ interesting." "Not that kind of interesting news," Izan corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But go on." he leaned back into the chair, listening. Miranda didn¡¯t waste time. "Saint Laurent officially announced the deal they made in Ibiza. Five years, $70 million. The press is already eating it up." Izan leaned back against the couch, adjusting the phone against his ear. "Yeah?" Miranda chuckled. "Figured you wouldn¡¯t care much, but it¡¯s good exposure. Now, onto the real stuff." "The reactions have been huge," Miranda continued. "People were already talking after that airport sighting, but now that it¡¯s official? Fashion outlets, sports media, and even some finance pages are all covering it. They¡¯re calling it one of the biggest brand deals for an athlete your age." Izan didn¡¯t react much to that. It was a big deal, sure, but he had expected this kind of buzz when he signed. "Selene¡¯s got the photos ready," Miranda added. "She¡¯ll start releasing them tomorrow, spaced out over the next week to keep engagement high. The first drop is the main campaign shot¡ªblack and white, very sleek. The second one¡¯s got more of that cinematic vibe you liked. She¡¯s confident this rollout is going to hit big." Izan hummed. "She knows what she¡¯s doing." "No doubt," Miranda agreed. "And with the timing, it¡¯s going to keep your name everywhere before preseason really kicks off." "A few big brands have already reached out," Miranda continued. "Nothing concrete yet, just initial feelers. I¡¯ll bring them to you when talks actually start moving." Izan nodded. "Got it." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "And on that note¡­" Her voice turned dry. "Touch some grass, Izan. You¡¯ve been in your own world for way too long." Izan exhaled a quiet chuckle. "I just finished something up." "Good. Now go do something human." She ended the call before he could reply. Izan shook his head, tossing his phone aside as he leaned back against the couch. Touch grass, huh? He glanced toward the window. Izan pushed himself off the couch, stretching briefly before heading to his wardrobe. He wasn¡¯t planning to do anything serious, but if he was going out, he might as well look decent. He pulled on a fitted black tee, a lightweight jacket, and tailored joggers before slipping into a fresh pair of sneakers. Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the number Arsenal had given him. His assigned driver. He hit the call button. A few rings, and then a voice answered. "Yes, Mr. Miura?" "Hey, I need a ride to the training ground." There was a brief pause. "Understood. I¡¯ll be there in five." Izan ended the call and pocketed his phone. He wasn¡¯t going to train¡ªhe just wanted to see things. Get a feel for the place. A few minutes later, a sleek black vehicle rolled up outside his place. Izan stepped out, the summer air warm against his skin as he pulled open the door and slid into the backseat. "Good afternoon, Mr. Miura," the driver greeted politely, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Izan nodded. "Afternoon. Let¡¯s go." The car eased onto the road, smoothly navigating the streets of London. Izan watched the city pass by through the window, his mind turning over everything that had happened in the past few days. The drive to Arsenal¡¯s training ground wasn¡¯t long, and as they approached, the club¡¯s emblem stood tall at the facility¡¯s entrance. The driver pulled up near the gates, where security was stationed. "I¡¯ll let them know you¡¯re here," the driver said before stepping out to speak with one of the guards. Izan leaned back, his gaze drifting over the pristine training fields visible in the distance. Even from here, he could tell the place was immaculate. His fingers tapped idly against his knee. The driver returned after a brief exchange with security. "You¡¯re clear to go in, Mr. Miura." Izan nodded, stepping out of the car as the gates swung open. He strolled inside, hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the facility. The main training building stood ahead, modern and sleek, while multiple pristine pitches stretched out in the distance. A few academy players were running drills under the watchful eyes of their coaches. He wasn¡¯t here for a training session, but just seeing the setup made his muscles itch with anticipation. As he made his way toward the main building, he heard voices carrying from the direction of the first-team pitch. Laughter, shouts, the rhythmic sound of boots striking the ball. Arsenal¡¯s senior squad was deep into their preseason preparations. Izan lingered near the edge of the field, observing. He recognized a few faces immediately¡ªplayers he¡¯d watched before, some he¡¯d even played against in La Liga. But they were all teammates now. Mikel Arteta stood nearby, arms crossed, watching his players with a sharp gaze. Every now and then, he called out instructions, correcting positioning, and reinforcing tactical ideas. The intensity of his presence was unmistakable. Izan stayed back for a moment, just taking it all in. He¡¯d been a Valencia player his entire life. The badge on his training kit had always been the bat. Now, it was a cannon. A new battlefield indeed. Chapter 351: Tour Izan lingered near the edge of the field, observing. He recognized a few faces immediately¡ªplayers he¡¯d watched before, some he¡¯d even played against in La Liga. But they were all teammates now. Mikel Arteta stood nearby, arms crossed, watching his players with a sharp gaze. Every now and then, he called out instructions, correcting positioning, and reinforcing tactical ideas. The intensity of his presence was unmistakable. Izan stayed back for a moment, just taking it all in. He¡¯d been a Valencia man his entire life. The badge on his training kit had always been the bat. Now, it was a cannon. A new battlefield indeed. One of the assistant coaches leaned toward Arteta, speaking low but clear enough for Izan to catch. "Boss, Miura just arrived." Arteta¡¯s brow lifted slightly, his arms still folded as he turned his head. Sure enough, Izan stood a short distance away, hands in his pockets, taking in the training session. That was unexpected. Arteta knew the boy had asked for a few extra days before officially joining training¡ªtime to settle in, to adjust after his move. Yet here he was, standing at the edge of the pitch, watching. The manager took a moment, studying Izan¡¯s body language. The teenager didn¡¯t look like someone just checking out his new surroundings. There was something sharper in his gaze, something calculated. "Not wasting time, huh?" he uttered before turning towards Izan. A few of the players noticed Arteta moving, their eyes flickering toward the figure he was approaching. Some recognized him immediately¡ªafter all, he was their new teammate, the signing that had sent waves through the footballing world. Others, those who hadn¡¯t been glued to transfer news, took an extra second. Izan saw Arteta coming and straightened slightly. He had expected to just observe from the sidelines, maybe get a feel for the intensity of training. Instead, it looked like he was about to have his first real interaction with his new coach. Arteta stopped a few steps in front of him, hands still tucked behind his back. He didn¡¯t greet Izan immediately, just gave him a once-over, as if assessing something. "Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be seeing you here today," he finally said. "You asked for time off." His tone wasn¡¯t accusatory¡ªjust an observation. But there was something in the way he said it, something that made it clear he was curious about the reasoning. Izan met his gaze, then gave a small shrug. "I did," he admitted. "But I figured I should get familiar with the place before I start." Arteta studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. "Good," he said simply, though his expression remained unreadable. Behind them, a few players were still sneaking glances, curious about their new teammate¡¯s first interaction with the boss. Some had expected Izan to be the type to stroll in on the first official day, not someone who showed up early just to take in the atmosphere. Arteta gestured toward the training pitches. "Come on," he said. "Since you¡¯re here, let¡¯s take a walk." Izan fell into step beside him as they moved toward the heart of the facility. The air was sharp with the scent of freshly cut grass, the sound of boots striking the ball echoing across the grounds. "You watched the session?" Arteta asked. Izan nodded. "For a bit." "And?" "Fast," Izan said, his voice even. "Intense." Arteta¡¯s lips curved slightly, just for a second. "Good." They walked a little further, passing some of the coaching staff, who acknowledged Arteta with brief nods. "What do you think you¡¯ll need to adjust?" Arteta asked, his tone still casual, but Izan could tell he was gauging something. Izan exhaled lightly, glancing at the players still training. "I won¡¯t know for sure until I step in," he admitted. "But I¡¯ve been thinking about it. The space, the speed, the pressing¡­ I¡¯ll have to adapt fast." Arteta nodded, as if satisfied with the answer. "You will," he said. "And you¡¯ll have help." Izan didn¡¯t reply immediately, just kept watching the training. He knew that. He wasn¡¯t alone in this. But adaptation wasn¡¯t something he wanted to rely on others for. He wanted to be ahead of it. Arteta seemed to pick up on his thoughts because he spoke again, a bit quieter this time. "You don¡¯t have to prove everything at once," he said. "Just be ready when it¡¯s time." Izan turned to look at him, searching his face for any deeper meaning behind the words. But Arteta was already looking ahead again. A moment later, he stopped walking. "Come in properly when you¡¯re ready," he said. "For now, take your time." With that, he turned and walked back toward the coaches, leaving Izan standing there, the distant sound of the ball being struck filling the air again. Izan stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching Arteta walk away. Take your time. He understood what the coach meant, but time wasn¡¯t something he planned on wasting. His gaze drifted back to the training session. Some of the Arsenal players were still at it, working on small-sided drills under the sharp eyes of the assistants. Quick combinations, constant movement, sharp pressing. The intensity didn¡¯t drop, even in what looked like the latter stages of training. A few players had taken notice of him now, some openly glancing in his direction, others more subtle about it. Not hostility. Just curiosity. He could already guess what some of them were thinking. Izan Miura. The LaLiga Pichichi. Spain¡¯s golden boy. Wonder how he¡¯ll handle England. He smirked slightly. He¡¯d answer that soon enough. For now, he turned away and started walking along the perimeter of the pitch, getting a better feel for the facility. The training grounds weren¡¯t just high-end¡ªthey were structured, and meticulous. Everything had a purpose. As he moved past one of the smaller pitches, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure jogging toward the sideline. Martin ?degaard. The Arsenal captain slowed when he saw Izan, then gave a nod, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You¡¯re early," ?degaard said as he reached him, sweat still visible on his brow from the session. Izan shrugged. "Figured I should see things for myself." ?degaard gave a small chuckle. "Not a bad idea." He glanced back at the session before meeting Izan¡¯s gaze again. "How¡¯s it feel?" Izan looked around briefly, then exhaled. "Different," he admitted. "But I like it." ?degaard studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good." He shifted slightly, glancing toward Arteta, who was deep in conversation with his assistants. "You spoke to the boss?" "Yeah." "How was it?" Izan smirked slightly. "He told me to take my time." ?degaard¡¯s lips twitched as if amused. "That sounds like him." Izan glanced at the training again. "You guys don¡¯t slow down, do you?" ?degaard shook his head. "Nope." There was no arrogance in the answer¡ªjust a simple fact. Arsenal under Arteta had an identity, a rhythm, and everyone was expected to move at that pace. Izan liked that. ?degaard studied him again, then tilted his head toward the main building. "Want a proper tour?" Izan considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Let¡¯s do it." ... ?degaard led the way, keeping a steady pace as they crossed the training ground toward the main building. The closer they got, the clearer Izan could see the details¡ªglass-paneled walls, modern architecture blending seamlessly with the surrounding greenery. Everything about it screamed efficiency. Precision. As they entered, the temperature dropped slightly, the cool air a welcome contrast to the summer heat outside. The walls were lined with photos¡ªiconic Arsenal moments, club legends, and snapshots from last season¡¯s campaign. ?degaard gestured ahead. "Locker rooms, gym, recovery center¡ªthat way." Izan nodded, taking it all in as they moved through the corridors. The gym was massive, fitted with everything a player could need, from specialized machines to free weights to high-tech monitoring stations. Some players were still inside, finishing their post-training routines. "Most guys do their extra work here," ?degaard explained. "Some stay longer than others. Depends on what they¡¯re working on." Izan spotted a few familiar faces. Gabriel Jesus, headphones in, working through a resistance drill. Ben White and Declan Rice, casually talking near the hydration station. Rice caught sight of them first. He nudged White, who turned as well. "Well, well," Rice said, grinning as he approached. "The new boy¡¯s already scoping out the place." Izan smirked. "Figured I¡¯d get a head start." White gave a slight nod. "Smart." Rice crossed his arms. "You settling in alright?" Izan shrugged. "Just getting a feel for things." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Rice chuckled. "Good. Just know, mate¡ªPremier League¡¯s a different beast." Izan met his gaze, unbothered. "Seen and heard the hyped so I¡¯m counting on that." There was a brief pause, then Rice¡¯s grin widened. "I like that." ?degaard shook his head, amused. "Come on, let¡¯s finish the tour before he starts challenging people." They moved on, passing through the recovery area¡ªa state-of-the-art section with everything from cryotherapy chambers to hydrotherapy pools. "We spend a lot of time here during the season," ?degaard said. "Especially with how intense the schedule gets." Izan nodded. He¡¯d expected that. England didn¡¯t just have a tougher league¡ªit had more matches, more competitions, more physical demand. As they neared the end of the tour, ?degaard gestured toward a hallway. "Your locker¡¯s already set up. You¡¯ll see it when you join training properly." Izan took a mental note, then glanced around once more. He¡¯d been in top facilities before¡ªValencia¡¯s training ground was no joke¡ªbut this? It was different. More than just the resources. It was the atmosphere. The energy. He could feel it already. This was the start of something new. Chapter 352: First Day At Work[Golden Ticket] As Izan stepped out of the training facility, the summer heat greeted him. He adjusted his hoodie, nodding at the security staff on his way out. The tour had been insightful, a glimpse into the environment he¡¯d soon be calling home. But for now, he wasn¡¯t in a rush. There was still time before he had to report for training. He slipped into the backseat of the waiting car, tapping his fingers idly on his knee as the driver pulled out onto the road. And just like that, the world moved on. ? BBC Football Daily The studio lights shone brightly as the panel of pundits settled in for another segment. Transfer season was in full swing, and clubs across Europe were making moves to bolster their squads ahead of the new campaign. HOST: "Welcome back to Football Daily. We¡¯re deep into the transfer window now, and some huge moves have already gone through. Let¡¯s start with the biggest deal of the summer¡ªKylian Mbapp¨¦ to Real Madrid. It¡¯s been expected for years, and now it¡¯s finally official. PUNDIT 1: "Yeah, Mbapp¨¦ signs on a free transfer from PSG, but Madrid are still paying a massive signing-on bonus and wages reported to be around €15 million per season. And let¡¯s not forget Endrick, the Brazilian sensation, who¡¯s finally linking up with the squad." PUNDIT 2: "That attack is ridiculous. Mbapp¨¦, Vin¨ªcius Jr., Rodrygo, and now Endrick. Throw in Jude Bellingham, and you¡¯re looking at a team that could dominate for years." HOST: "Let¡¯s switch to the Premier League. Manchester City have added yet another attacking talent to their squad, signing Savinho from Girona for €30 million." PUNDIT 1: "They¡¯ve always got their eyes on the best emerging talents. Savinho had a brilliant season at Girona, and you can see why City moved early to get him." HOST: "And speaking of the Premier League, let¡¯s talk about Arsenal. Their biggest signing? Izan Miura Hernandez. The Spanish wonderkid arrives after a record-breaking season with Valencia and a starring role in Spain¡¯s Euro 2024 triumph." PUNDIT 2: "And yet, he still hasn¡¯t joined up with training. We know Arsenal gave him an extended break after the Euros, but fans are eager to see him link up with the squad." PUNDIT 1: "They¡¯ll be patient for him, though. He¡¯s that kind of generational talent. And Arsenal haven¡¯t stopped there¡ªthey¡¯ve also secured Riccardo Calafiori from Bologna and Mikel Merino from Real Sociedad to strengthen their defense and midfield." HOST: "Big moves all around. What about Barcelona?" PUNDIT 1: "They¡¯ve almost brought in Dani Olmo from RB Leipzig for €50 million, a fantastic signing. He¡¯s a La Masia graduate, technically superb, and will fit in perfectly with their style. HOST: "Meanwhile, over at Atl¨¦tico Madrid, they¡¯ve made a huge move, bringing in Juli¨¢n ¨¢lvarez from Manchester City for €95 million." PUNDIT 2: "Great fit for Simeone¡¯s system. ¨¢lvarez was never going to be a regular starter at City, but at Atleti, he can be the main man." HOST: "Moving to Serie A, Juventus have strengthened by signing Teun Koopmeiners from Atalanta, while Bologna have sold Joshua Zirkzee to the red side of Manchester. The Serie A side is being dismantled after their historic run to the Champions League last season. Head Coach Thiago Motta is also leaving for Juventus" PUNDIT 1: "Yep. That¡¯s what happens when the big clubs come. Anyways, Zirkzee is one to watch¡ªgreat talent. I don¡¯t know how but I at least know he will help this struggling Ten-Hag side" HOST: "And finally, over in Germany, Bayern Munich finally secured Jo?o Palhinha from Fulham after last year¡¯s failed move, and they also signed Michael Olise from Crystal Palace." PUNDIT 2: "Olise is an exciting signing. Quick, skillful, and versatile¡ªBayern needed fresh attacking options." HOST: "A lot of movement, and still more to come before the window closes. The new season is shaping up to be a thrilling one." ? Back in London, the car rolled to a stop. Izan stepped out, the sounds of the city humming around him. Transfers, new arrivals, shifting teams¡ªit was a reminder that football never stopped moving. And soon, it would be his turn to step onto a Premier League pitch for the first time. - - - - - - - - - For the first time in weeks, Izan had no obligations. No training, no cameras, no pressure¡ªjust time. It felt almost unnatural after the whirlwind of the Euros and the madness that followed. But as much as he wanted to keep moving, to keep playing, he also knew his body needed these two days to settle. The first morning started slow. He woke up later than usual, stretching out the stiffness in his legs as sunlight slipped through the blinds. His room still felt unfamiliar, like a hotel more than a home. He hadn¡¯t even unpacked properly, his suitcase half-open in the corner, Adidas gear spilling out. He made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water before checking his phone. Messages had piled up¡ªsome from family, some from friends, a few from Arsenal teammates welcoming him to the squad. He replied to a couple but left the rest for later. For breakfast, he kept it simple¡ªsome toast, eggs, and fruit. It wasn¡¯t Komi¡¯s cooking, but it would do. After eating, he settled onto the couch, controller in hand. Gaming was the easiest way to switch off. He queued into a few matches of FIFA, scrolling through team selections before settling on Valencia CF. It was strange. Playing as his old club, knowing he wasn¡¯t there anymore. His in-game self still had a Valencia shirt on, still linked up with the teammates he had fought alongside just months ago. He played a few matches, and scored a few goals, but eventually turned it off. It felt¡­ off. He wasn¡¯t that player anymore. The next time he played as himself, it would be in a new shirt. By noon, he had gotten enough of sitting around. He threw on a training kit and stepped onto the balcony for a light workout. His system didn¡¯t let him slack off completely. It wasn¡¯t full training, but it was structured¡ªstretches, core work, balance exercises. Just enough to keep his body sharp without pushing too hard. Later in the afternoon, he scrolled through the latest transfer news. Everyone was moving. Mbapp¨¦ had officially been presented at Madrid. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Barcelona had finalized Olmo¡¯s signing. Arsenal¡¯s own additions¡ªCalafiori, Merino¡ªhad settled in well. Even though he hadn¡¯t trained yet, his name was still in the discussions. Some were wondering why he hadn¡¯t reported yet. Others were speculating about how he¡¯d fit into Arteta¡¯s system. He didn¡¯t feel the need to say anything¡ªhe¡¯d let football do the talking. The second day followed a similar rhythm. Light workouts, more gaming, more scrolling through football news. At one point, he thought about going out, maybe exploring the city, but decided against it. He still felt like an outsider here, not quite settled. That would change once he started training, once he stepped onto the pitch with the team. ...¡­. Izan woke up to the soft chime of his alarm, stretching out as morning light filtered through the curtains. His body felt fresh¡ªrested but ready. The two days of stillness had served their purpose. Now, it was time to get to work. He sat up, running a hand through his hair before reaching for his phone. Unread messages stacked up. Some from family, others from teammates, and a few unexpected ones. Komi: First day. Make it count, my son. Hori: Don¡¯t embarrass me. I already told my friends you¡¯re the best player there. Olivia: Your first day. You better send me a pic in your Arsenal gear. Izan smirked, shaking his head before opening the next few. Miranda: Try not to give Arteta a heart attack by doing something outrageous on your first day. Pedri: No way you¡¯re a Premier League player now. Lamine: Enjoy the rain, hermano. And then, one from a number he hadn¡¯t saved but recognized immediately. Baraja: Good luck Izan exhaled slowly. It wasn¡¯t a long message, but it carried weight. Izan typed out a simple response¡ªThank you, m¨ªster¡ªbefore setting the phone aside. Time to get ready. ? He moved through his usual routine¡ªa quick shower, breakfast, and stretching to loosen up. He pulled on the Arsenal training tracksuit, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment. The badge on his chest was still new, still unfamiliar. But not for long. Grabbing his boots and a small bag, he made his way outside. A black Mercedes with tinted windows was already waiting¡ªhis assigned driver. The man greeted him with a nod as Izan slid into the seat. "Training ground?" Izan nodded. "Let¡¯s go." As the car pulled away, he stared out at the passing streets. London felt different. Bigger, faster, but also¡­ colder. He wasn¡¯t used to this city yet, but that didn¡¯t matter. Football was the one thing that felt the same everywhere. A/n: Thanks for the Golden ticket guys. Let¡¯s try and go up further in the rankings next month but anyways, thanks for your support. Love y¡¯all Chapter 353: First Session olney. The car glided through the gates of London Colney, Arsenal¡¯s fortress of footballing excellence. Izan sat back, staring through the tinted windows as the facility came into view. Pristine pitches stretched into the distance. Buildings sleek, modern, and intimidating. A new club. A new country. A new reality. As the car came to a stop, Izan exhaled slowly. He¡¯d done this before. But not like this. The door opened, and he stepped out, instantly greeted by a crisp morning breeze. A man was waiting for him¡ªwell-dressed, professional, with a practiced smile on his face. "Izan, welcome. I¡¯m Mark, player liaison. I¡¯ll be helping you settle in." Izan gave a slight nod. "Appreciate it." He didn¡¯t need a guide. He understood the process. But there was something about today¡ªabout Arsenal¡ªthat made everything feel heavier. As they walked, the weight of his transfer followed him like a shadow. €125 million. The most expensive signing in Arsenal¡¯s history. The Premier League¡¯s summer headline. And nobody had forgotten. Eyes flickered toward him as staff members passed by. Some offered polite nods, others lingered a second too long. He was the story today. The pressure wasn¡¯t spoken, but it was there, thick in the air. Inside, the walls were lined with history. Arsenal legends. Trophies. The past loomed over him. He was here to shape the future. "First stop, medical," Mark said, leading him through a corridor. "Standard checks. Won¡¯t take long." Izan nodded thinking about the medicals he had done the day he signed the contract but he quickly shook his head and followed. The medical room was sterile, silent except for the hum of machinery. The club¡¯s top physiologists worked efficiently, their eyes sharp, their movements meticulous. Blood work. Flexibility tests. Strength analysis. Every number mattered. Every detail scrutinized. "You¡¯re in incredible shape," one of them remarked. "No surprise, but still¡­" Still. Still not enough to silence the doubts? Still not enough to justify the fee? Izan didn¡¯t react, simply nodding. He wasn¡¯t here to impress with words. Once cleared, Mark led him deeper into the facility. "Next up¡ªthe squad." The moment Izan stepped in, conversations dipped. Eyes turned. Recognition. Curiosity. Expectation. He walked forward, expression unreadable. This wasn¡¯t new. But the weight here was different. Then¡ª "Well, look who finally decided to show up," Martin ?degaard called out, a grin cutting through the tension. Izan met his gaze, smirking slightly. "Wanted to make an entrance." Laughter, though brief. It was a test. The first of many. ?degaard stepped forward, shaking his hand firmly. "Good to have you here, man. Excited to see what you bring." Declan Rice leaned forward, smirking. "No pressure, yeah? Just the most expensive signing in club history. No big deal." The comment was casual. Izan shook hands with him next, then with Saka, Jesus, Ben White, Gabriel, Ramsdale¡ªone by one, taking in the small details. The looks exchanged. Some welcoming. Some reserved. Some waiting to see if he was truly worth it. The Premier League was different. Arsenal was different. And they needed him to be different too. A sharp clap soon followed Everyone turned as Mikel Arteta entered, his presence cutting through the noise like a blade. His gaze landed on Izan, assessing, reading. And then¡ªhe nodded. "Alright, now that he¡¯s here, let¡¯s make it official." The players gathered closer. No speech. "You all know who he is. We know why he¡¯s here. Let¡¯s make sure he feels at home." A few nods. Some murmurs. But the real acceptance wouldn¡¯t come today. It would come on the pitch. Arteta¡¯s voice sharpened. "Now¡ªtraining in ten." The team nodded and broke off, some heading toward their lockers, others toward the tunnel. Izan stood for a moment, breathing in the moment. He looked around and found his locker where the number 10 showed. He walked towards it and took out his training kit that had "HIM. 10" pattern on it. He put it on after a moment and proceeded to pick up his duffle bag. He sat at his locker, unzipping his bag with the same quiet focus he had carried throughout the morning. No nerves. No hesitation. Just a process. Then he pulled them out. Adidas boots¡ªa fresh, white pair with bold red stripes, mirroring the Arsenal colors with the same "HIM" on the side but this time, with a number 10 attached. The moment they left the bag, they caught the light¡ªand just as quickly, they caught attention. It took seconds for people to notice. "Oh, Adidas really laced him up for this one," Gabriel Jesus muttered, glancing over. Declan Rice, tying up his own boots, smirked. "Straight into the custom colorways? Haven¡¯t even kicked a ball yet." Izan didn¡¯t react immediately, sliding his foot into the boot with practiced ease. "Something like that." The reactions were mixed¡ªsome amused, some nodding in approval, some just watching. Bukayo Saka, already lacing up his own Adidas pair, nudged Martin ?degaard with a grin. "Bro, they really gave him Arsenal-themed boots before he¡¯s even played. We need to have words." ?degaard chuckled but kept his eyes on Izan. He had seen plenty of big names before. Some forced their confidence, tried too hard to belong. But Izan? He just was. Saka wasn¡¯t done. "Nah, let me hold them real quick." He reached over, lifting one of the boots to inspect it like a sneakerhead eyeing a rare release. "Yeah, these are clean. What¡¯s the tech saying?" Izan finally looked up, a small smirk breaking his calm demeanor. "Touch them on the pitch, not in the locker room." Saka chuckled before tossing them to Izan. "Guess will see" he muttered before leaving. .... The Arsenal squad gathered in front of Mikel Arteta, who stood in the middle of the training ground with his usual focused expression. His hands were clasped behind his back as he scanned the players, eyes briefly resting on Izan before moving on. "Alright," he began, voice carrying across the pitch. "First session, first impressions. For some of you, it¡¯s about maintaining your standards. For others, it¡¯s about setting new ones." His gaze flickered back to Izan for the briefest moment before he continued. "We start with sharpness. Speed. Agility. You know the drill." The coaching staff signaled toward the far side of the pitch, where cones, poles, and sprint markers were laid out. The air shifted. There was an unspoken understanding¡ªthis was where physical levels were exposed. Some players thrived in these drills. Saka¡¯s acceleration was explosive. Martinelli had a deadly first step. Even Rice, despite his size, moved with deceptive quickness. Then there was Izan. The first drill? 20-meter sprints. They lined up in pairs, and Izan found himself next to none other than Saka. A whistle blew. Izan exploded forward. His reaction time was razor-sharp, his body immediately in sync with the motion. His white-and-red Adidas boots barely touched the ground before launching him into the next stride. Saka was fast. But Izan? Different. By the 15-meter mark, he was already a step ahead, and by the time they crossed the finish, the gap was undeniable. Not massive, but there. The coaches exchanged subtle glances. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Man¡¯s got rockets in his boots," someone muttered. Next, agility drills. A slalom course of cones and poles. Close control, balance, rapid changes in direction. Izan barely slowed down. Every turn was razor-sharp. Every movement was precise. Where others had to adjust their steps, he cut through the course like a blade. A few of the players watching couldn¡¯t help but raise their brows. "Nah, that¡¯s ridiculous," Martinelli murmured. Rice folded his arms, observing quietly. "He moves like he¡¯s already mid-season." Arteta said nothing. But his expression? Noted. Izan wasn¡¯t just fitting in. He was setting the pace. Afterward, the players formed a large circle. Rondo time. Two in the middle. Quick passing. Lose the ball, you go in. Arteta clapped his hands. "Let¡¯s see the tempo." The ball zipped around at high speed. ?degaard, Jorginho, and Rice orchestrated from the center, dictating play. Then Izan got involved. The ball came to him at a tricky height, but his touch? Perfect. He cushioned it, flicked it past a lunging defender, and threaded a no-look pass through the tightest of gaps. Gasps. Martinelli smirked. "He¡¯s showing off already." Izan wasn¡¯t. That was just how he played. After a few more drills, Arteta clapped his hands. "Good. Now, into the small-sided game." The players were split into five-a-team and soon a whistle followed. Game on. The ball rolled toward Jorginho, and instantly, Izan sprinted into space. Jorginho saw the movement and clipped a pass over. A tight angle, a bouncing ball¡ªbut Izan adjusted perfectly. A single touch with his left foot¡ªthen a quick outside boot pass into ?degaard¡¯s path. ?degaard met the ball and sent a first-time shot. Goal. 1-0. Izan barely reacted. Just a nod, already moving. Saka and Rice shared a look. Alright, then. Declan Rice stepped after the restart higher, trying to cut off Izan¡¯s rhythm. Rice was elite in duels. Aggressive, sharp, and always in the right position. But Izan? He welcomed it. A quick one-two with Martinelli¡ª and he was gone. Rice lunged, yet Izan shifted his body just out of reach. A burst of speed and suddenly he was through. Saka chased. Izan felt the pressure, slowed slightly¡ªand then cut inside sharply before sending a low, driven shot. 2-0. Silence for a second. Then murmurs. Trossard shook his head with a half-smile. Saka, irritated, pressed harder. At one point, he nicked the ball from Izan¡¯s blindside and burst forward. Izan didn¡¯t complain¡ªhe chased. A full sprint back, shoulder to shoulder. Saka tried to shield it, but Izan angled his body perfectly, hooked a foot around the ball, and stole it back. Arteta¡¯s eyes flickered with an unrecognizable emotion. This was why Arsenal fought for him. ?degaard received the ball near the center after the Izan tackle but the latter gestured. Give it. A pass zipped toward him. Timber closed in fast. But Izan let the ball roll past his body, a subtle feint that sent Timber lunging the wrong way. One touch. Two. Space opened. From distance, he struck. The ball zipped across the ground¡ªperfectly placed, bottom corner. 3-0. Game. As they walked off, Martinelli nudged ?degaard. "Yeah¡­ he¡¯s HIM." Chapter 354 354: First Session, Completed As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the session, the players slowed to a stop, catching their breath. The intensity of the drills and small-sided games had left everyone drenched in sweat, but there was an unspoken satisfaction among them. Arteta gathered them in the middle of the pitch. His sharp eyes scanned the squad before nodding. "That was good. Very good. The standard is where it should be, but I want it even higher." His gaze lingered on a few players¡ªIz¨¢n included. "We keep building. Every session, every drill, every touch matters." The squad nodded, some clapping their hands together in agreement. "Alright, cool down inside. Take care of your recovery. Tomorrow, we go again." As the players turned to walk off, Martinelli slung an arm over Izan''s shoulder. "Not bad, man. Thought you''d need some time to adjust, but you look like you''ve been here for months." Izan smirked, shaking his head. "It''s just the first day." "Yeah, but you know what they say¡ªfirst impressions matter," Jorginho chimed in as he passed by. The squad moved toward the facility, their boots clacking against the concrete as they entered the tunnel. The cool air inside was a relief after the blazing sun. Izan peeled off his training top, letting the air conditioning hit his skin. As he reached for a bottle of water, he caught some of the staff watching him¡ªphysios, analysts, even some of the club''s media team. "You''ve got their attention already," Rice muttered, walking past him with a towel draped over his head. Izan didn''t reply, just took a sip of water before taking off his boots. Just as he sat down on one of the benches, a few notifications buzzed on his phone. He glanced at the screen. "Izan trains with Arsenal for the first time¡ªplayers impressed." "First look at Arsenal''s new superstar signing." "Is Izan the missing piece for Arteta?" Clips of the session were already circulating. Photos of him sprinting past Saka. A short video of his goal in the small-sided game. Even his new boots were being talked about. Across the room, Saka grinned. "They''re quick with it, huh?" Martinelli laughed, scrolling through his phone. "Yeah, man. They''ve already made a whole highlight reel." Havertz, toweling off, gave a small shake of his head. "Welcome to Arsenal." Izan exhaled, setting his phone aside. He had expected this. Maybe not this fast, but it was inevitable. As Izan scrolled through his phone, another notification popped up¡ªthis one from AFTV. "Izan''s first Arsenal session¡ªinstant impact or overhyped?" He tapped on the video, already knowing how these things went. The thumbnail was a picture of him standing next to Saka, with bold text plastered over it. The video opened with Robbie, AFTV''s host, sitting in the familiar studio setup, nodding at the camera. "Alright, people, the moment we''ve all been waiting for¡ªIz¨¢n''s first session at Arsenal. Now, listen, I know it''s only training, yeah? But the clips coming out today¡­" He chuckled, shaking his head. "This guy? He''s got something special." Another member of the AFTV cast, James, leaned in. "Bro, you saw the way he moved? The agility drills? The man looked like he''s been training with us for years." They cut to a clip of Izan weaving through the slalom course with ridiculous speed before smoothly finishing the drill. "Look at that! The close control, the acceleration¡ªpure class." A different panelist, Turkish, wasn''t as easily convinced. "I get it, yeah, but we''ve seen players light up training before. I need to see this in a Premier League match, against real competition." Robbie laughed. "Come on, man! We just signed the Pichichi winner¡ªman was bagging goals in La Liga, leading in assists, and he''s only seventeen!" "Fair, but the Prem is a different beast," Turkish countered. At that moment, a new guest joined the call¡ªan Arsenal fan in an Izan Valencia shirt. "Listen, I''ve followed this guy since he broke through. He''s generational. I don''t care what anyone says, we''ve got a star." James nodded. "And you know Arteta doesn''t just sign anyone. If Mikel wanted him, there''s a reason." They played another clip¡ªthis time of Izan''s goal in the small-sided game, the first-time finish from range. "Bruh." Robbie shook his head. "If this is what we''re getting in training, imagine what he''s doing in the Emirates in front of sixty thousand fans." Izan smirked slightly, locking his phone and shaking his head. He knew the hype would be there, but seeing it unfold in real time was still surreal. Across the room, Saka and Martinelli were watching the same video. "You''re famous already," Martinelli teased. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Saka laughed. "They''re acting like he just won us the league in one training session." Izan only shrugged, tying his boots. "We''ll see." The players sat around joking, some still on their phones. The chaos was only silenced when the door swung open, and Mikel Arteta stepped in. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere. The casual chatter faded, players instinctively sitting up as their manager''s sharp gaze swept across the room. But he wasn''t here for them. "Izan." The mention of his name made him glance up. Arteta stood near the doorway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. A few players exchanged quick looks. First day and Arteta was already pulling him aside? Izan didn''t hesitate. He rose to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket before following Arteta out of the locker room. They stepped into the hallway, the distant sound of boots against tiles filling the silence. Arteta led him toward the entrance of the training pitch, stopping just where the tunnel met the open field. The floodlights had dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the facility''s indoor lights casting long shadows across the empty grass. "You did well today," Arteta said, finally breaking the silence. Izan nodded, his expression calm. "Gracias." "But I need more." Izan''s brows flickered slightly, but he didn''t speak. Arteta''s tone wasn''t harsh¡ªjust measured. "I don''t just want you to fit in. I want you to elevate us. You bring something we don''t have¡ªsharpness, unpredictability, the ability to turn nothing into something." Arteta''s gaze drifted over the pitch as if already visualizing the future battles that would unfold here. "But this is the Premier League. It''s different. It''s faster. More physical. You won''t have time to adjust¡ªI need you to be ready now." Izan stood there, absorbing each word, his breathing steady. "I''m going to push you," Arteta continued. "Extra work, extra sessions. You''re not yet seventeen, but that doesn''t matter to me. You''ve already proven you can compete at the highest level. Now, I want you to dominate." A pause. There was no doubt in his voice. No hesitation. Just expectation. Izan exhaled through his nose, his face betraying nothing. But inside? He felt it. "I understand." Arteta studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Good." A step back and then a final glance. "Have a good night''s rest. Tomorrow, we go again." Izan gave a slight nod as Arteta walked off, his words settling in. Nothing surprising¡ªjust the reality of playing at the top level. Expectations were high, and there was no time to ease in. He already knew that. He stayed put for a moment, staring at the empty pitch. The grass was still damp from the evening moisture, the floodlights humming faintly in the background. He exhaled and turned back toward the tunnel. By the time he reached the locker room, most of the squad had already cleared out. A few players were still there¡ªSaka chatting with Martinelli, Raya adjusting his sneakers while scrolling through his phone. The air smelled of sweat and shower gel, the usual post-training mix. Izan walked over to his locker, grabbed a towel, and pulled off his shirt. His muscles ached¡ªnot unbearably, but enough to remind him that today wasn''t just another session. It was the first real taste of what was expected. The shower was quick. Hot water, steam rising, the sound of droplets hitting the tiles. He let it run over him for a few moments before stepping out and drying off. By the time he was dressed, the room had thinned out even more. He slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled out his phone. A quick text to the driver: Leaving now. Outside, the evening air was cooler. He scrolled through his notifications as he walked toward the car. The AFTV video had already doubled in views, with comments flying in by the second. @ArsenalFanatic: "Bro looks like he''s been here for years. Can''t wait for his first match." @FootballDebates: "Calm down, it''s just training. Let''s see him in a real game first." The usual mix of excitement and skepticism. He''d seen it all before. A message popped up from Miranda. Miranda: You looked sharp today. Izan leaned back as the car pulled out of the facility, typing a quick reply. Izan: Felt sharp too. See you tomorrow. Then he locked his phone, exhaled, and rested his head against the seat. A/n: I know some of you want me to jump straight into the action but please, have patience. Let it soak before we move to the action okay. Have fun reading and tell me, the glazing is okay right Chapter 355 355: Finding The Right Piece [Nameyelus Gifts too much] Izan leaned back in the seat as the car hummed through London''s streets. The city felt different at night¡ªquieter, but never fully asleep. He scrolled through his phone, skimming past clips from training, headlines speculating about his role, and the inevitable "La Liga to the Prem" debates as well as transfer news about clubs finalizing their deals. He replied with a thumbs-up and locked his phone, exhaling. The first session was done. Now came the real work. Back at his apartment, he went through his usual routine¡ªshower, quick dinner, some stretching to keep his muscles from tightening. His body was still adjusting to the new workload, but it wasn''t anything he hadn''t handled before. He flicked through the TV, letting the background noise fill the space. Most channels were covering transfers, preseason schedules, and upcoming fixtures. Arsenal''s first game was in five days. That part was moving fast. No slow buildup¡ªjust straight into action. He grabbed his phone and checked the itinerary again. Some of which included, Arsenal vs. Bournemouth. Then a trip to the U.S.¡ªBayer Leverkusen, Liverpool, Lyon. They were big games, even if they were just friendlies. He knew how these things went. Preseason wasn''t just fitness¡ªit was the first statement of the season. A bad tour and the media would eat you alive. A strong showing, and suddenly expectations skyrocketed. His eyes drifted to his boots by the door. He''d train again tomorrow, and probably push harder. Arteta made that clear. Extra work. Extra sessions. He picked up his phone. Izan: What time''s the facility open in the morning? A response came almost instantly¡ªfrom one of the staff. "6 AM, but the gym''s open 24/7." Izan nodded to himself, tossing the phone onto the couch. Early start, then. .... Mikel Arteta walked into the training facility just after 7 AM, coffee in hand. The staff had already set up for the day, and the usual morning routines were underway. Groundskeepers checking the pitches, analysts in their offices, and a few physios moving between rooms. As he passed by one of the fitness coaches, he casually asked, "Players start coming in yet?" The coach nodded. "Most of them will be here soon. But Izan''s been in the gym since before six." Arteta''s brow lifted slightly. He had expected commitment, but this was earlier than even he had anticipated. He changed direction, walking toward the gym. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Inside, he found Izan alone, locked in his own world. Sweat clung to his shirt as he moved through a series of core exercises¡ªcontrolled, precise, fully engaged. He wasn''t just going through the motions; there was an intensity to it. Arteta didn''t say anything, just watched for a moment. Then, with the smallest shake of his head, he smiled. Good. Without interrupting, he turned and headed toward his office. There was work to do. ? Arteta placed his coffee on the desk and opened his laptop. The preseason schedule was aggressive¡ªBournemouth first, then the U.S. tour with Bayer Leverkusen, Lyon, and Liverpool. Normally, he''d stick to a set system for these games, treating them as controlled tests for the season. But Izan changed things. He pulled out his notepad and started sketching formations. 4-3-3? That was the base, but Izan''s arrival shifted the balance. Izan was exceptional as a winger but he wasn''t a traditional winger, not in the way Martinelli or Saka were. He drifted inside, operated between the lines, and thrived on freedom. From what he had seen with Izan at Valencia, opposing teams thrived less when Izan had more of the ball. Arteta tapped his pen against the desk. Maybe it wasn''t about fitting Izan into the system. Maybe it was about adjusting the system to maximize him. A 4-2-3-1? That gave him space as a roaming playmaker. But then, how would ?degaard''s role shift? A fluid front three? Saka - Jesus - Izan? Or something more aggressive, even unconventional? Arteta leaned back in his chair, thinking. Preseason was the perfect time to experiment. He had a world-class talent, no player, who was only going to get better. The challenge was making it work while keeping the balance of the team intact. He smirked slightly, closing the notepad. Today''s session would be interesting. ...¡­ The gym had been quiet for the past hour, aside from the steady rhythm of Izan''s workout. But as the morning pushed on, the energy in the facility shifted. Doors swung open, footsteps echoed off the walls, and voices filled the space as Arsenal''s squad filtered in for the day. David Raya was one of the first through the doors, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stopped for a second when he spotted Izan still at it¡ªnow working through resistance sprints with a sled strapped to his waist. Raya chuckled. "You been here all morning?" Izan didn''t slow down, just nodded between breaths. "Yeah." Before Raya could say anything else, Bukayo Saka strolled in, stretching his arms above his head. He noticed Izan instantly, then grinned as he turned to Rice. "Man''s moving like we signed Ronaldo." A few of the others laughed as they grabbed their water bottles and started warming up. "Hey, you know what they say," Martinelli added, nudging Saka. "First in, last out." Jorginho smirked. "Or just no life outside football." Izan exhaled, finally unstrapping the sled and rolling his shoulders. "Easy for you to say when you haven''t got the English pundits on your ass." Saka clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked past. "Nah, respect, bro. But if you start showing up at 5 AM doing underwater treadmill runs, we''ll have to check on you." The squad''s energy picked up as more players joined, some heading to the gym, others moving toward the training pitch. Outside, Arteta stood on the touchline as the squad gradually assembled. He watched them with his arms crossed, noting the way the conversations had shifted. There was always excitement when a new player arrived, but this was different. Izan hadn''t just made an impression¡ªhe had set a standard. Arteta glanced at his notepad. Today''s session wasn''t going to be easy. He had a new system to test, and preseason games were coming fast. Leyton Orient first, then Bournemouth in a few days. Then the U.S. tour. He turned back to the players. "Alright," he called out, getting their attention. "Let''s get to work." The usual pre-training chatter faded when they noticed Arteta''s expression¡ªfocused, measured. He didn''t waste time. "We''re making some changes," he started. "With Izan here, we have to adjust. His profile gives us options we didn''t have before, and I intend to use them." A few players shifted slightly in their boots. Everyone understood what that meant. Tactical tweaks weren''t just about strategy¡ªthey affected playing time, roles, hierarchies. Some would benefit. Others might not. "Alright," he began. "We''re working on structure today. I want attackers against defenders, but not just for goal-scoring. We''re testing shape, movement, and decision-making under pressure." He let that sink in for a moment before stepping back. Arteta clapped his hands next, gathering the squad in a loose huddle near the halfway line. His eyes flicked across the squad. "Izan, ?degaard, Saka, Martinelli, and Jesus¡ªyou''re up front." Jesus stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, taking Havertz''s spot for the day. Arteta then turned to the defenders. "Saliba, Gabriel, White, and Calafiori¡ªhold the line." The new signing, Calafiori, gave a sharp nod. It was his first real test since arriving, and he knew that though all eyes were on Izan, he couldn''t afford to slack. The setup was clear¡ªthree attackers, plus ?degaard and Izan orchestrating from deeper, against a solid defensive four. Rice and Jorginho stood off to the side, set to rotate in if needed, while the rest of the squad watched, absorbing the adjustments. Arteta stepped back. "We go through phases. Attackers, I want fluidity. Defenders, stay compact but don''t just sit back¡ªI want pressure. Let''s go." The whistle blew and the scuffle started. The first shape was simple¡ªa fluid 4-2-3-1, the system Arsenal had used plenty of times before. ?degaard played just behind Jesus, with Izan and Saka drifting inside while Martinelli provided width. It felt natural, almost automatic, with the ball zipping between them in quick, sharp sequences. Izan took possession at the edge of the final third, cutting inside onto his left, drawing White toward him before slipping a pass into ?degaard. The Norwegian let it roll past his body, forcing Saliba to step out, and Jesus pounced, darting behind. ?degaard flicked the ball over the defender''s foot, setting Jesus through. It was clean, quick, the kind of move that would dismantle most teams. But Gabriel read it well, stepping across to block the shot, sending it spinning out for a corner. Arteta watched, arms folded. It was good football, but he wasn''t convinced. A/n: Okay so some of you all might have seen but one reader has been pestering me with gifts. A lot of Iced Cola''s. I''ve been drinking them for a while ?^? so today, I decided to give back. Nameyelus, thanks for the cola''s and thanks to a lot of fans who will receive their shoutouts in the next chapter because I have to learn. Have fun reading. Chapter 356 356: Izan’s Tactics They reset, tweaking the setup. The next shape leaned into a 4-3-3, pushing Izan and Saka into more direct wing roles while Ghanaian defensive midfielder Partey gave defensive assurance, giving ?degaard complete control in midfield alongside Rice. The ball moved effortlessly, ?degaard dictating tempo while Izan roamed inside, collecting passes and turning with intent. At one point, Izan dropped deep, dragging White with him before spinning away and darting into the gap he''d just created. ?degaard spotted it instantly, lifting a perfect ball over the top. Izan cushioned the pass off his chest before shifting it onto his left foot, but before he could shoot, Saliba''s long stride ate up the space, poking the ball away. Again, it was promising¡ªsmooth, well-structured, technically sound. But still, something was off. Arteta blew his whistle, cutting through the rhythm. He ran a hand through his hair, scanning the setup. "Alright, change again." More adjustments followed. A more aggressive 3¨C4-3 this time, pushing White into a hybrid role, Calafiori tucking inside, allowing Rice and ?degaard to control the middle while Izan and Saka played as inverted forwards behind Jesus. The movements were fluid, seamless even, as ?degaard constantly found pockets to receive, while Izan ghosted between defenders, finding the right angles. The patterns were impressive¡ªcombinations forming naturally, the ball moving as if on a string. Martinelli whipped a dangerous cross toward the back post, Saka arriving late to volley it the first time, forcing a fingertip save from Ramsdale. Jesus, always alert, pounced on the rebound and got a clean shot off before Gabriel could smother him. Still, Arteta stood with the same expression. Not unimpressed, but unsatisfied. They switched again. 4-4-2 diamond, a flexible 4-2-2-2¡ªeach system emphasizing different strengths, allowing players to exploit space in different ways. The ball never stopped moving, attack after attack testing the defensive shape, forcing decisions under pressure. Yet every time, something didn''t click. It wasn''t about technical execution; that was already there. The rotations were smooth, the players understood each other''s movements, and the sequences unfolded naturally. But Arteta could feel it¡ªsomewhere in the structure, in the dynamics between certain roles, a key ingredient was missing. He glanced at his notes, lines scratched out, shapes redrawn. Izan and ?degaard were constants¡ªtoo good, too crucial to leave out. But around them, the right balance had yet to be found. Another whistle. Another reset. Izan received the ball near the edge of the box, shifting his weight to feint a shot before rolling it back under his control. His next move should have been automatic¡ªeither a quick pass or a sharp turn toward goal. But as he looked up, something clicked. Or rather, something felt off. The structure was right. The movements were clean. Yet, for all the fluidity they had built up over the last few minutes, the attack lacked something vital. He eased off the ball, not in hesitation but in realization. His foot rested on top of it as he straightened up, eyes scanning the pitch. The others slowed, noticing his pause. Saka, on the far side, glanced at Odegaard, who gave a small shrug. Martinelli, mid-run, stopped in his tracks, brow furrowed. Arteta, observing from the touchline, narrowed his eyes slightly. Izan turned his head, locking onto him before walking over. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he said when he got to Arteta. Arteta studied him, then nodded. "Take five," he told the others. The players murmured amongst themselves as they jogged toward the benches, casting curious glances back at the pair. Izan wiped the sweat off his forehead, walking over to the tactical whiteboard standing nearby. The smudged remains of the formations they had tried throughout the session were still faintly visible, overlapping in erased lines and marker strokes. "I think we''re missing something," Izan started, eyes flicking between the board and Arteta. Arteta didn''t respond immediately, just waited, arms crossed. "The formations we''ve tested today¡ªthey work in terms of possession and control, but we''re not breaking defensive lines properly. We''re stretching defenses horizontally, but we''re not forcing them to collapse. It means we''re spending more time around the box without actually creating high-percentage chances." Arteta tilted his head slightly. "Go on." "We need something that forces defenders into bad decisions," Izan continued. "Right now, we''re playing in a way that makes them comfortable¡ªthey shift, they adjust, but they don''t break their shape. That''s why our shots feel forced instead of instinctive. And when the pressure''s on, those half-chances are going to turn into wasted opportunities." Arteta tapped his fingers against his arm, considering. "And you have a solution?" Izan nodded. He picked up a marker and began sketching on the board, outlining two formations: 3-4-2-1 and 4-1-4-1. "These give us flexibility," he explained. "The 3-4-2-1 allows us to push higher with wingbacks and keep numerical superiority in midfield, but more importantly, it lets the two attacking midfielders¡ªwhether that''s me, Martin, or someone else¡ªoperate in pockets where defenders have to step out." He tapped the board. "Right now, our current setup forces wide overloads, but when we transition centrally, it''s too structured. We''re moving well, but we''re not disrupting. With this, we create dilemmas¡ªdefenders will have to choose whether to track the inside forwards or hold their shape, which opens gaps naturally." Arteta''s eyes flicked over the board, his mind working. Izan continued. "The 4-1-4-1, on the other hand, gives us a more balanced approach, especially against low blocks. The single pivot keeps things stable, but the two advanced midfielders can rotate instead of sticking to fixed positions. It''s an old setup, but with the right movement, it can pull defenses apart without us having to force anything." Arteta''s silence stretched for a moment before he exhaled through his nose, a small, thoughtful smile appearing. He hadn''t considered that. The formations weren''t revolutionary, but they provided an adaptability he hadn''t fully explored. A way to create unpredictability without sacrificing control. "You''ve thought this through," Arteta finally said, his tone unreadable. Izan simply nodded. Arteta looked back at the pitch, already picturing how it would work in real time. Then he turned back to Izan, studying him for a long second. "We''ll test it," he said at last. And with that, he grabbed the marker and began reworking the board. Izan jogged back toward his teammates, shaking out his arms as he approached the group. They were gathered near the benches, bottles in hand, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Saka was the first to notice him, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "What was that about?" he asked, taking a sip of water. Martinelli leaned in slightly. "Yeah, you stopped the whole drill just to have a chat with the boss?" Izan just smiled, grabbing a bottle for himself. "Just a few things." Odegaard raised an eyebrow but didn''t press further. The others exchanged glances before turning their attention back toward Arteta. The manager stood in front of the whiteboard, marker in hand, his posture firm as he sketched out new shapes. His focus was intense, eyes scanning the formations with sharp precision. Within seconds, he was calling over his assistants, motioning toward the board as he began explaining something to them. Wilshere nodded, taking in the information, while one of the analysts stepped closer, adding his own input. The players could hear snippets of discussion¡ªmovement patterns, overloads, defensive transitions¡ªbut the full picture was still forming. "Well, whatever you told him," Ben White murmured, watching Arteta work, "it''s got him thinking." Izan simply took a long sip of water, the slight curve of a knowing smile still on his face. Arteta on the touchline, had already uncapped the marker again, drawing a new set of lines on the board. "We''ll modify the 3-4-2-1 in possession," he said, glancing at his assistants, "but out of possession, we shift into a 5-4-1." Wilshere''s brows furrowed. "Five at the back?" "Not just five at the back," Arteta clarified. "Five with a flat midfield four ahead. Compact, disciplined. No spaces between the lines." He tapped the board where the midfield would sit. "This prevents central overloads and protects against counterattacks. When we regain the ball, we explode forward with the wing-backs stretching play and the two attacking midfielders¡ª?degaard and Izan¡ªbreaking into the spaces." The coaching staff exchanged looks before nodding. It made sense. Arteta turned toward the pitch and motioned to the reserves. "We''re going full simulation. I want the opposition pressing, countering, and defending like they would in a real match. Play it fast. No holds barred." The reserves quickly slotted into position, forming a standard 4-2-3-1, meant to mirror the kind of pressing setups they''d face in the Premier League. The starters spread out in the adjusted 3-4-2-1, knowing that once they lost the ball, they had to morph into the 5-4-1 structure. "Let''s go," Arteta called, stepping back. "Make it real." The session resumed this time with intensity. The moment Arsenal''s starters lost possession, the transformation had to happen instantly. Rice and White dropped deep to form the back five alongside Saliba, Gabriel, and Calafiori. Havertz¡ªsqueezed centrally with Izan and ?degaard tucking in just ahead while Saka and Martinelli remained to provide depth. The reserves worked quickly, pressing with intent, but the compact shape was difficult to break. When they finally managed a switch of play, the wing-backs reacted instantly¡ªone stepping out while the midfield shifted laterally to cover the open space. Then came the turnovers. As soon as they won possession back, Arsenal''s structure flipped like a spring-loaded trap. The back five expanded, Rice dictated the tempo, and Izan and ?degaard immediately occupied the spaces between the lines. It was fluid. Organized. But still not perfect. Arteta observed, arms crossed, watching for weaknesses. "Again," he ordered, resetting the play. A/n: Okayyyyyy. First of the day. Have fun reading and I''ll see you tomorrow. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 357 357: Prelude to Pre-Season The reserves worked quickly, pressing with intent, but the compact shape was difficult to break. When they finally managed a switch of play, the wing-backs reacted instantly¡ªone stepping out while the midfield shifted laterally to cover the open space. Then came the turnovers. As soon as they won possession back, Arsenal''s structure flipped like a spring-loaded trap. The back five expanded, Rice dictated the tempo, and Izan and ?degaard immediately occupied the spaces between the lines. It was fluid. Organized. But still not perfect. Arteta observed, arms crossed, watching for weaknesses. "Again," he ordered, resetting the play. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª The final whistle¡ªwell, the final shouted "Stop!" from Arteta¡ªbrought the session to an end. Players bent over, hands on their knees, sweat dripping onto the grass. Breathing was heavy, the kind that came from an intense, tactical-heavy drill that demanded both physical and mental sharpness. Saka, still catching his breath, turned to Izan with a deadpan expression. "Bro¡­never say anything to Arteta again." The players nearby chuckled, some nodding in agreement. They had already been pushing themselves hard, and the tweak in formation had made the session even more demanding. Izan, just laughed, shaking his head. "I''ll think about it," he said, grinning at his teammates. A ball had rolled loose near his feet, one of the many scattered around from the session. Without thinking much, Izan took a step and struck it cleanly, sending it flying across the pitch. Clang. The ball smacked perfectly into an open bin near the equipment rack, sinking in with precision. A few of the players looked over, impressed. "Alright, now you''re just showing off," Jesus muttered, shaking his head with a small smirk. Izan shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." As the players started making their way off the pitch, a few pairs of eyes lingered on the ball bin where Izan''s shot had landed. A clean strike, almost too casual. "Hold on, hold on," Martinelli said, stopping in his tracks. He turned back and grabbed a ball. "That was nice, but anyone can do that." He placed the ball down a few steps away, lined up his shot, and struck. The ball flew straight, but it clipped the rim of the bin and bounced out. A chorus of "Oooooh!" rang out as he groaned. "Oh, we''re doing this now?" Odegaard chuckled, grabbing a ball of his own. Soon, others joined in¡ªJesus, Saka, even Saliba, who had no business being part of a shooting challenge but wasn''t about to back down. Some got close, a few scuffed their attempts embarrassingly, and others barely missed. Saka''s shot looked promising until it swerved slightly off-course and smacked against the bin''s side. "Nah, that was in," he tried to argue, but the jeering around him said otherwise. Izan stood off to the side, watching with an amused expression before nodding toward the bin. "Just aim right, it''s not that deep." "Yeah? Why don''t you go again, then," Jesus challenged. Izan didn''t hesitate. He picked up another ball, took a couple of steps back, and struck it cleanly. Swish. The ball sank into the bin without even touching the sides. The players erupted in laughter and shouts, some shaking their heads while others threw their hands up. "Nah, man, I''m done," Martinelli said, waving it off. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. From a distance, Arteta had been watching the whole thing. What started as lighthearted competition had reminded him of something else. Izan had another dimension to his game¡ªhis set pieces. It was easy to get caught up in his movement, his creativity, and his ability to play between the lines. But dead-ball situations? That was another weapon entirely. As the players wrapped up, still laughing and taking playful jabs at each other''s missed shots, Arteta made a mental note. He needed to see more of that. ...¡­ The locker room was a blend of steam, running water, and exhausted voices as the players washed down after the intense session. The cold showers were a relief after the taxing drills, and there was a quiet satisfaction in the room¡ªa good kind of tiredness. Izan rinsed his face, feeling the sting of cold water against his skin. As he grabbed a towel, he heard Jesus and Saka still going back and forth about their failed attempts at the ball bin challenge. "I swear mine was closer than yours," Saka argued. Jesus scoffed. "Bro, at least mine hit the rim. Yours? That was nowhere near." The debate carried on as they got dressed in fresh Arsenal tracksuits, the signature red and black colors sharp against the clean white of the dressing room. Izan chuckled as he pulled his top over his head. "Doesn''t matter. None of you won." Jesus pointed at him. "We''re running that back next session." Izan smirked but didn''t respond. With everyone cleaned up, they started making their way toward the cafeteria. The cafeteria was already filled with the scent of warm food, a spread of healthy yet satisfying options laid out. Players grabbed plates, loading them with grilled chicken, pasta, rice, vegetables¡ªwhatever fit their personal nutrition plans. Izan sat down next to Saka and Odegaard, who were in the middle of a conversation about preseason fixtures as well as early premier league fixtures. "United first," Odegaard said, poking at his rice with a fork. "Then City." Saka sighed dramatically. "Why do we always get City early?" "Good test," Izan said simply, taking a bite of his food. "Yeah, but I''d rather face them later when we''re in rhythm," Saka replied, shaking his head. "The first few games of the league are always weird." Jesus, who sat across from them, nodded. "Preseason matches are tricky. You''re fit but not fully sharp, the chemistry''s still settling, and new signings are adjusting." Odegaard glanced at Izan. "Speaking of which, how are you settling in?" Izan took a sip of water before answering. "Good. It''s different, but I like it. Feels right." "Man, you''re a robot," Saka joked. "Other players need time, you''re already talking about formations and scoring challenges on your first proper day." Izan smirked. "Just adapting." The table laughed, the conversation flowing from preseason prep to random topics¡ªfavorite music, the worst-dressed player in the squad, the upcoming kit reveal. It was the kind of banter that made the transition into a new team feel natural. From across the room, Arteta walked in, grabbing a quick meal while speaking with his coaching staff. His mind was still running through the formations they had tested earlier. But as he glanced at his players¡ªrelaxed, chatting, blending together¡ªhe knew the real work was just beginning. With lunch finished, the players made their way toward the video analysis room, some still nursing protein shakes as they walked. The relaxed cafeteria atmosphere faded as they stepped into the dimly lit space, where a large screen was already set up with tactical diagrams and match footage paused at key moments. Arteta stood at the front, arms crossed, waiting for everyone to settle in. His assistants stood nearby, ready to break things down in more detail if needed. The players took their seats, the usual light chatter dying down as they sensed this was about to be important. Arteta tapped on the board. "Before we start, I want to address something from today''s session." He clicked the remote, and a few freeze frames appeared¡ªdifferent moments from their training drills, positioning diagrams layered over them. "This," he gestured, "is what Izan pointed out to me earlier." Some heads turned toward Izan, but he kept his focus on the screen. Arteta continued. "We''ve been experimenting with different structures, and while a few felt smooth, something was missing. Izan recognized it¡ªefficiency. We were moving well, but we weren''t maximizing our chances. We had control, but control alone isn''t enough." He clicked again, and two new formations appeared. "3-4-2-1 in attack, transitioning into a 5-4-1 when defending. That''s what we''ll be refining for the next few days." A few murmurs passed through the room. Some players shifted slightly in their seats, understanding what this meant¡ªchanges, adjustments, new roles to adapt to. Arteta''s expression was firm. "This isn''t just theory. We''ll apply it immediately. Our first test is Leyton Orient. We''ll use that match to assess how quickly we can settle into these transitions before we face bigger opposition." He let the words sink in before he stepped back, nodding toward the assistants. "We''ll break down the details now. Pay attention." ......¡­. The meeting wrapped up after a while, the players absorbing the key points before Arteta finally stepped back and glanced at them. "That''s all for today," he said. "I want everyone to rest tomorrow¡ªno training. Take the time to recover because we''ll be going hard once we return. I still need to make some tweaks, and we''ll need everyone sharp when we put this into practice." A few nods, some murmurs of agreement. The physical toll of the session was already settling in, and an unexpected rest day wasn''t something anyone would complain about. One by one, the players filed out of the room, some discussing the formations, others just eager to get home and switch off for the evening. Arteta remained behind, looking back at the board, still deep in thought. There was progress¡ªbut there was more to refine. A/n: I know there hasn''t been much action but don''t worry. We''ll get there in the next couple of chapters. Anyways have fun reading and I''ll see you with the next one Chapter 358 358: Just 2 Days Izan arrived home feeling the weight of the long session settling into his body. The shower helped, warm water washing away the exhaustion, but the real reset came when he sat down for dinner. A simple meal¡ªnothing too heavy, just enough to replenish what he''d burned off earlier. After eating, he leaned back on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through his phone when a notification popped up. Pedri added you to ''Fantastic Four''. Izan raised an eyebrow before tapping in. Inside the chat were three familiar names¡ªPedri, Lamine Yamal, and Nico Williams. Pedri: "Alright, the gang''s all here." Lamine: "Why did you name it Fantastic Four?" Nico: "Because he thinks he''s Mr. Fantastic." Pedri: "Nah, that''s Izan. The way he stretches through defenses." Izan: "¡­" Lamine: "????????" Nico: "Nah, nah, he''s right though. My guy moves like he''s made of rubber." Izan: "I''m not even gonna entertain this." Pedri: "Too late. Welcome to the Fantastic Four." Izan shook his head, amused. The conversation veered off into random jokes¡ªLamine complaining about preseason drills. Nico sending a clip of some ridiculous skill move he pulled off in training, Pedri acting like he had seniority over all of them just because he was slightly older. It was light, easy banter¡ªnothing forced. Just four young players who had already shared enough moments on the pitch to form something natural. After a while, one by one, they started dropping off. Lamine: "I''m out, early training tmrw." Nico: "Same." Pedri: "Rest up, we''ve got a big season coming." Izan: "Yeah, see you guys." The chat went silent. Izan put his phone down, exhaling as he leaned back. Tomorrow was a rare free day. No training. No meetings. Just time to reset. He didn''t plan on wasting it. ..... Over the next few days, Arsenal''s training ground became a testing lab for Arteta''s tactical shifts. The first session had its rough patches. Players were adjusting, learning new roles, figuring out the balance between defensive responsibility and attacking freedom. Izan, though, adapted like he had been playing this system for years. He wasn''t just operating as a pure attacker¡ªhe was dropping deep, linking up, and even rotating positions with Declan Rice when the midfield needed control. By the second day, the changes started clicking. The movements became more natural, the passing lanes clearer. The players weren''t just following instructions anymore; they were feeling the game. Izan''s influence grew with each session. His passing range was becoming a real weapon. He wasn''t just playing safe or obvious passes¡ªhe was slicing through defenses with unexpected switches, curling through balls, and disguised passes that turned static situations into instant goal-scoring opportunities. One moment stood out on the third day. During a high-intensity drill, Izan received the ball under pressure, close to Arsenal''s defensive third. Instead of forcing a clearance or a simple outlet pass, he shifted his body, feinted one way, and then released a stunning diagonal ball across the pitch. It traveled past three Arsenal shirts, bending perfectly into Saka''s path on the right flank. With one touch, Saka controlled and immediately squared it across goal, where Jesus slotted it home. A few of the defenders just stood there, shaking their heads. "Bro, what was that?" Saliba muttered, a mix of disbelief and admiration in his voice. Izan just shrugged. "Just a pass." By the fourth day, Arsenal''s new shape was starting to feel like second nature. The defenders understood when to shift, the midfield controlled the tempo, and the attack had more unpredictability. Arteta, watching from the sidelines, couldn''t help but smile. This was different. Izan had given them something new, something dynamic. The other clubs that hesitated on him? They had no idea what they missed. "Okay. Let''s end here" Arteta said after the finished another attacking and defending sequence. ...¡­ In the evening, the players filed into the video analysis room, some carrying bottles of water, others stretching their necks or rolling their shoulders after another demanding training session. The atmosphere was focused¡ªtwo days remained before their first preseason match against Leyton Orient, and they were here to break things down before stepping onto the pitch. Arteta stood at the front, arms crossed, waiting until the last few stragglers took their seats. Once everyone had settled, he nodded to one of his assistants, who dimmed the lights before starting the session. The screen lit up with clips¡ªsome of their own training sessions, others showing Leyton Orient''s patterns of play from the previous season. Arteta let the footage roll for a few moments before pausing it, turning to face the squad. "We''ve worked on the adjustments," he started, his voice even. "We''ve tested different structures, moved players around, and experimented with rotations. Now, we see what it looks like in a real match situation." Some players exchanged glances. The past few days had been intense, filled with repetitions and tactical shifts that pushed them out of their comfort zones. Izan, who had naturally slotted into different roles across those sessions, sat quietly, watching Arteta with a focused expression. The next clip played¡ªa sequence from their training. Izan had dropped deeper than usual, switching positions with Rice for a moment before launching a pinpoint pass that cut through the lines, leading to a goal. Arteta let it play out before pausing again. "This," he gestured to the screen, "is the kind of control we want in transitions. We are not just attacking with pace¡ªwe are dictating the game." The footage shifted to Leyton Orient. They weren''t a high-pressing side, but they compacted the midfield and tried to play on the counter whenever possible. Their wingers were quick, and their striker liked to drift off the last defender, looking for gaps to exploit. "They will sit deep," Arteta continued, "they will try to frustrate us, and they will look for mistakes. That is their way of competing. Ours is different." He paused, glancing around the room. "This match is an experiment. But it''s still a match." His tone didn''t change, but the implication was clear. Experiment or not, Arsenal were expected to win. The players understood. Even in preseason, results mattered. Arteta gave a final nod. "Tomorrow is a rest day. Use it well. Because when we step onto that pitch, I want to see everything we''ve worked on put into practice." With that, the session ended, and the players began filing out, minds already turning toward the game ahead. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ? Izan stepped out of the locker room, exchanging nods and brief goodbyes with his teammates before calling for his car. The evening air was cooler now, a welcome contrast to the intensity of the past few days. He leaned back against the seat as the car pulled away, his mind still running through the final bits of Arteta''s tactical breakdown. By the time he got home, the exhaustion from training had set in, but he still picked up his phone for his now-regular video call with Hori and Komi. His sister''s excited voice filled the screen before her face even fully appeared. "Onii-chan, Arsenal is playing¡­ what was it called? Leyton Orange?" Izan raised a brow, biting back a smile. "Leyton Orient." "Same thing," she huffed, waving it off. "They''re a small team, right? Arsenal will win easy." Komi sighed in the background. "Hori, don''t underestimate teams just because of their league." "But Arsenal is Arsenal," Hori argued. Izan chuckled. "She''s got a point, but we still have to be careful. It''s a test game for us too." Hori seemed satisfied with that answer and changed the subject, talking about her school and how Komi had been making her eat healthier. They were in the middle of laughing over something when Izan''s phone buzzed with another call¡ªMiranda. Komi noticed immediately. "It might be important. Pick up." Izan nodded and switched the call. "Miranda," he greeted. "Izan," her voice came through smoothly. "Busy?" "Just finished talking to my Mum and Hori. What''s up?" "Wanted to check in," she said. "How''s training? Think you''ll be picked for the match?" Izan exhaled, glancing out the window. "Training''s been intense, but good. The system changes are a lot, but everyone''s adapting. As for the match¡­ I don''t know yet. I''m new, and it''s just a preseason game, so we''ll see." Miranda hummed in thought. "Well, if you do play, it''ll be your first time in an Arsenal jersey. Kind of a big deal." Izan shrugged, though he knew she was right. "Yeah. But I''ll only focus on that if my name''s on the squad list." Miranda chuckled. "Practical as always. Alright, I won''t keep you. Get some rest, and if you get picked¡ªmake sure you put on a show." Izan smirked. "That''s the plan." He ended the call and leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before finally getting up to wind down for the night. A/n: Damn. I''m feeling sleepy. Anyways have fun reading and I''ll see next time for another great chapter. Also, Thank you guys for the gifts and for the support and everything you do. I''ll try to make this novel one of the best you''ve ever read. ???? Chapter 359 359: Watching From Afar [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. Izan''s alarm buzzed lightly beside him, but he was already awake. His body still carried the weight of the past few days¡ªArteta''s training sessions had been intense, pushing every player to adjust quickly¡ªbut he wasn''t exhausted. If anything, he felt sharper than ever, his mind already focused on the season ahead. Still, a full day without training didn''t sit right with him. Rest days were necessary, but they also left him feeling restless. After lying in bed for a few minutes, he threw off the covers and got up. By the time he stepped outside, the city was still quiet, the early morning air crisp and fresh. London wasn''t home, not yet, but it had its own charm. He set off at a steady pace, his breathing controlled as he ran through the empty streets, letting his mind drift to the past few training sessions. The tactical shifts, the movement patterns, the new formations¡ªArteta had made it clear that Arsenal was evolving, and Izan was at the heart of it. He wasn''t just being positioned as an attacker; he was being given freedom. And he had already started taking advantage of it, dropping deep, linking up with teammates in those deep positions, and spraying passes across the pitch. He was adapting. By the time he returned home, sweat clung to his shirt, his breathing heavier but steady. After a quick shower, he sat down for breakfast, checking his phone absentmindedly. A message from Miranda popped up. Miranda: Morning. You need to fill up that house. Get ready, I''m taking you shopping. Izan frowned, looking around his apartment. It was functional¡ªcomfortable even¡ªbut mostly empty. He hadn''t planned on changing that. Izan: Why? I won''t even be here for long. Miranda: And? You can leave it for the next player who moves in. Or take the stuff with you when you get your own place. Izan: Still feels unnecessary. Miranda: Izan. Just his name. Nothing more. Izan sighed. Izan: Fine. Miranda: Be ready in 30. By the time they reached the shopping district, London had fully woken up. Miranda walked ahead with purpose, leading him from store to store like a personal interior designer. "You can''t just live with a couch and a bed," she said, shaking her head as they entered another high-end home store. "Your place looks like a hotel room that forgot to get decorated." Izan exhaled, adjusting the cap he was wearing to keep a low profile. "It''s not that bad." Miranda gave him a look. "It is. You''re rich. You play for Arsenal. Your place should at least look like someone lives in it." Izan picked up a random cushion, turning it over in his hands. "I''ll barely be here for a few months." "Then take everything with you when you move," Miranda countered. "Or leave it for the next guy. Either way, you''re buying furniture." Izan had learned when to pick his battles. This wasn''t one of those times. He let Miranda take charge, nodding at whatever she suggested. By the end of it, his place would be filled with new furniture, a few modern artworks, rugs, and even plants¡ªthings he never would have thought to buy on his own. As they loaded the last few bags into the car, Miranda smirked. "You''ll thank me later." Izan leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "We''ll see." By the time they returned, Izan noticed his phone buzzing more than usual. The Arsenal squad list for the Leyton Orient match had just been released. Before he could check, Arteta''s name popped up in his messages. Arteta: Come see me before you check the squad list. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan furrowed his brow but didn''t hesitate. He made his way back to the training ground, where Arteta was waiting in his office. The manager stood by the whiteboard, arms crossed. "Sit," Arteta said, motioning to the chair. Izan sat down, waiting. "I''ll keep this short," Arteta said. "You''re not playing against Leyton Orient." Izan blinked but didn''t react beyond that. "Okay." Arteta studied him. He had expected more of a response. "You''re not in the squad because this match isn''t for you. It''s not about resting you or anything negative¡ªit''s about testing some of the younger players before the season starts." Izan nodded. "Makes sense." Arteta leaned forward slightly. "I didn''t want you finding out through the list and overthinking it. You''ve trained well and adapted faster than expected, and I have plans for you¡ªbut not in this game." Izan took a moment before responding. He appreciated the honesty. "I get it. No problem." Arteta studied him for another second, then nodded. "Good. Focus on training, and you''ll be playing soon enough." As Izan left the office, he finally checked the official squad list. His name wasn''t there¡ªjust like Arteta had said. A few hours later, the announcement finally got to the fans and started an immediate discussion among Arsenal fans online. Some found it understandable. @ArsenalTalk: No Izan in the squad? Makes sense. It''s just Leyton Orient. Arteta probably wants to see what the younger academy players can do. Others were disappointed. @GoonerVision: Man, I was looking forward to seeing Izan play in an Arsenal shirt for the first time. Even 20 minutes would''ve been nice. @FootyFocus: No Izan. No Saka. No ?degaard. Looks like Arteta is taking this game purely as a scouting opportunity. Of course, there were also debates. @PLDebates: If Izan was fit, why not just give him some minutes? He hasn''t played since the Euros. Might take him a while to adjust to actual match intensity. @ArsenalCentral: Relax. It''s a League One side in preseason. He''ll get his minutes in bigger games. Izan scrolled through the discussions briefly before locking his phone. ...¡­. The day passed quietly for Izan. With no training scheduled, he spent most of his time settling into his newly furnished apartment¡ªsomething Miranda made sure to check on through constant messages. By the evening, the squad selected for the match had already left for Leyton, and Arsenal''s official social media accounts posted a few pictures of the traveling team boarding the bus. Izan scrolled through the images absentmindedly. The squad was a mix of academy prospects and a few senior players¡ªmainly to provide leadership. Jorginho, Kiwior, and Tomiyasu were among the experienced names included. The rest were younger players eager to make an impression. His phone buzzed again. The team''s group chat was alive with messages, and as soon as he opened it, he saw the source of the chaos¡ªSaka. Saka: Ahhh¡­ so the elders have been sent to babysit the kids? Martinelli: LMAO Jorginho: Say that again when you need someone to cover for you defensively, Saka. Saka: Don''t worry, I''ll be resting comfortably in my bed while you guys play against Leyton Orient. Tomiyasu: Arigato, coach Saka. Rice: Some of us are too important to be sent to League One battlefields. Kiwior: The arrogance¡­ Izan chuckled, shaking his head as he read through the messages. It was playful banter, but there was no mistaking the tone¡ªnone of the senior players particularly wanted to play this game. Preseason was important, but this wasn''t the type of match that got their adrenaline going. Odegaard: Anyway, good luck to you guys. Let''s see if the ''babysitters'' can actually handle the kids. Saka: If we lose this game, everyone on that bus is getting fined. Jorginho: That''s not how it works. Saka: It is now. Izan shook his head, putting his phone down. He might not have been on that bus, but he had a feeling the next day''s match would be interesting to watch. ...¡­. Izan sat back on his couch, remote in hand, as the pre-match coverage played on his TV. He had woken up early, gone for a light morning workout, and now, with nothing else to do, he waited for the game to start. A bottle of water rested beside him on the table, untouched. On-screen, the pundits were deep in discussion, the Arsenal badge displayed behind them as they analyzed the squad selection. Host: "As we approach kickoff, one of the biggest talking points is the number of senior players missing from Arsenal''s squad today. No Declan Rice, no Odegaard, no Gabriel, and notably, no Izan Hernandez. What do you make of Arteta''s decision?" Pundit 1: "I actually think it''s a reasonable move. It''s Leyton Orient, a League One side. If there was ever a time to test some of the young players, it''s this game. Plus, let''s be real¡ªArsenal''s focus is on bigger things than this preseason friendly. Their first Premier League match is coming up soon." Pundit 2: "I agree to some extent, but I do think a player like Izan would have benefited from minutes. He''s still new to the club, still adjusting to Arteta''s system. We saw how sharp he looked in training clips, but it''s different in a match setting. And let''s not forget¡ªArsenal fans were excited to see him play." Host: "That''s true. Social media was buzzing when the squad list was announced. Some fans understand the decision, but there''s definitely a section that was hoping to see Izan in action, even if just for a few minutes." The screen cut to a few tweets being displayed. @GoonerJay21: Man, I was looking forward to seeing Izan cook today. Guess we wait till the next match. @FootyTalk__: No Izan, no Rice, no ?degaard¡­ basically just vibes and babysitting duty for Jorginho. @AFC_Fanatic: I get it. It''s Leyton Orient. But I''d have liked at least 30 minutes of Izan. Izan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. The attention was expected. He was a high-profile signing, and fans wanted to see what he could do in an Arsenal shirt. But Arteta had already explained the reasoning¡ªthis match wasn''t about him. He leaned back into the couch as the conversation continued. Pundit 1: "I think we''ll see him in the next game. If anything, this match is more about finding out which of the academy lads can step up before the season starts." Pundit 2: "Fair point. But I''ll say this¡ªwhen Izan does make his debut, all eyes will be on him. And based on his last season in Spain, I don''t think he''ll disappoint." Izan smiled at that. A/n: Thanks Pistacho for the gift. So I guess today will be a mass release. I said 5 chapters for a magic castle so 15 for the Golden Gachapon. I''ll try to release all but I''ll probably release just ten for the day and add the five tomorrow. Anyways. Have fun reading and I''ll see you in a bit. Chapter 360 360: 2 in 26 [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] The camera cut to the stadium, where the atmosphere was lively despite this being just a preseason friendly. Leyton Orient''s home ground, Brisbane Road, was packed with fans eager to see their team test themselves against an Arsenal side filled with young talents and experienced heads. The broadcast shifted to the lineup graphics, starting with the home side. Leyton Orient Starting XI (4-2-3-1) GK: Sol Brynn RB: Tom James CB: Brandon Cooper CB: Dan Happe LB: Jayden Sweeney CDM: Idris El Mizouni CDM: Ethan Galbraith RM: Theo Archibald CAM: George Moncur LM: Ruel Sotiriou ST: Joe Pigott Host: "Leyton Orient going with a fairly strong lineup here. A mixture of experience and young talent, but the key man will be Joe Pigott up front. They''ll need him to hold the ball up well against Arsenal''s defenders." Pundit 1: "And Moncur in midfield is a tricky player. If given space, he can cause problems." The screen transitioned to Arsenal''s lineup. Despite the absence of several big names, Arteta had stuck with Arsenal''s usual shape¡ªclearly using this match to refine their tactical approach. Arsenal Starting XI (4-3-3) GK: Karl Hein RB: Reuell Walters CB: Jakub Kiwior CB: Gabriel LB: Lino Sousa CDM: Jorginho (C) CM: Myles Lewis-Skelly CM: Ethan Nwaneri RW: Marquinhos ST: Khayon Edwards LW: Charles Sagoe Jr Host: "No surprises with Arsenal''s shape. Arteta is sticking with his usual system, even with this mix of players." Pundit 2: "Exactly. Jorginho will anchor the midfield, providing stability, while Lewis-Skelly and Nwaneri bring energy and dynamism. Up top, Marquinhos and Sagoe Jr will look to stretch the defense while Khayon Edwards leads the line." Pundit 1: "Also, great to see Nwaneri and Sousa getting starts. Both are highly rated within Arsenal''s academy." The camera then cut to the tunnel, where both teams stood ready to walk out. Jorginho was chatting with the younger players, offering last-minute advice, while Leyton Orient''s captain, El Mizouni, did the same on his end. In his apartment, Izan leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. He wasn''t playing, but his mind was already analyzing how Arsenal set up. The referee gave the signal, and the players stepped onto the pitch, greeted by a wave of cheers from the stands. The match was about to begin. As the referee blew the whistle, the match kicked off with a frantic energy. Arsenal, despite their usual structured approach, found themselves immediately under pressure as Leyton Orient came flying out of the blocks. The home side pressed high, swarming Arsenal''s younger players, forcing rushed passes and uncomfortable clearances. The midfield trio of Jorginho, Lewis-Skelly, and Nwaneri struggled to establish control in the opening exchanges, with El Mizouni and Galbraith snapping into challenges, disrupting any attempt at buildup play. Within the first two minutes, Leyton Orient had already won a throw-in deep in Arsenal''s half, launching it into the box. Gabriel had to be sharp to head it clear, but the ball fell to Moncur just outside the area. His quick shot skidded through a crowd of bodies, forcing Karl Hein into an early save. Pundit 1: "Leyton Orient are not holding back! They''ve come out pressing Arsenal aggressively, and the young Gunners look a little unsettled." Pundit 2: "You can see the physicality difference in these early exchanges. Arsenal need to calm things down." Arsenal attempted to play their way out, but every pass was contested. Reuell Walters received the ball on the right flank, but a heavy touch allowed Sotiriou to pounce, stealing possession and darting forward. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Walters recovered quickly, using his pace to get back and put in a clean challenge, but Leyton Orient regained the ball almost immediately through their relentless press. The crowd roared in approval as Leyton Orient forced another turnover in midfield. This time, George Moncur clipped a ball over the top for Pigott to chase. The striker muscled past Kiwior and attempted to lift the ball over Hein, but the Arsenal keeper reacted quickly, rushing out and blocking the effort with his body. Host: "A massive early chance for Leyton Orient! Arsenal''s backline is under serious pressure." Pundit 1: "You can see the inexperience in this Arsenal side. Walters, Sousa, Lewis-Skelly, Nwaneri¡ªthey''re all highly talented, but this is a physical test they''re not used to." It took Arsenal a few minutes to regain composure. Jorginho started dropping deeper, taking control of possession and slowing the tempo. Lewis-Skelly began to find space between the lines, driving forward with his usual elegance, while Nwaneri floated into pockets, looking for passing angles. By the tenth minute, Arsenal had settled. They started moving the ball quicker, passing with more precision, and forcing Leyton Orient to retreat slightly. Sagoe Jr found himself in a promising position on the left, cutting inside and testing Brynn with a curling shot, but the Leyton keeper palmed it away. Arsenal''s growing control, however, didn''t last long. In the 13th minute, Leyton Orient won a corner after a deflected cross from Archibald. Moncur jogged over to take it, scanning the penalty area as Arsenal organized their defensive setup. Jorginho, Gabriel, and Kiwior took command in the box, barking instructions. Walters marked Pigott, while Lewis-Skelly tracked Galbraith at the edge of the area. Moncur delivered an inswinging cross, whipping it toward the near post. Pigott made a darting run, dragging Gabriel with him, but the ball sailed over their duel. Instead, it met the head of Dan Happe, the towering Leyton Orient defender, who rose above Kiwior and powered a header toward goal. Karl Hein reacted, diving low to his right, but the ball took a slight deflection off an Arsenal body on its way through¡ªwrong-footing the keeper as it nestled into the net. The stadium erupted. Leyton Orient 1-0 Arsenal (Dan Happe, 13'') Pundit 1: "And there it is! Leyton Orient takes the lead, and it''s a textbook corner routine! Arsenal''s young defenders just couldn''t cope with the physicality." Pundit 2: "Happe was completely dominant in the air there. Kiwior needed to do better, and you have to question Arsenal''s marking. That was far too easy." On the pitch, Arsenal''s players quickly regrouped. Gabriel clapped his hands, urging his teammates to stay calm, while Jorginho pulled Lewis-Skelly and Nwaneri aside, offering quick instructions. From the sidelines, Arteta remained composed, but his assistants were already analyzing the defensive setup, preparing to adjust for the next set-piece. Izan, watching from his apartment, exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. He''d been in these situations before¡ªearly setbacks in difficult games. Now, it was all about Arsenal''s response. ...¡­. The early goal ignited Arsenal. It was as if a switch had been flipped¡ªthere was no more hesitancy, no more slow adjustments. The young Gunners now stung into action, upped the intensity. From the restart, Jorginho immediately demanded the ball, directing traffic as he sought to wrest control of the game. Lewis-Skelly and Nwaneri began moving sharper between the lines, looking for space, while Walters and Sousa pushed higher from the fullback positions to pin Leyton Orient back. The ball was worked quickly to Sagoe Jr on the left, who, with a sudden burst of pace, surged past his marker and cut inside. Spotting a gap, he rifled a low shot toward the near post, but Brynn, Leyton Orient''s goalkeeper, was equal to it, diving down to push it behind for a corner. The resulting set-piece saw Jorginho whip in a teasing cross, and Gabriel climbed high above the crowded penalty area, but his header sailed inches over the bar. Pundit 1: "Arsenal have responded immediately! You can see the adrenaline kicking in. They''ve taken control of the game, but Leyton Orient are standing firm." Pundit 2: "They needed that reaction. The issue now is breaking down this deep block. Leyton Orient are dropping everyone behind the ball when Arsenal have possession." And that was the problem. For all of Arsenal''s energy, Leyton Orient refused to budge. Jorginho and Lewis-Skelly kept circulating the ball, probing for gaps, but the home side defended in a tight, disciplined shape. Moncur and Galbraith dropped deeper to clog the midfield, forcing Arsenal to shift their attacks wide. Ethan Nwaneri tried to wriggle through the lines in the 21st minute, dancing past two defenders with dazzling footwork, but his final pass to Biereth was intercepted by Happe, who immediately thumped it clear. Two minutes later, Sousa whipped in a brilliant cross from the right, aimed toward Biereth, but once again, Brynn came flying off his line to punch it away. The ball fell to Lewis-Skelly at the edge of the area, and he took a touch before lashing a powerful drive toward goal¡ªonly for it to be blocked by the towering frame of Beckles. Arsenal were suffocating Leyton Orient, but the home side refused to crack. Then, in the 26th minute, disaster struck for Arsenal, again. After another failed attack, Brynn, seeing Arsenal''s backline pushed high, quickly grabbed the ball and launched a towering throw deep into the midfield. It caught Arsenal completely off guard. El Mizouni reacted first, nodding it down to Moncur, who took one touch and then delivered a piercing through ball straight down the middle. Suddenly, Joe Pigott was racing through on goal. Gabriel and Kiwior, both still retreating from Arsenal''s previous attack, scrambled to close the space, but Pigott had the momentum. He burst into the box and, with Hein rushing out to close him down, calmly slotted the ball past the keeper and into the bottom corner. The stadium erupted. Leyton Orient 2-0 Arsenal (Joe Pigott, 26''), the scoreboard shone. Pundit 1: "Oh my word! Leyton Orient have doubled their lead, and Arsenal have been caught sleeping!" Pundit 2: "That''s exactly what Leyton Orient were waiting for! Arsenal committed too many bodies forward, and one quick throw from Brynn completely split them open." The camera panned to Mikel Arteta, but the latter was just looking toward his players. His assistant, Carlos Cuesta, immediately pulled Jorginho aside as the Arsenal players prepared to restart. The Gunners had dominated since going behind¡ªbut now, against the run of play, they were staring at a 2-0 deficit. A/n: Second chapter. Let''s keep going Chapter 361 361: Ball And Banter [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] Izan stretched out on his couch, a bowl of grapes next to him, as he watched Arsenal''s preseason match unfold. He hadn''t expected fireworks¡ªjust a routine runout for the younger players, a bit of fitness work, and maybe a few nice moments. Instead, what he was watching was¡­ absolute chaos. The scoreboard in the top-left corner of the screen didn''t lie. Leyton Orient 2 - 0 Arsenal Izan exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. What am I even watching? He barely had time to process the first goal¡ªa scrappy one from a corner¡ªbefore Arsenal got caught out by a long throw from the Leyton Orient keeper. A long throw. Not a counterattack, not a clever move, but a goalkeeper launching the ball like prime Rory Delap, catching the entire backline asleep. He blinked at the screen. Did we just concede a goal straight out of Sunday League? His phone buzzed beside him. The Arsenal squad''s group chat was already on fire. Saka: Leyton Orient are doing us like this? This is a new low-low. Martinelli: 2-0 down in 20 minutes? Against LEYTON ORIENT? Brother¡­ Izan exhaled sharply through his nose, suppressing a laugh. He could already picture Saka''s face: phone in one hand, shaking his head in disbelief. Another message popped up. Trossard: Nah but what was that goal? The keeper launched a whole missile and we got caught like that? ¡ª Izan shook his head, scrolling through the reactions. The roasting had begun. ¡ª Saliba: sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Kiwior and Gabriel looking at each other like "Bro, I thought you had him." ?degaard: We are getting humbled by hard work and vibes. Ramsdale: Arteta watching this in 4K like: [GIF: Pep rubbing his forehead in frustration.] Izan burst into laughter. He could feel Arteta''s disappointment from his living room. If there was one thing Arteta hated, it was chaotic football, and right now, Arsenal were playing like they had collectively forgotten they were professionals. He scrolled down. The memes were rolling in now. Nelson: Carlos Cuesta''s(Arsenal''s Assistant Coach) blood pressure is through the roof right now. Man''s gonna need a minute. Trossard: Nah someone check if he''s breathing on the touchline. ¡ª Izan nearly dropped his phone laughing. He took a breath, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and grabbed a grape from the bowl next to him. Arsenal were getting humbled. But preseason or not, the banter was top-tier. ...¡­.. Leyton Orient''s fans were loving every second of it. Their chants echoed around the stadium, their players feeding off the energy of the crowd. A two-goal lead against Arsenal, even a preseason version, was not something that happened every day. Meanwhile, Arsenal''s players looked stunned. A few of them exchanged awkward glances, as if silently asking, Did we just let that happen? But there was no time to dwell on it. The moment the ball was placed back at the center circle, Arsenal kicked off with new urgency. Lewis-Skelly immediately darted forward, demanding the ball. Sagoe Jr spread his arms, calling for control. They needed to respond¡ªfast. The intensity shifted in an instant. Suddenly, Leyton Orient''s defenders had no breathing room. Arsenal moved the ball quickly, no longer waiting for opportunities but forcing them. Charles Sagoe Jr twisted past one defender, gliding down the right before whipping a cross into the box. The keeper flapped at it, the ball dropping to Nwaneri¡ªhe swung a boot at it, but a last-ditch block sent it out for a corner. Close. Lewis-Skelly picked up possession near the halfway line, turned, and drove forward. The Leyton Orient midfield backed off slightly, but that was a mistake. The young midfielder accelerated, shrugging off a challenge before sliding a pass to Marquinhos. The winger took a touch and let fly¡ªa curler aiming for the far post¡ªonly for the goalkeeper to leap across and palm it away. Another corner. The pressure was suffocating now. Leyton Orient had started with confidence, but Arsenal were reminding them who they were. The corner was taken short¡ª Sagoe Jr to Sousa, who delivered a teasing ball into the box. Bit of pinball. A scramble. The ball fell to Nwaneri again, and he rifled a shot¡ªblocked! Leyton Orient''s defenders threw themselves at everything. Arsenal were relentless, but their opponents refused to crack. And then¡ª Just as Arsenal looked moments away from scoring, disaster struck for the third time. After getting a foul, Arsenal were caught off-guard again by a fast restart from a Leyton player who sent the ball towards the other half. One bounce. Two. The ball skipped past Walters, and suddenly, Leyton Orient had a three-on-two break. The stadium roared as their forward sprinted into space. The Arsenal defenders scrambled to recover, but it was too late. A sharp cut inside, followed by a low-driven shot saw the net ripple. GOAL! Leyton Orient 3 - 0 Arsenal. Complete shock. Arsenal''s bench sat frozen. The Leyton Orient bench exploded in celebration. Their fans went ballistic. ...¡­ Izan leaned back on his couch, one hand resting over his mouth as he tried¡ªand failed¡ªto suppress a smirk. Arsenal, a team that had spent the last season competing at the highest level, were 3-0 down to Leyton Orient. The group chat was in shambles. [Saka:] Nahhh, no way this is real life. [Martinelli:] I left my phone for two minutes and came back to 3-0. What happened? [Saliba:] A horror movie [Odegaard:] Mikel watching this from the stands like somebody sucked the life out of him. Izan finally let out a laugh. He had expected rust, sure. Maybe a sloppy goal conceded. But this? This was a disaster class. [Raya:] I think we should be worried about the new formation, lads¡­ [Rice:] Forget the formation, bro. They just got countered off a THROW-IN. Saka wasted no time. [Saka:] We have to start asking questions about Walters at the back [Martinelli:] Nwaneri''s gonna deactivate his socials after this The messages kept coming. More GIFs, more memes. Someone¡ªprobably Ramsdale¡ªsent a screenshot of the live score with the caption: "Is this your club?" Izan was about to reply when a new message popped up from Arteta. [Arteta:] I see you all have time to joke. Enjoy it while you can. See you at training. Silence. For a few seconds, nobody typed. Then, cautiously¡ª [Tomiyasu:] Good game, Leyton Orient. ... The whistle blew, and the young Arsenal players sprinted off the pitch¡ªnot in excitement, but in pure desperation to get away from the mess that had unfolded. Leyton Orient fans cheered them off in a way that felt more like mocking than respect. 3-0 down at halftime to a League Two side? This was bad. Kiwior shook his head as he walked into the tunnel, glancing at Hein. "That was awful." Hein muttered, "We got run through." Ethan Nwaneri wasn''t even speaking. He was just staring at the ground, probably replaying the second goal in his mind. The one where Leyton''s keeper launched a bomb of a throw, caught them out, and they got hit on the counter like a Sunday league team. Myles Lewis-Skelly sighed, shaking his head as he took a deep breath. The boys needed a reset. And the worst part? Arteta was already waiting at the entrance of the tunnel. Arms folded. Not moving. This was about to be a long halftime talk. ..... If the first half was a nightmare, the start of the second was a statement. Whatever Arteta said in that dressing room? It worked. Arsenal exploded out of the gates. The energy was different. The passes were crisp. The pressing was ruthless. And within three minutes¡ªboom. 3-1. A slick move through midfield saw Lewis-Skelly break forward and release Nwaneri, who slid the ball across goal for Sousa to finish cleanly. No celebrations. No over-the-top reactions. Just business. The restart wasn''t even fully settled when Arsenal struck again. Another dangerous attack, another scramble in the box, and this time, Sagoe Jr smashed it home. 3-2. Commentator: "Well, well, well. Arsenal looked dead and buried in the first half, but now? Now they''re alive." Leyton Orient looked stunned. Their solid shape? Gone. Arsenal were hunting them down, pressing them into mistake after mistake. And then, Arteta made his move. Arteta signaled to the bench. Fresh legs were coming on. Arsenal were going all in. Leyton Orient were desperate now, dropping deeper and deeper to protect their lead. But Arsenal weren''t letting up. And then, in the 70th minute, the moment arrived. A long-range shot was parried, and the rebound fell straight to Nwaneri. He didn''t hesitate. Bang. 3-3. Arsenal had done it. Commentator: "WHAT A TURNAROUND! From 3-0 down to 3-3, this young Arsenal team has shown unbelievable fight!" Leyton Orient''s confidence was shattered. And Arsenal? They weren''t finished. Arteta''s side kept pushing. A quick counterattack saw youth striker, Khayon Edwards released again. He took a touch, steadied himself, and curled the ball past the keeper. 4-3. The Arsenal bench erupted. Arteta clapped twice but remained calm¡ªhe wanted them to keep going. And they did. Leyton Orient threw everything forward in desperation, but they left themselves open. And Arsenal punished them. In the 89th minute, a perfect through ball from Nwaneri found Myles Lewis-Skelly, who skipped past a last-ditch challenge and slotted home. 5-3. Game over. A/n: Okay so let''s speed things up a bit. I won''t dwell much on the preseason so don''t worry Chapter 362 362: Saved By PR [Pistacho031_3]] Izan stretched out on his couch, the match still playing on his TV. Arsenal''s youngsters had pulled off a ridiculous comeback, flipping a disastrous first half into a dominant second. If this had been a Premier League game, it would be all over Sky Sports with dramatic music and tactical breakdowns. But right now? The group chat was in flames. Saka: 3-0 down to Leyton Orient is actually criminal Martinelli: Nah, that first half should be erased from history Nelson: We''re never speaking about it again Timber: Didn''t happen. I refuse to believe it Izan smirked and typed. Izan: That long throw from their keeper had us looking like schoolboys Saka: Kiwior turning around like he was waiting for VAR to save him Martinelli: Bro looked at the linesman like he was about to cry Nelson: He was buffering IRL Izan laughed. It was so bad it was funny. That entire first half had been a disasterclass. But now? After the comeback? The tone had completely changed. Saka: What did Mikel even say at halftime? Nelson: "They can score three? Good. We score five." Martinelli: "Suffer now or suffer in the Prem." Timber: "You want to play for Arsenal? PROVE IT." Izan could actually hear Arteta saying that last one, pacing up and down the dressing room, eyes burning. There was no way he let that first half slide. Izan: Man is still fuming. Those boys are running laps tomorrow. Saka: Oh, 100%. Even in preseason, Arteta doesn''t forget. Martinelli: Preseason or not, we went 3-0 down to LEYTON ORIENT. That''s gotta be punishment training. ..... The full-time whistle had barely blown before Twitter (or X, whatever) turned into a warzone. Arsenal fans? Half relieved, half traumatized. @GoonerMike: I aged 10 years watching that match. We won, but at what cost? @InvincibleGooner: Leyton Orient had us in a SPLIFF for 45 minutes. Then Arteta turned into Prime Guardiola. I love this club. @NorthBankBanter: We really said "Spot them 3, let''s make it interesting." Meanwhile, rival fans were having the time of their lives. @ManUnitedMemez: ARSENAL WERE 3-0 DOWN TO LEYTON ORIENT??? TEARS IN MY EYES. @ChelseaTrolls: And they think they''re winning the league?? @SpursFanTV: Even when Arsenal win, they find ways to embarrass themselves. Beautiful. Even Leyton Orient''s official account joined in: @LeytonOrientFC: We had them SHAKING in the first half. GG''s lads The replies? Pure chaos. @ArsenalForever: Delete this before Arteta sees it @PremierLeagueFan: Leyton Orient admin is moving reckless @GoonerKev: I''m actually sweating. Imagine we lost. ...¡­ Arteta''s face in the post-match interview said it all. He was not happy. "We were sloppy," he said, shaking his head. "We lacked intensity, lacked focus. This is a learning moment, but also a warning." Then, when asked about the comeback: "The response was good, yes. But we shouldn''t need to be 3-0 down to wake up." He was still fuming. Meanwhile, Leyton Orient''s manager was grinning. "The first half was brilliant, wasn''t it?" he said. "We gave them a real scare. That''s what preseason is about¡ªtesting yourselves against the best." A few Arsenal youngsters also spoke after the game. Ethan Nwaneri, who had scored one of the comeback goals, looked relieved more than anything. "We knew we had to step up," he admitted. "The gaffer didn''t hold back at halftime. Let''s just say¡­ we got the message loud and clear." Someone in the background chuckled. Even the interviewer laughed. "It was that bad?" Ethan hesitated, then grinned. "Let''s just say no one wanted to be the reason we ran extra tomorrow." ...¡­. The morning after, the Arsenal youngsters walked into training looking like men heading to war. Arteta stood in the middle of the pitch, arms crossed. No clipboard. No notes. Just disappointment. And that''s when they knew¡ªthey were in for a long day. No More. No More. No More. The training ground was a graveyard of exhausted bodies. Players were hunched over, hands on their knees, panting like marathon runners who had just finished a race they didn''t sign up for. Some lay flat on the grass, others crouched with their heads buried in their arms. Every single one of them was drenched in sweat. Arteta? Perfectly fine. Standing tall in the center of the pitch, arms crossed, watching them with the calm of a man who had just finished a light yoga session. "No more!" someone screamed. Then another. And another. "No more, boss!" "We''re sorry, gaffer!" "Never again!" Arteta simply nodded. "Good." Izan, bent over, hands on his knees, tried to catch his breath. He had experienced intense training sessions before, but this one was up there. The preseason game might''ve been a joke in the group chat, but right now? Nobody was laughing. Arteta''s voice cut through the silence. "Tell me," he said, hands behind his back, pacing slowly between them. "The next time you''re sitting at home, watching us go 3-0 down, will you still be joking in the group chat?" The response was instant. A row of shaking heads. "No, boss." Arteta smirked. "Good. Because if it happens again, we do this twice." Izan finally straightened up, wiping sweat from his face. The silence was so thick you could hear the heavy breathing of twenty grown men struggling to stay upright. And then¡ª He laughed. Not just a chuckle. A proper laugh. Because in hindsight, it was hilarious. The entire team, begging for mercy because of one bad half against Leyton Orient. Arteta turned his head sharply. "You think it''s funny, Izan?" Izan threw up his hands. "A little, yeah." A few teammates chuckled¡ªtired, broken chuckles¡ªbut chuckles nonetheless. Arteta let the moment linger before sighing. "Alright," he said. "Go wash up. Then head to the cafeteria for brunch." A few groans of relief echoed around the pitch. "You made us come early," Arteta continued, "so none of you had breakfast. Eat. Recover. But don''t think we''re done. We still have training in the afternoon." The collective sigh of pain that followed could probably be heard from Emirates Stadium. After brunch, the players trudged into the indoor training hall, expecting the usual post-match analysis. Instead, they walked into a fully set-up media event¡ªbright banners, camera crews, and tables covered in Arsenal merchandise. For the first time that morning, there was life in their eyes. "PR day, boys," one of the staff members announced. "We''ve got some fun activities lined up. Smile for the cameras!" Arteta, standing off to the side, merely crossed his arms. "Enjoy it while it lasts." The first event was a Q&A session. Players took turns picking up tablets and answering pre-submitted questions from fans. Ethan went first. "Alright, let''s see¡­ ''Which player on the team would survive the longest in a zombie apocalypse?''" The room immediately turned chaotic. "Not Jorginho," Myles said, grinning. Jorginho gasped. "Excuse me?" "Bro, you''d try to negotiate with the zombies," Ramsdale said. The entire room burst into laughter. Izan stepped up next. His question was: "Would you rather score a last-minute winner in the Champions League final or assist a teammate for the winner?" He smirked. "I''ll take the assist¡­ but if no one''s there, I''ll finish it myself." Myles let out a whistle. "Nah, that was cold." Next, a small goal was set up for the next activity¡ªa trick shot penalty challenge. Jorginho went first, attempting a Panenka. He barely chipped it, and the ball rolled straight into the keeper''s hands. Silence. Then the entire room erupted into laughter. "Oh my days," Ethan wheezed. "That was disrespectfully bad." Jesus was up next. He went for power but miscalculated completely¡ªhis shot slammed into a nearby camera. One of the PR staff members let out a horrified gasp. "Yeah¡­ I''m walking away," Jesus muttered. Ethan finally stepped up and buried his into the top corner. The ball snapped into the net so cleanly that everyone let out an impressed ''Ooooh!'' "Man''s got technique," Rice said, nodding. Saka and Martinelli, who had been missing from the morning training but had been very present in the group chat, finally showed up. Seeing them, Izan smirked. "Oh, look who it is. Didn''t hear from you when we were 3-0 down." Saka grinned. "I was providing emotional support¡­ from a distance." Martinelli sat down, picking up a controller. "Let''s settle things properly. FIFA match. Who''s playing?" Ethan and Myles took the challenge. Saka picked Arsenal as his team. Izan, sitting nearby, couldn''t resist. "You better not go 3-0 down." The entire room burst into laughter again. Saka just shook his head. "Y''all got jokes, huh?" As the PR event wrapped up, players sprawled across the couches, some lying on the floor, completely drained. Izan leaned back in his seat, scrolling through his phone. Social media was already in chaos over the Leyton Orient game. Optimistic fan: "It''s preseason, relax. The young guys will learn from it." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Doomer fan: "WE LOST THREE GOALS TO A LEAGUE TWO SIDE. WAKE UP." United fan trolling: "3-0 to Leyton Orient? And you lot think you''re winning the league?" Arsenal fan clapping back: "Don''t you have a Glazers protest to attend?" Izan just shook his head, amused. The internet never failed to entertain. Then, before they could get too comfortable, Arteta re-entered the room. He clapped his hands once. "Alright, everyone up. Let''s get back to work." The mood immediately shifted. Groans filled the room. Players peeled themselves off the couches like they were carrying a hundred kilos on their backs. Kiwior let out a long sigh. "Man, I thought we were safe¡­" Saka stretched his arms, yawning. "Back to suffering, boys." And just like that, they were back in the video room. A/n: I''m tired. Damn. 4 out of 10 for the day. Have fun reading. And if you have any plans to send a gift, hold onto it for me????. I''m dying Chapter 363 363: Arsenal’s Newest Man [Pistacho031_3]] Days before Arsenal''s preseason clash against Bournemouth, Mikel Arteta sat in front of the press, his expression calm but focused. The training ground''s media room was packed, cameras flashing as journalists prepared their questions. "Alright, we''ll get started," the press officer said. "First question." A reporter from Sky Sports raised his hand. "Mikel, Arsenal''s preseason started with a 5-3 win over Leyton Orient. A lot of young players featured¡ªwhat did you take away from that match?" Arteta nodded. "First, it was a great test for the younger players. We saw a lot of good moments, but also areas where we need to improve. Preseason is about refining our structure and making sure everyone understands their roles. So, yes, we conceded three goals, but the response in the second half was excellent." A journalist from The Athletic leaned forward. "You face Bournemouth next. A tougher test. Will we see a stronger lineup?" Arteta smiled slightly. "Every game is an opportunity to prepare for the season. Bournemouth will be a different challenge, and we will make some changes. We want players to build fitness, work on our tactical ideas, and keep improving." sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Immediately after, the next question came. "Will Izan play?" The room fell quiet, all eyes on Arteta. He took a brief pause, then answered, "We''ll see. He''s working well in training. Of course, he''s an important player, but we are managing everyone''s workload carefully. We have a long season ahead." A follow-up question came quickly. "Physically, is he ready?" Arteta smiled again. "Izan is young. He recovers quickly. But we have a plan for him, just like we do for every player." A few reporters exchanged glances. The answer wasn''t a yes, but it wasn''t a no either. A BBC Sport journalist spoke next. "Mikel, you mentioned squad rotation. With some players still returning from injury, do you feel you have enough depth?" Arteta nodded. "Yes. We have a fantastic squad. We also have young players stepping up. Competition is high, and that''s what we want." "Any more signings expected?" Arteta chuckled. "You know I won''t answer that." Laughter rippled through the room. The press officer glanced at her watch and then spoke, "Last question." A journalist from ESPN leaned forward. "Final one¡ªwhat''s the main focus for the Bournemouth match?" Arteta didn''t hesitate. "Control. We want to dictate the game. That means intensity, structure, and being clinical when we get chances. We will also try new things for that game that could better our season." The press officer stepped in. "That''s all for today. Thank you, Mikel." Arteta stood, nodding toward the room before heading out. ...¡­.. It seemed like an answer to one of the preseason and It started with a teaser. Arsenal''s official account posted a cryptic image¡ªa silhouette of a player standing in front of the Emirates, the caption reading: "This one took some work¡­ but he''s finally home." Fans flooded the replies instantly. "IT''S MERINO. IT HAS TO BE." "I swear if this is another contract extension post¡­" "Bro took the long route but welcome, king." Then, five minutes later, the official confirmation dropped. "Mikel Merino is a Gunner! Welcome to Arsenal, @MikelMerino!" A well-produced video followed, showcasing Merino''s journey from his early days in Spain, clips of him dominating midfield at Real Sociedad, and finally, him wearing the Arsenal shirt for the first time. The final shot? Merino standing inside the Emirates, smiling as he held up his new number. Arsenal fans exploded with excitement online. "Our midfield is cooking this season." "Izan, Rice, Merino, ?degaard¡ªnah, we''re winning something." "Madrid, City, Bayern¡­ y''all are finished." Some rival fans, of course, had their own takes. "All this hype for Merino?? He''s decent but relax." "Arsenal spent the whole summer haggling just to sign a Sociedad player lol." "Even Izan was signed more easily than Merino. And the former was supposed to be difficult to sign. But for the Arsenal faithful, none of that mattered. They finally got their man. ...¡­. By the time Merino stepped into Arsenal''s training ground, the morning session had wrapped up. Some players were in the cafeteria, others in recovery. But as soon as word spread, the atmosphere shifted. Izan was in the gym when he spotted a small crowd forming near the entrance. A few moments later, Merino walked in, accompanied by staff members who were showing him around. Izan grinned and made his way over. "So you finally made it, huh?" Merino turned, instantly recognizing his Spanish teammate from the Euros, and his face lit up. "Took a bit longer than expected, didn''t it?" he replied, shaking hands with Izan before pulling him into a quick hug. "A bit? Man, we were wondering if you were ever going to show up," Izan joked. "Welcome, though. You''re going to love it here. Just be ready to run, Arteta doesn''t play." Merino chuckled. "I figured. Guess I''ll need you to show me around then." Other players started coming over to greet him. Martin ?degaard, Declan Rice, and Jorginho were the first to welcome him properly, while Ben white, as always gave him a quiet nod of approval. Arteta soon joined them, shaking Merino''s hand. "Took us long enough, huh?" the manager said with a smirk. "Guess that means I have to make up for lost time," Merino responded. Arteta nodded. "You''ll get your chance soon. Get settled in first. But don''t get too comfortable¡ªBournemouth is in two days." Izan patted Merino''s shoulder. "Hope you''re ready. Preseason has been a ride." Merino grinned. "Can''t wait." ...¡­.. Merino wasted no time getting settled at London Colney. After the brief introductions, he was ushered into the performance room for his baseline fitness tests while the rest of the squad went about their recovery sessions. Izan, meanwhile, hung around the gym with some of the others, occasionally glancing at the training ground where staff were setting up for the afternoon session. The buzz around Merino''s arrival hadn''t died down yet. Declan Rice and Jorginho were already discussing how Merino would fit into midfield, with Rice casually remarking that they now had "too many left-footers," which made everyone laugh. But the real conversations were happening online. Arsenal Twitter was in chaos¡ªnot unusual, but still amusing. "Rice, ?degaard, Merino, Havertz, Partey, Jorginho, and Izan on the attacking side of midfield¡­ man, Arteta has a selection headache." "Merino is a baller but what does this mean for Havertz? Or Partey??" "Merino''s here, now let''s announce a striker and call it a perfect window." The Rival fans on the other hand weren''t as kind. "That''s another Europa League signing right there." "Arsenal out here hoarding midfielders like it''s FM." "Still no UCL, still no Prem. What''s new?" Izan scrolled through some of the takes, smirking at the overreactions. He was no stranger to social media buzz, but he also knew that once the season began, opinions would shift. It always came down to performances. ? Back at Conley, Arteta was back in his element, running the squad through tactical drills for the Bournemouth preseason match in two days. The atmosphere was serious¡ªpreseason or not, the expectations were clear. Merino joined the group for a light session, mostly integrating into positional play exercises, but even then, it was obvious he wasn''t here to play catch-up. His ball control was smooth, his decision-making sharp, and despite not being fully in sync with the team yet, he slotted in effortlessly during quick passing drills. Izan, positioned just ahead of him in some of the patterns, caught his eye after a particularly slick sequence. "Not bad for your first day, huh?" Merino smirked. "They said Arteta runs you guys into the ground, but this is decent so far." Jorginho, passing by, laughed. "Give it time. You''ll be begging for a water break soon." And sure enough, after an intense final sequence, the squad was panting and drenched in sweat as Arteta finally blew the whistle. "Good work. Keep this intensity for Bournemouth. It''s about refining details now, not just fitness." The players nodded, hands on their hips as they caught their breath. Izan could feel the difference in intensity compared to the earlier friendlies¡ªthings were getting serious. Arteta clapped his hands once more. "Ice baths, recovery, then get some rest. Tomorrow, we fine-tune." After training, the squad gathered in the recovery room, a mix of players submerged in ice baths and others stretched out on the physio tables. Merino had already fit right in, sitting near Declan and Calafiori as they casually talked about the Euros. Izan, meanwhile, was checking his phone again, seeing a new message pop up in the squad''s group chat. Saka: "Izan, you dodged another preseason game? Fraud watch." Martinelli: "He''s resting for the real matches. Tactical player." Izan: "Y''all weren''t saying this when we were 3-0 down to Leyton." Laughter erupted in the room as some of the guys saw the messages. Merino, scrolling through his phone, raised an eyebrow at Izan. "3-0 down? That actually happened?" Izan groaned. "Don''t ask. We fixed it." Merino chuckled. "Preseason''s wild, man. Can''t wait to see what Bournemouth brings." Izan leaned back, feeling the exhaustion settle in. Bournemouth was in two days. The season was getting closer. A/n: Damn. I want to be done with this so bad but I can''t just skip-, Waittttt a minute. I can. Chapter 364 364: Pending Start[Gachapon Bonus] The next morning, London Colney buzzed with intensity as Arsenal players went through their final training session before traveling for the Bournemouth game. Despite being preseason, the competition for minutes was fierce. Before hitting the pitch, the squad gathered in the tactics room. Footage of Bournemouth''s pressing triggers and defensive structure played on the screen as Arteta stood at the front, arms crossed. "They press in waves and react aggressively to turnovers. That means we do not play into their hands. We build through our midfield, we dictate the tempo, and we control transitions." The players listened intently. Merino, in his first tactical briefing as an Arsenal player, leaned forward with focus. Izan, seated in front of him, stole a glance back. "The lineup is set, but everyone should be ready. Some of you will get more minutes than others, but when you step on the pitch, I expect nothing less than full intensity. Understood?" A collective nod followed. As training wrapped up, Arsenal''s social media team quickly posted the official squad list for the game. Arsenal Squad vs Bournemouth (Preseason) (Traveling Squad) Goalkeepers: Ramsdale, Raya, Hein Defenders: White, Saliba, Kiwior, Gabriel, Tomiyasu, Zinchenko, Timber, Calafiori Midfielders: Rice, ?degaard, Jorginho, Merino, Sousa, Izan, Forwards: Saka, Martinelli, Jesus, Trossard, Nelson, Nwaneri, Havertz And the fan came through soon enough. "MERINO AND CALAFIORI INCLUDED. LET''S NOT FORGET IZAN TOO!" "Where''s Partey? Injured again? We need to talk about this." "Izan is playing as a midfielder? Interesting¡­" "Dude upstairs. You do know Izan is an attacking midfielder right?" "Nwaneri getting called up again. Future is bright!" "That attack is serious for a preseason game." Of course, rival fans had their say too. "Another Arteta masterclass in overcomplicating preseason." "Calafiori and Izan at Arsenal hurts. We were linked with them at different points in the transfer window ." "If they lose, the meltdown will be hilarious. Izan scrolled through his phone, amused at the usual discourse. He was getting used to the scrutiny, the endless debates. But at the end of the day, all that mattered was what happened on the pitch. ...¡­.. As the team arrived at the private terminal the next day, cameras flashed, and Arsenal''s media team captured moments of players stepping onto the plane. A few stopped for quick interviews, while others laughed and joked as they made their way inside. Merino, settling into his seat next to Izan, sighed. "Feels weird not playing right away, but I get it." Izan chuckled. "Yeah, Arteta makes it harder than it should be. But when you do get on, better believe he''s watching everything." Merino smirked, shaking his head. As the engines roared and the plane lifted off, all eyes turned to the next challenge¡ªBournemouth. ...¡­.. The Arsenal team bus rolled into Vitality Stadium, greeted by an atmosphere that felt far bigger than a mere preseason friendly. The stands were already packed, fans chanting, waving scarves, and giving the night an intensity that even league games sometimes lacked. As the players peered out, Reiss Nelson let out a low whistle. "Damn. They really showed up for this." William Saliba, sitting near the front, adjusted his headphones before speaking. "Guess they want to test themselves. Or maybe they just want to see us lose." Izan smirked. "That''s every away game." As the bus doors hissed open, the noise doubled. Bournemouth fans cheered their team''s arrival, determined to push them forward, while Arsenal''s traveling support made sure their voices were heard too. Even though this was just a warm-up game, it carried the weight of something much bigger. Izan stepped off the bus, inhaling the cool evening air. It may have been preseason, but the intensity was real. .... The energy shifted once they entered the dressing room. The players settled into their usual routines¡ªsome locked in with quiet focus, others joking around, eager to get started. Declan Rice stretched in a corner, his earbuds in, eyes closed while new defensive addition, Jakub Kiwior adjusted his socks, still getting used to the pace of English football. On the other side of the room, Martinelli and Havertz, both rested for this match, moved around hyping up their teammates, bringing a contagious energy. Izan pulled his training top over his head before glancing across the room at Mikel Merino, who was taking it all in. "You ready for this?" Izan asked, leaning slightly toward him. Merino glanced up and smirked. "Bro, it''s Bournemouth in preseason, not the World Cup final." Izan chuckled. "Wait till the first hard tackle flies in. Then tell me that." Before Merino could respond, Arteta clapped his hands, instantly commanding the room''s attention. "Alright. Warm-up. Let''s go." ...¡­.. Stepping onto the pitch, the sheer roar of the crowd was almost disorienting. The Bournemouth fans were loud, setting the tone for what would clearly be a competitive match. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It was the kind of energy Arsenal''s new signings and younger players needed to get used to¡ªthere were no easy games in English football. Jogging onto the field, the starting eleven moved straight into passing drills, while Izan and the substitutes headed toward a separate area with the coaching staff. Bournemouth''s players were already warming up on the other side, and Izan could feel their eyes lingering on Arsenal''s squad. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling as he got to work. He wasn''t starting today, but he had a feeling this game was going to demand something from him before the night was over or so he thought. ... The game had been far from boring. Even for a preseason match, the intensity was real, and both teams had gone at each other with a hunger that made it feel like much more was at stake. Bournemouth struck first¡ªa well-worked move that saw their winger exploit the space behind Tomiyasu before whipping in a cross. Arsenal''s defense failed to clear it properly, and the ball fell to a Bournemouth attacker at the edge of the box. He took a touch, set himself, and rifled a shot past Ramsdale. 1-0. Arsenal responded quickly. A beautiful buildup through the midfield saw Odegaard slip a pass into Jesus''s path. The Brazillian''s first shot was blocked, but the rebound fell right back to him, and this time, he didn''t miss. 1-1. Then things got wild. Bournemouth, unfazed, attacked again. Their second goal came after a long diagonal switch left Arsenal''s defense scrambling. A smart cutback found an unmarked forward at the near post, and he poked it in before Ramsdale could react. 2-1 to Bournemouth. The home fans were rampant but Arsenal turned up the pressure. They pinned Bournemouth back, forcing mistakes, and eventually won a free kick in a dangerous area. Odegaard stood over it, took a deep breath, and curled a beautiful effort over into the box where the ball met the head of Trossard. 2-2. The second half started just as frantic. Arsenal controlled possession, but Bournemouth remained a threat on the break. Their third goal came from exactly that¡ªan Arsenal attack broke down, and within seconds, Bournemouth had surged up the pitch. A slick one-two put their striker through on goal, and he made no mistake. 3-2. Arteta stood on the touchline, arms crossed, clearly irritated. Arsenal had been caught out too easily, and the defensive frailties were showing. But they weren''t going to lose without a fight. Late in the game, Arsenal finally found their equalizer. Havertz now introduced into the game cutback after a pass from Trossard found him in the middle of the box, and with a calm, placed finish, he slotted it home. 3-3. The game ended shortly after, with neither side able to find a winner. Izan let out a slow breath from the bench, watching as the players exchanged handshakes and applause. Frustrating, but understandable. Not that he wasn''t ready. He knew he was. But he also understood. Arteta had his reasons¡ªhe was easing players in, trying different rotations, making sure nobody was rushed. Still, that didn''t mean Izan had to like it. He exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought as he stood from the bench. Just as he was about to head toward the tunnel, he noticed Mikel Merino falling into step beside him. "Some game, huh?" Merino said, adjusting his wrist tape as they walked. Izan smirked. "Yeah. Wild one." The tunnel loomed ahead, the buzz of the crowd still echoing behind them. A few Bournemouth players were jogging past, some exchanging handshakes with Arsenal''s squad. "Not the worst result," Merino added. "Though I can tell you wanted in." Izan chuckled. "Was it that obvious?" Merino gave him a knowing look. "I''ve been there, trust me. First preseason game, watching from the side¡­ it''s not easy." Izan nodded. It helped, knowing Merino understood. The guy had just arrived and had barely settled in, but there was already an air of experience about him¡ªsomeone who had seen it all before. They stepped into the tunnel, the cooler air hitting their skin after the humid clash under the floodlights. Some of the players were already ahead, heading toward the locker room. "Anyway," Merino continued, offering a small grin. "I''m sure we''ll get our turns soon." Izan returned the smile, feeling the edge of his frustration soften. "Yeah. Guess we will." With that, they disappeared into the tunnel, leaving the chaotic 3-3 draw behind them. A/n: I''m tired. We might not reach 10 chapters today. I''ll try my best though. Have fun reading and as you can see, I''m trying my hardest to get to match day one of the prem so don''t hate me for dragging things out. Chapter 365 365: US Tour [Golden Gacha chapter] As expected, opposing fans wasted no time jumping on Arsenal after their 3-3 draw, flooding social media with jabs. United fan: "All that hype just to draw against Bournemouth''s B team? Tears in my eyes." Chelsea fan: "I thought Arteta was cooking? He better throw that recipe away." Spurs fan: "Same old Arsenal. Season hasn''t even started, and they''re bottling already." Liverpool fan: "Imagine stressing over preseason. Your downfall will be historic." Arsenal fans, of course, weren''t having it. Arsenal fan: "You lot are celebrating a preseason draw like you just won the league. Can''t relate." Another Arsenal fan: "Didn''t Man United lose 4-1 to Wrexham last year? Be serious." One more for good measure: "Talk when your club isn''t a walking disaster. Focus on your own mess." Some fans were more level-headed. Optimistic Arsenal fan: "Relax, it''s preseason. The real matches are what count. We''re still finding our rhythm." Another: "At least we scored goals. The defensive mistakes will get ironed out." One slightly frustrated fan: "I get it''s preseason, but conceding three to Bournemouth is still crazy." The online back-and-forth raged on, but Izan was just scrolling through it all, shaking his head. He sat by the window on the team bus, hoodie pulled up as he lazily refreshed his feed. It was almost entertaining, the way football fans took every game¡ªeven preseason¡ªlike life and death. A soft chuckle escaped him when he saw one Arsenal fan clapping back at United supporters: Arsenal fan: "Man United fans talking when their striker has 2 goals in 8 months. Focus on your own issues, bro." Another one got him laughing a little louder: Arsenal fan: "Spurs fans saying we''re finished? Your greatest achievement is a DVD about finishing third." "Something funny?" a voice beside him asked. Izan looked up to see Mikel Merino, who had settled into the seat next to him, stretching his legs out. "Just fans going at each other," Izan said, turning his phone slightly so Merino could see. The older midfielder smirked as he read through the comments. "Ah, this is normal. English football fans are¡­ passionate." Izan huffed. "That''s one way to put it." Merino leaned back, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past them. "It''s funny, though. No matter what happens, they''ll always find something to argue about." "Yeah," Izan agreed. "Preseason, Champions League final, doesn''t matter. It''s football." Merino nodded, adjusting his seat slightly. "By the way, you alright about not playing today?" Izan exhaled. He had been a bit irked, sure. Not that he wasn''t ready¡ªhe felt sharper than ever¡ªbut he understood Arteta''s reasoning. He was new to the squad, and preseason was about rotation, figuring out partnerships, and refining tactics but that wasn''t an excuse. Liquor and Calafiori, all new additions had gotten to play. Even though their positions varied, football was still football to him, a different country or not. Watching the game from the bench, itching to get on, had been frustrating. "I get it," Izan said. "Doesn''t mean I like it, though." Merino chuckled. "Yeah, that''s fair. I was in the same boat once. But we''ve got time. It''s a long season." Izan nodded, but deep down, he was already looking ahead. He wanted his moment. His chance to make an impact so he could at least shut up those pundits. The bus rolled smoothly through the night, the vibrations of the engine a steady hum beneath them. Some of the players were already dozing off, drained from the match. Others were still awake¡ªSaka and Martinelli, who had been all over the group chat earlier, were now arguing over something again. Probably FIFA. A few rows ahead, Arteta was seated near the front, speaking in low tones with his staff. Even after the match, his mind was already focused on the next step. They had a short break before flying out to the United States for their three-game preseason tour. That was where the real tests would come. Izan glanced out the window one last time, watching as the city lights faded behind them. A new challenge was on the horizon. .... Izan was half-asleep when his phone buzzed. The bus had reached the airport, and most of the players were either stretching their legs or still slumped in their seats, reluctant to move. He lazily pulled out his phone, expecting a message from his mom or maybe a notification about the flight. Instead, it was Miranda calling. He sighed, rubbing his face before answering. "Miranda." "Izan!" she greeted, her tone as energetic as ever. "You landed yet?" "We''re still on the bus. Heading into the airport now," he muttered. "What''s up?" "Well, I wanted to check in before you head to the States," she said. "Big tour coming up, lots of eyes on you." Izan exhaled, stretching his legs out. "Yeah. We''ve got three games lined up." "Good. Stay safe, all that," she said before her tone shifted into something more playful. "And also¡ªstay marketable." Izan groaned. "Miranda¡­" "I''m serious! You barely post. I know you don''t like all the PR stuff, but at least update your socials a little." "I literally posted after the Euros final." "That was weeks ago!" she shot back. "Look, you didn''t want a social media manager, which is fine, but at least make my life easier by, I don''t know, posting a picture once in a while?" Izan shook his head, amused. "I''ll think about it." Miranda sighed. "That''s all I get? A ''think about it''?" "Yeah." "Ugh. Fine. Just¡ªdon''t disappear off the face of the internet. I''ll talk to you later." Izan chuckled as the call ended. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and finally stood up, following the rest of the team into the airport. By the time he settled into his seat on the flight, curiosity got the better of him. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his notifications. He hadn''t checked in about a month¡ªnot since the Euros ended. Back then, he had around 8 million followers. Now? 15 million. Izan blinked. What? He scrolled down, double-checking. Yep. 15 million. A laugh bubbled out of him. "Guess the Euros did me good," he uttered silently while staring at the comments beneath his posts. The tournament had already felt like a whirlwind, but seeing this kind of explosion in numbers made it feel even more surreal. He hadn''t even posted that much¡ªjust a few celebration photos after Spain''s win, a couple of reposts of his teammates'' stories. And still, his following had nearly doubled. He shook his head. Miranda was probably going to use this as fuel for her argument. Still, he wasn''t sure if he''d ever get used to all of this. ...¡­ The days passed quickly. Training sessions, tactical meetings, recovery routines¡ªit all blurred together. Arsenal had wrapped up their first two preseason games in England, and now it was time for the real tour. Izan found himself once again on a plane, but this time, the flight was much longer. Destination: The United States. The team was spread out in first class, some already asleep, others watching movies or playing cards. Izan had taken a window seat, his hoodie pulled over his head as he scrolled through his phone. He wasn''t much for long flights¡ªhe''d rather be moving, doing something¡ªbut at least he wasn''t alone in his boredom. Across the aisle, Declan Rice was flipping through a magazine while Odegaard and Kiwior quietly played chess on a tablet. A few rows back, a group had gathered around Trossard''s iPad, watching a random documentary. A sudden nudge from the seat next to him pulled Izan out of his thoughts. "Bro, you sleeping?" Izan turned his head, finding Bukayo Saka grinning at him. "Does it look like I''m sleeping?" Izan muttered. Saka laughed. "Nah, but you looked deep in thought. What, already thinking about the tour games?" Izan shrugged. "Not really. Just passing time." Saka nodded, then leaned back in his seat. "Gonna be a wild few weeks. Big crowds, big expectations." Izan knew what he meant. The U.S. tour wasn''t just about fitness¡ªit was a massive marketing push. The games would be packed, the fans loud, and every moment would be scrutinized. For some players, this was a chance to impress Arteta before the season started. For others, it was about fine-tuning their sharpness. For Izan? He just wanted to get on the pitch. "Who we got first?" he asked. Saka tilted his head. "United. You didn''t know?" Izan exhaled through his nose. "Figures." A preseason match against Manchester United meant headlines, no matter the stakes. Even if it was just another friendly, the fans would turn it into something bigger. Across the aisle, Gabriel Jesus, who had been half-listening, suddenly perked up. "You think Erik ten Hag is sweating yet?" he joked. Saka smirked. "Probably writing a whole tactical analysis for a preseason game." Izan chuckled, shaking his head as the conversation continued. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set against the clouds. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A few more hours, and they''d be in the U.S. A/n: 7 out of 15. Damn. My keyboard lost its keys. See you in a bit yeah.???? Chapter 366 366: Pre-Season Fever [Normal Release] A preseason match against Manchester United meant headlines, no matter the stakes. Even if it was just another friendly, the fans would turn it into something bigger. Across the aisle, Gabriel Jesus, who had been half-listening, suddenly perked up. "You think Erik ten Hag is sweating yet?" he joked. Saka smirked. "Probably writing a whole tactical analysis for a preseason game." Izan chuckled, shaking his head as the conversation continued. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set against the clouds. A few more hours, and they''d be in the U.S. ...... The long flight finally touched down in Los Angeles, the first stop of Arsenal''s preseason tour. As the players stepped off the plane, the warm Californian air hit them immediately. Even though it was late evening, the temperature was nothing like London. "Damn," Reiss Nelson muttered, stretching as he walked onto the jet bridge. "It''s like stepping into an oven." Ben White gave him a blank look. "You''ve never been here?" "Course I have, but it''s still mad." Izan adjusted his hoodie and followed the rest of the team through the airport. Security and club staff moved quickly, guiding them through private exits to avoid the crowd waiting outside. Even though it was just a preseason tour, Arsenal''s fanbase in the U.S. was huge. Through the glass doors, hundreds of fans were already gathered, holding up scarves, jerseys, and even signs with his name on them. "Yo, Izan!" Martinelli nudged him, pointing at a sign that read: IZAN, CAN I HAVE YOUR SHIRT? Izan smirked. "You want me to hand it over right here?" Martinelli laughed. "Better than me. I saw a guy with a sign that says, ''Gabi, sign my forehead.''" Saka, overhearing, cracked up. "Do it. Imagine the pictures." Security led them outside, where they waved and signed a few things quickly before boarding the team bus. Izan didn''t mind the fans, but the exhaustion from travel was setting in. Jet lag was real, and their first training session was in less than 24 hours. As they sat down, Declan Rice tapped Izan''s shoulder. "Feeling the time difference yet?" Izan sighed. "I already wanna sleep." Rice chuckled. "Welcome to preseason, mate." The team was staying at a high-end hotel in Beverly Hills and as expected, their arrival didn''t go unnoticed¡ªreporters and fans had already gathered outside. Izan barely had time to put his bags down before he was sent off for media duties with a few other players. The club had organized a quick welcome video for social media. "First time in the U.S.?" a staff member asked, holding up a camera. Izan shook his head. "Nah, but first time here as a player." "What are you looking forward to most?" He thought for a second. "The games. But also the food. And the fans. The energy here''s different." After a few more clips, they were finally free. Izan headed up to his room, crashing onto the bed with a groan. The moment his head hit the pillow, his phone buzzed. Miranda. Miranda: You landed? S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan: Yeah. Jet lag already kicking in. Miranda: Get used to it. You''ve got a whole tour ahead. Miranda: Also, STAY MARKETABLE. Miranda: You haven''t posted anything since arriving. Izan: I literally just got here. Miranda: Exactly. Start strong. Izan rolled his eyes, but he did open Instagram. 15.7 million followers now. His numbers kept climbing after the Euros. He scrolled for a bit before finally taking a quick picture from his hotel window¡ªthe LA skyline at night, captioned simply: "Preseason." Satisfied, he tossed his phone aside and let sleep take over. Tomorrow, the preseason tour really began. ..... Izan woke up groggily to the sound of his alarm blaring at 7 AM. He squinted at the screen before realizing it wasn''t his alarm¡ªit was Saka, calling him. He answered with a groan. "What?" Saka''s laugh came through the phone. "Jet lag got you, huh?" Izan sat up, rubbing his face. "Bro, what do you want?" "We''re heading down for breakfast. You better not be late, or Arteta''s gonna start talking about ''non-negotiables'' again." Izan sighed but got up. Preseason was all about rhythm¡ªtraining, eating, recovery. He showered quickly, threw on his training gear, and headed downstairs. The hotel''s private dining area was filled with the squad. Some were already eating, others were half-asleep, and a few¡ªlike Martinelli¡ªwere way too awake for this hour. "Morning, superstar," Martinelli grinned as Izan sat down. "How''s the jet lag?" "Terrible," Izan muttered, grabbing some eggs and toast. Declan Rice sat across from him, scrolling through his phone. "You see what the fans are saying?" Izan raised an eyebrow. "About what?" Rice turned his phone, showing a tweet: "Arsenal landed in LA last night. Can''t wait for our first game¡ªalso, why does Izan look like he''s questioning life in that airport video?" Izan laughed. "That was the moment I realized we still had training today." The table chuckled, but their conversation was cut short as Arteta walked in. "All right, guys," he called, clapping his hands. "Enjoy your food, because we have a long day ahead." The players quieted down after that and focused on keeping their heads out of their meals as some were still dozing off. Instead of their usual training ground, Arteta took them to Griffith Park for a morning session. The idea was to get moving, shake off the jet lag, and adjust to the time difference. The warm-up started simple¡ªshort jogs, stretches, light ball work¡ªbut it quickly turned into something else. "Small-sided games," Arteta announced. "3v3, tight spaces. I want intensity." Izan was paired with Trossard and Tomiyasu, going up against Havertz, Nwaneri, and Kiwior. The ball rolled, and immediately, the chaos started. Havertz nutmegged Tomiyasu straight away. "Oops," he grinned. "Oi," Tomiyasu groaned. "No need for that." Izan, determined not to be shown up, pressed high, stealing the ball from Nwaneri before flicking it past Kiwior and scoring. "Too easy," Izan smirked. "Let''s see you do it again," Kiwior challenged. The games went on, the competition fierce, but Arteta didn''t let them go full intensity for long. After an hour, they wrapped up and headed back to the hotel for recovery. Back at the hotel, some players hit the ice baths, while others got massages. Izan, though, was once again pulled for more media duties¡ªa sit-down interview for Arsenal''s social channels. The interviewer smiled. "So, first preseason tour with Arsenal. How''s it going so far?" "Good," Izan nodded. "Jet lag is real, though." "Excited for the matches?" "Of course," he said. "We''re playing against strong teams. It''s good preparation for the season." The interviewer smiled. "Lastly, fans want to know¡ªwhen are we getting an Izan masterclass?" Izan laughed. "Whenever I get on the pitch." The interview wrapped up, and as soon as he was free, Izan flopped onto a couch in the players'' lounge, exhausted. Saka and Martinelli sat nearby, scrolling through their phones. "Yo, Izan," Saka said. "You see this?" He turned his phone, showing a video of Arsenal fans outside their hotel, chanting his name. Izan shook his head, smiling. Preseason had barely started, and the hype was already there. Tomorrow, the real games began. ...¡­.. The buzz around Arsenal vs. Manchester United in New York was unreal. Even though it was just a preseason game, the stadium was packed with both English and American fans, the rivalry stretching across continents. Izan, however, was on the bench¡ªagain. As the players warmed up, he stood near the touchline, rolling his shoulders, stretching his legs, feeling that familiar itch to play. "You''re looking ready," Declan Rice smirked as he passed by. "I am ready," Izan muttered, bouncing on his toes. Arteta had called this game a "step-up in intensity," and for Izan, that only made him want to prove himself even more. But once again, he wasn''t in the starting lineup. As soon as the lineup was released, social media exploded. @ManUnitedFan98: "Izan begging Arteta to keep him on the bench because he knows Casemiro would fold him in half." @RedDevilForever: "Arsenal''s most prized possession and he''s hiding. Arteta is hiding him. I''d be scared too." @FootballTalkUK: "Interesting that Izan still hasn''t played a single minute since preseason started. Arsenal fans, thoughts?" The Arsenal fans however didn''t take too kindly to their criticism. @Gooner4Life: "The way United fans are acting like preseason means anything LMAO. You lot are treating this like a Champions League final." @AFC_Tactics: "Arteta is literally easing him in. Some of you need to touch grass." @IzanFC: "Y''all wanted him to start against Leyton Orient too. Let the guy breathe." Sitting on the bench as the game kicked off, Izan glanced at his phone one last time before putting it away. "Anything good?" Martinelli asked, leaning over. "United fans think I begged Arteta not to play," Izan smirked. Martinelli snorted. "Yeah, because you seem like the type to not want to play." Izan just shook his head, leaning back as the game started under the lights of MetLife Stadium. He wasn''t on the pitch yet, but he could feel it¡ªit was only a matter of time before he made a mark. Chapter 367 367: It Is Time [Golden Gacha, Pistacho031_3] Sitting on the bench as the game kicked off, Izan glanced at his phone one last time before putting it away. "Anything good?" Martinelli asked, leaning over. "United fans think I begged Arteta not to play," Izan smirked. Martinelli snorted. "Yeah, because you seem like the type to not want to play." Izan just shook his head, leaning back as the game started under the lights of MetLife Stadium. He wasn''t on the pitch yet, but he could feel it¡ªit was only a matter of time before he made a mark. ...¡­.. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Arsenal and Manchester United walked out onto the pitch under the floodlights of MetLife Stadium. Though just a preseason match, the energy in the air made it feel like a title decider. The stadium was packed, a sea of red and white mixed with United''s traveling support, each side eager to see their team get one over their rival. Izan sat on the bench, arms crossed, watching as the players lined up. He looked on as his teammates lined up on the pitch. His legs were crossed over, itching, calling for the ball but not yet. ..... United started aggressively, pressing high and trying to unsettle Arsenal''s backline. Alejandro Garnacho, full of confidence, tested Ben White early with a burst of pace down the left, forcing the right-back to concede a throw-in near the corner flag. From the sideline, Erik ten Hag urged his players to keep pushing. Arsenal''s response came swiftly. Gabriel Jesus, leading the line, dropped deep to receive the ball, dragging Lisandro Mart¨ªnez out of position before flicking a pass into Leandro Trossard''s path. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Belgian winger drove into space, skipping past Dalot before unleashing a dangerous low cross into the six-yard box. Only a last-ditch clearance from Harry Maguire prevented a tap-in for Kai Havertz. "Arsenal starting to find their rhythm here," the commentator observed as the Gunners settled into possession. The game quickly turned into a tactical chess match, with both sides probing for weaknesses. United looked to exploit the flanks through Garnacho and Antony, while Arsenal controlled the midfield with quick passing sequences between Declan Rice and Martin ?degaard. Then, in the 19th minute, United struck first. A misplaced pass from Jorginho in midfield was pounced on by Bruno Fernandes, who immediately played in Marcus Rashford. The forward accelerated past Kiwior with a sharp touch before firing a precise shot into the bottom corner. David Raya dived, but the ball was already past him. 1-0 United. The United fans erupted, waving their scarves and taunting the Arsenal bench. The camera panned to Izan, who leaned forward slightly, studying the play. Arsenal weren''t rattled, though. They responded by increasing their intensity, pushing United back, and forcing them to defend deeper. Bukayo Saka, a constant menace on the right, began finding more space. A quick one-two with ?degaard saw him cut inside and curl an effort towards the far post, but Onana reacted quickly, tipping the ball over the bar. Arsenal kept knocking. Jesus tested Onana again moments later, meeting a cross from Zinchenko with a well-placed header, only for the Cameroonian keeper to parry it away. The pressure mounted and kept mounting until it happened. In the 31st minute, Arsenal found their equalizer. A well-worked corner routine saw ?degaard dummy a short pass, allowing Rice to whip a cross to the back post. Gabriel Magalh?es rose highest, towering over Mart¨ªnez to nod the ball into the net. 1-1. The Arsenal bench was on its feet. Izan clapped along with the rest, though his focus remained on the pitch. The United-Arsenal rivalry extended beyond the players. In the stands, the American crowd was engaged in their own battle¡ªover terminology. "It''s football," one Arsenal fan insisted, shaking his head. "Nah, it''s soccer," a United fan shot back, smirking. "If it''s soccer, why''s your club called Manchester United Football Club?" The argument escalated as fans from both sides joined in, gesturing wildly, some laughing, others fully committed. They only stopped after the Camera panned to Izan who was warming up on the touchline. Instantly, both fanbases turned their attention to the touchline. Arsenal fans erupted in anticipation, eager to see their young star make an impact. United fans? They smelled blood. "Overrated LaLiga tax!" one shouted. "He''s about to get pocketed," another laughed. Izan took in the scene with a smirk. He cracked his knuckles and adjusted his socks, ready to step into the chaos but he still had to wait. .... The second half kicked off with a renewed intensity. The score remained locked at 1-1, and both Arsenal and Manchester United looked determined to break the deadlock. Though it was a preseason match, neither side treated it as such. The tackles were sharp, the pressing relentless, and the duels fierce. United had the first big chance after the break. Bruno Fernandes, always lurking, received the ball just outside the box and threaded a pass into the feet of Rashford. The forward turned quickly and fired a low shot, but Raya reacted well, getting down quickly to push it away. The rebound fell to Antony, but his attempt was wild, sailing into the stands. Arsenal responded with a slick move of their own. ?degaard orchestrated the play, drifting between the lines before slipping a pass to Jesus. The Brazilian twisted and turned, dragging two defenders out of position before laying the ball off to Trossard, whose curling effort skimmed just past the post. The pace of the match continued to rise, and in the 58th minute, United struck again. It was a moment of brilliance from Garnacho. The young Argentine picked up the ball near the halfway line, drove at Ben White with blistering pace, then cut inside before smashing a rocket into the top corner. Raya could only watch as the net rippled. 2-1 United. The United fans erupted, taunting Arsenal''s bench. Ten Hag clapped approvingly, while Arteta''s expression remained unreadable. On the sidelines, Izan exhaled through his nose. He had seen Garnacho do things like that before, but watching it happen against his own team left a sour taste. Arsenal pushed forward again, refusing to let United control the momentum. Saka and Trossard switched flanks, trying to break through. Havertz, now playing as an advanced midfielder, nearly found the equalizer in the 65th minute when he latched onto a through ball from ?degaard, but his shot was smothered by Onana at close range. As the clock ticked past 70 minutes, murmurs spread through the crowd. "Where''s Izan?" an Arsenal fan asked. "He''s just chilling on the bench, man," a United fan mocked. "Told you, he''s scared." Social media was already buzzing. Some United fans ran with the narrative that Arteta was "protecting" Izan from facing a physical side like United. Arsenal fans clapped back, saying he was being managed properly in preseason. Then, in the 73rd minute, Arsenal found their equalizer. It started with ?degaard, who collected the ball near the center circle and danced through United''s midfield before sliding a perfectly timed pass to Saka. The winger took one touch inside before rifling a shot past Onana at the near post. 2-2. The Arsenal fans inside the stadium erupted, drowning out the United supporters for the first time all night. And then the chants started. "I-ZAN! I-ZAN! I-ZAN!" It spread quickly, rolling through the stands like a wave. The Arsenal faithful wanted their young star on the pitch. Even some United fans joined in¡ªnot in support, but out of curiosity. They wanted to see if the hype was real. On the bench, Izan looked over at Arteta, who remained composed. Then, finally, the Spaniard nodded. "Alright," Arteta said, turning to him. "Time to go." Izan cracked his neck before getting up and heading toward the touchline. He peeled off his training bib, revealing the number 10 jersey beneath. His boots¡ªAdidas, red and white with a subtle Japanese design on the sides¡ªgleamed under the stadium lights. As he stood on the sideline, waiting for the next stoppage in play, the cameras zoomed in on him, stretching his legs and bouncing on the balls of his feet, the anticipation in the stadium reached a fever pitch. Even the commentators couldn''t ignore it. "And here he is," one of them said. "The player Arsenal fans have been waiting for. Izan, their new number ten, getting ready to make his entrance." The fans near the touchline were already on their feet, phones raised to capture the moment. Some United supporters were smirking, eager to see if the teenager could handle the pressure. "Bet he flops," one murmured. "Nah, he''s got talent," another admitted. "But let''s see if he can do it against us." Meanwhile, Arsenal fans were hyped. "Come on, lad! Show them why you wear that ten!" Izan glanced toward Arteta one last time, who gave him a firm nod. He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and stepped forward as the fourth official raised the board. It was time. A/n: Guess what happens in the chapter. I''ll read your comments. Have fun reading. Chapter 368 368: A Real Red Devil [Golden Gacha Pistacho_031_3] The moment Izan''s studs touched the pitch, the match changed. The tempo shifted violently as if a dormant force had been unleashed into the game. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball moved faster, sharper¡ªlike Arsenal had flicked a switch and gone into overdrive. His first involvement was instant. Arsenal played out from the back, Rice rolling the ball toward him in midfield. Izan let it come to him, sensing the pressure from Bruno Fernandes behind him. Instead of taking a touch, he dummied, letting the ball roll through his legs before swiveling on his back foot. Bruno bit on the feint, lunging in the wrong direction, while Izan pivoted fluidly and was already moving. "That''s disgusting!" the commentator burst out. Before United could reset, he drove forward, the ball glued to his feet. Casemiro stepped up, but Izan flicked it left to ?degaard, who instantly sent it back with a delicate return pass. Izan was through, angling toward the box. He spotted Trossard peeling away from Martinez and threaded the ball through a gap that seemed almost nonexistent. Trossard met it¡ªone touch, then a shot! But the shot was Blocked! The ball pinballed off a desperate challenge from Maguire and spun back toward the edge of the area. Izan sprinted after it, barely getting there before Dalot, flicking a quick pass toward Rice. United''s lines were breaking apart and the opposing movement was relentless. Rice clipped the ball out wide to Martinelli¡ª Martinelli versus Mazroui, One-on-one. The crowd buzzed. Martinelli feinted inside, then outside¡ªthen exploded down the line. He whipped in a cross, and Izan ghosted into the penalty area, getting away from Casemiro. The ball was coming right to him¡ª A glancing header! The ball looped toward the far post. The Metlife held its breath but Andre Onana, at full stretch, pushed it wide! "OH MY WORD, HE ALMOST SCORED WITH HIS FIRST SHOT AT GOAL!" Izan landed on his feet, eyes burning. He wanted that one. But Arsenal weren''t done. They were suffocating United, trapping them inside their half. The next attack came seconds later. Saka danced inside from the right, skipping past Shaw. Izan made the run in behind, but Saka used him as a decoy, instead slipping a pass to ?degaard at the top of the box. ?degaard chopped inside and squared it¡ªIzan was there again! First-time shot! Blocked! The ball cannoned off Martinez, spinning backward toward the goal. Onana dived but couldn''t hold it¡ª Chaos in the box! Rice lunged for it, legs flying towards the ball like a missile until Casemiro cleared but Arsenal still had it. Calafiori, still in the game picked up the ball near the halfway line and instead of resetting, he immediately chipped it toward Izan, who was standing in a pocket of space just outside the penalty area. Izan caught the ball on his chest, and let it drop before turning around and rifling a half-volley! The ball screamed toward the top corner, destined for it almost but then, CLUNG!!! The stadium roared in frustration as the ball rebounded off the woodwork. "IT''S COMING! ARSENAL ARE TEARING THEM APART!" But United still had life. The ball bounced out toward Mount, who tried to launch a counter, but as soon as he turned, Izan was on him. A blur of red and white. The moment Mount hesitated, Izan lunged, winning the ball back with a crunching challenge. He rolled away with it, the Arsenal crowd exploding. "HE''S EVERYWHERE!" one Arsenal fan screamed. Another attack. Another sequence of Arsenal slicing through United with a dizzying, suffocating press. ?degaard combined with Izan, who played a first-time flick into Rice. Rice spread it wide to Martinelli¡ªUnited were scrambling! Martinelli cut inside, saw Izan making the late run, and lifted a delicate chipped pass over Maguire. Izan leaped¡ªacrobatic volley! The fans leapt with him! "WHAT A GO¡ªNO! BLOCKED AGAIN!" The kind of highlights Izan was putting together in these minutes was enough for a ten-minute compilation video. United were getting torn apart, but the finishing touch refused to arrive. Then, a rare moment of breathing room. United finally escaped their half. Arsenal''s attack had been so relentless that their entire team was positioned high up the pitch. Raya shouted for them to be careful but then Fernandes picked up the ball in midfield, saw Rashford peeling away from White, and launched a quick pass forward. Suddenly¡ªdanger. Rashford was gone. He sprinted into open space, a one-on-one with Saliba. The Arsenal defender was quick, but Rashford had momentum. He nudged it forward¡ª Then stopped. He saw something. A switch of play. A chance. On the far side of the pitch, Antony was wide open. Rashford curved a cross toward him. "Oh no, oh no¡ª" Antony struck first-time. It was curling, fast, deadly. The kind of strike that could kill a game. Raya dived! TIPPED BEHIND FOR A CORNER! The stadium let out a collective exhale. Arsenal''s entire squad regrouped, breathing heavily. Izan wiped his face, looking at ?degaard. "Again," he muttered. ?degaard nodded. No words needed. And then¡ªRaya restarted quickly. A quick throw. To Rice. To ?degaard. To Izan. United were still jogging back into position, but Arsenal? They were already in full sprint. Izan turned and flicked it first-time to Ben white, who sent it to Saka. United''s defense twisted back into panic mode. Saka darted down the line, then cut inside¡ªthrough ball! ?degaard was clear! But the moment the Norwegian took his first touch¡ªCasemiro came flying in. A crunching, brutal tackle. The ball spilled loose, rolling perfectly into Izan''s path¡ª He was gone. The Japanese-Spanish prodigy burst forward, a flash of speed and precision, breaking through United''s lines. His eyes locked onto the goal. And then¡ª BOOM. Casemiro took him out again. A full-bodied, ruthless, vintage Casemiro challenge that sent Izan tumbling. The Arsenal bench erupted. The players swarmed the referee. The fans were livid. Izan sat up, staring at Casemiro. The Brazilian gave him a simple nod¡ªnothing personal, just business. But Izan? He was already smiling. The referee didn''t hesitate. He reached into his pocket and flashed the yellow card at Casemiro. The United midfielder barely reacted, just offering a small nod before stepping back, unfazed. He''d done his job¡ªstopped the break, slowed the momentum¡ªbut Arsenal weren''t letting this moment slip. Izan was already on his feet. He didn''t argue, didn''t protest. He just walked straight to where the ball had stopped rolling and picked it up. The stadium crackled with anticipation. This was dangerous territory¡ªjust outside the penalty area, slightly to the left of center. A position that screamed for a right-footer to bend it over the wall, or a left-footer to drill it low and hard. United''s wall was already forming, Onana barking instructions, directing his defenders into position. Izan placed the ball down, stepping back, and rolling his shoulders. His teammates gathered around him. ?degaard was the first to step up. "If you want, I can¡ª" "No," Izan said, firm but respectful. Rice was there too. "We''ve got some routines we''ve been working on in training. Maybe a short pass, then¡ª" "No." Izan shook his head. "I got this." He wasn''t being arrogant. He wasn''t dismissing them. But he hadn''t come to Arsenal to be a passenger, to be a secondary option. He had come here to become the main man. This was his moment. Saka grinned. "Alright then. Show us." Izan nodded, exhaling slowly as he stepped back. His eyes locked on the goal. Onana crouched slightly, shifting his weight, ready to react. The United wall was solid¡ªtall, experienced, full of veterans who had seen these situations a thousand times before. But Izan? He had visualized this exact moment since the day he signed. He exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steady despite the roar of the crowd. Then, he toggled his system on. The world sharpened instantly. The outlines of players became clearer, every movement more pronounced. The wind direction, ball trajectory, and the tiniest shifts in United''s defensive wall all slotted into place in his vision, like a puzzle assembling itself. [Pinpoint Accuracy ¨C LV 3 Activated] His mind processed the angles with machine-like precision. The exact space between the leaping defenders, the millimeters of room Onana had left exposed at the near post¡ªit was all crystal clear. Then, another freekick trait flared to life. [Gravity Arc ¨C LV 4 Activated] A newly evolved version of his curling trait. The ball wouldn''t just bend; it would snap. It would start wide, almost tricking the goalkeeper into thinking it was missing¡ªthen at the last moment, whip violently into the target. Izan subtly adjusted his stance. It was a micro-shift, barely noticeable, but it would allow him to maximize the full potential of the curve. Behind him, ?degaard and Rice had initially gathered near the ball, as if discussing a play. But they stepped away, giving him the stage. Giving him the responsibility. The United players braced. Bruno Fernandes was shouting something to the wall. Onana''s knees were bent, weight on his toes, ready to explode. Casemiro, the one who had brought Izan down, was standing slightly off-center in the wall, trying to read his body language. The tension in the air was suffocating. Izan took one deep breath¡ªthen exploded forward. His left foot planted, his right foot swung through. Perfect contact. The ball shot off his boot with frightening speed, rising fast before¡ª SNAP. It whipped into the Gravity Arc. A violent bend. The ball initially looked like it was curling wide toward the right post¡ªtoo wide. Onana saw it. He hesitated for half a second, thinking it would miss. But Izan''s Gravity Arc was different. The ball suddenly started moving like it was being attracted to the goal. It suddenly cut back inward, like a whip cracking through the air. Onana''s eyes widened and dived immediately, yet he was too late. He lunged, fingertips stretching¡ªbut it was useless. The ball slammed into the top corner. The net bulged. Chapter 369 369: A New Menace [Normal Release] The moment the ball struck the net, the stadium detonated into a wall of sound. A mixture of pure elation, stunned silence, and frustrated groans filled the air. Arsenal fans roared, their voices rising in unison, while the United section stood in disbelief, hands on heads, mouths agape. Izan didn''t even hesitate¡ªhe turned sharply, eyes locked onto the sea of red-clad Manchester United fans who had jeered him all night. With a smirk cutting across his face, he raised a single finger to his lips. A shush. Cold. Calculated. Ruthless. The Arsenal fans lost themselves in the moment, laughing, pointing, chanting his name. "I-ZAN! I-ZAN! I-ZAN!" United fans? Boos rained down, and curses flew, but Izan stood tall, unfazed. The commentary followed him as he turned back toward his teammates, who swarmed him in celebration. "Ohhh, that''s ICE-COLD from Izan!" the main commentator shouted over the chaos. "He''s been hearing it all night from the United fans, and what does he do? He shuts them up in the most devastating way possible!" His co-commentator chuckled, still in awe. "You know a goal is special when even opposition fans can''t believe what they just saw. Izan¡­ take a bow." Izan''s teammates grabbed him, slapping his back, and ruffling his hair. Saka was grinning ear to ear, shouting something into his face that got lost in the noise. Odegaard pulled him in, both arms around his shoulders, shaking his head as if he couldn''t believe it either. Arteta, on the touchline, allowed himself the smallest smirk before calling his staff back to focus. United''s players stood scattered, looking at one another, looking at the scoreboard. 3-2 to Arsenal. ...¡­ United restarted the match quickly, knowing they had little time left to turn the tide. The energy in the stadium shifted, a new intensity brewing as the United fans roared, urging their team forward. The red shirts surged like a wave, Rashford leading the charge down the left, his pace forcing White to backpedal. Bruno Fernandes drifted between the lines, scanning the field, before dropping deep to collect the ball. His first touch was silky, and with a single turn, he broke past Rice''s challenge. He spotted H?jlund making a run and sent a precise, curling pass toward him. "Bruno Fernandes, unlocking the defense with a beautiful ball here¡ªH?jlund''s in position!" The Danish striker barreled forward, his eyes locked on the goal. Saliba closed in fast, his strides eating up the ground, but H?jlund wasn''t hesitating. He took a sharp touch inside and struck the ball with venom, aiming low toward the far post. David Raya reacted instantly, diving low, stretching every inch of his frame. The ball skidded off the turf, but Raya''s gloves met it with firm resistance, parrying it away. "A huge save from Raya! Arsenal hold on by the skin of their teeth!" The ball ricocheted back into play, bouncing toward Mount, who was already winding up for the volley. He swung his foot through it with full force, looking to blast it past the recovering Arsenal defenders. But Declan Rice threw himself into the line of fire, blocking the shot with his chest. The impact sent him stumbling, but he quickly regained his footing, launching a counterattack with a clever flick toward Izan. "This is what Arsenal wanted¡ªspace on the break! And look who''s on the ball¡ªit''s Izan!" The moment the ball reached him, United''s midfield scrambled. Casemiro was already closing in, his veteran instincts screaming danger. Izan felt the pressure but didn''t panic. With one feint, he shifted his weight to the right, making it seem like he was going wide, before dragging the ball to his left and slipping past Casemiro''s outstretched leg. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "He''s gliding through them! Casemiro''s beaten¡ªArsenal have numbers here!" The space in front of him opened like a stage. He sprinted forward, head up, analyzing the movements around him. Saka was making his run, angling toward the right flank, a perfect outlet. The chemistry between them was almost telepathic. Izan barely needed a second glance. With a perfectly weighted through ball, he split United''s defensive line. The pass curled precisely into Saka''s path, bypassing both Maguire and Lisandro Mart¨ªnez. "OH, WHAT A PASS! IZAN. That''s a midfield maestro at work!" Saka controlled it effortlessly, his first touch immaculate as he drove into the box. His eyes flicked up, locking onto Onana. The angle was tight, but Saka had scored from these positions before. He slowed down before he powered his shot toward the top corner, his laces slicing through the ball with pure venom. The stadium watched in anticipation¡ª Only for Onana to launch himself into the air, his fingertips grazing the ball, redirecting it just past the post. "A STUNNING SAVE FROM ONANA! HE''S KEPT UNITED ALIVE!" Saka threw his head back in disbelief. Izan clapped his hands in frustration but quickly jogged over, patting Saka on the back. "That was inches away," he muttered, shaking his head. Saka exhaled, hands on his hips. "Next one goes in." Arsenal had a corner. The pressure was mounting. Izan took his time. The ball was resting by the corner flag, untouched, as he made his slow approach. His steps were unhurried, deliberate. He wasn''t just walking to take a corner¡ªhe was soaking it all in. The tension in the air. The weight of the moment. The way the United fans behind the goal had gone from furious jeers to an anxious silence. He reached the ball and bent down, adjusting it slightly on the white arc, rolling it between his fingers. The laces of his Adidas boots, red and white with a subtle Japanese touch, gleamed under the floodlights. He took a single deep breath. The box was filling up. Kiwior was muscling for position with Lisandro Mart¨ªnez. Saliba, a towering presence, lingered just outside the six-yard area, his eyes fixed on the ball. Declan Rice stood near the penalty spot, waiting for a second-ball opportunity. Even Ben White had crept forward, nodding as Izan locked eyes with him. The referee blew his whistle, signaling for the corner to be taken. Izan took a few steps back, his body still, his mind racing through every possibility. A driven cross? A looping ball to the back post? Or something unpredictable? His fingers twitched. [Pinpoint Accuracy LV4 Activated.] He stepped forward, striking the ball with the inside of his boot, wrapping his foot around it. The ball curled wickedly, bending away from Onana''s reach, swinging perfectly toward Kiwior, who had broken free from his marker. Kiwior rose high, meeting it with a thunderous header¡ªbut Onana reacted like lightning. The United keeper lunged across his goal, fingertips grazing the ball just enough to push it away. But it wasn''t over. As the ball bounced out of the six-yard box, Izan was already in motion, lurking at the edge of the area. The clearance rolled toward him, spinning in his direction. He took one touch, killing the ball dead. He glanced up. Just for a split second. Just enough to see the opening. Then he let it fly. The stadium held its breath. Izan''s strike was pure. His foot connected with the ball in perfect sync, sending it slicing through the air with violent precision. The way it swerved¡ªcutting one way, then dipping at the last moment¡ªmade it nearly impossible to judge. Onana''s feet shuffled. He saw it late, launching himself to his left, stretching out desperately. But the shot was too fast. Too precise. The net rippled violently as the ball smashed into the top corner. For a second, there was nothing. Just silence. Just disbelief. Then the eruption. The Arsenal players threw their hands up. The fans in the stands lost their minds. Even those on the bench shot to their feet, shouting. "WHAT A HIT! WHAT A HIT!" The commentary was immediate, voices layered with raw excitement. "IZAN STRIKES FROM RANGE¡ªOH, MY WORD! THAT''S UNREAL!" "He saw the opportunity, and he took it with absolute conviction! That''s a finish worthy of a superstar!" The scoreboard flickered: Arsenal 4 - 2 Manchester United As soon as the ball smashed into the top corner, Izan turned on his heel, head held high, and walked¡ªwalked¡ªtoward the Manchester United fans. His smirk widened as he spread his arms out as if embracing their anger. He tilted his head, nodding slowly, his expression dripping with confidence. Then, just as the boos rained down, he lifted his hand, brought it to his ear, and tapped. I can''t hear you. The jeers intensified, furious and unrelenting, but Izan just laughed. He raised both hands now, motioning upward. Louder. By the time his teammates reached him, he was grinning, shoulders loose, as if this was nothing new to him. Saka grabbed him first, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You''re a menace," he said, half-laughing. Izan just shrugged. "They asked for it." The rest of the team piled in, ruffling his hair, and clapping him on the back. The United fans were still screaming, but Izan didn''t spare them another glance. He''d already said everything he needed to. Chapter 370 370: Football At Its Finest[Golden Gacha chapter] The jeers intensified, furious and unrelenting, but Izan just laughed. He raised both hands now, motioning upward. Louder. By the time his teammates reached him, he was grinning, shoulders loose, as if this was nothing new to him. Saka grabbed him first, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You''re a menace," he said, half-laughing. Izan just shrugged. "They asked for it." The rest of the team piled in, ruffling his hair, and clapping him on the back. The United fans were still screaming, but Izan didn''t spare them another glance. He''d already said everything he needed to. .... The final whistle blew, signaling the end of Arsenal''s pre-season clash against Manchester United. The scoreline didn''t matter much¡ªthis was just a warm-up for the real battles ahead¡ªbut Izan had left his mark. His free-kick and his presence had turned the match into something more than just a friendly. As the players exchanged handshakes, Izan went around, offering a respectful nod to those he had battled with on the pitch. Casemiro gave him a knowing smirk, a silent acknowledgment of their earlier duel. Rashford patted his shoulder as they crossed paths. Even Onana, who had denied him once but not twice, gave him a firm handshake before walking off. Then, just as Izan turned toward the tunnel, he caught something in the stands¡ªa kid, no older than ten, holding up a small sign with shaky handwriting: IZAN, CAN I HAVE YOUR SHIRT? The boy''s eyes were wide, filled with hope, his little hands gripping the sign tightly. His parents stood beside him, watching expectantly. Izan smiled but hesitated. He knew he couldn''t give the jersey away. It was preseason, and there was no name printed on the back. The club would want to keep it for records. Still, seeing the boy''s expression¡ªso full of admiration, so desperate for a moment to remember¡ªhe felt a pang of guilt. He gave the kid a quick nod, acknowledging the request, before heading down the tunnel. The boy''s hopeful expression faltered. His hands dropped slightly, the sign lowering with them. His parents leaned down, whispering to him, trying to reassure him. "He probably didn''t see you," his father said. "He''s busy, sweetheart," his mother added. The boy nodded, but the disappointment was clear on his face. Inside the tunnel, Izan walked past a group of reporters, ignoring the ones trying to pull him aside for a post-match comment. He had something else on his mind. In the dressing room, he found what he needed. A fresh Arsenal jersey. His jersey. With his name and the number 10 printed boldly on the back. When he re-emerged from the tunnel, cameras turned his way. The stadium was already half-empty, but some fans still lingered, soaking in the last moments of the night. The cameras followed him as he walked toward the stands, the white-and-red jersey in his hands. The boy hadn''t moved. He was still standing there, staring down at his sign, his expression blank. Izan stopped right in front of him. The kid looked up, his eyes widening as he realized who was standing before him. Izan grinned, flipping the jersey around so the back faced the boy. The name "IZAN" was bold across the fabric. Then, pulling out a marker, he bent down and signed it. The boy just stood there, stunned, as Izan pressed the jersey into his hands. "Take care of it," Izan said with a smirk. The kid''s face lit up, pure joy taking over. His parents were beaming, thanking Izan repeatedly. The cameras captured everything. The moment would be replayed, shared, and talked about. But for Izan, it wasn''t about the cameras. It was about the kid who had believed. As Izan turned back towards the tunnel, he wasn''t even five steps in before a swarm of reporters closed in on him. Cameras flashed, microphones were extended, and voices called out his name in rapid succession. "Izan! Two goals, one a free-kick masterpiece, the other an absolute rocket¡ªhow does it feel?" Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "First game of the preseason and you''ve already stolen the headlines!" "Is this the kind of performance Arsenal fans should expect from you all season?" Izan exhaled sharply, adjusting the sweat still clinging to his hair. He knew this was coming. His performance had been impossible to ignore. But he also knew better than to let it get to his head. He leaned slightly toward the microphone closest to him, keeping his expression composed. "It''s just preseason," he said with a slight smile. "I''m still getting used to the team, and we''re all working towards full match fitness. But, yeah¡­ it felt good to be out there." A reporter from Sky Sports stepped in next. "That free-kick¡ªyour technique is unique. That much dip and curl, even Onana couldn''t do anything about it. Is this something you''ve specifically trained for?" Izan tilted his head slightly as if considering the question. He wasn''t about to explain that his technique was backed by his system traits¡ª(Pinpoint Accuracy and Gravity Arc)¡ªbut he did give a small nod. "I''ve worked on my free-kicks for a long time. It''s all about the balance between power and precision. If you hit the ball just right, the rest takes care of itself." One of the reporters from the Arsenal media team grinned. "We saw you shushing the United fans after that goal. A bit of an early rivalry brewing?" Izan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "They were loud, so I just gave them something to be louder about." Laughter rippled through the small crowd, but another reporter quickly jumped in. "Your second goal¡ªno hesitation, just one touch and an absolute missile. Was that instinct or did you already know where you wanted to hit it?" Izan smirked slightly. "A bit of both. I knew where the space was. After that, it was just about hitting it clean." The questions kept coming. About the team''s preseason form. About how it felt to play alongside the likes of ?degaard and Saka. About the chemistry he was building. Then, one reporter from ESPN threw in a different angle. "You''re only 17, well a few months away from it still and this is your first experience in English football. Do you feel pressure? Or are you here to prove a point?" Izan met the reporter''s gaze, unfazed. "I''m here to win. Simple as that." That line sent a murmur through the crowd, and before more questions could fly, Arsenal''s media officer stepped in, signaling that was enough for now. Izan gave a nod to the reporters before turning away, walking back into the tunnel. He had done his talking on the pitch¡ªeverything else was just noise. .... As Izan walked down the tunnel, the noise from the stadium faded behind him. He wasn''t even out of his kit yet, but the internet had already exploded. Clips of his two goals were everywhere¡ªX, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. Arsenal fans were ecstatic, while rival fans scrambled to downplay it. X (formerly Twitter) @ArsenalBuzz "IZAN. REMEMBER THE NAME. Two goals against United, and he''s still 16." @UnitedFanZone "Preseason hype. Let''s see this in the actual season." @Masatoshi. k "Nah, that freekick and that second goal? He''s different. It''s not hype. It''s reality." @ESPNFC "Izan''s Arsenal debut: Two goals One stunning freekick One long-range rocket Shushing opposition fans The Premier League is watching." @Fabrizio Romano "Izan impresses in his first game for Arsenal. Special talent, special performance." @Sam Kupers: We all know Izan would do well but Damn, that was just bonkers. But one clip had gone even more viral¡ªhis shushing celebration toward the United fans. That set off an entirely different discussion. @USSoccerFan123: "Man, Arsenal should loan him to an MLS team. Would be fun to watch him here." @Daoist Adquiro: "Why would they loan him out? He just cooked United." @Nameyelus: "Also, no offense, but why would he go to MLS? Arsenal aren''t sending their best talent there." @USSoccerFan123: "I just think young players should get experience in real football, not just Arsenal''s slow buildup." @Pistacho031_3: "Real FOOTBALL? You mean SOCCER?" From there, the replies turned into an all-out war¡ªfootball vs. soccer, Europe vs. America. ¡ª YouTube Trending "IZAN DESTROYS MAN UNITED ¨C Full Highlights & Analysis" (350K views, 1 hour ago) "Is Izan Arsenal''s Next Superstar?" (220K views, 45 minutes ago) "Arsenal''s Future? Izan''s Dream Debut" (150K views, 30 minutes ago) Even on TikTok, clips of his goals were everywhere, with dramatic edits and over-the-top music. Meanwhile, in the Arsenal Team Bus Izan sat in his seat, scrolling through his phone. The amount of notifications was ridiculous. He smirked when he saw the "football vs. soccer" debate still going. Some things never changed. Then, a text popped up from Miranda. Miranda: "Told you to stay marketable. 16.7M followers now. Euros got you 7M, and one preseason match just got you another 1.5M." Izan chuckled, shaking his head. He hadn''t even played a competitive game for Arsenal yet. This was just the beginning and it was only going to get crazier. A/n: 10 out of 15. Bruh I''m dead at this point. I just realised that I have to make up for the Golden tickets too. I''m tired but it is fun for me.Anyways have fun reading. Going to class Chapter 371 371: The NBA [Golden Gacha chapter] The moment they landed at LAX, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Los Angeles wasn''t just a city. The bright California sun bore down on them, a stark contrast to the overcast skies they had left behind. Even through the jet''s tinted windows, Izan could tell they were back in a place where football¡ªor soccer, as most Americans called it¡ªwas still fighting for its place in the mainstream. Yet, after the spectacle of Arsenal vs. Manchester United, there was no doubt in his mind that the sport was making waves here. As the players disembarked, a small group of fans had gathered near the private terminal. Some wore Arsenal shirts, others Manchester United, all holding out phones and jerseys, eager to catch a glimpse of the players. A few called out for Saka, ?degaard, and Gabriel Jesus. Then, Izan heard his own name. "Izan! Over here!" "Bro, we need you in MLS one day!" "Best young player in the world, man!" He gave them a nod and a small wave before following the rest of the team toward the awaiting SUVs. The staff had already taken care of their luggage. All they had to do was get in and let the drivers handle the rest. Izan slid into one of the cars alongside Rice, Saliba, and Tomiyasu. The leather seats were cool against his skin as he leaned back, taking in the scenery as they pulled away from the airport. "Feels good to be back," Rice said, stretching his arms. "Man, I might actually do something touristy this time." Saliba smirked. "Thought you were a beach guy now?" "I am, but LA''s got more to offer than just that. Maybe I''ll hit one of those big food spots or something." Tomiyasu, who had been quiet most of the ride, finally spoke up. "I might just rest. These matches have been intense." Izan nodded. His body wasn''t sore, but fatigue had settled in from the constant travel and high-intensity games. Even if it was preseason, the expectations at a club like Arsenal were different. The drive to Beverly Hills was smooth¡ªpalm trees lining the roads, streets buzzing with life. Izan watched through the window, his mind half-listening to the conversation. The contrast with Valencia was striking. The beaches, the culture, the way football dominated daily life in Spain¡ªLA felt different. Football was growing here, but it still wasn''t everything. By the time they arrived at their hotel, the players were already moving sluggishly. The luxury was unmistakable¡ªtowering glass doors, a grand marble lobby, the scent of expensive cologne in the air. A few guests turned their heads as the Arsenal squad walked in, some pulling out phones, whispering excitedly. A hotel worker guided them to the elevators, swiping a keycard for their floor. The moment the doors closed, Martinelli let out a long sigh. "I''m going straight to bed," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Not even gonna think twice about it." "You? Sleeping?" Rice laughed. "Didn''t think you had it in you." Martinelli shot him a tired glare. "It''s a long season ahead, man." Saka leaned against the wall. "I need food first. Can''t sleep without eating." "Aren''t you always hungry?" Saliba teased. Saka grinned. "That''s why I''m built different." The elevator doors opened, and the players shuffled toward their rooms. Izan walked a bit slower, letting the others move ahead. He tapped his keycard against his door and stepped inside. The room was immaculate¡ªfloor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a king-sized bed draped in crisp white sheets, sleek modern design that looked straight out of a magazine. He tossed his bag onto a chair and walked to the window, staring out at the Los Angeles skyline. The city stretched endlessly, the Hollywood Hills in the distance, the streets below alive with movement. It felt different from Europe, from Spain, from Japan. Not home, but fascinating in its own way. Letting out a breath, he sat on the edge of the bed. A full day off. No training, no meetings. Now he just had to figure out what to do with it. ¡ª The next day, the hotel had a muted energy. No training, no meetings, no media obligations¡ªjust a rare moment to breathe. Most of the players stayed in their rooms, scrolling their phones, catching up on shows, or sleeping in. Izan had barely moved from his bed. His body wasn''t sore, but the travel and matches had left him sluggish. Dressed in a simple black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, he sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand. Miranda had already messaged him twice that morning. Miranda: Post something today. Miranda: Use the pictures the team took in New York. Maybe the one with the skyline in the background. Izan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. She never let up. He scrolled through his gallery, picking a set of promotional pictures from their first day in the U.S. One of him leaning against a railing with the New York skyline behind him, another near the jet in his Arsenal travel gear, and a candid shot laughing with Rice and Saka at training. He uploaded them with a simple caption: One win down. Next, Leverkusen. #preseason Within minutes, the likes and comments flooded in. A knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts. "Yo, you awake?" Saka''s voice. Izan stood up and opened the door. Saka, in a loose hoodie and basketball shorts, leaned against the frame with a casual smirk. "Some of the guys are heading to the Lakers game tonight. You in?" Izan blinked. Basketball? He wasn''t really into the sport. Nothing against it, but he''d never followed it closely. His first instinct was to say no. "I don''t know," Izan started, rubbing his neck. "Might just chill." Saka rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. It''s the Lakers. We''re in L.A. It''s a different experience." Izan hesitated, but then Miranda''s voice echoed in his mind. Stay marketable. She had drilled it into him¡ªhis career wasn''t just about football anymore. Every public appearance, every image, every interaction had weight. It wasn''t just about playing well. It was about being seen. He sighed. "Alright. I''ll go." Saka grinned. "Knew you''d come around. Game starts in the evening. Better be ready." Izan nodded as Saka left, closing the door. Immediately, he grabbed his phone and dialed Miranda. It rang once before she picked up. "Yeah?" "I''m going to a Lakers game," Izan said flatly. A pause. Then, a satisfied hum. "Good. People will love that. Get some pictures, maybe interact with some NBA players. Make sure to¡ª" "Yeah, yeah," Izan cut her off. "But what do I wear?" Miranda laughed lightly. "Don''t worry. I''ll handle it." Before he could ask what that meant, she had already hung up. Izan sat back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A full day off. No training, no media duties¡ªjust time to unwind. His phone buzzed again. This time, it was Martinelli. Martinelli: Bro, come to my room. We''re playing FIFA. Izan smirked. He knew what that meant. A room full of guys talking trash, laughing, and pretending the game wasn''t serious¡ªuntil someone lost. He grabbed his phone and headed down the hall. The door was already slightly open, and inside, the atmosphere was electric. Martinelli, Saka, Rice, and Zinchenko were gathered around the TV, controllers in hand. The air smelled like snacks and energy drinks, the universal scent of gaming marathons. Zinchenko looked up. "Izan! You playing?" Izan leaned against the wall. "Who''s losing?" Saka groaned. "Bro, these two have been running the table." He pointed at Rice and Martinelli, who were grinning like kings. Martinelli wiggled his controller. "We''re different, man. Best duo on FIFA." Izan raised an eyebrow. "That so?" He grabbed a controller and dropped onto the couch. "Who''s my partner?" Zinchenko immediately raised his hand. "Me. I need revenge." "Say less," Izan muttered, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a real match. They picked their teams. Martinelli and Rice went with Brazil. Zinchenko and Izan picked France. The game kicked off, and instantly, the room was filled with shouts. "WHAT WAS THAT PASS?" "NO WAY, THAT''S A FOUL!" "Izan, hit me on the counter¡ªyes, YES!" Then, the inevitable happened. The moment Zinchenko messed up a clearance and Rice capitalized with a sweaty goal, Martinelli was off the couch, arms spread. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "TOO EASY!" he shouted, running around the room. "You can''t stop us!" Izan shook his head, laughing. "Nah, run it back." And that''s how the day went. Hours passed, the sun moved across the sky, and they didn''t even realize it. They switched from FIFA to Call of Duty, then to NBA 2K when someone (probably Saka) claimed he was unbeatable. Food was ordered¡ªburgers, wings, and fries stacked on the table as they kept playing, barely pausing to eat. At one point, Ramsdale and Tomiyasu joined in, adding to the chaos. The gaming session turned into debates about basketball, anime, and which players in the squad would survive without food. By the time evening rolled around, they had played at least ten different games, yelled at each other over bad plays, and laughed until their stomachs hurt. Izan checked his phone. It was nearly time for the Lakers game. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders. "Alright, boys," he said, standing up. "I gotta get ready." Martinelli smirked. "You finally embracing American sports?" Izan rolled his eyes. "Something like that." Izan entered his room the next moment and shut his door, trying to get a few minutes of sleep in before they went for the game. Less than an hour later, there was another knock at his door. Izan opened it to find two men in sleek black suits standing outside. They weren''t hotel staff. They were stylists. "Izan Hernandez ?" one of them asked like he didn''t know who he was. Izan simply nodded. "Henry Duvant sent us. We have a selection of outfits for you." Saint Laurent. Of course. Miranda must have called Henry directly. Chapter 372 372: The American Game. Izan entered his room the next moment and shut his door, trying to get a few minutes of sleep in before they went for the game. Less than an hour later, there was another knock at his door. Izan opened it to find two men in sleek black suits standing outside. They weren''t hotel staff. They were stylists. "Izan Hernandez ?" one of them asked like he didn''t know who he was. Izan simply nodded. "Henry Duvant sent us. We have a selection of outfits for you." Saint Laurent. Of course. Miranda must have called Henry directly. The stylists entered his room, carrying garment bags that they carefully laid out on the bed. One by one, they unzipped them, revealing a lineup of designer fits¡ªeverything from streetwear-inspired looks to classic tailored suits, all dripping with luxury. The older of the two stylists, a man with a sharp eye for detail, inspected Izan''s frame before nodding to himself. "You need something that blends effortless style with presence. Nothing too try-hard, but nothing forgettable either." He pulled out a fit¡ªslim-cut black trousers, a slightly oversized white Saint Laurent t-shirt, and a black leather jacket with subtle silver accents. Paired with minimalist high-top sneakers and a single silver chain, it was clean, modern, and just flashy enough to stand out. "This," the stylist said, handing it to him. Izan took the clothes and changed quickly. The moment he looked in the mirror, he had to admit¡ªthese guys knew what they were doing. One of the stylists adjusted the fit slightly, straightening the chain around his neck. "Perfect. This will photograph well." Miranda had been right to call them. If he was going to make an appearance, he might as well do it right. The stylists packed up their things and left as quickly as they had arrived, leaving Izan standing in front of the mirror, inspecting himself one last time. He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. A few months ago, he never would have cared about this. But now, this was just part of his world. He grabbed his phone, checking the notifications just to see one arrive from Saka. "You ready?" It read. Izan typed a reply next before going out of the room. Izan: Yeah, coming now. He slid his phone into his pocket and stepped out, the leather jacket settling comfortably on his shoulders. The hallway was quieter now, most of the squad either still in their rooms or already downstairs. He walked briskly toward the elevator, the low hum of conversations growing louder as he neared the lobby. Saka and Martinelli were waiting near the entrance, both dressed clean but in their own styles¡ªSaka in a fitted polo and sneakers, Martinelli with a relaxed button-up and tailored trousers. Saka looked up from his phone when he spotted Izan. "Damn, they got you looking proper, huh?" Martinelli whistled. "Saint Laurent''s treating you well, bro." Izan smirked. "You know how it is." The three of them stepped outside, where a few other teammates were already gathered, waiting for the transport to the game. Cameras flashed in the distance¡ªphotographers and fans catching glimpses of them. Even on an off night, the attention never faded. Declan Rice walked over, hands in his pockets. "Where''s the rest?" "Coming," Martinelli said. "Zinchenko probably fixing his hair." They shared a laugh just as a sleek black SUV pulled up. The club had arranged transport, keeping things simple and private. One by one, they filed in, the hum of conversation filling the vehicle. The ride to the arena was smooth, the city lights flashing past the tinted windows. Inside, the topic shifted effortlessly¡ªfrom who was winning the Lakers game to who had lost the most FIFA matches earlier. "You still owe me a rematch," Zinchenko grumbled at Izan from the backseat. Izan just grinned. "Whenever you want." They pulled up to the arena a short while later, security guiding them through a private entrance. The energy inside was different¡ªloud, electric, the kind of atmosphere only a big game could bring. Izan had been to stadiums all his life, but this? This was new. The flashing scoreboards, the booming music, the courtside presence¡ªit was a different kind of spectacle. As they walked through, heads turned. Fans recognized them, some calling out their names, others just snapping photos. A few NBA players warming up glanced their way, nodding in acknowledgment. Izan nodded back. Another moment, another experience he never thought he''d have. Saka nudged him. "Let''s go find our seats." The moment they stepped onto the court, Izan could feel the sheer energy of the arena. The hardwood had a different kind of presence¡ªslick, polished, almost humming with anticipation. The Lakers players were already warming up, running shooting drills, practicing layups, and pulling up from deep range like it was nothing. Saka let out a low whistle. "Man, this is crazy." Rice was grinning. "Tell me why this already feels like a Champions League night?" A Lakers staff member led them further in. "Feel free to walk around, but stay out of the way during drills. Some of the players might come over in a bit." Zinchenko stretched his arms like he was about to check-in. "I should''ve worn my Jordans." Izan smirked, glancing around. It wasn''t long before one of the Lakers stars approached¡ªnone other than Anthony Davis. "Big Arsenal fans in the house, huh?" Davis greeted them with a fist bump. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Guess the roles are reversed tonight," Rice joked. Before they could respond, another voice chimed in. "We should get them to take some shots." It was Austin Reaves, spinning a ball casually in his hands. Zinchenko nudged Izan, eyes gleaming. "You got a shot in you?" Izan raised a brow. "You doubting me?" Zinchenko shrugged. "I just think you''ll airball." That was all the challenge Izan needed. Reaves passed him a ball, and Izan stepped back behind the three-point line, feeling the weight of it in his hands. It was different from a football¡ªlighter, smoother¡ªbut the challenge was the same. Hit the target. He squared up, took a breath, and let it fly. Swish. The ball snapped clean through the net. "Ooooh!" The Arsenal players erupted in surprise. Zinchenko raised his hands. "Okay, okay, one lucky shot." Izan smirked, and took another, same spot. Swish. "Oh, nah," Saka laughed. One more time. Swish. At that point, even the Lakers players watching gave nods of approval. "Alright, we might need to sign him," Reaves joked. Feeling himself, Izan backed up past half-court. The moment he took the shot, everyone could tell it had a chance. The ball soared, hit the backboard, bounced on the rim, did a few slow turns¡ª And then rolled out. The entire court groaned. Zinchenko clutched his head. "No way!" Reaves laughed. "Almost had your viral moment." Izan just shrugged. "Not bad for my first day in the NBA." Davis clapped him on the back. "Not bad at all, man." As they stepped off the court to let the real warmups continue, Izan couldn''t help but grin. A night like this? Yeah, he could get used to this. ...¡­. As the first half neared its end, another timeout was called, and the Lakers players made their way toward the sideline. This time, a couple of them stopped near the Arsenal squad, dapping them up and exchanging a few words. LeBron, ever the icon, greeted them first, offering a handshake to each. "Good to see you boys here," he said, nodding at Saka and Rice before turning to Izan. "I''ve been hearing your name a lot. You got a crazy future ahead." Izan shook his hand, feeling the firm grip. "Appreciate that. You''ve been at the top for so long¡ªit''s inspiring." LeBron chuckled. "Longevity''s the real game." Anthony Davis stepped up next, followed by Austin Reaves and D''Angelo Russell, who both seemed more than happy to chat. "Man, we need to swap jerseys," Reaves said with a grin. "Footballers always make it look cool." Zinchenko laughed. "Say less." Soon after the final buzzer sounded and the Lakers secured their win, the atmosphere remained electric. Fans lingered in their seats, soaking in the moment, while the Arsenal players, still buzzing from the experience, made their way courtside once again. Staff members approached them, bringing out fresh Lakers jerseys, and the Arsenal boys handed over their own kits in return. It was a full-on jersey swap between two worlds. Izan scribbled his signature onto Reaves'' jersey, while LeBron signed a Lakers kit and handed it to him. "That''s one for the collection," Saka said, watching as Rice did the same with Anthony Davis. Cameras flashed as they posed together, a mix of NBA and football stars in one frame. Some of the Lakers players threw up peace signs, while the Arsenal boys stood casually, football shirts clashing with NBA jerseys in a rare crossover of sports. Zinchenko nudged Izan, eyeing the jersey in his hands¡ªthe iconic Lakers gold with LeBron''s signature across the front. "You''re framing that, right?" Izan smirked. "Definitely." As they started making their way off the court, a staff member approached. "You guys sticking around?" Izan exchanged glances with Saka and the others. Before they could answer, a familiar voice cut in. "You should. We''re throwing something after this." Izan turned to see Reaves grinning at them, still holding the Arsenal jersey he had swapped earlier. "A party?" Zinchenko asked, already interested. LeBron, now walking past, patted Reaves on the back. "They should come. Footballers don''t get out here often." Rice looked at Izan, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?" Izan shrugged, feeling the weight of Miranda''s voice in his head again. "Stay marketable." "Alright," he said, slipping the Lakers jersey over his shoulder. "Let''s go." A/n: Diddy bout to pull up. Anyways have fun reading. 12/15 for the Golden Gachapon chapters. Chapter 373 373: Night In LA [Normal Release] The ride to the party was smooth, the conversation flowing easily between them. The Arsenal boys had all switched into casual wear, blending in a bit more now that they weren''t courtside in their game-day outfits. Even still, it was clear they weren''t just regular guests. The venue was a high-end rooftop lounge, overlooking the glowing cityscape. Soft music played, a mix of hip-hop and Afrobeats, as guests mingled with drinks in hand. NBA players, celebrities, and a few familiar faces from the sports world were scattered throughout the space. "Feels different from a football afterparty," Rice noted as they stepped in, taking in the laid-back but undeniably expensive atmosphere. Zinchenko clapped him on the back. "That''s ''cause we celebrate with beer showers and off-key chanting." They made their way further inside, greeted with nods and handshakes. Reaves was already there, motioning them over. "Drinks are sorted," he said, pointing to the bar. "And don''t worry, no one''s dragging you into another shooting contest." Izan smirked. "Probably for the best." The night unfolded smoothly. Conversations bounced between football and basketball, with different groups crossing over. Saka found himself deep in a discussion about tactics with a few NBA guys who actually followed the Premier League, while Rice was laughing with a group that included some hip-hop artists. Izan, meanwhile, leaned against the bar, watching it all unfold. "You enjoying LA so far?" a voice asked beside him. He turned to see none other than LeBron himself. "It''s been good," Izan replied, setting his drink down. "Way different from London-Valencia too." LeBron nodded. "It''s got a different energy. But you get used to it." There was a brief pause before LeBron gave him a look. "You ever think about playing here one day?" Izan chuckled. "In the NBA?" LeBron smirked. "Nah. But LA''s got room for football stars too." Izan knew exactly what he meant, but before he could reply, a new song kicked in, and the energy in the room shifted. The night was far from over. ..... Izan moved through the party, weaving between conversations and groups of people, scanning for his teammates. The atmosphere had loosened even more, the music louder, the drinks flowing freely. He spotted Saka and Zinchenko laughing with Reaves, while Rice was still deep in conversation with a group of artists. He approached them, waiting for a pause in the conversation before casually saying, "Boys, hate to break it to you, but it''s way past my bedtime." Zinchenko turned to him with an amused look. "You''re joking, right?" Izan shook his head. "Nah. I''m still sixteen, remember? I don''t even think I''m legally supposed to be here." Saka chuckled. "You don''t look sixteen, though. You could probably get away with it." Rice smirked. "Yeah, but imagine the headlines if someone finds out." He mimicked a newsreader''s voice. "''Arsenal Wonderkid Caught Partying in LA Instead of Sleeping Like a Good Boy.''" Izan rolled his eyes. "Exactly. I think I''ll call it a night." Reaves, who had been listening in, grinned. "Man, you''re disciplined. Respect." Zinchenko sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright. We''ll head out too. No point staying if our star boy is going home." The Arsenal players said their goodbyes, exchanging a few more handshakes with the NBA guys before making their way out. The cool LA night air hit them as they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the party inside. Rice stretched. "Not a bad night, though." Izan nodded, glancing at the city lights. "Yeah. But I think I''ve had enough of LA for today." ... The ride back to the hotel was quieter, the energy from earlier settling into a comfortable lull. The city lights blurred past the windows as they cruised through LA, the roads emptier now that it was late. Zinchenko was still chuckling about something from the party, while Saka scrolled through his phone, probably checking the videos he had taken. Rice, leaning back in his seat, let out a yawn. Izan just stared out the window, exhaustion creeping up on him. The night had been fun, but now that it was over, he could feel the weight of it settling into his muscles. By the time they pulled up at the hotel, none of them wasted time. They moved through the lobby with barely a word, each one ready to crash. Izan entered his room, kicking off his sneakers before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. The Lakers jersey was still slung over his shoulder. He placed it carefully on the table before collapsing onto the bed. His body sank into the mattress, and he exhaled deeply. No interviews, no cameras, no expectations¡ªjust sleep. As his eyes drifted shut, the last thing he thought about was how insane his life had become. Two years ago, he was just another academy kid with a dream. Unlike others, he had a system. Now, he was here. The thought didn''t last long. Sleep pulled him under almost instantly. ...¡­. The early morning air in Los Angeles was crisp, the city still waking up as Izan jogged down the quiet streets near the team hotel. His footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement, the only other sounds being the occasional car passing by and the distant hum of the city stirring to life. This was routine. Even if he wasn''t playing much, he needed to stay sharp and also because his system wouldn''t let him. By the time he returned to the hotel, the sun had risen higher, casting a warm glow over the skyline. He made his way back to his room, took a long, cold shower, and threw on a fresh training kit before heading down for breakfast. His teammates were already there, scattered across the dining area, eating and chatting. Saka spotted him first. "Man, you''re always up early," he said, shaking his head. Izan smirked, grabbing a plate. "You lot sleep too much." The team spent the morning relaxing, some playing cards while others scrolled through their phones. The energy was light¡ªuntil word came that Arteta wanted them at the sports complex next to the hotel. When they arrived, their manager was already there, standing in the middle of the court with his hands on his hips. A grin played on his face as he watched them stroll in. "Good morning, gentlemen," Arteta started, his tone already teasing. "I trust you all had a great time last night?" A few players chuckled. "Nothing crazy," Zinchenko said, playing innocent. Arteta raised an eyebrow. "Nothing crazy? I saw videos. Half of you were acting like Lakers superfans." Saka laughed. "Come on, coach, it was LeBron!" "Yes, yes, and what about the party? Should I be worried about my players making midseason transfers to the NBA?" Rice smirked. "Depends. If you keep making us run double sessions, we might start thinking about it." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The squad burst into laughter, and even Arteta had to shake his head. "You know what? Maybe I should''ve put some of you on the court. I saw Izan shooting threes like he was Steph Curry." Izan, leaning against the wall, raised his hands. "Missed the half-court shot, though." Arteta nodded dramatically. "Yes, yes, I saw that. Very disappointing. I expected more." The players laughed again, the atmosphere light but focused. "Alright," Arteta finally said, clapping his hands. "Now that we''ve had our fun, let''s get to work. You''re footballers, not NBA stars. Time to show me you remember how to use your feet, not just your hands." ... After a solid hour of light drills and movement exercises, Arteta finally called them in, gesturing for the squad to gather around. The sun was higher now, and the heat starting to settle over the complex, but no one complained. The session hadn''t been overly intense¡ªmore about rhythm and keeping everyone engaged¡ªbut Arteta''s face told them he had something to say. He folded his arms, glancing around at his players. "That was decent," he said, his voice calm but measured. "Not bad. But not where I want us to be." The team stayed quiet, listening. "You look good in moments. Some of you are sharp, and some of you are still playing catch-up. And I get it¡ªit''s preseason. But understand something¡­" He took a step forward, eyes locking onto different players as he spoke. "Cohesion. That''s what we need. Right now, we don''t have it yet." No one argued. They knew it was true. The squad had new faces and different dynamics. Some had come in later than others. It wasn''t clicking at the level Arteta wanted¡ªnot yet. "But," he continued, his voice firm, "I believe in this team." That made a few heads lift. Arteta''s intensity was always there, but when he spoke like this, it carried weight. "I look at this squad, and I see potential. I see a team that can win something this season." There was a murmur of agreement, players nodding to themselves. "I''m not just saying it to make you feel good," Arteta added, his tone serious. "I mean it. We have the talent. We have the depth. Now, we just need to bring it together." He let that sink in before finally nodding. "Alright, that''s enough for now. Rest up, recover. We go again tomorrow." With that, he clapped his hands once, signaling the end of the session. The players broke apart, some heading straight for water bottles, others lingering in small groups, discussing what had just been said. Izan stayed quiet, processing it all. He wasn''t even playing yet, but he could feel the energy, the ambition. Winning something. He glanced around at his teammates, wondering how far they could go. Chapter 374 374: Early Lead [Golden Gacha] The low hum of the bus engine filled the air as the Arsenal squad sat quietly, each player lost in their thoughts. Leverkusen had gone unbeaten in all competitions, save for the Europa League loss to Atalanta last season, a feat as rare as it comes in modern football. Even though this was just a friendly, the football world would be watching. Izan sat near the window, his eyes flickering over the crowd gathered outside the stadium entrance. Some were Arsenal fans, decked out in red and white, holding up scarves and jerseys. Others were just football lovers who had come to see a battle between two of Europe''s most exciting teams. He could even spot a few Leverkusen supporters in their black and red, eager to see if their team could maintain its aura of invincibility. Declan Rice sat next to him, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the stadium. "They''re gonna treat this like a Champions League knockout, you know that, right?" Izan nodded. "Yeah. And we should too." From a few rows behind, Saka leaned forward. "I don''t know, man. It''s still preseason. Arteta might not even play our strongest lineup." Zinchenko, sitting across the aisle, smirked. "Doesn''t matter. The moment that whistle blows, instincts take over." Izan shared that sentiment. He had learned in Spain that competitive players couldn''t switch off, even in meaningless games. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And for a club like Arsenal, trying to cement themselves among Europe''s elite, every match was a chance to prove something. Finally, the bus hissed as the doors swung open, and one by one, the players stepped out. The cameras were already flashing, photographers capturing every step they took toward the stadium. Security kept the fans at bay, but the energy was electric. Cheers rang out, and a few lucky supporters managed to get high-fives from the players as they passed. Inside, the noise only intensified. The stadium was filling up fast, a mix of Arsenal and Leverkusen supporters creating a vibrant atmosphere. Even though this wasn''t their home ground, the Arsenal contingent was loud, their chants bouncing off the walls. As they neared the dressing room, Arteta''s voice rang through the corridor. "Sharp warm-up, everyone. No half-speed, no going through the motions. Show me you''re serious." A collective nod went through the squad before they began their preparations. ______ The moment they stepped onto the pitch, it became clear that this wasn''t a typical match. The stands were packed, the lights beaming down, and the tension in the air felt like a proper European night. Izan started his warm-up routine, focusing on his stretches before getting some touches on the ball. But soon, something caught his attention. Near the front row, a familiar group of faces had taken their seats. The Lakers players had arrived, decked out in streetwear, lounging comfortably like they owned the place. Reaves, Anthony Davis, and even LeBron himself were there, watching with interest. Zinchenko spotted them too and nudged Izan. "Well, well. Look who showed up." Izan smirked, raising a hand in acknowledgment. Beyond them, even more high-profile figures dotted the stands¡ªactors, musicians, and influencers. L.A. was living up to its reputation. But amidst the celebrity presence, Izan noticed a different kind of attention. From the sidelines, a group of young women had their eyes locked on him. He could feel their stares before he even turned in their direction. One of them whispered something, and the others giggled before speaking a little louder¡ªclearly intending for him to hear. "Oh my god, he''s beautiful." Another voice followed. "Are his eyes real? No way." Izan kept his expression neutral, staying focused, but he caught that. Saka, jogging past, overheard it too, and smirked. "You''re a menace, man. Doing nothing and still causing problems." Izan shook his head slightly, amused, but refocused. The warm-up continued at a high intensity. Arsenal moved through their drills with precision, while Leverkusen did the same on the opposite end of the pitch. It was clear both teams wanted to send a message before the actual game began. As the session wrapped up, the players jogged back toward the tunnel. The stadium noise grew louder, fans clapping in anticipation. Izan kept his gaze forward, mentally preparing for the match. ...¡­.. The broadcast transitioned smoothly into the pre-match coverage, the camera panning across the electric atmosphere inside the stadium. The anticipation was thick in the air as Arsenal and Bayer Leverkusen prepared to take the field. (English Broadcast ¨C Martin Tyler): "Welcome to a packed stadium here in Los Angeles, where Arsenal and Bayer Leverkusen meet in what promises to be a thrilling preseason encounter. Leverkusen, fresh off an invincible Bundesliga season, are a team brimming with confidence under Xabi Alonso, while Mikel Arteta''s Arsenal continue their preparations for a campaign where they hope to challenge for silverware." The camera shifted to the tunnel, where both teams stood in two disciplined lines. Declan Rice and Martin ?degaard were deep in discussion, while Gabriel Jesus rolled his shoulders in preparation. (Lee Dixon): "And Martin, what a test this is for Arsenal. Preseason or not, Leverkusen are a well-drilled side, and it''s a rare opportunity for Arteta''s squad to measure themselves against one of Europe''s best right now. The players will be feeling that competitive edge." A quick cut to Arsenal''s bench showed a few familiar faces, including Jorginho, Zinchenko, and Saka, chatting lightly before the match. And then, the cameras locked onto Izan, sitting calmly at the end of the row, hands resting over his knees. He wasn''t starting tonight, but his presence alone had fans buzzing. Martin Tyler: "Speaking of talent, all eyes have been on Izan Hern¨¢ndez since his breathtaking performances at the Euros. The young Spaniard isn''t in the starting lineup tonight, but Arteta has been careful with his minutes in preseason. He will almost certainly get a run-out later on, and when he does, expect fireworks." The broadcast cut back to the tunnel, where Leverkusen''s players adjusted their kits and exchanged final nods. Their manager, Xabi Alonso, stood nearby, exuding the calm control that had defined his exciting coaching career so far. Lee Dixon: "And let''s not forget about Bayer Leverkusen, Martin. They arrive here as the team to beat after an astonishing unbeaten season, and with their aggressive, fluid style of play, they''ll pose serious questions for Arsenal tonight." The match officials gave the signal, and the players in the tunnel straightened up. The stadium roared as they began their walk out onto the pristine grass, floodlights illuminating the scene. Fans in Arsenal and Leverkusen shirts filled the stands, cameras flashing as they soaked in the moment. Izan, still seated on the bench, adjusted his shin pads. The captains exchanged handshakes, the final pre-match rituals were completed, and next, the referee took his place. Martin Tyler : "The stage is set. Two quality sides, a packed stadium, and a true test of preseason ambitions. We await the first whistle." ...¡­. The referee''s whistle echoed through the stadium, and immediately, both teams set the tempo. Arsenal, in their iconic red and white, pushed forward aggressively, while Bayer Leverkusen, donning their sleek black away kit, responded with their signature high-intensity pressing. (Martin Tyler): "And we''re underway here in Los Angeles! Arsenal in possession early on, looking to impose themselves, while Leverkusen set up with that disciplined structure we''ve come to expect under Xabi Alonso." Arsenal controlled the ball in midfield, with Declan Rice and Martin ?degaard orchestrating play. Leverkusen''s press was sharp, forcing quick decisions, but Arsenal''s passing was fluid, weaving around the pressure. In the 8th minute, Leverkusen had their first warning shot¡ªFlorian Wirtz found a pocket of space and curled an effort from outside the box, but Raya reacted quickly, tipping it over the bar. Arsenal responded instantly. From the resulting corner, they won back possession and transitioned into a blistering counterattack. (Lee Dixon): "That''s a great stop from Ramsdale, but look at Arsenal break here! They''ve got numbers!" Gabriel Jesus darted forward, holding up the ball just long enough for Bukayo Saka to make a run down the right. A perfectly timed pass released the winger, who drove into the final third, his quick feet causing panic in the Leverkusen defense. ?degaard arrived in support, combining with Saka in a slick one-two, shifting the ball toward the penalty area. Then, in a flash, the opening appeared. ?degaard threaded a brilliant through ball between two defenders and Leandro Trossard¡ªghosting in from the left¡ªtook it in stride. He opened up his body and placed a precise shot past the keeper. The ball nestled into the far corner. GOAL! Martin Tyler: "Trossard! Beautiful finish! Arsenal slice through Leverkusen''s defense, and they take the lead!" The stadium erupted, with Arsenal fans on their feet celebrating. The players mobbed Trossard near the corner flag, while ?degaard jogged over with a wide grin, pointing at his teammate in appreciation of the perfect finish. Lee Dixon: "That''s exactly how Arteta wants his team to play¡ªslick passing, rapid movement, and a clinical finish at the end of it. Leverkusen will need to regroup quickly here." As Arsenal reset for the restart, Arteta stood near the touchline, arms crossed, nodding in satisfaction. Martin Tyler : "A dream start for Arsenal, but there''s still a long way to go in this match. Leverkusen won''t take this lying down." Chapter 375 375: Foot On The Pitch. [Golden Gacha. Pistacho031_3] Arsenal''s lead didn''t last long. If there was one thing Bayer Leverkusen had proved last season, it was their resilience. Even after going behind, they never panicked. Xabi Alonso''s men stuck to their principles, moving the ball with precision and waiting for the right moments to strike. And they found that moment in the 27th minute. The ball was at Granit Xhaka''s feet¡ªfamiliar territory for Arsenal fans. Once a captain at the club, he had reinvented himself under Alonso, becoming a midfield metronome. Now, facing his old team, he played as if he had something to prove. Rice pressed him aggressively, trying to shut him down, but Xhaka was calm under pressure. With a quick turn and a well-placed body feint, he shrugged off the challenge, using his arm to shield the ball before spraying a perfectly weighted pass out wide to Jeremie Frimpong. It was a signal. The Dutch full-back was one of the most dangerous players in transition, and Arsenal had just given him space to attack. Zinchenko had been caught high up the pitch, and Frimpong wasted no time. With explosive acceleration, he burst forward, his rapid strides eating up the ground. Gabriel tried to close him down, but Frimpong was too quick. Instead of taking on his man, he spotted Florian Wirtz ghosting in at the edge of the box. A sharp cut inside. A simple pass. And Wirtz did the rest. His first touch set himself up, and with his second, he curled a low shot toward the far corner. Raya saw it late, diving full stretch, but the placement was perfect. "GOAL! Florian Wirtz! Leverkusen strike back with a moment of brilliance!" The German fans erupted, while Wirtz wheeled away, pointing toward Frimpong in celebration. It was 1-1, and suddenly, Arsenal had a game on their hands. ? If Arteta had been looking for a test, he got one. Arsenal''s players reacted instantly, not letting the equalizer shake them. Instead, they responded with intensity, pressing high and forcing Leverkusen deep into their half. The patterns of play were clearer now, ?degaard dictating the tempo in midfield while Rice and Jesus worked tirelessly off the ball. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It took just eight minutes for Arsenal to restore their lead. A quick combination down the right saw Saka slip the ball into Ben White''s path. The full-back had space and didn''t hesitate, whipping in a driven cross into the box. The ball was sharp, but it was Gabriel Jesus''s movement that made the difference. The Brazilian darted between Tapsoba and Kossounou, reacting quicker than both. With a delicate flick of his left boot, he redirected the ball past Hr¨¢decky and into the bottom corner. "GOAL! Je?us! Arsenal are back in front!" Jesus ran to the corner flag, pumping his fist as his teammates swarmed him. The Arsenal fans in the crowd roared, feeling their team had regained control. Zinchenko was the first to celebrate with him, playfully ruffling Je?us''s hair before tapping his chest in approval. ? "Arsenal have regained their lead again and this time it''s Gabriel Jesus''s strike that puts them ahead. Leverkusen have their work cut out for them." But Leverkusen weren''t done. Even as Arsenal kept pushing, the German side remained dangerous. Just before halftime, they proved it again. The warning signs were there. Xhaka, now dictating the tempo, kept finding gaps, while Wirtz and Schick lurked dangerously between the lines. Then came the equalizer. Xhaka, always scanning, saw the opening and took it. He pinged a diagonal ball toward Alejandro Grimaldo, who had pushed up on the left. The Spanish full-back took one touch before delivering a teasing early cross into the box. Arsenal''s defense had been solid all game, but this time, they were caught off guard. Patrick Schick was waiting. The Czech striker, lurking between Saliba and Gabriel, saw his moment. Timing his jump perfectly, he muscled past Saliba and met the cross with a powerful downward header. The ball bounced once before skipping past Raya''s outstretched hand and into the net. "GOAL! Patrick Schick! Leverkusen equalize again! 2-2 right before halftime!" Schick barely celebrated¡ªhe just pointed toward Grimaldo, acknowledging the assist. But the Leverkusen bench was on its feet, roaring in approval. The halftime whistle followed shortly after, sending both teams into the tunnel with nothing to separate them. Arsenal 2-2 Bayer Leverkusen. As Arsenal''s players walked off the pitch, the hum of the crowd lingered in the background. Fans leaned over the railing, chatting excitedly about the game. "Saka is unreal, man." "Did you see that pass from ?degaard?" The energy around the stadium was electric, a reflection of the intense first half. Izan kept his focus ahead, walking in stride with his teammates as they made their way into the tunnel. Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was focused, but not tense. The game was competitive, but it was still preseason. Arteta stood in the center, waiting for his players to settle. He glanced around, letting the silence build before speaking. "We''ve done some good things," he said, his voice measured. "But we''re not there yet." The players nodded. The message was clear. This wasn''t about preseason fitness anymore. It was about setting a standard. Arteta pointed toward the board, where clips of Leverkusen''s goals were already frozen on the screen. "They''re exploiting the half-spaces. We''re reacting instead of anticipating. That''s why their second goal happened." Saliba and Gabriel exchanged glances, understanding what their coach was getting at. "We need to be sharper. Faster. But listen¡ªthis is good for us. If we want to win something this season, we need to be challenged like this." He paused, letting that statement hang in the air. "I believe in this squad. We have the quality. But we have a long way to go before we reach the cohesion I want. And that''s the difference between being good and being champions." The room was quiet now. No one doubted Arteta''s words. Izan sat in the back, listening. He wasn''t playing yet, but he was absorbing everything. He wasn''t just here to experience Arsenal¡ªhe was here to become an essential part of it. The second half was coming. ...¡­. As the second half kicked off, both teams emerged from the tunnel with renewed focus. Arsenal and Bayer Leverkusen had gone back and forth in an exhilarating first half, the score deadlocked at 2-2. Now, the question was who would take control. Izan sat on the bench, his hands clasped together as he watched the first few minutes unfold. He could feel the energy in the stadium, the expectation growing with every pass, every challenge. "I want on in" he muttered while looking at Arteta. "Izan, start warming up." The words came quickly from one of the assistants, and Izan''s head snapped up. He didn''t hesitate, though¡ªhe was on his feet in an instant, rolling his shoulders as he made his way toward the touchline. He started with short sprints before moving into dynamic stretches, his body adjusting to the shift in intensity. ..... Up in the stands, the NBA stars who had come to watch were beginning to notice the shift on the sideline. LeBron James leaned back in his seat, exhaling in mock disappointment. "Man, the kid I even came to watch ain''t playing," he said, nudging Austin Reaves beside him. Reaves chuckled. "Yeah, figured he''d be in by now." Before they could dwell on it, movement caught their attention. LeBron''s eyes locked onto the Arsenal touchline, where a figure in warm-up gear had begun his pre-match routine. "Wait," LeBron said, sitting up. "That him warming up?" Reaves followed his gaze and nodded. "Looks like he''s coming on." The casual chatter among the Lakers players faded as more of them turned their attention to the sideline. Anthony Davis grinned, leaning in slightly. "Alright then. Let''s see what the kid''s got." A few seats down, some other celebrities had started taking notice as well. Phones were pulled out, and cameras zoomed in. On the pitch, Arsenal''s players were still engaged in the battle, but a few of them had noticed Izan''s warm-up too. Zinchenko turned toward the sideline and smirked, nudging Declan Rice. "Looks like we''re about to get serious." Rice grinned. "About time." Izan ignored the attention, locked into his routine. The noise of the stadium, the murmurs in the crowd, even the buzz from the stands¡ªit was all just background. Right now, his only focus was on the moment ahead. Izan finished his warm-up with one last sprint before jogging back toward the dugout. Arteta turned to him as he approached. "You''re going in," the coach said, eyes sharp. "I want you to play with confidence, but be smart. Move the ball quickly, and exploit spaces. Got it?" Izan nodded, adjusting his shin guards. "Got it." The assistant handed him his jersey, and he pulled it on before stepping toward the fourth official. The board lit up¡ªhis number flashing, signaling the change. The reaction from the crowd was instant. A buzz rippled through the stadium, fans murmuring, cameras shifting. The NBA players leaned forward in their seats, sensing the moment. LeBron nudged Reaves. "Alright, let''s see what the hype is about." Izan stepped onto the pitch. The moment was brief¡ªjust a few steps across the white line¡ª The second time playing in Arsenal colors in front of a full stadium. His teammates welcomed him quickly. ?degaard clapped his back. "Let''s go, bro." Saka gave him a nod. "Do your thing." Izan took his position, scanning the pitch. The referee gave a glance, then blew the whistle. A/n: 14/15. Last one left. I''ve been happy for the gift but damn, I''m tired. Learning for end of Sems too so its tough. Buh I like writing for you guys so keep spamming the gifts and the Golden tickets. Speaking of which, I have to make up for those too. Damn, it''ll be a while before I rest. ???? Chapter 376 376: Goal In LA [Normal Release] Izan stepped onto the pitch, the floodlights gleaming above as he adjusted the wrist tape on his left hand. The ball was deep in Arsenal''s half when he jogged into position, taking his first few strides. He didn''t rush forward or demand possession. Instead, he moved with the team''s rhythm, reading the flow, and scanning for the perfect moment. The first touch came from a routine switch of play. Jorginho saw him drop deep and rolled the ball his way. Izan met it with a soft, controlled touch, letting it settle before playing it back with the inside of his foot. It was safe. Simple. A few more passes later¡ªZinchenko to him on the left, a quick flick back to Gabriel¡ªArsenal''s tempo remained steady. Yet from the stands, murmurs rose. "He''s just passing it around." "Come on, do something. Play like it''s your job." LeBron James, seated in the VIP section, shook his head slightly. "Man, the dude I came to see is just knocking it around like he''s got all day," he remarked, prompting a grin from Austin Reaves beside him. Still, Izan remained focused. He wasn''t there to dazzle immediately¡ªhe was settling into the game. The ball kept coming his way. A one-touch pass to ?degaard, a backheel to Rice to escape a press, a simple flick to Saka before repositioning¡ªall precise, yet lacking the explosive spark the impatient crowd craved. With everything leading up to this point, the moment they had been expecting finally happened. A loose pass in midfield and a further brief hesitation from Leverkusen''s pivot opened up the field. Izan''s eyes lit up. He reacted instantly, stepping in to intercept with his left foot, cushioning the ball into his path in one fluid motion. Now, space unfolded before him. A Leverkusen player rushed in, looking to close him down but Izan feinted left, his body shifting subtly as he dragged the ball behind his standing leg. A quick burst was all he needed to explode past his marker. The crowd''s murmur swelled into a collective gasp. Another opponent closed in but Izan, calm as ever, slowed just enough to bait the defender forward. The moment the challenge came, he rolled the ball under his boot, then flicked it with the outside of his foot¡ªjust out of reach¡ªchanging direction in a blink. The pitch opened up. Three defenders stood between him and the final third, but their shape wavered. Izan feinted, testing their reactions. The nearest defender hesitated, shifting toward his left. That was all he needed. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With a delicate touch, Izan cut inside, creating a narrow channel that sliced through Leverkusen''s rigid formation. In that split second, Saka made his run into the box. The pass that followed was pure artistry¡ªa disguised flick, threaded perfectly between two desperate defenders. The ball flew with precision, landing right in Saka''s path. The stadium held its breath. Saka took a controlled touch and, with a confident strike, curled it past the outstretched keeper, rippling the net. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed Arsenal had broken the deadlock. Then the whistle blew. The assistant referee''s flag soared high. Offside. The eruption of cheers turned into frustrated groans. Yet the crowd''s perception had shifted. They had seen the brilliance¡ªthe timing, the execution, the vision. Izan had transformed a routine passage of play into a dangerous attacking sequence. His measured start had given way to a sudden, explosive moment that unbalanced the opposition. The fans, once impatient, now buzzed with anticipation. The murmurs of doubt had turned into murmurs of excitement. Even the NBA stars in the VIP section leaned forward, their earlier skepticism replaced with grudging respect. On the pitch, ?degaard''s eyes met Izan''s, a silent approval passing between them. Saka gave a knowing nod. Across the field, Leverkusen''s defenders exchanged urgent glances, suddenly wary. Izan didn''t dwell on the disallowed goal. He simply rejoined the team''s rhythm, but now, every movement carried a new urgency. The calm, composed midfielder was gone. In his place was a player ready to take control of the game. ...¡­.. As the ball rolled out for a throw-in, Xabi Alonso stepped to the edge of his technical area, his voice cutting through the noise. "Granit!" Xhaka turned toward his manager. Alonso''s expression was firm, his words sharp and deliberate. "You''re in charge of him now. No space, no freedom. If he turns, he kills us." Xhaka gave a slight nod, wiping sweat from his brow as he turned back toward the pitch. He had faced young talents before¡ªsome hyped beyond their ability, others proving the talk was justified. Izan was beginning to show which category he belonged to. The game resumed, and immediately, Izan found himself under closer surveillance. Every time he received the ball, Xhaka was on him, stepping in, closing the gap, cutting off his angles. But Izan had played against markers like this before. He didn''t need space¡ªhe just needed the right touch, the right moment. Arsenal built from the back. Saliba played it into Rice, who quickly found Jorginho. Izan moved into the pocket of space between Leverkusen''s midfield and defense. Jorginho saw the gap and sent the ball his way but Xhaka was already there, his body angling to block any forward turn. Izan saw this and didn''t turn. Not yet. Instead, he let the ball run across his body, feinting a pass back to Jorginho with his left foot. Xhaka took the bait, shifting ever so slightly¡ªjust enough for Izan to flick the ball with his right and spin in the opposite direction. The crowd gasped. Xhaka caught off balance for the briefest of moments, lunged to recover, but Izan was already gone, gliding into space, the ball rolling effortlessly under his control. Now, he had only one defender in front of him. Izan accelerated, taking bigger touches, drawing his marker in. The Leverkusen defender hesitated, unsure whether to commit or hold his ground. Then Izan struck. A sharp cut to the left, dragging the ball behind his standing leg, shifting his entire body weight in an instant. The defender bit on the feint and Izan immediately snapped the ball back to his right, leaving him stranded. He was through. With the goal in sight, he shaped his body, aiming for the far post. But before he could unleash the shot¡ª A blur of red and black closed in. Xhaka. The Swiss midfielder had recovered, sliding in with perfect timing to block the attempt. The ball deflected off his outstretched leg, looping harmlessly into the goalkeeper''s hands. Xhaka got up first, offering Izan a smirk. "Not bad, kid. But not enough." Izan exhaled sharply, already jogging back into position. If that''s how Xhaka wanted it, he''d get his answer soon enough. Leverkusen, not wanting to be outdone, responded. Their buildup was swift, precise, orchestrated with the same fluidity Arsenal had just displayed. Florian Wirtz, their young star, drifted between the lines, finding space near the edge of the box. A quick one-two with Schick split Arsenal''s midfield, sending him straight at Gabriel. Wirtz feinted right, then flicked the ball left with the outside of his foot, slipping past the Brazilian center-back in one motion. The crowd roared as he bore down on goal. Raya rushed out, lowering his stance, preparing for the shot. Wirtz, cool and composed, lifted his foot¡ª But Saliba came sliding in from the side, his long frame stretching just enough for Wirtz to hesitate. Before the German wonderkid could shoot again, Gabriel was on him resulting in the ball going out of play A moment of brilliance, denied by equally brilliant defending. The intensity skyrocketed. On one end, Wirtz carved open Arsenal''s backline. On the other, Izan threatened to do the same to Leverkusen. Two young stars, two teams chasing dominance. "Here comes Arsenal again, and look at the movement from Izan¡ªhe''s taking charge!" The rhythm of the game had shifted, and this time, Izan dictated the tempo. Receiving the ball in midfield, he controlled it with a feathery touch before glancing up. Leverkusen''s defensive shape was intact, but their midfield had begun to tire. A weakness. A crack. Izan took a slow step forward, baiting Xhaka once more. The Swiss midfielder approached cautiously this time, refusing to commit too soon. Then¡ª Izan flicked the ball past Xhaka with the outside of his foot, darting around him in a blur of motion. Xhaka turned too late. Izan was already through. The crowd erupted, sensing danger, sensing something special. "Izan has broken free! Arsenal are in full flow now!" Leverkusen''s backline scrambled. Two defenders rushed forward, but Izan played it perfectly, sliding a disguised pass through the narrowest of gaps. ?degaard was there to receive it. One touch, then a flick to Saka on the right. Saka, already in full sprint, took on his marker, dropping a quick shoulder before cutting inside. The ball moved like a whisper between Arsenal shirts¡ªfluid, seamless. Jorginho, first-time pass to Rice. Rice, no hesitation, a sharp return to Izan, who had ghosted into the left half-space. Leverkusen''s defense was stretched thin now. Openings appeared. Panic set in. Izan, head up, saw his chance. With one effortless movement, he shifted the ball onto his right foot, dodging the last desperate lunge of a defender. Now, just the keeper stood in his way. A deep breath. A moment of stillness. Then¡ªhe struck. A curling effort, shaped with precision, bent impossibly around the outstretched fingertips of the goalkeeper. For half a second, the stadium held its breath. Then, the net bulged. Explosion. "GOOOOOAAAALLLL!!! IZANNNNN! THAT IS MAGNIFICENT!" The stadium roared. The fans leaped to their feet, arms raised in disbelief. ?degaard sprinted toward him first, followed by Saka and Rice, but Izan had something else in mind. Instead of running to the corner flag, he grabbed the ball, spun it in his hands like a point guard setting up a shot, and then bounced it once on the grass. A smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped back and mimicked a perfect fadeaway jumper¡ªan homage to the NBA stars watching from the VIP section. The imaginary shot swished through an invisible hoop, and as if on cue, LeBron James and the others erupted in laughter and applause. Saka pointed at him, grinning while ?degaard gave him a playful shove. The crowd, already electric, grew even louder. Arteta, watching from the touchline, couldn''t help but chuckle. A/n: Normal release of the day. Have fun reading and I''ll see you with the rest of the chapters. Chapter 377 377: Relentless Leverkusen [Final Gacha Chapter] "Izan''s goal has lifted the Stadium, but there''s still time for more drama. Leverkusen won''t go quietly and I''m guessing we should expect a response from Xabi Alonso''s men." The stadium still pulsed from Izan''s breathtaking strike. His curling effort, kissed by the floodlights, had found the top corner with an artistry that made time stand still. The crowd had erupted in a wave of deafening euphoria, fans on their feet, arms raised in disbelief at the sheer brilliance of the goal. But as Izan jogged back to midfield after his basketball-inspired celebration, he knew¡ªthis game was far from over. Leverkusen had no intention of rolling over. "And here they come again! Alonso urging his team forward. They know there''s a window to strike back while Arsenal are still adjusting after that goal." From the restart, Leverkusen charged forward with renewed intensity. Xhaka, now playing like a man possessed, barked orders, dragging his teammates higher up the pitch, pushing Arsenal deep into their half. He pointed straight at Izan, a silent command to his teammates that they couldn''t allow him the same space again. Arsenal, however, refused to sit back. Izan moved into the half-space, receiving a pass from ?degaard, but before he could turn, Xhaka was on him. The Swiss midfielder pressed aggressively, using his body to close Izan down before he could pivot. Izan held his ground, feeling Xhaka''s weight against his back, then attempted to spin away near the center circle. But Xhaka nudged him just enough to disrupt his balance. The ball bobbled loose. Leverkusen pounced. "Xhaka wins it back in midfield¡ªLeverkusen are on the front foot! Florian Wirtz now, looking to make something happen!" Wirtz was everywhere. The young German, so fluid and intelligent in his movement, picked up the ball on the left, skipped past White with a delicate feint, and drove toward the box. Arsenal''s defense scrambled. Saliba tracked back, trying to cut off his angle, but Wirtz exchanged a quick one-two with Schick at the edge of the area, found a sliver of space, and let fly. The shot was low, vicious, curling toward the bottom corner. "Wirtz goes for goal but Raya saves! Strong hand to keep it out!" The ball spilled dangerously into the six-yard box. For a moment, panic. Gabriel lunged to clear it, hammering the ball away before Schick could react. But the danger wasn''t over. Leverkusen kept coming. Another wave of pressure. Then came the moment that sent Arsenal hearts sinking. A routine pass into the box¡ªseemingly harmless¡ªturned into disaster. Gabriel lunged to clear it, barely clipping the ball, but Wirtz was already anticipating. He took a clever touch. Then came the slightest contact. Wirtz went down. Whistle. "Penalty! Oh, you can hear the gasps inside the Stadium!" The referee pointed to the spot. Arsenal players surrounded him, protesting, but the decision was made. No VAR review. No hesitation. "Leverkusen have their lifeline! Arsenal protest, but Gabriel did catch him. Now it''s all on Raya¡ªcan he keep Arsenal in front?" Wirtz, ice-cold under pressure, stepped up. Raya bounced on his line, arms outstretched. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The fans held their breath watching on as Wirtz set the ball down. Wirtz exhaled, took two steps, and struck the ball with venom. GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLL "Wirtz¡­ scores! No chance for Raya! It''s 3-3! Leverkusen are level, and Xabi Alonso roars in approval!" Leverkusen''s players mobbed Wirtz, while Xhaka pumped his fist, shouting toward the Leverkusen jerseys in the stands. On the other side, Arsenal players stood still. Gabriel, hands on his head, looked devastated. Izan exhaled sharply, hands on his hips, his jaw tightening. He stared at the Leverkusen players celebrating, then turned to the scoreboard. 3-3. "And just like that, all of Arsenal''s hard work has been undone. It''s now a test of character. Who wants it more? This preseason match has turned out well" With five minutes left in regulation, the match restarted. Izan''s mind sharpened. Every pass carried urgency. Every touch had weight. He drifted into deeper pockets, demanding the ball, pulling the strings with ?degaard and Rice, trying to probe the gaps in Leverkusen''s now slightly deeper shape. Zinchenko, overlapping on the left, found him in space. Izan let the ball run across his body, forcing Frimpong to step out. The defender lunged but Izan''s first touch flicked the ball over Frimpong''s boot, before he accelerated, darting into the space left behind. The crowd roared as he advanced toward the box, defenders converging. Izan spotted Saka making a run in behind and clipped the ball toward him. Saka let it drop over his shoulder and volleyed the ball but ie went just wide. "Arsenal so close! Izan unlocking the defense again, but Saka can''t quite apply the finish!" Time was slipping away. The next sequence down the right saw White whip a cross into the box, forcing a panicked clearance after Havertz tried to head it. The ball deflected off Tapsoba and rolled out for a corner kick "And now, Arsenal with one final opportunity. Every Leverkusen player back to defend. Izan to take it. Can they snatch it at the death?" Izan wiped the sweat from his brow as he placed the ball in the quadrant. He took a deep breath. Gabriel, who had conceded the penalty, made eye contact. This was his moment. Ding, [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 3 activated] The delivery was perfect. A wicked, dipping ball, curling toward the far post. Gabriel rose above everyone, hands tugging his shirt down but his met the ball before sending a thumping header towards goal. "Gabriel rises¡­ HE SCORES! REDEMPTION! GABRIEL MAKES AMENDS!" Gabriel pounded his chest, sprinting toward the corner flag, the crowd roaring behind as his teammates swarmed him. Izan followed but kept his celebration calm¡ªjust pointing toward Gabriel, acknowledging the moment. The referee glanced at his watch. Seconds later, the whistle blew. "¡­And there''s the final whistle! Arsenal edge out Leverkusen in a thrilling 4-3 victory! A match full of quality, drama, and some serious individual brilliance¡ªnone more so than Izan, who stole the show with that stunning goal and a late assist to seal it!" The crowd''s energy still pulsed through the stadium as players began exchanging handshakes, exhaustion setting in after a fiercely contested preseason match. Some swapped jerseys, others engaged in brief conversations, and a few simply made their way toward the tunnel, focused on recovery. Izan, still catching his breath, ran a hand through his damp hair as he felt a presence beside him. Wirtz. The Leverkusen playmaker gave him a nod. "Good game." Izan returned it. "You too." No need for unnecessary words. They had faced off at the Euros, crossed paths at the Kopa Trophy ceremony, and now battled again under different circumstances. The mutual respect was there, unspoken but clear. As they walked toward the tunnel, Wirtz glanced over. "How''s London treating you?" Izan shrugged, a small smirk forming. "Not bad. Still settling in." Wirtz huffed a quiet chuckle. "Doesn''t look like it." Izan didn''t bite. He knew what Wirtz meant¡ªhis performance tonight had been far from a player still finding his rhythm. But he wasn''t one for self-praise. Instead, he downplayed it, rolling his shoulders. "Just getting started." Wirtz nodded as if he expected that answer. "Yeah. I figured." They reached the tunnel entrance, where both teams were beginning to disperse¡ªsome players heading to the dressing room, others lingering on the pitch for post-match routines. As Izan stepped into the tunnel, the air inside was thick with the lingering energy of the match. The echoes of fans outside still rumbled faintly through the walls, but in there, the game was over. Arsenal''s players filed into the locker room, some still talking about the match, others heading straight for their seats to cool down. The scent of sweat and fresh grass clung to their jerseys as they peeled them off, tossing them into the bins at the center of the room. Ice packs were already being passed around, along with water bottles and electrolyte drinks. The atmosphere was light¡ªexhaustion mixed with satisfaction. Mikel Arteta entered shortly after, his presence immediately drawing everyone''s attention. He clapped his hands twice, nodding as he took a glance around the room. "Good work, all of you," he began, his voice firm but carrying a note of approval. "Preseason or not, this was a proper test. And we responded well. We were sharp, we controlled the game in phases, and when things got tough, we found solutions. That''s what I want to see." He took a moment, his eyes scanning across the players, then continued. "Physically, it''s not easy. These matches are designed to push you, and we still have work to do, but this is how we build momentum. Enjoy the win, recover well, and be ready for the next one." As the coach stepped back, conversations picked up again. A few players slapped Izan''s back in passing, acknowledging his impact on the game. Bukayo Saka gave him a grin as he walked by. "That basketball celebration, though? You been practicing?" Izan smirked. "Something like that." He settled onto the bench, untying his boots, as the room slowly transitioned from post-match analysis to preparation for departure. Some players headed for the showers, others packed their bags, the hum of casual chatter filling the space. Preseason or not, it was another game in the books. Another step forward. A/n: Damn. We finally arrived. Last Golden Gacha Chapter. Anyways. Have fun reading and I''ll see you in the evening. Chapter 378 378: First Start As the coach stepped back, conversations picked up again. A few players slapped Izan''s back in passing, acknowledging his impact on the game. Bukayo Saka gave him a grin as he walked by. "That basketball celebration, though? You been practicing?" Izan smirked. "Something like that." He settled onto the bench, untying his boots, as the room slowly transitioned from post-match analysis to preparation for departure. Some players headed for the showers, others packed their bags, the hum of casual chatter filling the space. Preseason or not, it was another game in the books. Another step forward. .... The team gradually filed out of the locker room, some still discussing the match in hushed tones, others simply eager to get back to the hotel. Staff members moved swiftly around them, collecting gear, ensuring nothing was left behind. As Izan slung his bag over his shoulder, he followed the stream of players toward the exit. Outside, the night air was crisp, a welcome contrast to the humid heat of the stadium. The parking area was quiet, save for a few scattered fans still lingering beyond the barriers, hoping for autographs. Some of the players obliged, stopping briefly to sign shirts or take quick selfies, but most headed straight for the bus. Izan climbed on, finding a window seat near the middle. As he sat back, he stretched out his legs, letting his body relax for the first time since stepping onto the pitch. The rhythmic hum of the bus engine filled the space as more players took their seats. Gabriel and Jorginho chatted in Portuguese a few rows ahead, while Saka scrolled through his phone, likely checking reactions to the game. Izan pulled out his phone, expecting the usual flood of messages. As soon as he unlocked it, a call came through¡ªOlivia. A small smirk touched his lips as he answered. "Hey." "Hey yourself," her voice came through smoothly, laced with amusement. "Saw the game. I liked the goal." "Just the goal?" he teased. She let out a soft laugh. "I mean, the assist was nice too. And the whole ''prime Barcelona'' passing sequence you pulled off. But that celebration?" Izan leaned his head back against the seat. "You didn''t like it?" "No, it was cute," Olivia admitted. "It''s just funny seeing you do a basketball move on a football pitch." "You know me," he said, closing his eyes briefly. "Gotta keep it interesting." There was a slight pause before Olivia''s tone softened. "You looked good out there. Sharp. Focused." Izan glanced out the window as the bus began to move, the stadium lights fading behind them. "It''s preseason," he said, though he appreciated the words. "Still," Olivia replied. "I can tell you''re settling in." Izan didn''t say anything to that, just let her words linger for a moment. The bus rolled on through the quiet streets, the soft murmur of his teammates filling the background. "You back at the hotel soon?" she asked. "Yeah, probably twenty minutes." "Alright," Olivia said, her voice warm. "I''ll let you go. Just wanted to say congrats." "Thanks," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Talk later?" "Of course." As the call ended, Izan tucked his phone away, resting his arm against the window. The night blurred past outside, but his mind was already on what was next. ...¡­.. [Miami ¨C Liverpool Pre-Season Training Camp] The afternoon sun beat down on the training ground, drenching the pitch in golden light. The Florida heat was unrelenting, the humidity thick in the air, but Liverpool''s players pushed through the final phase of their session. Arne Slot stood at the edge of the field, his arms crossed, watching his squad with a careful eye. Despite the conditions, the intensity remained high. Virgil van Dijk and Ibrahima Konat¨¦ drilled their defensive movements, shuffling their feet in perfect sync as they tracked the wingers darting past them. Mohamed Salah, Luis D¨ªaz, and Darwin N¨²?ez worked through finishing drills, sending powerful shots past the keepers, while Dominik Szoboszlai and Alexis Mac Allister played quick, tight combinations in midfield. Slot nodded in approval but remained silent. He didn''t need to bark orders¡ªhis players already knew what was expected. Finally, he lifted a hand and blew his whistle. "That''s it!" he called out, stepping forward as the players jogged toward him, their jerseys soaked with sweat. "Good work today." The players slowed to a stop, forming a semi-circle around him. Some stretched, others caught their breath, but all listened attentively. "Take the rest of the day off," Slot announced. "And tomorrow too." There was a brief pause before murmurs of appreciation rippled through the group. Rest days in preseason weren''t common, especially with matches looming. "Use the time wisely," Slot continued. "Recover, hydrate, and be ready. We''ll break down our approach to Arsenal before we step onto the pitch. That''s all. Dismissed." The players clapped their hands together before dispersing toward the locker rooms. Some spoke in small groups, others simply walked in silence, exhausted from the session. Slot watched them for a moment before turning on his heel. His work wasn''t done. He had a meeting to get to. ? The lights were dimmed, the only illumination coming from the large projector screen at the front of the conference room. The air-conditioning hummed softly in the background, cutting through the Miami heat. Arne Slot sat at the head of the long table, his coaching staff gathered around him, each with laptops open, ready to take notes. "Alright," Slot said, glancing toward his analyst. "Let''s get into it." The screen flickered, and the footage began to play¡ªArsenal''s 4-3 victory over Bayer Leverkusen. The coaches leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the way Mikel Arteta''s team moved across the pitch. "A lot of similarities to last season," one of the analysts noted. "But you can already see subtle differences in their play. The midfield is quicker. More vertical passes. They aren''t just moving the ball side to side, they''re looking to penetrate faster." Slot rubbed his chin as he watched Arsenal''s defensive line shift smoothly, adapting to Leverkusen''s movement. "They''re still adjusting," he murmured. "But they already look sharp." He let the footage roll, watching Arsenal''s attack unfold. The ball moved with purpose, the structure disciplined but fluid. Then the analyst clicked ahead. "Here''s when Izan came on," he said, shifting the video to the moment the young Spaniard stepped onto the pitch. Slot leaned forward slightly. The footage showed Izan settling into the game, his first touches were simple but effective. He played quick passes, moved into space, constantly scanning the field. Then came the disallowed goal¡ªhis ability to read the game, intercept a pass, and disguise a through ball to Saka. It was instinctive, effortless. Slot''s brow furrowed, his attention fully locked on the screen. And then, the real moment of brilliance. The ball zipped between Arsenal''s players, a flurry of one-touch passes pulling Leverkusen''s defense apart. Izan, at the heart of it, played his part with surgical precision before curling an unstoppable shot into the top corner. The conference room fell silent as the net rippled. Slot exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "He makes it look easy." A quiet chuckle came from across the table. One of the assistants smirked. "He was available, boss." Slot leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the screen. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know." It wasn''t frustration in his voice, but there was something close to it. Liverpool had tried to sign him. They had been in the race, the discussions had happened. But Arsenal had moved dominantly, securing the young talenteen though other parties like themselves had inquired early. A generational player. Just out of their reach. He clicked his tongue, still watching as the footage rolled. Izan''s celebration played on the screen¡ªnothing over the top, just a quiet confidence about him. One of the analysts tapped on his laptop. "He''s going to be a problem," he said. "Especially with how Arsenal play. If Arteta builds the system right, he''ll thrive." Slot smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Wish that deal had gone through," he admitted. "Would''ve loved to see him in a Liverpool shirt." S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The room fell silent for a moment. Then, the analyst clicked ahead, shifting the footage to another segment. "Alright," he said. "Let''s move on." Slot straightened in his chair, refocusing. There was work to do. Arsenal would be their next test, and he needed his team ready. ..... The Arsenal players made their way into the conference room, the hum of quiet conversation filling the space as they settled into their seats. The air smelled faintly of sweat and recovery drinks, remnants of the previous day''s match still lingering. Arteta stood at the front, arms crossed, his expression composed yet sharp with intent. The room fell silent as he surveyed his players, and then his gaze landed on Izan. "You''re starting against Liverpool," Arteta said. A few heads turned toward Izan, but he didn''t react much¡ªjust a small nod, his expression unreadable. Chapter 379 379: Something Greater The room fell silent as he surveyed his players, and then his gaze landed on Izan. "You''re starting against Liverpool," Arteta said. A few heads turned toward Izan, but he didn''t react much¡ªjust a small nod, his expression unreadable. Arteta let the words settle before continuing. "We''re facing a team that will press aggressively, attack in waves, and test our structure from the first whistle. I expect to focus. Precision. And above all, composure." The projector screen flickered to life, displaying Liverpool''s tactical setup. The first clip showed their aggressive midfield press, with Mac Allister and Szoboszlai leading the charge while End¨­ or Baj?eti? sat deeper. "This is where they''ll come at us," Arteta pointed, circling the midfield. "They''ll try to force mistakes in our build-up. They want us to rush passes, play into their trap. We don''t do that." His gaze moved across the room, ensuring every player absorbed his words. "They''ll also be relentless in transition." Another clip rolled¡ªSalah, N¨²?ez, and D¨ªaz breaking forward at full speed. "If we lose possession in these areas," he tapped on a highlighted section in midfield, "we cannot switch it off. One bad moment, one lapse, and we''re exposed." Arteta let that linger before shifting to the next slide¡ªArsenal''s tactical response. "Now let''s see where we can hurt them". The next screen now showed Liverpool''s defensive shape when caught out¡ªtheir high line, their fullbacks pushing forward, leaving Van Dijk and Konat¨¦ isolated at times. "This is why Izan starts," Arteta stated, and suddenly all eyes were on the teenager. "His movement. His ability to combine, play between the lines, and find the final pass. That''s how we break them." The clip played again¡ªthis time, Arsenal in possession. A simulated movement showed Izan dropping into the pocket, linking with ?degaard and Rice before slipping it to Saka. "This is what I want," Arteta emphasized. "Not just movement, but intelligence. If we can stretch them here¡ª" he pointed at the half-spaces, "¡ªwe''ll create openings." Izan leaned forward slightly, studying the screen. His mind was already forming the patterns, visualizing the game before it even began. Arteta looked around the room. "This is a test. We set the standard. We dictate the game." A few nods. The energy in the room had shifted. "That''s it for now. Train well today. Be ready." As the players began filing out of the conference room, Arteta remained near the front, his hands on his hips. "Alright, let''s move to the pitch," he instructed, his voice carrying the usual authority. The players responded immediately, rising from their seats and heading toward the exit. Izan grabbed his water bottle and was about to follow when Arteta''s voice stopped him. "Izan. Stay back for a moment." A few players turned their heads, but no one said anything. Izan simply nodded, stepping aside as the others left the room. The door shut behind the last of them, leaving Izan alone with Arteta¡ªexcept they weren''t alone. Two men had entered in silence, standing near the back of the room. Josh Kroenke and Tim Lewis. Izan straightened slightly as he recognized them. The owners of Arsenal. Tim Lewis, dressed in his usual sharp suit, offered a small nod of acknowledgment. Josh Kroenke, dressed more casually in a blazer and jeans, stepped forward. Arteta moved aside, folding his arms as Kroenke spoke. "Izan," Josh started, his tone calm but deliberate. "We won the Premier League twenty years ago. Twenty years since Arsenal was at the very top of English football. You know how long that is?" Izan did. He hadn''t been born yet but he had watched clips of Henry, Bergkamp, and Vieira. He nodded, but Kroenke continued. "Too long," he said firmly. "And we''ve come close in the past few years. Very close. But not close enough." Tim Lewis spoke next, his voice smooth but weighty. "We spent big on you, Izan. Not because we expect you to carry us¡ªnot alone. That''s not why you''re here. But the truth is, your signing made waves." Josh crossed his arms, glancing at Arteta before locking eyes with Izan. "Every opponent you face? They want to see you fail. Every fan watching? They want to see if you can live up to the hype. We believe you can. But you have to give them a reason to believe too." The weight of the conversation pressed on Izan, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was reality. He had lived under expectation since he broke into Valencia''s first team. "We aren''t PSG," Kroenke continued. "We don''t throw money just to make a statement but we reward. Play well. Give the fans hope¡ªeven if we don''t win this season¡ªand we will take care of you." Tim Lewis gave a small nod. "Handsomely." Izan didn''t flinch. He didn''t shift uncomfortably or look away. Instead, he absorbed every word. Then, after a moment, he nodded once. "I understand," he said. Josh Kroenke studied him, then smiled faintly. "Good." Arteta finally spoke, stepping forward. "Alright," he said. "Let''s get to work." ........... Izan stepped onto the training pitch, the sunlight glaring off the freshly cut grass. The rest of the squad was already warming up, moving through their drills with ease. He jogged forward, rolling his shoulders, and was about to slot into position when¡ª A ball came flying at him. Instinct took over. He stopped it dead with his chest, then flicked it up slightly before settling it on the grass. Only then did he look up. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Martin ?degaard stood a few yards away, arms crossed, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Eyes up, Izan," ?degaard said, his Norwegian accent smooth. Izan exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, that was unnecessary?" "Well the author needed a few extra words so I gave him some," ?degaard answered. Then, with a grin, "Anyways what were you talking about with Dad?." "Dad??" From the side, Bukayo Saka let out a laugh. "Man, you better be careful, ?de. Izan''s about to take your spot as Arteta''s favorite son." A few players chuckled as they continued their drills, but ?degaard just shook his head with a smile. "Nah," he said. "Izan''s the new kid. Arteta''s still gotta give him the ''you''ll be a future captain'' speech first." Izan huffed out a laugh. "I''ll let you keep the armband, for now." ?degaard clapped him on the back as they fell into line with the others. "Let''s see if you can earn it first." As the players joked about, Mikel Arteta strode onto the pitch. The light breeze ruffled his training jacket as he clapped his hands together, drawing every player''s attention. The banter and casual chatter faded, replaced by an almost instinctive readiness. Arteta scanned his squad, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Alright, listen up," he said, voice firm but not harsh. "We''ve got work to do. Liverpool will not wait for us to prepare." The players straightened, rolling their shoulders, shifting their weight¡ªready. "Same intensity as last match," Arteta continued, pacing slightly. "We are getting closer to where we need to be, but I want more. Faster circulation. Sharper decisions. Play with conviction." He stopped, eyes narrowing slightly. "And above all¡ªfight for it." A few nods. No one needed reminding. They had seen what Liverpool did to teams that weren''t ready. "Now, let''s begin." With that, training officially started. A few stories above the training ground, inside one of the hotel''s private executive viewing rooms, Tim Lewis and Josh Kroenke stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the session unfold below. Kroenke had his hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the players moving across the pitch, while Lewis stood with his arms crossed, thoughtful. "This has to be the season," Kroenke said, voice quiet yet firm. "We''ve come close too many times." Lewis exhaled through his nose. "We have the squad, the coach, the structure. But football isn''t played on paper. It''s about moments." Kroenke nodded. He understood that all too well. Arsenal had been building toward something for years. They had strengthened, invested, and believed. Now? It had to count. His eyes flickered toward one player in particular¡ªthe number 10, cutting through the training session with frightening sharpness. Izan. "This is why we signed him," Kroenke said, almost to himself. "He''s different. He''s the kind of player that can create those moments." Lewis hummed in agreement. "If he delivers, he won''t just justify his signing¡ªhe''ll define this season." A pause. Then, Lewis turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "And what do you think?" he asked, addressing the figure standing behind them. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Ars¨¨ne Wenger stepped into the light. His silver hair caught the glow from the windows, his expression wise, contemplative. Though he had not been involved in Arsenal''s day-to-day for years, his presence still carried weight¡ªa legacy that could not be erased. Wenger walked slowly to the window, gazing down at the pitch, watching Izan move. His posture was composed, but there was something in his eyes¡ªsomething deep. "Many years ago, I had the chance to sign a young Portuguese boy. He was special. Electric. But we hesitated, and Manchester United took him instead." Cristiano Ronaldo. Wenger''s gaze didn''t waver from the pitch. "When I saw Izan play, I thought about that moment. I thought about what I let slip away." He turned slightly, the corners of his mouth curving into a rare, small smile. "So this time, I did not hesitate. I told them not to let him slip away. I did not want to miss out on another Ronaldo." Silence settled in the room. Then, Wenger''s smile faded, replaced by something even more profound. "But now¡­ I think I was wrong." Kroenke frowned slightly. "Wrong?" Wenger nodded, his gaze returning to Izan, who had just danced past a defender with impossible ease. "Izan is not another Ronaldo," Wenger said softly. "He can be greater." Chapter 380 380: Late Night Escapades Kroenke and Lewis turned their attention back to the training ground below, Wenger standing beside them in silent observation. Just as they refocused, Izan received the ball at the edge of the box. Odegaard, ever the orchestrator, had set him up with a precise layoff. The pass rolled smoothly into Izan''s stride, and without breaking momentum, he shifted his body weight¡ªa subtle feint, a calculated angle. Then, the shot. A curler. The ball left his boot with exquisite precision, bending with a controlled arc toward the far post. Ramsdale reacted, stretching out, but the trajectory was untouchable. The net rippled. A sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by a collective murmur of admiration. But Izan wasn''t done. Grinning, he took off toward the corner flag, his body shifting into a playful sprint. Saka, already laughing, bolted after him, mock-chasing as if trying to stop him from celebrating. Izan reached the flag and abruptly dropped to one knee, raising his hands like a trained marksman. A U.S. Marine simulation. Target in sight. He steadied his imaginary rifle, miming a slow, controlled trigger pull. One shot. Two. Three. A precise takedown of an invisible enemy. The watching players burst into laughter, the absurdity of the moment breaking the competitive tension of training. Saka reached him and dramatically collapsed, hands over his heart, "hit" by the final shot. Izan smirked, "Mission accomplished," before helping Saka up. ..... Inside the Building Wenger chuckled softly. "He has confidence," Kroenke remarked, shaking his head. Lewis smirked. "And flair. He knows exactly what he''s doing." Wenger''s expression remained thoughtful. "Yes," he murmured. "But confidence alone does not define greatness. It''s what he does when the real war begins." ... The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the pitch as Arteta blew the final whistle. "That''s it for today!" he called out, stepping onto the field as the players gathered. "Good work, everyone. Rest." His gaze swept across the squad, his voice steady but firm. "We have tomorrow off. Use it wisely¡ªrecover, clear your minds. Because the day after, we go again. One final session before our last pre-season match against Liverpool. I want sharpness. I want intensity." Some players exchanged glances, knowing exactly what that meant. Arteta''s last pre-match session was never light work. He nodded toward them. "We''ve done well so far, but the real season is coming. And it won''t wait for us to be ready." Odegaard gave a small, knowing smile, already familiar with the manager''s expectations. Arteta turned, glancing at Izan for a brief moment before addressing the squad again. "Now, go. Rest up." With that, the session ended. The players began filtering out, some chatting, others already thinking about what to do tomorrow. Izan turned to leave, wiping sweat from his forehead. But just as he slung his training top over his shoulder, a hushed conversation caught his ear. "Mate, it''s just one night," Saka''s voice, low but amused. "Yeah, Arteta won''t even know," Martinelli added, grinning. Zinchenko chuckled. "We just have to be back before morning." Izan glanced over without turning his head. They were planning something. Sneaking out? Maybe just a night out, or something a little riskier. He didn''t say a word. Just a small, knowing smile crossed his face as he stepped away, heading toward the exit. Let them have their fun. ...¡­ Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko huddled together near the entrance of the hotel, their voices barely above a whisper. "Alright, we take the service exit," Zinchenko said, his eyes darting around. Martinelli smirked. "You''ve done this before, haven''t you?" Saka chuckled. "Man''s been planning this since we landed." Zinchenko just grinned. "Trust me, I know how to make it work." With careful movements, they slipped out, avoiding security cameras, weaving through the back corridors of the hotel, and finally stepping into the warm night air of the city. ? Izan stood in his hotel room, leaning against the window frame. Below, he could see the three figures moving carefully through the shadows, their plan unfolding perfectly. A smirk crossed his face. He could easily stop them if he wanted to. But why would he? He pulled the curtains shut. Whatever they were up to, it wasn''t his concern or it was, Izan thought as a knowing smirk formed on his face. Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko made their way into the heart of the city, the streets buzzing with life even at this hour. They found a quiet lounge, tucked away from the usual tourist spots, where music hummed in the background and the lights were dim. "Not bad," Martinelli nodded approvingly as they settled in, ordering drinks¡ªnon-alcoholic, of course. They weren''t stupid. S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Cheers to a proper preseason," Zinchenko said, raising his glass. "And to a title charge," Saka grinned, clinking his drink with theirs. For the next couple of hours, they laughed, joked, and unwound¡ªthe tension of preseason fading into the background. No Arteta, no tactics, just three teammates enjoying a rare free moment. At 3 AM, they slipped back into the hotel, moving with the same stealth they had used to escape. Saka almost tripped over a bag left in the hallway, and Martinelli had to stifle a laugh. "Shh, bro!" Zinchenko hissed. They crept through the corridors, past the sleeping staff, and into their rooms¡ªundetected. As Saka shut his door, he exhaled. "Flawless mission." They''d gotten away with it. Or so they thought. ........ BANG. BANG. BANG. The pounding on the door echoed through the hallway, jolting Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko awake. Saka sat up in a panic, his heart still sluggish from lack of sleep. "Who the hell¡ª?" Martinelli groaned, rubbing his eyes. Before anyone could react, a voice rang through the door. "Get up! Arteta''s called a video room session. Now." Zinchenko''s drowsiness disappeared instantly. "What? It''s¡ª" He grabbed his phone. "It''s 7:30! Bloody hell!" Saka flopped back onto his pillow. "I''m finished." "No, we''re finished," Martinelli corrected, already stumbling out of bed. They had barely gotten 3 hours of sleep, and now Arteta wanted them in a meeting? This couldn''t be a coincidence. The three shuffled toward the meeting room like condemned men. Their eyes were red, their movements sluggish, and despite their best efforts, they probably still reeked of whatever place they had gone to. As they stepped inside, they froze. Everyone else was already seated¡ªwide awake, fully dressed, fresh. Even Izan sat comfortably in his chair, arms crossed, watching them with an unreadable expression. Arteta stood at the front, hands on his hips, eyes scanning the room. When his gaze landed on the trio, it lingered. "Late night?" he asked casually. Saka swallowed. "No, boss." Arteta nodded slowly, his expression giving away nothing. As the three shuffled into their seats, they immediately felt something was off. The way the others sat¡ªsome amused, some trying to suppress laughter¡ªfelt unnatural. Then, Arteta pressed play. The screen flickered to life, and¡ª There they were. Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko, sneaking out of the hotel. Clear as day. The room erupted. Laughter. Stifled chuckles. A few gasps. Saka''s stomach plummeted. Zinchenko froze, his eyes locked on the screen as if he could will it to disappear. Martinelli? Silent. Absolutely silent. The footage continued¡ªthem laughing, hopping into a car, and leaving for the club or wherever they went. Then, at 3:00 AM sharp, stumbling back in through the back entrance, barely able to keep their balance. The camera cut off. Silence. Arteta folded his arms. "Do you have anything to say?" No one spoke. Then, Izan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Amateurs." Arteta sighed, his expression unreadable as he looked at the three culprits. "You know what to do." Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko didn''t argue. They just nodded, heads down, and turned toward the exit. A few of their teammates winced as the door shut behind them. Running laps this early? Brutal. Izan stood, stretched, and casually followed to the window. Sure enough, there they were. Lap after lap. Zinchenko already looked like he regretted every decision that led him here. Martinelli was gritting his teeth and Saka? Muttering curses under his breath with every step. The trio finally slowed to a stop, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. Just as they bent over, hands on their knees, a few water bottles came flying toward them. Izan stood nearby, tossing one bottle after the other. "Next time you three want to sneak out, just come to me. I''m well-versed in that art." Saka squinted at him as he chugged down the water. "Wait¡­" His expression froze. "Hold on¡ªyou took the footage?" Martinelli and Zinchenko snapped their heads toward Izan, realization hitting them like a truck. Izan simply smirked. "Oi!" Zinchenko shot up, suddenly re-energized. "Get back here!" Before Izan could react, all three of them lunged at him. "Ah, sh¡ª" Izan turned on his heels, sprinting. But they couldn''t catch him. He was just too quick. Every time they got close, he slipped away with a grin, weaving between training cones like it was a game. From the cafeteria, the rest of the squad watched with amusement. Odegaard shook his head with a chuckle. "That boy''s trouble." Saliba leaned back, grinning. "Yeah, but I think I like it." Chapter 381 381: Clash Of Two Titans Izan darted across the training pitch, laughter bubbling in his chest as Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko stormed after him, their shouts ringing through the cool morning air. "You''re dead, bro!" Saka barked, pumping his arms furiously. Martinelli, breathing hard but determined, cut across the grass, trying to intercept Izan''s path. "I swear if I get my hands on you¡ª!" Zinchenko, despite his exhaustion, managed a grin. "You''ve got nowhere to run, hermano!" Yet, every time they lunged, Izan twisted, sidestepped, or feinted, his movement almost instinctive. He juked Zinchenko with a quick shift of his weight, then sent Martinelli stumbling with a sharp cut before spinning away from Saka like a seasoned midfielder under pressure. The players watching from the cafeteria were in pieces. Some were laughing so hard they had to hold onto their chairs. ?degaard had his arms crossed, shaking his head with a small smile. "They never had a chance." Declan Rice leaned forward, entertained. "This is the most effort I''ve seen them put in all preseason." Back outside, Zinchenko came to a dead stop, hands on his knees. "This¡­ this is not worth it." Saka threw his hands up. "How is he still running?!" Martinelli groaned. "He''s mocking us, bro. Look at his face!" Indeed, Izan was barely breaking a sweat, grinning as he jogged backward, watching their misery unfold. He tossed them another water bottle. "Here. You guys need it more than me." Zinchenko caught it but didn''t drink. Instead, he stared at Izan with squinted eyes. "This isn''t over." Izan smirked. "Of course not." Saka, still panting, pointed at him. "We''ll get you back, man. Just wait." Izan chuckled, turning away. "I look forward to it." As he walked off, the trio sat down, catching their breath. A moment passed before Martinelli turned to Saka. "You know what the worst part is?" Saka exhaled. "What?" Martinelli sighed. "He was right." Zinchenko looked between them. "About what?" Saka groaned. "If we''re ever sneaking out again¡­" Martinelli nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead. "We''re bringing Izan with us." As the trio finally caught their breath, Arteta walked onto the pitch, hands behind his back, his usual composed demeanor intact. He glanced at Saka, Martinelli, and Zinchenko, still on the ground, sweat dripping from their faces. "Have you learned your lesson?" Arteta asked, his tone calm but firm. The three nodded vigorously, too exhausted to offer any sarcastic responses. Arteta let the silence stretch before giving a small nod. "Good. Now, go join your teammates for lunch." Zinchenko, with what little energy he had left, managed a wry smile. "You''re not making us run back to the cafeteria, are you?" Arteta''s lips twitched, but he shook his head. "No. But if I catch you sneaking out again, you won''t be running¡ªyou''ll be crawling." Saka groaned Martinelli chuckled weakly, and Zinchenko muttered something in Ukrainian under his breath. With that, they pushed themselves up and trudged toward the cafeteria, where the rest of the squad had already gathered. As soon as they stepped inside, a round of laughter erupted. "Welcome back, lads!" Declan Rice called out, smirking. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "How was the morning cardio?" ?degaard added, leaning back in his chair. The trio slumped into their seats, grabbing water and food, while Izan¡ªsat across from them, a knowing smirk on his face. Saka shot him a glare between bites of his meal. "We''re still getting you back, bro." Izan simply shrugged. "I''ll be waiting." ..... "Good evening folks, and welcome to BBC Sports'' preseason special as we take a deep dive into how the top Premier League clubs are shaping up ahead of the new season. With the league campaign just around the corner, teams have been fine-tuning their squads, making crucial signings, and testing their tactics on the pitch. But one preseason match in particular has caught everyone''s attention¡ªthe showdown between Arsenal and Liverpool in Los Angeles. We''ll get to that shortly, but first, let''s take a look at how some of England''s biggest clubs have been preparing." The screen shifted to a newsroom set, where host Gary Lineker sat alongside analysts Alan Shearer and Micah Richards, both dressed sharply for the broadcast. Behind them, highlights from various preseason matches played across the world flickered on the screen. "Let''s start with the champions," Lineker began. "Manchester City have had a fairly quiet transfer window by their standards. Ilkay G¨¹ndogan is back from Barcelona, a move that surprised many, and they''ve signed Savinho from Girona. But on the other side, they''ve lost Juli¨¢n ¨¢lvarez to Atl¨¦tico Madrid and Jo?o Cancelo to Al-Hilal. Alan, do you think City will still be the team to beat?" Shearer nodded. "Absolutely. They still have Pep Guardiola, they still have Erling Haaland, and they still have that ridiculous midfield. Even with a slow summer in the market, you can''t write them off. They''ll be right up there again." Micah Richards, a former City player himself, smirked. "People always try to find reasons to doubt them, but trust me, Pep''s been cooking up something. They''ll be fine." The conversation then shifted to Manchester United and Chelsea, two clubs looking for consistency after turbulent seasons. "United have had an interesting preseason. Erik Ten Hag is still figuring out how to get the best out of his squad, and some of their younger players have been impressive. Chelsea, on the other hand, are still going through a rebuild," Lineker summarized. Shearer sighed. "Every season we ask the same question about Chelsea: ''Is this the year they finally click?'' I still don''t know the answer." Before the United-Chelsea talk could settle, the pundits moved to Newcastle''s recent rise had been one of the biggest stories in English football. With European football on the horizon again, expectations were high. "Eddie Howe has built something solid," Shearer, a Newcastle legend, said proudly. "They won''t just roll over. They''ve made smart signings, and I think they''ll push for the top four again." But as the segment moved on, the focus shifted to the real main event¡ªthe upcoming clash between Arsenal and Liverpool in Los Angeles. A slow-motion clip of Arsenal''s training in California appeared on the screen¡ªplayers jogging onto the field, Arteta issuing instructions, and the team''s new signing, Izan, standing among his teammates. "Arsenal have had an incredible preseason," Lineker said. "Undefeated so far, playing brilliant football. But Alan, the real story is Izan, their new record signing." Shearer grinned. "Yeah, the kid''s something special. There''s a lot of hype around him, and rightly so. He''s already linking up well with Odegaard and Saka. He''s got that confidence, that arrogance you need at the top level." Richards chuckled. "He''s got that sauce, man! Watching him play, you can tell he''s enjoying himself. But Arsenal aren''t just about one player. Arteta has built a proper squad. They''re playing with swagger, and I genuinely think they''ll be title contenders this season." The broadcast cut to Liverpool''s camp, where the team was deep in training, adapting to life under new manager Arne Slot. "It''s a strange sight, isn''t it?" Lineker remarked. "Liverpool without Jurgen Klopp." Shearer nodded. "It''s a massive change. Klopp was everything to that team. Arne Slot has big shoes to fill, and you can already see the shift in tactics. There''s less chaos and more control. He wants them to dictate games rather than just outfight teams." "But will it work?" Richards questioned. "Preseason has been a mixed bag for them. In some games, they''ve looked brilliant. Others, not so much. Arsenal will be their biggest test yet." With both teams set to face off in LA''s biggest stadium, excitement was reaching its peak. The analysts took turns offering their final thoughts. Shearer: "For Arsenal, this is about continuing their momentum. For Liverpool, it''s about showing they can still compete at the top level." Richards: "I want to see how Izan handles a big opponent. If he shines here, the hype will only grow." Lineker smiled at the camera. "One way or another, we''ll get answers. Arsenal. Liverpool. Two giants. It''s all happening in LA. And we''ll be here to break it all down." The screen faded to black, and the broadcast cut to commercials. The stage was set. ...¡­ The Los Angeles morning carried a warm breeze, but it did little to settle the rising tension around SoFi Stadium. Fans had already begun to gather, decked out in Arsenal red and Liverpool crimson, buzzing with anticipation. This was the biggest preseason match of the summer, a true test before the Premier League''s return. At Arsenal''s team hotel, the mood was lighter. Inside the lobby, players moved casually, exchanging light-hearted jokes while staff members carried last-minute equipment to the bus. "I swear, this feels like a Champions League night," Martinelli said, glancing at the number of cameras already tracking their movement. "We''ll get there soon enough," Saka smirked, tapping his suitcase before turning to Izan. "But first, our boy has his first ''big'' game for Arsenal. How are we feeling?" Izan adjusted the strap of his bag, a small smirk forming. "It''s just another game." Zinchenko let out a dramatic sigh. "Listen to this guy. He wins one Euros and now every game is just ''another game.''" The group laughed as they stepped outside, where a crowd of Arsenal fans were waiting, holding up scarves and jerseys. Some chanted Arteta''s name, others sang player chants, but many locked their eyes on Izan. The cameras were already fixated on him, flashing non-stop as he walked toward the Arsenal team bus. A few fans near the front held up a banner: "IZAN, OUR NEW STAR. TAKE US TO GLORY!" Izan glanced at it before stepping onto the bus, feeling the weight of their expectation. Chapter 382 382: Clash Of Two Titans: [2] At Arsenal''s team hotel, the mood was lighter. Inside the lobby, players moved casually, exchanging light-hearted jokes while staff members carried last-minute equipment to the bus. "I swear, this feels like a Champions League night," Martinelli said, glancing at the number of cameras already tracking their movement. "We''ll get there soon enough," Saka smirked, tapping his suitcase before turning to Izan. "But first, our boy has his first ''big'' game for Arsenal. How are we feeling?" Izan adjusted the strap of his bag, a small smirk forming. "It''s just another game." Zinchenko let out a dramatic sigh. "Listen to this guy. He wins one Euros and now every game is just ''another game.''" The group laughed as they stepped outside, where a crowd of Arsenal fans were waiting, holding up scarves and jerseys. Some chanted Arteta''s name, others sang player chants, but many locked their eyes on Izan. The cameras were already fixated on him, flashing non-stop as he walked toward the Arsenal team bus. A few fans near the front held up a banner: "IZAN, OUR NEW STAR. TAKE US TO GLORY!" Izan glanced at it before stepping onto the bus, feeling the weight of their expectation. ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª The Arsenal team bus was a state-of-the-art luxury coach, but inside, the routine was the same as ever. Some players immediately put their headphones in, others scrolled through their phones, and a few kept the conversation going, still riding the energy from the lobby. Odegaard, as usual, sat near the front, watching clips of Liverpool''s pressing patterns on his iPad. Saliba and Gabriel murmured about how they''d handle Liverpool''s forward line, while Raya leaned back with his eyes closed, already focused. At the back, though, the energy was different. "So, what''s the bet today?" Saka asked, turning to Martinelli. The Brazilian grinned. "Loser buys dinner. The first to score wins." Izan, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. "You guys really do this before every game?" "Tradition, hermano," Martinelli chuckled. Zinchenko shook his head. "One day, they''ll bet their actual salaries." Before anyone could add more, Arteta stood up near the front, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Listen up, everyone." Silence fell. "Enjoy the moment. This stadium, this atmosphere¡ªit''s all part of why we play. But don''t forget, this is our last test before the real season begins. Let''s show them who we are." The bus turned the final corner, and outside, the SoFi Stadium came into view. A massive, futuristic coliseum, bathed in golden sunlight, with thousands of fans already filling the stands. ...¡­.. The Arsenal team bus pulled up outside SoFi Stadium, its sleek red-and-white design reflecting the blinding California sun. A crowd had gathered near the entrance, a mix of local fans, traveling Gooners, and curious neutrals hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite stars. Security had already set up barriers, but the excitement was palpable, camera flashes going off like fireworks as soon as the bus doors hissed open. The first to step out was Mikel Arteta, dressed sharply in his signature black outfit, hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the scene with a calm but authoritative presence. Behind him came Martin ?degaard, his expression relaxed as he adjusted his headphones. One by one, the rest of the squad followed, some wearing headphones, others casually chatting amongst themselves. Then came Izan, and the volume of the crowd surged. His arrival had a different effect¡ªpeople called his name, some held up jerseys with his number, while others recorded every second of his walk down the steps. A few Liverpool fans nearby booed half-heartedly, already buying into the growing rivalry that preseason narratives had sparked. Izan simply smirked, tugging at his Adidas travel jacket before falling into step with Saka and Gabriel Martinelli. "Feels like we''re playing a Champions League final, not a preseason match," Ben White muttered, squinting at the sheer number of cameras following their every move. "Welcome to America," Declan Rice grinned. "They love a spectacle. Everything has to feel like the Super Bowl" [No offense my Lovely readers from the Land of Opportunities and Capitalism] Nearby, a few fans were holding signs¡ªsome were wholesome, like a kid wearing a full Arsenal kit with "Izan, can I have your shirt?" written in big letters. Others were more entertaining, with a group of Liverpool supporters holding up a sign that read, "We''ll humble the Arsenal wonderboy." Izan glanced at it and chuckled. "They''ve been watching too many highlight reels," he murmured to Saka, who laughed. The players continued walking, stopping briefly as a few reporters called out questions, though they didn''t engage beyond a few nods and waves. The moment they stepped inside the tunnel, the outside noise dimmed. The underground hallways were a mix of futuristic architecture and old-school American football grit. Bright LED panels showcased both clubs, alternating between Arsenal''s red-and-white crest and Liverpool''s liver bird. Staff bustled around, match officials walked past with focused expressions, and a few stadium workers casually peeked over to get a glimpse of the players. As they made their way toward the dressing room, Arsenal''s players passed by the Liverpool squad, who were already in the hallway. The atmosphere shifted. Several Liverpool players¡ªVirgil van Dijk, Trent Alexander-Arnold, Luis D¨ªaz, and Dominik Szoboszlai¡ªstood near the entrance of their own locker room, their eyes locked on Izan as if he had personally wronged them. Alexis Mac Allister smirked, subtly nodding as if confirming something with his teammates while Curtis Jones leaned against the wall, watching with an amused look. Izan didn''t react much¡ªjust a raised eyebrow, a small tilt of his head, reading the silent message between the lines. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Saka, walking beside him, noticed it too. "Yeah, they''re definitely planning to ''welcome'' you properly," he murmured, grinning. Martinelli chuckled. "Man, they''re acting like you played for United or something." Zinchenko, who had also caught on, merely smiled, shaking his head. "Enjoy it while it lasts, boys. Once the match starts, it''s Izan''s turn to play mind games." The Arsenal players laughed as they strode into their locker room before coming out just as quick as they went in. Led by ?degaard, the players walked onto the pitch. The massive screens overhead flashed their names, the stadium lights bathing the lush grass in a silver hue as fans, already filling the stands, cheered in anticipation. The air buzzed with excitement, but for the players, this was the last moment of quiet focus before the intensity of the match began. Izan jogged onto the field with his teammates, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as he adjusted the tape on his wrists. He could feel the weight of expectation, not just from the fans but from his teammates, coaches, and even the Liverpool players warming up on the other side. He was used to it by now. "Alright, boys, let''s move," ?degaard called, clapping his hands as the Arsenal squad spread out for their drills. The session started light¡ªsome quick rondos, simple passing drills, and stretches. Izan kept his touches crisp, linking up with Saka and Martinelli in close quarters, their chemistry beginning to show with every sharp exchange. Arteta and his staff stood near the sideline, observing, occasionally barking instructions. As the session intensified, the forwards moved into shooting drills. ?degaard slid a ball into Izan''s path at the edge of the box. Without hesitation, Izan took a touch, set his body, and curled a shot toward the far corner. The ball kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the net. A ripple of applause came from the Arsenal fans watching, and even some of the substitutes clapped. "Man''s making it look easy," Reiss Nelson muttered, shaking his head as he jogged back to his position. Izan grinned but stayed locked in. Another ball came his way¡ªthis time, he let it roll, feinting a shot before slipping it through for Martinelli to finish. On the other side of the pitch, Liverpool''s players stood, glaring. Virgil van Dijk stood with his hands on his hips, watching Izan like a hunter sizing up its prey. Luis D¨ªaz smirked as he whispered something to Dominik Szoboszlai, who gave a small nod. Trent Alexander-Arnold bounced the ball at his feet, his gaze fixed on Izan. Even Salah, usually relaxed in warmups, glanced over with a knowing look as if preparing to set some record straight. "They''re looking at him like he stole something," Saka murmured to Martinelli and Zinchenko, who had also noticed. Arteta clapped his hands loudly. "Alright! That''s it. Inside, get dressed, and be ready!" The players jogged off the field, heading back down the tunnel, the tension rising with every step. ..... Jon Champion: "Good evening and welcome to Los Angeles, where Arsenal and Liverpool meet under the bright lights of SoFi Stadium in what is¡ªofficially¡ªa pre-season fixture, but let''s be honest, there''s nothing ''friendly'' about this one. Two giants of English football, both eager to fine-tune their squads ahead of the new campaign, and plenty of intrigue surrounding new faces, returning stars, and tactical adjustments." Gary Neville: "Yeah, Jon, you say ''friendly,'' but I''ve been on the pitch for these types of games before, and trust me, when the whistle blows, no one is thinking about easing up. And with a player like Izan stepping into the Arsenal team, you just know Liverpool''s defenders will want to leave a little reminder that the Premier League is a different beast." Champion: "And why wouldn''t they? The Spanish wonderkid arrives with huge expectations, a massive transfer fee, and a spotlight following his every move. But he''s not the only story tonight¡ªLiverpool are entering the post-Klopp era under Arne Slot, and we''ll get our first real look at how his team is shaping up." Chapter 383 383: War In A Coliseum [English Pundit Session] Jon Champion: "Good evening and welcome to Los Angeles, where Arsenal and Liverpool meet under the bright lights of SoFi Stadium in what is¡ªofficially¡ªa pre-season fixture, but let''s be honest, there''s nothing ''friendly'' about this one. Two giants of English football, both eager to fine-tune their squads ahead of the new campaign, and plenty of intrigue surrounding new faces, returning stars, and tactical adjustments." Gary Neville: "Yeah, Jon, you say ''friendly,'' but I''ve been on the pitch for these types of games before, and trust me, when the whistle blows, no one is thinking about easing up. And with a player like Izan stepping into the Arsenal team, you just know Liverpool''s defenders will want to leave a little reminder that the Premier League is a different beast." Champion: "And why wouldn''t they? The Spanish wonderkid arrives with huge expectations, a massive transfer fee, and a spotlight following his every move. But he''s not the only story tonight¡ªLiverpool are entering the post-Klopp era under Arne Slot, and we''ll get our first real look at how his team is shaping up." "Let''s take a look at the teams, starting with Arsenal." Champion continued. Arsenal XI: David Raya (GK), Ben White, William Saliba, Gabriel Magalh?es, Oleksandr Zinchenko, Declan Rice, Martin ?degaard (C), Izan, Bukayo Saka, Gabriel Martinelli, Kai Havertz. Neville "That''s a strong side. No real surprises¡ªArteta''s keeping things familiar as they build chemistry. The front three is exciting: Martinelli, Saka, and Havertz. The pace, the movement¡­ if they click, they''ll be a nightmare to defend against." Champion: "And a solid midfield behind them. Rice anchoring, ?degaard pulling the strings, and Izan drifting into those advanced spaces but also not limited to combining with Martin or Rice. Now, let''s look at Liverpool.". Liverpool XI: Alisson (GK), Trent Alexander-Arnold, Ibrahima Konat¨¦, Virgil van Dijk (C), Andy Robertson, Alexis Mac Allister, Dominik Szoboszlai, Ryan Gravenberch, Mohamed Salah, Luis D¨ªaz, Cody Gakpo. Neville "You look at that team and it still screams ''Liverpool,'' doesn''t it? The full-backs pushing forward, the intensity in midfield, and then that front three¡ªSalah, D¨ªaz, and Gakpo¡ªit''s dangerous. The biggest question is how they''ll look under Slot''s approach. Will it be more controlled, or will they still have that chaotic energy Klopp''s teams thrived on?" "Well that''s Neville''s take on that and for those of you tuning in on this broadcast, you''re in safe hands. If you''re¡­ elsewhere, well, we do hope you''re enjoying the tactical insight of ''wow, that was a great kick.''" Jon Champion said with a chuckle. "Yeah, I did catch a bit of their last match. Apparently, every pass over ten yards is now a ''laser-guided missile.'' Makes me wonder what they''d call an actual good pass." Neville indulged Champion. "Probably something along the lines of ''that''s a touchdown pass¡­ in soccer terms.''" Jon Champion interrupted. "Look Jon, credit to them, they''re trying to grow the game, but sometimes¡­ well, sometimes it''s nice to just hear the game for what it is." "And what it is tonight, is a proper battle between two English giants. What a match but our part is done. Handing over to Peter and Dixon now in Los Angeles" Jon Champion said after taking over from Neville. ...¡­.. Inside the tunnel, the air was thick with tension. It wasn''t spoken, but it was felt¡ªsomething beyond a preseason friendly, beyond just another match. Arsenal and Liverpool weren''t direct rivals, but here, in the heart of Los Angeles, with a packed SoFi Stadium roaring above, it might as well have been war. Izan adjusted the sleeves of his jersey as he stood near the front of the line, just behind Martin ?degaard. Around him, his teammates were locked in, faces set, eyes focused ahead. Across from them, Liverpool''s players stood in their own formation, a quiet storm brewing beneath their composed exteriors. Van Dijk, towering like a sentinel, rolled his shoulders while Trent exchanged a glance with Szoboszlai who stood, cracking his neck. Salah stood at the back, expression unreadable, but his stance was tense. The tunnel lights flickered and soon, the official signaled. Time. The moment their boots hit the turf, the stadium erupted. A deafening wave of sound crashed down, rolling over them in waves. Arsenal''s red flared from one side of the stands, banners waving high, chants bellowing out in thick London accents. Liverpool''s traveling faithful answered, their voices raw, scarves held aloft as they drowned out any illusion of this being a neutral venue. The American fans, mixed between the two factions, added their wild energy, filming every second, waving shirts, screaming. But the heart of it all was in the way they reacted to the players. For Arsenal, they roared for Izan. The boy who had commanded Europe''s attention. The signing they had spent fortunes on, the one expected to tip the scales in their title charge. Every step he took, every stretch, every slight movement¡ªit sent ripples through their section, anticipation boiling over. For Liverpool, he was the villain. Boos followed his name on the screen, jeers raining down when he turned toward their section. They weren''t just here to support their own¡ªthey wanted him to fall. Izan breathed it in. He welcomed it. He felt what they could. FEAR. FEAR that he might be the one to change the direction of things in this match. Although they saw him as a child, he knew they were afraid considering what they knew he was capable of. "Saka, mate, look at this place," Zinchenko muttered as they lined up. Saka grinned. "Told you. This ain''t preseason anymore." As the players spread out for the final moments before kickoff, the cameras zoomed in, and the broadcast team took over. Peter Drury: "And here we are, in the sun-drenched coliseum of Los Angeles, where an English spectacle takes center stage. Arsenal and Liverpool¡ªtwo titans of English football, separated by history but united in ambition¡ªprepare to ignite the SoFi Stadium. The crowd tells the story better than we ever could. Red against red, passion against pride. And in the middle of it all¡­ one of the most anticipated signings in recent years. The boy they call Izan." Lee Dixon (Co-Commentator) "And look at how they''re reacting to him. Arsenal fans treating him like the savior, and Liverpool fans treating him like the devil. It''s brilliant. He hasn''t kicked a ball yet, and he''s already rattled half the stadium. Exactly what you''d expect from a player of his growing stature. And let''s be honest, if you''re an Arsenal supporter, this is the kind of atmosphere you''d love to see in a so-called preseason game. It''s no secret that Arsenal are banking on him. And tonight, under the lights of LA, the world watches." Peter Drury: "Indeed. Meanwhile, our friends on the American broadcast might be giving you a more¡­ measured breakdown of tactics and hydration levels, but over here, we like to feel the fire before it burns us." Lee Dixon: "Which, funnily enough, might be what some of these players are planning to do to each other tonight..." After all the pre-match rituals were done with, the referee took one last glance at his watch, then raised his arm, Fweeeeeeeeeeee And then¡ªkick-off. The ball was played back to Van Dijk, who immediately pinged it wide to Trent. Arsenal''s press snapped into action, Martinelli and ?degaard closing space quickly. Trent hesitated a second too long¡ª?degaard''s outstretched leg nearly clipped the ball. The warning shot was sent. Liverpool responded in kind. The ball was switched to Robertson, who immediately launched it forward toward Salah. Zinchenko went shoulder to shoulder, winning the duel, but the intensity was clear. This wasn''t slow. This wasn''t friendly. Salina who now had the ball, looked up and saw the Liverpool team coming at him like moths attracted to flames. Like Arrows sent at an enemy. Izan saw this and shifted into gear before moving deep into space where the ball cycled toward him. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The first touch had to be sharp. He took a step, let it roll across his body, and in an instant, Mac Allister lunged in¡ªhard. Izan twisted, skipping past, but Mac Allister''s momentum sent him stumbling. The Liverpool fans cheered. The Arsenal fans roared for a foul but the ref waved play on. Saka picked up the loose ball and carried it forward, but Izan didn''t forget. As play shifted, he locked eyes with Mac Allister, who smirked. Alright then. Saka getting to the byline shifted his weight onto his right tricking Robertson who had caught up into thinking a cross was up but Saka cut back and slipped the ball to Izan who had gotten away from Mac Allister. The Argentine bolted towards Izan like a moving horror but Izan nudged the ball between his legs, sending waves through the crowd who were there for every bit of his show-boating. "Lovely turn by Izan and Oh, that nutmeg was horrendous" Peter called as Izan tried entering the penalty box but he was soon swarmed by Van Dijk and Gravenberch. Looking at the two towering Giants, Izan moved unfazed, twisting left before sending it right, then sending it back left again causing a gap to open up between the two. Izan glanced up. Saw spaced. He liked it. So he moved but before he could go, Van Dijk subtly dragged him back causing him to fall thinking he had gotten away but the whistle blew sharply. The Arsenal faithful were livid as they called out for a card punishment for Van Dijk but the Dutchman got away with a warning. "Welcome to Premier League Pre-season ''Muchacho''" Andy Robertson said, laughing the last part out. Izan on the ground smiled angelically before getting up. Robertson who glanced at him saw his smile and wondered why that was plastered on Izan''s face. He looked beside him and saw Van Dijk smiling wryly as the referee set up the wall. Then it hit him, Arne Slots''s words before the match ringing in his ear. "Tackle him before he gets near our goal. Do the opposite of that and you''ve given Arsenal a penalty" "Fuc- Chapter 384 384: Brilliance Under The Lights Peter Drury: "This is remarkable. It has taken exactly 50 seconds for us to have a first real chance of the game. Arsenal have a free kick in a position that just invites magic. It was Izan who won it, and now¡­ it is Izan who wants it." Lee Dixon: "And why wouldn''t he? He hit a beauty against Manchester United in preseason. Alisson knows that. Van Dijk and Robertson know that. But stopping him? That''s another question entirely." The SoFi Stadium hummed with anticipation. Fans leaned forward in their seats. The red wall of Liverpool supporters waved their arms, trying to break Izan''s focus. Arsenal''s faithful held their breath. ?degaard stepped closer, his voice barely audible over the noise. "You think you can do it again?" Izan didn''t blink, his gaze fixed on the ball. "Yeah." ?degaard''s smirk widened. "Then do it." The wall was set¡ªVan Dijk, Konat¨¦, Gravenberch, Robertson. A fortress of red. Alisson crouched behind them, his gloves twitching. He stretched his arms out, measuring, commanding. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The referee checked his watch. One last glance. Then¡ª A sharp whistle. Izan inhaled. Ding, [Gravity Arc LV4 activated] Then, he stepped forward. One step. Two steps. Three!!! His left foot planted right beside the ball, almost raising it for a split second before his right foot struck. The contact was crisp. Clean. The ball lifted, spinning wickedly, curling over the wall, even away from goal before it curled back inside to the dismay of the Liverpool fandom and players. Alisson moved¡ªhis body tensed, feet shifting, arms shooting towards the ball almost in an impossible stretch. As if fate were playing tricks on him, the ball dipped, too late before It crashed against the underside of the bar¡ª A heartbeat of silence. Then the ball rolled in the net like a face rubbing across washed fabric. The net rippled. For half a second, the stadium was frozen. Disbelief. A collective gasp. A pause before the explosion. Then, it came. The Arsenal fans erupted, a tidal wave of noise crashing through the arena. A boom of celebration, voices merging into a deafening roar. The bench leaped to its feet¡ªArteta pumping his fist, players spilling out in euphoria. On the pitch, ?degaard was already sprinting toward Izan, arms outstretched, shouting something lost in the chaos. Martinelli and Rice followed, grinning like madmen. Izan turned and ran towards Mac Allister and spread his arms wide, his face unreadable¡ªexcept for the glint in his eyes. MacAllister''s face hardened but Izan just smiled as his teammates dragged him away from MacAllister. He had promised. And he had delivered. Peter Drury: "Ohhhhhh, that is simply outrageous! Izan, with a moment of sheer, unfiltered brilliance! Two minutes into the match, and Arsenal have landed the first blow!" Lee Dixon: "That''s not normal. That''s not just talent¡ªthat''s confidence, execution, everything. To hit a free kick like that, on this stage, against a team like Liverpool? He''s got something special." The cameras cut to Alisson, shaking his head, frustrated. Van Dijk glanced up at the scoreboard, lips pressed tight. Slot, hands on hips, exhaled sharply. Izan barely had time to take in the celebration before he felt a presence closing in fast. As he turned away, Alexis Mac Allister was already in his face, jaw tight, eyes burning with frustration. "That''s a bit much, isn''t it?" the Argentine snapped, his rough voice cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Celebrating like that in the first minute?" Izan, still catching his breath, tilted his head slightly, his expression unbothered. "First minute or last, a goal''s a goal." His voice was calm, but there was a slight edge to it. Mac Allister took another step closer, nearly chest to chest. "You want to make a show out of it? Fine. But don''t act like you didn''t throw yourself down for that free kick. Van Dijk didn''t even touch you" Izan''s smirk disappeared. His voice dropped lower. "Throw myself down? He grabbed my shirt and thought the ref wouldn''t notice" He scoffed, shaking his head. "And you, you nearly ended my season with that tackle, and you''ve got the nerve to talk about my celebration?" Mac Allister didn''t back down. "That was a foul at most and the referee said it wasn''t. Stop whatever you''re trying to make it out to be." Izan''s jaw clenched. "A foul? You came through my ankle like you were trying to make sure I don''t play next week." His words carried weight, his glare sharp. "If anyone''s making a show, it''s you." The tension snapped like a tightened wire. Mac Allister stepped even closer, his breath hot with frustration. Izan didn''t move. Their teammates, sensing the brewing storm, rushed in. Rice was the first to pull Izan back, his arm wrapping around his teammate''s shoulder. "Let it go, man," he muttered. Ben White and Odegaard weren''t far behind, their eyes scanning for potential trouble. On the other side, Robertson and Konat¨¦ had already grabbed Mac Allister, holding him back as he threw one last glare toward Izan. Van Dijk placed a firm hand on his teammate''s chest, murmuring something in Spanish. The referee, standing just a few feet away, raised his hands but still kept his cards in his pocket. The game had barely begun, and he was trying to manage the fire without fanning the flames. Peter Drury: "Oh, the temperature is rising in Los Angeles! Alexis Mac Allister taking issue with Izan''s celebration, and Izan reminding him of that heavy challenge just moments ago Van Dijk''s!" Lee Dixon: "It was a bad one. Mac Allister knows it, and Izan knows it but the ref didn''t give it. The ref is being lenient, but if this keeps up, he won''t have a choice for long." As the dust settled, Izan took one last glance at Mac Allister before jogging away, his expression unreadable. The crowd was still buzzing, the early fire of the game set ablaze. Liverpool had just been punched in the mouth. And Arsenal had no intention of letting up. The game settled into a rhythm, but the undercurrent of tension remained. Arsenal controlled possession, their passes crisp, their movement fluid. Liverpool, stunned by the early goal, pressed hard, trying to force their way back into the game. Izan and Mac Allister, though, were locked in their own private war. A sharp pass from Timber found Izan near the halfway line, his first touch immaculate as he turned into space. Mac Allister was on him instantly, pressing tight, trying to force him wide. Izan felt the contact, the weight against his shoulder, but instead of retreating, he flicked the ball behind his standing leg and spun away, sending the Argentine stumbling a step late. The crowd roared at the move, and Izan didn''t look back. Peter Drury: "Izan again, dancing away from Mac Allister¡ªoh, that''s wonderful footwork! The young Spaniard has come alive tonight!" Lee Dixon: "Mac Allister tried to get tight there, but Izan, with that quick turn, just left him in the dust. He''s got that low center of gravity¡ªmakes him so hard to pin down." Liverpool responded with force. Mac Allister, stung by the moment, made sure to leave something behind the next time they clashed. As Izan received the ball on the edge of the center circle, the Argentine came barreling in, shoulder first. It wasn''t enough to warrant a whistle, but it sent a message. Izan felt the impact but stayed on his feet, rolling the ball away and finding Rice in space. As soon as he played the pass, he turned back toward Mac Allister, who gave him a knowing look. Peter Drury: "And there''s the response! Mac Allister making sure Izan knows he''s still there!" Lee Dixon: "This is shaping up to be a proper midfield battle. It''s not just about skill¡ªit''s about character, about who wants it more." The next time Izan got the ball, he didn''t hesitate. As Mac Allister lunged forward, Izan tapped the ball past him with the outside of his boot and took off. The Argentine tried to recover, stretching out a leg, but Izan was already gone, ghosting past him with a burst of acceleration. Peter Drury: "Oh, Izan''s away again! Mac Allister just can''t keep him contained!" Lee Dixon: "You get too tight, he turns you. Give him space, he runs at you. He''s a nightmare to defend." Mac Allister, to his credit, didn''t shrink. The next duel saw him shielding the ball expertly as he tried to turn Izan the other way. He backed into the Spaniard, using his body well, forcing Izan to adjust his footing. The ball rolled toward Szoboszlai, but Izan, quick as ever, stuck a foot in, poking it away before Liverpool could build something. Peter Drury: "And Izan tracks back! He''s not just a creator; he''s a fighter too!" Lee Dixon: "He''s showing the complete package tonight¡ªend product, work rate, intelligence. This is why Arsenal were desperate to get him." The game remained clean, but the intensity never wavered. Every touch between Izan and Mac Allister carried meaning. Every challenge was a test of will. The referee let them play, allowing the duels to unfold naturally. And as the minutes ticked by, the tension only grew. A/n: ABDHYHUH2ENDWD5L3A. Okay NovelFire gave this to me for continuously updating for two months. Its a redeem code by the way. So Go in. Redeem it. Chapter 385 385: Egyptian Magic The ball rolled toward Szoboszlai, but Izan, quick as ever, stuck a foot in, poking it away before Liverpool could build something. Peter Drury: "And Izan tracks back! He''s not just a creator; he''s a fighter too!" Lee Dixon: "He''s showing the complete package tonight¡ªend product, work rate, intelligence. This is why Arsenal were desperate to get him." The game remained clean, but the intensity never wavered. Every touch between Izan and Mac Allister carried meaning. Every challenge was a test of will. The referee let them play, allowing the duels to unfold naturally. And as the minutes ticked by, the tension only grew. .... Izan received the ball next, near the halfway line, his first touch sharp as he let it roll across his body, eyes flicking up to scan the field. Again, Mac Allister was already stepping in, shoulders squared, looking to muscle him off balance. But Izan was a step ahead. A quick feint to the right¡ªMac Allister bit¡ªand then a sudden burst of acceleration to the left. The Argentine lunged to recover, but Izan was gone, slipping past him like smoke. Peter Drury: "Oh, that is just dazzling! Izan, teasing, toying¡ªMac Allister can''t get near him!" The Crowd roared, a sound swelling from deep in the stands, as if the entire stadium could feel the tide turning. Arne Slot stomped forward in the technical area, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He turned to Szoboszlai, barking something in English, pointing toward Izan. Instructions were coming. Liverpool were shifting. Izan could feel it¡ªtheir full-backs weren''t pushing up as aggressively anymore, Robertson wasn''t overlapping as much, and Alexander-Arnold was hesitating before leaving his position. Even Van Dijk''s stance was different, his shoulders a little lower, his gaze locked onto Izan, as if acknowledging the growing storm. And yet, Mac Allister wouldn''t back down. Liverpool finally found space to breathe. After a relentless ten minutes of Arsenal''s pressing, the visitors broke forward with menace. Szoboszlai surged through midfield, his powerful strides eating up the ground as he carried the ball into the final third. White moved to meet him, but the Hungarian shifted his weight and slipped a pass to Salah, who had drifted in from the right. The Arena held its breath, looking on with keen attention. Salah, quick as ever, let the ball roll across his body, inviting Zinchenko to step forward before prodding it past him. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Now inside the box, he scanned for options. Arsenal''s defenders scrambled, White retreating toward the goal, Gabriel tracking N¨²?ez¡ªbut there was danger creeping in from the blind side. Mac Allister. Ghosting into the box from midfield, unmarked, unnoticed. Salah spotted him at the last moment, his left foot brushing the ball ever so slightly to angle it into the Argentine''s path. The chance was there. Mac Allister stretched his leg forward¡ª And then came Izan. A flash of red and white, streaking across the grass like a bolt of lightning. The moment barely lasted a second, but the impact was felt across the stadium. Izan flew in from the side, timing his slide to absolute perfection. His boot met the ball, not the man, hooking it cleanly away while his momentum carried him through. Mac Allister, mid-swing, was sent tumbling over his legs, crashing onto the turf with a thud. The So-Fi Arena erupted. Lee Dixon: "What a tackle! What a tackle! Izan, out of nowhere, just wipes it clean off Mac Allister''s feet!" Peter Drury: "Oh, he had to get that right, and by God, did he get it right! That is defensive commitment of the highest order!" Mac Allister hit the ground, skidding for a moment before springing back up, his eyes flashing. He turned immediately¡ªtoward Izan, toward the referee, toward anything that could justify what had just happened. But there was nothing. The ball had rolled safely toward the sideline, bouncing just within reach of Saka, who collected it and sprinted away. Izan, still on the ground, pushed himself up in one fluid motion, his expression unshaken. Mac Allister was in his face before he could fully stand. "Are you kidding me?" he barked, arms outstretched. Izan, brushing dirt off his sleeve, barely looked at him. "Won the ball." Mac Allister scoffed. "You''re reckless." Izan finally met his gaze, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You''re slow." The words hung there for a beat. Mac Allister clenched his jaw, but before anything more could be said, Van Dijk was already pulling him away. Gabriel did the same with Izan, though there was no real force needed. Izan had already turned, jogging back into position as if nothing had happened. Lee Dixon: "This kid is just fearless. He''s already scored a stunner, and now he''s making tackles like that inside his own box?" Peter Drury: "It''s a statement, Lee. Mac Allister tried to bring the fight to him¡­ but Izan just sent his answer sliding right through the heart of Liverpool''s attack." The camera panned to Slot, who stood on the touchline, hands on his hips, shaking his head. His team was in this game¡ªbut they were up against something, someone, that refused to back down. .... [Salah''s POV] He wiped his palms on his shorts. It wasn''t nerves¡ªhe was far too seasoned for that¡ªbut there was something else gnawing at him. Liverpool weren''t playing badly. They had wrestled control in moments, passed the ball well, moved in dangerous spaces. But they weren''t dictating. They weren''t bending Arsenal to their will like they should. And a big reason for that was him. Izan. Salah stole a glance across the pitch as he adjusted his socks. The kid was moving back into position, his face unreadable, as if that game-saving tackle on Mac Allister had been nothing but a routine clearance. He was sending a message. From the moment Izan had bent that free-kick into the net, Salah had sensed something different about him. Young players were often fearless, but there was a difference between arrogance and certainty. Izan played like he belonged¡ªno hesitation, no overcomplication, just pure conviction in every touch. And he had already left his mark on the game. Salah couldn''t let him define it. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. No more hesitations. No more careful passing. If we''re going to shift this match, it has to be me. He looked up. Alisson had the ball, rolling it to Van Dijk, who carried it forward with authority. The Dutchman spread it wide to Alexander-Arnold, who immediately looked down the line. Salah didn''t need to call for it¡ªhe knew it was coming. The ball zipped toward him, spinning in the air. One touch to control. One breath to measure. And then, he was off. He drove forward, feeling the heat of Zinchenko at his back. The Ukrainian lunged, but Salah had already shifted the ball past him, accelerating toward the box. Space opened up. Gabriel came into view, stepping forward¡ªbut he was cautious. Good. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw N¨²?ez making a run inside, dragging White with him. A brief thought of a pass flickered in his mind, but he ignored it. This moment was his. He dropped his shoulder. Feinted left. Gabriel bit, just a little. That was all Salah needed. He cut inside sharply, opening the angle. His left foot was ready. Then¡ª A blur. A streak of red and white. Izan. "Again" Salah muttered, before it was too late. Izan lunged across his path, body low, boots skimming the grass. Not a reckless hack. Not a desperate lunge. Just precise. The ball was gone before Salah''s foot could meet it. His momentum carried him forward, a half-step too late, and by the time he looked up, Izan was already flicking the ball into space, spinning away from him as if he had done it a thousand times before. The Gunners crowd roared in approval Salah clenched his jaw. He didn''t stop moving¡ªhe couldn''t afford to¡ªbut frustration bubbled under his skin. Lee Dixon: "Oh my word, Izan again! He just plucked the ball right out of Salah''s reach!" Peter Drury: "Salah had the goal in his sights, he had the moment in his hands¡ªbut Izan snatched it away from him!" Salah kept running. His mind raced. This wasn''t normal. Most attacking midfielders didn''t defend like this. They tracked back, sure, but they didn''t defend. Not like this. Not with this kind of intelligence, this kind of grit. He didn''t like it. He wouldn''t accept it. Salah sucked in a breath, his eyes locking onto Izan as the teenager drove forward with the ball. Alright, kid. You want to play hero? Let''s see how long you can keep up. ...¡­.. Zinchenko had been ambitious. Too ambitious. Arsenal had settled into their rhythm, their passes sharp, their movement fluid. Confidence swelled in their game. Zinchenko, emboldened by the control they had begun to exert, carried the ball forward with intent. One step. Two. Then disaster. A touch too heavy. A half-second too slow. Salah pounced. Like a shadow lurking at the edge of the moment, he struck without warning, snapping into the challenge and stripping the ball clean off Zinchenko''s foot. The crowd gasped. Zinchenko''s eyes widened¡ªhis body twisted as he scrambled to recover¡ªbut it was too late. Salah was already gone. Peter Drury: "And Salah steals it! This is trouble! Big, big trouble for Arsenal!" Salah exploded forward, his body tilting into the sprint, his feet a blur as he tore into open space. White lunged from the side. Too slow. Gabriel stepped in. Not quick enough. Salah danced past him with a touch of silk and venom, the ball never leaving his orbit. The box was his now. The goal was his now. A second of silence. A heartbeat of inevitability. And then¡ªthe finish. A stroke of his left foot. Pure. Measured. Deadly. The ball curled, arcing through the air, bending away from Raya''s desperate lunge. Lee Dixon: "Oh, that is Salah! That is Salah at his ruthless best!" The net rippled. Redshirts rushed toward him. The Arsenal players stood frozen. Salah turned, face calm, body alight with triumph. His arms spread wide as he soaked in the stunned silence of the opposing crowd. Peter Drury: "You stop him once, you stop him twice¡­ but you cannot stop him forever! The Egyptian King has spoken!" A/n: Okay guys. We would have had a mass release but someones goodness causes me to lose my stockpile of 10 chapters. Anyhow, I''m trying to make up so have this one for tonight okay. See you tomorrow Chapter 386 386: Little Conductor Salah exploded forward, his body tilting into the sprint, his feet a blur as he tore into open space. White lunged from the side. Too slow. Gabriel stepped in. Not quick enough. Salah danced past him with a touch of silk and venom, the ball never leaving his orbit. The box was his now. The goal was his now. A second of silence. A heartbeat of inevitability. And then¡ªthe finish. A stroke of his left foot. Pure. Measured. Deadly. The ball curled, arcing through the air, bending away from Raya''s desperate lunge. Lee Dixon: "Oh, that is Salah! That is Salah at his ruthless best!" The net rippled. Redshirts rushed toward him. The Arsenal players stood frozen. Salah turned, face calm, body alight with triumph. His arms spread wide as he soaked in the stunned silence of the opposing crowd. Peter Drury: "You stop him once, you stop him twice¡­ but you cannot stop him forever! The Egyptian King has spoken!" ...¡­. Izan stood at the center of the pitch, hands on his hips, watching the Liverpool players swarm Salah in celebration. The Egyptian King had struck back, and even Izan had to admit¡ªit was a goal worthy of the title. A slow, wry smile tugged at his lips. This is what we''re here for, huh? He exhaled, shaking his head as he turned, eyes drifting toward Zinchenko, who stood just outside the box, hands resting on his head. He wasn''t looking at anyone, but the forced chuckle he let out as Izan approached was enough proof that he knew exactly what had just happened. "Man, I got caught," Zinchenko muttered, lowering his hands and rubbing his jaw. He laughed, a quick, breathless thing as if he could shake it off with sound alone. Izan arched a brow, but he didn''t bite. "Yeah," he said lightly, "but that''s what he does, right?" Zinchenko gave him a side glance, lips twitching. "Don''t try to make me feel better, bro." Izan chuckled. "I won''t." Then, softer, "But let''s fix it." Zinchenko nodded, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled sharply. But Izan could see it in his eyes¡ªthat burn, that frustration. No one liked being the one who cost a goal, even if it was Salah who did the punishing. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Before they could say more, Arteta''s voice cut through the moment. "Forget it! Don''t mind! Let''s move on!" The touchline was alive with his energy, his arms slicing through the air, his intensity flooding through the team. He turned to the bench, demanding more, already barking instructions to the midfield. The game wasn''t stopping. Izan tapped Zinchenko''s back. "Let''s go." Peter Drury: "A moment of brilliance from Mohamed Salah, and Liverpool are level! Arsenal''s lead is gone in an instant, and Sofi Stadium is absolutely rocking!" Lee Dixon: "That''s the danger when you lose the ball in those areas. Zinchenko tried to step into midfield, which he loves to do, but Salah was waiting¡ªpounced on it, and the finish¡­ well, that''s why he''s world-class." Peter Drury: "You can see Arteta''s response immediately¡ªhe wants his players to reset, stay composed, and keep playing their football. They''ve been excellent so far, but now comes the test: how do they react to adversity?" Odegaard clapped his hands, gesturing for focus, while Declan Rice exchanged words with Saliba and Gabriel at the back. Izan, standing at the center circle, rolled his shoulders, his sharp gaze scanning Liverpool''s shape as the referee signaled for play to resume. Lee Dixon: "One thing''s for sure¡ªhow Izan responds now will tell us a lot. He''s already shown his quality in this game, but when Liverpool punch back, the great players find a way to answer." Peter Drury: "We''re witnessing an intense battle here in Los Angeles. Arsenal, Liverpool, one-all. And there is still so much more to come." The game reignited with a fire that burned through every blade of grass. Arsenal and Liverpool weren''t treating this like a friendly¡ªit was a battle, one that demanded everything from the players in Sofi Stadium. Izan and Mac Allister remained locked in their duel, neither backing down. Every Arsenal attack saw Izan drifting into space, trying to shake the Argentine off his back. Every Liverpool transition saw Mac Allister stepping up aggressively, determined to leave his mark. Peter Drury: "Oh, this is a proper contest now! Arsenal against Liverpool, but within that war, there are battles¡ªone of the fiercest? Izan and Alexis Mac Allister, two brilliant footballers, going at it with everything they have." The battles weren''t just between them. Across the pitch, warriors clashed. In midfield, Declan Rice and Dominik Szoboszlai collided in a series of bruising duels¡ªRice muscling into tackles, Szoboszlai gliding through spaces and looking to pick passes. On the right, Salah drifted inside, trying to pull Zinchenko into dangerous areas, while Ben White stayed sharp, tracking every movement. On the other end, Trent Alexander-Arnold faced relentless pressure from Gabriel Martinelli, who twisted and turned, forcing the right-back into last-ditch tackles. Lee Dixon: "You''d think this was a Champions League knockout tie, not a preseason game in Los Angeles. Look at the intensity, the urgency¡ªno one is holding back!" Izan danced past Mac Allister near the center circle, drawing gasps from the crowd. The Argentine chased him down, shoulder-barging into him, but Izan stayed up, rolling the ball between his feet before sending a slick pass out wide. Seconds later, Liverpool had their turn. Diaz collected a pass, spun away from Gabriel, and surged forward¡ªonly for Rice to slide in, clean as a whistle, the ball bouncing toward Odegaard. Peter Drury: "And Rice! Arsenal''s shield, standing firm once more!" The game was relentless. No pause, no breaks¡ªjust an exchange of blows. From the touchline, both managers gestured animatedly, trying to convey what was on their minds to the players and the fans were all in for it. The match''s rhythm had shifted, and Izan felt it. Liverpool''s relentless pressing had started to force Arsenal into tighter spaces, limiting their forward options. So, he adapted. Dropping deep alongside Declan Rice, he took it upon himself to dictate the tempo, orchestrating from the back like a seasoned playmaker. With his head constantly on a swivel, he sprayed passes across the pitch¡ªswitching play to Martinelli when the left side opened up. Threading sharp ground passes to Odegaard in tight spaces, and lofting delicate balls over Liverpool''s press for Saka to chase. Peter Drury: "Izan is everywhere now. A 16- 16-year-old who plays with the mind of a veteran. Dropping deeper, forming that double pivot with Rice, and from there, he is pulling all the strings." Liverpool noticed. They couldn''t allow him time and space to dictate the game. Mac Allister and Szoboszlai exchanged glances, then pressed forward in unison, closing in on Izan as soon as he received the ball. Izan let them come. He felt their presence¡ªthe heat of Szoboszlai''s aggressive stride, the tension in Mac Allister''s frame as he prepared to lunge in. The moment they committed, he turned. A swift feint with his left sent Mac Allister off-balance. A delicate touch with the outside of his boot shifted the ball past Szoboszlai. And in one sweeping motion, he rolled it forward, leaving both men spinning in his wake. Lee Dixon: "Oh, brilliant! Mac Allister and Szoboszlai both tried to trap him and Izan just¡ªvanished! Slipped right through them like smoke!" Gravenberch stepped up next, eager to stop the bleeding, but Izan saw him coming. Before the Dutchman could close the space, Izan took one glance upfield and sent a ball slicing through the seams of Liverpool''s defense. It was inch-perfect. A pass that bent through the gaps, evading Van Dijk and Konat¨¦, and curling directly into the path of Kai Havertz, who found himself in acres of space. Peter Drury: "Oh my word¡ªwhat a ball! That is simply extraordinary from Izan!" The crowd erupted as Havertz controlled it beautifully, storming into the box with only Alisson to beat. The former was a runaway train, thundering toward goal. Each stride sent a tremor through the pitch, his eyes locked onto the approaching Alisson. The Brazilian hesitated¡ªhalfway between rushing out and standing his ground. That flicker of uncertainty was all Havertz needed. A heavy touch sent the ball rolling past Alisson''s reach. Then¡ªcontact. Alisson''s outstretched arm clipped Havertz''s trailing leg. The German stumbled, lost his footing, and crashed onto the turf. The stadium held its breath. And then¡ª The whistle pierced the air. Peter Drury: "Penalty! Alisson reaches¡ªAlisson clips¡ªand Arsenal have a lifeline!" A storm of reactions exploded across the pitch. Havertz lay sprawled, hands outstretched as if to confirm the inevitable. Alisson threw his arms up in protest, eyes wide with disbelief. Liverpool shirts swarmed the referee, demanding reconsideration. But the decision had been made. Lee Dixon: "Oh, this is massive! Havertz gets there first, and Alisson¡ªwell, it''s reckless. You can see the touch. VAR will check it, but this looks stonewall." Izan stood near the edge of the box, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest of smirks. His eyes flickered toward the penalty spot, toward the moment Arsenal had been waiting for. Chapter 387 387: Halfway There Havertz was a runaway train, thundering toward goal. Each stride sent a tremor through the pitch, his eyes locked onto the approaching Alisson. The Brazilian hesitated¡ªhalfway between rushing out and standing his ground. That flicker of uncertainty was all Havertz needed. A heavy touch sent the ball rolling past Alisson''s reach. Then¡ªcontact. Alisson''s outstretched arm clipped Havertz''s trailing leg. The German stumbled, lost his footing, and crashed onto the turf. The stadium held its breath. And then¡ª The whistle pierced the air. Peter Drury: "Penalty! Alisson reaches¡ªAlisson clips¡ªand Arsenal have a lifeline!" A storm of reactions exploded across the pitch. Havertz lay sprawled, hands outstretched as if to confirm the inevitable. Alisson threw his arms up in protest, eyes wide with disbelief. Liverpool shirts swarmed the referee, demanding reconsideration. But the decision had been made. Lee Dixon: "Oh, this is massive! Havertz gets there first, and Alisson¡ªwell, it''s reckless. You can see the touch. VAR will check it, but this looks stonewall." Izan stood near the edge of the box, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest of smirks. His eyes flickered toward the penalty spot, toward the moment Arsenal had been waiting for. ...¡­.. Izan jogged toward the edge of the box, joining his teammates as Havertz picked himself up from the turf. The German still had a slight wince in his step, but his mind was elsewhere. He reached down, picked up the ball, and turned to Izan with a knowing smirk. "Take it," Havertz said, pressing the ball into Izan''s chest. "You bag one more after this and it''s a hat-trick against Liverpool. The headlines would write themselves." Izan looked at him, then down at the ball. The thought flashed through his mind¡ªa hat-trick against Liverpool in LA? The media would eat it up. The fans would chant his name. It was his first big game in an Arsenal shirt, and he could already be immortalizing himself. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head. "That''s not my priority." His voice was steady, unwavering. He pushed the ball back into Havertz''s hands. "You won it. You take it." Havertz hesitated, searching Izan''s expression for any sign of second thoughts. But there were none. Izan''s focus wasn''t on personal glory¡ªit was on the game, on the team. From the touchline, Arteta clapped his hands. "Let''s go, Kai!" Havertz exhaled, then nodded. He turned toward the penalty spot as the Liverpool players reluctantly cleared the area, their protests fading into the inevitable. Havertz took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Alisson as he stepped back from the spot. The stadium held its breath. Lee Dixon: "Kai Havertz steps up¡­ Arsenal with a massive chance to retake the lead here in LA." Havertz began his run-up, smooth and calculated. Alisson twitched on his line, trying to read him. At the last moment, Havertz hesitated¡ªjust a slight pause¡ªbefore slotting the ball coolly into the bottom corner. The net rippled. The Arsenal players erupted. The fans roared. Peter Drury: "And he sends Alisson the wrong way! Havertz buries it! Arsenal lead again!" But before the celebrations could fully take off, the shrill sound of the referee''s whistle cut through the noise. Confused glances shot across the pitch. The referee was already pointing back to the spot. Lee Dixon: "Oh, wait¡­ what''s this?" Havertz turned to the official, his arms outstretched in disbelief. Alisson, who had just retrieved the ball from the back of the net, was suddenly back on his feet, pointing at Havertz and nodding. The Liverpool players crowded the referee, their protests instantly flipping into approval. Peter Drury: "Hold on a second¡ªhe''s calling it back! The referee is saying Havertz paused during the run-up! The penalty has to be retaken!" The Arsenal players surrounded the official, frustration evident in their body language. Havertz ran a hand through his hair, visibly irritated. Arteta threw his arms up on the touchline, demanding an explanation. Lee Dixon: "Well, we''ve seen this before. The rules state that a player can stutter in their run-up, but they can''t completely stop their motion before striking the ball. The referee''s judged that Havertz hesitated too much." Peter Drury: "And that means Arsenal will have to do it all over again! This is a dramatic twist in what has already been an intense match!" sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a wry smile. Another moment of chaos. Another test of composure. Havertz placed the ball back on the spot, adjusting his stance. The Liverpool players weren''t just trying to defend their goal now¡ªthey were trying to get into his head. Izan stood back with the others, watching as Havertz placed the ball down. The tension in the stadium thickened. This was the moment. Havertz rolled his shoulders, trying to block out the noise. The referee''s call had rattled him, but he had no choice but to go again. He set the ball down, took a few steps back, and inhaled deeply. Alisson, emboldened by his second chance, stood tall on the line, shifting side to side. Peter Drury: "It''s a second bite of the cherry for Kai Havertz. But has the moment gotten to him?" The whistle blew. Havertz stepped up¡ªthis time, with no hesitation¡ªstriking the ball low and hard to the left. But Alisson was ready. He exploded off his line, stretching out, and with a firm right hand, he saved it! Lee Dixon: "Alisson denies him! A huge save for Liverpool!" The Sofi Stadium erupted in a mix of cheers and groans. The ball rebounded into a storm of bodies. Van Dijk reacted first, smashing it clear. But only as far as Izan. Peter Drury: "And now¡­ it falls to Izan! What''s he thinking here?" Izan barely had a moment to control the ball before Liverpool''s defenders rushed toward him. Instead of panicking, he zipped a pinpoint pass straight back into the chaos¡ªa pass that cut through the defenders like a scalpel. Lee Dixon: "Look at that! Izan doesn''t hesitate¡ªhe finds the angle instantly!" For a split second, everyone seemed frozen. Players, fans, even Alisson¡ªwatching the ball swerve, threading through the packed penalty area like it had eyes. And waiting at the end of it? Kai Havertz. The German didn''t need to think twice. He looked at the trajectory of the ball and met it with an outstretched leg once it descended sending the ball past Allison. Peter Drury: "Havertz again! And this time, it counts!" Arsenal players erupted as Havertz threw his arms into the air, sprinting towards Izan, who only smirked before being mobbed by his teammates. Liverpool''s defense stood stunned, and Alisson, kneeling, could only slam the ground in frustration. Lee Dixon: "What composure from Izan! He doesn''t lash at it, he doesn''t panic¡ªhe just delivers it right back into the danger zone. That''s pure intelligence!" Arteta clenched his fists from the touchline. Even though it was just pre-season, a goal was the goal. Havertz pounded his chest, pointing at Izan, who simply gave him a knowing nod. Peter Drury: "That is what Izan brings to this Arsenal side! Vision, patience, and a killer instinct under pressure! Arsenal lead once again!" The Sofi Stadium buzzed with energy as Arsenal''s second goal settled into the net. The roar from the traveling Gunners faithful echoed through the arena, while the Liverpool fans stood still, waiting for a reaction from their team. On the pitch, the intensity didn''t waver¡ªif anything, it heightened. As the match restarted, Arsenal looked to maintain control, but Liverpool had other plans. From kickoff, the Reds launched forward, playing the ball swiftly through the middle. Szoboszlai switched the play to Alexander-Arnold, who immediately looked to ping a cross-field pass to Robertson, hoping to catch Arsenal out of shape. Peter Drury: "Liverpool waste no time in pressing forward¡ªthis game has no breathing room, no pause for reflection." Robertson chested the ball down and surged ahead, whipping a cross toward Luis Diaz. The Colombian leaped high between Saliba and Gabriel, meeting the ball with his forehead. Gasps filled the air as it flew toward goal¡ªonly for Raya to react, his fingertips grazing the ball just enough to divert it over the bar. Lee Dixon: "A crucial touch from Raya! He had to get something on that!" The resulting corner saw Van Dijk rise above everyone, but his header glanced wide. Arsenal regained possession and slowed things down, allowing Rice and Izan to dictate play. Izan positioned deeper now, rotated passes with Rice, drawing in Szoboszlai and Gravenberch before shifting the ball out wide. Zinchenko advanced but was dispossessed by Salah, igniting another dangerous transition. Peter Drury: "Liverpool look sharp in these moments¡ªArsenal cannot afford to relax." Salah dashed down the wing, Arnold overlapping beside him. The Egyptian cut inside and fired a low-driven shot toward the near post, but Raya was equal to it, palming it away before White cleared the danger. Liverpool weren''t backing down. They pressed relentlessly, forcing a turnover in midfield. Gravenberch found Gakpo, who rolled it toward Salah at the edge of the box. The Egyptian forward feinted one way before drilling a left-footed strike, only for Gabriel to throw himself into the block, the ball ricocheting out for another corner. The pressure was mounting, but Arsenal, anchored by Izan''s composure, didn''t crack. In the 41st minute, Izan received a sharp pass from Zinchenko, turned swiftly away from Gravenberch, and darted forward. With one feint, he evaded Szoboszlai before threading a perfect pass to Martinelli on the left flank. Martinelli, in space, bore down on goal as Arnold''s lackluster defensive capabilities shone. The Brazilian took a touch to set himself before unleashing a curling effort but Alisson stretched, fingertips grazing the ball to send it spinning just past the post. Lee Dixon: "That was nearly three! Alisson with an important save!" The final moments of the half were breathless. Liverpool launched one final attack, Robertson whipping another ball into the box. Gakpo and Gravenberch both flung themselves toward it, but Gabriel once again made a heroic intervention, heading it away as the whistle blew for halftime. Peter Drury: "A relentless, pulsating half of football here in Los Angeles. Arsenal lead, but only just. Liverpool have knocked on the door time and time again, yet it is the brilliance of one player¡ªsixteen-year-old Izan¡ªthat separates the two sides at the break." The camera panned to Izan, wiping sweat from his brow as he walked off, exchanging words with Odegaard. Arsenal had the advantage, but with another 45 minutes to go, the battle was far from over. Chapter 388 388: Halftime Antics The final moments of the half were breathless. Liverpool launched one final attack, Robertson whipping another ball into the box. Gakpo and Gravenberch both flung themselves toward it, but Gabriel again made a heroic intervention, heading it away as the whistle blew for halftime. Peter Drury: "A relentless, pulsating half of football here in Los Angeles. Arsenal lead, but only just. Liverpool have knocked on the door time and time again, yet it is the brilliance of one player¡ªsixteen-year-old Izan¡ªthat separates the two sides at the break." The camera panned to Izan, wiping sweat from his brow as he walked off, exchanging words with Odegaard. Arsenal had the advantage, but with another 45 minutes to go, the battle was far from over. ..... As the players walked down the tunnel for halftime, Sofi Stadium was still buzzing with energy. Fans from both Arsenal and Liverpool stood in clusters, engaged in heated discussions, while others quickly typed out their thoughts online. In the Arsenal section, supporters were celebrating loudly, replaying clips on their phones of Izan''s passes and involvement in the goals. A group near the tunnel held up a massive banner that read: "IZAN 10 ¨C THE FUTURE IS NOW" Some fans were still processing what they had just witnessed. "Yo, this man Izan? He''s making this look too easy. I can''t believe he''s still a teenager." "Liverpool''s press is strong, but it doesn''t even matter. Every time Izan gets the ball, we look like we''re in total control." A few rows back, a father and son duo were engaged in an animated conversation. The kid, wearing a brand-new Adidas Arsenal kit with a "10" on the back, was practically bouncing. "Dad, did you see that pass? The one to Havertz? That was like¡ªlike¡ªlike a video game!" "Kid, that wasn''t a video game. That was pure class." Meanwhile, in the Liverpool end, frustration mixed with reluctant admiration. "Man, we''re not even playing bad. It''s just Izan. The guy is everywhere." "I don''t even wanna admit it, but you''re right. Every time we try to build something, he''s there breaking it up or launching a counter." Some fans were already debating what needed to change in the second half. "We got chances. Salah''s goal was a banger. But Izan? That kid is on another level. Feels like watching a prime David Silva with pace." "Bro, it''s scary that he''s not even in his prime yet. Imagine this dude in three years." One fan in a Steven Gerrard jersey was visibly frustrated. "Man, I can''t even be mad. Izan''s just different. But still¡ªArne Slot needs to make adjustments. We can''t let him dictate the whole game." Online, the football world was on fire as fans from all over debated the first half. The trending topics? #Izan #ArsenalVsLiverpool #PreseasonMagic #FutureBallonDor Arsenal fans were already claiming victory. "Izan is the truth. I don''t care if it''s preseason¡ªhe''s running the game against Liverpool like a prime De Bruyne. WHAT A PLAYER!" "People laughed when we signed him, said he wasn''t proven. Now look at them. Our starboy." "Izan makes football look easy. That ball to Havertz was something out of FC 24." Liverpool fans were in agreement about one thing¡ªIzan was the problem. "We''re not playing badly. But let''s be real, Izan is making the difference. Without him, this is a completely different match." "We need to press him better in the second half. Every time he touches the ball, he picks us apart." "Izan''s vision is scary. How did he even see that pass for the second goal? Feels like we''re playing against a young Iniesta with Mbapp¨¦''s engine." Neutral fans were also loving what they were watching. "This dude Izan is gonna be the face of football soon. Mark my words." "Stat check: Izan in the first half vs. Liverpool¡ª 97% pass accuracy, 4 key passes, 1 goal, 1 assist, and 6 duels won. Unreal numbers." "Arsenal fumbled not giving Izan more minutes in the earlier games. An absolute gem of a player." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Meanwhile, football analysts and influencers had already begun their halftime breakdowns. "Izan''s first half vs. Liverpool shows why he''s one of the most exciting young talents in the world. A generational midfielder," a Bein tabloid shone minutes after the half ended. "Arsenal''s new star is cooking in LA. Izan is controlling this game like a veteran. Liverpool struggling to contain him." "If you''re watching #ArsenalVsLiverpool right now, you know: Izan is THAT guy." No matter which side fans were on, one thing was undeniable¡ª Izan was the difference maker. ... Inside the Liverpool dressing room, the atmosphere was tense but controlled. Arne Slot stood in the center, his sharp gaze sweeping across his players. Despite being down at halftime, he wasn''t about to lose his composure. "We''re not far off," he started, his voice firm but even. "We''ve had chances. Mo''s goal was world-class. But let''s be honest¡ªthere''s one problem we haven''t solved." The players didn''t need him to say it. They all knew. "Izan." Arne Slot exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together as he looked around the dressing room. His tone was calm but carried an unmistakable urgency. "Listen up," he said, locking eyes with each player. "We''re struggling to contain one player. One player. And if we don''t find a way to stop him now, then I promise you¡ªthis isn''t just a preseason problem." He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "Because come the Premier League, if we don''t figure this out, we''ll be in for an exhausting season. Every time we play Arsenal, this is what we''ll deal with. Izan is not just some kid having a good night¡ªhe''s the real deal. And if we let him dictate games like this, we''re going to suffer, not just today, but in the league when points actually matter." His words carried weight. Even the most experienced players¡ªVan Dijk, Salah, Robertson¡ªlistened intently. Slot then turned to Mac Allister, nodding. "Alexis, you''ve done your job well, but he''s still slipping away. That can''t happen." Then, shifting his gaze to Gravenberch, he made his decision. "Ryan, you''re doubling him with Alexis. No more space, no more time on the ball. If he drops deep, you follow. If he moves wide, you''re there. We cannot allow him to dictate the rhythm of this game." Gravenberch straightened, nodding. "Got it, coach." Slot took a final look at his team. "We are Liverpool. We do not let one player run the show. Now go out there and take back control." The players rose with renewed focus. As they stepped out of the dressing room, there was a shared understanding¡ªthis wasn''t just about winning this game. It was about setting the tone for the season. ...¡­.. In the other dressing room, the energy was high, but Mikel Arteta wasn''t about to let that turn into complacency. He stood in front of his players, arms crossed, eyes sharp. His voice was controlled, but the intensity never wavered. "Well done, boys." He let the words settle before adding, "This is what I want to see from us. This is our football." He turned slightly, eyes landing on Izan, who sat with his boots untied, towel around his neck. "Izan, fantastic. You''re running the game, making things happen, creating chaos for them." He nodded, a slight smirk forming. "They can''t handle you. They know it, we know it." Then, his expression turned serious. "But listen carefully¡ªthis is Liverpool. They''re not going to sit back and accept this. They''ll adjust, and we need to be ready." His eyes scanned the room. "We cannot lose focus. There are moments where we take one touch too many, where we''re too slow to move the ball. That''s what they''re waiting for. That''s what led to their goal." His gaze shifted to Zinchenko, who nodded, acknowledging his mistake. "We''re playing well, but I want more. More control. More aggression. If we let them drag us into a physical battle, we''re giving them what they want." He then stepped forward, hands gesturing firmly. "We''re ahead because we play our game. Keep the intensity high, keep finding spaces, and keep trusting each other. Don''t let up." Then, he addressed the midfield. "Declan, I need you to be aware of Gravenberch now. They will probably be sending him to help Mac Allister with Izan or make someone who can do it. That means we can exploit the space they leave behind. Martin, Kai, be ready to drop and link up." He clapped his hands once, his voice rising slightly. "One half to go. Let''s finish this the right way." The players nodded, the determination in their eyes clear. They had the edge, and they weren''t about to let it slip. As both teams emerged from their dressing rooms and filed into the tunnel, the atmosphere crackled with tension. Players exchanged glances¡ªsome focused, others laced with quiet animosity. Izan adjusted his sleeves, eyes ahead while from behind, Mac Allister and Gravenberch muttered between themselves. No words were spoken. A/n: First of the day. Okay guys. New month, new Author. I hope everything is going well for everyone and even if it isn''t, we are still living. Thanks for supporting this novel and I hope you have a great month. Have fun reading and i''ll see you soon with the second chapter of the day. Chapter 389 389: Troll "And here we go again! Arsenal and Liverpool return for the second half under the floodlights of SoFi Stadium, and if the first 45 minutes were anything to go by, we are in for a thrilling conclusion. Arsenal lead 2-1, but Liverpool are far from beaten. You can feel the tension in the air, the anticipation in the stands¡ªthis is preseason, but it does not feel like it!" Lee Dixon chimed in. "No, it doesn''t, Peter. There''s a real edge to this game. Arsenal, with Izan at the heart of it, have been the sharper side, but Liverpool have that never-say-die mentality. You know they won''t roll over. And you never know what will happen until the final whistle sounds." The players walked to their positions under the gazes of the fans who had enjoyed every bit of the first 45 and were waiting for the second. After making sure everything was set, the referee blew his whistle, and the ball was rolling again. Liverpool came out with fire. Their press was more aggressive, their tackles sharper. Mac Allister and Gravenberch pushed higher up, suffocating the midfield. Arsenal struggling to keep their rhythm early on were forced into hurried clearances as Liverpool pushed them deeper. Then, in the 49th minute, Arsenal broke free. Izan, as if untouched by Liverpool''s pressure, received the ball under tight marking. With a body feint, he left Mac Allister reaching at air before flicking a pass out to Martinelli, who immediately burst down the left. The Brazilian met Arnold who tries stalling for help but the former turned away and whipped in a teasing cross to which Havertz met it with his head! "OH, BIG SAVE BY ALISSON!" The Liverpool goalkeeper reacted instantly, stretching out a strong hand to push it away. Arsenal had come close, but Liverpool remained alive. The resulting corner amounted to nothing after Allison caught the ball mid-air. After this, it was all safe and secure passes being threaded around. That was until Liverpool responded in the 56th minute. A quick interchange between Szoboszlai and Salah opened a path through the right. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Zinchenko hesitated, and Salah took full advantage, cutting inside before whipping a dangerous low cross into the six-yard box. Darwin N¨²?ez who had replaced Gakpo after the halftime break slid in clipping the ball with his outer foot! "NU?EZ! JUST WIDE!" The Uruguayan came inches away from leveling the game, but his touch sent the ball past the post. "Liverpool knocking on the door now!" Dixon exclaimed. "Arsenal need to weather this storm." ...¡­. It was now the 65th minute and by now, it was clear to everyone in the stadium that Izan was the difference. No matter how tightly Liverpool marked him, he continued to glide through their midfield, always available, always a step ahead. Frustration began to creep in and then came the first rough challenge. Izan received the ball near the center circle, shielding it as Mac Allister lunged in from behind. He took the contact but kept his balance, only for Gravenberch to step across him, dragging him down with an outstretched leg. The whistle shrieked. "And that''s a clear foul! Arsenal get the free kick, but Liverpool''s midfielders are walking a fine line now!" Drury remarked. The referee, however, kept his cards in his pocket. Izan dusted himself off, barely sparing a glance at the two midfielders. But the tackles didn''t stop. Three minutes later, another hit. This time, Izan weaved through the press, shaking off Gravenberch before Mac Allister clattered into him, leading with his knee. "And now the referee HAS to take action!" Dixon barked. The Arsenal bench erupted. Arteta stormed towards the fourth official, yelling, while the Arsenal fans inside SoFi Stadium voiced their anger. "Hey! That''s the third time!" a man in an Arsenal jersey shouted. In the Liverpool sections, the mood was different. "He''s too good, man. What else can they do?" Finally, the referee pulled out a yellow card for Mac Allister. But the damage was done. The match was losing its structure. Fouls were piling up and tempers were flaring. . Izan stood up, brushing himself off, and as the referee''s whistle echoed around the stadium, he smirked slightly. Mac Allister''s yellow card was a small victory, but Izan wasn''t done yet. He had seen enough to know that Liverpool''s aggression was their undoing. "Strength in numbers, huh?" he thought. If they wanted to crowd him out, he would drag them into deeper waters. If they wanted to press, he would force them into fouls. They were walking a fine line, and Izan was about to push them over it. Arsenal restarted play, working the ball to the left where Zinchenko and Martinelli combined before rolling it inside to Izan. Luiz Diaz was pressing from the wing, closing in, but Izan was already a step ahead. He dipped his shoulder and cut inside, shifting the ball past D¨ªaz with a sharp turn. D¨ªaz frozen in place, forced himself to lunge in, mistiming his challenge completely. His boot clattered against Izan''s shin, sending him stumbling to the ground. "AND THAT''S ANOTHER ONE!" Peter Drury''s voice soared over the noise as the referee''s whistle shrieked. "Luis D¨ªaz cleans out Izan, and the referee goes straight to his pocket!" The Arsenal fans inside SoFi Stadium exploded in jeers, their voices bouncing off the towering walls of the arena. "Oh, c''mon, man! That''s dirty!" "They can''t stop him, so they''re just hacking him down!" D¨ªaz threw his hands up, arguing that he got the ball, but the referee wasn''t interested. Out came the yellow. On the touchline, Arne Slot''s expression twisted in frustration. This was getting out of hand. Two of his players were booked, and Arsenal still had full control. Liverpool needed to regroup, but Izan wasn''t giving them time. Only three minutes later, he found space again, dropping deep to pick up the ball from Declan Rice. Mac Allister and Gravenberch immediately rushed him, trying to force him backward. But Izan wasn''t backing down. He let Mac Allister come close before flicking the ball between his legs and darting forward. The crowd roared as he broke free, but before he could surge into space¡ª WHACK. Gravenberch, in sheer desperation, dragged him down with both hands. A cynical foul. The referee didn''t hesitate. Another yellow card flashed in the air. "Liverpool are falling into the trap! They just can''t deal with him!" Lee Dixon said. "That''s three of their players booked now!" The Arsenal players weren''t hiding their amusement. Even Havertz, usually calm, grinned at Izan as they jogged back into position. On the sidelines, Arne Slot sighed. He had seen enough. He turned to his coaching staff, gesturing furiously. He wanted to win this game¡ªbadly¡ªbut not at the cost of a red card. "Ryan and Alexis are coming off." He pointed to the substitutes'' bench, calling on Wataru Endo and Curtis Jones. As the board went up, Gravenberch and Mac Allister exchanged frustrated looks. They knew what this meant¡ªthey had lost their battles against Izan. The Arsenal fans mocked them as they left the pitch. "Subbed off? Already?" "Izan cooked them, man." Meanwhile, on the field, Izan stood with his hands on his hips, watching them go. Two of his markers¡ªgone. As Gravenberch and Mac Allister trudged off the field, Endo and Curtis Jones quickly entered the fray. Arne Slot''s tactical shift was clear: fresh legs to deal with Izan. But the new arrivals had to be more disciplined than their predecessors if they were to stop the Arsenal star without resorting to fouling. The play resumed, and Izan immediately became the focal point again. Declan Rice dropped a pass to him in the middle of the park, just outside the center circle. Endo was immediately in his face, charging forward with an intensity that had been lacking from the earlier midfielders. Izan quickly adjusted his body, evading the initial press from the Japanese midfielder with a deft spin to the side, but Endo wasn''t done. He shadowed Izan''s every move, watching him closely, waiting for a misstep. And when Izan tried to push the ball a little too far ahead¡ªEndo pounced. The midfielder slid in, his foot clipping the ball perfectly, dispossessing Izan in a well-timed challenge. The crowd inside SoFi Arena collectively gasped at the moment of brilliance from the substitute but Endo wasn''t finished. He drove the ball forward, making a sprinting run through the heart of the midfield. He looked up and saw Curtis Jones open on the left. With a sharp pass, Endo fed Jones into space just outside the box. The Liverpool fans around the stadium held their breath as Jones controlled the ball. He cut inside with pace, looking to get a shot off, but William Saliba was quick to close him down, forcing Jones to take a shot from a tight angle. But the ball ricocheted off Saliba''s boot and found its way to Mohamed Salah near the edge of the 18-yard box. Salah, ever clinical in these situations, seized the moment. Chapter 390 390: Against the Best [Golden Ticket] The crowd inside SoFi Arena collectively gasped at the moment of brilliance from the substitute but Endo wasn''t finished. He drove the ball forward, making a sprinting run through the heart of the midfield. He looked up and saw Curtis Jones open on the left. With a sharp pass, Endo fed Jones into space just outside the box. The Liverpool fans around the stadium held their breath as Jones controlled the ball. He cut inside with pace, looking to get a shot off, but William Saliba was quick to close him down, forcing Jones to take a shot from a tight angle. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But the ball ricocheted off Saliba''s boot and found its way to Mohamed Salah near the edge of the 18-yard box. Salah, ever clinical in these situations, seized the moment. He fired at goal with venom, but just as the ball was about to strike the net¡ªDavid Raya launched himself at the ball, diving low to his right. The Spanish-born goalkeeper stretched, his fingertips grazing the ball just enough to push it past the post causing the fans in the stands to groan. "What a save! What a save!" Lee Dixon shouted in disbelief. "Salah thought he had it, but Raya keeps Arsenal in front!" The SoFi Arena shook with the roar from the Arsenal fans, while the Liverpool supporters let out an audible groan of disappointment. Raya''s save was a moment of redemption, denying what would have been a crucial goal for Liverpool at a pivotal point in the game. Endo, having seen the chance slip away, continued to press, as did Curtis Jones, who had been lively since coming on. After the close call, Arsenal quickly regained composure. Rice took the ball off Endo, sending a long, sweeping pass towards the feet of Martin ?degaard, who flicked it to Havertz, creating a new wave of attack. But Liverpool wasn''t about to back down. Endo and Jones kept up their relentless press, trying to smother the ball from Arsenal, trying to break their rhythm. The tension in the air was palpable, as each side battled for dominance. The midfield was an explosive battleground, with every pass, every tackle, a crucial battle in the war. Izan, still the centerpiece of the attack, made his way into space once more. He took control of the ball and eyed the goal. Curtis Jones, watching his every move, stepped in to close him down¡ªthis time more cautiously, as he knew how dangerous Izan could be in open spaces. But Izan wasn''t about to give up an inch. He feinted to the right, then shifted left, dragging the ball away from Jones'' reach. The young midfielder lunged but missed as Izan carried the ball forward, his eyes scanning the pitch. The SoFi Arena seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the moment that would change the course of the game. But just as Izan prepared to release the ball, Endo stepped in once again¡ªthis time making a crucial interception. His timely challenge forced the play to break down, as Arsenal''s momentum slowed. The ball was quickly cleared, and Liverpool pressed forward, countering with renewed energy. But Arsenal''s defense was ready. The tactical discipline shown by Saliba, White, and Zinchenko had strengthened after those early setbacks. As Liverpool attempted to push forward again, Raya calmly swept up the loose ball in his box. The intensity of this match was now in full swing, as Arsenal''s defense solidified and Liverpool''s press became more desperate. It was evident that both teams were tiring. The first real momentum shift that came with that chance from Salah and with Endo and Jones pressing were forcing Arsenal to step up their game. The challenge now was to keep control while constantly watching for those dangerous breaks from the likes of Salah and Diaz. As the game moved towards the 70th minute, both teams were showing their teeth¡ªneither willing to give up without a fight. "Seventy minutes on the clock, and while this match has been anything but dull, it certainly hasn''t carried the same spark we saw in the first half," Peter Drury noted, his voice carrying the weight of the game''s shifting momentum. "And a large part of that comes down to the fact that Izan has been relatively quiet since Endo and Curtis Jones entered the fray. Whether by design or simple fatigue, Arsenal''s brightest light in the first half has dimmed just a little." "That''s the thing about controlling a game like he was," Lee Dixon chimed in. "It takes so much energy, mentally and physically." "And credit to Liverpool¡ªEndo and Jones have done well to suffocate his influence. Arsenal still look dangerous, but the tempo has changed." As if on cue, Liverpool pounced again. Endo intercepted a weak clearance just outside Arsenal''s box, quickly shifting the ball to Curtis Jones, who wasted no time driving forward. With a sharp burst of acceleration, he skipped past Declan Rice, leaving the England international momentarily flat-footed. Jones lifted his head, scanning the options in front of him. Luis D¨ªaz was already making a run to his left, while Salah lurked on the right, waiting for a split-second of hesitation from the Arsenal defenders. Jones chose D¨ªaz, threading a crisp pass into the Colombian''s path. The forward took a delicate touch to bring it under control before cutting inside on his stronger right foot. White stepped in to challenge, but D¨ªaz feinted, selling the dummy, and the defender took the bait. With White off-balance, D¨ªaz surged forward, angling his run towards the box. Saliba reacted, shifting over to cover, but D¨ªaz wasn''t slowing down. He flicked the ball past the Frenchman, a perfectly weighted touch that sent him clear into the penalty area. "Liverpool on the attack here! Luis D¨ªaz¡ªhe''s through!" Drury''s voice climbed as the SoFi Arena stirred, the red-clad supporters roaring to their feet. Ben White scrambled back, Zinchenko desperately cutting inside, but D¨ªaz had already spotted his target. Salah had peeled off towards the far post, waiting for the cutback. D¨ªaz squared it, rolling the ball into the path of Liverpool''s talisman. Salah, meeting the ball, opened his body, eyes locked on the far corner. Then he struck. The ball curled beautifully, destined for the inside of the post¡ªuntil David Raya once again flung himself across goal, stretching every inch of his frame to get a hand on it. A collective gasp erupted in the stadium as his fingertips brushed the ball, sending it crashing off the post instead of rippling the net. The rebound fell to Nun¨¦z, who lunged forward, trying to poke it home¡ªbut Saliba was there, blocking the shot with a last-ditch effort. The ball deflected wildly and pinballed in the six-yard box for what felt like an eternity before Declan Rice arrived to smash it clear. The Arsenal fans erupted in relief. "How have they not scored?!" Dixon shouted, almost in disbelief. "First Raya, then Saliba, then Rice¡ªit''s a miracle Arsenal are still leading!" "Liverpool are throwing everything at this!" Drury added, his voice still laced with excitement. "That was inches away from being the equalizer, but Arsenal, somehow, someway, survive! But wait¡ª" Peter Drury''s voice hitched mid-sentence, caught in the sudden, violent shift of play. While Liverpool had been lamenting their missed chance, Izan had already taken the loose ball and was running. Cutting through the field in half like a Samurai''s Kitana. A burst of acceleration sent him exploding into space, weaving through the scattered bodies of Liverpool players still recovering from their attack. The Arsenal fans in SoFi Stadium roared, their cheers a crashing wave as they realized what was happening. "And now, here comes Izan! Look at him go!" Drury''s voice surged, mirroring the electricity in the air. Curtis Jones and Endo¡ªboth fresh off trying to shut him down¡ªscrambled to catch up, but Izan''s first touch had already taken him past them. The Englishman lunged, reaching out in desperation, but he got nothing but air. "He''s left, Curtis Jones! Endo is chasing, but Izan is flying!" The sheer pace ripped through Liverpool''s defensive shape like a blade. Robertson and Konat¨¦ backpedaled furiously, but Izan was already past the midfield line, Havertz breaking forward alongside him, Martinelli flying up the left. A glance up. Izan saw the whole pitch like a grand puzzle unfolding. Options everywhere. The easy choice would have been to slide it left, where Martinelli had acres of space. But that wasn''t Izan''s style. He wanted to cut deeper. He pushed the ball forward, Konat¨¦ stepping out to engage, but the Frenchman mistimed it. A lightning-fast feint¡ªright, then left¡ªsent the defender stumbling, his balance thrown off. "He''s left Konat¨¦ eating grass! He''s going straight at Van Dijk!" And suddenly, it was Izan against Liverpool''s captain, one-on-one. A/n: Hello guys. Konichiwa, Ni Hao, Bonsoir, Anyeonghaseo, Hello. Okay so next chapter will probably end the match and begin preparing us for another season of Izan''s awesomeness. I don''t want to keep you guys waiting any longer so have fun reading and i''ll see you with tomorrow''s chapter. Also check out Harbinger of Glory. A new novel. Same old same old football but with a no system. Just pure footballing grit and goodness. Love y''all and as always, thanks for the supports. Chapter 391 391: Something Special Izan''s sheer pace ripped through Liverpool''s defensive shape like a blade. Robertson and Konat¨¦ backpedaled furiously, but Izan was already past the midfield line, Havertz breaking forward alongside him, Martinelli flying up the left. A glance up. Izan saw the whole pitch like a grand puzzle unfolding. Options everywhere. The easy choice would have been to slide it left, where Martinelli had acres of space. But that wasn''t Izan''s style. He wanted to cut deeper. He pushed the ball forward, Konat¨¦ stepping out to engage, but the Frenchman mistimed it. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A lightning-fast feint¡ªright, then left¡ªsent the defender stumbling, his balance thrown off. "He''s left Konat¨¦ eating grass! He''s going straight at Van Dijk!" And suddenly, it was Izan against Liverpool''s captain, one-on-one. Van Dijk held his ground, his massive frame an imposing wall. But Izan wasn''t afraid. If anything, he was excited. How would it feel to come against the best Defender in the premier league? He dropped his shoulder, shifting the ball slightly outside, forcing Van Dijk to react¡ªthen, just as quickly, he cut back inside. The Dutchman reached out a foot, trying to poke it away¡ªtoo late. Izan was past him, inside the box, the goal looming ahead. "He''s through¡ªhe''s still going!" Dixon practically shouted, his excitement spilling over. Alisson, already wary, rushed out, arms wide, trying to make himself as big as possible. Izan saw him coming and slowed down just enough¡ªnot too much, just enough to keep the control¡ªand with an almost cruel composure, he clipped the ball sideways, straight into Havertz''s path. "What a ball!" Havertz, all alone, didn''t hesitate. One touch, then a low, clinical finish past the scrambling Alisson. Before the ball could hit the back of the net, Havertz was already running towards Izan. GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL "Arsenal have struck again!" Drury''s voice soared over the chaos. "And it''s Izan¡ªagain! It started with him, it ended with him, and Kai Havertz makes no mistake!" The cameras cut to Van Dijk, standing there, hands on hips, eyes narrowed in frustration. Konat¨¦, Mac Allister, Endo¡ªall of them knew. They had done everything right. And still, it hadn''t been enough. "He just slices through them, doesn''t he?" Dixon said, almost in awe. "The confidence, the control¡ªLiverpool had their whole midfield on him, and he still breaks away like that." In the stands, Arsenal fans were losing their minds, bouncing in celebration, waving their scarves. On the Liverpool side, frustration grew, some shaking their heads while others slumped into their seats. Three-One. Liverpool were back under more pressure. .... "Well, if this was just a preseason game, someone forgot to tell the players," Peter Drury declared, his voice laced with excitement. "Because neither of these teams are holding back now! They are going cut for cut, shot for shot, and save for save here in Los Angeles." With Arsenal taking the 3-1 lead, Liverpool had no choice but to respond, and they did so with pure, relentless aggression. Allison, visibly frustrated, urged his teammates forward as soon as play restarted. Szoboszlai and Jones pushed high up, while Trent Alexander-Arnold¡ªnow fully unleashed¡ªdrifted into midfield to dictate play. Izan, still sharp despite the brutal fouls earlier, adjusted his stance, knowing Liverpool would come at them with everything. "It''s a chess match now," Lee Dixon noted. "Liverpool throwing numbers forward, but that means Arsenal can hit them in transition. It''s all about who blinks first." The match soon heated and it was all about making it count. Should Liverpool score, they keep the dream of at least drawing alive but should they fail, Arsenal get the edge in their next match when the premier league starts. In the 75th minute, Trent sent a sweeping diagonal ball over the top, curling beautifully into the right-hand channel. Salah, already anticipating it, ghosted behind Zinchenko who was looking lifeless, took it down with a soft touch, and drove inside the box. "Salah is through! This is danger for Arsenal!" Gabriel rushed to cover, but the Egyptian chopped inside on his left foot so fast that the Brazilian lost his balance, nearly tumbling to the ground. "Oh, he''s sent Gabriel to the shops!" Lee Dixon gasped. Salah curled a shot toward the far post, but Raya was at full stretch, diving and parrying it away with his fingertips. The ball spilled loose. It was anyone''s. Before Arsenal could react, Luis D¨ªaz pounced on the rebound, smashing a half-volley that seemed destined for the top corner¡ª Until Ben White threw himself in the way. "Blocked by White! My word, what a defensive stand from Arsenal!" Drury roared. White, still on the ground, clenched his fists in victory as the ball ricocheted out for a corner. Liverpool fans groaned, heads in hands. "That was the equalizer, Lee. That had to be the equalizer." "But Arsenal are putting bodies on the line! Look at that commitment!" Trent quickly stepping up, whipped a ball curling away from goal. Virgil Van Dijk towering over everyone met the ball but it was cleared away before it even got near Raya. Arsenal, on the other hand, weren''t just surviving¡ªthey were striking back. Straight from the clearance, Izan controlled the ball under pressure, flicked it past Endo, and surged into Liverpool''s half. The attack was reminiscent of the one which had just resulted in Liverpool conceding. Havertz and Martinelli raced ahead, but Izan chose another path¡ªa killer ball slicing through Liverpool''s high line, perfectly weighted for Bukayo Saka. "Saka''s on the run! Arsenal have numbers!" The Arsenal winger broke into the box, one-on-one with Alisson. The Brazilian rushed out, making himself big¡ª And Saka tried to dink it over him but Alisson got a touch! The ball popped up, spinning toward goal¡ªbefore Robertson sprinted in and hacked it clear off the line. "End-to-end stuff! This game is chaos!" Drury emphasized as Trent got to the loose ball. The Liverpool fans exhaled in relief, while the Arsenal faithful held their heads in their hands. Both teams pushed harder, abandoning all caution. It was now all or nothing for a supposed preseason game. Liverpool''s midfielders, even defenders, flooded forward. Arsenal, refusing to sit back, countered at every opportunity. In the 83rd minute, Szoboszlai smashed a 25-yard rocket, but Raya palmed it over the bar sending the pre-emptive celebration quiet. Seconds later, Izan slipped past Endo and unleashed a curling shot, only for Alisson to deny him. "The goalkeepers are working overtime here!" Dixon said. Every clearance, every interception, every tackle felt like the last stand of a battle. The fans in SoFi were on their feet, screaming at every chance. The tension was suffocating. Then, 87th minute. Izan, once again as cunning as ever, got the ball near the center circle, eyes scanning the pitch. Liverpool, pushing high, left gaps in their defense. He saw it. [Incisive Pass Trait activated ] With one breathtaking pass, he threaded a ball between the lines, bypassing four Liverpool players to find Martinelli in full sprint. "Uhh! That pass! That''s disgusting!" Dixon yelled. Martinelli stormed into the box with only Van Dijk left to beat. The Dutchman stood his ground forcing Martinelli to commit. The Brazilian forced the ball forward and got a shot off but- Post. The ball crashed off the upright and spun back into play. "Oh, my word! It''s inches from being game over!" Drury shouted. Martinelli gripped his head in frustration before throwing a thumbs-up at Izan. Arsenal were so close to putting Liverpool away yet the match already seemed done. With stoppage time looming, Liverpool had one final push. Harvey Elliot, on for Szobozlai, together with Endo worked the ball out wide to Robertson, who curled a wicked cross into the box. Recent entry, Jota rose highest, beating Gabriel in the air but his header smashed against the crossbar. "Unbelievable!" The ball bounced down, dangerously close to crossing the line. Bodies flew in. Raya lunged, clawing it away before Diaz could tap it in. The Arsenal players scrambled to clear. Liverpool appealed for a goal¡ªVAR check but the referee wasn''t convinced. Further more he hadn''t felt his watch vibrate. No goal. The Arsenal fans exploded into cheers. "Arsenal survive by the skin of their teeth!" Drury gasped. The final seconds ticked away¡ªLiverpool pushing, Arsenal still resisting. A last-ditch cross. Cleared by White. A second attempt. Headed away by Rice. "Liverpool throwing everything forward¡ª" WHISTLE. "And that''s it!" The game was over. Arsenal had held on, winning 3-1 in a preseason classic. Players collapsed onto the pitch, some from exhaustion, others from sheer disappointment. Izan, wiping sweat off his forehead, exchanged a look with Trent, who just exhaled and shook his head, as if to say, What the hell are we supposed to do with you? Liverpool''s players walked off frustrated, knowing they had chances to equalize. Arsenal''s players walked off victorious, knowing they had survived a war. The Arsenal fans in SoFi Stadium stood and applauded, knowing they had just witnessed something special. "A match that had everything," Drury summed up. "Goals, drama, fouls, and above all¡ªa reminder that even in preseason, football at this level is played with everything on the line." Final Score: Arsenal 3-1 Liverpool. And the biggest talking point? "Izan Hernandez," Dixon said. "Just how do you stop him?" A/n: First of the day. Have fun reading and this will be the last one or two chapter(s) for the volume. I''ll start another volume with Izan in the Prem. Have fun and keep reading. Also keep spamming the Golden ticket and I''m sorry in advance for any late updates. I''m writing my end of Sem exams so excuse me for any late chapters. Anyways Bye. Chapter 392 392: Pre-Season Conference As the final whistle blew and Arsenal''s players exchanged handshakes with their Liverpool counterparts, Izan was already making his move. Some players stayed behind to soak in the applause or engage in post-match interviews. But Izan swiftly navigated past the oncoming reporters, cutting through the crowd with a determined stride toward the tunnel. "And there goes Izan Hernandez¡ªabsolutely no interest in sticking around," Peter Drury chuckled. "If you want a word from him, you better start running." Lee Dixon laughed. "Honestly, if he plays football the way he dodges reporters, no wonder Liverpool couldn''t lay a finger on him tonight." The cameras caught some of the crowd laughing, a few Arsenal fans even playfully mimicking Izan''s quick getaway. One Liverpool fan near the tunnel held up a sign that read: "Izan, blink twice if Arteta is holding you hostage!" As Izan disappeared into the tunnel, the SoFi crowd cheered once more, a mix of admiration and amusement. And in the commentary booth, Drury''s voice carried the final word: "He ran the game for ninety minutes, and now he''s running from the press. What a night for Izan Hernandez." ...¡­. Izan burst into the dressing room, nodding absentmindedly at a few of his teammates on the bench who had arrived before him. He slowed until every eye wasn''t on him before making a beeline for the washroom. His pace wasn''t quite as urgent as when he''d been dodging defenders¡ªor reporters¡ªbut it was getting there. As soon as he stepped inside, he hesitated for a moment, then swiftly pushed open one of the stalls, locking himself in with a sigh. "Did I get food poisoning?" he muttered to himself, staring blankly at the door in front of him like it held the answer. Outside, a few of the other players were already talking about what was next, but Izan was on a completely different battlefield now. ...¡­ Izan stepped out of the stall, letting out a deep sigh as he made his way to the showers. He twisted the knob, and warm water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the grueling match. His muscles, sore from the endless running and battles, finally relaxed under the soothing spray. "What a game. If that''s how every battle with a top 6 team in the EPL is going to be, then I might have to stock up on the conditioning fluids," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. It had been a chaotic ninety minutes, full of fouls, fights, and fire, and now that it was over, all he wanted was to unwind. As he lathered up, he replayed certain moments in his mind¡ªthe goals, the battles, the mistakes. He could still hear the roar of the crowd when he had torn through Liverpool''s midfield. The groans when Endo had dispossessed him, and the booming laughter when he made a swift exit past reporters. Even in a preseason match, there was no such thing as a quiet game when he was involved. Finishing up, he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist before heading to his locker. The dressing room was still lively, with some of the boys still in their kits and others chatting away or scrolling through their phones. Saliba and Gabriel were talking animatedly about one of their duels with N¨²?ez, while Rice was sitting on the bench, shaking his head at something ?degaard had said. Izan barely paid attention as he toweled off, changed into a clean Arsenal tracksuit, and sat on the bench, running another towel over his damp hair. He checked his phone, expecting a flood of messages about the game, when suddenly, The door swung open. The room went still for a second as Arteta strode in with purpose, scanning the space with a look that meant business. His sharp eyes moved from player to player before landing on Izan, who, to his misfortune, was the only one fully dressed and ready. "That''s what I like to see," Arteta announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice carried an air of satisfaction. "Professional. Prepared. Some of you could learn from him." A chorus of groans and playful complaints erupted from the dressing room. "Gaffer, you don''t see me? I was about to get up!" Declan Rice protested, still sitting with one boot on and one-off. "Man, let me finish my drink first," Trossard added, holding up a water bottle. Izan smirked but said nothing, already wary of whatever was coming next; Arteta wasn''t the type to hand out praise without a reason. "Come on," the manager said, clapping a firm hand on Izan''s shoulder. "You''re coming with me to the press conference." Izan blinked. "Wait, what?" "You heard me. Let''s go." "Gaffer, come on, I just showered," Izan tried, glancing at his teammates for backup. None came. "Exactly. You''re fresh, you''re presentable¡ªunlike the rest of them." Arteta turned to the room. "Some of you should take notes." Laughter broke out across the dressing room. Zinchenko shook his head, grinning. "Tough luck, bro," Gabriel teased. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Better you than me," Havertz muttered with a smirk. Arteta had already made up his mind, and once that happened, arguing was pointless. "Fine," Izan muttered, standing up. Arteta patted his back. "That''s the spirit. Let''s go." As he was dragged towards the door, he could hear his teammates laughing and calling after him. "Make sure you shout us out!" "Tell them I was the best player today!" "Try not to cause another fight with any Liverpool players in the press room, eh?" Izan just shook his head and walked on. The room was buzzing when Arteta and Izan entered, the murmur of journalists filling the air as camera flashes flickered. They took their seats, microphones adjusted, and within seconds, the moderator gestured for the first question. (The Athletic). Mikel, first of all, congratulations on the win. Preseason or not, a victory over Liverpool is always significant. What are your thoughts on the game?" Arteta: "Thank you. It was a very competitive game, exactly what we needed at this stage of preseason. We saw a lot of good things, but also areas where we need to improve. Liverpool is a fantastic team, and they pushed us hard, but I''m pleased with how we responded." (BBC Sport). Izan, you were heavily involved in all three goals today¡ªanother free kick, two assists. You also scored against Manchester United in the preseason and impressed against Leverkusen. How do you feel about your performances so far?" Izan leaned closer to the mic, choosing his words carefully. "I feel good. It''s still preseason, so we''re all working towards full match sharpness, but I think I''ve settled in well. Each game has been a different challenge¡ªUnited, Leverkusen, and now Liverpool. I just try to contribute however I can." (Sky Sports): "Speaking of those different challenges, you''ve now faced top teams from England and Germany in a short span. Based on what you''ve experienced, how do you compare playing against Premier League opposition versus a team like Leverkusen?" Izan thought for a second before answering. "It''s different. The Premier League teams press higher and faster, and the physicality is next-level. United was more structured defensively, Liverpool played with intensity for the full ninety minutes, while Leverkusen was very technical. But in the end, it''s about adapting. Every team has weaknesses¡ªyou just have to find them." (ESPN)You''ve had a taste of English football now, but do you think you''re fully prepared for what''s to come in the league? Players have talked about how relentless it is compared to other leagues." Izan gave a small nod. "I understand that, and I won''t pretend I know exactly what''s coming until I''m in the middle of it. But I came here because I wanted this challenge. I know there will be tough moments, but that''s what makes it exciting. The best players thrive under pressure." (Goal): "Your set-piece ability has been a major talking point. You scored that free kick against United, and now another one against Liverpool. Is that something you''ve always been confident in?" Izan smirked slightly. "I''ve always practiced them, yeah. Had a few of them at Valencia. At the end of the day, it''s about repetition, understanding how the ball moves, and trusting yourself in the moment. If I get the chance, I back myself to take it." (The Guardian): "Your assists today demonstrated your vision and passing range. How do you approach your role within the team? Are you aiming to take on a more playmaking role this season? Izan shrugged. "I don''t focus on labels. If I see a pass, I play it. If I need to drive forward, I will. It depends on the situation. The most important thing is making the right decisions for the team." (CBS Sports): "With the season approaching, what are your personal goals? Any targets you''ve set for yourself?" Izan paused, considering the question. "I don''t like setting numbers because football isn''t predictable. What I can say is that I want to be consistent. I want to contribute in big moments. I want to help this team compete at the highest level. If I do that, everything else will follow." Arteta nodded approvingly beside him. (Football London): "Mikel, last question¡ªhow do you see Izan fitting into this Arsenal squad for the upcoming season?" Arteta smiled. "Izan has already shown what he''s capable of, but there is so much more to come. He has adapted well, and his mentality is exactly what we want. He will be very important for us this season." The moderator wrapped things up, and Arteta gave Izan a pat on the back as they stood to leave. "Good answers," he murmured as they stepped away from the cameras. Izan just smirked, exhaling slightly. He was finally done with the questions¡ªnow all that was left was to let his football do the talking when the real season began. Chapter 393 393: Unexpected(Golden Ticket) After the press conference, Izan and Arteta exited the room. The rest of the squad was already making their way to the hotel. As the two walked together toward the exit, Arteta glanced at Izan, giving him a nod of approval. "Great job today," Arteta said. "The team''s starting to feel your presence." Izan smiled modestly, but there was a gleam in his eyes. He knew his performance had been pivotal, but he also knew that it was just the start. "Thanks, Coach. I''m just doing my bit." Arteta chuckled. "Keep doing it, and you''ll be one of the stars of this league, trust me." he continued ahead leaving Izan to his thoughts. Once outside, Arteta addressed the squad as they waited in the parking lot. "I would have liked to give you a day or two off, but things have come up back in London. We need to head straight to the airport," he announced. A few players groaned at the news, clearly hoping for a bit more downtime. Saka, who had been looking forward to hitting the beach, sighed dramatically. "I was gonna visit Venice Beach," he muttered to Gabriel Martinelli, who gave him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I was thinking about checking out some local spots too," Martinelli agreed. "Guess that''s not happening now." "Yes. It''s not happening and I hope it stays that way. I don''t want to reach Colney and realize we left some of you in LA", Arteta said while eyeing Saka, Zinchenko, and Martinelli for their escapade causing the rest of the players to laugh. (Reference ch 380). As they made their way back to their hotel, a few players chatted amongst themselves about missed opportunities in LA. Izan, however, remained focused, a bit eager to return to London since all that moving for the Tour had done him in. When they arrived at the hotel, they were told that their luggage had already been sent directly to the airport. Some players frowned, knowing they''d have to wait for their bags when they arrived. "They couldn''t even let us grab a quick change before heading to the airport?" Ramsdale grumbled. Arteta smiled patiently, understanding the frustration but knowing the logistics had been arranged for efficiency. "We''re on a tight schedule, lads. We''ll make sure everything''s sorted once we land in London." The squad spent a few more minutes gathering themselves and talking with teammates before piling back into the buses that would take them to the airport. As they drove, the chatter in the bus grew louder, with players discussing interests, the match, and their excitement for the upcoming season. Arriving at the airport, the sight of Arsenal''s private Emirates plane waiting on the tarmac signaled the end of their time in LA. The players could finally relax a little, but the excitement of the season ahead was always there, just beneath the surface. As they boarded the plane, Izan found his seat, his mind already racing ahead. The season was starting, and he knew the real challenge was just beginning. ....... The plane touched down smoothly at London Stansted Airport, signaling the end of Arsenal''s preseason tour in the United States. The players stretched and yawned as the aircraft taxied to a stop, exhaustion evident on their faces. Though preseason had been intense, it had also been an experience¡ªboth in footballing terms and as a team-building exercise. But now, it was back to business. The real season awaited. As they disembarked and cleared customs, the team''s bus was already waiting to take them to London Colney. Most of the players had left their cars at the training ground before flying out to the U.S., so it was their final stop before heading home. The mood on the ride was relaxed, with players scrolling through their phones, replying to messages, or catching up on sleep. Izan leaned against the window, watching the almost familiar English landscape pass by. It was good to be back. The Premier League opener was fast approaching, and after his performances in preseason, expectations would be sky-high. Upon arrival at Colney, the players wasted no time in retrieving their cars. Some were eager to see their families, others just wanted to collapse into their beds. A few teammates lingered outside, chatting as they unlocked their vehicles. Saka, standing by his car, grinned as he watched Izan step out of the bus without heading toward a parked vehicle. "Man, it''s crazy. You can take on an entire defense, and score free kicks like it''s nothing, but you''re still not even allowed to drive." The comment immediately got a reaction from the players nearby, with a few chuckling at the jab. Izan rolled his eyes but smirked. "At least I don''t have to worry about parking tickets or petrol prices, unlike some people." Martinelli laughed, shaking his head as he loaded his bags into his car. "You got him there, Bukayo." Saka raised his hands in surrender. "Fair enough, fair enough." He then opened his car door and slid in. "See you at training, kid. Enjoy your chauffeur service!" With a teasing grin, he revved his engine and pulled out of the lot, leaving Izan shaking his head. Izan tapped the call button, lifting the phone to his ear, but before the line could even connect, a shift in the air made him pause. The faint hum of an approaching vehicle reached his ears, distinct from the sounds of his teammates'' cars pulling out of the lot. It wasn''t the distant rev of an engine speeding past on a main road¡ªit was close. Purposeful. He lowered his phone slightly, eyes flicking to the side. A sleek, dark-colored car rolled into view, its tires gliding smoothly over the pavement. The headlights flickered briefly in the fading evening light before dimming as the car slowed to a stop right beside him. His grip on his phone tightened, his thumb hovering over the screen. His driver? No, the silhouette behind the wheel was too familiar. The car door didn''t open immediately. Instead, the window rolled down in a slow, deliberate motion, revealing a face he hadn''t been expecting to see here. Green eyes locked onto his blue. Sharp yet unreadable. Olivia. The sounds around him¡ªthe distant laughter of his teammates, the hum of departing engines. All faded into the background, drowned out by the sudden tension wrapping around him like a taut string ready to snap. She didn''t speak at first. Just watched him. Izan felt his pulse quicken slightly, though his face remained unreadable. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He wasn''t sure what unsettled him more¡ªthe fact that she was here or the fact that, for a split second, he couldn''t figure out why. His grip tightened around his phone, and finally, he lowered it completely. "Need a ride?" Olivia''s voice finally broke the silence, smooth as ever but carrying something underneath. Izan smiled, straightening his posture. Of course. It was always like this with her. ......¡­ The car''s interior was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Olivia tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. Izan sat in the passenger seat, his head leaning back as he looked out at the passing streetlights. He was still wrapping his head around everything that had happened over the past few hours, but one thing stood out the most¡ªOlivia being there. He turned his head toward her, frowning slightly. "Wait¡­ how do you even know the road to Colney?" His voice carried genuine curiosity rather than skepticism. "You''ve never been to London before, have you?" Olivia''s lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving the road. "I came with the driver," she answered easily. "Told Miranda I''d pick you up, so he parked nearby while I handled the rest." Izan raised an eyebrow. "Handled the rest?" She shot him a brief side glance, amusement flickering in her green eyes. "I have an EU license, Izan. I can drive anywhere. Well, most places. Plus, I remembered the route, and worst case, there''s always GPS." She tapped the screen lightly before returning her hand to the wheel. Izan hummed, nodding slowly as he processed the information. It made sense, sure, but it still caught him off guard. His brain was still on autopilot, expecting her to be wrapped up in school commitments back home. Then it hit him. "Wait," he muttered, straightening in his seat. "You finished your first year already, didn''t you?" Olivia smirked. "Took you long enough." Izan huffed, shaking his head. "I was wondering what you were doing here instead of, I don''t know, stressing over exams or something." "Nah, that''s all wrapped up." She gave a slight shrug. "Figured I had time, so why not?" Her words were casual, but Izan didn''t miss the way she gripped the wheel just a little tighter. Whatever the reason, she''d made the effort to be here. And right now, he wasn''t going to question it. "I''m Glad you came," Izan said, staring at Olivia. A/n: Okay guys. Next chapter is R-70 so if you aren''t 70. Scoot. Chapter 394 394: Unspoken Words. The car came to a slow stop outside the apartment complex, the soft hum of the engine dying as Olivia shifted into the park. The London night buzzed around them; the city was always alive, even at this hour. Izan stared out of the window for a moment, his mind still on the whirlwind of the day. "Here we are," Olivia said, her voice a little softer than usual, the atmosphere in the car thickening as she cut the engine. "Yeah," Izan murmured, glancing at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. They both lingered for a moment, almost uncertain of the next move, before Izan slowly opened the door. ............... Izan stepped into the apartment, his sneakers leaving faint echoes on the polished floors as he dropped his bags by the door. Olivia, who had followed him in, stood by the couch, her posture a mix of curiosity and a subtle hesitation. The apartment felt quieter than usual, more empty in the absence of the usual buzz. Izan disappeared into his room, but it was hard to ignore the faint tug in his chest. It wasn''t like they were strangers¡ªfar from it¡ªbut it felt different, the space between them palpable. The way he moved, almost mechanically, packing away his things, only to find himself pausing when it was time to come out. When he emerged, there she was. Olivia hadn''t moved from where she stood, her eyes tracing the lines of the apartment as if memorizing every detail. But when their gazes met, everything seemed to slow. She glanced at him briefly before quickly looking away, then back, her expression unreadable, almost as if she was unsure of how to act. And then, finally, their eyes locked, lingering, intense, as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Izan took a step forward, unsure whether to close the distance or keep it. "I didn''t think I''d be seeing you today," he said, his voice quieter than usual. He half-smiled, but it didn''t quite reach his eyes. Olivia didn''t respond immediately, her lips parting slightly before she said, "Well, I did." The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy, like a secret too close to the surface. The silence between them stretched just a little too long; every inch of the space between them charged with unspoken emotions. Izan wasn''t sure who moved first, but before he knew it, they were inches apart. He could feel the warmth of her breath, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away, leaving just the tension, raw and unspoken. Their gazes held for a few seconds longer. Then, as if some invisible force had pulled them together, they both took a breath. The room felt too small, too full of everything they hadn''t said yet. The air was thick with anticipation, and neither one of them was willing to break it just yet. Until they both did. It started slow, tentative. Olivia''s lips brushed against his in the softest of movements, hesitant at first, like they were both testing the waters of a connection that had been dormant for a while. Their kiss deepened gradually, a quiet rush of emotions they hadn''t had the chance to express in the last month and a half. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan''s hand found its way to the back of Olivia''s neck, gently pulling her closer as if there were no distance between them anymore. She responded in kind, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw before sliding to the back of his neck. The world outside the apartment seemed to fade away, leaving just the warmth of each other''s presence. As the kiss lingered, Izan carefully nudged her toward the couch, guiding her down onto it, never breaking their connection. He lowered himself with her, settling on the cushion beside her, then moving to place her gently on his lap. It was intimate in its simplicity, the moment entirely theirs. They pulled back for a breath, their foreheads touching, both of them smiling softly. "You have no idea how much I''ve missed you," Izan whispered, his words barely audible, as though speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment. Olivia''s breath hitched a little, and she pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes. "I missed you too," she whispered back, her voice quiet but full of sincerity. The words were simple, yet they carried so much weight between them, everything they hadn''t said in the past weeks suddenly coming to the surface. Her fingers brushed across his cheek, lingering there. Izan smiled, his eyes tracing her face like it was something he couldn''t quite believe he was seeing again. The kiss returned, a little more urgent now but still tender. She was everything, everything he''d been missing. Just as the moment was about to shift, when their kisses became deeper and more heated, Olivia''s phone rang. It was jarring. A sharp interruption to the silence that had wrapped them in its warmth. Olivia pulled back quickly, her lips still tingling from the kiss, and fumbled for her phone, glancing at the screen. "Sorry," she murmured, a trace of embarrassment in her voice. She picked up the phone, but the mood had shifted. Izan sighed quietly, watching as she answered the call, his fingers still hovering near her waist, not quite ready to let go. Izan watched as Olivia''s expression shifted while she held the phone to her ear. Her eyes flickered, and her fingers tightened just slightly around the edge of the screen. The warmth of the moment had been stolen, but only for a second. He could still feel the soft pressure of her on his lap, the closeness of their bodies¡ªstill tangible in the air. Olivia cleared her throat and responded with a soft, "Hey, Miranda," but there was a hesitation in her voice, a subtle difference from the usual tone she used with her friend. From the other end of the line, Miranda''s voice came through, teasing and light, "Well, well... looks like I might have interrupted something naughty." There was a brief pause before Miranda added, "Or, you know, am I wrong?" Olivia''s breath caught slightly. Her heart rate picked up, the flush in her cheeks obvious to both of them. She didn''t say anything for a moment, her lips pressing together in an almost imperceptible smile, but the silence on her side of the line made Miranda''s words hit the mark. Miranda chuckled, her tone filled with knowing mischief. "It''s alright, Liv. I can tell from here, you''re breathing a bit heavier than usual. Don''t worry, I''m not judging." Olivia''s eyes widened a little at the comment, her gaze darting to Izan, who was now leaning back on the couch, trying to mask the small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn''t speak, but his eyes met hers, the playful tension from earlier still hanging in the air. "I¡ªI wasn''t¡ª" Olivia stammered, but it was too late. Miranda had already gotten the hint, and she could practically hear the smirk on her friend''s face. "Uh-huh. Sure," Miranda teased. "I''m just glad you two finally got a minute to yourselves. Don''t let me keep you." Her voice softened, the joke turning into something a little more sincere. "But seriously, don''t do anything I wouldn''t do, and you know I''d do a lot of stuff." Olivia exhaled slowly, her fingers still slightly shaking as she held the phone. "I''ll call you later, Miranda," she muttered, her voice quieter, almost sheepish. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, Olivia ended the call and slowly lowered the phone. She looked at Izan, her eyes wide and her lips parted, a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "I hate her sometimes," she muttered under her breath, but there was no real malice in her voice. Izan chuckled, his eyes softening as he leaned forward, bringing his hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don''t think she''s wrong, though," he teased lightly, his grin widening as he held her gaze. Olivia gave him an exasperated look but couldn''t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. She leaned back, her posture relaxing slightly as she sighed, her earlier tension slipping away. "You''re impossible," she said, shaking her head as she rested her head on his shoulder. The moment of teasing hung in the air between them, a playful reminder of the intimacy they had just shared. Izan smiled, wrapping his arm around her, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence again. "I missed you," he whispered, his voice low but filled with genuine warmth. She nodded, her smile softening as she closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the quiet calm that had settled between them again. But even with Miranda''s teasing and the interruption, the night still held a certain promise¡ªa promise they both knew was just beginning to unfold. a/n: A bit of this and that and I''m cooking up a new romance novel. Hope Y''all liked the shift Chapter 395 395: A World Of Their Own The sound of the exhaust hood hummed lowly in the background, mixing with the occasional clang of utensils and the soft, unhurried movements of two figures in the kitchen. The apartment had a warmth to it now, not from the stove or the overhead lighting, but from the quiet intimacy that had settled between Izan and Olivia. She stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers deftly chopping vegetables with a focus that made Izan smile. He leaned against the island, watching her with a lazy amusement, his arms crossed over his chest. "You act like you''ve done this a hundred times," he teased, his voice light. Olivia didn''t look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Unlike you, I actually cook," she shot back. Izan scoffed, pushing off the counter and stepping behind her, his arms casually wrapping around her waist as he peered over her shoulder. "I can cook," he muttered. "I just choose not to." Olivia let out a short laugh. "Right. And I suppose you''re about to prove that now?" He didn''t answer. Instead, he reached forward, plucking a slice of red bell pepper from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth. Olivia smacked his hand lightly with the back of the knife, making him flinch back with a mock-offended expression. "Ow," he mumbled, chewing. "Aggressive much?" "Keep stealing ingredients, and you''ll lose a finger," Olivia warned, though her tone held no real bite. Izan grinned, dipping his head closer so his chin rested against her shoulder. "I''ll risk it." Her hands slowed for a moment, feeling the way his arms settled more comfortably around her waist. He was warm¡ªtoo warm. It made it hard to focus. She inhaled, clearing her throat before shaking him off. "If you''re going to stand there doing nothing, at least set the table," she said. Izan groaned, pulling away dramatically. "You''re so bossy." "And yet, you listen," Olivia retorted, a smirk on her lips. Izan threw her a mock glare but obediently moved to grab plates. Olivia continued working, sneaking glances at him as he absentmindedly hummed while placing the dishes down. It was different, seeing him like this. No football boots. No intense training sessions. No media commitments. Just Izan¡ªcompletely at ease. The thought made her chest tighten in a way she didn''t quite expect. By the time the pasta was ready, they stood side by side at the stove, Izan stirring while Olivia seasoned. It was a mess¡ªflour somehow dusted on Izan''s black hoodie, a streak of sauce on Olivia''s cheek. But neither of them cared. "You think we should open a restaurant?" Izan mused, twirling the spoon in the sauce. Olivia scoffed. "Yeah, because that''s a smart career move for you." "I''d call it Izan''s Kitchen," he continued, ignoring her sarcasm. She rolled her eyes. "Sounds original." "You''d be the head chef, obviously," he added, bumping her lightly with his hip. Olivia let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "And what would you be?" "The face of the brand," he said without hesitation. Olivia turned, resting her elbow on the counter as she smirked at him. "So, you''d do nothing?" "Exactly," Izan said, grinning. She huffed out a laugh, but before she could respond, Izan leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. It was fleeting, but it left her momentarily speechless. His lips lingered just a second longer than necessary, and when he pulled back, there was something mischievous in his eyes. Olivia stared at him, her heartbeat suddenly a little quicker. Izan leaned in again, but this time, Olivia turned her head slightly so his lips met hers instead. It was slow¡ªunhurried and sweet, with just the slightest tug at her bottom lip before he pulled away. She blinked up at him, her breath a little uneven. "Was that to shut me up?" she asked softly. Izan smirked. "Maybe." She shook her head but didn''t move away when he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her close. They stood there, the food forgotten for a moment, his chin resting against her temple as they just¡­ existed in the quiet. Eventually, Olivia sighed. "The pasta''s going to get cold." Izan hummed against her skin. "Let it." She nudged him lightly, forcing a laugh. "You''re impossible." "And yet, you like me," he murmured, pressing another kiss¡ªthis time on her forehead. Olivia sighed again, but this time, there was no annoyance. Just something softer, something almost too fragile to name. Maybe Miranda had been right earlier. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Maybe she really had stopped something naughty. Or maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªit had only been put on pause. Izan and Olivia stayed nestled on the couch, the soft hum of London filtering in through the windows, muted by the thick apartment glass. The kitchen still held the faint scent of their half-successful dinner, but neither of them had moved to clean up. Time had slowed, stretched out between laughter and quiet looks, the kind that held stories in silence. Olivia shifted slightly, letting her hand rest just above Izan''s heart, fingers absently drawing small circles. "I didn''t come just to see you," she said after a long pause, her voice calm but deliberate. Izan turned his head slightly, his brow lifting. "No?" She looked up at him, green eyes steady. "King''s College London. They''ve offered me a spot in their Global Health and Social Medicine program. It''s part of an exchange arrangement with my uni, just for a semester." His expression changed slowly¡ªfirst confusion, then realization, then something deeper. But instead of bursting with excitement, he just leaned back and stared at her like he was taking her in for the first time. "Global Health and Social Medicine¡­" he repeated, quietly. "That sounds¡ªserious." "It is," she nodded. "And they''re one of the best in that field. I wasn''t sure I''d take it at first. But then I thought¡­ London. You." He didn''t speak right away. Just blinked, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small, genuine smile. "So¡­ you''d be here? For real?" "For a while," she said. "If it feels right." He nodded slowly, his hand tightening around hers. "You should do it." Olivia tilted her head. "I wanted to see your face when I told you. To see if it changed anything." "It does," Izan said. "It makes everything feel less¡­ temporary." That earned a faint smile from her, and she leaned into his shoulder. He kissed her temple¡ªsoft, steady, unhurried. "I can show you around campus if you want," he added with a small laugh. She chuckled. "You don''t even go there." "Details," he murmured, kissing her again¡ªthis time on the lips, gentle but lingering. And for a moment, neither moved. They stayed wrapped up in the idea of a future not so far away, in a city that could finally belong to both of them. ...... The soft morning light leaked through the edges of the curtain, casting a golden warmth across the apartment. The world outside stirred with the slow hum of London traffic, muffled and distant ¡ª but inside, everything was still. Peaceful. Izan shifted beneath the covers, blinking slowly as the blur of sleep cleared from his eyes. He didn''t remember the exact moment they''d fallen asleep, only the feeling of Olivia''s fingers tracing along his chest, the gentle laughter between kisses, the way they had quietly agreed ¡ª wordlessly ¡ª not to take it further. It wasn''t about restraint. It just hadn''t been about that. His gaze dropped. Olivia was still curled against him, her arm draped across his waist, head tucked beneath his chin. Her auburn hair spilled over his chest like fire and silk all at once. Her breath, soft and even, warmed the hollow of his neck. A quiet smile crept onto his face. "I could get used to this," he whispered, barely audible, his fingers brushing through the strands of her hair. She shifted slightly, not fully waking, only nestling closer to him in response. He let his hand glide down her back slowly, not with urgency or intent, but comfort ¡ª familiarity. He could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat against his side, in sync with his own in a way he couldn''t quite describe. They hadn''t needed to fill the silence last night. The TV had gone quiet. The city had gone quiet. It was just them, pressed close on the couch before eventually moving to the bed, tangled not just in each other''s limbs but in something much more delicate ¡ª the relief of reunion, the softness of teenage love that hadn''t yet been jaded by time or distance. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, exhaling slowly, as if to release whatever tension remained in him after weeks of preseason demands, press responsibilities, and the pressure of expectation. Then he looked down at her again, pulling the blanket a little higher around them both. Whatever the day had planned ¡ª training, schedules, coaches, cameras ¡ª could wait a little while longer. A/N: Ahhhhhhh. I can smell the scent of loneliness through the screen. Sorry for all the single dogs out here. Have fun reading anyways. Chapter 396 396: League Preparations The lazy rhythm of the morning was hard to shake, but eventually, the comfort of the bed gave way to the buzz of reality tapping at the edges of their stillness. Olivia was the first to move, her arm stretching out with a quiet groan before she blinked herself awake. Her green eyes met Izan''s, who was already watching her with a smug grin on his face, head propped up on his hand like he had all the time in the world. "We should probably get up," she murmured, voice husky with sleep, her cheek still half-pressed into his chest. "We should. I don''t want Mikel on my ass," Izan agreed but made no move to do so. They stayed like that for a moment longer, suspended in the comfort of knowing they didn''t have to rush. Olivia finally rolled away with a reluctant sigh and sat up on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I''m going to King''s today," she said, turning slightly to glance at him. "Figure it''s better I get the tour done early. I don''t really want to waste a full day just lying around here¡­ without you." Izan sat up beside her, ruffling his hair as he tried to fight a smile. "So you''re saying you only care about the tour if I come along." "I''m saying you make everything better," she shot back lightly, standing and stretching. "Even campus tours." Izan watched her make her way toward the bathroom, pulling her overnight shirt down slightly. "You''re not seriously starting the day without me, are you?" Olivia paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with a brow raised. "I mean," he continued, already slipping out of bed with a grin, "you can''t expect me to just sit here while you go in there¡ª" "You''re not sneaking into the shower with me, Izan," Olivia said, laughing as she closed the bathroom door halfway, just enough to peek her head out. "Not when we have to leave in an hour." "Says who?" he grinned, padding across the floor toward her. "Says me," she deadpanned, but her smile betrayed her. "Fine," Izan muttered dramatically, pressing his forehead to the closed door. "But just know this moment will haunt me forever." "You''ll survive," she laughed from inside, and he could hear the shower start up. He shook his head with a small smile and turned away, stretching his arms behind his head as he made for the kitchen. If he couldn''t join her in the shower, he could at least throw together something quick for breakfast. The sun had crept higher into the London sky by the time the driver arrived at the apartment complex, the black car gliding smoothly to a stop just outside the building''s entrance. Izan and Olivia, dressed casually but neatly, walked out hand in hand ¡ª fingers intertwined like the link had never broken. Neither said much as they got into the car, but the silence wasn''t awkward between them. Izan sat back against the leather seat, Olivia nestled beside him, her hand still in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze every now and then, and every time he did, she answered with the faintest smile, the kind that lingered in her eyes. The car began to move, weaving through the morning bustle of the city. The driver didn''t speak unless spoken to, allowing the two teens to sit in their pocket of stillness. Olivia leaned her head slightly on Izan''s shoulder, watching the buildings slip by as they crossed bridges and took turns she didn''t yet recognize ¡ª but would, soon enough. They pulled into Colney a little over thirty minutes later, the familiar training ground coming into view. The players'' cars were already rolling in, and a few staff members were pacing across the lot. As the car eased to a stop, Olivia finally turned to him. "Good luck," she said softly, her thumb brushing against the back of his hand. Izan nodded, stepping out and pushing the door close ¡ª but before he could fully close it, Olivia''s hand shot forward and tugged lightly on his shirt before leaning forward, pulling his head gently through the open window. She kissed him on the cheek, lingering for a beat longer than needed. "Text me later." "I will," he promised, his lips twitching into a boyish smile. The car began to roll away as he took a few steps back, watching her through the tinted glass. She never looked away, eyes locked on him until the car took the bend out of the parking lot. Then she turned, and the driver took her toward King''s College ¡ª her next step. And Izan, still feeling the warmth of her goodbye, turned toward the Colney entrance, a different kind of calm grounding him now. .... .... Izan stepped into the Colney complex with a lightness in his step, the kind that didn''t go unnoticed. As the automatic doors swooshed open, he greeted the receptionist at the front with a soft "Good morning," flashing that same smile that hadn''t left his face since Olivia kissed him through the window. "Morning, Izan," the receptionist chuckled. "You''re beaming today." "Am I?" he asked, only half pretending not to know. He made his way deeper into the training ground, dapping up members of the staff as he passed through. From one of the physios setting up cones outside to the older groundsman sweeping a bit of dirt near the entrance to the boot room. Every interaction carried that same relaxed glow. He was polite and respectful. The same as always, but there was something different this morning. ''Something in the way he carried himself, easy but purposeful, like the world was just a bit more in place than usual. Inside the locker room, his training gear had already been laid out for him. A fresh Arsenal tracksuit ¡ª black and red with the club crest stitched cleanly over the chest- rested on the bench. He pulled it on in quiet rhythm, tying the drawstrings, adjusting the cuffs, and slipping into his fresh white flip-flops before grabbing a bottle of water and heading toward the cafeteria. That''s where the noise started. He walked in and was immediately clocked by a few teammates seated at the center table. Reiss Nelson, Martinelli, Rice, and of course, Saka, who was the first to lean back in his chair with an exaggerated squint. "Oi oi," Saka grinned. "Man''s walking like he just signed a new deal and bought a yacht." Izan tried to keep a straight face as he pulled out a chair and sat, but his grin cracked through anyway. "You''re smiling way too much for someone who got off a ten-hour flight yesterday," Martinelli added, shoving a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. "Must be jet lag," Izan shrugged, playing it cool, but even Reiss raised an eyebrow. "Jet lag doesn''t make you look like that," Reiss chimed in. "You''ve got ''I just got lucky'' written all over you, bro." Izan coughed into his bottle of water and glanced down at the table, ears a little red but still grinning like someone who couldn''t argue with the accusations even if he wanted to. And then came the voice that made the teasing spread like wildfire. "What''s all this about?" Arteta asked, walking into the cafeteria mid-conversation, arms folded casually, a coffee cup in one hand. The players all laughed harder as Saka leaned in conspiratorially, nodding toward Izan. "Boss, you won''t believe it. Man''s been walking like he''s floating since he got here. Smiling like he just got married." Arteta''s brow arched, and he turned to Izan with a smirk. "?As¨ª que fue una buena noche, no?(So it was a good night, right?)" he said in a teasing Spanish lilt. Izan shook his head, laughing now. "No fue as¨ª, m¨ªster(It wasn''t like that, mister)," he said, attempting to deflect. Arteta waved a hand playfully. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Ah, no me mientas. Whatever it was, I want all of you coming in with that energy." The room erupted again, even as breakfast continued. The teasing eventually died down, but the mood was lighter than usual, the kind of camaraderie built not just on banter but on shared rhythms ¡ª long flights, grinding sessions, and the rare quiet mornings where life outside football found a way in. And as Izan bit into a buttered toast and took in the laughter around him, he thought ¡ª not for the first time that morning ¡ª yeah¡­ I could get used to this. ..... The players trickled out of the cafeteria, clearing trays and exchanging playful jabs before stepping into the morning sun. Tracksuits rustled, boots clacked against the pavement, and chatter shifted toward focus as they followed Arteta onto the pristine training pitch. Balls were already laid out, cones lined the grass, and the air buzzed with anticipation¡ªtheir first official preparation for the 2024/25 Premier League season had begun. A new journey was underway. a/n: Okay guys. This is a new volume and a new challenge for Izan. Thanks for your support as always. You made this novel what it is today, and thank you for that. Love y''all, and have a fun read Chapter 397 397: Life At Colney The sun''s warmth hit Izan''s skin as he stepped out onto the pitch and the familiar smell of freshly cut grass around him. The buzz of conversation dulled into a low hum around him, replaced by the steady thump of boots on turf, the occasional barked laugh, and the whistle of a passing ball. He paused for a moment, soaking it in¡ªColney at full rhythm, the calm before the intensity. Arteta stood at the center, clipboard in hand, flanked by his assistants. Carlos Cuesta had a stopwatch slung around his neck, and Steve Round was already shouting directions toward the keepers at the far end. Izan jogged to where the midfielders were gathering, slotting naturally into the group. Rice offered him a quick fist bump while ?degaard nodded at home with a small grin. "Morning," Mikel called out, voice rising above the shuffle. "Let''s go! Warm-up rondos ¡ª four boxes, four players per group. Keep the touches sharp, and stay vocal. We''ve got a session to dominate today." The squad split smoothly into groups. Izan found himself paired with Saka, Calafiori, and Fabio Vieira¡ªa tight box with a two-touch limit. The ball started moving fast. Saka played it into Fabio, who poked it wide to Calafiori. Izan timed his run into space, received it on the half-turn, and spun the pass back toward Saka with the inside of his boot. "?Eso es!" Carlos called from across the field. "Quick transitions, quick minds." It was the kind of start Izan relished ¡ª fluid, instinctual, with the ball zipping between them like it had something to prove. They rotated roles in and out of the middle, pressure increasing with each round. Saka pressed Izan with a cheeky grin when it was his turn in the center, only for Izan to nutmeg him with a soft touch and an even softer, "Oops." "You''re gonna regret that," Saka warned through a laugh, chasing after the ball. "Already don''t," Izan shot back. It was easy to forget how intense these sessions could get when the energy was this high. But Mikel didn''t let them coast for long. Fifteen minutes later, the warm-up rolled into structured passing drills, and soon after that, into full-positional play. The pitch split into thirds. Red bibs against yellow. High press triggers. Transition plays. Izan played as the left-sided ten in one setup, occasionally drifting wide but mostly operating just behind the striker line. Mikel called out rotations constantly ¡ª he wanted them moving, adapting, and communicating. And Izan was dialed in. There was a moment midway through the drill when the red team won possession deep in their third. Rice scooped a ball out wide to Zinchenko, who quickly turned it inside toward Izan. One touch. Two. Space opened just between the pressing midfielders. Izan threaded the ball ¡ª a sharp, angled pass ¡ª right between the lines into Martinelli, who didn''t break stride as he drove forward. "Perfect," Arteta barked from the touchline. "That''s the tempo. That''s what we play for." Izan didn''t let it go to his head, but the nod ?degaard gave him a moment later ¡ª just a subtle, approving glance ¡ª meant more than any shouted praise. This was where he wanted to be. This was where he belonged. They broke for water briefly, sweat dripping down temples and backs, shirts clinging to skin. Izan leaned down on his knees, catching his breath when Calafiori nudged his shoulder. "You still floating, lover boy?" Riccardo teased in his heavy accent. Izan grinned without looking up. "Jealous I''ve got someone worth floating for." Calafiori whistled and walked off laughing. By the time the tactical session wrapped, Arteta had them huddled near the sideline, arms crossed over his chest. "Better. Much better," he said, scanning the group. "I know some of you are still adjusting ¡ª jet lag, travel, family visits. That''s fine. That''s life. But we start strong this year. We set the tone early." His eyes met Izan''s for a flicker, just long enough to mean something. "Big expectations. Big opportunities. Earn your place every day." They broke with a clap. Some players drifted toward the gym for cooldowns. Others peeled off toward the showers. Izan lingered just a moment, hands on hips, looking out at the emptying pitch. It still felt surreal sometimes. Not the facilities, or the staff, or the fact that he was now a Premier League player. But how quickly it had all become normal. He pulled out his phone and found her name already at the top of his messages. "You make everything better." Her words echoed back through his mind. He smiled and typed: "Let me know how King''s goes. I wanna hear everything." "Also¡­ I''ll be done around Four. Maybe we grab food or something?" He hit send and finally headed toward the building, blending back into the flow of players moving through the halls. ...¡­ Later that afternoon¡­ Olivia stepped out of the cab onto the cobbled walkways of King''s College, surrounded by spires and sandstone buildings bathed in golden light. Students milled about, tour groups paused to take photos, and a faint breeze stirred her hair. She glanced at her phone, thumb hovering over Izan''s name. "Can''t believe I''m saying this¡­ but yeah. I actually really like it here." "And I''d love that coffee. Three sounds perfect." She hit send before putting her phone back in her purse. ...¡­. Back at Colney, Izan''s phone buzzed quietly in his locker. And even before he read the message, he already knew. ... After a morning of intense training, the players had been ushered into the media lounge once again. Today''s event was a laid-back affair compared to the usual media drills ¡ª a chance for some fun banter to break up the grind. And in true Arsenal fashion, it was all set up for a good laugh. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Micah Richards stood at the front of the room, all smiles and energy as usual. The familiar stage was set this time with two Arsenal stars next to him. Bukayo Saka, always cool, always composed, and Izan, who still had that gleam in his eyes from his earlier teasing with Rice. "You two ready to get roasted today?" Micah grinned, his tone as playful as ever. "Yeah, let''s see what you''ve got, Micah," Saka said with a smirk, already making himself comfortable in the chair. He stretched his legs out, an easy confidence about him, while Izan settled into his chair beside him, eyes glinting with anticipation. The crowd of players and staff chuckled as Micah adjusted his mic. "Alright, alright, no need to rush but hey, before we start, I''ve got a little surprise for you two." He raised an eyebrow. "Titi sends his regards." The room paused for a beat, and then the whispers began. "Thierry Henry?" someone from the back called out. Micah nodded, giving a little smirk. "Yeah, the man himself. He wanted me to say he''s looking forward to seeing you both play this season. He said, ''The future''s bright with these two.''" He threw a cheeky look at Izan and Saka, who exchanged surprised glances. "That''s¡­ that''s nice," Saka said, clearly taken aback but grinning. "Tell him I''ll get the assist for him in the next life." "Tell him yourself after you bag your first Premier League goal this season," Micah shot back. Izan''s eyes were still wide from the surprise but quickly recovered. "Can''t say no to that, right?" Micah laughed. "Now, let''s get into it. Quickfire round. No thinking. Saka, Izan ¡ª ready?" "Ready," they both responded in unison. "Who''s the hardest player to mark in training?" Saka didn''t hesitate. "Izan." Izan raised an eyebrow. "What? Me?" "Yeah, you''re tricky," Saka smirked, leaning in. "You never stay in one place long enough." Izan laughed. "That''s a compliment, right?" "Don''t get too smug," Saka shot back. "You''re still getting bodied by me next session." Micah chuckled, leaning forward. "Alright, alright. Let''s see¡­ who''s got the worst fashion sense on the team?" Without missing a beat, both Izan and Saka pointed to Reiss Nelson at the same time, and the room burst into laughter. "Man''s got more colors on his boots than in his wardrobe," Saka added with a grin, causing the players to erupt in more laughter. "That''s harsh," Izan said, laughing. "But from what I''ve seen since joining, it''s true." Micah''s eyes twinkled. "Okay, last one before I hand it over to the fans ¡ª I want you both to pick a celebrity whose number you''ve got in your contacts. And we''ll see who''s got the best connection." "Alright, easy," Saka said, pulling out his phone and swiping through his contacts. "I''ve got Drake. Pretty sure that tops everyone." Micah whistled. "I mean, that''s a flex. You win for now." Saka shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Not bad for a London boy eh." "Okay, okay, your turn, Izan," Micah said, looking at him expectantly. A/n: Should be second of the day but I mistakenly released the 1st chapter of the day yesterday. My fault but a good fault. Anyways, have fun reading and i''ll see you in the evening. Chapter 398 398: Whispers Of Fame Micah''s eyes twinkled. "Okay, last one before I hand it over to the fans ¡ª I want you both to pick a celebrity whose number you''ve got in your contacts. And we''ll see who''s got the best connection." "Alright, easy," Saka said, pulling out his phone and swiping through his contacts. "I''ve got Drake. Pretty sure that tops everyone." Micah whistled. "I mean, that''s a flex. You win for now." Saka shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Not bad for a London boy." "Okay, okay, your turn, Izan," Micah said, looking at him expectantly. Izan hesitated, pulling out his phone and swiping through his contacts. "Man, this is a tough one. I''ve got Jude Bellingham ¡ª we''re good friends... but then I also have LeBron James, who gave me his number after that match in LA." (Sunshine Lebron) The room went quiet for a moment as everyone waited. "Come on, Izan," Micah teased, "you''re not about to pick Bellingham over LeBron, are you?" Izan laughed nervously, looking at the phone. "It''s just... LeBron''s LeBron, you know? But Jude''s my guy, too." "Make the call, bro," Saka called out, grinning. "You can''t keep everyone in suspense." Finally, Izan sighed and looked up with a sheepish grin. "Alright, alright. I''m going with LeBron. It''s LeBron." The room erupted in laughter and cheers as Micah clapped his hands. "That''s the right choice. You''re only gonna get that number once, bruv!" Izan laughed along, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "What can I say? Can''t turn down a King." Micah raised his hands, nodding in approval. "Fair play, fair play. We''ve got two legends in the making on this stage today." The Q&A continued with more playful banter, but the tone of the room had shifted to something more relaxed, filled with camaraderie and laughter. For a brief moment, the tension of the season and the weight of the campaign ahead seemed to disappear. There was just the fun of being teammates, of making memories off the pitch as much as on it. As the session wrapped up, Micah gave a final grin to the audience. "Alright, that''s all for today, folks. Big thanks to Saka and Izan for taking part ¡ª and a little shout-out to Henry for keeping the love going. See you on the next one!" The applause was loud, and the players stood to disperse, the buzz of excitement and teasing carrying them out of the media lounge. Izan, still basking in the lightness of the moment, clapped Saka on the back. "Not bad, mate. But I''m taking your Drake number next time." Saka shook his head, laughing. "Only if you can get through my manager first." "Challenge accepted," Izan shot back, grinning as they headed toward the exit. ..... The car pulled up just outside the King''s College area, a quiet hum of traffic in the background as the driver eased to a stop by the curb. Izan, done with training, was already leaning forward slightly, spotting Olivia through the window before the car had even fully stopped. She was waiting under the shade of a wide tree just near the entrance, her auburn hair catching flecks of sunlight, arms crossed loosely as she licked what looked suspiciously like her second iced cream of the. He stepped out with a grin. "You''re early," he called out, shutting the door behind him as the driver gave a silent nod and stayed put. Olivia turned, eyes lighting up. "You''re late." He raised a brow. "You said three." "And it''s three-oh-four," she replied with mock seriousness, offering him the last lick of her cream. (That felt so wrong on many levels.) "Penalty: you carry my bag." Izan took it without protest, slinging the small tote over his shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "Wow. Oppression. You give someone one day in London and suddenly they go full local." "You love it," Olivia said, stepping close and linking her arm through his like they''d done this a hundred times before. "Besides, I''ve officially decided I could live here. It''s chaotic and kind of smells weird in places, but the buildings are gorgeous." "Kind of like you," Izan muttered, just loud enough. She bumped him with her shoulder. "Flattery won''t get you out of carrying my bag." As they walked through the entrance to campus, a few students glanced their way ¡ª not in any aggressive, swarming kind of way, but with that cautious curiosity that comes with half-recognition. One guy slowed down on his bike as he passed, eyebrows drawn together in confusion before continuing. Two girls near the steps to the library paused mid-conversation. One of them whispered something, eyes darting discreetly toward Izan. The other peeked, trying not to stare too obviously. "I swear that''s him," one murmured as they passed. "The Spain kid, right?" "I think so. He''s taller than I thought." Olivia caught it too but didn''t say anything ¡ª just squeezed his arm a little tighter and kept walking, tossing a wink up at him. "Fame looks good on you," she teased under her breath. "I just wanna look at Ivy and overpriced sandwiches," Izan replied, only slightly self-conscious. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not feel like I''m on trial." "Relax. Half of them are just wondering if you''re a TikTok guy." They ducked into a shaded walkway between two older buildings, the stone warm with late evening sun. Olivia pointed toward the quad. "I already walked around in the morning, but I saved the good stuff for you," she said. "There''s this chill garden area where everyone pretends to study and a pastry stall that might''ve changed my life. I nearly cried over a chocolate croissant." Izan chuckled. "You''re a little dramatic, you know that?" "I prefer the term passionate." As they crossed a grassy stretch toward a small fountain, another passerby slowed near a bench, phone in hand, Clearly trying to sneak a photo without being obvious. Olivia gently pulled Izan''s shoulder, so he shifted out of frame, keeping her tone casual. "You''re kind of terrible at going incognito," she said, grinning. "Should''ve worn sunglasses." "I''m not that famous." "Babe," she said, slowing her steps, "You won a Euros at 16. You''ve even got LeBron James in your contacts. You have most of the young girls around the world in a chokehold." "Does that include you?" Izan asked Olivia, who was walking slightly ahead. She turned and winked before telling him to guess. Izan laughed but said nothing, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She was right, of course ¡ª but somehow, being with her made all of that blur a little. They paused in front of a quiet little courtyard, shaded and filled with scattered wooden benches. Olivia sat first, tugging him down beside her. "Okay, the real question," she said, legs crossed under her, eyes sparkling. "If I actually decide to come¡­ do you think you''d come hang around here with me? Like¡­ sneak in between trainings or something." He blinked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You wouldn''t be embarrassed walking around campus with me getting side-eyed every two minutes?" "Are you kidding? I''d love that. I''d walk two steps ahead of you and tell people I discovered you. Like a scout." He laughed, and she leaned into him slightly, her head just brushing his shoulder. They stayed there for a bit, letting the world slow down. The background noise of the city faded under the rustle of leaves and soft chatter of students. ... Olivia stifled a yawn as they stepped out of the last building, stretching her arms above her head as the warm London sun hit her face. "I''m not bored, I swear," she said, glancing sideways at Izan with a lazy grin. "Just haven''t walked this much in a while." "I thought you were giving me the tour," Izan teased, his steps in rhythm with hers as they crossed the cobbled pathway. "I was," she said, slipping her hand through his arm. "You''re just not a very demanding tourist." "I like my guide," he said, squeezing her hand gently. Olivia''s smile widened, and she leaned her head slightly on his shoulder as they walked toward the street where the black car still waited, parked just beyond the little gates. The driver stood by, leaning against the side, but straightened up the moment he saw them approaching. They moved at their own pace, unhurried, content. A few students passed them by, some glancing briefly, one or two looking again ¡ª brows subtly raised, as if trying to confirm a suspicion. No one said anything yet, but it was the kind of quiet recognition Izan had gotten used to lately. Not quite full-blown fame. More like a whisper of it. As they neared the car, Olivia tugged him to a stop. "Before we go, one photo." She fished out her phone, held it up, and Izan leaned in without hesitation, their faces squished close as she snapped a few goofy shots, then one proper smiling one. "For the memories," she said. "For the wallpaper," he said, already peeking at her screen. She laughed, slipping it back into her bag. "Maybe." As Izan stepped around to the other side of the car, a voice called out from behind them. "Wait¡ªyo, wait up!" Chapter 399 399: Moments Between Whistles As they neared the car, Olivia tugged him to a stop. "Before we go, one photo." She fished out her phone, held it up, and Izan leaned in without hesitation. Their faces squished close as she snapped a few goofy shots and then one proper smiling one. "For the memories," she said. "For the wallpaper," he said, already peeking at her screen. She laughed, slipping it back into her bag. "Maybe." As Izan stepped around to the other side of the car, a voice called out from behind them. "Wait¡ªyo, wait up!" Izan turned to see a young guy ¡ª early twenties maybe ¡ª jog up from the corner of the street. He was carrying a satchel and wore a vintage Arsenal shirt, the old bruised banana design. "Sorry," the guy said, catching his breath as he stopped a few paces away. "Are you Izan? Like¡­ Arsenal''s Izan?" Izan offered a sheepish smile. "Yeah, that''s me." "I knew it," the fan grinned. "I wasn''t sure, but I thought I recognized you. You played against Leverkusen, right? That switch you hit in the second half to set up Martinelli? That was ridiculous, man." "Oh," Izan said, surprised but pleased. "You saw that?" "Are you kidding? I rewatched it like five times on Twitter. Everyone in the replies was asking who you were." He held up his phone tightly, contemplating something before speaking up. "Can I grab a quick photo? My group chat is gonna go mental," he said expectantly "Of course," Izan said, stepping over. They snapped the photo, the fan still grinning. "You''ve got that calm style, man. Like¡­ you don''t rush anything. You''re gonna be special." "Thanks," Izan said, genuinely touched. "Appreciate that." "Good luck this season," the guy added, already backing away. "I''ll be watching." When Izan got back in the car, Olivia was already watching him with a smug smile, arms folded. "So," she said, as the door shut behind him. "Switch to Martinelli, huh?" He gave her a look. "Don''t start." She raised an eyebrow, amused. "I''m just saying¡­ the fans are quoting your passes now." He tried to keep a straight face, but the little smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. "You''re not gonna let this go, are you?" "Never," she said, resting her head on his shoulder as the car pulled away from the curb. "You''re getting more famous now. I have to keep you grounded." He tilted his head to rest gently against hers. "Don''t worry. You do." And for a while, they just sat like that ¡ª the city rolling by outside, his hand resting over hers, the weight of attention not heavy at all, at least not with her right there beside him. .... The ride back was quiet, the kind of calm that settled in after a day full of movement. The air in the car was cool, and the city outside beginning to shift into its early evening rhythm ¡ª buses, bicycles, people flowing past the windows like a current. Izan sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbow propped on the door, while Olivia leaned slightly toward the center console, scrolling through pictures from earlier. "That one''s cute," she said, holding up her phone. It was a slightly blurry selfie, her head tilted toward his, his hand mid-gesture ¡ª talking, probably. She laughed softly. "You always look like you''re explaining something." "I was. You just never listen." "I listen selectively." He smirked, not bothering to argue. The driver turned down into the quieter part of the neighborhood where Izan''s apartment was. As the car pulled up in front of the entrance, Olivia started gathering her things lazily ¡ª a water bottle, her phone, the little linen tote she''d picked up at one of the shops. Izan opened his door just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen. Mum. He accepted the call with a swipe and a tired smile. "Hey." Komi''s face appeared on the screen instantly, her eyebrows lifting with mock accusation. "So you''ve vanished, huh?" Before Izan could answer, Hori''s voice jumped in from beside her, just off-screen. "Tell Olivia she''s a bad influence! We haven''t heard from you in two days!" Izan huffed a laugh, slamming the car door gently behind him as he walked toward the building entrance. Olivia stood beside him now, clearly listening in. "It''s been one day, Hori. One." "Feels like ten," Hori shot back. "You didn''t even text me back about that TikTok I sent." "You sent me a TikTok of a cat playing football." "It was elite defending." Hori countered. Izan shook his head, grinning. "I''ll study it for my next match." "Ah, he''s so cheeky now," Komi said, playfully nudging at her phone screen like she could reach through. "Is that what London''s doing to you?" Before he could come up with a comeback, another familiar voice slid into the frame. Miranda, lounging back on what looked like Komi''s couch, a plate of fruit in hand. "Don''t blame London. Blame Olivia." Izan blinked. "Wait¡ªMiranda? What are you doing there?" Miranda gave a slow, satisfied smile. "You thought I was still in my flat, didn''t you?" "I literally texted you last night about training. You didn''t say anything." "That''s because I knew you''d react like this." She plucked a grape off the plate. "It''s nice here. Your mum feeds me." Komi chimed in with a proud nod. "No one eats fruit at my house without being fed properly." Olivia tried to stifle a laugh, then gave a small wave toward the screen. "Hi, by the way." "There she is!" Komi beamed. "Did he feed you? Has he been cooking?" "He made toast and Pasta," Olivia offered. "That doesn''t count," Hori groaned. Izan rolled his eyes, unlocking the front door and stepping aside to let Olivia go first. "Can''t believe I''m getting dragged by a bunch of people who don''t even live in the same country as me." "Distance means nothing when we have Wi-Fi," Komi said sweetly. They all laughed ¡ª Olivia, too ¡ª and as the elevator doors opened, Izan stepped in, still holding the phone up, the warmth of home radiating from its tiny screen. "Alright, alright. I''ll call again tomorrow." "You''d better," Komi said. "Bye, Izan!" Hori shouted. "Bye, Olivia!" "Bye!" Olivia called back. The call ended as they stepped out onto Izan''s floor. He slipped the phone into his pocket, still smiling. "Your mum''s got a squad going over there," Olivia said. "She always does." They reached the apartment door, and as he unlocked it, Olivia glanced at him. "Still glad I came?" Izan looked at her, then past her, then back again. "Yeah," he said. "Definitely." ...¡­ The next day at Conley unfolded with the steady rhythm that had become familiar to the squad. Training wrapped just after midday, the final whistle blowing as a gust of wind swept across the pitches, rustling pinnies and tousling damp hair. Players peeled off in groups, laughing, some still breathless, others focused as they walked toward the changing rooms. A few stayed behind for finishing drills, but most filed in with that shared understanding ¡ª lunch, then rest, then the video room. Izan was among the first to peel his boots off, grass still clinging to his socks. He glanced across the room to see Saka and Calafiori trading light jabs about their finishing. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Merino was toweling sweat from his face, and further down, Martin ?degaard was already halfway through his post-training shake, scrolling through something on his phone. "Come on," someone said behind Izan ¡ª maybe Gabriel ¡ª "before Jover eats all the fish again." The cafeteria was quieter than usual ¡ª not silent, but subdued. Training had been intense, sharper than the day before. Arteta had pushed them hard, as he often did when their preparations neared its final stretch. Izan slid onto a seat beside Reiss Nelson, tray balanced in one hand. Roast chicken, quinoa salad, sweet potato mash. The kind of performance meal that did the job without sparking joy. "Micah Richards was trending all evening yesterday," Reiss said, nudging his tray forward. "Saw the video of him showing off his contacts. Why''d you look so stunned?" Izan shook his head, stabbing a piece of chicken. "Didn''t expect him to say LeBron James. I barely even talk to him." "But you have his number. That''s wild." He smirked but didn''t comment, taking another bite instead. From across the table, Saliba gave him a look. "Tell him to pull up for the Wolves game," he joked. Lunch passed with soft chatter and clinking cutlery. Afterward, players filtered out in ones and twos, some heading back to their rooms or the recovery area, others to stretch in the warm-down zone. A solid hour of rest was on the cards before the squad reassembled. And then came the video room. The overhead lights buzzed faintly as players filed in. A large screen dominated the wall, and the whiteboard beside it already had diagrams scribbled in two different colors. Arteta stood to the side, laptop connected to the system, ready to cue up sequences from their last match. As seats were taken and murmurs died down, he began. "No fluff today," he said. "We''ll go straight into transitions." Chapter 400 400: The Premier League The BBC Sport studio was energetic on a crisp Saturday morning, fresh off the previous evening''s match. Alex Scott, the ever-charismatic host, greeted the viewers as highlights from Manchester United''s 1-0 victory over Fulham flashed on the screen. Alex Scott (Host): "Good morning, everyone, and welcome to BBC Sport''s Premier League weekend preview. The 2024/25 season is officially underway! Manchester United opened the campaign with a hard-fought 1-0 win over Fulham last night, but we''ve also seen Liverpool get off to a strong start with a 2-0 victory over Ipswich. A lot to talk about, but first, Gary, let''s start with United. What did you make of their performance?" Gary Lineker (Pundit): "It was a professional, if somewhat scrappy, win for Manchester United. They dominated possession but struggled to break Fulham''s defense. Bruno Fernandes had a few opportunities but couldn''t convert, and it wasn''t until the 87th minute that debutant Joshua Zirkzee found the net. It wasn''t pretty, but a win''s a win." Martin Keown (Pundit): "It was a game of missed chances for United. Fulham were resilient, but United''s final ball wasn''t quite there. Zirkzee''s debut goal was a relief, and you could see how much it meant to the team. But Erik ten Hag will want to see more clinical finishing in future matches." Alex Scott: "Moving on to Liverpool, Karen, they also had a solid 2-0 victory over Ipswich. How did you see their performance?" Karen Bardsley (Pundit): "Liverpool looked dominant from the start. They were the better side, and the two goals they scored were well-earned. Salah looked sharp, and Liverpool''s midfield controlled the game. Ipswich had their moments, but Liverpool''s quality ultimately shone through. It''s the perfect start for the new Era with this Arme Slot''s side." Gary Lineker: "Yes, Karen, and I think Liverpool''s overall play showed they''re hungry to challenge for the title again. They''ve got the right mix of experience and new energy, and I think they''ll be a real threat this season." Alex Scott: "And now turning to today''s matches, we''ve got Arsenal playing Wolves, and of course, Izan''s debut season is a big talking point. Gary, we''ve all seen the hype surrounding the young talent¡ªhow important is it for him to hit the ground running today?" Gary Lineker: "It''s crucial. There''s a lot of excitement around Izan, and rightly so. His preseason performances have been impressive. He''s shown maturity beyond his years and great composure on the ball. Today''s match against Wolves is a big opportunity for him to showcase his talent. If he plays like he did in the friendlies, he''ll settle in just fine." Martin Keown: "Izan has the technical ability to make a real impact at Arsenal. He''s been integrated into a squad with a lot of attacking quality, so he''s got the perfect platform to shine. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. But it''s not just about talent¡ªhe''ll need to show consistency, especially with the pressure that comes with being such a high-profile signing." Alex Scott: "Absolutely, consistency will be key. But with the support of players like Saka, Odegaard, and Martinelli around him, it should be easier for him to ease into the team. Arsenal''s setup will really help him." Gary Lineker: "And Arsenal, in general, should be looking to pick up three points today. Wolves are a tough team, but Arsenal''s attacking depth should be too much for them." Alex Scott: "On the flip side, we''ve also got some intriguing matches coming up. Brighton is facing Everton, and that will be one to watch. Brighton had an excellent season last year, and Everton will need a strong start to avoid another tough campaign." Karen Bardsley: "Brighton is a team that''s growing in confidence. They play an exciting brand of football, and with their attacking players, they''re going to be tough for anyone. Everton, on the other hand, has a lot to prove this season." Gary Lineker: "That match will be one to keep an eye on. Brighton is going to be a tricky opponent for Everton, especially given their attacking strength." Alex Scott: "It''s shaping up to be an exciting day of Premier League action, with the early season optimism still fresh. Arsenal''s match against Wolves is one we''ll all be watching closely, particularly with Izan''s debut on the horizon. That''s all from us for now, but stay tuned¡ªwe''ll be back to break down the action later. Enjoy the games!" ...... Izan stood beside the sleek black SUV parked outside his apartment, his fingers lightly gripping Olivia''s. Izan''s attention was focused solely on Olivia. His eyes, usually calm and confident, now held a hint of concern. "I''m sorry you''re not coming," Izan said softly, his voice laced with a subtle edge of worry. "Are you sure you''re okay? I don''t want you to be in pain while I''m away." Olivia smiled at him, her expression warm but tinged with a quiet resolve. She''d been dealing with cramps the past few hours, but she wasn''t about to let that stop her from supporting Izan in spirit. "I''ll be fine," she assured him, trying to wave off his concern. "It''s not that bad. I just¡­ I wish I could come watch you today." Izan''s brow furrowed slightly, his fingers tightening around hers, almost as if grounding himself in her presence before the match. "Listen, I''ll have one of the staff bring you something if you need it," he offered, the genuine concern clear in his voice. "Water, medicine, anything¡ªjust let me know, okay?" Olivia shook her head, her smile widening as she gently squeezed his hand back. "I''m fine, really," she said, her tone firm yet kind. "You''ve got to focus on the match. This is a big day for you, Izan. Don''t worry about me. I''ll take care of myself, alright?" There was a quiet moment as Izan stared into her eyes, the usual ease between them momentarily replaced by an unspoken understanding. "Alright," Izan said after a beat, nodding slowly. He seemed to accept her words, though the concern still lingered beneath the surface. "But if you need anything, just call me, yeah? I''ll be on the pitch, but I''m always here for you." Olivia''s hand slipped from his as she stepped back slightly, her eyes lingering on him. "Go on, star. You''ve got this," she said, her voice lighter now, filled with that familiar warmth and reassurance that Izan always relied on. "I''ll be cheering for you, no matter what." With a final lingering glance, Izan nodded, a slight but determined smile pulling at his lips. ...¡­.. The sun hung low over London Colney as Izan stepped out of the SUV, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his trainers the only sound for a moment. It was matchday ¡ª the first of the Premier League season ¡ª and even though the grounds were calm, there was a charge in the air. Inside, the familiar corridors of the training complex buzzed with quiet purpose. Players filtered in with overnight bags and headphones slung around their necks. The smell of fresh polish and coffee hung in the air as staff moved briskly, checking equipment, and loading last-minute gear into transport crates. Izan kept his head down and pace steady, exchanging a few nods and half-smiles. No need for words ¡ª everyone was dialed in. He ducked into the changing area where the navy and red travel tracksuits hung neatly on the pegs, each labeled with the player''s number. He found his ¡ª 10¡ª and slipped into it, pulling the zip up to the collar and tucking the hem into his waistband. The badge felt heavy today. Not burdensome, but full and Real. One by one, the squad trickled out and gathered near the exit, where the team bus idled in the shade of the trees. Izan stepped on, finding a seat near the middle. The bus was cool and quiet. White earbuds in. A soft shuffle of trainers against the aisle. Arteta boarded last, gave a short nod to the staff, and they rolled out. As the streets blurred past the tinted windows, the tension inside the bus grew in anticipation. By the time the Emirates came into view, its glass-and-metal frame catching the afternoon sun, a few heads had lifted from their screens. No one spoke. The stadium said it all. They pulled in beneath the belly of the arena, where security and logistics crews waited to usher them inside. A brisk walk through the tunnel, and they were in. The home dressing room was immaculate ¡ª Arsenal red from wall to wall, the club crest stitched into every surface that mattered. Kits were already hung on the rails, socks and training tops were folded at each player''s seat. Izan''s name and number sat waiting for him like a calling card. He changed into his warm-up gear in a jiffy, compression top, shorts, socks ¡ª then tied his laces tight before standing up and rolling his shoulders once. "Ten minutes," one of the staff called clipboard in hand. The Players began to filter out into the hallway toward the pitch access tunnel. Izan followed behind Rice and Saliba, footsteps echoing softly off the concrete as the light at the end of the corridor grew wider and brighter. Chapter 401 401: A New 10 The home dressing room was immaculate ¡ª Arsenal red from wall to wall, the club crest stitched into every surface that mattered. Kits were already hung on the rails, socks and training tops were folded at each player''s seat. Izan''s name and number sat waiting for him like a calling card. He changed into his warm-up gear in a jiffy, compression top, shorts, socks ¡ª then tied his laces tight before standing up and rolling his shoulders once. "Ten minutes," one of the staff called clipboard in hand. The Players began to filter out into the hallway toward the pitch access tunnel. Izan followed behind Rice and Saliba, footsteps echoing softly off the concrete as the light at the end of the corridor grew wider and brighter. ... The moment Izan stepped onto the pitch at the Emirates, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The stillness of the stadium seemed to hang in the air just for a second, and then the murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. It wasn''t the thunderous roar of a full stadium yet ¡ª it was a warm buzz, a mix of curiosity and anticipation. The fans in the stands were already picking up on it. A few sections, those near the halfway line, had caught sight of him as he jogged onto the field, and there were scattered cheers, some whistles, a few playful chants starting to bubble up. "He''s here, he''s here!" one fan shouted, not entirely sure if the team had just scored or if the excitement was about something else entirely. Izan glanced up, catching a glimpse of the crowd. His heart gave a small lurch. This was different from the training sessions, and the friendlies. It was the Premier League ¡ª his debut. The stands weren''t just filled with faces; they were filled with expectations. He waved back, a small but genuine gesture. It was mostly a reflex, but the warmth in the response reminded him why he was here. Why he''d worked so hard to get here. "Look at you, the darling of North London already," Declan Rice joked as he jogged up beside Izan. "Saka''s gonna need to get used to playing second fiddle now, huh?" Izan chuckled and rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his face. He could hear the good-natured teasing in Rice''s tone. "Better step it up today, then, huh?" Izan shot back, nudging him lightly as they fell into pace. Rice raised an eyebrow, grinning wide. "Oh, don''t worry. I''ve already got the midfield locked down. You, on the other hand¡­ no pressure." Izan laughed, the tension in his chest easing slightly as they continued their warm-up laps, but just as his focus was shifting to the ball, his attention was caught by a few figures standing at the far side of the field. Wolves'' players had started their warm-up as well, and from across the pitch, Izan could hear a few chuckles. A group of them ¡ª the core of the starting XI ¡ª was gathered around the halfway line, catching sight of Izan on the far side. One of them, the Wolves captain, hooted loudly. "Oh, look, the media''s darling has arrived," he said, his voice carrying over to Izan''s ears. "Let''s see how long that lasts when he can''t even complete a pass in a real match." The others laughed ¡ª a few snickers, a couple of head-shakes. It was playful, but there was an edge to it. They were professionals, after all. And if there was one thing they knew, it was how quickly hype could turn into pressure. "Yeah, all this fuss, and he''s just a kid," another one said, cracking his knuckles. "Wait until he feels the heat from the first tackle." "Wouldn''t even be surprised if the whole thing fizzled out by halftime," a third chimed in, lips curling in a knowing smirk. Despite the teasing, there was something else in their voices. The undercurrent of challenge. They were here to do a job, and if they were going to face the media spotlight themselves, they''d make sure that it wasn''t going to be Izan''s day today. Not unless he could prove it. Izan caught snippets of the conversation, but his focus shifted quickly back to the task at hand. The noise of the Wolves players was a reminder of what he was up against. The stakes were real ¡ª and they had already made their first mark. His teammates weren''t oblivious to it either. As Izan joined in the passing drills with Rice and the others, he caught glimpses of the Wolves squad''s eyes still locked in his direction, and he felt the weight of their words hanging in the air. The final stretches of the warm-up wrapped up under the growing swell of voices from the stands. The Emirates was beginning to fill, a sea of red and white swelling with excitement. Izan followed the rest of the squad off the pitch, jogging lightly down the tunnel with his training top half-zipped, sweat glistening on his brow. Back in the dressing room, the atmosphere was more focused ¡ª music played low from a speaker in the corner, but it was mostly the rustle of kit bags and the thud of boots being laced up that filled the space. Players moved around with sharp intent, some joking quietly, others completely zoned in. Izan sat at his spot, a towel draped across his neck, reaching for his water bottle when a staff member tapped him on the shoulder. "This came in just now ¡ª straight from Adidas," the man said, handing over a sleek, black box sealed with a silver crest. "Good luck out there." Izan blinked in surprise. He took the box, setting it carefully on the bench in front of him as a few of the players around him took notice. The lid lifted with a soft hiss ¡ª and inside, cradled in custom foam, were a pair of gleaming boots. His boots. All white, with crimson detailing, his initials and his new number "10" stitched subtly near the heel. On the insole, a short message in gold script: "Welcome to the big stage. All eyes on you." "Oi, oi!" Saka called from a few spots over, grinning wide as he leaned forward to get a better look. "Now that''s delivery service. I might just call up my agent and tell him I''m done with New Balance. Send me back to Adidas ¡ª I want the VIP treatment too!" Laughter rippled through the room. Even Saliba cracked a smile. Izan laughed as well, holding one of the boots up to the light. "I mean, I wouldn''t blame you," he said, playing along. "They even smell like a clean sheet." "Don''t push it," Rice said with a smirk, taping up his wrists nearby. Izan eased off his training boots and slowly slipped the new ones on. The fit was perfect. Secure, light, almost like they were molded for his feet and no one else''s. He flexed his toes, stood, and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. But before the banter could continue, the door to the dressing room opened with a subtle click ¡ª and everything quieted down. Arteta stepped in. Clad in all black, hands behind his back, he looked around the room with the same precise intensity he always carried. No words yet ¡ª just presence. The room responded accordingly. The music cut out. The chatter stopped. All eyes turned to the man in charge. Arteta stood near the center of the dressing room, arms folded behind his back as his players took their seats one by one. The tension in the room was a living thing now ¡ª not fear, but the kind of energy that sat heavy on the chest, pushing every breath a little deeper. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His gaze swept across the squad, landing briefly on the experienced heads ¡ª Gabriel, ?degaard, Raya, Rice ¡ª but it lingered longer on the two starting newcomers seated near the far end. Riccardo Calafiori, adjusting the tape on his wrists, and Izan, still in his training top, his matchday jersey folded in front of him like something sacred. "I don''t need to tell most of you what this club expects," Arteta began, voice calm, composed, but carrying weight. "You know what it means to wear this badge. You know what it takes to win here. Today isn''t about reminders." He paused, taking a step toward the new additions. "But for those of you who are wearing this shirt for the first time in the Premier League¡­ I''ll say this: you don''t need to be perfect. You don''t need to force anything. You just need to show us you''re Arsenal." His words fell heavily into the quiet. "Riccardo," Arteta continued, his tone steady, "you''ve been through pressure. You''ve played in tough leagues. Bring us your grit. Your composure. Play like you''ve been here for years." Calafiori nodded once, jaw tight, his nerves masked behind focus. Then, Arteta turned his eyes to Izan. "And you." Izan looked up, attentive. Arteta walked slowly toward him, hands still behind his back. "That number¡­," he said quietly, nodding toward the jersey on the bench. "Ten." The room watched in stillness. "That shirt has history. Dennis. Mesut. Others before them. You''ll hear those names. Read them in articles. Hear them from fans, pundits, and even teammates. And that''s fine. That''s football." Arteta stepped around the bench, now standing behind Izan. "But don''t let it own you. Don''t wear it trying to imitate anyone. Don''t carry their shadow." "Mould it into your image." His voice was low, but every syllable was clear. "Play your football. Let people see Arsenal''s Number 10 and think of you. Let them say, ''That was the shirt Izan wore. That was his era.''" Izan picked up the jersey, the fabric soft and cool in his hands. Slowly, he pulled it on. It fit like it was meant to be there. Arteta gave a small nod. "Now go earn it." He stepped back, casting a glance across the room. "All of you ¡ª trust each other, play brave, and show them who we are." As the squad rose from their benches, boots clacking against the tile floor, the buzz returned. It was time. A/n: Sorry for the late update. I had a paper this morning so I couldn''t release. Anyways have fun reading and I know I''ve been slow with the premier league but trust me, when we hit ground running, we won''t stop. Chapter 402 402: Dull Start. The Emirates roared to life as the teams emerged from the tunnel. Red smoke drifted faintly from the stands, banners rippled across the tiers, and the chants surged. Arsenal''s starting eleven stepped out into the sunlight, led by Martin ?degaard, with the rest of the squad flowing behind in formation. The moment was heavy, the kind that made a young player feel the weight of every step. Izan walked out just ahead of Bukayo Saka, the number 10 shirt snug on his back, his boots tapping softly against the turf. The cameras followed him immediately, zooming in on his face ¡ª a blend of focus and awe. "And here we go," said Guy Mowbray, voice crisp in living rooms across the world. "A new season, a packed house at the Emirates, and plenty of storylines to follow. Arsenal open their campaign against Wolves and take a look at that midfield ¡ª 16-year-old Izan handed his Premier League debut. What a vote of confidence from Mikel Arteta." The players split off toward the center circle, lining up for the handshakes. The Wolves players kept their energy light ¡ª Dawson and Kilman exchanged a grin as they glanced toward Izan. "All this flash for a teenager," Dawson muttered under his breath to his captain. "Let''s see if he still wants the ball when the tackles come flying." On Arsenal''s side, Saka leaned in toward Izan with a teasing smirk. "Hope you practiced your autograph," he said. "You''re about to be on every kid''s poster." Izan cracked a grin, then composed himself as they moved into line. The lineups were displayed on the stadium screens and read out through the PA system. Arsenal XI: Ramsdale; Ben White, Saliba, Calafiori, Tomiyasu; Rice, ?degaard (C), Izan; Saka, Havertz, Martinelli. Wolves XI: Jos¨¦ S¨¢; Toti, Dawson, Kilman; Semedo, Jo?o Gomes, Traor¨¦, A?t-Nouri; Jean-Ricner Bellegarde, Hwang, Cunha. Mowbray continued: "Arsenal''s summer additions get the nod ¡ª Calafiori in central defense, and of course, Izan, who''s been the talk of the preseason. It''s a bold lineup, but one built on intent. Meanwhile, Wolves stick with a familiar setup, hoping to spoil the party." The handshakes were soon done, with each team peeling away toward their halves. The final pre-match anthem blared. The cameras panned across the pitch one last time, catching the slight bounce in Izan''s step as he took position ahead of Declan Rice. He took a deep breath. His Premier League debut was seconds away. Martin ?degaard stepped forward toward the center circle as the referee, Craig Pawson, held the coin in his palm. Opposite him, Max Kilman, the Wolves'' stand-in captain for the day, adjusted the band on his left arm as he approached. The two exchanged a quick, polite handshake. "Call it," the referee said. Kilman nodded. "Tails." The coin went up, spun in the sunlight, and clinked down into Pawson''s hand before he revealed the winner. "Heads," the referee announced. ?degaard gave a small nod and pointed toward the North Bank end. "We''ll take that side." Kilman turned to his teammates, gesturing back toward the opposite end of the pitch. Wolves would kick off. Craig Pawson glanced toward his assistants on either side of the pitch, then blew once on the whistle and pointed to the center spot. The game was on. Hee-chan Hwang tapped the ball backward to Jo?o Gomes, and Wolves took the first touch of their 2024/25 Premier League season at the Emirates. The stadium erupted in full voice again, Arsenal fans drowning out any early instructions shouted from the Wolves bench. Izan''s body was low, his eyes scanning Wolves'' shape as the ball shifted between midfielders. It was fast. Sharper than preseason. But he didn''t feel out of place. He could already sense the rhythm beginning to form. "Come on, Arsenal!" came the thunder from behind Ramsdale''s goal. Kilman launched the ball long from the Wolves'' half, sending it arcing toward the left side where Jean-Ricner Bellegarde had made a darting run. The Frenchman brought it down neatly with his thigh and tried to cut inside with a sharp burst of pace, shifting the ball quickly onto his right, but Izan had already stepped up. He stepped in with poise, body low, feet light, with Bellegarde tried to slip the ball past him with a disguised touch, but Izan matched it step for step, then swept the ball cleanly off his toes with a precise interception. No foul, no hesitation. Just clean football. A roar of approval rose from the Emirates stands. "Wonderful anticipation there," said Guy Mowbray from the commentary box. "Izan, on his Premier League debut, showing he''s not just a creative spark. That was defensive maturity far beyond his years." The teenager didn''t break stride. He passed the ball calmly to Rice, then drifted into space, already scanning for his next involvement. Bellegarde looked over his shoulder, eyebrows slightly raised. That hadn''t been easy to deal with. And it was only the first few seconds. The opening fifteen minutes settled into a familiar rhythm. Wolves pressed in short bursts while Arsenal gradually asserted control with patient possession. Izan wasn''t flashy. He didn''t force the game or demand the spotlight. But the ball moved smoother when it passed through him. Short touches, sharp checks of the shoulder, the occasional drop of the shoulder to skip away from pressure ¡ª all subtle hints of the player who had turned heads at Valencia the previous season. And while he wasn''t dominating the tempo, he wasn''t hiding from it either. Then came a moment that drew a wave of admiration across the Emirates. Arsenal worked the ball across the back, with Saliba stepping forward and feeding it to Rice. Wolves had narrowed their shape, closing off obvious lanes. Rice glanced toward Izan, who was hovering just between the lines, his body half-turned, already aware of what was coming. Rice steadied himself, then fired it into him. The Wolves midfield moved, looking to force Izan to cough the ball up, but with a little nudge and a La Croqueta, Izan evaded them. Before the Wolves setup could recover, Izan was already on his next course of action. There, between the full-back and center-back, a window had opened. Although it was tiny, it was enough. Izan drew his leg back and clipped a pass through the smallest gap, skipping it between Gomes and A?t-Nouri with perfect weight. Bukayo Saka, anticipating the pass, darted onto it, letting the ball run across his body before exploding into the box. The Emirates crowd surged to its feet in anticipation. After getting to the ball, Saka tried to cut it back across goal, but a sliding challenge from Dawson whom the ball deflected off before going behind. Corner to Arsenal. "Oof! That was a lovely pass," Mowbray noted from the gantry. "And it came from Izan again. Just threading the needle. You can see flashes of why Arteta''s put so much trust in the youngster already." Saka jogged over to the corner flag, arm raised briefly to signal as he reached for the ball resting on the arc. The North Bank buzzed with anticipation, shirts rippling, camera flashes twinkling. But just as he placed the ball down, he paused¡ªthen laughed quietly to himself. A moment clicked. "Oi," he muttered with a grin, picking the ball up again. Behind him, just a few steps away, Izan was already approaching. "I forgot I got smoked," Saka said, turning around and tossing the ball back over his shoulder to the teenager. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "All yours, maestro." Izan caught it without breaking stride, his face pulling into a small smirk. The memory was still fresh ¡ª two days before, Arteta had organized a set-piece competition at Colney. Dead balls from different angles, corners from both sides. Saka, Martinelli, ?degaard, and even Calafiori had stepped up. But it was Izan who quietly topped the board with the most accurate deliveries. Arteta hadn''t said much after; just made a note in front of everyone. "Set pieces on matchday? Izan''s responsibility now." Saka had laughed and protested with a dramatic "I slipped on one of mine!" but accepted the result. And now, on matchday, he backed away, hands raised in surrender. "Don''t mess it up. My stats still count if you assist me," he added with a wink. Izan placed the ball down and glanced up. Saliba and Calafiori had already pushed forward. ?degaard stood near the edge of the box, ready for a short option. Wolves were scrambling to mark, a bit disorganized from the tempo of the switch. Izan whipped the corner in with pace, curling it towards the six-yard box where Saliba and Calafiori rose, but Wolves keeper Jos¨¦ S¨¢ was quick off his line. He leapt confidently and plucked the ball out of the air before any real danger materialized. The break in play gave a moment for the chatter to ripple through the stands. "Should''ve been one-nil there, easy," one Arsenal fan muttered, shaking his head. "With this team? I thought we''d be two up by now. Especially with the kid." A group behind them chimed in. "Yeah, he''s tidy. But we need some end product. Can''t let Wolves grow into this." Meanwhile, in the away section, the traveling Wolves fans had found their voice. Drums thumped as a chant began to rise, crude and biting. "Overhyped! Overhyped! Just a kid, overhyped!" They sang it in waves, the rhythm building, feeding off one another. A few of the Wolves players chuckled from across the pitch. Sarcastic claps, sideways glances. In midfield, Izan stayed calm, barely reacting as he adjusted his position, eyes scanning for the next play. Rice gave him a quick pat on the back as he ran past, but Izan didn''t need it. " The roar from Atleti''s Ultra fans makes these Wolves supporters look meek," Izan thought as he turned towards the Wolves half where the ball was moving towards him. Chapter 403 403: The game had settled into a rhythm now, with Arsenal starting to assert themselves more in the final third. Wolves, having weathered the early pressure, now found themselves on the back foot, trying to maintain their defensive shape against a relentless Arsenal side. As the clock ticked past the 30th minute, Izan, still relatively quiet, started to show flashes of the player everyone had been waiting for. He drifted across the midfield, constantly moving to make himself available. Arsenal''s passing game began to flow more fluidly through him as he started to pull Wolves apart with intelligent movement. "You can see Izan starting to grow into the game now," Guy Mowbray noted, his voice rising slightly with excitement. "The teenager has shown flashes of brilliance so far, but now he''s really coming alive. He''s starting to dictate the tempo for Arsenal." It was a subtle shift, but it was enough to rattle Wolves. Izan dropped deeper, asking for the ball from Ramsdale, who had been calm in possession all match. With one swift touch, he controlled the pass, turned, and immediately began probing Wolves'' midfield. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Saka made a darting run down the right, but Izan wasn''t rushing. He took his time surveying the field, waiting for the right moment to release the ball. Wolves attempted to press, sending Neves and Gomes forward to close him down, but Izan was too calm, too composed. With a slight feint, he glided past Neves and clipped a pass through to ?degaard, who was instantly in sync with Izan''s movement. The ball was returned to him with precision, and just like that, Izan was back on the move. "This is what you want to see from Izan. Patient, calculated, and now the Wolves defenders have to chase shadows," Mowbray added, clearly impressed by the teenager''s awareness. Arsenal were now fully in control, their rhythm flowing through the midfield like clockwork. Izan pushed forward, his eyes locked on the Wolves'' penalty area. He could feel the game opening up in front of him. Saka and ?degaard exchanged passes with him, a beautiful give-and-go that sliced through the Wolves'' defensive line. As Izan entered the box, he was confronted by Max Kilman, who quickly closed the space, trying to intercept. The defender lunged at him, but Izan saw it coming. With a quick sidestep, he easily evaded Kilman''s challenge, leaving the defender off balance. But as Izan took that final touch into the penalty area, Kilman made one last desperate attempt, his foot clipping Izan''s ankle and sending him tumbling forward. The referee''s whistle cut through the noise of the crowd. "And there it is! A clear penalty to Arsenal!" Mowbray exclaimed. "Izan has been a constant threat, and now he''s earned a penalty after a brilliant piece of dribbling. Wolves'' resistance finally breaking under pressure." The Emirates erupted as Izan slowly got to his feet. He didn''t rush. There was no need for theatrics ¡ª the penalty was obvious. He glanced at the referee, who pointed firmly to the spot, before turning to the crowd that was now on its feet. "This is where the game could change, and it''s been Izan who''s made it happen in these final moments," Mowbray continued, his voice full of admiration. "He''s been growing into this match, and now he has the chance to put Arsenal ahead before the break. What a performance from the young man." Izan stood tall, his eyes focused, his hands on his hips, taking in the gravity of the moment. His teammates gathered around, their words of encouragement lost in the sea of noise from the stands. Saka, always the smiley optimist, clapped him on the back, the two sharing a quick word before the ball was placed on the spot. As the fans'' chants echoed through the Emirates, the camera zoomed in on Izan, who took one last look at the goal. The Wolves players were visibly frustrated; their efforts to stop the flow of the game now unraveled by the young midfielder''s persistence. The penalty was just a culmination of everything that had led up to this moment. "A real statement from Izan. He''s been Arsenal''s most dangerous player, and now he has the chance to reward his team," Mowbray concluded, building the suspense as the young midfielder stepped up to take the spot-kick. The crowd''s energy was electric, their voices rising as they awaited the outcome of the penalty. The ball was ready, and all eyes were on Izan. As Izan stood over the ball, ready to take the penalty, his eyes locked onto Jos¨¦ S¨¢, the Wolves goalkeeper, who was crouched low in the goal, trying to get inside his head. S¨¢''s gaze was intense, his body language aggressive, as if daring Izan to make a mistake. He bounced on his feet, shifting from side to side, trying to unsettle the young midfielder. Izan, however, remained calm. [Focus Lv 2 Activated], Izan''s system chimed. The trait immediately took effect, with the noise from the Emirates fading into the background as he focused solely on S¨¢. He gave the goalkeeper a small smile, one that seemed almost too relaxed for the situation. Then, in a moment of subtle gamesmanship, Izan lifted his right hand slightly, pointing off to the left of S¨¢''s goal, as if to suggest that''s where he was aiming. He didn''t break his gaze, his smile never faltering. The move was a clear retort to the rattle attempt by Jose Sa. It was as though he was daring the Wolves goalkeeper to move before the kick. S¨¢''s eyes narrowed, trying to read him, but the young Arsenal star''s demeanor was unwavering, a calm before the storm. The tension was palpable in the air, but Izan was unbothered, knowing exactly what he was about to do. "He''s not flinching," Guy Mowbray''s voice echoed across the stadium. "Jos¨¦ S¨¢, trying to get into his head, but Izan''s staying cool, calm, and collected. He''s got the smile of someone who knows exactly what he''s doing." Izan, still smiling, took one final glance at the goal before stepping back, steadying himself. The Emirates held its breath as both the young attacker and the veteran goalkeeper were locked in a silent stare-down, each trying to outwit the other. "How was that a penalty?" the Wolves players argued, still trying to make sense of the decision. The tension was palpable as they huddled together, but the Arsenal players weren''t backing down, stepping forward in support of the call. The referee, sensing the growing friction, intervened immediately. He made his way to the edge of the penalty area, his whistle cutting through the air as he signaled for the Wolves players to step back. His authoritative presence quickly restored order, ensuring that the players remained outside the box until the penalty was taken. His whistle cut through the stadium air as he signaled that Izan could proceed. The tension was now at its peak. Izan''s posture was calm, but the moment the referee''s whistle sounded, everything changed. In one fluid motion, Izan approached the ball with a controlled intensity, his eyes never leaving Jos¨¦ S¨¢. The air seemed to thicken around him, the stadium holding its breath as he planted his foot. It looked as though he was preparing to rifle the ball into the bottom corner with unrelenting power. S¨¢, reading the moment, dove to his left with anticipation, arms outstretched, ready to block the inevitable strike. But Izan had other plans. The moment his foot connected with the ball, there was no thundering strike. Instead, he caressed it with a gentle lift, the ball soaring delicately into the air. A slight arch, just enough to evade the outstretched hand of S¨¢, whose dive had already committed him to the wrong direction. The ball hung there, floating, defying expectations, before gently dropping into the net. The stadium held its breath, then collectively exhaled with astonishment. A stunned silence was followed by an eruption of noise. Arsenal fans rose from their seats, hands clasped over their mouths, their disbelief turning into wild celebration. What had they just witnessed? A panenka, a move often seen as a daring gamble, but one that, in this moment, looked effortlessly executed. The Emirates, now awash in a sea of cheers, had come alive. Some fans stood with their mouths agape, others waving scarves in pure jubilation, unable to believe what they had just seen. The young star had not only taken a penalty but had turned it into a statement, a moment that would define his debut. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable!" Guy Mowbray''s voice broke the silence, filled with awe. "Izan, in his very first Premier League game, steps up with a panenka so calm, so composed, you''d think he''d been playing at this level for years. No power, just pure cheek. And it''s paid off! Jos¨¦ S¨¢, expecting a thunderous strike, is left with nothing but a look of disbelief as the ball floats past him and into the net!" Mowbray''s voice, now tinged with admiration, carried the weight of what had just unfolded. "What a penalty! And I''m not just talking about the technique ¡ª that was a masterclass in confidence. Izan has announced himself in the Premier League, and how. A panenka like that, under pressure, with everything on the line ¡ª that is not just skill. That is the mindset of a player who knows exactly what he''s doing. This moment, this goal will be talked about for seasons to come. His debut is nothing short of sensational!" Izan walked away from the spot with his arms raised in quiet celebration, his grin wide, almost playful. He had made his mark. A goal in his first Premier League match, yes, but the way he had scored it ¡ª with that touch of audacity, that flair ¡ª made the moment even more unforgettable. "Welcome to the Premier League, Izan," Mowbray concluded, his voice brimming with respect. "What a way to announce yourself. A debut to remember. Welcome to the Premier League, young man." The crowd continued to roar, the power of Izan''s first goal resonating through the stands as Arsenal took the lead. a/n; Second of the day. Have fun reading. Chapter 404 404: Back For More Izan walked away from the spot with his arms raised in quiet celebration, his grin wide, almost playful. He had made his mark. A goal in his first Premier League match, yes, but the way he had scored it ¡ª with that touch of audacity, that flair ¡ª made the moment even more unforgettable. "Welcome to the Premier League, Izan," Mowbray concluded, his voice brimming with respect. "What a way to announce yourself. It''s a debut to remember. Welcome to the Premier League, young man." The crowd continued to roar, the power of Izan''s first goal resonating through the stands as Arsenal took the lead. As the players jogged back to the halfway line, grinning and exchanging high-fives with Izan, the manager''s voice cut through the electric atmosphere. "Good! Good!" Arteta barked, clapping his hands once. "But don''t lose your heads! That''s just one ¡ª we keep playing! Keep the pressure, keep the rhythm!" He turned swiftly toward the analyst team huddled by the dugout, gesturing with a quick flick of his fingers. "Give me Izan''s running metrics! And Saka''s last ten off-ball movements ¡ª now!" One of the staffers, wearing a headset and tablet strapped to his arm, began tapping rapidly, pulling up live heatmaps and data feeds. A second screen showed the average positions of Arsenal''s midfield, blinking in real-time. Arteta leaned in, his eyes scanning the numbers. "Tell Calafiori to shift five yards wider when we''re in possession," he said, barely turning his head as he spoke into the ear of his assistant. "We''re leaving too much space between him and Gabriel. They will try to break if we''re not careful." Out on the pitch, the players regrouped and reset. Izan had jogged back with a wide grin still etched across his face. "A good start" he muttered as he glanced towards the bench. Arteta was still pacing, arms folded behind his back, watching everything. "Win the second balls! I want the next five minutes to be ours, boys!" From the technical area, his commands rang clear ¡ª not to celebrate, not to ease off. Wolves tried to respond quickly after the restart, launching the ball forward in an attempt to catch Arsenal off guard. But Declan Rice was already in position, reading the pass before it reached its intended target. He stepped in smoothly, brought the ball under control, and calmly recycled possession back to Gabriel, shutting the door on any hope of a swift Wolves equalizer. With that, the referee glanced at his watch and blew his whistle. The first half had come to an end. As the players made their way off the pitch, a wave of applause followed them from the Emirates crowd, their voices echoing with appreciation. Not just for the lead, but for the performance, the control, and the moments of flair they had witnessed. Guy Mowbray''s voice came in, steady and rich with the experience of having seen it all. "Well, it''s only 1-0 at the break," he began, "but it''s been an exciting half nonetheless. Arsenal, with all the control, all the rhythm ¡ª and how about that young man, Izan? We were promised something special and, goodness me, he''s delivered." A brief replay of the panenka flickered across screens as he continued. "That penalty ¡ª calm as you like. The cheekiest of finishes under pressure, and the Emirates crowd absolutely loved it. A bit of genius in a tightly contested match." The camera panned to Izan walking toward the tunnel beside Saka, a smile still playing at the corners of his lips as fans called his name. "Not a game filled with goals," Mowbray added, "but if you came looking for joy, if you came looking for moments ¡ª Izan gave us one. A real spark on his Premier League debut. What a way to make your entrance." he ended as the players entered the tunnel. ... As soon as the whistle blew for halftime, the online world lit up like a flare in the night. On X, clips of Izan''s panenka were already circulating with captions like: @AFC_LondonForever: "HE DID NOT JUST PANENKA THAT ON HIS PREMIER LEAGUE DEBUT. IZAN. YOU ARE DIFFERENT." @TacticalTakes: "Only 16. Takes the pen. Panenkas it. In his debut. In front of the North Bank. That''s not just talent, that''s personality." @WolvesHowl_1906: "Fair play to the kid. That was disgusting in the best way. Hope we clatter him in the second half though." @LFC_Bloodline: "Gotta respect it. That''s a ballsy pen. But let''s see him try that against Alisson." @13thMandems: "Nahhh how are Arsenal fans calling him generational already? He panenka''d Jos¨¦ S¨¢ not prime Neuer." @Spursy: "Classic Arsenal. Already making documentaries about a 16-year-old after one pen. But even I''ll admit ¡ª that was ice cold." Even Pundits, on their various media handles, joined in. Jamie Carragher: "That lad''s got nerves of steel. I don''t care how old you are ¡ª a panenka on your debut is outrageous. You pull that off, you''ve earned the right to strut a bit." Ian Wright on his Instagram Story now had a video of him jumping up from his seat, arms in the air, and captioned it, "IZAN! YOU BAD BOY!" Memes followed quickly, screenshots of Jos¨¦ S¨¢ diving with the ball floating gently over him became instant reaction images. One popular meme read: "When you study for the wrong exam." ¡ªwith S¨¢''s dive and Izan''s lofted chip underneath. In group chats and forums, even rival fans admitted it¡ªlove him or hate him, the kid had arrived. And he did it with the sort of audacity that left a mark. ...¡­. Inside the Emirates dressing room, the mood was light but focused. Bottles of water were passed around, jerseys clung to backs slick with sweat, and the low hum of analysts updating data at their tablets underscored the quiet atmosphere before the second half. Arteta walked into the center of the room, clapping his hands together once to draw their attention. "Well done, boys," he began, voice calm but brimming with energy. "Very well done." His gaze swept across the room, settling briefly on each face. "That was a first half that exceeded my expectations. You were compact, you stayed disciplined, and you played with purpose" he paused a bit. "Even without three or four goals on the board, Yes, I know how impatient some of you are," he added with a smirk, drawing a few chuckles, "we controlled that half from start to finish. Solid in the press. Solid in the duels. That''s what I like." He pointed to the backline first. "Riccardo, excellent timing. Big start, big shift." Then to Rice and Odegaard. "Dec, Martin, you plugged everything. Nothing leaked through. We suffocated them." Then his eyes landed on Izan. The room naturally turned his way, some of the senior players already smirking, anticipating what Arteta was about to say. "And Izan¡­" Arteta started, walking toward the teenager with a mock-serious expression. Izan raised an eyebrow, grinning already. "That penalty¡ª" Arteta paused, holding up his hands, "¡ªdon''t you ever do that to me again." The room burst into laughter. Even Ramsdale let out a sharp whistle. "I thought you were going to break the net," Arteta continued, shaking his head. "Then I see you float it in like you''re playing futsal in your backyard." He turned back to the team. "But you know what? It went in. And that takes guts. So fair play." Izan gave a sheepish smile, raising his hand. "Had to keep it interesting, m¨ªster." "Interesting nearly gave me a heart attack," Arteta shot back, still smiling. Then his tone shifted slightly, steadying again. "But the job''s not done. We''ve set the tone, now we need to keep it. Wolves will change things up and we know it. So we will take this opportunity to punish them. No sitting back. Keep moving, keep pressing, and stay clean. If we do that¡ªthis game''s ours." He looked around again, pausing before his final words. "Catch your breaths for the remaining few minutes and then let''s go out and finish what we started." The players nodded, returning to their businesses as Arteta stepped out to talk with an Official. They would soon be going for the next half of the battle. ...¡­. The buzz inside the Emirates was still strong as the players emerged from the tunnel for the second half. Arsenal led 1¨C0, but it wasn''t just the scoreline keeping the crowd energized¡ªit was the way they''d done it. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan was among the first out, his head held high as he jogged across the pitch to light applause and scattered chants. Some fans along the front row stood up and clapped just for him, pointing toward him and gesturing in disbelief, as if still unsure of what they had witnessed before the break. "Come on, lads," Declan Rice called out, rallying the group as they spread across the grass again. Odegaard gave Izan a firm slap on the back. "You''ve got the crowd in your pocket now," he said with a grin. Izan gave a small smile but kept his eyes forward. He wasn''t done yet. Wolves came out too, with a different energy. Their players looked more urgent, more deliberate in their steps. Clearly, they''d been given instructions to tighten the screws. Guy Mowbray''s voice returned to the broadcast as the camera panned across the players resetting into position. "Well, we''re about to get underway for the second half here at the Emirates. Arsenal with the lead, thanks to that ice-cold panenka from Izan," he said, his tone light but admiring. "A cheeky finish that has most probably gone viral. But now comes the true test of control¡ªWolves are down but not out, and Gary O''Neil will expect a reaction." The referee gave a final glance at both goalkeepers before blowing the whistle. A/n: Okay guys. First of the day and it will most probably be the last. I have Calculus tomorrow and Econs following it so I will release after that. Its not certain but i''ll try to release again if I get a chance today. Also I''m among the Last Minute Learners Associates that''s why I''m just learning now so don''t judge. Chapter 405 405: Izan’s Footprints The buzz inside the Emirates was still strong as the players emerged from the tunnel for the second half. Arsenal led 1¨C0, but it wasn''t just the scoreline keeping the crowd energized¡ªit was the way they''d done it. Izan was among the first out, his head held high as he jogged across the pitch to light applause and scattered chants. Some fans along the front row stood up and clapped just for him, pointing toward him and gesturing in disbelief, as if still unsure of what they had witnessed before the break. "Come on, lads," Declan Rice called out, rallying the group as they spread across the grass again. Odegaard gave Izan a firm slap on the back. "You''ve got the crowd in your pocket now," he said with a grin. Izan gave a small smile but kept his eyes forward. Wolves came out too, with a different energy. Their players looked more urgent, more deliberate in their steps. Clearly, they''d been given instructions to tighten the screws. Guy Mowbray''s voice returned to the broadcast as the camera panned across the players resetting into position. "Well, we''re about to get underway for the second half here at the Emirates. Arsenal with the lead, thanks to that ice-cold panenka from Izan," he said, his tone light but admiring. "A cheeky finish that has already gone viral. But now comes the true test of control¡ªWolves are down but not out, and Gary O''Neil will expect a reaction." The referee gave a final glance at both goalkeepers before blowing the whistle. Arsenal kicked off the second half, moving left to right, and immediately began working the ball through their midfield. Wolves, as expected, came out pressing higher, trying to force errors early and disrupt Arsenal''s rhythm. Odegaard collected the ball deep and quickly shifted it to Rice, who glanced over his shoulder and called out, "Izan, show!" Izan appeared and dropped into space and received the pass cleanly on the half-turn, pivoting between two Wolves players with a smart feint. The crowd responded immediately¡ªgasps, then applause. His composure was evident. Mowbray chuckled gently through the commentary. "He''s playing like he belongs, isn''t he? So tidy on the ball, and so aware. It''s one thing to score with style, but it''s another to show you can handle the dirty work, and the rhythm of Premier League midfield play. And Izan''s doing both." Arsenal''s tempo began to pick up. Saka shifted wide, Odegaard drifted inside, and Wolves were quickly being pulled into pockets they didn''t want to be in. Still, they fought, pressing as a unit, trying to force Arsenal into mistakes. Wolves had started the second half trying to press higher, hoping to disrupt Arsenal''s rhythm. But within ten minutes, they were pulled back into their own half, shaped into a tight block of eight outfield players behind the ball. Arsenal, on the other hand, looked like they were building toward something. There was more zip in the passes, more purpose in the movements. Rice dropped deep to collect from Ramsdale and shifted it across to Calafiori, who waited for Wolves'' press to activate. It came, but half-heartedly. Calafiori popped it back to Ramsdale, who calmly pinged a low pass out to Ben White. The right-back cushioned it with one touch and fired it down the line to Saka, who spun and accelerated. The crowd came alive instantly¡ªSaka was in stride, surging into space. ?degaard peeled off, offering support centrally. Ahead of him, Havertz made a decoy run to drag Dawson away. Saka found ?degaard with a perfectly weighted ball. The Norwegian received it just outside the box and flicked it on instinct toward Izan, who had ghosted into a dangerous area. This was the chance. Izan controlled it cleanly and poked it ahead to Havertz, who turned sharply and tried to slot it low past S¨¢. But the Wolves keeper was sharp¡ªhe got down quickly and parried it away with a firm right glove. The rebound spilled back toward the edge of the area, and the visitors cleared it hastily, but only as far as Tomiyasu, who''d stayed alert. "Arsenal knocking¡ªreally knocking now. That was nearly the third assist of the day for young Izan, but S¨¢ keeps Wolves in it," Guy Mowbray''s voice rang through as the side restarted play. The Emirates didn''t deflate. Instead, they roared louder. The fans could smell another goal coming. Tomiyasu didn''t dwell on the ball. He nudged it sideways to Izan, who''d already moved again, offering himself. Izan didn''t rush. He looked left, then right, then dragged the ball with the inside of his boot, weaving away from Mattheus Cunha before turning sharply to face forward. One defender stepped up¡ªtoo eager, looking to stop Izan in his stride but Izan skipped past him with ease. "Watch him go," Mowbray commented, half laughing. "It''s like they''re magnetized¡ªhe draws them out just to break them apart." Izan threaded a pass out to Calafiori on the far left, stretching Wolves out. The full-back carried it, waited for movement, then dropped it back to Rice, who immediately zipped it over to ?degaard. The Norwegian let it run across his body and clipped it wide to Saka again, now facing a tired A?t-Nouri. This time, Saka feinted outside, cut in, and clipped a lofted cross toward the far post. Havertz rose, met it¡ªand headed just over the bar. Groans rang out around the Emirates. Arteta clapped anyway. "It''s coming!" he barked from the touchline. "Keep the ball moving!" Wolves jogged back into position slowly. Arsenal, by contrast, were already setting their trap again. The next change of possession saw Ramsdale come out of his area, waving. Calafiori turned and nodded, sliding the ball back to his keeper. The reset was instant. Ramsdale passed to Rice, who fed Odegaard, and once again, Izan became the magnet. Receiving the ball just behind the halfway line, he turned on his first touch, pulled two midfielders toward him, and slipped the ball behind them into ?degaard''s feet. Then, without waiting, he took off diagonally into space. ?degaard didn''t hesitate. He played the return pass first-time, cutting through Wolves'' lines. Izan took it cleanly on the run¡ªno wasted movement. One defender stepped up¡ªKilman. Izan shimmied and rolled the ball under his studs before sliding a perfectly timed pass to ?degaard, who had continued his run behind the line. And now came the final piece. ?degaard, just inside the box, shaped to shoot. But then he spotted Saka alone at the far post. One touch across goal. Saka arrived. Tap in. Goal. The Emirates lifted off. "Now that¡­ is liquid football!" Guy Mowbray roared. "Izan again at the heart of it. The timing, the weight of the pass, the ability to draw defenders in and open lanes¡ªit''s elite. ?degaard doesn''t get greedy, and Saka does what he does best." Arteta couldn''t hide his delight this time. He turned fist in the air and jogged back toward his bench. "That''s how we do it!" he shouted. "That''s Arsenal football!" Gary O''Neil stood frozen on the sideline, arms folded, lips pressed together. There wasn''t much left for him to say. The camera cut to the trio¡ªSaka, ?degaard, and Izan¡ªembracing just inside the box, smiles all around. From the crowd, chants erupted: "He''s one of our own! He''s one of our own! Izan''s one of our own!" Mowbray, settling after the chaos, added one final note. "They are playing like a unit, but with a little magician at the heart of it. Every time he touches the ball, something happens. And now, Arsenal lead 2¨C0, fully deserved." S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And this time, Wolves knew¡ªthey weren''t just chasing a scoreline. They were chasing shadows. The Arsenal player stopped celebrating after a while before turning towards their half, walking past the Wolverhampton players who looked like they had lost their urge. The restart was almost ceremonial. Wolves stood over the ball, motionless for a moment longer than usual. The urgency was there in their eyes, but not in their legs. The referee''s whistle pierced the air, and play resumed¡ªbut the balance had shifted. Arsenal pressed higher, faster, and more hungrily, emboldened by a two-goal cushion and the scent of more. Wolves attempted to string a few passes together, starting from their center-backs. Dawson to Kilman, Kilman to Semedo¡ªbut it was cautious, passive. There was no intent in their build-up, just survival instincts. "Wolves look rattled," Guy Mowbray noted, tone cutting. "The fight''s still there, but the belief¡­ maybe not." Then came the mistake. Joao Gomes hesitated half a second too late as he turned under pressure and that was all Izan needed. He pounced, sharp as a razor, poking the ball clean off Joao''s toe before the Wolves man could shield it. A gasp rose from the crowd as Izan surged forward, running 10 yards in two touches. He didn''t try anything fancy¡ªnot here. The vision clicked in immediately. To his right, he spotted the blur of Saka making a dart between A?t-Nouri and Kilman, perfectly timed. Izan snapped a low pass into space for him. Guy Mowbray''s voice sharpened. "And Arsenal are in again! Izan¡ªwinning it, feeding it, and now Saka''s flying down the right!" The Emirates had barely sat back down. Now they were back on their feet again. Saka took the ball in stride, controlled but quick, his boots whispering across the grass as he carved through the flank. ?degaard sprinted into the box. Havertz peeled left. Even Calafiori was making up ground behind. Saka reached the edge of the final third and slowed just a fraction, glancing up. "Here we go again¡­" Mowbray breathed. The whole stadium felt it. Saka had the ball. And someone was about to get it. A/n: Akay. Have fun reading and i''ll see you tomorrow. Don''t forget to spam the golden tickets because I''ll be releasing their bonuses come end of the week. Chapter 406 406: New Dog In The Yard A gasp rose from the crowd as Izan surged forward, running 10 yards in two touches. He didn''t try anything fancy¡ªnot here. The vision clicked in immediately. To his right, he spotted the blur of Saka making a perfectly timed dart between A?t-Nouri and Kilman. Izan snapped a low pass into space for him. Guy Mowbray''s voice sharpened. "And Arsenal are in again! Izan¡ªwinning it, feeding it, and now Saka''s flying down the right!" The Emirates had barely sat back down. Now they were back on their feet again. Saka took the ball in stride, controlled but quick, his boots whispering across the grass as he carved through the flank. ?degaard sprinted into the box. Havertz peeled left. Even Calafiori was making up ground behind. Saka reached the edge of the final third and slowed just a fraction, glancing up. "Here we go again¡­" Mowbray breathed. The whole stadium felt it. Saka had the ball. And someone was about to get it. The Englishman took a deep breath and then made his move, shaping his body like he might cut back or shoot¡ªbut instead, he slipped the ball low and fast across the face of the goal. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It was the perfect delivery. Teasing. Wicked. The kind that begged for the final touch. Havertz was the first to dive in at the near post. His boot slid just under the ball by inches. Next came Martinelli, arriving like a bullet from the left. He stretched, studs scraping the turf¡ªbut the ball skipped by him too, untouched. ?degaard arrived last, slowing his run just slightly, trying to read the path. He stepped and lunged but he also missed it by a hair''s width. Gasps rippled through the Emirates. "Oh, it''s gone past everyone! How has no one touched that?" Mowbray''s voice mirrored the disbelief. The ball was still alive, barely rolling, losing speed, dragging itself toward the far post¡ªtoo slow to carry itself into the net, too fast for anyone else to react. For a moment, it seemed it would go down as a missed chance. But then¡ªsliding into the frame like a figure written into the moment¡ªIzan came crashing in from deep. No one had seen him at first. Not the Wolves defense. Not the crowd. But now¡ªhere he was. Shirt flapping, studs carving lines through the grass, eyes fixed solely on the ball. He extended his leg at the last possible moment, just enough to prod it toward goal. The ball bobbled, rolled then nestled into the inner side netting sending the Emirates Crowd roaring. "HE''S DONE IT AGAIN!" Mowbray roared. "IZAN WITH THE SLIDE¡ªAND IT''S THREE-NIL ARSENAL!" The sound swelled to deafening levels as the Emirates exploded. Fans on their feet, arms in the air, mouths open in stunned joy. "Just when it looked like the moment had passed, it''s the sixteen-year-old¡ªagain¡ªarriving like a flash of lightning to turn it in! What a run. What awareness. What desire!" Mikel Arteta spun from the touchline, fists clenched, letting out a yell toward his bench. "Yes! That''s it!" he shouted, hugging Carlos Cuesta. His expression was pure adrenaline. On the Wolves bench, Gary O''Neil could only lower his head into his palm, exhaling. "Unbelievable," he muttered. Back on the pitch, Izan rose from his slide with a cheeky smile, grass stains down one leg, arms stretched wide toward the North Bank as his teammates rushed to meet him. Martinelli reached him first, jumping onto his back. Then ?degaard, Havertz, Saka. They were laughing, yelling, pointing to the crowd and then to Izan. Another moment. Another roar. .... As Izan jogged back toward the halfway line, grinning as he exchanged a few words with ?degaard and tapped fists with Saka, the Emirates crowd was still on its feet, chanting his name. Guy Mowbray''s voice carried through the wave of noise, laced with admiration and just a hint of wonder. "Well, if there was any doubt about how this young man would take to Premier League football¡­ I think we have our answer now." Izan gave a little wave to the stands as he crossed the halfway line, his face flushed but composed¡ªeyes scanning the field, already resetting. "A brace. On your debut. At the Emirates," Mowbray continued, letting the significance of it settle. "You don''t write scripts like this unless the player is special. And Izan¡ªwell, he''s just made his mark in the boldest, most brilliant fashion." The camera cut to a shot of Arteta on the sideline, nodding quietly, arms folded across his chest¡ªclearly pleased. Mowbray carried on, tone softening slightly with reflection, "Two very different goals, but both telling. The ice in his veins from the spot¡­ and now this¡ªpure instinct, timing, hunger. What a way to introduce yourself." As the referee signaled for Wolves to restart, the camera lingered one more moment on Izan. "Welcome to the Premier League, Izan. You''ve arrived, and you''ve arrived in style." As play resumed following Arsenal''s third goal, the tempo noticeably slowed. Wolves, bruised and breathless, tried to retain shape and composure, but their sting had dulled. Arsenal, on the other hand, seemed content to manage the game¡ªcontrolling possession, shifting the ball patiently, and probing without urgency. Izan, now a clear standout, didn''t try to force anything. He kept the ball moving, playing neat one-twos and keeping the tempo ticking as the minutes passed. The Emirates crowd, still buzzing from his brace, gave a little cheer every time he touched the ball. By the 73rd minute, Mikel Arteta turned to his bench. The job, for now, was done. He gestured toward Jorginho and gave a nod toward Izan. The fourth official raised his board on the sideline¡ª"10 OFF, 20 ON." Izan saw the board and turned towards the touchline. As he jogged toward the touchline, the Emirates crowd responded with immediate appreciation. A rolling wave of applause spread through the stadium, growing louder with every step he took toward the bench. Some fans even stood up, scarves raised in salute. "Coming off now is the young man who''s absolutely stolen the show today," said Guy Mowbray, his tone carrying both warmth and confidence. "Two goals on his debut, a penalty that had jaws dropping, and now a deserved rest. What a performance." Izan gave a thumbs-up to the supporters as he stepped off, bumping fists with Arteta, who leaned in to say a "well done." Jorginho jogged onto the pitch, immediately sliding into that deeper role to allow ?degaard more freedom to push forward. "And now the reins pass to the experienced head of Jorginho," Mowbray added. "But make no mistake¡ªthe name on everyone''s lips at full-time will be Izan''s." As the game resumed, the Arsenal fans kept clapping just a little longer, letting the 16-year-old know that they''d remember this debut for a long, long time. ..... As Izan made his way off the pitch in the 73rd minute, his performance was already turning heads across the Premier League. His debut had been a statement¡ªone that left a lasting impression on both fans and players alike. At Manchester City, Jack Grealish exchanged a glance with his teammates as they watched the young Arsenal midfielder. "That kid''s got something," Grealish said. "Composure like that? He''s definitely one to watch." Phil Foden nodded, clearly impressed. "You can see the confidence in his play. He''s not fazed by the big stage. Exceptional from a new kid on the block " Meanwhile, at Old Trafford, Bruno Fernandes watched the match, his thoughts clear. "That was cheeky, that penalty. He''s got confidence¡ªsomething you can''t fake." Lisandro Mart¨ªnez, sitting next to him, agreed. "We''ll see how he handles the pressure, but today, he looked like he belonged." Down in London, Chelsea''s new Coach, Enzo Maresca, watching from Chelsea''s Cobham training ground, had his staff taking notes. "He''s got potential," he said. "It''s just one match, but his intelligence, the way he reads the game, that could be a problem for us later." His assistant added, "It''s the little things¡ªhe anticipates the game well. He could become a key player." Liverpool''s Arne Slot, watching from Melwood, was equally impressed. "He''s something special," he said, his voice laced with admiration. "It''s only the first match, but you can see he''s not intimidated by the Premier League. His control, his presence¡ªthey''re rare. We should have really put in the effort to sign him." Even Ange Postecoglou at Tottenham''s Hotspur Way couldn''t help but notice Izan''s impact. "I don''t like admitting it, but that kid''s got something," he said, his voice thoughtful. "One to watch for sure. If he keeps playing like this, he''ll be a major threat." Across the league, rivals were making mental notes. It was too early to say whether Izan''s move had truly worked out, but the match against Wolves had shown that there was a new player on the scene. The young midfielder had made his mark, and whether or not his success was just beginning, the Premier League had a new big dog in the yard. A/n: Okay. First of the day. I have Calculus today so might not hear from me again but don''t worry, I never fail to keep up with the updates. Anyways Have fun reading and I might see you when i''m still okay after the test. Chapter 407 407: Done And Dusted The referee''s whistle echoed through the Emirates, signaling the end of a performance that had left little room for debate. The scoreboard read Arsenal 4, Wolves 0¡ªa statement, not just a result. Fifteen minutes after Izan had been subbed off to a roaring ovation, Gabriel Magalh?es had risen above the crowd and powered home a header from a corner, adding the final touch to an already commanding display. There had been no wild celebration¡ªjust a sense of purpose, of business handled. As the players began to disperse across the pitch, applause rippled through the stands. Arsenal''s squad clapped back at their fans in appreciation, walking the pitch with satisfaction etched on their faces. Some exchanged shirts, others brief handshakes with their Wolves counterparts¡ªsportsmanship marking the close of a long evening. Mikel Arteta stood at the edge of his technical area, arms folded, eyes scanning his players with the faintest of smiles. They had delivered¡ªnot just the scoreline, but the control, the intensity, the unity. Izan remained on the bench, tracksuit back on, a towel over his shoulders. His teammates gave him pats on the back as they returned, grinning, murmuring a few words of praise. A debut to remember, a message sent¡ªand the whole stadium had felt it. "Well, what a way to start the season for Arsenal. " Guy Mowbray''s voice returned one last time to bring the night to a close as the fans filed out of the stadium" "Four goals, a clean sheet, and a debut performance from a young man that''ll be talked about for weeks¡ªif not longer. Izan, with a brace and the swagger to match, has certainly lit a spark in North London tonight. It''s early days, yes, but if this match was anything to go by, there''s a lot to look forward to." He let the moment linger, the roar of fans still faintly audible behind him. "From the Emirates, under the lights, with a new Premier League campaign underway¡ªthank you for joining us. From me, Guy Mowbray, it''s goodnight." ...¡­.. The tunnel was a swirl of noise and adrenaline. Boots clacked against the concrete as Arsenal''s players made their way inside, red shirts streaked with sweat and grass stains. A few turned back toward the pitch, still soaking in the applause that followed them all the way from the stands. Izan walked near the front, flanked by Ben White and Declan Rice, his expression calm, though his heart was still pounding from the buzz of it all. A couple of Wolves players gave him a pat on the back as they passed¡ªquick, wordless acknowledgments of a performance that couldn''t be ignored. He returned the gesture with a nod. Inside the changing room, the tempo shifted. High-fives were exchanged. Arteta gave a quick clap to gather the group, praised the clean sheet, the compactness, the control. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Then, almost laughing, he looked straight at Izan and said, "And next time, no more Panenka okay? At least not when I''m watching." Laughter rippled through the squad as Izan smiled, his cheeks reddening slightly but his grin not fading. He sat down, peeling off his shirt and leaning forward to unlace his boots when his phone lit up with a cascade of vibrations on the bench beside him. The first name that flashed: was Miranda. "Izan, you just made headlines across Europe. Breathe it in tonight¡ªwe''ll talk business tomorrow. But you''ve done what only stars do." Pietro''s message came in next, the words laced with disbelief and pride: "Bro. The Panenka? That was so good. The whole of Paterna lost it. You know something, you might actually be better than me now." Seconds later, Sosa himself sent a voice note full of static and shouting, followed by a photo of their group huddled around a TV back in Valencia. Chips and soda scattered across the table, their expressions frozen mid-cheer. "You legend. We miss you here, but today? Today, you belonged on that pitch." Then came Gaya, always more reserved, but with a message that hit deeper than the others: "That was maturity. Not just talent. You played like you''ve been in the league for years. You earned this." Izan smiled quietly at each, thumbs hesitating as he tried to think of something to send back. But just as he reached for his towel, the final notification buzzed onto the screen¡ªOlivia. Her message was longer, more personal. "I was watching from bed¡­ had cramps all afternoon, so I couldn''t really jump around. But you made me forget about it for a bit. That Penalty? You''re insane. I''m happy for you, Izan. Really Happy." He read it again, softer this time, thumb hovering before he typed back: "Are you okay now?" He hit send, placed the phone face-down on the bench, and leaned back with a quiet exhale. Around him, the room was full of energy¡ªmusic starting to play, players joking and stretching out. But inside, he felt something warmer. He had finally delivered. .... As the team bus rolled into Colney, the players were visibly tired. The match against Wolves had been a grind, with emotions and adrenaline still high from Izan''s performance and the eventual victory. But now, as the bus pulled into the familiar training complex, the toll of the day was starting to settle in. Izan leaned back in his seat, his eyes barely staying open. His body was still buzzing from the energy of the game, but his mind was growing hazy. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in¡ªhis legs heavy, his head pounding. The bus slowed to a stop in front of the entrance, and the players began to stir, stretching out their stiff limbs as they slowly stood up. "Alright, lads," Arteta''s voice cut through the drowsy atmosphere. "Get inside, have a quick debrief, and then you''re free to go home. No match until next week, so take advantage of the rest." Izan nodded, his mind foggy as he followed his teammates into the building. The walk to the locker room felt like a blur. Once inside, Arteta gathered the squad for a brief rundown, but it was clear that most of the players were struggling to keep their eyes open. "Great work today," Arteta said, his tone more relaxed now that the match was behind them. "I know some of you are tired, but I''m proud of the effort. Go home, get some sleep, and come back ready to rest, recover, and prepare for next week." The players all murmured their thanks, with a few tired nods. Izan barely registered the exchange as he made his way to his locker, changing out of his kit as quickly as he could. He was eager to get home and rest. As soon as he was done, he grabbed his bag and headed for the exit, joining a small group of teammates. The moment they were outside, they scattered, some heading for their cars while others waited for their drivers. Izan, who still couldn''t drive, glanced around until he spotted the familiar car parked near the entrance. He waved to his driver, who immediately opened the door for him. "Good to go, mate?" the driver asked, and Izan nodded tiredly. "Yeah, just need to get some rest," he muttered, settling into the backseat and closing his eyes. The drive was peaceful, the quiet of the streets helping him unwind even more. Soon, they arrived at his apartment. Izan stepped out of the car, stretching his limbs as the cool evening air hit his face. Izan stepped carefully through the door of his apartment, mindful not to disturb Olivia, who he figured might still be resting after her morning cramps. He gently closed the door behind him, the faint click of the lock sounding softer than usual in the stillness. The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the small kitchen window where the evening sun barely peeked through the curtains. He moved quietly towards the living room, his eyes falling on Olivia. She lay stretched out on the couch, her face relaxed in sleep. Her breathing was soft and steady, the tension from the morning''s discomfort nowhere to be seen. Izan smiled, watching her for a moment, taking in the sight of her with an overwhelming sense of affection. He walked over to her, careful not to jostle her too much as he knelt beside the couch. Gently, he slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. Olivia stirred briefly but didn''t wake, still caught in the deep pull of sleep. With the grace of a dancer, Izan carried her towards the bedroom. He could feel the soft weight of her against him, the warmth of her body calming him after the intensity of the match. As he laid her down on the bed, he made sure to adjust the blankets around her before slipping in beside her. Olivia, still half-conscious, instinctively wrapped her arms around Izan''s athletic frame, pulling herself closer to him. Her fingers brushed his skin, and Izan chuckled softly, feeling the weight of the day begin to melt away in her embrace. He pulled her gently against him, his heartbeat steady as they lay there in silence. It felt like the perfect end to a whirlwind day¡ªa moment of peace and connection. In the quiet of the room, Izan let his eyes close, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn''t known he needed. A/n: Second of the day. Was busy the whole day with my exam. Took 4 hours to finish but it done. For the week I mean. Chapter 408 408: Mornings Without Spotlight As he laid her down on the bed, Izan adjusted the blankets around her before slipping in beside her. Olivia, still half-conscious, instinctively wrapped her arms around Izan''s athletic frame, pulling herself closer to him. Her fingers brushed his skin, and Izan chuckled softly, feeling the weight of the day begin to melt away in her embrace. He pulled her gently against him, his heartbeat steady as they lay there in silence. It felt like the perfect end to a whirlwind day¡ªa moment of peace and connection. In the quiet of the room, Izan let his eyes close, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn''t known he needed. ..... The theme music faded out the next morning as the BBC sports segment opened with the sleek studio screen lit up with the headline: "Premier League Matchday One: Arsenal Send a Message." Dan Walker: "Good morning and welcome to BBC Sport''s Premier League Recap. Matchday One has already given us plenty to talk about¡ªbut no result stole the headlines quite like the one at the Emirates. Arsenal 4, Wolves 0. And the name on everyone''s lips this morning? A 16-year-old midfielder who played like he''s been doing this for years¡ªIzan Hernandez" The Studio screen shifted to match highlights as Dan spoke. Izan''s penalty floating gently past Jos¨¦ S¨¢ and a Slow-motion replay of his second goal ¡ª a sliding finish at the back post. "The debut of the weekend¡ªno question. He didn''t just score, he stamped his authority on the game. First a cheeky panenka¡ªyes, you heard that right¡ªa panenka on your Premier League debut, followed by a sharp, instinctive finish that capped off an electric team move. And he only played 73 minutes!" Dan said with a smile etched on his face. Joel Lane: "Look, we''ve seen plenty of young players come through, but there was something different about this. That penalty¡ªmate, I was up off my seat! You don''t do that unless you''ve got nerves of steel. The movement, the composure, the awareness¡­ this kid''s special." Alex Scott: "And it wasn''t just the goals either. His pressing, his link-up play with Odegaard and Saka, the way he opened up space¡ªit was intelligent football. Mature football. He''s clearly been coached well, and he''s slotted right into that Arsenal midfield like he''s been there for years." Next, the broadcast cut to a montage of Arteta applauding on the touchline, Izan walking off to a standing ovation, fans clapping, and various Premier League fan reactions on social media. Dan: "The Gunners looked sharp all across the pitch, but it''s Izan''s performance that has left fans¡ªand even rival clubs¡ªtalking. There''s a new name in the Premier League spotlight, and from what we''ve seen so far, he''s here to stay." "Mate, if that''s how he starts, I can''t wait to see how he finishes this season," Joel added with a chuckle Alex: "Absolutely. And with Arsenal looking this cohesive already, you have to wonder¡ªhas Arteta finally found the missing piece?" Dan: "Well, we''ll be keeping our eyes on him. Arsenal''s next match is a week away¡ªbut the buzz around North London? That''s going nowhere. Coming up next, we look at Brighton''s late winner and how Bournemouth stumbled at home as well as....¡­..." ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª- The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the bedroom. Izan stirred first, the warmth beside him making it hard to leave the comfort of the bed. Olivia curled up against him and blinked slowly as her fingers absently traced the hem of his shirt. "Morning," she whispered, voice drowsy and warm. "Hmm," Izan murmured, brushing her hair away from her face. "Did you sleep better?" She gave a lazy nod. "No cramps this time. Maybe because I had a furnace next to me." He chuckled, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. "You''re the one who wrapped around me like a koala." "Because you''re comfy," she said, burying her face against his neck. "And kind of irresistible." "Careful," he teased. "I might stay in bed all day." "Maybe I want that." They lingered there a few moments longer, trading soft smiles and half-asleep kisses, until Izan finally peeled himself away with a stretch and a groan. "I should get my run in." Olivia sighed. "Of course you should." Ten minutes later, he was outside hoodie on, earbuds in, pounding the quiet London pavement at a steady rhythm. The city was still yawning into the day, and Izan welcomed the emptiness. Every inhale cleared his mind, every step shook off the weight of yesterday''s match. The cheers, the goals, the messages¡ªthey were all still fresh, but right now, it was just him and the breath in his lungs. He looped around the block, calves burning, sweat glistening under the early sun. By the time he jogged back through the apartment door, Olivia was already on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, a glass of juice in hand. "You''re back," she said as he toed off his shoes. "Back and dying." He grinned, dripping with sweat. "Still pretty." He rolled his eyes and dropped to the mat in the living room. Recovery time. He moved through his usual sequence¡ªcontrolled breathing, deep stretches, shoulder mobility drills. Then came the pushups. "Thirty," he muttered to himself, elbows flaring as he moved with precision. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On the twelfth one, Olivia padded over with a smirk and¡ªwithout a word¡ªlowered herself gently onto his back. "Really?" he groaned, arms straining just a little more now. "I''m helping," she said innocently, wrapping her arms around his torso like a backpack. "Core strength. Resistance training." "You''re evil," he panted. "But you love it." He couldn''t argue that. Especially not with her giggling in his ear, swaying slightly to make it harder. He finished the set¡ªbarely¡ªand collapsed face-down on the mat. Olivia rolled off, laughing, then grabbed his water bottle and handed it over. "You know," she said as he took a long sip, "you don''t have to impress me anymore. You''ve already scored two," a smirk forming as she sat beside her. Izan grinned, wiping his mouth. "Then I guess I''m going for a hat trick next." Olivia giggled slightly before heading for the bathroom. Steam curled gently from the bathroom as water splashed softly against porcelain. Olivia stood under the warm stream, eyes closed, letting the spray loosen her muscles and the faint smell of eucalyptus calm her senses. She heard the door creak and didn''t even flinch. "You''re not exactly quiet," she said without turning around. Izan''s footsteps paused at the edge of the shower. "Worth a try." "You already tried twice this week," she said, biting back a smile. "Third time''s not the charm." He leaned against the glass, arms crossed, wet hair still damp from his earlier workout. "Just wanted to make sure you weren''t feeling lightheaded. You know¡­ after the cramps." "Mmm. So selfless of you," she teased, reaching for the conditioner. "And absolutely nothing to do with you being a menace." "Guilty," he admitted with a lazy grin. "I''ve locked the door this time." There was a beat of silence before he asked, "Seriously?" She laughed. "No. But I knew you were coming, so I wedged the towel rack against it." Izan groaned. "You''re terrifying when you plan ahead." "That''s my charm," she replied. "Unfortunately it is," Izan said next. A few minutes later, she emerged with a towel wrapped tightly around her body, hair damp and skin glowing. Izan was seated on the couch, scrolling through messages, the post-match buzz from yesterday still reflected in the unread notifications. He glanced up and offered her a fresh towel for her hair. "Thanks," she murmured, plopping beside him. He tossed his phone aside and leaned back. "So. What''s the plan today?" Olivia wrung her damp hair into the towel. "I''ve got a few forms to fill out. King''s College stuff. Some student finance junk. Nothing serious." "And after that?" She looked at him, eyes playful. "Nothing, really. Was thinking of letting my professional athlete boyfriend make me lunch." He grinned. "A brave woman." "You made pasta last time. It wasn''t horrible." "That''s basically five stars in my world." She smiled, settling in comfortably against his side. "I don''t really care what we do today. As long as I get to hang out with you." "Same," he said, brushing a kiss into her hair. "We''ve got a free day. Let''s make it a good one." Olivia rose from the couch with a stretch, her fingers brushing back loose curls as she headed toward the bedroom. "I left my stuff in there," she mumbled, more to herself than Izan. He watched her disappear around the corner, then leaned back into the cushions, phone in hand, refreshing his notifications. A few seconds later, she returned with the laptop hugged to her chest and a teasing little smile. "Alright," she said, settling beside him again. "Time to apply for a life-changing academic adventure." "While I pretend to be a social media mogul," Izan grinned, already typing a caption. A/n: Have fun reading and don''t forget to hit the subscribe button-. JK. Golden ticket chapters will be up by tomorrow. Chapter 409 409: Incoming Additions. Olivia rose from the couch with a stretch, her fingers brushing back loose curls as she headed toward the bedroom. "I left my stuff in there," she mumbled, more to herself than Izan. He watched her disappear around the corner, then leaned back into the cushions, phone in hand, refreshing his notifications. A few seconds later, she returned with the laptop hugged to her chest and a teasing little smile. "Alright," she said, settling beside him again. "Time to apply for a life-changing academic adventure." "While I pretend to be a social media mogul," Izan grinned, already typing a caption. ...¡­ Olivia clicked the final "Submit" on her exchange program application and let out a soft, satisfied sigh. She shut the laptop slowly and turned to Izan, who was still cross-legged on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he squinted at his phone. "All done," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "I just applied to spend a whole year in a country I''ve barely explored. Your fault, by the way." Izan looked up with a lazy smile. "My influence is strong." "You''re lucky I like you," she said, setting the laptop aside. "I''m counting on it." He stood and offered his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up from the couch but he didn''t let go right away. His fingers laced through hers, warm and steady. "Still wanna go out for a bit?" she asked, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand. "Brunch or something low-effort?" Izan nodded, but neither of them moved. Seconds passed. Then Olivia tilted her head and gave him a look. That soft, mischievous smile he was starting to recognize as dangerous. "You''re thinking about it too much," she murmured. "Thinking about what?" Her fingers slipped up to the collar of his hoodie. "This." She tugged him close, and their lips met¡ªslow and searching at first. It wasn''t rushed or heated. Just warm. Familiar. Her hands slid behind his neck, pulling him closer, while his arms wrapped around her waist. Somewhere between kisses, Izan guided her gently toward the bed, bumping knees, pausing to laugh when Olivia stumbled over her own foot. "You''re a terrible navigator," she muttered between kisses. "Your legs are too long," he said, breathless. They tumbled onto the sheets in a tangle of limbs, Olivia giggling as she landed half on top of him. "Well this is romantic," she teased. "Give it a minute," Izan whispered, brushing a curl away from her face. He kissed her again, and this time it lingered¡ªhis hand trailing along her waist, fingertips brushing the curve of her hip through the soft fabric of her thin skirt. Her skin was still warm from the shower, her scent clean and subtle. She sighed into his mouth, her body molding to his. His hand moved slowly¡ªover her back, along her thighs¡ªalways careful, always gentle. She didn''t stop him. Her own hands explored too, running over the firmness of his chest, the dip of his lower back. She tugged at the hem of his shirt slightly before sliding her palm underneath to feel his skin. "Why do you always smell so good?" she whispered against his throat. "I work hard," he murmured, lips grazing her ear. She laughed softly, her breath catching as his hands moved again, this time over her ribs, pausing just beneath her chest. There was a stillness to the moment, a pause like they were both listening for a signal. "Still okay?" he asked, his voice lower now. "Yeah," she breathed. "Just¡­ stay here." Her fingers wove into his curls, guiding his mouth back to hers. They kissed deeper this time¡ªmessier, more deliberate, but still slow. Nothing extreme. Just exploring, feeling, and reacting. Her skirt slipped slightly as she shifted against him, and his hand instinctively steadied it, fingers brushing skin. She exhaled sharply. "God, your hands." "Yours aren''t exactly innocent," he muttered, groaning as she traced along the edge of his waistband. They didn''t say much after that. Just exchanged soft moans, breathy laughs, and occasional whispers that weren''t really words. They moved slowly like they had all the time in the world. Eventually, Olivia rested her head against his chest, her hand still resting just above his hip. Izan let his fingers gently trace up and down her back, drawing invisible lines into her skin. "We''re definitely not going out, are we?" she murmured. "Nope." "Good." They lay there, tangled and warm, a quiet intimacy settling over them like a blanket neither of them wanted to shake off. ...¡­ The next morning brought with it a cool breeze and overcast skies, but the training pitch buzzed with energy. The sun broke occasionally through the clouds, casting a pale light on Arsenal''s first team as they gathered in a semicircle near the edge of the box. Izan stood a few steps back from the ball, shoulders relaxed, eyes fixed on the top right corner of the goal. Saka was crouched nearby, waiting his turn, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he whispered something to Calafiori, who gave a quiet chuckle. Mikel Arteta''s voice cut through the air. "Same rules as always," he said, arms folded. "If you want set-piece responsibility, earn it. Beat the current number one." Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. That number one was Izan. He lined up his shot without theatrics¡ªjust a small bounce on his toes, a breath in, then a quick, fluid run-up. The strike was clean and fast. The ball curved beautifully over the wall, kissed the inside of the post, and snapped the netting before the keeper could even shift his feet. The silence lasted all of half a second. Then came the rustle of the net, followed by the sharp intake of breath from a few teammates and a low whistle from Jorginho while Someone muttered "madness." Saka straightened slowly, jaw slack. "I''m gonna start diving for those. That wasn''t fair." Arteta chuckled and clapped twice. "Izan wins again." Saka flopped to the grass dramatically, lying flat on his back. "This guy has magnets in his boots, I swear." Izan grinned, jogging back toward the group. "You said top right, yeah?" Saka raised a finger from the turf. "You heard me say bottom left." "That''s crazy," Izan replied, shaking his head. "Liar!" The banter was light, but the intensity hadn''t dipped. Each player had taken the new rule seriously ever since Arteta instituted it: in specific areas. Penalties, corners, free kicks, corners¡ªif you could beat the current lead in drills, you claimed the job. Simple. Objective. And Izan, despite not being there for long, had been dominating the set-piece slots for two weeks straight, even taking over the penalty duty from Odegaard after he won in a contest. Arteta walked past Saka, who was still on the ground and gave him a friendly nudge with his foot. "You''d better start practicing, Bukayo. This boy''s not giving it up easily." "He''s not human," Saka replied, still sprawled like a corpse. "High standards make everyone better," Arteta said firmly, then turned to Izan with a nod. "But keep your edge. Don''t get comfortable." "Never," Izan said, his tone serious now. As the team rotated through drills, Izan stood off to the side, sipping water and watching others take their chances. A few came close¡ªOdegaard hit the post once, and Trossard curled one just over¡ªbut no one found the net with the same consistency or swagger. It was clear the standard had shifted. He could almost hear Olivia teasing him, "You''re just showing off now." Maybe he was. But it felt good to be the one everyone had to beat. The players filtered off the pitch after the final whistle of training. Some chatted as they walked, others wiped sweat from their faces or stretched out tight muscles. Izan tossed his bib into the basket near the benches and made his way toward the building with Saka, who still hadn''t stopped joking about that free-kick goal. "Man, that was unfair," Bukayo said, shaking his head with a smile. "Top corner like that? You don''t miss." Izan grinned. "Should''ve jumped faster." They reached the cafeteria and joined a few others already sitting at the tables. Plates clinked softly, and the smell of hot food filled the room. Izan grabbed a tray and served himself¡ªgrilled chicken, rice, some greens¡ªbefore sitting down with Saka and Martinelli. Across the table, Merino was already halfway through his meal, nodding along to something Calafiori was saying in Italian with the former nodding along. It was a quiet moment. Just players eating, rehydrating, and cooling off after another hard session. Then the cafeteria door swung open and Arteta walked in. Conversations dipped slightly as the players glanced up. He walked casually to the center of the room, arms behind his back, a small smile on his face. "Morning or afternoon I should say," he said. "I won''t keep you. Just wanted to let you all know¡ªwe''ve completed a loan deal for Raheem Sterling. He''ll be joining us soon." There were a few raised eyebrows and exchanged looks around the table. "Sterling?" Saka muttered under his breath. "Was rumored. I was thinking when he would be coming." "Winger depth," Martinelli added, chewing slowly. Arteta gave a small nod. "He brings experience, knows the league, and he wants this challenge. You''ll meet him soon enough. For now, rest up. Good work this morning." With that, the manager left, and the room gradually returned to the usual hum of conversation. Izan took another bite of his food, glancing at Saka. "Think he''ll be starting?" "We''ll see," Saka replied. "But if it''s down to that set-piece rule, you''re still safe." Izan smiled but didn''t say anything. He just kept eating, calm and focused. ..... A/n: Second of the day. Sorry for the late release. Was caught up in some BS. Anyway Have fun reading and I''ll see you with the Ticket chapters if I can. Byeeee. Chapter 410 410: More To Life Than Just Football[GT chapter] The grass clung to their boots like a second skin, still damp from the morning''s watering. Training cones were scattered across the pitch as the coaching staff rotated drills. The ball zipped across the surface, every pass sharper than the last. Izan''s foot met the ball with precision, splitting two mannequins with a clipped one-touch pass toward Merino. "Again," shouted Arteta from the sideline. Izan turned with Odegaard, ready for the next pass. No words were needed¡ªjust a glance between them, and the Norwegian popped the ball into space. "I didn''t think you could see that," Odegaard said once the sequence ended. "Well, I guess I''m full of unraveled surprises waiting to be done," Izan replied with a slight smile, brushing the sweat from his brow. Down the other end, Saliba had just shrugged off Jesus for the second time in a row, which irked the latter a bit. "Try a spin next time," Ben White offered from the sidelines, arms folded. Jesus laughed as he walked past, out of breath. "You spin into Saliba, you''ll end up in the Cvecha''s lab for the next week." A few players chuckled, but Saliba only offered a quiet nod, his focus already drifting back to the next rep. Back in the middle, Artera clapped his hands. "Small rondos! Three groups!" The players heeded and shuffled into circles. Izan ended up in one with Trossard, Saka, and Calafiori. "You better not lose it," Trossard said as he passed Izan the ball. "I never do," Izan replied flatly. Saka stepped in, pressing fast. Izan shifted his weight and let the ball roll through his legs back to Trossard. "Cheeky," Saka muttered, already grinning. "One day I''ll catch you." "I''ll let you know when that day''s close," Izan shot back, calm as ever. In the next rotation, Calafiori got caught. Twice. The Italian muttered under his breath, visibly annoyed. "Pressure''s different here, yeah?" Trossard nudged him. Calafiori nodded without making excuses. "Yeah it is but some of you are also passers of the ball." he said, his accent heavily tinged with his Italian one. After a while, they broke for water. Izan sat beside Rice and wiped his face with a towel. "You''re not giggling much today," Rice said, not looking at him. "Did she starve you of it" he added with a cheeky grin. "You degenerate. I''m 16 and No, I''m just thinking about Villa." "About Villa?" "Yes. About how much better we can be. The press is too slow." Rice let the words hang before nodding slowly. "You''re not wrong." No banter. No fluff. Just truth exchanged between players trying to get somewhere together. ¡ª¡ª Later that afternoon, Izan''s flat was filled with the scent of toasted bread and cut strawberries. Olivia was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched, Izan sitting on the floor in front of her with her fingers combing lazily through his hair. "You never told me what your first jersey number was," she said. Izan kept his eyes on the documentary playing, but his voice was soft. "Twelve. I was not even a sub." She paused. "And how''d you feel about that?" "Didn''t matter. I just wanted to play." "You didn''t get upset? Not even once?" "Maybe the first time. After that, I started watching. Saw who did what right. Who got picked." Her fingers stopped moving. "That''s kind of sad." "It worked out okay," he replied thinking about the mechanical whirring in his mind. She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on his shoulder now. "Still. I think you deserved more." Izan didn''t respond right away. "I did eventually. And I got way more than I should have" he added with a somewhat brooding expression. Silence settled, broken only by the soft dialogue from the TV. Olivia tilted her head. "Have you started to miss Spain?" "Not really." "You''re lying." "I miss Mom and my sister. Sometimes the food, the people, and my former teammates. Not the place." She shifted closer. "Do you like London?" "I like who''s in it." She smiled, fingers finding his again. "That was smooth." "I meant it," he said grabbing Olivia''s hand. There was more to life than just football and he was discovering it slowly but steadily. ¡ª¡ª Two days later, the team ran attacking shape drills. Arteta stood in the middle with a whistle, directing transitions. "Faster recovery, Martin. More urgency." Izan shifted into the half-space just before the next ball arrived. One touch to kill the ball and then another to switch to the weak side. "Hold it," Arteta barked. Everyone paused. He gestured toward Izan. "This. Do you see where he is? Where the ball ends up?" The others nodded, eyes following the trajectory still faintly etched in the grass. "This is what I want. Play with intention, not memory." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. After the session ended, they jogged warm-down laps. Saka caught up to Izan. "You were always this sharp?" "No." "Then what changed?" Izan shrugged. "Pressure. Opportunity. Doesn''t really matter. Thought of something yesterday and realized how lucky to be doing what I love so I decided to give it my all today" Saka ran beside him, thoughtful. "Remind me never to challenge you for set pieces again." "I''ll remind you when you''re ready." ¡ª¡ª At night, Olivia curled up with Izan by the window. Her head rested against his chest, the streets below blurred by fogged glass. "Do you think people change?" she asked. "Every day." "But really change? Not just surface things?" He thought for a moment. "I think people hide parts of themselves. Sometimes they forget what''s under." She looked up. "And what about you?" "I''m still figuring that out." She shifted to face him. "Then let me help." He nodded once. Then, softer: "You are." ¡ª¡ª Friday''s training was sharper. Faster. Villa were physical, and they trained like it. One drill had players in tight spaces, shoulders colliding, tackles flying. "Body first!" Cuesta shouted. Izan took a heavy challenge from Timber but stayed up, Passed, Recycled then asked for the ball again. "That''s what I''m talking about," Cuesta said. Later, when the first team broke into units for corner rehearsals, Izan stood near the arc, eyes on the set-up. He felt a presence behind and turned to Odegaard. "Near post looks open if they switch zonal." Odegaard smiled slightly. "No wonder they can''t sneak up on you. Well, try it in the next one then." Izan nodded at Odegaard''s words before he walked towards the corner flag. What follwe next was a ball delivered with his left foot¡ªhard, flat, a blur. The simulated opposing defense tried to get the ball away but Saliba jumpers and connected. Goal. As they jogged back to the next one, Odegaard approached and clapped him on the back. "Good eye," he said before walking away. ¡ª¡ª In the evening, Olivia sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through one of Izan''s old matchday tapes. "You keep all of these?" He nodded, a towel draped around his shoulders after a shower. "Even from when you were on the bench?" "Especially those." She glanced up. "Why?" "To remember how far I''ve come." She smiled, setting it aside. "And where are you going?" He met her eyes. "Wherever we are, it''s fine as long as you''re with me." She moved to him then, wrapping her arms around his waist. "We''re really doing this, aren''t we?" "Yeah. We are." They stayed like that, close and quiet. Not in a rush to move. Just learning each other¡ªone piece at a time. ? Raheem Sterling''s arrival at London Colney that morning didn''t come with any fanfare. The paperwork, medicals, and internal formalities had already been wrapped up earlier in the week. Arsenal had announced the loan quietly¡ªjust a single post and photo on the club''s official page¡ªbut in the dressing room, everyone knew what his arrival meant. It was his first session, and the timing couldn''t have been more precise¡ªtwo days before their home clash against Aston Villa. Sterling walked into the training facility with a calm, assured air. He wasn''t the kid breaking through at Liverpool anymore or the marquee signing from Manchester City. He was the experienced head now, walking into a squad that was younger, hungry, and already tight-knit. "Morning," he greeted as he entered the dressing room. Heads turned. Declan Rice stood to offer a quick handshake. "Good to finally have you, mate." "Likewise," Sterling said, setting his bag down beside a locker already prepped with his training gear. "You lot made a whole thing of ghosting me this week." Saka, lacing up beside Nketiah, looked up. "We were waiting to see if you were actually gonna train or just post gym selfies." That got a few chuckles. Even Izan, tying his boots in the far corner, allowed a small smile. Sterling''s eyes swept the room before landing on him. "You''re Izan, yeah?" "Yeah." "Heard about you. Hope you can help me win another league title." he said with a smile which got Izan questioning if he was just being courteous or he truly had faith in the squad. Out on the pitch, the tempo was already high. Sterling jumped into the rondos, light on his feet, vocal, and confident. The group responded quickly¡ªno awkwardness, no testing period. Arteta, watching from the sidelines with his arms folded, gave a satisfied nod. Sterling was here. Not just to fill a gap. He was here to compete. A/n: I know this seems unnecessary but trust me, its add more to the story. Anyways. Still writing so i''ll see you in a while with the other two GT chapters and the main two of the day Chapter 411 411: To Villa Park [GT Chapter] The days leading up to the Aston Villa game passed in a blur of sweat, repetition, and unspoken competition. Each session at Colney felt sharper than the last like something was building under the surface. Sterling''s first full day in the squad only raised the level further. Tuesday opened with position-specific drills. Izan joined Rice and ?degaard in the midfield unit. The three cycled through patterns of play with dummies and mannequins scattered across the pitch. On one rep, ?degaard played a disguised pass into space. "Take that first time," he called. Izan didn''t hesitate. He struck it clean, guiding the ball into the top corner past Ramsdale, who''d volunteered in goal for the drill as Raya was training with the team''s Goalkeeping trainers. Arteta''s whistle cut through the moment. "Again. Faster. It doesn''t count unless it''s game speed." They reset. This time, Rice pressured tighter. Izan dragged it past him with a deft touch and zipped a pass out wide. "Oi," Rice muttered, jogging back into position, "don''t think I didn''t feel that nutmeg yesterday. I''m still collecting receipts." Izan cracked a rare smile. "Keep count. You''ll run out of fingers soon." Later, during rondos, Sterling joined in. He was quicker than expected despite his age. No wasted touches, no lazy movements. On one turn, he slipped between Saka and White before laying the ball off to Izan. "You always this sharp in training?" Sterling asked, not in jest, but in curiosity. Izan shrugged. "Depends who''s watching." Arteta clapped once. "That''s enough. Keep the tempo. Remember what I told you¡ªthere are no guaranteed starters. You beat the man in your role, you take it. Simple." Every eye turned to someone. Izan met Saka''s glance for a split second before looking away. The pressure didn''t rattle him. If anything, it fed him. That evening, Olivia was sprawled across the couch in his flat, scribbling in her sketchbook. She looked up as Izan came through the door, bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from the post-training rinse. "You ever take that bag off?" she asked. He dropped it beside the table. "You ever take that pen out of your hand?" "I like to be prepared." "For what?" "To remember things I missed." She sat up and tucked her legs under her. Izan leaned on the backrest beside her. "I didn''t know you were into drawing," he said. "I wasn''t. Not when we were kids. It started after we moved." Her voice slowed a little. "I used to draw our old building. The one you lived in. From memory." That caught him off guard. He sat down. "You really did think about all that?" "I was nine, Izan. I didn''t even understand why we had to move." She paused. "You didn''t write," she said, staring at Izan. "You didn''t either," Izan said back with a wry expression. "I was scared to." S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. They looked at each other, neither breaking the silence until Olivia leaned forward slightly. "You stopped playing for a bit after your dad passed, didn''t you?" "Only a few weeks," he replied. "It didn''t feel right at first. Then I remembered he was the one who taught me how to kick a ball. How could I stop?" Olivia''s eyes softened. "He would''ve been proud." Izan nodded. "That''s why I don''t take any of this lightly. Every game, every session¡­ I''m still playing for him." She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. "I want to know all of it. From the time we moved to now. Everything I missed." He looked down at their hands, then back at her. "Then stay long enough to hear it all." Back at Colney, Wednesday''s double session tested everyone. Tactical patterns in the morning. Small-sided games in the afternoon. Izan''s side dominated one match, with him switching play diagonally before ghosting into the box for a tap-in. "Man''s got instincts," Sterling said as he pointed toward Izan from across the pitch. That night, Olivia stood by the balcony, tablet in hand, watching videos of Izan''s early highlights. "You didn''t even smile in the youth clips," she said as he walked out of the shower, towel on his neck. "Didn''t feel like smiling." She turned to face him. "You smile now." "It''s because I have many more reasons to smile now," he said, wrapping his arms around her slender but well-shaped waist. She didn''t say anything, just smiled and looked back at the city lights. ...... Thursday was Sterling''s best day yet. He beat Tomiyasu twice in wide drills and chipped in an assist during the match simulation. At one point, after a slick one-two with Izan, he clapped once. "This kid''s serious, huh?" Arteta nodded from the sideline. "He knows what''s at stake." By Friday, it all felt like a countdown. The team worked more efficiently and sharply. Izan stayed after to hit free kicks while the others walked off. The last one curled past Raya''s outstretched hand and slammed into the top corner. Saka, watching from behind the cones, shook his head. "That''s the third one today. I''m not even mad anymore." Arteta turned toward him. "Then stop watching. Beat him or let him keep taking them." Saka grinned and nodded. "Fair." Izan jogged toward the water table, his chest rising and falling with the effort. His mind was already drifting toward the following day. ........ Colney was already stirring when Izan''s car pulled up just after seven-thirty. His driver, a quiet man named Theo, gave him a short nod as Izan stepped out. The early sun hadn''t fully warmed the air, and there was a crispness to the morning that made him instinctively adjust his hoodie. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and shut the door behind him. "See you after the match," Theo said. Izan gave a small nod before heading toward the main entrance. The car park was more alive than usual. Staff were moving quickly¡ªtwo kitmen wheeled heavy-duty black cases toward the team bus parked around the side, each case marked with player names in red. Further ahead, a staffer from media relations held a clipboard and greeted passing players with nods, ticking boxes. "Morning, Izan," someone called. "Morning," he answered, spotting one of the physios loading ice packs into a cooler bin. "Left your shin pads again?" the man teased. "Never," Izan said with a smirk. "Not today." He moved through the lobby and out into the open area behind the training complex where the team bus was waiting, doors open, engine humming quietly. The bus driver stood by with a coffee in hand, chatting with two stewards from the club''s logistics team. Inside the bus, a few players had already taken their usual seats. Ramsdale sat near the front, scrolling through something on his phone. Rice was a few rows back, watching a video on his tablet, earbuds in. ?degaard, ever the early bird, sat near the middle with a notebook balanced on his knee. Izan stepped in and moved down the aisle, giving a few subtle nods to those already aboard. He took his seat by the window, dropping his bag at his feet and pulling out his phone. A few more players climbed aboard as the minutes ticked on. Sterling appeared just before eight, nodding politely as he found a spot beside Zinchenko, who gave him a quick shoulder bump in greeting. The banter was minimal this morning¡ªmore focused than tense, like a squad that knew what needed doing. Arteta arrived not long after, dressed in black club tracksuit bottoms and a dark polo. He gave a short greeting to the staff before boarding the bus, eyes scanning the rows as he walked through the narrow aisle. He paused halfway. "Everyone good?" he asked. A few scattered nods. ?degaard glanced up from his notes and gave a thumbs-up. "We''re not tourists today," Arteta added calmly. "You know what to do." He passed to the back, sat briefly with Carlos Cuesta and a couple of analysts, and began reviewing match visuals from a mounted screen at the rear table. Izan leaned back in his seat, watching the Colney fields through the window. They''d spent all week building toward this. No wild speeches, no late tweaks¡ªjust repetition, film sessions, silent focus. He remembered one final tactical run the day before when Arteta had frozen play during a pressing drill and made him swap roles with Martinelli. "If you''re starting wide left today," Arteta had said, "show me you can hurt them from here." Martinelli had grinned. "If he doesn''t, I''m taking it back." But Izan had kept the spot and would be playing on the wings for the match against Villa. Now, as the final bags were loaded and the bus doors hissed shut, Izan pulled out his phone and began searching for some music before settling on a slow-paced one. The ride to Villa Park was ahead. A/N; Another Golden ticket chapter. see you with the main releases for the day soon and as always, have fun reading. Chapter 412 412: At Villa Park Izan leaned back in his seat, watching the Colney fields through the windows of the bus. They''d spent all week building toward this. No wild speeches, no late tweaks¡ªjust repetition, film sessions, silent focus. He remembered one final tactical run the day before when Arteta had frozen play during a pressing drill and made him swap roles with Martinelli. "If you''re starting wide left today," Arteta had said, "show me you can hurt them from here." Martinelli had grinned. "If he doesn''t, I''m taking it back." But Izan had kept the spot and would be playing on the wings for the match against Villa. Now, as the final bags were loaded and the bus doors hissed shut, Izan pulled out his phone and began searching for some music before settling on a slow-paced one. The ride to Villa Park was ahead. ........... The Arsenal team bus slowed to a smooth halt outside Villa Park''s player entrance, the matte black paint gleaming under the early afternoon sun. It was matchday¡ªAugust 24th¡ªand the tension, though muted by routine, was unmistakable. As the doors hissed open, a subdued murmur of anticipation met the players: a few distant shouts from early fans, the clatter of rolling camera tripods, and the thud of gear cases hitting the pavement. Izan was among the first to step out. Dressed in the team''s travel tracksuit, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and scanned the entrance briefly. Villa Park was new to him¡ª yet not entirely. But this was the first time he''d walk its tunnel wearing Arsenal red. Behind him, Declan Rice hopped off the bus, headphones around his neck, knuckles briefly tapping Izan''s shoulder. "Smells like rain," he muttered with a glance at the overcast sky. "It''s Birmingham," Izan replied dryly. "You''d think it came with a retractable roof." The squad moved in as a unit, greeted by security, media handlers, and club staff who coordinated the formalities swiftly. Inside the changing room, the air was cool and sterile. Shirts had already been hung¡ªcrisp and spotless. Izan''s was near the far corner, the number 10 printed in bold white beneath the club crest. Sterling, freshly arrived this week and already integrated into the squad after his loan move, leaned against the locker beside Jorginho''s. He looked relaxed but alert¡ªsoaking in the unspoken dynamics of a team he was still getting to know. "Villa''s compact," he said quietly to no one in particular. "The game might open up late." "Not if we break them early," muttered ?degaard from the other side, taping his wrist. "You sound like Mikel," Gabriel replied with a chuckle, causing some of the players to join in laughing. Mikel Arteta entered a few minutes later with his staff, clipboard tucked under one arm. The players looked up, attention sharpening without prompt. "You know the routine," he said, scanning them. "Stay switched on. This is one of those matches where you don''t get points for good intentions." His gaze landed briefly on Izan. "You''re on the left. Jorginho starts as well. No Martinelli today, or at least for now. It''s tactical¡ªwe need more discipline out wide. Izan, stay tight when they overload. You''ll get space eventually, but only if you earn it." Izan nodded, already visualizing the first 15 minutes. There was no tension about Martinelli being benched¡ªnot outwardly. But it was a statement. Arteta''s trust in Izan wasn''t theoretical, and the others knew it. As boots were laced and warm-up layers came off, Tomiyasu leaned in toward Izan, his voice low. "Heard about your freekick the other day." Izan looked up. "Which one?" "The one that shut up Saka for a minute." Izan grinned. "He slipped. Doesn''t count." Tomiyasu raised a brow and then smiled. "Try to do it again today." Down in the tunnel, the atmosphere thickened. The corridor was tight, the kind that made every step toward the pitch feel heavier. Villa''s players stood just across, eyes ahead, no words exchanged. Kamara and Watkins were at the front. Just behind them, Martinez stood tall, chewing gum with that same calm defiance he carried even when warming up. "Watch the line," whispered Zinchenko from behind. "They press early and hard." Izan didn''t reply. He was focused¡ªneck craned slightly to catch the faint glimmer of the stadium opening up ahead. The match official signaled. Cameras adjusted. And then the commentary came in, just as the players began to emerge. "A packed Villa Park awaits as Unai Emery''s men prepare to host Arsenal on this bright August afternoon. It''s the second fixture of the Premier League season, and all eyes are on Mikel Arteta''s evolving squad." S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Notably, Jorginho is a fresh face in today''s lineup, replacing Martinelli, which means young Izan will occupy the left wing. A bold decision by Arteta¡ªperhaps a calculated one. The 16-year-old has shown the utmost brilliance in his first match, and this could be his opportunity to silence the critics calling it luck." The roar of the crowd greeted them like a wave crashing against stone¡ªfull and immediate. Izan stepped out under the floodlights, the pitch vibrant, the stands layered with claret and blue. "Aston Villa, meanwhile, is unchanged in their front line. Expect Watkins to challenge Saliba early. But Arsenal have weapons of their own¡ªand with Saka, ?degaard, and Izan on the pitch, they might just be looking to overwhelm from wide." Players spread out into position for handshakes and the coin toss. The ritual was repetitive but not redundant. Each moment served to ground them, to connect the adrenaline to something physical. When the referee finally blew the whistle for kickoff, and the ball was rolled back to Jorginho from the center circle, the Arsenal bench stood in quiet anticipation. The match had begun. The match opened with a spark of urgency from the visitors. "And we''re underway at Villa Park¡ªArsenal in their change strip of white and maroon kicking from left to right. Aston Villa, all in claret and blue, look compact in their 4-4-2 shape¡­ but Arsenal are already pushing bodies forward." Izan sprinted down the left channel almost immediately after the kickoff, receiving a quick diagonal from Jorginho, who didn''t waste time establishing the tempo. Izan took one touch inside, looked up, and released ?degaard with a cut pass just beyond Douglas Luiz. "Lovely movement already from the Gunners. Look at that from the youngster¡ªpoise, control, and intelligence. ?degaard now, skips past one¡­ lays it to Saka on the edge¡­" But Konsa stepped in just in time, intercepting the low pass before Saka could let it run across his body. Arsenal were relentless in their shape. White tucked in behind Saka, offering that extra bit of cover as Villa tried to transition through Digne. But Izan and Zinchenko had pressed up on the other side, compressing space until it felt like Villa were trapped in their own third. "Mikel Arteta''s side is playing with real intention here. They''ve suffocated Villa''s left-hand side¡­ and now it''s Rice, sweeping it wide again to Izan." Izan shaped to cross it after receiving the ball, but instead, he cut inside before riffling one towards Mart¨ªnez, who had to stretch to tip the resulting shot over the bar. "First real save of the afternoon, and it''s from the teenager again! That''s no hit-and-hope; that''s a calculated dipper headed for the top corner. Big early statement." Villa regrouped quickly. From the corner, Arsenal worked a short routine¡ª?degaard and Saka combining to drag defenders out¡ªbut it ended with McGinn blocking Jorginho''s shot from range. In the eighth minute, Villa finally found a pocket. Kamara intercepted a careless sideways ball from Zinchenko and immediately launched Watkins down the right. "Here come Villa now, their first real foray forward¡­ Watkins against Saliba¡ªwhat a matchup this is." Watkins checked inside, lost Saliba briefly, and squared it low across the box. Bailey came steaming in at the far post¡ªbut Tomiyasu, alert and decisive, stretched just in time to hook it clear. "And Tomiyasu with a vital intervention! The pace of that counter¡ªclinical from Villa. That''s their blueprint today: absorb, break, and punish." Arsenal weren''t rattled. They reset, and Jorginho clapped his hands for the ball. "Again!" he shouted. Saka rotated inside, pulling Digne with him. The momentary gap was all Izan needed. ?degaard found him with a first-time pass, and Izan drove forward, twisting Cash inside out before sliding a cutback. Jesus got a touch, but it deflected off Carlos and spun wide. "Arsenal knocking hard, but Villa holding firm. We''re ten minutes in, and the visitors have had nearly seventy percent of the ball. But Villa have shown they only need one chance to threaten. This is shaping up to be an excellent contest." As Martinez lined up the goal kick, the noise from the Holte End swelled again. The storm had been weathered¡ªfor now. A/n: Sorry, guys. I should have released this yesterday, but I was swarmed. Sorry, but don''t worry; this is the 1st of four chapters today. Have fun reading, and I''ll see you with the next chapters. Chapter 413 413: One Goal Up The next fifteen minutes shifted decisively. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Arsenal had found their shape. More specifically, they had found Izan. Every time he touched the ball, Villa''s right side trembled. "And here''s Izan again¡­ he''s isolated Matty Cash¡ªand this is where he''s so dangerous." The 16-year-old didn''t hesitate. One touch to control Jorginho''s inside ball, another to shift it past Cash''s planted foot, then gone¡ªleaving the Villa defender scrambling after him like a man chasing a ghost. The cross came low, curling through the six-yard box, but Konsa got the faintest of touches to stop Jesus from tapping in. "Again?" Jesus called out, grinning through the missed chance. Izan nodded, already jogging back into position, hands on his hips, breathing lightly. On the touchline, Arteta barely moved, only muttering something to Jorginho, who had approached, his eyes still fixated on Izan as he spoke. "It''s not just his pace," the commentator said. "It''s the composure. The timing. Look at that angle of the cross¡ªit''s perfect for a striker''s run. Arsenal have something really special out on the left today." Villa tried to adjust. Kamara dropped wider to double up, but there was still no joy. Zinchenko, smart as ever, fed Izan again¡ªthis time with Kamara shadowing¡ªand once more, the young winger dipped his shoulder, sucked both men in, and slipped through the smallest of channels like water through cracks. The crowd rose as one. "Oh, he''s gone again¡ªIzannn! Beats two¡ªand Cash is beaten again! It''s panic in the Villa box¡ªcutback to Jesus! Saved by Mart¨ªnez!" That time, only the goalkeeper stood between Arsenal and the opener. Cash now looked over to the bench, motioning with a hand¡ªsome mix of disbelief and frustration. He''d been turned inside, outside, then left behind, all within a span of twenty minutes. Leon Bailey jogged back 30 yards, visibly irritated to have to help cover. But even that didn''t change much. The next time Izan received it, he didn''t even bother with touches. He let the ball roll across his body, flicked it with the outside of his left foot, and breezed into space before either of them reacted. A gasp went up from the Villa Park crowd. Not just Arsenal fans. Everyone was reacting to his moves. "You can see what this means," the co-commentator chimed in. "They''ve put two on him. They''ve tracked his runs. They''ve tried to isolate him¡ªnothing''s worked. He''s in total control." And still, Izan showed no signs of slowing. Arsenal''s midfield kept feeding him. First ?degaard. Then Jorginho. Then Tomiyasu from deeper angles. All roads led to that left touchline¡ªand that impossible-to-pin-down teenager. By the 26th minute, Unai Emery was up from his seat, motioning frantically, speaking with his assistant. They''d already burned through their Plan A. On the pitch, Cash hunched slightly with his hands on his knees, sweat pouring, jaw clenched. And just as he straightened up¡ªArsenal came again. Jorginho received in midfield, turned sharply, and sprayed it wide back to Izan again. By the half-hour mark, Villa had had enough. The finesse wasn''t working. Tracking Izan wasn''t working. Doubling up? Still useless. So they went to what teams sometimes do when skill outpaces structure: they got physical. The next time Izan received a switch from Tomiyasu, the challenge came immediately. Lucas Digne stepped across hard, shoulder first, and sent him stumbling sideways, barely keeping his balance. It wasn''t dirty¡ªbut it was deliberate. "Nothing wrong with that," the commentator offered. "Just a bit of muscle from Digne. Trying to remind the youngster he''s still in a Premier League game." But Izan didn''t even look up at the defender. He just flicked his wrist, telling ?degaard to show quicker next time, already jogging back into space for the next phase. Villa doubled down. Moments later, it was Kamara, late with a trailing foot as Izan turned near the halfway line, catching him across the ankle. "Oof¡ªthat''s late," said the co-commentator. The referee gave the free kick but kept his card in his pocket. Arteta stepped out of the technical area, visibly annoyed. "You watching these?" he called out to the fourth official, gesturing with a flat hand to his ankle, but got no reply. He huffed angrily before returning to his coaching box under the urging of Carlos Cuesta. Still, no protest from Izan. He just took the ball again, turned, and kept going. Then came the moment that lit up the stadium. Izan picked up possession on the left touchline¡ªagain. Cash met him¡ªagain, but this time, the winger faked inside, drew contact, then darted down the line at pace. The angle tightened near the corner flag. Izan slowed, trying to draw a foul or win a clean angle to cross, shielding the ball. And that''s when it came. Cash lunged from behind, catching Izan high on the calf with the toe of his boot as the ball trickled out. Izan stumbled and gritted his teeth but didn''t go down. He slammed both palms against the advertising boards to stay upright. The stadium buzzed. Arteta exploded. "That''s a foul!" he barked at the fourth official, stepping beyond the line now. The referee blew his whistle. But he pointed¡ªnot to the foul¡ªbut to the corner flag. Corner. Gasps and boos rang out from the Arsenal section. "You''re joking¡­" the commentator muttered. "That''s a foul. He''s clipped him. No attempt to play the ball." Even some neutral fans in the lower rows looked stunned. Izan glanced back at the official but didn''t argue. He grabbed the ball himself and placed it on the arc. ?degaard approached him. "You good?" Izan nodded, short and sharp. "Yeah." Odegaard looked at him for a while before turning. "Okay then," he said as he turned to look at Izan once again. "Just give me space to whip this," Izan said. ?degaard nodded and then jogged off. And there Izan stood, hands on hips, catching his breath, the corner of Villa Park roaring around him¡ªand only getting louder. The flag stood still as Izan placed the ball beside it. The Villa Park crowd hadn''t quieted, but the moment seemed to shrink everything else around him. His hands adjusted the ball ever so slightly, the laces of his boots lightly tapping the grass as he stepped back. On the edge of the box, Saliba was locked with Tielemans, nudging shoulders, exchanging shoves, each pretending the other didn''t exist. Inside the six-yard box, Watkins shouted instructions to McGinn while Emi Mart¨ªnez flapped his arms, calling for organization. Izan lifted his left hand high, then dropped it¡ªhis cue. He didn''t go for flair. No stutter-step. No short pass. Just a clean technique. His body twisted, planted, and swung through the ball. The delivery came in fast, dipping viciously as it curved toward the near post. The ball zipped through the air, a sharp bend pulling it away from the keeper''s outstretched hand and directly into Saliba''s path. The center-back had peeled off at the perfect moment. Tielemans caught watching the flight for a second too long¡ªand leapt. His forehead met the ball with sheer commitment, the impact echoing faintly even over the roar. Thud. The header wasn''t subtle. It was a missile, and Martinez didn''t flinch. The ball tore through the top corner of the net, sending the away section into pandemonium. GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL. The Arsenal fans behind the goal leapt up in synchrony, red shirts bouncing, fists in the air. Saliba didn''t even wait¡ªhe was already sprinting toward the corner flag, grinning, eyes fixed on Izan, who was meeting him with a roar. They collided in celebration¡ªshoulder bump, Izan yelling, "That''s the line! You hit that line, and it''s yours every time!" as he pointed at the turf where Saliba had ghosted in from. Saliba laughed, bumping heads with him lightly. "You keep delivering like that, and I''ll start getting used to scoring." The pair turned toward the touchline, jogging back to regroup. Then¡ªPeeep! The whistle again. The referee stood, arms out, signaling. Everyone slowed, unsure. A yellow card. Then another. He pointed¡ªfirst at Izan, then at Saliba. "What?!" Izan''s eyebrows shot up, his hands briefly going to his hips. Saliba turned sharply. "You''ve got to be kidding." Neither of them had taken off their shirts. Neither had celebrated with the crowd. No taunting. Just two players connecting after a well-worked goal. Only the fans in the corner understood immediately. They had celebrated just in front of the referee¡ªmaybe a little too close for his liking. Petty. The roar of protest around Villa Park only grew when the fourth official confirmed it: "Yellow cards¡ªSaliba and Izan, excessive celebration." Back in midfield, ?degaard shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Jesus exchanged a baffled look with Zinchenko while Arteta paced in disbelief. "Well¡­ that''s a puzzling one," the commentator said dryly. "The teenager delivers another corner with quality¡ªSaliba heads it in with conviction¡ªbut both are booked¡­ for what? Being too excited?" The score stood, but now two of Arsenal''s key men carried yellows¡ªfive minutes before the half. And the match had only just started catching fire. Chapter 414 414: Villa’s 13th Man The first forty-five minutes ended not with a climax but with a sense of unfinished business, and the reactions from around Villa Park showed just how split the feelings were. As the whistle blew prematurely, Arsenal''s coaching staff erupted from the bench, arms flung in the air. Players looked around in confusion. Some paused mid-run. Others threw their arms out. On the pitch, Martin ?degaard pointed to the scoreboard, then toward the halfway line, visibly arguing the point. Havertz muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he slowly walked off. Even Ben white offered a rare protest, stopping to speak to the referee before getting waved away. But none of that mattered. The referee had already turned his back, disappearing down the tunnel like a man eager to escape a storm. The reaction from the away section of Arsenal fans was immediate. Boos cascaded down from the corner of the Doug Ellis Stand where they were concentrated. Chants of "You don''t know what you''re doing!" rang out, fingers pointing toward the official as he vanished. Social media was already lighting up with clips of the late tackles on Izan and the early whistle, outrage spreading with every retweet. "How is that not a red?" one fan shouted near the halfway line. "He''s been kicked all game!" "You can''t just end it while we''re in on goal!" another yelled, shaking his head, scarf flapping against his neck. "It''s not Sunday League!" In contrast, Villa fans stood and clapped. Some cheered the whistle like a goal had been scored. They knew the timing had spared them a dangerous counter¡ªan unofficial assist from the man in black. "Brilliant ref!" one Villa supporter bellowed sarcastically at the Arsenal bench. "Blow it again, why don''t ya!" "Bout time someone took that kid down a peg!" another jeered, referencing Izan. "He''s diving all over!" From their perspective, the tackles weren''t fouls¡ªthey were "good, hard football". And in their eyes, the referee was finally showing the kind of steel that favored their home advantage. The divide wasn''t just in the stands. Pundits in the press area had started murmuring among themselves. One looked down at his monitor, then at the stat sheet. "Seventeen first-half fouls. Only three yellows and the funny thing is, two were against Arsenal who were on the receiving end of it," he muttered, pen tapping against the edge of his notebook. Another, watching the replays, leaned in. "That late one on Izan by Luiz¡ªhe''s lucky it wasn''t orange. The ref''s lost the grip." Back near the dugout, Mikel Arteta had stopped pacing, standing still with clenched fists, expression unreadable. Carlos Cuesta stayed close, always watching. He leaned in again, voice low. "We go in ahead. That''s the positive. We regroup and regain control." Arteta didn''t speak. He just nodded. On the pitch, Izan jogged off last, hand resting on his side where he''d taken a couple of hits. His shirt was tugged and creased, grass smeared down his left hip, yet he barely looked fazed. His eyes stayed ahead, not giving the Villa crowd the satisfaction of a glance. But even as he walked off, fans jeered again. "Too soft for the Prem!" one called out. If anything, that just hardened Izan''s expression. He didn''t reply, didn''t raise a hand. He kept walking, flanked by Jesus and Saliba, who muttered something quietly in French¡ªlikely about the officiating. Whatever it was, Izan responded with only a short nod, jaw set. And above it all, the commentator summed it up from his booth. "Well, we''ve had a goal, bruises, and just enough controversy to keep Twitter alive until Monday. Arsenal go in 1¨C0 ahead thanks to a fantastic corner routine from the 16-year-old Izan and a clinical header from Saliba. But it''s the man with the whistle who''ll be getting the most attention in the next fifteen minutes." His co-commentator chimed in. "If this is the standard of officiating we''re starting the season with, buckle up. That second half could be chaos." With that, the cameras panned to the tunnel entrance as both teams disappeared into the bowels of Villa Park. One side was stewing in frustration, the other buoyed by a referee who, intentionally or not, had just shifted the balance of the match. ...¡­. The locker room was heavy with frustration. The first half had ended 1¨C0 in Arsenal''s favor, but the way it had played out¡ªphysically, and mentally¡ªleft the team rattled more than relieved. Shirts clung to backs soaked in sweat, tape was being torn off around ankles, and still, no one was quite speaking freely. Most players had given up looking toward the match official for protection by the end of the half. Izan sat in the corner, silent, back resting against the cool brick wall. His face was flushed, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. The cold compress had slid slightly down his side, just over a spot that had taken the worst of the impact from a cynical barge near the corner flag. He winced as he adjusted it, his arm moving stiffly. Saliba sat next to him, gently tapping his shoulder once in solidarity, then returning to unwrapping the tape around his knee. Arteta strode in, late, eyes scanning every one of his players as the door thudded shut behind him. He held no notes, no tablet. His expression alone was enough to hush the locker room. "I thought it''d be better this season," he said, not raising his voice. His tone, calm but sharp, somehow struck harder than if he''d screamed. "With all the new metrics. All the training. The meetings we had with them. I thought it would be different." He let the silence hang, making his point as his eyes moved from face to face. "But it''s not," he added. "It''s still the same mess." No one interrupted. The players sat still, listening. "Nothing''s changed," Arteta muttered, almost to himself, before pointing at Izan, who looked up slowly. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "They''re coming for you," he said. "You''ve shown them too much already. Now they''ll try to chop you down. They won''t outplay you¡ªthey''ll try to stop you by any means. And I don''t think we can trust the officials to protect you." At that, he turned to the medical staff, gesturing toward Izan. "Check him properly." The lead physio, Marcus, walked over with a younger assistant in tow. Izan shifted on the bench as Marcus crouched next to him, his tone gentle but professional. "Alright, mate. Just going to have a look, yeah?" Izan nodded wordlessly and raised his arm slightly so Marcus could examine the bruising along his ribs and lower back. The skin was red, and slightly swollen in areas, but there were no signs of deep tissue damage or anything serious. "No swelling in the joint. Just surface bruising. He''s good to go," Marcus reported to Arteta after a few minutes, who gave a curt nod in response. He didn''t look reassured. Izan pulled his shirt back down and let out a quiet breath as the cold compress was replaced. Saliba looked over at him. "You okay?" "Fine," Izan replied quietly, then offered a faint smile. "Didn''t expect to get kicked this much." Saliba chuckled, but it didn''t reach his eyes. "Get used to it. They do this to anyone dangerous." Arteta stepped forward again, his voice now louder, more commanding. "Listen," he said, addressing the entire squad. "We manage this now. They''re the ones desperate. We play smart. We frustrate them with the ball. Let them chase. Let them foul. But we don''t respond." His gaze passed over Jorginho, then ?degaard. "You two, keep us ticking. Martin, keep the tempo. If we start getting dragged into their chaos, we lose control." Then, again, his eyes returned to Izan. "And you¡ªdon''t stop. Don''t back off. If they keep fouling you, good. It means they''re scared. Just don''t let them take you out. Be smart." "I will, m¨ªster," Izan said, louder this time. Carlos Cuesta stepped forward beside Arteta and said quietly, "You handled that well." Arteta gave a faint nod, still watching Izan as he leaned back against the wall. "If we lose him now, Carlos, that''s our edge gone. He''s got something none of the others do." The assistant coach nodded. "He knows. Let''s get him through it." There was a knock on the door. One of the staff stuck his head in. "Three minutes, coach." Arteta turned back to the group. "Alright. Deep breaths. Water. Reset your heads. We''re ahead, we deserve it. Now let''s finish this with control." The room slowly began to move again. Players downed electrolytes, laced up boots, and adjusted tape. The weight of the first half still lingered, but there was steel under it now. As the players stood and prepared to head back out, Arteta gave Izan a small pat on the shoulder. "Play your game. Let them foul you if they want. You''ll still be the one they can''t stop." And with that, Arsenal prepared to walk back onto the pitch. ¡­. A/n: Okay. Have fun reading. For those who don''t understand the title, 12th Man in football means the fans and since it looks like the referee is on villa''s side, he''s like their 13th Man. Chapter 415 415: Brewing Drama The low drone of anticipation around Villa Park shifted into a thunderous roar as the players began to reappear from the tunnel. Arsenal came out first. At the front, Martin ?degaard jogged into the light, his armband snug against his sleeve, his mouth already moving as he turned his head to each side, urging his teammates into the same sharp focus they''d started the first half with. Behind him came Saliba, Raya, Gabriel, and the rest of the squad, their expressions businesslike. Izan followed a few paces behind, his hands on his hips, a few flecks of white strapping tape visible beneath his shirt sleeve. His left thigh had been quickly treated again at halftime, but he wasn''t limping. He wasn''t wincing. If anything, he looked sharper¡ªlike someone who''d taken the rough tackles as a challenge. The moment the away end caught sight of him, they erupted. "Go on, Izan!" "Light them up again!" "Forget the ref¡ªwe''ve got you!" He glanced up, briefly acknowledging the roar with a small wave before falling into the team''s semi-circle routine around the center. "There''s the 16-year-old again, electric in the first half, bruised maybe¡ªbut unbothered. Every time he touched the ball, it felt like something could happen. Villa still haven''t figured out how to live with him." Villa''s players emerged just after, led by John McGinn and Pau Torres. They were slower, more deliberate. The frustration from the first half lingered on their faces. They hadn''t been poor¡ªbut they''d been outmaneuvered. A few players stopped briefly by the touchline, downing water from their bottles and barking instructions. As the referee walked out last, the home support rose again. Chants, whistles, jeers¡ªit all collided into one wall of noise. In the Holte End, the energy took a more Comedic turn. "Ref! He''s diving every time!" "Bet he''s already halfway to the ground!" "Book him for breathing!" A pause. "Wait¡ªwhat did I just say?" one fan muttered aloud, drawing laughter from those around him. "You''ve completely lost it, mate," his friend laughed. "Get some air." "Villa fans with a bit of gallows humor there¡ªbut it''s telling. Arsenal''s youngster got under their skin in forty-five minutes. That doesn''t happen unless you''re doing something very right," the commentator said as the players moved to their respective positions. Izan crouched low near the left wing, tapping the back of his calf with his boot, then standing upright and shaking his shoulders loose. Saliba and Gabriel exchanged a quick word while Rice pointed at the space between McGinn and Watkins, telling Jorginho about it. ?degaard cracked his neck once to the left, once to the right, then clapped twice and stepped forward to start the half. "It''s all set again. Arsenal is protecting a narrow lead, and Villa is chasing it¡ªbut more than that, both teams know this match is teetering on a knife edge. The tackles will come. The space will tighten. The emotions, already stretched in that first half, could decide how this ends." The referee looked at his watch, and then his whistle shrilled. " The Second half is now underway at Villa Park. Let''s see who blinks first." Aston Villa moved the ball with a certain composure now. No longer rushing their passes or looking to stretch Arsenal too soon. They zipped it around the back, dragging the red shirts into unnecessary runs. Martinez to Konsa. Konsa to Pau Torres. Then out wide to Digne, who clipped it back to Luiz in the center. Villa weren''t going anywhere fast, but they were forcing Arsenal to work¡ªslowly draining their legs with each sideways shuffle. "Villa are keeping it neat here," came the voice of the commentator. "Patient play. They''ve started the half with more control." Arsenal''s block moved with discipline but not without effort. Rice and Jorginho shifted across the middle while Jesus and Odegaard kept pressing in tandem. Still, Villa probed. And the fans urged them on. Then, a small crack. Jorginho stepped forward to intercept a routine pass¡ªtoo eager, too soon¡ªand completely missed his mark. Youri Tielemans immediately played a quick one-two with Kamara and shifted it forward into space. Just like that, Villa broke the line. "That was a bit rash from Jorginho there! Villa can sniff an opening!" the commentator roared along as Villa''s sharp-edged trio drove through the Arsenal setup. Jacob Ramsey darted into the gap while Arsenal scrambled. Saliba adjusted his body, looking to block the lane, while White tracked the overlap. Ramsey ignored the run, cutting inside instead, and fed Leon Bailey, who''d ghosted into the box from the right. Bailey had one touch. Then two. And then he let fly¡ª "Saved by Raya! Huge moment!" A fingertip. That''s all it was. But it was enough. The ball spun off the keeper''s glove and clattered off the post, skimming the outside of the frame before going out for a corner. Arsenal breathed again. "Villa inches away from punishing that lapse. Jorginho with the mistake¡ªhe won''t want to see that one back." Bailey raised both arms in frustration as the Villa crowd roared, disappointed it hadn''t gone in but encouraged by what they''d just seen. Arteta shouted something from the sideline¡ªhard to make out what¡ªbut his tone was sharp, urgent. Jorginho gave a small nod, already retreating into shape, knowing that he''d gotten away with one. Mikel Arteta stood firmly on the touchline, his focus unshakable as he shouted instructions, his voice piercing through the roar of the crowd after that Villa jump-scare. "Don''t mind the scoreboard! Keep the intensity up!" he bellowed, urging his players forward. His eyes burned with a mix of determination and belief, every word commanding energy. Across from him, the opposing manager, a more measured figure, Unai Emery, offered a calm contrast. He gave his players an approving nod and spoke with a quiet but firm tone, his voice carrying to his men. "Good work, lads, keep it going," he said, acknowledging the effort they had put in. His hands motioned gently, signaling for them to remain disciplined and composed, aware that their challenge was far from over. As the game continued to heat up, Villa saw an opportunity to counterattack once more. They swiftly transitioned from defense to attack, a lightning-fast move that left Arsenal''s backline scrambling. The ball found its way to the feet of one of their wingers, who was already sprinting down the right flank, his eyes set on the goal. But just as Villa thought they had broken through, Izan, positioned on the left wing, read the situation like a book. He surged forward, a flash of green and red in the corner of the screen as he pressed aggressively towards the advancing Villa player. His determination was palpable, his desire to break up the counterattack unmatched. With a well-timed step, he closed down the space, forcing the Villa''s Watkins to hesitate, his options limited by Izan''s relentless pursuit. The former tried to get out of the pressure, but with a quick lunge, Izan managed to dispossess the Villa player, taking the ball cleanly with barely a second to react. Without breaking stride, he pushed the ball forward, skillfully weaving through the first of three defenders now closing in on him. With a quick flick with the outside of his boot and a sharp change of direction, he was past the first, leaving them scrambling in his wake. The crowd held its breath as he continued to slice through the defensive line, the ball glued to his feet as if he were dancing through a gap in time. He moved past the second, his body swerving with fluid precision, eyes locked on the goal ahead. One more defender stood between him and the open space that could set him up for a clear shot on goal. But just as he prepared to make his final push, disaster struck. A hand¡ªa fleeting, sharp contact¡ªlanded on his shoulder. The Villa defender, realizing he was beaten, reached out in desperation, his hand coming down hard on Izan''s shoulder. It was a slight but destabilizing touch, enough to throw Izan off balance. His legs wobbled, his control faltered, and with a sharp exhale, he tumbled to the ground in a heap, the ball slipping from his reach. The referee immediately blew the whistle, and Arsenal''s players surged forward, furious, convinced they had just witnessed a clear foul that denied Izan a direct path to goal. The crowd roared in anticipation, unsure whether the referee would brandish a red card. A clear goal-scoring opportunity had been taken away, and many believed the Villa player''s foul was deserving of a harsher punishment. The Arsenal players huddled around the referee, their voices rising in frustration as they demanded justice. "That''s a red, no doubt!" shouted Odegaard, his arms wide in disbelief. "He was through, ref!" Arteta, standing near the touchline, gestured towards the referee, his eyes intense. He looked ready to step onto the pitch himself, a mix of anger and concern playing across his features. "Red card!" he barked, his voice rising above the tension. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Arsenal fans, too, were on their feet, calling for a stronger response from the official. The Villa player, clearly rattled, stood with his hands raised in a gesture of innocence, trying to argue his case. But the referee wasn''t swayed. After a brief moment of deliberation, the official reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow card. The decision was final¡ªonly a caution. The Arsenal players exchanged incredulous glances, their disbelief palpable. "Are you serious?" one of them muttered, his eyes locked on the referee. "That''s a clear red!" Izan, still on the ground, shook his head, boring holes into the referee with his gaze. Arteta''s frustration was evident as he turned back to the sideline, his hands on his hips. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath. a/n: Second of the day, so I have finally caught up. Anyways, have fun reading, and I''ll see you with the next one Chapter 416 416: Sending Off The whistle pierced through the tension in the air. Arsenal''s players stopped mid-motion¡ªthen surged forward in a wave of fury. Izan lay near the edge of the halfway line, face down, one hand curled into the turf. A Villa defender hovered nearby, wide-eyed and pleading innocence, while the Villa Park erupted with rage from the away end. "That''s a blatant foul!" the commentator declared sharply. "Izan was clean through¡ªVilla may have just dodged a red here." Odegaard was the first on the scene, storming toward the referee with both arms flung wide. "That''s a red, no doubt! He was the last man!" Jesus wasn''t far behind. "He didn''t even go for the ball!" Rice who had seen it from behind pointed at the exact patch of grass where the foul occurred, the studs visible from the force that had shoved Izan down. "That''s deliberate! That''s not a yellow offense!" The referee, standing firm, calmly waved the players back. He reached for his pocket, pausing just enough to stir the crowd into a frenzy of anticipation. From the touchline, Arteta was livid. He gestured repeatedly with both hands as if replaying the moment himself. "Red card!" he yelled. "It''s clear as day!" Even Carlos Cuesta took a few steps forward, restraining the manager with a hand on his arm. "Come on, Mikel, don''t get into trouble. We can''t afford you banned this early." Arteta didn''t budge. "He was through on goal! That''s the rule. If that''s not a red, what is?" The Villa fans had risen in chorus¡ªnot in protest, but in nervous deflection. Meanwhile, the referee had made his decision. Slowly, he pulled the yellow card from his pocket and raised it high. Boos rained from the Arsenal end. Aston Villa''s players exhaled in relief. Their manager clapped on the sideline, clearly aware of how close it had been. Izan sat up now, his eyes locked on the referee. He said nothing¡ªbut the look in his eyes was sharper than any protest. Cold. Focused. Saliba helped him to his feet. "You good?" "Yeah," Izan muttered. "But that''s insane." The referee jogged past them, pointing toward the spot for the free kick. The game would continue¡ªwith eleven men still on the pitch for Villa. Arteta turned back toward the bench, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nothing''s changed. All this talk about improved officiating¡ªand still the same nonsense." The medic waved from the sideline, getting a nod from Mikel before stepping in to check Izan''s leg. Arteta crouched near the edge of the technical area, eyes never leaving the pitch. The crowd had calmed slightly, but the grumbling continued. Arsenal''s players lined up around the ball, ready to take the free kick¡ªbut their minds were still partly with what could''ve been. "Let''s channel that," Odegaard said. "Let''s punish them for it." With that said, ?degaard acted fast. The ball had barely settled from the foul when he nudged it sideways to Saka, who had already pulled wide into space. Villa''s midfield was caught off-guard¡ªhalf of them still lingering around the referee. Saka didn''t hesitate. He knocked the ball forward with his first touch and darted into the gap. Calafiori made a dummy run outside him, pulling one defender just enough to free up the inside lane and Saka took it. His head was up as soon as he crossed into the final third. ?degaard had followed, gliding across the pitch with effortless control, pointing for the return pass. It came sharp and flat towards him causing ?degaard to shift his weight and pivot before threading a low ball toward Jorginho, who took one quick touch and turned to his left. Some of the Villa midfielders made an attempt to follow but they had already been taken out of the equation. Jesus was already making the diagonal run behind Villa''s back line, pointing at the space he wanted the ball to be and Jorginho followed through. The pass was subtle¡ªbarely a nudge¡ªbut perfectly timed. It squeezed between two defenders, curling into Jesus'' stride. Jesus'' didn''t even look at goal. He had already spotted Izan charging forward from the opposite flank. One defender was near him, but not close enough. Jesus let the ball roll, then tapped it across the box with the inside of his left foot. "Look at this from Arsenal¡­ Jesus across¡­ and Izan¡ª!" The commentator said, voice laced with tension. Izan didn''t break stride. He took a touch with his right foot, brought it under control, and before the keeper could set himself, Izan struck. Low. Driven. Across goal. It kissed the inside of the post and rattled the net. "GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLL" the Arsenal Fans erupted. "That is world-class. Arsenal cut through Villa with precision, and the teenager delivers!" the commentator roared as Izan turned to celebrate. As he sprinted towards the corner flag, his eyes locked onto the home section of Villa Park. The hostility from the home fans was palpable, but Izan couldn''t resist. A grin spread across his face as he turned, arms outstretched, before launching himself into a dramatic dive. Behind him, Saka immediately caught on to the vibe. He jogged over a wide grin on his face and threw his hands up in mock seriousness. He bent down and performed the same motion as a referee, mimicking pulling out a yellow card and waving it at Izan, all in good fun. The away section of the Villa Park erupted in pure joy, their cheers echoing around the ground. But the Villa fans¡ªpacked in behind the goal¡ªwere far from amused. The boos and jeers started to rise, and soon, the whole end was filled with frustrated shouts, as the home fans made their displeasure known. The referee on the other hand wasn''t laughing. His face was set in stone as he made his way towards the two players. The whistle blew, cutting through the rising tension in the stadium. Izan stood up, still laughing, but the referee was right there now, and he had no time for celebrations. "Izan," the referee said, his tone calm but firm. "Second yellow." The crowd at Villa Park held their breath in collective disbelief as Izan''s face went from joy to utter confusion. "No way," Izan said, his voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "For what?" The commentator''s voice echoed across the airwaves describing the scene. "And Izan has just been shown a second yellow card for¡ªfor that?! For a celebration! This is absolutely shocking!" Saka, who had been enjoying the celebration as much as Izan, froze. His eyes widened in shock as the referee turned his attention to him next. "And now Saka''s getting a yellow too!" the commentator added, his voice rising. "Unbelievable. Saka''s being booked for playing along with his teammate''s celebration!" The away fans were in uproar, their shouts of frustration drowning out the home crowd for a moment. One fan shouted, hands on his head, "This can''t be happening! Are we seriously being punished for celebrating a goal?!" "Are you serious?" another yelled, gesturing wildly at the pitch. "This is football! Not a classroom!" From the sidelines, Arteta was immediately up, hands raised in protest, his face a picture of disbelief. "Are you joking? Are you actually kidding me?! A second yellow for a celebration?" His voice carried down the touchline, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. "This is football, not a circus! What is this nonsense?" The commentator echoed Arteta''s frustration, "Mikel Arteta is furious, and honestly, it''s hard not to agree. A second yellow for a celebration, and now Saka''s booked too¡ªArsenal are down to 10 men with no real reason for it!" As Izan slowly walked off the pitch, his shoulders slumped in disbelief, the Arsenal fans in the away end had turned the volume up, though their shouts were now filled with confusion and frustration. "Unbelievable!" one fan shouted, his voice filled with anger. "What''s next? Are we going to get a red card for smiling too?" Rice clapped Izan on the back as he walked past him. Izan still couldn''t believe what had just happened, shaking his head in disbelief as he disappeared down the tunnel. Arteta, pacing furiously on the touchline, looked as if he might explode at any moment. "This is a disgrace," he muttered, glancing at his coaching staff. "This is beyond a joke. We can''t afford to lose players over something as ridiculous as this." Carlos Cuesta, ever the calm presence, stepped forward and put a hand on Arteta''s arm. "Mikel, we need to keep calm. We can''t afford to get into trouble here." But Arteta was shaking his head. "We''ve been punished for celebrating a goal! What is this? It''s not right!" sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The Villa fans, sensing the tide turning, were not silent in their corner of the stadium. They jeered at Izan''s exit, their displeasure written all over their faces. "I can''t believe what I''m seeing," the commentator said, voice tinged with incredulity. "Izan sent off for a goal celebration. It''s just¡ªunreal." With a final whistle from the referee, the game resumed, but the momentum had shifted. Arsenal, now down to 10 men for the rest of the match, had lost their starlet just as quickly as they had found him. A/N: Have fun reading guys. Chapter 417 417: One More As Izan slowly walked off the pitch, his shoulders slumped in disbelief, the Arsenal fans in the away end had turned the volume up, though their shouts were now filled with confusion and frustration. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Unbelievable!" one fan shouted, his voice filled with anger. "What''s next? Are we going to get a red card for smiling too?" Rice clapped Izan on the back as he walked past him. Izan still couldn''t believe what had just happened, shaking his head in disbelief as he disappeared down the tunnel. Arteta, pacing furiously on the touchline, looked as if he might explode at any moment. "This is a disgrace," he muttered, glancing at his coaching staff. "This is beyond a joke. We can''t afford to lose players over something as ridiculous as this." Carlos Cuesta, ever the calm presence, stepped forward and put a hand on Arteta''s arm. "Mikel, we need to keep calm. We can''t afford to get into trouble here." But Arteta was shaking his head. "We''ve been punished for celebrating a goal! What is this? It''s not right!" The Villa fans, sensing the tide turning, were not silent in their corner of the stadium. They jeered at Izan''s exit, their displeasure written all over their faces. "I can''t believe what I''m seeing," the commentator said, voice tinged with incredulity. "Izan sent off for a goal celebration. It''s just¡ªunreal." With a final whistle from the referee, the game resumed, but the momentum had shifted. Arsenal, now down to 10 men for the rest of the match, had lost their starlet just as quickly as they had found him. .......... A staff member in a black Arsenal tracksuit kept pace beside Izan as he trudged down the tunnel. No words were exchanged¡ªnone were needed. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, echoing faintly in the silence of Izan''s slow, composed walk. His head was slightly bowed, jaw set, hands clenched just enough to show tension but not enough to betray emotion. The moment the dressing room door clicked shut behind them, the staff member moved to the far wall and flicked on the TV. The screen crackled to life, showing the touchline where Arteta stood, animated and shouting, already plotting adjustments. Izan sat down on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, eyes glued to the screen. He didn''t reach for his boots. He didn''t say a word. His breathing slowed gradually, but the disbelief hadn''t yet faded from his eyes. Back on the pitch, the shift was immediate. Arteta was on the edge of his technical area, gesturing with one hand and pointing with the other. Tomiyasu was coming on. Partey too. The setup would have to bend without breaking. "Ten men, twenty-five minutes to go," the commentator noted. "Mikel Arteta knows they''ll have to manage this stretch carefully. Villa smell blood now." And they did. From the restart, Villa zipped the ball with pace and urgency. Watkins dropped deeper, dragging Gabriel with him and opening space for Leon Bailey, who cut inside with menace. He beat Zinchenko with a sharp feint and let one fly from outside the box¡ªleft-footed, curling, dipping. "Bailey! Oh! That''s a beauty¡­ almost." Raya soared to his right, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to change its trajectory. It clipped the bar and spun behind for a goal kick. Gasps echoed around Villa Park. The home fans sensed it¡ªArsenal were hanging on. Moments later, a deep cross from Leon Bailey found Watkins rising above the newly introduced Thomas Partey. The header was thunderous, low, and to the corner. "Watkins again!" But Raya was there¡ªsolid hands, perfect positioning, catching it clean and immediately urging his teammates up the pitch. Aston Villa kept coming and coming. A well-worked move saw Bailey escape from Tomiyasu before slipping the ball to Youri Tielemans. Tielemans halted the ball before he tried his luck from a distance after the cutback from Bailey, but Declan Rice got his body in the way. The rebound fell to a certain overlapping Matty Cash, who rifled it with venom. But Raya came through again. This time, down and low with a smart save. It was a storm. And then¡ªclarity showed. A clearance from Saliba met Rice''s chest. The latter quickly scanned his surroundings before spotting a free Martin Odegaard. With a sharp movement, he sent it towards Odegaard. The Norwegian was calm under pressure, taking one look up and releasing a sweeping diagonal toward Saka, who had ghosted behind Digne on the right. "Counterattack here¡ªSaka''s in behind!" Saka''s first touch was golden. The second, even better¡ªnudging the ball inside the recovering Digne before surging into space, his pace electric. With Villa''s backline caught flat and only one center-back covering, space had opened like a wound. Martinelli, now playing centrally after the changes, darted into the box to drag Konsa with him, forcing space to open up. Saka took it. One look up, one cut inside, and then the finish, a low, curling ball around Mart¨ªnez, precise and deadly. "BUKAYO SAKA! THAT''S THREE! It''s game, set, and match¡ªArsenal down to ten, but they''ve just killed it!" The away section erupted. A wave of red-clad limbs and thunderous noise as Saka run towards them, finger pointing towards the gunner''s crest, shirts in the air, fists punching the sky. On the sideline, Arteta didn''t celebrate long¡ªjust clenched both fists and turned back to his bench, yelling directions even in the wake of the goal. After a while, the final whistle echoed across Villa Park, sharp and unapologetic. Arsenal''s bench erupted¡ªnot with wild celebrations, but with clenched fists, pointed gestures, and a rush of staff toward the touchline. It wasn''t just relief. It was defiance. The scoreboard above read 3-0. Down to ten men for nearly half an hour, Arsenal had held their line, ridden out the pressure, and then struck the final blow. "Full time here at Villa Park," the commentator began, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. "Arsenal walk away with three goals, a clean sheet, and three points¡ªbut that is not the full story." He let the words hang for a moment as cameras panned across the players slowly gathering near the center of the pitch. "It''ll be a field day for the media after this," he continued. "A second yellow card for a goal celebration. A sending-off that changed the shape of the game. These are the moments critics and fans alike will debate for days. For Premier League officials, this isn''t going away quietly." None of the Arsenal players made a move toward the referee. Not one extended a hand. ?degaard, usually composed to a fault, offered nothing but a curt glance as he turned away. Declan Rice tapped his chest and pointed toward the away end while Tomiyasu, arms folded, shook his head slowly as he followed his teammates. Only Saka spared a look at the official¡ªdisbelief still clouding his eyes from his own booking¡ªbut he too turned away without a word. "They''re making a statement with this," said the commentator. "Not a single player offering the referee a handshake. You don''t see that often. But tonight? You understand it. There''s no way around it¡ªthis one will sting." The away end¡ªthose loyal fans who had made the journey and sung through ninety minutes¡ªrefused to be quiet. Chants rang out, bouncing off the concrete terraces and cutting through the murmur of the home crowd filing out. Many Villa fans remained seated, stunned into silence, unsure how their team had come away with nothing despite throwing everything at Arsenal. One Arsenal fan near the front held his scarf high above his head, both arms trembling slightly as he shouted, "That''s how you fight for the badge!" As the players made their way toward the away section, clapping above their heads, you could see the fatigue in their bodies¡ªbut also the pride. There was no over-the-top celebration. Just acknowledgment. Gratitude. ?degaard was the first to reach the supporters, raising both hands in appreciation. Saka followed, his shirt soaked, every step looking heavier than the last, but his focus never leaving the fans. Behind them came Gabriel, Zinchenko, Saliba, and Rice¡ªeach one nodding, clapping, some exchanging brief glances that said everything they needed to. "Mikel Arteta''s side came here needing a performance," the commentator went on. "They leave with more than that. They leave with unity. With resolve. With a message. Ten men. A controversial red. Their youngest, sent off for celebrating a goal. And yet, they stood tall." The camera found Arteta now, walking slowly toward the tunnel entrance. He hadn''t even looked toward the referee. His expression had cooled, but his eyes still burned with that deep intensity. Carlos Cuesta followed closely behind him, murmuring something, perhaps already thinking ahead to the press conference. "They''ll say Arsenal overreacted," the commentator added. "They''ll say the rules were followed. But one thing is clear¡ªthis match, and that sending off, will be talked about far beyond the final score." he let his words set before continuing. "For fans of the game, for the ones who love the sport for its emotion and spontaneity, that red card will feel like a line crossed. My name is Ian Darke, and Goodnight folks." As the final few players jogged off, the tunnel swallowed them one by one. The away end kept chanting. In the dressing room, the door cracked open as Tomiyasu entered, nodding toward Izan, who was still seated, boots off now but in full kit, watching the post-match footage roll across the screen. No one spoke for a moment. And then, ?degaard stepped in. Walked across the room. Reached a hand out and pulled Izan up to his feet. "You did your part," the captain said quietly, voice steady. "We handled the rest." The team began filtering in behind him, the room slowly filling with the clatter of studs and low murmurs. Izan gave a nod in return¡ªjust once¡ªand finally exhaled. They had won. And they had done it together. a/n: Okay. First of the day. Keep the tickets coming, and I''ll treat you to your favourite bonus chapters when I''m done with my biology paper tomorrow Chapter 418 418: Talking To The Media A soft knock came at the dressing room door, just barely heard over the low hum of players unwinding, murmuring among themselves, untying boots, and tugging at soaked kits. The door cracked open, and a staff member leaned in, expression hesitant. "Mikel," he said carefully, "they''re asking if you''ll attend the press conference." Arteta didn''t look up right away. He was sitting on the edge of the bench near the far wall, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. His brows were still knit, jaw still locked with the same frustration he''d worn at full-time. Without shifting, he replied flatly, "Not tonight." The room went quiet for a moment. "You sure?" the staff member asked. Before Arteta could double down, Carlos Cuesta stood from where he''d been leaning near the back of the room. He crossed to Arteta slowly, lowering his voice so the others wouldn''t hear. "I know you''re angry," Carlos said. "We all are. But you don''t have a problem with the media, Mikel. It''s the referee you''re upset with. And not showing up? That gives them an entirely different story." Arteta looked up at him then, his eyes searching. He didn''t respond, but the silence was enough of a crack for Carlos to press further. "We can''t control what happened out there. But you can control the message. We can control our narrative." Arteta exhaled through his nose, sitting up slightly. His gaze drifted across the dressing room. Some players were still in full kit, others shirtless and toweling off. Saka sat slouched beside Tomiyasu, both of them quietly sipping on recovery drinks. The two Goalkeepers, Ramsdale and Raya were exchanging words at the back, animatedly mimicking some close calls from the match. And in the corner, Izan sat silent¡ªstill watching the match replay on the small monitor. Arteta stared at him for a moment, eyes softening just a little. Then he shook his head. "No," he murmured. "Not Izan. Not tonight." Carlos gave a small nod, agreeing without question. Arteta stood, ran a hand through his hair, and looked across the room again. "Martin." ?degaard turned immediately at the sound of his name, alert and composed even in his exhaustion. "You''re coming with me," Arteta said. The captain nodded once and stood without hesitation, slipping on a clean track jacket. Arteta followed him toward the door, glancing back once at the room full of players¡ªtired, bruised, but still together. And then he stepped out, ready to speak not just for himself, but for all of them. ...¡­.. The conference room was packed. Journalists hunched over laptops, wires crisscrossed the floor, and cameras blinked red in readiness. The air buzzed with anticipation¡ªthis wasn''t just a standard post-match press conference. Everyone knew it. The questions wouldn''t be about tactics or form. They wanted fire. They wanted to know what Mikel Arteta had to say. He entered quietly with Martin ?degaard by his side. No wave to the cameras. No greeting. He sat down with a straight back, eyes focused ahead. The captain followed, calm but watchful, prepared to speak if needed. A loud pause rang through the room as the moderator gave a nod. The questions came fast. "First of all, Mikel¡ªyour reaction to Izan''s red card?" One female journalist asked. Arteta didn''t hesitate. "It was wrong. A mistake. A bad one." He folded his arms, his jaw tightening slightly. "The first yellow was already Bogus. We all saw it. But the second¡­ you''re booking a sixteen-year-old kid for celebrating a goal. No taunting, no shirt off, no delay¡ªhe celebrated with his teammates. That''s what football is. And instead, we''re down to ten men." Another reporter chimed in, voice raised over murmurs: "Is Arsenal planning to appeal?" Arteta exhaled, then glanced at ?degaard beside him. The captain gave a faint nod, knowing the question would come. "Yes," Arteta said. "We''ll submit a petition to the FA. It''s not about winning an appeal¡ªwe know the rules. Two yellows can''t be overturned even if it was as a result of wrong judgment. But it''s about sending a message. That what happened tonight was wrong. That decisions like that affect players, teams, even the whole competition." He leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with the media. "Izan''s a young player. His first away match in the Premier League. And instead of talking about how well he played or the goal he scored, we''re here talking about cards that should never have happened." A journalist in the back asked, "What do you make of the referee''s performance overall?" Arteta hesitated¡ªjust for a moment. "I expected a whole lot better. We all did. We were told that officiating would improve this season. That the training would be better. That decisions would be clearer. But it''s matchday two, and already we''re dealing with inconsistencies." He shook his head, the frustration leaking through now. "You saw the foul on Izan before the goal¡ªhe gets chopped down and it''s just a yellow. Then he scores. And instead of praising a brilliant team goal, the story becomes the celebration. Then there''s the early whistle at the end. I don''t understand it." ?degaard finally spoke, voice measured. "We''re not saying the referee was against us. But we''re asking for consistency. That''s all." Another hand shot up. "Do you think these decisions affected the game?" Arteta gave a sharp laugh, more a breath than a chuckle. "We won 3¨C0. And yes, it still affected the game. It forced us to adapt. Forced us to cover more ground with ten men. It put our players at risk of injury and fatigue because we had to chase more. It changed our substitutions." Then, softer: "But credit to the players. They stayed focused. They played with control. We defended well, we stayed together, and we finished the game properly. I''m proud of them." One last question came in, cautious, "Will Izan start the next match if available?" Arteta''s answer was swift. "If we could appeal the second yellow, he''d be the first name on the sheet." ?degaard nodded beside him. "He deserves to play," the captain said simply. The moderator glanced at the time and then wrapped things up. The cameras clicked off, and microphones lowered. Arteta and ?degaard stood together, and without another word, they walked out¡ªheads high, unified in silence. ...¡­. The murmur of the post-match conference gave the space a low hum, but Izan sat off to the side, scrolling through his phone with one hand, the other nursing a sore spot on his ribs from one of the many tackles he''d taken. His phone buzzed with Miranda''s name flashing on the screen. He answered quickly, his voice low. "Hey." "You good?" she asked, not wasting time with pleasantries. "That second yellow was a joke. You flopped like you''d been tackled, not like you were taunting anyone." "I know," Izan said, jaw clenched. "But the ref didn''t care. He just saw me on the floor and thought I was mocking them." "Which you weren''t. Honestly, you were on the receiving end of those challenges all game. If anything, that celebration was ironic¡ªflopping because you''d been hacked the whole match." Izan let out a dry breath, half a laugh. "Doesn''t matter now. I''m suspended for the next one." "You sure Arteta isn''t appealing it?" "He''s going to try, but it won''t work. Two yellows. Can''t be overturned." Izan paused. "The whole thing is funny." There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Miranda''s voice softened. "You played well, Izan. That goal? You killed it. Don''t let this ruin it for you." Before he could respond, the door creaked open. Arteta and Odegaard stepped inside, looking composed now, but visibly tired. Odegaard had a hand on his hip, the other clutching a water bottle. Arteta gave Izan a nod. "Let''s pack up. We''re heading out." Izan gave Miranda a quiet "I''ll call you later" and ended the call. He rose from the bench, grabbing his bag just as his phone rang again¡ªthis time, Olivia. He hesitated for half a second, then answered. "Hey." "You did so well," she said before he could say a word. Her voice was soft, and there was a smile in it. "That goal¡­ you really made it count." "I got sent off for celebrating," he said dryly. "I know," Olivia replied. "I saw. Still doesn''t take away the goal." "I flopped to the ground. That''s all. Wasn''t trying to provoke anyone." "And anyone who watched the match knows that. You were getting kicked all over the pitch and still ran it. You didn''t deserve that red." Izan exhaled slowly. "You shouldn''t wait up. It''s a long trip back to London." "I will," she said simply. "I''ll be awake when you get in. At least, I hope and no arguing it." And before he could push back, the call ended. He stared at the phone for a second, then tucked it into his bag and zipped it shut. Across the room, Odegaard gave him a small nod. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Let''s go," the captain said, shouldering his own bag. Izan fell into step behind him, the weight of the game still on his shoulders, but steadied by the support around him. They walked out together toward the tunnel, where the bus was waiting to take them back to London. A/n: 2nd of the day. Have fun reading. Chapter 419 419: Post-Match[GT bonus chapter] The bus rolled up to the familiar entrance of the Colney Complex, the sound of the engine winding down as it came to a stop. The evening air was crisp as Izan stepped off, stretching his legs after the long ride. His mind was still spinning from the match, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but the thought of getting home soothed him. As the other players made their way toward the locker room, he started to head in the same direction, but then he heard a voice behind him. "You heading out this way?" It was Martin ?degaard, the captain, glancing over at Izan. "Yeah," Izan replied, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I was going to call a driver, but I don''t want to disturb him¡ªhe might be asleep by now." ?degaard smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "No problem. I''m heading that way too. I''ll give you a ride." Izan raised an eyebrow, but the offer was too good to turn down. "Thanks, mate. You sure?" "Yeah, it''s no trouble," ?degaard said, already moving toward his car. Izan followed, nodding his appreciation as they walked through the lot to ?degaard''s sleek vehicle. The two exchanged a few quiet words as the engine roared to life, the hum of the car filling the space between them. The ride was quick, the city lights streaking by as they made their way out of the complex. Izan leaned back in his seat, watching the familiar streets of North London pass by. He hadn''t been in the city for long, but it already felt like home, especially when he was heading back to his apartment. As the car pulled up to his building, Izan thanked ?degaard again before getting out. "I appreciate it, really." "Anytime," ?degaard replied, giving him a nod before pulling away. Izan stood for a moment, staring up at the building, thinking about when he could drive before he started walking. His apartment was a little further from the complex than some of the others, but it had its own quiet charm. He made his way inside, swiping his keycard to unlock the door. The familiar click of the lock sounded, and he stepped into the dimly lit hallway of his apartment. It was silent inside, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Izan kicked off his shoes, slipping into the living room where he saw Olivia, frozen and curled up on the couch. Her auburn hair fanned out around her, and she was fast asleep, a soft, peaceful expression on her face. He couldn''t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. She had waited for him, again, no doubt hoping he''d get in late. He tiptoed closer, kneeling down beside her. The faint sound of her breathing filled the room, steady and soft. Carefully, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She shifted in her sleep but didn''t wake up. Izan stood there for a moment, just watching her, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly. He grabbed the blanket from the armchair and draped it over her gently, careful not to disturb her. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, brushing lightly against her skin. He let out a quiet breath, standing up to get a better look at her. She was so peaceful, so at ease, and he couldn''t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude that she was here with him. After a few moments, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, letting the quiet wash over him. Thoughts of the match, of his red card, of the team¡ªeverything faded into the background. He looked back over at her, his heart a little heavier than before. There was a lot they hadn''t talked about, things left unsaid between them. But for now, seeing her like this, asleep and unbothered, was enough. He returned to the couch and sat down, making sure to stay quiet as he sat beside her. The sound of her breathing, the soft rustle of the blanket, filled the room, and Izan let himself relax, finally feeling like he could breathe again. ..... The morning after Arsenal''s 3-0 victory over Aston Villa, the sports channels were buzzing with commentary. The pundits on a popular football show were deep into analysis, dissecting the match with energy that only a significant win could bring. "Arsenal''s dominant 3-0 win against Villa last night," Darren Wells, the host, began, his voice carrying the weight of the result. "A very solid performance from Mikel Arteta''s side, but there''s one major talking point that still has the fans riled up¡ªthe second yellow for Izan Hernandez." The camera cut to a group of pundits at the table, all shaking their heads in disbelief as the replay of Izan''s goal celebration flashed on the screen. His dramatic fall to the ground after scoring the second goal, looking as though he''d been tackled, followed by the second yellow that resulted in his red card, played in slow motion. "Now, I''ve got to say," Michael Johnson, the former defender, began his tone firm. "That second yellow for Izan Hernandez was just uncalled for and some what unnecessary." "Celebrations are part of the game¡ªpassion, you know?" Johnson continued. "He wasn''t hurting anyone. Yeah, it was dramatic, maybe a little unnecessary, but not a red card offense. The referee has to show a bit more understanding here." Carla Williams, the ex-midfielder, nodded in agreement. "You can''t just punish a young player for being excited about a goal, especially in a game where Arsenal were just a goal up at that point. The whole thing could have been avoided if the referee had some common sense. The card is one thing, but sending him off? That''s just taking it too far." The replay continued, showing Izan walking off the pitch, his face a mixture of confusion and frustration. Darren chimed in, "Look, I get that some players take celebrations too far, but this one wasn''t over the top. We''ve seen much worse in the league. The bigger issue here is the inconsistency in officiating. We''ve had incidents where players celebrate wildly and nothing happens. It''s baffling." "Right," Johnson agreed. "And we all know this is a young player learning his way in the league. A decision like this could have a huge impact on his confidence, but let''s not lose sight of the fact that Arsenal played brilliantly as a team last night. It wasn''t just about Izan''s moment of brilliance, but the team as a whole." Darren nodded, "And let''s not forget¡ª3-0. Arsenal were comfortable in this match, clinical in front of goal, and really, the scoreline tells you everything you need to know about their performance. Saka was superb, and Jorginho looked like he''d really found his stride in midfield." The conversation shifted to other aspects of the game, but Darren''s words still hung in the air. "Yes, Arsenal were fantastic. But that moment with Izan Hernandez¡ªthat''s what everyone''s talking about today." ? Meanwhile, in Izan''s apartment, he and Olivia sat on the couch, casually watching the pundits discuss the match while eating breakfast. The quiet hum of the TV mixed with the crunch of cereal and the clink of Olivia''s toast dunked in orange juice. Izan sat back with a bowl of cereal, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at Olivia, who was watching the screen intently but with a relaxed smile on her face. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You know, I was expecting worse from them," Izan said, his tone light but still carrying a hint of frustration. "They really didn''t go at me for the celebration." Olivia smirked, shaking her head. "I was waiting for them to make it the entire focus of the show. But, I guess the 3-0 scoreline kind of helped overshadow the celebration drama." Izan nodded, feeling a slight sense of relief. "Yeah, I mean, the win was important. But I still can''t believe I got sent off for something so dumb." She chuckled softly, picking up her toast. "Well, you did flop like you''d been shot. Can''t blame the ref for giving you a yellow." "Yeah, yeah," Izan muttered with a grin. "But come on. What was that first one for? It was nothing." Olivia took a bite of her toast, her eyes twinkling. "Maybe it''s a lesson¡ªnext time, just point to the sky like everyone else." Izan let out a soft laugh, leaning back on the couch. "I''ll make sure to keep it simple next time." The TV continued to play in the background as the pundits moved on to other topics, with Izan and Olivia seemingly content in the quiet space between them. A/n: Okay. Here it is. The revered Golden Ticket chapter. Have fun reading and also keep spamming the Golden tickets so that I can keep feeding y''all with plenty of bonus chapters. Anyway, Good dawn and have a nice read. Chapter 420 420: Champions League Nights By noon, the post-match calm had morphed into a full-blown debate across sports networks, radio stations, and football podcasts. For a moment, Arsenal''s dominant 3-0 win at Villa Park had taken a back seat to a single decision¡ªthat second yellow card. The moment the referee reached for his pocket, the air had shifted. Even a day later, it lingered. Clips of Izan''s goal celebration were dissected from every possible angle. The way he flopped to the ground, arms out like he''d been wiped out by an invisible defender, played on loop across highlight reels. Some pundits found it amusing. Others found it outrageous that such an innocuous gesture had resulted in a red card. "Referees have lost the plot," fumed Tom McArthur on the Premier League Pulse podcast. "We''ve got players kicking each other off the ball and walking away with a warning, but this kid gets sent off for a theatrical celebration? Spare me. Football''s meant to have emotion." Another segment, hosted by former referee and now-analyst Graham Dempsey, tried to bring nuance. "Look, I understand both sides," Dempsey began, measured. "Hernandez falls to the ground¡ªyes, it''s dramatic, possibly time-wasting if you''re trying to kill momentum late in a match. But context matters. He had just scored a crucial second goal. He didn''t remove his shirt, didn''t provoke the opposition. The referee applied the law too rigidly." Arsenal fans weren''t as calm. The Emirates faithful lit up every corner of the internet with fury. "Refs are becoming bigger stars than the players now," one tweet read, gaining over 50,000 likes. "Izan gets booked for celebrating? Then don''t be surprised when players stop showing emotion." A popular Arsenal fan channel posted a 40-minute emergency episode, the thumbnail reading: "THE REF BOTTLED IT ¡ª AGAIN." The host, Robbie, didn''t hold back. "I don''t care how young he is or how new he is to the Prem¡ªthis boy scored a goal and gets sent off for flopping on the grass? Joke of a decision." He paused, looking at his guests and the fans before continuing. "And where''s the consistency? We''ve seen Salah do cartwheels, Grealish dance across hoardings, and Rashford jump into the stands. We''ve even seen Vardy do a caterpillar. Are they getting carded? No. But the new kid on the block gets booked twice and sent off. Because what, he''s 16 and new? Nonsense." Some neutrals joined the debate, more intrigued by the implications than the specifics. "English refereeing is under a microscope again," said a BBC Five Live guest. "When VAR was introduced, it was supposed to reduce mistakes. Instead, it''s just made the ones that do happen even harder to understand. And we saw that last night." But by mid-afternoon, something changed. UEFA''s official account posted a clean, striking graphic: "????? 4 Days to Go | UEFA Champions League Draw | August 29th" That was all it took. Fans everywhere began switching gears. The controversy around Izan''s card began to slide into the background as excitement over the UCL draw started to swell. Not just because it was the Champions League, but because this wasn''t any old draw. This was the beginning of a new era. ....... In a studio in London, The Football Show dedicated an entire block to explaining the format, now being implemented for the first time in the Champions League''s history. "No more eight groups of four," said presenter Layla Siddiqui, standing in front of a touch screen. "Now we have one massive league of 36 teams. Each team plays eight matches against eight different opponents. No one plays the same team twice. Four at home. Four away." Her co-host, Alan Sharpe, chimed in. "And your opponents are based on seeding. So a club like Arsenal, who are in Pot 2, might face one team from each pot¡ªPot 1 through 4. Which means one week they might play Bayern Munich away, and the next they''re hosting FC Copenhagen. It''s brutal." Layla smiled. "But brilliant for fans. Imagine watching eight different UCL nights, with eight unique opponents. No more dead rubbers. No more easy group wins. Every game matters." She toned down a bit before bringing up the qualification criteria. "Top eight teams after all matches go straight into the Round of 16. Then teams placed 9th to 24th? They face each other in a two-legged playoff to join them. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Everyone else? Knocked out. And you don''t want to finish 25th. That''s a wasted European campaign." Arsenal fans, sensing the gravity of the shift, flooded their timelines with speculative posts. "Give me PSG at home. I want revenge for 2017." "Pot 3 is terrifying this year. Atalanta, Salzburg, and Milan are all lurking there." "If we draw Bayern, we riot." At his flat near Colney, Izan leaned against the kitchen counter, thumbing through posts on his phone while finishing a protein shake. Olivia sat on the couch in one of his oversized Arsenal hoodies, flipping through channels. She landed on one of the many shows previewing the draw. "Everyone''s moved on," Izan muttered, sounding half-relieved, half-bemused. "Hmm?" Olivia looked over. "From the red card. It''s all about the UCL now. Like it never happened." She grinned. "Good. Now you won''t brood over it all day." He didn''t reply right away. Instead, he watched the screen, where Arsenal''s name was floating alongside the list of 36 clubs. The camera panned across Pot 1¡ªReal Madrid, Man City, Bayern, and PSG. Olivia noticed the look on his face. "What?" "I''ve never played a Champions League game," he said quietly. "Well, aside from the UEFA Youth League I won with Valencia, but now I''m nearing my first Champions League match." "Excited?" He nodded. "Nervous too. UCL nights are just different. Ronaldo told me you need a different mentality for those." "Such a flex. Talking about texting with Ronaldo so casually is funny," Olivia said, chuckling slightly. She crossed over and bumped her shoulder against his. "Well, you''ve already pissed off the Premier League referees. Might as well piss off Europe''s finest next." He laughed, light again. But the thought stuck with him. Four days. Four days until the football world would know who would face whom. Who he would face. Izan had just settled into the couch beside Olivia when his phone buzzed. Miranda. He answered with a lazy, "Hola." Her voice came sharp but familiar through the speaker. "You sound like you just woke up from a coma. Don''t tell me you''re still sulking over that yellow card." "I''m not," he replied, though Olivia raised her eyebrows at him like "Sure you aren''t. Miranda didn''t wait. "Good. Because I didn''t call about that. I''ve just got confirmation from the licensing office¡ªyour early application for a driver''s license went through." He sat up straighter. "Wait, seriously?" "Mm-hmm," she confirmed. "You''ll still have to wait till November to pick it up, but since you''ll be eligible by then, the window to start lessons is officially open. So no more excuses. I''ve booked you in for your first session next week." Olivia grinned beside him, already poking him in the ribs. "That means no more being chauffeured like a prince." He ignored her, still processing. "I didn''t even know you''d applied." "You''re welcome," Miranda said dryly. "You''re not going to be sixteen forever, Izan. You''ll have to start driving yourself to training at some point. Or picking people up. Or going on normal dates that don''t involve a driver waiting outside." Olivia laughed. "Or getting stopped at red lights like everyone else." He groaned. "I haven''t even learned how to reverse yet." "That''s what the lessons are for," Miranda replied. "And if you''d rather be driven around until you''re thirty, just say the word and I''ll cancel it all." "No, no," he said quickly. "I''ll do it." "Good. You have your schedule. I''ll message the details for the instructor." "Wait," Olivia said, leaning into the call. "If he gets too nervous with the instructor, I could totally teach him." Miranda chuckled. "You? Teach him to drive?" "Why not?" Olivia said, mock offended. "I''m a very patient teacher." Izan stared at her. "You''ve nearly crashed twice. Once, trying to connect Bluetooth." "That''s character building," she said sweetly. Miranda was clearly enjoying this. "Fine. If you think you can survive a lesson with Olivia and still want to learn afterward, then I''ll know you''re serious." "Deal," Izan muttered. "But we''re not starting with roundabouts, I almost met Anubis last time." "I''m not that bad?" Olivia sulked, causing Izan and Miranda to go quiet over the phone. Miranda laughed softly after a while, then sobered just a little. "Alright, I''ll leave you two. Just stay on top of it, Izan. November will be here before you know it, and if things go the way I think they might¡ªChampions League minutes, more media¡ªbeing able to move around independently is going to matter." "Got it," he said. "Thanks, Miranda." "Always. Talk soon." He hung up, phone still in hand, and exhaled. Olivia was grinning like she''d won something. "So¡­ when''s our first driving lesson?" He smirked. "Not in your car." "I have insurance." "I don''t have nerves." She shoved him lightly, then tossed a cushion at his face. "You''ll be fine." He leaned back again, the screen now showing pundits arguing over which Pot 1 team Arsenal would want to avoid. "November will be here before you know it." Miranda''s words rang through his head. Well, if it was coming, he had to prepare. "Max" Izan said. A\\N: Okay. this is the first chapter of the day. Pistacho031_3 just sent a golden gachapon so thats 10+ chapters from me. Plus the Golden ticket ones so im probably not sleeping today or for the next day. Anyways, its all good so keep spamming htme and i''ll keep feeding you. Have fun reading Chapter 421 421: Draw In Monaco Izan hung up, phone still in hand, and exhaled. Olivia was grinning like she''d won something. "So¡­ when''s our first driving lesson?" He smirked. "Not in your car." "I have insurance." "I don''t have nerves." She shoved him lightly, then tossed a cushion at his face. "You''ll be fine." He leaned back again, the screen now showing pundits arguing over which Pot 1 team Arsenal would want to avoid. "November will be here before you know it." Miranda''s words rang through his head. Well, if it was coming, he had to prepare. "Max", he muttered. ....... The next morning, the air around the Colney training complex felt just a little charged. It wasn''t the weather¡ªNorth London was its usual mild grey¡ªbut something in the rhythm of the squad told you there was a buzz. Izan stepped out of the gym area into the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, and spotted a small crowd already gathering in the locker area: Saliba, Saka, Jorginho, and Martinelli were huddled in front of a phone. "Oi, Hernandez!" Gabriel called out. "Come settle this. Who do you want from Pot 1?" Izan smirked, walking over as he ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "You''re talking about the Champions League already?" "Obviously," Saka chimed in. "It''s in four days. Feels like everyone''s just waiting for the draw." "Well, everyone except Arteta," Saka continued. "Man''s probably writing tactical plans for Brighton already." Izan dropped onto the bench beside them, glancing at Gabriel''s screen. It was a chart of all the UCL pots, neatly color-coded and posted by some analytics page. "Look at this," Gabriel said, zooming in. "We get Real Madrid from Pot 1, and then Atalanta from Pot 3, and then someone weird like Stuttgart or Club Brugge¡ªsuddenly you''re looking at a bloodbath." "Club Brugge''s not weird," Jorginho corrected, ever the senior statesman. "You try playing in Brussels on a cold Wednesday night." Saka raised an eyebrow. "You''re Italian. You lot complain about Stoke." That got a few laughs. "I just don''t want PSG," Saliba muttered. "That''s drama. Even if Mbappe has left, Dembele and the lot will be hell for players like me." "Or Bayern," Jorginho added. "They''re like cockroaches. Always find a way out." Izan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You know the new format means we''ll play eight different teams, right? It''s not groups anymore." Martinelli blinked. "Oh yeah. Forgot about that part?" "Yeah," said Saka. "It''s like one big table now. You get drawn against eight teams from different pots, play four home and four away, and the top sixteen go through." "Man," Martinelli sighed. "They just made it more chaotic." "Exactly," Izan nodded. "No easy games. No guaranteed rematch. You could get Madrid and Inter. Or Bayern and Juve." "That''s if Juve don''t Juve themselves," Saliba said under his breath. Just then, a voice cut across the chatter like a switch had flipped in the room. "Chicos." They all turned. Arteta stood at the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his padded training jacket, his face unreadable but his presence grounding. "I know the draw''s coming. I know the Champions League is exciting. But that''s in four days." The room went quiet. "Two days after the draw," Arteta continued, voice steady but firm, "we play Brighton." The weight of that reminder dropped fast. The mention of Brighton alone was enough to sober up the energy. "They''ve taken points off us before," the manager went on. "And they''re not a team that gives you anything for free. Do you want to enjoy those Champions League nights? Do you want to walk out in February knowing we''re seeded and safe? Then we have to take care of the league first." He stepped further in now, eyes meeting each of theirs as he moved. "I know the hype. I get it. But the focus doesn''t shift. We''re Arsenal. That means we do our job first and let everything else fall into place." There were nods all around. "Yes, m¨ªster," Jorginho said with quiet authority. Arteta gave one more look around the room before turning back toward the hallway. "We start on the pitch in fifteen. Keep your heads where they need to be." And with that, he was gone. Silence lingered for a beat before Saliba exhaled and said, "Alright. So we get Real Madrid after Brighton, then." They all laughed again, but the tone had changed. Izan stood, grabbing his boots. The banter might resume later, maybe after training. But for now, the message had landed: Brighton first. The Champions League could wait. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And in the back of his mind, as he walked down the tunnel toward the pitch, he thought¡ªnot long now. Four days. Then the lights, the anthem, the draw that could shape their whole season. But they had to earn the right to enjoy it. Starting with Brighton. ........ 3:45 PM COLNEY The hum of anticipation was unmistakable, even if the training ground had fallen quiet hours earlier. It was the afternoon of August 29th. The Champions League draw was set to begin in Monaco, the broadcast about to ripple across living rooms, hotel lounges, and locker rooms across Europe. But at Arsenal''s Colney base, the lights in the team meeting room were off, the projector screen untouched. The players were gone, released earlier than usual after the final light session of the day. Mikel Arteta sat in his office with a hand under his chin, watching the UEFA stream on his laptop in silence, the volume just loud enough to hear the presenters go through their scripted introductions. The draw hadn''t started yet. There was still time. He exhaled, sitting back in his chair. He had planned for them to watch it together. A quiet, intentional idea that had floated in his mind for weeks now. He''d thought it might be the perfect way to shift their focus, to anchor the excitement properly before Brighton. It wasn''t that he didn''t trust them¡ªhe did. But there was something about sitting together, as a group, hearing their name drawn among Europe''s elite, that mattered. A reminder of where they were now. And what it would take to stay there? But today had gotten away from him. The final tweaks to the Brighton match plan had stretched longer than expected. Jorginho had a physio appointment that ran late. Even peculiar things like Ramsdale handing in a transfer request were in the mix. The latter had claimed that he wanted to be the main man in the team, and from how Raya was playing, he was not going to get it at Arsenal. The staff had pushed for an earlier wind-down, too, wanting the squad to get adequate rest with kickoff just 48 hours away. Eventually, Arteta had just let it go, waving them off with a nod. He had stood by the doorway as one by one they left¡ªsome in small groups, a few with headphones in, most talking about the draw anyway. "We''ll probably get Inter again," Odegaard had joked on his way out. "Bet we get Madrid or Barca. Just for the drama," Saka had added. And Izan¡ªbright-eyed, still settling into his rhythm but already carrying a quiet confidence¡ªhad turned back just before stepping out the exit to ask, "Are we watching the draw together, m¨ªster?" Arteta had hesitated, then simply said, "We''ll talk about it tomorrow." Now, the camera feed panned across the stage in Monaco. UEFA branding, the trophy gleaming under spotlights. Pot 1 ready. Then 2. Then 3. Then 4, each with 9 teams. He could already imagine them watching from wherever they were¡ªliving rooms, phones, maybe together in groups. And that was alright. Maybe that was better. They deserved that freedom. Still, part of him wished they''d been there together. One screen. One room. One reaction. The screen cut to the drawmaster walking up to the podium. Arteta reached for his pen and notepad and clicked the ink down, steadying himself. In thirty minutes, he''d know who they were facing across eight different games. No more groups. Just eight matchups in a massive league. Eight mini-battles that would define their journey back into Europe''s biggest stage. He muttered under his breath, "Let''s see what you''ve got for us." As the first ball was drawn and the name Real Madrid CF appeared on the screen, Arteta''s pen didn''t move. Not yet. He waited for Arsenal''s name to flash. For the path to take shape. Even if they weren''t all in one room, he knew the squad was watching. He just hoped, by the end of it, they''d look at their draw and believe: We belong here. A/N: Okay, Second chapter of the day. I just started writing, so the golden gachapon bonus chapters will start after this. Anyways, have fun reading, and I''ll see you in a jiffy with the bonus chapters. Also, thanks for the support and all the gifts you send, as well as the GTs, and I hope you stick with me till the end. Alright Bye. Chapter 422 422: Date At The Mestalla[Pistacho031_3] August 29, 2024 ¨C Evening The cameras panned across the Grimaldi Forum in Monaco, where football''s elite gathered under the golden glow of spotlights for the much-anticipated UEFA Champions League draw. For the first time, the single-league format would take full effect¡ªno more group stages. Each of the 36 qualified teams would face eight opponents, four at home, four away, with their rankings forming one long table. The draw ceremony was sleek, the stage polished, the theme music dramatic. Former players stood beside UEFA officials, picking out the matchups one by one from large, glowing bowls. Excitement and tension hung in the air. Among the crowd sat representatives from across the continent¡ªexecutives, coaches, ex-players. Cameras caught FC Barcelona''s current manager Hansi Flick watching intently, his expression unreadable. At Real Madrid, Carlo Ancelotti''s assistant Davide sat in his father''s place, representing the Spanish giants while Ancelotti remained in the Spanish capital. Elsewhere in Europe, the reactions were varied. New Head Coach, Thiago Motta stood with arms crossed in Juventus'' media lounge, eyes flicking toward the screen as Juve''s opponents began to reveal. The Bianconeri were eager to make a statement after a rocky few seasons in Europe. At Bayern''s S?bener Stra?e training complex, the newly appointed manager Vincent Kompany leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, while assistant coach Ren¨¦ Maric jotted down notes as the draw unfolded. Kompany, though composed, knew the coming months would test the Bavarians and his credibility to Coach. R¨²ben Amorim, leading a rejuvenated Sporting CP, sat among analysts and staff, silently nodding as his team''s fixtures appeared. The Portuguese giants had earned respect after a strong domestic run, and Amorim had ambitions far beyond the group of sixteen. But at Arsenal, things were quieter than intended. Training had ended early to allow proper rest ahead of their upcoming Premier League clash with Brighton in two days. So, the players had dispersed. ..... Izan stepped into his apartment just as the UEFA jingle echoed from the television Olivia had switched on. He set down his bag, slipping off his sneakers while the draw continued in the background. Olivia, cross-legged on the couch in a hoodie and shorts, handed him a bottle of water. "You''re just in time," she said, patting the space beside her. "Arsenal''s still waiting." "Good," Izan murmured, collapsing beside her. "I wanted to see it live." They sat side-by-side, the soft blue light of the television bouncing off the walls. The screen displayed Arsenal''s crest, slowly being linked with one opponent after another. ARSENAL''S FIXTURES: Matchday 1 ¨C Away vs Atalanta Matchday 2 ¨C Home vs Paris Saint-Germain Matchday 3 ¨C Home vs Shakhtar Donetsk Matchday 4 ¨C Away vs Inter Milan Matchday 5 ¨C Away vs Sporting CP Matchday 6 ¨C Home vs AS Monaco Matchday 7 ¨C Home vs Dinamo Zagreb "And here comes the final one," Olivia muttered, leaning forward. The screen flashed. The presenter reached into the final bowl. "Arsenal''s eighth and final match¡­ will be away at Valencia CF," he announced. Izan''s eyes didn''t immediately react, but a slow, knowing grin pulled at his lips. "Valencia," he said quietly. Olivia turned to look at him, the weight of it hitting. "Back home," she said softly. He chuckled, rubbing the corner of his lip. "I never believed the draw was rigged," he said, more to himself. "But now¡­ I''m starting to wonder." She smiled at that, bumping her shoulder into his. "You nervous?" "Not even a little," he replied, gaze fixed on the screen where Matchday where a Valencia (A) badge now rested beside Arsenal''s badge. Just as the words "Valencia (A)" settled on the screen, Izan''s phone buzzed on the coffee table beside him. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Pietro. Beneath it, a group FaceTime icon blinked. Izan raised a brow. "Well. That didn''t take long." Olivia gave a knowing smirk. "Answer it." He tapped the green button, and instantly, a flurry of faces filled the screen. Pietro was front and center, his messy curls bouncing as he leaned in with a wide grin. Around him were a few others from the old core¡ªSosa, Javi, Gaya, Ferr¨¢n, and Diego, all cramped together on what looked like the edge of a sofa in the Valencia players'' lounge. "Well, well, well!" Pietro shouted laughter already in his voice. "Look who''s coming home!" "I was just saying," Ferr¨¢n chimed in, "I swear these draws aren''t real. We were joking about it yesterday. And now¡ªbam. Arsenal at Mestalla." "Don''t act like you didn''t rig it yourself," Javi added, pointing into the camera. "You''ve probably got UEFA contacts now." Izan chuckled, setting the phone down at an angle so Olivia could see them too. "Right, because I have that kind of power." "Come on, hermano," Pietro grinned. "Valencia for Matchday Eight? The stars are aligning. You''re ending your league phase back where it all started." Diego leaned into the frame. "You know you''re getting booed, right?" That earned a round of laughter. Olivia grinned as she leaned over and said into the camera, "He''s already practicing his goal celebration." "No, no, no¡ª" Gaya cut in, laughing. "No celebrating at Mestalla! Not allowed." Izan raised both hands in mock surrender. "I''ll just play. No celebrations. Maybe." Pietro''s tone softened slightly, though the smile stayed. "It''ll be good to see you, bro. Seriously. No matter how it goes." "I know," Izan said, nodding. "It will." "Just don''t nutmeg me, yeah?" Pietro joked. "Can''t promise." They all groaned at once. "Alright," Pietro said, glancing off-camera. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "We''ve got to bounce soon, but¡­ yeah. We''ll be waiting for you. Camp de Mestalla. Matchday Eight. Don''t be late." "Wouldn''t miss it," Izan said. The screen blinked off, the call ending with a chorus of goodbyes and exaggerated threats of tackles. He leaned back again, letting out a breath through his nose, still smiling. Olivia looked at him. "That felt good?" He nodded. "Yeah. It did." She nudged his side gently. "You really think they''ll boo you?" He smirked. "Only if I celebrate or do something unthinkable." ...¡­. Online, Arsenal''s Twitter (or X, depending on who you ask) was in absolute chaos. The draw had barely finished, and the hashtags were already trending: #UCLDraw #IzanReturnsToValencia #ArsenalVsPSG #MikelKnows @AFCVisionary: Inter. PSG. Valencia. UEFA said "here''s your Netflix script, lads." This draw''s got more narrative than an HBO series. @CannonTalks: I''m not saying UEFA rigged the draw for drama¡­ but Izan''s returning to Mestalla on Matchday 8? Really? Someone had popcorn ready when they pulled that ball. @NorthBankNana: Can''t lie, Atalanta away is a sleeper banana skin. That''s a nasty first match. Don''t let the 0-0 fool you come September. @ArsenalYouthWatch: Izan going up against his old teammates in the final group¡ªwait, sorry¡ªleague phase game. If he scores, I''m breaking into song. @TacticalT: PSG at the Emirates. That''s a proper test. Not just Dembele vs White, but how do we deal with that midfield press? Interested to see if Mikel sticks with Jorginho there. @GoonerMemes: [Meme of Izan smiling with sunglasses edited over his face] UEFA: Random draw Izan: [squints] Sure. @TheGoonerLens: Valencia fans are going to absolutely rattle the ground. First, match back for their prodigal son. The drama writes itself. I want a camera on Izan the entire time. @DaniSakaEra: Man, imagine Izan scores a winner at Mestalla and doesn''t celebrate. That''s real legacy behavior. Kid''s built different. @GoonersUnfiltered: We''re not ready for what that Inter away day might look like. San Siro under the lights? Loud. Chaotic. Classic UCL. @LondonIsRed187: Valencia aside, the PSG game at home is massive. If we want to win big in Europe, those are the nights we prove it. Emirates needs to roar. @ArsenalWomenAlso: Lowkey our squad depth is better than people realise. Sporting and Shakhtar are tough, but we''ve got rotations now. The fact we''re sweating Inter/PSG/Valencia proves we''re back at the table. @MikelEra: Mikel''s face when he sees Valencia in the draw. Bet he looked straight at Izan. "No pressure, kid." Even Spanish fans and some Valencia ultras chimed in online, mixing drama with dark humor. @VCFEnfurecido: No way they brought him back to face us in January. And no way UEFA did it for "sporting integrity." This is cinema. @BlanquinegreBlood: Can we boo him and love him at the same time? Like. Respect. But also. Nah. You left us. @IzanVibes: We need a tribute video at Mestalla. And then we boo him after. Fair enough? @LaLigaBackups: If he scores and drops the no celebration, he''s HIM. If he celebrates, he''s brave. Either way, content. Back in his apartment, Izan kept scrolling, his phone buzzing every few seconds with mentions and reactions. Olivia peeked over his shoulder at one particular tweet: @GoonerDramaFC: Izan back to Valencia on Matchday 8. It''s not football, it''s poetry. She gave a soft laugh. "They really know how to sell it." Izan tilted his head, smiling quietly. "Can''t lie. I''m actually looking forward to it now." She nudged his shoulder. "You should. You''ve earned that moment." His eyes flicked back to the tweet again, the reply count rising. He sat there still looking at his phone before a buzz rang through his mind with his system materializing I front of his eyes. [Ding, System Upgrade Complete] "Finally" he muttered as he looked at the screen. A/n: Okay guys. 1st of many(12). Stay tuned. Chapter 423 423: System Upgrade [Pistacho031_3] Izan tilted his head, smiling quietly. "Can''t lie. I''m actually looking forward to it now." She nudged his shoulder. "You should. You''ve earned that moment." His eyes flicked back to the tweet again, the reply count rising. He sat there, still looking at his phone before a buzz rang through his mind, and his system materialized in front of his eyes. [Ding, System Upgrade Complete] "Finally" he muttered as he looked at the screen. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. ... The notification lingered before his eyes in crisp, emerald-blue text only he could see. [Ding, System Upgrade Complete] Izan blinked once. Then again. The digital interface hovered just beyond Olivia''s line of sight, as if stitched into reality itself¡ªsharp lines, soft pulses of light, translucent blue overlays all swirling into place like a long-locked terminal finally waking from sleep. She leaned against his shoulder, unaware, still scrolling through tweets about the draw. "What are you smiling at now?" "Nothing," he said casually, eyes flicking back to the air before him. "Just¡­ thinking." He opened the menu with a thought. The newly upgraded system interface expanded, smoother, and more refined than before. [System v3.0 - LEGEND Protocol Activated Welcome back, Izan. Upgrade complete. New features unlocked. Conversion Record: 40 Stat Points ¡ú 200,000 Legend Points (1-Time Offer Claimed) ] Yes. That offer. That deal had come back after their pre-season camp in Los Angeles. A single prompt had appeared the night after their final friendly against Liverpool, flashing: "Trade unused Stat Points for Legend Points? You''ll never get this chance again." Stat Points were slow-earned, precious, and gained only through peak performances and real progression. Losing forty of them had hurt. But 200,000 LPs? That had opened doors and he wasn''t about to wait a year or two to collect these Legend Points. He''d accepted without hesitation. The system had gone dark right after, entering a self-upgrade phase and that was nearly four weeks ago. Now it was back. And different. > MENU ? Attributes ? Perks ? Legacy Path [NEW] ? Tactical Lens [Enhanced] ? Reputation Module [Unlocked] ? System Settings Izan exhaled quietly, shifting slightly so Olivia wouldn''t notice him zoning out. She didn''t. Still scrolling. Still smiling. > Attributes He opened it first, expecting a complete reset, but the system didn''t punish him. His core attributes¡ªPace, Technique, Spatial Awareness, and Shooting¡ªremained. What changed was how he could modify them. Before, it had been a basic stat pool. Add 1 point, and get a +1 boost. Now? "Attributes now scale with training milestones and match performance. Legend Points can be used for short-term Boosters." [Current Attribute Status] Speed: 94+ Body Control: 90 Spatial Awareness: 90 Technique: 94 Shooting: 94 Passing: 90+ Body Strength: 90 Defending: 70 Nothing over the top. Realistic. Reflective of how he''d been playing. But the small "+" beside some attributes caught his attention. He tapped Speed. > Spend LP to temporarily boost Speed? +1 for 1 week = 50,000 LP +2 for 1 week = 120,000 LP +3 for 1 week = 200,000 LP Warning: Boosts fade. Permanent upgrades require long-term performance. He smirked. "Renting greatness," he murmured. "That''s next Level now" He looked at the screen, alternating between a few attributes before he backed out. He then navigated through the new information before settling on the things that interested him next. > Perks/ Traits Here, the big shift had taken place. Where before he had a handful of perks like "Pinpoint Accuracy" and "Speedster", now there was a new system tree. [Active Perks: 3 slots available per game[Interchangeable but once per game] ] trickster: Equipped (offline) Incisive Pass: Equipped(online) rocket: Equipped (offline) Pinpoint accuracy: Equipped (online) speedster: Equipped (online) Knuckeball: Equipped(offline) Phantom Step: Equipped(offline) UNLOCKED PERKS: Creative Instinct (Lv. 2) ¨C Enhanced passing options briefly appear during open play. Momentum Shift ¨C Slight attribute spike after contributing to a goal (Goal or Assist). They weren''t flashy, but they were sharp. Situational. Made for reading the game better, not just running through defenders. The next upgrade was something different. > Legacy Path [NEW] This was brand new. The menu faded, replaced with a smaller holographic display showing three glowing silhouettes. Choose a Legacy Archetype: Maestro ¨C Become the heartbeat of your team. Prodigy ¨C The natural. Elevate instinct over structure. Catalyst ¨C Thrive under pressure. Turn moments into momentum. Alien- Can not be the best without beating the best at their very best. Includes increased difficulty in games but better rewards after each accomplished milestone. Izan hesitated. The "Maestro" sounded closest to his emerging style¡ªa winger with vision, someone who didn''t just finish moves but created them from scratch. But then there was the Alien. Even though it read "increased match difficulty", it was still the most appealing to him. Without lingering much longer, Izan selected the latter. Legacy Path: Alien Passive Ability Gained: Tempo Link "Your presence improves cohesion. You are the team. It will function but people will notice when you are playing and when you are not." He chuckled under his breath. That¡­ actually sounded concerning but powerful in tight games. "Everything okay?" Olivia asked beside him, eyes half on the TV. "Yeah," he said. "Better than okay." before he moved his gaze towards another tool. > Tactical Lens [Enhanced] He opened it. A familiar but sharper HUD appeared momentarily over his line of sight¡ªfield lines, movement arcs, pressure zones. Now it included new highlights like defensive blind spots and early press triggers. "Improves in real time based on game footage and personal match data." This would help during analysis sessions and games where he needed a split-second read. The next was something flashy > Reputation Module [Unlocked] This one was purely informational but oddly fascinating. It ranked his reputation across leagues: ? Premier League: Rising Name ? Champions League: Pending Debutant ? La Liga: Former Favorite [He was HIM] ? UEFA Overall Index Rank: 114th out of 1,080[Active Players] Izan looked at everything but the UEFA overall index rank was somehow hurtful but he understood. He hadn''t yet made a Champions League appearance yet the index ranked him 114th. That was something. The new module even tracked fan sentiment. An emoji meter sat beside his name, currently balanced on a neutral face. That made him laugh. > Legend Point Balance: 52,000 He still had plenty left. And for now, he didn''t feel like splurging. Izan blinked twice, and the system faded. Everything, back to normal. Olivia leaned into him, placing her phone down. "You good?" "Yeah," he said, placing his phone on the table and stretching his legs. "Really good." She raised a brow at the shift in his tone but didn''t press. Instead, she reached for the remote. "Wanna rewatch your highlight from the Villa game?" He smiled at her, half amused, half distracted by what just happened inside his head. "Why not?" As the replays rolled on screen¡ªhis goal, the crowd''s roar, and the infamous celebration that earned him a red¡ªhe sat back, eyes glinting with something new. Not just anticipation for games ahead. Not just pride in the draw. But clarity. He wasn''t overpowered. He wasn''t invincible. But now, he had tools that were getting him there. Sharpened ones at that too. And with the UCL on the horizon, the Premier League underway, and Valencia waiting at Mestalla in the final chapter of the league phase, he''d need every edge he could get. Because greatness wasn''t handed out in football. It had to be earned¡ªmoment by moment. Match by match. And now, he was ready. .... The next morning arrived slowly. Sunlight crept in through the half-drawn curtains of Izan''s apartment, filtering across the wooden floor and reaching the edge of the grey couch where Olivia lay wrapped up in one of his hoodies, fast asleep. Her hair was a mess, a few strands clinging to her cheek, lips parted just slightly as she breathed deep and even. Izan stood quietly near the kitchen, pulling on his track pants. His Arsenal training top was already on, the sleeves bunched slightly at the wrists. He moved carefully, trying not to make any noise as he opened the fridge and grabbed an apple and a bottle of water. The clock on the wall read 7:12 a.m. He had to be at Colney by eight. He leaned back against the counter, chewing slowly, his mind still half on the system''s updates from the night before. Even now, if he focused, he could feel the system idling in the background. Like it was waiting. Across the room, Olivia shifted under the covers. Her hand fumbled out from under the hoodie sleeve, blindly searching the couch until she found the pillow she''d kicked off in her sleep. She mumbled something, barely audible. "¡­Izan¡­" He glanced over, watching her face soften as she turned into the pillow. "¡­love you so much¡­" He froze. A quiet warmth filled his chest, slow and steady. The kind you didn''t show on your face but felt anyway. She was still asleep, clearly unaware she''d said anything. A/n: Okay. Second out of a lot. See you in a bit with the first chapter of the day as well as a few of the Golden Gachapon ones. I would have released a lot but I''m still writing my exams so I can only do 2 daily ones plus 3 extra so bare with me. Thanks for the gifts and see you later. Chapter 424 424: Off The Sheets Across the room, Olivia shifted under the covers. Her hand fumbled out from under the hoodie sleeve, blindly searching the couch until she found the pillow she''d kicked off in her sleep. She mumbled something, barely audible. "¡­Izan¡­" He glanced over, watching her face soften as she turned into the pillow. "¡­love you so much¡­" He froze. A quiet warmth filled his chest, slow and steady. The kind you didn''t show on your face but felt anyway. She was still asleep, clearly unaware she''d said anything. He took a quiet breath, smiled faintly, and walked over. His footsteps were light as he knelt beside the couch. Carefully, he tucked the loose edge of the blanket back over her shoulder and brushed one of the stray strands of hair from her face. "Sleep," he whispered. "I''ll be back before you even notice." She didn''t stir this time. Just murmured something incomprehensible and sank deeper into the couch. He stood up again, grabbed his bag, and slung it over one shoulder. His boots were already by the door¡ªcleaned and set out the night before. He slid them on, zipped his jacket up halfway, and gave the place one last glance. On the small coffee table were two mugs¡ªone still with a little cold tea in it¡ªand the TV remote resting between them. He pulled the door open and stepped outside into the cool morning air. His driver was already waiting at the curb, the usual black car with tinted windows humming quietly. Izan climbed in and nodded a silent good morning. The roads were quiet, early sunlight casting long shadows through the passing streets. As they pulled away, he rested his head against the window, watching London drift by. As he sat, his mind buzzed again. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. [System Tip: Arsenal Training Session Detected] > Tactical Lens [ON] > Passive Perks: ACTIVE > Reputation Tracker: Observation Mode Welcome to Colney, Alien. Let''s make it count.] Izan smiled at the system taking initiative before looking right back outside. ...¡­ The training pitch at Colney buzzed with its usual rhythm¡ªshouts, thuds of boots against the turf, whistles cutting through the crisp morning air. The grass was sharp with dew, sunlight bouncing off the pitch lines as the first team went through their rondos, dynamic drills, and positional patterns. Mikel Arteta stood near midfield, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in that typical half-frown he wore when watching closely. But today wasn''t typical. Not by a long shot. Izan was untouchable. In every drill, he moved like he already knew the next three passes. Interceptions, touches, movements off the ball¡ªit all clicked. There was no hesitation, no clutter in his decision-making. When the team shifted from a tight possession drill to a small-sided game, it became impossible to ignore. Every time the ball found Izan''s feet, something happened. A first-time flick behind the backline that left White completely turned around. Next, a give-and-go with Jesus in a tight pocket, followed by a backheel split that took out both Rice and Kiwior. What followed was a sudden turn past Tomiyasu that left the defender stumbling, hand up in apology before he even recovered. Carlos Cuesta walked over to Arteta during a pause, lowering his voice. "Mikel¡­ you sure he''s alright? You want me to check if he''s¡­ on something?" Arteta didn''t answer at first. He just stared. Izan had just received the ball under pressure from Havertz and Partey, spun between them with a drag-and-cut, and then pinged a left-footed diagonal across to Zinchenko in stride. "Nope.," Arteta finally said, squinting. "He''s on something alright but not what you think." Cuesta looked at him. "He is something." The laughter on the pitch wasn''t helping. "Oi!" Saka called, jogging backward as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. "What did they put in the draw last night, bro? We couldn''t handle you already but why did you suddenly turn up like this since Valencia came up." Izan didn''t answer. He just shook his head once and smiled. The ball rolled back to him. One bounce. He adjusted his stance and struck it cleanly with his left, no run-up¡ªjust timing. Top bin. The net rippled violently. Even Raya, in goal for that segment, just threw his hands up. The whistle blew, signaling a transition. Players jogged into the next phase¡ª11v11, staggered teams¡ªbut not before Jorginho gave Izan a playful shoulder bump. "If you play like that at the Mestalla," he smirked, "they''ll boo you in four languages." Izan only smiled again, chest rising and falling with calm breaths. Inside, he could feel the system ticking quietly, enhancing¡ªnot overwhelming. [Tactical Lens Active] ?Positional errors of teammates marked in faint red. ?Lane probabilities are highlighted subtly, fading with each decision cycle. ?Energy distribution prediction: 84% optimal load. ?Vision: No temporary boost activated. Everything flowed through him like it had finally synced. Like all the time spent pacing himself, observing instead of rushing¡ªit was paying off. He wasn''t invincible. He was just finally in gear. And the staff had noticed. Arteta turned to Cuesta again. "Don''t touch him. Don''t say anything." "Yeah?" "Let him keep going." His arms dropped from his chest. "We''ll watch." ..... The final whistle of the session had long gone, but Izan''s strike was still replaying in everyone''s heads. Even as they filtered off the pitch, there was a lingering buzz¡ªsomething between awe and disbelief. Inside the changing room, the energy simmered. Boots were peeled off, tape ripped free. Conversations dropped into pockets of murmurs, most of them still circling back to Izan''s performance. Saka nudged him with a towel slung over his neck. "Still not gonna tell us what''s in your water bottle?" Izan gave a lopsided shrug. "Just focus." "Focus? Nah, that was something else," Timber muttered, rubbing down his shins. "If you don''t play Saturday, we better all have that kind of focus." A few heads turned¡ªeveryone knew he was suspended. No need to say it out loud. "Don''t worry," Rice grinned, looking at Izan from across the room. "I''ll do your celebration if we score. Flop like I got sniped." The room cracked up. Even Arteta, stepping in with his tablet, wore a faint smirk. "All right, enough," he said. "We refocus now. Brighton''s coming." As the squad huddled around the screens for the tactical brief, Izan stayed on the periphery¡ªallowed to listen, not take part. His name wouldn''t be in the lineup discussions this week. Arteta brought everyone back in. "We know what Brighton do. We''ve seen it for three seasons now. Build from the back. Wait for a mistake. Press high, but disciplined. The key will be to make them overcommit¡ªand then punish them. We rotate Izan''s central play accordingly. Havertz tucks behind Jesus ." Izan nodded at Arteta''s words, understanding his sentiments. He knew it already. Had watched the footage. Analyzed the rotations. Brighton''s press wasn''t chaotic; it was methodical. But vulnerable if you slipped behind their line. After the session, he headed to the recovery room, lying still with a compression sleeve wrapped around his leg, even if it wasn''t sore. After a while, the physio slipped it off before telling Izan it was fine to leave. As he left the room and headed down the hallway, he crossed paths with Jorginho and Ben White, already changed and heading out. "You''re still here?" Jorginho asked. "Trying to break into the lineup from the physio room?" "Just using the time," Izan replied. Ben nodded. "You''re not playing Saturday, but keep going like today¡ªyou''re undroppable after." Izan didn''t respond. He didn''t need to. The work spoke for itself. Outside, the late afternoon sun filtered through Colney''s glass corridor, golden and stretched out. His driver was already waiting near the gates, but he took a second to himself. Walked slowly, head low, eyes half-focused on nothing. ... August 31st. Matchday. Izan sat on the couch, flipping through early coverage. Sky Sports had started their build-up. Brighton''s squad was shown arriving at the Emirates, followed by clips from Arsenal''s training session the day before. His name flashed briefly¡ª"suspended after the Villa red card"¡ªbefore they moved on. He set the remote down and leaned back. There wasn''t much to do now except wait. From the bedroom, Olivia was rustling through the wardrobe. The sharp slide of hangers, a drawer opening and shutting. She mumbled something, mostly to herself. "You good?" Izan called. "I don''t know what to wear," she said. "If I wear red, I feel like a fangirl. If I don''t, I look like I''m supporting Brighton." "I think you''ll survive," Izan said. "It''s not a fashion gala. You''ll blend in with everyone yelling at the ref." She reappeared in the doorway a moment later, holding up a blue sweater with a skeptical look. "Too obvious?" "You''re not trying to sneak into the away end, are you?" She rolled her eyes and disappeared again. A pause. "Hey," Izan called, sitting up straighter. "What if we just stayed in and cuddled instead? You know, skipped the whole matchday traffic, fake smiles, awkward ''oh no you''re not playing today'' chats¡ª" "No." "You didn''t even think about it." "I did. For half a second. And then I remembered it''s your team''s match." "Exactly. I''m not even playing." She stepped out again, hair still slightly damp, now dressed and pulling on a pair of sneakers. "Then this is the one match where you can sit next to me the entire time without disappearing. I''m taking full advantage." Izan let out a short laugh. "You''re ruthless." "Someone has to keep you grounded." He grabbed his jacket and stood. "Let''s go, then." offering his hand in the process which Olivia took. And with that, the duo left for the Emirates. A/n: First of the day. Have fun reading. Chapter 425 425: Spectator[Pistacho031_3] The Emirates was already alive with movement when Izan and Olivia arrived through the players'' hospitality entrance. The buzz of thousands building toward kickoff was low and steady, like a hum beneath their feet. They moved past stewards and ushers with familiar nods, heading toward the box seats reserved for squad members not involved in the day''s match. Izan walked with his hands tucked into the pocket of a black hoodie, the hood hanging loose over his shoulders. He didn''t need the Arsenal badge on the pass lanyard to be recognized. Olivia, in a clean white knit and fitted jeans, stayed close, not clinging but comfortable. They reached their seats just a few minutes before kickoff. It was elevated but not distant from the crowd, nestled within a row of VIPs and familiar faces. There were murmurs when they sat¡ªnothing loud, nothing direct. Just a small ripple of acknowledgment moving through the nearby seats. A few turned their heads. A couple of camera phones lifted discreetly. Olivia leaned toward him, whispering with a smile, "You weren''t joking about people staring." "They''re staring at you." "Please," she laughed softly. "They''re already plotting their fantasy teams with you back next week." He gave her a look but didn''t argue. The pre-match screen sequence had started¡ªclips of previous goals, fan footage, a quick spotlight on supporters from around the world¡ªand then, as usual, a sweep across the crowd. It was playful, light, the kind of thing people waved at and laughed about. But the camera settled¡ªjust briefly¡ªon them. It wasn''t staged. But it felt like it. There he was, seated with arms folded, the faintest smile on his face, and Olivia next to him, legs crossed, leaning ever so slightly into his space with a raised brow. The Emirates let out a mix of laughter and cheers, a pocket of fans near their section letting out a mock chant of "Izan! Izan!" like he''d scored a winner. Olivia laughed under her breath. "I can''t believe I''m on the big screen." "You should''ve worn the shirt," Izan muttered, motioning to the Arsenal training kit poking out from under someone else''s jacket in the row ahead. She shrugged. "I''m the one people will be asking about later." One fan called out from below, "Oi Izan¡ªget back out there next week, yeah?" "Shouldn''t have been a red, lad!" He gave a small, casual thumbs-up in reply but didn''t play into it more than that. Olivia nudged him lightly. "They really love you." "Until I fluff a backheel in a derby." The whistle blew, and attention shifted to the pitch. Arsenal kicked off with their usual tempo¡ªsharp, organized, and patient. Brighton came with structure, sticking tight between the lines, but from the very first few passes, Izan could feel that Arsenal looked locked in. Even without him. Martinelli, now back on his left, and Havertz who filled in more centrally in his absence, played like they had something to prove. Ten minutes in, he burned past Lamptey and forced a save at the near post. On the opposite flank, Saka had already drawn two fouls with that tight close control of his. ?degaard operated in tight spaces, floating between the lines with calm authority. From their seat, Izan watched without blinking. His arms stayed folded, but every movement was noted¡ªwhere the space opened up, which second balls went unchallenged, who looked switched on and who didn''t. "Can''t you just watch," Olivia said, glancing sideways with a slight smile. "You''re always studying something." He didn''t answer right away. Then he looked at her, "I''m counting where they''d be in a good position." Olivia watched the pitch for a few seconds. "You do this even when you''re not playing?" "Especially when I''m not." He leaned slightly forward, gaze fixed. In some ways, this felt worse than being benched. Not because he couldn''t play, but because he wasn''t allowed. Suspended. Punished for something he didn''t regret doing. He didn''t let that sit on his face though¡ªnot here, not with the whole stadium watching. The breakthrough came in the 34th minute. Declan Rice picked out ?degaard with a sharp diagonal, and the captain spun, releasing Jesus between Brighton''s back line with a perfect first-time pass. One touch. Bottom corner. 1-0. The stadium roared. Not a goal-of-the-season contender, but clean. Clinical. Izan stood with everyone else in the box, clapping once or twice before settling back down. Olivia turned toward him with raised brows. "Pretty nice." "Very," he said, eyes already back on the replay on the screen. "You''d have passed that?" "No," he said. "I''d have tried to chip the keeper and probably gave Arteta a shock." She laughed and rested her chin against her hand as she looked at him. "You look good up here too, you know." "What''s that supposed to mean?" "Just that you''re not just a footballer. You don''t disappear when you''re not on the pitch." He didn''t say anything for a moment. "Don''t say that. I''m nothing like comfortable here." Olivia just smiled at his words and turned towards the pitch. Brighton pushed back near the end of the half, but their chances lacked conviction. One header skidded wide. One half-volley ballooned over. ?degaard had another chance at the other end just before the whistle¡ªright idea, wrong finish. Inches off the post. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Halftime arrived with the score still 1-0. A solid lead, even if not a commanding one. As the players headed down the tunnel, the camera cut to the stands again. This time, Izan saw it before Olivia did. He leaned into her, quietly: "They''ve got us again." She blinked and sat up straighter. "Good. I did my hair for this." The halftime buzz around them was loud¡ªconversations about goals, missed chances, the new tactical shape. Izan''s thoughts were already a week ahead, already itching to return. "You think we''ll get a third cameo?" Olivia asked with a grin. "They''ll stop once I''m back on the pitch." "I don''t know," she teased. "We''re a pretty photogenic couple." He didn''t argue. Instead, he settled deeper into his seat and glanced at the pitch one more time. ... The second half began with Brighton showing more ambition, perhaps sensing Arsenal''s rhythm was just a step off without their usual width. Mitoma, lively as ever, had shifted centrally in search of more space, but Saliba and Gabriel weren''t offering any. Despite Arsenal''s lead, the match never truly settled. Brighton had too much quality to fold and in the 59th minute, they found their way back. Pascal Gro? slipped a smart ball between Zinchenko and Gabriel, catching them flat for a second. Ferguson''s run was timed to perfection, and his first-time strike zipped low past Raya at the near post equalizing for the away side. 1¨C1. The Emirates groaned, but only for a moment. The response came not from panic, but urgency. From the stands, Izan leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. Olivia glanced at him, smiling when she caught how intently he watched the pitch. He didn''t even realize he''d been bouncing his right leg until she placed a hand on his thigh, steadying it. "You''re not even playing," she whispered. "Doesn''t mean I can''t will my team on," he muttered. Arsenal pressed again. Odegaard sprayed passes with surgical precision. Havertz, who had been quieter in the first half, started drifting into more dangerous pockets. But the final ball kept missing. Saka looked exhausted from constant double-marking. Jesus buzzed but couldn''t quite get free. The breakthrough came in the 76th minute, and it came from the man who had been waiting for his moment all game. A long spell of possession worked the ball from right to left. Rice found Zinchenko on the underlap, who cut inside and squared to Odegaard at the top of the box. The captain didn''t take a touch. He simply nudged it into space¡ªand Leandro Trossard, on as a sub, ghosted between defenders to meet it first-time. 2¨C1. The Emirates roared. Izan stood up with the rest of the crowd, clapping once, then folding his arms with a small smile. Olivia leaned toward him and murmured, "That guy''s not bad, huh?" He chuckled. "I taught him that." She laughed as the replays showed Trossard sprinting away in celebration, the rest of the squad piling onto him. The final ten minutes were tense but not frantic. Arteta brought on Jorginho and Tomiyasu to tighten up midfield and secure the lead. Brighton threw bodies forward, but nothing came of it beyond a hopeful cross that Raya plucked from the air with confidence. When the fourth official''s board went up with four minutes of added time, the crowd rose, willing their side to finish the job. And they did. The final whistle blew, and the Emirates responded with a wave of sound. Relief. Joy. Three points. Full-Time: Arsenal 2 ¨C 1 Brighton Goals: Jesus (34''), Trossard (76'') ¨C Ferguson (59'') "That''s how you dig out a win," the commentator said over the closing broadcast shot, the camera panning across jubilant fans. "Arsenal, without their teenage sensation on the pitch, had to find other ways through today¡ªand they did. Odegaard brilliant. Trossard sharp. A tight one, but another big three points for Mikel Arteta''s side, who stay right in the thick of it." The shot cut to the executive seats, briefly catching Izan and Olivia as they rose. A ripple of cheers echoed when Izan gave a subtle wave, but he was already guiding Olivia down the aisle before the focus shifted back to the pitch. As they walked toward the stadium''s private exit, Olivia leaned in. "They showed us on the screen again," she said. "I saw," Izan replied, barely hiding his grin. "They caught my good side." She nudged him with her elbow. "All sides are your good side." He looked over at her. "Alright, now you''re just trying to get us back home early." She raised an eyebrow. "And is that a problem?" He didn''t answer. Just held her hand tighter as they stepped through the tunnel, the echoes of the win still lingering behind them. A/n: Chapter number 3 out of a lot. Slowly but surely getting there. Have fun reading and i''ll see you with the next chapter. Chapter 426 426: International Break [Pistacho031_3] A ripple of cheers echoed when Izan gave a subtle wave, but he was already guiding Olivia down the aisle before the focus shifted back to the pitch. As they walked toward the stadium''s private exit, Olivia leaned in. "They showed us on the screen again," she said. "I saw," Izan replied, barely hiding his grin. "They caught my good side." She nudged him with her elbow. "All sides are your good side." He looked over at her. "Alright, now you''re just trying to get us back home early." She raised an eyebrow. "And is that a problem?" He didn''t answer. Just held her hand tighter as they stepped through the tunnel, the echoes of the win still lingering behind them. ____________ The Sunday afternoon light was golden through the living room windows, casting a soft glow over the quiet apartment. Olivia sat cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, flipping lazily through a magazine while Izan lounged with his phone on the couch, one leg dangling over the edge. The morning had been slow¡ªsleep-ins, a late breakfast, and now this lull before the inevitable press of the coming week. They hadn''t talked about the international break much, but it hung in the air now that Arsenal''s match was behind them and the league paused. When Olivia''s phone buzzed with an incoming video call, she scooted toward the sofa and turned the screen toward him. The call connected, and three familiar faces filled the frame: Komi, Hori, and Miranda. "?Hijo m¨ªo!" Komi greeted him first, cheerful as always. Her hair was pinned up and she wore an apron, clearly in the middle of preparing something. "Did you eat well today? You''re too skinny these days, you know." Izan chuckled, straightening up. "Yes, mam¨¢. Olivia makes sure I don''t skip meals." Olivia smiled proudly from beside him. Then came the dramatic sigh from Hori. "And she''s taken my job too," his younger sister muttered, her voice exaggeratedly sulky. "First it was walking with you to training, then popping up in interviews, and now even video calls. What am I supposed to do now?" "You could always become a TikTok star," Olivia teased. Komi laughed from her side of the screen. "She already thinks she is." "Watch it," Hori warned, folding her arms with mock defiance. Izan leaned closer, grinning. "Come on, you know I miss our walks." "Then tell the media to bring me back!" she shot back. "They used to take pictures of us. Now they only take pictures of you two holding hands like it''s a romance movie." Izan laughed, exchanging a glance with Olivia, who leaned her head on his shoulder. Then, Miranda''s voice cut in from somewhere off-screen. "Enough with the teenage drama." A moment later, she slid into view, holding a coffee mug, her expression as sharp as ever. "We need to talk." "Uh-oh," Olivia whispered, nudging Izan. Miranda raised an eyebrow. "International break''s here. The squad list drops tomorrow morning. Are you in, or should I speak to someone and buy you some rest? You''ve had a whirlwind month, and they owe you one after that ridiculous Euro''s schedule for a kid." Izan didn''t answer immediately. He stared at the screen for a second, his fingers tapping softly on the arm of the sofa. The idea of staying back¡ªof lying low for a week, catching his breath¡ªdid hold a certain temptation. But he shook his head. "No. If I want to be great¡­ then these little moments matter." There was a brief silence before Miranda smirked. "I knew you''d say that. You''re just homesick." Komi lit up. "Aw, you miss your mam¨¢?" "Don''t flatter yourself," Izan said, but his smile gave him away. "I do," he added more quietly after a second. Miranda shifted in her seat. "Well, I''m glad. Because you''ve got a few sponsorship obligations in Spain we can tick off while you''re here. Nothing too heavy¡ªjust a couple of shoots, one light meet and greet. Big brands like how you''ve handled your transition. They think you''re marketable." Izan''s expression twisted slightly. "As long as it''s not a shampoo ad." "You wish," Miranda deadpanned. "You''re not pretty enough for that. Olivia maybe." Hori''s gasp was audible. "He is pretty!" Komi laughed again. "He takes after me. Well, at least my personality. He got his dad''s eyes." The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that¡ªfamily updates, Komi''s plans for the Local school where she had started helping out part-time. Hori''s dance showcase coming up, and Miranda''s complaint about being stuck in a Madrid apartment with a neighbor who played reggaeton until 3 a.m. But even as he smiled and laughed, Izan felt the weight of the coming days settle on his shoulders. The Spanish call-up wasn''t just another match¡ªit was another chapter in a story he would be building for years. He glanced at Olivia once the call ended and they were alone again. Her head was resting on his lap now, her eyelids fluttering closed. Tomorrow, the list would come out. Then the flights. The training. But for now, they had the quiet. And that, he thought, was just as important. .... Monday morning broadcast. "International Break: where reputations are tested and new ones are made." The studio was all sleek surfaces and bold banners¡ªflashes of red, yellow, blue behind the presenter''s shoulder as the montage played. "With domestic leagues on pause, this is the window where national teams recalibrate¡ªblooding form players, protecting veterans, and gauging the pulse of world football''s next generation. And with the 2026 World Cup cycle well underway, it''s no longer about sentiment. It''s about who''s ready. Right now." A list of upcoming squad drops slid onto the screen, timestamps and federation crests glowing beneath them. Spain''s was one of the last. _____________ The sizzle of oil in a pan. A puff of saffron-scented steam curling into the air. Izan''s kitchen¡ªusually minimalist, pristine, underused¡ªlooked like it had been hit by a light-hearted war. Chopped peppers scattered beside a cutting board, an opened tin of clams balancing precariously near the stove, and two very focused young adults trying really hard not to burn their masterpiece. "I said gentle with the rice, not¡ª" Olivia snapped, lunging to stop him from stirring too hard. "It was clumping," Izan defended, spoon in hand. "It''s supposed to clump. That''s the crust. That''s sabor!" "You''re just mad I stirred it first." She shot him a look, but couldn''t hide her grin. The paella wasn''t perfect, but it was theirs. One of the few things they''d learned to make without YouTube videos or phone calls to Komi. Between toast, pasta, and this, they''d basically mastered survival. Kind of. Izan stepped back from the pan, wiping his hands on a towel. "At least it smells good." "It always smells good. That''s the trap." They moved like this for the next few minutes¡ªhim checking the time without looking like he was checking the time, her pretending not to notice the muted TV still tuned to the sports channel. Spain''s list wasn''t out yet. But it was close. The studio flickered again on the screen, now cutting to training camp arrivals from other countries. Griezmann had just shown up to Clairefontaine. Bellingham was laughing with Saka at St. George''s Park. A headline bar crawled across the bottom of the screen: "Luis de la Fuente expected to name Spain''s squad within the next hour. Multiple surprise names rumored." Izan didn''t say anything. He grabbed a lemon wedge from the counter, squeezed it over the paella, and set the pan down in the middle of the dining table. Olivia brought over plates and then collapsed into her chair with a dramatic sigh. "So," she said, poking at the dish with a fork. "If they don''t call you up, does that mean we make another one of these next weekend?" Izan blinked. "Are you saying you want me to get snubbed?" "I''m saying I wouldn''t mind another quiet weekend. You, me, bad paella, and my Spotify playlist." "I''m starting to think this was your plan all along." She smirked. But as the clock ticked closer, and the Sky Sports anchor returned to announce, "We are moments away from the RFEF''s official announcement"¡ªIzan''s fork paused halfway to his mouth. And everywhere from Madrid to Valencia, Sevilla to San Sebasti¨¢n¡­ so was everyone else. "Spain''s national team squad for the upcoming international fixtures has just been released by the RFEF¡­" The broadcast anchor''s voice cut through the background noise in the apartment, but neither Izan nor Olivia moved to turn up the volume. They were too focused on the stove, where the pan of paella was starting to crisp at the bottom¡ªexactly how they liked it. Olivia gave the rice one last stir while Izan plated the shrimp with practiced rhythm. It wasn''t fancy, but it was the one thing they both knew how to cook without thinking. On the TV, the squad list rolled across the screen. Goalkeepers: Unai Sim¨®n (Athletic Club) ¨¢lex Remiro (Real Sociedad) David Raya (Arsenal) Defenders: Dani Carvajal (Real Madrid) Alejandro Balde (Barcelona) Robin Le Normand (Atletico Madrid) Aymeric Laporte (Al Nassr) Pau Cubars¨ª (Barcelona) Marc Cucurella (Chelsea) S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Pedro Porro (Tottenham Hotspur) Midfielders: Rodri (Manchester City) Fabi¨¢n Ruiz (Paris Saint-Germain) Pedro Gonzalez(Barcelona) Aleix Garc¨ªa (Bayer Leverkusen) Gavi (Barcelona) ¨¢lex Baena (Villarreal) Forwards: Nico Williams (Athletic Club) Dani Olmo (Barcelona) Lamine Yamal (Barcelona) ¨¢lvaro Morata (Atl¨¦tico Madrid) Bryan Zaragoza (Bayern Munich) Izan Hernandez (Arsenal) Olivia glanced over first. "There it is." Izan didn''t bother looking. He just handed her a plate. "Obviously." She smirked. "You tied Platini, Izan. They''d have to be insane to leave you out." "Wouldn''t be the first time Spain did something insane," he muttered, finally flicking his eyes toward the screen. Just a quiet nod like a man ticking off an item on a to-do list. Olivia grabbed the remote, muted it, and joined him at the counter. "I like seeing it. You know, seeing your name next to that crest. It looks good." Izan gave a short, amused exhale. "It always did." A/n: 4th of the Golden Gacha chapters. Chapter 427 427: Mi Casa September 2nd ¡ª London, Izan''s Apartment There was a particular kind of chaos that came with packing fifteen minutes before a scheduled airport pickup. Izan''s suitcase lay open on the bed, half-zipped, with socks sticking out like they were trying to escape. He was shirtless, squatting on the floor and trying to match the right kind of sock with its counterpart. His phone buzzed twice ¡ª first from Miranda confirming the car was on its way, and again from the national team group chat, where someone had just sent a meme of Lamine Yamal dunking on everyone in training. "Where''s my charger?" Izan muttered, lifting a pile of clothes like he expected it to be hiding under his jeans. From behind him, Olivia walked into the room with a tote bag in one hand, and a stuffed duffel slung over her shoulder. "I''m ready," she said. Izan didn''t look up. "Cool. I''ll be done in five." "You don''t get it." He finally turned. Olivia dropped the duffel next to his suitcase. "You weren''t gonna say anything, were you?" she said, crossing her arms. He blinked. "What?" "You were just gonna leave me behind." "I thought you were staying," Izan replied, now genuinely confused. "Didn''t you say you had to go back to King''s for some offline procedure thing?" "I did it yesterday." "You what?" "I filled out all the stupid forms, submitted everything. I''m done." She pointed at her bag. "I''m coming back to Spain." There was a pause. "You mean¡ª" "I''m coming with you, yes," Olivia said flatly. "I''m moving back for the year. You thought I was gonna stay here while you went and trained under the Spanish sun?" Izan scratched his head, smiling now. "I mean¡­ I didn''t think you''d want to deal with my snoring every night for twelve straight months." "You don''t snore," she muttered, visibly trying to keep her sulk intact but already cracking at the edges. He stepped forward and gently pulled her arms away from her chest. "Liv¡­" She didn''t meet his eyes. "¡­you''ve been doing everything for me lately. If anything, I thought maybe you''d want a few days to yourself." Olivia exhaled. "I want to be there, yeah¡ªbut not like that. I''m heading back to Spain to get my stuff in order. Then we''ll come back together. That was always the plan." Izan nodded, the smile lingering. "Right. I just didn''t think you''d be flying out with me." "Well, I wasn''t gonna let you sneak off with my charger again." He laughed. "Fair enough." She moved to grab her bag again, but he beat her to it. "I got it." "I could''ve carried mine," Olivia said, walking beside him toward the door. "You''re already carrying the emotional damage of dating me," he replied without missing a beat. She snorted. "You''re lucky you have a nice face." "You''re lucky I like your sarcasm." Izan opened the door, slinging both bags over his shoulder, and peeked down the hallway. "Elevator?" She nodded. They stepped in, side by side. Olivia leaned lightly against the mirrored wall as it descended. "You know," she said suddenly, "if I''d waited even thirty more seconds, you really would''ve left without me." "Yeah," Izan said, grinning. "But I would''ve noticed halfway through the flight." She shot him a look. "¡­Probably," he added. Her groan echoed softly in the lift as the doors slid open at the ground floor. Waiting at the curb just outside the entrance, the black car Miranda had arranged was already parked, spotless, and punctual. The driver, dressed in a clean blazer and cap, stepped out and opened the back door with a polite nod. "Right on time," Olivia muttered. "Miranda doesn''t miss." Izan passed her the lighter of the two bags. "You sure about this?" She adjusted the strap and gave him a look. "You''re flying to Spain, not the moon." They walked toward the car, the last of the early morning air brushing past them. Olivia ducked into the back seat first. Izan followed, tossing his bag in the trunk as the driver closed the door behind them. London faded quietly behind the glass as the car pulled away¡ªno fanfare, no dramatic music. Just them, and the road ahead. Spain next. Then back again. Together. ...¡­ Barajas Airport Izan had barely stepped off the plane when the shutter clicks started. Someone at arrivals had clocked him and Olivia walking through side by side ¡ª and just like that, the internet did its thing. By the time they reached the blacked-out SUV Miranda had arranged, the first blurry photo was already on X (formerly Twitter): "Izan Hernandez was spotted arriving in Spain with his girlfriend. Not with the team. Was he even called up?" Then came another, this one sharper, Olivia mid-laugh as Izan reached to grab her suitcase. Her hair still held that London air fluff that hadn''t quite flattened from the flight, and Izan had on those oversized sunglasses that made him look more celebrity than a footballer. The caption? "BREAKING: Rumors swirl as Izan Hernandez appears to have turned down national team duty??" By the time they reached the hotel, Spanish social media had basically turned into a warzone. @futbolmaniaco: Wait. He was on the official list this morning? @its_valen: yeah, he''s literally in the forwards list. Right under Morata lol @totallynotbiased: bro declined Spain to go on vacation with his girl lmao @laligathreads: Sources say he asked to skip the break. Too good for international football now? Even the usual sports accounts had joined in: @marca: Izan Hernandez was called up by Spain, but has not yet reported to the federation''s camp. The reason? Unknown. @elchiringuitotv: Is Izan Hernandez committed to Spain¡­ or just to Olivia? The last one made Olivia laugh out loud when she saw it while scrolling beside him in the hotel lounge. "Oh my God. ''Committed to Olivia'' ¡ª as if that''s a scandal," she said between bites of a churro. Izan raised a brow, phone still face-down beside his iced bottle of water. "They think I ghosted the national team." "Honestly? Kind of hot." She leaned back with a grin. "It''s giving ''dangerous man who doesn''t care about borders.''" "I literally have a meeting with the team doctor in two hours." "Does the doctor know you''re dangerously obsessed with me?" "Olivia." She laughed again, then showed him another post ¡ª a collage of him, her, and the squad list with a giant red question mark edited between them. The comment underneath read: "Izan Hernandez is playing his own game." He exhaled through his nose, finally flipping his phone open and sending a voice note in the group chat to Fabi¨¢n Ruiz and Rodri: "I''m in Madrid. Calm down. Stop making it sound like I''m on strike." Within a minute, Fabi¨¢n replied with a selfie of him looking fake-sad and holding a sign that said: "We miss you, superstar." Rodri just sent the shrug emoji. "You think I should tweet something?" Izan asked, tilting his head. "No," Olivia said without looking up. "Let them cook." He watched her for a second, then smiled. "You like this attention too much." "I like watching people lose their minds over nothing," she said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. "Also, you''re in Spain. With me. Preparing to play for the national team. That''s a flex." "Fair." Still, he opened his Instagram and typed something anyway before doing the same for the other handles. Just landed. Reporting soon. Spain knows what''s up. Then added a picture: his boots by the window of the hotel room, sun spilling in through the curtain. He turned and set his phone on the bedside but before he could move any further, his phone buzzed on the bedside table, the screen lighting up with a single message. [Ra¨²l ¨C La Roja]: I''m outside. Black SUV. He glanced at it, then let the phone drop onto the sheets with a soft thud. "That''s my cue," he muttered, rolling his shoulder and reaching for his hoodie. He was already dressed¡ªtrack pants, clean trainers, and the national team polo folded neatly on the edge of the bed. Olivia looked up from the little vanity mirror where she was tying her hair. "That the rep?" "Yeah." He zipped the hoodie up halfway and checked his watch. "Right on time. They said the pickup would be sharp." She stood and walked over to him, arms folding around his waist like it was routine. "You gonna miss me?" she asked, muffled. "Not even a little bit," he teased, before leaning in and kissing her¡ªslow, deep, familiar. When he pulled back, she blinked like she needed a second to find her breath again. "Showoff," she muttered, cheeks flushed. He grinned, grabbed his duffel bag from the corner, and slung it over his shoulder. "I''ll see you in a few days," he said, turning toward the door. "You better FaceTime me." "I''ll pretend I''m too jet-lagged," he shot back. "You do that, I''ll change the locks." He laughed as he walked out, boots thudding against the carpet. At the elevator, he glanced back once to see her still standing there, arms crossed, but now smiling faintly. Then the doors slid shut. Downstairs, the black SUV was waiting exactly where the text had said¡ªright in front of the hotel''s main entrance. The rep, Ra¨²l, stepped out, crisp in his red La Roja windbreaker, and gave a sharp nod. "Izan," he said. "Ra¨²l." They shook hands quickly. No press, no camera crew¡ªjust a quiet exchange between a player and the man tasked with getting him back in red and gold. As Ra¨²l opened the back door, Izan turned for a brief second. Through the glass doors of the lobby, Olivia could just barely be seen near the edge of the lounge, already checking her phone as she waited for her ride home. Then he ducked into the car, the door clicked shut, and Spain¡ªinternational duty¡ªbegan. A/n: Sorry guys. I didn''t schedule it well. This is the 2nd chapter of the previous day. Have fun reading. Will be back with the other chapters soon. S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 428 428: Back In La Roja’s Camp Izan stepped out of the black SUV, stretching his arms as the door shut behind him. The chill of Madrid''s morning air hit him, the familiar scent of grass and fresh coffee filling the air around the training complex. He had barely taken two steps before Nico came jogging up, flashing his trademark grin. "Didn''t think you''d make it on time," Nico teased his tone light but with an edge of mock surprise. Izan raised an eyebrow. "I was never going to be late." "Yeah, but we thought we''d have a laugh if you were," Nico winked. Behind him, Fabian Ruiz, Yamal, and a few other players were gathered, all watching with subtle smirks. Yamal, grinning like he''d just pulled off something big, was the first to speak. "You''re just in time," he said, his voice pitched with fake sincerity. "We''ve all been waiting." Izan shot him a suspicious glance, just as a figure stepped forward. It was a new face, tall with broad shoulders, wearing a Spanish kit that seemed a bit too oversized for him¡ªexcept this time, it wasn''t Yamal. Cubarsi. The young defender who''d just been called up for the first time. "Cubarsi," Yamal said, pushing the new guy forward with a playful shove. "Meet Izan. You''ll be spending a lot of time with him now." Izan gave Cubarsi a quick glance. He was a few centimeters taller, but there was an easy camaraderie between them. Cubarsi''s smile was nervous, but his handshake was firm. "Good to meet you, Izan," Cubarsi said, though his eyes were darting between him and the rest of the group. Izan smiled back, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, man. Welcome to the squad and don''t be that polite. We''re only months apart." But then the rest of the guys started laughing. Nico doubled over, wiping his eyes, and Yamal was grinning wider than ever. "Bro," Nico said, struggling to catch his breath. "We were just talking about how you''re the only one here who''s been to a major tournament, and yet they still treat you like the new guy. They think they''re funny. Don''t let ''em get to you." It clicked. The "prank" wasn''t the usual friendly banter¡ªthis time, they were all setting him up for something. Yamal was already pulling a small bag out from behind his back. "Alright, Izan, brace yourself," he said, holding it up like it was some big reveal. Before Izan could ask what was going on, the bag was tossed toward him. He caught it reflexively, only to realize it wasn''t a new pair of boots or training gear. It was a set of child-sized shin pads, the kind you''d see on a six-year-old just starting football. "What the hell?" Izan stared at Yamal, whose face was now a mask of innocent shock. "We thought you might''ve forgotten these," Yamal said, trying not to laugh. "Thought we should help you out since you look like you''ve still got some growing to do." Izan stood still, letting the laughter ring out around him. He raised an eyebrow at the group. "You really think you''re the first to pull something like this on me?" he asked, tossing the bag aside and walking toward the locker room without missing a beat. "C''mon, I''m not falling for the rookie stuff." But Nico wasn''t done. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bowl-cut wig, holding it up like a trophy. "Yeah," he said, "we figured you could do with a fresh look." Izan finally cracked a smile, the kind of grin that only came when he knew the prank had been pulled off just right. "You''re all hilarious," he said, snatching the wig from Nico and tossing it back. "Next time, don''t waste my time, alright?" The group continued laughing as they followed him into the locker room, Yamal elbowing Cubarsi and muttering something about how he was lucky not to have been part of the prank crew this time. ... Izan was the first to step through the door of the locker room, his teammates'' laughter still echoing in the hallway behind him. As he dropped his bag on a bench, he turned to see Pedri entering the room, fresh from the corridor with a calm smile. "You''ve survived the prank," Pedri said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I would''ve joined in if I didn''t have an appointment with the physio." Izan smirked, glancing back at the rest of the squad. "You lot really know how to welcome someone back, don''t you?" Pedri shrugged. "Couldn''t let you think you''re still the king around here. Besides, it''s about time we get someone else pranked." Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "I''ve been pranked more times than I can count. You think I''m scared of you guys?" Pedri raised an eyebrow, half-tempted to say something more, but before he could, a voice from the doorway interrupted them. "Izan. Hernandez, is he here? If he is, he''s next!" It was the head physio, a seasoned professional with a no-nonsense attitude and a reputation for being thorough. He stepped into the room, a clipboard in hand. Izan nodded, standing up straight. "Alright, let''s do this." As he walked toward the physio''s office, Pedri gave him a quick wave, mouthing "Good luck" as he passed. The physio room was always a bit quieter than the rest of the complex, with its sterile white walls and the occasional sound of a tape dispenser or stretching bands being pulled. It smelled of fresh liniment and disinfectant¡ªnothing that would make you feel like you were about to relax. "Hop on the table," the physio instructed, already tapping a few notes into his tablet as Izan took a seat on the treatment bench. "Let''s see how you''re holding up after your last game." Izan stretched a bit as he got into position, ready for the usual checks. He was in good body shape with a low body fat percentage and a strong core to match No surprises there. The physio started with his legs, pressing on his calves, quads, and hamstrings. He moved through the motions with quick, practiced hands, all the while keeping his eyes on the tablet. There was nothing of concern. No tightness, no unusual stiffness. Izan was in top form. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The physio hummed a quiet tune, not bothering to look up as he ran through the standard tests. "Honestly, you''re in incredible shape," the physio said with a small nod. "You''ve been holding up better than most of the squad, and I''m not just talking about the young guys." Izan leaned back, the light tension of the checkups dissipating as he relaxed into the routine. "I''ve been working hard." The physio nodded again, still focused. "You''re probably in the best shape on the team right now. No injuries, no lingering issues. Hell, you might be one of the few who actually looks better since the Euros. Whatever you''re doing, keep doing it." Izan grinned, his usual confidence slipping into place. "It''s the work ethic. If you don''t put in the time, you''ll fall behind. And I''ve got bigger goals now." The physio stopped typing for a second, eyeing him with a raised brow. "Bigger goals? You''re already one of the top players in the squad." Izan''s smile deepened. "I didn''t win the Euros by being just ''good enough.''" With that, the physio gave a small chuckle and finished the last checks. "Well, you''ve got everything covered. No adjustments needed." Izan slid off the table, stretching his arms overhead. "As expected." "Just don''t forget to keep that focus up. We can''t afford any slip-ups this season¡ªespecially with the new guys coming in." Izan nodded. "I''m good to go. Thanks for the check." Izan stepped out, zip of his top halfway done as the door swung shut behind him. His posture? Loose. Confident. Not the swagger of someone trying to prove anything¡ªjust the natural walk of a man who already had. Euro champion, back in camp, sharper than ever. The hall smelled faintly of deep heat and a new interior. Izan adjusted his cuff, cracked his neck once, and was just about to head left when¡ª "Izan!" He turned to see Pablo Amo approaching, clipboard under one arm and a grin on his face. Izan met him halfway, and Amo pulled him in with a firm one-armed hug, patting him on the back. "Qu¨¦ alegr¨ªa, macho. (What A Joy, Man)" Izan gave a lopsided grin. "Still terrifying the analysts, or have you gone soft since we won the Euros?" Amo chuckled. "They cry faster now. Efficiency." Then he pulled back, tapping his watch. "Luis sent me. He wants to see you¡ªnow." Izan raised a brow, but he was already walking beside him. " "Heard something about you getting jumped by a hyper winger and a lanky center-back." Amo glanced sideways. "Didn''t Pedri set that up?" Izan snorted. "He tried. Bailed last second for a physio appointment. Typical." "Funny," Amo said, gesturing behind them. "Same one you just finished, no?" "Yeah. They said I''m either genetically modified or lying about sleeping six hours a night." Amo smirked. "You''ve got the best condition in the squad, no contest. The staff basically argued over who got to write your report." Izan didn''t say anything, just let the corner of his mouth twitch as they turned down the final corridor. A/n: First of the day. I don''t want to rush things as it would make the content bad. Even now, you can see a few things rushed so I''m going to be taking my time with those chapters. Anyways, first of the day which is the main one. Good morning Chapter 429 429: El Capitano [Pistacho031_3] The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. Luis de la Fuente was already standing, one hand resting on the edge of his desk, the other adjusting the cuff of his crisp white shirt. The office was exactly as Izan remembered it¡ªno frills, no clutter. A framed tactical board leaned against one wall, and two sets of boots on the floor beneath the window. A thick folder sat open on the desk, filled with scouting notes, match reports, and player data. It was standard, methodical. All business. "Izan," the manager greeted, stepping around the desk with a calm nod. "Gaffer," Izan replied, returning the gesture. They shook hands firmly¡ªnothing prolonged, nothing showy. Just a mutual grip and a brief flash of eye contact that said everything else. "Long summer," De la Fuente said simply. Izan smirked. "Didn''t feel long enough." "Winning tends to make things fly by." The manager motioned to the chair opposite his desk. Izan sat without hesitation "You have settled in alright?" De la Fuente asked, easing into his chair. "Yeah I am but I just arrived so I don''t really know yet. Just hope Breakfast tastes better." That earned a faint chuckle. "You look sharper than good. Amo tells me you''re top of the fitness charts." "Had a long preseason. Played catch-up after LA. System gave me some upgrades too." "System?" the manager asked, brow slightly raised. Izan blinked, quick enough to cover it. "My routine. Personal stuff. You know." De la Fuente nodded slowly, letting it slide without digging. "Well, whatever you''re doing, keep doing it. You''ve come back leaner, and quicker. And your match rhythm with Arsenal''s looked¡­ refined." "I''m finding my spots better." "You''ve always had that," De la Fuente said. "But now you''re trusting the timing. The game''s slowing down for you." Izan didn''t answer. He wasn''t the type to agree with praise out loud. The manager leaned back in his chair slightly, studying him across the desk¡ªnot with scrutiny, but with something quieter. Curiosity, maybe. Or assessment. "You know why I wanted to speak with you first?" Izan tilted his head. "Because I''m punctual?" De la Fuente cracked a smile. "Because I''m making you captain on the pitch if Morata''s or Caravjal''s not starting. And that might happen sooner than later." That gave Izan pause. "You''re not just the poster boy anymore," the manager continued. "You''re the fulcrum. Players look at you like they used to look at Xavi or Ramos. That changes how you carry yourself. And how you speak." "I''m not much of a talker." "No. But when you do speak, they listen. That''s the part that matters." Izan rested his forearms on his knees. "Is this gonna be permanent?" "I don''t hand armbands out for fun, Izan. But I''ve been watching. Last season, Euros, preseason. The maturity''s there. And with Pedri still building match fitness, and Gavi just returning¡­ I need leadership from the front." There was a quiet beat, heavy with something that wasn''t pressure¡ªbut maybe the beginning of something close. "I can do it," Izan said, finally. "I know." The silence that followed wasn''t awkward. Just settled. Comfortable. De la Fuente flipped open a page in the folder, tapping the sheet with a capped pen. "We''re running some attacking drills this afternoon, shape rotations and progression between the lines. I want you with the first unit. Nico, Dani, Lamine¡ªyour triangle. I need it humming by Friday." Izan gave a sharp nod. "Understood." "Good." The manager stood again, offering his hand once more. "Welcome back, Izan." This time, the shake had weight to it. Izan stood and nodded once more before turning toward the door. But just as he reached it, the manager''s voice stopped him. "And Izan?" He glanced back. "You''ve already won the Euros. You''re not here just to relive it. You''re here to make sure it wasn''t a one-off." Izan met his eyes. "Then let''s win more." And with that, he stepped out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him¡ªhis place in the camp no longer a question, but a responsibility. ...¡­.. The hallway outside the manager''s office was quiet, save for the soft hum of air conditioning and the occasional shuffle of equipment bags being rolled across the tiled floor. Izan followed the familiar path through the training facility''s residential wing, his footsteps echoing against the hollow space. Room assignments had gone up earlier that morning, and he already knew where he was headed. Room 214. He knocked once¡ªmore out of courtesy than necessity¡ªthen pushed the door open. Pedri was already inside, lounging on one of the twin beds with his phone above his face and his left leg draped over a rolled-up recovery ball. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in the midday sun without flooding the room. "Look who it is," Pedri said, lowering the phone but not sitting up. "Welcome to my humble abode." "Our humble abode," Izan said as he dropped a small bag on the opposite bed and toed off his sneakers. "Good to see you, bro." Izan smirked and sat at the edge of his mattress, stretching his back. "You good though?" he asked, voice a little quieter. "De la Fuente said you were still recovering." Pedri rolled the recovery ball under his calf and nodded, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. Took a knock-in training last week. Nothing major." "Hammy?" "Knee. Just a knock, though. We''re fine. If it was serious, Bar?a wouldn''t have let me come. The new Coach is just¡­ intense." Izan raised an eyebrow. "Intense how?" "Double sessions every other day. High-intensity drills with no rest windows. And he''s obsessed with playing a high line. Cubarsi and Inigo are not having it easy" Pedri dropped his phone on his chest. "I''m telling you, it''s like Simeone''s ghost got hired at La Masia." "Sounds like hell." "It kind of is. But we''re fitter than we''ve ever been. And if we survive till October, I think we might actually be good. We''ve already won all our three matches." Izan leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out, arms crossed behind his head. "So you''re telling me you came to the Spain camp for a vacation." "Exactly." Pedri grinned. "Thought I''d rest by chasing through rondos against you and Nico all week." Pedri tilted his head thoughtfully. "It''s weird, yeah? You''ve only been in this setup what¡­ a year?" "Barely," Izan said. "Feels longer though." "Because you act like you run the place." "And you don''t?" Pedri shrugged with a grin. "I''ve earned my stripes." "You''ve earned a knee brace." Pedri rolled his eyes. "Still more useful than you during lights-out when your alarm goes off at 6am and you sleep through it." Izan smirked. "Olivia says I don''t snore, so it balances out." "Oh?" Pedri raised an eyebrow. "So we''re quoting her now?" "Shut up and get your knee iced." Pedri just laughed, letting his head sink back against the pillow. Izan turned toward the window again, watching a few teammates jog across the courtyard below. Same rhythm¡ªarrival, check-ins, quiet banter before the grind. As the two stood the, a knock sounded¡ªthree short taps, brisk and unmistakable. "Let''s go," came a voice from the other side. "M¨ªster wants everyone downstairs." Pedri groaned softly. "No rest for the chosen ones." Izan was already moving, tugging on his training top and sliding into his sneakers. "Come on, old man. I''ll carry your knee down the stairs if I have to." "You know I was starting for Spain before were eligible to even play first-team football?" They snickered as they stepped into the corridor, the soft hum of conversation growing louder as more doors opened down the hall. Players¡ªsome veterans, some new¡ªfiled out one by one, forming a steady stream toward the conference room just past the dining hall. The hallway buzzed with a quiet energy that only international camps carried: that mix of pride, competition, and something almost reverent. Inside, the room was already filling up. Long tables had been moved to the sides to make space for chairs in neat rows facing a small podium. At the front stood Luis de la Fuente, calm as ever, arms folded, eyes scanning his squad like a man counting every tool in his shed before a job. Izan and Pedri slipped into two empty seats near the middle, nodding to Nico and Yamal as they sat down. Conversations faded fast. De la Fuente stepped forward. "Bienvenidos," he began, voice steady. "It''s good to see so many familiar faces¡ªand a few new ones. That''s the nature of this shirt. It grows. It evolves." He paused just long enough for the words to settle. "You''re here because of your quality. You''re here because of your mentality. But above all, you''re here because you''ve earned it. Whether you''ve lifted trophies with us already¡­ or you''re here to chase your first." Izan sat still, watching closely. "There are expectations," the coach continued. "Always. We are not the underdogs anymore. We are the standard." A few of the veterans¡ªRodri, Morata¡ªnodded faintly. "And with that," he said, glancing down briefly before lifting a folded paper, "come changes. First¡ªon the armband." Murmurs rippled through the room. De la Fuente unfolded the sheet, scanning the names. "With the natural transition of leadership, it''s time we formalize the next cycle. Morata will remain captain for this break. Rodri will take vice. But moving forward¡ªshould either not be available¡ªwe''ll begin introducing others into the leadership group." Eyes shifted subtly. He continued, "Pedri will be third in line." There was a quiet round of acknowledgment¡ªsoft claps, shoulder taps. Pedri, beside Izan, didn''t say anything. Just nodded once. De la Fuente''s eyes moved again, then settled¡ªjust for a second¡ªon Izan. "And Izan will join that group. Not for age. Not for headlines. But for consistency, mentality, and professionalism." That earned a few murmurs. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "That doesn''t mean more pressure," De la Fuente said. "It means more trust. And trust, here, is everything." He stepped away from the podium. "Now let''s go to work." A/n: Damn. I''m tired. Anyways this is five. Have fun reading and i''ll see you soon with the next one Chapter 430 430: More Responsibilities [ Pistacho031_3] De la Fuente''s eyes moved again, then settled¡ªjust for a second¡ªon Izan. "And Izan will join that group. Not for age. Not for headlines. But for consistency, mentality, and professionalism." That earned a few murmurs. "That doesn''t mean more pressure," De la Fuente said. "It means more trust. And trust, here, is everything." He stepped away from the podium. "Now let''s go to work." Chairs scraped back, chatter picked up again, but there was a sharper edge to it now. The kind that always came after announcements like that. A new chapter didn''t need fireworks. It just needed clarity. Izan stood beside Pedri as they joined the flow of players toward the training grounds. The sun outside was warm but not overbearing. The kind of weather that made you want to stretch further, run faster, stay longer. "You good with that?" Pedri asked quietly as they walked. "More than good," Izan said as they stepped out. The sun hovered just above the trees lining the edges of Las Rozas, casting that familiar soft gold over the training pitch. The squad was still adjusting¡ªgetting reacquainted with national colors, national tempo¡ªbut it didn''t take long for old rhythms to return. That was the nature of camps like these. Same setting. Same structure. Just the cast shifting slightly each time. Now, they stood loosely gathered on the pitch, a semi-circle of navy and crimson vests forming around Pablo Amo like petals around a stubborn bud. "Standard drills today," Amo repeated, checking the names off his clipboard. "No full scrimmage. Just movement. Touch. Decisions." He looked up, eyes scanning the group. "But before that, we set roles. We''re not going into these matches without clarity. I want no hesitation when there''s a whistle, and certainly no rock-paper-scissors on the pitch." Scattered chuckles rose, mostly from the younger end of the group. "Dead balls," Amo continued. "Free kicks, corners, penalties. If you had it last time, speak up. If someone wants it this time, speak louder." Pedri leaned slightly toward Izan and murmured, "Here we go again." Izan didn''t reply, arms resting easily over his chest. He had no real concern about this. Not after the year he''d had. Before anyone else could respond, Yamal''s voice rang out from the back, all sharp amusement. "Let''s not waste time. Just give everything to Izan already." A ripple of laughter ran through the group. "Facts," Nico added, arms raised as if surrendering. "Give him the whole catalog. I''m not out here pretending I can out-curl that left foot." The focus shifted to the front line, where Morata stood with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his training shorts. He smiled, slow and deliberate. "Corners and freekicks? He can have them. Makes sense." Then he added, casually, "But penalties stay with me." Silence. Not total¡ªbut enough to shift the air. Rodri tilted his head slightly. Even Laporte raised a brow. Izan glanced over¡ªnot aggressively, not arrogantly. Just¡­ curious. "You sure?" Pedri asked Morata, only half-joking. "I''m captain," Morata said, shrugging. "Besides, I''ve been taking them longer than he''s been alive." "Barely," Yamal muttered. Morata grinned again, unbothered. "I''ve got the experience. No hard feelings." "Izan has the numbers," someone else muttered behind Rodri. Amo waited, watching the exchange unfold with the patience of a man who''d seen many of these little battles play out. He raised the clipboard. "Three penalties each. One tiebreaker if it''s even. You both know the rules." "Referee?" Morata asked, lifting a brow. "I''ll do it," Amo said. "And don''t test me. I brought cards." The group laughed again, but it was more restrained now¡ªrespectful, eager. This wasn''t a clash of egos. It was just football. Two players. One ball. Bragging rights and match duties on the line. "Goalkeeper?" someone asked. David Raya raised his hand and jogged toward the goalpost, already spinning his gloves on. "Of course, it''s him," Pedri muttered. "Drama merchant." As the group backed away to form a half-moon around the penalty box, Izan rolled his shoulders, calm and unreadable. Morata stepped forward, stretching once, twice. Neither of them spoke. The pitch quieted. A few birds chirped beyond the trees. A distant whistle blew from one of the academy fields. Otherwise¡ªsilence. Amo pointed toward the spot. "Morata first." The striker nodded, then turned and began his slow walk toward the ball. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan stood a few steps back, watching him with that still, measured focus. Morata set the ball on the spot and took three steps back, shaking out his shoulders. He didn''t overthink it¡ªjust exhaled and hit through the laces. Boom. Bottom right. No hesitation. 1¨C0. Some claps echoed behind the semicircle of players. "Vamos, capit¨¢n," Fabi¨¢n muttered. Izan didn''t react. He stepped up calmly, placed the ball, and then took two short steps back. No deep breath. No drama. Just a clean push¡ªstraight down the middle, ice cold. Raya dove early. The ball rolled in untouched. 1¨C1. Morata nodded with an approving squint. "Okay." Second round. This time, Morata went left¡ªhard, flat. It cracked against the inside of the post and ricocheted in. The squad made a collective "Ohhh!" 2¨C1. Raya grimaced. "I nearly had that one." Izan didn''t blink. He walked up the same pace as before. He eyed the keeper for a heartbeat, then sent it flying. Whhhhp. Top left. It clipped the underside of the bar before snapping into the net. Gasps and grins followed instantly. "Bro," Nico whispered, "bro!!" "Come on guys. Give it to him already," Yamal said, eyebrows raised. 2¨C2. Morata turned, grinning now. "So we''re doing art, huh?" He jogged up for his third, aimed center again¡ªlower this time. Raya read it and got a leg to it, but the shot still squeezed past and rolled into the net. 3¨C2. "Ay, lucky," Pedri murmured. Izan just smiled, ball already in hand. He placed it again with, the same exact posture. No trick runs, no shuffle steps. Just instinct. He chipped it. A soft, arrogant little panenka, rising gently through the air. Raya had already committed low. His palms slapped the turf as the ball floated over his back and dropped neatly into the net. 3¨C3. Silence. Then¡ª "?Nah!" Raya stood up, pointing at the goal. "?Fuera, fuera! I''m done. I''m out." Laughter erupted around the pitch. "Unai!" Raya called toward the bench. "Come get embarrassed. I''m not recovering from that one." Unai Sim¨®n was already walking up, shaking his head and grinning. "I''ve seen enough, hermano. You''re cooked." Raya sulked off dramatically, towel over his shoulder. "Izan," he said, passing the forward. "You need to warn people. That was criminal." The laughter was still simmering as Unai Sim¨®n pulled on his gloves, jogging into the box with mock seriousness. "Let''s settle it," Amo said, glancing between the two. "Tie-breaker. One more each." Morata exhaled. "Alright. Last one." He set the ball again and gave it a moment. The mood had shifted slightly¡ªstill light, but with a thread of pressure now. He stepped up. Planted. And slipped. His left foot gave out just enough to throw off the angle, and instead of sending it to the corner, the ball flew soft and centerline¡ªstraight into the arms of a bemused Unai Sim¨®n. Gasps broke out, followed by immediate heckles. "Ay, noooo!" "?Morataaa!" "Grass too slick or what, capi?" Yamal called out, hands on hips. Morata stared up at the sky, arms wide like he was appealing to the football gods. "??En serio!?" he groaned. "One time I slip and it''s that one?" Nico doubled over laughing while Yamal was already tapping out imaginary tweets on his palm. Izan jogged forward wordlessly, trying and failing to hide his grin. "Pressure''s off now, Hernandez," Pedri called. "Just don''t fall." He lined it up. He didn''t rush. One glance at Sim¨®n, who was already bouncing lightly on the line. Then Izan struck it low and hard into the bottom right. No theatrics. No tricks. Just cold execution. The net rippled. 4¨C3. It was over. The squad erupted¡ªnot wildly, but with a kind of satisfied buzz as if they''d just watched something inevitable unfold. Yamal tackled Izan from the side, shouting, "I told you we should''ve just given him everything!" Amo blew his whistle, waving the team back to the center. "Alright, alright¡ªenough drama. Positions assigned. We''ll run set pieces in five." Morata was still shaking his head with a resigned smile, dragging a towel over his neck. "Don''t worry, capi," Izan said, brushing past him with a pat on the back. "You''re still handsome." "Yeah, well," Morata sighed, "at least let me take throw-ins or something." Laughter followed them as they jogged back to formation. Izan followed behind with Pedri, a satisfied expression drawn over his face. "Most people like shirking responsibilities but you just love having more don''t ya" Pedri said after seeing Izan''s expression. Izan didn''t say and just smiled more joining his mates who had started jogging around the pitch. A/n: Okay. Halfway done with the Golden Gacha chapters. Have fun reading and I''ll see you in a few hours with the remaining two or three chapters for the day, including 2 gacha bonus chapters. Chapter 431 431: Arrival In Belgrade The sun dipped lower as the Spanish national team jogged their final lap around the training ground in Las Rozas, shirts clinging to their backs and voices rising in bursts of friendly taunts and laughter. The atmosphere was light but laced with the kind of sharpness that came when competition loomed close. Luis de la Fuente called time on the session, gesturing with a simple wave, and the players peeled off toward the shaded benches near the sideline. Ice towels, cold bottles, and banter awaited. Izan peeled his shirt off in one motion, dragging it across his forehead as he dropped beside Pedri and Nico. A camera crew hovered discreetly near the fence line¡ªRFEF''s internal media, filming the usual behind-the-scenes content. But this time, their lenses lingered a little longer on Izan than usual. Not that he minded. Still, when they were finally dismissed, and the players began retreating to the locker room, Pedri nudged him with an elbow. "You''ve seen what they''re saying online, right?" Izan snorted. "You''ll have to be more specific." "About you. About how people thought you weren''t gonna show." Nico leaned over from the next bench, grinning. "One guy had a whole thread convinced you ditched us to go play couple goals in London." "I was playing couple goals in London," Izan replied, tossing his towel into the basket. "Didn''t mean I wasn''t gonna show." "Still," Pedri said, "they were worried. You know how it is¡ª''too famous, too big, too soon.'' That kind of talk." Izan gave a light shrug. "I''m here. That should be enough." It was. But it didn''t stop the buzz from growing louder as the days ticked toward matchday. RFEF''s social media posted a photo of Izan in training¡ªtight shot, his boots off and his legs in an ice bucket while he grinned at something off camera. The comments exploded. @spanishgoals: The king is back. We''re winning the Nations League, tell the others to go home. @futbolfanatic: Can''t lie, thought he''d skip this one. Respect for showing up. @madridismo_real: Man really pulled up like he didn''t just break Aston Villa in half a couple of weeks ago. @liv.xox: Olivia flew to Spain and HE followed. Let''s be real. On the third morning, the travel itinerary dropped. Departure to Belgrade: 11:30 AM sharp. Team meeting at 8:30. Bags tagged and ready in the lobby. The message had been posted on the group chat the night before¡ªclear, concise, non-negotiable. But when morning came, the Las Rozas residence was anything but calm. Someone''s alarm was blaring down the hallway. A towel-wrapped Balde sprinted past one of the nutritionists with a toothbrush still wedged between his lips. Pedri emerged from a room down the corridor wearing mismatched socks and asking aloud if anyone had seen his passport¡ªagain. Yamal sat on his suitcase in the hallway, trying to zip it shut with his knee, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse aimed at the laws of Zipping. In contrast, Izan stood by the reception lounge downstairs, already in travel gear, earphones in, arms crossed. He had already completed his check-in with Pablo Amo and their player liaison, Ra¨²l. Even managed to fit in a light breakfast. And it was still only 8:17. Ra¨²l passed him the final list. "All set. You''re good to go." "I figured," Izan replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Let me guess¡ªYamal and Nico are still upstairs?" As if summoned, the two of them burst around the corner¡ªNico with his hoodie half-on, dragging a duffel bag behind him that was clearly overweight, and Yamal yelling, "Don''t let the bus leave without me!" like this was a school field trip and not international duty. Izan raised an eyebrow. "It''s the same every time." Amo, still ticking names off the manifest, looked up and sighed. "Every. Single. Camp." Izan shifted his weight and called out, voice flat but amused, "You lot know this isn''t club level, right? The plane doesn''t wait." "Don''t start," Nico shot back, still breathless. "Not all of us are built like you, Mr. Done-With-Breakfast-Before-Sunrise." Yamal pointed an accusing finger while trying to sling his backpack over his shoulder. "Yeah, stop trying to flex your discipline. We already lived that nightmare in Germany." Cubarsi, now fully dressed but visibly disoriented, skidded into the lobby behind them. "Wait. What about Germany?" "Don''t remind me," Pedri groaned, joining the group with his passport finally located and held above his head like a trophy. "I still have trauma from that morning training session." "He wasn''t even sweating, bro," Nico added, pointing to Izan like he was an exhibit in a museum. "We were all half-dead after the two-a-days, and he was over there eating oranges and asking for another round." Yamal jabbed a thumb in his direction. "And then people compared us to him. I nearly called my mum and told her I was switching to basketball." That drew a laugh from half the lobby. Amo shook his head but couldn''t hide the grin. "Alright, alright. Save the therapy session for later. Everyone accounted for?" Ra¨²l gave a thumbs-up. "Let''s roll." They boarded the charter flight a little past 11, and the bus ride to the airport filled with music, banter, and periodic reminders from staff about seat numbers and match schedules. Once in the air, the cabin began to settle. Veteran players like Morata and Rodri flipped through match notes on their tablets while Raya was passed out with a neck pillow too large for his head. The younger ones¡ªYamal, Nico, Balde, Cubars¨ª¡ªhuddled in the back with their phones, bouncing memes around. Occasionally, one of them would poke their head into Izan''s row and try to goad him into joining. He didn''t bite. He just sat beside Pedri, earphones in, watching a film on the screen without really watching. At one point, Nico leaned into the aisle and muttered, "He''s doing it again." Yamal nodded. "Locked in," he said with a smile. Cubars¨ª raised a hand like he was asking a teacher. "Should we be worried?" "He''s always like this," Pedri replied without looking away from the screen. "Means he''s ready." Touchdown in Belgrade came just before sunset, with the September light dipping low across the runway. As they disembarked, Serbian officials and security detail greeted them with polite nods and practiced hospitality. Still, the hush that fell when Izan stepped off the plane was tangible. A few staffers exchanged looks. A younger airport worker did a double-take and whispered something in Serbian to his colleague¡ªpointing at Izan even amid all the Spanish players. Even inside the terminal, the atmosphere shifted. A handful of local fans had managed to slip past barriers. Some held up their phones. A few waved. One of them, wearing an old Valencia kit, tapped the badge and smiled in Izan''s direction. He simply nodded back and followed the group to the team bus. Izan looked out the window, where chants were already rising from a modest crowd. Spain shirts, club shirts, even a homemade banner with his name scrawled across it. "Serbians are having at us online," Pedri said, showing his screen to Izan. "Let them talk," the latter said finally. "We haven''t even played yet." Pedri''s gaze lingered on Izan for a while before turning his attention back to his phone. After a while, the team bus pulled into the circular driveway of the hotel¡ªa towering slab of tinted glass and steel that caught the waning sunlight just enough to make everything look dipped in gold. A few local fans waved from the far side of the barricades. The moment the bus doors opened, a soft wall of sound met them: clicks, camera flashes, quiet murmurs. Respectful, but present. Even here, even now, Spain''s arrival meant something. Luis de la Fuente stood as the players filed off, arms behind his back, eyes scanning them like a headmaster watching his star pupils enter a final exam. "Alright," he said, voice calm but direct once they were inside the cool marble lobby. "Check your room assignments, drop your bags, shower if you need¡ªbut be back down here in thirty minutes." Some of the younger players glanced at each other. "For what?" "Light dinner," De la Fuente replied with a faint smile, nodding toward the restaurant across the lobby. "After that, we''ll go check out the sports complex next door." Izan blinked, a petty smile on his face while Pedri, beside him, cocked his head slightly. "Check out?" he repeated, looking for a response. But the coach had already turned, hands still behind his back, walking toward the reception desk like that had been a perfectly normal thing to say. "Thirty minutes," he reminded them. Pedri turned towards Izan with a resigned expression before following along. A/N: Okay, Guys. This was supposed to be the second of yesterday. So here it is. Sorry if you waited for it. I haven''t been feeling well, honestly, and I went to change my contacts today. It might sound like I''m giving excuses, but I''m not. Sorry if it feels like that. Anyway, have fun reading, and I will see you in a bit. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 432 432: Flames Of Football Luis de la Fuente stood as the players filed off, arms behind his back, eyes scanning them like a headmaster watching his star pupils enter a final exam. "Alright," he said, voice calm but direct once they were inside the cool marble lobby. "Check your room assignments, drop your bags, shower if you need¡ªbut be back down here in thirty minutes." Some of the younger players glanced at each other. "For what?" "Light dinner," De la Fuente replied with a faint smile, nodding toward the restaurant across the lobby. "After that, we''ll go check out the sports complex next door." Izan blinked, a petty smile on his face while Pedri, beside him, cocked his head slightly. "Check out?" he repeated, looking for a response. But the coach had already turned, hands still behind his back, walking toward the reception desk like that had been a perfectly normal thing to say. "Thirty minutes," he reminded them. Pedri turned towards Izan with a resigned expression before following along. Upstairs, the players exploded into their rooms in pairs and trios, the corridors suddenly alive with the thumps of luggage being dropped and showers blasting on. Yamal stepped out of the lift and looked around, mock-suspicious. "So¡­ ''check out'' the complex, huh?" Nico leaned against his door. "I bet he means we''re training." Cubars¨ª, freshly traumatized from his last unpacking panic, raised his arms in defeat. "We just landed!" "He did say ''light dinner,''" Pedri added, emerging from his room already in a tracksuit. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not heavy. Suspicious." Izan was the only one already halfway changed into the team tracksuit. "You''re already ready?" Yamal asked in disbelief. "Just a guess," Izan shrugged. "This isn''t a vacation." With that said, he began grabbing his duffle bag which held the football boots as well as other stuffs before heading down. Dinner was efficient¡ªgrilled chicken, rice, steamed vegetables, and more hydration packets than a desert mission. The players sat at circular tables beneath warm lighting, their chatter low but lively. Just the team, the staff, and the soft clatter of silverware. When De la Fuente stood, fork resting on the edge of his plate, silence fell almost naturally. "Good flight. Good focus. And tomorrow, good football," he said, his tone lighter now. "But before that¡­" He looked around, and his lips curved into that same faint smile. "Let''s go check out the complex." Half the room groaned. "I knew it!" Yamal said, pointing across the table at Izan. "Of course you did," Izan replied, sarcastically. "That geezer has been dropping hints like it''s Christmas." "Okay, run along for your boots if you haven''t got them," Pablo Amo said, shooing the players toward their room. The sports complex beside the hotel wasn''t a sprawling stadium, but it was impressive nonetheless¡ªmodern, well-lit, with a hybrid of natural and synthetic turf that looked freshly laid. The Serbian federation had arranged private access for Spain''s training block, and as the team walked across the short path in travel jackets, it felt like the world had paused just long enough for them to settle in. The floodlights flickered on as they stepped inside the dome, casting silver light over the field. Amo clapped once. "Trainers, prep. Quick stretch, rondos. Low tempo. Decompression session." The squad broke into stations, scattered across the pitch. Some groaned, others rolled their shoulders, but no one complained. It was familiar now¡ªthis rhythm. Country. City. Hotel. Turf. The smell of damp boots and menthol muscle gel. Izan jogged out next to Pedri and Nico, spinning a ball on his fingers. "''Check out the complex,''" he echoed under his breath. Pedri smirked. "Classic." Nico cracked his neck. "Better than a press conference." From the sidelines, Luis de la Fuente watched it all with his arms still folded and a glint in his eye. They were here. Focused. Ready. And tomorrow, Belgrade would see what this team had brought with them. ......... By the time the team finished their "light session" and walked back to the hotel, the night air had turned cool, threading through their damp shirts and half-zipped jackets. The sports complex''s floodlights disappeared behind them, swallowed by Belgrade''s skyline. Inside the lobby, the players drifted toward the elevators in twos and threes, yawning and stretching, their legs pleasantly heavy. Everyone knew the drill: tomorrow was matchday. No video games. No random room visits. Ice, shower, lights out. Except Belgrade had other plans. It started faintly. A distant beat from what sounded like a drum echoing between the buildings. Then came the horns. The chanting. The stomping. Izan rolled over in bed and blinked at the ceiling. "No way." Across the room, Pedri was motionless. Only his slow, even breathing betrayed that he was still awake. Outside, the noise got louder¡ªsuddenly rowdy and chaotic. Izan threw his blanket off and padded barefoot to the window, peeking through the heavy curtain. A small army of Serbian fans had gathered outside the hotel''s gates, drums thundering in sync with chants. Flares hadn''t been lit¡ªyet¡ªbut the voices were loud enough to echo off the hotel walls. Flags waved. Someone had a megaphone. Another kept smacking a plastic chair against a light pole like it owed him money. Across the hallway, a door opened with force. Yamal stepped out in a training top, sleep in his eyes and fury on his face. "This is psychological warfare!" "I thought you could sleep through anything," Izan muttered, poking his head into the hall. "I could!" Yamal snapped. "Until they started shouting somethin'' about my mother!" "I haven''t heard anything about my mom and the right question I should even be asking is how did you know. They are not speaking serbian or english which im pretty sure you did bad at" Izan said at Yamal. Other doors creaked open. A few players muttered, mostly amused. Pedri finally emerged, hair still flat on one side, expression unreadable. "Think they''re doing this for fun or they actually think it''ll work?" he asked. "Bit of both," Izan replied, scratching the back of his head. "It''s not working, though." "It is," Yamal insisted, pointing dramatically toward the source of the chants. "I was dreaming about ice cream. Now I''m dreaming of war." "Ice cream?" Pedri blinked. "I''m sixteen¡ªshut up!" "I think you''re seventeen." "DOESN''T MATTER." Izan stifled a laugh. "Come on. If it''s that bad, let''s go find someone else who''s awake." They moved down the corridor, feet silent on the carpet, Yamal grumbling like a pensioner. They knocked once on Nico and Cubars¨ª''s door. Nothing. Yamal knocked again, louder. "Bro. We need backup," he said aloud. Still silence. Izan turned the knob¡ªit was unlocked. Inside, the lights were dimmed, and both Nico and Cubars¨ª were flat on their beds, fully knocked out. Nico had one arm flopped over his face like a dramatic painting while Cubars¨ª was face-down in a pillow with a faint line of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth. Neither stirred. "Are you kidding me?" Yamal hissed. "Are you KIDDING ME?" Izan stepped in and clapped twice. Loud. No reaction. Yamal picked up a sneaker off the floor and tossed it at the wall. Cubars¨ª didn''t even twitch. "Okay," Izan said, backing out. "I take it back. Serbia might win this one." Yamal threw up his hands. "There''s no justice." Back in their own room, Izan closed the curtains tight, shoved a pillow over his head, and sighed. "You want earplugs?" "No. I want a megaphone to yell back." Yamal retorted. "Tomorrow," Pedri mumbled from his bed, already half asleep again. "Yell with your feet." Yamal groaned. "I''m filing an official complaint with UEFA." Izan just chuckled, adjusting his pillow and letting the muffled chants fade into the background. ............ Belgrade pulsed the next day with anticipation long before kickoff. From early afternoon, the streets around Stadion Rajko Miti? began to thrum with life. Fans poured in from every direction¡ªlocals in red-and-white jerseys, waving Serbian flags and chanting national songs, mingled with Spanish supporters draped in La Roja scarves, faces painted in yellow and red. Vendors lined the pavements, selling everything from grilled ?evapi skewers to knock-off team merchandise. The air was rich with the smell of smoke, meat, and adrenaline. Children clutched miniature footballs. Teens blasted air horns. A few elderly fans sat quietly outside caf¨¦s, sipping bitter coffee, watching the procession with pride in their eyes. The closer they got to the stadium, the louder the drums became, beating in time with the growing chants. Every few steps, someone broke into song. Firecrackers snapped in the distance. A flare briefly lit up a side street in crimson light. Spanish fans stuck together near the entrance gates, a few shouting "Vamos, Espa?a!" in defiance to the surrounding sea of Serbian noise. They were outnumbered, but not outvoiced. Up above, the towering concrete of the stadium loomed like a coliseum, floodlights already humming to life against the fading sky. Police were present but calm, guiding traffic, waving through media vans, and watching the bubbling energy with sharp eyes. And in every direction, there were people who kept coming¡ªfootsteps like moths drawn to football''s flame. A/N: First of the day. It''s like 5 now and i havent slept an ounce. Have fun reading and I''ll see you with the Golden Gacha chapters after i wake up. Chapter 433 433: 1st Half In Belgrade [Pistacho031_3] The Serbian anthem faded into the sky, a wall of sound swallowed by the night air as the players broke from the line-up and moved into position. Flags waved high across the stands, the red and blue of Serbia clashing with patches of white and red from traveling Spanish fans. The floodlights hummed above, casting their pale glow across the pitch like the start of a play under theatre lights. High above the halfway line, the commentators'' booth buzzed with low conversation, microphones already hot as they prepared to narrate the first steps of a new Nations League campaign. "A beautiful, deafening evening in Belgrade," the lead voice said, his tone reverent but edged with excitement. "Spain returns to competitive action after their Euros triumph this summer, but there''s been plenty of noise even before kickoff¡ªboth on the pitch and off it." "And it hasn''t all been about the football," his colleague added, a grin heard more than seen. "We''ve got flares outside the stadium, chants echoing all afternoon... and of course, a great deal of focus on one name in particular." The camera found Izan sitting calmly on the bench, hood halfway over his head. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, gaze steady. Izan starts this one from the bench tonight. A few groans from the crowd when the line-up was announced, and honestly, not all of them were coming from the Spanish section. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "He wasn''t warming up. Not yet. Just sitting, still, but not unnoticed. "It speaks volumes when a barely seventeen-year-old gets this kind of reaction. There were even some Serbian fans outside the hotel earlier trying to snap a picture¡ªcan''t say we''ve seen that too often." But the attention shifted now as the players took their places on the field. "Let''s take a look at Spain''s starting eleven tonight. Unai Sim¨®n in goal¡ªsolid as ever between the posts. In front of him, a backline featuring Alejandro Balde on the left, Robin Le Normand and debutant Pau Cubars¨ª as the center-back pairing, and ¨®scar Mingueza on the right." "Cubars¨ª''s earned it," came the second voice. "He''s had a strong start to the season and the previous one. But still, it''s a big night for him." "In midfield, Luis de la Fuente is sticking to the trusted core¡ªPedri, Rodri, and Fabi¨¢n Ruiz. That''s class and control in equal measure." "And up front¡ªYamal on the right wing, Nico Williams operating from the left, and ¨¢lvaro Morata leading the line." As the camera cut back to the bench, a few fans in the front row of the Spanish section could be seen holding homemade signs. One read simply: "IZAN 10¡ªSTILL OUR STAR." Another had a rough sketch of his goal against France in the Euros, captioned, M¨¢s que una promesa. (More than a promise.) "They''re not quiet about it," the commentator chuckled. "They wanted to see him tonight. But knowing how these games go, I''d say we won''t have to wait too long." Down on the touchline, Izan didn''t respond to the chants. But his hands moved slowly, loosening the drawstring on his tracksuit. A subtle tell. If the game asked for something different, he''d be ready to answer. ...... The whistle sliced through the Serbian night, sending the Spanish players chasing after the ball. From the first touch, it was clear Serbia had no interest in playing conservatively. Luka Ili? darted forward from midfield like a man possessed, carving an early line through the centre before being met¡ªclean and hard¡ªby Rodri, whose interception drew a nod of approval from Luis de la Fuente on the sideline. "Serbia straight out of the gates here," the commentator noted. "And that was a warning shot. Spain need to hold shape." Pedri dropped deeper to collect, exchanging a quick one-two with Fabi¨¢n Ruiz before shifting it wide to Balde. The left-back charged forward with a sprinter''s pace, drawing a roar from the Spanish end of the stadium¡ªbut his cross was cut out mid-air by the towering Milenkovi?, who headed it away with authority. And then came the counter. Serbia turned defense to attack in the blink of an eye, a diagonal ball skipping over the halfway line toward ?ivkovi? on the right wing. Cubars¨ª, eyes wide but feet composed, closed the gap quickly, showing maturity beyond his years. He didn''t dive in¡ªjust held his ground, mirrored the movement, and forced the Serbian wide man to settle for a low cross to which Sim¨®n was ready and waiting. "Nice work from the young man," the second commentator said. "Cubars¨ª''s earned this start, and he''s showing why." By the tenth minute, it was clear this wasn''t going to be a game won in the midfield. It was a war of transitions. Fabi¨¢n was the first to get a clean shot off, curling one from outside the box that swerved late and stung the palms of Rajkovi?, who had to punch rather than catch. A scramble followed, and Nico nearly got a boot on the rebound before a red shirt slammed it out of danger. "Spain getting closer!" the commentator roared in rhythm to the Spanish attack. But Serbia answered with ferocity. A floated free-kick in the 19th minute saw Vlahovi? rise between Le Normand and Mingueza. His header rocketed toward the bottom corner¡ªonly for Unai Sim¨®n to leap sideways and parry it wide with his fingertips. "WHAT A SAVE!" the commentary box exploded. "That looked in all the way!" Fans in the Rajko Miti? Stadium gasped, hands clutching heads. Serbian players called for a corner while replays showed the ball had indeed been veering inside the post. Rodri clapped, walking over to bump fists with Sim¨®n. Heroics. The only thing keeping it level. Spain tried to reset. Possession was theirs, sure, but not without teeth at their heels. Every backpass was chased. Every sideways ball pressed. By minute twenty-fifth, the Spanish tempo started to shine. Yamal, ghosting in from the right, nearly danced through three defenders with some fast feet and a dummy that left one Serbian sliding. But his final ball¡ªan inside flick meant for Morata¡ªwas too heavy. "Still waiting on that final connection," one commentator remarked. "But there''s no denying the creativity." Then came the thirty-minute mark. The moment both benches rose to their feet. Pedri spotted a half-yard of space and slipped a pass between two Serbian midfielders. Nico was already running. He darted forward, chesting the ball beautifully before flicking it with the outside of his boot. It landed at Morata''s feet. And Morata did what Morata does. He turned and fired¡ªlow and fierce toward the far post¡ªbut Rajkovi? guessed right and went full stretch. A fingertip save. Again. "No way!" "Another world-class stop!" But it wasn''t over. The rebound fell to Yamal, whose shot was blocked off the line by a desperate sliding tackle from Veljkovi?. A second later, Fabi¨¢n tried again, this time rattling the crossbar with a thunderous half-volley that drew a wave of groans from the Spanish fans. Three chances. One sequence yet no goal. Back on the bench, Izan had leaned forward. Eyes locked on the pitch. Spain kept the pressure up. By now they were circling the Serbian box like vultures, drawing fouls, earning corners. Pedri and Rodri orchestrated the rhythm, switching flanks with near-surgical accuracy. But Serbia¡ªgritty, fearless Serbia¡ªrefused to break. In the 38th minute, ?ivkovi? came inches from silencing the crowd when he beat Balde on the outside and launched a cross that bounced awkwardly through the six-yard box. Vlahovi? lunged for it but missed by centimeters. "Spain need to be careful," came the low murmur from the booth. "They''re leaving space behind." Two minutes later, it was Spain again. Yamal got the better of his fullback this time, carving inside and releasing a shot that deflected wide. From the resulting corner, Cubars¨ª rose and headed just over the bar. The ball hadn''t found the net, but hearts were racing in both camps. "Still 0¨C0 here in Belgrade," the commentary said, "but it''s been anything but dull." As the clock ticked toward forty-five, Serbia earned a free kick just outside the box. Ili? stood over it. He struck clean¡ªa thunderbolt that dipped viciously¡ªbut Sim¨®n was again equal, pushing it over the bar with two firm fists. "That man is a wall tonight," the color commentator muttered. On the sidelines, Luis de la Fuente exhaled deeply. He didn''t need to turn around to know what was happening behind him. The final seconds of the half saw Spain nearly break the deadlock when Morata backheeled a pass into Pedri''s path. The Barcelona midfielder took it first time, his low shot grazing the outside netting. Some fans screamed, thinking it was in. The whistle came soon after. Players dropped to their knees. Shirts clung to sweat-slicked skin. Even the bench stood to applaud¡ªnot the scoreline, but the spectacle. "This is what international football should feel like," the commentator said over slow-motion replays of saves, flicks, and close calls. "Relentless quality. Brilliant defending. And a goalkeeper masterclass on both ends." Spain walked off the pitch level, but not lacking momentum. A/n; Sorry for the late release. 7 out of 12. see you in a bit with the second Gacha chapter for the day. Chapter 434 434: Knight In The Area[Pistacho031_3] As the clock ticked toward forty-five, Serbia earned a free kick just outside the box. Ili? stood over it. He struck clean¡ªa thunderbolt that dipped viciously¡ªbut Sim¨®n was again equal, pushing it over the bar with two firm fists. "That man is a wall tonight," the color commentator muttered. On the sidelines, Luis de la Fuente exhaled deeply. He didn''t need to turn around to know what was happening behind him. The final seconds of the half saw Spain nearly break the deadlock when Morata backheeled a pass into Pedri''s path. The Barcelona midfielder took it first time, his low shot grazing the outside netting. Some fans screamed, thinking it was in. The whistle came soon after. Players dropped to their knees. Shirts clung to sweat-slicked skin. Even the bench stood to applaud¡ªnot the scoreline, but the spectacle. "This is what international football should feel like," the commentator said over slow-motion replays of saves, flicks, and close calls. "Relentless quality. Brilliant defending. And a goalkeeper masterclass on both ends." Spain walked off the pitch level, but not lacking momentum. ............. Back in Spain, the glow of halftime lit up living rooms and bars alike as the national broadcast rolled in smoothly from the stadium feed. The transition was effortless¡ªa sweeping shot of Belgrade''s electric sky fading into a sleek Madrid studio. Inside, three familiar faces leaned in beneath soft studio lights, screens behind them flickering with first-half highlights. "And that''s the whistle," the host, Alejandro Vargas, said, leaning slightly forward. His crisp navy blazer barely moved, but his voice was already alive with opinion. "Forty-five minutes gone in Belgrade, and despite all the fireworks, we''re still stuck at 0¨C0." Beside him, Andrea Salazar¡ªa former La Roja midfielder turned pundit¡ªcrossed her legs, her expression thoughtful. "Serbia have done their homework," she said. "They''re not just sitting back, they''re springing forward with real menace. That early chance they carved down Spain''s left? That wasn''t luck. That was a signal." Alejandro nodded. "And Spain?" Marcos Reyes, the quietest of the three, pushed his glasses up his nose. Spain look like they''re waiting for something. Or someone." He didn''t say it outright, but the implication hung in the air like an echo. Izan. Andrea didn''t hide her smirk. "It''s not often we say Spain lack spark, but you watch how deep Rodri has to drop just to escape that midfield tangle. And without that link in the final third¡­" "They have the pieces," Marcos added, "but they''re not clicking. There''s rhythm. There''s movement. But no edge." Alejandro turned to the camera as a new reel of highlights played in the background¡ªYamal darting between defenders, Morata denied by a fingertip save, Pedri threading impossible passes that almost¡ªalmost became goals. "Plenty of buildup, not much end product," he said. "Let''s not forget, though¡ªSerbia have been brilliant. That backline has blocked everything that moved, and Rajkovi? in goal? He''s been heroic." "And physical," Andrea noted. Spain haven''t had an easy minute in that final third. Fabi¨¢n''s shot in the 34th? He had to dance through three tackles just to get space." "Still," Alejandro said, turning back to the desk, "we''re seeing Spain control the tempo. And once that final pass clicks¡­" He left it hanging. A subtle shift in the background sound hinted at the players re-emerging onto the pitch. A low, building roar began pulsing through the feed. "Right," Alejandro said, sitting back. "Second half incoming. Serbia''s crowd isn''t letting up, and Spain''s bench still has weapons¡ª" He didn''t say the name. But again, the implication was there. "Back to Belgrade, we go." The screen then faded from the studio to the stadium. .............. "Welcome back to Belgrade," the commentator called over the airwaves as both sides emerged once more onto the pitch beneath the bright Serbian night sky. Spain and Serbia locked at 0¨C0 after a fiercely contested first half. Plenty of intensity, but no breakthrough just yet." The camera panned across the Stadion Rajko Miti?, capturing the buzz rolling through the stands. Supporters swayed in patches of red and white, chanting in rhythms that echoed from the concrete. The atmosphere hadn''t dulled¡ªit had only grown more anxious. The second half began with purpose. Spain, goalless but far from dull, emerged from the tunnel with a restless energy. Whatever Luis de la Fuente had told them at halftime, it had sunk in. The players were sharper now, faster in their transitions. Rodri dictated with greater urgency, Fabian''s touches grew cleaner, and Pedri, that quiet genius in the heart of midfield, began to drift higher, weaving passes between tight seams like a thread through a needle. Yamal collected on the right, jinking past a full-back with one shoulder feint before curling a left-footed cross into the box¡ªMorata rose, but the Serbian keeper was quicker, punching it clear. The ball landed at Fabian''s feet thirty yards out. One touch, and a rocket¡ªbut it pinged off a defender and flew wide. The referee pointed. Corner. The pressure was relentless now. Pedri and Nico cintiued to combine beautifully in the 53rd minute, slipping through a triangle of defenders on the left to draw gasps from the crowd, but Nico''s shot was parried again by the keeper''s outstretched foot. "They''re getting closer," muttered the co-commentator. "But that final cut¡ªthey''re just missing something." And then, at the sixty-third minute, a stir. Luis de la Fuente turned to his bench. Words were exchanged, and nods were shared. A substitute board was raised. The Number 7 flashed red. 10 glowed green. The camera snapped to the fourth official and then to the sideline, where a figure peeled off his warmup jacket. The away end began to ripple with recognition. Phones lifted. Flags waved. "And here it is!" the commentator burst, excitement surging. "It''s time. Izan, Spain''s wonder, enters the match. And for the first time, he wears number ten for La Roja." Pedri glanced back and grinned as Morata jogged off the pitch, sweat soaking through his kit. The veteran striker handed off a quick gesture of support, slapping Izan on the back as he passed. "Go on, kid. Make it count." "Yes, Captain," Izan said as he crossed over the line. As he stepped over the line, the number ten glinting in white against the deep yellow of his jersey, something shifted. "Remember," the co-commentator said quietly, "this kid wore 21 at the Euros. Scored the winner. Danced through giants. But number ten... that''s a different weight. A legacy shirt." The ball was live again within seconds of his entrance. Serbia had cleared long, but Le Normand tidied it up, cycling possession through Rodri. Spain restarted their intricate weave, patient but pulsing with danger. Izan jogged into the flow like he''d always been part of it. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In the 67th minute, Pedri floated a chipped ball into the path of Yamal, whose close control turned two defenders into statues. He slipped it centrally for Nico, who flicked it behind with a blind heel. And there was Izan, already running. The crowd held its breath. He slowed, stepped over with his right, then cut left¡ªand just as the gap opened, a Serbian leg flew in. "Still scoreless," the commentator said. "But Spain¡ªso close. And look at the difference. Look at how they''ve tilted forward since number ten stepped on." A minute later, another corner. Spain took their positions. Pedri jogged over to take it. Izan had wanted to take it, but he thought about something he had wanted to try and had stopped. He stood still as as the other players tugged and tussled with two serbian giants, even for Izan''s height behind him. And then it shimmered. The familiar overlay. The interface that only he could see. [Active Trait: Phantom Steps ¨C Activated.] A flicker. His movement subtly warped. To the outside eye, he was just drifting across the edge of the six-yard box. But to his marker¡ªit was like trying to read the rhythm of water. One moment there, the next a step wide. His body faked without faking. Shoulders bent in false directions. Feet shuffled just enough to ruin any muscle memory defenders relied on. [Active Trait: Knight in the Area ¨C Activated.] Another ping in his mind. He didn''t blink. His eyes stayed locked on Pedri''s stance. This trait wasn''t about deception. It was about chance. And the numbers didn''t lie. "Eighty percent conversion when inside the penalty area," he thought as he glanced at Pedri. "And here it comes," breathed the commentator. Spain loading the box¡­ Nico at the edge. Fabian just outside the arc. Izan drifting in¡ªthere! Right between two defenders!" The corner came in¡ªa whip of pace and spin. And Izan moved. There was no grand leap. No sprint. Just timing. Just instinct. Like he had borrowed the ball''s path from the future. He dipped in front of one marker, bent his run behind another, and appeared in the dead space just two feet ahead of the penalty spot. The ball arrived. He struck. Left foot. Sweet and Pure. A volley with the technique of a surgeon and the violence of a thunderclap. It smashed into the back of the net before the keeper even dropped to the turf. Silence¡ªfor half a second. The sound vacuumed from the stadium. Then¡ª "GOOOOOAAAAL!" The commentator exploded, voice caught in the roar of disbelief. "There it is! With his first real touch! Of course, it''s him! Of course, it''s Izan!" The players mobbed him. Pedri, laughing like a lunatic. Nico, throwing both arms around his neck. Yamal, with both hands on his head, yelling, "No way!" before shoving him toward the crowd. From the touchline, de la Fuente only nodded. Calm. But behind that, a glimmer. The replays rolled. Again and again. Izan''s movement. And in the commentary box, the voice softened for just a beat. "He wore 21 when he became a legend," he said. "Now he wears ten¡ªand it''s like he was always meant to." The scoreboard read: Serbia 0 ¨C 1 Spain. Spain''s knight had arrived. A/N: Damn. Have fun reading. Chapter 435 435: Acquaintance "GOOOOOAAAAL!" The commentator exploded, voice caught in the roar of disbelief. "There it is! With his first real touch! Of course, it''s him! Of course, it''s Izan!" The players mobbed him. Pedri, laughing like a lunatic. Nico, throwing both arms around his neck. Yamal with both hands on his head, yelling "No way!" before shoving him toward the crowd. From the touchline, de la Fuente only nodded. Calm. But behind that, a glimmer. The replays rolled. Again and again. Izan''s movement. And in the commentary box, the voice softened for just a beat. "He wore 21 when he became a legend," he said. "Now he wears ten¡ªand it''s like he was always meant to." The scoreboard read: Serbia 0 ¨C 1 Spain. Spain''s knight had arrived. ? The Serbian players barely gave themselves a second to mourn Izan''s goal. The ball was plucked out of the net, marched to the center circle, and reset with a determination only desperation could shape. The home crowd found its voice again too¡ªless furious now, more desperate, more hopeful. They hadn''t come to see their team roll over. And despite Spain''s rising tide, Serbia still had teeth. From the restart, Izan drifted into position, not shackled to any fixed point on the pitch but sliding between lines like water. His official designation from De la Fuente was "free roam"¡ªa role built on trust, intuition, and chaos. It suited him. It allowed him to haunt the zones between center-backs and midfielders, to whisper into spaces where structure cracked under pressure. He didn''t press immediately though. He watched. Studied. Let the match''s pulse quicken again before he seized its rhythm. And Spain kept the beat. Pedri was back in control in the midfield, stringing triangles with Rodri and Dani Olmo¡ªwho had come on quietly after Fabi¨¢n Ruiz was subbed off, the kind of change that didn''t roar but purred with purpose. Olmo was calm. Intelligent. And when paired with someone like Izan, the pair moved like two points of a compass drawing perfect arcs across the pitch. The commentator echoed the shift in tone. "Spain are growing into this second half with new legs and old intent. Dani Olmo joins the fray, and with Izan now roaming free, there''s danger every time the ball crosses into Serbia''s half." But the hosts weren''t crumbling. Not yet. On the hour mark, a quick Serbian break turned the stadium electric. A slick one-two cut through Rodri''s shadow, and suddenly Serbia''s number 10 was bearing down the left channel. Mingueza tracked back, but it was too late¡ªthe cross curled toward the back post. Dusan Vlahovic''s head rose, high, directing the ball toward the goal but, Unai Sim¨®n saved it with a stretch that shouldn''t have been human. One swift reaction led to him showing why he was the first choice even over others like Raya. A full dive across the frame to tip the bullet header over the bar. The stadium groaned, half-rising to its feet before collapsing again into disbelief. "Unai Sim¨®n¡ªmagnificent!" the commentator roared. "That''s the moment. Serbia were inches away from equalizing!" From the touchline, De la Fuente simply nodded. No wild gesturing. No panic. He trusted his boys¡ªand they were beginning to repay that faith. After the corner was dealt with, Spain regrouped. The tempo dropped a notch. Izan moved deeper, offering himself as an outlet, dragging Serbia''s midfield wider than they liked. Yamal, meanwhile, prowled the right touchline with menace, waiting. And then, like lightning through dry clouds¡ªit came. Minute 73. A wayward Serbian clearance pinged off Cubars¨ª''s chest and fell to Pedri, who didn''t hold it long. A glance left, a shuffle, and a neat pass into Olmo''s feet and that was all. Spain started ticking again. Olmo twisted as he went on a prancing run, one man beaten and the next sent to the shops. After moving away from his two chasers, he glanced up, looking for a haven to release the ball toward. Izan had already moved. It wasn''t a sprint. It was a slither. Between defenders, across lanes of vision, peeling left into a soft channel behind the Serbian pivot. He didn''t raise a hand. Didn''t shout. Just drifted into the eye of the storm. And Olmo, reading the pattern like scripture, followed. The ball zipped into Izan''s feet, his insole, killing the ball dead just as it made contact. With pressure closing in, he raised his head and looked for where he could do damage, and from what he saw, the right side looked more attractive. Yamal was on his bike. He had waited all night for this run¡ªhis patience, his youth, all forged into a split-second decision as he broke toward the blindside. One defender tracked him. Another hesitated. It didn''t matter. Because Izan saw it. He threaded a needle-like pass. A pass that looked simple from the stands but only existed for a second¡ªa seam of grass no wider than a shoe''s width. Through it, the ball whispered like silk. Yamal''s first touch was heaven. His second¡ªa blur of motion as he nudged it past the onrushing keeper leaving the goal wide open. His third? A Fake to send the defender scrambling before he finally finished it. Bottom corner. No fuss. 2¨C0 Spain. The away section detonated. The bench leaped as one, arms to the sky. Yamal wheeled away toward the corner flag, and Izan jogged over, the ghost of a smile curling under his breath. He didn''t need to celebrate big. He knew what he''d done. "Beautiful. Just beautiful," the co-commentator breathed. "That''s not just talent¡ªthat''s chemistry. Olmo to Izan. Izan to Yamal. Clinical, clean, devastating." "And look at Izan''s vision," the main voice added. "He didn''t force it. Didn''t blast it. He waited. He calculated. And that, right there, is why he''s number 10 now." The camera caught him as the players jogged back to the center. Yellow shirt clinging to him. Number ten gleaming. He nodded once, subtly, toward the technical area. De la Fuente met it with an approving gesture. Back in the middle, Serbia reset again. But this time¡ªthey felt it. The weight. The quality. The inevitability. Spain weren''t just ahead on the scoreboard now. They were ahead in spirit, in shape, in command. But there were still a little under twenty minutes to play. And Serbia weren''t dead yet. They threw numbers forward. Spain bent but didn''t break¡ªRodri a shield, Le Normand barking orders. Unai Sim¨®n remained unshaken, gloves like magnets. Still, one got through. A wicked, dipping shot in the 75th, one that took a deflection, raising the hopes of the Serbians before killing it all the same as it flashed against the post. Spain breathed. And Izan? He was still floating. Still unlocking doors only he could see. Because that was his role now¡ªnot just to score. Not just to shine. But to orchestrate. To dictate. To lead with silence and precision. As the match edged toward its final stretch, the stadium''s song shifted. There was applause. Even from Serbian fans. Because you could hate a team. You could resent a goal. But sometimes, the football was just too good not to respect. And Izan? He made it poetry. After a while, the final whistle pierced the night sky like a starting pistol for relief. Spain 2, Serbia 0. Job done. It wasn''t a battering. It wasn''t even dominant in the traditional sense. But it was comprehensive, controlled, and filled with just enough magic to matter. On the pitch, Spain''s players exchanged tired high-fives and half-smiles, huddling briefly before splitting into clusters. Luis de la Fuente remained on the edge of his technical area, arms folded, allowing the moment to sink in. But even amidst the formality of post-match protocol, some stories found their way through. Near the center circle, Izan stood, sweat streaking his temples, hands on hips, watching Serbia''s players collect themselves. It had been a fierce contest. Honest. No cheap fouls. No flailing egos. Just ninety minutes of pure, demanding football. He respected that. From the opposite end, Serbia''s goalkeeper Pedrag Rajkovi? walked forward, gloves tucked under his arm, jersey already half-peeled from his frame. He offered a nod, then raised his shirt with a tired grin. Izan blinked¡ªthen laughed softly. "Still remember me, huh?" he said as the two met. Rajkovi? chuckled. "How could I forget? That goal at Mestalla still haunts me." Izan grinned. "It was a good one." "You''ve got a few of those." Their handshake turned into a quick embrace, brief but familiar. Months ago, they''d been on opposite sides of La Liga¡ªValencia versus Mallorca, a cold evening thick with noise and pressure. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Rajkovi? had been brilliant that night too, but Izan had found a way past him. Twice. Now here they were again, in new colors, under new lights, with a mutual respect born of shared battle. They swapped shirts¡ªnot in the quiet corridors of the tunnel but right there, under the open sky, with cameras catching every second. The yellow of Izan''s Spain kit was folded into Rajkovi?''s hands. In return, Izan took the Serbian keeper''s deep green top, still warm, still carrying the scent of grass and effort. A few fans in the front rows cheered at the moment. Some booed¡ªrivalry always lingered¡ªbut it was mostly drowned by applause. Football was war. But it had its moments of peace, too. And tonight, this was one of them. A/n: 2nd and last of the previous day. Have fun reading. Also if you remember Pedrag, Shout out to you. Man always be pulling the stops when he hears Izan is playing. Chapter 436 436: Geneva Before Izan could even make it to the tunnel, a tap on the shoulder stopped him. "?Izan! Quick word?" came the voice, firm but respectful. One of the traveling Spanish reporters had beaten the rest to him, already live with a mic in hand and a cameraman trailing close behind. He offered a wry smile, raking his hair back with one hand as he nodded. "Sure." The reporter, a young woman in a red blazer and earpiece, didn''t waste time. "2¨C0 tonight, Izan. First match back with the national team since the Euros, my first match wearing the number 10¡­ and your first touch was a goal. What does this night mean to you?" Izan exhaled slowly, eyes flickering to the stands one last time before meeting hers. "It means a lot," he said. "Every time you wear this shirt, it should mean something. I''ve always believed that. The 21¡­ it carried memories. But the 10? That''s a responsibility. I wanted to honor that the right way." "And you did," the reporter agreed, smiling. "There were a lot of people wondering if you''d even be here, especially after the pictures with your girlfriend. What do you say to those fans now?" He gave a short laugh, not annoyed, not defensive. Just¡­ honest. "I needed a breather. That''s all. But I''ve never turned my back on Spain and never will. Not once. People were just reading too much into a few quiet days. I knew I''d be here. I wanted to be." Behind him, some of the other players were walking off, whistling, ribbing him from a distance. He didn''t turn. He stayed grounded in the moment. "One goal, one assist," the reporter added. "You looked¡­ different tonight. Sharper. Did something change?" Izan tilted his head, thoughtful for a second. "I''ve been working in silence for a while now. Growing. Evolving. This version of me¡ªhe''s not done yet." Her smile grew wider. "Last question. That moment with Rajkovi?. What''s the story there?" Izan glanced at the green shirt in his hand, still damp with effort. His fingers curled around it with surprising gentleness. "We played each other in Spain a few months ago. It was one of those nights you don''t forget. He made saves he had no business making. I just¡­ we shared a moment back then. Tonight, we shared another." And with that, he offered one final nod to the camera. "For Spain. Always." He turned toward the tunnel, the number 10 on his back catching the stadium lights, and walked off into the bowels of the stadium¡ªno longer the promise of a star, but the quiet storm Spain had come to count on. The echo of his studs clicked softly against the tunnel flooring, slowing as Izan stepped past the final corridor and into the dressing room. Empty, almost. Laughter and low chatter filled the space, but the seats weren''t as crowded as before. Damp shirts clung to locker doors, a few kitmen working quietly to pack away the evening''s remnants. The air carried the familiar cocktail of sweat, detergent, and post-match adrenaline. Izan''s eyes scanned the room. "Where''s Morata?" he asked, not loudly, but just enough to be caught by those nearby. Rodri, already in his tracksuit and scrolling on his phone with one leg draped over the other, barely looked up. "De la Fuente took him to the press conference." Pedri, half-buttoned in his Spain polo, added with a grin, "Wanted the captain''s word after the win. Said they''d be joining us on the bus. They''ll catch up." Izan just gave a soft nod and moved toward his spot. His folded warm-up top had been replaced with a clean towel, his boots already swapped for slides. Something was calming about the ritual¡ªnothing hurried, nothing showy. Just the silent winding down of a night well fought. The hot water hit his skin like a second whistle¡ªsignaling not the start or the end, but the slowing heartbeat of a player leaving the battlefield behind. Fifteen minutes later, he emerged, hair wet and loose, towel around his neck. The dressing room was nearly cleared now, a few players lingering in casual conversation near the entrance, their laughter echoing down the hallway. "Vamos," Dani Olmo called out, shouldering his duffel bag as he walked past. "The team bus is waiting." Izan nodded, slung his bag over one shoulder, and followed. .......... The team bus pulled up quietly to the front of the hotel, its headlights carving shallow beams through the calm Belgrade night. The Serbian fans had long dispersed, and the once-buzzing lobby now stood dimly lit, hushed save for the soft hum of conversation between hotel staff awaiting their final wave of guests. The automatic doors parted with a hiss, and the players began filing out. Izan stepped down near the front, his duffel slung over one shoulder, the zip of his Spain tracksuit half-drawn, and the scent of shower gel still clinging to his skin. Pedri was right behind him, yawning into his sleeve while Yamal trudged out beside Nico, their tired mumbling somewhere between banter and sleep talk. Luis de la Fuente stood just past the hotel entrance with one of the coordinators, clipboard in hand, face calm but authoritative as ever. "Alright, chicos," he called out as the squad began to shuffle past. "Straight to your rooms. I want the lights out early tonight. That was a strong win, but recovery is just as important." Some nodded; others just grunted in acknowledgment. A few high-fived the kit staff on the way in. De la Fuente added, "We''ll be flying out tomorrow evening to Geneva. Be packed and in the lobby by five. The match against Switzerland is only days away." The next battle was already in the air. Izan passed him with a small nod and a quiet "Buenas noches, m¨ªster," before heading toward the elevator bank. The players scattered through the hotel like dandelion seeds on a breeze¡ªsome peeling off toward their floor early, others waiting for the lifts in comfortable silence. The hallways grew quiet again. One by one, the lights flicked off behind hotel room doors, leaving only the city''s moonlight shimmering off the windows¡ªBelgrade asleep, Spain recharging. .......... The morning sun filtered gently through the tall windows of the hotel dining area, casting golden streaks across a quiet room filled with the subtle clinks of cutlery and the hum of conversation. A few players had trickled in early¡ªPedri, as usual, was half-asleep with his head resting on one hand while he spooned yogurt into his mouth with the other. Nico was perched across from him, phone in one hand, muttering under his breath at whatever fantasy football app he was refreshing. Izan entered casually, dressed in a crisp training tee and dark joggers, his damp hair swept back lazily from a quick morning shower. "Yo," Nico lifted his hand without looking up. "You''re late," he said as Izan grabbed a plate. "It''s not training, man." "It''s not, not training," Yamal piped up from a table nearby. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He looked far too awake for a teenager. "Amo said we''re doing a recovery session after breakfast. Indoor pool, stretching, and mobility work." "Classic post-match," Pedri added with a yawn, finally lifting his face from his hand. "Then we''ve got free time until we fly." At the mention of the flight, a few heads turned instinctively toward the windows. Geneva. Switzerland. The second test of the break. Izan filled his plate with fruit and eggs and made his way to sit with the others. The mood at breakfast was content, casual¡ªbut you could feel the undercurrent of competition humming beneath the surface. Everyone knew what the Switzerland game could mean. Points. Momentum. Luis de la Fuente appeared at the far end of the room just as most had finished their meals, flanked by Amo and Ra¨²l. He gave a small nod, drawing their attention without needing to speak up. Players quieted as he reached the center of the room. "Morning, all," he began, voice calm but clear. "Well played yesterday. Professional performance. Serbia didn''t make it easy, but you stood up. We travel this evening at 5 p.m. sharp. The bus leaves at 4. Bags packed, tags checked. Keep your routines tight¡ªour window to prepare for Switzerland is small." There were nods all around, a few murmurs of acknowledgment. He continued, "We''ll keep things light today. Recovery work this morning, lunch, and then time to yourselves until departure. Rest smart. Geneva isn''t a holiday." There was a chuckle or two, but it was respectful. As the players began to file out, Izan lingered for a second beside the window, his coffee cupped in both hands. Below, the Belgrade streets were already stirring. Local kids in kits ran past the hotel''s front steps, and someone¡ªhe couldn''t tell who¡ªhad spray-painted IZAN #10 across a bit of cardboard, now taped to the railing across the street. He smiled at the sight and let the moment breathe before turning back to the others. Time to get ready for Geneva. Chapter 437 437: Geneva [2] The descent into Geneva was smooth, the aircraft gliding like a whispered breath over the snow-kissed ridges of the Alps. As the players peered out through the oval windows, the horizon unfolded in layers¡ªmountains guarding the lakes, old stone towns leaning into green. The Swiss city below looked like it belonged in a postcard, too neat, too quiet, as if unaware of the fierce contest it would soon host. From his window seat, Izan leaned back with his headphones in, his playlist murmuring soft piano beneath the dull thrum of the engines. Across the aisle, Nico had fallen asleep with his hoodie drawn tight over his face, while Pedri absentmindedly spun a pen between his fingers, half-watching the clouds, half-zoning out. It was a different kind of focus now. The landing gear extended with a low rumble, and within minutes, the aircraft touched down smoothly on the tarmac at Geneva Airport. The cabin lights flickered on. The seatbelts clicked off one by one. "I''m not unpacking anything fancy," Yamal mumbled to no one in particular as they collected their bags. "Something about Swiss grass just tells me it''s going to rain." "It''s not raining," Cubars¨ª replied dryly, already zipping up his jacket. "It''s just Switzerland. It always looks like it''s about to." By the time they stepped off the plane, the air was sharp and clean, laced with the scent of pine from the nearby forests and just the faintest trace of jet fuel. The Spanish team bus¡ªwhite with a red stripe down the side and the crest printed bold and proud¡ªwaited near the edge of the private arrivals zone, engine humming. Luis de la Fuente was already at the front, clipboard in hand, flanked by staff coordinating bags and clearing the way. The players filed in without much noise, still carrying the weight of travel and preparation in equal measure. The drive to the team hotel was a short one, weaving past lakeside boulevards and cobbled alleys. Locals lined a few street corners, holding up flags and waving phones. It wasn''t overwhelming fanfare¡ªthis wasn''t Madrid or Barcelona¡ªbut it was warm. Familiar faces nodded. Even there in Switzerland, Izan saw his name etched onto signs, heard his chant hummed by a few teens outside a bakery. "Have I really gone that far?" he muttered, thinking about how he was an unknown kid with a dream two years ago. Their hotel was a sleek, modern structure nestled between Geneva''s financial district and a calm stretch of park. Trees lined the entrance, and the glass doors slid open with a hush as the team made their way in. The lobby was pristine, with pale marble floors and minimalist art on the walls. A faint instrumental soundtrack floated overhead¡ªsome kind of ambient jazz. Izan entered last, his duffel slung over one shoulder, still half in his thoughts. The match in Serbia had felt like the right kind of reintroduction. But Switzerland? That was a different puzzle. More technical. More disciplined. Luis called out instructions quickly. Rooms are the same format¡ªdoubles. Dinner at eight. Meeting at nine. Lights out at eleven. We train early." There were a few groans, but nothing serious. Everyone understood the rhythm now. The elevator doors chimed open. One by one, they stepped inside and peeled off by floor¡ªNico and Pedri up first, followed by Cubars¨ª and Yamal. Izan waited for the second lift. When it arrived, he stepped in with Dani Olmo, and Rodri, the three of them sharing a wordless nod. It was calm. But underneath that calm, something was brewing again. Another ninety minutes waited on the horizon. Another battle beneath the mountains. Switzerland would be ready. But so would Spain. The hallway on the sixth floor was quiet, lined with soft lighting and pale wooden panels. Izan walked beside Olmo, their rolling suitcases humming softly over the carpet. When they reached the door¡ªRoom 613¡ªOlmo tapped the keycard, and the lock gave a gentle beep before clicking open. The room was typical of high-end team hotels: twin beds, a sleek black TV mounted on the wall, and a small balcony that opened up to a view of the distant lake shimmering beneath the dusk. Izan dropped his bag by the bed closest to the window and stretched, rotating his shoulders with a soft sigh. Olmo tossed his hoodie onto the other bed and flopped back onto it, arms spread like a starfish. "Finally," he muttered. "One day, someone''s going to invent teleportation, and I''ll personally invest." Izan chuckled, slipping off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair beside the desk. "How are you finding it, by the way?" he asked as he glanced at the balcony. "Barcelona." Olmo raised a brow, half-smirking. "Oh? Getting curious, are we?" Izan gave him a sideways glance. "Just asking. You never talk about it." "Oh, now you care?" Olmo teased, folding his arms behind his head. "What''s this¡ªtesting the waters before you cross enemy lines?" Izan rolled his eyes, amused. "Please. You act like I''ve never set foot in Catalonia." "Yeah, yeah, but that was different. That was Valencia-you. Arsenal-you is a whole other story." Olmo sat up, mock-serious. "You come to Bar?a now, and suddenly it''s ''Where do we put him?'' I''ve got enough competition as it is." "So I''m a threat?" "You''re a problem," Olmo grinned, then added with a wag of his finger, "Stay in London. Win your titles. Be the Premier League prince. Let us suffer in peace." "Fair enough," Izan said, his voice half-lost in the cushion as he stared up at the ceiling. The air between them settled into that comfortable quiet that only teammates or roommates forced to travel the world together knew well. Olmo shifted his weight and leaned over the edge of the bed to rummage through his bag, pulling out a protein bar and tearing it open with a crinkle. "You know, though¡­ sometimes it''s weird," he said, between bites. "Being there." "Bar?a?" "Yeah. Like, don''t get me wrong, it''s amazing. But it''s¡­ heavy. You can feel the pressure walking into the training ground, even when no one''s there. Every touch, every mistake¡ªit''s like it echoes longer if that makes sense." Izan nodded, watching the soft movement of curtains as a breeze drifted in from the open balcony door. "It does. Valencia had that, in a smaller way. At Arsenal, it''s¡­ different. Intense, but more collective. Like everyone''s carrying it together." Olmo tossed the empty wrapper into the bin. "That''s because you''re winning. Wait till it gets rocky¡ªthen you''ll see what carrying alone looks like." A vibration buzzed from the bedside table. Izan glanced at his phone, the screen lighting up with Olivia calling. He picked it up with a small smile and swiped to answer. "Well, well, well," Olmo said with a dramatic stretch as he stood, already moving toward the door. "Shall I dim the lights too? Light a candle? Do you two need privacy?" "Shut up," Izan muttered, but his grin betrayed him. Olmo smirked as he grabbed his room key from the dresser, but just before he could escape, a pillow hurtled through the air and smacked him squarely in the back of the head. "Oi!" he laughed, turning to retaliate¡ªbut Izan just waved him off as he leaned back into the call. "Go to the lounge, Dani," Izan said without even looking. "I was going anyway," Olmo called back, rubbing his head with exaggerated offense. "Enjoy your romantic rendezvous, capit¨¢n del coraz¨®n." The door clicked shut behind him, and the room fell quiet again, save for Olivia''s voice pouring through the speaker¡ªsoft, teasing, familiar. "So," she said, "how''s Switzerland so far? Any chocolate or just tactical meetings and stretching routines?" Izan exhaled, lying back, phone to his ear, a rare calm washing over him as the Geneva night deepened outside. "Haven''t stepped outside the room yet. We only just landed. You know how it is¡ªDe la Fuente and his ''settle in before you wander off'' policy." "Oh, right. God forbid a little fresh air ruins the game plan," she teased. "And how''s your roommate?" "Olmo?" Izan smirked. "He''s alright. Eats too many protein bars. Makes weird jokes. Wants me to join Bar?a so he can complain about competition and blame me when he gets benched." She laughed at that. "He sounds lovely. Did you at least hit him with something for that?" "A pillow. Straight to the head. I regret nothing." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Good." There was a small silence then, comfortable, but present. Izan''s smile lingered, but something tickled at the back of his mind. A sense. A shift. Something off. He sat up slowly. "¡­Hold on a sec," he murmured. He got off the bed, the room suddenly feeling too still. The air conditioner hummed softly in the background, the breeze barely swaying the curtains. Outside, muted footsteps echoed from somewhere down the corridor¡ªbut not close enough. He slid open the balcony door and stepped out. The Geneva night was cool and clean. But nothing. No sounds. Not even Olmo''s voice from down the hallway. Weird. Frowning, he crossed the room again and pulled open the main door, glancing toward the elevator. Then stopped. "¡­What the hell?" A/n: Really not feeling well but let me not bore you. Have fun reading. Chapter 438 438: Bathed By A Different GOAT. Olivia''s voice came through soft and warm, a little fuzzy with distance but rich with the kind of comfort that turned hotel rooms into safe spaces. "So," she said, "how''s Switzerland so far? Any chocolate or just tactical meetings and stretching routines?" Izan chuckled, tilting his head into the pillow. "Haven''t stepped outside the room yet. We only just landed. You know how it is¡ªDe la Fuente and his ''settle in before you wander off'' policy." "Oh, right. God forbid a little fresh air ruins the game plan," she teased. "And how''s your roommate?" "Olmo?" Izan smirked. "He''s alright. Eats too many protein bars. Makes weird jokes. Wants me to join Bar?a so he can complain about competition and blame me when he gets benched." She laughed at that. "He sounds lovely. Did you at least hit him with something for that?" "A pillow. Straight to the head. I regret nothing." "Good." There was a small silence then, comfortable, but present. Izan''s smile lingered, but something tickled at the back of his mind. A sense. A shift. Something off. He sat up slowly. "¡­Hold on a sec," he murmured. He got off the bed, the room suddenly feeling too still. The air conditioner hummed softly in the background, the breeze barely swaying the curtains. Outside, muted footsteps echoed from somewhere down the corridor¡ªbut not close enough. He slid open the balcony door and stepped out. The Geneva night was cool and clean. But nothing. No sounds. Not even Olmo''s voice from down the hallway. Weird. Frowning, he crossed the room again and pulled open the main door, glancing toward the elevator. Then stopped. "¡­What the hell?" The hallway was full. Not in a scattered, teammates-lingering-around kind of way¡ªbut full. From the gate at the far end of the corridor to nearly outside his door, the entire Spain squad stood packed together, some still in flip-flops and training shorts, some leaning on walls, arms crossed or hands in pockets, murmuring and nodding. Nico caught sight of Izan first and grinned. "There he is." "Ah, he lives!" came Yamal''s voice from somewhere in the crowd. Olmo stood near the front, hands tucked into his hoodie, smirking like he''d been waiting for this exact moment. "Told you he''d come out eventually." "What¡­ what is this?" Izan blinked. "The Geneva Gate," Pedri said, eyes half-lidded in deadpan humor. "A sacred pre-match ritual. One does not simply sleep while the squad stares at nothing in coordinated silence." "We''re heading out," Cubars¨ª added, tilting his chin. "Night walk. You in?" Izan just stared at them. Then down at his socks. Then back up again. He sighed and muttered, "Give me two minutes." As he shut the door to throw on some slides and a jacket, Olivia''s voice piped through the phone, still on the bed. "¡­What just happened?" "I don''t know," he said, laughing as he picked it up again. "Apparently I''ve joined a cult." "And you didn''t even get to choose the uniform," she replied, clearly amused. "Nope. But at least I get to walk under the stars with thirty sweaty footballers." He paused, grinning. "Jealous?" "Painfully." "Good." He tossed on a windbreaker, shoved his feet into his slides, and stepped back into the corridor with his phone still in hand. A few of the guys gave him mock applause, while Yamal offered an exaggerated bow like he''d summoned him from the shadows. "Welcome to the brotherhood," Nico quipped as he fell into step beside Izan. Izan just shook his head. "What is this?" "A tradition," Pedri answered from ahead. "Unofficial. Not enforced. But after a flight, a new city, and a night game coming up, it clears the head." "Helps the legs too," Rodri added, arms folded across his chest as they started moving as one. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Not everything needs to be tactical." "Still feels like a cult," Izan muttered under his breath. "Tell that to Olmo," Dani said, glancing back. "He''s the one who started it this time." Olmo merely shrugged from the front. "Guilty. Thought Geneva deserved some reverence. And some fresh air." The group exited the hotel through a quiet side door. The city had already fallen into its usual nighttime hush¡ªclean pavements lit by orange streetlamps, the distant shimmer of the lake, and crisp mountain air threading through the breeze. The players broke off into smaller pockets naturally, familiar formations forming. Yamal and Cubars¨ª were arm-in-arm, quietly joking. Rodri and Le Normand walked slowly, talking about their families. Izan stuck near Olmo, who grinned like he''d been expecting him all along. "Thought you''d skip out?" Olmo asked. "I considered it," Izan admitted. "Then I realized it was quieter without you." Olmo laughed. "Liar. You missed me already." Izan just rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of a smile on it. They walked past a small fountain where someone¡ªprobably Nico¡ªsplashed water at Yamal''s shoes, sparking a small chase. Laughter echoed faintly in the Geneva calm, a rare glimpse of joy outside the constraints of competition. "Hey," Olmo said suddenly. "That pass to Yamal back in Serbia¡­ that was cold, man. Sometimes, I think you have help because you''re too good for your age." Izan glanced sideways, a bit shocked that Olmo had hit the nail on the head, but proceeded to stare at Olmo like he was the crazy one for saying such a thing. "Yeah?" "I know, but it''s hard to explain talent like yours. Unlike Yamal, you weren''t bathed by the GOAT, but you''re still a whole league better. Precision like that, you could be a surgeon. But you''re a menace instead." Olmo said, noticing Izan''s stare. "I aim to please, and besides, I was bathed by a different GOAT," Izan replied. Olmo stared at Izan for a while before suddenly speaking, "Wait! So you were bathed by Ronaldo." Izan looked at the latter''s words before he suddenly burst out laughing and only controlled himself after a few moments. "Think we''ll keep this up against Switzerland?" Olmo asked, a while after Izan''s laughter outburst. "Why not?" Izan replied. "Momentum''s with us." Olmo nodded, thoughtful. "Still. We''re away. They''re a different beast at home. Compact midfield. Aggressive fullbacks. We''ll need more than pretty football." Izan met his gaze for a moment. "Then we should give them more." They stood there, together, surrounded by teammates but briefly in their little echo chamber of ambition and quiet resolve. Somewhere behind them, Yamal yelled about his sock getting wet while Cubars¨ª threatened retaliation. Nico laughed like a boy who hadn''t scored the winning goal at the Euros just months ago. And for a fleeting second, Izan closed his eyes, let the chill of the Geneva air kiss his cheeks, and breathed. ------------ The morning sun slipped through the gauzy curtains of the hotel dining hall, painting golden streaks across the white linen tablecloths and half-eaten toast. Coffee machines hissed and plates clinked as the Spanish squad filtered into breakfast one by one, most still dressed in their training kits, a few rubbing the sleep from their eyes, others laughing quietly about dreams they could barely remember. Izan had just settled into his seat beside Olmo and Yamal when Luis de la Fuente walked in¡ªnot with his usual silent nod or clipboard shuffle, but with a look in his eye that caught the attention of every player in a three-meter radius. "Morning, everyone," he said, with that calm, teacherly voice that always felt like it could shift into a reprimand without warning. "Hope you all slept well." There were some murmurs of "s¨ª m¨ªster" around the room as forks paused mid-air. Luis gave a small smile as he served himself some fruit, then turned just slightly. "Glad to see the team bonding continues¡­ even at midnight walks through the city." The silence hit like a misplaced tackle. Chairs creaked. Heads turned. Olmo blinked over his orange juice. Nico froze mid-bite while Yamal straightened in his chair. "¡­Did he just say ''midnight walks''?" Olmo whispered. Izan covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. A few seats over, Fabi¨¢n leaned forward, whispering, "Were we followed?" "Caught on camera maybe?" Yamal added, sounding genuinely worried. Rodri, sitting across from them, calmly reached for the butter and smoothed it onto his toast without even looking up. "Well," he muttered, "we did leave the hotel like a cult. Twenty to thirty grown men sneaking out together. It''d be a miracle if we weren''t caught." More stifled chuckles followed, and Izan nearly choked on his coffee. "Do you think he''s mad?" Yamal asked, eyes wide. "No," Nico replied dryly. "If he were mad, we''d be running laps right now." Izan nodded. "Yeah. That was more of a dad move. He''s just letting us know that he knows." Olmo nudged him. "Still weird though. How''d he even find out?" Izan lifted his brow with mock drama. "Maybe he was watching." The boys around him all turned to glance across the room where De la Fuente was calmly stirring sugar into his tea, eyes scanning over the front page of a Swiss newspaper. He looked up¡ªjust briefly¡ªand gave a small, knowing smile in their direction. Izan sat back, smirking. "Yup. He definitely saw us." A ripple of laughter echoed through the room, the atmosphere lighter now. Whatever tension had crept in with the morning sun had been flicked away with that gentle prod from the boss. And somehow, it felt like it brought them even closer¡ªbecause nothing screamed "team chemistry" quite like getting caught sneaking out together by your manager¡­ and living to tell the tale. A/N: Okay so first of the day. Sorry for Gacha chapters. Its been a tiring week for me. Anyways, i will do well to fulfill the Gacha obligations. We are 8 out of 12 chapters so i will do my best to whip up the two today, even all of it if i get time. Alright, Have fun reading Chapter 439 439: Group Survival [Pistacho031_3] The boys around him all turned to glance across the room where De la Fuente was calmly stirring sugar into his tea, eyes scanning over the front page of a Swiss newspaper. He looked up¡ªjust briefly¡ªand gave a small, knowing smile in their direction. Izan sat back, smirking. "Yup. He definitely saw us." A ripple of laughter echoed through the room, the atmosphere lighter now. Whatever tension had crept in with the morning sun had been flicked away with that gentle prod from the boss. And somehow, it felt like it brought them even closer¡ªbecause nothing screamed "team chemistry" quite like getting caught sneaking out together by your manager¡­ and living to tell the tale. .......... The crisp morning chill had barely lifted as the Spanish squad stepped out of their hotel, tracksuits zipped to the chin, boots slung over shoulders. The sky above Geneva was a pale shade of blue, the kind that promised a warm midday but still bit at your cheeks in the early hours. The walk to the nearby sports center wasn''t long, but the players kept their pace brisk, chatter rising between them in spurts¡ªsnatches of last night''s antics, predictions about training, and whispers about whether De la Fuente would mention their little escapade again. But when they stepped onto the pristine turf of the training ground, everything fell quiet. Luis de la Fuente was already there, clipboard in hand, a line of cones and mannequins set out with surgical precision. Behind him, the assistant coaches moved about with quiet efficiency, setting up poles, adjusting zones, and placing small goals at odd angles. It looked, in a word, intentional. "Alright," De la Fuente called out as the players circled around him, "Today we''re going to sharpen a few things. With Switzerland next, I want us thinking quicker. Smarter. Every run, every pass¡ªmake it count." He gestured toward one half of the pitch, where a defensive formation of five stood waiting¡ªcoaches and a few of the natural defenders already in place. "You lot¡ª" he nodded to the attacking group, "¡ªyou''ll go first. Treat that set up like it''s Switzerland''s backline. Your job is to find gaps, exploit transitions, and break down a system that thrives on compactness and recovery." Pedri, Olmo, Nico, and Izan stepped into position, joined by Yamal, Morata, and a rotating cast of midfielders feeding balls from deep. "And defenders¡ªpay attention. You''ll be them next. I want full awareness of what they do to stop us so we can flip it." The first drills started with low tempo, movement patterns without pressure. Then the whistle blew, and it turned live. It didn''t take long for Izan to drift into his free-roam zone. He cut between the lines like smoke, dragging a shadow defender across the field, opening space for Pedri to slide into. Yamal, on the other hand, hugged the touchline wide before darting in with an electric pace while Olmo orchestrated short combinations like a chessmaster two moves ahead. Luis clapped sharply. "More intent! Visualize their block¡ªtight, high-line when in control, but retreating the second it breaks. Exploit that moment!" They ran it again. Izan let a pass go through his legs, flicked the return with his heel, and suddenly Nico was sliding through into the zone between the center-backs. A snapshot finish. From the sidelines, Rodri and Le Normand watched, nodding. "That''s what they''ll try," Rodri murmured. "Close space, force us wide, swarm the second we enter the box." Then came the switch. "Defensive line, get in there," Luis called. "Now you''re the Swiss. Attacking unit¡ªmake them bleed." Rodri dropped between the center-backs, Cubars¨ª and Le Normand resetting their spacing, while Balde and Mingueza set out to cover the flanks. Yamal and Izan looked at each other, grinning. "Should we go easy on them?" Yamal joked. Izan snorted. "Nah. Let''s see if they can stop perfection." Pedri sent the first ball into the mix, and the game-like scenario burst to life. Olmo received it on the half-turn, darted into space, and looked to slip in Morata, but Cubars¨ª had read it, stepping up with the timing of a veteran and cutting the pass. "Good ball stopping! Pau," Luis barked. "Stay tight, don''t follow the ball, and read it!" They went again. Nico switched play from deep to Izan on the opposite wing. One touch to kill the ball, one to dart inside. He ghosted past his first marker, feinted toward Pedri, and sent a disguised pass to Olmo arriving late into the box. This time, Rodri intercepted with a full-stretch slide. Luis blew the whistle. "Reset! That''s how we build sharpness." The session pushed into another phase. Set-piece drills. Coordinated counters. Structured chaos designed to mimic the real pace and intensity of their next opponent. But through it all, one thing stood out¡ªno one coasted. There were no passengers. Whether they were playing like the Swiss or trying to unpick them, the tempo never dropped. By the time the sun stood directly overhead, shirts clung to backs, and sweat traced lines down necks and temples. The players gathered at the touchline for water, chests rising and falling like bellows, eyes scanning each other with the kind of gleam that only came when competition got serious. Luis de la Fuente walked over slowly, eyes narrowed against the sun. "That," he said, voice even, "was better." A few players exchanged glances. "But not enough." Groans and laughter mixed, but it was the kind that came from a squad that understood¡ªtraining wasn''t just about movement. It was about memory. About simulating every inch of the war they were about to fight. Izan, still catching his breath, looked toward Olmo. "Switzerland, better be ready." Olmo grinned, sweat dripping down his jaw. "No, bro. We better be." Because at the top, it was tighter than ever. Spain and Denmark¡ªneck and neck. Identical records. Identical goal differences. Only fine margins, the tiniest of cracks, would separate those who advanced and those who slipped. And everyone in the Spanish camp knew it. As they trudged back toward the hotel, boots muddy, socks sagging around their calves, the laughter had faded into a more grounded kind of focus. Not grim¡ªjust dialed in. Every player felt it humming beneath their skin: the stakes weren''t theoretical anymore. One misstep and Denmark would be the ones pulling ahead in the table. ........ Back in the team lounge, screens flickered with game footage and scouting clips¡ªSwiss pressing patterns, passing lanes, Zeki Amdouni''s last goal slowed down frame by frame. Le Normand sat with Rodri near the back, their conversation quiet but intense, fingers tracing defensive shifts across the screen. Yamal bounced a ball gently against the wall while Nico lay back on a couch, eyes closed but headphones in, probably replaying training scenarios in his head. Izan hovered by the buffet, half a banana in hand, half an eye on the TV. A graphic flashed up: Group A4 Standings ¨C Matchday 2 Incoming. Denamrk were first but only in name as ''D'' came before ''S'' since both teams had the same number of points as well as goal difference. Nico smirked. "Ain''t that poetic?" "What''s poetic?" Pedri asked, appearing beside him with a protein shake in hand. "That we''re top of the table too¡­ but placed second only because ''D'' comes before ''S''." Pedri chuckled. "Well, we should be glad we won because ''Spain'' comes after ''Serbia.''" sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Izan laughed through a bite of banana. "Fair," he said before glancing at the screen in front of him. His eyes lingered on the table a moment longer. Group A4 1.Denmark ¨C 3 pts ¨C GD: +2 2. Spain ¨C 3 pts ¨C GD: +2 3. Switzerland ¨C 0 pts ¨C GD: -2 4. Serbia ¨C 0 pts ¨C GD: -2 It was clean, symmetrical¡­ and suffocating. The tiniest slip could send them tumbling. Even a draw, depending on goal margins in the other matches, could dent their chances. And goal difference? It wasn''t just a number now. It was currency. Izan chewed slowly, his jaw tightening a little. "This next one''s gonna be a war." Rodri looked up from his analysis with Le Normand. "We''ll need goals," he said plainly. "And clean sheets." Olmo wandered in, ruffling his damp hair with a towel, clearly fresh from a shower. "So... just perfection, then." "Basically," Pedri said, leaning back onto the couch beside Nico. Yamal stopped juggling the ball and caught it on the bounce, letting it rest on his foot. "I can give you two goals. Might let Izan score the third for charity." Izan grinned and pointed his banana at him like a sword. "You better score first. That Swiss backline''s got dogs in it." "Dogs, we''ll walk," Yamal shot back, earning a few laughs. But beneath the banter, there was a tension¡ªlight-hearted, but charged. Luis de la Fuente entered the lounge then, casual in his training gear, a folded notepad in one hand. "Lads," he said, his voice even but firm. "This shouldn''t be interrupting, but you have a little media session, so I will leave you to it." The atmosphere in the room rose a notch after De La Fuente''s words before he killed it off again, "Also, be back here 10 minutes after that." Groans rose in unison. "I know, I know," he added with a tired smile. "But these clips won''t study themselves. And if you want to beat Switzerland without breaking a sweat, we''ve got to win this game before kickoff." He turned and walked off again, leaving the players to gather themselves. Izan glanced back at the screen as they left the room, the standings shifting to the preview of the next fixture. Spain vs Switzerland ¨C Stade de Gen¨¨ve ¨C September 8, 20:45 CET Then he looked ahead, toward the hallway where the media session was about to begin. A/N: 9 out of 12. Have fun reading. Chapter 440 440: Spains Backbone The media session was held in one of those polished hotel conference rooms that always felt a bit too clean, like the scent of surface wipes still hung faintly in the air. Chairs were lined in rows for the journalists, and at the front, six tables were staggered in a semicircle, each manned by a player, a name placard, and a slightly weary press officer. A backdrop wrapped the back wall: the UEFA Nations League logo repeating alongside the red-gold crest of La Roja. It was all very official. All very tidy. But there was nothing tidy about the mood. Not with cameras snapping early. Not with murmurs that built the moment they walked in. They all wanted one player. But professionalism meant they had to pretend otherwise. So, they rotated. Lamine Yamal was up first. Just seventeen but already seasoned enough to know when the mood in a room shifts. He wore his Spain training jacket zipped up, braids tucked neatly behind his ears, and offered a polite smile that didn''t quite meet his eyes. The questions started fair. Standard stuff. "How''s the mood in the camp?" "What did you take from the Serbia game?" "What''s your role heading into Switzerland?" Then came a question that slid in too smoothly to be accidental: "Lamine, you''ve made history at Barcelona, for Spain. Youngest this, youngest that. But it seems now the spotlight''s shifted¡ªdo you ever feel like you''ve been... eclipsed a little by Izan?" There was a pause. Not long. But enough. Lamine didn''t blink. He leaned forward slightly, folding his arms on the table. "Well," he said, voice calm, "I''m still thinking about switching allegiances, so maybe I''ll find a spotlight elsewhere." The room chuckled, thinking he was joking. Then they caught the way his lips twitched into a smirk. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "But seriously," he added, gaze settling on the reporter, "we''re not here to outshine each other. If Izan pulls three defenders and I get space to dance, I''ll send him a thank-you card. He''s one of us. This isn''t a race." He leaned back again, his message delivered with just enough charm to deflect the awkwardness. Pedri followed. Always an easy presence¡ªrelaxed posture, training top sleeves rolled up, sipping on a protein shake like he''d just come back from the gym rather than onto a stage. His questions came with a bit more tactical interest. "How did the midfield adjust after the Serbia first half?" "What does Olmo''s arrival in the lineup do for your movement?" Then, inevitably: "There was a clear lift when Izan came on. Did you feel that shift in tempo?" Pedri gave a small laugh. "Didn''t need to feel it. We all saw it. He opens the pitch up. Gives you these... invisible lines to pass through. Even the defenders start playing higher because he just draws confidence out of everyone. It''s like¡ªwhen he moves, the team breathes with him." Rodri was next, sleeves still damp from a cooldown shower. Neat as always, voice low and analytical. "Izan plays like he''s studying chess while we''re all on checkers," he said plainly. "He doesn''t just move with purpose. He moves with consequence." That earned a few raised eyebrows from the media. Praise from Rodri, a player in the running for the Ballon d''Or, meant something. Nico Williams slouched slightly in his seat, went in the opposite direction. "He''s annoying," he said with a grin. "Like, you do this mazy little run, beat two defenders, feel good¡ªthen boom, Izan flicks the ball once and suddenly everyone''s replaying his move instead of yours." He laughed, holding up his hands. "Nah, jokes aside¡ªhe''s sharp. Sharp like a scalpel. Makes all of us think quicker. And that''s when you know someone''s special. They don''t just perform. They affect." By now, murmurs were growing. People shifting in their seats. Cameras re-checking batteries. All waiting. Finally, Izan was ushered in by a press officer. No entourage. No loud arrival. He walked in quietly, a bottle of water in one hand, a navy Spain jacket zipped halfway up, curls damp from a shower. The press leaned forward like the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. He took his seat. Adjusted his mic. The flash of cameras almost drowned out the quiet in the room. A journalist cleared his throat, but the first words came softly, deliberately: "You''ve only been with the national team for about a year now, but it feels like you''ve reshaped the dynamic. Your teammates say they move differently when you''re on the pitch. What''s that responsibility like for you?" Izan looked up, eyes focused. "I just try to be available," he said. "With the ball, or without it. That''s the job, right? Football''s not about who shines brightest. It''s about who gives the team the clearest way forward. If I do that, I''ve done my part." Another hand raised. "You''ve swapped your number¡ª21 to 10. That''s no small thing. Symbolic?" Izan nodded slightly before answering. "I wore 21 when I was trying to prove something," he said. "Now I wear 10 because I believe I''m ready to carry something." The reporters rattled down the words as they tried to capture every bit of the new star of Spanish football. After a while, the press officer gave the time signal, but another voice broke in, eager. "Last one¡ªwhat''s it like being the player everyone else says they adjust to?" Izan smiled faintly. "Means I need to keep adjusting, too. You stop evolving, you stop leading." The press officer stood. Cameras clicked furiously. No follow-up was allowed. As he stood and gave a courteous nod, the other players, scattered in the lounge beyond the backdrop, watched him go by. It wasn''t envy, but it wasn''t awe, exactly too. It was something closer to certainty. Because when someone walks in and makes everything feel different just by being there¡­ You don''t chase the spotlight. You follow the current, and right now, they all knew who the current was. [Sometimes, I think I should add "Professional Glazer" to my LinkedIn profile. Izan is just sung Jinwoo at this point.] ............. Stade de Gen¨¨ve ¨C 32,000 capacity "Bonsoir ¨¤ tous, and welcome from a very wet Geneva, where tonight the UEFA Nations League continues with a vital clash between Switzerland and Spain," the hosts of the broadcast''s hosts came through. "It''s been raining for the past hour, and while it''s eased off slightly, the pitch is slick and the skies are still heavy. Expect drama. Expect emotion. Expect quality," he continued as the voices in and outside the stadium bellowed. The camera panned over the stadium, its lenses soaked with the lingering drizzle. From above, the pitch glistened like polished emerald, rainwater catching in puddles near the touchlines and spraying beneath the boots of the early warm-up crew. In the stands, umbrellas bloomed open like petals¡ªred, white, and all sorts in between. A storm had kissed Geneva. Not a howling tempest, but a slow, soaking downpour that had started just past midday and refused to move on. It left shirts clinging to backs, flags damp and heavy, and voices hoarse from shouting over the falling water. But it didn''t stop anyone from coming. Fans flocked toward the Stade de Gen¨¨ve with scarves wound tight and raincoats zipped to the chin, their spirits undampened. The Swiss, naturally, arrived in droves. You couldn''t turn a corner in the city without hearing "Hop Suisse!" bellowing from open windows or restaurant doorways. There were flares lit in side streets, their red smoke caught in the rainfall like ghostly warning signs. The home support was loud. Intense. Almost territorial. But La Roja''s faithful came too¡ªand they came proud. They waved their flags under the downpour with fierce defiance, chanting through soaked lips, clapping their hands to old flamenco rhythms, and shouting, "?Vamos Espa?a!" as if the volume could keep them warm. Whole families arrived bundled under one umbrella. A group of young men, shoulders draped in the flag, danced in a huddle, unbothered by how soaked their sneakers were. It wasn''t just national pride. It was belief. The belief that this Spain¡ªyoung, electric, fearless¡ªcould take control of the footballing world. "And what a group it''s turning out to be," another pundit chimed in. Just a few miles away, winding through Geneva''s old streets slicked with rain, the Spanish team bus turned onto the final stretch toward the stadium. Gone was the chatter from earlier in the day. Gone were the jokes about Rodri''s matchday rituals or Yamal''s playlist. There was only the low thrum of the engine, the occasional creak of the bus frame, and the soft patter of rain on the windows. Izan sat near the back, hood pulled over his head, eyes tracing raindrops racing down the glass. He didn''t move much¡ªjust watched. The stadium came into view now, rising from the grey like a lit beacon, every corner of it buzzing. Up front, Lamine Yamal leaned back with headphones on, one leg bouncing to a rhythm only he could hear. Nico played with a stress ball while defensive leader, Le Normand was jotting something in a notebook again¡ªmaybe a prayer or maybe a reminder. "Spain''s young stars have been front and center this campaign," the broadcast continued. "Izan especially¡ªafter his game-changing cameo against Serbia¡ªis under the spotlight again tonight. But so is Lamine Yamal. So is Nico. Pedri. Rodri. There''s a spine forming here¡­ and tonight will test just how strong it is." The bus slowed. Fans pressed up against the barriers lining the road, some holding signs, others just phones. Flash after flash blinked against the windows. A group chanted Izan''s name before breaking into song¡ªhis name stretched into melody, "Izaaan, Izaaaaan¡­" as the engine died. Then the hiss of the door opening. One by one, Spain''s players stepped into the rain. A/n; Sorry guys. This was supposed to be the last of yesterday but i had to postpone it. I have a paper at 10 so wish me luck. Have fun readin gand I''ll see you with another after the paper. Chapter 441 441: Strong Response The stadium came into view now, rising from the grey like a lit beacon, every corner of it buzzing. Up front, Lamine Yamal leaned back with headphones on, one leg bouncing to a rhythm only he could hear. Nico played with a stress ball while defensive leader, Le Normand was jotting something in a notebook again¡ªmaybe a prayer or maybe a reminder. "Spain''s young stars have been front and center this campaign," the broadcast continued. "Izan especially¡ªafter his game-changing cameo against Serbia¡ªis under the spotlight again tonight. But so is Lamine Yamal. So is Nico. Pedri. Rodri. There''s a spine forming here¡­ and tonight will test just how strong it really is," the host ended. The bus slowed. Fans pressed up against the barriers lining the road, some holding signs, others just phones. Flash after flash blinked against the windows. A group chanted Izan''s name before breaking into song¡ªhis name stretched into melody, "Izaaan, Izaaaaan¡­" as the engine died. Then the hiss of the door opening. One by one, Spain''s players stepped into the rain. ............... "And with that stirring welcome, we thank our gracious hosts here in Geneva and now hand over coverage to our broadcast team. A very good evening to those of you joining us from Spain, across Europe, and beyond," the commentator took over. "Wherever you are, you''re just in time for what promises to be an electric UEFA Nations League clash. We are live from a rain-soaked Stade de Gen¨¨ve as Switzerland take on Spain in what could be a decisive fixture in Group A4." The camera panned across the tunnel, where the players stood shoulder to shoulder, rainwater still clinging to their boots and the hems of their jackets, faces calm but focused. Outside, the Swiss crowd roared, but in the heart of it all, the Spanish anthem played, unwavering. The red kits gleamed beneath the floodlights, their golden trim a quiet promise of pride. "And as both sets of players make their way onto the pitch, just listen to the atmosphere¡ªGeneva absolutely bouncing, the drizzle only adding to the drama tonight." "The Swiss fans, understandably, have packed the house here, but don''t let that fool you¡ªSpain''s supporters are here in good numbers too, their voices slicing through the night air." Flags waved wildly behind the goals as the teams lined up for handshakes. Coaches exchanged nods. Captains tossed the coin. "Luis de la Fuente''s selection tonight sees a few tweaks from the side that battled to a 2¨C0 win over Serbia. Let''s walk you through the Spanish eleven." The graphic appeared on the screen. A 4-3-3 formation shimmered under the raindrops, crisp and bright: "Unai Sim¨®n retains his spot between the posts. In front of him, a bit of rotation¡ªCucurella comes in at left-back, just as Balde started in Belgrade. In central defense, Robin Le Normand continues, but it''s Aymeric Laporte who partners him tonight, with the young Pau Cubars¨ª getting a breather. On the right side of the defense, it''s Oscar Mingueza¡ªa solid presence both going forward and in recovery." The camera caught Unai tapping the crossbar, then flicked to Cucurella, nodding as the whistle drew near. "In midfield, de la Fuente has gone with a trusted core¡ªPedri starts again, flanked by Spain''s heartbeat Rodri in the six role. Mikel Merino also slots in, offering a bit more aerial presence and industry than Fabi¨¢n Ruiz did in the previous match." The shot swept across the center of the pitch where Pedri stood with arms crossed, his face unreadable, while Merino adjusted his armband and boots. Rodri stared ahead with that same cool intensity. "And now, up front¡ªthis is where the magic has been lately. Lamine Yamal takes up his familiar role on the right, the teenage prodigy''s confidence growing with each cap. On the opposite flank, Izan starts tonight¡ªyes, that man, whose impact off the bench against Serbia changed the tide of the game. This time, he begins the battle from the opening whistle, looking to continue his superb form." Izan jogged in place, lips tight in focus. Even with the rain misting off his curls and the soaked turf beneath him, he looked loose. Ready. "And leading the line, the ever-reliable ¨¢lvaro Morata. The captain. Always willing to make the selfless runs, always drawing defenders, and still a threat in front of goal. That completes the front three." As the referee gathered both captains, a gust of wind shook the corner flags. Fans leaned forward. Commentary hushed for a heartbeat. "So here we go. Switzerland. Spain. Rain falling. Stakes rising. We''re all set in Geneva." The whistle pierced the air. And the game began. The first pass zipped backward from the center circle. And just like that, the hosts wasted no time. Switzerland didn''t inch their way in. They came storming. From the opening touch, it was clear: they were going direct. No settling in. No, feeling it out. The ball was sprayed wide to the right flank, where Ndoye took off like a bullet, splitting between Cucurella and Merino, pushing the tempo before Spain could set their shape. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Well, well, look at that¡ªSwitzerland looking to go vertical early. Here''s Ndoye with space down the right. Merino tracking, Cucurella trying to close¡ª" the commentator tried to say. The winger chopped the ball inside with a vicious feint, dragging Cucurella just enough before releasing a clever reverse ball behind the line. Spain hadn''t even completed a pass yet, but the ball was already in their final third. Amdouni darted into the channel, pulling Laporte with him after seeing Ndoye''s idea. "This is dangerous¡ªAmdouni in behind! First-time ball across!" The crowd inhaled as the ball skipped across the wet turf. And then it happened. Dan Ndoye had never stopped running. And neither had Remo Freuler, who arrived late on the edge of the area like a thunderclap. Yamal and Rodri, both caught in the scramble of recovery, were a step slow. Freuler didn''t need a second touch. The ball bounced once, kissed the rain-slicked grass, and he met it flush. "FREULER¡ªHITS IT!" A deafening crack as boot met ball. A clean strike¡ªlow, swerving, skipping just past the fingertips of a diving Unai Sim¨®n. "OH MY WORD! WHAT A START! REMO FREULER FOR SWITZERLAND. JUST FORTY SECONDS ON THE CLOCK AND SPAIN ARE ALREADY BEHIND!" The stadium exploded. Red smoke surged from the ultras behind the goal. Flags thrashed in the stormy air. The Swiss bench was on its feet. The Swiss coach, Murat Yakin, clenched both fists and pumped one in the air toward the stands. And in the Spanish dugout, Luis de la Fuente stood motionless for a beat, arms folded as he watched his opponents celebrate. "You couldn''t have written it. Spain caught ice cold¡ªSwitzerland with a masterclass of a first move. One. Touch. Football. Ruthless execution. And listen to this place!" the commentator roared, a bit too energetic for his frail frame. The broadcast cut to the fans. The Swiss end was a sea of white and red, drenched but delirious. And in contrast, the Spanish section stood still. Not quiet¡ªbut stunned. A few had their hands on their heads as flags waved more slowly now, surprise etched on the faces of the fans. Others just watched, the kind of silence that only comes from being completely blindsided. Forty seconds into the match. You expect a sparring session. Maybe a couple of minutes of back-and-forth. Instead, it''s Switzerland delivering a haymaker before Spain''s even touched the gloves." Yamal clapped his hands in disbelief, already calling for the ball back from the restart. Rodri huddled briefly with Merino, pointing at zones, gesturing in clipped, focused bursts. Izan stood near the center circle, arms resting on his hips, chest still heaving from his opening sprint. He didn''t look shaken¡ªjust locked in. "And now the challenge: Spain have to respond. It''s early¡ªvery early¡ªbut there''s no denying the punch that goal packed. This is a proper test of character." Morata walked up, placed the ball on the center dot, then turned to Izan and Yamal. "Well, guess we should also score now," he said, firm but calm. The two youngest nodded as the referee blew his whistle again. Spain kicked off. Rodri played it short to Pedri, who turned on the wet turf like he was born in the rain, glancing over his shoulder once before switching play to the left. Izan. He was already dropping deep, boots sending up tiny sprays of water as he angled his run toward the ball. It skidded on the soaked grass, but his touch killed it instantly, like silk. A flick of his head, a pause of breath. Then the trivela. Outside of the boot, lashed with purpose and elegance, the ball arced across the pitch like a brushstroke on a wet canvas. It looped over midfield traffic, curling out wide where Yamal was already sprinting down the right, eyes fixed, heart charging. "Oh, that switch! That is a gorgeous switch from Izan! Trivela with the left¡­ and look who''s running into it¡ªYamal!" The ball dropped perfectly into Yamal''s stride¡ªno break in motion, no stutter. He dragged it back with a deft toe, dancing just inside the onrushing Swiss fullback like a boy ducking under laundry on a line. There wasn''t much space. Not anymore. But Yamal didn''t need much. He took one touch, then a second. And then he let it fly. The curl was vicious. It soared with a devil''s bend, aimed for the far post¡ªhigh, rising, swerving. For a split second, it felt like the rain had paused. Every pair of eyes followed the ball. Even the home fans stopped their chants. The keeper dived full stretch, gloves out, body suspended in a horizontal leap. It wasn''t enough. The ball raced past him, beating hand, beating air¡ª ¡ªClang! The sound was merciless. It hit the post flush, bouncing back across the face of the goal like a pinball shot with fury before it was cleared. "OFF THE POST! OH MY¡ªwhat a response from Spain! And Lamine Yamal was inches away from leveling the match inside two minutes!" In the away section, Spanish fans rose like a wave. Gasps and groans mixed with wild applause. On the touchline, Luis de la Fuente turned back toward the bench, a half-smile on his lips despite the near-miss. That was the response he wanted. That was how you punched back. Yamal was already jogging back, frustrated but locked in. Izan clapped his hands from the far wing, fingers dripping with rain, his eyes sharp and visible despite the splash on his face. The two exchanged a glance as if to say, That was close. But next time? Next time it''s in. The Swiss defenders were yelling now, gesturing frantically, shaken by how fast Spain had torn them open. And the crowd knew it. They knew the storm wasn''t just falling from the skies anymore¡ªit was brewing in the boots of Spain''s youngest, boldest stars. "That post is still shaking, folks. Spain might be down, but you can feel it. The fire''s lit. And Izan... what a way to set it all up. That trivela pass is worth a highlight reel on its own." Play continued, but it was clear now: Switzerland''s early strike had woken something up. And it wasn''t going back to sleep. Chapter 442 442: Old And New [Pistacho031_3] The rain had long since stopped being a backdrop. It was now part of the match¡ªa fifth element woven into the tempo, clinging to skin, shirts, and blades of grass alike. Every footfall sent water splashing; every pass skidded faster than intended. It was miserable weather for most¡ªbut for Spain, it was a canvas. And they were painting with fire. The game had barely resumed from Lamine, almost equalizing, yet Spain''s intent was clear. There was no panic. No reckless reaction. Just a slow, tightening coil of possession, as they squeezed Switzerland further up their pitch. Rodri, ever the anchor, stopped Switzerland trying to come back into the game with a perfectly timed interception. After escaping a press, he turned and recycled the ball to the left flank. The ball found its way to Izan. Rainwater beaded off his brow as he stared down Widmer. The Swiss fullback waited in a low stance, cautious¡ªhe''d seen the replays and knew what Izan could do when squared up. And Izan was smiling. He opened up his body, took the ball in stride, and started rolling the ball with the sole of his foot as he tried to glide away with it. Akanji, seeing the situation between Izan and Widmer, stepped to meet the former this time¡ªno more leaving him to the fullback¡ªbut Izan stopped dead. One touch with the instep, pulling the ball backward. Then a burst forward again, leaving Widmer for dead. Akanji was also left a half step behind, scrambling to get a hold of Izan in any way, but he could only watch on as Izan squared it low into the six-yard box. Morata lunged, despite being between the two Swiss center-backs. And so did Sommer. They both collided ¡ªman, leg, ball, and gloves all tangled for a second that felt eternal. "That''s brave from Sommer! He had to commit! Morata was inches from tapping it in!" The rebound dropped outside the box. And fell to Yamal again. Wanting to avoid losing the ball due to the oncoming freight train of Swiss players, Yamal didn''t even let it bounce. A volley, pure and sweet¡ªsweet as a nut¡ªwhistled past the bodies. But Laporte, still recovering from his previous run into the box, couldn''t get out of the way in time. The ball ricocheted off his back and rolled harmlessly wide of the post. Goal kick. "Unlucky! That had Sommer beaten all ends up¡ªbut Laporte just couldn''t vanish, could he?" "?VAMOS!" Izan clapped furiously anyway, urging his teammates back up the pitch. He wanted more. Demanded it. Switzerland took the restart long ¡ªbut barely reached their player before Rodri pounced again, intercepting a lazy sideways pass and feeding Pedri. Spain surged forward again. Another spell. Another crack at the dam. Pedri to Yamal. Yamal to Morata. Back to Merino, who let it fly from range, but his shot was blocked. The ball spun wildly toward the left corner flag. Izan chased it down, skidding slightly as he reached it and flicking it off Rodriguez''s shin. Corner. Now he jogged over to take it. The tension inside the stadium was almost tangible now, thick with breath and thunder, chants and nerves. Izan wiped the rain from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, placed the ball carefully in the corner arc, and glanced once into the box. Bodies jostled. La Roja lined the six-yard box like soldiers waiting for the breach. Le Normand again. Laporte too. Even Merino crept in, towering near the penalty spot. And in the eye of the storm¡ªMorata, backed into Akanji, nudging him left and right like a striker who''d studied a lifetime of chaos. Izan raised his left arm. The signal. [Pinpoint Accuracy Lv 3 Activated], Izan hit it low this time, the ball whipping at pace, near post, flat and hard. And the moment it came in, Morata broke free. Akanji had his hands up as he chased the former, but not to play the ball¡ªto hold. The contact was clear. His arm reached across Morata''s shoulder, dragging him slightly. It wasn''t much. But it was something. Morata got his head to the ball anyway¡ªbut only just. It skimmed the side of his scalp and deflected away. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Yamal rushed to keep it in, but Widmer beat him to it and knocked it safely into touch. And then the Spanish players turned. "?Oye! ?M¨ªralo, m¨ªralo!" Izan shouted, pointing to the spot where Morata had fallen, already pleading with the ref. Morata stayed down for a moment, then pushed himself up, arms raised in exasperation. "He had his arm around my neck!" he said as his teammates approached. Although most hadn''t noticed, they still joined to debate the offense. "Now then! That''s a huge shout for a penalty! Spain are surrounding the referee, and there''s plenty of pointing going on inside that box," the commentator said as the referee got away from the Spanish players. The ref¡ªcool, composed¡ªshook his head, No Penalty! Play on, he seemed to say. The crowd reacted instantly. BOOS exploded from the Spain end. Arms waved. Fans pointed at the replay being shown on the big screen above the stands. ????? "Let''s take a look ourselves... hmm, there is contact. Akanji''s got his arm across Morata... you''ve seen those given." Luis de la Fuente was up from his seat, fingers spread in protest. He didn''t storm the fourth official, but his expression said it all: That was soft, maybe¡ªbut that was also a foul. And then the ref paused. Hand to ear. He was listening. "Wait a minute... wait a minute... I think we''ve got a review coming!" Chants rose again. Thunder rolled across the roof of the stadium. A split second later, the referee jogged to the sideline. Morata stood still, arms folded, watching the screen intently. The crowd watched too¡ªsilent now. Like the whole world had pressed pause. The VAR footage played. Slow motion. Morata making the run. Akanji reaching across. Contact. Shirt stretch. The fall. The referee then turned back and ran back onto the pitch as the stadium looked on. Whistle. Arm extended. PENALTY. The Spanish fans erupted. Drums thudded. Horns blasted. "?VAMOS!" came the cry from Izan. Even in the rain, his teeth flashed. ????? "It''s given! Penalty to Spain! And finally¡ªfinally¡ªa reward for the pressure they''ve piled on since the first minute!" Akanji shouted in disbelief, pleading his innocence as Swiss Captain Xhaka jogged to the referee, hands raised in argument. But it was done. Yann Sommer, calm but drenched, pulled his gloves tighter. His eyes scanned the crowd once. Then settled on the ball. Except... the ball wasn''t at the spot yet. Izan had it. He picked it up off the grass like it was routine. Tucked it under his arm. Walked toward the penalty spot. But just behind him, Morata stepped forward too. And for a split second, there was a pause. A stutter in the rhythm of the match. The cameras zoomed in, thinking they got something Juicy. Two men. A storm. A penalty. Was Izan taking the penalty? Morata, older and captain, had scored dozens in this shirt. But Izan¡ªelectric, fearless, chosen¡ªhad been at the heart of everything since coming on. The commentators caught the moment immediately. "Hold on a second... is Izan taking this? That''s Morata''s role, no? There seems to be a bit of discussion here." "We haven''t seen a change in Spain''s takers publicly, but Izan has taken penalties at club level, and¡ªwell, he''s certainly not shy." In the stands, Spanish fans exchanged glances. One leaned over the rail, shaking his head. "Nah, come on. I like the kid, but that''s Morata''s ball. He''s the captain." Another shrugged. "Maybe they''ve changed it. Or maybe he''s just confident?" But before any heat could spark, Izan broke the tension. Grinning, he lobbed the ball softly toward Morata. Morata caught it mid-air and laughed, shaking his head. Izan gave him a light slap on the back, then muttered just loud enough for lip-readers and cameras to catch it: "You''re old. Might be your last one." And then, with a wink¡ª "I''ve got a lot more coming." "Ohh, brilliant! That''s not a challenge at all¡ªit''s a gift. Izan was never going to take it. That''s class from the youngster. Looks like he just picked it up while Morata was gathering himself. And what a line¡ª''I''ve got a thousand more coming.'' You love to see that kind of respect between generations." "That''s the future of Spanish football right there. And right now, the past and present steps up." Morata placed the ball carefully on the spot. The crowd dipped into silence again, anticipation buzzing under every breath. The rain fell harder now, creating ripples in the puddled penalty area. Morata exhaled. Behind him, Izan stood just outside the box, hands on hips, watching¡ªnot as a taker, but as a brother in arms. "This is it. After everything¡ªafter the post, the saves, the missed chances... ¨¢lvaro Morata from twelve yards. To bring Spain level." The whistle blew. Morata ran up¡ª And struck it. A/N; Hello guys. Sorry for the irregular updates and not keeping up with the daily ones. Just finished my last paper today and it went awry but no worries, i''m a bit smart so i did well, i think. Anyways, Have fun reading and i will start updating regularly from tomorrow. Byeee. Chapter 443 443: Lances In The Rain Morata took his final breath, eyes locked on the ball. Behind him, the rain fell in sheets, weaving silver threads across the emerald pitch. Sommer shuffled on the line, gloves twitching, reading every muscle in Morata''s stance. Then came the whistle. And Morata struck it. Not with brute force, not with flair but with conviction. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The ball sliced through the air like it knew where it belonged¡ªbottom left, low, and curling just outside Sommer''s reach. The Swiss keeper had guessed right but was a fraction too late. GOAL. The net rippled. The red away end erupted. Morata didn''t celebrate wildly. He turned, arms outstretched and pointed to Izan, who was already jogging toward him, grinning like he''d known the outcome all along. Rain blurred the moment, but the emotion cut through like a blade. Spain were level. 1¨C1. The players swarmed their captain, their movements soaked in urgency. There was no time for basking. They''d clawed back into the match but they weren''t done. "Equaliser! ¨¢lvaro Morata, cool as you like! And what a picture that is¡ªpointing right back at the kid who gave him the ball. You love to see it. Spain are back in this!" The game restarted almost instantly. Switzerland, visibly rattled, tried to keep their composure by playing a few short passes but it wasn''t long before Spain forced them to knock it long But Rodri was waiting¡ªof course, he was¡ªand calmly nodded it down to Pedri, who had dropped deeper now to influence the tempo. Spain didn''t rush. They passed with confidence, short and sharp at first, then Rodri disguised a pass and bent it around Freuler into Merino''s stride. Merino didn''t hesitate¡ªhe swept a diagonal ball toward the right, where Yamal had dropped wide. The pass skipped across the wet grass like a stone over water, right into his path. The latter didn''t take a touch and just let it run before he swung a first-time ball across the face of the goal. It screamed through the six-yard box but this time Elvedi cleared before he could connect. "Spain turning the screw again¡ªand look at Yamal too! That ball was begging to be finished. Spain are hurting Switzerland on the wings and we are all here for it" The ball was quickly recycled from the throw, and Spain played almost 50 passes without a Swiss intervention or tackle. Eventually, a mistimed run saw Morata go offside after Izan split the Swiss defense causing the ball to change hands. Spain didn''t press immediately. Instead, they backed off a few yards, settled into shape¡­ and let Switzerland feel safe. Then they pounced. Yamal. Out of nowhere, surged forward, not from the wing¡ªbut centrally¡ªcutting off the passing lane with a sudden sprint. Akanji panicked and sent the ball away. A Backpass. Sommer tried to keep calm but the onrushing Yamal caused him to rush it leading to a bad clearance. Straight to Cucurella near the halfway line, who controlled it off his thigh, then volleyed it into space¡ªand took off. No overlap. He drove inward. A one-two with Yamal, then another with Merino, then suddenly Cucurella was at the top of the box. He poised himself to take a shot before faking it and cutting inside, before rolling it laterally across the Swiss backline to ¡ª Le Normand?! The center-back, yes. He''d ghosted forward while everyone focused on the others. The Atletico Madrid man met the ball with a one-time left-footed strike, its quality far surpassing a shot by a defender but Yann Sommer outdid himself and saved the shot, keeping the game level. The rebound spilled into the air¡ªIzan came flying in for a bicycle kick but his shot was off by a bit as it whistled past the post, the Swiss defense rooted to the spot. But the crowd stood. Spain weren''t just dominating¡ªthey were inventing. Switzerland''s manager, Murat Yakin, stood on the touchline roaring at his men to hold steadfast and it seemed to work as Amdouni got the ball on the edge of Spain''s penalty box after a well-worked sequence. But before he could take a shot, Rodri, slid in from behind nudging the ball out of Amdouni''s range and causing him to stumble. The latter raised his hand for a foul but the referee waved play on. Yamal approached the ball and so did Frueler but the ball pinballed off the two pairs of legs before dropping to Pedri, who¡ªthis time¡ªignored Merino. Instead, he chipped it backward to Unai Sim¨®n. Unai Sim¨®n took a touch, dragged a Swiss forward out, then slid a disguised ground pass¡ªnot to Rodri¡ªbut to Laporte, already jogging into midfield like a libero. He drove forward. Swiss players didn''t close. So Laporte just kept going. Getting to the halfway line, he pinged a flat ball across to Yamal, who stopped it dead with the top of his boot. He turned, feinted inside, and then¡­ spun away toward the right corner. This wasn''t the normal wide stuff. He was luring defenders to him. And when three came? He backheeled it. Pedri. The latter ran from the deep, sliding into the right half-space before he burst forward¡ªwithout a touch, letting the ball roll across him before unleashing a low, dipping strike near-post. Sommer parried it out for the umpteenth time in the match sending the ball out for a corner. Cucurella stepped up to take it this time., whipping in a rare outswinger that curled back toward the top of the box. Morata let it go, as Yamal caught it on the volley. BOOM. It screamed through a wall of bodies¡ªdeflected¡ªand barely skimmed past the post. Another corner. This time, Izan jogged over. He didn''t rush. He looked around and held up a finger. Something was coming. He whipped it toward the back post¡ªbut low. Not lofted. A Swiss head flicked it away, but only to Pedri, who trapped it and laid it off short to Le Normand¡ªstill lurking like a striker. The latter curled it but it was blocked by a teammate in Morata. The latter stretched and took hold of the loose ball and now, Morata, ten yards out, faked a shot, dragged it left, and let it fly! Shot again¡ªdenied by Sommer with a boot save. Gasps all around. The loose ball was claimed by Switzerland¡ªbut not cleared. Their winger took a heavy touch in transition, hoping to break into space, but Mikel Merino surged in, sharp and decisive. He poked the ball away with a stretched boot, and suddenly it was back at Pedri''s feet again. "Pedri again¡­ how many times has he just absorbed the chaos tonight?" He turned smoothly, shifted his weight, and zipped a short pass to Merino-one touch to control, then a quick layoff to Yamal, stationed out wide. The move slowed¡ªbut not for long. Yamal took a second. One shimmy. Then reversed it to Rodri, who spotted something others didn''t: Izan, not near the box, but deeper¡ªhovering in the half-space, untouched, unnoticed. "This is dangerous now¡ªlook at the room Izan has. This is very dangerous." Rodri fed it to him. 26 meters out. One touch to set. And then¡ª Bang. A rising strike, drilled with venom and spin, the ball slicing through the rain-slick air. It didn''t wobble. It didn''t curl. It drove, pure and straight, like a lance toward the bottom-left corner. Yann Sommer dove. Fast. Alert. But the ball was too heavy to cleanly gather. He got down¡ªbut couldn''t hold it. It bounced out of his gloves like a bar of soap. And Morata was there. Right place. Right moment. First touch¡ªno hesitation, his left toe poking it home. Spain 2 ¨C Switzerland 1. "GOOOOOAL! MORATA AGAIN! But that¡­ that goal starts with one name: Izan. What a strike. What power. Sommer does his best¡ªbut you cannot spill that against a striker like Morata. You just can''t." The Spain bench erupted. De la Fuente raised both arms. Players poured toward the corner flag where Morata turned, fists clenched, eyes blazing with relief and adrenaline. "And how about that for the youngest player on the pitch? Izan''s not just dancing tonight. He''s dictating. That strike wasn''t hopeful¡ªit was intentional. That''s the evolution we''re seeing. He''s no longer asking questions. He''s writing answers." [Okay, this is just too much but I love writing it] The camera panned across the Swiss defense¡ªheads dropped, shoulders slumped. You could almost hear the shift in the atmosphere. From anxious to electric. The Spanish end roared¡ª"?ES-PA-?A! ?ES-PA-?A!"¡ªwhile Morata jogged back to the center of the pitch, pointing at Izan again, shouting something only the cameras could guess at. "Spain lead just before the break. And what a time to do it. The Swiss fought¡ªfought hard¡ªbut the weight of red just kept building. Pressure. Precision. And finally¡­ the crack." Halftime. Spain 2 ¨C Switzerland 1. But it wasn''t just a lead. It was momentum. Swagger. Belief. And as both sides disappeared down the tunnel, it was clear¡ª Spain hadn''t peaked yet. A/n: I am really tired but we still have to read. Have fun and i''ll see you in the morning. Byee. Chapter 444 444: Game Is Gone The halftime whistle blew beneath the heavy Geneva rain, swallowed by a roar of mixed emotion. The Swiss players looked down as they headed towards the tunnel with the Spanish players more eager to get off. Not because of their lead but because of how cold it was. Morata, who had just bundled in the rebound to put Spain ahead 2¨C1, clapped once over his head before turning back to Yamal and Izan. The three exchanged a few words¡ªbrief, quiet¡ªand then vanished into the concrete mouth of the Stade de Gen¨¨ve. Above, the Spanish supporters were still singing, louder now. Louder because they now lead after a terrifying start from Switzerland. .... The whistle blew for the second half, sharp against the soft patter of rain. A final breath before the plunge. Spain returned to the pitch with the confidence of a side who knew they had wrestled control of the match. 2¨C1 ahead now, Morata''s goal just before the break giving them a deserved lead. Yet the atmosphere wasn''t one of relief¡ªit was of anticipation. They wanted more. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Luis de la Fuente didn''t make changes at the break. He rarely did unless absolutely necessary. But he gathered his players in that brief window before the restart, voice calm but resolute. The message was clear: finish the job. Commentary cut in, tones hushed, reverent. "Spain were good in the first half. But you get the sense they are not really going all out. The Swiss should pray that Spain don''t reach the levels they''ve shown or¡­ Switzerland might not have a way back." The game resumed at a lower rhythm¡ªdeliberate, like Spain were feeling out the shape of the Swiss changes. A more compact block, with slight tactical tweaks. But nothing that stopped the ball from flowing. Rodri dropped in once again, splitting the center backs. The ball moved to Le Normand, then back again, probing. Switzerland didn''t press high anymore. They couldn''t afford the gaps. Pedri, ever the fulcrum, drifted inside, received from Cucurella, and broke the line with a disguised pass into Mikel Merino. The latter pirouetted away from a clumsy challenge and sprayed it wide to Yamal who killed it with the inside of his foot. And then, the rhythm quickened. Yamal danced past his man, his boots whispering over slick grass. He hesitated just outside the box, shaped to shoot, then cut it square. Izan met it. A low curler¡ªleft-footed, from just outside the arc. The Commentator rose in volume. "Izan¡­ curls it¡ªOH¡ªSommer spills it again!" The Swiss keeper, who had been nothing short of heroic in the first half for his team, couldn''t hold onto it again. The wet ball skidded through his gloves, a greasy blur slipping from his grasp. It dropped dead in the six-yard box. Morata reacted first. He lunged, foot stretched, ready to stab it home¡ªbut so did Sch?r. The Swiss defender slid across the turf like a man throwing himself in front of a train. Contact. Not with the ball. With Morata. The two crashed into each other. The ball squirted loose again, this time ricocheting off Sommer''s outstretched boot and spinning clear of danger, cleared finally by Freuler. Gasps from the crowd. Groans and groans, followed by desperate applause. Commentary, breathless. "Almost a repeat of the goal Morata scored just before the halftime whistle. How has that not gone in? That''s three chances in five seconds! Sommer again¡ªbrave, lucky, whatever you want to call it. But the score remains 2¨C1." Morata sat on the grass for a moment, staring up at the rain. He knew he should''ve scored. Knew he almost had. But there wasn''t time to dwell. Izan jogged past him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Next one," he mouthed. And already, Luis de la Fuente was turning toward the fourth official. Changes were coming. The fourth official lifted the board. Substitutions. ¨¢lvaro Morata off¡ªNico Williams on. A hug for the captain as he jogged off. Nico slapped palms with him before nodding toward Izan, who gave a small shrug and stepped into the central role. False 9 now. Mikel Merino also made way, clapping the fans as he exited. On came Fabi¨¢n Ruiz. And shortly after, a third: Laporte, who had been solid all game, was subbed out for the young Pau Cubars¨ª. A changing of the guard in real-time. "The future of Spain taking shape right before our eyes. Cubars¨ª, Nico, Yamal, and Izan are all on the pitch together now. And it''s still Rodri and Pedri pulling the strings." Switzerland pushed forward in spurts, desperate now, but Spain''s structure remained intact. Ruiz slotted into midfield seamlessly. Cubars¨ª, still a teenager, looked composed beyond his years, intercepting two crosses with minimal fuss. Then came the moment. It started with a Swiss corner. Spain cleared it quickly¡ªRuiz lofted it high into midfield. That should''ve been the end of it. But Izan had been lurking. He pounced on the second ball, knocking it past a Swiss midfielder with a shoulder drop so subtle it looked like an afterthought. And then¡ª He ran. The Commentator looked on, his voice climbing with each stride Izan took. "Izan¡­ he''s away. He''s away here! Look at this! LOOK AT THIS!" Three Swiss defenders stood in his path, spread across the middle third like a wall but he split them like a scalpel. A stepover sent the first spinning the wrong way. A nutmeg took out the second. Then the third lunged in desperation¡ªtoo late. Izan nudged the ball past him, skipped away, and was one-on-one with Yann Sommer. The keeper charged out. Izan never looked up. He took one touch wide, dragging the ball past Sommer with a deft flick of his instep and that was all there was. Open net. And he just¡­ passed it in. The ball rolled past the goal line in an almost teasing scenario. GOOOOAAAAAAALLLL The stadium erupted as the commentary box barely kept up. "Oh, my word. OH MY WORD. That¡­ that is one of those goals that will make a player''s career. He''s still just 16, and he just danced through half a team like it was nothing" It is still only the 75th minute. Spain 3. Switzerland 1!" Luis de la Fuente stood clapping on the sideline, expression unreadable but his pride obvious. The Spanish bench exploded, players lifting each other up, grins everywhere. And Izan? He didn''t even celebrate much. He just jogged toward the corner flag, pointed at Nico, then at Yamal, and tapped his chest. The message was clear: this is what we do. Still, the match continued. There were fifteen minutes left. Spain kept possession now with surgical patience. Switzerland tried to press high once more, but it was like chasing ghosts. Oscar Mingueza and Yamal played a triangle near the left touchline, forcing their marker to chase shadows. Rodri, so quiet yet so present, dictated everything, pulling Switzerland apart with simple genius. Under the glare of floodlights and the low growl of distant thunder, the 83rd minute brought with it a moment of chaos¡ªand clarity. Izan was driving through the center channel again, deeper than usual, gliding between red shirts like he had rewritten gravity. Nico had fed him the ball with a subtle flick, and Izan took it in stride, danced around a lunging Xhaka, then shifted his weight onto his left, baiting Freuler. Too slow. Freuler stuck a foot in. Too late. Izan rode the initial contact, and tried to stay upright¡ªbut a second nudge from Widmer''s hip buckled his momentum. He tumbled forward with a half-twist, palms skidding against the soaked grass as he landed. The referee''s whistle blew sharp. Foul. Spain had a free kick¡ªtwenty-three meters out, just left of center. A promising distance, but far enough to make the wall meaningful and the keeper''s instincts vital. The crowd erupted in approval, sensing the shift in tension. Izan didn''t roll around theatrically. He simply sat up, wiped the rain from his jawline, and stood. Then something shifted. The system pulsed in his mind like a second heartbeat. Then, quietly, without gesture¡ª [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 3, Activated] Yamal approached first, holding the ball. "You taking it?" he asked, breath visible in the rain-chilled air. "Of course, I am," Izan said with a grin as he took the ball from Yamal. The ball was placed. Spain''s bench rose. The red wave in the crowd found its voice. "It''s the 83rd minute. Spain are up 3¨C1. But this¡­ this feels like something else. We''ve seen Izan score from yards out countless times but can he make this one count too? The rain, the pressure, the silence before a storm. Izan¡­ could end it here." He stood over the ball. Three steps behind. One to the side. Sommer stood tall, legs apart, gloves twitching. The wall, four men deep, edged nervously. And then¡ªthe whistle. Izan exhaled, let the moment stretch long and thin, and then struck. But he didn''t blast it. The shot was a caress. A right-footed effort with inside curl, not power. The ball bent around the wall like it had been poured out of his boot. Sommer saw it and dove as fast as he could. Full extension, right hand clawing at air. But the ball dipped late, late¡ªjust as Izan had seen it would. It clipped the inside of the post, that kiss of inevitability, and settled into the net with a muted thud. 4¨C1. The stadium didn''t erupt¡ªit boiled over. Arms rose. Flags swung. From every corner, every soaked figure in red leaped to their feet as if that goal had unshackled something inside them. "Would you believe it? You can''t script this. You cannot script this. That¡­ that''s a masterpiece. A signature scrawled on the night in red and gold ink." [Max: Bruh, It''s scripted. Even the readers know it] Izan stood there for a moment, just breathing. Then Nico wrapped him in a headlock from behind. Pedri came sprinting in, clapping him hard on the back while Yamal arrived late, pointing at the ball, then at his temple, mouthing, "How?!" They laughed, Spain cheered. The game was dead now. A/n: I know some of you have been saying the keeper is beefed up but that was what really happened in the game in real life. It could have been more had it not been for the Swiss Keeper Irl. Anyways, I''ll try not to beef up the keeper too much and also as for nerfing Izan a bit, I apologise. One reader, -xyz-, said something that made me rethink how I treat Izan. Pele was the best in the world at 17 so why can''t Izan do better. Have fun reading and I''ll see you with another chapter soon. Chapter 445 445: Done, Not Dusted The ball bent around the wall like it had been poured out of Izan''s boot. Sommer saw it and dove as fast as he could. Full extension, right hand clawing at air. But the ball dipped late, late¡ªjust as Izan had seen it would. It clipped the inside of the post, that kiss of inevitability, and settled into the net with a muted thud. 4¨C1. The stadium didn''t erupt¡ªit boiled over. Arms rose. Flags swung. From every corner, every soaked figure in red leaped to their feet as if that goal had unshackled something inside them. "Would you believe it? You can''t script this. You cannot script this. That¡­ that''s a masterpiece. A signature scrawled on the night in red and gold ink." [Max: Bruh, It''s scripted. Even the readers know it] Izan stood there for a moment, just breathing. Then Nico wrapped him in a headlock from behind. Pedri came sprinting in, clapping him hard on the back while Yamal arrived late, pointing at the ball, then at his temple, mouthing, "How?!" They laughed, and Spain cheered. The game was dead now. The huddle broke. The scoreboard now read Spain 4, Switzerland 1, and with less than seven minutes remaining, the game had become something else. Switzerland looked heavy. Their legs, their faces, even their captain''s body language¡ªit all sagged under the weight of inevitability. Spain moved the ball now with confidence, yes, but also with joy. Their short passes were samba, and their triangles were elegant. Unai Sim¨®n barely touched the ball. Cubars¨ª sprayed two gorgeous diagonals. Ruiz offered calm, collected control. Yamal taunted his marker with every drag-back and cut-in. And Izan? He floated. No longer limited by the wing, he popped up between the lines like a shadow¡ªuntrackable, unknowable. There were no more goals. But the match didn''t need one. Because when the referee finally raised the whistle to his lips and blew for full time, it was clear: 4¨C1 was enough. A night that began in nerves had ended in spectacle. A revelation. "A generation takes the stage. And one name¡­ keeps ringing louder time and time again. Pele, Maradona, Messi and Ronaldo. Well, it''s Izan now and I think he''s no fluke. If you didn''t know, know it because he is here to stay." As the teams exchanged handshakes and Switzerland trudged off, heads bowed, the Spanish players stayed on the pitch for a few more beats. They clapped the fans. Izan and Pedri swapped words, laughing quietly. Then the cameras found the scoreboard one last time. Spain 4 ¨C Switzerland 1. It was done .... The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but its presence still lingered in the air¡ªa cold dampness that clung to the windows and turned the early light grey. Inside the team hotel, the silence was thick. The hallways, usually humming with footsteps and staff chatter, felt muted now. Doors stayed closed longer. Some players hadn''t stirred at all. And the ones who did? They moved slowly. Yamal shuffled into the breakfast lounge wrapped in two layers, a hoodie pulled over his head. He sniffled once, then winced, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I can''t feel my throat," he muttered to no one in particular, taking a seat with a sigh as if he''d played 120 minutes. Cubars¨ª joined him seconds later, his eyes red-rimmed, and a tissue in one hand. "You too? You didn''t even come on until the 60th." Yamal said before sneezing again. The La Masia-bred center-back nodded, sniffed, then said nothing. He was trying to hold it together. It wasn''t just soreness. There was a fatigue that ran deeper¡ªrainsoaked muscles, a chilled core, and that strange post-match ache that came not from one blow but from the accumulation of hundreds. Slides in puddles, tackles through cold, headers under downpour. Pedri showed up next, groaning as he lowered himself into a seat. His curls were still wet from a shower that had clearly done little to revive him. "Tell me again why we played in that weather?" Yamal answered with a cough and a shrug. Further across the lounge, Merino stirred his tea like a man unraveling the secrets of the universe. His expression was blank with his eyes half-lidded. Even Rodri looked subdued when he eventually arrived, wearing a scarf indoors and walking like his joints had aged a decade overnight. He gave a slow nod to those already seated, then collapsed into a chair like gravity was winning. "Morning," he said, though it sounded more like a groan. But not everyone had wilted in the wake of the storm. Izan strolled in last. Dry. Composed. Glowing, even. He wore a long-sleeved athletic shirt and track pants, his hair swept back like he''d stepped out of a commercial instead of a match. Not a trace of sickness. Not a visible ache. If anything, he looked refreshed. Cucurella noticed it first and narrowed his eyes. "You are not human." Izan grinned as he poured himself a drink. "I slept well." Cucurella scoffed. "We played on a slip-and-slide and you slept well?" Yamal glared at him through watery eyes. "He didn''t even break a sweat." "Because he did all his damage in thirty minutes," Olmo muttered. "Then just floated around for the rest." That got a few tired laughs. "Mom and Dad really did a good job," Nico added, walking in next and immediately sneezing into his elbow. "You too?" Pedri asked. "Shut up," Nico groaned, reaching for an orange juice. De la Fuente entered not long after, his coat draped over his arm, a mug in hand. His presence brought a quiet across the room¡ªnot the kind born of tension, but the kind that followed respect. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. And familiarity. This was their last morning together before club life resumed. But none of that was said aloud. The coach took a slow look around the lounge, noting the congestion, the hunched postures, and the glassy eyes. "Looks like the rain got a few of you," he said, tone gentle. More groans. Rodri raised his hand halfway, like a tired schoolboy. "Requesting immunity for training tomorrow." De la Fuente smiled faintly. "You''ll have to take that up with your club managers." Then he looked at each of them, pausing slightly on Yamal, on Pedri, on Izan. "You gave me everything," he said. "Both games. You should be proud of that." His voice didn''t rise. It didn''t have to. The sincerity was sharp enough. "Injury-free. Two good results. That''s all a coach can ask for. Now you return to your clubs¡ªrecover, compete, and keep your rhythm. We''ll see each other again soon enough." There was a beat of silence. Then someone clapped. Cucurella, probably. Or Carvajal. The others followed¡ªnot loudly, but with real energy. The kind that said: Yeah. That was a good camp. De la Fuente gave a small bow of the head, then excused himself, leaving them to their breakfast. Later that morning, the lounge buzzed with more life¡ªlaughter mixed with sniffles, teasing paired with hot lemon tea. Someone had brought down a speaker. Pedri started an argument about whose goal was better¡ªIzan''s solo run or Morata''s rebound. Yamal as usual made a case for the assist, naturally. And through it all, Izan sat by the window again¡ªthe same spot he''d taken before the Switzerland match. The room was quiet, the soft murmur of packing and zippers in the background. Most of the players were moving slowly, still shaking off the toll of the rain-soaked game. Merino walked over with a coffee cup in hand, steam curling from the lid. He leaned lightly against the wall beside him. "You heading straight back to London?" he asked. Izan glanced at him, then shook his head. "Nah. Got some things to sort out in Spain first." Merino nodded knowingly. "Right. Family?" "Yeah. That, and a few arrangements." A beat passed. Merino took a sip, then raised an eyebrow with a faint smirk. "Olivia?" Izan didn''t answer¡ªjust smiled. Merino chuckled and pushed off the wall. "Safe trip, Romeo," Merino said as he peeled off from the window conversation, nodding a quick goodbye as he joined the group heading out¡ªRaya, Laporte, Rodri, and a few others who played outside of Spain. Most of them had their travel bags already packed with calls coming in from team staff awaiting their arrival at various airports. It was a quiet sort of rush, everyone sliding back into their regular rhythms. Izan wasn''t part of that group. He lingered just a moment, then walked in the opposite direction, joining the ones who would return to Spain. The bigger bunch, speaking in softer tones, half-laughing at shared plans or the idea of a few calm days before diving back into La Liga chaos. He''d spend that time tying up loose ends. Olivia was already getting her things in order and after that, they''d leave for London together. Just enough time to breathe, reset, and step into what came next¡ªwith a little more quiet than he''d had all week. A/n: Thanks for your patience. I''m finally free and have a whole month to myself so we get in schedule tomorrow. And don''t worry, I haven''t forgotten about the ticket chapters and the gacha chapters. They''ll come. Have fun reading and bye. Also don''t forget to check out the new novel. Chapter 446 446: Lively [Pistacho031_3] Geneva Airport buzzed with a quiet kind of rhythm, the kind that belonged to early flights and tired goodbyes. Fluorescent lights washed over the group of Spanish internationals clustered near the gate. They were dressed down now¡ªhoodies, caps, backpacks slung low. The red kits were folded away, the rain-washed drama of the night a couple of days ago, already fading behind them like vapor trails. Izan leaned against a column, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, a duffel bag at his feet. Pedri wandered over first, a protein bar in one hand and a boarding pass in the other. "Valencia, huh?" "Yeah. Got some things I need to handle." Pedri gave him a look¡ªnot prying, but knowing. "Makes sense. Bit of peace before the Premier League circus again." Before Izan could respond, a familiar voice cut in. "More like love in the air," Lamine said, sauntering over with a grin that was way too wide for how early it was. "You and Olivia¡­ I saw the pics, bro." Izan gave him a deadpan stare, but there was no heat behind it. "Don''t you have a Bar?a flight to catch?" Lamine held up both hands, smirking. "Hey, I''m just saying. If it walks like a couple, talks like a couple¡­" Pedri laughed through a yawn, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let him be. If I had someone like Olivia meeting me at home, I wouldn''t fly straight to London without her." From behind, Alejandro Balde wheeled his suitcase over, nodding at Izan. "So Valencia, yeah? You catching a private out of here?" "Yeah," Izan said simply. "Flying out in an hour or so." "Figures," Balde said with a shrug. "Wish I could avoid the Barca schedule grind. We''re back to training in forty-eight hours." "You''ll live," Cubars¨ª muttered, appearing at Balde''s side with a tight-lipped smile. "Barely." Just behind them, Nico Williams adjusted the strap of his duffel and gave Izan a short nod. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. " I''m off to Bilbao." "Till we meet Niconinho," Izan added, reminding Nico of the name he had gotten ever since he lost a bet to Yamal. Nico gave a small, knowing grin. "Exactly." "Guess we''ll all see each other again next break," Pedri said, adjusting his backpack straps. "Hopefully still in form," Balde added. "Hopefully still walking," Lamine muttered, rubbing his lower back. They laughed again, and the airport noise swallowed some of it, but not all. Pedri reached out and gave Izan a quick, one-armed hug. "Take care, hermano. Enjoy home." "You too." Lamine held out a fist, which Izan bumped. "Tell Olivia I said ''congrats.''" "For what?" "For surviving you." Izan snorted, shaking his head. One by one, the group peeled off toward their gates. Pedri and the Barcelona boys headed toward the terminal wing leading to their private charter while Nico veered off toward a regional terminal for Bilbao. Izan stood a little longer, alone but not lonely, watching the people move around him. Another international break in the books. Another storm weathered. And now, home. Not London, not yet. Valencia first. ................. The car slowed to a smooth halt in front of a familiar house lined with white stone and framed by the drooping green arms of old Valencia trees. The sun, climbing into the mid-morning sky, scattered warm light across the tiled roof, the same roof Izan had stared at during countless summer nights when he was younger. The engine gave a soft hum before shutting off completely. Izan leaned forward from the backseat, offering a soft smile to the driver. "Thanks for the ride," he said, voice low but sincere. The driver, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, returned the smile through the rearview mirror. "Welcome home, campe¨®n." Izan stepped out into the fresh air, feeling the early warmth of the Spanish day settle on his skin like a welcome hug. The house stood before him, just the same as it had been when he left months ago, yet somehow different. Maybe it was him who had changed. He pulled the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, held onto the luggage, and walked toward the front door. Familiar stone steps. Familiar brown door. He paused for a heartbeat, letting the moment settle, before reaching out and ringing the bell. The chime echoed within the house. For a second, silence. Then¡ª The door swung open with sudden force, and standing there, framed by the sunlight pouring through the hallway behind her, was Komi. Her mouth opened in a breathless gasp before she even fully registered him. "Miura!" she shrieked, voice cracking with emotion. Without hesitation, she threw herself into him, arms wrapping around his neck with all the pent-up love and worry she had harbored in his absence. Izan laughed ¡ª a real, deep laugh that he hadn''t realized he was holding in ¡ª and staggered slightly under her momentum, his bag slipping from his shoulder. It had only been a couple of months, but it felt like years. "Hey, Mom," he whispered against her hair, heart swelling. Behind her, another set of quick footsteps skidded to a halt near the doorway. Hori, arms folded stubbornly across her chest, was trying her hardest to maintain an aloof, too-cool-for-this attitude. She tapped her foot once. "Took you long enough." Izan grinned over Komi''s shoulder and leaned down slightly. "C''mere." "I''m not a kid anymore," Hori said, but her voice wavered on the edge of betraying her act. Izan didn''t wait. In one smooth, practiced motion, he scooped her up into a tight hug, spinning her slightly. Hori let out a shriek of her own ¡ª half protest, half pure joy ¡ª but she clung to him all the same, her fa?ade breaking completely as she laughed against his shoulder. "You''re still my little sister," Izan said, ruffling her hair. "You''re so annoying," she muttered, but she was smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at her. The three of them stood there for a long moment ¡ª Komi, Hori, Izan ¡ª tangled together at the threshold of home, caught in a bubble that the outside world couldn''t touch. And then, predictably, the moment shattered. "What''s this noise so early in the morning?" came Miranda''s voice, sharp as ever from deeper inside the house. She appeared in the hallway, hands on hips, hair still damp from a recent shower, dressed casually in a loose tee and jeans. She spotted the trio and lifted a single brow in faux exasperation. "Well, look who finally decided to remember he had a family," she teased, but her voice was warm beneath the sarcasm. "We are both in london. Well I am most of the time but you fled and left me, a minor all by myself in a foreign land." Izan said as Komi pulled him inside with Hori crossing them to close the door. But before she could, another figure stepped into the doorway, dragging a modest roller suitcase behind her, sunglasses perched on top of her head. Olivia "Oh look, the neighbor who used to play with me when I was little," Hori said sarcastically with no intent of Malice in her voice. Olivia''s mouth curved in a soft smile as she got closer to Hori and nudged her slightly. "Come on, Hori. Are you still mad about me hogging your brother?" she said as she brought down her sunglasses. She looked slightly travel-worn, the long flights evident in the faint dark circles under her eyes, but somehow, she still carried herself with that effortless grace that seemed to have drawn everyone ¡ª and Izan most of all ¡ª to her. Komi, still clutching Izan, finally noticed her and let out a squeal. "Olivia, darling! Come in, come in!" The house quickly transformed from a quiet morning into a lively, bustling reunion. Izan helped carry Olivia''s bag inside, setting it neatly near the hallway while Komi all but dragged Olivia into the kitchen, fussing over her like she was her daughter. Miranda hovered nearby, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. "Hope you two don''t get too cozy flying over together," she said with mock innocence, glancing meaningfully between Izan and Olivia. Komi, ever the vigilant mother, didn''t miss a beat. "Miranda!" she scolded, swatting her sharply on the back. "Ow!" Miranda winced dramatically. "What? I didn''t say anything bad¡ª" "You implied enough," Komi huffed, adjusting the kettle on the stove with unnecessary force. Hori, watching the entire exchange, rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation. "Seriously, you guys? I''m fifteen. They literally teach us about sex ed at school." Komi let out a scandalized sound, covering her ears. "Not while we''re eating, Hori!" "We haven''t even started eating yet," Hori said dryly, sauntering toward the table and plopping herself down. Olivia, cheeks slightly pink but laughing all the same, nudged Izan''s side playfully. Breakfast became brunch became an endless series of jokes, laughter, and catching up. Komi laid out plates of jam¨®n, cheeses, fresh fruits, crusty bread, and eggs cooked in the way Izan liked ¡ª slightly runny yolks, seasoned just right. There was fresh orange juice, steaming coffee, and warm pastries pulled from the oven that made the whole house smell like heaven. Stories flew back and forth across the table. Hori complaining about school. Miranda updating them about her latest chaotic project. Komi asking endless questions about Olivia''s adjustment to life with Izan in London while Miranda still sneaked in a few of her dirty-minded jokes. And Izan, sitting there, soaking it all in, realizing just how much he had missed this chaos. This love. The hours slipped by easily, the home alive with the kind of buzz only a full house could create. At some point, Komi pulled out old photo albums as she always did when she was over-excited, much to Izan''s horror, and soon there were pictures scattered across the table. Some of Izan as a baby, other of Izan playing football barefoot in the garden and Izan making faces during Christmas dinners. Time moved lazily, like honey dripping from a spoon. Here, in this house, with these people, Izan was just a son, a brother, a boyfriend. And that was nice from all the fast-paced life he was now thrown into. a/n; Got sometime and decided to lighten my load for tomorrow. Have fun reading and I will see you in a bit. Chapter 447 447: Somber Mood. The hours slipped by easily, the home alive with the kind of buzz only a full house could create. At some point, Komi pulled out old photo albums as she always did when she was over-excited, much to Izan''s horror, and soon there were pictures scattered across the table. Some of Izan as a baby, others of Izan playing football barefoot in the garden and Izan making faces during Christmas dinners. Time moved lazily, like honey dripping from a spoon. Here, in this house, with these people, Izan was just a son, a brother, a boyfriend. And that was nice from all the fast-paced life he was now thrown into. The rain had softened into mist outside as the family of 5 basked in the warmth of their coffers, the rain turning the streets of Valencia into blurred watercolor through the living room window. Inside, the house still carried the faint hum of life ¡ª dishes clinking faintly in the kitchen, the low buzz of the television playing some late-night show no one was really watching. But mostly, it was quiet now. Miranda stood, brushing invisible crumbs from her jeans as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "I should get going," she said lightly, though her eyes flickered toward Izan. "Got to set things up for your sponsorship shoots before you''re back in London." Izan sprawled comfortably on the couch, lifted his head, and nodded in that easy, wordless way of his. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda smiled, ruffled his hair in a rough, affectionate swipe, and then disappeared through the front door. The soft click of it closing sounded louder than anything else in the house. Olivia curled up on the other end of the couch, yawned, and stretched out like a cat. "I''m crashing," she said, standing and dragging her suitcase toward the hallway. "Don''t wake me unless it''s for something life or death." "You deserve the rest," Komi called after her warmly. The door to Izan''s old room shut with a soft thud, and with it, a different kind of quiet settled in ¡ª one deeper, heavier. Komi crossed the living room, pulling an old photo album from the shelf like she knew the exact moment called for it. "Come here," she said softly, sitting beside Izan and patting the couch. He shifted closer without a word, the weight of tiredness from travel and games and life heavy on his body, but something even heavier beginning to pool in his chest. The album opened with a worn creak. Pictures spilled out ¡ª birthdays, Christmases, beach trips where Izan''s hair was sun-bleached and messy. Komi chuckled under her breath, pointing out old friends, terrible fashion choices, and an especially mortifying shot of him wearing oversized sunglasses and a neon green shirt. "You''ve always been a little star," she teased. Izan smiled faintly, leaning in, but his heart wasn''t really on the surface photos. Neither was hers. Komi flipped carefully through the pages until her hand stilled on one. A photo ¡ª a little faded, but carefully preserved. Maxwell Hern¨¢ndez, grinning, a much younger Izan perched on his shoulders, both of them laughing at something outside the frame. Sunlight caught in Maxwell''s dark hair; Izan''s cheeks were flushed pink with joy. The world had been simpler then. Komi didn''t speak. She simply slipped the photograph out of its sleeve and handed it to her son. Izan held it carefully, like something sacred. For a long moment, he said nothing ¡ª just stared. His thumb brushed the edges of the photo, following the curve of his father''s smile, the strong, easy set of his shoulders. It felt like a punch in the gut. How someone could be so alive in a memory yet gone in every other way that mattered. Komi''s voice was soft when she spoke. "You should go visit him." Izan swallowed thickly, blinking against the sudden burn behind his eyes. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It''s been¡­ a while." "It''s not just any year," Komi said gently. Her hand found his again, squeezing. "It''ll be ten years next month." Izan''s head dipped slightly as if the weight of it pulled him down. October. A month away. Ten years since he had lost the man he once called his hero. Ten years since a phone call shattered the foundation of his world. "You were just a kid," Komi whispered. "Too young to understand why the world could be so unfair." Her voice cracked at the edges, and she paused, breathing through it. "And still, you''ve grown¡­ You''ve made him proud, Izan. Your sister, too, has." Izan looked up at her, his face unreadable except for the tightening at his jaw, the way his hands clutched the photo a little tighter. "He should''ve been here," he said quietly. "He should''ve seen it. All of it." Komi nodded, her throat bobbing as she fought her tears. "He sees it," she said. "Maybe not the way we want. Maybe not how it should''ve been. But he sees you, ˽¤Î¿Õ [My heaven]" The room was heavy, almost sacred, wrapped in the silence of two people tethered by the same wound. After a long moment, Izan finally spoke again, voice low, rough. "I''ll go," he promised. "But not this now. Just a bit longer." "You''ll have time," Komi assured him softly. Izan nodded, slipping the photograph into the inner pocket of his jacket, feeling it settle close to his heart. The silence stretched between them, comfortable in its heaviness. Izan leaned back against the couch, eyes closed for a moment, still feeling the photograph''s weight against his heart. Then ¡ª Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs, light and fast, before a smaller figure skidded into view. Hori. Hair a little messy from her nap, wearing an oversized hoodie that almost swallowed her frame, she planted her hands on her hips and stared at Izan with dramatic seriousness. "Alright," she declared, "you''ve moped enough." Izan cracked an eye open, a breath of amusement escaping him despite himself. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," Hori said, walking over until she stood in front of him. "You''re taking me out." He blinked at her, still caught between the grief and the absurdity of his little sister bossing him around. "Out where?" "Somewhere!" Hori insisted, waving a hand as if details were irrelevant. "You owe me. You''ve been gone forever, and I need new shoes, expensive ones and don''t cut price. I searched how much Arsenal are paying you. I must say, you''ve got generational wealth for us. Now I won''t have to work" Hori said with a shameless expression. Komi chuckled softly, brushing at her eyes discreetly. The shift in energy was much needed to break the somber mood. "You''re unbelievable," Izan muttered, sitting up and ruffling her hair, making her squawk indignantly. "Shoes, Izan!" she protested, batting his hand away. "And don''t forget, I made a list." Izan laughed properly this time ¡ª not loud, but deep, real. The kind of laugh that loosened the knot in his chest just a little. He pushed himself to his feet, towering over her, and stretched with a groan. "Alright, alright. Shoes and a bit of expensive stuff. But you''re carrying the bags." "Deal," Hori said immediately, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the door without waiting for further discussion. Komi watched them go with a fond shake of her head. Her heart ached in so many ways at once ¡ª with love, with sorrow, with pride. The door swung open again just a few seconds after it had closed. Izan stepped back inside, rain-damp air following him. His eyes flicked to the small table beside the couch, where Komi had left her car keys, gleaming silver against the dark wood. "Forgot these," he muttered to himself, moving toward them. But his steps slowed when he saw her. Komi was standing by the mantel now, half-turned away, her fingers gently brushing the frame of a photo ¡ª a worn but well-kept picture of his father. The man in the photo smiled in that easy, lopsided way Izan had only ever seen frozen in images and half-remembered dreams. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Those same clear blue eyes Izan had inherited. Komi wasn''t crying. But there was something about the way she stood there, quiet, reverent, that said she didn''t have to. The grief lived in the marrow by now ¡ª an old companion. He smiled faintly, something bittersweet rising. Without saying a word, he stepped lightly toward the table, scooped up the keys, and let his fingers brush over the photo frame in silent acknowledgment as he passed by. Komi didn''t turn, but he knew she felt it. Izan gave her that small moment with his father, and then quietly slipped out the door, where Hori was already yelling from the driveway about how he was "taking forever" and how she was "definitely getting two of everything now." A/n; Okay. First chapter of the day. I will follow up with the Golden ticket chapters and the couple of Gacha ones left. Have fun reading and I''ll see you in a bit. Chapter 448 448: Shoot And Return [Pistacho031_3] The car door swung shut with a soft thud as Izan slid into the driver''s seat. Hori clambered in beside him, immediately tugging the seatbelt across her chest and clicking it into place with an exaggerated snap. She glanced sideways at him, suspicious. "You did pay attention during your driving classes in London, right?" she said, squinting at him like he was a suspect in an interrogation room. "Because, you know... I''m too young to die." Izan snorted, tilting his head toward her with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wound me," he said. "Such little faith in your big brother." Hori folded her arms, unfazed. "I just call it like I see it," she said sweetly. "And from what I remember, you almost hit the garden gnome when you practiced reversing last Christmas." Izan laughed under his breath as he twisted the keys in the ignition, the engine humming to life beneath them. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel casually, throwing her a mock glare. "I''ll have you know," he said, tone dripping with faux-gravity, "that I''ve been training under harsh London conditions. Rain. Fog. Crazy cab drivers. I''m basically a master now." Hori leaned back, still looking unimpressed. "Mm-hmm," she said, raising an eyebrow. "If I die, I''m haunting you forever." Izan just shook his head, a real smile blooming across his face as he shifted gears. If I couldn''t drive properly even after all the system perks I''ve loaded into myself, he thought dryly, then I really would be a useless being. Reflex booster fluids, awareness enhancements he''d unlocked ¡ª he had every advantage a human could dream of. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It would honestly be more embarrassing than tragic if he couldn''t handle something as basic as driving. Still, he didn''t say any of that aloud. No way he was giving Hori that kind of ammunition. Instead, he flicked a glance at her, seeing her arms defiantly crossed, her lips pursed like she was bracing for impact ¡ª and, with the devil''s glint lighting up his eyes, pressed his foot down. The car shot forward smoothly. Hori yelped and clutched the dashboard instinctively, wide-eyed. "IZAN!" He just chuckled, keeping the steering wheel steady with relaxed ease. The road ahead unfurled clean and dry, the rain finally giving way to thin streaks of sun between gray clouds. "Relax, you drama queen," he said. "You''re safer with me than anywhere else." Hori huffed but settled back in her seat, shooting him a side-eye. "I''m telling Mum if you crash." "And I''m telling her you tried to sabotage my confidence with your negativity," Izan fired back. "She won''t believe you." "Trust me, Hori, she will." They drove on, exchanging playful jabs, the tension from earlier dissipating into something lighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Izan saw Hori finally relax fully into the seat, one foot tapping lightly to the rhythm of a song playing softly from the speakers. The road stretched ahead, open and welcoming. ...... The white lights cooled to a soft hum as the final shutter clicked. "Alright," the photographer said, pulling back from behind the camera with a grin. "That''s a wrap!" A ripple of relieved murmurs traveled through the crew. Assistants lowered reflectors, makeup artists began packing away brushes, and the stylist gave a small, almost disbelieving laugh. "I''ve never seen a shoot finish this fast," one of them whispered. "And with this many good shots, too," another added. Izan stood calmly at the center of it all, dressed in a sleek black suit tailored to a blade''s edge, the watch glinting on his wrist under the studio lights. Seiko''s Grand Line ¡ª a private launch for a special few. The prototype they had flown in was built with his aesthetics in mind: Clean, minimalist, sharp without being loud. It sat weightlessly on his wrist as if it had always belonged there. Only seventeen units would exist worldwide ¡ª a quiet nod to his seventeenth birthday in a couple of months. Exclusive. Understated. A statement without needing to scream. The brand rep, a silver-haired man in a dark navy suit, approached with a polite bow. "You bring a great presence to the piece, Hern¨¢ndez-san," he said in crisp Japanese. Izan returned the bow slightly, smooth and respectful. "Thank you. The honor''s mine." The man smiled, and just when Izan reached to unclasp the watch, the representative shook his head. "Please," he said. "A small gift, from Seiko. A memory to carry with you... and a symbol of our gratitude." For a moment, Izan just looked at him, not out of hesitation, but because he understood the weight of the gesture. A prototype, one of one, for now, staying with him. He closed his hand lightly over the watch''s face, then nodded. "I''ll take good care of it." The photographer clapped his hands together once. "Seriously," he said, "amazing job today. We thought this would take all afternoon ¡ª you nailed it in under two hours." Izan smiled briefly but said nothing. After all the things he had faced ¡ª roaring stadiums, unforgiving training grounds, pressure that would buckle most shoulders ¡ª standing still and giving off composure was almost a relief. Besides, a small part of him had been built for this, too. Not just to play, but to stand for something larger than himself. He slid on a casual jacket handed to him by one of the assistants, feeling the familiar weight of his phone settle in his pocket. As he turned toward the exit, he spotted Olivia waiting across the room ¡ª her arms crossed loosely, a smile tugging at her lips. He made his way over at a casual pace, weaving between rolling carts and half-packed equipment. "You made it look easy," she teased lightly as he came near. Izan slipped his hands into his pockets, flashing her a brief smirk. "Standing still and looking pretty? Toughest part of my career." Olivia let out a soft laugh, looping her arm through his as they headed for the doors. Behind them, the crew continued to buzz around, their energy looser now, excited at how one of their season''s most important shoots had gone off smoother than anyone expected. As they stepped out into the soft midday sunlight, the buzz of the shoot fading behind them, Izan and Olivia naturally fell into an easy rhythm, their hands brushing together as they strolled down the quiet side street. "We could grab something light," Olivia said, glancing at him. "Maybe find a terrace somewhere?" Izan opened his mouth to agree when his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID. Miranda. He answered. "?Dime?" Her voice came brisk and clear, even through the faint city noise around them. "Change of plans, champ. You''ll need to catch a flight back to London earlier than we thought. Arteta''s been asking after you, and Arsenal''s next match is in just a couple of days. You''ll need at least a light session before the game if you''re going to play." Izan absorbed the information quickly, his free hand slipping back into his jacket pocket. "Got it," he said simply. "I''ll move your bookings," Miranda added. "Make sure you eat before the flight, and text your mom. She''ll want to know." The call ended with a quick exchange of goodbyes, and Izan pocketed the phone again before glancing sideways at Olivia. "Looks like lunch might have to be on the plane," he said with a faint smile, a hint of apology tucked into his tone. Olivia only nodded, easy and understanding. "You owe me a proper meal when we get there, though," she teased, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. He chuckled under his breath and steered them toward the waiting black car by the curb. The driver, already familiar with them from earlier, offered a small nod as he opened the back door. They slid in, the air conditioning humming low against the soft drone of Madrid outside. As the car eased into the traffic, Izan pulled out his phone again, scrolling to his mother''s contact and hitting call. Komi answered almost immediately. "Izan?" "Hey, Mam¨¢," he said, keeping his voice calm but warm. "Quick update ¡ª something came up with the club. Olivia and I have to fly back to London today." "So soon?" she said, a small hint of disappointment bleeding through, though she kept her tone light. "I know," Izan said. "It''s tight. But I''ll be back soon, I promise." "Of course," she said. "Be safe. Tell Olivia to take care of you, too." "I will," he promised, smiling faintly. They said their goodbyes, and Izan tucked the phone away, leaning back against the seat. Beside him, Olivia shifted slightly, resting her head lightly against his shoulder without a word. No need for anything else. The car carried them through Madrid''s winding streets ¡ª toward the airport, toward London, toward whatever waited next. A/n: Okay. Last of the Gacha chapters. The Golden ticket ones are up next. followed by the last of the day and we are done. Would''ve released this one earlier but got lazy. Also had a funeral to attend. Have fun reading. Chapter 449 449: London The low hum of the engines droned steadily in the background as the plane cut through the pale evening sky, the world far below vanishing into cloud and light. First class was quiet, luxurious ¡ª all warm leather, soft gold lights, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering from earlier passengers. Izan sat comfortably by the window, legs stretched slightly, his jacket draped neatly over the armrest. Beside him, Olivia dozed lightly, her face turned toward him in her sleep, the smallest frown tugging at her brow. She shifted her voice barely a murmur. "...blanket," she whispered, barely audible. Izan''s lips twitched into the faintest smile. Carefully, he reached up and pressed the call button. Within moments, one of the flight attendants appeared ¡ª young, maybe three or four years older than him, her smile bright but wavering slightly the moment she recognized who she was facing. "I¡ªuh¡ªhow can I help you, sir?" she said, smoothing a hand down her uniform. Izan nodded politely. "Could we get a blanket, please? She''s cold," he said, tilting his head toward Olivia. The attendant blinked once, twice, almost seeming to realize she had been staring. "O-of course!" she stammered before rushing off. Not long after, she returned with a soft navy blanket, draping it gently over Olivia, who murmured in gratitude without waking. But it didn''t stop there. A second attendant, different but just as young, passed by and slipped a small folded piece of paper onto Izan''s tray table with a coy smile. Another soon after ¡ª this one a little bolder ¡ª asked if she could take a quick photo with him for her "cousin." Izan, ever gracious, nodded. He smiled for the picture, not making it awkward, not making it anything more than the innocent thing it could be. But then came the third one. She lingered. A little too close. A little too long. "You know..." she said, her voice lowering a touch, "you must get a lot of attention. But I think... maybe you''d have more fun talking to someone who''s not a fan." Her fingers grazed the edge of his seat lightly, casual but suggestive. Izan turned his head fully to her now, his blue eyes catching hers with an easy, unreadable warmth. He smiled ¡ª not mocking, not rejecting ¡ª just... kind. "You''re very sweet," he said, voice low but clear. "But I already have someone who makes my life fun enough." The way he said it ¡ª gentle, final, and somehow flattering ¡ª made the young woman blink, cheeks coloring in spite of herself. She gave a slightly embarrassed laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I guess I can''t argue with that," she said. "Not at all," Izan replied, his smile softening into something even more disarming. "But thank you. Really." And just like that, the moment dissolved into something else, almost friendly, without awkwardness or resentment. The young attendant laughed again, this time genuinely, before giving him a playful salute and walking away. The rest of the flight crew ¡ª whether they heard or simply sensed the atmosphere ¡ª left him and Olivia alone after that, only occasionally passing to check if they needed anything, always at a polite distance. Izan leaned his head back, letting his gaze drift lazily out of the window where the sky had begun melting into hues of orange and purple. Olivia curled snugly under the blanket and shifted slightly again, her hand brushing unconsciously against his arm. He moved carefully, letting her hand settle more comfortably against his, a small protective gesture only she would feel. An hour slipped by eventually in a soft haze of engine hums and whispered conversations, the quiet broken only when the overhead speakers clicked on, the pilot''s calm voice spreading through the cabin. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We''ve just begun our initial descent into London Heathrow. Local time is 7:46 PM, the temperature at the ground is a cool fourteen degrees Celsius. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and your seats are in the upright position. We''ll be landing shortly. Thank you for flying with us." The gentle shift in altitude stirred the cabin. Seatbelt lights blinked to life. Passengers began adjusting their seats and closing laptops, the subtle preparation for arrival. Beside him, Olivia stirred from her sleep, her face crinkling adorably in that in-between moment of dreams and waking. She blinked blearily up at him, her voice a husky whisper. "Where... are we?" Izan turned slightly toward her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch featherlight. "London," he said simply, a soft smile curving his lips. "Almost home." Olivia sat up slowly, the blanket falling away from her shoulders. She yawned into her sleeve, eyes still a little unfocused, then looked toward the window, catching the distant glitter of city lights starting to peek through the heavy clouds. "Already?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "You slept like a rock," Izan teased lightly, buckling his seatbelt with a muted click. She glared at him half-heartedly, her cheeks flushed from sleep. "Maybe if someone hadn''t worn me out the past few days¡ª" she stopped, realizing what she said, and turned even redder. Izan just chuckled under his breath, leaning his head back against the seat. The plane dipped lower, breaking through the thick gray clouds. Pockets of light appeared below them ¡ª roads, neighborhoods, the curling spine of the Thames. London. Olivia fumbled with her seatbelt, finally clicking it into place with a grumble. She reached for Izan''s hand without looking, almost on instinct. He took it without hesitation, lacing their fingers together loosely. Outside, the city spread its arms wide beneath them ¡ª familiar, sprawling, alive. Izan felt it again ¡ªClub football awaited. Arsenal awaited. Arteta''s text from earlier floated through his mind: "Hope you enjoyed the break, my boy. London''s calling. See you soon." The tires kissed the runway a moment later, smooth and assured ¡ª the slightest bounce before the brakes caught and the engines reversed, the plane slowing rapidly. Around them, passengers stirred to full awareness, phones blinking to life, bags pulled down from overhead compartments. Izan rose, stretching a little as he grabbed the carry-on bags. Olivia, still half-wrapped in the blanket she refused to let go of, followed him into the aisle. The moment they entered the jet bridge, a small team of airport staff was already waiting. Two men in neat black suits ¡ª security detail arranged quietly by Arsenal ¡ª and a woman with a crisp Heathrow badge approached, offering polite smiles. "Mr. Hern¨¢ndez?" one of the men asked, voice low and respectful. Izan nodded, tugging the brim of his black cap lower over his eyes. His surgical nose mask was already in place ¡ª a simple layer of protection against the world recognizing him too easily. "We''ll get you through quickly," the woman said, gesturing them forward. The normal walk-through customs and baggage claim was condensed. Special access corridors. Private security lanes. Staff quietly managing the flow, so Izan and Olivia moved without drawing too many curious eyes. A few glances still followed ¡ª a few phones even half-lifted ¡ª but nothing disruptive. They breezed through immigration ¡ª a stamp, a nod, and luggage collected in minutes. As they neared the exit toward Arrivals, the ambient noise grew louder ¡ª the low hum of a thousand reunions happening at once. Izan kept Olivia close by his side, head lowered slightly, the brim of his cap shadowing his features. A few people still clocked them ¡ª a gasp here, a whispered "Is that¡ª?" But the staff subtly tightened their formation, and they cut through the crowd without pause. Outside the sliding glass doors, the London night hit them with its chilly embrace ¡ª a crisp breeze threading through the air, carrying the scent of rain-soaked concrete and car exhaust. Waiting at the curb was a sleek, black Range Rover, engine idling low, the Arsenal crest discreetly displayed on a tag hanging from the rearview mirror. The driver, a tall man in his late thirties with a dark jacket and neatly trimmed beard, stepped forward the moment he spotted them and just nodded once in acknowledgment. Izan returned the nod, tightening his hold on the strap of his bag, and guided Olivia across the road toward the car. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The driver opened the rear door for them without a word. "Mr. Hern¨¢ndez, Miss Olivia," he said smoothly. "Good evening. Welcome back." "Thanks," Izan murmured, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of command. They slipped into the car ¡ª Olivia curling up against the seat, exhaustion still etched into her movements, while Izan slid in beside her, glancing briefly back at the terminal, at the crowd behind the glass who remained unaware they had already gone. The door shut with a muffled click. The driver circled back into his seat, and with one last glance at the mirrors, he pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the river of London traffic. Izan exhaled slowly, tugging the mask off his face and pulling his cap lower over his forehead as he relaxed into the seat. London. Back to the grind. A/n; Last of the day or something like that. Have fun reading and I''ll see you tomorrow. Off to watch the El Clasico. Chapter 450 450: Regular Day Job The morning air at Colney was sharp, fresh-cut, carrying the scent of damp grass and the cold metallic bite of fall creeping in. Izan walked through the gates without hurry, his duffel slung neatly over one shoulder, his hoodie up, his eyes steady under the low brim of his cap. Every step was measured ¡ª part of him already syncing back into the rhythm he knew would soon demand every ounce of him. Inside, the atmosphere was loose ¡ª teammates gathering in small groups, laughter bubbling up here and there, the familiar hum of camaraderie rebuilding itself after the international break. It didn''t take long. A sharp wolf whistle cut through the corridor. "Finally gracing us with his presence!"Declan Rice called from across the hall, tossing a towel over his shoulder. A ripple of laughter followed ¡ª Saka, Gabriel, and Saliba flashing wide grins. Even Odegaard, arms folded near the lockers, shook his head with a smirk. "You sure you didn''t get lost on the beaches, mate?" Saka chimed in, never missing the chance to troll Izan. "Or maybe someone had to carry him off the sunbed," Gabriel teased, his grin wicked. Izan offered no real reply ¡ª just the faintest ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth as he kept walking, calm, unbothered. He let the jokes roll past him like waves against a rock. A small, deliberate glance at his watch ¡ª as if checking if he''d even missed anything important ¡ª and a slight lift of his brow as he passed them was answer enough. Cheek without a single word. The laughter only grew louder behind him. As he turned the corner toward the tunnel leading to the training pitches, two figures peeled away from another group and closed the distance. Mikel Merino and David Raya. They caught up easily, moving with the easy familiarity of men who shared more than just a flag. Merino bumped his shoulder lightly. "Qu¨¦ cabr¨®n," he muttered under his breath, grinning. "All this time together with Spain, same calendar... and you still managed extra holidays. Must be nice being the golden boy, no?" Raya shook his head, laughing under his breath. "We''re out here grinding with Arteta... and you''re sipping horchata on the beach like a prince." Izan''s eyes glinted, but his expression stayed neutral, voice low and almost bored as he answered: "Management knows," he said simply, "you have to protect what''s valuable." Both Spaniards broke into loud laughs ¡ª Merino actually doubling over briefly. Even then, Izan didn''t crack a full smile ¡ª just the barest tilt of his mouth, calculated and sharp. He was about to say something else ¡ª maybe a quiet finishing blow ¡ª when another presence cut into their orbit. Heavy steps. A sharpness in the air. "Is that so?" The voice came smooth, deceptively light. But the undercurrent was pure steel. Arteta. He was standing a few feet behind them, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, expression unreadable but eyes razor-focused on Izan. The group straightened instinctively. Arteta stepped closer, gaze never leaving him. "You''ll have to prove today that protecting you was worth it," he said, low enough that it carried weight without needing volume. "Show me you''re ready... before you even think about a place on the bench against Tottenham since I can''t risk letting management property get injured." Silence settled for half a second ¡ª thick, loaded. Izan held the manager''s eyes calmly, no shift in posture. One curt nod. "Understood, m¨ªster," he said ¡ª voice cool, composed. Arteta studied him for a beat longer, then turned sharply and headed toward the pitch, the message left hanging behind him like a gauntlet. The others exchanged small looks ¡ª Merino giving a low whistle under his breath ¡ª but Izan simply adjusted the strap of his duffel higher and kept walking, shoulders squared, pace steady. Time to work. ...... The wind had picked up by the time the squad gathered on the pristine green of Colney''s main training pitch, jackets, and cones already laid out with military precision. Arteta stood in the center, hands behind his back, expression razor-sharp. No warm greetings. No easing back into routine. "Listen," he said, voice carrying clean across the circle of players, slicing through the morning haze. "We have two days to skin off whatever fat you picked up during the break ¡ª mental, physical, tactical." His gaze swept across them, sharp enough to cut. Some players shifted their weight, heads lowering slightly. A few cracked knuckles or rolled shoulders ¡ª instinctive preparations for the grind they knew was coming. Arteta continued, his tone tightening. "I don''t want to see any jetlag. I don''t want to hear about travel legs. I want intensity. I want focus. And I want it now." He turned, almost in one fluid movement, and barked the first command to the coaching staff. The drills began. The first fifteen minutes were pure brutality ¡ª small-sided games with touch limits, rapid changes of direction, and heavy pressing drills. Pass and move. Sprint and recover. Body and mind stretched to the edge before they could even think of catching a rhythm. Izan dropped into the work without ceremony. No showmanship. No early flashing moments trying to stand out. Just clean touches, crisp passes, sharp shifts of weight ¡ª moving through the exercises like someone already tuned to a higher frequency. Where others panted, shook out arms, and wiped the sweat from their brows, Izan stayed light-footed, breathing even, sharpness locked into every stride. Focused, unhurried, unfazed ¡ª as if the demands of the session weren''t a shock to his system at all. Martin ?degaard jogged past him at one point, casting a quick glance sideways ¡ª just a flicker of amusement in the look, as if thinking, The kid''s not even breathing hard. Even Arteta noticed. From the sidelines, he watched carefully, arms folded, as Izan flicked a ball into space with a first-time pass, shifted into a supporting angle without missing a beat, then demanded it back with a subtle clap of his hands. No shouting. No wasted movement. Just clean, precise intent ¡ª a rhythm that belonged to someone who looked far too comfortable in a world that should have been above his age bracket. The drills rolled on ¡ª possession grids tightening, tackles getting heavier, voices rising ¡ª but Izan barely blinked. He moved like someone who had never really left. As if the international break, the travel, the chatter ¡ª none of it had touched him. By the time Arteta blew the whistle for a short breather, players sagged into loose groups, hands on hips, chests heaving. Izan stood among them, hands resting lightly on his thighs, chest rising and falling steadily, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead but nothing more. Still ready. Still sharp. Still there. And Arteta, watching from the edge, said nothing ¡ª but a small, sharp glint passed through his eyes. Expectation. Maybe even the first flicker of satisfaction. As the players filtered toward the next phase of training, Arteta peeled away from the sideline and made his way toward a small group stationed just beyond the dugout ¡ª the performance analysts, physios, and conditioning coaches, tablets and monitors flickering with live data streams. He didn''t waste time. "Give me Izan''s numbers," he said quietly, arms folding across his chest as he stood over their screens. One of the techs, a slim man with wire-frame glasses and a crew-cut, tapped a few keys and pulled up a profile glowing in sharp clarity: Izan Hern¨¢ndez ¡ª full metrics, real-time vitals, historical data from Valencia''s academy days blended into Arsenal''s updated records. "He''s grown," the tech said, almost immediately. "Since arrival ¡ª just under two centimeters. Subtle, but noticeable on his frame." Arteta''s eyes narrowed slightly. "And?" The physio, a middle-aged man with a calm, practiced manner, leaned forward. "We checked with Valencia''s medical department after the deal," he said. "At fifteen, he had a rapid growth phase ¡ª textbook adolescent spike ¡ª but it plateaued quickly. Bone density''s strong, muscle balance excellent." He tapped a highlighted note at the bottom of the chart. "At most, he''ll finish around 187, 188 centimeters, worst-case scenario. Natural growth. Nothing disruptive." Arteta''s gaze flicked back to the pitch, processing the information with clinical precision. "And the risk?" he asked ¡ª voice low, almost rhetorical. "He''s quick. Changes direction suddenly. Tight spaces. High impact load on the ankles, hips, and knees. Are we looking at future problems?" The physio shook his head. "No red flags. His biomechanics are clean. Movement patterns haven''t been altered by the growth so far. If anything¡ª" He paused, considering. "He''s already adapted to the slight shift in balance. Seamless. Like he barely noticed it himself." Arteta exhaled through his nose ¡ª a quiet, almost imperceptible sound ¡ª then nodded once, sharply. He turned back toward the pitch just in time to catch the end of a fluid sequence: Izan, pulling into the right channel with a natural glide, shifted the ball onto his instep, glanced once into the box, and whipped a curling cross that peeled perfectly away from the defenders. Kai Havertz, timing his run, rose between two markers and met it cleanly ¡ª a firm header that rattled into the back of the net. He turned towards his goal like what he had done nothing special. And from him ¡ª it was. [Sorry the chapter repeated itself. Skip after you finish reading this.] The morning air at Colney was sharp, fresh-cut, carrying the scent of damp grass and the cold metallic bite of fall creeping in. Izan walked through the gates without hurry, his duffel slung neatly over one shoulder, his hoodie up, his eyes steady under the low brim of his cap. Every step was measured ¡ª part of him already syncing back into the rhythm he knew would soon demand every ounce of him. Inside, the atmosphere was loose ¡ª teammates gathering in small groups, laughter bubbling up here and there, the familiar hum of camaraderie rebuilding itself after the international break. It didn''t take long. A sharp wolf whistle cut through the corridor. "Finally gracing us with his presence!"Declan Rice called from across the hall, tossing a towel over his shoulder. A ripple of laughter followed ¡ª Saka, Gabriel, and Saliba flashing wide grins. Even Odegaard, arms folded near the lockers, shook his head with a smirk. "You sure you didn''t get lost on the beaches, mate?" Saka chimed in, never missing the chance to troll Izan. "Or maybe someone had to carry him off the sunbed," Gabriel teased, his grin wicked. Izan offered no real reply ¡ª just the faintest ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth as he kept walking, calm, unbothered. He let the jokes roll past him like waves against a rock. A small, deliberate glance at his watch ¡ª as if checking if he''d even missed anything important ¡ª and a slight lift of his brow as he passed them was answer enough. Cheek without a single word. The laughter only grew louder behind him. As he turned the corner toward the tunnel leading to the training pitches, two figures peeled away from another group and closed the distance. Mikel Merino and David Raya. They caught up easily, moving with the easy familiarity of men who shared more than just a flag. Merino bumped his shoulder lightly. "Qu¨¦ cabr¨®n," he muttered under his breath, grinning. "All this time together with Spain, same calendar... and you still managed extra holidays. Must be nice being the golden boy, no?" Raya shook his head, laughing under his breath. "We''re out here grinding with Arteta... and you''re sipping horchata on the beach like a prince." Izan''s eyes glinted, but his expression stayed neutral, voice low and almost bored as he answered: "Management knows," he said simply, "you have to protect what''s valuable." Both Spaniards broke into loud laughs ¡ª Merino actually doubling over briefly. Even then, Izan didn''t crack a full smile ¡ª just the barest tilt of his mouth, calculated and sharp. He was about to say something else ¡ª maybe a quiet finishing blow ¡ª when another presence cut into their orbit. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Heavy steps. A sharpness in the air. "Is that so?" The voice came smooth, deceptively light. But the undercurrent was pure steel. Arteta. He was standing a few feet behind them, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, expression unreadable but eyes razor-focused on Izan. The group straightened instinctively. Arteta stepped closer, gaze never leaving him. "You''ll have to prove today that protecting you was worth it," he said, low enough that it carried weight without needing volume. "Show me you''re ready... before you even think about a place on the bench against Tottenham, since I can''t risk letting management property get injured." Silence settled for half a second ¡ª thick, loaded. Izan held the manager''s eyes calmly, no shift in posture. One curt nod. "Understood, m¨ªster," he said ¡ª voice cool, composed. Arteta studied him for a beat longer, then turned sharply and headed toward the pitch, the message left hanging behind him like a gauntlet. The others exchanged small looks ¡ª Merino giving a low whistle under his breath ¡ª but Izan simply adjusted the strap of his duffel higher and kept walking, shoulders squared, pace steady. Time to work. ...... The wind had picked up by the time the squad gathered on the pristine green of Colney''s main training pitch, jackets, and cones already laid out with military precision. Arteta stood in the center, hands behind his back, expression razor-sharp. No warm greetings. No easing back into routine. "Listen," he said, voice carrying clean across the circle of players, slicing through the morning haze. "We have two days to skin off whatever fat you picked up during the break ¡ª mental, physical, tactical." His gaze swept across them, sharp enough to cut. Some players shifted their weight, heads lowering slightly. A few cracked knuckles or rolled shoulders ¡ª instinctive preparations for the grind they knew was coming. Arteta continued, his tone tightening. "I don''t want to see any jetlag. I don''t want to hear about travel legs. I want intensity. I want focus. And I want it now." He turned, almost in one fluid movement, and barked the first command to the coaching staff. The drills began. The first fifteen minutes were pure brutality ¡ª small-sided games with touch limits, rapid changes of direction, and heavy pressing drills. Pass and move. Sprint and recover. Body and mind stretched to the edge before they could even think of catching a rhythm. Izan dropped into the work without ceremony. No showmanship. No early flashing moments trying to stand out. Just clean touches, crisp passes, sharp shifts of weight ¡ª moving through the exercises like someone already tuned to a higher frequency. Where others panted, shook out arms, and wiped the sweat from their brows, Izan stayed light-footed, breathing even, sharpness locked into every stride. Focused, unhurried, unfazed ¡ª as if the demands of the session weren''t a shock to his system at all. Martin ?degaard jogged past him at one point, casting a quick glance sideways ¡ª just a flicker of amusement in the look, as if thinking, The kid''s not even breathing hard. Even Arteta noticed. From the sidelines, he watched carefully, arms folded, as Izan flicked a ball into space with a first-time pass, shifted into a supporting angle without missing a beat, then demanded it back with a subtle clap of his hands. No shouting. No wasted movement. Just clean, precise intent ¡ª a rhythm that belonged to someone who looked far too comfortable in a world that should have been above his age bracket. The drills rolled on ¡ª possession grids tightening, tackles getting heavier, voices rising ¡ª but Izan barely blinked. He moved like someone who had never really left. As if the international break, the travel, the chatter ¡ª none of it had touched him. By the time Arteta blew the whistle for a short breather, players sagged into loose groups, hands on hips, chests heaving. Izan stood among them, hands resting lightly on his thighs, chest rising and falling steadily, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead but nothing more. Still ready. Still sharp. Still there. And Arteta, watching from the edge, said nothing ¡ª but a small, sharp glint passed through his eyes. Expectation. Maybe even the first flicker of satisfaction. As the players filtered toward the next phase of training, Arteta peeled away from the sideline and made his way toward a small group stationed just beyond the dugout ¡ª the performance analysts, physios, and conditioning coaches, tablets and monitors flickering with live data streams. He didn''t waste time. "Give me Izan''s numbers," he said quietly, arms folding across his chest as he stood over their screens. One of the techs, a slim man with wire-frame glasses and a crew-cut, tapped a few keys and pulled up a profile glowing in sharp clarity: Izan Hern¨¢ndez ¡ª full metrics, real-time vitals, historical data from Valencia''s academy days blended into Arsenal''s updated records. "He''s grown," the tech said, almost immediately. "Since arrival ¡ª just under two centimeters. Subtle, but noticeable at his frame." Arteta''s eyes narrowed slightly. "And?" The physio, a middle-aged man with a calm, practiced manner, leaned forward. "We checked with Valencia''s medical department after the deal," he said. "At fifteen, he had a rapid growth phase ¡ª textbook adolescent spike ¡ª but it plateaued quickly. Bone density''s strong, muscle balance excellent." He tapped a highlighted note at the bottom of the chart. "At most, he''ll finish around 187, 188 centimeters, worst-case scenario. Natural growth. Nothing disruptive." Arteta''s gaze flicked back to the pitch, processing the information with clinical precision. "And the risk?" he asked ¡ª voice low, almost rhetorical. "He''s quick. Changes direction suddenly. Tight spaces. High impact load on the ankles, hips, and knees. Are we looking at future problems?" The physio shook his head. "No red flags. His biomechanics are clean. Movement patterns haven''t been altered by the growth so far. If anything¡ª" He paused, considering. "He''s already adapted to the slight shift in balance. Seamless. Like he barely noticed it himself." Arteta exhaled through his nose ¡ª a quiet, almost imperceptible sound ¡ª then nodded once, sharply. He turned back toward the pitch just in time to catch the end of a fluid sequence: Izan, pulling into the right channel with a natural glide, shifted the ball onto his instep, glanced once into the box, and whipped a curling cross that peeled perfectly away from the defenders. Kai Havertz, timing his run, rose between two markers and met it cleanly ¡ª a firm header that rattled into the back of the net. He turned towards his goal like what he had done nothing special. And from him ¡ª it was. A/N; First chapter of the day. Have fun reading. Chapter 451 451: North London Derby [GT chapter] The last echoes of laughter and the shuffle of boots faded as the players filed toward the recovery room ¡ª ice baths, massages, muscle flushing before the next day''s tactical grind. Outside, under the muted fluorescent lights of the coaching offices, Arteta sat with his core staff ¡ª a few tablets spread out on the table, clips paused mid-frame, lineup boards wiped clean, ready for names to be written in. They didn''t rush. The real work always started in these moments, when the noise thinned, and only the hard questions remained. Carlos Cuesta, ever meticulous, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. "Izan looks fine," he said first. "Sharp. Maybe sharper than before the break, somehow. But¡ª" He paused, choosing his words. "We still need to manage it. He''s still growing. A knock could be detrimental, and you know how things get between us and those white chickens. He''s just come back. Maybe we save him for Atalanta ¡ª fresh legs, fresh mind." Nico Jover, the set-piece specialist, nodded thoughtfully. "Against Tottenham, we can solve with what we have. Experience. Structure. No need to rush it." There was a low murmur of agreement around the table. Conservative. Logical. The kind of caution big clubs often fell into ¡ª when every match was a risk calculated in months, not minutes. Arteta listened, face unreadable. Fingers steepled lightly under his chin. Silent until the room naturally quieted itself, waiting for his call. Then he smiled. A small, knowing thing ¡ª almost amused, but not warm. "That''s exactly what everyone else thinks," he said, voice quiet but cutting through the room like a thread pulled taut. "They look at him, and they see some kid even though he''s proved time and time again that he is not just that." He let that hang for half a beat, long enough for it to settle. "And that''s how he punishes them." "When he''s on the pitch, he isn''t just some kid," Arteta continued, tapping his fingers once against the tabletop for emphasis. "He doesn''t play like it. He doesn''t move like it. He doesn''t think like it. Forget the number." The coaches exchanged glances ¡ª some nodding, some simply absorbing it, the tone set now without room for argument. Arteta stood slowly, pacing toward the lineup board with the dry-erase marker in hand. When he spoke next, it was with the same calm precision he demanded from his players. "Raya." A tap of the pen. "Saliba. Gabriel. White. Zinchenko." Another tap after each. No discussion ¡ª just the names that picked themselves. He paused. "Partey, Declan and ?degaard." Another pause. Longer now, the midfield needing careful shaping. Options shifting quietly in the air between them. The room leaned in as he continued, names and shapes slowly taking form. The hum of the projector grew softer. The markers squeaked once against the board, then stopped. Outside, the London sky had darkened into a heavy gray, the promise of rain folding over the city. Inside the room, everything hung in a delicate balance ¡ª preparation sharpening into inevitability. .......... The evening of the day before the match, Arsenal''s PR team posted across their socials ¡ª a clean, sharp graphic of Izan: IZAN HERN¨¢NDEZ FIRST NORTH LONDON DERBY LOADING... #Soon #NorthLondonDerby | #AFC | #COYG The photo showed him during training ¡ª sleeves pushed up, ball tucked under his arm, the looming Emirates arches blurred out behind him. The caption underneath was simple: "The first of many. What do you think will happen tomorrow? " Within minutes, the comment sections ignited. ¡ª @GoonerJakey: "He''s gonna cook Van de Ven so bad, man, I can smell it already." @COYG_Megs: "16 in age, 26 in soul. Tottenham ain''t ready." @RivalTearsDaily: "Bro''s composure is ILLEGAL. Spurs fans are shaking." But the Tottenham lot fired back just as fast: @HotspurHearts: "All this hype for a kid who''s gonna get sent to row Z by VDV." @SpursNation7: Enjoy the memes when Izan gets pocketed tomorrow. Bookmarking this." @RealMaddersMagic: "When Van de Ven straps him up and throws away the key, don''t cry about it." It could have been it, but then the Gooners responded in kind, digging deeper into the trenches: Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. @AFCJules: "They laughed at Saka once, too. Look at them now." @Izan''swife: Tottenham fans talking about us hyping Izan when that''s all they do with Brennan Johnson is really funny to me @ParteyTime: "Bro, they''re coping hard already, and the ball hasn''t even been kicked yet." @YoungGunnersClub: "Imagine needing two defenders to stop a not-yet 17-year-old. By the time evening rolled around, Izan''s name was trending across London ¡ªhalf the city waiting to crown him, half the city waiting to tear him down. Either way, they''d all know the results once the match began. ............ The morning of the match buzzed with a strange kind of quiet energy ¡ª the calm before a war drum. Izan moved through his apartment with his usual efficiency: bag packed, boots checked twice, headphones around his neck. His Arsenal travel kit ¡ª black and sleek with the gold accents ¡ª fit sharp against his frame, the club crest almost glowing under the morning light seeping through the windows. At the door, Olivia hovered, still in her university hoodie, half-asleep but smiling. She reached up without hesitation and kissed his cheek ¡ª a quick, warm touch, a small ritual that had become automatic between them. "Kill it today," she said softly. "I''ll come straight after class. I''ll be at the stadium. Supporting, screaming, everything." Izan couldn''t help the low laugh that escaped him, deep and genuine ¡ª the rare kind that softened the sharpness he usually carried. He kissed her forehead in return, a quick, sure press. "Don''t get kicked out," he murmured, voice teasing but almost tender. Olivia rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly in the chest. "Go. Before you''re late and they blame me." Izan chuckled again under his breath, stepping back and pulling on his cap. When he exited onto the curb, the air was cool and brisk ¡ª London sharpening its edges for Derby Day. Waiting by the car was the same driver from the airport pickup, dressed in black again, a quiet sentinel against the rising noise of the city. The door swung open smoothly, and without another glance behind, Izan climbed in. The door shut with a firm click, sealing him into the quiet space of the ride ¡ªhis world narrowing, focusing, sharpening into the long, tense hours that lay ahead. Colney first. Then the war at Tottenham''s ground. ............ The sky over North London looked fractured ¡ª bruised clouds shifting restlessly above the sweeping curve of the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium. Below, the air crackled ¡ª thousands of Spurs fans already crowding the plazas and walkways, the buzz of conversation edged with something darker. A desperation not to lose. Outside the main entrance, reporters prowled with their crews, weaving through the dense crowds, microphones thrust into the faces of fans already two or three pints deep. "Predictions for today?" one of the broadcasters asked, angling toward a group of Tottenham supporters draped in scarves and flags. "Three-one to the good guys," one of them barked immediately, grinning wide. "We''ll expose that little Spanish wonderkid today, just you watch," another added, laughter rippling around him. "You lot are in for a reality check!" a third shouted directly into the camera, voice rising above the background roar. Their confidence wasn''t quiet. It was loud, brash, and threaded with the kind of spite that could only exist between these two clubs. The reporter smiled, already shifting to move on to the next huddle ¡ª ¡ª when the air changed. It started as a murmur at the far edge of the crowd, a movement like animals sensing something unseen. Then came the sound ¡ª low engines humming under the afternoon sky ¡ª growing louder, closer. All eyes turned. Phones shot up like a sea of arms. The Arsenal team bus rounded the corner in a tight convoy, police motorcycles flanking its sides, sirens flashing but silent. For half a second, there was a stunned stillness. Then ¡ª chaos. A knot of Tottenham fans broke loose from the barriers, slipping past stewards too slow to react. They charged the side of the bus, fists slamming against the heavy metal panels with sharp, hollow thuds. The noise was a mix of rage and triumph, as if just touching the bus might throw the Arsenal players off balance before the battle even began. Inside the bus, the impact made the floor tremble lightly beneath their feet. Izan sat by the window, headphones resting around his neck, watching it all through the tinted glass ¡ª the twisted faces, the fists pounding, the security scrambling to regain control. Beside him, Saka leaned over slightly, elbow nudging against Izan''s arm ¡ª a rare crack in Bukayo''s usually easygoing exterior. "Welcome to the North London Derby," Saka said, the words low and almost fond ¡ª the way an older brother might warn a younger one of a storm already rolling in. Izan''s mouth tilted into a small, knowing grin. He turned his head just enough for Saka to catch the look in his eyes ¡ª not fear, not nerves ¡ª but something deeper. Readiness. He pulled his headphones up, sealing himself into a world where the noise couldn''t touch him. A/N: Okay so we won the Copa del rey and I couldnt sleep so i decided to be productive. Anyways, have fun reading and I''ll see you in a few, sleep hours. Chapter 452 452: Waiting To Be Unleashed [GT chapter] The stadium seemed to hum with its own pulse, a living, breathing thing under the late afternoon sky. Flares of white and navy rippled across the stands, the sound rolling in thick, unruly waves ¡ª chants, jeers, songs old and new. There was no mistaking the setting: the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, grand and glinting like a battleship, prepared to play host to another chapter in a war older than most of the players on the pitch. Inside the tunnel, the players stood shoulder to shoulder, the final rituals of concentration wrapping themselves around each man ¡ª last-minute stretches, silent prayers, heads bowed, jaws clenched. Arsenal in their deep black away strip, like a blade drawn against the white of Tottenham. The rivalry didn''t need words. It was stitched into the fabric of the shirts. It was the way they looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the opposition a few feet away. And then, the signal. The referee stepping forward, the captains nodding. The walk onto the battlefield. The roar that met them was physical, a wall of sound slamming into the players as they emerged from the tunnel into the open. Chants blurred into one another, camera flashes sparked like static, and the drums ¡ª deep and thunderous ¡ª echoed from one end of the ground to the other. Above it all, up in the commentary box perched high among the stands, familiar voices laced through the noise. Peter Drury, his voice steady, almost reverent: "Some call it the greatest rivalry in English football. Debatable, but those who love it do love it very much. A matter of inches on the map, but galaxies in loyalty.Tottenham versus Arsenal. A city split." Beside him, Lee Dixon, voice roughened by experience, grunted his agreement: "It''s not just a game, Peter. It''s a reckoning. Form, tactics ¡ª all that goes out the window in this fixture. It''s about who wants it more when everything gets messy." The camera panned briefly to the Arsenal bench. A sharp zoom caught a figure in the second row ¡ª young, composed, unshaken by the storm swelling around him. Sixteen years old, but seated like a man twice that, his expression unreadable beneath the black jacket zipped up to his neck. The hood was down, his hair ruffled slightly from the walk through the chaos earlier. His headphones hung loose around his neck, the little blinking light showing they were still on, feeding him whatever calm soundtrack he''d chosen for himself. And then, as if coordinated, a chant began to swell from the South Stand. At first a murmur, then a full-throated roar: "Arteta''s son! Arteta''s son! He''s just Arteta''s son! Little Overhyped Boy From Valencia Arsenal Have Been Ripped Off" It rippled and expanded until almost half the ground had taken it up, the words riding the beat of the drums, mocking and relentless. The camera lingered on Izan for another second, but no flicker of emotion crossed his face, just a slight smile. If he heard it, he gave no sign. Peter Drury''s voice wove back into the moment, soft but edged with knowing: "The boy wonder on the bench today. Yet to be seventeen years old and already the subject of songs from rival fans. I don''t know much, but I know you are only mocked if you are feared." Lee Dixon chuckled beside him, dry as old paper: "They''re relieved he''s not starting, Peter, I''ll tell you that. If he was out there from the first whistle, they wouldn''t be singing ¡ª they''d be worrying." Down on the pitch, the two captains shook hands. The referee adjusted his watch. The whistle poised at his lips. "There are games you play... and games you live through. This is one of the latter. The North London Derby... begins now." The shrill peal of the whistle broke the tension, and in a flash, it all exploded into life. Players surged forward, collisions happening almost immediately ¡ª a heavy tackle in midfield, a ball smashed into touch, jeers and cheers weaving together. Tottenham came out swinging ¡ª high press, high tempo, the kind of frantic energy that could tilt a match before it had properly found its rhythm. Their fans sensed it, feeding the players with roars that almost shook the rafters. Arsenal, for their part, weathered the storm with a kind of grim patience. They had been here before. They knew the chaos would burn bright ¡ª but if they stayed calm, it would burn itself out. Still, without Izan''s mercurial spark in the lineup, the Gunners looked... a little flatter. Slick in possession, sure, but missing that sharp knife to cut the spaces Tottenham left behind. Every sideways pass, every patient buildup, was met with renewed chanting from the stands: "Arteta''s son! Arteta''s son!" The camera caught a brief glance from Mikel Arteta on the touchline ¡ª his jaw set, arms folded tightly across his chest. He heard it too. But he didn''t so much as blink. He knew what he was holding back. And when the time came for him to unleash it, it would be him with the last laugh. Small matchups sparked into life across the pitch, like brushfires flaring in different corners of the battlefield. At right-back, Ben White squared off against Son Heung-min ¡ª one step too tight and Son was gone, one step too loose and White would be humiliated before thousands. At the other end, William Saliba and Gabriel Magalh?es locked horns with Richarlison ¡ª a tangle of limbs, a war of little shoves and muttered insults behind the referee''s back. In midfield, Declan Rice shouldered James Maddison away from the ball with grim efficiency, setting a tone that would stretch through the ninety minutes. Martin ?degaard buzzed between Tottenham''s deeper midfielders, dragging H?jbjerg and Bentancur left and right, trying to pry open even a sliver of space. On Arsenal''s left, Gabriel Martinelli and Pedro Porro were already trading fouls ¡ª nudges, kicks, tugs of the shirt. Martinelli''s smile was a wolfish thing; Porro''s grimace promised retribution. Everywhere you looked, private wars were being fought ¡ª each one capable of tipping the whole battlefield. Above it all, the fans roared ¡ª Tottenham''s faithful giving full throat to their anger, their passion, their need to be heard. "Oh when the Spurs! Go marching in!", the White Wall boomed, the beat pounding against the metal frame of the stadium. Arsenal''s away section, tiny but relentless in the corner, fired back with a defiance that filled every silence they could find. "We''re by far the greatest team the world has ever seen!" they sang, trying to weather off any effect the Tottenham faithful had on its players. In the twelfth minute, the first real threat came ¡ª and it came from Arsenal. A quick turnover in midfield saw ?degaard snapping a pass wide to Bukayo Saka, who drifted inside like a phantom, brushing past Destiny Udogie and bending a ball low across the box. Kai Havertz hurled himself at it but just missed by inches, his studs slicing through empty air. The away fans rose in a roar, a breathless collective gasp ¡ª so close. Tottenham countered viciously with a long ball from Maddison, catching Arsenal''s fullbacks stretched. Son raced onto it, his feet blurring, but Saliba read the danger perfectly, shoulder-checking Son just enough to send him wide. The cross that followed was harmless as David Raya gathered it cleanly and pointed immediately, pushing Arsenal back into motion. The game swung back and forth, a pendulum without rhythm, only violence. Every 50-50 tackle was met with a roar from one side, a howl of protest from the other. Every whistle from the referee seemed to inflame the stands anew. Another Arsenal chance came within seconds after Raya hurled the ball towards ?degaard, who dinked a gorgeous ball over the top toward Havertz, who tried a cushioned volley back across goal. Vicario, Tottenham''s keeper, threw himself full-length and just managed to palm it away. "Nananana Saka, Saka, Bukayo Saka!" chanted the Arsenal end, relentless, hurling the name into the South London sky. But still, no goal. Tottenham had moments, flashes ¡ª a dipping Maddison shot that Raya had to scramble across his goal to cover. A Richarlison header that was sent wide after a dangerous set-piece. But it was Arsenal who looked more composed, more patient. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Theirs was a pressure that built like a drumbeat ¡ª slow at first, but gaining in volume, gaining in inevitability. Yet the longer the match stayed goalless, the louder Tottenham''s fans grew. "Stand up if you hate Arsenal!" ripped across the stadium like gunfire, and thousands rose as one ¡ª taunting, spitting their disdain into the chilly air. Saka, again, beat Udogie down the flank and whipped in another teasing cross ¡ª this one grazed across the six-yard box untouched, an invitation refused. Martinelli picked up scraps on the other wing, wriggling past Porro again, earning another corner under the furious screams of the home support. He grinned ¡ª a glint of teeth, all bite and no apology. Arteta stood on the touchline, arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew the margins. And somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere he hadn''t yet allowed to the surface, there was a thought forming: SOON. A/N; Another, Ticket chapter fulfilled. I''m In Ghana right now and we had the power going out for almost 6 hours before coming back on thats why this chapter delayed. Anyways, Have fun reading and I will see you with the 2nd chapter of the day.