God Of football

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—7:38 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 José Gayà was already at the table, casually chatting about past encounters with Madrid.

”The Mestalla is different,” Gayà 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 Modrić, 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—on 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—not 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—a 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 Guillamón 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—the 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—plenty of times—but 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—said 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—you 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.”

”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—on 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 Guillamón, 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.