God Of 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 Pérez 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—his 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 García, 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.

García swung a searching ball to the right flank, where Iñaki Williams, a blur of speed and power, raced forward.

José Gayà, 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 Gayà to bite.

In an instant, Williams cut inside, leaving Gayà 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—

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—

The ball changed direction— 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 Iñaki Williams lunged at the rebound, boot slicing through the air.

A rocket of a shot—

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 Gayà screaming at him, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

”LET’S GO, MARK!” Gayà 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 Simón, 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—arms tangled—legs thrashed.

And once again—

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 Pérez 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—

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.

Gayà 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—

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.

Gayà 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—

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—

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—this 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—

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—this 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—Izan’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.