God Of football

Chapter 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, Luís 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 Mbappé, 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 José Ángel Sánchez, 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—ultramodern but designed with the weight of Madrid’s legacy.

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 Pérez.

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 Bernabéu.

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—the 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—money, 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—the 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 Sánchez 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 Sánchez 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—just 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 Mbappé 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. ”Mbappé is a Galáctico. 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 Vinícius. 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—it’s built on competition. Izan will not have to wait for his moment. If he deserves it, he will take it.”

Sánchez 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 Mbappé, 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—the 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