God Of football

Chapter 355: Finding The Right Piece [Nameyelus Gifts too much]

Izan leaned back in the seat as the car hummed through Londonʼs streets. The city felt different at night—quieter, 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—shower, quick dinner, some stretching to keep his muscles from tightening.

His body was still adjusting to the new workload, but it wasnʼt anything he hadnʼt handled before.

He flicked through the TV, letting the background noise fill the space.

Most channels were covering transfers, preseason schedules, and upcoming fixtures.

Arsenalʼs first game was in five days.

That part was moving fast. No slow buildup—just 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.—Bayer Leverkusen, Liverpool, Lyon.

They were big games, even if they were just friendlies.

He knew how these things went. Preseason wasnʼt just fitness—it 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. Heʼd train again tomorrow, and probably push harder. Arteta made that clear.

Extra work. Extra sessions.

He picked up his phone.

Izan: What timeʼs the facility open in the morning?

A response came almost instantly—from one of the staff.

”6 AM, but the gymʼs 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 Izanʼs been in the gym since before six.”

Artetaʼs brow lifted slightly. He had expected commitment, but this was earlier than even he had anticipated.

He changed direction, walking toward the gym.

Inside, he found Izan alone, locked in his own world. Sweat clung to his shirt as he moved through a series of core exercises—controlled, precise, fully engaged.

He wasnʼt just going through the motions; there was an intensity to it.

Arteta didnʼt 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—Bournemouth first, then the U.S. tour with Bayer Leverkusen, Lyon, and Liverpool.

Normally, heʼd 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 Izanʼs arrival shifted the balance.

Izan was exceptional as a winger but he wasnʼt 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 wasnʼt 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 Ødegaardʼs 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.

Todayʼs session would be interesting.

...…

The gym had been quiet for the past hour, aside from the steady rhythm of Izanʼs 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 Arsenalʼs 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—now working through resistance sprints with a sled strapped to his waist.

Raya chuckled. ”You been here all morning?”

Izan didnʼt 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.

”Manʼs 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 havenʼt 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, weʼll have to check on you.”

The squadʼs 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 hadnʼt just made an impression—he had set a standard.

Arteta glanced at his notepad. Todayʼs session wasnʼt 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. ”Letʼs get to work.”

The usual pre-training chatter faded when they noticed Artetaʼs expression—focused, measured.

He didnʼt waste time.

”Weʼre making some changes,” he started. ”With Izan here, we have to adjust. His profile gives us options we didnʼt have before, and I intend to use them.”

A few players shifted slightly in their boots. Everyone understood what that meant.

Tactical tweaks werenʼt just about strategy—they affected playing time, roles, hierarchies. Some would benefit. Others might not.

”Alright,” he began. ”Weʼre working on structure today. I want attackers against defenders, but not just for goal-scoring. Weʼre 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, Ødegaard, Saka, Martinelli, and Jesus—youʼre up front.”

Jesus stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, taking Havertzʼs spot for the day.

Arteta then turned to the defenders. ”Saliba, Gabriel, White, and Calafiori—hold 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 couldnʼt afford to slack.

The setup was clear—three attackers, plus Ødegaard 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 donʼt just sit back—I want pressure. Letʼs go.”

The whistle blew and the scuffle started.

The first shape was simple—a fluid 4-2-3-1, the system Arsenal had used plenty of times before.

Ødegaard 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 Ødegaard.

The Norwegian let it roll past his body, forcing Saliba to step out, and Jesus pounced, darting behind.

Ødegaard flicked the ball over the defenderʼs 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 wasnʼt 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 Colaʼs. Iʼve been drinking them for a while •^• so today, I decided to give back.

Nameyelus, thanks for the colaʼs and thanks to a lot of fans who will receive their shoutouts in the next chapter because I have to learn. Have fun reading.