God Of football

Chapter 536: Undeniable Presence [GT Chapter]

The Emirates Stadium — North London

The sky had that signature post-rain glow—pale grey but streaked with soft light.

Floodlights carved golden outlines across the slick pitch as the fans filled in early, wearing more scarves than shirts this time of year.

The energy wasn’t nervous.

But it was tight and freezing.

Arsenal sat first in the table.

31 points.

Still unbeaten in the league.

But just behind them, was Liverpool with 27 points and still hungry.

Nottingham Forest, surprisingly, were fifth.

Not a fluke.

Not anymore or at least for the season.

And now they had the chance to punch up again.

The broadcast rolled its slow montage as the commentary team stepped in over it.

Ian Crocker’s voice came through, steady and rich with that hint of British drama:

”Back from the international break, but no time to coast. Arsenal—top of the Premier League. Forest—fifth, yes, fifth—and they’re not passengers this season. They’ve got steel, they’ve got rhythm, and they’re not scared of the Emirates.”

His co-commentator, Marsha Vale, added with her usual clipped wit:

”They’ve only lost twice this season. This isn’t a Cinderella run. This is Forest with a midfield built for trench warfare.”

The camera cut to the Arsenal bench, where Izan Hernández, hair tucked under a black beanie, sat quietly with his warm-up top zipped to the chin.

No earbuds. No chewing gum. Just watching the stadium fill like a tide rolling in.

”Once again,” Ian continued, ”Izan starts on the bench. Some rotation, some caution. He played every minute for Spain over the break so I’m guessing Arteta wants to limit the injury risks at this critical point of the season.”

”And let’s not forget,” Marsha added, ”Arsenal have a UCL match coming next week. Arteta’s trying to thread the needle between momentum and management.”

The teams walked out to the now-familiar roar.

Arsenal in their traditional red and white. Forest in navy and yellow.

The crowd rose with them, chanting with full voice.

It didn’t feel like November.

It felt like something bigger.

And then Kick-off.

The first five minutes were all Arsenal.

Quick touches, heavy pressure, Saka, and then Trossard, who was starting in place of Martinelli, stretching the Forest defense-wide.

Ødegaard, back from injury began dictating the rhythm in the final third like a conductor flicking his baton.

But Forest held firm.

Their back four stayed narrow and compact.

The double pivot of Ward Prowse and Dominguez cut lanes like scissors.

And up front, Awoniyi, Hudson-Odoi, and Elanga waited like coiled springs for any misplaced pass.

The first real chance of the game came in the 9th minute after a sharp counter saw Ødegaard slip and lose the ball.

Forest broke through Anthony Elango, who sent Awoniyi racing down the central channel. Saliba shadowed well, but Awoniyi still got the shot off.

Raya dove low to his right, putting up a strong fist which sent the ball out for a corner.

”That’s a warning,” Ian said.

”Forest don’t need much. Just a mistake. Just a moment.”

Arsenal tightened up.

Played it safer for ten minutes.

They shifted play to the flanks— Calafiori overlapping down the left, Saka drifting inside to combine with Jorginho.

But Forest’s block didn’t break. It bent. Swayed. Absorbed.

Then came a sharper spell.

Ødegaard intercepted a poor clearance and pinged a quick ball over the top for Trossard.

The Belgian brought it down, danced past Montiel, and curled one—just wide of the far post.

The crowd exhaled like the air had been vacuumed from the ground.

Eventually, Forest could not contain anymore and let up in the 29th minute.

It started with Merino and Jorginho winning a 50-50 in midfield.

One touch to Jesus, who spun and sprayed it wide to Trossard.

He took it on the run, looked up once, and arrowed a low ball across the face of the goal.

Saka arrived, late to the party but perfectly timed, and slid in at the far post.

1–0.

The Emirates burst into life—not a chaotic celebration, but something more relieved.

As if they were expecting Forest to hold out longer.

”Simple,” Crocker spoke. ”Sharp. No frills. Arsenal just... cut through.”

”Credit to Jesus,” Marsha added. ”He hasn’t been glamorous today, but that spin-pass was class. And Trossard’s—pass, patience, weight. All spot on.”

Arteta didn’t celebrate long on the touchline.

He clapped and then let it rest.

The tempo shifted. Arsenal grew more comfortable. They controlled possession for the next stretch—holding Forest in their half.

Calafiori started stepping into midfield more often, forming that 3-2-5 shape Arteta had almost trademarked by now.

But Forest weren’t out of the game.

Not even close.

Awoniyi and Elanga both tested the left flank, forcing Jurrien Timber to work overtime.

Saliba bailed out one misread pass with a full-body sliding challenge that earned a full-throated roar from the crowd.

In the 40th minute, Forest had another dangerous moment—this time from a set piece.

Hudson-Odoi floated in a teasing ball that Milenkovic rose to meet—his header just kissing the top netting from the outside.

Marsha hissed softly into the mic. ”So close that it’s almost teasing at this point”

Ian nodded.

”And they’ll go into that tunnel knowing they can take a point here. Maybe more.”

On the bench, Izan hadn’t said a word.

But the camera caught him leaning forward slightly, elbows on knees, eyes scanning everything.

As the whistle neared, Arsenal pushed once more—Ødegaard firing wide, Saka nearly threading one last through ball to Trossard—but the Forest keeper smothered it.

The half ended with no drama. No shoving. Just quiet focus.

1–0.

The referee raised the whistle and blew once. Players clapped hands.

Coaches motioned instructions as the lines of red and yellow jogged toward the tunnel.

Izan rose without a word, zipped up his top again, and followed the rest of the team inside.

No cameras lingered on him this time.

But they would.

Very soon

......

Rain gathered in glinting droplets along the surface of the pitch as the teams emerged for the second half.

Arsenal led by a single goal, but no one inside the Emirates looked comfortable with it.

Nottingham Forest were fifth in the league for a reason—they were well-drilled, aggressive in transition, and dangerous enough to punish hesitation.

Arteta stood near the edge of his technical area, arms folded tightly across his chest as the whistle blew to restart the match.

Not a second had passed before he turned toward the bench and gave the nod.

Izan, now stood in place of Gabriel Jesus who had been subbed off at the break.

”There it is,” Ian Crocker said from the gantry.

”The sixteen-year-old wonder is on. But it’s been said—and it’s been seen—he hasn’t exactly lit things up since Paris.”

”Look,” Marsha Vale replied, tapping her notes, ”he’s still playing well. But we’ve gotten so accustomed to his ”out-of-the-world” plays. So much so that anything less and then people warrant it as him finally running out of steam. And fair or not, the bar he’s set is astronomical.”

The substitution had only been confirmed for seconds, but already fans along the touchline leaned forward in their seats, waiting.

And when Izan finally got the ball, the buzz around the stadium intensified.

He took his first touch near the left touchline, just a few yards inside Arsenal’s half.

With one flick of the boot, he slipped the ball past Ola Aina and accelerated, gliding down the wing like the grass had given way beneath him.

”Izan, off to a blazing start already” Ian croaked as Izan sped up a notch.

The Forest defenders scrambled to recover, but Izan never hesitated.

He slowed as he approached the final third, shaping his body to suggest a pass to Trossard who was cutting inside.

Milenkovic bit and stepped wide but Izan cut the ball sharply onto his right foot.

He had space now.

Enough to shoot.

He did.

The strike was pure, bending with venom toward the top far corner.

Matz Sels stretched, eyes wide—but he didn’t need to move.

The ball kissed the post with a thundering clang before spinning away into open space.

The entire stadium groaned as one, a massive exhale of frustration and disbelief.

Ian Crocker laughed softly into his mic.

”That was nearly something spectacular but nearly isn’t enough.”

Marsha didn’t laugh.

Her tone sharpened as she leaned forward.

”He’s still the same old Izan, Ian. You can see it in that touch, that balance. He just hasn’t gotten into the mood yet.”

The match resumed with Forest on the back foot, shaken by the sudden change in tempo.

Izan drifted centrally now, closer to Ødegaard, exchanging tight passes in the gaps between Forest’s midfielders.

His presence and the change it had caused were undeniable.

By the 57th minute, he’d begun to draw three defenders every time he touched the ball.

That’s when he started carving.

He collected a pass under pressure from Jorginho and broke forward again, this time slicing diagonally into the half-space between midfield and the penalty area.

A quick feint sent one defender off-balance, then a smart reverse pass nearly put Saka through.

The move was broken up at the last second by a desperate Forest clearance, but Arsenal recycled quickly, winning a corner off a deflected shot.

As the players moved into position, Izan jogged to the corner flag with the ball in his hand.

Most of the crowd assumed he’d whip it into the box.

But instead, he signaled for the short play.

Jorginho answered, trotting over.

The pass came quick, sharp to feet, and immediately played back to Izan, who skipped along the byline, dragging his marker with him.

With a sudden shift in weight, he turned and slipped the ball into the edge of the box—precisely where Thomas Partey had drifted in unnoticed.

The midfielder didn’t waste time.

One step forward and then, one clean swing of the boot.

The ball flew low through a crowd and buried itself into the bottom corner of the net sending the Arsenal fans roaring.

”GOAL!” Crocker shouted, rising with the noise of the crowd.

”Thomas Partey buries it—but credit to Izan who spotted the pass. Textbook finish by Arsenal!”

”And look at this,” Marsha said. ”Partey’s not celebrating alone. He’s pointing straight at Izan because that entire sequence was carved from his touch and patience.”

Partey turned and jogged straight to Izan, arms wide, then wrapped the younger player in a heavy, joyful embrace.

Izan grinned, eyes down for a second before giving Partey a short nod and clapping him on the back.

”It was quiet for a while,” Crocker said.

”But this moment—it screams louder than any goal could. Izan’s back. Or maybe he never left. Maybe we just weren’t watching close enough.”

Marsha chuckled now.

”Or maybe he just needed a reason to stretch his legs.”

The Emirates pulsed with fresh energy.

Arsenal had their second.

And with half an hour to go, Nottingham Forest had to decide whether to sit back and hope—

Or come out and play.

A/n: Bonus Chapter. I’ll try to upload the next Chapter which is 1 of 2 for today before I sleep. Byee