God Of football

Chapter 899: New Additions And Rising Competitions.

Pietro’s name sat near the top of his recent calls.

A few seconds later, the screen lit up with Pietro’s face, hair messy, sitting in what looked like his kitchen.

”I knew it,” Pietro said, grinning before Izan could even speak.

”You saw it, didn’t you?”

Izan couldn’t help but laugh, covering his face briefly.

”You’ve been waiting for this call, huh?”

”Of course,” Pietro said, leaning closer to the screen with that smug look that had gotten him in trouble more than once.

”Figured you’d have something to say about your old man finally getting his flowers.”

”Old man? Can’t you stop with that act already? You’re three years older, not thirty,” Izan said, shaking his head.

”And wipe that smirk off your face before I hang up.”

Pietro laughed, the sound warm and careless.

”Hey, you should be proud. You trained with greatness. I’m about to be Premier League royalty.”

Izan rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his mouth.

”You’ve not even signed and you’re already talking like you’ve lifted a trophy.”

”I’m manifesting,” Pietro said, spreading his arms dramatically. ”Pep’s going to call any second now.”

”Right,” Izan muttered, playing along.

”And when he does, make sure you tell him you’re only good because I covered for you all those years.”

Pietro clutched his chest in mock offence.

”Covered for me? Please. I carried you when you were still figuring out what a midfield was.”

”You’d have liked that to happen, wouldn’t you have?” Izan said, while Pietro nodded aggressively to that, before the two broke out into a fit of laughter.

For a few seconds, neither spoke, just grinning like idiots through the screen, the silence carrying more than words needed to.

Pietro was the same as ever.

Loud, unserious, loyal in all the ways that mattered.

Pietro leaned back in his chair, his grin still there.

”You know, when I do move, I’m not talking to you for a week. Just interviews and training. Big player schedule.”

”Sure,” Izan said dryly, pretending to yawn.

”I’ll start mourning early.”

”Do that,” Pietro shot back. ”And when you see the sky light up blue next season, just know it’s me.”

Izan shook his head again, unable to stop smiling.

”You’re way off.”

”It is what it is”, Pietro said before winking and hanging up.

The call ended, leaving Izan staring at his reflection on the darkened screen, still smiling faintly.

Somewhere in the house, Miranda called out, asking if he wanted dinner.

He answered without looking up, voice light, ”Yeah, in a bit.”

...

By the time Izan’s plane touched down at Heathrow, the grey London sky was already thick with summer drizzle.

It wasn’t much of a welcome, but it was home.

The familiar chill hit him as he stepped out, hoodie up, headphones on, with the little bag he had gone with slung over his shoulder.

The duo got back to Hampstead, where Miranda took a separate car to work after that, leaving Izan all alone in the house as Olivia had taken Miko with her to her campus.

But the house felt a bit quiet for Izan, so he slung his training bag over his shoulder and joined his mates at Colney even though Arteta had given him the day off.

”You should have given me the off day instead,” Saka had said when Izan arrived at the complex.

Training was back in full swing, and the season’s calm before the storm was already over.

Players were back in clusters, laughing, stretching and looking lively despite their holiday being cut short.

Arteta’s voice echoed faintly from one of the training pitches, sharp and commanding even from a distance.

The message had been clear before Izan even arrived: pre-season or not, the standards wouldn’t drop.

Over the next few days, the intensity went up.

Double sessions became the norm.

Arteta hovered around drills, pushing, correcting, occasionally breaking into that knowing smile when something clicked.

Izan noticed it most in the newer faces.

Kepa Arrizabalaga had arrived quietly, a deal worth barely five million but carrying the weight of expectation.

He was experienced, sharp in training, and loud, maybe too loud, but he fit in quickly.

You could already hear his voice echoing during small-sided games, barking instructions like he’d been there for years.

Then came Martin Zubimendi, a signing that turned heads the moment it went public.

A signing Izan and most at the club had seen coming for weeks.

Even without all the talk, he had shared conversations about it during national team duty, though Martin had been careful with his words.

Seeing him walk into Colney, bag over his shoulder, smile small but sure, made it real.

”Didn’t think I’d actually see you in my kind of red,” Izan said, bumping his shoulder as they walked toward the training ground.

”I didn’t either,” Martin replied, glancing around. ”But I heard someone here can make midfielders look good.”

”Whoever told you that lied.”

Like Kepa, Zubimendi didn’t really have a hard time on his first day.

He was surrounded by like-minded individuals, ones who wanted to win as well as familiar players like Merino and Odegaard, so nothing was really different, save for the badge on his chest.

The next day, another player, Christian Nørgaard from Brentford, also put pen to paper to join the Premier League Champions from North London.

Solid, no-nonsense, another player Arteta liked because of his defensive mindset and with all the signings done and the ones coming in, you could feel the competition ramping up.

No one was comfortable, and that was exactly how Arteta wanted it.

After training one evening, as the sky dimmed and the floodlights hummed, Izan sat on the bench, changing into his slides after the session.

Saka plopped down beside him, sweat dripping off his chin.

”When did we discover oil beneath the Emirates?” Saka said quietly, looking at Izan before the duo started laughing.

”No, like seriously though, it feels like we are signing a player every two days.”

Izan nodded

”Well, that’s how it is. We’re not chasing anymore. We’re being chased.”

He then nodded towards Arteta, who stood beside Carlos Cuesta.

”We’ve done something great together last season, winning every competition we played in, so now the pressure is on him to match what we did last season. So he’s making all the preparations he can before the season begins.”

”And that,” Izan continued, now looking up from his feet with a smile, ”Is why we are signing a player every 2 to 3 days with more still to come.”

Saka tilted his head towards the pitch, watching as the rest of the players walked off.

The pre-season tour to Asia was a week away, and Arteta had promised it wouldn’t be a sightseeing trip.

The players knew what was coming: travel, possible heat, endless media, and the pressure of being the best version of themselves in front of the world.

.....

Back at home, Izan was sprawled on the bed, Miko bouncing against him like a fluffy trampoline.

Every time the dog landed, Izan grunted, laughed, or squealed, and Olivia, lying beside them, couldn’t hold back her laughter.

”You could just set it down,” she said, shaking her head at the chaotic scene.

”And miss the cute jumping face in front of me, nope. Let him use me as a launchpad,” Izan replied.

Miko leapt one last time before Hori’s voice called her from downstairs.

”Miko! Come on, you know the rules!”

The dog paused, looked back at Izan with pleading eyes, then bounded off, tail wagging like nothing had happened.

Izan sat up, brushing his hair out of his face, and muttered, ”Traitor.”

He glanced at Olivia, who still had that light, amused smile, her hair spilling over the pillow.

He stared at her for a while until Olivia also turned, facing his eyes.

”What?” she asked with a slight smile, but Izan just kept staring until, slowly, almost naturally, he inched forward, hands settling around Olivia’s waist.

She responded immediately, slipping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Their faces drew together, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded.

Then, just as their lips met, like they would be exploring each other for a while, Izan’s phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, breaking the moment.

Izan halted, pulling away with a sigh while Olivia let out a soft chuckle.

”That is why I keep my phone on DND when I am at home because I can’t let anything disturb stuff like this”, she teased, pulling back just enough to grin at him.

Izan groaned dramatically, while Olivia turned towards the nightstand, reaching for the device.

”You can’t do the same, though, since that would mean people wondering if you vanished or something”, Olivia said, still laughing, her fingers brushing his as she handed it to him.

He took the phone, shaking his head with a half-smile, and Olivia leaned back, tucking herself under the covers, eyes still sparkling from their interrupted moment.