God Of football

Chapter 909: Arsenal’s Second Man.

The morning after the Newcastle match was the same as any other day/, though Izan’s goal involvements were still all anyone online wanted to talk about.

The players felt it too.

Breakfast ran longer than usual, with groups drifting between tables replaying moments from the previous day.

Sakas, as usual, walked in late, plate in hand, with a smile on his face that told anyone who saw it that he had something doing.

He spotted Arteta by the window, coffee in one hand, speaking with one of the analysts, and so he headed straight for him.

”Mister,” he said, leaning forward a little, ”before we fly out, can we go see the city? Even just a few hours? The boys want to go.”

Arteta didn’t look up at first.

He took a quiet sip, then nodded once but kept his eyes on the notes in front of him.

”The schedule is set,” he said.

”Recovery session, media, rest. That’s it.”

Saka tried again.

”Come on. We’ve been good. And Izan said he’d guide us if we get lost.”

Izan looked up from his table at the mention of his name.

”I didn’t say anything,” he said, though he couldn’t help laughing.

Arteta gave Saka a tired smile and collected his papers.

”If I let you all loose in the city, half of you won’t show up tomorrow. And the other half will show up sunburned. So no.”

Then he patted Saka on the shoulder and walked off before the winger could argue.

Saka returned to the table, shaking his head.

”He didn’t even pretend to think about it. What is pre-season if we can’t have some fun?”

Martinelli grinned.

”That’s the price to pay for success. We played in every single tournament available to us, as well as the Club World Cup, while others were having a rest.”

”Well, I’d rather be busy than bored,” Saliba said from behind, while Martinelli just shrugged.

”I’m not complaining, though. I’m just saying it because it’s true that we haven’t had much rest”

By late afternoon, the staff handed out their travel packs. Passports, printed schedules, and hotel information for Japan.

The players compared seat numbers like kids on a school trip, while a few (just Saka and Nwaneri) compared whose seat was better.

As the sun dropped, they changed into casual clothes and made their way down for their last dinner in Singapore.

The atmosphere was warm, more like a family gathering than a team meeting.

Some of the physios sat in the corner with plates balanced on their laps while music played softly over the speakers, just enough to keep the room from feeling formal.

Izan sat with Odegaard and Rice, and across the room, Saka and Trossard were recording a video, with some of the staff for the club channel, laughing each time they messed up the intro.

Then Arteta stepped forward, tapping a glass with the back of his spoon.

The room settled almost instantly as the players turned toward him, some still holding half-finished bites of food.

”Everyone,” Arteta said. ”Before we travel tomorrow, I want to say something.”

Arteta waited a moment, hands resting on the edge of the table, letting the quiet sit before he spoke again.

”You all know I’ve been here a long time now,” he said.

”Long enough to understand that nothing we’ve built happened on the back of one person. I’ve had help in every direction. Staff who stayed late with me. Staff who challenged me. Staff who told me when I was wrong. And players who trusted me even when things felt uncertain.”

A few of the older squad members nodded, remembering the early years, when things almost felt like the man in front of them wouldn’t last another day at the club.

Arteta scanned the room, searching faces one by one until his eyes settled on someone near the far corner.

He lifted his hand and motioned for him to come forward.

”Carlos,” he said, and the room shifted as heads turned.

Carlos Cuesta stood up, a little hesitant, smoothing the front of his shirt as he walked toward Arteta.

The two shared a quick nod as Carlos stood just behind, but beside Arteta, like the second man he was.

”If we’re talking about support,” Arteta continued, ”then this man is at the top of that list. Carlos has been behind so many things that people never see. He has always made sure I had the space to think, to adjust, to innovate. Every time we needed a solution, he was already working on it. Every time the pressure got heavy, he carried more of it without being asked.”

A wave of applause went through the room, warm and genuine, while a few players whistled softly.

Carlos, the subject of attention, lowered his head for a moment, embarrassed but smiling.

Arteta lifted his hand again, calming the noise.

”But,” he said, ”all good things must come to an end.”

A few players exchanged confused looks.

Saka leaned slightly toward Martinelli.

”End of what?” he whispered, but Martinelli just shushed him, while Arteta caught the whisper and chuckled.

”Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he drew a breath.

”But Carlos won’t be joining us in Japan. Because he has accepted a managerial offer. Parma. Serie A.”

For a second, the room froze.

Not in disappointment, but in shock.

Then the applause burst out again, louder than before.

Some players pushed back their chairs so they could stand while clapping, while a few staff members cheered.

Someone shouted, ”Come on, Carlos!” across the room as Arteta stepped aside and gave him the floor.

Carlos looked around at everyone, taking his time before he spoke, well enough for the room to fall quiet.

”I don’t know where to start,” he said.

”When I came here, I dreamed of helping this club win things. One trophy would have been enough. And instead, I got to be part of a group that won everything last season. That’s more than I ever imagined.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a shy smile.

”I would have loved to stay with you until the Super Cup match. Believe me, I really wanted that. But Parma needs me there sooner, and I have to go prepare my team. This opportunity... It’s one I can’t turn down.”

He paused and blinked a few times as one tear slipped down his cheek, but he wiped it away quickly, shaking his head at himself.

”Thank you,” he said softly.

”To all of you. For trusting me. For letting me grow here. I won’t forget any of it.”

The applause rose again, gentler this time, almost rhythmic.

Chairs scraped as players stood up one by one.

Odegaard reached him first, pulling him into a long hug.

Next was Gabriel, then Rice, then Raya, each muttering something quiet and personal.

A few squeezed his shoulder, while others joked lightly just to keep him from crying again.

Izan, away from all this, stayed in his seat while watching the scene unfold.

He didn’t feel the need to rush in.

This was a moment that belonged to the ones who had grown with Carlos over the years.

He simply sat back, smiling to himself, taking in the mixture of pride, sadness, and gratitude that filled the room while Carlos just kept thanking people between hugs and whispered encouragements.

Dinner wound down slowly after Carlos’s speech, while a few players stretched like the day had finally caught up to them.

One group headed straight for the lifts, mumbling goodnights.

Others drifted toward the lobby, unwilling to let the evening end so quickly.

Izan stayed behind, settling into one of the cushioned chairs near the centre of the lobby.

He leaned back to let his thoughts settle, but just then, footsteps approached.

When he looked up, Carlos was walking past, holding his phone and a small notebook under his arm.

”You’re not sleeping?” Carlos asked.

”In a bit,” Izan said, smiling. ”Just needed a moment.”

Carlos nodded, the same patient expression he used during training sessions.

”Don’t stay up too long. Tomorrow is a long day.”

Izan stood, slipping his hands into his pockets.

”I’m coming now. Was waiting for you anyway.”

They walked toward the corridor together, side by side, taking slow steps as if neither wanted to rush the moment.

”I never got to say mine earlier,” Izan said.

”The others had more years with you. I didn’t want to cut in.”

Carlos shook his head gently.

”You didn’t have to. I know.”

”I still want to,” Izan replied.

”When I first walked into the club, everything still felt too big. You were the one who made it feel manageable. You kept checking on me, even when you didn’t have to. Small things, but they mattered. More than you think.”

Carlos stopped walking.

His eyes softened before smiling a bit.

”I’m glad I could help.”

Izan offered a small smile and finally said the words he had been saving.

”Go and make Parma yours.”