God Of football

Chapter 912: Old Faces.

A ball machine clicked and released volleys one after another at the Yokohama F. Marinos complex.

And Shuu Takeda stood planted at the edge of the box, meeting each ball with clean, sharp strikes.

He didn’t rush.

He let each volley rise before swinging through it, sending the ball skimming or dipping depending on how it came to him.

He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist after an effort and then steadied himself for the last ball.

The machine hummed as the ball popped out.

Shuu shifted, leaned, and connected accordingly as the strike thumped against the far net.

”Shuu!” someone called.

He exhaled and turned around.

Two of his teammates were making their way over, holding a camera and a mic like they were the club’s media crew.

One of them had the strap of the camera hanging off one shoulder, barely balancing it, while the other held a small mic.

”What now?” Shuu asked, reaching down for his bottle.

”How do you feel?” the first one said in an exaggerated presenter tone.

”Big game coming. Big opponent. The rematch everyone’s been waiting for.”

Shuu squinted at them.

”Rematch?”

The second player grinned.

”Don’t play dumb. You know who I mean.”

Shuu didn’t bite and just took a drink instead.

The first player stepped closer, lifting the mic toward him as if expecting a grand quote.

”How does it feel to be going up against Izan again?”

Shuu didn’t even try to hide his annoyance.

He rubbed his face and let his hand drop. ”Let it rest.”

”Rest?” the second one laughed.

”No chance. This is content. The fans need it.”

”No, you two just need entertainment,” Shuu said.

”He’s not going to remember me anyway. It was years ago.”

”That’s exactly why it’s funny,” the first one replied, poking Shuu’s shoulder with the mic.

”Some kid you faced when you were 17 is now the best player in the world, also at seventeen. Don’t tell me that doesn’t make you feel something.”

Shuu shook his head.

”Everyone already says that. What’s the point of repeating it? Plus, I played on the same team, not against him.”

The second teammate lifted the camera to fix the strap.

”Because it gets a reaction out of you.”

”There’s no reaction,” Shuu said.

”There is,” the first one fired back immediately.

”This face you’re making right now? Pure reaction.”

Shuu stared at them, unimpressed.

”I should tell coach to add more sessions for the both of you since you seem to have way too much time on your hands.”

”That’s fine,” the second one said, a bit pleadingly.

”We accept our flaws.”

They started turning away as if their fake interview was done.

Shuu watched them for a moment, trying to decide whether to ignore them or not.

They were still talking between themselves when the second one added under his breath, ”Still funny though. Facing the best player in the world.”

Shuu sighed. ”You lot really don’t quit.”

”Nope,” the first one said proudly. ”We live to troll.”

Shuu bent, picked up a ball, and weighed it in his hands.

It was the perfect distance to make a point without hurting anyone.

”Hey,” he called out calmly.

Both of them instinctively turned halfway, not sure if he was actually addressing them.

Before they could ask anything, Shuu struck the ball clean off the ground.

It arrowed into the backside of the one with the camera, producing a loud thump followed by an even louder yelp as the camera wobbled dangerously, but he caught it at the last second, hopping in place with a hand on his hip.

”What was that for!” he shouted, a bit irked, while Shuu shrugged.

”The camera should have fallen, so they would have taken it from your pay.

The other one burst out into loud, uncontrollable laughter.

”You actually deserved that one.”

”I didn’t!” the hit player protested, rubbing the spot dramatically. ”This is harassment.”

”It’ll build character,” Shuu said, already walking past them to gather the scattered balls he had used.

The two of them eventually trudged off, still bickering while Shuu shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

”Does he even remember?” he muttered as he packed the balls into their netbag.

....

”Yeah, see ya in a bit,” Izan said as he entered his room.

He leaned back on the arm of the hotel sofa, after letting the last bit of late-morning quiet settle around him just before his phone buzzed.

Olivia’s name lit up the screen as he picked up, expecting a short check-in, but the first thing he saw was Miko’s face covering most of the frame, eyes wide and ears perked like she had been waiting for him specifically, while Olivia laughed behind the camera.

”You should have taken her with you. She’s been restless since this past week.”

Before Izan could answer, Miko barked at the sight of him, a sharp little sound that almost felt like she was scolding him, and he couldn’t help smiling.

”Hey, hey,” he said, slipping into the voice Hori kept teasing him about.

”What’s all that noise? Hm? You giving Liv a hard time again?”

Miko barked once more, leaning closer until her nose nearly touched the camera, while Olivia just snorted.

”And you didn’t want this dog.”

”I didn’t say that,” Izan said, still using that gentler tone as he watched the dog settle slightly.

”I said I wasn’t sure I had time for one. She, Mom and Hori didn’t care about that part, though.”

”Yeah, because she’s smarter than you,” Olivia replied, shifting the phone so Miko could curl up beside her.

”Anyway, I just wanted to show you how dramatic she’s being. I still need to finish a few things for class tomorrow.”

”Alright,” Izan said. ”Good luck with that. And tell her to stop stressing you out.”

Olivia smiled before hanging up, the screen fading to black.

Izan let the phone rest in his hand for a moment before the next notification slid across the top.

He opened it and found an image posted by Hori.

She was standing in front of a mirror that looked like the ones in boutiques, with one hand on her hip and the other holding a designer bag like she had just discovered it in a treasure chest.

She was winking at the camera.

The caption read: Thank you, @Izan Hernandez, for the bag.

He stared at it for a second, then sighed in a way he had done many times because of her.

He typed in the comments, You’re paying for that yourself, before exiting the app.

He slipped the phone into his pocket, shaking his head with a faint smile before pushing his feet from the ground and laying them on the sofa, closing his eyes after a while.

..

The final day before the match settled over the team hotel in Tokyo, where Arteta had claimed one of the spare bedrooms beside his suite.

It had slowly turned into a temporary office.

And inside, the desk was buried under scouting notes, printouts from training, and a small magnetic clipboard that held the squad layout for the next day.

He stood in front of the clipboard, hand to his chin as he seemed to be contemplating what he was going to do for the game, but before he could continue, his phone buzzed on the table.

He answered and set it on speaker before walking back to the board.

”Sporting are being difficult on the Gyökeres deal,” the voice said. ”And that’s after getting the numbers they asked for.”

Arteta let out a quiet breath through his nose.

”I figured they’d drag it out.”

”They definitely are,” the voice replied.

He shifted a few magnets with one hand, eyes scanning the arrangement.

”What does Arsène think?”

A brief pause came, followed by a long breath before the voice over the phone continued.

”He says it’s good for domination, but we’ll survive if it doesn’t happen.”

Arteta smiled a little as he leaned against a chair.

”Which is usually his way of saying we should get him.”

”That fuzzy old man,” Arteta added as a soft laugh came through the speaker.

”Pretty much.”

He picked up Zinchenko’s magnet, slid it aside, and replaced it with Lewis-Skelly’s before turning to look at the phone as if the person on the call was in the room.

”Go for it if you can,” he said. ”Push it as far as they’ll let you and let me know anything that goes on. Also, I need you to check in with the department over the replacements for Carlos Cuesta that they sent over. I think Gabriel Heinze would be much better suited.”

”Alright, I’ll check in with them and keep you updated.”

Arteta nodded even though the caller couldn’t see it.

”Thanks,” he muttered as the call ended.

He stood there for a moment, studying the board in the quiet room, then let the thought go and stepped back from the desk.