God Of football

Chapter 929: Done Japan.

Izan kept her hand in his for a second longer before letting go.

Something about her expression nudged at a memory, faint but insistent.

”You know,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, ”some part of me says you look familiar. But I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Kenji lifted his brows as if he were about to jump in, maybe to explain something or stop Aiko from going further with her antics.

But he didn’t get the chance as Aiko took a half step closer.

Izan instinctively eased back a bit, more out of surprise than discomfort.

”We’ve met,” she said. ”You gave me your signature. And a photo.”

She was already unlocking her phone before she turned the screen toward him.

The picture was a bit grainy, but clear.

A younger Izan stood in the frame, hair much shorter than his bun and smile a little awkward from being caught off guard.

Beside him was a girl who looked like a younger version of Aiko, holding a Valencia scarf and smiling like it had been the best moment of her week.

Izan stared at it as the memory slid into place.

The early days.

That preseason tour where the crowds were small but lively, and every few fans who recognised him.

”Wow,” he said quietly. ”We really have met. You’re the second person I have met from that time during my stay in Japan.”

Aiko tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

”I’ve been a fan from day one.”

”I can tell,” Izan said, pointing at the scarf in the photo.

”This was that first preseason with Valencia. Before I even got a proper chant.”

”Before you became you,” she added.

Izan huffed out a small laugh at that.

”Time flies.”

He looked back at her, ready to say something else, but she was already reaching into her bag.

When she unfolded what she held, he blinked in disbelief.

She was holding a Halloween-themed Valencia jersey he’d had a couple of years ago, their special kit from his one season there.

Izan let out a short, surprised laugh.

”You even got this one. Pietro was fuming about not being able to keep it because it was going to be used as promotional material, but you actually got one?”

She held it out along with a black marker.

”Thought you might as well finish what you started.”

He took the shirt and the marker.

”Alright. But you’re setting a high bar.”

He started signing, feeling the texture of the old fabric under his fingers.

Before he finished, she nudged something into the edge of his vision.

Another item.

He glanced down.

A boot.

One of his old match-worn boots, scuffed at the toe, laces still colour-stained from the last pitch it touched.

He paused. ”Is that...?”

But before he could finish, another jersey was pressed lightly into his free hand by Aiko again.

Then another, but this time, it was a staff member who stepped up shyly, holding out a pen.

Behind them, a line was forming.

Aiko had already turned around, taking control as if she’d trained for this.

”I can see you. Don’t try to cut the line,” she said as she pointed staff into a queue, adjusted spacing, told someone to wait a second and waved the next person forward.

Izan signed another shirt but kept staring at her, then at Kenji, who rubbed a hand over his face and groaned under his breath.

”This girl is such a dunce,” he said. ”What will I do with her?”

Izan, too busy to laugh, turned while another item was placed in front of him, and Aiko kept the line moving like she’d taken over a theme park ride.

....

Aiko and Kenji walked him out through the glass doors, the late afternoon light spilling across the pavement.

It was supposed to be Kenji guiding him out, but Aiko had drifted to Izan’s side, half-turned toward him, stretching her arm out to get a better angle for another selfie.

”Hold on, stay still,” she said, though she didn’t wait for him to actually do it before snapping the picture.

Kenji sighed but didn’t bother stopping her.

He only muttered something about her storage running out at this rate, which she ignored completely.

The car Izan had arrived in pulled around the corner as the driver eased up to the curb, lowering the window slightly when he saw him.

Kenji let out a small breath.

”Make sure you thank your agent for setting this up. She really pushed for it.”

Izan scoffed quietly.

”Miranda would have me do a diaper advert if she thought it would trend, so you don’t need to thank her for accepting the offer.”

Kenji burst into laughter at that.

”Well, your agent is very hardworking,” Kenji said.

He placed a hand lightly on his daughter’s shoulder, guiding her closer so she wasn’t drifting into the driveway.

She took the chance to slip one step nearer to Izan again.

”When are you leaving Japan?” she asked.

”Soon,” he said, meeting her eyes.

”But before that... It’s rare to meet someone who’s been around since the start. So I’ll send you tickets to our opening game back in England.”

Her face twisted a little, almost apologetic.

”I already bought one,” she admitted. ”So I’d have to cancel it.”

Izan blinked, then let out a short laugh as the meaning settled in.

”You already have a ticket? Alright, then I’ll give you my matchday jersey when you come. Fair trade?”

She nodded quickly, a bit too quickly, like she didn’t want to give him the chance to change his mind.

The car door was opened for him as Izan stepped toward it, giving them both a small wave before sliding inside.

Aiko waved back with both hands, her phone still clutched between her fingers, while Kenji’s wave was more reserved with a smile of satisfaction on his face before the car pulled away from the curb.

The building began to drift behind them, and when Izan glanced through the rear window one last time, the two of them were already shrinking into the distance, side by side, until they looked almost like sketches against the fading light.

....

Izan got home just as the sky was beginning to fade into evening.

He dropped his bag near the couch and let himself fall into the seat, only for his phone to buzz in his pocket as Olivia’s name flashed on the screen.

”You done packing?” she asked before he could even greet her.

He let out a small breath.

”Good evening too. I’ll start soon.”

She made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a scold.

”Izan, you leave tomorrow.”

”I know. I’ll get to it.”

”Oh, I’m coming to meet you at the airport, by the way.”

”You don’t have to do that,” he said. ”It’s fine.”

”Oh yes, I do. We haven’t seen each other in almost three weeks. Let me at least send you off properly.”

He leaned back, defeated.

”Alright. Fine. Come to the airport.”

”Good. I’ll leave you to pack before you forget and blame me.”

He smiled a little.

”Yeah. Talk later.”

The call cut, leaving the quiet of the house around him again.

Izan set the phone on the armrest, sat there for a moment, then finally pushed himself to his feet.

He pulled his suitcase from the corner of the room, unzipped it on the floor, and began folding shirts into it one by one.

The next afternoon came with the bustle of the neighbourhood.

His grandparents stood with him near the small steps that led to the driveway.

”You two should visit sometime,” Izan said. ”Just tell Miranda when you want to come. She’ll sort everything.”

His grandmother nodded, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.

”We will. Don’t worry.”

His grandfather adjusted his glasses, gave Izan a long look, then placed a hand on his shoulder.

”Go and make your ancestors proud again, as you’ve already done.”

Izan let out a short chuckle. ”I’ll try.”

He nodded again, a little more seriously this time, right before he reached for his bags and turned towards the car behind him.