God Of football

Chapter 932: Prelude To The Start Of The Season.

The studio lights washed the Sky Sports desk in a muted glow as the morning panel settled in, papers spread, tablets lit, and coffees at the ready.

The ticker beneath them scrolled with fresh transfer updates that felt almost impossible to keep up with for the summer.

”Alright, let’s get into it,” the host said, turning slightly toward the two pundits beside him.

”Another day, another pile of signings across the league. You look around, and it feels like everyone’s trying to rebuild at once.”

”Well, they kind of are,” one of the pundits replied.

”And not just the big dogs. Sunderland, back in the Premier League after a while, have been making signing after signing, and it’s getting a bit weird to watch.”

”Take Manchester United. Two deals above sixty million already, and they’re not slowing down. Bryan Mbeumo, Matheus Cunha, and now apparently Benjamin Sesko are edging closer. That’s serious spending for a squad that finished where they did the past season.”

The second pundit shook his head with a quiet laugh.

”It’s like they’ve realised that if they go into another season with the same inconsistencies, they’re falling further behind. And you hop over to Merseyside, and Liverpool is doing the same thing. Wirtz, Frimpong, Kerkez, Ekitike. They’re not padding the squad. These are first-team calibre players that have cost them a couple of hundred million, with just Wirtz’s fee being a reported 125 million pounds.”

”And don’t forget,” the host added, ”the noise around Alexander Isak. They’ve been circling him all week, but Newcastle are holding their ground, not wanting to see their best man.”

”Right. And that tells you everything about how clubs are treating this summer,” the first pundit said.

”They saw what happened last season. Arsenal set a standard that forced everyone else to look at their squads and ask uncomfortable questions.”

The host glanced at him.

”You’ve mentioned that before. You said there was one particular reason for all this panic.”

”Not panic,” the pundit said, lifting a hand as if to steady the room, ”but urgency. And yes. I think there’s a catalyst. For me, it’s Izan. And I’m not saying that lightly.”

The second pundit nodded before the first continued.

”I can’t think of a debut season like his. Not in the Premier League, not anywhere. He made so many games feel impossible for the opposition. You could see managers changing their set-ups just because of him. You could see defenders rattled before kick-off. How many players, better yet, a 17-year-old can force an entire league to adjust?”

The host hummed in agreement as the pundit leaned forward, warming up.

”And then you look at Arsenal. They win the title, and they still go straight back into the market. They’re not coasting. They’re adding Zubimendi, who walks into almost any midfield in Europe. They’re pushing for Eze and Gyokeres too, which tells you they want depth and variety, and it is going to go a long way towards helping their season.”

A brief silence stretched between them as the scrolling ticker flashed another update.

The second pundit checked his tablet, then looked up with a small grin.

”Speaking of Izan...there were already whispers of clubs testing the waters. You know how it is this time of year. A few calls. A few agents poking around.”

The others laughed at that in the knowing, tired way of people who had lived through too many transfer windows.

”Of course there are,” one of them said.

”There are always reports when someone reaches that level. But come on, nobody is genuinely expecting Arsenal to pick up the phone.”

”Maybe not now,” the first pundit replied, to which the second pundit chuckled.

”No, not ever. Why do you think they took out his release clause in his most recent contract negotiation? They aren’t looking to put a price on him because they know what big teams can do when they get desperate.”

”But it’s true. There are teams trying. Or at least, they’re trying to figure out what the number could even be. The funny thing is, some of these same clubs had the chance before. Valencia basically opened the door last year, but hardly anyone wanted to go near that one hundred and thirty million asking price for a sixteen-year-old.”

The host gave a short laugh.

”And if they thought that was steep...”

”Exactly,” the pundit said.

”Now you’re looking at a completely different landscape. Five times that is probably the starting point. And I mean the starting point. Because the potential isn’t just high. It’s hard to grasp. You talk to scouts, and they can’t agree on where the ceiling is because his ceiling keeps moving.”

The second pundit let out a long exhale and shook his head.

”Five times. And that immediately takes almost every club out of the running.”

”Almost,” the first corrected him, raising a brow.

”There are still the giants, and then there’s Saudi money. They could do it without blinking.”

The host leaned back with a grin.

”So what, you’re trying to send him there now?”

The pundit scoffed and waved the idea away.

”No. Not a chance. That’s an end-of-career thing for most players. You cash in when you’re thirty-four, not seventeen.”

The others nodded while the studio screens rolled new headlines beneath them, the topic hanging for a moment before the discussion shifted toward something else.

...

Arsenal wrapped up their final preparations for pre-season as the start of the season approached with a game against Athletic Bilbao at the Emirates.

By the time the double-header from Merino against Athletic Bilbao came around, everyone already sensed how it would go.

The first match started like a sparring drill.

Arsenal moved the ball too quickly, too cleanly, and Bilbao couldn’t live with the speed of it.

It was almost like watching a senior team play against an Under-18 side.

By the hour mark, the contest had slipped out of Bilbao’s hands.

A chipped pass here, a disguised reverse ball there, and suddenly Arsenal were three goals up without ever looking like they had shifted into full gear.

The second match later that day was somehow worse for Bilbao.

Their legs were heavy, and their press had lost its shape.

Arsenal played with the freedom of a group that knew exactly where every teammate would be.

Saka and Trossard, who had started the second match, carved through the flanks.

Izan only needed twenty minutes on the pitch to send a few of their defenders spinning in different directions.

When the final whistle went, the scoreline looked like something from a training exercise rather than an actual fixture.

After the handshakes and applause, Izan headed toward the half-line where players from both squads were lingering.

The stadium noise was still fading when he spotted Nico Williams weaving through a group of staff, shirt in his hand.

”I am so spent,” Nico said with a grin as he reached him. ”But you still look fresh.”

Izan laughed and pulled him in for a quick hug.

”It’s genetic,” the latter replied, to which Nico shrugged.

”Then I will need some of those genetics for research.”

”Yeah, sure.”

Nico’s smile settled into something more curious.

”By the way, have you talked to Lamine recently?”

Izan shook his head while peeling off his shirt.

”Not really. It’s been a while. End of the season got hectic, and I’ve only texted him here and there. Why?”

Nico let out a breath that came out as half a laugh.

”He’s throwing another one of his little storms. All because I didn’t sign for Barça. You know how that whole thing went. People said it was done, they posted edits, their fans already had me playing the first game, and then I renewed here. Since then, he’s been acting as if I betrayed him personally.”

Izan couldn’t help it.

”That sounds exactly like him, he would do.”

”Exactly,” Nico said, shaking his head. ”He needs to relax sometimes.”

A cameraman approached them with a polite tap on the shoulder.

”One picture?”

Nico lifted his shirt and held it out. ”We good?”

”Of course,” Izan said as he handed his over.

They stood shoulder to shoulder as the photographer counted down.

The cameraman thanked them before stepping back as Izan slung Nico’s shirt over his shoulder, and the two of them started toward the tunnel, walking at the kind of easy pace only close teammates manage.

”So you’re actually going to message him tonight?” Nico asked.

”I’ll text him,” Izan said. ”If he’s in a mood, he’ll pretend he’s not reading it, but he’ll still reply at some weird hour, which I can’t deal with, so I will also ignore him.”

”That’s exactly what he’ll do,” Nico said, before pulling ahead, after seeing Zubimendi talking with Mikel Merino a few metres ahead.

A/N: Hi guys. Sorry for the late release. It’s been a bit hectic on my side but I hope you guys are good. I wanted to wish you guys a happy thanksgiving but it seems I’m late. This is the first of the previous day so see you in a bit with the last.