God Of football

Chapter 964: Matchday 4

The cafeteria was already alive by the time he pushed the door open.

Most of the lads were already done with their required morning gym sessions and had their sweat traded for dry shirts and food.

He moved through the room naturally, stopping here and there, greeting faces he had not seen properly in a week or two.

”Back at last,” he said to Ricardo Calafiori, leaning in for a quick handshake.

”Didn’t miss the flights,” the latter replied, smiling.

Miko padded along at his side, her white coat drawing attention before Izan did.

She soaked it all in as hands reached down without thinking, fingers disappearing into thick fur.

Someone scratched behind her ears, and another rubbed her chest.

Her tail swayed slowly, satisfied, as if this was part of her daily routine too.

”Still the most popular one here, though that might make WIN jealous”, someone joked.

[Okay, so once again, if you’ve forgotten. Arsenal have a club mascot called WIN, and it is a chocolate therapy labrador.]

Izan glanced down at her. ”You work harder than all of us.”

Near one of the tables, Nwaneri was already halfway through breakfast when Izan leaned against the counter beside him, eyes scanning the room.

”Where’s Bukayo?” he asked.

Nwaneri swallowed and nodded toward the far corridor.

”Medical room. He picked something up during the break. They’re checking it now.”

Izan exhaled heavily and then nodded once.

”Figures,” he said quietly. ”I’ll go see him.”

Miko, seeing her owner on the move again, sharply got away from under all the belly rubs that it were being showered by the players before coming to his side.

Unaware of the company that was coming for him, Bukayo Saka sat on the edge of the treatment table, legs swinging slowly as if the movement might shake off the news he had just heard.

The doctor stood opposite Arteta, tablet in hand.

”A month would be okay for him, but 3 weeks is the minimum, and even that would be pushing him,” the doctor said, measured and clear.

”If we’re careful, we can manage it properly. One month will be enough if he recovers in a way similar to what we’ve seen before.”

Arteta nodded, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the floor for a moment.

”We’ll do it right,” he replied. ”Talk me through what you’ll need.”

They stepped aside, voices lowering as they spoke through schedules and recovery plans.

Saka watched them for a second, then looked away before letting out a long breath.

That was when the door opened again.

Miko walked in first, uninvited and completely comfortable, trotting straight toward Saka.

She pressed herself against his legs the moment his feet touched the floor, tail wagging softly.

”There you go,” Saka murmured, a smile breaking through despite himself.

He bent slightly, one hand finding her head before his fingers sank into her fur.

”You heard it before I did, yeah?”

Izan followed her in, nodding toward Saka before bumping fists with the Englishman.

”Speedy recovery,” Izan said.

Saka nodded.

”Yeah. Looks like I’ll be watching from the side for a bit.”

Arteta, who had just stopped at the door, glanced over, gave Izan a brief look and then returned to the doctor.

Saka straightened and pointed toward the corner of the room. ”Can you grab that crutch by the door?”

Izan picked it up and handed it over.

Saka tested it a bit before settling into it, adjusting his weight so he doesn’t put more pressure on the injured leg.

”Appreciate it,” Saka said as they turned toward the exit.

They walked back through the corridor together while Miko stayed close, occasionally brushing against Saka’s leg as if she knew to be careful.

”Could’ve been worse,” Saka said after a moment, more to himself than anyone else.

Izan nodded. ”Still annoying though.”

”That too,” Saka replied, smirking faintly as the voices got more and more prominent when they got near the cafeteria.

The days that followed passed quietly for Izan.

It was the same age-old routine.

Gym work in the morning, training and recovery work in the afternoon and then tactical work just before they close things out.

Just like that, two days went by without incident.

No drama and no headlines.

Arteta and his men had stuck their heads deep into training, and with the competitiveness and the squad depth that had been found at the club, every session was tight, with no player wanting to let go of his position in the squad.

Except for a few players, or a player who was without question not going to be dropped for any reason other than being injured.

”I am so spent,” Mosquera said as he plopped onto the grass, turning towards Calafiori before asking him how they had survived a whole season in training with Izan.

”You know, sometimes I feel lucky,” Calafiori said after Mosquera was done.

”And it is not even an understatement. When I am at the back, and I see him carrying the ball into the opponent’s half, I wonder what I could do if it were me.”

Calafiori then turned towards Mosquera, nudging him with his elbow.

”At least you won’t have to face him anywhere aside from training since you play with him at both the club level and the international level.”

Mosquera laughed at that while nodding slowly before turning towards the pitch where Izan had now slowed and seemed to be talking something tactically with Arteta.

The next day, it was almost impossible to drive through the streets of North London.

It wasn’t the biggest clash, but the fans, with their team on that kind of generational run, weren’t going to miss it for the world.

”6-0 against Manchester United. Then 8-0 against Leeds. And then Liverpool also got 4-0. That’s 18 goals in 3 games and all without conceding,” a fan said as he trekked towards the Emirates with his friends.

”How I used to pray for times like this, and it seems like the lord had shown his graceful hands on our club.”

His friends beside him laughed, shaking their heads, before one pulled out his phone, checking the lineup.

”I mean, look at this. No sign of weakness even with Saliba and Saka, as well as a few of the other boys, out. Tell me how many clubs have replacement players that are on the same level as the starters.”

”Honestly, Izan on the right might be worse for Forest than Saka.”

Before the pile of friends could continue, a horn, accompanied by the chants of the fans around, rose, and from behind, the Arsenal team bus appeared in all its glory, with the fans rushing to the barriers hoping to get a glimpse of the men who had made all their joy possible.

The team bus eventually went past all the fans before coming to a half at one of the openings leading to the underground parking lot, where there were still some early fans behind the barricade, together with some media personnel.

”Arteta, a word!”

”Do you think Nottingham Forest can pose a threat?”

”How long will Saka be out for?”

”Izan, some say you are in talks with PSG. Is that true?”

...

”I know it’s their job, but the English media are noisy,” Gyokeres said, walking beside Odegaard and then Izan, as the staff led them through the confines of the underground space.

The latter players laughed at the Swedish striker’s comment.

”I’d say today was okay,” Odegaard said while nodding in the direction of Izan.

”The last time, we had one asking Izan if there were reports about his girlfriend being pregnant.”

”Okay, that’s a bit much, ey,” Gyokeres said, raising a brow as they entered the space leading up to the locker room.