God Of football

Chapter 971: A Thought Ongoing!

Izan did not wait around.

The final whistle had barely faded when he turned and walked, head down, straight toward the tunnel.

The noise followed him anyway, a wall of sound crashing behind his back.

On the touchline and along the tunnel mouth, photographers swarmed.

Cameras flashed in sharp bursts, white light snapping against the concrete as he passed through without a glance.

On the broadcast, the commentator noticed it and couldn’t help but talk about it.

”That’s a rather quick exit,” he said curtly as the replay cut once more to the last goal, then back to the pitch where Forest players stood, still scattered, hands on hips, some staring up at the away stands.

”But that will do it here at the Emirates,” the commentator continued.

”Arsenal snatch victory at the death. Three goals to two. Courtesy of Izan, who has dragged them over the line again. Another hat trick. Four games into the season and Arsenal’s perfect run stays intact.”

The analyst leaned back in his chair and let out a small scoff.

Not one of a mocking tone but one of admiration.

”He’s just different,” he said.

”Different mindset, different engine. I can’t wait to see the point-of-view footage when it drops. Seeing what he sees, moment by moment. Because that decision making... It’s not coherent by normality.”

Down below, Izan was already gone.

He pushed through the dressing room door without a word, boots still on, sweat cooling on his neck.

With no faces to stare at since he was the first person to enter, he went straight into the bathroom, locked the door, and stood under the shower until the water ran hot enough to sting.

When he came back out, he was already half dressed.

So he slipped a white t-shirt on and then the upper half of his team jacket before he closed his locker, and made his way across the room while the eyes of his mates that had just entered lingered on him.

After getting to the door, he nodded to the kitman before making his way out.

They would find him later, when the bus was loading up for London Colney.

Right at the back with his hood up and headphones in, staring out of the window like it might reveal something interesting to him.

No one really sat near him, except for Odegaard, who decided to sit right ahead of him, but even he didn’t speak much as the bus took off for their complex.

By morning, the game had already turned into something else.

Screens across the country were filled with the same headline, dressed up in different fonts.

ARSENAL 3, NOTTINGHAM FOREST 2

IZAN DOES IT AGAIN!!

Highlights rolled on repeat.

The free kick.

The clearance off the line and the strike from distance that looked something straight out of a YouTube clickbait thumbnail.

On one channel, a former player shook his head as the footage froze on Izan standing still after the winner.

”Look at that,” he said. ”That end to the game was just magical, but also relief for the home side. Arsenal scraped through, let’s be honest. Or rather, Izan scraped them through.”

Another pundit leaned forward.

”And that’s the problem. It can’t keep being like this. You cannot leave your winger to defend transitions, clear off the line, then ask him to score three. At some point, something gives.”

The discussion shifted quickly as clips of the game resurfaced.

One of Izan shouting with his arms out after making a clearance.

His words were caught clearly by pitch-side microphones.

”Get your Fucking heads back in the game,” it sounded before he fired another round of sentences that weren’t caught by the camera that time.

Still, it was enough because one news outlet ran with it.

EXCLUSIVE: IZAN UNHAPPY AT ARSENAL

SOURCES SUGGEST TENSIONS BEHIND THE SCENES, WHILE CLUBS LIKE PARIS SAINT-GERMAIN AND REAL MADRID ARE STILL KEEN ON THE SPANIARD.

The panel on that show ate it up.

”He looked frustrated,” one of them said. ”And rightly so.”

Another disagreed.

”Or he’s just demanding. That’s leadership if I’ve ever seen any.”

Online, it moved faster and louder.

Arsenal fans pushed back hard.

He wasn’t angry; he was dragging them forward.

We were awful.

He was shouting us into shape.

If I had two goals and still had to defend like that, I’d lose my head too.

Others went further.

Without him, it’s three-nil Forest.

Easy.

He saves a goal, scores three, and presses like a madman. What more do you want?

For Rival fans, though, it was a field day.

”Seems like he’s finally realising how shit the gooners are after carrying them to almost every trophy possible the past season.”

A Chelsea account posted a clipped video of the goal from halfway.

”Captioned simply, Come home.”

City fans didn’t hesitate to join in, also expressing their fantasies with numbers laid out neatly about what could be if Izan joined them.

A comment underneath read, ”We wouldn’t leave him alone like that.”

From Spain, Italy, and Germany, the noise echoed.

Different languages, but it was the same idea.

He deserves better support.

This is what happens when a system leans too hard on one man.

How long before he gets tired of carrying it?

By midday, Arsenal forums were no longer celebrating the win.

They were asking quieter questions.

Why did he leave so fast after the game ended?

Was he finally fed up with the club after just one season?

And why did that article feel too specific to be nothing?

....

Izan woke up late that morning.

He had already been up once, but that wasn’t enough to keep him off the sheets.

He went for a short jog through quiet streets while the rest of Hampstead was still half asleep.

He returned after half an hour, heading straight into the shower, water beating against his tired muscles.

Then he went to bed again, cuddling up to Olivia, who had made no plans to wake up yet.

And when he woke properly, the house was filled with light.

He made his way downstairs, bare feet against cool glass and wood, the cantilevered staircase opening into the living room in one smooth sweep.

The first thing that caught his eye was the wall of glass.

Outside, the day sat still, bright and calm, as if the noise from the night before had never existed.

Hori was on the couch, legs tucked under her, phone held loosely in one hand.

She had skipped school, something he was just noticing.

Miko lay stretched across her lap, half asleep, tail twitching every now and then.

She glanced up when she heard him coming down the stairs.

”I left you food on the island,” she said, before looking back down at her phone.

”It should still be warm.”

He nodded, hair still shrivelled up from the sleep, and headed into the kitchen.

On the island sat a small tray with toast stacked neatly and eggs still giving off heat when he touched the plate.

He opened the fridge, pulled out the milk, then reached up to the top cabinet for the cereal and a cereal bowl from the opening in the kitchen island.

The quiet clink of the bowl against the counter felt louder than it should have.

From the living room, Hori’s voice cut through.

”Hey. Make me one too.”

He paused, looked over his shoulder, then shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

He poured another bowl and set it aside, but before he could continue, Miko padded into the kitchen, nails clicking softly on the marbled floor.

She stopped right in front of him and stared up, unblinking, like she always did when she wanted something.

Izan, bobbing his head side to side, picked up one of the eggs on his tray and tossed it gently toward her bowl.

She pounced on it immediately, devouring it like she had been starved for days, despite the fact that it was barely early afternoon and this was, technically, her third meal.

”Slow down,” he muttered, more habit than instruction.

She did not listen.

He shook his head, grabbed Miko’s bowl from a small cabinet they used for keeping stuff like that, before setting it on the counter, and then pouring some of the cereal, together with milk.

He then set it on the floor for Miko, brushing her fur with his hand.

”You are the only dog I know who is lactose-tolerant,” Izan said while Miko kept on eating, glaring up at him for a moment, like she was questioning how many dogs Izan knew.

Then Izan snorted and got up from the floor before pulling out his phone, which was infested with messages.

Still, he responded to the ones that mattered the most to him.

”You awake? You good?” came a message from Olivia.

He typed back with his thumb.

”Yeah. Just up,” he typed back before he made his way to a chat, Miranda’s this time.

You up for an interview?

He stared at the screen for a second longer than needed.

Typed no, cleared it and then wrote something else.

Sure.

He locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket afterwards before turning towards the counter.

Then, balancing his tray in one hand and Hori’s cereal in the other, he turned back toward the living room.