God Of football-Chapter 329 : Unexpected Meeting

The afternoon air was warm, tinged with salt from the sea breeze.

Ibiza was slowly coming alive in the distance, music drifting faintly from the clubs and beachside bars, but Izan barely paid it any mind.

He was still by the pool, watching the people go about their business.

The villa had quieted down, most of the Saint Laurent team wrapping up for the day.

The shoot with Selene had gone smoothly—effortless chemistry, sharp frames, everything exactly as the brand had envisioned.

Selene had left a while ago, teasing him about "living the dream" before heading to her own plans for the night.

Miranda was still in a meeting with Henry, fine-tuning contract details. That left Izan here, alone for the first time in what felt like forever.

And he welcomed it.

But, of course, peace never lasted long.

A group of girls had gathered by the villa entrance, whispering and throwing glances in his direction.

He caught bits of their conversation—soft giggles, a mention of his name, the unmistakable excitement in their voices.

"That's Izan, right?"

"He's even more handsome in person."

"His eyes are insane—do you think they're real?"

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"Is he single?"

He exhaled through his mouth shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

This wasn't anything new. He had dealt with it in Spain, in Germany during the Euros, pretty much everywhere he went now.

One of the braver girls, tall with sun-kissed skin and a confident stride, approached him with a bright smile.

"Hi," she said, her voice lilting. "Sorry to bother, but my friends and I were wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink?"

Izan smiled politely. "Appreciate it, but I'm good."

Her lips curled in amusement. "Not much of a party guy?"

"Not tonight."

She pouted slightly, but she wasn't pushy. "Well, if you change your mind…" She gestured toward her group before sauntering away, her friends immediately huddling around her, clearly eager to hear what he had said.

Izan just chuckled to himself, shaking his head. If Olivia saw this, she'd be rolling her eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

No—scratch that. She wouldn't just roll her eyes. She'd make a scene.

He could already picture it: her staking her claim, her sharp green eyes narrowing at anyone who dared look at him too long.

Olivia wasn't the jealous type—until she was. And in moments like this? Yeah, she'd definitely be jealous.

She'd probably kiss him in front of everyone. Maybe even loop her arm around his waist and glare at any girl who so much as glanced his way.

He smirked at the thought.

Would've been fun to watch.

But instead of getting caught up in that, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages.

One stood out.

Lamine: Ibiza, huh?

Izan raised a brow before typing back.

Izan: You too?

Lamine: Obviously. If we were any smarter, we'd have planned this together.

Izan: Last-minute trip.

Lamine: Same. Want to link up?

Izan glanced around. He had no plans for the day, and he could already hear Miranda's voice in his head telling him to enjoy his break before preseason started.

Izan: Where you at?

Lamine: Beach near my hotel. Some people started a game. You in?

A slow, amused smile tugged at Izan's lips.

Izan: Be there in 15.

———

The beach was alive with energy—tourists, locals, music playing from portable speakers, the scent of salt and sunscreen in the air.

The makeshift game was happening near the shoreline, a mix of people kicking a ball around in a casual, chaotic version of beach football.

But the moment Izan stepped onto the sand, heads turned.

Whispers started.

"That's Izan, right?"

"No way—him and Lamine? This is insane."

"They just won the Euros a few days ago."

"Izan! Yamal! Join us!"

Lamine spotted him first, grinning as he jogged over, his shorts dusted with sand. "Took you long enough."

Izan smirked. "Didn't know we had a schedule."

Lamine nudged him toward the game. "Come on. Let's give them a show."

And that's exactly what they did.

Despite the uneven teams and the lack of any real structure, the game turned into a spectacle the moment Izan and Lamine got involved.

Every touch was smooth, every pass sharp, every flick and trick pulled off with effortless ease. It wasn't even about winning—it was about having fun.

Izan lobbed a perfectly weighted ball over two defenders, and Lamine, laughing, controlled it mid-air before attempting a ridiculous bicycle kick that sent the ball flying past the makeshift goalposts.

The crowd erupted.

Someone had started recording.

Before long, the game had practically become a showcase, people gathering to watch two of Spain's brightest young stars play in the purest form—barefoot on the sand, no pressure, no stakes, just love for the game.

At one point, Lamine tried to nutmeg Izan.

It didn't work.

Izan read it easily, trapping the ball between his feet and smirking. "Try harder."

Lamine groaned, laughing. "I hate you."

The game stretched into the night until exhaustion finally won. Izan and Lamine collapsed onto the sand, breathless but grinning.

Someone tossed them bottles of water, and as they cooled down, a group of fans cautiously approached, phone cameras ready.

"Can we take a picture?"

Izan glanced at Lamine, who shrugged. "Might as well."

They took photos, signed shirts, and exchanged a few laughs before finally breaking away from the growing crowd.

As they walked back toward the main part of the beach, Lamine elbowed Izan.

"So… big summer ahead, huh?"

Izan exhaled, looking toward the sea. "Yeah."

Lamine smirked. "You staying at Valencia?"

Izan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he kicked at the sand, eyes thoughtful.

"…Don't know yet but it is the more plausible option."

Lamine hummed. "Well, wherever you end up—you'll kill it."

Izan glanced at him, smiling slightly

For a moment, there was just the sound of the waves, the distant chatter of people enjoying the Ibiza night.

Then Lamine stretched, shaking out his limbs. "Alright. I'm starving. You in for food, or are you too busy being a supermodel now?"

Izan snorted. "Shut up."

Lamine grinned. "Come on, then."

...…

The sun was beginning to set, casting golden streaks across the sky as the game wrapped up.

Laughter and cheers filled the air as Izan and Lamine exchanged a quick handshake, both catching their breath after the intense match.

"You actually thought you were going to beat me?" Lamine teased, grinning.

Izan rolled his eyes. "I was literally carrying my team."

"Yeah, yeah, excuses," Lamine shot back, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby cooler and tossing one to Izan.

As they drank, cooling off from the heat, Izan exhaled, glancing out at the ocean.

A comfortable silence settled between them before he finally spoke.

"Do you ever get tired of this?" Izan asked, nodding toward the crowd that had gathered earlier, the cameras, the constant eyes on them.

Lamine blinked, then let out an exaggerated laugh. "No!" He said it so confidently that Izan actually chuckled.

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little," Lamine grinned. "I mean, come on, we get to play football, live in the spotlight, and have the world at our feet. What's there to complain about?"

Izan shook his head, amused. "You're built different."

"You're just overthinking it," Lamine said with a smirk. "But hey, if the attention ever gets too much, you can always send them my way."

Izan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as they started walking off the beach. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

They made their way back toward the parking area, chatting about random things—football, summer plans, the madness of the Euros—until they arrived at the entrance of their respective hotels. Or so they thought.

Lamine stopped first, glancing at the sign. Then he turned to Izan, eyes narrowing.

"Wait. This is your hotel too?"

Izan stared at the building, then at Lamine. "You've got to be kidding me."

Lamine burst out laughing. "Oh, this is great. You thought you were escaping me?"

Izan exhaled in mock frustration. "Man, I thought I was going to get some peace."

Lamine slung an arm around his shoulder. "Nope! Looks like you're stuck with me.

As they stood at the entrance of the hotel, still processing the fact that they were staying at the same place, a familiar voice cut through their conversation.

"Figures I'd find you two together."

Miranda.

She stood near the entrance, dressed sharply despite the casual setting, her sunglasses pushed up onto her head as she assessed the pair of them.

Lamine raised a brow. "Wait, how did you even know we were together?"

Miranda smirked, pulling out her phone. "Because half of Ibiza does."

She tapped the screen, and a video started playing—a fan-recorded clip from earlier on the beach.

The footage showed them in the thick of the game, Izan cutting inside before flicking a pass to Lamine, who danced past a defender and scored with a cheeky chip.

The crowd in the background erupted, phones up, recording every second.

Izan exhaled. "Of course."

Lamine, on the other hand, grinned. "Damn, I look good."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "You two basically hosted a live exhibition match for the entire beach. Did you think no one would notice?"

Izan shook his head. "I was hoping for at least an hour of peace before this got online."

Miranda gave him a flat look. "In what world was that realistic?"

Lamine laughed. "Yeah, bro, come on. We're the future of football. We don't get peace."

Miranda pocketed her phone and turned to Izan. "Anyway, Henry wants to meet you for dinner. Business talk."

Izan groaned. "I thought I was done for the day."

"You were. Now you're not," Miranda said smoothly. Then, glancing at Lamine, she added, "You better not be corrupting him."

Lamine gasped, mock offended. "Me? Corrupt Izan? I would never!"

Miranda didn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned back to Izan. "Go shower. You smell like the beach."

Lamine smirked. "He's right at home then. Seawater and sweat—that's a proper footballer's perfume."

Izan shook his head, grinning. "I'm ignoring both of you."

Lamine laughed as they headed inside, and Miranda, as always, was already planning the next move.