God Of football-Chapter 333 : Sharks Circling

Izan stepped off the private terminal at Valencia Airport, the air thick with humidity, carrying the weight of the storm waiting for him outside.

Miranda had moved swiftly, making sure his arrival was under wraps—no flight details leaked, no media tipped off.

But even as he walked toward the waiting car, he sensed it.

Something was off.

Miranda's phone buzzed in her hand. She checked it and let out a sharp sigh. "They know."

Izan's jaw tightened. He had been hoping for a quiet arrival, a chance to slip back into the city unnoticed. But it was impossible now.

"How?" he asked, glancing at her.

She was already scrolling through messages. "No idea. Maybe airport staff, maybe someone at the airline. But the press is outside. Cameras, mics, the whole circus."

Izan exhaled through his nose. Of course. This wasn't just a football story anymore.

A crisis. And his return to Valencia was another piece of the puzzle for journalists to pick apart.

Miranda gave him a look. "I can get you out through another exit, but it won't be easy."

Izan nodded. "Let's just get home."

...…..

The airport's underground exit was clear—until the final turn.

Through the tinted car window, Izan saw them. Reporters lined outside, cameras already flashing, microphones held out like weapons.

The moment the car slowed down, they surged forward.

"Izan! Have you spoken to the club?"

"Are Valencia selling you?"

"Do you feel betrayed?"

"Will you stay if the club is punished?"

The questions pounded against the glass. Izan didn't flinch.

Miranda kept her eyes on her phone. "No stops. Just drive."

The driver obeyed, maneuvering through the chaos, but a few persistent journalists tried to keep up, knocking on the windows, shouting his name.

Izan shut his eyes. He could already see the headlines.

Izan Returns in Silence—What Does It Mean for Valencia?

The car finally cleared the crowd, speeding onto the open road. The tension in his chest didn't ease, but at least he could breathe again.

Miranda tucked her phone away and sighed. "I'll handle the media. You just focus on what's next."

Izan didn't reply. Because that was the problem. He didn't know what was next.

By the time they pulled up to his family's house, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and purple across the sky.

Izan stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders. The familiar scent of the ocean mixed with the warmth of home.

For the first time since he had read that headline, something inside him settled.

The front door opened before he could even reach it.

Komi stood there, arms crossed, her face a mix of relief and worry.

"Miura," she murmured.

He barely had time to react before she pulled him into a hug, holding him tighter than usual.

"I'm fine," he muttered, though even he didn't fully believe it.

She pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning him. "You don't look fine."

Hori's voice came from the living room. "Let him breathe, Mom."

Izan turned and saw his little sister lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

She didn't rush over like their mother, but the small smile she sent his way said enough.

He managed a smirk. "No 'welcome home'?"

She shrugged. "Didn't think I needed to. You already live here."

Komi shot her a look before turning back to Izan. "Are you hungry? I made food."

Izan shook his head. "Not now."

His mother studied him for a moment, then sighed. "I won't push. But we need to talk later."

Izan nodded. He had expected that. His mother wasn't the type to ignore problems, especially ones this big.

He moved further inside, dropping his bag by the stairs—then froze.

Someone else was here.

Sitting in the corner of the living room, curled up with a book in her hands, was Olivia.

Izan blinked. For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

She looked up, green eyes locking onto his, and smiled softly. "Surprise."

He stared at her. "What are you doing here?"

Olivia stood, setting the book aside. "I was supposed to be in Madrid." She stepped closer.

"But when the news broke, I figured you might need someone to talk to. So I came back."

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You didn't have to do that."

She tilted her head. "I wanted to."

He studied her, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe understanding.

Olivia had always been good at reading him and now was no different.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to pretend you're okay."

For a moment, Izan just stood there. The world outside was chaos. But here, in this room, it was quiet.

Safe.

His fingers tightened around hers. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't want the fans to feel betrayed."

Olivia nodded. "Then we figure it out together."

Izan let out a slow breath. Maybe, for now, that was enough.

....

The boardroom was dimly lit, the only light emanating from a large screen mounted at one end.

On the screen, a relentless news ticker scrolled a damning headline in bold red letters:

"VALENCIA IN CRISIS: LA LIGA INVESTIGATES FINANCIAL MISCONDUCT – STAR PLAYER IZAN COULD BE SOLD."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the figures in tailored suits exchanged glances.

This was no ordinary transfer rumor; it was a full-blown crisis. For months, Valencia CF had been scrambling to balance their books, clinging to hope and determined to keep their prized asset, Izan.

Now, with the club's financial mismanagement laid bare for all to see, opportunity and desperation intertwined.

The club's sporting director, a man renowned for his ruthless precision in the transfer market, leaned forward, his voice measured yet crackling with intent.

"This is our moment. Valencia never thought they'd be forced to sell, but now they have no choice."

A senior executive, his tone laced with bitter amusement, interjected, "They rejected us before. They claimed Izan was untouchable. But look at them now—bleeding out under financial pressure."

Another voice from the back, calm but incisive, added, "If LaLiga clamps down with severe penalties—transfer bans, fines, even potential relegation—they won't just be willing to sell; they'll be desperate. And desperate sellers accept lower bids."

The sporting director nodded as he turned his attention back to the screen, where highlight reels of Izan's breathtaking plays.

His slick dribbles, his match-winning goal in the Euros final, his electrifying celebrations—played on a loop.

"We want trophies. We want a player who delivers those. Izan is that player. We can acquire him for a fraction of his real value if we move quickly."

A hushed murmur filled the room until the club's president finally broke the silence. "What are we looking at in terms of valuation?"

A junior financial analyst, nervously adjusting his glasses, offered, "Before this crisis, his price tag would be north of 130 million.

But with the current pressure on Valencia? I'd estimate we can push it down to 80–90 million, maybe even lower if we strike while the iron is hot."

A spark ignited in the sporting director's eyes as he leaned back, fingers steepled.

"Then we prepare our first move. Initiate discreet negotiations. We strike before the other predators' circle."

Across Europe, the whispers of opportunity had reached the corridors of other elite clubs.

...….

Real Madrid – Santiago Bernabéu Boardroom

In a sunlit boardroom at the Santiago Bernabéu, Florentino Pérez sat at the head of a sleek table, listening intently as his advisors dissected the unfolding situation.

"Valencia's crisis opens a window," one advisor noted. "They never entertained our offers before; now, with desperation setting in, we have leverage."

Another advisor added, "Izan has already proven himself on the grand stage. If we time it right, not only do we secure a phenomenal talent, but we also drive down the cost dramatically."

Pérez's gaze was steely. "He fits our vision perfectly. Let's make sure our proposal is irresistible and force Valencia's hand."

...

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Not far away, in a glass-walled boardroom overlooking the sprawling cityscape of Manchester, Ferran Soriano and Txiki Begiristain discussed the opportunity with quiet urgency.

"Izan is exactly the type of player Pep would relish," Begiristain murmured, scrolling through detailed performance metrics on his tablet. "His ability to read the game, his vision, his technical flair—it's the complete package."

Soriano nodded thoughtfully. "And Valencia's financial woes mean we have less competition for him.

They need cash now. We have both the funds and the strategic need for a transformative player."

"Then we move decisively," Soriano said. "Let's get our team ready to make an offer. We can't afford to hesitate when the market is this favorable."

As these top clubs covertly aligned their strategies, the football world buzzed with speculation.

News channels and pundits dissected every detail. Analysts on live TV debated how Valencia's financial missteps would force their hand—arguing that the club's inability to balance the books could lead to immediate transfer restrictions and harsher sanctions.

Amid this maelstrom, one thing was clear: Valencia's misfortune was a golden opportunity for clubs with both the ambition and the resources to act swiftly.

The sharks were circling, ready to pounce on the club's prized asset.