God Of football-Chapter 399: Moments Between Whistles

As they neared the car, Olivia tugged him to a stop. "Before we go, one photo."

She fished out her phone, held it up, and Izan leaned in without hesitation. Their faces squished close as she snapped a few goofy shots and then one proper smiling one.

"For the memories," she said.

"For the wallpaper," he said, already peeking at her screen.

She laughed, slipping it back into her bag. "Maybe."

As Izan stepped around to the other side of the car, a voice called out from behind them.

"Wait—yo, wait up!"

Izan turned to see a young guy — early twenties maybe — jog up from the corner of the street.

He was carrying a satchel and wore a vintage Arsenal shirt, the old bruised banana design.

"Sorry," the guy said, catching his breath as he stopped a few paces away. "Are you Izan? Like… Arsenal's Izan?"

Izan offered a sheepish smile. "Yeah, that's me."

"I knew it," the fan grinned. "I wasn't sure, but I thought I recognized you. You played against Leverkusen, right? That switch you hit in the second half to set up Martinelli? That was ridiculous, man."

"Oh," Izan said, surprised but pleased. "You saw that?"

"Are you kidding? I rewatched it like five times on Twitter. Everyone in the replies was asking who you were."

He held up his phone tightly, contemplating something before speaking up.

"Can I grab a quick photo? My group chat is gonna go mental," he said expectantly

"Of course," Izan said, stepping over.

They snapped the photo, the fan still grinning. "You've got that calm style, man. Like… you don't rush anything. You're gonna be special."

"Thanks," Izan said, genuinely touched. "Appreciate that."

"Good luck this season," the guy added, already backing away. "I'll be watching."

When Izan got back in the car, Olivia was already watching him with a smug smile, arms folded.

"So," she said, as the door shut behind him. "Switch to Martinelli, huh?"

He gave her a look. "Don't start."

Follow current novℯls on ƒгeewёbnovel.com.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'm just saying… the fans are quoting your passes now."

He tried to keep a straight face, but the little smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Never," she said, resting her head on his shoulder as the car pulled away from the curb.

"You're getting more famous now. I have to keep you grounded."

He tilted his head to rest gently against hers. "Don't worry. You do."

And for a while, they just sat like that — the city rolling by outside, his hand resting over hers, the weight of attention not heavy at all, at least not with her right there beside him.

....

The ride back was quiet, the kind of calm that settled in after a day full of movement.

The air in the car was cool, and the city outside beginning to shift into its early evening rhythm — buses, bicycles, people flowing past the windows like a current.

Izan sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbow propped on the door, while Olivia leaned slightly toward the center console, scrolling through pictures from earlier.

"That one's cute," she said, holding up her phone. It was a slightly blurry selfie, her head tilted toward his, his hand mid-gesture — talking, probably.

She laughed softly. "You always look like you're explaining something."

"I was. You just never listen."

"I listen selectively."

He smirked, not bothering to argue. The driver turned down into the quieter part of the neighborhood where Izan's apartment was.

As the car pulled up in front of the entrance, Olivia started gathering her things lazily — a water bottle, her phone, the little linen tote she'd picked up at one of the shops.

Izan opened his door just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.

Mum.

He accepted the call with a swipe and a tired smile. "Hey."

Komi's face appeared on the screen instantly, her eyebrows lifting with mock accusation. "So you've vanished, huh?"

Before Izan could answer, Hori's voice jumped in from beside her, just off-screen. "Tell Olivia she's a bad influence! We haven't heard from you in two days!"

Izan huffed a laugh, slamming the car door gently behind him as he walked toward the building entrance. Olivia stood beside him now, clearly listening in. "It's been one day, Hori. One."

"Feels like ten," Hori shot back. "You didn't even text me back about that TikTok I sent."

"You sent me a TikTok of a cat playing football."

"It was elite defending." Hori countered.

Izan shook his head, grinning. "I'll study it for my next match."

"Ah, he's so cheeky now," Komi said, playfully nudging at her phone screen like she could reach through. "Is that what London's doing to you?"

Before he could come up with a comeback, another familiar voice slid into the frame.

Miranda, lounging back on what looked like Komi's couch, a plate of fruit in hand. "Don't blame London. Blame Olivia."

Izan blinked. "Wait—Miranda? What are you doing there?"

Miranda gave a slow, satisfied smile. "You thought I was still in my flat, didn't you?"

"I literally texted you last night about training. You didn't say anything."

"That's because I knew you'd react like this." She plucked a grape off the plate. "It's nice here. Your mum feeds me."

Komi chimed in with a proud nod. "No one eats fruit at my house without being fed properly."

Olivia tried to stifle a laugh, then gave a small wave toward the screen. "Hi, by the way."

"There she is!" Komi beamed. "Did he feed you? Has he been cooking?"

"He made toast and Pasta," Olivia offered.

"That doesn't count," Hori groaned.

Izan rolled his eyes, unlocking the front door and stepping aside to let Olivia go first.

"Can't believe I'm getting dragged by a bunch of people who don't even live in the same country as me."

"Distance means nothing when we have Wi-Fi," Komi said sweetly.

They all laughed — Olivia, too — and as the elevator doors opened, Izan stepped in, still holding the phone up, the warmth of home radiating from its tiny screen.

"Alright, alright. I'll call again tomorrow."

"You'd better," Komi said.

"Bye, Izan!" Hori shouted. "Bye, Olivia!"

"Bye!" Olivia called back.

The call ended as they stepped out onto Izan's floor. He slipped the phone into his pocket, still smiling.

"Your mum's got a squad going over there," Olivia said.

"She always does."

They reached the apartment door, and as he unlocked it, Olivia glanced at him. "Still glad I came?"

Izan looked at her, then past her, then back again. "Yeah," he said. "Definitely."

...…

The next day at Conley unfolded with the steady rhythm that had become familiar to the squad.

Training wrapped just after midday, the final whistle blowing as a gust of wind swept across the pitches, rustling pinnies and tousling damp hair.

Players peeled off in groups, laughing, some still breathless, others focused as they walked toward the changing rooms.

A few stayed behind for finishing drills, but most filed in with that shared understanding — lunch, then rest, then the video room.

Izan was among the first to peel his boots off, grass still clinging to his socks. He glanced across the room to see Saka and Calafiori trading light jabs about their finishing.

Merino was toweling sweat from his face, and further down, Martin Ødegaard was already halfway through his post-training shake, scrolling through something on his phone.

"Come on," someone said behind Izan — maybe Gabriel — "before Jover eats all the fish again."

The cafeteria was quieter than usual — not silent, but subdued. Training had been intense, sharper than the day before.

Arteta had pushed them hard, as he often did when their preparations neared its final stretch.

Izan slid onto a seat beside Reiss Nelson, tray balanced in one hand. Roast chicken, quinoa salad, sweet potato mash.

The kind of performance meal that did the job without sparking joy.

"Micah Richards was trending all evening yesterday," Reiss said, nudging his tray forward. "Saw the video of him showing off his contacts. Why'd you look so stunned?"

Izan shook his head, stabbing a piece of chicken. "Didn't expect him to say LeBron James. I barely even talk to him."

"But you have his number. That's wild."

He smirked but didn't comment, taking another bite instead. From across the table, Saliba gave him a look. "Tell him to pull up for the Wolves game," he joked.

Lunch passed with soft chatter and clinking cutlery.

Afterward, players filtered out in ones and twos, some heading back to their rooms or the recovery area, others to stretch in the warm-down zone.

A solid hour of rest was on the cards before the squad reassembled.

And then came the video room.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly as players filed in.

A large screen dominated the wall, and the whiteboard beside it already had diagrams scribbled in two different colors.

Arteta stood to the side, laptop connected to the system, ready to cue up sequences from their last match.

As seats were taken and murmurs died down, he began.

"No fluff today," he said. "We'll go straight into transitions."