God Of football-Chapter 263: Tokyo, Tranquillity, and Turmoil

The morning air in Tokyo was different—crisp but humid, filled with the distant murmur of the city awakening.

Izan sat on the wooden veranda of his grandparent’s home, a cup of steaming green tea in his hands.

The scent was earthy, and calming. A reminder that, for once, he wasn’t being watched by thousands, wasn’t being analyzed by pundits, and wasn’t a name on the transfer rumor mill.

For now, he was just Izan.

Across from him, his grandfather sat in quiet contemplation, hands resting on his knees. The old energetic old man now sat silently, not speaking much.

Izan liked this side of him but if he had to choose, it would be the chatty old man who was afraid of his grandmother.

It was something he had always admired about him. There was a quiet wisdom in his presence, an unspoken strength.

"Your mother," his grandfather said suddenly, voice deep and measured, "was not meant to stay in Spain forever."

Izan turned slightly, caught off guard.

"She left for a reason," the old man continued, staring out at the small, well-kept garden. "But the world has a way of pulling you back to where you belong."

Izan sipped his tea, unsure if this was meant to be advice. His life had always felt split between two worlds—his roots in Japan, and his rise in Spain.

His grandfather’s gaze sharpened. "You’re at a crossroads, aren’t you?"

Izan hesitated. Was he?

But before he could answer, his phone vibrated.

Miranda.

He let out a breath. He had expected this call.

"Miura," Miranda’s voice came through with its usual smooth efficiency. "Hope I’m not interrupting family time."

"You always are," Izan muttered, standing up and stepping away from the veranda. He could hear Hori laughing inside.

Miranda chuckled. "Well, I’ll make it worth your time. First off, congratulations on being the most talked-about footballer in Spain. You’re officially a global brand now."

Izan rolled his eyes. "Is this about deals?"

"Among other things." A pause. "Japan is big for you, Miura. You’re part of a new wave of footballers who can bridge Europe and Asia. The biggest brands here see you as the perfect face for that."

Izan exhaled. He had always known this would come—the commercial side of the game.

"Three major offers on the table," Miranda continued. "One from a luxury watch brand—global reach, perfect for your image.

Another is from a sportswear giant that wants to expand in Japan. And the last one… well, that one’s personal."

Izan raised an eyebrow. "Personal?"

"The biggest manga publisher in Japan wants to collaborate with you for a football-themed project."

The mention of a manga collaboration caught his attention.

"They see you as a modern-day football protagonist," Miranda added, amusement in her tone. "Your name alone could make it a best-seller."

Izan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I’ll think about it."

"Of course you will." Miranda’s voice turned slightly more serious. "Oh and, Also, a message from Selene."

That made him pause.

"She’s actively building her team for the Muse Project. She wants you to know things are moving fast, and when you’re ready, you’ll have a big role in it."

Izan nodded to himself.

Miranda’s voice softened. "Izan, you’re at the center of everything right now. Be smart about your next steps."

Izan smirked. "I always am."

"I know you are but just be more careful okay? Now greet Komi for me" Miranda added but Izan made a disgusted sound before telling her to call Komi herself.

...

Meanwhile, in Valencia…

Inside Valencia CF’s offices, the atmosphere was tense. Behind closed doors, club executives sat around a long table, their faces tight with worry.

Javier Solís, Valencia’s general director, rubbed his temples. "We need to be honest with ourselves. The financial situation is… difficult."

"Difficult?" One of the board members scoffed. "We are barely staying afloat. The Champions League money helps, but it’s not enough. We are still bleeding from past mismanagement."

Solís glanced toward the end of the table, where the club’s representatives from Meriton Holdings sat. Their expressions were unreadable.

"We have a golden asset," another board member muttered. "An asset that could solve a lot of problems."

The room fell silent.

They all knew what he meant.

Izan Miura.

The teenage sensation was now the most valuable player Valencia had ever produced. The offers would come. In fact, they already had.

Solís leaned forward, voice low. "We cannot let this reach Baraja or the players. The moment they hear about financial struggles, we lose our dressing room."

One of the Meriton representatives finally spoke. "We are not saying we will sell him."

Another leaned in. "But we should listen."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

The meeting ended with no official decisions—only a quiet understanding.

For now, Valencia remained Izan’s home.

But if the right offer came?

Nothing was off the table.

...…..

Just as Valencia’s boardroom discussions remained hidden from the public, another story was starting to make waves—one that could have major implications for the national team.

A well-known football journalist, Manu Carreño, had reported an exclusive leak regarding Spain’s squad selection for the upcoming Euros.

According to sources close to Luis de la Fuente, the first five players locked into the squad were:

• Rodri (Manchester City)

• Pedri (Barcelona)

• Nico Williams (Athletic Club)

• Marc Cucurella (Chelsea)

• Álvaro Morata (Atlético Madrid)

The list itself wasn’t surprising—each player had been a key part of Spain’s recent success. But the fact that the list had leaked at all raised eyebrows.

Where was Izan’s name?

Some speculated that de la Fuente was waiting to announce younger players later.

Others whispered about the possibility that Valencia’s situation—both on and off the pitch—was creating uncertainty about his future role in the squad.

If the leaks were true, it meant that the coach had prioritized experience over form.

Izan had dominated La Liga. He had made history. Yet, somehow, his name wasn’t among the first five?

The media frenzy had already begun.

And soon, Izan would have to face it.

Back in Japan, the streets of Tokyo were alive with color, motion, and sound. Izan walked alongside his mother and sister through a busy shopping district, his cap pulled low, blending into the crowd.

He liked it this way—just another person in the city, not a superstar.

They stopped at a small traditional sweets shop, a place Komi had loved as a child. She smiled as she picked out different treats, reminiscing about her youth.

Hori nudged Izan. "So, when are you telling Mom about the brand deals?"

Izan shot her a look. "No. Miranda probably has. She can’t keep her mouth shut In front of Mom."

Hori smirked. "What about Olivia?"

"She already knows," Izan muttered.

Hori grinned. "She’s definitely sad you came here without her."

Izan chuckled. "She’ll survive."

As they walked through the streets, Izan couldn’t shake a feeling—something lingering beneath the surface.

There was peace here, in Japan. But in Spain?

Storm clouds were gathering.

And soon, they would reach him.

.....

For the first time in months, Izan wasn’t waking up to the sound of his alarm or the rigid schedule of training.

He wasn’t rushing to the training ground, taping his wrists, or running tactical drills under Baraja’s watchful gaze.

Instead, he opened his eyes to the soft light filtering through the shōji screens, the faint hum of the city in the distance, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea drifting in from the kitchen.

His grandfather was already up, sitting on the wooden veranda with a cup in hand again, gazing at the small garden outside like he had something to ask.

He gave Izan a nod of acknowledgment as he walked past. No words needed. Just a quiet understanding but his peace couldn’t last long after Komi’s mother pulled him to the kitchen.

After staying in the house all day, Izan went out with Hori later that afternoon, and they spent the day wandering through Harajuku.

They walked through Takeshita Street, sampling street food, browsing stores. Hori made him try a ridiculous pink crepe, which he admitted—reluctantly—wasn’t bad.

"Crazy how people here don’t recognize you," she commented.

Izan shrugged. "I kinda like it."

He still got some stares, mostly from people who probably recognized him but weren’t sure enough to approach.

But it was nothing like Spain, where he couldn’t go five steps without being stopped.

As the evening rolled in, they found a rooftop spot overlooking the city.

Hori scrolled through her phone. "Another Spain announcement."

Izan glanced at her screen.

Another batch of players had been revealed. Still no Izan.

The debates online were getting louder. Some argued that Luis de la Fuente was just announcing players in waves. Others were convinced something was off.

Izan exhaled. "They’ll call me if they call me. If not, whatever."

Hori studied him for a moment. "You don’t really believe that."

He didn’t respond.

Because the truth was—this did bother him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.

For now, Izan pushed it out of his mind. He focused on the moments in front of him—family dinners, wandering through Tokyo, training lightly at a local gym just to keep himself sharp.

But the world wasn’t stopping. Every day, new Spain call-ups were announced. Every day, the conversation grew.

And back in Valencia, unseen by him, the club’s financial situation was creeping toward a point of no return.

Whether he realized it or not, this trip to Japan wasn’t just a break.

It was the calm before the next storm.