God Of football-Chapter 290: Speed Demon

Despite the time difference, a small rooftop bar in Tokyo was buzzing with energy.

Most of the crowd was made up of neutral football fans, but a group of Spanish exchange students had claimed a corner table, wearing Spain scarves despite the humid night air.

One of them, a young woman, clutched her phone. "Izan’s family is part Japanese, right?"

Her friend nodded. "Yeah, half. His mom’s from here."

Another guy leaned forward. "If he scores, Japan will claim him as one of our own."

Laughter followed, but as the teams lined up, the mood shifted. The bartender turned the volume up, the excitement spreading.

No matter the country, no matter the background—everyone was here for one thing.

Some Good Football.

...

The whistle shrieked, piercing through the stadium’s roaring anticipation.

Kai Havertz nudged the ball back to Toni Kroos, and the quarterfinal was underway.

A wave of noise swept through the Stuttgart Arena as Germany settled into their rhythm.

Their passes were crisp and precise—each touch measured, each movement calculated.

The opening exchanges weren’t chaotic, not yet. Germany played with confidence derived from years of tournament experience.

And Spain? They weren’t pressing immediately. Instead, they waited, and observed, feeling out the game’s tempo.

Izan watched as Kroos dictated the early moments, shifting the ball between the German backline and midfield, searching for gaps.

He jogged into position, staying within passing lanes, but already he could feel it—this was different.

The pressure on him.

It was his first start in a knockout match at a major tournament.

No matter how many times he told himself he was ready, no matter how much he had played at the highest level in La Liga, this was the Euros.

The world was watching. And Germany weren’t about to let him ease into the game.

A simple pass came Izan’s way—a routine back-pass from Pedri just inside Spain’s half.

Nothing complicated. Just control and recycle.

But in his attempt to turn quickly, his first touch wasn’t clean.

It skidded off his boot, rolling further than he intended.

Before he could react, Wirtz was on him.

The German playmaker pounced, reading the mistake instantly, stretching his leg to poke the ball forward.

Izan lunged to recover, but it was too late.

Wirtz had already slipped a pass into the gap, and suddenly, Germany were surging forward.

Kimmich received the ball in stride, his vision, razor-sharp as he threaded it between Cucurella and Laporte.

Musiala—quick, elusive—ghosted into the space behind Spain’s defense before spraying a pass toward the chaos of the box.

The stadium erupted as Kai Havertz took Musiala’s ball, his first touch cleanly, angling toward goal.

Dani Carvajal sprinted back, closing in with everything he had.

Havertz hesitated for half a second and that was all Carvajal needed.

A perfectly timed lunge, a scrape of studs against the ball, and the danger was snuffed out.

The ball ricocheted out for a throw-in, the crowd reacting with a mixture of relief and excitement.

But Izan didn’t hear any of it.

He was still standing in midfield, jaw clenched, eyes staring at the spot where he lost the ball.

He exhaled sharply, trying to shake it off, but the frustration stuck to his skin.

[Host’s heartbeat is increasing. System suggest trait Activation: {Focus LV 3}] the system suggested but Izan didn’t hear any of it.

As Germany prepared to take the throw, Izan felt a firm grasp on his shoulder.

Pedri.

The midfielder didn’t say anything at first—just held his gaze, his expression calm.

Then, with quiet confidence, he murmured, "You got this."

Just three words.

But they hit exactly where they needed to.

Izan blinked, his breathing steadying. The weight in his chest didn’t disappear completely, but it shifted—no longer a burden, but a reminder.

He wasn’t alone in this.

.....

David Raum stood over the throw-in near the halfway line, scanning his options.

Spain’s defensive line was set, their shape compact, but Germany had begun to find small openings.

The crowd hummed in anticipation as Raum finally made his decision, launching the ball toward Florian Wirtz, who had been a constant threat in the early moments.

Wirtz controlled it with ease, but just as he turned—

A blur of red and blue streaked into view.

Izan.

He had read the pass a fraction of a second before it left Raum’s hands, closing the gap between himself and Wirtz with frightening acceleration.

His foot shot out, cutting through the space like a blade, poking the ball away just as Wirtz tried to shift his body.

The German playmaker barely had time to react before Izan was already moving.

One touch. Then another.

The ball rolled perfectly into his stride, and in an instant, Spain were countering.

Izan didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly where Nico Williams would be—further up the left flank, lurking near the touchline, waiting for a chance to burn his own marker.

With a single sweeping motion, Izan unleashed a diagonal ball, slicing through the air like an arrow.

The weight was perfect.

It curved away from Joshua Kimmich, spun just past Antonio Rüdiger’s attempted interception, and fell onto the rushing path of Nico, who barely had to break stride.

The Stuttgart crowd erupted as Spain surged forward.

Germany, caught in transition, scrambled to recover.

Raum was already backpedaling, trying to cut off Nico’s space. Kroos, deeper in midfield, pointed frantically, signaling for his teammates to close down the gaps.

But none of them noticed.

None of them saw Izan still running.

Ding, [Speedster]

At first, it wasn’t obvious.

Izan was deep when he played the pass, his body slightly off-balance from the stretch. But the moment the ball left his foot, he took off.

The first strides were explosive, propelling him forward with a power that felt unnatural for a player known more for his creativity than his raw athleticism.

Then came the second gear.

He accelerated like a sprinter out of the blocks, his strides lengthening, his upper body tilting forward with terrifying intent.

One by one, he passed them—

Wirtz, who had barely turned around.

Kimmich, who was still gesturing for his teammates to shift.

Even Rüdiger, one of the fastest defenders in world football, found himself trailing behind.

Izan was moving at a speed that defied expectations, his legs eating up the ground like he was running downhill.

" Izan now turning on the afterburners. What pure speed. What is he going to do here." The commentator roared as Izan closed the gap.

The stadium gasped.

Even the cameras struggled to keep up.

For a brief moment, it felt unreal—like a glimpse of something beyond the ordinary.

By the time Nico reached the edge of the box, Izan was already there.

Nico barely had to think.

One touch. A simple cutback into the path of the streaking 16-year-old.

Izan didn’t take a touch.

Instead, he let the ball roll across his body, dragging it inward, knowing exactly where his next move was.

A perfect layoff.

Dani Olmo arrived right on cue, his left foot swinging forward as the ball entered his shooting lane.

The strike was clean. Crisp.

It flew low, skipping off the turf—

Straight into Manuel Neuer’s waiting gloves.

Neuer, ever the composed veteran, barely flinched.

He cradled the ball, his massive frame absorbing the shot with ease before quickly bouncing to his feet.

A moment of danger, instantly neutralized.

But the message had been sent.

Neuer rolled the ball out to Rüdiger, who immediately spread it wide to Kimmich.

Spain reset their shape, pressing with intelligent restraint, waiting for the right trigger.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Germany, patient as ever, resumed their crisp passing, shifting Spain from side to side, looking for an opening.

Izan, still pulsing with adrenaline from his electrifying burst, remained locked in.

His early mistake had vanished from his mind—the game had already moved on, and so had he.

Germany’s attack moved through the center, Toni Kroos dictating with surgical precision.

He received the ball under minimal pressure, scanning ahead before threading a pass to Musiala.

The Bayern prodigy glided forward, hips swaying as he danced past Pedri, but Rodri anticipated the move and stepped in, cutting the ball off cleanly.

Rodri didn’t rush. He played it simple—one touch to Pedri, who instantly found Izan between the lines.

The moment Izan turned, the German defense reacted. Kroos and Andrich closed in, but Izan flicked the ball past them with an effortless feint, gliding into space.

Nico was wide. Olmo was dragging Süle away with a near-post run. Yamal ghosted behind Raum on the far side.

And Izan picked his option.

A disguised pass zipped toward the left, perfectly weighted for Nico. The winger trapped it in stride, feinted right, then burst left, breezing past Kimmich and whipping in a cross.

Yamal lunged for the ball but before he could get to the ball, Rüdiger threw himself at it, deflecting it behind for a corner.

" Lovely cross from Nico but an equally impressive clearance by Rudiger. This match is just beginning but you can feel the intensity it’s coming with"

From the set-piece, Lamine Yamal curled in a teasing ball, his delivery vicious and dipping.

Rodri rose highest, outmuscling Havertz, but his header sailed just over the bar.

Spain were growing into the game now.

" What an exciting first few minutes here in Stuttgart. And as we talk, Wirtz has the ball, driving forward. He takes on one, and now he lays it off to Musiala,...…. MUUSIIALAAA!!!!!!!!"