God Of football-Chapter 354: First Session, Completed

As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the session, the players slowed to a stop, catching their breath.

The intensity of the drills and small-sided games had left everyone drenched in sweat, but there was an unspoken satisfaction among them.

Arteta gathered them in the middle of the pitch. His sharp eyes scanned the squad before nodding.

"That was good. Very good. The standard is where it should be, but I want it even higher."

His gaze lingered on a few players—Izán included. "We keep building. Every session, every drill, every touch matters."

The squad nodded, some clapping their hands together in agreement.

"Alright, cool down inside. Take care of your recovery. Tomorrow, we go again."

As the players turned to walk off, Martinelli slung an arm over Izan's shoulder. "Not bad, man. Thought you'd need some time to adjust, but you look like you've been here for months."

Izan smirked, shaking his head. "It's just the first day."

"Yeah, but you know what they say—first impressions matter," Jorginho chimed in as he passed by.

The squad moved toward the facility, their boots clacking against the concrete as they entered the tunnel.

The cool air inside was a relief after the blazing sun. Izan peeled off his training top, letting the air conditioning hit his skin.

As he reached for a bottle of water, he caught some of the staff watching him—physios, analysts, even some of the club's media team.

"You've got their attention already," Rice muttered, walking past him with a towel draped over his head.

Izan didn't reply, just took a sip of water before taking off his boots.

Just as he sat down on one of the benches, a few notifications buzzed on his phone. He glanced at the screen.

"Izan trains with Arsenal for the first time—players impressed."

"First look at Arsenal's new superstar signing."

"Is Izan the missing piece for Arteta?"

Clips of the session were already circulating. Photos of him sprinting past Saka.

A short video of his goal in the small-sided game. Even his new boots were being talked about.

Across the room, Saka grinned. "They're quick with it, huh?"

Martinelli laughed, scrolling through his phone. "Yeah, man. They've already made a whole highlight reel."

Havertz, toweling off, gave a small shake of his head. "Welcome to Arsenal."

Izan exhaled, setting his phone aside. He had expected this. Maybe not this fast, but it was inevitable.

As Izan scrolled through his phone, another notification popped up—this one from AFTV.

"Izan's first Arsenal session—instant impact or overhyped?"

He tapped on the video, already knowing how these things went. The thumbnail was a picture of him standing next to Saka, with bold text plastered over it.

The video opened with Robbie, AFTV's host, sitting in the familiar studio setup, nodding at the camera.

"Alright, people, the moment we've all been waiting for—Izán's first session at Arsenal. Now, listen, I know it's only training, yeah? But the clips coming out today…" He chuckled, shaking his head. "This guy? He's got something special."

Another member of the AFTV cast, James, leaned in. "Bro, you saw the way he moved? The agility drills? The man looked like he's been training with us for years."

They cut to a clip of Izan weaving through the slalom course with ridiculous speed before smoothly finishing the drill.

"Look at that! The close control, the acceleration—pure class."

A different panelist, Turkish, wasn't as easily convinced. "I get it, yeah, but we've seen players light up training before. I need to see this in a Premier League match, against real competition."

Robbie laughed. "Come on, man! We just signed the Pichichi winner—man was bagging goals in La Liga, leading in assists, and he's only seventeen!"

"Fair, but the Prem is a different beast," Turkish countered.

At that moment, a new guest joined the call—an Arsenal fan in an Izan Valencia shirt. "Listen, I've followed this guy since he broke through. He's generational. I don't care what anyone says, we've got a star."

James nodded. "And you know Arteta doesn't just sign anyone. If Mikel wanted him, there's a reason."

They played another clip—this time of Izan's goal in the small-sided game, the first-time finish from range.

"Bruh." Robbie shook his head. "If this is what we're getting in training, imagine what he's doing in the Emirates in front of sixty thousand fans."

Izan smirked slightly, locking his phone and shaking his head. He knew the hype would be there, but seeing it unfold in real time was still surreal.

Across the room, Saka and Martinelli were watching the same video.

"You're famous already," Martinelli teased.

Saka laughed. "They're acting like he just won us the league in one training session."

Izan only shrugged, tying his boots. "We'll see."

The players sat around joking, some still on their phones. The chaos was only silenced when the door swung open, and Mikel Arteta stepped in.

His presence alone shifted the atmosphere.

The casual chatter faded, players instinctively sitting up as their manager's sharp gaze swept across the room. But he wasn't here for them.

"Izan."

The mention of his name made him glance up. Arteta stood near the doorway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

A few players exchanged quick looks. First day and Arteta was already pulling him aside?

Izan didn't hesitate. He rose to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket before following Arteta out of the locker room.

They stepped into the hallway, the distant sound of boots against tiles filling the silence.

Arteta led him toward the entrance of the training pitch, stopping just where the tunnel met the open field.

The floodlights had dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the facility's indoor lights casting long shadows across the empty grass.

"You did well today," Arteta said, finally breaking the silence.

Izan nodded, his expression calm. "Gracias."

"But I need more."

Izan's brows flickered slightly, but he didn't speak. Arteta's tone wasn't harsh—just measured.

"I don't just want you to fit in. I want you to elevate us. You bring something we don't have—sharpness, unpredictability, the ability to turn nothing into something."

Arteta's gaze drifted over the pitch as if already visualizing the future battles that would unfold here.

"But this is the Premier League. It's different. It's faster. More physical. You won't have time to adjust—I need you to be ready now."

Izan stood there, absorbing each word, his breathing steady.

"I'm going to push you," Arteta continued. "Extra work, extra sessions. You're not yet seventeen, but that doesn't matter to me.

You've already proven you can compete at the highest level. Now, I want you to dominate."

A pause.

There was no doubt in his voice. No hesitation. Just expectation.

Izan exhaled through his nose, his face betraying nothing. But inside? He felt it.

"I understand."

Arteta studied him for a long moment before nodding.

"Good."

A step back and then a final glance.

"Have a good night's rest. Tomorrow, we go again."

Izan gave a slight nod as Arteta walked off, his words settling in. Nothing surprising—just the reality of playing at the top level.

Expectations were high, and there was no time to ease in. He already knew that.

He stayed put for a moment, staring at the empty pitch. The grass was still damp from the evening moisture, the floodlights humming faintly in the background.

He exhaled and turned back toward the tunnel.

By the time he reached the locker room, most of the squad had already cleared out.

A few players were still there—Saka chatting with Martinelli, Raya adjusting his sneakers while scrolling through his phone. The air smelled of sweat and shower gel, the usual post-training mix.

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Izan walked over to his locker, grabbed a towel, and pulled off his shirt.

His muscles ached—not unbearably, but enough to remind him that today wasn't just another session. It was the first real taste of what was expected.

The shower was quick. Hot water, steam rising, the sound of droplets hitting the tiles. He let it run over him for a few moments before stepping out and drying off.

By the time he was dressed, the room had thinned out even more. He slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled out his phone.

A quick text to the driver: Leaving now.

Outside, the evening air was cooler. He scrolled through his notifications as he walked toward the car.

The AFTV video had already doubled in views, with comments flying in by the second.

@ArsenalFanatic: "Bro looks like he's been here for years. Can't wait for his first match."

@FootballDebates: "Calm down, it's just training. Let's see him in a real game first."

The usual mix of excitement and skepticism. He'd seen it all before.

A message popped up from Miranda.

Miranda: You looked sharp today.

Izan leaned back as the car pulled out of the facility, typing a quick reply.

Izan: Felt sharp too. See you tomorrow.

Then he locked his phone, exhaled, and rested his head against the seat.

A/n: I know some of you want me to jump straight into the action but please, have patience. Let it soak before we move to the action okay. Have fun reading and tell me, the glazing is okay right