God Of football-Chapter 410: More To Life Than Just Football[GT - ]

The grass clung to their boots like a second skin, still damp from the morning's watering.

Training cones were scattered across the pitch as the coaching staff rotated drills.

The ball zipped across the surface, every pass sharper than the last.

Izan's foot met the ball with precision, splitting two mannequins with a clipped one-touch pass toward Merino.

"Again," shouted Arteta from the sideline.

Izan turned with Odegaard, ready for the next pass.

No words were needed—just a glance between them, and the Norwegian popped the ball into space.

"I didn't think you could see that," Odegaard said once the sequence ended.

"Well, I guess I'm full of unraveled surprises waiting to be done," Izan replied with a slight smile, brushing the sweat from his brow.

Down the other end, Saliba had just shrugged off Jesus for the second time in a row, which irked the latter a bit.

"Try a spin next time," Ben White offered from the sidelines, arms folded.

Jesus laughed as he walked past, out of breath. "You spin into Saliba, you'll end up in the Cvecha's lab for the next week."

A few players chuckled, but Saliba only offered a quiet nod, his focus already drifting back to the next rep.

Back in the middle, Artera clapped his hands.

"Small rondos! Three groups!"

The players heeded and shuffled into circles. Izan ended up in one with Trossard, Saka, and Calafiori.

"You better not lose it," Trossard said as he passed Izan the ball.

"I never do," Izan replied flatly.

Saka stepped in, pressing fast. Izan shifted his weight and let the ball roll through his legs back to Trossard.

"Cheeky," Saka muttered, already grinning.

"One day I'll catch you."

"I'll let you know when that day's close," Izan shot back, calm as ever.

In the next rotation, Calafiori got caught. Twice. The Italian muttered under his breath, visibly annoyed.

"Pressure's different here, yeah?" Trossard nudged him.

Calafiori nodded without making excuses.

"Yeah it is but some of you are also passers of the ball." he said, his accent heavily tinged with his Italian one.

After a while, they broke for water. Izan sat beside Rice and wiped his face with a towel.

"You're not giggling much today," Rice said, not looking at him. "Did she starve you of it" he added with a cheeky grin.

"You degenerate. I'm 16 and No, I'm just thinking about Villa."

"About Villa?"

"Yes. About how much better we can be. The press is too slow."

Rice let the words hang before nodding slowly. "You're not wrong."

No banter. No fluff. Just truth exchanged between players trying to get somewhere together.

——

Later that afternoon, Izan's flat was filled with the scent of toasted bread and cut strawberries.

Olivia was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched, Izan sitting on the floor in front of her with her fingers combing lazily through his hair.

"You never told me what your first jersey number was," she said.

Izan kept his eyes on the documentary playing, but his voice was soft. "Twelve. I was not even a sub."

She paused. "And how'd you feel about that?"

"Didn't matter. I just wanted to play."

"You didn't get upset? Not even once?"

"Maybe the first time. After that, I started watching. Saw who did what right. Who got picked."

Her fingers stopped moving.

"That's kind of sad."

"It worked out okay," he replied thinking about the mechanical whirring in his mind.

She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on his shoulder now. "Still. I think you deserved more."

Izan didn't respond right away. "I did eventually. And I got way more than I should have" he added with a somewhat brooding expression.

Silence settled, broken only by the soft dialogue from the TV.

Olivia tilted her head. "Have you started to miss Spain?"

"Not really."

"You're lying."

"I miss Mom and my sister. Sometimes the food, the people, and my former teammates. Not the place."

She shifted closer. "Do you like London?"

"I like who's in it."

She smiled, fingers finding his again. "That was smooth."

"I meant it," he said grabbing Olivia's hand.

There was more to life than just football and he was discovering it slowly but steadily.

——

Two days later, the team ran attacking shape drills. Arteta stood in the middle with a whistle, directing transitions.

"Faster recovery, Martin. More urgency."

Izan shifted into the half-space just before the next ball arrived.

One touch to kill the ball and then another to switch to the weak side.

"Hold it," Arteta barked. Everyone paused.

He gestured toward Izan. "This. Do you see where he is? Where the ball ends up?"

The others nodded, eyes following the trajectory still faintly etched in the grass.

"This is what I want. Play with intention, not memory."

After the session ended, they jogged warm-down laps. Saka caught up to Izan.

"You were always this sharp?"

"No."

"Then what changed?"

Izan shrugged. "Pressure. Opportunity. Doesn't really matter. Thought of something yesterday and realized how lucky to be doing what I love so I decided to give it my all today"

Saka ran beside him, thoughtful.

"Remind me never to challenge you for set pieces again."

"I'll remind you when you're ready."

——

At night, Olivia curled up with Izan by the window. Her head rested against his chest, the streets below blurred by fogged glass.

"Do you think people change?" she asked.

"Every day."

"But really change? Not just surface things?"

He thought for a moment. "I think people hide parts of themselves. Sometimes they forget what's under."

She looked up. "And what about you?"

"I'm still figuring that out."

She shifted to face him. "Then let me help."

He nodded once. Then, softer: "You are."

——

Friday's training was sharper. Faster. Villa were physical, and they trained like it. One drill had players in tight spaces, shoulders colliding, tackles flying.

"Body first!" Cuesta shouted.

Izan took a heavy challenge from Timber but stayed up, Passed, Recycled then asked for the ball again.

"That's what I'm talking about," Cuesta said.

Later, when the first team broke into units for corner rehearsals, Izan stood near the arc, eyes on the set-up.

He felt a presence behind and turned to Odegaard. "Near post looks open if they switch zonal."

Odegaard smiled slightly. "No wonder they can't sneak up on you. Well, try it in the next one then."

Izan nodded at Odegaard's words before he walked towards the corner flag.

What follwe next was a ball delivered with his left foot—hard, flat, a blur. The simulated opposing defense tried to get the ball away but Saliba jumpers and connected. Goal.

As they jogged back to the next one, Odegaard approached and clapped him on the back.

"Good eye," he said before walking away.

——

In the evening, Olivia sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through one of Izan's old matchday tapes.

"You keep all of these?"

He nodded, a towel draped around his shoulders after a shower.

"Even from when you were on the bench?"

"Especially those."

She glanced up. "Why?"

"To remember how far I've come."

She smiled, setting it aside. "And where are you going?"

He met her eyes. "Wherever we are, it's fine as long as you're with me."

She moved to him then, wrapping her arms around his waist. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"

"Yeah. We are."

They stayed like that, close and quiet. Not in a rush to move. Just learning each other—one piece at a time.

⸻

Raheem Sterling's arrival at London Colney that morning didn't come with any fanfare.

The paperwork, medicals, and internal formalities had already been wrapped up earlier in the week.

Arsenal had announced the loan quietly—just a single post and photo on the club's official page—but in the dressing room, everyone knew what his arrival meant.

It was his first session, and the timing couldn't have been more precise—two days before their home clash against Aston Villa.

Sterling walked into the training facility with a calm, assured air.

He wasn't the kid breaking through at Liverpool anymore or the marquee signing from Manchester City.

He was the experienced head now, walking into a squad that was younger, hungry, and already tight-knit.

"Morning," he greeted as he entered the dressing room.

Heads turned. Declan Rice stood to offer a quick handshake. "Good to finally have you, mate."

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"Likewise," Sterling said, setting his bag down beside a locker already prepped with his training gear.

"You lot made a whole thing of ghosting me this week."

Saka, lacing up beside Nketiah, looked up. "We were waiting to see if you were actually gonna train or just post gym selfies."

That got a few chuckles. Even Izan, tying his boots in the far corner, allowed a small smile.

Sterling's eyes swept the room before landing on him. "You're Izan, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Heard about you. Hope you can help me win another league title." he said with a smile which got Izan questioning if he was just being courteous or he truly had faith in the squad.

Out on the pitch, the tempo was already high.

Sterling jumped into the rondos, light on his feet, vocal, and confident. The group responded quickly—no awkwardness, no testing period.

Arteta, watching from the sidelines with his arms folded, gave a satisfied nod.

Sterling was here. Not just to fill a gap. He was here to compete.

A/n: I know this seems unnecessary but trust me, its add more to the story. Anyways. Still writing so i'll see you in a while with the other two GT chapters and the main two of the day