God Of football-Chapter 350: One Of The Best

Izan could move on, a notification pulsed in his vision.

[NEW SKILL AVAILABLE]

A red glow that looked inviting, pulsed but it appeared under the Spatial Awareness category.

He flexed an instruction, his eyes narrowing slightly as the details loaded.

Skill: Phantom Step

Level: 1 (0%)

Description: A high-level off-the-ball movement technique that allows the user to manipulate defensive lines by feinting positioning and shifting their body weight subtly.

When mastered, defenders will struggle to track movement, creating pockets of space where none seemed to exist.

Izan leaned back, exhaling slightly.

This… was different.

Most skills were about what he did with the ball. This was about how he moved without it.

A skill like this meant defenders would have an even harder time marking him.

With his already elite speed and awareness, it would make him even more elusive—a ghost in the attacking third.

He had seen players with similar movements—Inzaghi in his prime, David Silva weaving between lines, even Thomas Müller, the Raumdeuter himself.

Now, it was his turn.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

This was getting interesting.

......….

Izan sat still, eyes locked on the phantom steps. He had 33 stat points left after his upgrades, and Phantom Step was sitting there, waiting to be developed.

He navigated to the skill menu, the red glow pulsing faintly.

[Phantom Step – Unlock for 30 Stat Points?]

He smiled wryly at the thought that the system was ripping him off but he shook his head and confirmed the purchase.

A surge of sensation rippled through him—nothing overwhelming, just a subtle shift as if his instincts sharpened in real time.

[Phantom Step – Level 1 (Acquired)]

As the notification faded, another prompt appeared in his vision.

[Due to significant attribute and skill upgrades, recalibrating overall rating…]

A brief pause. Then—

[New Overall Rating: 89]

Izan’s gaze lingered on the number. From 88 to 89.

Not quite 90.

He exhaled through his nose, then let out a small, wry smile.

Even after spending 30 stat points, all that grinding, all that refining—his overall rating had only gone up by one.

One.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. Of course.

Progress was never easy, but this was something else.

As if reading his thoughts, the system chimed in.

[Expecting more?]

Izan arched a brow.

Before he could even respond, another line followed.

[It’s only going to get harder from here. Blame the author.]

Izan blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, despite himself, he let out a quiet chuckle.

"…Figures."

No shortcuts. No easy leaps.

If he wanted to break through to 90, to push beyond it, he’d have to work even harder.

Fine by him.

He glanced at the remaining 3 stat points. Not enough for another major upgrade, so he left them for later.

With a final command, he reopened his Personal Hub.

⸻

PLAYER INFO

■■■■■■■■■

NAME: [IZAN MIURA HERNANDEZ]

AGE: [16]

HEIGHT: [1.85m (6’1")]

PROFESSION: [FOOTBALLER]

STATUS: [SENIOR TEAM PLAYER]

TEAM: ARSENAL FC / SPAIN NATIONAL TEAM

SYSTEM EVALUATION: [ONE OF THE BEST IN THE WORLD]

PLAYER RATING: [89/100]

POSITION: [Wing forward / Attacking midfielder]

POTENTIAL: [96]

LEGEND POINTS: [300,800/507,000 to Lv.5]

SIMULATION POINTS: [540]

STAT POINTS: [3]

⸻

ATTRIBUTES

■■■■■■■■■

Speed: 94

Body Control: 90

Spatial Awareness: 90(↑ from 85)

Technique: 94

Shooting: 94 (↑ from 91)

Passing: 90

Body Strength: 90

Defending: 70

Weak Foot Strength: ★★★★★(5)

Skill Moves: ★★★★★(5)

⸻

SKILLS POSSESSED

■■■■■■■■■■■■

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Stepovers: [Lv 3] 50% Completion

La Croqueta: [Lv 2] 40% Completion

Cruyff Turn: [Lv 3] 17% Completion

Roulette: [Lv 2] 64% Completion

Rabona: [Lv 1] 99% Completion

Sombrero: [Lv 2] 10% Completion

**TRAITS

■■■■■■

trickster: Equipped (offline)

Incisive Pass: Equipped(online)

rocket: Equipped (offline)

Pinpoint accuracy: Equipped (online)

speedster: Equipped (online)

Knuckeball: Equipped(offline)

Phantom Step: Equipped(offline)

⸻

Izan’s gaze flickered to the System Evaluation.

Before, it had read Phenom.

Now?

One of the best in the world.

It wasn’t a title he cared for. Not yet. He hadn’t done anything in England.

But it was a sign.

A sign that what he believed about himself was now something the world would have to accept.

Izan closed the interface and stretched his arms over his head, rolling his neck. That was done.

His attributes were stronger, his skills sharper, and his valuation had shifted.

His phone buzzed on the counter. Miranda.

Izan picked up the call.

"Tell me you have something interesting."

Miranda scoffed. "You’ve been in London for two days, and you’re already restless?"

Miranda exhaled, then got straight to it. "Alright. We’ve got some new brand opportunities to go over. Some expected, some… interesting."

"Not that kind of interesting news," Izan corrected, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But go on." he leaned back into the chair, listening.

Miranda didn’t waste time.

"Saint Laurent officially announced the deal they made in Ibiza. Five years, $70 million. The press is already eating it up."

Izan leaned back against the couch, adjusting the phone against his ear. "Yeah?"

Miranda chuckled. "Figured you wouldn’t care much, but it’s good exposure. Now, onto the real stuff."

"The reactions have been huge," Miranda continued. "People were already talking after that airport sighting, but now that it’s official?

Fashion outlets, sports media, and even some finance pages are all covering it. They’re calling it one of the biggest brand deals for an athlete your age."

Izan didn’t react much to that. It was a big deal, sure, but he had expected this kind of buzz when he signed.

"Selene’s got the photos ready," Miranda added. "She’ll start releasing them tomorrow, spaced out over the next week to keep engagement high.

The first drop is the main campaign shot—black and white, very sleek. The second one’s got more of that cinematic vibe you liked. She’s confident this rollout is going to hit big."

Izan hummed. "She knows what she’s doing."

"No doubt," Miranda agreed. "And with the timing, it’s going to keep your name everywhere before preseason really kicks off."

"A few big brands have already reached out," Miranda continued. "Nothing concrete yet, just initial feelers. I’ll bring them to you when talks actually start moving."

Izan nodded. "Got it."

"And on that note…" Her voice turned dry. "Touch some grass, Izan. You’ve been in your own world for way too long."

Izan exhaled a quiet chuckle. "I just finished something up."

"Good. Now go do something human."

She ended the call before he could reply.

Izan shook his head, tossing his phone aside as he leaned back against the couch. Touch grass, huh? He glanced toward the window.

Izan pushed himself off the couch, stretching briefly before heading to his wardrobe.

He wasn’t planning to do anything serious, but if he was going out, he might as well look decent.

He pulled on a fitted black tee, a lightweight jacket, and tailored joggers before slipping into a fresh pair of sneakers.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the number Arsenal had given him. His assigned driver.

He hit the call button.

A few rings, and then a voice answered. "Yes, Mr. Miura?"

"Hey, I need a ride to the training ground."

There was a brief pause. "Understood. I’ll be there in five."

Izan ended the call and pocketed his phone.

He wasn’t going to train—he just wanted to see things. Get a feel for the place.

A few minutes later, a sleek black vehicle rolled up outside his place. Izan stepped out, the summer air warm against his skin as he pulled open the door and slid into the backseat.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Miura," the driver greeted politely, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

Izan nodded. "Afternoon. Let’s go."

The car eased onto the road, smoothly navigating the streets of London. Izan watched the city pass by through the window, his mind turning over everything that had happened in the past few days.

The drive to Arsenal’s training ground wasn’t long, and as they approached, the club’s emblem stood tall at the facility’s entrance.

The driver pulled up near the gates, where security was stationed.

"I’ll let them know you’re here," the driver said before stepping out to speak with one of the guards.

Izan leaned back, his gaze drifting over the pristine training fields visible in the distance. Even from here, he could tell the place was immaculate.

His fingers tapped idly against his knee.

The driver returned after a brief exchange with security.

"You’re clear to go in, Mr. Miura."

Izan nodded, stepping out of the car as the gates swung open. He strolled inside, hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the facility.

The main training building stood ahead, modern and sleek, while multiple pristine pitches stretched out in the distance.

A few academy players were running drills under the watchful eyes of their coaches.

He wasn’t here for a training session, but just seeing the setup made his muscles itch with anticipation.

As he made his way toward the main building, he heard voices carrying from the direction of the first-team pitch. Laughter, shouts, the rhythmic sound of boots striking the ball.

Arsenal’s senior squad was deep into their preseason preparations.

Izan lingered near the edge of the field, observing.

He recognized a few faces immediately—players he’d watched before, some he’d even played against in La Liga. But they were all teammates now.

Mikel Arteta stood nearby, arms crossed, watching his players with a sharp gaze.

Every now and then, he called out instructions, correcting positioning, and reinforcing tactical ideas.

The intensity of his presence was unmistakable.

Izan stayed back for a moment, just taking it all in. He’d been a Valencia player his entire life. The badge on his training kit had always been the bat. Now, it was a cannon.

A new battlefield indeed.