God Of football-Chapter 407: Done And Dusted

The referee's whistle echoed through the Emirates, signaling the end of a performance that had left little room for debate.

The scoreboard read Arsenal 4, Wolves 0—a statement, not just a result.

Fifteen minutes after Izan had been subbed off to a roaring ovation, Gabriel Magalhães had risen above the crowd and powered home a header from a corner, adding the final touch to an already commanding display.

There had been no wild celebration—just a sense of purpose, of business handled.

As the players began to disperse across the pitch, applause rippled through the stands.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

Arsenal's squad clapped back at their fans in appreciation, walking the pitch with satisfaction etched on their faces.

Some exchanged shirts, others brief handshakes with their Wolves counterparts—sportsmanship marking the close of a long evening.

Mikel Arteta stood at the edge of his technical area, arms folded, eyes scanning his players with the faintest of smiles.

They had delivered—not just the scoreline, but the control, the intensity, the unity.

Izan remained on the bench, tracksuit back on, a towel over his shoulders.

His teammates gave him pats on the back as they returned, grinning, murmuring a few words of praise.

A debut to remember, a message sent—and the whole stadium had felt it.

"Well, what a way to start the season for Arsenal. " Guy Mowbray's voice returned one last time to bring the night to a close as the fans filed out of the stadium"

"Four goals, a clean sheet, and a debut performance from a young man that'll be talked about for weeks—if not longer.

Izan, with a brace and the swagger to match, has certainly lit a spark in North London tonight.

It's early days, yes, but if this match was anything to go by, there's a lot to look forward to."

He let the moment linger, the roar of fans still faintly audible behind him.

"From the Emirates, under the lights, with a new Premier League campaign underway—thank you for joining us. From me, Guy Mowbray, it's goodnight."

...…..

The tunnel was a swirl of noise and adrenaline.

Boots clacked against the concrete as Arsenal's players made their way inside, red shirts streaked with sweat and grass stains.

A few turned back toward the pitch, still soaking in the applause that followed them all the way from the stands.

Izan walked near the front, flanked by Ben White and Declan Rice, his expression calm, though his heart was still pounding from the buzz of it all.

A couple of Wolves players gave him a pat on the back as they passed—quick, wordless acknowledgments of a performance that couldn't be ignored.

He returned the gesture with a nod.

Inside the changing room, the tempo shifted.

High-fives were exchanged. Arteta gave a quick clap to gather the group, praised the clean sheet, the compactness, the control.

Then, almost laughing, he looked straight at Izan and said, "And next time, no more Panenka okay? At least not when I'm watching."

Laughter rippled through the squad as Izan smiled, his cheeks reddening slightly but his grin not fading.

He sat down, peeling off his shirt and leaning forward to unlace his boots when his phone lit up with a cascade of vibrations on the bench beside him.

The first name that flashed: was Miranda.

"Izan, you just made headlines across Europe. Breathe it in tonight—we'll talk business tomorrow. But you've done what only stars do."

Pietro's message came in next, the words laced with disbelief and pride:

"Bro. The Panenka? That was so good. The whole of Paterna lost it. You know something, you might actually be better than me now."

Seconds later, Sosa himself sent a voice note full of static and shouting, followed by a photo of their group huddled around a TV back in Valencia.

Chips and soda scattered across the table, their expressions frozen mid-cheer.

"You legend. We miss you here, but today? Today, you belonged on that pitch."

Then came Gaya, always more reserved, but with a message that hit deeper than the others:

"That was maturity. Not just talent. You played like you've been in the league for years. You earned this."

Izan smiled quietly at each, thumbs hesitating as he tried to think of something to send back.

But just as he reached for his towel, the final notification buzzed onto the screen—Olivia.

Her message was longer, more personal.

"I was watching from bed… had cramps all afternoon, so I couldn't really jump around. But you made me forget about it for a bit.

That Penalty? You're insane. I'm happy for you, Izan. Really Happy."

He read it again, softer this time, thumb hovering before he typed back:

"Are you okay now?"

He hit send, placed the phone face-down on the bench, and leaned back with a quiet exhale.

Around him, the room was full of energy—music starting to play, players joking and stretching out.

But inside, he felt something warmer. He had finally delivered.

....

As the team bus rolled into Colney, the players were visibly tired.

The match against Wolves had been a grind, with emotions and adrenaline still high from Izan's performance and the eventual victory.

But now, as the bus pulled into the familiar training complex, the toll of the day was starting to settle in.

Izan leaned back in his seat, his eyes barely staying open.

His body was still buzzing from the energy of the game, but his mind was growing hazy.

He could feel the exhaustion creeping in—his legs heavy, his head pounding.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of the entrance, and the players began to stir, stretching out their stiff limbs as they slowly stood up.

"Alright, lads," Arteta's voice cut through the drowsy atmosphere.

"Get inside, have a quick debrief, and then you're free to go home. No match until next week, so take advantage of the rest."

Izan nodded, his mind foggy as he followed his teammates into the building. The walk to the locker room felt like a blur.

Once inside, Arteta gathered the squad for a brief rundown, but it was clear that most of the players were struggling to keep their eyes open.

"Great work today," Arteta said, his tone more relaxed now that the match was behind them.

"I know some of you are tired, but I'm proud of the effort. Go home, get some sleep, and come back ready to rest, recover, and prepare for next week."

The players all murmured their thanks, with a few tired nods.

Izan barely registered the exchange as he made his way to his locker, changing out of his kit as quickly as he could. He was eager to get home and rest.

As soon as he was done, he grabbed his bag and headed for the exit, joining a small group of teammates.

The moment they were outside, they scattered, some heading for their cars while others waited for their drivers.

Izan, who still couldn't drive, glanced around until he spotted the familiar car parked near the entrance.

He waved to his driver, who immediately opened the door for him.

"Good to go, mate?" the driver asked, and Izan nodded tiredly.

"Yeah, just need to get some rest," he muttered, settling into the backseat and closing his eyes.

The drive was peaceful, the quiet of the streets helping him unwind even more.

Soon, they arrived at his apartment. Izan stepped out of the car, stretching his limbs as the cool evening air hit his face.

Izan stepped carefully through the door of his apartment, mindful not to disturb Olivia, who he figured might still be resting after her morning cramps.

He gently closed the door behind him, the faint click of the lock sounding softer than usual in the stillness.

The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the small kitchen window where the evening sun barely peeked through the curtains.

He moved quietly towards the living room, his eyes falling on Olivia.

She lay stretched out on the couch, her face relaxed in sleep.

Her breathing was soft and steady, the tension from the morning's discomfort nowhere to be seen.

Izan smiled, watching her for a moment, taking in the sight of her with an overwhelming sense of affection.

He walked over to her, careful not to jostle her too much as he knelt beside the couch.

Gently, he slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Olivia stirred briefly but didn't wake, still caught in the deep pull of sleep.

With the grace of a dancer, Izan carried her towards the bedroom.

He could feel the soft weight of her against him, the warmth of her body calming him after the intensity of the match.

As he laid her down on the bed, he made sure to adjust the blankets around her before slipping in beside her.

Olivia, still half-conscious, instinctively wrapped her arms around Izan's athletic frame, pulling herself closer to him.

Her fingers brushed his skin, and Izan chuckled softly, feeling the weight of the day begin to melt away in her embrace.

He pulled her gently against him, his heartbeat steady as they lay there in silence.

It felt like the perfect end to a whirlwind day—a moment of peace and connection.

In the quiet of the room, Izan let his eyes close, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn't known he needed.

A/n: Second of the day. Was busy the whole day with my exam. Took 4 hours to finish but it done. For the week I mean.