God Of football-Chapter 332 : Just A Player [Golden ticket]

Valencia CF Administrative Boardroom

For the first time in months, the mood in Valencia CF's boardroom wasn't suffocating.

The usual tension, the desperate scrambles to patch financial holes, and the fear of losing their best players had, for a brief moment, subsided.

Luis Cortázar, the club's financial director, leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with the edge of his thumb as he exhaled.

"We've done it," he murmured, almost as if he didn't believe his own words.

Across the polished oak table, Valencia's key executives exchanged glances—some skeptical, some relieved.

The last few months had been a brutal fight for survival.

Cutting costs, restructuring debt, securing new sponsorship deals—everything had been a delicate balancing act. But they had managed.

"We're not in the clear yet," said César Moreno, the club's legal advisor, tapping his pen against a thick stack of documents.

"But if we stay on this path, we'll meet LaLiga's financial fair play requirements and avoid any real punishments."

Layhoon Chan, the club's president, nodded, her fingers laced together in front of her.

"We've fought to keep Izan," she said, her tone measured. "The bids that came in… any other club in our position would have folded."

Real Madrid. PSG. Manchester City. Chelsea. They had all come knocking, waving obscene amounts of money for Izan.

Some clubs had even included financial incentives just to make Valencia consider negotiating.

But Valencia hadn't cracked.

"And yet," Cortázar mused, "we stood firm. We didn't let go of our most valuable asset. The Champions League money, the sponsorships, the increased ticket sales—it's all finally paying off."

The room was still cautious, but for the first time, there was something close to satisfaction.

Then, the door burst open.

A young assistant, barely able to catch his breath, stumbled into the room.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with panic. A tablet was clutched in his hands like a live grenade.

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"You need to see this," he panted.

The shift in the room was immediate.

Layhoon's expression turned cold. "What is it?"

The assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned the screen around.

A Marca headline flashed across the tablet in bold red letters:

BREAKING: LA LIGA SUMMONS VALENCIA OVER FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES—SEVERE CHARGES PENDING

Silence.

Luis Cortázar stiffened, his face draining of color. "What?"

The assistant swallowed, licking his dry lips. "It's everywhere. LaLiga has called for an emergency hearing with Valencia's representatives.

They're investigating financial misconduct and…" He hesitated as if struggling to believe what he was about to say. "There are talks of serious penalties."

César Moreno snatched the tablet from the assistant's hands, scanning the article with sharp, rapid movements. His jaw clenched.

"They're accusing us of misreporting earnings. Of concealing losses."

"That's impossible," Cortázar snapped. His voice was sharp, bordering on furious.

"We've been transparent—every document, every number, every financial move has been accounted for!"

"There's more." The assistant's voice was tight. "LaLiga is considering banning us from making any new signings. We might even be forced to sell players."

A stunned pause.

The weight of the words settled like a hammer onto the table.

Layhoon's fingers curled slightly. "Who leaked this?"

"No idea," the assistant admitted. "But this isn't just La Liga anymore. UEFA is also watching."

The room was deathly silent.

A soft buzzing sound filled the space—phones vibrating with new messages, executives checking their screens as notifications flooded in.

Layhoon exhaled, her mind already moving three steps ahead. This wasn't just an investigation. This was a full-scale attack.

Someone had set Valencia up for a war.

...…..

[Back in Ibiza]

Izan's grip tightened around Miranda's phone as he read the headline again, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

VALENCIA CF CHARGED WITH FINANCIAL MISCONDUCT – LA LIGA DEMANDS URGENT HEARING

The article below was a blur. Words like misreporting earnings, salary cap violations, and concealing losses swam before his eyes.

But the worst part came at the bottom. Potential penalties include transfer restrictions, significant fines, and—if proven severe—possible relegation.

Izan exhaled sharply. "What the hell is this?"

Miranda crossed her arms, her expression tense. "It dropped less than 30 minutes ago. The media is already going crazy. La Liga is moving fast, and UEFA is watching."

Lamine, who had been looking over his shoulder, let out a low whistle. "This is bad."

Izan's mind raced. This wasn't just bad—it was a disaster.

He had just played the best season of his short career, fired Valencia into the Champions League, and even won the Euros, and now…

Relegation?

That word alone made his stomach twist.

His Valencia. His club.

He forced himself to keep reading. The article mentioned that LaLiga had summoned Valencia's board for an immediate hearing, demanding explanations.

The accusations weren't vague. Someone had dug deep into the club's finances and found something—something big enough to put everything at risk.

"How did this even happen?" Izan muttered. "We were fine. We had to be fine. They said—"

"They said a lot of things," Miranda cut in, shaking her head. "But this isn't just speculation, Izan. The league doesn't call for urgent meetings unless they have something serious."

Izan dragged a hand through his hair. He could already see it—the media frenzy, the pressure, the questions he wouldn't have to answer even though he was just a player.

"What do you want to do?" Miranda asked.

"What do you mean?"

She met his gaze. "You are the face of the club, Izan. No matter what happens, the media will look at you.

They're already talking about it. Fans are panicking. Your name is tied to this whether you like it or not."

Lamine shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Bro, this could get ugly fast."

Izan exhaled slowly. His mind flashed back to the board members in their offices, probably scrambling right now.

To Baraja, who had fought so hard to rebuild the team. To the fans, who had suffered enough.

Valencia couldn't afford this. He couldn't afford this.

His phone buzzed again. Messages flooding in. Journalists asking for statements. Fans begging for answers.

Izan clenched his jaw.

This wasn't how his summer was supposed to go.

He stared at the screen, the words burning into his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the phone, his pulse drumming in his ears.

Miranda kept talking but Izan barely heard her. His focus was on a video that had just gone live.

A panel of football analysts on El Chiringuito—one of Spain's loudest football shows—was already tearing into the story.

"The timing of this is terrible," one of them was saying. "They just qualified for the Champions League, they were preparing to build a squad around Izan… and now this?"

A second analyst shook his head. "If these charges hold, forget about the Champions League.

They might not even stay in La Liga. We've seen it before. Malaga, Deportivo… Valencia could be next."

Izan's grip on the phone nearly cracked the case.

No. No way. This wasn't happening.

Izan felt his stomach twist. They had worked too hard for this. Fought through everything—doubts, pressure, injuries—to bring Valencia back to the top. And now?

"Where's the club's response?" he muttered, swiping through articles, looking for any official statement.

Nothing.

No press release. No denial. No damage control.

Just silence.

That was worse than anything.

Valencia wasn't ready for this.

Miranda sighed, locking her phone. "Izan, you should prepare for questions. Reporters are already hunting for reactions.

You know how it goes—they'll want your opinion, your stance. Even if you don't say anything, not saying something will be its own statement."

Izan exhaled sharply. He wasn't some club executive. He wasn't the one who handled finances. He was just a player.

And yet, somehow, this felt personal.

Lamine nudged him. "Bro… what's your move?"

Izan didn't answer right away. His thoughts were spinning, calculating.

He needed to think.

To act.

Because if Valencia was falling, he had to decide—was he going down with them?

[A couple of hours later]

Izan sat by the airplane window, his hood pulled over his head, headphones resting around his neck.

Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly, but inside his mind, there was no peace.

Miranda sat beside him, typing furiously on her laptop, her phone lighting up with notifications every few seconds.

The moment the scandal had erupted, she had moved quickly—securing the earliest flight back to Valencia, arranging a private exit at the airport, and briefing him on what to expect.

But nothing could truly prepare him for this.

Lamine had offered to come with him and even joked about being his bodyguard, but Izan had told him to stay.

This was something he had to handle alone. He scrolled through his phone, refreshing the news.

Every sports channel, every major publication, every pundit had the same story plastered across their screens.

"Valencia in Crisis: Financial Charges Could Force Club to Sell Star Player"

"LaLiga Investigates Valencia: Champions League Spot in Jeopardy"

"Reports Indicate Izan Could Be Sold to Balance the Books"

One channel was mid-discussion.

"The reality is, that Valencia have been operating on thin margins for years.

The moment they qualified for the Champions League, it was obvious they would have to reinforce the squad.

But instead of focusing on signings, they're now scrambling to prove they can even afford to function at this level."

"And let's be honest," another pundit cut in. "Izan is their biggest asset. If they're in financial trouble, selling him is the fastest solution."

"But do they want to? That's the question."

"They might not have a choice."

Miranda glanced at him. "I know what you're thinking, but we don't have make any decisions yet."

Izan didn't respond. Just silently stared out the window.

A/N: IM TIRED. We Might have to up the Glen ticket challenge. 20 golden ticket for an extra chapter seems like hell for me now