God Of football-Chapter 397: Life At Colney

The sun's warmth hit Izan's skin as he stepped out onto the pitch and the familiar smell of freshly cut grass around him.

The buzz of conversation dulled into a low hum around him, replaced by the steady thump of boots on turf, the occasional barked laugh, and the whistle of a passing ball.

He paused for a moment, soaking it in—Colney at full rhythm, the calm before the intensity.

Arteta stood at the center, clipboard in hand, flanked by his assistants.

Carlos Cuesta had a stopwatch slung around his neck, and Steve Round was already shouting directions toward the keepers at the far end.

Izan jogged to where the midfielders were gathering, slotting naturally into the group.

Rice offered him a quick fist bump while Ødegaard nodded at home with a small grin.

"Morning," Mikel called out, voice rising above the shuffle.

"Let's go! Warm-up rondos — four boxes, four players per group. Keep the touches sharp, and stay vocal. We've got a session to dominate today."

The squad split smoothly into groups. Izan found himself paired with Saka, Calafiori, and Fabio Vieira—a tight box with a two-touch limit.

The ball started moving fast.

Saka played it into Fabio, who poked it wide to Calafiori.

Izan timed his run into space, received it on the half-turn, and spun the pass back toward Saka with the inside of his boot.

"¡Eso es!" Carlos called from across the field.

"Quick transitions, quick minds."

It was the kind of start Izan relished — fluid, instinctual, with the ball zipping between them like it had something to prove.

They rotated roles in and out of the middle, pressure increasing with each round.

Saka pressed Izan with a cheeky grin when it was his turn in the center, only for Izan to nutmeg him with a soft touch and an even softer, "Oops."

"You're gonna regret that," Saka warned through a laugh, chasing after the ball.

"Already don't," Izan shot back.

It was easy to forget how intense these sessions could get when the energy was this high.

But Mikel didn't let them coast for long.

Fifteen minutes later, the warm-up rolled into structured passing drills, and soon after that, into full-positional play.

The pitch split into thirds. Red bibs against yellow. High press triggers. Transition plays.

Izan played as the left-sided ten in one setup, occasionally drifting wide but mostly operating just behind the striker line.

Mikel called out rotations constantly — he wanted them moving, adapting, and communicating.

And Izan was dialed in.

There was a moment midway through the drill when the red team won possession deep in their third.

Rice scooped a ball out wide to Zinchenko, who quickly turned it inside toward Izan.

One touch. Two. Space opened just between the pressing midfielders.

Izan threaded the ball — a sharp, angled pass — right between the lines into Martinelli, who didn't break stride as he drove forward.

"Perfect," Arteta barked from the touchline.

"That's the tempo. That's what we play for."

Izan didn't let it go to his head, but the nod Ødegaard gave him a moment later — just a subtle, approving glance — meant more than any shouted praise.

This was where he wanted to be.

This was where he belonged.

They broke for water briefly, sweat dripping down temples and backs, shirts clinging to skin.

Izan leaned down on his knees, catching his breath when Calafiori nudged his shoulder.

"You still floating, lover boy?" Riccardo teased in his heavy accent.

Izan grinned without looking up.

"Jealous I've got someone worth floating for."

Calafiori whistled and walked off laughing.

By the time the tactical session wrapped, Arteta had them huddled near the sideline, arms crossed over his chest.

"Better. Much better," he said, scanning the group.

"I know some of you are still adjusting — jet lag, travel, family visits. That's fine. That's life. But we start strong this year. We set the tone early."

His eyes met Izan's for a flicker, just long enough to mean something.

"Big expectations. Big opportunities. Earn your place every day."

They broke with a clap.

Some players drifted toward the gym for cooldowns. Others peeled off toward the showers.

Izan lingered just a moment, hands on hips, looking out at the emptying pitch.

It still felt surreal sometimes.

Not the facilities, or the staff, or the fact that he was now a Premier League player.

But how quickly it had all become normal.

He pulled out his phone and found her name already at the top of his messages.

"You make everything better."

Her words echoed back through his mind.

He smiled and typed:

"Let me know how King's goes. I wanna hear everything."

"Also… I'll be done around Four. Maybe we grab food or something?"

He hit send and finally headed toward the building, blending back into the flow of players moving through the halls.

...…

Later that afternoon…

Olivia stepped out of the cab onto the cobbled walkways of King's College, surrounded by spires and sandstone buildings bathed in golden light.

Students milled about, tour groups paused to take photos, and a faint breeze stirred her hair.

She glanced at her phone, thumb hovering over Izan's name.

"Can't believe I'm saying this… but yeah. I actually really like it here."

"And I'd love that coffee. Three sounds perfect."

She hit send before putting her phone back in her purse.

...….

Back at Colney, Izan's phone buzzed quietly in his locker.

And even before he read the message, he already knew.

...

After a morning of intense training, the players had been ushered into the media lounge once again.

Today's event was a laid-back affair compared to the usual media drills — a chance for some fun banter to break up the grind.

And in true Arsenal fashion, it was all set up for a good laugh.

Micah Richards stood at the front of the room, all smiles and energy as usual.

The familiar stage was set this time with two Arsenal stars next to him.

Bukayo Saka, always cool, always composed, and Izan, who still had that gleam in his eyes from his earlier teasing with Rice.

"You two ready to get roasted today?" Micah grinned, his tone as playful as ever.

"Yeah, let's see what you've got, Micah," Saka said with a smirk, already making himself comfortable in the chair.

He stretched his legs out, an easy confidence about him, while Izan settled into his chair beside him, eyes glinting with anticipation.

The crowd of players and staff chuckled as Micah adjusted his mic.

"Alright, alright, no need to rush but hey, before we start, I've got a little surprise for you two." He raised an eyebrow.

"Titi sends his regards."

The room paused for a beat, and then the whispers began.

"Thierry Henry?" someone from the back called out.

Micah nodded, giving a little smirk.

"Yeah, the man himself. He wanted me to say he's looking forward to seeing you both play this season. He said, 'The future's bright with these two.'" He threw a cheeky look at Izan and Saka, who exchanged surprised glances.

"That's… that's nice," Saka said, clearly taken aback but grinning. "Tell him I'll get the assist for him in the next life."

"Tell him yourself after you bag your first Premier League goal this season," Micah shot back.

Izan's eyes were still wide from the surprise but quickly recovered. "Can't say no to that, right?"

Micah laughed. "Now, let's get into it. Quickfire round. No thinking. Saka, Izan — ready?"

"Ready," they both responded in unison.

"Who's the hardest player to mark in training?"

Saka didn't hesitate. "Izan."

Izan raised an eyebrow. "What? Me?"

"Yeah, you're tricky," Saka smirked, leaning in. "You never stay in one place long enough."

Izan laughed. "That's a compliment, right?"

"Don't get too smug," Saka shot back. "You're still getting bodied by me next session."

Micah chuckled, leaning forward. "Alright, alright. Let's see… who's got the worst fashion sense on the team?"

Without missing a beat, both Izan and Saka pointed to Reiss Nelson at the same time, and the room burst into laughter.

"Man's got more colors on his boots than in his wardrobe," Saka added with a grin, causing the players to erupt in more laughter.

"That's harsh," Izan said, laughing. "But from what I've seen since joining, it's true."

Micah's eyes twinkled. "Okay, last one before I hand it over to the fans — I want you both to pick a celebrity whose number you've got in your contacts. And we'll see who's got the best connection."

"Alright, easy," Saka said, pulling out his phone and swiping through his contacts.

"I've got Drake. Pretty sure that tops everyone."

Micah whistled. "I mean, that's a flex. You win for now."

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Saka shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "Not bad for a London boy eh."

"Okay, okay, your turn, Izan," Micah said, looking at him expectantly.

A/n: Should be second of the day but I mistakenly released the 1st chapter of the day yesterday. My fault but a good fault. Anyways, have fun reading and i'll see you in the evening.