God Of football

Chapter 228: Day-Off

Valverde stood, glancing at each player. ”We’ve faced them twice, and we’ve held our own. But this is a final, and Valencia will come for us with everything they’ve got.

We’ll focus on the details in training tomorrow. Tonight, just think about what you’ve seen. Analyze it. And remember—we’ve beaten bigger odds before.”

With that, he left the players to their thoughts, his mind already moving to the next step.

The familiarity between the two teams would make this final a chess match of the highest order.

Valverde knew that neutralizing Izan would be critical, but it wouldn’t be the only challenge. This wasn’t just about stopping Valencia—it was about ensuring Athletic Bilbao imposed their own game.

.....

The Valencia team bus rumbled into the Paterna training facility, its presence a silent testament to the warriors it carried.

The journey from Mestalla had been a mixture of exhaustion and quiet celebration, the team still processing the magnitude of what they had just accomplished.

The victory against Barcelona was fresh, and as the bus slowed to a stop, the players stirred, stretching sore limbs, exchanging weary but satisfied nods.

As they stepped off one by one, the crisp Valencia night wrapped around them, a contrast to the heated battle they had fought on the pitch.

The floodlights at Paterna cast long shadows over the pavement, illuminating the fatigue in their bodies but also the pride in their movements.

Waiting for them at the entrance was Rubén Baraja, his eyes scanning his players with the satisfaction of a general whose soldiers had returned victorious.

As the last of them filed into the facility, he clapped his hands together, drawing their attention.

”Boys,” Baraja started, his voice steady but filled with emotion, ”I don’t think I need to tell you what you’ve just done.”

A few chuckles rumbled through the squad. They knew. They had felt it.

He continued, his eyes meeting each player’s gaze. ”You’ve played through a schedule that would have broken most teams. Seven games in 15 days, and not just against anyone.

Against Real Madrid. Against Barcelona. And the only result that wasn’t a win was that draw against Mallorca in the first leg of the semi-final clash.”

Some players smirked, remembering the Mallorca match—a game they had dominated but failed to win.

Baraja smiled slightly. ”You know what that tells me? That tells me that you are a team that doesn’t make excuses. That no matter how tired you are, no matter who the opponent is, you fight.”

He paced slightly, his voice filled with conviction. ”The board is beyond pleased. They see what we are building here.

They see the heart, the grit, the commitment to something bigger than just winning games.

They see a team that is capable of competing at the highest level. And do you know what else they see?”

He let the silence stretch for a moment before answering his own question. ”They see a team that is ready to win a final.”

At the mention of the Copa del Rey Final against Athletic Bilbao, the players exchanged glances. The reality of their season’s biggest moment loomed ahead, but after what they had just done to Barcelona, they knew they were ready.

Baraja’s voice softened, but his words carried just as much weight. ”But before we think about that, before we start working on our next battle, you all deserve something. Two days off.”

A murmur of approval swept through the room, with some players nodding in relief. It had been a brutal stretch of games, and the thought of a brief escape from the grind was welcomed.

Some were already thinking about sleeping in, others about spending time with family, and a few about simply sitting at home doing nothing.

But before Baraja could continue, a voice cut through the atmosphere.

”Two days off for everyone—except Izan, who has school tomorrow.”

The room erupted into laughter. Players clapped Izan on the back while some ruffled his hair as they teased him

Izan, arms crossed, smirked. ”Yeah, well, someone has to keep up the good name of Valencia on and off the pitch.”

Even Baraja chuckled, shaking his head. ”Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands. ”Let the kid breathe. He’s earned it as much as anyone.”

The energy in the room shifted from exhaustion to warmth.

These were the moments that made a team stronger—not just victories on the field, but moments like this, shared in locker rooms, in buses, in training facilities, where they were more than just teammates.

As the players started to disperse, some lingered to wash away the sweat accumulated from the night’s game. Hugo Duro and José Luis Gayà each, stood in one of the bathroom stalls, discussing the key moments of the match.

”That clearance in stoppage time,” Duro said, shaking his head. ”I don’t think I’ve ever seen a team defend like that in my life.”

Gayà, still feeling the adrenaline, grinned. ”And Izan’s goal? My God. The kid doesn’t just score; he makes it look like something out of a movie.”

Thierry Correia, who had been listening, chimed in. ”I swear, when he hit that ball, the entire Mestalla stopped breathing for a second.”

The conversation drifted between the players, each recalling their favorite moments.

Hugo spoke about Mark’s header, while Gaya was all about Giorgi Mamardashvili’s crucial save after the missed penalty. They all agreed on one thing—this win was special.

As the last few players gathered their things, Baraja addressed them one last time.

”These two days? Use them well. Rest, recover, and reset your minds. Because when we come back, everything we do will be for that final.”

He glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of his warriors. ”We’ve earned our place there. But I don’t want to just be in the final. I want to win it.”

The weight of his words settled over the room. The victory against Barcelona had been incredible, but it was only a step toward something greater.

One by one, they left Paterna, heading to their cars, some calling loved ones, others just taking a deep breath and letting the night’s events sink in.

Izan lingered for a moment before heading out. As he walked towards the exit, Gayà called after him.

”Hey, don’t forget your schoolbooks. You still have homework.”

Izan rolled his eyes but grinned. ”I’ll tell my teachers I was too busy scoring against Barcelona.”

The laughter followed him out into the night as the team finally went their separate ways, knowing that their journey for the season was far from over.

...…

The soft hum of his alarm filled the room, gradually pulling Izan from the depths of sleep. His body felt heavy, the previous night’s battle against Barcelona still lingering in his muscles as he blinked himself awake.

With a deep breath, Izan sat up, stretching his arms above his head before swinging his legs off the bed.

His feet met the cool wooden floor, and almost instinctively, his body reminded him of the toll the match had taken.

Soreness crept through his calves, his lower back ached slightly, and his hamstrings felt tight. Nothing unusual.

”And I didn’t even play the full match. I wonder how those guys must be feeling” Izan muttered as he thought of his teammates.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through a message from the club’s performance app. As expected, it had assigned him a set of recovery exercises tailored to his physical condition after the intense match.

”I’d use the recovery drug but that thing still doesn’t feel as good as the exercise when you’re done”.

Dressed in training gear, Izan made his way to the small workout space he and Hori had set up in the house.

He placed his phone on a stand and opened the app, which guided him through each movement.

He started with foam rolling, pressing into the sore muscles of his legs, releasing any tightness that had built up.

The discomfort was sharp at times, but he knew this was necessary to keep his body in peak condition.

Next came dynamic stretching—a slow series of hip openers, hamstring sweeps, and spinal rotations.

Each movement felt stiff at first, but as his muscles warmed up, the stiffness gradually eased.

The app then moved him into mobility drills. Deep lunges with thoracic rotations, ankle mobility stretches, and controlled leg swings.

These were the small details that made the difference in long seasons, preventing injuries and keeping his movement fluid on the pitch.

Then came core stability work—planks, dead bugs, and slow, controlled leg raises. The match had drained his energy, but this was about rebuilding, ensuring his body was aligned and strong.

As he wrapped up the session, Izan took a sip of water, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His muscles felt looser, more awake.

With the recovery routine done, he checked his phone but before he could continue, the system sounded, displaying the tasks for the morning.

[ Damn. I forgot the novel had a system.]

Izan sighed, a small smirk forming. There truly was no such thing as a full day off in football.

He grabbed his running shoes and headed out, the morning sun warming his skin as he stepped onto the streets of Valencia, ready to tackle the day ahead.