God Of football

Chapter 231: Looming Final

By the time Izan arrived at training in the afternoon, Paterna was already alive with intensity.

The sun hung high over the complex, casting long shadows across the pristine training pitch.

Valencia’s players were gathered in small groups, stretching, chatting, or listening intently to the coaches.

Everything about the atmosphere felt different today. The usual relaxed energy had been replaced by something sharper—more focused.

The Copa del Rey final was days away, and everyone knew it.

Izan stepped onto the pitch, dressed in his training kit, feeling the shift immediately.

Conversations were brief, and the laughter that usually filled warm-ups was more controlled.

Even the staff moved with a heightened sense of urgency, setting up cones, mannequins, and goalposts with precision.

As Izan jogged to join his teammates, a few of them acknowledged him with nods and smirks.

”Finally,” Pietro muttered, nudging him with his elbow. ”Some of us have been grinding all morning.”

”You mean standing around drinking coffee?” Izan shot back, earning a few chuckles from the players nearby.

But the moment Baraja blew his whistle, the joking stopped. Training had officially begun, and Valencia went into full serious mode.

Sharpening the Blade

The session started with high-intensity drills—short, crisp passing sequences that demanded quick decision-making.

Izan moved between the lines, receiving and releasing the ball under pressure, testing his touch and awareness. His movements were sharp, his focus unwavering.

Next came the tactical drills. Baraja was relentless, running them through their attacking patterns, ensuring every player knew their roles inside out.

He emphasized their transitions—the moments where Valencia thrived best.

”Quick recovery! Move it forward with purpose!” Baraja barked.

The drills progressed into scrimmages, and this was where Izan came alive. Placed on the ’starting’ team, he immediately took control of the attacking sequences. His presence in the final third dictated the tempo.

In one sequence, he picked up the ball between the lines and drove at the defense, skipping past a challenge before threading a perfectly weighted through ball to Mark, who slotted it past the keeper.

A few minutes later, Izan received the ball on the left side, feigned inside, then suddenly cut back onto his right foot, whipping in a dangerous cross.

The defenders scrambled, but Hugo was there to meet it with a thumping header into the net.

As the session continued, he linked up with his teammates effortlessly, whether it was short, intricate passes in tight spaces or quick, decisive movements into the box.

Every attack seemed to flow through him, reinforcing why he had become such a pivotal figure for the team.

Baraja halted the game momentarily to instruct the midfielders on better positioning, but even as he spoke, the energy remained high.

The players knew they were sharpening themselves for battle.

Beyond the fences of the training ground, a crowd was beginning to gather. At first, it was just a few fans, but as the scrimmages continued, the numbers grew.

They lined the edges of the complex, some pressing against the barriers, others waving flags and banners.

Signs of encouragement filled the space:

”Vamos Valencia!”

”Bring the Copa home!”

”Izan, destroy them!”

Some fans held up flyers with the squad’s faces printed on them, while others chanted songs that echoed through Paterna.

Baraja, noticing the rising enthusiasm, called a pause in training. ”Alright, let’s acknowledge them,” he said, gesturing for the players to walk over.

The team jogged toward the edge of the pitch, waving and clapping in appreciation. Izan spotted a young fan holding a handmade sign with his name on it, and he gave the kid a thumbs-up, earning an excited cheer in return.

Pietro, always one for theatrics, blew kisses to the crowd, prompting laughter from the players. Hugo exchanged words with a few supporters, while others took a moment to interact with the fans who had come to show their unwavering support.

After a few minutes, Baraja clapped his hands. ”Alright, back to work!”

With that, the players turned and refocused, but the presence of the fans only added to the weight of the occasion.

The city was behind them, and they couldn’t afford to let them down.

Meanwhile, over in Bilbao, the Athletic Club was conducting their own training session. Their approach was just as intense but far more reserved.

There were no crowds gathered around their training ground, no banners waving through the air—only a quiet determination hanging over the pitch.

Their coach drilled them on defensive structure, ensuring they remained compact and disciplined.

Bilbao was known for their resilience, their ability to absorb pressure, and strike when the moment was right. They didn’t rely on star names or flashy football—they thrived on unity and grit.

Raúl García, one of their most experienced players, led by example, barking instructions and setting the tone.

Their strikers worked on finishing drills, their midfielders on closing down spaces, and their defenders on repelling waves of simulated attacks.

There were no distractions here. Only preparation.

Because they knew Valencia would come at them with everything they had. And they had no intention of making it easy.

Back at Paterna, training wrapped up with set-piece drills—an area Baraja wanted them to exploit against Bilbao.

Izan took his position behind the ball, whipping in pinpoint accurate crosses one after the other with the fans watching as the deliveries came in.

One by one, the players attacked the ball with precision.

As the session came to an end, Izan took a deep breath, feeling the slight burn in his legs. It had been a long, demanding session, but necessary.

As he grabbed a bottle of water, Pietro walked over, nudging him with his shoulder. ”Not bad, superstar. Think we’re ready?”

Izan exhaled, glancing at the banners still waving in the distance. He didn’t hesitate.

”We have to be.”

The Copa del Rey final was closing in. And Valencia had only one goal—a win.

...…

After an exhausting session at Paterna, Izan slumped into the passenger seat of Pietro’s car, his body heavy with fatigue.

The air conditioning blasted cool air against his face, offering a slight relief from the lingering heat of the day.

Pietro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled out of the training facility, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

”Man, if we play like that in the final, Bilbao’s gonna have a long night,” Pietro said, shaking his head.

Izan let out a tired chuckle. ”Yeah. Let’s just hope we don’t burn out before then.”

Pietro shrugged. ”Speak for yourself. I’m built differently.”

Izan rolled his eyes but didn’t have the energy to fire back. The exhaustion was setting in, a reminder of how much they had pushed themselves that day.

They drove through the quiet streets of Valencia, the city settling into its evening rhythm. People strolled along the sidewalks, restaurants filled with chatter, and the faint smell of grilled seafood drifted through the air.

Pietro pulled up in front of Izan’s home complex, shifting the car into park. ”Alright, superstar. Get some rest. Big day soon.”

Izan unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, but before stepping out, he glanced at Pietro. ”You not going out tonight?”

Pietro feigned offense. ”What, and ruin my perfect professional image?” He grinned. ”Nah, I’ll be in bed early. Big game and all that.”

Izan smirked. ”Right.”

With a final nod, he stepped out and shut the door. Pietro drove off, leaving Izan standing there for a moment, inhaling the crisp evening air. He adjusted the strap of his bag before heading inside.

As Izan stepped into the house, he immediately sensed that something was different. The warm aroma of Komi’s cooking filled the air, but there was also another presence—someone else was here.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

”In the end, it’s about patience. We don’t want to rush anything too soon.”

Izan turned the corner into the living room and spotted Miranda sitting comfortably on the couch.

Across from her, Komi sat with her legs crossed, listening intently, her expression a mix of interest and quiet amusement.

Miranda turned her head as Izan walked in. ”Ah, there he is.”

Izan dropped his bag by the door and ran a hand through his hair. ”Didn’t know you were coming.”

”She surprised me too,” Komi added, standing up to head toward the kitchen. ”I told her she could’ve at least given us a heads-up.”

Miranda smiled. ”I prefer spontaneous visits. Keeps people honest.”

Izan walked over and plopped down on the couch, stretching out his legs. ”So, what’s up?”

Miranda leaned back, her sharp eyes studying him. ”Nothing urgent, just a few things to go over. With the final coming up, your name is everywhere.

The demand for interviews, sponsorship deals, and media appearances is growing.”

Izan sighed. ”Great.”

Miranda smirked. ”You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

”Because it is,” he muttered, earning a chuckle from Komi as she returned with a glass of wine, taking a seat beside Miranda.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Komi rested her head against Miranda’s shoulder, exhaling in contentment.

Miranda responded with a casual arm around her waist, her fingers lightly tracing small circles against the fabric of Komi’s dress.

Izan shook his head. ”You two are acting like I’m not even here.”

Komi smiled but didn’t move. ”You’ll survive.”

Miranda chuckled. ”You’d better get used to it.”

Izan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his lips.

It was strange, but at the same time, kind of reassuring. No matter how chaotic things got in his career, at least some things remained constant.