God Of football

Chapter 250: Return[2]

The sun hung low over Valencia’s training complex, casting long shadows across the pristine pitches.

With three games left in the season and Champions League football within reach, every touch, every sprint, and every tactical adjustment carried extra weight.

Rubén Baraja stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, watching his squad move through the drills.

The players, still riding the high of their 2-1 victory over Rayo Vallecano, knew that the challenge ahead would be even tougher—a trip to San Sebastián to face Real Sociedad, one of the trickiest away fixtures in La Liga.

Across the field, the session was in full swing.

Giorgi Mamardashvili, fresh off his heroics against Rayo, dived low to his right, palming away a fierce strike from Fran Pérez.

On the other side, Hugo Guillamón and Javi Guerra tested each other in tight midfield duels, while Gaya and Thierry Correia worked on overlapping runs.

Diego López and Fran Perez exchanged sharp one-twos, the ball zipping between them before Sosa came out of nowhere and curled a shot toward the top corner—only for Mamardashvili to stretch out a glove and tip it over.

Baraja clapped his hands together. ”Good tempo! Keep moving it fast! Sociedad won’t give us time on the ball!”

At the far end of the pitch, away from the main group, Izan finished a separate drill under the watchful eye of Luis Navarro, the team’s head physiotherapist.

It had been weeks since his injury, and after rigorous rehab, he had finally been medically cleared to return to full training.

His passes were crisp, his movement sharp, but there was still a lingering hesitation in his step—a subconscious fear of pushing too hard.

Navarro noticed.

”Izan, how does it feel?”

Izan wiped the sweat from his forehead. ”Better. Not perfect, but better.”

Navarro nodded, watching the teenager closely. ”You’re moving well, but you’re still holding back on quick changes of direction.

That’s natural. The real test is how you react when the pressure is real.”

As Izan stretched his leg, he saw Baraja walking toward them.

The coach stopped in front of Navarro. ”So? Is he ready?” he asked his eyes still set on Izan.

Navarro took a deep breath before responding. ”Cleared to train fully, yes. Cleared to travel, yes. But should he play? No.”

Baraja frowned. ”He’s that far off?”

”Not necessarily. Physically, he’s at 80%, but mentally, he’s not there yet. It’s one thing to pass a fitness test; it’s another to be thrown into a high-intensity match away at Sociedad.

He needs more time. If it were another player, I wouldn’t even risk clearing them but he’s different”

Baraja glanced at Izan. The teenager was listening but didn’t say anything.

Ruben Baraja sighed, then turned back to Navarro. ”Alright. He’ll travel with us. But no minutes unless it’s absolutely necessary. Agreed?”

Navarro nodded. ”Agreed.”

Izan exhaled through his nose, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He understood why Navarro was cautious, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was ready.

Baraja clapped him on the back. ”Be patient and recover well. You have all the time in the world to play.”

As training continued, Izan returned to the main group, jogging into position beside Sosa, who gave him a knowing look.

”So, what’s the verdict?” Sosa asked.

Izan rolled his eyes. ”I can travel, but I’m not supposed to play.”

Sosa smirked. ”They’re just being careful. You know how it is. But hey, at least you get to be there. You might not start, but who knows? Maybe we’ll need a hero in the last ten minutes.”

Izan chuckled, shaking his head. ”That sounds like something out of a movie.”

”Yeah, but football is better than movies.”

[Um have you seen Braveheart]

With the session wrapping up, the players cooled down, stretching as Baraja gathered them in a circle.

”Listen up. We all know Sociedad Away is one of the toughest games in the league. They press high, they move the ball fast, and they don’t give you space to breathe. But we’ve fought too hard to let this slip now.”

His voice carried the weight of a season’s worth of effort.

”We go there with one goal—win, nothing more, nothing less. Because we control our fate. Not Bilbao. Not Sociedad. Us.”

The players nodded, their focus sharpened.

Valencia’s next battle was just days away. And even if Izan wasn’t supposed to play, football had a way of writing unexpected scripts.

The day before the match, the news about Izan’s sudden return spread like wildfire.

@VCFOfficial: Izan has been medically cleared and will travel with the squad to San Sebastián.

The official account went into the detail but the first part was all Valencia fans needed to hear. Social media exploded.

@VCF_Forever: HE’S BACK. OUR GOLDEN BOY IS BACK.

@BlanquinegreFC: Perfect timing. This game decides everything. If Izan even steps on the pitch, we’re winning.

@LaLigaXtra: Real Sociedad vs. Valencia just got even bigger. Izan could make his return in a season-defining clash.

At the club’s training ground, a small group of fans waited outside, chanting Izan’s name as the team boarded the bus for the airport.

As Izan stepped onto the bus, a young fan held up a sign: SIEMPRE CREEMOS EN TI, IZAN. (We always believe in you, Izan.)

He smiled and gave a small wave before taking his seat beside Sosa.

”You see that? They think I’m about to do something special.”

Sosa smirked. ”Maybe you are.”

The news didn’t go unnoticed in the Basque Country. In San Sebastián, Real Sociedad fans were less enthusiastic.

@RealSociedadFans: Just our luck. Valencia’s best player returns just in time.

@TxuriUrdinDaily: We should have known. La Liga scriptwriters working overtime again.

The Author too be doing the most on the side. Pray he doesn’t make him come of the bench to score 4 goals in 1 minute at stoppage time.

At Sociedad’s Zubieta training complex, the players had just finished their final session when the whispers started.

Martín Zubimendi checked his phone and let out a low whistle. ”Izan’s traveling.”

Brais Méndez, stretching nearby, raised an eyebrow. ”Didn’t he just come back from injury? He won’t be match sharp.”

Mikel Merino wasn’t convinced. ”Match sharp or not, he’s Izan. If he plays, we need to be ready.”

The squad murmured in agreement.

Meanwhile, their manager, Imanol Alguacil, addressed the media.

”Valencia are a strong team, with or without Izan. We will play our game. But yes, we know his quality. If he plays, we will be prepared.”

The headline in the local newspaper, El Diario Vasco, summed up the feeling among the home fans:

”IZAN RETURNS – A NEW CHALLENGE FOR LA REAL.”

That night, in the Valencia team hotel, Izan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could feel the anticipation in the air. He knew he wouldn’t play but he hoped that Baraja would look his way.

...

The morning of the match, the Valencia squad gathered for their final meeting at the team hotel in San Sebastián. The atmosphere was intense but focused.

Baraja stood in front of them, hands in his pockets.

”We’ve fought too hard to let this slip now. Real Sociedad are strong at home, but we are stronger together.”

His eyes scanned the room before settling on Izan. ”And we have a full squad. That means everyone is ready.”

Izan shifted slightly in his seat, feeling the weight of expectation. He wasn’t even sure if he’d play, but the possibility alone had changed the mood.

After breakfast, the team boarded the bus to the stadium. Fans lined the streets, waving Valencia scarves, and chanting their names.

Izan had seen this before, but something about today felt different. His name was being sung louder than anyone else’s.

Inside the away dressing room at the Reale Arena, Izan sat on the bench, taping his wrists when Luis Navarro approached him.

”Izan, listen,” Navarro said quietly. ”You’ve been cleared to travel, not to play.”

Izan looked up. ”But if Baraja calls on me—”

Navarro sighed. ”Then I’ll do my job and remind him why you shouldn’t.” He placed a firm hand on Izan’s shoulder.

”I know what you can do. But your body needs more time. One wrong move, and we’re back to square one.”

Izan clenched his jaw, nodding. He understood. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

Across the hall, Real Sociedad’s dressing room was buzzing.

Zubimendi zipped up his jersey, shaking his head. ”They’re keeping it vague, but if Izan’s here, he’s at least on the bench.”

Mikel Merino tied his boots tighter. ”We can’t focus on him alone. Valencia are dangerous with or without him.”

Their coach, Imanol Alguacil, stepped in, his voice calm but firm.

”Izan or no Izan, we impose our game. No fear. No hesitation. They need this win, but so do we. Let’s show them what La Real is made of.”

The team rose, a unified force.

Outside, the stadium roared to life. The match was moments away, and both teams were ready for war.