God Of football

Chapter 276: La Roja’s No. 10

De la Fuente scanned the room one last time. ”We’ve prepared for this. Trust each other. Trust the plan. We beat Croatia—now we beat Italy.”

He closed the team sheet, signaling the end of the meeting.

Players rose from their seats, some stretching, others exchanging quiet words of encouragement.

Pedri patted Izan’s back as he walked by. ”Big day ahead,” he said jokingly.

”I know,” Izan replied with a slight shove.

Lamine Yamal who was beside them grinned. ”No pressure”

Izan smirked. ”Don’t know if they’ve told you but they almost added no pressure to my name.”

And on the day, he would prove it.

While Luis de la Fuente finalized his tactical approach, the outside world buzzed with one burning question:

”Would you start Izan against Italy?”

From Spanish sports networks to international pundit panels, Izan’s name dominated discussions.

His first start in a major tournament wasn’t just a personal milestone—it was a declaration of intent.

Could Spain’s youngest-ever Pichichi unlock Italy’s famed defensive resilience?

This wasn’t just another group-stage fixture. It was a clash of footballing philosophies.

Spain’s game revolved around fluidity, technical brilliance, and relentless movement.

Italy, on the other hand, thrived on defensive organization, tactical discipline, and deadly counterattacks.

And in the heart of this debate was the weight of expectation on Izan’s young shoulders.

On El Chiringuito, the atmosphere crackled with tension. Josep Pedrerol, leaning forward with the intensity of a man on a crusade, directed the discussion.

”Gentlemen, let’s not play around—this is Spain’s biggest test yet. And now, for the first time in this tournament, Izan starts.

But is he really the right choice for such a role?”

Tomas Roncero, ever the emotional man, nodded vigorously. ”Izan is a generational talent. Nobody doubts that. At this point, nobody even should!

But playing in the No. 10 role against Italy? That’s a huge responsibility. This isn’t Valencia, Pedrerol. This is EURO 2024.”

Cristóbal Soria on the side scoffed. ”Oh, come on, Tomas. You say nobody should doubt him but aren’t you belittling him?

We’re talking about the youngest Pichichi in history. The kid who single-handedly propelled Valencia into the Champions League. If there’s one player who can handle pressure, it’s him.”

Jota Jordi, who sat beside Cristobal listened but was still a bit more skeptical. ”Experience matters. Italy’s midfield is full of battle-hardened players—Jorginho, Barella, and their defense with Bastoni and Di Lorenzo.

These aren’t guys who panic easily. Do you think Izan will be given enough room to truly influence the game? Let me answer that myself, I DO NOT THINK SO”

While these pundits went about their own, the debate had already spilled beyond Spain’s borders.

On ESPN FC, English pundits had their takes.

...….

Steve Nicol chuckled. ”This kid, Izan—he’s got something, no doubt. But he’s stepping into the deep end against Italy. If he’s not careful, they’ll eat him alive.”

Craig Burley smirked. ”Or maybe he’ll eat them alive.”

Ale Moreno added, ”Izan in the 10 role is a wildcard but Baraja had played him there most of the time in Valencia although he will be dropping deeper this time.

If Spain finds a way to get him the ball in dangerous positions, he can unlock that defense. But if Italy shuts him down early, then Spain’s creativity could be stifled.”

But beyond Izan, another young Spanish talent had already made history—Lamine Yamal.

The 16-year-old had become the youngest player ever to appear in a European Championship.

And now, Spain was fielding another teenage prodigy in Izan, who, also just a few months younger than Yamal, could potentially break his record for the youngest Spaniard to start a Euros match.

Guillem Balagué, speaking on BBC Sport, marveled at Spain’s unprecedented wealth of young talent.

”This is extraordinary. We are witnessing a new golden generation. Lamine Yamal has already shattered the record, and now Izan Hernandez is poised to do the same.

To have two teenage sensations in the same squad, both ready to make a difference in a high-stakes game against Italy—it’s something special.”

Julien Laurens added, ”Most countries would be lucky to have even one talent like this. Spain?

They have two, both under 18, both capable of defining matches. It’s frightening.”

Away from the pundits, Social media erupted as Izan’s name appeared in the official starting XI.

@SpanishFooty: ”Izan getting his chance in the 10 role. I’ve been waiting for this moment since he cooked Girona on the last day of La Liga. Let’s go, La Roja!”

@TifosiItalia: ”Spain playing a kid behind Morata? Barella and Jorginho are going to eat him for breakfast. Italian defense never sleeps!”

@IzanElite: ”I don’t want to hear ’he’s too young’ when he drops a masterclass against Italy. This kid’s magic is undeniable!”

Beyond rivalry, some posts simply celebrated Spain’s youth movement.

@BarcaDNA: ”If Izan and Pedri cook together, we are winning the Euros. Trust the process!”

In Madrid’s Puerta del Sol, fans gathered around large screens, chanting Izan’s name.

In small towns across Spain, children wore his replica jersey, holding handmade signs that read, ”¡Vamos Izan!”

A viral video captured a die-hard supporter, eyes glistening with emotion, making a personal promise:

”If Izan lights up the pitch, I’ll celebrate every goal like it’s my own.”

The passion was unmistakable. From Barcelona’s bustling streets to Seville’s quiet cafés, the country was rallying behind its young prodigies.

...…

In the secluded team hotel, the squad’s final preparations unfolded with quiet intensity. Players followed their routines—some in the gym, others analyzing video clips.

Izan sat at a corner table, watching footage of Italy’s defensive patterns. Lamine Yamal, munching on a banana beside him, glanced at the screen.

”They don’t like getting stretched out wide.”

Izan nodded. ”Yeah. But they press hard in the middle. If we don’t move quickly, they’ll close us down completely. But why are you here though? I thought you had homework to do”

Lamine caught off guard, replied to Izan’s question with the same question but before Izan could respond, Pedri joined them, setting down his plate.

”He skipped a few grades because of how good a brain he has. This guy was already unfair but this is just wrong” Pedri answered before stuffing some bread into his mouth.

Lamine stared at Izan for a while before he turned towards the laptop.

Izan after staying quiet for a while returned to the previous conversation.” Anyways I guess what this means is that I have to deal with Barella and possibly Jorginho all game.”

Yamal smirked. ”Have fun with that then.”

...…..

The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the hotel room in muted gold.

The silence was almost sacred, disturbed only by the occasional rustling of bedsheets or the distant murmur of a hallway conversation.

Izan blinked awake, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

His body was calm, but his mind wasn’t.

Not nerves. Anticipation.

He turned his head. Lamine Yamal was still asleep in the bed across the room, the covers tangled around his legs. His slow breathing filled the space.

Izan sat up, rubbing his face before checking his phone. Messages poured in—family, friends, former teammates at the youth level, and even some La Liga rivals wishing him luck.

He didn’t respond. Not yet.

Instead, he reached for his small towel before cleaning his face a bit. With that, Izan activated the simulation.

[ Matchday Simulation Online]

A familiar virtual pitch materialized in his mind. It wasn’t a video game—it was his own training space, a visualization system where he could rehearse movements, anticipate patterns, and refine instincts before stepping onto the real field.

Spain vs. Italy.

The same lineup, the same stadium, the same conditions.

Izan took his position in the No. 10 role scanning and turning but Barella closed in immediately.

”Just like it will happen tonight.” Izan thought as he looked at the Simulated version of the former.

After the mode started, Izan received the ball, felt the virtual pressure, and tested different solutions.

For the First attempt—he held onto it too long causing Barella to pounce, dispossessing him.

The next attempt was a quick one-touch pass to Pedri. Safe, but ineffective.

After seeing a pattern, Izan had an idea. After receiving the ball—a feint, a body shift, then a disguised ball into Nico Williams.

That one worked.

Izan played through five full sequences, adjusting his decisions each time. Every failed attempt taught him something. Every successful move embedded itself into his instincts.

After 20 minutes, he exited the simulation.

The real match awaited.

And now, he was sharper than before.

The team gathered in the dining hall, the mood focused but light. Some players kept to their usual routines—Rodri, ever meticulous, ate a precise portion of eggs and toast, while Morata drank his coffee in silence, eyes locked on nothing in particular.

Izan sat with Pedri, Lamine, and Nico Williams. They spoke in short bursts, mostly about the game but occasionally breaking into laughter.

Luis de la Fuente walked through the hall, exchanging brief words with players. When he stopped by Izan’s table, he simply placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Enjoy it.”

Izan nodded.

No need for more words.