God Of football

Chapter 328: Personal Commitments

The city of Madrid was slowly waking up, but inside the hotel, silence reigned.

After the wild celebrations, the exhaustion had finally caught up with everyone.

Izan sat on the balcony, the cool morning air doing wonders for his aching body.

The golden sunrise painted the skyline in warm hues, the quiet contrast to last night’s chaos almost jarring.

He exhaled, sipping from a glass of warm water, the condensation dripping onto his fingers.

His phone buzzed on the table.

Miranda: Izan… Valencia’s situation is improving. Fast.

He blinked.

For weeks, it had been nothing but uncertainty. Whispers of financial struggles, potential exits, and a growing storm behind the scenes.

But now… was there really a chance that everything could settle?

Before he could respond, another message arrived.

Miranda: They’re doing everything to keep you.

Izan stared at the words, a slow breath leaving his lips.

A possibility. A path forward. Hope.

Then, another text.

Miranda: That said, let Valencia do their job. We have ours too. You have commitments to fulfill.

Izan rubbed his temple, already knowing where this was going.

Izan: Muse shoot, right?

Miranda: Yes. You and Selene for Saint Laurent.

He stretched his legs, rolling his neck. He had nearly forgotten about that.

Originally, the shoot had been scheduled for Germany, planned well before the Euros had even started.

But with everything that had happened, he wasn’t even sure what the new arrangements were.

Izan: Still in Germany?

Miranda: No. Ibiza now. Selene is already there, setting things up.

That made him pause.

Ibiza?

A slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.

That… wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

A commercial shoot was still work, but if he had to work, he might as well do it somewhere he could rest at the same time.

Miranda, sharp as ever, sent another message before he could even type.

Miranda: You’re thinking about rest already, aren’t you?

Izan: No comment.

Miranda: I’ll take that as a yes.

He shook his head, setting his phone down for a moment. The sun had risen higher now, casting long shadows across the city.

Ibiza, huh?

It was tempting. Very tempting.

Especially since, in truth, he had no intention of staying in Madrid much longer.

The Spanish FA had scheduled a formal Euros Congratulatory Dinner for the team later that evening—a final official event before everyone went their separate ways for the summer.

But Izan had already made up his mind.

He wasn’t going.

He had made sure to inform Luis de la Fuente in advance, offering his apologies.

The coach had taken it well, understanding that after a tournament like this, some players needed to step away sooner than others.

And Izan? He had a different plan for the night.

One that involved Olivia.

He would see her in Madrid before heading off to Ibiza.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t Miranda.

Hori: You’re ditching us the second the Euros end?

He let out a quiet laugh.

She wasn’t wrong.

He had barely spent time with his family since arriving back in Spain, and now, he was already making plans to leave again.

Izan: Your leave ended when the Euros did. Not my fault.

The reply came almost instantly.

Hori: You’re so fake.

Izan: Love you too.

A longer pause this time. Then—

Hori: Enjoy your trip, superstar. Don’t get too comfortable in Ibiza. Also, thank Henry for the Apparel.

Izan: No promises.

Before Izan could set his phone aside, another message from Hori came.

Hori: Check my IG story

Izan raised a brow before maneuvering his way to Hori’s account where he saw a post of Hori holding a Saint Lauren bag with a caption titled, ”Perks of being a loving sister. Love you, @IzanHernandez” beneath the post.

Izan chuckled, setting his phone aside again.

The day ahead was already set.

First, Madrid. Olivia.

Then, Ibiza. Work. Rest. A little bit of both.

And after that?

Well…

That was a problem for another day.

...…

The car pulled over. It was just past midday, the city still alive with lingering celebration.

—Spain flags draped over balconies, newspapers displaying his face alongside the Euro trophy, people wearing his jersey with pride.

But right now, he wasn’t here for that.

He was here for her.

Olivia.

She was waiting for him at a small café, tucked away from the chaos of the city center.

As he stepped through the door, his gaze found her instantly.

Auburn hair catching the light. Green eyes brightening when they locked onto him.

And then, just like that—she was in his arms.

”You look tired,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Izan huffed a quiet laugh. ”I feel worse than I look.”

She leaned back slightly, scanning his face. ”You still look ridiculously good, though. Annoyingly so.”

He smirked. ”I’ll take that as a compliment.”

”You should.”

She kissed him.

It was soft, fleeting—but grounding.

For a moment, the Euros, the parade, the interviews, the speculation—none of it existed.

Just her.

They took their time, sitting outside the café, Olivia stealing half of his croissant, Izan pretending to be offended.

They talked—about everything, about nothing.

And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, he wished, for just a second, that this moment could stretch forever.

But time, as always, moved on.

...….

Barajas Airport was packed with fans and media alike, the entire terminal still vibrating with the aftershocks of Spain’s Euros victory.

Izan had barely stepped inside when heads turned. Whispers spread like wildfire.

”Isn’t that Izan”

”He looks so good”

”Where is he going? I thought he would rest after the euros”

He ignored most of it, his cap pulled low over his head. It didn’t matter—his presence alone was enough to stir a commotion.

He adjusted his bag over his shoulder, moving through the crowd with the ease of someone used to this kind of attention.

Then he spotted her.

Miranda was standing near the private lounge entrance, dressed in a sleek, all-black outfit.

The moment she saw him, she lifted her sunglasses slightly.

”You look terrible.”

Izan smirked. ”That wasn’t what Olivia said. Anyways Good to see you too.”

Miranda gave him an unimpressed look but said nothing, handing him a bottle of water. He accepted it, taking a slow sip as they walked inside.

”How was your night?” she asked.

”Didn’t sleep much.”

”Too much adrenaline?”

”That… and I was also with Olivia.”

Miranda gave Izan a raised brow before shaking her head.

They reached the private jet terminal, where a Saint Laurent representative was already waiting.

”You know, being a star isn’t all that bad,” Izan said while looking at the Jet. His first time flying private.

”Henry is in Ibiza already,” Miranda informed him as they boarded the flight. ”He wants to talk about expanding your deal.”

Izan raised a brow. ”Already?”

”You’re a marketing dream right now, Izan. The youngest Pichichi. La Liga assist leader. A Euros winner. The world can’t get enough of you.”

Izan exhaled, settling into his seat. It was strange. Months ago, everything had been about proving himself. Now, everything was about managing what came next.

The jet taxied onto the runway, engines humming softly.

Ibiza was calling.

The sun was blinding as Izan stepped off the plane, the Mediterranean heat immediately pressing against his skin.

The Saint Laurent team was waiting—stylists, PR representatives, even Selene, who had flown in a day earlier to oversee the shoot.

Selene waved the moment she saw him. ”Look who finally decided to show up.”

Izan chuckled, pulling off his sunglasses. ”Blame Miranda.”

Miranda scoffed. ”Blame Saint Laurent. They’re the ones who want this wrapped up before the preseason kicks off.”

Selene shook her head. ”Doesn’t matter. The location is ready, and trust me, Izan—it’s exactly your vibe.”

The drive through Ibiza was scenic, the island’s vibrant life on full display.

But as they arrived at the private villa Saint Laurent had rented, Izan realized what Selene meant.

The setting was perfect.

The ocean stretched endlessly behind the infinity pool, the entire place oozing class and exclusivity.

The shoot wouldn’t just be work—it would be a chance to breathe.

Still, he had work to do.

Henry arrived at the villa later that afternoon, dressed in his usual effortlessly expensive style.

He greeted Izan with a firm handshake, his expression all business.

”First of all, congratulations,” Henry said, sitting across from Izan. ”That was one hell of a tournament.”

”Thanks.”

Henry wasted no time. ”We’re ready to expand the deal.”

Izan leaned back slightly. ”Define expand.”

”You’ve elevated your brand massively. We’re talking about a long-term partnership, beyond just photo shoots.

We want you involved in campaigns, and design collaborations—a real face of the brand situation.”

Izan glanced at Miranda, who nodded subtly.

Henry continued, ”The numbers will reflect your status. We’re prepared to double the current deal.”

Double.

Izan remained unreadable, but inside, he was impressed. His performance had shifted everything.

”I’ll think about it,” he said.

Henry smiled. ”Take your time. But not too much. Opportunities like this don’t wait forever.”

As the evening rolled in, Izan stood by the pool’s edge, the waves crashing softly in the distance.

For the first time in weeks, he felt… still.

No games. No training. No relentless speculation about his future.

Just this.

The next chapter of his career was coming fast.

But for now, just for a little while—he let himself enjoy the silence.