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God Of football

Chapter 386: Little Conductor · Oct 10, 2026

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Chapter List (1057)

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351 Chapter 351: Tour 2026-10-10
352 Chapter 352: First Day At Work[Golden Ticket] 2026-10-10
353 Chapter 353: First Session 2026-10-10
354 Chapter 354: First Session, Completed 2026-10-10
355 Chapter 355: Finding The Right Piece [Nameyelus Gifts too much] 2026-10-10
356 Chapter 356: Izan’s Tactics 2026-10-10
357 Chapter 357: Prelude to Pre-Season 2026-10-10
358 Chapter 358: Just 2 Days 2026-10-10
359 Chapter 359: Watching From Afar [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] 2026-10-10
360 Chapter 360 - 2 in 26 [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] 2026-10-10
361 Chapter 361: Ball And Banter [Golden Gachapon: Pistacho031_3 ] 2026-10-10
362 Chapter 362: Saved By PR [Pistacho031_3]] 2026-10-10
363 Chapter 363: Arsenal’s Newest Man [Pistacho031_3]] 2026-10-10
364 Chapter 364: Pending Start[Gachapon Bonus] 2026-10-10
365 Chapter 365: US Tour [Golden Gacha - ] 2026-10-10
366 Chapter 366: Pre-Season Fever [Normal Release] 2026-10-10
367 Chapter 367: It Is Time [Golden Gacha, Pistacho031_3] 2026-10-10
368 Chapter 368: A Real Red Devil [Golden Gacha Pistacho_031_3] 2026-10-10
369 Chapter 369: A New Menace [Normal Release] 2026-10-10
370 Chapter 370: Football At Its Finest[Golden Gacha - ] 2026-10-10
371 Chapter 371: The NBA [Golden Gacha - ] 2026-10-10
372 Chapter 372: The American Game. 2026-10-10
373 Chapter 373: Night In LA [Normal Release] 2026-10-10
374 Chapter 374: Early Lead [Golden Gacha] 2026-10-10
375 Chapter 375: Foot On The PitChapter [Golden Gacha. Pistacho031_3] 2026-10-10
376 Chapter 376: Goal In LA [Normal Release] 2026-10-10
377 Chapter 377: Relentless Leverkusen [Final Gacha - ] 2026-10-10
378 Chapter 378: First Start 2026-10-10
379 Chapter 379: Something Greater 2026-10-10
380 Chapter 380: Late Night Escapades 2026-10-10
381 Chapter 381: Clash Of Two Titans 2026-10-10
382 Chapter 382: Clash Of Two Titans: [2] 2026-10-10
383 Chapter 383: War In A Coliseum 2026-10-10
384 Chapter 384: Brilliance Under The Lights 2026-10-10
385 Chapter 385: Egyptian Magic 2026-10-10
386 Chapter 386: Little Conductor 2026-10-10
387 Chapter 387: Halfway There 2026-10-10
388 Chapter 388: Halftime Antics 2026-10-10
389 Chapter 389: Troll 2026-10-10
390 Chapter 390: Against the Best [Golden Ticket] 2026-10-10
391 Chapter 391: Something Special 2026-10-10
392 Chapter 392: Pre-Season Conference 2026-10-10
393 Chapter 393: Unexpected(Golden Ticket) 2026-10-10
394 Chapter 394: Unspoken Words. 2026-10-10
395 Chapter 395: A World Of Their Own 2026-10-10
396 Chapter 396: League Preparations 2026-10-10
397 Chapter 397: Life At Colney 2026-10-10
398 Chapter 398: Whispers Of Fame 2026-10-10
399 Chapter 399: Moments Between Whistles 2026-10-10
400 Chapter 400: The Premier League 2026-10-10

Chapter 386: Little Conductor

Salah exploded forward, his body tilting into the sprint, his feet a blur as he tore into open space.

White lunged from the side. Too slow.

Gabriel stepped in. Not quick enough.

Salah danced past him with a touch of silk and venom, the ball never leaving his orbit.

The box was his now.

The goal was his now.

A second of silence. A heartbeat of inevitability.

And then—the finish.

A stroke of his left foot. Pure. Measured. Deadly.

The ball curled, arcing through the air, bending away from Rayaʼs desperate lunge.

Lee Dixon: ”Oh, that is Salah! That is Salah at his ruthless best!”

The net rippled.

Redshirts rushed toward him. The Arsenal players stood frozen.

Salah turned, face calm, body alight with triumph. His arms spread wide as he soaked in the stunned silence of the opposing crowd.

Peter Drury: ”You stop him once, you stop him twice… but you cannot stop him forever! The Egyptian King has spoken!”

...….

Izan stood at the center of the pitch, hands on his hips, watching the Liverpool players swarm Salah in celebration.

The Egyptian King had struck back, and even Izan had to admit—it was a goal worthy of the title.

A slow, wry smile tugged at his lips. This is what weʼre here for, huh?

He exhaled, shaking his head as he turned, eyes drifting toward Zinchenko, who stood just outside the box, hands resting on his head.

He wasnʼt looking at anyone, but the forced chuckle he let out as Izan approached was enough proof that he knew exactly what had just happened.

”Man, I got caught,” Zinchenko muttered, lowering his hands and rubbing his jaw. He laughed, a quick, breathless thing as if he could shake it off with sound alone.

Izan arched a brow, but he didnʼt bite. ”Yeah,” he said lightly, ”but thatʼs what he does, right?”

Zinchenko gave him a side glance, lips twitching. ”Donʼt try to make me feel better, bro.”

Izan chuckled. ”I wonʼt.” Then, softer, ”But letʼs fix it.”

Zinchenko nodded, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled sharply. But Izan could see it in his eyes—that burn, that frustration.

No one liked being the one who cost a goal, even if it was Salah who did the punishing.

Before they could say more, Artetaʼs voice cut through the moment.

”Forget it! Donʼt mind! Letʼs move on!”

The touchline was alive with his energy, his arms slicing through the air, his intensity flooding through the team.

He turned to the bench, demanding more, already barking instructions to the midfield.

The game wasnʼt stopping.

Izan tapped Zinchenkoʼs back. ”Letʼs go.”

Peter Drury: ”A moment of brilliance from Mohamed Salah, and Liverpool are level! Arsenalʼs lead is gone in an instant, and Sofi Stadium is absolutely rocking!”

Lee Dixon: ”Thatʼs the danger when you lose the ball in those areas.

Zinchenko tried to step into midfield, which he loves to do, but Salah was waiting—pounced on it, and the finish… well, thatʼs why heʼs world-class.”

Peter Drury: ”You can see Artetaʼs response immediately—he wants his players to reset, stay composed, and keep playing their football.

Theyʼve been excellent so far, but now comes the test: how do they react to adversity?”

Odegaard clapped his hands, gesturing for focus, while Declan Rice exchanged words with Saliba and Gabriel at the back.

Izan, standing at the center circle, rolled his shoulders, his sharp gaze scanning Liverpoolʼs shape as the referee signaled for play to resume.

Lee Dixon: ”One thingʼs for sure—how Izan responds now will tell us a lot. Heʼs already shown his quality in this game, but when Liverpool punch back, the great players find a way to answer.”

Peter Drury: ”Weʼre witnessing an intense battle here in Los Angeles. Arsenal, Liverpool, one-all. And there is still so much more to come.”

The game reignited with a fire that burned through every blade of grass.

Arsenal and Liverpool werenʼt treating this like a friendly—it was a battle, one that demanded everything from the players in Sofi Stadium.

Izan and Mac Allister remained locked in their duel, neither backing down.

Every Arsenal attack saw Izan drifting into space, trying to shake the Argentine off his back.

Every Liverpool transition saw Mac Allister stepping up aggressively, determined to leave his mark.

Peter Drury: ”Oh, this is a proper contest now! Arsenal against Liverpool, but within that war, there are battles—one of the fiercest?

Izan and Alexis Mac Allister, two brilliant footballers, going at it with everything they have.”

The battles werenʼt just between them. Across the pitch, warriors clashed.

In midfield, Declan Rice and Dominik Szoboszlai collided in a series of bruising duels—Rice muscling into tackles, Szoboszlai gliding through spaces and looking to pick passes.

On the right, Salah drifted inside, trying to pull Zinchenko into dangerous areas, while Ben White stayed sharp, tracking every movement.

On the other end, Trent Alexander-Arnold faced relentless pressure from Gabriel Martinelli, who twisted and turned, forcing the right-back into last-ditch tackles.

Lee Dixon: ”Youʼd think this was a Champions League knockout tie, not a preseason game in Los Angeles. Look at the intensity, the urgency—no one is holding back!”

Izan danced past Mac Allister near the center circle, drawing gasps from the crowd.

The Argentine chased him down, shoulder-barging into him, but Izan stayed up, rolling the ball between his feet before sending a slick pass out wide.

Seconds later, Liverpool had their turn. Diaz collected a pass, spun away from Gabriel, and surged forward—only for Rice to slide in, clean as a whistle, the ball bouncing toward Odegaard.

Peter Drury: ”And Rice! Arsenalʼs shield, standing firm once more!”

The game was relentless. No pause, no breaks—just an exchange of blows.

From the touchline, both managers gestured animatedly, trying to convey what was on their minds to the players and the fans were all in for it.

The matchʼs rhythm had shifted, and Izan felt it. Liverpoolʼs relentless pressing had started to force Arsenal into tighter spaces, limiting their forward options.

So, he adapted. Dropping deep alongside Declan Rice, he took it upon himself to dictate the tempo, orchestrating from the back like a seasoned playmaker.

With his head constantly on a swivel, he sprayed passes across the pitch—switching play to Martinelli when the left side opened up.

Threading sharp ground passes to Odegaard in tight spaces, and lofting delicate balls over Liverpoolʼs press for Saka to chase.

Peter Drury: ”Izan is everywhere now. A 16- 16-year-old who plays with the mind of a veteran.

Dropping deeper, forming that double pivot with Rice, and from there, he is pulling all the strings.”

Liverpool noticed. They couldnʼt allow him time and space to dictate the game.

Mac Allister and Szoboszlai exchanged glances, then pressed forward in unison, closing in on Izan as soon as he received the ball.

Izan let them come. He felt their presence—the heat of Szoboszlaiʼs aggressive stride, the tension in Mac Allisterʼs frame as he prepared to lunge in.

The moment they committed, he turned. A swift feint with his left sent Mac Allister off-balance.

A delicate touch with the outside of his boot shifted the ball past Szoboszlai.

And in one sweeping motion, he rolled it forward, leaving both men spinning in his wake.

Lee Dixon: ”Oh, brilliant! Mac Allister and Szoboszlai both tried to trap him and Izan just—vanished! Slipped right through them like smoke!”

Gravenberch stepped up next, eager to stop the bleeding, but Izan saw him coming.

Before the Dutchman could close the space, Izan took one glance upfield and sent a ball slicing through the seams of Liverpoolʼs defense.

It was inch-perfect. A pass that bent through the gaps, evading Van Dijk and Konaté, and curling directly into the path of Kai Havertz, who found himself in acres of space.

Peter Drury: ”Oh my word—what a ball! That is simply extraordinary from Izan!”

The crowd erupted as Havertz controlled it beautifully, storming into the box with only Alisson to beat.

The former was a runaway train, thundering toward goal. Each stride sent a tremor through the pitch, his eyes locked onto the approaching Alisson.

The Brazilian hesitated—halfway between rushing out and standing his ground.

That flicker of uncertainty was all Havertz needed.

A heavy touch sent the ball rolling past Alissonʼs reach.

Then—contact.

Alissonʼs outstretched arm clipped Havertzʼs trailing leg.

The German stumbled, lost his footing, and crashed onto the turf. The stadium held its breath.

And then—

The whistle pierced the air.

Peter Drury: ”Penalty! Alisson reaches—Alisson clips—and Arsenal have a lifeline!”

A storm of reactions exploded across the pitch. Havertz lay sprawled, hands outstretched as if to confirm the inevitable.

Alisson threw his arms up in protest, eyes wide with disbelief. Liverpool shirts swarmed the referee, demanding reconsideration.

But the decision had been made.

Lee Dixon: ”Oh, this is massive! Havertz gets there first, and Alisson—well, itʼs reckless. You can see the touch. VAR will check it, but this looks stonewall.”

Izan stood near the edge of the box, the corners of his lips curling into the faintest of smirks.

His eyes flickered toward the penalty spot, toward the moment Arsenal had been waiting for.

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