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God Of football

Chapter 399: Moments Between Whistles · Oct 10, 2026

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Chapter List (1057)

Page number / 22

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 399: Moments Between Whistles

As they neared the car, Olivia tugged him to a stop. ”Before we go, one photo.”

She fished out her phone, held it up, and Izan leaned in without hesitation. Their faces squished close as she snapped a few goofy shots and then one proper smiling one.

”For the memories,” she said.

”For the wallpaper,” he said, already peeking at her screen.

She laughed, slipping it back into her bag. ”Maybe.”

As Izan stepped around to the other side of the car, a voice called out from behind them.

”Wait—yo, wait up!”

Izan turned to see a young guy — early twenties maybe — jog up from the corner of the street.

He was carrying a satchel and wore a vintage Arsenal shirt, the old bruised banana design.

”Sorry,” the guy said, catching his breath as he stopped a few paces away. ”Are you Izan? Like… Arsenalʼs Izan?”

Izan offered a sheepish smile. ”Yeah, thatʼs me.”

”I knew it,” the fan grinned. ”I wasnʼt sure, but I thought I recognized you. You played against Leverkusen, right? That switch you hit in the second half to set up Martinelli? That was ridiculous, man.”

”Oh,” Izan said, surprised but pleased. ”You saw that?”

”Are you kidding? I rewatched it like five times on Twitter. Everyone in the replies was asking who you were.”

He held up his phone tightly, contemplating something before speaking up.

”Can I grab a quick photo? My group chat is gonna go mental,” he said expectantly

”Of course,” Izan said, stepping over.

They snapped the photo, the fan still grinning. ”Youʼve got that calm style, man. Like… you donʼt rush anything. Youʼre gonna be special.”

”Thanks,” Izan said, genuinely touched. ”Appreciate that.”

”Good luck this season,” the guy added, already backing away. ”Iʼll be watching.”

When Izan got back in the car, Olivia was already watching him with a smug smile, arms folded.

”So,” she said, as the door shut behind him. ”Switch to Martinelli, huh?”

He gave her a look. ”Donʼt start.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. ”Iʼm just saying… the fans are quoting your passes now.”

He tried to keep a straight face, but the little smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

”Youʼre not gonna let this go, are you?”

”Never,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder as the car pulled away from the curb.

”Youʼre getting more famous now. I have to keep you grounded.”

He tilted his head to rest gently against hers. ”Donʼt worry. You do.”

And for a while, they just sat like that — the city rolling by outside, his hand resting over hers, the weight of attention not heavy at all, at least not with her right there beside him.

....

The ride back was quiet, the kind of calm that settled in after a day full of movement.

The air in the car was cool, and the city outside beginning to shift into its early evening rhythm — buses, bicycles, people flowing past the windows like a current.

Izan sat with one ankle resting on his knee, elbow propped on the door, while Olivia leaned slightly toward the center console, scrolling through pictures from earlier.

”That oneʼs cute,” she said, holding up her phone. It was a slightly blurry selfie, her head tilted toward his, his hand mid-gesture — talking, probably.

She laughed softly. ”You always look like youʼre explaining something.”

”I was. You just never listen.”

”I listen selectively.”

He smirked, not bothering to argue. The driver turned down into the quieter part of the neighborhood where Izanʼs apartment was.

As the car pulled up in front of the entrance, Olivia started gathering her things lazily — a water bottle, her phone, the little linen tote sheʼd picked up at one of the shops.

Izan opened his door just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.

Mum.

He accepted the call with a swipe and a tired smile. ”Hey.”

Komiʼs face appeared on the screen instantly, her eyebrows lifting with mock accusation. ”So youʼve vanished, huh?”

Before Izan could answer, Horiʼs voice jumped in from beside her, just off-screen. ”Tell Olivia sheʼs a bad influence! We havenʼt heard from you in two days!”

Izan huffed a laugh, slamming the car door gently behind him as he walked toward the building entrance. Olivia stood beside him now, clearly listening in. ”Itʼs been one day, Hori. One.”

”Feels like ten,” Hori shot back. ”You didnʼt even text me back about that TikTok I sent.”

”You sent me a TikTok of a cat playing football.”

”It was elite defending.” Hori countered.

Izan shook his head, grinning. ”Iʼll study it for my next match.”

”Ah, heʼs so cheeky now,” Komi said, playfully nudging at her phone screen like she could reach through. ”Is that what Londonʼs doing to you?”

Before he could come up with a comeback, another familiar voice slid into the frame.

Miranda, lounging back on what looked like Komiʼs couch, a plate of fruit in hand. ”Donʼt blame London. Blame Olivia.”

Izan blinked. ”Wait—Miranda? What are you doing there?”

Miranda gave a slow, satisfied smile. ”You thought I was still in my flat, didnʼt you?”

”I literally texted you last night about training. You didnʼt say anything.”

”Thatʼs because I knew youʼd react like this.” She plucked a grape off the plate. ”Itʼs nice here. Your mum feeds me.”

Komi chimed in with a proud nod. ”No one eats fruit at my house without being fed properly.”

Olivia tried to stifle a laugh, then gave a small wave toward the screen. ”Hi, by the way.”

”There she is!” Komi beamed. ”Did he feed you? Has he been cooking?”

”He made toast and Pasta,” Olivia offered.

”That doesnʼt count,” Hori groaned.

Izan rolled his eyes, unlocking the front door and stepping aside to let Olivia go first.

”Canʼt believe Iʼm getting dragged by a bunch of people who donʼt even live in the same country as me.”

”Distance means nothing when we have Wi-Fi,” Komi said sweetly.

They all laughed — Olivia, too — and as the elevator doors opened, Izan stepped in, still holding the phone up, the warmth of home radiating from its tiny screen.

”Alright, alright. Iʼll call again tomorrow.”

”Youʼd better,” Komi said.

”Bye, Izan!” Hori shouted. ”Bye, Olivia!”

”Bye!” Olivia called back.

The call ended as they stepped out onto Izanʼs floor. He slipped the phone into his pocket, still smiling.

”Your mumʼs got a squad going over there,” Olivia said.

”She always does.”

They reached the apartment door, and as he unlocked it, Olivia glanced at him. ”Still glad I came?”

Izan looked at her, then past her, then back again. ”Yeah,” he said. ”Definitely.”

...…

The next day at Conley unfolded with the steady rhythm that had become familiar to the squad.

Training wrapped just after midday, the final whistle blowing as a gust of wind swept across the pitches, rustling pinnies and tousling damp hair.

Players peeled off in groups, laughing, some still breathless, others focused as they walked toward the changing rooms.

A few stayed behind for finishing drills, but most filed in with that shared understanding — lunch, then rest, then the video room.

Izan was among the first to peel his boots off, grass still clinging to his socks. He glanced across the room to see Saka and Calafiori trading light jabs about their finishing.

Merino was toweling sweat from his face, and further down, Martin Ødegaard was already halfway through his post-training shake, scrolling through something on his phone.

”Come on,” someone said behind Izan — maybe Gabriel — ”before Jover eats all the fish again.”

The cafeteria was quieter than usual — not silent, but subdued. Training had been intense, sharper than the day before.

Arteta had pushed them hard, as he often did when their preparations neared its final stretch.

Izan slid onto a seat beside Reiss Nelson, tray balanced in one hand. Roast chicken, quinoa salad, sweet potato mash.

The kind of performance meal that did the job without sparking joy.

”Micah Richards was trending all evening yesterday,” Reiss said, nudging his tray forward. ”Saw the video of him showing off his contacts. Whyʼd you look so stunned?”

Izan shook his head, stabbing a piece of chicken. ”Didnʼt expect him to say LeBron James. I barely even talk to him.”

”But you have his number. Thatʼs wild.”

He smirked but didnʼt comment, taking another bite instead. From across the table, Saliba gave him a look. ”Tell him to pull up for the Wolves game,” he joked.

Lunch passed with soft chatter and clinking cutlery.

Afterward, players filtered out in ones and twos, some heading back to their rooms or the recovery area, others to stretch in the warm-down zone.

A solid hour of rest was on the cards before the squad reassembled.

And then came the video room.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly as players filed in.

A large screen dominated the wall, and the whiteboard beside it already had diagrams scribbled in two different colors.

Arteta stood to the side, laptop connected to the system, ready to cue up sequences from their last match.

As seats were taken and murmurs died down, he began.

”No fluff today,” he said. ”Weʼll go straight into transitions.”

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