God Of football

Chapter 402: Dull Start.

The Emirates roared to life as the teams emerged from the tunnel.

Red smoke drifted faintly from the stands, banners rippled across the tiers, and the chants surged.

Arsenalʼs starting eleven stepped out into the sunlight, led by Martin Ødegaard, with the rest of the squad flowing behind in formation.

The moment was heavy, the kind that made a young player feel the weight of every step.

Izan walked out just ahead of Bukayo Saka, the number 10 shirt snug on his back, his boots tapping softly against the turf.

The cameras followed him immediately, zooming in on his face — a blend of focus and awe.

”And here we go,” said Guy Mowbray, voice crisp in living rooms across the world.

”A new season, a packed house at the Emirates, and plenty of storylines to follow. Arsenal open their campaign against Wolves and take a look at that midfield — 16-year-old Izan handed his Premier League debut. What a vote of confidence from Mikel Arteta.”

The players split off toward the center circle, lining up for the handshakes.

The Wolves players kept their energy light — Dawson and Kilman exchanged a grin as they glanced toward Izan.

”All this flash for a teenager,” Dawson muttered under his breath to his captain.

”Letʼs see if he still wants the ball when the tackles come flying.”

On Arsenalʼs side, Saka leaned in toward Izan with a teasing smirk.

”Hope you practiced your autograph,” he said. ”Youʼre about to be on every kidʼs poster.”

Izan cracked a grin, then composed himself as they moved into line.

The lineups were displayed on the stadium screens and read out through the PA system.

Arsenal XI: Ramsdale; Ben White, Saliba, Calafiori, Tomiyasu; Rice, Ødegaard (C), Izan; Saka, Havertz, Martinelli.

Wolves XI: José Sá; Toti, Dawson, Kilman; Semedo, João Gomes, Traoré, Aït-Nouri; Jean-Ricner Bellegarde, Hwang, Cunha.

Mowbray continued: ”Arsenalʼs summer additions get the nod — Calafiori in central defense, and of course, Izan, whoʼs been the talk of the preseason.

Itʼs a bold lineup, but one built on intent. Meanwhile, Wolves stick with a familiar setup, hoping to spoil the party.”

The handshakes were soon done, with each team peeling away toward their halves.

The final pre-match anthem blared.

The cameras panned across the pitch one last time, catching the slight bounce in Izanʼs step as he took position ahead of Declan Rice.

He took a deep breath.

His Premier League debut was seconds away.

Martin Ødegaard stepped forward toward the center circle as the referee, Craig Pawson, held the coin in his palm.

Opposite him, Max Kilman, the Wolvesʼ stand-in captain for the day, adjusted the band on his left arm as he approached.

The two exchanged a quick, polite handshake.

”Call it,” the referee said.

Kilman nodded. ”Tails.”

The coin went up, spun in the sunlight, and clinked down into Pawsonʼs hand before he revealed the winner.

”Heads,” the referee announced. Ødegaard gave a small nod and pointed toward the North Bank end.

”Weʼll take that side.”

Kilman turned to his teammates, gesturing back toward the opposite end of the pitch. Wolves would kick off.

Craig Pawson glanced toward his assistants on either side of the pitch, then blew once on the whistle and pointed to the center spot.

The game was on.

Hee-chan Hwang tapped the ball backward to João Gomes, and Wolves took the first touch of their 2024/25 Premier League season at the Emirates.

The stadium erupted in full voice again, Arsenal fans drowning out any early instructions shouted from the Wolves bench.

Izanʼs body was low, his eyes scanning Wolvesʼ shape as the ball shifted between midfielders.

It was fast. Sharper than preseason. But he didnʼt feel out of place. He could already sense the rhythm beginning to form.

”Come on, Arsenal!” came the thunder from behind Ramsdaleʼs goal.

Kilman launched the ball long from the Wolvesʼ half, sending it arcing toward the left side where Jean-Ricner Bellegarde had made a darting run.

The Frenchman brought it down neatly with his thigh and tried to cut inside with a sharp burst of pace, shifting the ball quickly onto his right, but Izan had already stepped up.

He stepped in with poise, body low, feet light, with Bellegarde tried to slip the ball past him with a disguised touch, but Izan matched it step for step, then swept the ball cleanly off his toes with a precise interception.

No foul, no hesitation. Just clean football.

A roar of approval rose from the Emirates stands.

”Wonderful anticipation there,” said Guy Mowbray from the commentary box.

”Izan, on his Premier League debut, showing heʼs not just a creative spark. That was defensive maturity far beyond his years.”

The teenager didnʼt break stride.

He passed the ball calmly to Rice, then drifted into space, already scanning for his next involvement.

Bellegarde looked over his shoulder, eyebrows slightly raised. That hadnʼt been easy to deal with. And it was only the first few seconds.

The opening fifteen minutes settled into a familiar rhythm.

Wolves pressed in short bursts while Arsenal gradually asserted control with patient possession.

Izan wasnʼt flashy. He didnʼt force the game or demand the spotlight. But the ball moved smoother when it passed through him.

Short touches, sharp checks of the shoulder, the occasional drop of the shoulder to skip away from pressure — all subtle hints of the player who had turned heads at Valencia the previous season.

And while he wasnʼt dominating the tempo, he wasnʼt hiding from it either.

Then came a moment that drew a wave of admiration across the Emirates.

Arsenal worked the ball across the back, with Saliba stepping forward and feeding it to Rice.

Wolves had narrowed their shape, closing off obvious lanes.

Rice glanced toward Izan, who was hovering just between the lines, his body half-turned, already aware of what was coming.

Rice steadied himself, then fired it into him.

The Wolves midfield moved, looking to force Izan to cough the ball up, but with a little nudge and a La Croqueta, Izan evaded them.

Before the Wolves setup could recover, Izan was already on his next course of action.

There, between the full-back and center-back, a window had opened. Although it was tiny, it was enough.

Izan drew his leg back and clipped a pass through the smallest gap, skipping it between Gomes and Aït-Nouri with perfect weight.

Bukayo Saka, anticipating the pass, darted onto it, letting the ball run across his body before exploding into the box.

The Emirates crowd surged to its feet in anticipation.

After getting to the ball, Saka tried to cut it back across goal, but a sliding challenge from Dawson whom the ball deflected off before going behind.

Corner to Arsenal.

”Oof! That was a lovely pass,” Mowbray noted from the gantry. ”And it came from Izan again. Just threading the needle. You can see flashes of why Artetaʼs put so much trust in the youngster already.”

Saka jogged over to the corner flag, arm raised briefly to signal as he reached for the ball resting on the arc.

The North Bank buzzed with anticipation, shirts rippling, camera flashes twinkling.

But just as he placed the ball down, he paused—then laughed quietly to himself.

A moment clicked.

”Oi,” he muttered with a grin, picking the ball up again.

Behind him, just a few steps away, Izan was already approaching.

”I forgot I got smoked,” Saka said, turning around and tossing the ball back over his shoulder to the teenager.

”All yours, maestro.”

Izan caught it without breaking stride, his face pulling into a small smirk.

The memory was still fresh — two days before, Arteta had organized a set-piece competition at Colney.

Dead balls from different angles, corners from both sides. Saka, Martinelli, Ødegaard, and even Calafiori had stepped up.

But it was Izan who quietly topped the board with the most accurate deliveries.

Arteta hadnʼt said much after; just made a note in front of everyone.

”Set pieces on matchday? Izanʼs responsibility now.”

Saka had laughed and protested with a dramatic ”I slipped on one of mine!” but accepted the result.

And now, on matchday, he backed away, hands raised in surrender.

”Donʼt mess it up. My stats still count if you assist me,” he added with a wink.

Izan placed the ball down and glanced up. Saliba and Calafiori had already pushed forward.

Ødegaard stood near the edge of the box, ready for a short option. Wolves were scrambling to mark, a bit disorganized from the tempo of the switch.

Izan whipped the corner in with pace, curling it towards the six-yard box where Saliba and Calafiori rose, but Wolves keeper José Sá was quick off his line.

He leapt confidently and plucked the ball out of the air before any real danger materialized.

The break in play gave a moment for the chatter to ripple through the stands.

”Shouldʼve been one-nil there, easy,” one Arsenal fan muttered, shaking his head.

”With this team? I thought weʼd be two up by now. Especially with the kid.”

A group behind them chimed in. ”Yeah, heʼs tidy. But we need some end product. Canʼt let Wolves grow into this.”

Meanwhile, in the away section, the traveling Wolves fans had found their voice.

Drums thumped as a chant began to rise, crude and biting.

”Overhyped! Overhyped! Just a kid, overhyped!”

They sang it in waves, the rhythm building, feeding off one another.

A few of the Wolves players chuckled from across the pitch. Sarcastic claps, sideways glances.

In midfield, Izan stayed calm, barely reacting as he adjusted his position, eyes scanning for the next play. Rice gave him a quick pat on the back as he ran past, but Izan didnʼt need it.

” The roar from Atletiʼs Ultra fans makes these Wolves supporters look meek,” Izan thought as he turned towards the Wolves half where the ball was moving towards him.