God Of football

Chapter 553: Hot Wheelz [GT Chapter/Skippable]

The morning unfolded like a carefully scripted entrance.

A clear sky, a quiet street, and a sound that didn’t belong—low, guttural, mechanical.

It grew until it wrapped the block in tension.

The sun cast a soft gold over the slick London curb, still wet from the night’s drizzle.

Then came the vehicle: a matte-black transporter, sliding into view with the elegance of something that didn’t belong to this world.

Izan stood at the window, toothbrush in mouth, one eyebrow raised.

Behind him, Olivia padded into view, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big.

She blinked at the noise, and leaned into the glass.

”Is that...?”

”Yep.” Izan spat into the sink.

Outside, the transporter sighed as it knelt, hydraulic hiss flooding the air.

Then the ramp extended—slow, deliberate.

Four uniformed men moved in practiced sync.

Within seconds, the Gemera appeared.

Sharp lines. Ashy Silver and blue accents.

Dihedral doors folding open like a creature unfolding its wings.

Olivia gasped.

”The pictures and what we saw in the room didn’t do it justice.”

Izan smiled at her words and pulled a hoodie over his head and stepped outside, the air crisp against his skin.

One of the staff, an older man with polished boots and an earpiece, approached.

”Mr. Hernández,” he said, holding a slender, badge-like key.

”She’s yours.”

Izan took it.

Cool to the touch.

He turned it once in his palm.

The Koenigsegg logo gleamed beneath the light.

From behind him, Olivia said, ”I don’t know what this even is at this point.”

He just smirked.

”Let’s see what this baby sings like,” but just then, his phone buzzed.

He answered.

”Miranda?”

”Morning, superstar.” Her voice was warm but businesslike.

”Vittorio sends his regards. Says enjoy the Gemera. The announcement will be made on the weekend and remember, no showing off in front of traffic cameras or your mom might have my head for the car you drive.”

”No promises,” Izan said, grinning.

After he hung up, Olivia was already standing by the passenger door, hesitant.

”You sure this isn’t going to blast off if you hit the gas? Your lap back at the track with the Jesko wasn’t exactly enjoyable to watch, so I have my reservations about sitting inside.”

Izan looked back at the car.

”Only one way to find out.”

He slid into the driver’s seat.

The cabin was so sleek it felt fictional—stitched leather, carbon accents, touch displays humming to life with a gentle whir.

He hit the ignition.

The Gemera came alive with a purr, smooth as water sliding over stone.

He tapped the center console.

The instrument cluster lit up, engine temperature climbing.

Olivia, on the other hand, clutched the edge of her seat.

The garage doors opened.

And then they were off.

It wasn’t violent acceleration, it was just divine.

The Gemara surged forward, silent but fast.

Balanced like it was floating.

Olivia laughed into the moment, her hair whipping behind her as Izan sped up.

When they returned to the flat’s underground car park, Izan hadn’t stopped smiling.

He chuckled, pushing the door open.

Outside, the delivery team waited.

The older man bowed again, confirming the final steps.

”Hope you liked it,” he said as Izan stopped right in front of him.

Izan, nodded heavily, like a kid getting a toy car for Christmas, only this time, it was a very extravagant toy.

...

The hum of the engine, low and deliberate, echoed faintly in the quiet morning air as Izan turned into the parking lot with his car.

The gates opened slowly, almost reluctant against the chill.

He pulled in—easing the Gemera into one of the corner spots of the players’ section.

Inside the booth up front, the security guard—Gareth—leaned forward, squinting.

He gave a small shake of his head and muttered, ”This boy...”

Izan stepped out, his boots crunching lightly on damp gravel.

He gave Gareth a slight nod on his way in.

”Morning,” Izan said, voice low, easy.

”You don’t sleep, do you?” Gareth replied with a smirk.

Izan just shrugged, flashed a small grin, and disappeared into the facility.

Inside, the halls were mostly empty.

Some early staff were in their routines, a few voices echoing faintly from the physio room.

Izan changed quickly and stepped out to the training pitch without a word.

The cold greeted him like a slap to the forearms, but he welcomed it.

He set up a few balls around the edge of the box.

He struck the first one clean, and then another.

He wasn’t counting, but his body was already awake, every muscle tuned like wires humming under the skin.

Inside the lot, twenty minutes later, a white SUV rolled in.

Saka in the front seat, a coffee cup in hand.

Nwaneri was next, then Calafiori, Timber, Jorginho, and more—dripping in, car after car.

But the Gemera was already parked, quiet, and still in its spot like it owned the place.

Saka parked, stepped out and paused.

His eyes locked on the car’s curves, the unfamiliar lines.

”Yo, come check this out,” he said, eyes narrowing.

”Who pulled up in that?”

Nwaneri, walking up behind him, stopped too.

”That’s not one of ours, is it?”

”Not unless someone won the lottery and didn’t tell us,” Calafiori added, laughing from a few spots away.

They approached slowly, inspecting like mechanics without tools.

No one touched it—just circled it like something rare they weren’t supposed to be near.

Then Timber pointed.

”Is that... Koenigsegg?”

”It’s the Gemera,” Nwaneri confirmed after pulling out his phone, already halfway through a reverse search.

”Mate. This thing’s not even officially out yet.”

Saka’s eyes widened. ”And it’s here. At Colney.”

A pause.

Then a slow, dawning realization.

”Wait,” Saka said, already turning toward the building.

......

The sky had barely brightened since entering the training complex but Saka wasn’t finished.

He spotted Izan near the far corner of the pitch—jogging back from a sharp finish, already drenched in that light, productive sweat.

The ball thudded against the side netting and rolled back toward him.

”Oi!” Saka called, voice echoing just slightly in the morning quiet.

Izan didn’t look up.

Just reset the ball with his foot and lined up another attempt.

Saka broke into a jog, then a run.

”I-ZZY!”

This time, Izan turned, slightly startled by the full-name shout.

He saw Bukayo speeding toward him, and instinctively turned and jogged the opposite way—half-laughing, half-confused.

”What’d I do?” he called over his shoulder.

Saka caught up in a few seconds, swatting him on the back like a big brother chasing a younger sibling around the garden.

”The car, bro!” Saka said, breath puffing in clouds.

”Is that, outside yours?”

Izan straightened up, the corner of his mouth twitching.

”Oh. That,” he said feigning disinterest.

Saka stepped back like he needed to take a second.

”You said ”oh that” like you forgot it was sitting in the car park looking like the Batmobile’s younger, cooler cousin.”

Izan finally cracked a smile.

”I didn’t forget. Just wasn’t expecting a full interrogation this early.”

”So it’s yours then,” Saka said, folding his arms.

Izan gave a small nod.

Saka looked at him for a beat, then exhaled and tilted his head.

”...You’re annoying, you know that?”

Izan laughed thinking that was all but the morning never let up.

From warm-ups to passing drills, Saka had kept up the barrage.

”Did you custom-order it? No, be honest.”

”I’m not joking—how did you get it before everyone?”

”Bro, I checked the Koenigsegg site. That car’s not even real yet.”

Every water break, every switch of drills, Saka was on him.

”Do you have the CEO’s nudes cause you don’t get early access like that unless you’re on their board?”

”Can you get me your Agent’s number? I need to think about switching sides.”

Izan just shook his head and played through it, keeping his responses minimal.

But Saka wouldn’t stop.

By the time they were walking into the video room, he was still at it.

”So if I asked Miranda, she’d say the same thing, yeah? That it was a gift?”

Izan stopped in the hallway, turned, and stared at him.

Saka grinned, unbothered.

Inside, Arteta was already at the front of the room, the screen on, waiting for the squad to settle.

Players shuffled in, finding their usual seats, joking and murmuring among themselves.

Arteta glanced up and watched Saka for a few seconds—talking, still poking at Izan with that playful grin.

Then, just before he pressed play on the remote, he said, dry as anything:

Bukayo.”

Saka blinked. ”Yes, boss?”

Arteta didn’t even look up this time.

”Let the boy breathe.”

Laughter rippled across the room.

A few claps and a couple of cough-muffled chuckles.

Izan just shook his head, finally smiling as he sank into his chair beside Saka.

The lights dimmed after that as the footage stilled—paused mid-sequence, defenders retreating in half-motion, a through ball frozen in mid-air.

Arteta picked up the remote again.

”Alright,” he said, tone shifting. ”Monaco. They press high and drop back quickly. Watch number 6 here, he’s...”

The room settled.

But beside Izan, in the flickering dark, Saka leaned in close and mouthed silently: ”After this.”

He raised his hand, made the phone gesture with his thumb and pinky, and then tapped it against his temple like it was serious business.

Izan just gave him a sideways glance before focusing on what was next.

A/n: Might seem a bit draggy so you can skip if you want.