God Of football

Chapter 833: Out Of The Norm.

The afternoon light had softened by the time Izan found himself sitting on the wooden bench beside the woman.

The faint sound of children’s laughter floated through the park, and the air smelled faintly of grass and early summer warmth as a soft breeze stirred the leaves above, brushing past like a whisper.

Leo’s mother sat beside him, her hands clasped over her knees.

There was a look of quiet wonder on her face that hadn’t quite faded even after months.

”He’s doing so well now,” she said, shaking her head as though she still couldn’t believe it.

”The doctors said his recovery’s been... unbelievable, really. Things they said would take months happened in weeks.”

She paused, her eyes glistening slightly as she looked out toward her son, who was now running around in circles near a row of benches.

”They told me he’d need a few months of therapy before walking again, but... by week two, he took his first steps. Just like that. And by week four, he was already running.”

She let out a soft laugh, mostly in disbelief at how things were even now, before looking up at Izan.

”Now I can barely catch up with him, and sometimes it makes me wonder if this is even a dream, because if it was, I don’t think I ever want to wake up.”

Her voice faltered slightly, the emotion catching her off guard.

She looked down, blinking fast, her hands twisting around each other.

”If not for you, Izan... I don’t even, ” Her words broke, and she bowed her head slightly, her shoulders trembling as she whispered, ”Thank you. Truly.”

Izan leaned back a little, a faint sigh escaping him as he tilted his head, watching her quietly.

”What am I supposed to do when you say stuff like that?” he asked softly, a wry smile playing on his lips.

She gave a small, embarrassed laugh, wiping her face quickly.

”You should be strong for him,” Izan added, nodding toward the field where Leo was still running.

”He’s looking at you more than you think.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue, offering it to her.

She accepted it with a quiet ”thank you,” pressing it against her eyes.

Before she could say anything more, Leo came bounding back toward them, a ball in his hands, his small voice cutting through the air.

”Mum!” he said, a tiny frown on his face. ”You promised not to cry.”

His mother smiled through her tears. ”I know, sweetheart. But these are tears of joy.”

Leo squinted, folding his arms.

”Tears are tears. There’s no joy in that. If you’re happy, you should smile.”

Then, with a grin, he lifted both index fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulled them upward, forcing a goofy, exaggerated smile.

That did it; his mother burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking.

Izan couldn’t help but chuckle too, watching the boy’s expression soften in pride at having made her laugh.

”I went to get my ball,” Leo said, holding it up, before turning to Izan. ”Will you play with me?”

Izan stood, stretching lightly, then looked down at the boy with mock seriousness.

”Play with you? You think you can handle me?”

Leo puffed out his chest. ”I’m faster now.”

”Alright then.” Izan nodded once, then turned toward his car. ”Give me a minute.”

He jogged over to the Jesko, popped open the front boot, and pulled out a pair of joggers.

As he walked back, he was already rolling up his sleeves, his grin widening.

”Alright, Leo,” he said as he tugged the joggers on over his jeans, ”just so you know, I’m not going easy on you.”

Leo gasped playfully, already setting down the ball.

They found an open patch of grass nearby, uneven and soft, but perfect enough.

It started with just the two of them, Izan letting the boy dribble past him once before intercepting the next play with a cheeky flick of his foot.

”Too slow,” Izan teased, his tone light.

Within minutes, though, more kids noticed.

A small crowd began to gather, a few curious faces first, then entire families who realised who it was out there, playing barefoot in the park like a kid.

Soon, there were about a dozen kids around, ball hopping between them, laughter echoing louder with every pass.

”Alright!” Izan called, clapping his hands. ”Teams!”

He pointed around, pretending to measure the group with exaggerated concentration.

”Me, Leo, and...” He pointed at a girl holding a bright pink ball under her arm.

”You! You’re on our team.”

The rest, about nine others, groaned, but then suddenly cheered, seeing themselves as the challengers.

The game kicked off again as Izan moved with that effortless flair that made everything look easy, nutmegging one kid, spinning past another, juggling the ball off his knees before tapping it gently for Leo to chase.

The kids gasped, laughing and shouting as he exaggerated each move, playfully celebrating when he scored through the two bottles they’d set up as a goalpost.

When the ball hit what was supposed to be the ”net,” he threw his arms wide dramatically.

”What a finish!” he shouted, spinning once before falling to the ground in fake exhaustion.

The kids swarmed him, laughing, while parents on the sidelines clapped and recorded on their phones, smiling at the surreal sight.

They played for nearly an hour, until the sun started to rise, painting the park in warm yellow tones.

Izan pretended to pant heavily, bending with his hands on his knees.

”Wow,” he said between mock gasps, ”you guys are too good. I need a sub.”

One of the kids giggled, hands on hips.

”But I thought you were a professional!”

That got the whole group laughing, even the parents.

Izan chuckled, ruffling the kid’s hair. ”I am,” he said, straightening.

”That’s why I know when to rest.”

The laughter rolled on as the game continued a bit longer, until Izan clapped his hands once more and called out, ”Alright, one last round!”

But instead of kicking the ball, he grinned mischievously.

”Who wants autographs and pictures?”

The reaction was instant.

The kids froze mid-step, wide-eyed, and then chaos, everyone sprinted toward their parents.

”Paper! Mum, where’s the paper?!”

”Dad, give me your pen!”

One boy even returned holding a white sweater.

He held it out shyly, glancing at Izan and then back at his parent, unsure.

Izan raised a brow at the adult, who smiled and nodded from a few feet away.

”Alright then,” Izan said with a grin, taking the sweater and crouching slightly as he signed his name across the sleeve with a steady hand.

When he handed it back, the boy looked like he might never wash it again.

The late afternoon air was filled with chatter and laughter as Izan continued signing, smiling at the kids who just came back again, and again, bringing anything that they could find.

”This is nice,” Izan muttered as he continued signing.

....

Eventually, the laughter softened into scattered voices, parents calling their kids, small goodbyes, a few shy waves from those who were still too starstruck to move.

Izan lifted a hand and waved back, a faint smile curving his lips as he turned toward a shade where his car waited.

The Jesko gleamed faintly under the amber glow, sleek and quiet amid the small line of parked cars.

He walked slowly, his joggers brushing through patches of grass, the faint hum of evening settling around him.

”Mr Izan!”

The familiar voice made him pause and turn.

Leo was running toward him again, his mother following a few steps behind, her hand loosely holding a jacket.

The boy stopped just short of bumping into Izan, catching his breath.

”When... when will I see you again?” he asked, his tone soft, hopeful in a way that tugged at something in Izan’s chest.

Izan looked down at him for a moment, quiet, before crouching slightly so their eyes met.

”You’ll always see me, Leo,” he said gently. ”One way or another.”

Leo blinked, not entirely understanding, but smiling anyway.

”Wait here,” Izan said, standing and walking to his car.

He opened the passenger door and reached for something tucked neatly under the space behind it, a pristine Arsenal jersey, one of the promotional kits from a sponsorship shoot.

It had never left the car; he’d always kept it there, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

When he came back and handed it over, Leo’s eyes went wide, his small fingers trembling slightly as he touched the fabric.

”Wow...” he whispered.

Izan smiled faintly.

”Hurry up and get stronger,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

”So next time, we can play on a real pitch.”

Leo looked up again, his voice small. ”You think I can really make it?”

Izan hesitated, just for a beat, then turned his gaze toward the boy’s mother.

She was smiling wryly, eyes still bright with quiet pride.

”Of course you can,” Izan said finally, leaning down again.

”Because...” He lifted a hand and pointed at Leo’s chest. ”You’ve got my blood in you now.”