God Of football

Chapter 855: How Big?

”Good evening, people, and welcome to another Club World Cup post-match interview,” the host said, her voice crisp but warm through the stadium’s speakers.

”I’m Marge Samson, and with me is who some say is the greatest thing football has ever seen. Welcome, Izan,” she continued, turning toward him with a smile, while Izan just gave a polite nod.

”Thank you,” he said simply, adjusting the mic slightly as the crowd still buzzed in the background.

Marge grinned.

”Let’s start with tonight. Another brilliant performance, two goals, two assists. You’ve been consistent throughout the short stint we’ve seen you in the tournament. What’s been the key to your form?”

Izan paused for a second, thinking.

”If I say the truth, most people would think I am a bit arrogant, so let’s just go with the safer option,” he said, causing Marge to laugh.

”I think it’s the environment, honestly,” he said.

”The atmosphere here, the energy from the fans, it’s been incredible. Everyone’s pushing each other in the team. It’s not just about me, it’s the chemistry, the understanding we’ve built. We came here to make a statement, and we’re trying to do that every time we step on the pitch.”

Marge nodded approvingly.

”And speaking of the environment, how has it been for you and the team, spending this time in the U.S.? We’ve seen a lot of pictures of you all training, exploring, and enjoying the sun. How’s the experience been off the pitch?”

A faint smile crept across Izan’s face.

”It’s been nice,” he said, almost with a laugh.

”The weather’s a bit extreme for training since you feel it the moment you step out, but it’s been fun. The people here have shown a lot of love. Everywhere we’ve gone, it’s been nothing but support and smiles. It’s good to see how much football is growing here, and I hope it goes on like this.”

”Yeah, the fans have really taken to you,” Marge said with a teasing grin.

”There were banners in the stands tonight with your name all over them, some even with ’Izan in Orlando?’ written across them.”

Izan laughed, shaking his head slightly.

”Yeah, I saw that,” he admitted. ”It’s flattering. You never get used to that kind of love. I’m grateful for it.”

”Well, since you brought it up...” Marge leaned in a bit, her tone playful but curious.

”Since you’ve conquered Europe at such a young age, and I know it is still like 10 years early, but would you be willing to ply your trade in the MLS? Would you ever consider playing here in the near future?”

Izan chuckled softly, glancing toward the crowd as if weighing his words.

”Why not?” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting.

”If the right offer comes, you never say never in football. The game’s growing fast here, and who knows? Maybe one day.”

The crowd cheered again, some even chanting his name louder than before, as if to test how loud they could get before the stadium shook.

Marge laughed, nodding as she turned back to the camera.

”Well, you heard it here first, folks, maybe one day. Izan, thank you for your time, and congratulations on another stunning performance.”

”Thank you,” he said, offering a handshake before stepping back.

”From Florida, this has been your Club World Cup post-match show,” Marge signed off brightly. ”We’ll see you next time.”

As the broadcast ended, the noise around the podium faded slightly, replaced by the hum of the stadium winding down.

Izan exhaled, waved once more to the fans still lingering in the stands, then turned toward the tunnel.

....

For a moment, there was silence, a heavy, thoughtful one, as the players of Fluminense sat scattered across the lounge, eyes still fixed in the dimly lit room, where the only glow was from the big screen at the front, where the final replay of Arsenal’s fourth goal faded into the post-match scenes.

Their coach stood slowly, hands resting on his hips, his expression unreadable as he glanced around at his team.

He exhaled through his nose, gave a small nod, and said simply,

”Arsenal it is.”

No one spoke after that.

The players just looked at each other, some with half-smiles, some with entirely different reactions to the news that they were going to meet the conquerors of Europe.

....

[A few hours after the game.]

A soft knock landed on the hospital door, two taps, hesitant, before it creaked open.

Saka looked up from his bed just as Izan stepped in, followed by Nwaneri, Ødegaard, and a few others.

The air in the room lightened immediately.

The IV line beside Saka swayed slightly as he sat up, looking far livelier than he had a day ago, the faint grin already forming on his face betraying that fact.

”Man’s looking suspiciously healthy,” Nwaneri said, squinting as he walked closer, his tone deliberately dramatic.

”Tell me the truth, bro, did you actually get sick, or did you just fake it so you wouldn’t have to face Gvardiol?”

Saka blinked, his mouth falling open in exaggerated shock.

”Wait... how did you know?” he said, eyes wide with mock guilt.

That broke the room as laughter rippled through the air.

Even Ødegaard cracked a grin, shaking his head as Nwaneri doubled over.

”I knew it!” Nwaneri said through the laughter.

”I was thinking about it the whole game, and it just made sense. Don’t worry, though,” he added, wagging his finger toward Saka, ”we found a much better replacement.”

Saka tilted his head, smiling faintly.

”Yeah, I saw that,” he said, his gaze sliding toward Izan, who, up until that point, had been quietly scrolling through his phone near the corner.

Sensing the sudden shift in attention, Izan looked up to find every pair of eyes fixed on him.

His expression faltered for half a second, a faint frown, a twitch of discomfort, before he slid his phone into his pocket and rose from the chair.

Without a word, he turned toward the door, pushing it open as the laughter behind him resumed.

”He’s shy,” Nwaneri muttered, chuckling as he watched Izan leave.

Outside, in the cool hallway, Izan let the door close behind him with a soft click.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck and shaking his head slightly, before walking off down the corridor, the muffled sound of their laughter still chasing him from the room.

After half an hour with Saka, the players bid their goodbyes before making their way out of the hospital and then back into the Van they had come in.

”Could grab some burger or something,” Nwaneri said, but after none of the boys looked interested, he also waved it off.

On the way back to their hotel, traffic pressed in like a slow tide, red brake lights stretching far ahead, the hum of engines weaving into the warm Florida night.

Izan sat by the window of the dark SUV, his reflection faintly etched against the glass, watching the lights of Orlando swish by whenever their car got the chance to move.

He leaned his head back, one hand resting against the tinted window.

The driver muttered something about the rush downtown, but Izan barely caught it.

His gaze had already shifted, out there, above the row of idling cars and glowing shopfronts where a Coca-Cola billboard cut through the clutter of neon.

And right in the center of it was him.

Arms spread, head tilted, the logo curling behind his frame like a halo.

He blinked once, a smile slipping out as he stared at the billboard in front.

It still felt strange seeing himself like that, larger than life, frozen in a grin that didn’t quite feel like his.

The van hadn’t moved an inch, so he pressed the side button and the tinted window slid back with a soft mechanical sigh.

Warm air spilt in, carrying bits of laughter from people outside, the scent of fried food, and the distant bass of a street performer somewhere behind them.

He lifted his phone, tilted it just right, and snapped a picture of the ad glowing against the city sky.

A faint smile touched his face as he typed:

”Ad turned out better than expected,” and sent it to Saka.

The message ticked once, and that was it.

Probably asleep or maybe he didn’t have his phone near him, Izan thought as he watched the screen for a second longer, then let out a small sigh before locking it and slipping it into his pocket.

The driver nudged the wheel, the SUV creeping forward as the light turned green.

The hum of traffic swelled again, and soon, the billboard slipped out of view behind them, its red glow shrinking into the rear window until it was just another blur in the city’s noise.

Izan leaned back, eyes half-lidded, the faintest curl of a smile lingering on his lips.

”How big can I get?” he muttered more to himself as the car moved through the night.