God Of football

Chapter 881: Pet Charity.

Saka grinned, parading it around like he owned the place.

”You lot left it in the hallway last night. Couldn’t risk security getting ideas, you know. I’d rather sell it myself on Amazon.”

He set the trophy down gently on one of the buffet tables, playing with one of the rings a bit, and then he made his way toward Izan’s table, sliding into the seat beside him.

The claps faded as the players each returned to whatever they were doing before, while Saka looked at Nwaneri, then at Izan, brow furrowed.

”What’s wrong with him?” he asked, reaching for a croissant.

Izan shrugged.

Saka smiled softly, shaking his head.

”Man, we’re supposed to be celebrating, not recovering from it.”

”Well, his stomach thinks otherwise, apparently”, Izan replied, taking a sip of his orange juice.

”Someone please switch off the sun,” Lewis-Skelly, in a hoodie, said as he entered the room, causing a few laughs to break out.

Then the door opened again, this time drawing everyone’s attention as Arteta walked in, crisp in a fitted navy shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Behind him came Carlos Cuesta and a few other staff members.

He looked around once, a small smile tugging at his face as the players straightened slightly in their seats.

”Morning, everyone,” he said simply, his voice even. ”I hope you all managed to sleep.”

A few chuckles answered him as Saka raised a hand lazily.

”Define sleep.”

Arteta just shook his head, smiling a bit wider this time as he looked over at the trophy sitting near the buffet.

”Not bad a trophy,” he said, nodding towards it as he walked past Izan’s table, his hand briefly touching the top of the boy’s shoulder.

After a while, breakfast began as plates clinked softly across the room, a tired sort of silence settling over the breakfast table.

Most of the boys were half done eating, moving slowly, lazy from the long night before.

The air smelled of toast and coffee, but the energy was that of people running on fumes and small smiles.

Odegaard sat away in his usual quiet, lazily pushing what was left of his omelette around the plate, while Nwaneri leaned back in his chair, eyes drooping, but voice still carrying enough life to ask, ”So, Saka, what now? Season’s over. What’s next for you?”

Saka, spoon halfway to his mouth, smiled at the question.

”First thing? I’m seeing my girl,” he said, the words pulling a few knowing chuckles from the table.

”Haven’t had a proper week off with her since Christmas.”

Someone whistled low from the other end of the table.

”Lucky man,” Rice muttered, earning a lazy laugh from Gabriel, who’d been sipping his juice like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

”Saying lucky man like you don’t have a lovely wife waiting for you at home,” Izan interjected.

Arteta had stepped out a while ago, but just as the laughter started to fade, he came back in, clapping his hands once to draw attention.

”Alright,” he said, voice carrying its usual calm authority.

”I know you’re all tired, but remember, the season might be over, your work for Arsenal isn’t.”

The room went quiet again as heads lifted, wondering what was coming and if it would be optional, but most of them knew there was nothing Arteta said with that tone that was optional.

Behind him walked the team liaison, a cheerful man with an ever-ready smile that only made the squad groan a little.

”Good morning, lads,” he began, tone too bright for this hour.

”Just a quick one. You remember our arrangement with Purina, the pet food company?”

There was a collective hum as a few players perked up.

”The shoot?” Martinelli asked, sounding unsure.

”Yes, that’s the one,” the liaison confirmed, nodding.

”We’ll be visiting one of their partner shelters for a small charity feature. Nothing heavy. You’ll get to meet some of the animals, shoot some footage, and chat a bit. One, maybe three hours max.”

That woke a few of them.

”Wait, we get to see dogs?” Saka said suddenly, sitting up straight, his tiredness gone in an instant.

”Oh, I’m in. I miss my dog, man.”

Some of the others laughed.

”Man’s more excited about dogs than his girl,” Nwaneri teased, earning a grin from Saka.

”Careful,” Saka said, pretending to throw his napkin. ”You might end up walking one.”

Rice, half serious, half joking, raised his hand.

”Before I get too excited, how long are we saying this will take?”

”Like I said,” the liaison answered, amused, ”one to three hours. Tops. Depends on how much fun you decide to have.”

Arteta nodded thoughtfully, eyes scanning the table.

”Alright,” he said after a moment.

”Now that it is out there, let’s vote. Those who’d rather do it today, hands up.”

About half the hands went up, some reluctantly, some with energy.

”And those who’d prefer tomorrow?” he asked.

The other half rose, just as sluggishly.

The room buzzed with half-hearted murmurs until Arteta noticed Izan, who hadn’t moved at all.

”Izan,” Arteta said, crossing his arms, ”you’re the tie-breaker.”

All eyes turned toward him while Izan looked up from his phone, blinking like someone just pulled him out of another world.

”What? Oh,” he said, looking around at the expectant faces. ”Can I skip it?”

The room stilled as a few players snorted while others looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

Arteta raised an eyebrow.

”Skip it? Why, exactly?”

Izan hesitated, trying to find an answer that made sense.

”No reason,” he muttered. ”Just asking.”

Before Arteta could reply, the liaison, who had been flipping through his folder, suddenly froze.

His eyes widened like something had clicked in his mind, and then he hurried over to Arteta, leaned close, and whispered something into his ear.

Whatever it was, Arteta’s expression flickered from confusion to surprise, and then into laughter.

He pointed briefly at Izan, still laughing, before shaking his head and turning back to the room.

”Since Izan won’t decide,” he said, trying to steady his tone, ”I will. We’re doing it today.”

There were groans, some exaggerated, some real, but no one protested much.

”Good,” Arteta said, already moving toward the door.

”Be ready in an hour. And Izan, you will join us,” he said, causing the liaison to eye him a bit, but he just waved it off and left with the liaison, who was now chuckling to himself.

Izan sat there, frowning slightly.

He could still see the look the two men shared before walking out.

And the way Arteta pointed at him.

He leaned back, trying to figure it out, but the table around him was already moving on, plates clattering and chatter returning.

Still, in the back of his head, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever the liaison had said, whatever Arteta had found so funny, it had something to do with him.

Back in his room, Izan sat on the edge of his bed, one socked foot resting on the carpet, the other halfway into a white-and-black Adidas Forum Mod.

The leather creaked softly as he tightened the strap, glancing at the time on his phone, 10:50 a.m.

Ten minutes to get downstairs.

”So soon?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

He reached for his phone, scrolling through a few messages before tapping on Miranda’s name.

It rang twice, then again, and just when he was about to hang up, her voice came through, groggy but sharp.

”What do you want this early?”

”Good morning to you, too,” he said, smiling despite himself. ”How are you feeling?”

”I won’t die, if that’s what you mean,” she replied dryly.

He chuckled.

”Glad to hear it. Anyway, we’re about to head out for that Purina shoot.”

There was a pause.

Then a very deliberate sigh. ”Oh, that.”

”Yeah. You sound thrilled.”

”I already told the media liaison you couldn’t join,” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Izan froze.

”Wait. You—?”

”Relax,” she said, unfazed.

”I explained it shouldn’t be a problem. Told him you were scared of dogs.”

”What?” His voice rose, disbelief cracking through it.

”You told them that?”

”I needed to give a reason,” Miranda said, unfazed.

”And I didn’t feel like lying. You are scared of dogs, aren’t you?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

”Miranda...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly.

”That’s why he was laughing.”

”Who?”

”Arteta. The liaison whispered something to him before they left, and he pointed right at me. I should’ve known.”

She let out a quiet laugh.

”See? No need to thank me. I just saved you from a very stressful morning.”

Before he could respond, there was a firm knock at his door.

A muffled voice followed, ”Ten minutes, Izan. Let’s go!”

He sighed.

”Yeah, I have to go,” he said into the phone.

”Take some extra bones with you,” she teased, her tone brightening.

”You can toss one if any unfriendly dog gets too close.”

”Mir—”

The line clicked dead before he could retort.

Izan stared at the phone for a second, lips parting in a mix of amusement and disbelief.

Then he exhaled, setting it into his pocket.

”Perfect,” he muttered. ”Just perfect.”

He slipped on his other shoe, grabbed his jacket, and took one last look around the messy room before heading for the door and then with a resigned breath, he turned the handle and stepped out.