God Of football

Chapter 903: Game Time.

The walk out of the stadium took longer than usual.

The players expected the place to be empty by now, but a good number of fans were still gathered behind the barriers, waving flags and shirts, calling out names with the same energy they had shown inside.

Flashlights blinked like scattered fireflies, and after a moment, someone started chanting something in Malay, and others jumped in without hesitation.

Arteta paused for a moment at the tunnel exit, taking it all in with a quiet smile.

He watched the boys file out toward the bus, only for Izan to veer off with a few others.

Instead of hurrying along, he drifted toward the front section of the crowd.

The security staff didn’t stop him, mostly because the people closest to the rails were calm and respectful, phones out but not pushing or reaching.

Izan signed whatever was handed to him.

Shirts, scarves, and a random cap.

He even crouched for a couple of photos, giving a quick grin before handing the phone back.

A few of the players followed suit, stepping over for a minute or two while Arteta waited near the bus, shaking his head with a small laugh when he saw how many people were lining up just for one picture.

Eventually, Izan jogged back and climbed into the premium bus they were using for the tour.

The doors shut with a soft thud, and the interior lights hummed on.

The boys settled into their spots, drinks in hand, boots off, still talking about the session and what they wanted to do after their tour.

The bus eased away from the stadium, rolling past clusters of fans who waved as it passed.

Faces pressed against phones, arms stretched high.

Some kids ran alongside for a few seconds before pulling up, breathless but smiling.

The players were overwhelmed with the support and the love the fans were showing, but as they got onto the city’s main road, Myles Lewis Skelly leaned toward the window and frowned.

”Ain’t no way,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for half the front row to hear.

A few players twisted around to look at him, then followed the direction of his gaze.

Outside the window, towering above the nearby buildings, a massive hologram shimmered into view.

It started with a greeting in bold letters, floating in the warm night air.

Welcome to Singapore, Arsenal.

The letters faded and reformed into a huge moving figure of Izan in the new season’s kit, standing tall like some superhero billboard brought to life.

The holographic version glanced down toward the road, perfectly timed so it looked like it was watching their bus pull through.

Izan blinked at it.

”Okay... this is a bit too much,” he murmured.

Apparently, he had said it louder than intended, because the whole bus cracked up.

Saka slapped the armrest and shook his head.

”You think?”

The hologram stayed visible as long as the bus stayed near the main complex.

It followed them from one angle to the next, vanishing only when they finally turned onto a different road and left the area behind.

Saka wandered over to Izan’s seat, planting a hand on the headrest.

”Listen,” he said, lowering his voice as if he were delivering important intel.

”If we don’t perform tomorrow after all this love they’ve given us, someone might actually finish us.”

Izan glanced up at him.

”Have you ever seen me not perform?”

Saka lifted both hands with a nod.

”Fair enough,” he said, making an all good sign before heading back to his seat.

The bus rolled on with the city lights flickering across the players’ faces as they continued towards their hotel.

....

The morning before the match carried a strange sort of electricity in the city of Singapore.

Everywhere around the city, from cafés tucked under office blocks to the little breakfast spots near the river, the talk kept circling back to the open training session.

People had watched the clips a hundred times already, yet somehow still found something new to point out.

A trio of university students sat under a ceiling fan that kept clicking as it spun, their plates half-finished because their phones demanded more attention than their food.

One of them shoved her screen toward the others.

”Look at this part again. Look at it. The ball literally drops straight onto his foot like it was magnetised.”

Her friend leaned over, squinting.

”Nah, forget the drop. Look at the angle. He barely flinches. It’s like he knew exactly where it would land.”

A man at the next table heard them and turned slightly, not enough to be rude but enough to join in.

”You know what it reminds me of? The video of the Brazil squad trying it at the Maracana a few years back. They got the ball up to the roof. Even Neymar needed a second touch to calm it down, and the ball bounced halfway to the centre circle first.”

The girl in their midst nodded immediately.

”Exactly. Neymar’s touch was still crazy, but it popped up. This one didn’t even breathe. It just died at his feet. Like he dropped it into quicksand.”

The guy beside her replayed the clip for what had to be the twentieth time.

The moment the ball disappeared through the opening in the stadium roof, he let out a soft whistle.

”How does someone even judge that? The timing alone is insane.”

Across town, a group of Arsenal fans who had flown in for the match were huddled outside a convenience store, drinks in hand, refreshing their feeds as if a new angle might appear out of thin air.

One of them laughed to himself.

”Mate, look at this comment. Someone said the ball was travelling so straight it could have been tracked by airport radar.”

Another shook his head, still looking at the screen.

”I just keep thinking about tomorrow. If he’s doing that in training, what happens when it’s an actual match? AC Milan might get cooked.”

That earned a few chuckles, but one fan stayed thoughtful, tapping the side of his bottle against his leg.

”It’s more than him, though. Look at the squad now. If all these signings click, as well as all the other ones coming in, and Izan stays at this level, Arsenal might actually dominate for a while.”

The others went quiet for a beat, letting the thought settle.

It didn’t sound like blind optimism but rather like a prediction that might age well.

”I do not think Izan is going to stay at this level,” a voice interrupted, causing them to turn towards the source of the voice in one of their friends with slight frowns and faces that were asking why he thought that, but the person who had spoken just smiled.

”I think he will exceed this level because normally, this is when players are growing, so going further in the future, I think Izan might get so good that it might be ridiculous to watch.”

His friends, whose expressions were souring, suddenly turned into smiles.

”You got us with the first part,” one said as he returned to scrolling on his phone.

By the time the sun slid into its late-afternoon glow, the city had already started drifting toward the National Stadium.

People in red and white shirts and people in black and red walked side by side, some rushing, some drifting, all headed in the same direction.

Outside the stadium, the crowd thickened.

The plaza pulsed with noise as vendors shouted out drinks and scarves, both clubs blending into one sea of colour.

Kids dragged their parents forward, begging to get in early, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone from either team.

The first bus to appear was Arsenal’s.

It crawled through the lane made for it, security guiding it slowly as fans pressed closer but stayed just orderly enough to let it pass.

Phones shot up immediately while some people waved their shirts in the air.

Others held posters against the glass, hoping one of the players might look down at it.

Inside the bus, a few of the boys who had been quiet suddenly perked up when they heard the roar outside.

The windows rattled lightly as hands slapped against them, but it wasn’t the rowdy type.

Just slow and mild taps against the body of the bus.

Izan leaned slightly to the side, looking through the glass as the crowd swept along them.

After a couple of minutes, the bus turned into the private entrance and rolled down into the underground parking area, where someone from the stadium staff guided them to where they should stop, and after that, the doors hissed open.

The air inside the lot felt cooler as the players filed out one by one.

A line of ushers and security walked them through the tunnels, the same route they’d taken during the open training session.

Outside, AC Milan’s bus pulled in not long after, but Arsenal were already being led deeper into the stadium.