God Of football

Chapter 913: At The Nissan Stadium.

Matchday morning arrived quietly at first as the sun pushed through the thin curtains of the team hotel, but the city outside was already awake.

Yokohama always moved early, but today it felt different.

The air had a charge to it, the type that came with a match people had been talking about all week.

The Japanese news stations were looping highlights from the Singapore match, clips of Izan’s goals running beside excited commentary.

One reporter on TV said, ”There is strong anticipation that Arsenal will bring the same intensity tonight. Many fans are hoping to see Izan replicate his performance, especially here on Japanese soil, a place tied to his roots.”

A young fan near the TV murmured, ”I just want him to play more than thirty minutes at the very least since he played in two successive games. Damn, those Singaporeans had it lucky since most clubs refuse to play their best players too much during pre-season.”

A few men around him nodded before turning their attention towards the screen, where fans all around Yokohama were being asked whether they would go and watch the game and what they were looking forward to seeing at the game.

In the hotel, the dining room had thinned out, but a few players still lingered over the last of their plates, talking in pairs or quietly scrolling on their phones.

The staff moved around them, collecting trays while the room settled into a calmer rhythm.

After a while, Arteta stepped in with a cup of tea in hand, nodding to the lads as he walked toward the middle of the room.

Conversations dipped just enough for everyone to hear him just as he stopped in the centre, looking around at his men.

”Okay, boys, breakfast is done, but don’t do too much now,” he said.

”Rest. Keep your legs fresh. If anyone feels anything, even something small, tell us immediately so we can get ahead of it.”

The players nodded while a few of them stretched out their legs under the tables as if checking for tightness just because he mentioned it.

Arteta gave one last look around the room, making sure his point landed, then slipped back toward the corridor with a quiet ”See you all later.”

The room reopened into light conversations after he left, with some going for seconds while others continued fiddling with the TV, but it was hard to watch since they didn’t really get what was going on.

Others just left after their trays were taken, while others, too, like Izan, stayed behind with his phone in hand, elbows resting on the table.

He wasn’t on social media.

He was looking at an image search result, eyes narrowed slightly, as if making sure he recognised the face.

Saka came up from behind him.

”What are you doing after this?” he asked casually.

Izan shrugged without looking up.

”Nothing. We’re meant to rest, so... resting.”

Saka huffed a small laugh. ”Yeah, I know. Just asking.”

Izan finally turned a little to look at him, resting the phone against his knee.

Saka’s gaze flicked down. ”Who’s that?”

Izan glanced at the screen again before answering.

”A boy from Yokohama. I played against him in a scrimmage when Valencia came here a couple of years ago.”

”How old were you?” Saka asked.

”Fifteen,” Izan said. ”It wasn’t anything serious. Just a scrimmage after my run. He was decent, though.”

Saka stepped closer and tilted his head like he was trying to remember if he’d ever heard the name before.

”He still at Yokohama?”

”Apparently,” Izan said. ”Google thinks so, anyway.”

Saka accepted that answer with a simple nod.

”So we might meet him in the game today,” Saka asked, already expecting the nod from Izan.

Whatever interest he had lasted only a second more before disappearing entirely. ”Right. Cool.”

He straightened up, already losing the thread of the conversation now that he had his answer.

”Well... enjoy your rest then,” he said, tapping Izan lightly on the shoulder as he walked off to join a small group forming near the exit.

Izan watched him go with a small grin, then looked back at his phone one more time, where a picture of Shuu Takeda stared back at him in a grainy training photo.

Izan locked the screen and slid the phone into his pocket, the memory of that scrimmage flickering in and out like something stored too long in the back of his mind.

The dining room continued to empty around him, chairs being pushed in, players drifting toward their rooms, the hotel slowly settling into the quiet lull that always came before a match.

And for a few minutes, Izan just stayed there, before following Nwaneri up after the latter asked if he could use Izan’s iPad for his own little project.

Eventually, it got to just an hour before the game.

On the streets of Yokama, the Yokohama F Marinos bus cut through the afternoon traffic with a police escort clearing its path.

Inside, most of the players were quiet, earphones in, heads tilted toward the windows as the city blurred by.

They were close to the stadium now.

Close enough that the noise outside started to rise.

Shuu sat on the left side, his forehead leaning against the glass.

At first, he thought the wave of fans ahead was all theirs.

Plenty of blue shirts. Scarves. Flags.

But as the bus rolled toward the entrance, he noticed a split right down the middle of the crowd.

Half of them wore Yokohama colours.

The other half wore red.

Arsenal red with most having Izan’s name and number running across the backs in bold white letters.

Shuu couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at him.

It wasn’t jealousy.

More like a sense of disbelief that the boy he had met in a quiet scrimmage was now this.

He always knew from the moment Izan touched the ball that he was going to be big, but he never knew it was going to be this soon.

A global and, at that young age, too.

He leaned closer to get a better look, but a sudden roar blasted through the windows before he got the chance.

Several of the Yokohama boys lifted their heads at the same time.

”Is that for us?” someone joked.

The bus driver answered that question by slowing to a gentle stop at the gate, but Shuu didn’t need to look.

The sound alone made it clear.

Arsenal had arrived.

The other players shifted in their seats, craning for a look toward the rear entrance of the stadium where the two buses usually parked.

Even from their angle, they could see flashes of red shirts and the bouncing movement of a crowd trying to wedge closer.

Inside Arsenal’s bus, the noise slammed into them the moment the doors cracked open.

Not hostile noise.

More like excitement packed too tightly in one place.

Saka blinked twice as he took it in.

”They’re loud today.”

Izan laughed under his breath.

”That’s putting it lightly.”

”Bro, one guy almost smacked the window back there,” Saka added, pointing toward the middle of the bus where someone really had tried to get a closer look earlier.

A few of the players chuckled, more amused than bothered as the staff waiting outside began waving them forward, ushering them into the tunnel that led toward the underground parking area.

The shouts behind them stayed constant for a while before fading into a muffled echo the deeper they went.

The corridor inside was chilled and bright, lined with a mix of Japanese staff and match officials guiding them through with polite nods.

The players fell into a natural formation, chatting quietly or adjusting their bags on their shoulders.

Their dressing room door swung open, and the familiar sight of their gear laid out greeted them.

Boots lined up beneath each seat with shirts folded neatly on top.

A few lads immediately walked to their spots, while others placed their headphones on the charging docks or stretched their backs after the ride.

Arteta entered a moment later, answering a short conversation on his phone before tucking it into his pocket.

He clapped once, firm enough to get everyone’s attention.

”Alright. Get ready for your warmup,” he said. ”Take your time and let’s just go out and have fun.”

The players nodded and began changing into their kits.

Conversations drifted through the room in short lines, and then one by one, they stepped out into the tunnel and walked toward the pitch access door leading to the Nissan Stadium turf.

As they climbed the short ramp, the pitch opened up in front of them, where the stands were already filling.

A scattered mix of blue and red waited to see which team would step out first.

And the Yokohama players were already on the far side, stretching near their bench area.

When they noticed Arsenal coming out, a few of them paused for a split second, more curious than anything else.

Izan jogged lightly onto the grass, giving a quick glance around the stadium.