God Of football

Chapter 917: Olympico.

The applause didn’t die down right away.

It followed Izan as he turned and headed back toward his half, teammates jogging behind him with grins that hadn’t quite settled yet.

Even the Yokohama players shook their heads as they reset, though none of them looked defeated.

The ball was already back on the spot, and the moment the referee signalled, they restarted with the same energy they had shown before the goal, maybe even more, and the commentary picked up on it immediately.

”They’re two down, but look at this. They’re not folding. Not here. Not tonight.”

Yokohama pushed high, moving the ball with purpose.

It eventually reached Aziangbe, who opened his body and slipped a pass toward Shuu on the left.

The change in tempo was instant as Shuu brought the ball under control and glided toward Timber, leaning into his stride like someone ready to test a defender over and over again.

But he never went directly against Timber because he knew it was always a bad matchup for him.

And so he drifted.

He threatened the outside, pulled the ball in, then rolled it back out with a looseness to his movement that had the crowd lifting again.

”He’s lively already,” the commentary said, their tone turning impressed.

”He’s trying to drag Timber all over that side.”

Shuu darted down the line, cut sharply inside, and used his frame to slip away from Timber’s reach.

Timber tried to recover, but Shuu had too much pace in those first few steps.

He bent a low pass across the pitch, forcing Arsenal to scramble for a moment before Zubimendi intercepted and calmed it.

The crowd roared for Shuu anyway.

His name rolled through the stadium in short bursts.

The young winger didn’t hide from it.

He demanded the ball again and again, knocking Timber off rhythm and finding joy every time he went wide.

But the attention didn’t stay on him for long.

As soon as Arsenal regained possession, Izan began drifting into pockets, taking the ball with the sort of comfort that made everything around him slow down.

He brought it down with his chest near the touchline, flicked it past one defender with a smooth touch, then slipped away from another with a spin that brought the stadium right back onto its feet, though they could barely keep up with all that he was doing, the commentators included.

”He’s enjoying himself. You can see it from the smile he is playing with!”

And he was.

He shaped passes with the side of his boot, kept the ball glued to his foot when he dribbled through two tight markers, and drew reactions from the crowd every time he opened his body to feint a pass that never came.

He wasn’t showing off, but he was enjoying the game.

Yokohama didn’t make it easy, though.

They pressed aggressively, and when Shuu drifted inside with the ball again, Izan tracked him.

He stepped into midfield just in time.

Shuu tried to cut past him with a quick shift of weight, but Izan didn’t bite.

He dipped low, slid across the grass, and clipped the ball cleanly off his foot with an almost perfect timing.

Shuu tried to counter-lunge, but all he got was the ball slipping through his legs as Izan guided it away with a light touch.

Even Shuu couldn’t help but smile under his breath and shake his head before sprinting after him.

But Izan was already gone.

Three strides and he was in the space, a few meters from the box.

He exploded into a set of quick stepovers, each one sharp enough to force defenders to hesitate, while the crowd rose with every step he took.

But then, instead of going like they thought he was, he slipped the ball right to Saka and darted diagonally inside to drag bodies with him.

Saka used the space well, shifting the ball onto his left.

His shot came off with real venom, rising and bending toward the far corner, and commentary snapped to it.

”That’s moving. Keeper has to get there!”

Park Il-Kyu reacted with pure instinct as he launched himself sideways and got both hands on the strike, parrying it wide with enough force to take the sting out of it.

A relieved cheer rose from the Yokohama fans, blended with respect for the save, while Saka shook his head with a smile.

Izan slowed to a jog, already heading toward the corner flag as the ball rolled out, and the commentary followed him closely.

”Another corner. Their first goal came from one, and so can they find another here?”

The Arsenal players crowded into the box, but they weren’t staring at the Yokohama defenders.

Most of their attention drifted toward the touchline, where the set-piece coach stood with both arms raised.

He moved his fingers in a quick sequence, giving cues they had drilled again and again in training.

Saliba nodded first, followed by Gabriel.

Then Rice stepped back a fraction, as two others copied him, easing out of the box to create the lane they needed for their timed charge.

Everything fell into place as disciplined as it got.

Out at the corner flag, Izan planted the ball and took a slow breath.

The match noise softened in his ears as he looked up at the penalty area.

”He stands over it with the calm of a man untouched by the noise... but surely he can’t be thinking what this angle suggests.”

Bodies shifted, arms locked, defenders pushed, and the referee stepped in to break up the usual wrestling match.

But his mind was far from there.

He glanced at the box, then at the keeper and right then and there, something sparked instantly.

He muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the nearest cameraman to catch the movement of his lips.

”The last time I tried this, it didn’t even get close.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

”Good practice, I guess.”

The referee finished lecturing the players, blew his whistle, and stepped out of the frame while the commentary picked up again.

”Arsenal look like they’ve rehearsed something here. Watch the movement on the edge of the box. Izan to deliver.”

Izan straightened up.

But deep in his vision, the familiar subtle glow of his traits shimmered to life.

[Gravity Arc Lv. 4]

[Pinpoint Accuracy Lv. 3]

Both engaged cleanly, and then he followed through afterwards with his run-up.

Just two steps, body open, eyes fixed on a target only he could truly see.

The ball left his foot with a whip that made the nearest defender flinch.

The curl wasn’t normal.

It bent inward with a pull that looked unnatural, dragging the flight away from the crowd of bodies entirely.

A beat of silence followed.

”No... no, he hasn’t...” the commentary tried to say

The keeper realised too late as he scrambled back, feet tangling for half a heartbeat before he planted and launched himself backwards.

His fingertips stretched for the dipping arc, but the ball bent harder, sharper, almost as if tugged by invisible lines.

And then, it smashed off the inside of the right-hand post with a clean, echoing thud.

The stadium froze for a blink, watching as the ball rolled across the line and then, everything broke loose.

The crowd erupted in a roar that drowned out the commentary for a moment, though fragments still cut through.

”GOOOOOAAAAALLLLL!! ”Oh my word! That is sorcery! Izan has drawn geometry from thin air! From the corner flag, he has rewritten the logic of the game! You look at that flight and swear the ball itself believed in him!”

Players everywhere reacted differently.

Some Yokohama defenders threw their arms out in disbelief.

Park Il-Kyu sat on the turf with his palms on his knees, staring at the net while the Arsenal bench bounced to their feet all at once, half laughing, half stunned.

”Angles do not allow this. Physics resists it. Coaches warn against even dreaming it. And yet here he is... an audacious mind, a daring foot, and a moment that will outlive all who saw it.”

Izan didn’t sprint away.

He didn’t even look at the teammates who were already charging toward him.

He faced the crowd and raised a single index finger.

Then he tapped that finger against his chest once, an unspoken message that didn’t need translation.

I am that guy.

The first body to collide into him was Martinelli.

The second was Gabriel.

Then the rest piled in, shouting half-formed reactions that were lost inside the noise of the stadium.

Over everything, the commentary tried to steady itself, still breathless.

”You won’t see many better than that in a season. He’s pulled an Olimpico out of nowhere. Pure technique. Pure confidence. Arsenal are flying now.”