God Of football

Chapter 922: A Gentle Afternoon in Tokyo.

The next morning, Izan moved slowly through the living room, brushing his fingers along the edge of a shelf where a row of framed photos still stood.

He stopped in front of one where his grandparents were younger, smiling at the camera with the same warmth that had greeted him the night before, and then his mother on a seat beneath them in the same photo.

”Now I can see where Hori got that smirk,” he muttered, with his phone pressed to his ear, speaker low and Miranda’s voice coming through.

”What did you say?” she said as Izan shook his head.

”Nothing.”

A little silence reigned for a while before Miranda’s voice came over the phone again.

”So, before you disappear on me again,” she said, ”I’ve got two things. First is a brand opportunity here in Japan. They reached out this morning. And second, the FA wants to know if you’ll meet their U21S and U18S. Some kind of combined pitch session. They want you to run a few drills, talk to the boys, that sort of thing.”

Izan leaned against the doorframe, eyes drifting toward the garden outside.

”You want me to talk to players who might be.. No, definitely older than me. Is that where I am now? And when would that even be?” he asked.

”I’m leaving with the others tomorrow.”

”That hasn’t been a problem,” Miranda replied immediately. ”And it won’t be. They’ll take whatever time you can give, and I am sure Arsenal wouldn’t mind you skipping the next pre-season game at the Emirates.”

”After all, you’ve given so much across this preseason.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing the side of his neck.

”Right. Okay. Fine. What’s the brand, then? And what exactly would I be doing with the FA kids?”

”You sound alive now,” Miranda teased, her tone warm and smug. ”That’s the spirit. And for reference, you are a kid too.”

Izan rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see it.

”Miranda,” he said, dragging her name slightly, ”just tell me.”

She laughed under her breath, that smirk practically audible.

”I’ll send you the details once we’re done. Just needed to hear if you’re open to it.”

He pushed off the doorframe and wandered deeper into the house, taking in the familiar hallway photographs, the shelves stacked with old books, the faint smell of green tea still clinging to the walls from the night before.

”You didn’t call to ask, you called to make sure I would,” Izan said, to which Miranda admitted, her soft tapping on a keyboard filling the short pause.

”Alright,” he said finally, quieter, but firm enough. ”Send everything.”

”Good,” she replied, sounding far too pleased with herself. ”I’ll text you in a minute.”

Izan shook his head with a tired smile as the call faded, the house settling back into its gentle silence around him, though it didn’t last very long.

After a few minutes, Izan felt the vibration before he heard the ping.

Miranda had already sent the files.

He made his way to the corner of the living room, where a laptop sat on a wooden desk.

His grandfather used to sit there every morning, scrolling through his Instagram feed and replying to the occasional message with the patience of someone who enjoyed taking his time.

It was one of the few things in the house that didn’t need to be jump-started or had any hard way of getting it up.

His mother had tried getting them to switch things up, but his grandparents had always said they would rather cling to their colourful and nostalgic feelings instead of those pale and grey electronics.

The laptop whirred awake after a moment as Izan connected his phone, waited for the icons to pop up, and opened the folder Miranda had labelled Japan – Proposals.

The brand package loaded first.

The logo at the top read Nikon Sports Performance Division.

He blinked.

”Nikon wants something with me?” he murmured, and the document laid everything out:

Nikon was expanding their sports-tech line, pushing new football-focused lenses and action cameras meant to track movement, speed, and above-match-level detail.

They wanted Izan to serve as the face of their launch in Asia, particularly in Japan, where he was a marketing goldmine even before the tour, which had boosted it exponentially.

They proposed a short shoot in Tokyo, a promotional appearance at their unveiling, and a content collaboration where he would review their athlete camera gear during a short session with them.

It wasn’t football gear.

It didn’t violate his Adidas deal.

And it was a genuinely massive brand.

After reading and nodding his head for a while, he moved on to the FA document.

That one was more detailed.

They wanted him to come in for a two-hour session with both age groups, split between a walkthrough of his in-game decision-making and then a practical segment.

A short speech, some direct interaction, then light drills where the boys could try to replicate certain patterns he had used on the pitch, as well as talk to the boys about what he had done to cope with the high level of football in the English league.

They even suggested he bring boots in case he wanted to join a small-sided game.

Izan leaned back, dragging a finger across his forehead.

Mainly, it was part of an initiative Japan had taken a while ago to get more and even more of their players into top leagues around the globe, where they could compete against better players and get better themselves.

It was doable. Busy, but doable.

He had only reached halfway through the FA outline when he heard slow footsteps behind him.

His grandfather appeared in the doorway, wearing an easy smile.

”You’re working already?” he asked.

”Just reading something my agent sent,” Izan said, closing the laptop halfway.

”Why? What’s up?”

”I’m going to buy a few things. Thought you might want to come with me.”

Izan stood without a second thought. ”Of course.”

His grandfather smiled, waving Izan over as the latter wrapped an arm around his grandfather’s shoulders, gentle but warm, guiding him out of the room as the afternoon light stretched across the floor behind them.

....

They walked out of the small market with two paper bags in hand, and Izan was still laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

His grandfather had dropped a quiet story about a time when Komi had hidden a bad report card in her time of slight rebellion, only for her mother to find it after watching Komi hide it.

Izan could almost picture it.

He leaned against the side of the car for a moment, slipping his hands into his pocket while his grandfather held the trunk open with a smug little grin.

”You shouldn’t tell her I said that,” his grandfather said.

”I’m not telling her, but I am telling Hori who could use it in her arguments when she doesn’t want to learn,” Izan replied, trying not to laugh again.

They set the bags into the trunk as his grandfather took a moment, checking his watch, then glanced back at him.

”We have a little bit of time, so no need to rush home.”

”Alright,” Izan said, closing the trunk gently.

They crossed the quiet street and made their way toward the Sumidagawa River.

The late afternoon had almost faded; the sky was turning soft and warm, and the water carried the reflections as if they were sliding along with the tide.

Izan found himself matching his grandfather’s pace, unhurried and steady.

They walked in silence for a while as people passed by on bicycles, some jogged, some strolled with dogs pulling ahead of them.

His grandfather finally spoke once they reached the railing.

”Are things overwhelming?” he asked.

Izan looked ahead, watching the river’s surface ripple against a passing boat.

”They were at first,” he said.

”Everything was loud. A lot of attention, a lot of expectations. But you get used to it. And the people around you, at least for me, give you energy, whether they mean to or not.”

His grandfather nodded, pleased. ”Good.”

They walked a little further before finding an open bench.

His grandfather sat down with a small sigh, the kind that came from comfort rather than age.

Izan joined him, elbows resting loosely on his knees.

For a moment, neither said anything as the river kept moving, calm and steady.

His grandfather exhaled slowly.

”It’s nice,” he said, eyes following the drifting lights on the water.

Izan nodded. ”Yeah. It is.”