God Of football

Chapter 923: The Japanese FA.

Izan and his grandfather still sat on the edge of the weathered wooden bench by the Sumidagawa, the city lights reflecting gently off the slow-moving water.

They shared a silence that was comfortable until that quiet was broken by the shrill ring of his grandfather’s phone.

He frowned, fishing it out of his pocket, only to see his wife’s name flashing across the screen. Hori groaned before answering.

”You, Old man! Where are you? Have you even gotten the groceries yet? I swear if you don’t start heading home soon—” Her voice tumbled out in a flurry, rapid and relentless, each word punctuated by the sharp cadence of a practised nag.

Izan’s grandfather’s shoulders slumped visibly, and he muttered apologies, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips as he listened to the tirade.

Izan, perched slightly to the side, stifled a laugh, covering his mouth as his grandfather’s calm façade slowly cracked under his wife’s fiery words.

”Yes, yes, we’re on our way. Just a few minutes, I promise. Don’t worry,” he said, holding the phone away slightly and nodding with exaggerated solemnity as if negotiating peace terms.

”We’ll leave now, I swear.”

He hung up, shaking his head as if to shake off the last echoes of the call.

”Alright, Izan,” he said with a small chuckle, ”we should get moving before she decides what she’s going to do to us for lingering here too long.”

Izan laughed openly this time, pushing himself off the bench and following him as they began walking back toward the car.

....

Back in the house, Izan answered his phone, which lit up with the name of his manager as he leaned back in the leather chair of his grandparents’ living room.

”Izan,” came the manager’s voice immediately he picked up.

”The player liaison informed me that you won’t be joining the squad for the flight tomorrow because of your own commitments.”

Izan snorted lightly as he took off a watch from his hand.

”Yeah... it kind of sprung on me,” he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

”Very well,” Arteta replied after a pause.

”But understand this, I cannot extend your absence beyond the requested frame. Anything past that will warrant fines or other disciplinary measures.”

Izan nodded, even though Arteta couldn’t see him.

”Understood. Thank you, coach,” he said respectfully before ending the call.

No sooner had the phone gone silent than it buzzed again.

Miranda’s name appeared, and he swiped to answer.

”We have three days to wrap everything before the return flight,” she said briskly, to which Izan exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

”Start with the FA arrangements first,” he said.

”Nikon will need time to organise the shoot, and the U21 and U18 players will be there.”

”I already did that,” Miranda said with a firm nod, audible through the line.

”I’ll need to swing by the hotel for my luggage, too,” Izan muttered.

”Do it before the day ends,” Miranda instructed, cutting the call sharply before he could respond.

Izan smacked his tongue against his teeth, exhaling in mild frustration, then moved to the dining room as his grandmother’s gentle voice called him to the table.

The spread before him was immaculate, steaming bowls of miso, perfectly arranged sashimi, and grilled fish that shimmered under the soft dining lights.

Izan lifted his phone and snapped a quick picture, careful not to disrupt the delicate arrangement.

”What time are you leaving?” his grandmother asked, settling into her seat beside him.

”I’m staying a few more days,” he replied with a small smile.

”First, I’ll go to the hotel for my luggage, then I’ll come back.”

A smile lit up on his grandmother’s face as she clapped softly, pleased before they began eating in quiet companionship.

.....

”Drive safely,” Izan’s grandmother said as they got into the car, like they weren’t coming back.

”She always does this,” his grandfather said with a little scoff before pulling out of the garage.

The duo made their way through town and then ultimately to the hotel, where the car stopped with Izan telling his grandfather to wait for some time as he stepped into the hotel lobby, the quiet hum of the air conditioning mixing with the faint echo of footsteps on the polished marble floor.

The place felt unusually empty, the lingering energy of the team absent, as if they had anticipated his arrival and departed ahead of schedule.

He walked straight to the reception desk with a polite nod to the attendant before speaking.

”Hello, I’m here for my luggage,” Izan said smoothly.

The receptionist smiled, glancing at the screen in front of her before bowing slightly.

”Of course, sir. Please wait a moment,” she replied, reaching for the telephone and pressing the line.

A few brief words later, she assured him that someone would bring it down shortly.

Izan turned toward a nearby seat, ready to settle in for a moment, but barely had he sat when a hotel staff member appeared, rolling his bags toward him.

”Thank you,” Izan said, offering a polite nod as he lifted the luggage, feeling the familiar weight and texture of his belongings in his hand.

Making his way to the hotel’s exit, he stepped out into the soft glow of the evening lights.

A small crowd of onlookers had noticed him, their eyes lighting up in recognition, yet they remained respectful, allowing him space as he navigated toward the car.

His grandfather’s voice came from the driver’s side, laced with mock urgency.

”Hurry up, or you’ll get mauled by them!”

Izan shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips at the theatrics.

”Always exaggerating,” he muttered, slipping the luggage into the car before easing himself into the seat.

”Why did you think your grandmother married me?” he said, before turning towards the back of the car, and then started pulling out of the space where he had parked the car.

”Let’s go straight home this time,” he said, causing Izan to cackle up as the scene from earlier with his grandmother scolding his grandfather came to mind.

....

The next day, Izan woke to the soft trill of his phone alarm, reached out, and shut it off with a quick tap.

Early Morning light pushed through the windows, bathing him in that morning goodness, and for a moment, he lay still, letting his eyes adjust before sitting up.

His luggage sat open near the foot of the bed.

He crouched beside it, unzipped his shoe bag, and pulled out his trainers.

By the time he left the house, the neighbourhood was already waking.

The early air was cool, carrying the mixed smells of nearby bakeries and the river.

Izan set into an easy pace, letting his body warm as he went.

A few people recognised him and called out greetings.

Some clearly knew who he was.

Others just nodded as if he were another regular runner passing by.

He returned each greeting with a short smile or a quick ”Morning,” keeping a steady rhythm as he circled the block again and again.

By the fourth lap, sweat lined his jaw, and his breathing had deepened into something steady and familiar.

One back home, he headed straight for the bathroom.

Steam quickly filled the small space as he washed away the morning chill.

When he stepped out, towel around his shoulders, his phone buzzed on the dresser.

Transport will be there at 10. You have about three hours. Don’t be late. — Miranda.

Izan dropped the towel onto his chair and exhaled.

Three hours.

Enough to move without rushing, which was a rare luxury.

He padded toward the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients, settling on something simple he could fix quickly.

The quiet clatter of pans filled the room as he worked until his grandfather walked in a moment later, still adjusting the sleeves of his cardigan.

”Good morning,” he said, voice warm but still waking. ”You heading out already?”

”Not yet,” Izan replied. ”I’ve got some hours before they pick me up.”

His grandfather nodded, leaning in to catch the scent of whatever Izan was cooking.

”Looks good. I’ll wash up and come back.”

”Do that. Breakfast is almost ready,” Izan said without looking away from the pan.

A little later, his grandmother joined them, greeting him softly as she took in the table he had set.

Izan stepped back to make space for her.

They ate without any rush, just sharing the meal and a few light comments here and there.

A few hours passed quietly after breakfast.

Then Izan found himself in the back seat of a black car, the city sliding past the windows.

The driver took a turn toward the expressway leading to the Japanese Football Association’s centre while Izan just rested an elbow near the door, watching the buildings thin out into the cleaner lines of the training district as the car carried him toward the first of the commitments waiting for him that day.