God Of football

Chapter 926: Something To Remember.

The match kept swinging from one end to the other when the guide walked over to Izan with a half-smile, half-challenge on his face.

”Do you want to get on?” he asked.

Izan was about to wave him off.

The players looked like they were enjoying themselves, and he didn’t want to steal their spotlight.

But then he thought about it for a second.

He was already here.

Boots were in his bag.

And the way the players kept glancing at him between phases told him they were dying to see what would happen if he stepped onto the grass.

”Plus, I could get a little work out in,” Izan muttered after a few moments before turning towards the guide.

”Why not,” he said quietly and then turned toward the benches behind them.

The Association president had already settled comfortably on one of the seats, arms folded, clearly amused.

Izan ducked into the small kit area set up behind the advertising boards and quickly changed into an Adidas training kit: a clean white top, dark shorts, and the boots everyone knew were his.

White with blue accents and the initials HIM pressed neatly above the heel.

When he jogged back toward the pitch, the referee blew his whistle and lifted a hand after receiving the signal from the sideline.

Play stopped.

Heads turned.

And even the boys who had been fussing with water bottles halted.

Izan stepped onto the grass, adjusting his sleeves as the guide raised his voice.

”He’ll be coming in as a neutral. Either team can play through him. If you have the ball, he’s one of you.”

A ripple passed through the squads.

Most of it was the chance of getting to see the Boy Wonder in action.

On the flip side, Izan walked onto the field with a grin that carried a kind of mischief, which told more about the trouble he was about to cause on the pitch.

After he settled into the middle of the pitch, the referee restarted the match.

Almost immediately, one of the U18 midfielders snapped into a tackle and came out with the ball.

He looked up once, saw Izan drop into a pocket of space, and fired a pass toward him.

The U21 defenders shifted as a unit, ready to close Izan down, but before any of them arrived, the ball was already gone.

A first-time pass, whipped perfectly over the back line.

An U18 winger burst through, surprised at how natural the timing felt.

He didn’t overthink it and just took the touch before rolling the finish past the keeper.

The U18S swarmed Izan before they even processed the goal, jumping on him like they’d beaten the senior national team.

He laughed, steadying himself while they clung to him, while a couple of them shouted at how he had made that too easy.

He didn’t remind them that he planned to do the same against them in a minute.

The match restarted as the U18S won the ball back from the U21S, who were under pressure from their juniors.

A U18 player punched a pass into Izan’s feet.

And Izan bounced it back first time, expecting the boy to turn and play forward, but the midfielder miscontrolled it under pressure, and the U21S pounced.

Their central player carried it a few metres, then spotted Izan already settling into space near the edge of the box.

The pass zipped into him, but this time he didn’t lay it off.

Instead, he shifted the ball onto his right and struck through it cleanly.

The shot rose and bent at the same time, finding the top corner before the keeper reacted, while Izan chuckled and jogged back toward the centre circle, sharing a brief smile with the keeper who had thrown his hands up in resignation.

Around him, the players were starting to understand something.

The gap between Izan and them wasn’t even close.

And with how fast he played in real life, he might as well be two steps ahead.

They didn’t say it out loud, but it showed in their eyes.

...

By the time the referee signalled for the end of the session, most of the boys were still buzzing.

They weren’t rushing off the pitch.

If anything, they lingered even more, passing balls to each other, recreating touches and passes they had just seen, and breaking into little pockets of chatter that carried across the training ground.

A few had already sprinted over to the sidelines to grab their phones.

Before Izan even made it halfway off the pitch, two of them approached him with shy smiles and held up their screens.

”Can we...?” one of them asked.

”Yeah, come on,” Izan said.

He stood with them as more players trickled in, some trying to act casual, others unable to hide the excitement on their faces.

They squeezed in beside him, took photos, checked if the pictures came out well, then asked for another angle.

He didn’t rush them and just stayed until everyone got what they wanted.

Eventually, he slipped out of the small crowd and walked toward the spot where he had been earlier.

His boots clicked softly against the concrete as the grass gave way to the walkway, as President Miyamoto stepped toward Izan with the same warm expression he had worn throughout the day.

”Thank you again,” he said.

Izan shook his head immediately.

”You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to do it. And it was fun.”

Miyamoto laughed under his breath, as if he already knew Izan would say that.

Then, Izan stretched his arms a bit and gave him a playful look.

”Besides, I should stay on good terms with my future employer.”

Miyamoto raised an eyebrow.

”Future employer?”

”You said you’d make me the Japan coach when I retire,” Izan said. ”Might as well keep the relationship healthy.”

The president let out a genuine laugh, shoulders shaking.

”If I’m still alive and still in charge by then, I’ll hold you to that.”

Izan smiled. ”I’ll be ready.”

.....

The moment Izan settled into the back seat, the guide leaned down by the window and gave him a cheerful wave.

Izan returned it with a small nod, then let the door click shut.

The car eased away from the Football Association’s grounds, leaving behind the last remains of the afternoon as they rode back to Tsukishinomiya.

Trees flanked the road, sunlight flashing between them in steady intervals.

And Izan tilted his head against the seat, watching them all until his phone buzzed incessantly, with the screen showing Miranda’s name.

He almost ignored it just to enjoy the silence, but he answered anyway and held the phone to his ear.

”Yeah?”

”How did it go?” she asked in a tired voice, while Izan let out a short breath.

”You’re asking like you don’t already know.”

”I do know,” she said, amused. ”But I want to hear it from you.”

He rubbed his eyebrow and looked out the window again, where a cyclist rode past, head down against the wind.

”It went well. Better than I thought, honestly. The players were easy with me. No weird tension or anything. Even though I’m younger than most of them.”

”They’re Japanese. Humble people,” she replied.

”With the exception of my mom.”

Miranda laughed softly.

”And you, but I’ll tell her you said that.”

”Please don’t,” he muttered, though a smile tugged at him.

”And what do you mean by ’and you”? I am the most humblest person you will ever see.”

Miranda chuckled after his words, almost wheezing before stopping after a while.

”It’s most humble, not most humblest.”

”You think I do not know,” Izan replied, ”I just wanted to make a statement.”

”Well, you did because I won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and neither will the others,” she continued as the car turned onto a quieter street, lined with houses that seemed to radiate warmth.

He could already picture his grandparents inside, probably arguing with each other about what time he’d return.

The house came into view after a few more turns, while Izan grabbed the bag he had gone to the association with.

”Anyway,” he said, shifting upright as the driver slowed, ”I’m home.”

”Alright. Get some rest. Long day after tomorrow.”

”I know. I’ll call you later.”

”Make sure you do.”

He hung up, stared at the phone for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket as the car eased to a stop in front of the house.

He stepped out, thanked the driver, and headed toward the gate as the engine faded behind him.

The moment Izan stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him, his grandmother’s voice came from the dining area.

”Good timing. Come on, wash your hands and sit. We just finished cooking.”

He slipped off his shoes and nodded, the familiar scent of soy, steamed rice, and something lightly grilled settling around him like a welcome.

He walked straight to the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and let the warm water run over his hands as the soft clatter of bowls being moved reached him from the table.

When he joined them, he folded down onto the floor cushion across from his grandfather.

The old man already had his bowl in hand, watching Izan like he was ready to ask something.