God Of football

Chapter 935: New Face.

The studio in Udine felt almost divine in the early afternoon light.

The windows along the top of the warehouse let in soft beams that mixed with the artificial lighting, giving the room a muted brightness.

A small team moved around checking cables, adjusting soft boxes and clearing stray tripods.

Selene stood at the center with her camera already in her hands, a quiet focus settling over her.

Izan stepped onto the marked spot, with a messily tucked-in Saint Laurent White shirt that contrasted the dark, baggy trousers and polished shoes.

His hair was tied up neatly, a look Selene insisted on after studying him from every angle the evening before.

”Good,” Selene said while circling him, her voice calm but attentive.

”Hold it. Just like that.”

The shutter clicked in steady bursts as her team pretended not to stare, but every now and then, one of them lifted their phone to take a discreet picture when she wasn’t looking or wasn’t in session.

Izan caught one of them in the act, and the girl went bright red before lowering the phone like she had accidentally pulled out a weapon.

He only smiled, which didn’t help her composure.

”Excellent,” Selene murmured as she adjusted a reflector with her foot and stepped in closer.

”Turn your chin a little. Perfect.”

It went on for another stretch, pose after pose, Selene’s voice cutting through the soft hum of the equipment, and when the last shutter snapped, she lowered her camera.

”Excellent,” she said again, this time with a satisfied exhale.

The assistants immediately began taking down equipment.

Light stands clinked.

A backdrop rolled slowly into its housing.

Someone turned off the main lamps, and the room dimmed into something calmer while Izan settled into a nearby chair and let himself breathe.

”Even matches don’t take that much out of me,” he muttered.

Selene handed him a cold water bottle and gave a knowing smile.

”You say that after every shoot.”

”I mean it,” he said after taking a drink.

”I feel like you squeeze the soul out of me through the lens.”

”That’s your fault for having a usable soul,” she replied, leaning against the table beside him.

”Can’t blame me for taking advantage.”

He gave her a tired half-smile and rubbed his neck before asking, ”What are you doing after this?”

Selene snorted softly.

”You’re asking me out. I’m too old for you.”

He closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face.

”That wasn’t what I meant, you wannabe cougar.”

”Well, you walked into it,” she said, laughing at his expression.

”But I’m flying to Paris tonight. Exhibition prep. Too much work waiting there. I am even planning to slip in a couple arts of you.”

She noticed his gaze dropping to the Seiko watch around his wrist after she finished speaking.

”What about you?”

”My team should’ve arrived at the hotel by now,” he said. ”I’ll meet up with them once I leave.”

Before Selene could respond, his phone buzzed.

A message from the driver, the club arranged.

”My ride’s here,” he said, rising from the chair. ”Where do I change?”

Selene frowned with an expression that suggested she was personally offended.

”Change? Into what?”

”Something comfortable,” he replied. ”I’m keeping the attire anyway, I just don’t want to sit in it anymore.”

She stepped forward and pushed lightly at his shoulder toward the studio exit.

”You’re in Italy. Look the part,” she said, handing him the bag he had come with.

”Selene,” he said, deadpan.

”No,” she answered, already marching him toward the corridor. ”Let them see you properly.”

He tried once more.

”I just want track pants.”

”I want people to know you came out of a shoot,” she said, waving off the complaint.

He sighed, defeated, as she guided him out of the studio.

Selene followed with her camera bag slung across her body, still smiling to herself like she was pleased with her own decision.

They stepped outside to where the car waited with the afternoon breeze brushing across the fabric of his shirt, and she looked at him once more with the steady satisfaction of someone who had gotten exactly the aesthetic she wanted.

”See you in Paris, okay,” she said as Izan slipped into the back seat of the car.

”What do you mea-” Izan tried to say, only to stop after realising what Selene meant, with the latter just standing with a smile on her face.

”Sure,” Izan replied with a little smile of his own as the car pulled away from the curb.

The car eased to a stop in front of the hotel after a quiet half-hour drive.

Marble steps reflected the early evening light, and a pair of revolving doors spun steadily as guests drifted in and out.

Izan stepped out with a small black crossbody bag slung diagonally across his shirt and his suitcase rolling behind him.

He leaned into the open window and thanked the driver before making his way inside.

The lobby, where a few coaches in club tracksuits sat near the far corner discussing something over tablets, was beautiful to say the least as Izan entered.

A few guests looked up from the armchairs when the doors opened, noticing the fit first, then the face wearing it.

Nwaneri appeared from the elevators at the same moment, still scrolling on his phone, before he glanced up.

His eyes widened, and without hiding it, he lifted the phone and snapped a picture while Izan paused mid-step. ”Really?”

”I need to see your stylist,” Nwaneri said, pocketing the phone while shaking his head in disbelief.

”My stylist is my photographer,” Izan replied. ”And she would charge you for even asking.”

”If she can make me look like that, I’ll pay whatever she wants.”

Izan smirked and adjusted the strap of his bag.

”Where’s Albert? I should get my room key.”

”He’s in the dining area. Come on, they’re having a late lunch.”

He led Izan through the wide hallway into the dining space that the club had booked out.

A few players lounging near the windows looked up when they noticed a suited figure follow Nwaneri inside.

Saka stood first, planting both hands on the back of his chair before strolling over with an exaggerated South London accent.

”Looking Clean, Mon ami,” Saka said as he met Izan.

”That’s French. We are in Italy,” Izan said, but Saka just waved him off.

”Man’s going to need a whole department to manage all these brands,” he continued as the room broke into laughter, a few players clapping in agreement while others held up their phones like paparazzi.

Izan shook his head.

”Eat your food, Bukayo.”

Saka patted the sleeve of the shirt before stepping aside.

”I like it, but I don’t think I have the facilities for that. Maybe you could put in a quick word in for me. My waist size is...”, but by the time Saka could say, Izan had walked off, letting his eyes roam the room before spotting Arteta standing a little farther back, speaking with a tall blond player who wasn’t Odegaard.

The player turned as Izan approached, and Victor Gyokeres lifted a hand in greeting before stepping in for a firm shake that shifted into a brief hug.

”Welcome to Arsenal,” Izan said, pulling back with a smile.

”Glad to finally be here,” Victor replied.

Arteta looked between them.

”How are you feeling?” he asked Izan.

”Good,” Izan answered.

”It has been a long afternoon, but good.”

Before Arteta could continue, Albert Stuivenberg stepped into the room with a folder tucked under his arm, and Izan lifted a hand.

”Albert. You have my key?”

Albert nodded toward the reception area.

”Come with me.”

Izan excused himself from the group and followed Albert down the corridor, where the receptionist handed over the keycard in a small sleeve marked with his name and room number.

He thanked both of them before heading for the lifts.

After going through the quiet hallway upstairs lined with muted artwork and the faint smell of new carpet, Izan finally found his room, slid the card in, and stepped into the cool, dim space the club had prepared for him.

He set his bag down, loosened the shirt jacket, and finally let himself breathe as he fell into the bed, but before he could fully relax, a ping came from his phone, with Izan picking it up, only to see an image from Selene that seemed to have been taken from afar, asking whether the angle was nice for an article to whic Izan just sighed and sent over a gif of a tired face.

Got it, her reply came immediately while Izan set his phone aside.