God Of football

Chapter 946: Arsenal’s Departments.

After dropping Olivia off, the next course of action for Izan was to head back to North London.

And a while later, Izan pulled into Colney just as the light finished settling over the training ground.

It wasn’t particularly early, but most of the players didn’t come until after an hour or so.

The car park was mostly empty at this hour, with only a few staff cars scattered across the lot.

He stepped out of the Gemera, the morning air cool against his skin, and headed through the building.

A few early staff members were already moving around with coffee cups and tablets in hand.

”Morning,” he said as he passed them, giving a small nod to each.

The greetings came back easily, warm but still carrying that early-morning sluggishness.

He made his way toward Arteta’s office and knocked lightly on the doorframe before pushing it open.

Arteta was already at his desk, flipping through a set of notes.

He looked up with a knowing expression.

”How were your two days?” he asked, emphasising the two in a way that made Izan huff out a short laugh.

”Honestly,” Izan said, leaning against the door with only his head and shoulders inside the room, ”at times like this, an injury sounds nice.”

Arteta’s eyes widened as he shook his head.

”God forbid. Don’t say that.”

”I’m kidding,” Izan said, though the tired smirk on his face made it clear he half-meant it. ”I’ll go to the gym.”

Arteta nodded. ”Go on then. Shake the rust off.”

Izan dipped his head and pulled the door shut behind him before heading down the hall.

The facility was still quiet, echoing slightly with the hum of ventilation as he walked.

Just as he stepped into the gym, his phone buzzed.

Komi’s name flashed across the screen.

”Where’s Miko’s leash?” she asked the moment he answered.

”In the—”

”Found it,” she said before he could finish, and the line clicked off.

Izan stared at his phone for a second, snorted softly, then tucked it into the bag by his side as he settled on one of the benches in the gym.

He slipped off his slides and swapped them for his adidas trainers, tying them without much thought.

One of the player trainers on duty greeted him with a nod, and Izan returned it before stepping onto a treadmill.

The machine whirred to life beneath him.

He kept a steady pace, letting his mind fall into the rhythm while the room remained quiet except for mechanical hums.

A few minutes later, he turned up the pace steadily, until it looked like he could fly off the treadmill at any moment, with the trainer even standing by his side and hoping he could do something to break the fall, but it never happened as Izan kept up and then began slowing down.

”I would have recommended you for the English sprint team if you weren’t playing football,” the trainer said as they finished, causing Izan to laugh.

”I am Spanish,” Izan said, but the trainer shrugged.

”Wouldn’t be the first time England stole something valuable,” he said, as Izan’s mouth widened, before he broke out into a fit of laughter.

After that bit, he moved on to dumbbells, then to resistance bands, working through a light circuit.

Sweat started to bead along his forehead, and by the time he reached for a towel, he heard footsteps entering behind him.

Timber walked in first, stretching his arms out as he approached.

A couple of the other defenders followed, chatting among themselves.

Timber spotted Izan immediately.

”You trying to join us back here?” he asked.

”After everything you already do for the club? Leave something for the rest of us.”

The others cracked up, and even Izan couldn’t hold back a laugh.

”Relax,” Izan said, grabbing a sip of water. ”I’m not taking your job.”

”Good,” Timber replied, dropping onto a mat. ”I like my position the way it is.”

More players trickled in, the gym slowly filling with energy.

The early quiet dissolved into a low buzz of conversation, equipment clinking, and the occasional joking complaint from someone starting their reps.

Izan rolled his shoulders once, set his headphones aside, and eased back into his routine, the room coming fully alive around him.

.....

The cafeteria was already half full by the time Izan walked in.

Jokes flew about, coupled with the usual mix of pre-session chat and then the most recent transfer, with some wondering when the player in question would arrive.

After greeting a few of his fellow players he hadn’t seen in the gym, he went towards the food area, taking whatever didn’t seem like it would get him hungry halfway through the session, and that consisted of Rice, eggs and some fruit.

And then he made his way over to a relatively empty table, setting his tray down before he began eating, listening to the conversation on the other table near him more than he focused on his food.

And then halfway through breakfast, the noise in the room died down a bit as heads turned toward the entrance.

There, Arteta had walked in, speaking quietly to someone beside him.

It took a second for the boys to recognise who it was, but once they did, a ripple of whispers moved across the tables.

Eze, who followed Arteta by the side while seemingly being engaged in whatever the coach was spouting.

A few players stood to greet him as he made his way through the room.

A couple offered quick handshakes or subtle nods of welcome.

It was going smoothly.

Then it got to Izan’s turn, but rather, it seemed Saka had been waiting for this moment.

Everyone could tell because he was sitting up straighter than usual, trying hard not to smile, and the media team was conveniently hovering nearby with their cameras ready.

When Eze stepped into range, hand out for a shake with Izan, Saka tapped his phone.

A second later, boss’s music blasted out through the small speaker by his side, loud enough for half the room to hear it.

Eze froze for half a second before bursting into laughter as the entire squad followed immediately.

Izan too bent forward, covering his face as he doubled over.

”Welcome, bro,” Saka said through his own laughter.

”Tradition. Had to.”

Eze shook his head, still smiling as the two finally shook hands.

”If this is day one,” he said, ”I should probably prepare myself.”

”You should,” Izan managed, finally looking up. ”This is normal behaviour here. Daily. Sometimes hourly.”

Arteta waited it out, though he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his mouth.

When the room finally settled, he clapped his hands once.

”Alright. Get yourselves familiar with him,” he said.

”Talk, make sure he settles quickly. Training on the grass at twelve. That gives you an hour and a half. Eat well, recover, and be ready.”

Some players nodded while others were already turning back to their food.

Eze, on the other hand, got pulled into a small circle of seats, mostly consisting of the English boys he was familiar with.

A while later, on the training pitch, Arteta waited until they were fully settled.

His hands were tucked behind his back, gaze sharp but calm.

He looked at the group in front of him as more and more joined until he seemed satisfied.

”Alright,” he started. ”This is where the season actually begins for us.”

”We all know what last season meant,” Arteta said.

”What we achieved, what we overcame, what we fought for. Expectations will be higher now. From the club, from the fans, from the world, but especially from ourselves.”

He let his eyes move across the squad, stopping briefly on the new signings, then the core group that had carried the team through the previous campaign.

”We brought in new quality. You’ve seen that already. But new quality only matters if we gel quickly. Chemistry, trust, understanding. Those things decide games just as much as talent. So we need to get our things in order from today onward. Everything clean, everything sharp.”

”Our first match is in two days,” Arteta reminded them.

”Man United. Away. Big game, big energy, straightforward challenge. They might be arse,” Arteta said, causing his boys to laugh, ”but those boys can put in a shift when it matters, so we can’t let our guard down.”

”This next hour,” Arteta continued, ”is where we set the tone. How we train today tells me everything I need to know about how we’ll walk out on Sunday. So be focused. Be responsible. And help each other settle. The season is long, and we’re going to need everyone switched on.”

He clapped once, firm and clear.

”Get ready. Warm-up in two minutes.”

The circle broke apart quickly as the players began heading towards their respective ”departmental” coaches, as Arteta had called out, namely the midfield department, the goalkeeping department, the defensive department and then the attacking department.

”Izan,” Arteta said suddenly as the aforementioned turned to face him.

”Choose where you want to go.”

Izan nodded once and then made his way over to the midfielders, or better known, the midfield department.