God Of football

Chapter 974: Cut Short.

The restart came quickly, almost abruptly, like Athletic Bilbao were trying to outrun the feeling that had settled in their chests.

The ball moved through the Williams brothers almost by instinct.

Nico kept moving inwards from the left while Inaki stayed up top, stretching the backline with the two of them exchanging short passes at the edge of Arsenal’s shape and testing for gaps.

For a few seconds, it looked promising.

The home crowd leaned forward again, cheering them on as on one occasion, Nico took it on the left, squared up his marker, and tried to force the issue.

There was no space to run into, no angle to slip through, so he created one for himself.

He opened his body and bent one toward the far corner, but Raya was already set, expecting just that.

He took two quick steps and gathered it cleanly, the ball thudding into his gloves as the noise dipped.

Bilbao stayed on it still, pressing Arsenal from the front, and they won the ball back almost immediately, and didn’t bother recycling it.

They played from the front, and a moment later, Inaki had the ball, driving at Mosquera with long, powerful strides.

He pushed it beyond him and burst past, the angle narrowing with every step.

He swung through the shot anyway, praying for a rebound at the very least, but then Gabriel appeared out of nowhere.

The ball smacked into his thigh, the impact sharp and dull at the same time, and dropped harmlessly.

Raya was there again, claiming it and pulling it into his chest as Gabriel turned away, the applause of the away crowd following behind him while Raya immediately began looking for options he could get the ball to.

And after settling on one, he rolled the ball forward, then lobbed it into midfield with purpose.

Zubimendi met it, or at least pretended he was going to before letting the ball drop right in front of Oihan Sancet.

The Bilbao player still tried to get a hold of the ball, but after it bounced once on the grass, it lobbed over him and into the feet of Declan Rice while Zubimendi darted into space, got it back off Rice, then slipped it forward to Ødegaard in stride.

The away end rose, gathering behind the Norwegian as he made his way forward, slipping past one, then two and the moment he slipped past the second, the crowd appealed.

”Shoot!” came the shout, loud and unified, as Ødegaard glided past Jauregizar, the ball glued to his left foot.

But Ødegaard didn’t even look at the goal.

He shifted his weight and pushed it right where Izan took it in stride.

The moment the ball reached him, the pitch tilted.

Bilbao’s back line and two midfielders slid across together, a red-and-white wall forming in front of him.

Gyökeres gestured in the middle, arm out, calling for it, but Izan ignored everything.

He slowed, nudging the ball forward with small touches, forcing Boiro to backpedal.

Then he leaned back like he was about to stop before nudging the ball left and then right with the outside of his right boot in one swift motion, completing the reverse elastico to go past Boiro, who lunged, already off balance, and clipped his leg.

Izan stumbled, fought it for a step, then went down after a moment.

Boiro, feeling guilty, spun toward the referee even before the whistle came through, shaking his head, finger raised in protest, but it was pointless.

The decision had already been made.

”Penalty,” the commentator confirmed, the words almost swallowed by the roar.

”And Arsenal have a chance to go two up before Bilbao have even caught their breath.”

Izan pushed himself up, brushing grass from his shorts.

He picked up the ball beside him and then handed it to Gyökeres with a small shove and a look that said enough.

The Swede nodded once, thanking Izan before moving towards the spot with the ball.

Izan, after that, stepped out of the box, rolling his shoulders while, around him, Bilbao players argued and gestured until the referee waved them away, clearing the area.

Gyökeres, after that, placed the ball carefully on the spot while the referee backed off, standing to the side after clearing out the box.

The San Mamés held its breath, the home fans hoping that Unai Simon could save it while the away fans wished for the opposite.

”Can he put it away?” came the call as Gyökeres ran up and smashed it straight down the middle.

Unai Simón dove to his right, fully committed, leaving the goal almost fully empty as the net snapped.

”Yes, he can!” the commentary continued as Gyökeres sprinted to the corner, pulling the mask celebration over his face before turning and grabbing Izan, dragging him close and pointing straight at him.

On the touchline, Arteta clapped twice, applauding his men and then barking instructions, demanding more as if the scoreline meant nothing.

”It is now two to the good, and they have breathing space,” came the commentary as the Arsenal players turned towards the centre of the pitch while the Bilbao players dragged themselves back to restart.

”And now the question,” the commentary said as the ball was placed down again, ”is whether Athletic Bilbao can find a response... or whether Arsenal have already run away with this one.”

The referee watched as the Bilbao players reset before blowing his whistle to let the game continue.

.....

By the time the final whistle faded, San Mamés had settled into a low, frustrated murmur.

Arsenal did not linger.

Shirts were swapped, a few pats on backs exchanged, then the group moved as one toward the tunnel and made their way towards the locker room.

Once there, they had their showers and grabbed their bags afterwards, like they had just finished a training session.

Outside and in the area leading up to where they would find their bus, things were a bit unsettled.

Barriers rattled as reporters surged forward, microphones lifted with cameras flashing in quick, sharp bursts as they tried to capture whatever they could.

The first few Arsenal players slipped through, acknowledging the reporters with just half smiles and nods, but they kept their eyes ahead.

Then Izan stepped out with one of the staff beside him, handing him what looked like a boot bag, and immediately, the noise jumped.

”Izan, over here!”

”What does a four–nil win away in Bilbao mean for this team?”

”You could have had a hat-trick today, but you gave that penalty you won to Gyokeres. Does that bother you?”

”And the Ballon d’Or, Izan. It’s in a few days. Do you think you’ve done enough?”

One voice cut through louder than the rest.

”Will you even play against Manchester City the night before, or will you skip that match?”

Izan kept walking and let the questions wash over him, not bothering to pay them any heed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he climbed the steps onto the bus and moved down the aisle, brushing past teammates already slumped into their seats.

Izan took the last seat at the back and dropped into it, elbows resting on his knees.

Through the tinted glass, he could still see the reporters outside, animated, arms moving as they talked among themselves now that the door had closed.

The words circled anyway.

He leaned back, eyes following the reflections sliding across the window as the engine hummed to life.

”Who else?” he muttered under his breath, the smirk returning as the bus eased forward and pulled away from the stadium.

Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks as they made their way to the hotel.

When they arrived, Arteta got down immediately and made his way inside the hotel.

When the players got to the lobby, he glanced at his watch and then back at them.

”Listen,” he said, voice calm but firm.

”It’s almost nine. We had planned to stay the night, but we will move earlier than planned now. I want everyone back in the lobby in two hours. And if you aren’t back by then, we will go without you and leave you to take your own plane back to London.”

The place hummed as the players nodded, and immediately after that, the group split.

Some headed straight for the lifts, minds already on bed and the nap that the two hours could serve them before getting that out of their thoughts after realising they needed to pack up.

Others drifted toward the snack bar, drawn by the quiet pull of hunger that only showed up once the adrenaline wore off.

Izan stood for a moment in the lobby while the others walked off, seemingly in thought.

He had already packed and had most of the two hours to himself, so after a bit of contemplation, he made his way over with the other players towards the snack bar, his bag still in tandem before making his way back to his room after he was done getting what he wanted.