God Of football

Chapter 984: Something Akin to, THE GOD OF FOOTBALL!!

After her speech in Spanish, Aitana Bonmati made her way down the podium while Kate came up again to give what was probably going to be her last words of the night.

”And now,” she said, ”it seems there is only one left.”

She smiled, almost knowingly.

”In other years, this moment belongs to suspense.”

Laughter, tinged with a bit of nervous energy, rippled through the auditorium after her words.

”But this year,” she continued, ”it belongs to something else.”

”Ladies and gentlemen, once again, the nominees!”

After her words, the remaining 10 nominees flashed across the screen, with some eyes widening as they saw some of the faces in the last 10 nominees, wondering if they should have been included at all.

But before they could debate further in their thoughts, Kate came through again.

”Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 2025 men’s Ballon d’Or award is...”

”Izan Hernandez!!!!”

By the time the full name came out of the mouth of Kate Abdo, the room was already in shambles of applause.

The person in question sat still.

Even though he knew he was going to win, the thought of his name being mentioned felt heavier than anything he had ever felt.

From behind him, Izan felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, only to turn and remember that Arteta had been sitting behind him all this while.

”You’ve done us proud, Hernan.”

Izan nodded subconsciously at Arteta’s words before turning and finding his hands still folded loosely in his lap.

He hadn’t realised how tight his shoulders were until Komi’s fingers closed around his arm.

”Oh my God,” she whispered, voice shaking.

”Miura. Miura, you’ve won it.”

She was already crying again, tears spilling freely now with her hand pressing into his sleeve like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

Even Miranda, who prided herself on being able to keep her cool, cried tears of joy as Izan turned toward Komi, finally moving, and she stood first, pulling him up with her.

For a brief second, their foreheads touched.

Komi laughed through her tears, a sound that came out breathless and broken.

”You did it,” she said, pressing her face against his shoulder. ”You actually did it.”

He wrapped his arms around her without thinking, holding her tight while the applause grew louder, heavier, rolling through the hall in waves.

Miranda was on her feet next.

She stepped in and hugged him, eyes still teary.

”I’m so proud of you,” she said quietly, close to his ear, to which Izan nodded against her shoulder.

When he turned, Hori was already extending a hand, folding it into a fist to which Izan palmed, a handshake the two had used ever since watching the first Boss Baby movie.

And then there was Olivia.

She looked up at him, eyes shining, lips pressed together like she was holding back too much at once.

”Go,” she said softly, smiling.

”Before I start crying properly.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek before he stepped into the aisle.

As soon as he did, time seemed to stretch.

The applause blurred into something distant, muffled, like it was coming through water.

He could see hands clapping all around him, rows of them, palms meeting and separating in uneven rhythms.

Faces leaned toward him with some smiling widely at him and others staring like minstrels trying to capture a tale for their poems on the road.

As he moved forward, he passed familiar figures, with faces like Yamal’s and Pedri’s mouthing silent congratulations towards him.

Away from the theatre, it wasn’t all quiet.

In North London, fans had gathered in pubs to watch the Ballon d’Or ceremony like it was the London derby.

Arsenal shirts were yanked over heads, beers sloshing over glasses as people basked in the ecstasy because, for the first time in their long history, an Arsenal player had won the Ballon d’Or.

In Spain, balconies lit up.

Rodri had done it.

And now Izan had also done it, at the tender age of seventeen.

Back in the Théâtre du Châtelet, the applause grew again, louder than before, as Izan reached the steps.

By the time he reached the podium, the clapping had become thunderous, rising to meet him as he grabbed the Ballon d’Or award from Ronaldinho.

”I see you like de jinga ehn,” the mad Brazilian said as he handed the award he had once won over to Izan.

”I try to live for jinga,” Izan replied just as the award rested in his hands, sparking a huge smile on Ronaldinho’s face before he turned to face the faces in the theatre.

And there, standing under the lights with the applause still climbing, Izan finally allowed himself to do something he hadn’t really done wholeheartedly even with his family.

He finally let himself breathe.

”Wow,” Izan mouthed silently as the applause died down, giving him the floor to speak, but he just stood there for what felt like a couple more minutes before glancing slightly down at the award in his hand.

”Last year, I came very close to winning,” he began as the room listened keenly.

”At 15 in a very competitive football world, people kept telling me how good I was, but I never really felt special. And then I turned 16, still feeling like everybody else, and that felt much better than being touted as the next big thing.”

”I came really close to winning this award last year, and although I couldn’t eventually, I was still happy because coming 2nd in the Ballon d’Or as a 16-year-old was scarily great. And after a whole year, it’s my turn.”

”At 17, I can proudly say I have won something that is the end goal for most footballers. I want to say a big thank you to the people around me. Hori, Miranda and Olivia. You guys have been the best help. I want to dedicate this award to my teammates and to the coaching staff of Arsenal, as well as the people around me and from my days in Valencia.”

”I want to thank my mum. It’s not easy to continue supporting your child’s indulgence in something knowing he wasn’t good at it, but I thank her for persevering and bringing me to my sessions even though I was very bad then. Thank you, Mum, for being the woman I needed.”

”And lastly, to my fans (and readers). I don’t know what you’ve been told but stopping is never the right answer. It might not be working out for you in something, but stopping is a testament that you failed, and none of us are failures.”

”It might be hard in the long run, but there is one and only one way up, and that is by doing your absolute best even when the world tells you no. And if it still doesn’t work at the end of the day, just know that you can say, ”I fought a hard battle against life, and I never gave up.”

”This is not the end but rather the beginning of something greater. This is not the end goal but the start of becoming something synonymous with football. Something akin to becoming, THE GOD OF FOOTBALL!”