God Of football

Chapter 991: Roar From Hell!

Even after Arteta told the players, a few still stayed down, and Bukayo Saka was in this group.

And he had his eyes on Izan, like most of them since the session started.

He hadn’t known when he started to feel it, but slowly, he was getting a bit envious of his teammate, and it would have been much weirder if he hadn’t.

Hailed as one of the greatest talents to come out of Hale End, Bukayo had little lack, but with that ever-blinding talent playing by his side, it had almost eclipsed all he had done for the team and all his achievements.

Even if he never said so, he wasn’t all that happy with losing that position, but every time he saw Izan play, which was literally every time since they played on the same team, he felt that he didn’t even need to feel that way.

It was hard to hate and even more annoying that Izan was just a good kid, and seeing a player in a place where most players, and Saka himself wished to be, the latter felt slightly conflicted.

”This is really not fair,” Saka said in almost a sigh, but a figure cut in abruptly.

”What is not fair?” Ødegaard suddenly said as he plopped to the ground once again, but Saka just shook his head.

”It’s nothing,” he said, but the former still pressed.

”You sure?” and this time, Saka didn’t answer straight away.

He watched Izan turn slightly, exchanging a few words with one of the coaches, completely untouched by the fatigue hanging over everyone else.

Ødegaard followed his gaze, then looked back at him.

”You sure you good?” he asked again, and Saka finally shook his head, more to clear it than in acceptance.

”It’s nothing,” he said, though it didn’t sound convincing even to himself.

He pushed himself up in one smooth motion, brushing the grass off his shorts as if the thought had annoyed him.

Then, louder, so the lads around could hear, he said, ”Come on. You lot look finished already.”

A few heads turned while someone groaned a loud, ”What?”

Saka spread his arms slightly.

”I’m not even tired.”

There were a couple of laughs and sighs, but seeing the jokester in them on his feet, they all felt compelled to rise from their seated positions.

From the sideline, Arteta nodded once, sharp and approving.

”Very good, Bukayo,” he called out.

”That’s how a leader does it!”

Saka turned towards the gaffer and stuck his hand out to give a heavy thumbs-up, receiving one in return.

Then he just jogged a few steps as if to back his talk.

Behind him, Ødegaard stayed seated for a beat longer, watching him now instead of Izan.

Then he snorted softly.

”We can’t all be the main characters,” he said, more to Saka’s retreating back than to himself.

Saka, as if he had heard it, glanced over his shoulder, smirked briefly, and kept moving while Ødegaard finally got to his feet.

Some 60 hours later, it was finally that time again.

”Wednesday night football and today, it is the second matchday of the UEFA Champions League, and it is Arsenal going against Olympiacos at the Emirates Stadium.”

By the time Olympiacos stepped out for their warm-ups, the Emirates was already alive, but unevenly so.

Pockets of red, Olympiacos Red, were scattered across the stands, thick and loud with Greek flags draped over railings, their voices sharp and almost symphonic.

The away end had bled outward, chants bouncing off every corner of the stadium with confidence.

Enough confidence that a few of the Olympiacos players glanced around and smiled.

One of them laughed as he stretched his calves.

”Best team in the world right now,” he said to a teammate, voice easy.

”But this?” He tilted his head toward the stands.

”Home crowd’s a bit quiet, no?”

A couple of nods and laughs escaped the away players as their boots tapped against the turf while they passed the ball around.

Then the lights dipped slightly.

And a voice came, through and through!

”ARE YOU READY, GOONERS?”

The sound came raw, almost ancient, echoing through the bowl like a war call dragged out of stone.

For half a second, there was silence.

Then the response hit.

”HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!”

The response came more like a release.

It was like a sound ripped straight out of the chest, furious and unified, like something holy that had been dragged through fire and come back angrier for it.

The Olympiacos players stopped what they were doing while a few of them nodded slowly.

”That’s more like it,” someone muttered with a grin, but they didn’t get time to sit with the thought.

Because the tunnel lights came on, and when the Arsenal staff came out, it was almost like they were ready for an Eulogy, because their clothing was darker than dark.

And then red shirts, one by one, stepping into the ever-increasing noise.

And then there was always Izan.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the stadium detonated with a single, violent surge of sound, as if sixty thousand people had been waiting for permission and finally got it.

It wasn’t cheering anymore.

It was judgment.

A roar so loud it felt physical, pressing down, swallowing the pitch whole.

Olympiacos fans went quiet without realising it.

Their players straightened, some instinctively, some stiffly, because it almost felt like the air had changed.

Even the chants died, drowned out by something far bigger as Izan stopped just past the tunnel mouth.

He took it in.

Then he smirked.

Just a little, before hyping up the crowd more and more as he swept his hands up and then back down.

The noise spiked again, somehow louder, angrier, the stands heaving like a single living thing.

Somewhere behind him, Nwaneri leaned toward the others, half shouting to be heard.

”He keeps saying Arteta would’ve been a commander if he were born earlier,” he said, shaking his head. ”Then he goes and does this.”

The rest of the players laughed at that before the announcer’s voice cut back in, deliberate now.

”Ladies and gentlemen...”

A pause long enough to hurt followed before he came through again.

”Your 2025 Ballon d’Or winner...”

”Izan Hernández!”

The name crashed into the roar and vanished inside it as the broadcast feed caught up a second later.

”He’s only been gone for a week; still, they’ve missed him,” the commentator said, voice raised over the noise.

”Well,” the co-commentator cut in after a while.

”He’s finally back!”