God Of football - Chapter 554: Gunning Past Monaco

Chapter 554: Gunning Past Monaco

The sky above the Emirates was slate-gray by kickoff, tinged with the damp chill of late December.

Floodlights cut through the gloom, reflecting off the rain-glossed pitch like moonlight on glass.

The air held that big-match sharpness, not from tension, but from expectation.

The 3 points of Matchday 6 of the Champions League, league phase was up for grabs.

Arsenal vs. AS Monaco.

Two games remained before the knockouts, and Arsenal were already through.

But this wasn’t about qualification anymore.

This was about.

Momentum.

Making a statement to whoever might wait next.

The crowd was vibrant, layered in coats and scarves, breath misting up toward the heavens.

Somewhere between those roars and that cold hung the sense that something beautiful was about to unfold.

“Evening, all,” began Mark Scott on commentary, his voice steady and warm through the broadcast.

“Back under the lights at the Emirates, where Arsenal welcome Monaco for what should be a proper European tie.”

“Should be,” his partner, James Horncastle replied.

“But Arsenal are flying. Monaco are no pushovers—they’ve got goals in them. But the way this Arsenal side has been moving the ball? You feel like they could run riot again.”

Arteta stood calm in his technical area, arms folded, eyes focused.

Across the dugout, Adi Hütter looked ready but wary.

He knew the mountain his team was staring up at.

And when the whistle blew, that mountain started to crumble, slowly but eventually.

Arsenal opened with sharp movement and clean lines.

ØDegaard dictated early from the middle, pinging a ball out wide to Calafiori, who exchanged with Martinelli before slipping it down the channel to Izan.

Izan’s first touch was nothing fancy—just a soft collect—but the way he shrugged off Camara like a winter coat showed what Monaco were up against.

In the fifth minute, Monaco had their first glimpse of hope.

Minamino cut inside from the right and whipped a left-footed effort just over the bar.

Raya watched it go, hands never leaving his sides.

But that was as close as they’d get for a while.

In the 12th minute, Arsenal exploded into life.

Saka dropped deep and danced past his marker before lofting a teasing ball toward the far post.

Izan ghosted in behind, chested it down—calmly, deliberately—and, with his second touch, lashed a volley that thundered off the inside of the post and in.

1–0.

The Emirates erupted, shortly afterwards, basking in the joy of how fluidly their team where playing and how joyous the new identity looked.

L

“He’s so composed,” Horncastle murmured.

“Like the whole box is frozen but he’s still moving.”

“Still just seventeen,” Mark added.

“And already the best player on the pitch as always and in the world by some degree currently.”

Arsenal didn’t slow down.

By the 20th minute, it could’ve been two.

ØDegaard split the lines with a through-ball to Martinelli, whose curled effort kissed the crossbar and skimmed over but that did nothing to the confidence the team was moving with.

It might have even boosted it because just 8 minutes after, Izan almost doubled up with another chest control and volley attempt—this time blocked brilliantly by Caio Henri, who threw himself in front of it like a man trying to stop time.

Monaco were rattled.

Th𝚤𝑠 ƈhаp𝘵ɛr 𝗶𝗌 pɵ𝘴𝑡𝙚ⅾ b𝓎 𝙆𝒾𝓉ɛɳ0𝕧𝓮𝗅

They tried to push out, to reset the line of engagement, but it only opened more cracks.

In the 33rd, it was 2–0.

Merino recovered possession in midfield and poked it left to Calafiori, who zipped it down the wing to Martinelli.

A quick exchange with Izan and then a low cutback.

ØDegaard let it roll past him but Saka didn’t.

He buried it low and hard, the ball slipping through the cracks in the posture of Majecki who had still almost gotten to the ball.

The crowd bounced again roaring as their team doubled their lead but they were to be gifted again.

Then, came a moment that didn’t make the scoresheet, but should have had it not been for the heroics of a player.

Minamino broke away on the right and crossed to Embolo, who rose high, nodding it back across goal.

It was going in, certainly.

Until Raya leaped left and clawed it out with his fingertips to stop Arsenal from conceding.

“A warning,” Horncastle said.

“Arsenal are dominant. But Monaco still have a bite.”

But they bit too late after the first half whistle blew, signaling the end of an enthralling half for one side of the fans, the home ones.

And just as the second half began after 15 minutes, Arsenal roared to life again, rekindling their first-half antics.

They picked up right where they left off—relentless, rhythmic, like a song stuck on a crescendo.

In the 49th minute, Izan received a cross-field pass from Calafiori, killed it dead on his thigh, and drove inside.

He beat two defenders, twisted between a third, then fired low with his right but Monaco’s Majecki parried to keep the damage minimal.

But only as far as Jorginho, who rolled it to Ødegaard at the edge of the box.

The captain opened up and slotted home from outside of the box in a situation where most were expecting him to pass and the fans were all for it.

3–0.

By now, Monaco were chasing ghosts.

Arsenal’s shape held, even as the ball moved quicker, more vertical.

Izan dropped deeper, pulling defenders with him.

His touches became sharper, flicks more confident.

Then came his second.

Minute 61.

A turnover in midfield.

Saka intercepted a lazy pass and sent it forward to Izan, who was already turning.

He took one touch, looked up, and saw the opponent’s backline sagging and that was all the invitation he was ever going to need.

He drove at them, shifted left, shifted right, opened his hips, and slid the ball between the legs of captain, Kehrer, then slipped a shot under the keeper’s arm.

4–0.

“World-class, Izan class with a wonderful piece of trickery,” Scott said.

“Just that icy clarity again. He sees the goal, and he strikes.”

Still, Izan wasn’t finished.

In the 71st, he should’ve had a hat trick.

Martinelli broke down the left and played it square.

Izan stepped into it cleanly and struck it on the half, but this time, the Monaco keeper guessed right and punched it away.

Groans followed—but applause too.

The fans knew what they were seeing.

And they wanted more.

Monaco’s best chance of the game, came in the 75th when Embolo finally found space and turned past substitute, Lewis-Skelly.

He slipped it into the path of Akliouche who let one fly past Raya, or so it seemed but the latter had somehow gotten his fingertips to it to keep his clean sheet intact.

4-0 Might have been all but Arsenal decided to go again.

The final goal, Arsenal’s fifth, came from a set piece.

Izan floated in a lovely ball after Saka was fouled done the right.

Gabriel, deciding to join in on the fun, rose highest, thundering a powerful ball home to make it 5 on the night.

And still, Arsenal didn’t take Izan off.

Arteta stood firm.

He watched him drift wide, track back, press high.

He watched him own the pitch with the kind of control that would make Pep Guardiola Salivate.

By the 88th minute, fans were already singing.

And not just Arsenal’s fans.

A few Monaco supporters near the away section were clapping too—half defeat, half recognition.

When the final whistle blew, Izan didn’t even raise his arms.

He just turned, nodded to Saka, and jogged toward the tunnel.

All in a day’s work.

On commentary, the final word:

“Izan scores twice. Arsenal score five. And somewhere in Europe tonight, someone is watching this match and whispering, ‘Please, not them next.’”

……..

Arteta stepped out of the media room, the hum of post-match chatter still faint behind him.

His steps echoed slightly down the corridor, shoes soft against the Emirates’ polished floors.

The match had gone as well as he could’ve asked. Five-nil.

Dominance sealed into the scoreline.

Just ahead, in the quiet curve of the hallway near the changing rooms, someone stood waiting—hood up, gym bag slung over one shoulder.

Izan.

Arteta slowed as their eyes met.

The boy straightened slightly, tugging his hoodie back just enough.

“Coach, I want to get off early. My girlfriend wasn’t feeling all that good earlier.”

“She alright?” Arteta asked.

Izan nodded, his voice low but clear.

“Yeah. Just cramps. Said she was okay, but I don’t like leaving her that long.”

Arteta gave a small smile.

“Then get home quickly. Drive safely okay?”

Izan nodded and dipped his head in thanks, then turned with a nod and disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps light and quick, fading with distance.

Arteta stood there a second longer, watching him go—then exhaled and made his quiet way back inside.

A/n: last of the previous day was delayed so here it is. The first of the day will be up in a bit so stay tuned. Have fun reading and byee.

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