God Of football - Chapter 616: Nothing Changes

Chapter 616: Nothing Changes

Arteta exhaled softly on the line.

“It’s okay. Take the day if it is that important.”

“I—”

“No arguing,” the coach said. “Just reset. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Gracias, míster,” Izan said after a while before ending the call.

The screen dimmed and he set the phone down next to the letters, exhaled once through his nose, and leaned back in the chair, spine curling into it.

……..

Komi stepped into the kitchen, pausing when she saw Izan still at the table, one hand resting flat against the wood.

His coffee sat untouched and something about his posture made her stop after all, Mother knows best.

She glanced at the clock.

“You’re usually gone by now.”

Izan didn’t respond.

His eyes were on the table.

She walked over, pulling her robe tighter, then stopped beside him.

“What happened?” she said, holding Izan by the jaw, while Izan just shook his head and smiled.

“It’s nothing. Do you know the boy from the hospital? Leo? The one I told you about.”

“Spider-Man socks. Smiled like he didn’t care what the machines said,” she answered.

Th𝒾ѕ 𝖼hαp𝕥ҽr ɩ𝙨 pՕṡ𝙩ꬲ𝕕 bƴ 𝘒𝙞𝕥ҽȠ𝙤ⱽ𝖾𝙡

He nodded. Then spoke quietly.

“He matched. For the transplant.”

Komi’s eyes flicked to the letters, then back to him.

“That’s good, Izan.”

“Isn’t it?” she said turning to Miranda who smiled and nodded.

“It’s me.”

She straightened slightly.

“You?”

“Back in December. I asked the doctors to test me after visiting them, a few days after the publicity duties.”

Her expression didn’t change immediately.

She took a second—processing.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Didn’t think it mattered if it didn’t work.”

“But it did.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“You going today?” she asked.

“With Miranda. We’re meeting the doctors.”

Komi pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

“You’ve done something good. Really good. But you look like you’re waiting for someone to talk you out of it.”

He shook his head.

“Not that.”

He looked up, eyes meeting hers.

“This isn’t like the pitch.”

“No. This matters more.”

Neither of them smiled.

She reached out and gave his wrist a soft tap.

“Go change. I’ll make something light and quick for you in the remaining time.”

Izan stood, slowly as he turned towards the stairs.

As he left the room, Komi looked down at Leo’s letter again, then toward the hallway.

“Good boy,” she said under her breath. “Go be useful.”

…

Izan stood in front of his wardrobe, towel over one shoulder.

He didn’t need long.

Plain white shirt with a jean overcloth and clean black baggy slacks and shoes.

Downstairs, Miranda was already by the door.

Coat on, keys in hand.

“Car’s outside.”

“Let’s go.”

At the hospital, no one met them at reception, save for a nurse who showed them to a private consultation room.

Two doctors entered.

One was younger, mid-thirties, nervous posture.

The other older, more senior with a brown envelope clipboard tucked tight under his arm.

“Mr. Hernandez,” the older one said, offering a hand.

“Thank you for coming.”

Izan shook it and sat down.

“We didn’t alert the family,” the younger added.

“As you requested.”

“Keep it that way,” Izan said.

“Understood.”

They got to the point.

“Because of your enhanced HLA profile, this is a textbook match. Better than anything we’ve ever seen for Leo or any marrow transplant situation.”

“So what’s the hold-up?” Miranda asked.

“Protocol,” the older one said.

“You’ll need to go through a full pre-conditioning phase. Daily filgrastim to increase stem cell mobilization. Imaging. Additional bloodwork. Then marrow draw.”

“How long?”

“Ten to fourteen days prep. One-day procedure. Forty-eight hours rest. Full recovery within the week.”

“Can I train?”

“This doesn’t impede on your professional life in any way. Training is even a way of keeping your body fit and active for the procedure so it’s okay.”

Izan nodded once, then,

“Schedule it.”

The doctors looked at each other, a smile etched on their faces before they turned towards Izan again.

“You’ll need to give us access to your weekly training data and health metrics,” the younger doctor said but Miranda handed them a flash drive before they could finish.

“It’s all here. Match calendar too.”

“We’ll tailor everything around his load. No disruptions to his club obligations unless medically necessary.”

Izan leaned back slightly.

“Good.”

“Thank you again,” the older one said. “This means everything.”

“It’s okay,” Izan said, “If you’re that happy about being able to save Leo, I’m sure you’ll do a good job”.

Miranda nodded towards the two doctors before leaving with Izan.

…

The house was quiet now when Izan stepped in, the lights in the way willing itself to life as Izan passed by each sensor.

He dropped his jacket on the chair in his room, kicked off his shoes and flopped face-first onto the bed.

It wasn’t supposed to be but this, was a lot tiring than he thought it would.

Sleep came as quickly as he lay down but it didn’t last.

The door creaked open.

“Please tell me you didn’t die while I was gone.”

Izan, face first into the pillow smiled and then looked at the source of the voice.

Olivia’s voice was closer now.

“I swear if you’re drooling on that pillow—” she said as she dropped her bag on the same chair Izan had dropped his jacket before moving towards the bed.

He groaned. “Lecture?”

“Cancelled. Whole thing. Went all the way there for a notice on the door.”

“Brutal.”

“I brought you cookies.”

“Bribery won’t bring back my REM cycle.”

She climbed onto the bed like she lived there.

(She kind of did.)

Hoodie baggy, hair in a loose bun, eyes a little tired but amused.

“You look beautiful” Izan muttered as Olivia got close, the latter mouthing a small, ‘Thank you before’ before setting her head down on the same pillow.

“My parents are coming to London this weekend,” she said casually.

“Should I panic?”

“They’re coming for a friend’s wedding and wanted to see us because, well they missed you. And I’m supposed to be their daughter” she added with a resigned expression.

“Let them stay here.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realise that makes you better to your in-laws than like… 90% of married men?”

“Bold to assume we’re married.”

“Bold to assume we’re not,” she muttered, looking at Izan who just shrunk further into the bed because of her stare.

He opened one eye.

“You realise I’m legally still a minor.”

“You realise I don’t care.”

“That’s jail, Olivia.” he chuckled while she snorted.

“Wouldn’t be the worst cellmate.”

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Endearing.”

“Or insane,” he added just as she leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek.

Then the corner of his mouth.

Then once more, slower and much lasting.

“Rest,” she whispered. “You’re tired.”

“Hard to rest when you keep kissing my face.”

She kissed him again.

“Then try harder to resist. You are smiling too much,” and he didn’t argue with that.

Just let her settle against him, one arm thrown lazily across his chest, her breathing evening out.

It was quiet again.

…

[Colney]

“That’s what happened,” Izan’s calm voice rang through the room.

Arteta sat back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers lightly interlocked.

The office was quiet.

Outside the window, Colney was alive—whistles, movement, voices—but inside, it was still.

Arteta nodded slowly. Once.

“Very noble,” he said. “What you’re doing.”

“But,” Arteta added, voice even, “you need to take care of yourself. Before, during, and after. I don’t care how strong you feel. Complications don’t ask for permission when it decides to invade your life.”

“I know,” Izan said.

“You’re not invincible.”

Izan gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach far.

“I’m not letting it affect anything. Not training. Not games. Not mentality.”

Arteta watched him stand.

“Are you sure?”

Izan nodded. “You’ll see.”

And then he was gone.

—

Minutes later, on the pitch, Arteta did see.

Raya had just reset possession.

Izan stood near midfield, adjusting his stance, like he was shaking something loose from his legs.

A loose ball rolled out—thirty-five yards from goal.

Someone called for it but Izan wasn’t watching.

He stepped into it with one clean swing, with a resounding boom sound as the ball bent wide, then snapped inward late and too fast.

Raya saw it.

But he never got there as the net rippled violently.

Half the players turned while someone whistled low.

Even Arteta, watching from the sideline, blinked.

Raya pulled the ball out of the net, looked at Izan, and just shook his head.

Izan didn’t say a word.

He just turned, jogged back into position, and waited for the next pass.

If something had changed in him, it didn’t show in hesitation.

Only in how cleanly he hit the ball.

And how much the net suffered for it.

A/N: Okay we are now back in schedule. This is the last of the day and have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit with the first of tomorrow. I have midsem coming up so we might have to do just 2 chapters a day even with your Golden tickets. Sorry about that but I’ll only be a week so I’ll fix in all the GT chapters I have to after the time has elapsed. Goodnight and see you tomorrow.

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