God Of football

The terminal at Newark flowed with its usual rhythm, the roll of suitcase wheels, flight announcements echoing overhead, voices overlapping in a dozen accents.

But among the moving crowd, it was hard not to notice the cluster of figures in bright red tracksuits.

Heads turned, whispers followed, and phones quietly lifted for photos at Arteta's men, who stuck out like a sore thumb.

Arsenal had landed.

By the glass doors near arrivals, Arteta stood with his hands in his pockets, looking only mildly amused as Saliba jogged back from the gate area, an apologetic grin on his face.

"Found it?" Arteta asked, though he already knew the answer.

Saliba shook his head.

"No. I think it fell somewhere between the seats or maybe in the jetway. But they said it's fine. I showed my provisional one; they'll mail it if they find it."

Arteta exhaled slowly through his nose, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Good. Let's try not to lose anything else before kickoff, yeah?"

Before Saliba could reply, a voice piped up from behind.

"Saliba, mate, leave that kinda thing to me and Nwaneri!" Saka called, arm already slung around Nwaneri's neck, half-dragging the younger player forward.

"We're the experts in chaos!"

The group broke into laughter.

Even Arteta couldn't help but shake his head.

"You two are exactly why we double-check everything," he said, his tone flat but his eyes amused.

Then, with a light clap of his hands, he added, "Alright, we're done here. Let's move."

He turned, pulling his luggage behind him.

The rest of the players fell in line, their chatter and laughter mixing with the noise of the terminal, Saka still teasing, Saliba pretending to argue, and Nwaneri smiling quietly through it all.

Outside, the air was cooler, touched with the sharp scent of the new city.

A sleek black team coach waited by the curb, the Arsenal crest gleaming faintly under the cloudy New York sky.

Away from the players, a few fans and onlookers crowded behind barriers, phones up, calling names, cheering, just trying to get one good shot.

The players waved and nodded as they filed in, the hum of excitement following them all the way up the steps.

And when the last bag was loaded and the doors finally hissed shut, the coach pulled away into the stream of traffic, carrying Arsenal into the heart of New York, and toward what was waiting next.

By the time the team bus eased to a stop in front of the Renaissance New York Midtown Hotel, the city was already alive, horns echoing off glass towers, the steady hum of midday traffic spilling down 35th Street.

A few fans had gathered outside, waving scarves and flags, but the crowd looked more tired than excited.

Long waits and flights, if they had come from afar, had that effect.

The player, on the other hand, waved at the loyal crowd and slipped inside the hotel doors as they slid open, and immediately, they felt a wave of cool air hit them as they stepped inside.

The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and polished marble.

Up above, a massive chandelier hung, scattering soft light over the polished floor.

Staff members behind the counter smiled nervously, trying not to look too much as the Arsenal squad approached.

Arteta stood near the front desk, hands on his hips, watching his players collect their luggage and hotel key cards.

His tone, calm but firm, cut through the soft chatter.

"Alright, listen up," he said, waiting until the voices faded.

"We've had a good week so far. You trained well, and you earned the right to take it easy today. But that doesn't mean we switch off completely."

A few players nodded while others leaned on their bags, still listening.

"Since we added an extra session before the flight," Arteta continued, "we're not risking any knocks or muscle strains. Today's about recovery, tape, treatment, light movement, and tactics. No more."

He paused, scanning the room.

"Use the next couple of hours wisely. Rest, stretch, nap, whatever helps. Around three, we'll head to the sports facility down the block for the recovery work. After that, dinner."

Saka, standing near the elevator, gave a small yawn that made Izan snicker.

"Coach, that means no sightseeing, right?" he asked.

Arteta turned his head slightly, pretending to think.

"If sightseeing means walking to the restaurant across the street, sure. Otherwise, no."

The players laughed, the atmosphere loosening just enough.

"Good," Arteta said, nodding.

"Now go. And don't lose your cards, I don't want to hear anyone's locked out of their room."

Saliba raised a hand. "You're looking at me, boss."

"I am," Arteta replied without missing a beat, and a few of the lads chuckled.

"You are the chopping board today, so be careful and don't be losing any more of your things."

With that, they began to scatter, some dragging their suitcases toward the elevators, others already talking about food or sleep.

Izan lingered for a moment, glancing around the sleek lobby before stepping into the lift with Saka and Martinelli.

By the time the last of them disappeared upstairs, Arteta, Steven and Carlos Cuesta were the only ones left by the desk, the trio watching the quiet corridor ahead.

Cuesta grinned. "You think they'll actually rest?"

Arteta gave a small shrug, his lips curving. "If they don't, they'll wish they did tomorrow."

And with that, he turned toward the elevators, his reflection flickering briefly in the glass as he went up to join his players.

....

Now in his room, Izan lay sprawled across the bed for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling before dragging himself up to grab his phone.

The room still smelled faintly of the hotel's crisp detergent and his shampoo from earlier.

He scrolled through his messages for a second, then sighed and tapped on Komi's name.

The call barely rang once before someone else's voice answered.

"Yo."

Izan blinked. "Hori?"

"Yeah. What's up?" she said casually, as the sound of a wrapper rustled behind in her background.

"Are those gummies? And wait, did you buy them or are they from my inventory?" Izan questioned, trying to switch to a video call instead, but Hori declined the switch.

"I was calling Mum," Izan resignedly continued, rubbing the side of his head. "Where is she?"

Hori's tone turned playful almost immediately.

"Hmm, that kind of information's not free, you know."

He smiled a little, deciding to humour her.

"Alright, fine. How much?"

"Depends. How much you got?" she shot back, laughter slipping into her voice.

Izan's smile flattened. "Be serious, Hori."

She groaned dramatically before finally giving in.

"Okay, okay. Miranda dragged her out to meet some potential partner thingy. You know, for your agency."

He nodded, leaning against the headboard.

"Right. Anyways, tell Mum I got here, yeah?"

"Yeah, no shit," she said immediately. "We knew the moment you guys landed."

"Why do you always keep spewing filth. Be a lady," Izan said quietly, though his voice held a trace of amusement.

Before Hori could fire the outrage he was expecting to come, Izan ended the call.

A few seconds passed.

Then his phone buzzed once.

Twice.

Again.

But he ignored it, setting the phone face down on the nightstand.

When it rang again, this time from a different number, he chuckled under his breath.

"Nice try," he murmured, shaking his head.

Just then, the door clicked open as Saka entered from the room opposite his.

"Yo, Izan," he said, stepping inside. "What you on, bro? You doing anything?"

Izan looked up from the bed. "Nothing," he said simply.

Saka leaned against the doorframe, grinning.

"We're going just around the block, grab something small, chill for a bit. You coming?"

Izan shook his head.

"And get more sessions to my name tomorrow, nah. I'll pass. Think I'll just sleep."

Saka raised a brow but didn't push it.

"Suit yourself," he said, shrugging as he turned toward the door.

"You haven't got any of them peng girls in here, have you?" Saka asked suspiciously as Izan approached, shoving him outside.

"Haven't you seen my girl?" Izan said with a smirk before closing the door, leaving the room quiet again as Saka's receding steps sounded outside.

Izan stood there for a few seconds, staring at nothing in particular, his thoughts drifting somewhere else.

Then, with a small sigh, he dropped onto the bed face-first.

The mattress dipped under his weight, the sound of the air conditioner filling the silence as his body finally gave in to the pull of rest.

A/N: Sorry, guys. I went to play in a match yesterday and thought I could release the chapters, but that didn't work out. Will see you in a bit with the last couple of chapters. Have fun reading.