Komi appeared monts later with a tray of steaming plates, setting them on the coffee table.
"Dinner’s ready," she announced. "Let’s eat before it gets cold." Izan who had locked Hori in a chokehold let her go before running to the dinner table.
"Mum said no arguing at the dinner table. Now sit" Iza said as he gestured to the chair beside him. Hori glanced at her mother, finding her looking in a different direction.
With a smile, she kicked Izan’s shin before sitting down. After the little commotion, the family of three sat down to eat.
........
The early morning sunlight spilt across the Madrid skyline as Izan stepped off the plane, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag.
The crisp air carried a mix of excitent and nerves, wrapping around him as he walked toward the sleek black SUV waiting for him at the curb.
The driver greeted him warmly, opening the door for Izan to slide into the plush leather seat. He glanced out the window, taking in the vibrant city around him.
Madrid, with its bustling energy and undeniable allure, felt like the perfect setting for this next step in his burgeoning career.
It was hard to believe that just 48 hours ago, he’d been back ho with his family, discussing the monuntal opportunity with Miranda.
The deal with YSL had gone through shortly after her intense negotiation with their representatives, her sharp words and strategic thinking securing terms that left even the seasoned executives impressed.
Now, here he was, a young footballer standing on the precipice of not just sports fa but global recognition as a cultural icon. It felt surreal.
The drive through Madrid was a blur of historic architecture and modern elegance. Izan’s mind buzzed with anticipation as he replayed the events leading up to this mont.
When the SUV pulled up in front of the sleek studio building, Izan stepped out, greeted by an assistant holding a tablet and a radiant smile.
"Mr. Izan, welco! The shoot director is waiting for you inside," she said, motioning for him to follow.
The interior of the studio was a hive of activity—models, stylists, and designers moving with purpose.
The hum of creative energy filled the air, making it impossible not to feel the magnitude of the mont.
Izan couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place in his casual hoodie and jeans, but Miranda’s words from their eting echoed in his head: "Own the room, Izan. You belong here."
The shoot director, a wiry man with sharp glasses and an even sharper tongue, approached him with a broad smile.
"Izan! The man of the hour," he exclaid, clapping a hand on Izan’s shoulder. "You’ve caused quite the stir, you know. Our photographer almost turned this job down."
"Turned it down?" Izan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, yes," the director said with a wave of his hand. "Selene’s at the top of her ga—always booked solid.
But the mont she heard it was you, she dropped everything. Said she couldn’t pass up the chance to photograph you. Apparently, she’s a fan."
Izan blinked, montarily caught off guard. "A fan?"
"Not just any fan," the director replied, leading him toward the main set. "A connoisseur of talent."
The set itself was a vision of high fashion—a mix of clean lines, bold colours, and striking props. Standing by the caras was a woman who radiated confidence and poise.
Her caral-toned skin seed to glow under the studio lights, her sleek black hair tied back to reveal a striking, angular face.
Her presence was magnetic, commanding attention without needing to say a word.
When she turned and saw Izan, her eyes lit up with recognition and excitent. She strode toward him, her hand outstretched.
"Izan," she said, her voice warm and lodic. "I’m Selene. It’s an honour to finally et you."
"The honour’s mine," Izan replied, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm but gentle, a perfect reflection of her composed yet approachable deanour.
Selene’s lips curved into a smile, a hint of amusent playing in her dark eyes. "I’ve been following your journey since your debut.
Your face… it’s made for the cara. Those blue eyes of yours are captivating—intense, yet vulnerable.
But it’s more than that. There’s a presence about you, both on the pitch and off. I’ve been looking forward to capturing that."
Izan felt a flush of pride, though he kept his composure. "Thank you. That ans a lot."
Selene tilted her head slightly, studying him for a mont. "You’re humble. I like that. But don’t be afraid to let yourself shine today. Trust —I’ll make sure you look even better than you do on the field."
With that, the shoot began. Izan was quickly whisked into the wardrobe, erging monts later in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin.
Selene directed him with ease, her energy infectious. "Relax your shoulders, Izan.
Yes, just like that. Look toward the light—perfect." Her voice was calm yet commanding, guiding him through each pose and expression.
The hours flew by as Izan transitioned through various outfits, from sharp suits to edgy streetwear, each designed to highlight his unique blend of youthful charm and burgeoning maturity.
Selene worked tirelessly, crouching, standing, and even lying on the ground to find the perfect angle.
Her passion was evident in every shot, and her admiration for Izan only grew as the session progressed.
During a brief break, Selene approached him with a bottle of water.
"You’re a natural," she said, her tone sincere. "It’s rare to find soone who can convey so much with just a look. You’re not just photogenic—you’re magnetic."
Izan took the complint in stride, though he couldn’t deny the warmth it brought. "Thanks. I guess it’s all about following your lead."
Selene laughed, a soft, genuine sound. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Izan."
As the shoot neared its end, Selene pulled him aside. "Izan," she began, her voice lowering slightly, "this has been one of the most inspiring shoots of my career.
You have sothing special, sothing that can’t be taught. I’d like you to consider being my muse for a personal project I’ve been working on.
It’s rare to find soone who combines raw talent with such an authentic presence. Together, I think we could create sothing truly iconic."
Izan was montarily taken aback by her proposal. He glanced over at Miranda, who had arrived after they had started the shoot.
Looking at Miranda who was watching from the corner of the set, her subtle nod told him she trusted him to handle this.
Turning back to Selene, he said, "I’m flattered. Really, I am. I’ll think about it. It’s not every day you et soone like you, soone who can bring out the best in people."
Selene’s face lit up with genuine delight. "That’s all I ask. Take your ti, Izan. But know this—I see greatness in you. Not just as a footballer, but as an artist in your own right."
As he left the studio that evening, the Madrid sky bathed in hues of gold and rose, Izan couldn’t help but feel the weight of possibility.
The day had been a whirlwind of new experiences, and Selene’s words lingered in his mind.
With Miranda by his side and the world watching, he knew this was just the beginning of sothing extraordinary.
As Izan stepped out of the studio into the crisp evening air, the golden hues of the Madrid sunset painted the sky.
He took a deep breath, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration from the day’s events.
Just as he was about to check the ti on his phone, it buzzed with a notification.
Glancing down, he saw a ssage from an unexpected sender: Jude Bellingham.
> "Yo, you free to hang out?"
Izan blinked in surprise. Jude Bellingham? How did Jude even know he was in Madrid? He quickly typed back a response.
> "Wait… How do you know I’m here?"
It only took a few seconds for Jude to reply.
> "Saw this. Thought you’d appreciate it."
Attached to the ssage was a link. Curious, Izan tapped on it, and it led him to a news article from a popular sports website. The headline jumped out at him:
"Rising Star Izan Arrives in Madrid: Real Madrid Transfer Rumors Swirl."
The article went on to describe how Izan, accompanied by his agent, Miranda, had been spotted in the city, allegedly to finalize talks with the Spanish giants.
It speculated wildly about contract terms, potential squad roles, and even what jersey number he might take.
Izan burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly on the quiet street. The sheer creativity of the reporter’s imagination was impressive.
"Discussing a deal with Real Madrid? Really?" he muttered to himself. He could almost picture Miranda’s reaction to the article—an eye-roll, followed by a sharp comnt about how quickly rumours spread.
Shaking his head, Izan typed back to Jude.
> "Hilarious. The imagination these reporters have! I just got here for a YSL shoot, not a transfer. Let’s hang out tomorrow though. I’ll be free."
Jude’s reply ca almost instantly.
> "Damn, YSL, you up mate. Anyways I’ll text you the details. Madrid’s a great place—ti for you to see it with a proper guide."
Izan laughed at Jude calling himself a proper guide. He hadn’t even been at Real Madrid for a year.
Still chuckling, Izan pocketed his phone and glanced up at the Madrid skyline.
The city buzzed with energy, and while the rumours were far from true, the attention reminded him of how far he’d co.
Tomorrow promised to be another exciting day, this ti with Jude showing him the city.
For now, though, he just wanted to enjoy the mont—and maybe get so rest after an unforgettable shoot.
A/n: Feeling generous and cute. Bonus chapter. Have fun.
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