As the celebrations went on, the Valencia team were eventually led toward the presentation area, where their dals awaited them.
The eyes of so of the Bilbao players were red from crying. They had worked hard and were so close to clinching the title but it had all been for naught because of one boy.
The Valencia players walked up one by one, shaking hands with the Copa del Rey officials with their fans cheering behind them.
At the center of it all stood Fernando Hierro, a Real Madrid legend.
When Izan was wheeled onto the stage, Hierro stepped forward. The Spanish football icon, who had captained Real Madrid and Spain, extended his hand.
Izan shook it firmly, looking up at the legend before him.
"You," Hierro said, smiling, "are special."
Izan, exhausted but still sharp, grinned. "Gracias."
Hierro leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only Izan could hear.
"Join Madrid," he murmured. "You belong at the biggest club in the world."
Izan’s breath hitched.
For any sixteen-year-old, being courted by Real Madrid wasn’t just flattering—it was a dream most players never even got close to.
Izan took a second, absorbing the weight of Hierro’s words.
Then, he nodded. "It would be an honor to play for Madrid one day."
Hierro smiled, sensing sothing more in Izan’s tone. "But?"
Izan straightened slightly, his voice steady. "But right now… I’m staying at Valencia."
Hierro studied him for a mont before chuckling. "Loyalty is rare in football, kid. I respect that."
He patted Izan’s shoulder. "But one day… Madrid will co for you again. They already did once."
Izan smirked. "Then we’ll see what happens."
Hierro laughed, stepping aside as Izan was presented with his winner’s dal.
Finally, it was ti.
José Gayà, the captain, stood at the center of the podium, his hands outstretched as the Copa del Rey trophy was handed to him.
The weight of history, of suffering, of years spent clawing for monts like this—it all led to this one mont.
Gayà turned to his teammates, lifting the trophy high into the Seville night.
The stadium detonated.
Fireworks exploded into the sky as Golden confetti rained down.
The Valencia players erupted into cheers, jumping, embracing, screaming their joy to the heavens.
Izan, still in his wheelchair, was pulled into the group. They wouldn’t leave him out.
Guerra and Duro grabbed his shoulders, lifting him slightly so he could touch the trophy.
When his fingers brushed against the silver surface, a new roar erupted from the fans.
They knew.
They knew this trophy wouldn’t have been possible without Izan.
He wasn’t just a young talent.
He wasn’t just a rising star.
He was the hero of the final.
As the celebrations raged on, the fans’ roar for that day reached an all-ti high.
Valencia CF had reclaid their glory.
And at the heart of it all—
A sixteen-year-old boy had just beco immortal. At least, the people of Valencia who had witnessed this mont were going to talk about it for a long ti.
...
As the Valencia players continued their celebrations, security, and officials made an exception for special guests, families, and people associated with the players.
Komi, Hori, Miranda, and Olivia were escorted onto the pitch, the golden confetti crunching beneath their feet as they made their way toward Izan.
Komi led the way, her eyes glossy with emotion. Her son had just won the Copa del Rey.
Olivia walked beside her, her heart pounding. She had seen Izan fight, struggle, and triumph tonight. And she had never been prouder.
Miranda, always the professional, had her phone out, already capturing clips and angles that would flood sports headlines across Spain.
And then there was Hori.
She had a massive grin on her face, but the mont she reached Izan, she dramatically gasped and put her hands on her hips.
"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "So, you’re disabled now? That’s crazy."
Izan, still sitting in his wheelchair, narrowed his eyes at her. "Hori—"
"Like," Hori continued, grinning wickedly, "I don’t wanna be insensitive, but… I can’t have a disabled brother. Who’s gonna get all the new Saint Laurent stuff now?!"
Izan groaned as Olivia buried her face in her hands, trying not to laugh.
Miranda, always quick on her feet, aid her cara straight at Izan’s face. "You’re gonna wanna rember this mont," she teased.
Komi chuckled, bending down slightly to look at Izan. "Ignore your sister, mi amor. You were incredible tonight."
For a mont, Izan just looked at his family. The ones who had his back most of the ti. The people who ant the most to him were now all around him.
Just then, Javi Guerra appeared behind him, holding the Copa del Rey trophy.
"Alright, alright," Guerra grinned. "Family photo ti!"
Izan’s family gathered around him, the Copa del Rey trophy gleaming in the middle.
Hori, still smirking, made bunny ears behind Izan’s head, earning an eye-roll from him.
Olivia, standing beside him, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say much, but the way she looked at him—like he was the most extraordinary person in the world—said enough.
Komi stood proudly next to her son, her eyes still shimring with emotion.
And Miranda, even as she posed for the picture, was already planning headlines in her head.
Click.
The cara flash went off.
A mont frozen in ti.
The boy who defied the odds.
The family that stood by him.
The trophy that sealed his legend.
And a night that would never be forgotten.
....
As the night wore on and the fans slowly began to clear from the stands, Hori, Komi, Olivia, and Miranda knew it was ti to let Izan celebrate with his team.
"You owe a shopping spree when you can walk again," Hori teased as she ruffled his hair.
Izan swatted her hand away. "You’re insane."
Komi bent down and pressed a soft kiss on Izan’s forehead. "Rest well, mi amor. We’ll see you later."
Olivia squeezed his hand before stepping away with a smile. "You’re going to be insufferable after this, aren’t you?"
Izan smirked. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
With that, his family and Olivia left the pitch, giving Izan one last mont to soak in the sight of the stadium that had witnessed his legend being written.
Then, he turned toward the tunnel.
...
The Valencia locker room was already shaking by the ti Izan was wheeled inside.
Music blasted. Players sprayed bottles of champagne and beer into the air. Laughter, shouts, and cheers echoed against the walls.
It was pure, unfiltered joy.
As soon as Izan entered, Javi Guerra and Hugo Duro grabbed him and wheeled him straight into the madness.
"Izan, you’re in the way!" Thierry Correia shouted, laughing.
"Not my problem," Izan said as he was pushed straight into the heart of the celebration.
Then, soone started it.
First, a few voices.
Then more.
Until the whole room erupted in unison.
"Vaaaaalencia, club de fútbol! És el millor de tots!..."
The Valencia anthem shook the walls.
The players belted out every word with pure passion, banging against lockers, jumping, and throwing drinks into the air.
When the anthem ended, they went straight into the next song—
"CAMPEONES, OLE OLE!"
The room turned into an earthquake. Shirts were swung in the air; boots were kicked aside, and champagne flowed like water.
Izan, despite his battered body, laughed harder than he had in a while.
This was real.
As the celebrations hit a crescendo, the door opened. All eyes to the door where the chairman stood.
The noise died down slightly as Valencia’s club chairman stepped in.
He was dressed sharply in a navy suit, but the exhaustion and emotion on his face were evident.
He clapped slowly, surveying the team with a small smile.
"What you have done tonight… what you have given this club… is sothing that will be rembered forever."
The players cheered, clapping back in appreciation.
The chairman’s gaze moved slowly across the room, taking in his warriors.
And then, his eyes landed on Izan.
There was sothing almost longing in his expression.
Like he was regretting sothing.
But whatever thoughts were in his head, he didn’t voice them. Instead, he simply gave Izan a slow nod.
Izan held his gaze, his exhaustion montarily forgotten.
He knew.
The chairman knew.
The world had just seen what he could do.
Now all that was left was what was coming.
The celebration continued, but after a while, Rubén Baraja approached Izan.
"Izan," he said, his voice quiet, serious. "Co with ."
Javi Guerra shot Izan a questioning glance, but Izan simply nodded and let himself be pushed out of the room.
....
Baraja led him down a quieter hallway, away from the music and chaos of the locker room.
Then, he turned, facing Izan fully.
For the first ti since the match ended, Baraja’s eyes softened.
"I just wanted to say… thank you."
Izan tilted his head slightly. "For what?"
"For giving everything. For pushing yourself beyond what anyone thought possible. For—" Baraja hesitated, exhaling. "For making this happen."
Izan looked at him for a long mont before offering a small grin. "You left on, coach. You believed in ."
Baraja chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t know if it was belief or recklessness."
A pause.
Then, he placed a hand on Izan’s shoulder.
"But I don’t regret it."
And neither did Izan.
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