As the Spanish players settled into the lounge, the television screens flickered to life, displaying the second half of Germany vs. Denmark.
The match was finely poised, with Germany leading 1-0 after a first-half goal from Kai Havertz.
From the opening minutes of the second half, it was clear Denmark had no intention of backing down.
They pressed aggressively, forcing mistakes in the German backline and In the 57th minute it paid off.
A loose clearance from Antonio Rüdiger fell to Christian Eriksen, who wasted no ti rifling a precise shot into the bottom corner.
"¡Qué golazo!" Fabian Ruiz muttered, shaking his head in admiration.
The Spanish squad watched intently as Denmark, now revitalized, looked to push for another.
But Germany, battle-hardened in tournant football, responded with force. Their midfield duo of İlkay Gündoğan and Florian Wirtz dictated play, probing the Danish defense.
Then, in the 72nd minute, Jamal Musiala produced a mont of magic.
Receiving the ball near the edge of the box, he shifted past two defenders with a sharp turn before curling a shot into the far post.
The German fans erupted, the stadium rocking with noise.
The Spanish players exchanged glances.
"Was there ever any doubt that he would miss that," Pedri uttered looking at the screen where Musiala was celebrating his goal.
"He’s sharp and fast," added Dani Olmo, who had played against Musiala at Leipzig a few tis.
After Germany’s goal, Denmark pushed desperately in the final minutes, but Germany stood firm.
In stoppage ti, Niclas Füllkrug sealed the ga with a towering header off a Joshua Kimmich cross.
The final whistle blew. Germany 3-1 Denmark.
The Spanish lounge was filled with murmurs.
"Well, there you have it," Rodri exhaled. "We’re facing Germany."
Luis de la Fuente, who had been watching with arms crossed, turned to his squad. "We knew this was a possibility. This is why we prepare. Tomorrow, we start working."
....
The following morning, the Spanish squad arrived at their training ground, the mood focused yet tinged with a hint of anticipation.
The upcoming quarterfinal against Germany was the most anticipated clash of the tournant so far, and every player knew what was at stake.
Izan, pulling on his training kit, could feel the difference in intensity from the mont the session began.
The coaching staff observed, noting every movent, every touch, every decision.
And one thing beca clear as training progressed—sothing about Izan was different.
"Is it just , or is he getting sharper every day?" one of the assistants murmured to de la Fuente as they watched Izan weave through a tight possession drill, barely misplacing a pass.
De la Fuente, arms folded, nodded. "It’s not just you. I see the sa thing"
The session continued with tactical drills, focusing on breaking Germany’s structured defense and exploiting spaces in transition.
Izan, as usual, absorbed every instruction. But beyond just following orders, he was adding sothing of his own—subtle movents, quick adjustnts, the kind of instincts that couldn’t be taught.
A few of the staff exchanged looks.
"He’s getting faster and sharper than expected," another coach comnted. "Every session, he’s finding new ways to impact the ga."
De la Fuente didn’t say much, but inwardly, he was thinking the sa. At least, even he could see, that Izan was evolving.
And against Germany, they would need every bit of that brilliance.
...…..
The day after Germany’s victory over Denmark, the football world erupted.
The quarterfinal matchup was set—Spain vs. Germany, two of the tournant’s heavyweights.
Every sports channel, every football debate show, and every online discussion revolved around the upcoming clash.
"This could be the ga of the tournant," one analyst declared on a Spanish football show.
"Two teams that love to attack, full of young stars, both with a point to prove."
Over on German television, the focus was on Spain’s dangerous front line.
"They have speed, creativity, and an in-form midfield. But let’s not forget, Germany is Germany. This is our stage."
Pundits highlighted key battles—Rodri vs. Gündoğan, Pedri vs. Wirtz, and perhaps the most hyped of all, Nico Williams, Lamine Yamal and Izan vs. Thomas MüllerJamal Musiala and Leroy Sané.
Clips of Spain’s dominant 5-1 victory over Georgia played alongside highlights of Germany’s strong second-half performance against Denmark.
On social dia, debates raged.
"Musiala and Wirtz will cook Spain’s midfield."
"Izan and Lamine are going to be Germany’s nightmare."
"Spain is better on the ball, but Germany is more efficient."
"Don’t forget, Germany are the hosts. This is their tournant to win."
The excitent was undeniable. And within Spain’s camp, the players could feel it.
...
The morning training sessions now had a different energy. The jokes and casual atmosphere that had followed the win over Georgia were replaced with sharp focus.
The quarterfinal was three days away and they would need every bit of ti they had.
As soon as the squad finished their warm-ups, Luis de la Fuente gathered them in a huddle.
"This is the ga we’ve been waiting for," he said, scanning the determined faces around him.
"Germany will test us in ways we haven’t been tested yet. But let’s be clear—they will have to deal with us too."
The ssage was simple: respect the opponent, but fear no one.
After his speech, the session kicked off with tactical drills, focusing on the defensive organization needed to withstand Germany’s quick transitions.
Rodri, as always, dictated the pace, guiding his teammates on positioning.
Then ca the attacking drills. The coaching staff wanted Spain’s wingers to exploit Germany’s aggressive fullbacks.
And that ant a lot of emphasis on Izan, Lamine, and Nico Williams as well as guys like Morata and Olmo
Izan always impressed in training, but he was moving on a different plane that day.
At one point, he cut inside from the left, feinted past two defenders, and curled a shot into the far corner.
The ball hit the net before Unai Simón even had ti to react.
The coaching staff exchanged looks.
"Did you see that?" one murmured to another.
"Izan is…" The assistant trailed off, shaking his head in quiet amazent.
De la Fuente had noticed too. He didn’t say much, but his nod of approval spoke volus. Izan wasn’t just maintaining his level—he was elevating it.
[Afternoon]
Izan scrolled through his phone, seeing his na everywhere. Pundits, forr players, journalists—everyone had sothing to say about him.
A well-known Spanish analyst on El Chiringuito put it bluntly:
"Five goal contributions in 120 minutes of football? That’s not normal. This is a kid playing his first major tournant, and he looks like he’s been doing this for years."
On German television, the discussion had a different tone.
"Germany must be ready for Izan," a forr Bundesliga coach warned. "He isn’t just fast. He’s smart. He picks his monts.
We saw what he did against Italy, then again against Georgia. If you give him space, he will punish you."
The talk of "Spain’s Golden Boy" continued into the night. But inside the Spanish camp, the players weren’t caught up in the hype.
...
The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of air conditioning and the occasional muffled laughter from the hall.
Izan lay back on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through endless debates and predictions about the Spain-Germany quarterfinal.
So fans saw him as the decisive factor, others questioned whether he could sustain his level against tougher opposition.
He wasn’t surprised. That was football—one match and you were a hero, the next they questioned everything.
His phone buzzed the screen lighting up with a familiar na. Mamá.
He sat up, swiping to answer. "Hey."
"Izan." His mother’s voice was warm, steady. "How are you feeling?"
He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Good. Tired, but good."
She humd knowingly. "I saw the training videos."
Izan frowned. "What training videos?"
"Clips. The dia is posting everything—your shots, your movent. Everyone’s talking about you."
Izan sighed. "People always talk."
Komi chuckled softly. "And you always act like you don’t care. But I know you, Izan. You’re thinking about the match already, aren’t you?"
He hesitated, then nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. "Yeah. It’s Germany, Mamá. They’re tough. And it’s their ho tournant."
"They’re tough, yes," she agreed. "But so are you."
There was a brief silence, then a second voice cut in—lighter, more energetic.
"You promised."
Izan smirked. "Hori."
His sister’s voice sharpened with playful accusation. "Don’t ’Hori’ . You promised."
He knew exactly what she ant but played dumb anyway. "Promised what?"
"If you guys reach the final, I can co and watch!"
Izan chuckled, leaning back into his pillow. "I rember."
"Good," she said, satisfied. Then, a second later, "So don’t lose."
Izan laughed. "Yeah, yeah. No pressure, right?"
"Exactly. No pressure at all," she teased.
Komi sighed in mock exasperation. "Izan, your sister is already planning her trip to Berlin, as if the match is won."
Hori scoffed. "Manifesting, Mamá. It’s called manifesting."
Izan shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice. "Alright, alright. Just be ready if we make it."
Hori gasped dramatically. "When you make it."
Izan smiled. "When we make it."
"Now that’s better."
Komi’s voice softened. "No matter what happens, we’re proud of you."
Izan closed his eyes briefly, letting the words settle. "Thanks, Mamá."
"Get so rest, okay?"
"Yeah. Love you both."
"Love you too!" Hori’s voice ca first, before Komi added a gentle, "Te quiero, hijo."
The call ended, and Izan sat there for a mont, staring at the ceiling.
He could hear the faint city noise outside, the distant chatter of teammates in the hallway. But all he focused on was his sister’s words.
Don’t lose.
He smirked. Yeah. No pressure.
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