Izan entered his room the next mont and shut his door, trying to get a few minutes of sleep in before they went for the ga.
Less than an hour later, there was another knock at his door.
Izan opened it to find two n in sleek black suits standing outside. They weren't hotel staff. They were stylists.
"Izan Hernandez ?" one of them asked like he didn't know who he was.
Izan simply nodded.
"Henry Duvant sent us. We have a selection of outfits for you."
Saint Laurent. Of course. Miranda must have called Henry directly.
The stylists entered his room, carrying garnt bags that they carefully laid out on the bed.
One by one, they unzipped them, revealing a lineup of designer fits—everything from streetwear-inspired looks to classic tailored suits, all dripping with luxury.
The older of the two stylists, a man with a sharp eye for detail, inspected Izan's fra before nodding to himself.
"You need sothing that blends effortless style with presence. Nothing too try-hard, but nothing forgettable either."
He pulled out a fit—slim-cut black trousers, a slightly oversized white Saint Laurent t-shirt, and a black leather jacket with subtle silver accents.
Paired with minimalist high-top sneakers and a single silver chain, it was clean, modern, and just flashy enough to stand out.
"This," the stylist said, handing it to him.
Izan took the clothes and changed quickly. The mont he looked in the mirror, he had to admit—these guys knew what they were doing.
One of the stylists adjusted the fit slightly, straightening the chain around his neck. "Perfect. This will photograph well."
Miranda had been right to call them. If he was going to make an appearance, he might as well do it right.
The stylists packed up their things and left as quickly as they had arrived, leaving Izan standing in front of the mirror, inspecting himself one last ti.
He exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
A few months ago, he never would have cared about this. But now, this was just part of his world.
He grabbed his phone, checking the notifications just to see one arrive from Saka.
"You ready?" It read.
Izan typed a reply next before going out of the room.
Izan: Yeah, coming now.
He slid his phone into his pocket and stepped out, the leather jacket settling comfortably on his shoulders.
The hallway was quieter now, most of the squad either still in their rooms or already downstairs.
He walked briskly toward the elevator, the low hum of conversations growing louder as he neared the lobby.
Saka and Martinelli were waiting near the entrance, both dressed clean but in their own styles—Saka in a fitted polo and sneakers, Martinelli with a relaxed button-up and tailored trousers.
Saka looked up from his phone when he spotted Izan. "Damn, they got you looking proper, huh?"
Martinelli whistled. "Saint Laurent's treating you well, bro."
Izan smirked. "You know how it is."
The three of them stepped outside, where a few other teammates were already gathered, waiting for the transport to the ga.
Caras flashed in the distance—photographers and fans catching glimpses of them. Even on an off night, the attention never faded.
Declan Rice walked over, hands in his pockets. "Where's the rest?"
"Coming," Martinelli said. "Zinchenko probably fixing his hair."
They shared a laugh just as a sleek black SUV pulled up.
The club had arranged transport, keeping things simple and private. One by one, they filed in, the hum of conversation filling the vehicle.
The ride to the arena was smooth, the city lights flashing past the tinted windows.
Inside, the topic shifted effortlessly—from who was winning the Lakers ga to who had lost the most FIFA matches earlier.
"You still owe a rematch," Zinchenko grumbled at Izan from the backseat.
Izan just grinned. "Whenever you want."
They pulled up to the arena a short while later, security guiding them through a private entrance.
The energy inside was different—loud, electric, the kind of atmosphere only a big ga could bring.
Izan had been to stadiums all his life, but this? This was new.
The flashing scoreboards, the booming music, the courtside presence—it was a different kind of spectacle.
As they walked through, heads turned. Fans recognized them, so calling out their nas, others just snapping photos.
A few NBA players warming up glanced their way, nodding in acknowledgnt.
Izan nodded back. Another mont, another experience he never thought he'd have.
Saka nudged him. "Let's go find our seats."
The mont they stepped onto the court, Izan could feel the sheer energy of the arena.
The hardwood had a different kind of presence—slick, polished, almost humming with anticipation.
The Lakers players were already warming up, running shooting drills, practicing layups, and pulling up from deep range like it was nothing.
Saka let out a low whistle. "Man, this is crazy."
Rice was grinning. "Tell why this already feels like a Champions League night?"
A Lakers staff mber led them further in. "Feel free to walk around, but stay out of the way during drills. So of the players might co over in a bit."
Zinchenko stretched his arms like he was about to check-in. "I should've worn my Jordans."
Izan smirked, glancing around. It wasn't long before one of the Lakers stars approached—none other than Anthony Davis.
"Big Arsenal fans in the house, huh?" Davis greeted them with a fist bump.
"Guess the roles are reversed tonight," Rice joked.
Before they could respond, another voice chid in. "We should get them to take so shots."
It was Austin Reaves, spinning a ball casually in his hands.
Zinchenko nudged Izan, eyes gleaming. "You got a shot in you?"
Izan raised a brow. "You doubting ?"
Zinchenko shrugged. "I just think you'll airball."
That was all the challenge Izan needed. Reaves passed him a ball, and Izan stepped back behind the three-point line, feeling the weight of it in his hands.
It was different from a football—lighter, smoother—but the challenge was the sa. Hit the target.
He squared up, took a breath, and let it fly.
Swish.
The ball snapped clean through the net.
"Ooooh!" The Arsenal players erupted in surprise.
Zinchenko raised his hands. "Okay, okay, one lucky shot."
Izan smirked, and took another, sa spot. Swish.
"Oh, nah," Saka laughed.
One more ti. Swish.
At that point, even the Lakers players watching gave nods of approval. "Alright, we might need to sign him," Reaves joked.
Feeling himself, Izan backed up past half-court. The mont he took the shot, everyone could tell it had a chance.
The ball soared, hit the backboard, bounced on the rim, did a few slow turns—
And then rolled out.
The entire court groaned. Zinchenko clutched his head. "No way!"
Reaves laughed. "Almost had your viral mont."
Izan just shrugged. "Not bad for my first day in the NBA."
Davis clapped him on the back. "Not bad at all, man."
As they stepped off the court to let the real warmups continue, Izan couldn't help but grin.
A night like this? Yeah, he could get used to this.
...….
As the first half neared its end, another tiout was called, and the Lakers players made their way toward the sideline.
This ti, a couple of them stopped near the Arsenal squad, dapping them up and exchanging a few words.
LeBron, ever the icon, greeted them first, offering a handshake to each. "Good to see you boys here," he said, nodding at Saka and Rice before turning to Izan.
"I've been hearing your na a lot. You got a crazy future ahead."
Izan shook his hand, feeling the firm grip. "Appreciate that. You've been at the top for so long—it's inspiring."
LeBron chuckled. "Longevity's the real ga."
Anthony Davis stepped up next, followed by Austin Reaves and D'Angelo Russell, who both seed more than happy to chat.
"Man, we need to swap jerseys," Reaves said with a grin. "Footballers always make it look cool."
Zinchenko laughed. "Say less."
Soon after the final buzzer sounded and the Lakers secured their win, the atmosphere remained electric.
Fans lingered in their seats, soaking in the mont, while the Arsenal players, still buzzing from the experience, made their way courtside once again.
Staff mbers approached them, bringing out fresh Lakers jerseys, and the Arsenal boys handed over their own kits in return.
It was a full-on jersey swap between two worlds.
Izan scribbled his signature onto Reaves' jersey, while LeBron signed a Lakers kit and handed it to him.
"That's one for the collection," Saka said, watching as Rice did the sa with Anthony Davis.
Caras flashed as they posed together, a mix of NBA and football stars in one fra.
So of the Lakers players threw up peace signs, while the Arsenal boys stood casually, football shirts clashing with NBA jerseys in a rare crossover of sports.
Zinchenko nudged Izan, eyeing the jersey in his hands—the iconic Lakers gold with LeBron's signature across the front.
"You're framing that, right?"
Izan smirked. "Definitely."
As they started making their way off the court, a staff mber approached. "You guys sticking around?"
Izan exchanged glances with Saka and the others. Before they could answer, a familiar voice cut in.
"You should. We're throwing sothing after this."
Izan turned to see Reaves grinning at them, still holding the Arsenal jersey he had swapped earlier.
"A party?" Zinchenko asked, already interested.
LeBron, now walking past, patted Reaves on the back. "They should co. Footballers don't get out here often."
Rice looked at Izan, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
Izan shrugged, feeling the weight of Miranda's voice in his head again. "Stay marketable."
"Alright," he said, slipping the Lakers jersey over his shoulder. "Let's go."
A/n: Diddy bout to pull up. Anyways have fun reading. 12/15 for the Golden Gachapon chapters.
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