Izan leaned back in his seat, watching the Colney fields through the windows of the bus.
They'd spent all week building toward this.
No wild speeches, no late tweaks—just repetition, film sessions, silent focus.
He rembered one final tactical run the day before when Arteta had frozen play during a pressing drill and made him swap roles with Martinelli.
"If you're starting wide left today," Arteta had said, "show you can hurt them from here."
Martinelli had grinned.
"If he doesn't, I'm taking it back."
But Izan had kept the spot and would be playing on the wings for the match against Villa.
Now, as the final bags were loaded and the bus doors hissed shut, Izan pulled out his phone and began searching for so music before settling on a slow-paced one.
The ride to Villa Park was ahead.
...........
The Arsenal team bus slowed to a smooth halt outside Villa Park's player entrance, the matte black paint gleaming under the early afternoon sun.
It was matchday—August 24th—and the tension, though muted by routine, was unmistakable.
As the doors hissed open, a subdued murmur of anticipation t the players: a few distant shouts from early fans, the clatter of rolling cara tripods, and the thud of gear cases hitting the pavent.
Izan was among the first to step out.
Dressed in the team's travel tracksuit, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and scanned the entrance briefly.
Villa Park was new to him— yet not entirely. But this was the first ti he'd walk its tunnel wearing Arsenal red.
Behind him, Declan Rice hopped off the bus, headphones around his neck, knuckles briefly tapping Izan's shoulder.
"Slls like rain," he muttered with a glance at the overcast sky.
"It's Birmingham," Izan replied dryly.
"You'd think it ca with a retractable roof."
The squad moved in as a unit, greeted by security, dia handlers, and club staff who coordinated the formalities swiftly.
Inside the changing room, the air was cool and sterile. Shirts had already been hung—crisp and spotless.
Izan's was near the far corner, the number 10 printed in bold white beneath the club crest.
Sterling, freshly arrived this week and already integrated into the squad after his loan move, leaned against the locker beside Jorginho's.
He looked relaxed but alert—soaking in the unspoken dynamics of a team he was still getting to know.
"Villa's compact," he said quietly to no one in particular. "The ga might open up late."
"Not if we break them early," muttered Ødegaard from the other side, taping his wrist.
"You sound like Mikel," Gabriel replied with a chuckle, causing so of the players to join in laughing.
Mikel Arteta entered a few minutes later with his staff, clipboard tucked under one arm.
The players looked up, attention sharpening without prompt.
"You know the routine," he said, scanning them. "Stay switched on. This is one of those matches where you don't get points for good intentions."
His gaze landed briefly on Izan.
"You're on the left. Jorginho starts as well. No Martinelli today, or at least for now. It's tactical—we need more discipline out wide. Izan, stay tight when they overload. You'll get space eventually, but only if you earn it."
Izan nodded, already visualizing the first 15 minutes.
There was no tension about Martinelli being benched—not outwardly. But it was a statent.
Arteta's trust in Izan wasn't theoretical, and the others knew it.
As boots were laced and warm-up layers ca off, Tomiyasu leaned in toward Izan, his voice low.
"Heard about your freekick the other day."
Izan looked up.
"Which one?"
"The one that shut up Saka for a minute."
Izan grinned. "He slipped. Doesn't count."
Tomiyasu raised a brow and then smiled. "Try to do it again today."
Down in the tunnel, the atmosphere thickened.
The corridor was tight, the kind that made every step toward the pitch feel heavier.
Villa's players stood just across, eyes ahead, no words exchanged.
Kamara and Watkins were at the front. Just behind them, Martinez stood tall, chewing gum with that sa calm defiance he carried even when warming up.
"Watch the line," whispered Zinchenko from behind.
"They press early and hard."
Izan didn't reply. He was focused—neck craned slightly to catch the faint glimr of the stadium opening up ahead.
The match official signaled.
Caras adjusted.
And then the comntary ca in, just as the players began to erge.
"A packed Villa Park awaits as Unai Ery's n prepare to host Arsenal on this bright August afternoon.
It's the second fixture of the Premier League season, and all eyes are on Mikel Arteta's evolving squad."
"Notably, Jorginho is a fresh face in today's lineup, replacing Martinelli, which ans young Izan will occupy the left wing.
A bold decision by Arteta—perhaps a calculated one. The 16-year-old has shown the utmost brilliance in his first match, and this could be his opportunity to silence the critics calling it luck."
The roar of the crowd greeted them like a wave crashing against stone—full and imdiate.
Izan stepped out under the floodlights, the pitch vibrant, the stands layered with claret and blue.
"Aston Villa, anwhile, is unchanged in their front line. Expect Watkins to challenge Saliba early. But Arsenal have weapons of their own—and with Saka, Ødegaard, and Izan on the pitch, they might just be looking to overwhelm from wide."
Players spread out into position for handshakes and the coin toss. The ritual was repetitive but not redundant.
Each mont served to ground them, to connect the adrenaline to sothing physical.
When the referee finally blew the whistle for kickoff, and the ball was rolled back to Jorginho from the center circle, the Arsenal bench stood in quiet anticipation.
The match had begun.
The match opened with a spark of urgency from the visitors.
"And we're underway at Villa Park—Arsenal in their change strip of white and maroon kicking from left to right. Aston Villa, all in claret and blue, look compact in their 4-4-2 shape… but Arsenal are already pushing bodies forward."
Izan sprinted down the left channel almost imdiately after the kickoff, receiving a quick diagonal from Jorginho, who didn't waste ti establishing the tempo.
Izan took one touch inside, looked up, and released Ødegaard with a cut pass just beyond Douglas Luiz.
"Lovely movent already from the Gunners. Look at that from the youngster—poise, control, and intelligence. Ødegaard now, skips past one… lays it to Saka on the edge…"
But Konsa stepped in just in ti, intercepting the low pass before Saka could let it run across his body.
Arsenal were relentless in their shape. White tucked in behind Saka, offering that extra bit of cover as Villa tried to transition through Digne.
But Izan and Zinchenko had pressed up on the other side, compressing space until it felt like Villa were trapped in their own third.
"Mikel Arteta's side is playing with real intention here. They've suffocated Villa's left-hand side… and now it's Rice, sweeping it wide again to Izan."
Izan shaped to cross it after receiving the ball, but instead, he cut inside before riffling one towards Martínez, who had to stretch to tip the resulting shot over the bar.
"First real save of the afternoon, and it's from the teenager again! That's no hit-and-hope; that's a calculated dipper headed for the top corner. Big early statent."
Villa regrouped quickly.
From the corner, Arsenal worked a short routine—Ødegaard and Saka combining to drag defenders out—but it ended with McGinn blocking Jorginho's shot from range.
In the eighth minute, Villa finally found a pocket. Kamara intercepted a careless sideways ball from Zinchenko and imdiately launched Watkins down the right.
"Here co Villa now, their first real foray forward… Watkins against Saliba—what a matchup this is."
Watkins checked inside, lost Saliba briefly, and squared it low across the box. Bailey ca steaming in at the far post—but Tomiyasu, alert and decisive, stretched just in ti to hook it clear.
"And Tomiyasu with a vital intervention! The pace of that counter—clinical from Villa. That's their blueprint today: absorb, break, and punish."
Arsenal weren't rattled. They reset, and Jorginho clapped his hands for the ball.
"Again!" he shouted.
Saka rotated inside, pulling Digne with him.
The montary gap was all Izan needed.
Ødegaard found him with a first-ti pass, and Izan drove forward, twisting Cash inside out before sliding a cutback.
Jesus got a touch, but it deflected off Carlos and spun wide.
"Arsenal knocking hard, but Villa holding firm. We're ten minutes in, and the visitors have had nearly seventy percent of the ball. But Villa have shown they only need one chance to threaten. This is shaping up to be an excellent contest."
As Martinez lined up the goal kick, the noise from the Holte End swelled again.
The storm had been weathered—for now.
A/n: Sorry, guys. I should have released this yesterday, but I was sward. Sorry, but don't worry; this is the 1st of four chapters today. Have fun reading, and I'll see you with the next chapters.
User Comments
0 comments from readers