Izan stepped out of the black SUV, stretching his arms as the door shut behind him.
The chill of Madrid's morning air hit him, the familiar scent of grass and fresh coffee filling the air around the training complex.
He had barely taken two steps before Nico ca jogging up, flashing his trademark grin.
"Didn't think you'd make it on ti," Nico teased his tone light but with an edge of mock surprise.
Izan raised an eyebrow. "I was never going to be late."
"Yeah, but we thought we'd have a laugh if you were," Nico winked.
Behind him, Fabian Ruiz, Yamal, and a few other players were gathered, all watching with subtle smirks.
Yamal, grinning like he'd just pulled off sothing big, was the first to speak.
"You're just in ti," he said, his voice pitched with fake sincerity. "We've all been waiting."
Izan shot him a suspicious glance, just as a figure stepped forward.
It was a new face, tall with broad shoulders, wearing a Spanish kit that seed a bit too oversized for him—except this ti, it wasn't Yamal.
Cubarsi. The young defender who'd just been called up for the first ti.
"Cubarsi," Yamal said, pushing the new guy forward with a playful shove. "et Izan. You'll be spending a lot of ti with him now."
Izan gave Cubarsi a quick glance. He was a few centiters taller, but there was an easy camaraderie between them.
Cubarsi's smile was nervous, but his handshake was firm.
"Good to et you, Izan," Cubarsi said, though his eyes were darting between him and the rest of the group.
Izan smiled back, extending his hand. "Nice to et you, man. Welco to the squad and don't be that polite. We're only months apart."
But then the rest of the guys started laughing. Nico doubled over, wiping his eyes, and Yamal was grinning wider than ever.
"Bro," Nico said, struggling to catch his breath.
"We were just talking about how you're the only one here who's been to a major tournant, and yet they still treat you like the new guy. They think they're funny. Don't let 'em get to you."
It clicked. The "prank" wasn't the usual friendly banter—this ti, they were all setting him up for sothing.
Yamal was already pulling a small bag out from behind his back.
"Alright, Izan, brace yourself," he said, holding it up like it was so big reveal.
Before Izan could ask what was going on, the bag was tossed toward him.
He caught it reflexively, only to realize it wasn't a new pair of boots or training gear.
It was a set of child-sized shin pads, the kind you'd see on a six-year-old just starting football.
"What the hell?" Izan stared at Yamal, whose face was now a mask of innocent shock.
"We thought you might've forgotten these," Yamal said, trying not to laugh.
"Thought we should help you out since you look like you've still got so growing to do."
Izan stood still, letting the laughter ring out around him. He raised an eyebrow at the group.
"You really think you're the first to pull sothing like this on ?" he asked, tossing the bag aside and walking toward the locker room without missing a beat.
"C'mon, I'm not falling for the rookie stuff."
But Nico wasn't done. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bowl-cut wig, holding it up like a trophy.
"Yeah," he said, "we figured you could do with a fresh look."
Izan finally cracked a smile, the kind of grin that only ca when he knew the prank had been pulled off just right.
"You're all hilarious," he said, snatching the wig from Nico and tossing it back. "Next ti, don't waste my ti, alright?"
The group continued laughing as they followed him into the locker room, Yamal elbowing Cubarsi and muttering sothing about how he was lucky not to have been part of the prank crew this ti.
...
Izan was the first to step through the door of the locker room, his teammates' laughter still echoing in the hallway behind him.
As he dropped his bag on a bench, he turned to see Pedri entering the room, fresh from the corridor with a calm smile.
"You've survived the prank," Pedri said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusent.
"But I would've joined in if I didn't have an appointnt with the physio."
Izan smirked, glancing back at the rest of the squad. "You lot really know how to welco soone back, don't you?"
Pedri shrugged. "Couldn't let you think you're still the king around here. Besides, it's about ti we get soone else pranked."
Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "I've been pranked more tis than I can count. You think I'm scared of you guys?"
Pedri raised an eyebrow, half-tempted to say sothing more, but before he could, a voice from the doorway interrupted them.
"Izan. Hernandez, is he here? If he is, he's next!"
It was the head physio, a seasoned professional with a no-nonsense attitude and a reputation for being thorough.
He stepped into the room, a clipboard in hand.
Izan nodded, standing up straight. "Alright, let's do this."
As he walked toward the physio's office, Pedri gave him a quick wave, mouthing "Good luck" as he passed.
The physio room was always a bit quieter than the rest of the complex, with its sterile white walls and the occasional sound of a tape dispenser or stretching bands being pulled.
It slled of fresh linint and disinfectant—nothing that would make you feel like you were about to relax.
"Hop on the table," the physio instructed, already tapping a few notes into his tablet as Izan took a seat on the treatnt bench.
"Let's see how you're holding up after your last ga."
Izan stretched a bit as he got into position, ready for the usual checks.
He was in good body shape with a low body fat percentage and a strong core to match
No surprises there.
The physio started with his legs, pressing on his calves, quads, and hamstrings.
He moved through the motions with quick, practiced hands, all the while keeping his eyes on the tablet.
There was nothing of concern. No tightness, no unusual stiffness. Izan was in top form.
The physio humd a quiet tune, not bothering to look up as he ran through the standard tests.
"Honestly, you're in incredible shape," the physio said with a small nod.
"You've been holding up better than most of the squad, and I'm not just talking about the young guys."
Izan leaned back, the light tension of the checkups dissipating as he relaxed into the routine. "I've been working hard."
The physio nodded again, still focused.
"You're probably in the best shape on the team right now. No injuries, no lingering issues.
Hell, you might be one of the few who actually looks better since the Euros. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
Izan grinned, his usual confidence slipping into place.
"It's the work ethic. If you don't put in the ti, you'll fall behind. And I've got bigger goals now."
The physio stopped typing for a second, eyeing him with a raised brow.
"Bigger goals? You're already one of the top players in the squad."
Izan's smile deepened. "I didn't win the Euros by being just 'good enough.'"
With that, the physio gave a small chuckle and finished the last checks.
"Well, you've got everything covered. No adjustnts needed."
Izan slid off the table, stretching his arms overhead. "As expected."
"Just don't forget to keep that focus up. We can't afford any slip-ups this season—especially with the new guys coming in."
Izan nodded. "I'm good to go. Thanks for the check."
Izan stepped out, zip of his top halfway done as the door swung shut behind him.
His posture? Loose. Confident. Not the swagger of soone trying to prove anything—just the natural walk of a man who already had.
Euro champion, back in camp, sharper than ever.
The hall slled faintly of deep heat and a new interior.
Izan adjusted his cuff, cracked his neck once, and was just about to head left when—
"Izan!"
He turned to see Pablo Amo approaching, clipboard under one arm and a grin on his face.
Izan t him halfway, and Amo pulled him in with a firm one-ard hug, patting him on the back. "Qué alegría, macho. (What A Joy, Man)"
Izan gave a lopsided grin.
"Still terrifying the analysts, or have you gone soft since we won the Euros?"
Amo chuckled. "They cry faster now. Efficiency." Then he pulled back, tapping his watch. "Luis sent . He wants to see you—now."
Izan raised a brow, but he was already walking beside him. "
"Heard sothing about you getting jumped by a hyper winger and a lanky center-back." Amo glanced sideways.
"Didn't Pedri set that up?"
Izan snorted. "He tried. Bailed last second for a physio appointnt. Typical."
"Funny," Amo said, gesturing behind them. "Sa one you just finished, no?"
"Yeah. They said I'm either genetically modified or lying about sleeping six hours a night."
Amo smirked. "You've got the best condition in the squad, no contest. The staff basically argued over who got to write your report."
Izan didn't say anything, just let the corner of his mouth twitch as they turned down the final corridor.
A/n: First of the day. I don't want to rush things as it would make the content bad. Even now, you can see a few things rushed so I'm going to be taking my ti with those chapters. Anyways, first of the day which is the main one. Good morning
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