God Of football Chapter 507: Good To Be Back

Chapter 507: Good To Be Back

Miranda’s car eased up to the arrivals terminal at Valencia airport.

The aforentioned na slid open the car door, stepping out briskly without waiting for Izan, who unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his bag from the back seat, moving toward the automatic doors.

Miranda’s voice cut through the light hum of the morning crowd.

“You ready for this?”

Izan shrugged, adjusting the strap on his bag.

“Why are you making this feel like I’m going to play a World Cup?”

She raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t make regret sending you off.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of amusent in his eyes.

“Try not to.”

Without another word, Miranda gave a small nod and a quick wave.

“See you when you get back.”

Izan nodded once, then stepped through the sliding glass doors into the milling crowd.

Inside, the airport pulsed with movent. People bustled past with rolling luggage, so hurrying, so lingering by the cafes.

Izan slipped quietly into the flow, blending but never quite lost.

The security checkpoint passed without fuss, and soon he was waiting at the gate.

His gaze drifted over the passengers settling in, the rows of seats lined up in neat, indifferent rows.

The plane pushed back from the gate, the engines humming steadily as the wheels lifted, and the city shrank beneath him.

It didn’t take long for the plane to touch down in Madrid, rolling smoothly to a stop near the terminal.

Izan gathered his things and moved toward the exit, careful but aware of the eyes that followed.

Despite his efforts to stay low-key, the subtle buzz of recognition traveled with him — a flicker in a few gazes, a whisper among the crowd.

He didn’t stop to acknowledge them, though, as he knew better.

The last ti he had done sothing like that, it hadn’t fared so well.

His eyes scanned quickly, searching the arrivals area.

There, a man stood by the edge of the waiting area, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp behind glasses.

A discreet nod confird the connection, and Izan didn’t waste any ti approaching.

“Mr. García?” he inquired after getting close to which the man inclined his head.

“Yes. Follow .”

Together, they moved toward the exit gate where a sleek black car waited, engine idling.

No words were exchanged beyond a brief confirmation.

The door closed behind Izan as the car pulled away, heading toward La Rozas.

At the training base’s security gate, the car slowed and ca to a stop.

The driver nodded to the guard, and the barrier lifted without hesitation.

Soon, the hum of the car died as Izan stepped out of it into one of the parking spaces in the lot.

Ahead, the familiar facades of the complex stretched out under the clear sky.

“Thank you, Mr. Garcia,” he said, and without looking back, he headed inside.

……….

Izan stepped through the main gate of La Ciudad del Fútbol, the low hum of activity in the background familiar.

Staff in red jackets and navy kits moved briskly along the paths a few stopping to double check if it was him they had seen walk by them.

The administrative complex stood just off to the left, its cream-white facade and angular windows catching the fading afternoon light.

He moved toward it, greeted the receptionist with a quiet nod, and stepped through.

The hallways inside stretched in a strange geotry —turns, side doors, frad photos of past squads, and faded newspaper cuttings.

Even though he’d been here before, the layout still felt like a labyrinth, like the place rearranged itself every few months just to keep people guessing.

Eventually, he reached a door marked with a simple naplate: Luis de la Fuente.

The hallway around it was quiet.

Izan raised a hand and knocked twice, waiting for a response.

“Adelante,” ca the voice from inside, and he pushed the door open slowly.

De la Fuente looked up from behind his desk, his reading glasses perched low on his nose.

For a second, the older man simply observed him.

Then he rose from his seat, his face softening into a smile.

“Just got in?” he asked.

Izan nodded, stepping inside and letting the door fall shut behind him.

“Yeah. Flight was smooth.”

De la Fuente motioned toward the chair across from his desk, but Izan remained standing.

The coach gave a small shrug. “Suit yourself.”

There was a brief pause.

Then De la Fuente asked, his tone gentle, “You okay now?”

Izan t his eyes, no hesitation in his voice.

“I’m alright.”

The older man studied him for a mont longer before slowly taking his seat again.

“I wanted to check personally. I wasn’t going to ask you over the phone.”

“Thanks,” Izan said, hands tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“I’ve lost people too,” De la Fuente said simply. “There’s no straight road back, just a series of days you get through. You do what you need.”

Izan gave a small nod. “I needed to be ho for that one.”

“You did right,” the coach said, leaning back in his chair.

“So things matter more than minutes on a pitch.”

“I watched your press conference,” Izan said as soon as the old man finished speaking, causing the latter to turn towards him.

“They gave you a tough ti” Izan added searching for any emotion from the old man’s face but he stopped staring affter he couldn’t see anything.

“Well, I got my point across and they got what they wanted, a reaction, so I guess each side won.” De la Funete said again before finally burying his head in the pile of notes before him.

The silence between them was not uncomfortable.

It was grounded — the kind born from mutual understanding, not small talk.

“You’ll rest tonight,” De la Fuente said after a while.

“We fly to Murcia early tomorrow. Your na’s not on the sheet as I said but you might be able to co on for a few minutes to get so heat in your bones.”

“I’ll be ready,” Izan said with a smile.

De la Fuente gave a short, approving nod.

“Alright then. Go get settled.”

Izan turned and stepped toward the door.

Just as he reached for the handle, the coach added quietly, “I’m not one to indulge in such sentints, but just now that your father would have been proud.”

Izan paused only briefly, just long enough to glance over his shoulder.

“I think so too,” he said.

Then he left the room.

Behind him, Luis de la Fuente sank back into his chair and returned to the scattered pages on his desk, his face thoughtful but calm.

Outside, Izan stood behind the door for a while before turning towards the accomodation wing where he walked the familiar halls of La Rozas with quiet steps, the echo of his trainers soft against the polished floors.

The sa whitewashed walls.

The sa low hum of distant conversations and televisions flickering sowhere out of view.

He kept his eyes ahead, his bag slung over one hand that was dragging behind the smaller luggage, the keycard to his room already in another hand.

Room 112.

He found it tucked in the corner of the player wing — sa hallway they’d been allowed to stay back when he ca to camp for the first ti.

The door clicked open with a blink of green, and he stepped inside.

Standard room.

Neat. Bed made. Small desk.

A welco note and itinerary card lay face down on the table lay face down as he tossed his bag beside the bed and stood for a mont, taking in the stillness.

It was clean, quiet.

Almost too quiet.

He didn’t linger long.

The air inside felt flat, and the stillness gnawed at him more than he liked.

He slipped his keycard into his pocket and stepped back out, letting the door click shut behind him.

Just as he turned into the main corridor, a familiar voice caught him.

“Izan,”

He looked up.

Pablo Amo stood a few steps down the hallway, arms crossed, expression warm — like an uncle who was glad to see soone he hadn’t seen in a while.

“Finally decided to show up, eh?”

Izan smirked faintly, walking toward him.

“Yes, Coach, but I heard even you weren’t here when so of the players arrived.”

Pablo chuckled. “I’ve been here, bossing the analysts around.”

He tapped Izan lightly on the arm.

“Most of the boys are in the rec room. You’ll probably catch them before dinner.”

Izan nodded, already beginning to step past.

But then Pablo turned back, pausing.

“Oh,” he said, his tone softer now, “And hey… It’s good to have you back at the center.”

Izan glanced over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth tilting ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s good to be back.”

And with that, he kept walking towards the recreational room that held most of his mates.

A/N: Late as always, have fun reading this last chapter of the day and I’ll see you in a bit with the first chapter of the day.

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