God Of football Chapter 798: Arteta’s Zombies

The hotel dining room was warm and softly lit, but it did little to lift the heavy mood that hung over the players.

Despite the flight only being an hour and a half, the weight of travel and the constant churn of adrenaline and nerves had dragged them down.

One by one, they filed into the buffet area, their steps slow, shoulders sagging, as though gravity had doubled in the past few hours.

Plates clinked dully against the counter as hands reached lazily for pasta, rice, chicken, and whatever else the chefs had prepared to keep them sharp.

Even the usually chatty ones barely said a word, only nodding to each other as they moved along the line.

Izan ca down a little later than the rest and spotted his teammates slumped around a long table.

So looked like zombies, chewing slowly, eyes half shut, barely holding their forks steady.

He grabbed a plate, went through the motions of piling on food, and finally settled down next to them.

Bukayo Saka was beside him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table, pushing food around his plate more than actually eating.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost confessional.

"You know... I should be buzzing right now," he said, shaking his head a little.

"Champions League final. Once in a lifeti stuff. But honestly?"

He let out a small laugh, the kind that cos from disbelief.

"All I feel is tired. And nervous. Like if we don’t sort this out before Sunday, it’ll cost us."

Nwaneri nodded slowly, stabbing a piece of chicken.

"Yeah... It’s weird. Feels like the body’s here, but the mind’s still catching up."

Saka gave him a look that said exactly that, before letting out another sigh and returning to poking at his food.

It went quiet after that, with the players trying to get as much as they could in until Arteta stepped in with Carlos Cuesta just behind him.

The players’ heads turned almost in unison, and Saka groaned under his breath, half-joking but half-serious.

"Great," he muttered. "Watch him say we’ve got a session tonight."

A couple of the boys chuckled weakly, but their faces said they wouldn’t survive it if Arteta actually did.

But when the manager spoke, it wasn’t what anyone expected.

He looked around the room, reading the exhaustion etched across every face, and gave a small, understanding smile.

"It’s been a long few days since the FA cup Final," Arteta said.

"I know the travel’s been draining, the emotions too.So tonight, after you eat, I don’t want anyone hanging around too much. No etings, no film, nothing. Go upstairs, get into your beds, and rest. That’s the best preparation we can do right now."

The effect was imdiate.

Shoulders straightened while smiles crept in here and there.

Soone at the far end even muttered a quiet "thank you."

Saka lifted his hands and tried to clap at the words he heard, but even that ca out half-heartedly, his palms barely connecting.

The table laughed softly at his effort, and he gave them a sheepish grin.

"That’s all I’ve got left in ," he admitted.

Arteta chuckled as well, then gave a small nod before stepping aside to let them finish their als in peace.

The room felt a little lighter after that.

The players still looked exhausted, but there was relief in knowing their manager had seen it and chosen to ease the load.

They ate in silence, a comfortable silence this ti, then gradually pushed back their chairs and drifted off in small groups, plates left half-finished but stomachs at least content.

Izan was one of the last to leave.

He trudged up the corridor, keycard in hand, slipped into his room, and went straight for the bathroom.

When he finally stepped back into the bedroom, the bed seed to call him with open arms, and he didn’t resist it.

He flopped down, not bothering to check his phone, not even to set an alarm.

His body was fine, his system had more than compensated for that, but his mind was heavy, worn down by days of noise and expectation.

The mont his head hit the pillow, it might as well have been made of rock, because he got knocked out almost imdiately as he sank into sleep like a stone dropped into water, still and deep, gone before he could even think twice.

And as the morning light barely seeped through the thin curtains, almost 11 hours later, his eyes opened.

For a second, he just lay there, but he felt the relief in his mind.

Like soone had pressed reset on him, body and mind bothscrubbed clean.

Whatever weight had been dragging him the night before had vanished.

He reached across the side table for his phone, where 6:03 a.m. blinked back at him.

Without thinking, he typed out a short ssage.

"Morning. Just woke up. Feel ready. Love you."

His thumb hovered over the screen, then he hit send, but then asecond later, guilt tapped at him.

Six in the morning was hardly fair on Olivia as she’d probably be asleep.

He sighed, tossing the phone aside, before pulling himself out of bed and making his way to the bathroom.

The routine was simple: brush teeth and wash.

He stayed under the hot spray a little longer than usual, letting it wake him fully.

After a while, he stepped out, tying a sizable amount of his hair in a bun before walking back into the bedroom, where he slipped on a white shirt and the bottom of the tracksuit, not bothering to put on the top, before falling back onto the bed again.

He lay back on the bed, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling while his mind drifted all over the place, from the final to what Arteta was thinking of making them do for the day.

An hour later, a knock at the door interrupted him.

He got up, padded over, and opened it.

Saka stood there in the hallway, eyes half-open, looking like he hadn’t quite decided if he was awake yet.

Izan leaned against the fra, narrowing his eyes.

"Bruh, how do you still look like this. Did you brush?"

But all he got was a lazy nod from Saka.

Izan squinted at him for a mont, then asked again, slower this ti.

"You bathe?"

Saka hesitated, then shook his head, looking almost guilty.

Izan let out a long sigh, tilting his head back like he couldn’t believe it.

"Man..."

He didn’t even bother with a lecture and just shut the door with a small shake of his head, grabbed his keycard, and stepped out beside him.

They walked together in silence, Saka still dragging his feet, Izan more alert but biting back a smirk at his teammate’s state as they made their way down until the scent of coffee and warm bread drifted towards them.

"Good morning, Carlos," Izan said as they passed by the assistant coach, who gave a quick nod before returning to his talk with the other staff.

On the player side, the low hum of voices mixed with the clink of cutlery and the sll of scrambled eggs, toast, as coffee drifted through the air.

So players, mostly the ones who hadn’t heeded Arteta’s words not to linger too much, were still half-asleep, hunched over their plates like zombies trying to regain life through caffeine, while others had perked up, chatting easily in small groups.

Izan sat with Saka, Rice, and a couple of the younger lads, his plate modest but enough to give him energy.

There were chuckles here and there, but the mood was still slow.

Just as things were beginning to feel properly relaxed, a chorus of phones buzzed around the table.

Heads instinctively bent down.

Izan pulled his from his pocket and saw the notification was one of the squad group chat.

One ssage at the top: Arteta.

"Recovery session at the sports science centre near the hotel. Be ready in an hour."

Around the room, small frowns appeared almost in unison.

Not annoyance, just surprise.

They’d half-expected Arteta to push them, but the phrasing threw them.

Recovery session? That didn’t sound like him.

Normally, he’d be demanding sharpness, intensity, pushing them to empty the tank even if it was breakfast ti.

Declan gave a short laugh. "He’s softening up on us, lads."

From beside Izan, Saka leaned in, his voice a quiet mutter as he stabbed at the last bit of egg on his plate.

"Bruv, whatever grace this is, I’m taking it because this is scarce."

And before Izan could even respond, Saka was shovelling down the rest of his food like a man who’d been starved for a week.

Izan chuckled, shaking his head, but didn’t stop him.

In truth, he understood the sentint.

A light recovery session sounded like a blessing.

For now, at least.

Because inwardly, they all knew Arteta was going to grind the sharpness out of all of them before they stepped onto the pitch to face Barcelona.

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