The morning sun had now begun, shifting to noon at Colney as the players began to spill out of the entrance.
Izan, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder, stepped out, dragging another luggage behind him, looking up at the rare bright sun in shining over Colney.
He looked around, hoping he could find a car that pointed towards being his ride.
But before he could take another step, Saka’s voice rang across the training ground, playful and sharp as ever.
"Oi, Miura! You can score four in the Champions League final," Bukayo called out, pretending to squint as if he were deep in thought, "but man can’t even find transport ho?"
A burst of laughter erupted from nearby, with a few like Nwaneri joining in.
"You just know that this would be gold on the news," he uttered while chucking his bag into Saka’s car.
"Breaking news," he continued, mimicking the flair with which news anchors wne about their job, "Champions League winner and Arsenal superstar, can’t get a ride?"
Izan only smirked faintly, shaking his head.
His hair brushed across his forehead as he walked past them, unbothered, shoes clicking lightly against the concrete.
"You lot talk too much," he murmured under his breath, unlocking his phone.
"Oi, he’s ignoring us now!" Nwaneri teased.
"Man’s too famous to speak," Saka added dramatically.
Izan only raised a hand in farewell without turning back.
The teasing faded behind him, replaced by the sound of a car door opening.
A sleek black Uber waited near the exit gate.
The driver, a man in his forties with a neatly pressed shirt and uncertain eyes, was staring just a little too long at the young man walking toward him.
Izan didn’t mind; he was used to it.
He opened the rear door and set his bag neatly beside him, sliding in with that understated grace he sotis carried.
"Good morning," he said softly.
The driver blinked as though he hadn’t expected him to speak.
"Ah, yes, good morning, sir."
He adjusted the rearview mirror, straightening his posture, his hands suddenly a little too deliberate on the steering wheel.
The air filled with quiet professionalism, the kind that couldn’t hide a trembling excitent.
As they rged into the soft hum of morning traffic, Izan leaned back, scrolling through his phone.
Notifications rolled endlessly, from ntions, reposts and tags.
ssages of congratulations flooded every platform.
Jude Bellingham had posted a story citing, "Unreal performance, bro. Different level. You truly deserved this."
Valencia CF’s official account had shared a picture of Izan in their colours, captioned: Once one of ours, always one of ours.
Then ca Adidas with a cinematic post of his final goal with the caption: Be Like Izan. Never Stop Believing
He scrolled further where Ronaldo had reposted a clip of him lifting up the trophy, with the comnt,The kid is special. The future is here.
ssi, ever quieter, had liked the Ronaldo post and comnted only: Incredible player. Felicitaciones, campeón.
And, when people of such magnitude gathered, the comnts beneath were bound to be chaotic.
"The only player who can summon both GOATs at once."
"Miura did the impossible, Ronaldo AND ssi fans agreeing on soone?"
Izan couldn’t help but laugh, low and genuine, the corners of his mouth lifting as the car slowed to a turn.
The driver caught his reflection in the mirror and finally broke his composure.
"Sir, sorry... I-, my son and I, we are huge fans. We watched the final last night, he couldn’t sleep."
Izan looked up, amused. "Really? Thanks for watching."
"Yes, sir! If it’s not too much, could you, maybe just say hello? A short video? It would an the world to him."
"Of course," Izan said with an easy nod.
The driver quickly pulled out his phone, fumbling slightly as he opened the cara.
"Okay, ready, uh, go!"
Izan smiled at the lens.
"Hey, little man," he said, voice warm and sincere.
"Listen to your dad, work hard, and who knows, maybe I’ll see you on the pitch one day."
The driver bead as though he’d just won the lottery.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you!"
They pulled up outside the house a few minutes later.
The sun had fully risen now, painting the quiet street in soft orange.
The driver jumped out instantly, rushing to help with Izan’s luggage.
"No need—" Izan began, but the man insisted.
"Please, sir, it’s fine."
Izan relented with a small nod.
As they placed the bag beside the door, the driver hesitated, eyes bright with disbelief.
"You’re... really humble, you know that?"
Izan smiled faintly. "It’s just football."
"Not to us," the man said, shaking his head, still grinning.
"Have a good day, Mr Miura."
"You too," Izan replied, watching as the car rolled away.
The mont it turned the corner, the driver’s professionalism shattered completely.
He snatched up his phone, dialling soone in excitent.
"Kwa! Bro! You won’t believe who I just drove—"
Izan chuckled as he turned back to his gate, the laughter fading into quietness.
The house stood still and calm as he dragged his bag across the small path leading to the front porch, the gravel crunching beneath his sneakers.
Then, from inside, a familiar voice carried faintly, Olivia’s.
"Komi, I think Izan might be at Colney. I don’t think he called Jas in advance!"
"But, Olivia, he could call an Uber," Komi said as the gate opened, with Olivia stepping out, her back turned.
Her hair caught the light, glimring softly.
She didn’t see him at first.
"Olivia," he called gently.
She froze.
The sound of his voice, real, close, unmistakable,made her whirl around so fast she stumbled backwards in surprise.
He caught her instinctively, one arm wrapping around her waist.
Her breath caught. "Izan?"
"Who else?" he murmured, smiling, and before she could answer, he kissed her.
It wasn’t long or dramatic; it was quiet, real, filled with everything they hadn’t said over the phone these past days.
The door creaked open again.
"I heard a scream—" Komi began, only to stop mid-sentence.
Her son and Olivia were still close, startled, cheeks flushed.
Olivia instantly pulled back, embarrassed, while Izan rubbed his neck, half-guilty, half-amused.
"Hi, Mom," he said, tone caught between casual and sheepish.
Komi just blinked at the scene, her son fresh off European glory, and her maybe-future daughter-in-law in his arms, before a smile tugged at her lips.
"Welco ho, champion," she said.
Izan stepped through the doorway, the familiar scent of ho washing over him.
The house felt still, sunlight spilling through the large glass expanse that had been made clear.
The living room was neat but unusually quiet as he slipped off his trainers and glanced around.
"Where’s Hori? And Miranda?" he asked, his voice breaking the calm.
Komi looked up from the kitchen entrance, wiping her hands on a towel.
"They went out for groceries not too long ago," she replied, her tone warm but matter-of-fact.
"Said they’d be quick."
"When did you guys get here?" he asked, lowering his bag beside the couch.
"Dawn," Olivia answered before Komi could. She leaned casually against the counter, her hair still slightly damp from a morning shower.
"We took the first flight out right after the ga."
Izan nodded slowly, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Figures," he murmured.
Miranda never rested when there was sothing to plan, and Hori loved any excuse to be out in what she called "All Her Glamour"
"Sit, sit," Komi urged, waving him toward the dining table. "You look exhausted."
He hadn’t realised how heavy his limbs felt until he sank into the chair.
Monts later, Komi returned with a plate of pancakes stacked neatly and a tall glass of milk on a tray.
The sll was nostalgic, soft butter, maple, and the faint crisp of edges fried just right.
"Thanks, Mom," Izan said, smiling faintly as he reached for a fork.
"You don’t need to thank ," she replied, though her eyes softened.
"You’ve earned a proper al at ho."
As Komi turned to tidy the counter, Izan leaned back slightly, and without a word or gesture, called up his system, the invisible interface that humd behind his vision.
The familiar grid shimred faintly before solidifying into digital clarity.
But instead of numbers or new unlocks, the sa ssage he’d seen since last night flashed before him again:
"System is recalibrating. Processing the full weight of your recent achievent. Please wait..."
He stared at it for a few seconds, amused.
"Not the rewards being calculated but achievents," he muttered under his breath with a chuckle.
Komi turned, pausing mid-step. "Hmm? Did you say sothing?"
Izan blinked, the glow of the interface fading from his eyes. He looked up, feigning innocence.
"No, nothing," he said lightly, shaking his head.
Komi narrowed her eyes playfully, unconvinced but too content to pry.
Olivia just smiled from where she stood, watching him in quiet amusent as Izan took his first bite of warm pancakes.
User Comments
0 comments from readers