God Of football - Chapter 217

Chapter 217: Simulation Chapter 217: Simulation The anticipation for the clash against Barcelona lingered in the air like an unspoken truth.

It was all anyone at Valencia could think about.

The players moved with purpose during training, each pass and run carrying a sense of urgency.

For the past few days, the coaching staff had drilled the team relentlessly, trying to prepare them for the tactical challenges of facing one of the best teams in Europe.

Izan was the focal point of their plans.

Even though he had been told he wouldn’t start, the coaches spent considerable time working on scenarios where he could turn the tide as a substitute.

For Izan, this was both an honor and a frustration.

He wanted to be out there from the first whistle, to lead his team in what was arguably the most important game of their season so far.

“You’ve got to be sharp, Izan,” said coach Ruben Baraja, pulling him aside after a particularly grueling drill.

“When you come on, you won’t have time to ease into the game.

You’ll need to make an immediate impact.” Izan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I’ll be ready, coach.

Just tell me when to go, and I’ll deliver.” Despite his confidence, a knot of frustration had settled in his chest.

He had worked so hard to reach this level, to prove he could perform against the very best.

To sit on the bench, even for tactical reasons, felt like a step back.

The day before the match, Valencia held their final training session at the Paterna training intensity and camaraderie, with players encouraging each other as they refined their tactics.

The coaching staff had set up a series of drills to simulate Barcelona’s high press and intricate passing game.

“Izan, you’re on the counterattack group,” Baraja called out.

Izan jogged over to join the group of players tasked with breaking quickly from defense to attack.

This was where he thrived-his speed, vision, and composure under pressure made him deadly on the counter.

As the drill began, Izan received a pass from the defender and turned sharply, leaving his marker trailing.

He spotted the run of his teammate, Valencia’s striker Hugo Duro, and threaded a perfectly weighted through ball into his path.

Duro, taking control calmly slotted it past the keeper, and the small group cheered.

“Textbook, Izan!” shouted one of the assistants.

The team moved on to set-piece practice, focusing on defending corners and free kicks.

Izan, though not the tallest player, was often positioned on the edge of the box to launch counterattacks.

During one drill, he intercepted a wayward clearance and sent a curling shot toward the top corner, forcing the goalkeeper into a stunning save.

“That’s what I like to see!” Baraja yelled, clapping his hands at Izan’s shot at goal as well as Marmadashvili’s save.

As training wrapped up, the players gathered in a circle for a final pep talk.

Ruben Baraja addressed them with a calm but determined tone.

“Tomorrow, we face one of the toughest teams in the league.

But remember-they’re human, just like us.

Stick to the plan, trust each other, and don’t give up, no matter what.

We’ve worked too hard to back down now.” The players clapped and cheered, their spirits high.

Izan looked around at his teammates, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

They weren’t the biggest club, nor the richest, but they had heart.

And sometimes, heart was enough.

……

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the skyline as Izan left the training ground, his legs tired from the day’s intense session.

The Paterna facility had emptied out, with the last few players trickling off to their cars.

Izan, still in his Valencia training kit, walked to the car he had booked in the far corner of the parking lot, his steps slow and methodical.

[Damn, driver must have it hard] The sound of his slides crunching against the gravel echoed in the quiet space, the occasional shout of a teammate or the hum of a passing car the only interruptions.

The cool breeze carried with it the scent of fresh grass and sweat-fragrant reminders of a day well spent.

It was at moments like this, between the high stakes and expectations of his professional life, that Izan felt the weight of it all settle in.

Sliding into the car, he let out a quiet sigh, resting his head against the headrest for a moment as the driver drove away.

Izan on the other hand, stared out at the empty training ground in his rearview mirror, taking one last look for the day.

— The drive through Valencia’s streets was peaceful, a sharp contrast to the chaotic energy of training and the upcoming matches.

It wasn’t the adrenaline of the game or the pressure of performing that occupied his mind.

No, today his thoughts circled back to something simpler.

Home.

The driver made his way through the streets Izan knew so well-the same ones he’d rode through on countless occasions, long before he had signed his first professional contract.

As he passed familiar buildings and small cafés, memories of childhood drifted into his mind: the weekend walks with Komi and Hori, those lazy afternoons playing football with friends in the park.

….

“Is that my favorite footballer?” Komi called from the kitchen, her voice light and teasing as she heard the door creak.

“Of course,” Izan replied with a grin, hanging his keys on the hook by the door.

“How was your day, Mom?” “Same as usual, keeping everything running smoothly around here,” she answered, though there was a hint of pride in her voice.

She had always managed to make it sound like she was doing far less than she really was.

He kicked off his shoes and moved toward the kitchen, where he found Komi stirring something on the stove.

The smell of home-cooked food filled the air, making him feel instantly more at ease.

“I was thinking of making my famous stew tonight,” Komi said with a knowing smile, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“What do you think?” “That’s a yes from me,” Izan said, moving to grab a glass of water from the counter.

“I’m starving.” “Good, because Hori’s already gone through half the bread,” Komi added with a chuckle.

As Izan sat down at the kitchen table, he let his thoughts wander.

The day had been tough-training had pushed him harder than usual.

Izan reached for his phone, scrolling through a few messages-mostly fans wishing him luck for the upcoming match, and a few from Olivia.

He tapped out a quick reply before placing the phone back down, focusing back on the simple, grounding conversation with his mother.

“By the way,” Komi started as she set a bowl of stew in front of him, “your sister wants to watch a movie tonight.

I told her we could all watch something, but you might need to pick since she and I are clearly out of touch when it comes to movies these days.” Izan chuckled.

“I’ll choose something decent.

Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” The food, the familiar rhythm of his family’s banter, and the easy laughter that filled the air-it all grounded him.

It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t fast-paced or filled with the flashing lights of the stadium.

It was real.

And for a young player like Izan, it was the one thing that kept him tethered to the person he was, not just the footballer the world was starting to take notice of.

“So, have you been practicing those free kicks like I told you?” Komi asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Of course,” Izan said, smiling.

“I’ve got a few new tricks I’m working on.

I’ll show them in the match if I come on.” “That’s my boy, and not if it’s when you come on,” Komi replied with a satisfied grin.

The trio sat down to watch the movie before each went to their rooms to sleep.

With the excitement coursing through his mind, Izan couldn’t sleep and that’s where a thought came into his mind.

With mental flex, Izam called up the system before initiating the system’s simulation.

The moment he activated it, the world around him dissolved into an intense, immersive experience, but this time, the feeling was even more profound.

The system didn’t simply interact with his senses; it synced with his mind, body, and soul, pulling him into a hyper-realistic state that pushed him beyond physical limitations.

As the digital recreation of the Mestalla unfolded around him, Izan could feel every beat of his heart, every subtle twitch of his muscles, as if the match were happening in real time.

The system tapped into his neural pathways, amplifying his reflexes and perception and enhancing his instincts.

It wasn’t just about playing football-it was about testing his limits, forging him into something greater.

The moment the whistle blew, Izan was already in motion, his body reacting instinctively.

Barcelona’s high press was unrelenting, and in this world, the simulation adapted instantly to every move he made.

As soon as he received the ball, Pedri was on him, closing the gap with astonishing speed.

He tried to dribble, but the simulation responded with the precision of an elite opponent.

Balde was already there, cutting off his options.

Izan’s mind raced, his thoughts sharp and clear, but the system was pushing him-testing his composure and his decision-making under pressure.

For a split second, the tension was overwhelming.

He felt himself begin to falter, the weight of the challenge sinking in.

A small mistake-an errant pass-was punished by the simulation, and Barcelona capitalized with a swift counter.

The virtual crowd roared as the ball hit the back of the net.

He paused, the flood of frustration rushing through him.

“This isn’t real”, he reminded himself.

“You control this.” As the system pulsated with an almost ethereal hum, Izan felt the invisible connection deepen.

His breath slowed.

He could almost hear the system itself urging him forward, not with words, but with a sensation-a quiet whisper in his mind, a nudge of confidence.

You’re not just a player.

You’re a force.

With renewed determination, Izan reset himself.

He focused on the flow of the game, reading the movements of his virtual opponents before they even happened.

As Barcelona continued to press, Izan filtered through his options.

He stopped overthinking, trusting the system to guide him.

With a swift, precise touch, he threaded a perfect pass through the defensive line to a teammate, then immediately started his run, anticipating the return ball.

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Art233 Your gift is the motivation for my creation.

Give me more motivation!