God Of football - Chapter 249

Chapter 249: Edging Closer Chapter 249: Edging Closer Full-time: Rayo Vallecano 1-2 Valencia.

Izan exhaled in relief.

His phone exploded with messages.

Sosa (10:30 PM): “We did it.

Four more finals left.” Izan (10:31 PM): “Huge win.

Proud of you guys.” Then came another update- Athletic Bilbao had drawn their game.

Valencia had gained crucial ground in the top-four race.

Komi hugged Izan’s shoulder.

“That was intense.

Your team plays with my heart.” Hori grinned.

“Next game, you’re making popcorn.” Izan just smiled.

This was football.

The highs, the lows-the never-ending battle.

And Valencia were one step closer to their dream.

….

The final whistle echoed through the Estadio Vallecas, signaling the end of a brutal contest.

Valencia’s players dropped to the turf, exhausted but victorious.  Rayo Vallecano had pushed them to their limits, but Guillamón’s stunning free-kick had sealed a crucial 2-1 win.

As the players exchanged handshakes and jerseys, Giorgi Mamardashvili clapped his gloves together, celebrating another night of heroics between the posts.  Baraja, still catching his breath after sprinting down the touchline in celebration, embraced his coaching staff before he walked towards the opponent manager to shake hands.

In the stands, the traveling Valencia fans sang into the Madrid night, their voices hoarse but defiant.

In his living room, Izan leaned back into the couch, exhaling as his phone vibrated in his palm.

Sosa (10:30 PM): “We did it.

Three more finals left.” Izan (10:31 PM): “Huge win.

Proud of you guys.” His eyes flickered to the screen, where a breaking news alert appeared.

ATHLETIC BILBAO DRAW IN SAN SEBASTIÁN €“ VALENCIA GAINS CRUCIAL ADVANTAGE IN TOP-FOUR RACE.

Izan sat up straight.

That was massive.

This wasn’t just about three points-it was a power shift in the Champions League battle.

Beside him, Hori tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“So… what now?” Komi, still holding onto Izan’s shoulder, smiled.

“Now, we keep winning.” Izan nodded, but his mind was already racing ahead.

…

The Valencia dressing room was a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

Some players were still sprawled on the benches, catching their breath.  Others were buzzing, checking their phones, refreshing the league table.

Baraja stepped in, clapping his hands once.

Silence fell.

“Well done,” he said, scanning the room.

“We showed grit.

We showed heart.

But this is just 2 out of 5.

We have to hold on until the end.” He turned to Mamardashvili, who was unlacing his gloves.

“Giorgi, those saves kept us alive.

That’s what a big-game goalkeeper does.” Mamardashvili simply nodded humility in his expression.

Baraja stared at the goalkeeper, for a while, thinking of what would be happening.

Then, Baraja pointed at Guillamón, who was still beaming.

“And that free kick?

Madre mía-if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were practicing with Izan.” Laughter rippled through the room.

“But listen,” Baraja continued, his tone sharpening.

“Enjoy this tonight.

But tomorrow?

We move.

This league won’t wait for us.

And if we want that Champions League spot, we have to take it.” The players nodded.

They understood.

Outside the stadium, the team bus waited, engines humming.

Valencia’s players moved through the mixed zone, stopping briefly for reporters.

Gaya, still drenched in sweat, spoke into the microphones.

“This was a tough game.

Rayo never made it easy, but we stayed patient, and we took our chances.

We know what’s at stake.

We know what we’re fighting for.” Sosa on the other walked towards the bus, his phone in hand.

As he walked away, his phone buzzed again.

A message from Izan.

Izan (10:45 PM): “You’re getting better at those through balls.

But you’re still not beating me in FC.” Sosa smirked, typing back.

Sosa (10:46 PM): “Just hurry and get back already.

I’m feeling suffocated on the pitch.” As the team bus rolled out of Vallecas and into the Madrid night, Valencia CF had taken another step toward their dream.

But there were still three battles left.

And every moment would count.

The team bus rumbled through the streets of Madrid, bound for the airport.

Players leaned against their seats, some watching highlights on their phones, others lost in thought.

Sosa sat beside Mamardashvili, headphones on but not playing music.

His fingers tapped against his knee-residual energy from the match still coursed through him.

Across the aisle, Guillamón scrolled through social media.

His free-kick had gone viral.

Valencia fans were flooding his mentions.

@ValenciaForever: GUILLAMÓN MASTERCLASS.

TAKE A BOW, SIR.

@LaLigaXtra: When Valencia needed a hero, Hugo Guillamón delivered.

What a hit.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Izan’s still the set-piece guy, though.” Diego López, sitting next to him, smirked.

“Tonight, it was you.” Further back, Baraja was speaking quietly with his assistant coach, pointing at a tablet.

Already reviewing footage.

Already preparing for the next battle.

Back in Valencia, Izan should have been asleep.

His ankle still needed time.

His body needed rest.

But he couldn’t turn his mind off.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The match played in his head like a film reel-Sosa’s through ball, Fran Pérez’s finish, the chaos after Vallecano’s equalizer, Guillamón’s moment of brilliance.

Taking his phone, Izan checked to see any activity in the group but it was silent.

Thinking about how tired his mates might be, Izan just typed “Goodnight guys” before putting his phones down.

…..

The sun hung low over Valencia’s training complex the next day but the place was quiet.

The players had the day off save for the recovery sessions in the afternoon but not everywhere was quiet.

Inside the physio room, Izan worked through his rehab routine, guided by the club’s medical staff.

Resistance bands.

Light jogging.

Balance work.

Komi had called earlier, reminding him to be patient.

Hori had sent him a clip of Guillamón’s goal with a simple caption: “That could’ve been you.” He smirked.

Could’ve been.

Would be soon.

As he wrapped up his session, he heard voices from the hallway-his teammates arriving for their recovery session.

Izan wiped the sweat from his forehead as he stepped out of the physio room.

His ankle still wasn’t perfect, but today had been a good session.

No sharp pain, no discomfort-just steady progress.

As he walked toward the recovery area, he could already hear his teammates’ voices.

Laughter, light banter-the kind of energy that came after a hard-fought victory.

The room was filled with players in club-issued training gear, sprawled across massage tables, foam rolling, or sitting in ice baths.

Pietro was, as always, causing chaos.

“Look at me,” Pietro announced dramatically, balancing on one leg while attempting to stretch the other.

“I am the most flexible player in Valencia!” Before anyone could react, he lost his balance and crashed onto the mat.

The room erupted in laughter.

Gaya, still sore from the game, shook his head.

“Pietro, if you get injured doing recovery, I’m not defending you.” Sosa smirked.

“You weren’t going to defend him on the pitch either.” Pietro shot him an exaggerated look of betrayal.

“Wow.

Et tu, Sosa?” Izan chuckled as he grabbed a foam roller and sat next to Fran Pérez, who was stretching his hamstrings.

“So, did you guys sleep at all, or were you up watching your own highlights?” The players all turned to Izan who was now sitting beside Fran Perez.

Fran grinned.

“I forgot you were still in recovery.

Anyway, I tried sleeping, but my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Apparently, I’m the next big thing now.” Guerra, lying face-up on the mat, smirked.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.

One bad game, and they’ll be calling you a fraud.” Guillamón, who was checking his phone, lifted an eyebrow.

“Speaking of frauds, who saw the tweet calling me ‘Valencia’s David Beckham’?” The entire room groaned.

“Here we go,” Diego López muttered.

“You score one free kick, and suddenly, you’re Beckham?” Gaya teased.

Izan smirked.

“You hit a great one, Hugo.

But I would do better.” Authors’ blog[Yeah no shit.

I gave you a system] Guillamón scoffed.

“Let’s see.

Who scored a free kick last night?

And who was sitting on his couch?” Pietro, still on the floor, gasped theatrically.

“Ohhh, he got you there, Izan!” Izan shook his head, rolling his ankle carefully.

“Enjoy it while you can.

I’m back soon.” Sosa, sitting in an ice bath, turned to him.

“How soon?” Izan sighed.

“Not sure.

Maybe a week.

Maybe two.” The room quieted slightly.

They all knew how much Izan wanted to be back, especially with three crucial games left.

Fran nudged his shoulder.

“Take your time.

We need you at your best.” Pietro, in a rare moment of wisdom, nodded.

“Yeah, man.

Plus, we need someone to carry us in FC.

Sosa and I are suffering without you.” Sosa glared.

“Don’t include me in your suffering.

I carry myself just fine.” Laughter broke the brief tension.

Diego López stood up, shaking out his legs.

“Anyway, we all know the real test is coming.

Three games left.

Every point matters.” Gaya nodded.

“And we’re going to need every single one of us.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Art233 Your gift is the motivation for my creation.

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