God Of football - Chapter 365

Chapter 365: US Tour [Golden Gacha chapter]
As expected, opposing fans wasted no time jumping on Arsenal after their 3-3 draw, flooding social media with jabs.

United fan: “All that hype just to draw against Bournemouth’s B team? Tears in my eyes.”

Chelsea fan: “I thought Arteta was cooking? He better throw that recipe away.”

Spurs fan: “Same old Arsenal. Season hasn’t even started, and they’re bottling already.”

Liverpool fan: “Imagine stressing over preseason. Your downfall will be historic.”

Arsenal fans, of course, weren’t having it.

Arsenal fan: “You lot are celebrating a preseason draw like you just won the league. Can’t relate.”

Another Arsenal fan: “Didn’t Man United lose 4-1 to Wrexham last year? Be serious.”

One more for good measure: “Talk when your club isn’t a walking disaster. Focus on your own mess.”

Some fans were more level-headed.

Optimistic Arsenal fan: “Relax, it’s preseason. The real matches are what count. We’re still finding our rhythm.”

Another: “At least we scored goals. The defensive mistakes will get ironed out.”

One slightly frustrated fan: “I get it’s preseason, but conceding three to Bournemouth is still crazy.”

The online back-and-forth raged on, but Izan was just scrolling through it all, shaking his head.

He sat by the window on the team bus, hoodie pulled up as he lazily refreshed his feed.

It was almost entertaining, the way football fans took every game—even preseason—like life and death.

A soft chuckle escaped him when he saw one Arsenal fan clapping back at United supporters:

Arsenal fan: “Man United fans talking when their striker has 2 goals in 8 months. Focus on your own issues, bro.”

Another one got him laughing a little louder:

Arsenal fan: “Spurs fans saying we’re finished? Your greatest achievement is a DVD about finishing third.”

“Something funny?” a voice beside him asked.

Izan looked up to see Mikel Merino, who had settled into the seat next to him, stretching his legs out.

“Just fans going at each other,” Izan said, turning his phone slightly so Merino could see.

The older midfielder smirked as he read through the comments. “Ah, this is normal. English football fans are… passionate.”

Izan huffed. “That’s one way to put it.”

Merino leaned back, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past them. “It’s funny, though.

No matter what happens, they’ll always find something to argue about.”

“Yeah,” Izan agreed. “Preseason, Champions League final, doesn’t matter. It’s football.”

Merino nodded, adjusting his seat slightly. “By the way, you alright about not playing today?”

Izan exhaled. He had been a bit irked, sure. Not that he wasn’t ready—he felt sharper than ever—but he understood Arteta’s reasoning.

He was new to the squad, and preseason was about rotation, figuring out partnerships, and refining tactics but that wasn’t an excuse.

Liquor and Calafiori, all new additions had gotten to play. Even though their positions varied, football was still football to him, a different country or not.

Watching the game from the bench, itching to get on, had been frustrating.

“I get it,” Izan said. “Doesn’t mean I like it, though.”

Merino chuckled. “Yeah, that’s fair. I was in the same boat once. But we’ve got time. It’s a long season.”

Izan nodded, but deep down, he was already looking ahead. He wanted his moment. His chance to make an impact so he could at least shut up those pundits.

The bus rolled smoothly through the night, the vibrations of the engine a steady hum beneath them.

Some of the players were already dozing off, drained from the match.

Others were still awake—Saka and Martinelli, who had been all over the group chat earlier, were now arguing over something again.

Probably FIFA.

A few rows ahead, Arteta was seated near the front, speaking in low tones with his staff.

Even after the match, his mind was already focused on the next step.

They had a short break before flying out to the United States for their three-game preseason tour. That was where the real tests would come.

Izan glanced out the window one last time, watching as the city lights faded behind them. A new challenge was on the horizon.

….

Izan was half-asleep when his phone buzzed.

The bus had reached the airport, and most of the players were either stretching their legs or still slumped in their seats, reluctant to move.

He lazily pulled out his phone, expecting a message from his mom or maybe a notification about the flight. Instead, it was Miranda calling.

He sighed, rubbing his face before answering. “Miranda.”

“Izan!” she greeted, her tone as energetic as ever. “You landed yet?”

“We’re still on the bus. Heading into the airport now,” he muttered. “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to check in before you head to the States,” she said. “Big tour coming up, lots of eyes on you.”

Izan exhaled, stretching his legs out. “Yeah. We’ve got three games lined up.”

“Good. Stay safe, all that,” she said before her tone shifted into something more playful. “And also—stay marketable.”

Izan groaned. “Miranda…”

“I’m serious! You barely post. I know you don’t like all the PR stuff, but at least update your socials a little.”

“I literally posted after the Euros final.”

“That was weeks ago!” she shot back. “Look, you didn’t want a social media manager, which is fine, but at least make my life easier by, I don’t know, posting a picture once in a while?”

Izan shook his head, amused. “I’ll think about it.”

Miranda sighed. “That’s all I get? A ‘think about it’?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh. Fine. Just—don’t disappear off the face of the internet. I’ll talk to you later.”

Izan chuckled as the call ended. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and finally stood up, following the rest of the team into the airport.

By the time he settled into his seat on the flight, curiosity got the better of him. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his notifications.

He hadn’t checked in about a month—not since the Euros ended. Back then, he had around 8 million followers.

Now?

15 million.

Izan blinked. What?

He scrolled down, double-checking. Yep. 15 million.

A laugh bubbled out of him. “Guess the Euros did me good,” he uttered silently while staring at the comments beneath his posts.

The tournament had already felt like a whirlwind, but seeing this kind of explosion in numbers made it feel even more surreal.

He hadn’t even posted that much—just a few celebration photos after Spain’s win, a couple of reposts of his teammates’ stories. And still, his following had nearly doubled.

He shook his head. Miranda was probably going to use this as fuel for her argument.

Still, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to all of this.

……

The days passed quickly. Training sessions, tactical meetings, recovery routines—it all blurred together.

Arsenal had wrapped up their first two preseason games in England, and now it was time for the real tour.

Izan found himself once again on a plane, but this time, the flight was much longer. Destination: The United States.

The team was spread out in first class, some already asleep, others watching movies or playing cards.

Izan had taken a window seat, his hoodie pulled over his head as he scrolled through his phone.

He wasn’t much for long flights—he’d rather be moving, doing something—but at least he wasn’t alone in his boredom.

Across the aisle, Declan Rice was flipping through a magazine while Odegaard and Kiwior quietly played chess on a tablet.

A few rows back, a group had gathered around Trossard’s iPad, watching a random documentary.

A sudden nudge from the seat next to him pulled Izan out of his thoughts.

“Bro, you sleeping?”

Izan turned his head, finding Bukayo Saka grinning at him.

“Does it look like I’m sleeping?” Izan muttered.

Saka laughed. “Nah, but you looked deep in thought. What, already thinking about the tour games?”

Izan shrugged. “Not really. Just passing time.”

Saka nodded, then leaned back in his seat. “Gonna be a wild few weeks. Big crowds, big expectations.”

Izan knew what he meant. The U.S. tour wasn’t just about fitness—it was a massive marketing push.

The games would be packed, the fans loud, and every moment would be scrutinized. For some players, this was a chance to impress Arteta before the season started.

For others, it was about fine-tuning their sharpness.

For Izan?

He just wanted to get on the pitch.

“Who we got first?” he asked.

Saka tilted his head. “United. You didn’t know?”

Izan exhaled through his nose. “Figures.”

A preseason match against Manchester United meant headlines, no matter the stakes.

Even if it was just another friendly, the fans would turn it into something bigger.

Across the aisle, Gabriel Jesus, who had been half-listening, suddenly perked up.

“You think Erik ten Hag is sweating yet?” he joked.

Saka smirked. “Probably writing a whole tactical analysis for a preseason game.”

Izan chuckled, shaking his head as the conversation continued.

Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set against the clouds.

A few more hours, and they’d be in the U.S.

A/n: 7 out of 15. Damn. My keyboard lost its keys. See you in a bit yeah.👍