God Of football-Chapter 409: Incoming Additions.

Olivia rose from the couch with a stretch, her fingers brushing back loose curls as she headed toward the bedroom.

"I left my stuff in there," she mumbled, more to herself than Izan.

He watched her disappear around the corner, then leaned back into the cushions, phone in hand, refreshing his notifications.

A few seconds later, she returned with the laptop hugged to her chest and a teasing little smile.

"Alright," she said, settling beside him again. "Time to apply for a life-changing academic adventure."

"While I pretend to be a social media mogul," Izan grinned, already typing a caption.

...…

Olivia clicked the final "Submit" on her exchange program application and let out a soft, satisfied sigh.

She shut the laptop slowly and turned to Izan, who was still cross-legged on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he squinted at his phone.

"All done," she said, stretching her arms above her head. "I just applied to spend a whole year in a country I've barely explored. Your fault, by the way."

Izan looked up with a lazy smile. "My influence is strong."

"You're lucky I like you," she said, setting the laptop aside.

"I'm counting on it."

He stood and offered his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up from the couch but he didn't let go right away.

His fingers laced through hers, warm and steady.

"Still wanna go out for a bit?" she asked, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand. "Brunch or something low-effort?"

Izan nodded, but neither of them moved.

Seconds passed.

Then Olivia tilted her head and gave him a look. That soft, mischievous smile he was starting to recognize as dangerous.

"You're thinking about it too much," she murmured.

"Thinking about what?"

Her fingers slipped up to the collar of his hoodie.

"This."

She tugged him close, and their lips met—slow and searching at first. It wasn't rushed or heated.

Just warm. Familiar. Her hands slid behind his neck, pulling him closer, while his arms wrapped around her waist.

Somewhere between kisses, Izan guided her gently toward the bed, bumping knees, pausing to laugh when Olivia stumbled over her own foot.

"You're a terrible navigator," she muttered between kisses.

"Your legs are too long," he said, breathless.

They tumbled onto the sheets in a tangle of limbs, Olivia giggling as she landed half on top of him.

"Well this is romantic," she teased.

"Give it a minute," Izan whispered, brushing a curl away from her face.

He kissed her again, and this time it lingered—his hand trailing along her waist, fingertips brushing the curve of her hip through the soft fabric of her thin skirt.

Her skin was still warm from the shower, her scent clean and subtle.

She sighed into his mouth, her body molding to his.

His hand moved slowly—over her back, along her thighs—always careful, always gentle.

She didn't stop him. Her own hands explored too, running over the firmness of his chest, the dip of his lower back.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt slightly before sliding her palm underneath to feel his skin.

"Why do you always smell so good?" she whispered against his throat.

"I work hard," he murmured, lips grazing her ear.

She laughed softly, her breath catching as his hands moved again, this time over her ribs, pausing just beneath her chest.

There was a stillness to the moment, a pause like they were both listening for a signal.

"Still okay?" he asked, his voice lower now.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Just… stay here."

Her fingers wove into his curls, guiding his mouth back to hers.

They kissed deeper this time—messier, more deliberate, but still slow. Nothing extreme.

Just exploring, feeling, and reacting.

Her skirt slipped slightly as she shifted against him, and his hand instinctively steadied it, fingers brushing skin.

She exhaled sharply. "God, your hands."

"Yours aren't exactly innocent," he muttered, groaning as she traced along the edge of his waistband.

They didn't say much after that.

Just exchanged soft moans, breathy laughs, and occasional whispers that weren't really words.

They moved slowly like they had all the time in the world.

Eventually, Olivia rested her head against his chest, her hand still resting just above his hip.

Izan let his fingers gently trace up and down her back, drawing invisible lines into her skin.

"We're definitely not going out, are we?" she murmured.

"Nope."

"Good."

They lay there, tangled and warm, a quiet intimacy settling over them like a blanket neither of them wanted to shake off.

...…

The next morning brought with it a cool breeze and overcast skies, but the training pitch buzzed with energy.

The sun broke occasionally through the clouds, casting a pale light on Arsenal's first team as they gathered in a semicircle near the edge of the box.

Izan stood a few steps back from the ball, shoulders relaxed, eyes fixed on the top right corner of the goal.

Saka was crouched nearby, waiting his turn, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he whispered something to Calafiori, who gave a quiet chuckle.

Mikel Arteta's voice cut through the air.

"Same rules as always," he said, arms folded. "If you want set-piece responsibility, earn it. Beat the current number one."

That number one was Izan.

He lined up his shot without theatrics—just a small bounce on his toes, a breath in, then a quick, fluid run-up.

The strike was clean and fast. The ball curved beautifully over the wall, kissed the inside of the post, and snapped the netting before the keeper could even shift his feet.

The silence lasted all of half a second.

Then came the rustle of the net, followed by the sharp intake of breath from a few teammates and a low whistle from Jorginho while Someone muttered "madness."

Saka straightened slowly, jaw slack. "I'm gonna start diving for those. That wasn't fair."

Arteta chuckled and clapped twice. "Izan wins again."

Saka flopped to the grass dramatically, lying flat on his back. "This guy has magnets in his boots, I swear."

Izan grinned, jogging back toward the group. "You said top right, yeah?"

Saka raised a finger from the turf. "You heard me say bottom left."

"That's crazy," Izan replied, shaking his head.

"Liar!"

The banter was light, but the intensity hadn't dipped.

Each player had taken the new rule seriously ever since Arteta instituted it: in specific areas.

Penalties, corners, free kicks, corners—if you could beat the current lead in drills, you claimed the job. Simple. Objective.

And Izan, despite not being there for long, had been dominating the set-piece slots for two weeks straight, even taking over the penalty duty from Odegaard after he won in a contest.

Arteta walked past Saka, who was still on the ground and gave him a friendly nudge with his foot.

"You'd better start practicing, Bukayo. This boy's not giving it up easily."

"He's not human," Saka replied, still sprawled like a corpse.

"High standards make everyone better," Arteta said firmly, then turned to Izan with a nod. "But keep your edge. Don't get comfortable."

"Never," Izan said, his tone serious now.

As the team rotated through drills, Izan stood off to the side, sipping water and watching others take their chances.

A few came close—Odegaard hit the post once, and Trossard curled one just over—but no one found the net with the same consistency or swagger.

It was clear the standard had shifted.

He could almost hear Olivia teasing him, "You're just showing off now."

Maybe he was.

But it felt good to be the one everyone had to beat.

The players filtered off the pitch after the final whistle of training.

Some chatted as they walked, others wiped sweat from their faces or stretched out tight muscles.

Izan tossed his bib into the basket near the benches and made his way toward the building with Saka, who still hadn't stopped joking about that free-kick goal.

"Man, that was unfair," Bukayo said, shaking his head with a smile. "Top corner like that? You don't miss."

Izan grinned. "Should've jumped faster."

They reached the cafeteria and joined a few others already sitting at the tables.

Plates clinked softly, and the smell of hot food filled the room.

Izan grabbed a tray and served himself—grilled chicken, rice, some greens—before sitting down with Saka and Martinelli.

Across the table, Merino was already halfway through his meal, nodding along to something Calafiori was saying in Italian with the former nodding along.

It was a quiet moment. Just players eating, rehydrating, and cooling off after another hard session.

Then the cafeteria door swung open and Arteta walked in.

Conversations dipped slightly as the players glanced up.

He walked casually to the center of the room, arms behind his back, a small smile on his face.

"Morning or afternoon I should say," he said. "I won't keep you. Just wanted to let you all know—we've completed a loan deal for Raheem Sterling. He'll be joining us soon."

There were a few raised eyebrows and exchanged looks around the table.

"Sterling?" Saka muttered under his breath. "Was rumored. I was thinking when he would be coming."

"Winger depth," Martinelli added, chewing slowly.

Arteta gave a small nod. "He brings experience, knows the league, and he wants this challenge. You'll meet him soon enough. For now, rest up. Good work this morning."

With that, the manager left, and the room gradually returned to the usual hum of conversation.

Izan took another bite of his food, glancing at Saka.

"Think he'll be starting?"

"We'll see," Saka replied. "But if it's down to that set-piece rule, you're still safe."

Izan smiled but didn't say anything. He just kept eating, calm and focused.

.....

A/n: Second of the day. Sorry for the late release. Was caught up in some BS. Anyway Have fun reading and I'll see you with the Ticket chapters if I can. Byeeee.

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