God Of football

Peter Drury: "This is remarkable. It has taken exactly 50 seconds for us to have a first real chance of the game.

Arsenal have a free kick in a position that just invites magic. It was Izan who won it, and now… it is Izan who wants it."

Lee Dixon: "And why wouldn't he? He hit a beauty against Manchester United in preseason. Alisson knows that.

Van Dijk and Robertson know that. But stopping him? That's another question entirely."

The SoFi Stadium hummed with anticipation. Fans leaned forward in their seats.

The red wall of Liverpool supporters waved their arms, trying to break Izan's focus. Arsenal's faithful held their breath.

Ødegaard stepped closer, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"You think you can do it again?"

Izan didn't blink, his gaze fixed on the ball.

"Yeah."

Ødegaard's smirk widened. "Then do it."

The wall was set—Van Dijk, Konaté, Gravenberch, Robertson. A fortress of red.

Alisson crouched behind them, his gloves twitching. He stretched his arms out, measuring, commanding.

The referee checked his watch. One last glance. Then—

A sharp whistle.

Izan inhaled.

Ding, [Gravity Arc LV4 activated]

Then, he stepped forward.

One step.

Two steps.

Three!!!

His left foot planted right beside the ball, almost raising it for a split second before his right foot struck.

The contact was crisp. Clean.

The ball lifted, spinning wickedly, curling over the wall, even away from goal before it curled back inside to the dismay of the Liverpool fandom and players.

Alisson moved—his body tensed, feet shifting, arms shooting towards the ball almost in an impossible stretch.

As if fate were playing tricks on him, the ball dipped, too late before It crashed against the underside of the bar—

A heartbeat of silence.

Then the ball rolled in the net like a face rubbing across washed fabric.

The net rippled.

For half a second, the stadium was frozen. Disbelief. A collective gasp. A pause before the explosion.

Then, it came.

The Arsenal fans erupted, a tidal wave of noise crashing through the arena.

A boom of celebration, voices merging into a deafening roar.

The bench leaped to its feet—Arteta pumping his fist, players spilling out in euphoria.

On the pitch, Ødegaard was already sprinting toward Izan, arms outstretched, shouting something lost in the chaos.

Martinelli and Rice followed, grinning like madmen.

Izan turned and ran towards Mac Allister and spread his arms wide, his face unreadable—except for the glint in his eyes.

MacAllister's face hardened but Izan just smiled as his teammates dragged him away from MacAllister.

He had promised.

And he had delivered.

Peter Drury: "Ohhhhhh, that is simply outrageous! Izan, with a moment of sheer, unfiltered brilliance! Two minutes into the match, and Arsenal have landed the first blow!"

Lee Dixon: "That's not normal. That's not just talent—that's confidence, execution, everything.

To hit a free kick like that, on this stage, against a team like Liverpool? He's got something special."

The cameras cut to Alisson, shaking his head, frustrated. Van Dijk glanced up at the scoreboard, lips pressed tight. Slot, hands on hips, exhaled sharply.

Izan barely had time to take in the celebration before he felt a presence closing in fast.

As he turned away, Alexis Mac Allister was already in his face, jaw tight, eyes burning with frustration.

"That's a bit much, isn't it?" the Argentine snapped, his rough voice cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Celebrating like that in the first minute?"

Izan, still catching his breath, tilted his head slightly, his expression unbothered. "First minute or last, a goal's a goal." His voice was calm, but there was a slight edge to it.

Mac Allister took another step closer, nearly chest to chest. "You want to make a show out of it? Fine. But don't act like you didn't throw yourself down for that free kick. Van Dijk didn't even touch you"

Izan's smirk disappeared. His voice dropped lower.

"Throw myself down? He grabbed my shirt and thought the ref wouldn't notice" He scoffed, shaking his head. "And you, you nearly ended my season with that tackle, and you've got the nerve to talk about my celebration?"

Mac Allister didn't back down. "That was a foul at most and the referee said it wasn't. Stop whatever you're trying to make it out to be."

Izan's jaw clenched. "A foul? You came through my ankle like you were trying to make sure I don't play next week." His words carried weight, his glare sharp. "If anyone's making a show, it's you."

The tension snapped like a tightened wire. Mac Allister stepped even closer, his breath hot with frustration.

Izan didn't move. Their teammates, sensing the brewing storm, rushed in.

Rice was the first to pull Izan back, his arm wrapping around his teammate's shoulder.

"Let it go, man," he muttered. Ben White and Odegaard weren't far behind, their eyes scanning for potential trouble.

On the other side, Robertson and Konaté had already grabbed Mac Allister, holding him back as he threw one last glare toward Izan.

Van Dijk placed a firm hand on his teammate's chest, murmuring something in Spanish.

The referee, standing just a few feet away, raised his hands but still kept his cards in his pocket.

The game had barely begun, and he was trying to manage the fire without fanning the flames.

Peter Drury: "Oh, the temperature is rising in Los Angeles! Alexis Mac Allister taking issue with Izan's celebration, and Izan reminding him of that heavy challenge just moments ago Van Dijk's!"

Lee Dixon: "It was a bad one. Mac Allister knows it, and Izan knows it but the ref didn't give it. The ref is being lenient, but if this keeps up, he won't have a choice for long."

As the dust settled, Izan took one last glance at Mac Allister before jogging away, his expression unreadable.

The crowd was still buzzing, the early fire of the game set ablaze.

Liverpool had just been punched in the mouth.

And Arsenal had no intention of letting up.

The game settled into a rhythm, but the undercurrent of tension remained.

Arsenal controlled possession, their passes crisp, their movement fluid.

Liverpool, stunned by the early goal, pressed hard, trying to force their way back into the game.

Izan and Mac Allister, though, were locked in their own private war.

A sharp pass from Timber found Izan near the halfway line, his first touch immaculate as he turned into space.

Mac Allister was on him instantly, pressing tight, trying to force him wide.

Izan felt the contact, the weight against his shoulder, but instead of retreating, he flicked the ball behind his standing leg and spun away, sending the Argentine stumbling a step late.

The crowd roared at the move, and Izan didn't look back.

Peter Drury: "Izan again, dancing away from Mac Allister—oh, that's wonderful footwork! The young Spaniard has come alive tonight!"

Lee Dixon: "Mac Allister tried to get tight there, but Izan, with that quick turn, just left him in the dust. He's got that low center of gravity—makes him so hard to pin down."

Liverpool responded with force. Mac Allister, stung by the moment, made sure to leave something behind the next time they clashed.

As Izan received the ball on the edge of the center circle, the Argentine came barreling in, shoulder first. It wasn't enough to warrant a whistle, but it sent a message.

Izan felt the impact but stayed on his feet, rolling the ball away and finding Rice in space.

As soon as he played the pass, he turned back toward Mac Allister, who gave him a knowing look.

Peter Drury: "And there's the response! Mac Allister making sure Izan knows he's still there!"

Lee Dixon: "This is shaping up to be a proper midfield battle. It's not just about skill—it's about character, about who wants it more."

The next time Izan got the ball, he didn't hesitate.

As Mac Allister lunged forward, Izan tapped the ball past him with the outside of his boot and took off.

The Argentine tried to recover, stretching out a leg, but Izan was already gone, ghosting past him with a burst of acceleration.

Peter Drury: "Oh, Izan's away again! Mac Allister just can't keep him contained!"

Lee Dixon: "You get too tight, he turns you. Give him space, he runs at you. He's a nightmare to defend."

Mac Allister, to his credit, didn't shrink. The next duel saw him shielding the ball expertly as he tried to turn Izan the other way.

He backed into the Spaniard, using his body well, forcing Izan to adjust his footing.

The ball rolled toward Szoboszlai, but Izan, quick as ever, stuck a foot in, poking it away before Liverpool could build something.

Peter Drury: "And Izan tracks back! He's not just a creator; he's a fighter too!"

Lee Dixon: "He's showing the complete package tonight—end product, work rate, intelligence. This is why Arsenal were desperate to get him."

The game remained clean, but the intensity never wavered. Every touch between Izan and Mac Allister carried meaning.

Every challenge was a test of will. The referee let them play, allowing the duels to unfold naturally.

And as the minutes ticked by, the tension only grew.

A/n: ABDHYHUH2ENDWD5L3A. Okay webnovel gave this to me for continuously updating for two months. Its a redeem code by the way. So Go in. Redeem it.