God Of football

Izan stepped out of the black SUV, stretching his arms as the door shut behind him.

The chill of Madrid's morning air hit him, the familiar scent of grass and fresh coffee filling the air around the training complex.

He had barely taken two steps before Nico came jogging up, flashing his trademark grin.

"Didn't think you'd make it on time," Nico teased his tone light but with an edge of mock surprise.

Izan raised an eyebrow. "I was never going to be late."

"Yeah, but we thought we'd have a laugh if you were," Nico winked.

Behind him, Fabian Ruiz, Yamal, and a few other players were gathered, all watching with subtle smirks.

Yamal, grinning like he'd just pulled off something big, was the first to speak.

"You're just in time," he said, his voice pitched with fake sincerity. "We've all been waiting."

Izan shot him a suspicious glance, just as a figure stepped forward.

It was a new face, tall with broad shoulders, wearing a Spanish kit that seemed a bit too oversized for him—except this time, it wasn't Yamal.

Cubarsi. The young defender who'd just been called up for the first time.

"Cubarsi," Yamal said, pushing the new guy forward with a playful shove. "Meet Izan. You'll be spending a lot of time with him now."

Izan gave Cubarsi a quick glance. He was a few centimeters taller, but there was an easy camaraderie between them.

Cubarsi's smile was nervous, but his handshake was firm.

"Good to meet you, Izan," Cubarsi said, though his eyes were darting between him and the rest of the group.

Izan smiled back, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, man. Welcome to the squad and don't be that polite. We're only months apart."

But then the rest of the guys started laughing. Nico doubled over, wiping his eyes, and Yamal was grinning wider than ever.

"Bro," Nico said, struggling to catch his breath.

"We were just talking about how you're the only one here who's been to a major tournament, and yet they still treat you like the new guy. They think they're funny. Don't let 'em get to you."

It clicked. The "prank" wasn't the usual friendly banter—this time, they were all setting him up for something.

Yamal was already pulling a small bag out from behind his back.

"Alright, Izan, brace yourself," he said, holding it up like it was some big reveal.

Before Izan could ask what was going on, the bag was tossed toward him.

He caught it reflexively, only to realize it wasn't a new pair of boots or training gear.

It was a set of child-sized shin pads, the kind you'd see on a six-year-old just starting football.

"What the hell?" Izan stared at Yamal, whose face was now a mask of innocent shock.

"We thought you might've forgotten these," Yamal said, trying not to laugh.

"Thought we should help you out since you look like you've still got some growing to do."

Izan stood still, letting the laughter ring out around him. He raised an eyebrow at the group.

"You really think you're the first to pull something like this on me?" he asked, tossing the bag aside and walking toward the locker room without missing a beat.

"C'mon, I'm not falling for the rookie stuff."

But Nico wasn't done. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bowl-cut wig, holding it up like a trophy.

"Yeah," he said, "we figured you could do with a fresh look."

Izan finally cracked a smile, the kind of grin that only came when he knew the prank had been pulled off just right.

"You're all hilarious," he said, snatching the wig from Nico and tossing it back. "Next time, don't waste my time, alright?"

The group continued laughing as they followed him into the locker room, Yamal elbowing Cubarsi and muttering something about how he was lucky not to have been part of the prank crew this time.

...

Izan was the first to step through the door of the locker room, his teammates' laughter still echoing in the hallway behind him.

As he dropped his bag on a bench, he turned to see Pedri entering the room, fresh from the corridor with a calm smile.

"You've survived the prank," Pedri said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"But I would've joined in if I didn't have an appointment with the physio."

Izan smirked, glancing back at the rest of the squad. "You lot really know how to welcome someone back, don't you?"

Pedri shrugged. "Couldn't let you think you're still the king around here. Besides, it's about time we get someone else pranked."

Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "I've been pranked more times than I can count. You think I'm scared of you guys?"

Pedri raised an eyebrow, half-tempted to say something more, but before he could, a voice from the doorway interrupted them.

"Izan. Hernandez, is he here? If he is, he's next!"

It was the head physio, a seasoned professional with a no-nonsense attitude and a reputation for being thorough.

He stepped into the room, a clipboard in hand.

Izan nodded, standing up straight. "Alright, let's do this."

As he walked toward the physio's office, Pedri gave him a quick wave, mouthing "Good luck" as he passed.

The physio room was always a bit quieter than the rest of the complex, with its sterile white walls and the occasional sound of a tape dispenser or stretching bands being pulled.

It smelled of fresh liniment and disinfectant—nothing that would make you feel like you were about to relax.

"Hop on the table," the physio instructed, already tapping a few notes into his tablet as Izan took a seat on the treatment bench.

"Let's see how you're holding up after your last game."

Izan stretched a bit as he got into position, ready for the usual checks.

He was in good body shape with a low body fat percentage and a strong core to match

No surprises there.

The physio started with his legs, pressing on his calves, quads, and hamstrings.

He moved through the motions with quick, practiced hands, all the while keeping his eyes on the tablet.

There was nothing of concern. No tightness, no unusual stiffness. Izan was in top form.

The physio hummed a quiet tune, not bothering to look up as he ran through the standard tests.

"Honestly, you're in incredible shape," the physio said with a small nod.

"You've been holding up better than most of the squad, and I'm not just talking about the young guys."

Izan leaned back, the light tension of the checkups dissipating as he relaxed into the routine. "I've been working hard."

The physio nodded again, still focused.

"You're probably in the best shape on the team right now. No injuries, no lingering issues.

Hell, you might be one of the few who actually looks better since the Euros. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

Izan grinned, his usual confidence slipping into place.

"It's the work ethic. If you don't put in the time, you'll fall behind. And I've got bigger goals now."

The physio stopped typing for a second, eyeing him with a raised brow.

"Bigger goals? You're already one of the top players in the squad."

Izan's smile deepened. "I didn't win the Euros by being just 'good enough.'"

With that, the physio gave a small chuckle and finished the last checks.

"Well, you've got everything covered. No adjustments needed."

Izan slid off the table, stretching his arms overhead. "As expected."

"Just don't forget to keep that focus up. We can't afford any slip-ups this season—especially with the new guys coming in."

Izan nodded. "I'm good to go. Thanks for the check."

Izan stepped out, zip of his top halfway done as the door swung shut behind him.

His posture? Loose. Confident. Not the swagger of someone trying to prove anything—just the natural walk of a man who already had.

Euro champion, back in camp, sharper than ever.

The hall smelled faintly of deep heat and a new interior.

Izan adjusted his cuff, cracked his neck once, and was just about to head left when—

"Izan!"

He turned to see Pablo Amo approaching, clipboard under one arm and a grin on his face.

Izan met him halfway, and Amo pulled him in with a firm one-armed hug, patting him on the back. "Qué alegría, macho. (What A Joy, Man)"

Izan gave a lopsided grin.

"Still terrifying the analysts, or have you gone soft since we won the Euros?"

Amo chuckled. "They cry faster now. Efficiency." Then he pulled back, tapping his watch. "Luis sent me. He wants to see you—now."

Izan raised a brow, but he was already walking beside him. "

"Heard something about you getting jumped by a hyper winger and a lanky center-back." Amo glanced sideways.

"Didn't Pedri set that up?"

Izan snorted. "He tried. Bailed last second for a physio appointment. Typical."

"Funny," Amo said, gesturing behind them. "Same one you just finished, no?"

"Yeah. They said I'm either genetically modified or lying about sleeping six hours a night."

Amo smirked. "You've got the best condition in the squad, no contest. The staff basically argued over who got to write your report."

Izan didn't say anything, just let the corner of his mouth twitch as they turned down the final corridor.

A/n: First of the day. I don't want to rush things as it would make the content bad. Even now, you can see a few things rushed so I'm going to be taking my time with those chapters. Anyways, first of the day which is the main one. Good morning