God Of football

Chapter 937: First Strike, First Goal.

A quarter of an hour later, the stadium lights caught on the players as they emerged from the tunnel, and the noise inside Stadio Friuli rose in a steady wave.

The cameras swept across the pitch, finding faces, tracing the walk of each player into the open air.

Then Peter Drury’s voice settled over the broadcast, calm at first, carrying the weight of a night that felt bigger than a regular final.

"There are matches," he said, letting the words breathe, "and then there are moments in the life of a club. Arsenal step out tonight carrying both. A team reborn over the last year, not by accident or drift, but by design. And at the heart of that design stands a young man who has become the catalyst for everything they now dare to reach for."

The camera drifted towards Izan as if drawn to the cue.

He stood somewhere in the middle of the line, shoulders rising in a small, centred roll, while his eyes kept roaming through the stands.

"He is still seventeen, yet he walks with the certainty of someone who has already bent the story of a club to his will. A year ago, he was a promise. Today, he is the pulse of a team that arrived in Italy believing this trophy has their name on it."

The camera widened to capture both teams and the colours splitting the stadium with red on one side and navy on the other, but the noise made the pitch feel smaller than it was

"And what a setting," Drury said.

"Udine, a city that never asked for this rivalry, but tonight inherits it. A North London derby, carried hundreds of miles south, is now rooted on Italian soil. Arsenal and Tottenham, again, staring each other down with a prize in the middle. Old tension in a new home."

The players reached the centre circle as the handshake line moved along in a slow chain.

Captains exchanged brief words, and referees checked their watches and their assistants, the flanks of the pitch.

Drury’s voice dipped as the teams broke away toward their halves.

"This is the Super Cup. This is Arsenal against Tottenham. This is the derby, reborn. And it begins now."

The players peeled off, jackets coming off and tossed behind them, kits sharp under the lights as they walked off towards their respective halves after the results of the toss.

The broadcast cut to the touchline.

First, to Thomas Frank, who stood with his arms folded.

And then Arteta, who had his hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the pitch like he was already looking to change something.

Far on the pitch but between the two managerial boxes, Gyokeres stood in the number 14 jersey of Arsenal, a number synonymous with legends of the game like Thierry Henry and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang.

"A first outing in Arsenal colours for Victor Gyokeres. And if what we’ve seen in training this past week is any indication, he’s already found a strange sort of link with the creative hub of this team. The youngest one out there, but the one everything seems to run through, Izan."

The whistle cut through the air afterwards, and Gyokeres nudged the ball backwards to start the final, a raging roar looming over the stadium just as he did so.

"And we are off," Drury said as Izan, on the pitch, took control of the ball and shifted immediately, turning toward his own half.

He didn’t slow down.

Step after step, he kept drifting deeper, drawing two Tottenham midfielders with him, then a third.

They exchanged quick looks, unsure whether to press or hold.

And just when one of them leaned forward, ready to gamble, Izan released the ball to Raya with a simple touch before easing into a slow walk back up the pitch.

The camera caught Drury laughing softly as beside him, Beglin let out a quick breath.

"The definition of never letting them know your next move," Beglin said.

"They were wary about going near him because they thought he was going to do something, but he’s just jogged the ball to his goalkeeper like he’s walking the dog," Drury replied.

Back on the pitch, Tottenham sensed a chance to squeeze higher and stepped up.

Raya saw them coming but stayed composed, letting them inch closer while he kept the ball at his feet.

He waited until the last possible moment before sliding a pass into the middle, where Rice met it with a clean first touch and turned away from pressure before he slipped it toward Timber, who had already shaped his body to play forward.

Timber lifted his head, eyes searching for Izan in the usual pocket between the lines.

Only this time, there was no sign of Izan there.

He had already drifted past the first wave and was moving into Tottenham’s half, free and unmarked.

Timber adjusted his stance, weight shifting onto his back foot as he prepared to send the pass forward into that sudden pocket of chaos Izan had created.

Timber’s pass curved forward and dipped into Izan’s stride as the latter gave his back to Bentacur.

He didn’t take a touch to settle it.

But instead, he redirected it with his head in an almost casual manner, sending it spinning toward Saka on the right.

The crowd swelled as Saka eased onto it.

He slowed his steps, tapping the ball with small nudges that barely moved it, teasing Spence into guessing wrong.

Then Saka burst forward.

One push and he was gone.

Spence reached for him but never caught a piece of him, as Saka angled toward the box.

"Arsenal on the cusp of something here," Drury called, but before Saka could deliver, Micky van de Ven slid across his path.

It was a clean, committed sweep that took the ball out for a throw.

Saka tumbled but rolled through it, landing on his side before pushing himself up with a small shake of his head.

"No nonsense defending from the Dutch defender," Drury said as Saka walked over to retrieve the ball, breathing steady, scanning the traffic around him.

His first course of action was to look for Izan, but the latter was boxed in by Pape Matar Sarr and Spence as the two stayed glued to him with no intention of giving him space.

Saka didn’t even bother risking the throw toward him, and so he sent it to Timber instead, short and safe.

But Izan had already sensed the moment turning.

Before either marker understood what he was doing, he burst out of the trap.

He timed it perfectly so that he arrived at Timber just as the ball reached him.

Timber didn’t need to think.

He cushioned it toward the lane Izan had stepped into as Izan met the pass in stride and slid it first time behind Tottenham’s back line.

"They could be in here!" Drury bellowed urgently on the broadcast.

Saka was already moving, sprinting onto it with a clean lane to the box.

The right side of the stadium lifted in anticipation as Bentancur lunged across to stop him, but Saka sold him with a short, sharp feint.

Bentancur skidded past as an Englishman cut backwards, and he didn’t hold the ball long.

He rolled it centrally, finding Izan again, now waiting at the edge of the area.

Izan’s posture changed after he saw the ball coming, planting his foot deeper with his eyes fixed on goal, and Tottenham’s defenders reacted instantly.

They rushed him, bracing for a strike they thought was coming.

Instead, he scooped the ball delicately over their line, lifting it into the smallest pocket between their collapsing shape and the keeper’s space, and the commentators grew louder at the same time.

"It’s Gyokeres!"

Victor didn’t wait for the ball to drop.

He attacked it in the air, swinging through it cleanly and driving it past Vicario in one ruthless motion and in the next second, the net snapped violently as the stadium jerked to its feet in two halves, one roaring for the finish, the other stunned silent.

"GOOOOOOOOAAAALL," Drury roared on the broadcast as Gyokeres turned towards the corner flag with a few of the Arsenal players chasing him.

Once he got to the corner, he spread his arms, chest lifted, before crossing his fingers across his face in his signature celebration.

"Victor Gyokeres, on his very first night in red, and he announces himself without hesitation. One chance. One clean finish. And Arsenal are alive in Udine."