God Of football

Chapter 954: The Resistance.

As the whistle blew for the break, players drifted toward the tunnel, Leeds’ heads down and Arsenal, just their regular selves.

Izan jogged off last, the sound following him like a wave.

"This is starting to feel familiar," the commentary concluded.

"Arsenal at home, ruthless. And Izan, once again, at the centre of everything. This kid is making this league look like child’s play."

Even with the players gone, the noise didn’t really die down.

It felt rather, like the crowd, were feining for more.

By the time the halftime break clock crept toward fifteen minutes, resignation had settled into the away end.

Leeds fans slumped into their seats, scarves loosened, conversations dropping into quiet honesty.

A man near the aisle rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long breath.

"This is brutal," he said, not angry, just tired.

His mate shook his head, staring at the pitch.

"Four down and it could’ve been worse. You can’t even say we haven’t tried."

A few rows back, someone laughed without humour.

"At least the traffic’ll be light if we leave now."

And many did.

Stewards watched small streams of white shirts drift toward the concourses, some stopping to glance back once more before disappearing.

As the minutes ticked down and the announcement for the second half echoed around the stadium, there was no rush of returning footsteps.

The empty seats told their own story.

When the players emerged again, Arsenal came back unchanged.

That drew a low groan from the remaining Leeds supporters.

They had hoped for mercy, for rotation, for something that suggested the night might slow down but Arsenal hadn’t given them that benefit.

Arteta stood with his arms folded, calm and unmoved, and his message was clear enough.

The second half followed the same rhythm, only louder.

Arsenal moved the ball with ease, patient when they wanted to be, sharp when gaps appeared.

Leeds worked, chased, pressed in moments, but every mistake felt punished twice over.

Izan, now dropping deeper after Eze came on, dictated from a quieter space, his touch slowing the game when needed, then accelerating it without warning.

The goals came steadily.

Gyokeres bullied his way through for one, then another, all strength and timing.

Saka slipped in from the right to add his own, a finish that felt inevitable the moment the ball left Izan’s foot.

And then there was Izan again, arriving late from midfield, meeting a loose clearance and driving it home for his fifth.

The commentary could barely keep up.

"Manchester United might feel slightly relieved watching this back," one voice said. "Six was painful, but Leeds are staring at eight."

By the final whistle, most of the away end was empty.

A few hundred stayed, clapping their team as they trudged toward the tunnel.

It was not approval so much as acknowledgement.

They had seen the gap.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

Izan lingered near the centre circle as the noise rolled on.

The referee handed him the match ball, and he turned toward the stands, spotting a young fan pressed against the barrier.

He walked over and passed it up, earning a stunned look and a wide grin in return.

The cameras followed him as he jogged away, calm, almost reflective.

"This is becoming something else," the commentator said, voice steady but edged with disbelief. "Eight goals, total control, and a player who looks like he’s playing a different game."

The second voice came in quietly. "You start to wonder if this season might be decided far earlier than anyone expected."

The Emirates roared again, and the thought lingered long after the players had left the pitch.

.....

By Monday morning, the conversation had narrowed itself without anyone needing to force it.

Liverpool.

It was on breakfast television, threaded through radio phone-ins, argued over in offices and whispered in pubs.

Every route the discussion took found its way back there.

Arsenal had dismantled Manchester United, embarrassed Leeds, and made it all look routine.

Now people were searching for a line of resistance, something solid enough to slow them down and Liverpool felt like the last honest answer.

"They’ve spent too much money not to matter," someone said on a late-night call-in, the night before, voice tired but convinced.

"Over four hundred million spent including snatching up Isak on deadline day."

Another caller cut in.

"And they were the only ones who gave Arsenal real problems last season. Not one-off problems either but rather proper games."

Names followed, always the same ones.

Wirtz. Salah. Isak. Van Dijk. Frimpong. Szobozlai’s

A spine heavy with talent and experience, with just enough youth threaded through it to feel dangerous.

On paper, it looked like a team designed for this exact moment.

If Liverpool couldn’t stop them, then who could?

Maybe Manchester City?

"If this lot go to the Emirates and get rolled," a pundit said quietly during a post-match segment, "then we might need to accept that we’re watching the start of something long-term. This starts to feel like those City years. Not because of one result, but because of how inevitable it all looks."

The idea landed heavier than the words themselves.

Dominance was not built in August or September but it announced itself there.

In cafés, phones lay flat on tables as clips replayed again.

Izan gliding through midfield and Arsenal scoring in waves.

People did not argue much anymore.

They speculated instead, almost hopeful, as if Liverpool might restore balance simply by showing up.

Later that evening, far from the noise, Hampstead felt removed from the weight of it all.

The street was quiet, windows glowing softly as dusk settled in.

Inside, Olivia leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking across her screen one last time.

She tapped a few keys, saved the file, and let out a small breath.

"All done," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

The soft click of the laptop closing had barely settled before the door opened.

Izan stepped in quietly while, Olivia turned almost immediately.

She stood up from the chair in one smooth motion and crossed the room without hesitation.

Her arms went around his neck, firm and familiar, her forehead resting against his for a second longer than necessary.

"I’m safe," she said softly.

He smiled before she could see it and nudged her nose with his knuckle, gentle but deliberate.

"You’re naughty," he replied, low and amused while she laughed under her breath and stepped back just enough for him to drop into her chair, heavy and relaxed in a way he never looked on the pitch.

The chair creaked in protest since he did not bother adjusting it.

"Hey," she said, pointing at him. "That’s my seat."

He leaned back, hands folding behind his head.

"Was."

She rolled her eyes, then sat down on his lap without asking, settling sideways at first before turning properly, her weight shifting until it felt right.

One arm looped back around his neck, the other resting against his chest. He steadied her instinctively, palm flat at her lower back.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The room felt calmer than the rest of the world had any right to be. No commentary. No numbers. No expectations. Just the hum of the city outside and the quiet rhythm of breathing that matched without effort.

"Tired?" she asked.

"A bit," he said. "Good tired."

She nodded, understanding exactly what that meant before, taking his lips in hers, muttering sweet nothings in between kisses and breaths.

Before the two could explore further, an unapologetic knock sounded on their door and Hori’s voice followed.

"Not to spoil your party but," Hori’s voice followed through the door without waiting. "I am not ready to be an aunt."

There was a beat of silence before both Izan and Olivia broke into quiet laughter.

Olivia pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking, while Izan tipped his head back slightly, eyes closing as if he had been caught red-handed by fate itself.

"You hear that?" Olivia said softly. "We’ve been banned."

Hori knocked again, lighter this time, like she had already made her point and was now just being practical.

"Dinner’s ready. And whatever is happening in there, pause it."

Izan leaned forward just enough to call back, voice easy and calm. "We’ll be there in a second."

"Make it a real second," Hori replied. "Food’s not waiting."

Footsteps retreated down the hall as Olivia slid off his lap, still smiling, smoothing her top as she stepped back.

She glanced at him, eyes bright with that familiar mix of affection and mischief.

"She always says one thing and means the other," Olivia said as Izan stood, stretching slightly, then reached out and caught her hand without thinking.

"So do we give her what she wants. A nephew or a niece?"

She squeezed his fingers once, then let go as they headed for the door.

"Maybe later," she said mischievously before exiting the room while Izan just shook his head, following closely behind.