God Of football

Chapter 955: The Resistance [2]

[Colney]

Arteta stood by the table, hands resting on the edge, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, while Gabriel Heinze sat opposite him, tablet in hand, scrolling slowly as if the pace itself mattered.

"The international break worries me," Arteta said at last, with a complex emotion on his face.

"It always does. Players go away sharp, come back heavy. Or worse, they don’t come back at all."

Heinze nodded, not looking up yet.

"It’s always this period. Too many minutes stacked together. Different medical teams and way different loads, in both games and in training."

Arteta exhaled through his nose.

"I’m thinking about giving a few of them rest. Not full shutdowns, but something less, like much fewer minutes than usual. Especially now, when everyone feels good. That’s when things go wrong."

Heinze finally turned the tablet around and slid it across the table.

A list filled the screen, names and numbers stacked neatly with minutes played, appearances and recovery windows beside the window.

"You’re not going to be surprised," he said.

Arteta’s eyes went straight to the top.

Izan.

He didn’t smile, didn’t react much at all.

He just stared for a second before looking at Heinze with a proud father-like face.

"He’s everywhere," Arteta muttered. "Like a rock that doesn’t wear down."

Heinze leaned back in his chair.

"I’ve been going through his medical history since I took over from Carlos. It’s... unusual."

Arteta glanced up.

"Unusual how?"

"He barely misses time," Heinze said.

"And when he does, it’s minor. Tightness. Impact bruises. Nothing dangerous. And that’s with how often he gets kicked. You see the tackles he takes. Players go through him like he’s a training cone."

Arteta nodded slowly, a slow smile appearing once more on his face.

"Oh, that? Yeah, we also used to talk about that, about how he might have injuries hidden in his body, but every time, things came out clean and sometimes too clean, which was weird even for the doctors."

"Physically, he’s resilient. Mentally too. But still..." Heinze paused, choosing his words. "He’s young. Very young. Eighteen coming up. The body keeps score, even if it doesn’t complain yet."

Arteta let out a short breath, almost a laugh.

"Yeah. I forget sometimes," he said. "He just carries himself much better than most, that you start treating him like a veteran. That, coupled with his slightly older look."

*sigh*

They sat with that for a moment before Arteta straightened.

"We play Liverpool next," he said. "And so, we might have to take that chance."

"We might," Heinze retorted.

"Let’s just keep things as is. The time frame until the match is too short for anything serious. Let’s revisit this after the game," Arteta continued.

"Doing too much with the players before the game could cause confusion."

He tapped the table once, decisively.

"Just keep his sessions light with low intensity. No unnecessary load."

Heinze was already nodding. "I’ll speak to them."

His phone buzzed, just as he pulled it out of his pocket.

He glanced at the screen and then at Arteta afterwards before rising to his feet.

"I’ll take this."

As Heinze stepped out, Arteta remained where he was.

He leaned back against the table, arms folding loosely, gaze drifting toward the window, before rounding the table and then settling in his seat.

.....

The training ground had thinned out by the time Izan finally headed for the car park.

Most of the lads were already gone, leaving just a few staff cars rolling out in the distance.

Otherwise, it was quiet.

He had decided to stay a bit after the session to get some more practice in, and that was why he was the only player in the parking lot.

He slung his bag into the frunk of the Jesko Absolut, the lid closing with a clean, muted thud.

As he reached for the door handle, his phone buzzed.

Aiko.

You didn’t forget about the Liverpool ticket, right?

The latter had pestered her father for Izan’s contact and had gotten it after Izan said he didn’t mind when Kenji asked, and had turned into somewhat of another Hori for Izan to deal with, just without the sassiness and the forceful attitude.

He smiled to himself, the corner of his mouth lifting as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

The car came alive around him, screens glowing softly as he typed back with one hand.

Sure.

He sent it, then slipped the phone into the cup holder, and eased the car out of the lot.

Matchday soon arrived without ceremony, just like any other morning, at least for Izan, who was tying his shoes when he asked.

"Will you be coming?"

Komi leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, already dressed but moving slowly, conserving energy the way she always did when she felt worn down.

"Hori and Olivia are," she said. "Maybe Miranda, if she is free."

"And you?"

She exhaled, not annoyed, just honest.

"Three to four hours on the road, crowded stands, noise everywhere? Not today. My body’s already complaining, and it’s only morning."

Izan nodded as he stood, stepped closer, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Okay, mum," he said as Komi planted one back on his cheek.

"Go do whatever it is you’ve always been doing to defenders."

He laughed under his breath, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.

.....

Like sleep, the rest of the day passed quickly, the anticipation getting heavier by the second.

The camera drifted high above Anfield, slow and unhurried, taking in the sea of red packed tight into every corner of the ground.

Flags rippled across the Kop with scarves held aloft and voices already rolling through the stadium in waves.

"We’ll be coming,

We’ll be coming down the road,

When you hear that noise,

From the Bill Shankly boys,

We’ll be coming down the road!"

The chants and noise swelled as the shot dipped lower, skimming the stands and catching faces mid-chant with fists pounding the air and mouths open wide.

"Well, if you wanted a test," the commentary came through on the broadcast, letting the atmosphere breathe beneath his words, "this is about as honest as it gets."

Peter Drury did not raise his voice.

"Anfield under the lights. Liverpool at home. And across from them, an Arsenal side that has been gliding through this league like a hot knife against butter." This is as good as it gets in the Premier League. Both teams tied on points, but Arsenal, ahead with that ridiculous goal difference two games into the season."

"They haven’t conceded too. And so Liverpool will have to bring their scoring boots to the table because we certainly know that Arsenal will be."

The camera found the tunnel entrance, where the players had lined up, waiting for the signal from the match officials.

Red and white stood inches apart, neither side interested in pleasantries, just before the steward motioned them forward after the refereeing body for the game came.

Then the signal followed.

Drury continued, a hint of amusement creeping in.

"Among the supporters here tonight, there’s a phrase doing the rounds. They’re calling this match ’the resistance.’ The feeling being that if anyone is going to slow this Arsenal machine, if anyone is going to stand in the way, it has to be Liverpool. It has to be here."

A roar tore through the stadium as the first players stepped out.

Liverpool emerged to a wall of sound, heads up, chests out, feeding off the noise like oxygen, while Arsenal followed beside.

The camera lingered for a moment longer than necessary, drifting across the Arsenal line, and it found Izan without trying.

Drury noticed.

"And there he is," he said, a soft chuckle escaping before he could help it. "Nine goals in two games."

He paused, letting the number hang.

"Say it out loud, and it still sounds faintly absurd. A start to the season that belongs in the margins of record books rather than the late days of August."

The camera tightened on Izan’s face as the latter followed the line, shaking hands with the Anfield players.

"You get the sense," Drury went on, "that he won’t be thinking about numbers tonight. But make no mistake, Liverpool will be. Every touch from Izan will be scrutinised and reacted to by the Liverpool players and all in goodwill because letting this kid have more and more of the ball, never has a good ending."

The teams spread across the pitch afterwards, leaving the two captains to go for the toss.