God Of football

Miranda exhaled and closed the folder containing the details of all the offers. "Alright, let's start cutting."

She tapped Madrid's offer first. "We both know this one isn't happening."

Izan nodded. "It's Madrid. It's everything a player dreams of, but…" He paused, searching for the right words.

"I don't want to fight for my place every week just to prove I belong. Not when they already have Jude, Mbappé, Vinícius, Rodrygo, and Endrick."

Miranda arched a brow. "Not to mention that 'we don't trap players' line. Sounds noble, but it also means they wouldn't hesitate to replace you."

Izan exhaled. "Yeah. Madrid is Madrid, but this isn't the right time for me."

Miranda moved on. "City?"

Izan barely hesitated. "If Pep personally called, I'd have thought about it longer. But I can already tell I'd be a piece in his system, not the focal point. I don't want to spend three years being molded into 'Guardiola's version of me.'"

Miranda nodded, flipping the page. "And United?"

Izan shook his head. "Too much uncertainty. They want a star to define their new era, but I don't know if they'll even be competing for trophies in the next few years. I can't risk my career on a 'maybe.'"

Miranda didn't argue. She slid the United and City folders aside, leaving two remaining.

PSG and Liverpool.

Miranda leaned back. "Alright. Now we're down to it."

Izan let out a small chuckle. "The safe choice versus the intriguing one."

Miranda smirked. "Pretty much."

She placed a hand on PSG's folder. "You go there, and you're the face of the club, full stop.

They'll build around you, protect you, and make sure you're the main man. You'll get the best contract, the best treatment, and the easiest domestic league to dominate."

Izan nodded but didn't say anything. Miranda then tapped Liverpool's folder.

"Here, you step into the Premier League, the most competitive league in the world.

You replace Salah when he leaves, fill the biggest void in their squad, and instantly become a fan favorite. But it's also a transition period, and there's risk involved."

Izan leaned forward, thinking out loud. "PSG guarantees me star status, but I'll always have people questioning the level I play at.

Liverpool is a challenge, but if I succeed, my legacy is unquestionable."

Miranda studied him carefully. "So, which one matters more to you?"

The room was quiet as Izan and Miranda sat there, the weight of the decision pressing down on them.

Izan absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table, staring at the two remaining folders.

"I know what PSG offers," he murmured. "Security. Status. A guaranteed path."

"But?" Miranda prompted.

Izan exhaled. "Liverpool is… exciting. Uncertain, but exciting. The Premier League is a battlefield, and if I thrive there, no one can question me."

Miranda nodded, but before she could respond, her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen, and something in her expression shifted—just for a fraction of a second. Then, as if nothing had happened, she picked up.

She didn't say a name. "Yes?"

Izan watched her, his curiosity piqued as she listened in silence. Her face remained unreadable, but her fingers curled slightly against the table.

A pause. Then the voice on the other end spoke again.

"You should check online," the man said, his tone measured and deliberate.

Miranda's brows furrowed slightly as she pulled out her tablet and refreshed her browser.

Her eyes flicked across the screen, scanning the newest headlines.

"Arsenal enter the race for Izan—huge bid submitted."

Her grip on the device tightened slightly, but her tone remained calm. "I see."

The voice continued. "Mikel would like to speak with him."

Miranda said nothing for a beat. Then, "I'll get back to you."

She ended the call and set the phone down.

Izan was watching her closely now. "Who was that?"

Miranda didn't answer. Instead, she reached for his phone.

"Wait," Izan frowned, pulling back slightly. "What are you—"

Before she could make a call, another vibration interrupted them. Izan glanced at the screen. Valencia's sporting director.

Miranda picked up without hesitation.

There was a moment of silence as she listened, then a slight lift of her brow. "I see. When did this come in?"

Another pause.

"Understood."

She ended the call and leaned back, exhaling. This time, she didn't hesitate before looking Izan in the eye.

"That was Valencia," she said. "Arsenal just sent in a bid."

Izan's frown deepened. "Arsenal?"

Miranda nodded. "120 million. That's fifteen more than PSG's 105"

Izan blinked. He didn't say anything at first, just reached for his phone and unlocked it. Within seconds, his screen was flooded with notifications.

Fabrizio Romano's latest tweet was pinned at the top.

"BREAKING: Arsenal have submitted a €120M bid for Izan with 5 as add ons—now the most expensive proposal on the table. Talks are progressing but Arsenal are yet to start Personal negotiations ."

Izan let out a slow breath, scrolling through the responses.

Miranda watched him, arms crossed. "And just like that… the equation changes."

...….

Miranda leaned back in her chair, watching Izan as he scrolled through the news.

His expression was unreadable, but she could tell his mind was already working through the implications.

Arsenal. A bid bigger than PSG's. A new factor in a decision they thought was nearly made.

She exhaled, then spoke.

"There's something I should tell you."

Izan glanced up, waiting.

"I met Arsène Wenger during the Euros final," she said. "Someone approached, just as you scored telling me someone wanted to meet."

Izan frowned slightly. "Wenger?"

Miranda nodded. "He was there in an official capacity, but it wasn't just about congratulating Spain. He spoke to me about you."

Izan straightened slightly. "What did he say?"

"That Arsenal were watching. That they saw you as a player who could define their next era. But at the time, you weren't looking to leave Valencia, so I didn't bring it up."

Izan held her gaze for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "So they've been lurking in the background this whole time?"

Miranda smirked. "Seems like it." She tapped the table. "And now, they've made their move."

Izan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "So that call just now…?"

Miranda didn't confirm or deny it, but her expression said enough. "Let's just say Arsenal isn't making a bid this big without a plan."

Izan leaned back in his chair, his thoughts shifting. PSG, Liverpool… and now Arsenal, entering the fray with an offer that couldn't be ignored.

The decision had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Miranda let out a sigh, shutting her laptop and stretching her arms. "We should call it a night."

Izan sat back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. The weight of the past few hours lingered—the offers, the choices, the uncertainty.

Across from him, Komi and Hori sat quietly, having listened in on most of the discussion without interfering.

Komi stood, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to decide everything tonight, Izan."

Hori, curled up in an armchair, yawned. "Yeah. Sleep on it. Your brain's probably fried by now."

Miranda shut the folder containing the latest bid updates. "She's right. Arsenal's entry changed things, but we don't have to rush. Think it over, and we'll talk tomorrow."

Izan nodded, though he knew his mind wouldn't rest that easily. The Premier League was calling—Liverpool, Arsenal. Two different paths, both tempting in their own way.

And PSG was also tempting.

Miranda grabbed her bag and gave him a knowing look. "Don't overthink it."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "You know that's impossible."

She smirked but didn't push further. "Goodnight, Izan."

"Night," he murmured, watching as she left.

Komi gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading upstairs. "Don't stay up too late."

Hori gave him a teasing look. "Try not to explode from all the overthinking."

Izan rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Goodnight, Hori."

She grinned before heading to her room, leaving Izan alone in the dimly lit living room.

He sat there for a while before finally moving to his bed, phone in hand.

Liverpool.

It was the logical choice. The biggest challenge. The one that would solidify his name in football history if he succeeded.

Arsenal had stormed in at the last moment, but deep down, his mind was already made up.

He exhaled, thumb hovering over Miranda's contact, ready to call her.

But then—

A low hum filled the room.

It wasn't from his phone. It wasn't from the street outside.

The air in front of him trembled.

A ripple, like disturbed water. Then—it twisted.

Bending in on itself, folding, until something materialized.

Izan's breath caught. His grip on the phone tightened.

A glowing interface now hovered before him, its light casting eerie shadows across the room.

Then—something appeared on the display.

His heartbeat hammered in his chest. His gaze locked onto the screen, scanning the text that had just surfaced.

And in that instant, everything had changed.

A/n: Okay. So it was coming and now it's here. Feast on this chapter and have fun.

Also don't hate me too much for the cliffhangers. I just can't help it. This chapter is proudly sponsored by Daoist Adquiro.

Another Luxury Car chapters is in the works so be sure to be around in about 3 hours or 4.

I don't know might be more. Anyways love you and thanks for the support.