God Of football-Chapter 315: Hours Away

The hotel’s lounge was filled with the low hum of conversation, but most of the Spanish squad had gathered around the large TV mounted on the wall.

Luis de la Fuente’s pre-match press conference was being broadcast live, and while they should have been winding down for the night, the opportunity to analyze their coach’s words—and poke fun at each other—was too good to pass up.

Izan sat near the back, arms crossed as he sipped from a bottle of water.

He wasn’t particularly invested in watching the conference, but he wasn’t going to be the only one not paying attention either.

On-screen, De la Fuente sat at the podium, his expression composed as the journalists took turns firing their questions.

"Coach, tomorrow is your biggest match of the tournament so far. How do you feel about the team’s preparation?"

De la Fuente nodded slightly. "I’m very pleased. The group has been training at a high level, and I see a strong sense of unity in the squad.

These players trust each other, and that’s invaluable in a match like this."

From where he sat, Lamine scoffed, glancing at Nico. "He always says that."

Nico smirked. "Yeah, but it’s true."

The next question came quickly. "A lot of people are talking about the way Spain is playing, particularly the fluidity in attack. Some analysts say it looks more instinctive than structured. What’s your take?"

De la Fuente didn’t hesitate. "Football is a game of structure and instinct. When you have players who understand space and each other, movement becomes automatic.

It’s about trusting those around you, knowing where they’ll be before they even get there."

Several heads in the lounge turned toward Izan at that.

He immediately frowned. "What?"

"You," Lamine said, pointing at the screen. "That’s literally just code for ’Izan is making things easier for everyone else.’"

"Exactly," Nico added, nudging Pedri. "Bro, this guy might actually be De la Fuente’s hidden son."

That was all it took. The room burst into laughter, with several players jumping in at once.

"Izan Fuente has a nice ring to it," Ferran joked.

"Explains why the old man likes you so much," Dani Olmo added, grinning.

Izan rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he set his bottle down. "You guys are reaching."

"Are we?" Lamine smirked. "Because it’s crazy how he just answered a question about you without saying your name."

Morata, who had been leaning back on one of the sofas, chuckled and finally spoke. "You know what? If I were a coach, I’d like a player like Izan too."

That made the teasing stop for a moment. The squad turned to look at their captain, who had a knowing look on his face.

"Let’s be honest," Morata continued, shifting slightly. "He sees the game differently. Half the time, he makes my job easier without me even having to think about it." He gestured at Pedri and the others.

"Same with you guys. We don’t have to second-guess our movement because we know he’s going to pick the right pass."

Izan huffed, leaning back against the chair. "I didn’t ask for a TED Talk, bro."

That got another round of laughter, and the attention slowly shifted away from him as the players debated different moments in training and past matches.

Izan was content to just listen—until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Olivia

His brows furrowed slightly. It wasn’t late, but she wasn’t the type to call out of nowhere unless it was important.

Before he could even think about standing up and leaving the room to answer, Nico noticed.

And that was the continuation of his problems.

"Ooooh," Nico said, drawing the syllable out dramatically. "Look who’s getting a call."

Izan shot him a flat look. "Don’t."

But it was already too late. Lamine saw the name flash across the screen from the way he stood behind Izan, and the way his face lit up spelled disaster.

"Olivia?" Lamine grinned. "Oh, nah, you have to answer that here. Put it on speaker."

"Not happening," Izan said immediately, standing up.

The room was already getting louder, players whistling and egging him on.

"Come on, bro," Pedri said, amused. "She’s your girl, what’s there to hide?"

"I’d rather not have twenty guys listening in while I talk to her."

"Then answer and say that," Ferran smirked. "I just want to hear her reaction when she finds out we’re all here."

Izan gave them all a dry look. "You guys are children."

"Children who really want to know what Olivia calls you in private," Dani Olmo added.

Izan sighed, shaking his head as he walked toward the door. "Go find something productive to do."

He slipped out before they could stop him, but their laughter still carried into the hallway.

...

Izan leaned against the wall near the elevators, exhaling before answering the call.

"Hey."

"Hey," Olivia’s voice was warm, but he immediately picked up on the slight hesitance. "I didn’t wake you up, did I?"

"No, I’m still with the guys."

He could hear her smirk. "That explains why you sound like you just ran for your life."

Izan huffed. "They saw your name on my phone and lost their minds."

She laughed. "And let me guess, they wanted you to put me on speaker?"

"Immediately."

"I love that they think I’d actually talk to you normally if they were listening."

That made him smile. He could imagine her shaking her head on the other end.

"Anyway," she continued, "I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to call and say good luck for tomorrow. I know it’s a big one."

Izan felt some of the lingering tension from earlier ease away. "Thanks. Feels like it’s been a long wait."

"It has, but you’ve been playing so well." She paused, then softer, "I’m proud of you, Izan."

Something about hearing her say it made his chest feel warmer.

"I appreciate it," he murmured.

There was a brief silence, a comfortable one before Olivia exhaled. "Alright, I’ll let you go before they start looking for you."

"They would actually do that."

She chuckled. "Then I’ll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Liv."

"Goodnight, Izan."

The call ended, and Izan stood there for a second before pushing himself off the wall and heading back to the lounge.

The moment he stepped in, all heads turned toward him.

Lamine was the first to speak. "So… what’s the verdict? Are we allowed to know what nickname she calls you, or is that classified?"

Izan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate all of you."

"That wasn’t a no," Nico smirked.

Izan sighed, moving past them to his seat. He wasn’t going to entertain their nonsense.

But as the conversation shifted and the night wound down, he couldn’t shake the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Tomorrow was the match. But for now, he let himself enjoy some peace.

"Izan De La Fuente" Lamine started again.

"Or not," Izan thought as his teammates continued laughing.

...

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The hotel was quiet in the early hours, but there was an unmistakable weight in the air.

.

Izan lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the air conditioning.

He had slept, but not deeply. His mind had been too alive, flicking through every possible scenario, every moment that could define the final.

He turned his head slightly, glancing at the bedside clock. 7:23 AM. Too early to be up, too late to fall back asleep.

A knock on his door broke the silence.

He exhaled and sat up, running a hand through his hair before moving to open it.

Morata stood there, already dressed in training gear. "Figured you’d be up."

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Izan smirked slightly. "You came to check?"

"Nah." Morata leaned against the doorframe. "Breakfast is in thirty. Some of the guys are already downstairs."

Izan nodded, stepping aside so the captain could enter.

"You good?" Morata asked, his voice easy, but Izan caught the way his gaze lingered—searching.

"I’m fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Everything."

Morata smiled knowingly. "Yeah. It’s one of those mornings."

He didn’t need to elaborate. Finals had a way of making time feel different.

The quiet before the storm, the anticipation before the first whistle—it was all part of it.

"You’ve done everything right to get here," Morata said, stretching his arms slightly. "You know that, right?"

Izan exhaled. "Yeah." the weight of expectation settling in.

Morata smiled slightly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let’s eat. The last thing we need is De la Fuente noticing you’re not at breakfast and thinking you’re having some kind of existential crisis."

Izan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed his phone.

As they stepped into the hallway, they could already hear some of the squad talking down the corridor.

The final was hours away.

But it had already begun for the two countries involved.