God Of football-Chapter 334 : Hottest On The Market

Valencia- Paterna

The ride to Valencia's training ground was quiet. Izan sat by the window, earphones in, the blurred city passing him by.

Every now and then, he caught glimpses of fans lining the streets, holding signs—some desperate, some defiant.

"IZAN, DON'T LEAVE."

"VALENCIA NEEDS YOU."

"STAY AND FIGHT."

Their faith in him felt heavier than ever.

Izan leaned back against the seat, eyes fixed on the passing scenery.

It should've felt normal—returning for preseason, slipping back into routine. But there was nothing normal about this.

Not when the club's financial crisis loomed like a storm over everything.

Not when he knew, deep down, that his future might no longer be in his hands.

When the training complex came into view, he exhaled slowly, bracing himself.

He had expected tension, and uncertainty—maybe even resentment from his teammates.

Instead, as he stepped into the locker room, Pietro was the first to break the silence.

"Look who decided to show up," Pietro smirked, arms crossed. "Didn't think we'd see you again, Estrella."

Izan raised an eyebrow, setting his bag down. "You think I'd miss preseason? I'm not that soft."

Sosa, stretching near his locker, chimed in. "Man, we were starting to think you'd already packed your bags for Madrid or Manchester." He grinned. "Should we be worried you'll disappear mid-session?"

Izan rolled his eyes but appreciated the lightheartedness. "Relax. I'll at least finish the warm-ups before I betray you all."

Laughter rippled through the locker room, cutting through the unease.

"Good to have you back," Gaya said as he pulled Izan in for a hug.

There was still an underlying tension, but it wasn't from his teammates—it was the situation, the storm brewing over the club.

Javi Guerra nudged him on the way to his locker. "No matter what happens, you know we've got your back, right?"

Izan met his gaze, nodding. That meant more than he could say.

.....

When the players gathered on the pitch, Rubén Baraja watched Izan closely.

The boy had carried Valencia on his back last season, lifting them into the Champions League with performances beyond his years.

And now, through no fault of his own, he was being dragged into a mess he never created.

Baraja knew how much Izan meant to this club and how much it meant to him. That's why this was cruel.

As the players went through warm-ups, the head coach pulled Izan aside. His voice was quiet, steady.

"I know this isn't fair to you."

Izan didn't reply immediately. He kicked at the grass, glancing toward the stands where more fans had gathered.

Then, finally, he met Baraja's eyes. "Is it true?" he asked. "Are they going to sell me?"

Baraja hesitated. He wasn't the one making those decisions, but he had heard the whispers, and seen the reports.

The truth was, if the financial crisis got worse, Valencia might not have a choice.

But looking at Izan now—at the fire still burning in his eyes—he couldn't bring himself to say it outright.

"They'll fight to keep you," Baraja said carefully.

"But we both know football isn't always about what's right. No matter what happens, you've already given everything to this club."

Izan clenched his jaw. That wasn't the answer he wanted.

Baraja patted his shoulder before stepping back. "Let's get to work. The only thing we control is what happens on this pitch."

Izan nodded, exhaling. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.

...…

Despite the uncertainty, life in Valencia continued as if nothing had changed.

Because of the somber mood surrounding the club, Izan wasn't able to receive the normal tradition of going through the line of players to congratulate him for his euros win.

Instead he had to settle for a cheat meal from the cafeteria.

[I know Valencia is broke and all in this timeline but really, McDonald's for winning the euros is a new level of low. Wonder who wrote this sheit]

Training sessions were intense, but routine—Baraja's voice echoing through the Paterna training ground as he pushed the players through drills.

Izan fell back into the rhythm of it, exchanging quick passes with Javi Guerra, darting past Thierry in one-on-ones.

Finishing moves with the same sharpness that had made him LaLiga's youngest Pichichi.

For two days, there were no tense meetings, no late-night phone calls—just football.

The locker room jokes continued, with Sosa and Pietro making light of the situation.

"You sure you're not holding back, Estrella?" Pietro smirked after Izan barely squeezed a shot past Mamardashvili. "Wouldn't want your future club to think you've lost your touch."

Izan chuckled, shaking his head. "What future club? You lot act like I've already packed my bags."

Sosa grinned. "Hate to break it to you, but the whole world thinks you're gone."

It was said in jest, but they all knew the truth—this wasn't in Izan's hands.

...…..

The third morning, everything changed.

Izan and Miranda were called to a meeting with Layhoon Chan, Valencia's president, and several Valencia executives.

They sat across from the club's representatives in a quiet office, the air thick with something between guilt and inevitability.

Layhoon sighed before speaking. "Izan, you know how much we value you. If we had any other choice, we wouldn't be here."

Izan already knew what was coming. He didn't say anything.

"We have to listen to offers," she continued, her voice heavy. "This is not about your performances or your commitment. It's about survival."

Izan leaned forward, fingers interlocked. "So that's it? After everything?"

"We don't want to sell you," another executive said, "but we need your cooperation.

If we're forced into a sale, we have to maximize it—not just for financial reasons, but to ensure we retain the rest of the squad and invest in reinforcements."

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Miranda, arms crossed, was visibly displeased. "You're asking my client to negotiate against the club that's going to buy him."

Layhoon nodded slowly. "Yes."

It was an uncomfortable situation—unprecedented even.

Izan, a 16-year-old, had to sit at the table with clubs that wanted him, not to get the best personal deal, but to ensure Valencia didn't collapse under its weight.

Layhoon leaned forward. "Izan, we're not asking you to do this out of duty or because you owe us anything.

We know that's not fair to you. But we need you. If we lose you for a cut price, we risk not just this season—but the club's entire future."

Miranda was ready to refuse. But before she could, Izan spoke.

"I'll do it."

Miranda turned to him, surprised. "Izan—"

"If they're selling me, I want to make sure the club gets what it needs." He exhaled sharply, locking eyes with Layhoon.

"Just promise me one thing: Don't waste the money like you did in the past. Make sure this team competes."

Layhoon hesitated before nodding. "We will."

Miranda wasn't happy, but Izan had made up his mind and a few hours later, Valencia released a statement:

**" After careful evaluation of our financial situation, Valencia CF confirms that we will be listening to offers for Izan Hernandez during this transfer window.

This decision has been made with deep regret but in the best interest of the club's stability and future.

We want to assure our fans that every effort is being made to reinvest in the squad and retain our key players.

We acknowledge the failures that have led to this point, and we sincerely apologize to our supporters.

Valencia CF remains committed to building a competitive team that honors our legacy. We will communicate further updates when appropriate."**

The moment it went live, the footballing world exploded. Izan's name was trending worldwide.

Valencia fans flooded social media with anger, disbelief, and heartbreak.

The streets of Valencia were eerily different that evening.

It wasn't just the usual frustration that followed a disappointing transfer window—it was something deeper.

The fans had always feared the club might reach this point, but seeing it confirmed in an official statement made it real.

Outside the Mestalla, groups of supporters gathered, some chanting, others too stunned to even speak.

They had fought so hard to protect their best players over the years, but now their brightest star, the boy they had placed their hopes on, was being put up for sale.

Banners that once celebrated Izan now carried messages of defiance.

"Izan, don't let them sell you."

"We won't forgive this betrayal."

"Save Valencia, not the executives."

At a local bar near the stadium, the discussion was heated.

The usual crowd—longtime season-ticket holders and younger fans who had grown up idolizing the club's past legends—sat around a table, all fixated on the news flashing across the television.

"This club never learns," one of the older fans muttered, shaking his head.

"They did it with Silva. They did it with Mata. Sold our best players and lied to us about reinvestment. And now Izan? After what he did last season?"

A younger fan, barely out of his teens, slammed his drink onto the table.

"What's the point of Champions League football if we're just going to give up our best player before we even play a match? What a joke."

The others nodded in agreement. No one believed the board's words about reinvestment. They had heard it all before.

Social media was even worse. Hashtags like #IzanNoSeVende (Izan is not for sale).

#LimOut flooded timelines, with fans from across Spain—and beyond—expressing their outrage.

But it wasn't just Valencia fans reacting. The entire footballing world had been waiting for this moment.