God Of football-Chapter 495: God Save Europe. [GT ]

Chapter 495: God Save Europe. [GT Chapter]

Free kick.

The Emirates howled. The PSG players argued.

And Izan stepped toward the ball as if fate had just given him a quiet nod.

“That’s dangerous,” Tyldesley said. “It’s barely a foot outside the box. This is prime territory.”

“And look who’s walking over,” Fletcher added. “A man, a boy, with a repertoire for converting these chances. 14 free kicks scored in his short career. Can he add another today to make it a 15th?”

Donnarumma shouted instructions, arms waving frantically as PSG formed a jagged wall.

Zaïre-Emery crouched behind it while Hakimi paced nervously, hands on hips.

The noise in the stadium pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Izan stood above the ball, adjusting his stance.

Saka hovered near, maybe a decoy, maybe not.

“Moments before the break,” Fletcher said. “What a time this would be…”

Izan looked up once.

Then again.

The Emirates stood still.

A single free-kick, perched just outside the PSG box, slightly to the left of centre.

The kind of range that sends warning sirens blaring through backlines — the kind that never feels fair when he is standing over it.

He planted the ball carefully.

Adjusted it by a blade of grass.

Then, as he stepped back, it hit him.

DING, [Focus Lv 3 Activated].

A phantom pulse ran through his spine up to his brain as his system lit up, only for him to see.

Ball trajectory simulation and motion lines appeared on his retina, showing one of the features that had come with choosing the Alien Legacy path.

[Goalkeeper Trait detected], the system suddenly interrupted as Izan stared at Donnarumma.

“This guy gave me a hardtime at the Euros and now he’s here too” Izan muttered as he stared at the red blinking lights over the head of Donnarumma.

[Aegis Reflex (Evo) –The keeper enters an enhanced reflex state when facing shots within 30 metres.

If the shot is within six yards, time slightly slows for the keeper, allowing them to react with near-instantaneous precision.

Additionally, their reach momentarily extends beyond normal human limits, as if anticipating the shot before it even happens.]

‘The old one wasn’t enough, so he had to evolve,’ Izan thought with a wry smile as he stared at the keeper.

“Well, I’ve got my ways too,” he muttered before turning his attention to the ball as a whirring began to stir in his mind.

[Gravity Arc, LV 4, Activated]

All the noise — the stadium, the whistling PSG fans, the pounding blood in his ears — began to mute.

Peripheral vision flared and sharpened.

From the commentary box, Darren Fletcher’s voice came through tight.

“Everyone in this stadium knows what he’s about to do. Every keeper who faces him in Europe probably studies this kid’s set pieces in advance. They know what’s coming.”

Clive Tyldesley didn’t hesitate.

“But knowing isn’t enough when you don’t even see it coming.”

The whistle blew and-

Whoosh, Izan moved.

[Kill Switch LV 1 activated]

[System detects and Trait and an Abstract in use. ]

[UNION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

His right foot swept up in a ruthless, fluid motion.

The ball lifted over the wall towards goal, almost as if it were going out.

Then bent suddenly.

Donnarumma, who had been focused, suddenly had a lapse in concentration as the ball curled towards his right like a missile with a mind of its own, dipping viciously.

The latter found himself stuck in place but did his best and stretched, getting his fingertips to the ball.

But it snapped past Donnarumma’s stretched hand and crashed off the underside of the bar, lodging itself in the roof of the net.

Goal.

The net danced like it had been struck by lightning.

The Emirates exploded — not with sound, but detonation. Pure ecstasy as Arsenal fans poured their hearts into the sky.

The roof seemed to lift off the stadium.

“HE’S DONE IT AGAIN! GOOD LORD!” Fletcher shouted, voice cracking.

“IZAN HERNANDEZ WITH A FREE-KICK FROM ANOTHER PLANET!”

Tyldesley stumbled over himself, riding the wave.

“There was a wall. There was a keeper. It didn’t matter. You can’t stop that! That’s an executioner’s strike!”

Timber and Gabriel tried to catch him, arms out, grinning — but Izan slipped through their grasp.

He sprinted toward the away end.

Toward them.

The PSG supporters rained boos and curses, but he didn’t flinch.

He stood just metres from them and their tifo, looked at it — the cartoon of himself, cocktail in hand — and then mimed grabbing a glass, toasting, and drinking it.

He turned, motionless for a beat, soaking in their disbelief, before being hauled to the ground from behind by his teammates.

“You drank it?” Saka laughed, grabbing him by the shirt.

“Wasn’t thirsty,” Izan said, chest heaving. “But I figured they were.”

Back in the booth, Fletcher was gasping between words.

“He’s not normal. That’s not a normal goal. That’s precision-engineering.”

“It’s like it is encoded, embedded in him, Darren,” Tyldesley said, almost reverently.

“You can see it when he gets into that mood. It’s almost like he’s on autopilot, and then in those moments, the pitch is just… numbers.”

Replay after replay rolled: the wall’s futile leap, Donnarumma’s helpless stretch, the net rippling like thunderclouds caught fire.

And through it all, Izan walking away, not yelling, not beating his chest — but in control.

Arsenal 1 – 1 PSG (43′)

And still… so much more to come.

……….

Above the pitch, in the area with the gold-trimmed seats and wine glasses that trembled from the thunder erupting around them.

A woman in red sprang to her feet.

She was striking, head thrown back with the kind of joy that only a goal like that could summon.

Her scarlet Number 10 Arsenal jersey clung to her frame — IZAN printed boldly across the shoulders. T

The emotion had slipped past her lips before she could catch it.

“YESSSS!”

A few heads turned her way in surprise, but no one judged her.

The entire Emirates was on its feet.

Her voice had been swallowed by a thousand others, but her hands covered her mouth all the same, sheepish now as she slowly sat back down, heart racing.

Olivia.

She exhaled sharply, trying to compose herself, a grin creeping in despite herself.

She glanced at the replay flashing across the VIP monitor screen — Izan’s free-kick curling like a painting in motion, striking the bar and snapping into the net.

A tap landed gently on her shoulder.

She turned.

Miranda stood there, effortlessly poised in a black blazer over a white blouse, with a thin HIM lapel pin glinting on the collar.

Olivia blinked. “Miranda?”

The older woman smiled, then tilted her head slightly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Olivia laughed, startled. “I just— I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

“He’s my client. He’s on my books, remember? And I definitely don’t miss goals like that.”

She settled gracefully into the seat beside her, smoothing her skirt, not a single crease in sight.

Olivia leaned in, eyes wide with excitement.

“Did you see it, though? Did you see it?! That wasn’t a goal, that was a religious experience.”

Miranda gave a short, elegant chuckle. “You sound like you’re about to cry.”

“I almost did!”

Another replay ran on the screen in front of them.

Olivia jabbed a finger toward it like a child pointing out their school project.

“Look at that! No hesitation, no nerves — just boom. Switched on.”

“God help the rest of Europe if he keeps doing this,” Miranda murmured.

“And he will keep doing this.”

They both turned toward the pitch below, the noise around them still rolling like stormclouds.

The chants, the rattling feet, the heartbeat of a stadium in ecstasy.

And already, the game had resumed.

On the pitch, PSG responded like a wounded animal — pride slashed and furious.

“Match is back underway,” Clive Tyldesley said from the gantry, his voice still buzzing with aftershock.

“And Paris Saint-Germain look like they’ve just been insulted in front of royalty. They’re coming for Arsenal now.”

The ball zipped through midfield — Zaïre-Emery to Vitinha to Hakimi on the overlap.

The Moroccan surged forward, dragging Calafiori, who hadn’t had much to do wide before cutting the ball low into the box.

“Danger here—”

Gabriel half-cleared it, but not far.

Lee Kang-In gathered, turned sharply on the edge of the D, and let fly.

“OH! That’s curling!”

But Raya dived again, fingertips grazing it wide.

From the corner, PSG kept the pressure up, this time floating a deep cross toward Marquinhos, who leapt above Saliba and powered a header goalward—

—Only for Donnarumma to suddenly feature at the other end, as Arsenal sprang a counter from the resulting clearance after Raya saved it.

Saka bolted down the flank like a man with somewhere urgent to be.

Martinelli peeled wide, pulling defenders, while Izan lingered just behind the surge, orchestrating it like a conductor behind the symphony.

“Here they come again!” Darren Fletcher shouted.

Izan received it on the half-turn just inside the final third.

A deft feint sent Lee the wrong way, and with the outside of his boot, he slid Havertz through.

The latter skipped once, twisted, and shot low across the face of the goal—

But Donnarumma dropped like an anchor, strong wrist knocking it away just before it kissed the far post.

“He’s kept them in it again! That’s world-class!”

“From both sides!” Tyldesley added.

“This match is turning into an early-season classic. Fire on one end, flame on the other.”

Marquinhos was already barking at his teammates, chest heaving, veins rising.

He shoved Hakimi back into position, demanding urgency, order as their opponents restarted with the corner.

Arsenal smelled blood.

But PSG, it seemed, weren’t ready to bleed.

Not yet.

A/N: Okay. We are near 180 Golden tickets so i decided to release it early. Have fun reading and any Idea or feedback is welcomed. Don’t be shy. Anyways, i have to sleep now so Byeeee.

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