God Of football-Chapter 500: Memeworthy

Chapter 500: Memeworthy

The locker room was nearly silent when Izan returned.

The steam from the showers had faded into a faint haze, the room smelling faintly of mint shampoo, fresh kits, and muscle spray.

Most of the players had already dressed and headed for the bus, their voices a distant echo in the hallway.

A few were still there—Partey on the treatment table with ice strapped to his ankle, Nwaneri packing up his boots, and Rice laughing softly with one of the physios.

But it was quiet.

Izan exhaled, setting his phone down on the bench beside his folded towel.

His thumb hovered for a second over his phone before, pressing the power button, the facial recognition, scanning his face, and unlocking the phone almost immediately.

1 new message — Olivia

“Proud of you. I’ll be home by the time you’re back. Be safe. <3”

He smiled slightly, turning the screen off before pulling off his warm-up jacket and heading toward the showers.

The water struck his skin like rain, soothing, steady.

It washed away the sweat and the emotion clinging to him.

Everything just dulled under the coolness of the water.

By the time he returned to his locker, the room was empty.

Just the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above and the quiet buzz of a vending machine down the hall.

He dressed quickly—black joggers, clean white tee, Arsenal windbreaker slung over his shoulder before walking out of the room.

The team bus was waiting just beyond the loading dock, its sleek navy body reflecting the Emirates’ floodlights.

Most of the players had left with their own vehicles, but a handful of players still boarded—Kiwior, headphones in; Trossard typing something rapidly on his phone.

Izan climbed in, nodding to the driver, and slid into one of the middle seats.

Outside the window, the London night sped past in quiet flashes—storefronts, blinking traffic lights, fans still lingering in red scarves on street corners.

He watched them fade, one by one, until all that was left were the winding suburban roads leading toward Colney.

They arrived a little over half an hour later, the training complex quiet and dim under security lights.

A single figure stood outside the players’ entrance—a familiar one, leaning against a black Mercedes, phone in hand.

His Driver.

Izan stepped off the bus and made his way over, nodding towards the former before gently opening the rear passenger door.

“Thanks for waiting,” Izan replied, patting his shoulder as he slipped into the back seat.

The ride to the apartment was quiet.

No music. No chatter.

Izan rested his head against the window, London’s streetlights sweeping by in soft golden streaks.

When they pulled up outside the apartment building—a sleek, glass-and-steel complex tucked in a discreet part of Hampstead—the driver parked silently, and Izan slipped out with a nod of thanks.

The concierge greeted him with a smile and a soft “good evening, Mr. Hernandez,” before sending him up in the private lift.

As the elevator climbed, Izan rechecked his phone.

Another message — Olivia

“Bathroom light’s on. I’m in bed. Don’t take too long, sleepyhead.”

He chuckled softly, pocketing the phone as the lift doors opened.

The apartment smelled like her. Something warm. Clean. Comforting.

He dropped his bag quietly by the entry, shoes off, socks in his hand as he padded into the bathroom.

The second shower was shorter. Functional.

Just enough to clear off the travel and the dampness from the bus air.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he toweled off, still wide-eyed, still a little stunned.

“I look good,” he muttered, chuckling a bit before drying his hair.

When he stepped out, the hallway lights were dimmed.

The bedroom door was cracked open, warm lamplight spilling into the corridor like a path.

He pushed the door gently.

Olivia was curled under the blanket, propped against a pillow, scrolling idly on her tablet.

She looked up the moment he entered.

“There you are,” she said softly.

“I told you I wouldn’t be long.”

“You always say that.” But her smile softened it.

He pulled on a loose shirt, tossed his towel over the door, and slid into the bed beside her.

She curled into him instantly, her head resting against his chest as the grasp of sleep held them sooner than they thought it would.

…………..

The next morning, the sun cracked gently through the blinds, spilling light over the hardwood floors of Izan’s apartment.

The sky was unusually clear for a London morning, the kind of day that tried its best to convince people the city didn’t rain every other hour.

Inside, the quiet hum of life had begun—coffee brewing in the kitchen, light footsteps from Olivia moving about softly, and the occasional muffled buzz from Izan’s phone on the nightstand.

He was still buried beneath the covers, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair tangled from the night.

But the faint glow from the screen kept pulsing until, with a groggy sigh, he reached out and grabbed it.

His notifications were flooded as always after every matchday.

Twitter.

Instagram.

His name was everywhere.

Olivia peeked her head in from the hallway, toothbrush in hand.

“You’re awake?”

“Barely.” His voice was hoarse. “How was your night?”

“Well, it was good, until it wasn’t,” she said, causing Izan to frown until she gestured at the still buzzing phone.

“Sorry about that,” Izan muttered after realizing what she meant.

She smirked. “You might want to check the memes today. A lot of good ones.”

“…What?” he asked, but she disappeared into the bathroom with a chuckle.

Curious now, Izan sat up, unlocked his phone, and scrolled.

It didn’t take long.

@GoonerGems:

“Izan said he can’t even go clubbing because he doesn’t have a debit card or fake ID… brother, you’re a generational talent AND relatable???”

@CloutEmirates:

“The mental image of Izan asking his mum to escort him to a club is breaking me.”

@VivaLaIzan:

“Imagine being the bouncer at XOYO and Izan Hernandez walks up with an Adidas tech fleece and says ‘let me in, bro’ – and you’re like ‘you’re 16’ and he’s like ‘bro, Google me.'”

@COYGReality:

“No, because he’s actually right. You can’t get in unless your mum or your agent’s there to pay for your drinks.”

@UEFAcontent:

“Bouncer: ‘ID please?’

Izan: ‘I’m in FIFA.’

Bouncer: ‘So is Ronaldinho. Try again.”

Izan rubbed a hand over his face, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

The memes were endless.

Someone had even photoshopped a fake club flyer with his face on it. It read:

“1 Night Only: Izan + Mum — Hosted at Club LDN, Free Entry with Parental Consent”

Another post showed a scene from a bouncer checking IDs, with the caption:

“Izan: I play in the Champions League

Bouncer: Cool. Still have to check your ID.”

He groaned through a smile and dropped the phone beside him.

“They’re relentless.”

Olivia reappeared with a fresh towel wrapped around her hair.

“That’s what you get for being adorable and brutally honest in a press room full of snakes.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” he said, stretching out with a yawn.

“I know.” She leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s what made it even better.”

He flopped back on the bed with a soft groan.

“I’m still feeling sleepy, so I’ll nap a bit.”

“Suit yourself,” she grinned. “But at least eat brunch.”

Izan’s eyes snapped back open as he unlocked his phone.

11:47.

Olivia watched Izan with a smile as he stood to go freshen up.

“Max, can you please open inventory?” he thought after closing the door to the bathroom.

The holographic display materialized infront of him as he went through his stock, selecting what he wanted and then materializing a recovery fluid and a conditioning fluid as well as some few energy bars.

He took each in the other that had been suggested by the system and felt all the soreness and ache in his body being relieved.

“What most would kill for…” he muttered before taking off his shirt into the laundry basket and stepping into the shower.

…….

The buzz of his phone cut through the laughter echoing in the living room.

Izan reached for it without looking, thumbing the screen to answer when he saw Miranda’s name flash across the display.

“Hola, Miranda,” he said, voice still a bit lazy from the late start to his morning.

“Hola, campeón,” came her smooth, professional voice on the other end, though there was a certain satisfaction curling under her tone.

“Just wanted to let you know—we’re done. Everything’s sorted on the legal side. Adidas will announce the deal today. Early afternoon, London time.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

“It’s my job, but ‘oh, okay’,” Miranda said, shaking her head.

“Well, the statement’s ready for your socials, too. You’ll get it in a couple of hours.”

“Perfect,” he said, nodding more to himself than to her.

“Thanks for that. You’ve been amazing.”

“I only work with stars,” she said with a wink in her voice.

“And you just had a brace against Paris, so I guess we’re both doing our jobs well.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing his face.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—what’s happening with the license thing?”

“Driving?” she asked, caught mid-scroll on her laptop, typing something in the background.

“I’ve already applied for your provisional. But it’ll take a few weeks. Maybe a month.”

“Why so long?”

“I didn’t go through the back door,” she said bluntly.

“You’re not some influencer trying to skip the queue for Instagram content. You’re a footballer. There’s a difference.”

Izan laughed, slumping back down onto the mattress.

“You’re right. Just… tell them to take it easy anyway.”

“Why?”

“Still a got about a month or two till 17,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Not in a rush.”

“Spoken like someone who still hasn’t driven in London traffic,” she muttered.

He grinned. “Exactly why I’m not rushing.”

“Fine,” she said, a smirk audible in her tone.

“Just keep your head on.”

“Trying.”

The call ended, and Izan set the phone down again, stretching both arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

“Was that Miranda?” Olivia said, stepping out from behind the counter.

Izan nodded as Olivia approached before realising she had gotten closer now.

“Olivia, don’t-” Izan tried to say, but the former hurled herself onto him, sending them both to the ground from the couch, Izan wheezing slightly while Olivia chuckled in silence.

A/N: First of the day. Have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit with the second of the day.

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