Chapter 546: New Option. [GT ]

Chapter 546: New Option. [GT Chapter]

As Izan stepped inside, the corridors were alive with the usual pre-training chatter, but today, there was an undercurrent of something more—anticipation, curiosity, and perhaps even concern.

As he made his way towards the locker room, familiar voices echoed down the hallway.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Bukayo Saka teased, a wide grin spreading across his face as he spotted Izan.

Izan rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, shut up, Bukayo.”

Saka chuckled, holding up his phone.

“You see this?”

He played the clip of Florentino Pérez’s interview, the now-infamous quote ringing out:

“Izan is the kind of player you build a decade around. And I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Big words from the big man himself,” Saka said, nudging Izan playfully.

Izan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s just talk, Bukayo. You know how these things go.”

Before Saka could respond, Mikel Arteta’s voice cut through the banter.

“Enough gossip, you two. Time to hit the pitch.”

The players quickly gathered their gear and headed out, the cool morning air greeting them as they stepped onto the training ground.

The session began with the usual drills, but Izan couldn’t shake the feeling that all eyes were on him.

Later, during a water break, Saka approached him again.

“You know, if you ever decide to leave, just make sure you give me a heads-up. I need time to process my feelings.”

Izan laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m not going anywhere.”

Saka nodded, a serious expression crossing his face.

“Good. Because this team, this club—we’re building something special. And you’re a big part of that.”

Izan looked around at his teammates, the camaraderie evident in their interactions.

He felt a sense of belonging, of purpose.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I intend to see it through.”

The noise from the outside world could wait.

For now, his focus was here, with his team, chasing the goals they had set together.

…….

The apartment echoed with footsteps, laughter, and the occasional, slightly panicked yell.

“I swear, Olivia—put the scissors down!”

“No! You’ve had three separate strands hit your eyelashes today and still haven’t taken the hint!”

Izan darted around the couch, socked feet sliding slightly on the wood floor as Olivia chased after him with a pair of hair scissors in her hand and fire in her eyes.

She wasn’t really angry—but she was determined.

“It’s character!” he called over his shoulder, dodging left as she lunged right.

“I’m going for the bun era. Top knot. Samurai core.”

“You look like a golden retriever who found a shampoo commercial and never looked back!”

“Wow. Harsh.”

Olivia paused, breathless, one hand on her hip, scissors still in the other.

“Sit down, just a trim. You’re not joining a K-pop group. You play football.”

Izan grinned and stepped slowly toward her, hands up in surrender.

“I know you just want to play with my hair but okay. Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.”

“Hair grows back, Izan.”

“Fingers don’t,” he said, suddenly lunging forward and slipping his arm around her waist.

She let out a surprised yelp as he spun her around.

“Hey—!”

He gently pried the scissors from her hand and tossed them onto the couch behind him.

“No sharp objects when you’re this emotionally charged.”

“I am not emotionally charged.”

“You’re trying to assassinate my bun dreams.”

She narrowed her eyes, still half-laughing as she leaned against him, her hands planted on his chest.

“I’m trying to keep you from becoming a headline. ‘Arsenal wonderkid or forgotten samurai? The hair that ruined a career.'”

Izan snorted. “That’s a strong title. Might steal it for my autobiography in a couple of years.”

Olivia shook her head and laid it on his shoulder for a moment.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He kissed her forehead and gently spun her around toward the kitchen.

“Come on. Let’s make dinner before you start chasing me with hedge trimmers.”

“Only if you promise to tie that mop back.”

“Deal,” he grinned.

“Top knot incoming.”

“And we’ll talk about the bun. No commitments.”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a scout.”

“And now we’ve both lied today.”

They laughed, footsteps retreating to the kitchen, the scissors forgotten—at least for now.

As the last pan clinked into the drying rack, Olivia wiped her hands clean and glanced toward the door, just as a quick knock rang out.

Izan tossed the kitchen towel over his shoulder and moved to open it.

There she was—Miranda, in all her usual, barely-holding-it-together energy.

Her blazer hung half-open, and her curls were pulled into a bun that screamed, “I gave up after the third call.”

Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped in, dropped her bag by the coat rack, and collapsed onto the couch like she was claiming a long-lost throne.

“Okay,” Izan said, shutting the door behind her.

“So who won—Godzilla or the tax office?”

Miranda didn’t even open her eyes.

“Neither. I’m still filing the paperwork.”

Olivia emerged from the kitchen with a glass of juice and plopped it into Miranda’s hand without a word.

Miranda took it like a ritual, downing half in a gulp.

“Visas are done,” she muttered.

“Komi and Hori can legally enter the country without me threatening to burn the embassy down. Now I’m on school scouting. I’ve looked through more private school brochures today than there are midfielders in your last match.”

“Yikes.” Izan circled behind the couch and began kneading her shoulders.

Miranda sighed and melted into the cushions.

“Thank you. I’m not asking for a raise, but I am asking for back pay in shoulder rubs.”

“Noted,” Izan said as he continued kneading her shoulders.

They eventually moved to the kitchen island, where dinner was waiting—spiced rice, roasted vegetables, and grilled chicken.

Simple, filling, and familiar, and didn’t take much time for their plates to be cleaned.

By the time the plates were empty and Olivia was pouring another round of juice, Miranda leaned back and looked at Izan, face sharper now.

“So,” she said, tapping the glass.

“Which car do you want?”

Izan looked up mid-bite. “Huh?”

“You’re seventeen now, you’ve got your license. Birthday passed. You’re overdue.”

He smirked. “I’ll take the Batmobile. Or maybe Bumblebee if he still transforms.”

Miranda gave him a stare. “Try again.”

“Alright, alright.” Izan shrugged. “I don’t know. Something nice. Not flashy. Just… works. Gets me from A to B. I’m not exactly drooling over cars.”

Miranda nodded. “Fair enough. Which is why I’m giving you options.”

She leaned down, unzipped her bag, and pulled out a slim red folder.

“Ferrari?” Olivia said before Izan could.

Miranda nodded.

“They came forward after the Aston Martin deal fell through. They want to put you in a campaign. Driving, marketing, the works. You’d be the youngest figure they’ve ever worked with in this kind of visibility.”

Izan raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… serious.”

“It is,” Miranda said.

“But they came to the table like they were throwing breadcrumbs. Like we should be grateful. Their contract made it feel like you were the one chasing them. And I don’t care who they are—no one gets to treat your name like that.”

Izan leaned forward, fingers tapping lightly on the counter.

“So why haven’t you turned them down yet?”

“Because you’re the one in the driver’s seat. Literally and figuratively. I give advice. But you make the final call.”

And then, with no theatrics this time, she pulled out a second folder.

This one was matte black.

Sleek.

Understated.

But the badge on the front gleamed like a secret whispered in a dark room.

Koenigsegg.

Olivia’s breath caught.

“Oh, Koenigsegg”

“Seems like my girlfriend’s a car head,” Izan muttered as he moved to pat Olivia’s hair but she slapped him on the hand.

“My dad used to talk about them like they were aliens who just decided to build cars.”

Miranda smiled.

“Most people can’t even spell it. But they reached out with an offer.”

Miranda then slid the folder across the counter to Izan.

“How would you feel,” she said, “about becoming one of the main faces of a brand that’s never had one before?”

Izan picked up the file and ran a thumb across the emblem.

“They’re not the loudest. But they build things that go faster than anything else,” Miranda added.

“And they’re not asking for you to be anyone but yourself. For now, it’s all preliminary and there’s no concrete terms but what they’ve made clear is that they want you.”

He sat with it for a moment. Then smiled, slow and deliberate.

“You know,” he said. “I’ve never been about flash. But I like the idea of surprising people. Of pulling up in something that is quiet… until it isn’t.”

Miranda raised her glass. “Then maybe we’ve found something perfect for you.”

A/n: hello, Golden Ticket Chapter. Still feeling weak but I at least know it’s the medicine. Also, gotcha. Those that were being all Ferrari and stuff. I’d love to add a laughing emoji but I won’t. Have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit.

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