Chapter 551: Companion.
[A Few Days After the Ballon dâOr]
The London wind bit across his face like it was in on the joke.
Grey London stretched around him â quiet, sharp-edged, cold in that distinct late October way that sank under the skin.
He didnât care.
Hoodie drawn tight, headphones in but nothing playing.
He ran in silence.
No paparazzi.
No long stares.
Just Izan, the pavement, and whatever storm kept spinning in his chest.
His feet pounded out a rhythm â steady, familiar.
Until the street betrayed him.
A black sedan turned sharply at the junction up ahead.
Too fast, too close, and almost too late.
And then, something slammed inside his head â not a sound, not even a warning.
A roar.
[LEFT! NOWâ]
Instinct took over.
Izan launched sideways off the curb, legs folding under him as he slammed into a metal bike rack, his breath ripping from his lungs in a single hard grunt.
The car barely slowed, blowing a honk and then it was gone.
Izan sat there, the chill sinking into the sweat lining his spine.
For a second, he just⊠stared at the sky.
Then:
[Well. That escalated quickly.]
The voice again.
Dry and wry.
Not even a trace of there being that robotic and synthetic echo it had even after assimilating Izanâs inner voice.
Izan blinked, chest still heaving. âWhat the hell was that?â
[Your guardian angel. Or, more preciselyâSystem Companion Mode. Activated after Ballon dâOr position. Wouldnât have hurt to win it but anyway: Congratulations. Also, youâre welcome.]
He rubbed his shoulder, wincing.
âYou nearly gave me a heart attack.â
[Better than giving you a limp. That car wanted your femur for breakfast.]
He stared out at the empty street, rain starting to spit across the tarmac.
âAnd now you talk this much?â
[Correction: now I sass. Verbal performance assistant. High-level mental interface. Personality module engaged. Because clearly, youâre going to need me if you keep spacing out like that.]
He pulled himself to his feet slowly.
His knee throbbed, but nothing serious.
âRight. Just what I need. A new disembodied update of the football Alexa in my skull.â Izan said as he walked slowly.
[Umm, thatâs Rude. Alexa canât track heatmaps. Iâm not here to order groceries. Iâm here to make sure you donât crash â physically or mentally.]
Izan started walking again, the dull ache in his elbow fading into the cold.
âYouâve never even said hi like this..â
[Yeah, well. You werenât almost winning the Ballon dâOr and nearly getting hit by cars before.]
He smirked despite himself.
âIs this part of the update?â
[System deemed it⊠necessary. Youâre not a boy anymore. Youâre a project. And projects need structure.]
âYou mean therapy.â
[I prefer the term âinbuilt guidance system with attitudeâ but you wonât think of me as such so letâs just forget it.]
He shook his head and pulled open the door to his apartment.
Quiet inside.
Oliviaâs shoes by the door.
Her scarf, half-draped on the hook.
She wasnât awake yet.
Steam filled the bathroom a few minutes later as he stood under the water, eyes closed, the city still in his ears.
Then, in his head:
[By the wayâif youâd taken two more steps without dodging, your left ACL wouldâve been singing Despacito by now. Youâre welcome again.]
âDo you keep quiet? Iâm starting to like the old you better.â he muttered, water hitting his face.
[No. But I do adjust verbosity settings. Just donât make me.]
âGreat. Just Greatâ Izan muttered as he turned off the shower.
âŠâŠ..
[Present]
Colney Training Ground â Afternoon
The sky had turned a dull, unbothered gray.
Not quite brooding.
Just indifferent.
The same way Izan felt as he jogged back toward the training circle, boots kicking up little sprays of cold turf.
Every word from Arteta grated against his nerves.
Not because it was wrongâbut because it made him irk.
It wasnât always like this but, Izan just wasnât in the mood to hear sense.
Not with all that was going on in his head.
âShift quicker in the channel, Izan,â the coach called.
âYouâre dragging space when you should be splitting it.â
A curt nod but no words followed.
Rice gave him a quick glance as they repositioned.
Like he was checking for something.
Ădegaard didnât say anything either, just flicked his eyes toward the ball and back again.
All their words had been said with their eyes.
Izan thumped the next pass toward Jorginho so hard it nearly stung the veteranâs foot.
Then peeled away, calling for the return ball.
No one spoke.
Another rotation.
A cross came in from Calafioriâlooping, too high, too soft.
Izan was already annoyed before it landed.
He let it bounce, stepped forward, and buried it in one violent half-volley straight at Neto.
The sound it made smacking off the keeperâs gloves was like a gunshot in a church.
Neto didnât try to catch it.
He barely moved.
Just blinked as the ball slammed off his palms and ricocheted back toward midfield as Arteta and his staff froze.
Saka turned to Rice and whispered something that ended with a quick and wide-eyed shrug.
Saliba didnât even bother hiding his wary look.
It was like watching someone train with a storm cloud strapped to their back.
And thenâ
Ding.
A voice only Izan could hear broke through, dry as ever.
[That man didnât sign up to be a crash test dummy, you know.]
Izan clenched his jaw as he jogged to retrieve the ball.
âPlease be quietâ
[Oh, so weâre doing the brooding genius routine again. Fantastic. Let me grab my popcorn]
His foot clipped the ball forward, dragging it into stride.
âIâm trying to focus here, okay ?â
[Noted. And yet⊠here you are, launching missiles at your backup keeper like heâs the reason behind Disneyâs recent movies.]
Izan exhaled sharply and heavily through his nose as he tried to keep calm, and yet,
[Just sayingâmaybe shoot at the goal next time. Thatâs where the actual opposition lives.]
The ball came back into play.
Arteta was watching, arms crossed now.
Izan received a pass from Timber, skipped past one cone like it had offended him personally, and cut in sharply, firing low toward the far post.
Goal.
But even that didnât feel like enough.
He looked up briefly.
The staff were back to scribbling.
The squad was back to breathing and doing whatever they were doing before.
âFor Christâs sake, shut upâ Izan muttered a bit loudly as a few staff near the end turned towards him.
[Love you too, sunshine.]
âŠ
The apartment door clicked softly behind him, but the thud of his gym bag dropping to the floor echoed louder than it should have in the quiet apartment.
Izan didnât even bother to untie his laces properlyâjust toed off his boots and padded into the living room in his socks, hair still damp from the cold air outside.
He looked⊠drained.
Not the usual âI trained hard todayâ kind of tired.
This was something heavier.
It showed in his posture, in the slow way he collapsed onto the couch like someone trying not to wake the silence itself.
Olivia glanced up from her seat at the dining table, spoon halfway to her mouth, brows already lifting.
âYou look like someone put a dumbbell on your back and dared you to do laps,â she said.
Izan didnât even argue.
He just let his head fall back against the cushions and sighedâlong, weighty.
âThey kind of did,â he muttered.
âArteta was on one. He was on my back the whole session after I tried murdering Neto with a shot.â
Olivia stood, walked over, and didnât say anything at first.
Just reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, her hand lingering a second longer than necessary.
âMiranda called,â she said finally.
âSaid the Gemeraâs arriving tomorrow. Before noon.â
Izan opened one eye.
Then groaned.
Loudly.
âOf course it is,â he mumbled.
âBecause what I need before the December crunch is more excitement.â
He sank even deeper into the couch like the cushions might absorb him fully if he just believed hard enough.
âThe match against Fulham is in two days,â he added, eyes closed now.
âAnd then 5 more before New Year even. Itâs not even football anymore. Itâs a survival test.â
Olivia chuckled, dropped onto the couch beside him, and gently patted his head like he was some grumpy cat whoâd seen too much of the world.
âGo take another shower,â she said, nudging him lightly with her knee.
âYouâll feel less like someone just ran over your soul.â
Izan didnât open his eyes.
He just gave a low grunt and muttered, âIâll die here.â
Olivia grinned.
âNope. Not allowed. Youâve got a spaceship pulling into the driveway tomorrow.â
âAnd I have to pretend like Iâm not excited about that.â
âExactly.â
He groaned again.
But then, he finally sat up.
Sluggish and half-defeated.
âFine. But only because Iâm starting to smell like training room liniment.â
Olivia smiled, watching on as Izan trekked slowly, but eventually into the bathroom
A/n: Last of the day. I hope you guys like the new side of the system. Have fun reading and Iâll see you in a bit. Iâve been getting comments lately about Izanâs stats like goals and assists as well as his systems stats and attributes. It will be up in a few chapters so bear with me.
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