"Rightâletâs not dance around it," began Damian Fletcher, shifting in his chair.
"Arsenal vs. City. A headliner of a match in all but name. And the big question... where was Izan Hernandez yesterday?"
The camera cut wide.
The studio desk glowed blue under the set lights, the skyline of London in the backdrop while opposite Fletcher, sat Karen Carney and Joleon Lescott, both already leaning forward.
"Not seen at Colney, not in group drills," Carney said.
"Rumours ran wild all of yesterday. But pictures out this morning show him
back
âsmashing volleys and looking sharp which has shut down the rumours as quickly as they came."
"So what was it?" Lescott asked, half-laughing.
"Fatigue? Knock? Personal day?"
Fletcher shrugged.
"Arteta gave no comment. Arsenal havenât issued a statement."
"Which is why itâs our job to speculate," Carney said dryly.
The screen flashed with a still of Izan at todayâs sessionâstriking a ball from distance, arms spread in mid-turn.
Sharp and focused with nothing in particular looking off.
"Look at that," Lescott said.
"You donât hit through a ball like that if somethingâs off. He looks angry."
"Angry? I donât think so but
âtuned inâ
might be the phrase you are searching for," Fletcher added.
"And letâs not forgetâhe knows City. He scored a brace against them back in September. ."
"And now he has to crack it again," Carney said.
"Because thatâs the real task. Haalandâs fresh. KDBâs got his legs back and Fodenâs not really having a great season but the threat is there. And Pepâs not losing sleep."
The graphic changed againâ
Key Players: Izan Hernandez vs Kevin De Bruyne (midfield influence battle)
.
"Itâs not even close between the two players this season but this is where the game is decided," Carney continued.
"Not just up front. Itâs the transitions. The spaces between the lines. Thatâs where Izan lives."
Lescott leaned back slightly.
"Think theyâll man-mark him?"
"Doesnât work," Carney said.
"Valencia tried that. So did a few before that. Youâd just create space for the rest of the front line and Izan isnât necessarily going to let that slide. Mind you he has 16 assists this season. You donât stop players like him by boxing them inâyou contain the pitch."
"You contain the
idea
of him," Fletcher corrected.
The three paused as a tension hung in the air.
"Heâs back," Carney said.
"And if todayâs session is anything to go by... heâs not just fit."
"Heâs ready," Lescott added.
......
The windows stretched from ceiling to floor, coated just faintly in the morning mist.
Down below, in clean rows of movement, Manchester Cityâs first team went through their rondosâcontrolled, methodical.
But to Pep Guardiola, it looked... anxious.
He watched them in silence, his elbows tucked with his chin resting lightly on one knuckle.
The grass below was perfect.
The passing was fast.
But something didnât
feel
right.
"This is not it," he muttered as his door clicked.
"Come."
His assistant slipped inâno folder, just the iPad and a mug of coffee in hand, but what said more was the dark circle around his eyes.
Pep didnât turn.
Just asked, low:
"Morale?"
"Low in the past couple of weeks but way better now. Players responded to the reset after the 6-0 win against Ipswich and then the 3-1 win against Chelsea."
"They shouldnât have needed one."
He exhaled sharply, a sound not of anger, but disappointment.
"We donât
drop
against Brentford. Not at home."
A long pause.
"And without Rodri?" Pep added.
"We lose rhythm. Control fades and plays just become chaotic and unpredictable."
He nodded and finally turned from the glass.
The assistant flicked open the tactical dashboard. Match: Arsenal. Two days out.
Heat maps, trends, projections.
No surprises.
Except one.
Pep stared at the floating predicted XI Arsenal might use.
"Izan," Pep said quietly and then stepped away from the screen.
"We trained all season to break press lines and then he turns the press into his own."
The assistant cleared his throat.
"What do we do, then?"
Pep looked up.
His voice, quiet but sharp:
"We donât
man-mark
him. If we do, he turns our anchor into a ghost."
"So whatâzone with a second shadow?"
"No. Thatâs still a trap."
He paused.
"The moment we turn his orbit into our pivotâhe owns the match."
He paced now, slowly, each step deliberate.
"If he starts playing with rhythmâreal rhythmâforget the result. Forget possession."
He stopped.
"Heâll make us look like we donât know how to breathe."
The room went still.
"So we stop him?" the assistant offered, but it was half-hearted.
"We canât stop him," Pep answered.
"We
deny him tempo and try to minimize damage while doing damage of our own
."
"You think thatâll hold?"
Pep turned back to the window.
"If it doesnât," he said, voice almost inaudible, "this wonât be just a bad day."
"Itâll be the night this squad remembers as the moment they saw a seventeen-year-old break everything we built."
His assistant looked at him.
Pep didnât blink.
"He wonât play a good game."
"Heâll change the matchâs
definition
."
Outside, De Bruyne called for the ball.
Haaland checked his run and Doku shifted wider.
Pep didnât watch them.
He was already seeing something else.
Something that might arrive in 24 hours, wearing Arsenal red.
And a number 10 and it wasnât coming to play.
........
[Hampstead]
Izan wiped the corner of his mouth, dropped the fork into the bowl, and pushed his chair back from the island.
Olivia was halfway through a piece of toast when he leaned down and kissed herâsoft, quick, clean.
"Mm," she muttered, chewing.
"Youâre not brushing after that?"
"Protein shake and oats. Iâm minty fresh."
"Disgusting."
He smirked, leaned over again and placed a kiss on Komiâs forehead.
She patted his arm in return and didnât even pause her tea.
Then came Hori.
He swooped in and pressed a kiss on her cheek before she could react.
"Ugh! Ew! Donât kiss me without warning!" she cried, rubbing her face furiously.
"Iâm reporting you toâsomeone!"
"Youâre in my house," he said over his shoulder, already walking.
"Thatâs not how laws work!"
"I pay your Netflix."
"That
still
doesnât make you untouchable!"
But she was smiling as she said it, and Olivia just shook her head.
"Weâll be cheering you on," Komi said while Izan just raised a hand to acknowledge it.
The walkway lit up as Izan stepped through it, floor sensors triggering with soft pulses under each stride.
The garage doors pulled back with a hiss, revealing the Gemera parked like a coiled beast waiting to be unleashed.
He tapped his duffel bag onto the front seat, slid in, and started the engine as the car growled to life,
Hampstead woke up around him as the sleek hypercar cut through the narrow lanes like a spaceship from a different reality.
Even on a normal morning, the Gemera turned headsâtoday, it was getting nods, phone cameras, and waves.
One man in a delivery van nearly stalled trying to keep up with a glance.
At Colney, security waved him through like usual.
As he parked near the player entrance, the rumble of another car approached behindâthen another.
Sakaâs SUV rolled in, with Nwaneri in the passenger seat.
The door opened before the engine even cut.
"I will
forever
be jealous of that spaceship you call a car," Saka said, walking up.
"Honestly,howâd you bag a Koenigsegg deal before hitting eighteen?"
"My performance, marketability and Miranda," Izan answered, grabbing his bag from the seat.
"Man, I need to talk to her. You think if I switch agents now sheâll get me an Audi at least?"
"Only if you stop missing tap-ins."
"Low blow."
They started walking in together, boots in one hand, bags in the other.
"Wait," Nwaneri cut in, looking at Izan. "How do you even
insure
that thing?"
"Donât know mate. Just hoping someone doesnât hit me because Iâm sure I definitely wonât hit anyone." Izan said with a shrug.
"Thatâs just terrifying to think about," Saka said.
Izan just grinned as they stepped inside Colneyâs main complexâcalm, clean, brightâbut underneath, the pressure was building.
.......
The Emirates trembled from the voice of Fifty-nine thousand throats, layered and rising, spilled into the night like smokeâloud, restless, living.
The chants collided, clashing against each other with slight Spanish blending into North London slang, terrace cries rolling down from the upper tiers and slamming into the dugouts below.
Scarves spun, fists pumped, banners shook with every word and up the gantry, the commentators began,
"Under the lights at the Emirates... two teams that donât just play footballâthey define its direction."
"Arsenal, young and relentless, riding the momentum of belief. Manchester City, experienced, clinical, woundedâbut never quiet."
"Arteta knows this ground better than anyone. But Guardiola knows how to take it apart."
"Eyes will be on Haaland. On De Bruyne. On the system. But theyâll also be on the boy wearing number 10 in red. Because when the ball finds him, things tend to change."
"These are the nights the Premier League lives for."
"This is Arsenal. This is City. This... is the war behind the table."
A/N: First of the day. Sorry for the late release, i had a lot of classes today. Have fun reading and Iâll see you after my last class which is in like 15 minutes. By and welcome to a new month.