"Donât put too much pressure on it," Mirandaâs voice cut through the quiet thud of Izanâs landing as he hopped off the stool on the kitchen island.
She set her tablet down on the counter, eyes narrowing, her tone riding the line between stern and concerned.
"Youâre supposed to be taking it easy, not acting like youâre back and ready to train."
Izan chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair, his expression that familiar mix of playfulness and defiance.
"Come on, Mira. Youâd think I tore the whole thing off the way everyoneâs talking. Itâs not as serious as Artetaâs making it sound. Heâs always looking for an excuse to bench me for rest. Iâm fine."
He leaned back against the counter, shoulders loose, as Komi continued to dish out the plates for breakfast.
From behind him, soft footsteps padded across the tiled floor as Olivia emerged, her hair still clinging wetly to her cheeks, fresh from her shower.
She looped her arms around Izanâs waist from the side, rising slightly on her toes to plant a gentle peck against his cheek, where droplets of water brushed against his skin, and she pressed cool against his warmth.
"Fine?" she teased, tilting her head as she looked up at him.
"Thatâs what you said last week, and the week before. And now look at you. Swollen ankle, and the club announcing youâre sidelined."
Izan smirked at her, shaking his head. "Youâre all in on the propaganda, too? Unbelievable."
Olivia arched her brow in mock defiance, before reaching for the towel slung over her shoulder and dabbing at his jawline where sheâd left a faint, damp mark.
"Propaganda or not, youâre still not setting foot anywhere near a pitch until the doctors say so."
Across the island, Komi, who had been idly stirring a cup of tea, leaned her elbows onto the counter and studied Izan with curious eyes.
"So what are you going to do with yourself now?" she asked, her voice light but probing.
"Aside from your little trips to Colney for checkups, you suddenly have... time, and I donât think it is bad for a rest."
The room fell briefly into a comfortable quiet as Izan looked down at his bandaged ankle, flexed it gently, then shrugged.
"Honestly?" he said, his tone dipping toward seriousness for a moment.
"Iâd have loved to just... do nothing. Sit, rest, switch off my brain for once. You know? Actually enjoy this break."
"That would be ideal," Miranda replied dryly, flicking through her tablet as though she already knew the answer wasnât so simple.
"But donât forget, youâve got a few commitments we still havenât closed off. Interviews, a sponsor shoot that was rescheduled, and a community event Arsenal promised you for. Even injured, your calendar isnât exactly empty."
She gave him a pointed look, one Izan had seen more times than he could count whenever he tried to wriggle out of obligations.
Izan sighed, dragging a hand down his face before breaking into a grin.
"So basically, injured or not, Iâm still on the clock."
"Exactly." Miranda didnât even look up, though there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
"Well then," Izan said, leaning forward on the counter, his smirk turning mischievous as his eyes flicked between the three women.
"After I finish with all those projects, I suddenly have time for, we should go out. Have some fun. You knowâjust disappear for a while. A trip, dinner, whatever. Something away from all this football noise for once."
Olivia tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curving upward in a knowing smile.
"You suggesting a proper date? Because Iâll hold you to that."
"More than a date," Izan shot back, his voice carrying the playful bravado that had carried him through entire seasons.
"Iâm talking about a full escape plan, and this time letâs not leave Hori at home when we go because the last time didnât go so well."
Komi gave a small laugh, shaking her head.
"Letâs see if you can actually sit still long enough to make that happen."
"Watch me," Izan said, crossing his arms with exaggerated confidence, though the sparkle in his eye betrayed that even he wasnât sure if he believed it.
Outside, the spring sun filtered through the curtains, spilling soft light across the kitchen, as though to underline that even in the middle of setbacks and headlines, life in this house carried onâmessy, teasing, and very much alive.
.........
A couple of days later, the Emirates roared as the two teams emerged from the tunnel, red and white on one side, claret and blue on the other.
The Premier League anthem thumped through the sound system, but the buzz in the crowd had a slightly different edge tonightâanticipation mixed with curiosity, with a touch of unease.
Jone Savorâs voice broke through on the broadcast.
"Well, here we go then. Matchday thirty-five of the Premier League season, Arsenal at home to Crystal Palace, and youâll notice straight awayâthereâs a very familiar name missing from the team sheet. Izan Miura HernĂĄndez is not in the starting XI, not even on the bench."
Beside him, Steve Mcnunnin eaned into his mic.
"Yeah, Jone, and thatâs the big story tonight. Arsenalâs seventeen-year-old superstar, the boy who has lit up Europe this season, isnât out there with his teammates. Instead, look at thatâ"
The camera cut away from the players lining up, swinging upward toward the directorsâ box.
There he was.
Izan, dressed simply in a white hoodie and dark jeans, sat with Olivia on one side, Komi and Hori just beside him and Miranda perched gracefully a seat away.
Izan offered a half-smile and a small wave when the big screen showed his face, the stadium reacting with a mixture of applause and groans of disappointment.
Mcnunnin chuckled.
"That just shows you how much the teamâs game run by him. The whole ground expected to see him out there even when heâs not playing today.That is some star power and from one from one player at that."
Down on the pitch, the whistle blew and Arsenal, in front of their home fans, knocked the ball around with confidence from the start.
The absence of Izan was noticeable in the buildupâless of that direct electricity, that instant gravity whenever he touched the ballâbut Bukayo Saka and Martin Ădegaard looked determined to shoulder the creative burden.
"Arsenal will still fancy this, though,"
Mcnunnin said as Palace pressed high.
"Theyâve got so many options. Saka, Ădegaard, Martinelliâthey can all score, they can all create. But it will be interesting to see how much they miss Izanâs presence between the lines.â"
The game began tightly contested. Palace, stubborn and organized, refused to give Arsenal space.
Early corners swung in by Ădegaard were dealt with by Joachim Andersen and Marc GuĂ©hi, while Eberechi Ezeâs bursts forward reminded the home side that one slip at the back could be punished.
Fifteen minutes in later, Arsenal found their opening.
Ben White surged down the right, overlapping Saka, whose cutback across the box found Gabriel Jesus lurking.
The Brazilianâs first shot was blocked, but the rebound fell kindly, and Jesus slammed it into the roof of the net.
"And the Emirates erupts!" Jone Savor
cried.
"Gabriel Jesus! Itâs been a frustrating few weeks for him, but heâs got his goal, and Arsenal lead one-nil!"
The camera flicked again to the stands, catching Izan rising to his feet with his family, clapping calmly. while Komi leaned forward as if already urging Arsenal to push for another.
Palace, though, were not disheartened.
They grew into the game, Eze and Adam Wharton probing with clever interplay, and just before halftime, they struck back.
A loose ball in midfield was pounced on, threaded a pass into Jean-Philippe Mateta, and the striker powered a low shot past Raya.
"Palace are level!"
Mcnunnin exclaimed.
"And you could see that one coming. Arsenal just switched off for a moment, and bangâitâs one-one!"
The second half demanded patience from Arsenal.
Palace sat deeper now, happy with their draw, while the home side probed and pressed.
Martinelli came close with a curling effort that skimmed the bar, Ădegaard forced Sam Johnstone into a sharp save, and the Emirates grew restless.
"Without Izan, Arsenal do lack that moment of magic,"
Jone Savor observed.
"That one spark to unlock a defense. But theyâve still got plenty of quality here. The question is whether someone will step up."
And the answer came in the seventy-second minute after Declan Rice, controlling midfield with authority, spotted Martinelliâs run darting between the lines.
A perfectly weighted through ball sliced open Palaceâs back four, Martinelli raced onto it, and with composure beyond his years, slotted past Johnstone.
"Martinelli!"
Jone shouted.
"Heâs been threatening all game, and finally he delivers! Arsenal back in front, two-one!"
The Emirates shook with relief, the fans chanting his name as the camera once again lingered on Izan, who this time let out a broad grin, applauding while Komi threw her hands up in celebration.
The final twenty minutes were nervy but controlled. Arsenal held the ball, starved Palace of chances, and slowed the tempo with smart possession.
Ădegaard dictated the rhythm, Rice shielded the backline, and though the visitors pushed for a late equalizer, Raya stood firm.
When the whistle blew, the Emirates exhaled as one.
"Arsenal two, Crystal Palace one,"
Jone Savor summarized.
"A hard-fought victory, but in truth, quite comfortable in the end. No Izan tonight, but Arsenal showed theyâre more than just one manâtheyâre a team with options, with resilience, and they march on in the title race."
A/N: Guys, sorry this is it for now. I have a paper in like 4 hours and I havenât gotten a wink of sleep so see you after that.