Chapter 849: Work On A Free Day, Apparently.

Five minutes went by like nothing.

And soon, a staff member gestured toward the coach, mouthing that it was time.

Arteta gave a small whistle and waved a hand.

"Alright, lads, let’s go," he called, his voice firm but not sharp.

"And thank you for coming to watch us," he said to the fans beyond the players before gesturing to his men to enter the bus.

One by one, the players broke off from the line, leaving the fans with a few last selfies, a couple of signed shirts, before turning back toward the waiting coaches.

The fans cheered louder as they climbed aboard, the sound following them all the way to the doors.

Izan was one of the last to get on, still smiling from a final photo with a young Madrid supporter who had swapped his white scarf for a red one.

Then the doors shut with a hiss, the engine rumbled to life, and the coaches began to roll away into the night.

.....

The next morning rolled by quieter than the night before, the sun stretching through the tall windows of the sports complex near the hotel as the players wrapped up their recovery session.

Arteta stood near the doorway, arms folded, watching them with that faint grin, as if he was already plotting the next drill.

"Alright, boys," he said finally, clapping his hands once.

"You’ve got the rest of the day to yourselves. Do whatever it is you lot do when you’re not running yourselves into the ground."

A few chuckles rose.

"But don’t go too far. You’re in the land of freedom, " he paused, eyes scanning the group, "but you’re not free from me."

That earned a louder laugh this time, with a few of the giddy players like Nwaneri, saluting the Coach.

Arteta smirked and waved them off, heading for the tunnel.

Just as the noise began to swell again, Izan’s phone buzzed in his hand.

"Miranda" flashed across the screen.

He stepped aside, pressing it to his ear.

"Hey, what’s up?"

"Morning, superstar," Miranda’s voice came bright, slightly rushed. "Listen, Coca-Cola called. They need you to record a few lines for the ad, just some quick pickups."

Izan frowned, his shoulders sagging.

"I thought we were done with that."

"So did I," she sighed.

"But they called early this morning. I didn’t want to wake you, time zones and all. But they’re being generous, Izan. Handsomely generous."

He let out a small laugh under his breath. "I’ve got enough."

"Well, they’re on their way either way. Should be there in... half an hour, max."

Izan rubbed his temple, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Fine. I’ll be ready."

"Good Izan. Think of it as expenses for Hori’s Christmans," she said, with a chuckled before hanging up.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned around, only to catch Saka and Nwaneri standing nearby, both wearing the kind of guilty faces that said

they’d heard everything.

"What?" Izan asked flatly.

Saka grinned.

"So, Mr. Superstar’s got big brand business, eh?"

"Work," Izan said, brushing past them.

"Work," Nwaneri echoed, trailing after him with a grin. "What, no invite?"

But Izan didn’t bother answering.

The trio moved through the hallway, the dull hum of air conditioning above them, boots clapping lightly against the tiles.

When they reached the elevator, Izan hit the button, the doors sliding open with a muted chime.

He stepped in first, the two players following, still whispering between themselves before they began pestering.

"Fine, you can come, but I won’t be baby-sitting any of you. My agent said I have got to earn the expenses for my sister’s Christmas."

"Do not worry," Saka coughed.

"You won’t even notice we are there," Nwaneri followed.

...

A soft knock came against the wooden door of Arteta’s room.

"Come in," he said, eyes still on the tablet in front of him.

The door opened, and Carlos Cuesta stepped, still in his coaching tracksuit.

"Boss," Cuesta began, closing the door behind him.

"Just got off a call with player Liaison. Said they just talked with Izan’s agent. Apparently, there’s a quick follow-up for some Coca-Cola ad they did before. Won’t take long, apparently."

Arteta leaned back in his chair, the faintest sigh slipping out. "They always say it won’t take long."

Cuesta gave a quiet nod, a trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth as Arteta looked up at him, reading the small tell in his face before he turned to leave.

"Carlos," Arteta called.

Cuesta stopped and turned back, hand still on the door handle.

"Can I really not change your mind?" Arteta asked, his tone light, with a wry smile tugging at his lips.

Cuesta hesitated, then shook his head slowly.

"You know I can’t, Mikel. Not with what’s coming."

For a second, silence filled the space between them before Arteta’s lips curved into a small smile.

"Then let’s make the last moments something to remember," he said quietly. "Something worth carrying with us."

Cuesta’s expression softened, that familiar respect flickering behind his eyes.

"We will," he said simply, before turning and stepping out, the door closing softly behind him.

Arteta stayed seated for a while after, eyes drifting toward the window.

The sun was higher now, cutting through the haze over the unfamiliar city and weather.

"I miss London," he muttered, before laughing at the words he thought would never come out of his mouth.

...

"I thought you were just here for a soundcheck," Nwaneri said as the black SUV rolled through the security gate and slowed into the studio compound.

"I thought so too," Izan replied, looking at the buildings in sight.

The midday sun hung high over Philadelphia, glinting off the glass walls of the production building.

Inside the car, the low hum of the AC filled the silence until it eased to a stop.

Izan was the first to step out, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Behind him came Saka and Nwaneri, both squinting a little against the light, curiosity written all over their faces.

They didn’t get far before a man and a woman hurried toward them, both dressed in that crisp, rehearsed sort of casual that screamed "advertising people."

"Mr. Izan!" the man said quickly, extending a hand with a practiced smile.

"I’m really sorry for the short notice. Everything kind of fell away with your part at the last minute so we had to get you back. I hope it’s not too troubling."

Izan shook his hand.

"No problem," he said. "I’m getting paid to do this anyway, right? Wouldn’t make sense to complain. And just call me Izan. The "Mr." feels weird when I hear it."

Saka and Nwaneri chuckled quietly behind him.

The man smiled a little tighter now, probably unsure if Izan was joking.

Turning back, Izan gestured toward them.

"Hope it’s not a problem that I brought these two along," he said. "Figured they could watch or something."

The woman, who’d been standing beside the man with a tablet in hand, smiled brightly.

"Of course not! The more the merrier," she said. "I’m Elsie, by the way, and this is Dan. We’ll be guiding you through everything today."

"Cool," Izan nodded.

They led the trio through the short hallway and into the main recording area.

The place had that sterile studio quiet, walls padded, a faint hum of electricity in the air, cables coiled neatly like sleeping snakes.

An excessively large hollow booth sat at the far end, dimly lit with mics and monitors inside.

"This is where we’ll do the voice takes," Dan said, gesturing toward it with a half-sweep of his arm.

"Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes tops."

"Uh-huh," Izan murmured, his gaze sliding around the space before settling on Elsie as she handed him a few printed pages.

"Here’s your script," she said, her smile tightening into something that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Izan caught the look, the kind of smile people wear when they’re about to spring something on you.

He frowned slightly, taking the papers from her, and began to read.

Two lines in, his eyebrows shot up.

By the fourth, he blinked, looked back up, and shook his head firmly.

"No way," he said, the words coming out flat.

"Nuh-uh. I’m not doing that."

Elsie tried to keep her smile in place, while Dan, standing beside her, pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

"Hey," Dan said finally, hands raised in mock surrender. "Like tyou said yourself, you’re being paid to do it."

Izan stared at him for a second, still shaking his head.

"This is the kind of thing that ruins men. I am not going to do it. Let me call my agent to return the money and we’ll be good yeah."

Behind him, Saka and Nwaneri exchanged looks, both leaning slightly to peek at the script in Izan’s hand.

"What do you think it says?" Nwaneri whispered.

Saka grinned.

"If he’s making that face, it’s gotta be something stupid or cringe. Maybe the "Ronaldo Shopee" ad type of thing."

Izan turned, giving them both a deadpan stare before he pulled his phone to his ear.

The two burst out laughing, and the sound bounced off the padded walls, breaking the stillness of the room.