God Of football - Chapter 747
Chapter 747: Once in an Ordinary.
Izan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let that knowing smirk creep across his face, and that made Olivia narrow her eyes because it always meant he was up to something.
He gave her hand a firmer tug, steering her away from the obvious row of vehicles and toward a quieter side of the garage.
“Where are we going?” she asked, tilting her head.
“You’ll see,” he replied simply, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, like he was enjoying the little suspense more than he should.
They rounded the corner, and Olivia’s steps faltered slightly when she saw it.
There, not far from where the Gemera sat, a different silhouette caught her eye, low, predatory, a presence that demanded attention even while standing still.
She blinked, momentarily caught between disbelief and intrigue.
Her lips parted before she could stop herself.
“Hold on. Since when did we have a secret space in the garage?” she asked, glancing back at him as if he’d just confessed to hiding an entirely new wing of the house.
“And when exactly did you buy another car?”
“The space has always been there,” Izan said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.
He ran his hand along the cool surface of the hood as they approached.
“Miranda just showed me after the deal went through.”
Olivia tilted her head again, eyeing the car suspiciously.
“And the car?”
“That…” Izan paused for effect, then smiled faintly, “It was part of the sponsorship deal with Koenigsegg. Half price if I ever wanted to buy any of their models. The CEO had this one specifically made to commemorate the deal, but after I chose the Gemera, they put this one up for sale as one of one, and since it was made for me, I thought, ‘Why not buy it?’ .”
Her brows shot up. “Half price?”
He nodded.
“One of the clauses. But it’s not that simple.”
He leaned slightly against the car, tapping his knuckle gently on its bodywork as if emphasising the point.
“If I ever want to sell it, I can only sell it back to Koenigsegg. At half the valuation of whatever it’s worth at the time. No private deals. No crazy markups. Only back to them.”
Olivia circled the car slowly, her fingers brushing along the smooth, curved edges of its body as though she were afraid it might vanish if she touched it too hard.
“Half price,” she repeated softly, still shaking her head.
“So how much did you actually pay for it?”
Izan chuckled, watching her expression like he was enjoying the puzzle playing out in her head.
“Enough that it still hurts,” he admitted, “but not enough to make me think twice.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowing with curiosity that was quickly shading into playful disbelief.
“And this beast, this isn’t exactly inconspicious ” she said, nodding toward the car, “and what exactly is it?”
Izan’s grin widened, that trace of pride slipping through even though he tried to play it cool.
“Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut,” he said.
The words hung in the air with the weight they deserved, a name not thrown around lightly in the car world.
Olivia let out a small, incredulous laugh, stepping back to take it in fully.
“Of course it is,” she murmured. “You and your toys.”
Izan shrugged lightly, though there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his expression.
“What can I say? Your boyfriend’s too good to settle for anything less now, at least that’s what ChatGPT says when I asked him if I should buy it.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into a reluctant smile as she came back around to him.
“Cocky,” she muttered under her breath, though she didn’t try to hide the warmth in her tone this time.
Izan smiled before walking from behind the car to the passenger door and opening it for Olivia.
“Thank you, gentleman,” Olivia trolled as she slid in carefully, her dress settling against the sculpted seat.
She looked around once, her lips parting, a bit surprised by the car’s interior.
“This isn’t even a car,” she muttered as Izan slid into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under his weight.
“It’s a spaceship they disguised with wheels. How do they expect people to actually drive this?”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” he replied, fastening his belt, “whenever you tell me to grab something from your makeup kit. All those brushes, shades, and powders? It’s basically NASA in there.”
Olivia turned her head slowly toward him, pretending to look unimpressed, but her smile betrayed her.
She reached across the console and found his hand, weaving her fingers between his.
The simple gesture softened the futuristic, almost cold feel of the cockpit instantly.
He gave her hand a squeeze back, his expression tender as he glanced sideways at her.
“I’d love to hold this all day,” he said gently, “but if traffic cameras catch me driving one-handed, while being under eighteen, on a special license, the fine would bankrupt even me.”
She laughed under her breath, rolling her eyes, but let go, trailing her fingers across his palm before pulling back.
“Fine,” she teased. “Drive your spaceship properly, Captain.”
The engine purred to life at the touch of a button, low, throaty, and powerful, vibrating through the frame like a beast barely leashed.
As they pulled out onto the wide compound, the automatic gates began to slide open, the sunlight bouncing off the car’s polished white body as Izan eased the car forward, then out onto the street.
For a few moments, it was all smooth motion, Hampstead’s neat rows of homes blurring by and pedestrians turning heads as the Jesko crept into view.
Then, with the road ahead opening wide and traffic thinning, Izan let the accelerator sink a little deeper.
The car responded instantly, gliding faster, its hum stretching into a roar that pressed them lightly back into their seats.
Olivia clutched the armrest, her laughter spilling out despite herself.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Izan shot her a side grin, eyes flicking back to the road.
“Wouldn’t you?” he said as the Jesko streaked forward, white and black cutting clean through the quiet roads as Hampstead disappeared behind them.
….
The city felt different once they’d left Hampstead behind, lighter somehow, as though the weight of football talk and contract as well as publicity talk had loosened their grip for just a few hours.
They walked through the glass doors of a quiet café tucked into one of Soho’s side streets, its warm lamps glowing against shelves of books and jars of roasted beans.
Olivia leaned against the counter, teasing Izan about his choice of the “least footballer-like place he could have picked,” while he grinned and reminded her that she was the one who loved small cafés.
They shared iced lattes, her straw tapping lightly against his as they leaned over the same table, voices low, laughter spilling out often.
Later, the two strolled along the Thames, the water glimmering under the late afternoon sun.
Despite the “Disguise”, if you could call it that, a couple of teenagers spotted him, their eyes widening, whispering quickly before mustering the courage to ask for a photo.
Izan adjusted his mask, tried to smile in a way that said he was just a boy on a date and not a face plastered across billboards, but he still posed with them, scribbled a quick autograph on a crumpled notebook.
They left with shy thank-yous, giving him and Olivia their space again, with the latter only being satisfied after one of the kids told Izan how beautiful his girlfriend was.
She squeezed his arm as they walked on, saying quietly, “You handled that well.”
By evening, they found themselves tucked into the velvet booths of a small restaurant that smelled of rosemary and warm bread.
The waiter had blinked twice on seeing him, recognition flickering, but no fuss followed.
They ate slowly, Olivia stealing bites from his plate, Izan feigning outrage before feeding her a forkful himself.
Between courses, their conversation drifted from his match schedule to her classes, to silly hypotheticals about which of them would survive longer in harsh landscapes in the world.
A few more passersby approached as they wandered afterwards through Leicester Square, the neon lights bright against the night.
Some wanted selfies, others just a handshake, always polite, always brief.
They seemed to understand that, for tonight, he was not only Arsenal’s rising star but a seventeen-year-old boy simply holding his girlfriend’s hand.
By the time they returned to the car, the city buzzing faintly around them, it felt as though the hours had stitched themselves into a pocket outside of time.
A rare pause in a life that never stopped moving, where goals and headlines, critics and cameras always chased him.
Tonight, the pace had slowed, just enough for Izan to breathe, laugh, and be ordinary in ways that mattered most.
A/N: This is the first of the day. Have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit with the last of the day and hopefully the first of the next day and the GT chapter.
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