God Of football - Chapter 882

Chapter 882: Cat Person.

“—We are here.”

Arteta’s voice came from the front, a little louder than usual, breaking the lazy hum of the van’s engine.

The words made a few heads lift, phones drop, and necks crane toward the tinted windows.

Izan leaned to the side, peering through the tinted glass.

Outside, a short stretch of cordoned road led to a bright red-and-white stage, banners waving, handlers moving between leashes and cameras.

A small crowd of fans pressed against barriers, some waving Arsenal flags while others just held their phones up, already recording.

Saka let out a sharp laugh from the seat ahead and started rubbing his palms together.

“I’m ready for those little dopamine balls,” he said, grinning wide enough for his reflection to smile back.

“Man’s been waiting all morning for this,” Nwaneri murmured, adjusting his tracksuit zipper.

He looked fresher than he had at breakfast, the nausea from earlier apparently gone.

The door slid open, and immediately, warm air rushed in, carrying the scent of grass and damp earth.

Saka hopped down first, stretching his arms wide like he was about to greet old friends.

A Purina rep in a polo shirt hurried forward with a rehearsed smile.

“Welcome, welcome! And Great to have you all here today. Just follow me and we’ll get you set up.”

The others started filing out.

Laughter drifted back into the van as Nwaneri and Saka were led away toward the pen area, though Izan stayed put.

He watched through the window, the handlers kneeling beside their dogs, the tails waving like white flags.

One of the fans spotted the players and started chanting Saka’s name and somethe others joined in.

Then the noise softened inside the van again.

The driver turned slightly in his seat.

“You staying in here, lad?”

Izan blinked, half caught in his own stillness.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, almost convincing himself.

“You’re grown now, Miura, come on,” he muttered as he grabbed his phone, tucked it into his jacket, and stepped out.

The morning hit him full-on, sunlight reflecting off the polished steel of the stage rigging, a breeze carrying laughter and barking from somewhere near the pens.

Another van pulled up behind, unloading the rest of the squad, the cameras clicking as they joined the rest of the group.

Izan fell in with them, though his stride had a pause between each step, like he was walking into something slightly unfamiliar.

On the makeshift stage, handlers held their dogs steady as fans cheered and shouted names.

The players were being called one by one for introductions.

Every few seconds, a small cheer rose when someone new stepped forward to take a picture with a dog.

A few fans near the barricades craned their necks, whispering.

“Where’s Izan?” one asked. “Didn’t he come?”

But then he appeared, quietly, almost unnoticed at first, walking up the steps with his hands deep in his jacket pockets.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the pens, where a bright, cloudlike Samoyed was being brushed by a handler.

The dog looked too perfect, too white, too happy.

Izan’s gaze darted away just as fast, his jaw setting as he moved toward the back of the stage.

He didn’t wave or smile, didn’t kneel beside any dog.

He just stood there, a little behind the others, half-turned, pretending to listen to whatever the Purina rep was saying.

From the crowd, a few fans pointed him out, cheering his name, phones rising in the air again.

But Izan didn’t look their way.

Saka laughed loudly at something near the front.

While the Samoyed barked once towards Izan, before sticking it’s tongue out.

Izan’s shoulders twitched as he glanced toward it again, then forced his eyes up, anywhere but there.

After a while, the representative of Purina, handed the mic over to Arteta, asking him to say a few word.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, smiling in that calm way that never quite gave away how much he’d rehearsed it.

“We’re here with Purina today, to do something a little different. It’s not about tactics or drills or press conferences. It’s about care, about connection. You give your best on the pitch, and these little ones,” he gestured toward the cluster of handlers holding their dogs, “they do the same, in their own way.”

A few players nodded, some smiled politely.

The handlers clapped first, then the fans followed, phones flashing in the midday sun.

“Today’s about enjoying that,” Arteta continued before turning towards his players.

“You’ve all got your stations, and I’m sure you’ll find your own fun there. Remember, be kind to your teammates…and to the dogs.”

That earned a laugh, mostly from the younger ones.

Saka clapped his hands together, his grin stretching wider than it should have.

“Alright, enough of that. Can I pet those dawgs,” he said, turning to one of the representatives who only shook her head, smiling.

Arteta stepped back, letting the main Purina rep take over.

“Alright, Arsenal family,” she said, her voice cutting through the hum of cameras and chatter.

“We have a few exciting activities lined up. The first one, Paws on the Pitch!”

The screen behind her blinked to life, showing short clips of players in training gear jogging alongside dogs, throwing soft balls, kneeling beside them for photos.

The crowd cheered at every cutaway.

“Each of you will pair up with one of our friends here,” she said, motioning to the handlers, who began walking forward with their dogs, goldens, collies, a few terriers, and the white Samoyed that stood out like snow in the sunlight.

“You’ll go through a few fun exercises. Think of it as teamwork training, just with a little more barking.”

Saka elbowed Nwaneri. “You ready?”

“Only if mine’s not the one that bites,” Nwaneri said, half serious.

The laughter rippled through the group again, but Izan still didn’t join in.

His eyes had found the Samoyed which was still staring right back at him, tongue out, tail swaying lazily, and moving it’s head around like it was trying to get Izan to come around.

The latter on the other hand though, just adjusted his jacket zipper and looked away, as if something in the distance needed studying.

Arteta caught his glance, but said nothing.

He just clapped his hands once and then spoke out.

“Okay, let’s move. You know what to do.”

The players began to step down from the stage, spreading across the open section of grass where the handlers were setting up cones and hoops and the sound of barking grew louder.

Izan followed the group, slowly, his footsteps blended into the noise around him, but his gaze stayed fixed on the open field ahead.

The others looked eager, ready to play their part.

He looked like he was walking toward something he’d rather admire from a distance or not at all.

“Paws on the pitch,” the Purina rep said again, her voice bright as the music kicked in.

“Let’s get started.”

And just as the first dog darted forward after a tossed ball, the players began to spread out.

But just as Izan stepped onto the grass, a commotion started as a blur of white fur and startled shouts.

The Samoyed had slipped its handler’s grip, the red leash snaking through the air before hitting the grass.

A few players turned instinctively at the sound of the bark that followed.

Izan did too, just in time to see the dog bounding straight toward him, its tongue lolling, paws kicking up bits of turf.

He froze for a split second, uncertain whether to move or brace for impact.

The Samoyed swerved last second, light on its feet, circling once before stopping squarely in front of him.

The handle of the leash dangled from its mouth, bright against the thick white fur.

It dropped it.

Right at his shoes.

The handler rushed over, cheeks flushed and breath short.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! He’s… he’s usually not like this!” she said, trying to reach for the leash.

Izan bent slightly, shaking off his momentary stiffness.

d”It’s fine,” he said, his tone soft but unsure, like he wasn’t fully convinced himself.

He managed a crooked smile.

“He’s… friendly, I guess.”

The Samoyed didn’t move, just tilted its head, studying him in that quiet, knowing way animals sometimes do.

The handler tried to pull again.

“C’mon, Miko, let’s go. You’re not supposed to—”

But the leash snapped free once more, slipping through her hands with a gentle tug.

The dog stepped closer, tail brushing against Izan’s leg, and dropped the handle again, this time right at his feet.

Then it gave a small nudge, as if to say, You forgot something.

Izan looked down at it, a little exhale escaping through his nose.

“Shoo, I’m a cat person,” he muttered causing the Samoyed to sort of wrinkle his nose causing Izan to chuckle a bit.

He sighed next, crouched, and finally picked up the handle, carefully, like it might bite back.

The dog’s tail wagged instantly, a soft thump-thump-thump against his shin.

From the edge of the field, Arteta stood with a Cane Corso on a thick black leash.

The contrast between the two dogs, one bulky and stoic, the other fluffy and bright, made the whole thing unintentionally comic.

Arteta caught Izan’s eye for a second, a small grin flickering on his face before he looked away.

The Purina representative clapped her hands, her voice carrying over the field.

“Alright, everyone! Time for the obstacle course! Let’s see how well our new teams work together!”

Groans and cheers mixed in the air as the players began spreading out toward the mini-pitch, cones and hoops already set up in bright lines.

The Samoyed gave a little hop, leash still in Izan’s grip, ready to go.

Izan stared at the path ahead, then at the dog beside him, who seemed far too pleased about the new partnership.

He shook his head lightly, under his breath.

And then he took the first step forward, the leash tightening slightly as the white fluff padded right alongside him.

Another chapter for my lovely readers. Thanks for reading and I’ll see you in a bit with new chapters.