God Of football

Chapter 279: Italian Fortress

Gelsenkirchen was a cauldron of noise. The blue sea of Italian fans roared in euphoria, their chants shaking the stadium, while Spain’s supporters sat frozen in stunned silence.

Chiesa had buried the penalty, and just like that, all of Spain’s first-half dominance had been erased.

On the pitch, Izan exhaled, tilting his head back, his pulse steady despite the chaos around him.

His jaw tightened. He knew what this meant. Italy had tasted blood, and now they would fight like hell to rip the game away.

But he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Luis de la Fuente called out instructions from the touchline, his voice lost beneath the cacophony.

Izan didn’t need to hear them. He knew exactly what had to be done. Spain couldn’t sit back. They couldn’t let Italy dictate.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

It was time to take control.

The ball rolled back into play after the referee whistled, and Italy came flying.

Chiesa, emboldened by the goal, was the first to surge forward, forcing Carvajal into a hurried pass.

Jorginho and Barella snapped into challenges, their intensity suffocating the Spanish midfield and the fans around the stadium could see something shifting.

Izan seeing what was going on didnt flinch. Instead, he stepped deeper into his half, demanding the ball from Rodri.

And It came to him with pace, skipping slightly off the turf. Jorginho rushed forward, eager to press the former.

Izan’s first touch was soft, absorbing the impact, his body shifting ever so slightly to feint left, and Jorginho bit.

"Too easy" Izan muttered as he looked at the Arsenal ma.

With a sudden flick of his foot, Izan spun in the opposite direction, leaving the Italian midfielder stumbling.

"Lovely football by Izan, he’s absorbed the pressure and now started an attack" the commentator roared.

A pocket of space opened, just enough for him to push forward forcing Barella to come to him.

The latter lunged next, but Izan was already moving. A quick one-two with Pedri, the ball bouncing between them like clockwork, before Izan shifted gears.

A sharp burst of acceleration and a blur of red darting between blue shirts was the only thing the fans saw.

Spalletti, Italy’s coach saw the danger and immediately shouted at his players nearby but they couldn’t hear him under the cheers and gasps of the Spanish fans.

Italy’s Cristante finally tried to close him down but it was too late.

Izan threaded a pass through the smallest of gaps, slipping it to Morata inside the box.

The Spanish captain twisted,

He saw everything.

Izan’s angle. The potential shot choices. Every possible outcome.

And then he moved—before Izan even made contact.

A textbook reaction save. His left hand already shifting toward the bottom corner, where a volley would likely be struck.

His right foot, adjusting mid-air in case Izan went near-post.

It was over before it even started.

That’s what Donnarumma thought.

Until Izan did something that broke the sequence.

A/n: Hello guys author here. I know I haven’t kept my word with the Golden ticket chapters. I am in the middle of an exam so I can only write two a day and I don’t want to sub one out for the golden ticket chapter.

It would be unfair to you so please keep on spamming the Golden tickets and I will supply you with the chapters after I finish my exam