The entire studio was sent into a fit of laughter by those words, but Zlatan never faltered.
"I’m serious," he repeated.
"I watched him when he first broke through at Valencia," he said with a settled expression.
"There was something... wild about him."
"He took risks."
"He attacked situations differently."
"Now..."
He searched briefly.
"...now he’s almost too perfect."
The host frowned slightly.
"You think that’s a bad thing?"
"No."
"But I think there is another version of him," he said as he looked towards the camera.
"And I hope somebody brings it out before this World Cup ends."
"...interesting theory," the host said.
"Now let’s move onnn......."
The television volume dropped as the discussion continued silently on the screen.
Across the room, Izan lowered the remote before returning his phone to his ear.
"Yeah."
As the call went on, a small smile appeared.
"I’ll see you when I can."
He ended the call, and after that, the room became quiet again.
For a few seconds, he simply stood there before raising a hand.
"Max."
The familiar blue light unfolded before him as he navigated towards the subject of interest, something he’d been meaning to go back to since a while back.
[FOCUS Lv.4
Status: Active
Description
A passive mental trait that suppresses emotions likely to interfere with performance.
Feelings such as anger, frustration, panic and hesitation are significantly reduced, allowing clearer judgement and greater consistency during matches. Minor emotional suppression extends beyond football while active.]
Izan read the description without reacting.
He’d read it countless times now.
His eyes settled over the glowing switch as he seemed locked in his thoughts, but it didn’t linger.
With a mental flex, he toggled off the trait as the system’s voice sounded through his head.
[FOCUS Lv.4 has been disabled.]
As he did so, nothing really happened.
At least, not straight away.
He stood there waiting, waiting until the room felt different all of a sudden.
All of a sudden, it felt busier.
The silence inside his head that he’d long stopped noticing quietly disappeared.
The thoughts that usually lined themselves up so neatly suddenly arrived all at once.
He blinked before groaning slightly.
"...Huh."
He hadn’t realised how much of himself the trait had been smoothing away.
It wasn’t controlling him nor was it changing him, but it felt noticeably different with it off.
It felt like it was... sanding away the rough edges.
After wearing it for almost a year, he’d forgotten what those edges even felt like.
He sat in the room for a while, trying to get the feeling to leave, but it never really did.
He lipped the holographic screen right as it toned down before standing to his feet.
After making sure he felt okay, he moved out of his room.
For that time of the day, the cafeteria was far busier than usual, but it wasn’t surprising.
Most of the squad had barely eaten before kickoff the previous day, and even afterwards De la Fuente had insisted that they avoid it entirely since it had been late.
Now everyone seemed determined to make up for it.
"I genuinely have a question."
Lamine looked up as Izan appeared behind him.
"Hm?"
When he got the latter’s attention, Izan pointed at the slice of bread dangling over a bowl of French onion soup.
"...Do you always eat like a divorced father?"
Pedri looked over.
"...That’s actually a brilliant description."
Lamine frowned.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," Izan said, pulling out the chair opposite him, "whatever you’ve made looks illegal."
"It tastes good."
"It looks like a sponge."
Pedri nodded towards the bowl.
"It kind of is."
Lamine tore off another piece, dipped it until it nearly fell apart and shoved it into his mouth.
"You both want to eat it too, just say it."
"I’m absolutely not."
The table laughed as Lamine simply pointed toward the television mounted across the cafeteria.
"South Africa are out."
Izan looked over where the petition’s officials’ morning recap was already running.
As they kept watching, one pairing of the next round appeared across the screen.
Spain vs Austria
He hummed quietly before getting up for coffee.
By the time he returned, half the squad had arrived.t
He sat down and enjoyed his coffee before they moved onto the pitch.
Once there, he really found out what his actions that morning with the system meant in the grand scheme of things.
At first it was small, little mistakes from his mates.
Things like misplaced passes and slightly heavy touches, but he felt himself getting mad at it.
Normally he would’ve adjusted without a second thought.
Instead...
He sighed.
Five minutes later, Ferran made the wrong run again, causing Izan to halt play.
"...Ferran," he called as the striker looked over.
"What?"
"That was easy to put away."
"I know."
"So why didn’t you make it?"
Ferran blinked.
"...Because I read it differently."
Izan stared at him a second longer than necessary before simply turning away.
By the end of the session, the irritation had settled into him so naturally that he finally understood.
Focus hadn’t just helped him concentrate.
It had quietly been catching all the little frustrations before they ever reached him.
Without it...
Everything felt cloudier.
"Is this really how I used to act?" he thought to himself right before a voice from the sidelines reached him.
"Izan."
He turned and found De la Fuente standing a few yards away while the rest of the players continued the exercise.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
The manager stared at him for a while before speaking again.
"You sure?"
Izan smiled awkwardly.
"...Not really."
De la Fuente nodded once before looking at Izan, intending to ask if he wanted to talk about it, but it seemed he was not by the look Izan gave him.
"Sit this one out!"
"What?"
"Today."
"Can I really?" Izan questioned seriously.
"But we are in the middle of preparing for Austria."
"We’re playing Austria," a faint smile tugged at the manager’s face.
"We’ll survive without you training for today."
Izan let out a small laugh.
"It’s not that."
"No?"
He shook his head as he looked at the manager.
"I just need to get used to... something."
De la Fuente studied him for another moment before patting him gently on the shoulder.
"Then get used to it."
"And while you’re doing that..."
His smile widened.
"...try having some fun."
Izan nodded at that before turning and moving away from the pitch, leaving the session.
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