God Of football

The whistle pierced through the tension in the air.

Arsenal's players stopped mid-motion—then surged forward in a wave of fury.

Izan lay near the edge of the halfway line, face down, one hand curled into the turf.

A Villa defender hovered nearby, wide-eyed and pleading innocence, while the Villa Park erupted with rage from the away end.

"That's a blatant foul!" the commentator declared sharply. "Izan was clean through—Villa may have just dodged a red here."

Odegaard was the first on the scene, storming toward the referee with both arms flung wide.

"That's a red, no doubt! He was the last man!"

Jesus wasn't far behind. "He didn't even go for the ball!"

Rice who had seen it from behind pointed at the exact patch of grass where the foul occurred, the studs visible from the force that had shoved Izan down.

"That's deliberate! That's not a yellow offense!"

The referee, standing firm, calmly waved the players back.

He reached for his pocket, pausing just enough to stir the crowd into a frenzy of anticipation.

From the touchline, Arteta was livid. He gestured repeatedly with both hands as if replaying the moment himself.

"Red card!" he yelled. "It's clear as day!"

Even Carlos Cuesta took a few steps forward, restraining the manager with a hand on his arm.

"Come on, Mikel, don't get into trouble. We can't afford you banned this early."

Arteta didn't budge. "He was through on goal! That's the rule. If that's not a red, what is?"

The Villa fans had risen in chorus—not in protest, but in nervous deflection.

Meanwhile, the referee had made his decision.

Slowly, he pulled the yellow card from his pocket and raised it high.

Boos rained from the Arsenal end.

Aston Villa's players exhaled in relief. Their manager clapped on the sideline, clearly aware of how close it had been.

Izan sat up now, his eyes locked on the referee.

He said nothing—but the look in his eyes was sharper than any protest. Cold. Focused.

Saliba helped him to his feet. "You good?"

"Yeah," Izan muttered. "But that's insane."

The referee jogged past them, pointing toward the spot for the free kick.

The game would continue—with eleven men still on the pitch for Villa.

Arteta turned back toward the bench, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nothing's changed. All this talk about improved officiating—and still the same nonsense."

The medic waved from the sideline, getting a nod from Mikel before stepping in to check Izan's leg.

Arteta crouched near the edge of the technical area, eyes never leaving the pitch.

The crowd had calmed slightly, but the grumbling continued.

Arsenal's players lined up around the ball, ready to take the free kick—but their minds were still partly with what could've been.

"Let's channel that," Odegaard said. "Let's punish them for it."

With that said, Ødegaard acted fast. The ball had barely settled from the foul when he nudged it sideways to Saka, who had already pulled wide into space.

Villa's midfield was caught off-guard—half of them still lingering around the referee.

Saka didn't hesitate. He knocked the ball forward with his first touch and darted into the gap.

Calafiori made a dummy run outside him, pulling one defender just enough to free up the inside lane and Saka took it.

His head was up as soon as he crossed into the final third.

Ødegaard had followed, gliding across the pitch with effortless control, pointing for the return pass.

It came sharp and flat towards him causing Ødegaard to shift his weight and pivot before threading a low ball toward Jorginho, who took one quick touch and turned to his left.

Some of the Villa midfielders made an attempt to follow but they had already been taken out of the equation.

Jesus was already making the diagonal run behind Villa's back line, pointing at the space he wanted the ball to be and Jorginho followed through.

The pass was subtle—barely a nudge—but perfectly timed. It squeezed between two defenders, curling into Jesus' stride.

Jesus' didn't even look at goal. He had already spotted Izan charging forward from the opposite flank.

One defender was near him, but not close enough. Jesus let the ball roll, then tapped it across the box with the inside of his left foot.

"Look at this from Arsenal… Jesus across… and Izan—!" The commentator said, voice laced with tension.

Izan didn't break stride. He took a touch with his right foot, brought it under control, and before the keeper could set himself, Izan struck.

Low. Driven. Across goal.

It kissed the inside of the post and rattled the net.

"GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLL" the Arsenal Fans erupted.

"That is world-class. Arsenal cut through Villa with precision, and the teenager delivers!" the commentator roared as Izan turned to celebrate.

As he sprinted towards the corner flag, his eyes locked onto the home section of Villa Park.

The hostility from the home fans was palpable, but Izan couldn't resist.

A grin spread across his face as he turned, arms outstretched, before launching himself into a dramatic dive.

Behind him, Saka immediately caught on to the vibe.

He jogged over a wide grin on his face and threw his hands up in mock seriousness.

He bent down and performed the same motion as a referee, mimicking pulling out a yellow card and waving it at Izan, all in good fun.

The away section of the Villa Park erupted in pure joy, their cheers echoing around the ground.

But the Villa fans—packed in behind the goal—were far from amused.

The boos and jeers started to rise, and soon, the whole end was filled with frustrated shouts, as the home fans made their displeasure known.

The referee on the other hand wasn't laughing. His face was set in stone as he made his way towards the two players.

The whistle blew, cutting through the rising tension in the stadium.

Izan stood up, still laughing, but the referee was right there now, and he had no time for celebrations.

"Izan," the referee said, his tone calm but firm. "Second yellow."

The crowd at Villa Park held their breath in collective disbelief as Izan's face went from joy to utter confusion.

"No way," Izan said, his voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "For what?"

The commentator's voice echoed across the airwaves describing the scene.

"And Izan has just been shown a second yellow card for—for that?! For a celebration! This is absolutely shocking!"

Saka, who had been enjoying the celebration as much as Izan, froze.

His eyes widened in shock as the referee turned his attention to him next.

"And now Saka's getting a yellow too!" the commentator added, his voice rising.

"Unbelievable. Saka's being booked for playing along with his teammate's celebration!"

The away fans were in uproar, their shouts of frustration drowning out the home crowd for a moment.

One fan shouted, hands on his head, "This can't be happening! Are we seriously being punished for celebrating a goal?!"

"Are you serious?" another yelled, gesturing wildly at the pitch. "This is football! Not a classroom!"

From the sidelines, Arteta was immediately up, hands raised in protest, his face a picture of disbelief.

"Are you joking? Are you actually kidding me?! A second yellow for a celebration?"

His voice carried down the touchline, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. "This is football, not a circus! What is this nonsense?"

The commentator echoed Arteta's frustration, "Mikel Arteta is furious, and honestly, it's hard not to agree.

A second yellow for a celebration, and now Saka's booked too—Arsenal are down to 10 men with no real reason for it!"

As Izan slowly walked off the pitch, his shoulders slumped in disbelief, the Arsenal fans in the away end had turned the volume up, though their shouts were now filled with confusion and frustration.

"Unbelievable!" one fan shouted, his voice filled with anger. "What's next? Are we going to get a red card for smiling too?"

Rice clapped Izan on the back as he walked past him.

Izan still couldn't believe what had just happened, shaking his head in disbelief as he disappeared down the tunnel.

Arteta, pacing furiously on the touchline, looked as if he might explode at any moment.

"This is a disgrace," he muttered, glancing at his coaching staff. "This is beyond a joke. We can't afford to lose players over something as ridiculous as this."

Carlos Cuesta, ever the calm presence, stepped forward and put a hand on Arteta's arm.

"Mikel, we need to keep calm. We can't afford to get into trouble here."

But Arteta was shaking his head. "We've been punished for celebrating a goal! What is this? It's not right!"

The Villa fans, sensing the tide turning, were not silent in their corner of the stadium. They jeered at Izan's exit, their displeasure written all over their faces.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing," the commentator said, voice tinged with incredulity. "Izan sent off for a goal celebration. It's just—unreal."

With a final whistle from the referee, the game resumed, but the momentum had shifted.

Arsenal, now down to 10 men for the rest of the match, had lost their starlet just as quickly as they had found him.

A/N: Have fun reading guys.