The sky over North London had turned the dull grey of early autumn, soft rain barely misting the windshields of parked cars outside the complex.
The buzz of international duty—stadiums, flags, flights—was behind them now.
The break was over, and now club football had resumed.
Izan stepped through the entrance of his apartment building, the buzz of the key fob unlocking the door.
Their last match against Serbia had taken its toll after a rough match that ended in a 3-0 win for Spain, with Izan scoring a goal and making it an assist, bringing his tally for the break to 3 goal contributions in 2 games.
One from the bench and starting the other.
His bag was slung over one shoulder, training gear still damp with sweat from the afternoon session at Colney.
The familiar ache in his legs returned—not the electric tension of international matches, but the slow grind of league preparation.
He welcomed it.
