[Colney – Training Ground]
It wasn't a tackle.
Not really.
Just a challenge—routine, shoulder-to-shoulder body check.
Partey stepped in, not even hard, just firm.
A midfielder's nudge to disrupt the rhythm, with Izan's knees buckling and his balance gone.
One second upright, the next on one hand, one knee, head dipped, breathing through clenched teeth.
Rice turned first.
Saka halted mid-pass as Arteta's whistle pierced the session.
"Hold it!"
The pitch stilled.
Izan stood slowly, brushing his palm against his shorts.
The stiffness was there, not obvious, but real.
Like someone trying to stand without showing the strain in his spine.
Arteta walked over, nodding for Nwaneri to take Izan's place.
"Out," he said, not loud but firm.
Izan didn't argue.
He jogged over, slower than usual.
The duo soon stood near the advertising board, just outside the cone markers, as the sound of boots and whistles picked up behind them as the drill resumed.
