The morning air in Tokyo was different—crisp but humid, filled with the distant murmur of the city awakening.
Izan sat on the wooden veranda of his grandparent's home, a cup of steaming green tea in his hands.
The scent was earthy, and calming. A reminder that, for once, he wasn't being watched by thousands, wasn't being analyzed by pundits, and wasn't a name on the transfer rumor mill.
For now, he was just Izan.
Across from him, his grandfather sat in quiet contemplation, hands resting on his knees. The old energetic old man now sat silently, not speaking much.
Izan liked this side of him but if he had to choose, it would be the chatty old man who was afraid of his grandmother.
It was something he had always admired about him. There was a quiet wisdom in his presence, an unspoken strength.
"Your mother," his grandfather said suddenly, voice deep and measured, "was not meant to stay in Spain forever."
Izan turned slightly, caught off guard.
