God Of football
Chapter 637: Three Hours And A Star.

Chapter 637: Three Hours And A Star.

Miranda and Olivia stood a few meters behind the glass, now visible through the internal partition.

“We’ll monitor blood pressure, calcium levels, and body temperature throughout. If anything dips, we’ll respond instantly,” Selwood added.

The nurse gently began the catheter insertion — right arm first.

The nurse looked to see a wince, but Izan sat there calmly as the tube settled in.

The machine beeped softly and then hummed to life.

A pulsing, cycling rhythm, like the quiet sound of breathing through machinery.

Blood flowed.

Dark red.

Winding through the clear tube.

Into the machine. Spinning. Filtering. Returning.

Izan didn’t show any displeasure.

Not when Komi was staring through the window like she wanted to put him back in her womb to save him from whatever the machines were doing to him.

One hour passed.

When Izan mentioned his fingertips tingling, a calcium supplement was adjusted into the IV line.

Two hours passed.

No breaks. No complaints.

At the start of the third hour, Dr. Selwood returned, checking the target cell yield displayed on the console.

He looked at the nurse and gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Cell count’s nearly there,” he said.

Then he turned to Izan.

“You’re doing well. Just a little more. You’ve been rock solid.”

Izan didn’t say anything.

Just closed his eyes briefly, exhaling — not from pain, not from relief.

And after a while, more-

A Beep sound came through.

It was subtle at first.

A final, soft electronic chime from the apheresis machine.

Like an exhale.

The rhythm that had pulsed steadily through the past few hours finally quieted.

Dr. Selwood stepped forward from the console, his gloves still on but his shoulders easing as he glanced at the final readout.

A green confirmation blinked on screen.

“That’s it,” he said gently, turning to Izan with a smile that reached his eyes.

“We’re done.”

He stepped closer, voice quieter now.

“I don’t know what will happen, but you might’ve just saved a boy’s life.”

“That was always the plan,” Izan said with a little smile.

Dr. Selwood moved to start disconnecting the lines, motioning to the nurse to begin the flush and return cycle.

The blood filtered back gently as Izan exhaled through his mouth, rolling his shoulders back for the first time in hours.

And then his eyes turned.

Toward the glass partition.

Where the people who mattered had waited the whole time.

Komi stood right at the front now, not anxious anymore, her arms finally relaxed, a quiet smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Still, she was slightly annoyed as she smacked Hori lightly across the head when she pressed her face too close to the glass.

Hori yelped, glaring at her with an exaggerated expression.

Izan laughed — a hoarse, genuine, laugh cracking sound in the sterile calm.

Miranda was still on her feet, arms folded, nodding at him while Olivia smiled faintly and lifted a hand, palm pressed lightly to the glass.

Three hours of quiet strain ended.

He leaned back into the chair one final time, letting his eyes flutter closed for just a moment.

The warmth from the calcium flush helped dull the ache in his spine and arms.

The fatigue hadn’t fully hit yet — it would later — but for now, there was just this.

Stillness.

Dr. Selwood patted his shoulder gently.

“We’ll handle the transport and cryopreservation from here. Leo’s team will finish prepping him this week. Donation’s scheduled for Friday, if all remains steady.”

Izan gave another nod, soft but firm.

“Then I’ll be here.”

The nurse began carefully removing the final tubing, dressing the needle sites with gauze and a wrap.

Izan sat up, swinging his legs slowly off the edge of the chair.

“Hey,” he asked after a pause, glancing toward the nurse.

“Is it alright if I see him?”

The nurse, adjusting the IV port seals with steady hands, looked up and smiled softly.

“You can. But just for a short while. Then you need to rest more, okay?”

“Deal.”

He slipped on a light hoodie, not bothering to zip it, and followed the hallway down past the curved corner that led to the children’s wing.

The ward was quiet.

Nurses moved with muffled footsteps, and light from the tall window slanted down gently across the linoleum floor.

Just before the door, Izan stopped.

He took a breath, then knocked lightly.

“Come in,” came the small voice from inside.

Izan stepped in casually, hands in his pockets.

Leo sat upright in the hospital bed, his favourite red hoodie draped over his shoulders.

An iPad was propped up in front of him, paused on a football clip.

He looked up.

And blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…No way.”

Izan shrugged. “Hey.”

“It’s you again. It’s Izan. What are you doing here? I wrote you a letter. Did it come? Did you read my letter? Oh my God, am I dying?” he rattled off as Izan closed the door.

“I got the letter and don’t say such things,” Izan said with a small grin, stepping further into the room.

“The last bit of your sentence can bring bad luck.”

Leo stared, jaw slightly ajar.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Like—what?”

Izan dragged the chair from beside the wall and dropped into it with a sigh.

“I was already here,” he said casually. “Long day.”

Leo squinted.

“Mom said the Hernandez Foundation or you helped cover some of the treatment. I thought maybe someone from your team would send, like… a card or something.”

“And they sent me instead,” Izan said. “Hope that’s alright.”

Leo blinked again, then broke into a grin.

“Yeah, I guess that works.”

For a moment, Izan just looked at him.

The faint IV tube.

The tired eyes, but still bright underneath.

“You’re going to be okay,” Izan said softly. “Soon.”

Leo tilted his head.

“How do you know? They said I got a donor, but Mom hasn’t said anything else aside from that. I even thought she might have just been lying to make me feel better, but I also know Mom isn’t that funny to play with such stuff. So, how am I going to get better?”

Izan’s gaze didn’t move.

“Because they’ve got everything they need now. All that’s left is for you to get stronger.”

Leo leaned back against the pillows.

“And you came all the way here to tell me that?”

“Something like that.”

A pause.

Then Izan grinned again. “Also, figured I’d give you a heads-up.”

“About what?”

“Well…” Izan leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a mock whisper.

“Once they give you that bag of stem cells, you and I? We’re basically going to be family.”

“How. Wait you’re the donor. woah?” Leo roared, causing Izan to put his hand on his lips.

“You don’t want the nurses complaining about the noise, and yes, I am the donor, which means you are going to have my blood flowing through your veins. We will be at least cousins after this.”

Leo snorted. “I don’t think that’s how science works.”

“Maybe not,” Izan said, shrugging.

“But you might wake up with a killer left foot. So, y’know—silver linings.”

Leo laughed, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but not impossible”, Izan said with a shrug, but he wasn’t let off.

[ I suggest not putting any false information in the kid’s head. It doesn’t work that way. RBCs don’t have a nucleus, so you can’t share your genetic information with a recipient of your blood. How were you always first ?]

“Max, don’t be a buzzkill,” Izan flexed mentally as Leo extended a hand.

“You remember the shake?”

Izan’s smile widened.

“Of course I do.”

They launched into it — palm slap, fist bump, twist and backhand — ending with both of them raising their hands and drawing stars in the air.

Matching ones.

As Leo giggled, Izan reached out and gently ruffled his hair.

……..

Back at Colney, Carlos Cuesta stepped in without knocking.

Arteta glanced up, and Cuesta held up the black folder, thin but important.

“St. Barts sent everything over,” he said. “Procedure ran smoothly. No complications.”

Arteta nodded once, slowly.

His expression didn’t shift, but his shoulders did—settling, just slightly.

“They confirmed full yield?”

“Collected above the required count,” Cuesta replied.

“No delays. All Izan needs is rest.”

Arteta leaned back, letting the information settle in like a final line drawn through a long checklist.

“Good,” he said at last. “Very good.”

Cuesta stepped forward, placing the folder gently on the desk beside the laptop.

“I told them we’d keep medical cover available for as long as necessary.”

“Of course.”

A pause.

Then Arteta looked out the window to his right, where the sun was just starting to dip behind the low training ground trees.

“Give him tomorrow off. Fully,” Arteta said.

“He’ll probably argue.”

“I know,” Arteta murmured, allowing the faintest smirk.

“But let him. Then tell him it’s an order.”

Cuesta gave a quiet laugh.

“Will do,” he added before turning to leave.

……..

[Optional Sidebar for Readers – Soft Medical Context]

→ What’s apheresis?

A procedure that filters blood to collect specific components (like stem cells). Used for treatments and donations.

→ Why filgrastim?

It stimulates the bone marrow to produce more stem cells and push them into the bloodstream — making collection easier.

→ Is it painful?

Not usually. But it’s long and comes with side effects like fatigue, bone pain, and electrolyte imbalances (like calcium dips).

→ How is it different from bone marrow donation?

This is non-surgical. It’s through the veins — more like a long blood draw. Recovery is quicker, so Izan won’t have any complications.

A/N; OKay, have this as some compensation. I will see you in the evening with another chapter for compensation too. Have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit.

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