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Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 21: Honing · Oct 18, 2026

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Chapter List (629)

Page number / 13

1 Chapter 1: Once Upon A Team 2026-10-18
2 Chapter 2: The Shift 2026-10-18
3 Chapter 3: An Olive Branch 2026-10-18
4 Chapter 4: Relations 2026-10-18
5 Chapter 5: The Offer 2026-10-18
6 Chapter 6: Resolution 2026-10-18
7 Chapter 7: A New Day 2026-10-18
8 Chapter 8: An Unimportant File 2026-10-18
9 Chapter 9: New Goal 2026-10-18
10 Chapter 10: School- A Means To An End 2026-10-18
11 Chapter 11: Learning The Art 2026-10-18
12 Chapter 12: Extra Work 2026-10-18
13 Chapter 13: Behind The Scenes 2026-10-18
14 Chapter 14: New Dawn 2026-10-18
15 Chapter 15: Wigan’s U21s 2026-10-18
16 Chapter 16: Testing The Waters 2026-10-18
17 Chapter 17: Unfolding 2026-10-18
18 Chapter 18: Sign The Kid 2026-10-18
19 Chapter 19: One Step At A Time 2026-10-18
20 Chapter 20: Player To Be 2026-10-18
21 Chapter 21: Honing 2026-10-18
22 Chapter 22: Possibilities 2026-10-18
23 Chapter 23: The Ball Whisperer 2026-10-18
24 Chapter 24: How It’s going 2026-10-18
25 Chapter 25: The Talk 2026-10-18
26 Chapter 26: Tell Me Everything 2026-10-18
27 Chapter 27: Meet The Calderons 2026-10-18
28 Chapter 28: Contract Negotiations 2026-10-18
29 Chapter 29: Welcome to Wigan, Leo 2026-10-18
30 Chapter 30: Interest from an Old Flame 2026-10-18
31 Chapter 31: First training session 2026-10-18
32 Chapter 32: First training Session [2] 2026-10-18
33 Chapter 33: All eyes on him 2026-10-18
34 Chapter 34: First shirt 2026-10-18
35 Chapter 35: First Game 2026-10-18
36 Chapter 36: Vanishing Act 2026-10-18
37 Chapter 37: A story writes itself 2026-10-18
38 Chapter 38: Paper Boy 2026-10-18
39 Chapter 39 - 3-body Problem 2026-10-18
40 Chapter 40: Method- Acting 2026-10-18
41 Chapter 41: Uncanny Hero 2026-10-18
42 Chapter 42: On the Cusp 2026-10-18
43 Chapter 43: On the Cusp [2] 2026-10-18
44 Chapter 44: Top for A reason 2026-10-18
45 Chapter 45: Dumb It Down 2026-10-18
46 Chapter 46: Price For Genius 2026-10-18
47 Chapter 47: First Team Calling. 2026-10-18
48 Chapter 48: First Team Calling [2] 2026-10-18
49 Chapter 49: Slowly But Surely 2026-10-18
50 Chapter 50: Number 22 2026-10-18

The morning sun hung low over the pitch, casting long shadows as Leo jogged out with Nolan.

A light breeze rustled the grass, carrying with it the low thrum of boots knocking against the turf, balls pinging off the boards, and the occasional laugh from players already warming up.

Today, too, felt different.

There wasn’t that same quiet tension Leo had felt during the past couple of days.

A few of the Wigan U21 boys gave him nods as he passed, one of them even clapping him on the back.

Leo was about to join the group when Nolan held out a hand.

”Not today,” the coach said, voice calm but firm.

”With your ability, you could walk into the main team. But all you would be worth would be your through balls.”

Leo slowed to a stop, turning slightly to face him. Nolan’s eyes weren’t critical—just focused.

Like a man with a plan.

The coach nodded toward the far end of the pitch, where a cluster of cones, mannequins, and small nets had been arranged.

Most of the setup was angled toward a single full-size goal, and even from a distance, it was clear what the purpose was.

Shooting drills.

Before Leo could say a word, Nolan waved over his assistant and gave him control of the group session.

Then, without another word, he began walking toward the shooting zone, and Leo followed.

As they reached the area, Nolan gestured toward the setup.

”We’re going to work through different sequences. Dead balls from range. First-time shots inside the box. Tight angles from wide areas. You name it.”

He pointed to the first drill, a simple dead-ball strike from just outside the area.

”But the key here isn’t just power—it’s technique, consistency, and learning how to make decisions in tight spaces. That,” he said, looking directly at Leo, ”is where you’re behind.”

Leo nodded, gripping the ball lightly in his hands.

Nolan continued, walking him through another sequence.

”Some of these will be live—you’ll receive the ball, go through a short agility path, then shoot on the move. We’ll swap mannequins with keepers soon enough, but for now, you just focus on execution.”

Leo placed the ball down, heart steady, breath even.

He took a few steps back, shook out his shoulders, and then struck it.

The ball sailed. Wide.

Not just a miss—it barely brushed the outer post on its way past.

He let out a breath and turned to Nolan, who stood calmly, arms crossed.

”Alright,” Nolan said, stepping forward to roll another ball into place.

”Again.”

Nolan moved calmly around the setup, collecting stray balls and repositioning them without a word of complaint as Leo skied them.

He stood a few steps behind the dead-ball marker, hands on his hips, his eyes flicking from the ball to the goal.

Nolan had deliberately placed small nets—barely the size of two shoeboxes stacked—into each of the top and bottom corners of the goal.

The rest of the net? Completely open, but Nolan had made it clear: ”Only the corners count.”

Leo had initially aimed for the center in his first attempts, striking cleanly but without precision.

Nolan’s voice had rung out before the ball even hit the net.

”You’re wasting the shot if you’re not aiming where it matters,” he had said, not unkindly.

”In a game, a keeper’s arms and legs own the center. We don’t shoot to hit what they already cover—we shoot to make them irrelevant.”

The message stuck. And so did the challenge.

Now, Leo stood behind the ball again, adjusting his posture.

He inhaled slowly, stepped into the strike, and—thud—the ball spun off his laces and zipped wide of the top right target.

Close.

But still not close enough.

Not enough for the top level.

Nine attempts in, and none had found the miniature nets.

A few had curled just past the posts. One or two had dipped nicely, but never enough.

His best effort so far had smacked the bar above the bottom left net and bounced out.

”You’re not getting your body over the ball,” Nolan called from behind him, picking up another ball.

”You’re striking too clean, trying to look good. Bend your knees. Don’t be afraid to ugly it up if it means finding the corner.”

Leo wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing just a bit heavier now.

This wasn’t about power or instinct anymore—it was about learning, repetition, and trying to train accuracy into something he hadn’t relied on before.

He took the ball Nolan rolled back to him and placed it again.

His eyes flicked up.

Bottom right net.

He exhaled, stepped forward, and swung.

The ball curved.

Not wide. Not off-target.

It skimmed the post—close enough to make Nolan murmur—but it still didn’t nestle into the net.

It rolled off behind the goal, teasing the line but never crossing it.

Leo let out a quiet breath and stood still for a moment, jaw set.

Nolan didn’t say much—he simply clapped his hands once after Leo’s try and motioned for Leo to follow him.

They moved away from the dead-ball setup toward the second part of the session.

It was a more dynamic sequence: passing, movement, and shooting on the run.

Mannequins stood scattered like defenders across the channel, and a series of agility sticks lined a narrow path leading to goal.

Nolan stood with a ball at his feet, his voice rising as he spoke to Leo.

”This one’s less about planting your feet and more about striking under pressure,” he explained.

”You’ll receive the pass, carry it through the gate, and shoot. No second touches. One move, one shot. The goal’s the same—corners.”

Leo nodded.

Nolan sent a crisp pass to him, and Leo took off.

He weaved through the agility sticks—his feet sharp, body nimble.

But when it came time to strike, he hesitated a beat, and the shot ballooned well over the crossbar.

”Again!” Nolan barked, already preparing the next ball.

Leo reset, received the next pass, and went again.

This time, the ball fizzed wide, past the far post by a meter at least.

The pattern repeated. Dribble, shoot, miss.

Each strike lacked control.

Some came off too high, others skewed wide.

A few hit the mannequins directly, clattering off the plastic with a hollow thud.

It was clear—Leo’s timing was off, his body shape was wrong, and his confidence, slowly but surely, was beginning to dip.

After the sixth attempt flew so far off it nearly cleared the fencing, Nolan placed a firm hand on his shoulder as he jogged back.

”Don’t snatch at it,” Nolan said, voice level but sharp.

”You’re trying to kill the ball. Find the rhythm first. Power comes last.”

Leo nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, not daring to speak.

He hadn’t noticed, but he had been getting used to being in control since a few weeks ago. Used to seeing things others couldn’t.

But this—this chaos, this erratic part of the game—was something else. Something raw.

He took a moment. Then stepped back into the drill.

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