Harbinger Of Glory

The bus eased into the rear lot behind the training ground.

The ride back had been quiet for the most part — tired bodies, a few murmurs, some phones out, nothing loud.

It wasn’t a celebration.

It was relief that they had finally been able to break a bad streak.

Most of the first-team players filed off quickly and split toward their cars.

They lived around Wigan, some closer to Manchester, a few near Liverpool.

Only a couple stuck around long enough to nod toward the building before disappearing into the night.

Leo climbed off last, kitbag slung over one shoulder.

The air smelled like damp concrete and old grass, but it was all familiar to him now.

This was now his home.

He walked alone across the lot, cutting toward the players’ residence wing tucked on the far side of the facility.

The lights were off in most windows, as the academy flats were usually quieter on match days.

He tapped his pass against the door, stepped inside, and climbed the stairs two at a time.

His room was the same — too warm, too plain, walls bare except for the half-folded calendar and a few taped-up fixture lists.

He dropped his bag just inside the door, kicked off his trainers, and fell back onto the mattress.

For the first time since the whistle, he let the moment breathe.

Seventeen.

On the pitch.

In a real game.

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Just for a second.

Then—

Knock-knock-knock.

Leo sat up, frowning, wondering who it could be this late, but the door swung open before he reached it, and Jake nearly fell through, followed by Ezra and Ben, each of them still in casuals, hair messy, like they’d just returned from a run.

Jake held up a bag of crisps, indicating that he hadn’t in fact gone for a run.

”Local hero returns!” he said, stepping in like he owned the place.

Ezra grinned. ”Oi, let the man breathe.”

Ben just shook his head and looked at Leo.

”You actually did it, huh?”

Leo blinked. ”How do you even know?”

Jake dropped onto the edge of the bed.

”You think we weren’t tracking it on Flashscore like it was the Champions League final? Bruh, you underestimate us.”

Ezra laughed.

”We weren’t going to watch, but as soon as we saw your number on the subs list, Ben pulled the game up on a stream that looked like it was filmed on a potato.”

Ben threw a sock at him. ”Still got the job done.”

Leo sat down.

The grin was gone now, but there was something steadier in his face, calm.

”Wasn’t much. Couple minutes.”

Jake scoffed.

”Doesn’t matter. You got on. That’s more than any of us can say. Plus, I heard them say you are now the youngest to debut for Wigan in the league. That counts for something.”

Ben leaned against the desk. ”What was it like?”

Leo shrugged a little. ”Loud. Fast. Hard to breathe at first.”

Ezra sat on the floor, cross-legged.

”Did you touch it?”

”Thought you said you watched it,” Leo asked.

”We did, but we were too busy fantasising to pay much attention”, Ben called.

Jake smirked. ”I did see Whatmough scream at you though. It was kind of funny to see since you’ve been so composed ever since you played with us. It wa sfun to see.”

Leo nodded, shaking his head.

”First touch was rough. The ball came quickly, and I didn’t settle it. He gave me a word.”

Ben asked, ”And the second?”

Leo looked down, like he was playing it back.

”Cousins gave me a throw-in. Defender bit early and I sold a dummy before playing it back to Whatmough.”

Jake pointed at him.

”Sold a dummy on your debut? Who is this guy?”

Ezra clapped. ”Leo Calderón. Professional footballer. You better frame that kit.”

Ben added, ”Or don’t. You might need it again.”

Leo raised an eyebrow with a little smirk.

”You really believe me that much?”

The room went still for half a second.

Then Jake answered first, without hesitating.

”If you didn’t look like you belonged, Dawson wouldn’t have used you. Especially not in a match where we needed a win for morale.”

Ezra chimed in. ”Even if you don’t start playing every game, training with them every day will now be something to look forward to. You’ve been seen now, and with the injuries, I don’t think anyone is going to forget you, especially not Dawson, who looks at you like his long-lost son.”

Leo leaned back against the wall, the tension finally starting to settle.

They weren’t wrong.

He’d touched it.

The edge of something bigger.

Even if it was brief, it happened.

Jake, looking around the still room, smirked slightly.

”So, wanna go out for a late snack-”

”Oh my God, Jake. That’s why you are doing double the gym work of the other guys. You eat too much”

.........

10:03 a.m. – U23 Gym, Wigan Athletic Complex

The gym smelled like sweat, protein powder, and stubbornness.

Leo was mid-set — weighted Bulgarian split squats, the kind that burned slow but deep — when he felt the stare again.

Third time since he’d walked in.

Another player, lean and sharp-faced, glanced over his shoulder at Leo, then looked away the second their eyes met.

Leo dropped the dumbbells, wiped his hands with the towel around his neck, and didn’t say a word.

He wasn’t stupid.

He’d skipped the U23S completely.

Went from academy training straight to a league debut with the senior team.

It didn’t matter how few minutes he played — it was still a headline, and headlines had a habit of rewriting hierarchies.

He moved to the barbell station, but midway through his first deadlift, a voice mumbled across the room.

”Some people just land lucky, huh?”

Leo didn’t look up. Didn’t ask if it was about him.

He felt too high on the small minutes he got the previous day to let petty things like this ruin his day.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open andThompson stepped in, hands behind his back, eyes already scanning.

He stopped when he saw Leo.

”Calderón.”

Leo straightened. ”Coach.”

”What the hell are you doing here?”

Leo blinked, confused.

”I’m training. With the 23s.”

Thompson raised both eyebrows. ”Since when?”

Leo hesitated. ”I wasn’t told otherwise.”

Thompson stared at him for a second, then muttered something under his breath — nothing angry, just disappointed — and motioned toward the exit.

”Get your stuff. Now.”

Leo grabbed his bag and followed.

Around the gym, heads turned, whispers started.

One player shook his head, another just leaned back on a bench and watched them leave.

As they walked down the corridor, Leo finally spoke up.

”I didn’t know I was with the seniors today.”

”You debuted last night,” Thompson said without looking back.

”You think we’re sending you back to stretch bands and passive-aggressive protein shakes?”

Leo almost smiled as they fell into the path to the building.

He had been here a couple of times, but it still felt like a different building entirely.

The lights were brighter.

The gear shifted, and everything just moved faster and in sync.

Dawson was already out on the grass, clipboard in one hand, shouting across the field.

The rest of the first team were moving in groups — one group doing tight passing drills, another stretching in a circle with a coach watching.

Thompson didn’t say a word as he handed Leo off.

Dawson turned, caught sight of him, and called out across the pitch without breaking stride.

”Well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal son.”

A few players chuckled as Leo stepped forward, trying not to let his nerves show.

Dawson tossed a bib at him.

”You’re late.”

”I wasn’t—”

”You’re late,” Dawson repeated.

”Rondo group. Inside the circle.”

Leo pulled on the bib and jogged to the far group.

He didn’t need to ask which one.

They were already waiting for him for him to join and when he did, they showed how brutal a simple rondo could be.

One-touch. Sharp pace.

Senior players who knew how to make space disappear and how to punish hesitations.

Leo tried to keep up, but the rhythm was faster than anything he’d experienced — even faster than warm-ups last night.

The ball zipped from player to player, the circle tightening as they picked up the tempo.

Fletcher flicked it off his boot to a midfielder, who went straight to the wing.

Leo turned, hoping to get a whiff of the ball, but failed.

Someone called out, ”Pick it up, Calderón!”

But then, he saw it.

Fletcher shaped to send it square, leaning a little too far onto his left, and Leo jumped early, stuck his leg out and got a touch to the ball.

”Ah, there it is!” someone yelled.

Laughter broke out, mocking Fletcher, who cracked a grin as he stepped into the circle and tugged on his bib.

”You were watching my feet, weren’t you?” he said as he passed by.

Leo shrugged, breathing hard. ”You made it easy,”

”That’s alright. You’re in the club now.”

Leo took his place on the outside, shoulders still tense, but the feeling was good.

A/N: I can’t even explain. Sorry for not releasing in about a week. I have no excuses just one of being tired and not getting time to balance out my studies with the writing of the two novels. At this point, I can only promise to get in a few Chapters here and there but that will be about it. Have fun reading and I’ll see you with another Chapter when I can.