Harbinger Of Glory

”Hit it early. Curl it behind them.” Cousins heard Leo say as he drifted away, dragging his marker toward the touchline.

Cousins looked up and glanced at Leo before he shook his head and then stepped into the ball in one motion.

Fast, curling and accurate.

Broadhead broke into the box, nudged off his defender’s back shoulder and lunged forward.

He caught it with the outside of his boot — just enough to flick it toward goal.

The keeper froze, eyes being the only thing tracking the ball, but it flashed across the face and whistled past the far post by no more than a foot.

”Oh, Nearly! Broadhead with the touch, and Wigan are knocking now. They’ve taken control of this match — it’s a different tempo since that Calderón run.”

The Watford defenders turned to each other, arms spread, already arguing.

But Wigan?

They were silent.

No one even looked disappointed.

Broadhead turned, nodded toward Cousins, then reset into position.

”Time slowly slipping away here at Vicarage Road. Will one side come out on top, or will they be forced to share the spoils?”

Wigan stayed on the front foot.

Possession was theirs, deep in Watford’s half.

They’d committed everyone forward.

The last throw of the dice — no hedging.

No holding back.

Only three players held the line behind: Leo, Cousins, and keeper Jamie Jones.

Everyone else was packed near the edge of the Watford box, crowding the area like it was a last-minute corner.

”It’s level, but Wigan don’t want to draw this. Their promotion ambitions are still on, and they can’t let go of them. They’re gambling now,” one of the commentators said.

”It’s all or nothing. And sometimes, if the risk pays off... it pays off big.”

But when risks go wrong, they go very wrong.

A blocked pass in midfield saw a scramble between both sets of player for the ball and suddenly — Watford were away.

João Pedro picked up the loose ball near the halfway line, with a touch and a glance, but he was gone faster than the food at a diet meeting program.

”Here comes the counter! Wigan are wide open!”

He burst forward, free green space ahead, a flood of yellow breaking with him.

The Wigan backline — nonexistent.

It was Leo, Cousins or no one.

And then — like a switch had flipped — Leo was moving.

No panic. No hesitation.

He raced back, cut across the angle, timing his stride with precision.

João Pedro tried to shift it to his right to pass the ball ahead, but it was too late.

Leo came in low and clean.

A sliding challenge with perfect timing, taking the ball squarely and clipping Pedro’s trailing leg on the follow-through.

A textbook rough tackle, but it was well within the laws.

”LEO CALDERÓN! That’s a monster of a tackle! Fair, firm — brilliant! And the Manchester turned Wigan boy saves his new team from a potential loss.”

The ball spun free, and Cousins didn’t hesitate as he swept it up before the next Watford player could arrive.

He turned quickly, looked up and saw yellow shirts charging in his direction.

But then — just behind them — Leo was up again.

Sprinting back toward the play like he’d never gone down.

”Cousins needs an out here—” and there it was, in the form of Leo.

Cousins scooped the ball over the closing line, high and neat.

Just enough height to clear the Watford press.

Leo took it down with his thigh and immediately bolted forward.

He didn’t stop to breathe, and now it was Watford’s turn to chase the ball.

Ahead of him, bodies scattered, confused.

Watford were in full retreat mode with the clock ticking into the final moments.

He hit full stride just as he approached the edge of the box where a centre-back stepped up.

Leo feinted — looked like he was going to hit it, and in truth would hit it.

”Calderón shapes to shoot!”

But then, midway through smashing his leg through the ball, he saw a Wigan shadow moving into space.

Seeing this, he used the momentum of the shooting as a decoy before he clipped the ball into a subtle chip over the backline.

Like a wedge in golf — soft, perfect height, dropping just into the pocket.

”Ohh, cheeky”, the commentator called as the ball found Chris Sze, who had ghosted in unmarked.

He controlled the ball with his chest, then his thigh, before it set once on the ground and jumped back up.

Everything paused for a heartbeat.

Then, a left-footed volley as he fell backwards.

The sound was crisp as you would ever want and need as it spun through the air — just over the diving glove of the Watford keeper — and kissed the back of the net.

2–1.

”GOAL! That’s it! Wigan have stolen it at the death! Chris Sze with the finish — but Leo Calderón, oh my word, what a sequence!”

The Wigan bench erupted.

Whatmough sprinted out and lifted Leo into the air, spinning him in a circle like a kid on a playground.

The away end exploded. Flags waved. Fists punched the sky.

On the touchline, Dawson finally let go of his breath — his hands dropping from his head as relief washed across his face.

”Would you believe it? Two academy boys — Calderón and Sze — linking up to win it in stoppage time! That is football. That is Wigan Athletic.”

The players regrouped at halfway.

No over-celebrating.

They knew what this meant.

They were seconds away from back-to-back wins after a turbulent 4-game losing streak.

”Teenage kicks,” the other commentator murmured.

”Leo Calderón — his second match for the first team. A pre-assist. An assist. And both passes? Outrageous. A gem of a player that Wigan have found. Makes you question how he is here in Wigan.Makes you wonder what the scouts of the top teams are doing?”

The replay showed his run again — the way he recovered, tackled, sprinted, and clipped the ball into space like it was scripted.

Back in midfield, Leo stood quietly.

He had touched the ball more than any player on the pitch.

And now, with barely any time left, he was walking the halfway line, waiting for the restart.

....

Stoppage Time — 90+4

Watford didn’t crumble.

They came charging.

One last assault.

Wide balls.

Crosses.

Second balls.

They fought for everything.

The home crowd roared after a corner, which resulted in another corner.

Then another before finally being sent out by Whatmough’s header for a throw-in, deep near Wigan’s box.

Jones punched one clear.

Cousins blocked a shot with his thigh.

Broadhead hacked another ball out near the right flag.

Wigan were clinging.

Leo held position just ahead of the defensive line.

Legs heavy, chest tight, but that didn’t stop him from chasing the ball after another Watford attack failed.

Leo got there.

One bounce.

He let it drop, then swept his foot through the ball.

It flew high into the Vicarage Road sky, soaring over everyone, up toward the far touchline.

And then—

Pweeeeeeeep!

The final whistle.

It was done.

Wigan 2. Watford 1.

The away end exploded.

”Full time here at Vicarage Road! And Wigan... hold on!” the commentator shouted.

”A monstrous defensive stand in stoppage time, and it was that man again — Calderón — who put the final exclamation mark on it.”

The cameras followed him immediately.

Leo sat down on the grass, legs stretched in front of him, hands planted behind him, supporting his body as he leaned back and stared at the night sky.

A slow smile crept across his face.

The graphic flashed on screen:

MAN OF THE MATCH — #22 LEO CALDERÓN

He wasn’t the youngest to ever win it.

But the commentator made it clear.

”He might not be the youngest to earn Man of the Match honours — but he’s the only one to do it like this. A pre-assist. An assist. In style. In control. That’s his performance.”

Sze jogged over, crouched beside him, then grabbed Leo’s arm to help him up.

”Mate,” Sze said, laughing, ”you’re gonna have to sign so many shirts after this.”

Leo grinned, shaking his head, brushing off the grass as he stood.

Together, the two academy boys walked toward the away end.

The crowd saw them, and the chants grew.

”WIGAN! WIGAN! WIGAN!”

And then—

”CAL-DER-ÓN! CAL-DER-ÓN! CAL-DER-ÓN!”

It only lasted a moment.

The Wigan chants returned, louder.

But Leo caught it. So did the rest of the squad.

As they turned, ready to leave the pitch, Sze clapped him on the back.

”First assist. First Man of the Match,” he said.

”Not bad, kid.”

Leo didn’t say anything back.

But his smile said enough.

A/n: It’s been a while but I’m back. The release is going to be a bit sporadic because I don’t know when I have time for this novel as compared to the main one but I will try and upload as fast as I can when I get the time to do so. Have fun reading and I ’ll see you in a bit with the next.