Harbinger Of Glory

Cousins placed the ball carefully in the corner arc, wiping his hands on his shorts before leaning over it.

The Stoke box was already crowded, Keane jostling with two defenders, Broadhead hanging a little deeper, and the noise from the home end swelling in anticipation.

But before Cousins swung a boot, a shadow drifted into view. Calderón — jogging toward him, palm raised, a quiet nod for the short option.

Calderón called for it, tapping his boot twice in a quick signal, but

Cousins hesitated a bit.

He looked into the box, then slid it short, but that moment of hesitation had already cost Leo freedom on the ball.

He met the pass at a brisk trot, but a red shirt was flying at him almost immediately.

He pushed further towards the byline, faking a pass towards Cousins, which was so convincing the player pressuring him almost left him for CCousins.

As the opposing player recovered again, Leo sold the cross with a sharp swing of his left leg.

The defender froze, giving Leo the time and space to dart into the right space behind the defender, but Leo cut inside to his left, the instant he cut to his right, causing the Stoke defender to tumble to the ground.

A single breath later, he whipped in a cross with pace and dip, curling perfectly toward the penalty spot.

”Calderón with a beauty in—KEANE!” the commentator’s voice cracked as the Wigan striker launched himself above the melee, his forehead meeting the ball clean.

The strike rattled the crossbar with a metallic clang that rang around the DW.

The rebound crashed into a storm of legs, boots stabbing and scrambling, before a Stoke man finally climbed highest to head it clear, but it didn’t get far.

Leo was already there again, taking it in stride, shrugging off a desperate grab at his shoulder.

He pushed into space at the edge of the D as the stoke defence, half-expecting a shot, braced, but it never came.

Instead, with the outside of his right foot, he swept a curling ball toward the far side of the box — a pass so perfectly weighted that Will Keane didn’t even have to break stride.

”Beautiful ball!” the commentator cried, ”AND KEANE THE SECOND TIMEEEE-!”

The header was emphatic this time, low and unstoppable and on the second attempt, Will Keane had made it a double for Wigan as the ball it et bulged, the ground erupted.

The celebration was chaos — fists in the air, strangers grabbing each other in the stands, a wall of sound that rolled over the pitch.

”Where has he been hiding all game?” the commentary came through as Will Keane turned towards Leo, who had already taken off towards the corner flag like he was the culprit of the goal.

”The first header rifled the bar, but on the second time of asking, by a well-delivered cross by Leo, Keane makes it count!”

”Why was he on the bench all this while?!”a man yelled three rows from the front.

”Not hiding,” his friend shouted back with a grin, ”the manager just kept him chained up!”

Further along, a woman laughed breathlessly, shaking her head.

”Two touches and he’s turned the whole place on its head.”

In the row above them, Mia had leapt to her feet, clapping until her palms stung.

Sofia was right there with her, the two of them bouncing in time with the chanting.

Neither could keep the grins off their faces.

”I can finally spend his money without a guilty conscience,” Mia said while celebrating, causing Sofia to stumble in her seat.

Beside them, Noah Sarin sat forward in his seat, elbows on his knees.

He wasn’t cheering, but his eyes never left the teenager on the pitch.

There was no mistaking the appraisal in his gaze — not excitement, not yet, but something colder, more calculating.

On the grass, Keane gave Calderon a quick point and a nod as the players jogged back into position.

The scoreboard now read: Wigan 2–1 Stoke, and the DW Stadium sounded like it wanted more.

The cheers were still rolling when Dawson stepped right to the edge of his technical area, two fingers raised toward the bench.

Movement erupted instantly — McClean peeling off his tracksuit top and Fletcher tying his boots tight.

On the fourth official’s board, the numbers flashed: 11 for 21, 9 for 10.

”Looks like a bit of fresh energy coming on,” the commentator noted over the background roar.

”Joe Bennett’s run himself into the ground tonight, and Keane — well, he’s earned his rest after that finish.”

Bennett jogged toward the sideline, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed from the effort.

Dawson was waiting, clapping him firmly on the shoulder as McClean took his place.

The crowd gave Bennett a warm send-off — not raucous, but appreciative.

Keane’s exit was louder.

The striker slowed his walk to acknowledge all sides of the ground, raising both arms in thanks while making sure to run a few seconds, no matter how small it was, to the ground.

Fletcher met him halfway, the two exchanging a short word and a quick clasp of hands before swapping places.

”McClean will give them legs down that left,” the co-commentator added, ”and Fletcher’s a different profile up top — a little more willing to run the channels, stretch defenders.”

On the pitch, Leo had drifted closer to the sideline to greet the new arrivals, a quick exchange of instructions passing between him and McClean before the game was ready to restart.

Dawson barked a final few words from the touchline, orders only his players could catch over the noise.

Stoke’s captain took the ball back to the centre circle, the applause for the subs blending into a low murmur of anticipation.

”You can see Dawson’s thinking here,” the main commentator said, tone measured. ”Wigan have the lead, but they’re not looking to just sit on it. These changes aren’t about protecting the scoreline — they’re about keeping the energy high and forcing Stoke to keep chasing.”

A shrill whistle cut through the air as Brown passed the ball back to restart the game.

.......

The game tilted into its final stretch, the DW Stadium humming under the floodlights.

Wigan, one goal up, were no longer just holding on — they were threading.

Leo was everywhere.

One moment, he was drifting deep into his own half, taking a short pass under pressure; the next, he was opening his body, spraying a thirty-yard diagonal to McClean that had the crowd purring.

”That’s Calderón again — lovely switch of play,” the commentator’s voice cut through. ”The vision on this kid...”

McClean drove down the left, pulled a defender with him, and returned it inside.

Leo didn’t dwell — one glance, one touch, and the ball zipped to Fletcher’s feet.

Fletcher tried to turn, but was crowded out.

No matter; Leo was already there to retrieve the loose ball, shuffling it back into circulation.

”Every time it goes through him,”

the co-commentator said, ”they just... settle. He makes the right choice.”Stoke tried to break, but Whatmough’s interception turned into another Wigan wave.

This time, Leo dropped short to collect from Cousins, rolled his marker with a subtle nudge of the hip, and slid a disguised pass into Broadhead’s stride.

The shot was blocked, but the fans still applauded.

This was a side of Wigan they hadn’t seen in a long time or ever for some of the young fans.

Minutes drained away, and Stoke grew urgent, slinging hopeful crosses toward the box, but the home side stood firm.

Every clearance seemed to find its way, somehow, to Leo.

And every time, he found a teammate in space.

The 79th minute saw Leo in the centre circle with the ball at his feet.

A Stoke winger approached with a motive, looking to at least get the man should he have missed the ball, but with a strong feint, Leo wrong-footed his chaser before clipping the ball over the top for McClean.

The winger’s volleyed cross flashed across goal, Fletcher a stud-length away from burying it.

”Calderón again! The weight on that ball...” the commentator almost laughed.

The crowd responded with a fresh swell of noise.

But the biggest moment was still coming.

In the 90th minute, a few moments after the referee added 3 minutes to the clock, Stoke were still pressing high and desperate.

Wigan broke their lines with a quick exchange, Fletcher laying it back to Cousins — and Cousins to Leo as green space opened up ahead.

”He’s going!”

Leo surged through midfield, driving past one, then another, the ball glued to his feet.

Seeing the barricade of men in front of him, Leo did something he normally wouldn’t do.

Because from 38 yards out, he let the ball fly.

”Calderón!” the commentator roared as the strike ripped through the air, dipping and swerving — destined for the top corner until the Stoke keeper flung himself full stretch, fingertips turning it wide.

Gasps gave way to applause as Leo stood there smiling.

”What a hit! The kid’s got every right to take that on and he almost made it 3 for Wigan!”

The resulting corner ate precious seconds, and the final whistle came soon after.

Wigan 2, Stoke 1.

A/N: Told you guys I will release another Chapter today. Although it has come late, it has still come. Have fun reading and I will see you in a bit.(Maybe tomorrow, maybe Thursday.)