Harbinger Of Glory

Leo rapped lightly on the half-closed office door, his knuckles making a soft, wooden thud that carried into the quiet space.

A faint shuffle came from inside before Nolan’s voice rose, calm and familiar.

”Oh, you’re here,” he said, glancing up from a pile of documents spread across his desk.

His reading glasses sat low on his nose, one hand still turning a page while the other reached for a pen that wasn’t there.

Leo stepped in, easing the door shut behind him.

The office carried the faint, dry scent of paper and coffee that had gone cold.

A small clock ticked somewhere above the shelf, its sound just audible between the gentle rustle of folders being moved around.

Nolan nodded toward the seat opposite him.

”Sit for a bit,” he murmured, eyes still scanning through the file in front of him.

Leo did as told, sinking into the leather chair.

He rested his hands on his knees, glancing briefly around the room, the framed photos of academy graduates on the wall, the small plant leaning toward the window, the cluttered desk that spoke of someone who never really left work unfinished.

Nolan didn’t speak again for a while.

He was making quick calls, short and clipped, confirming things, setting reminders.

Leo sat quietly, patient, listening to the low hum of administrative life around him, phones ringing down the corridor, the muffled chatter of staff, a printer’s whir faintly echoing somewhere in the distance.

Finally, Nolan exhaled, pushing his chair back.

He straightened up and looked across at Leo, who sat up slightly in response.

”Alright,” Nolan said, his tone shifting into something more deliberate.

”Come with me.”

He rose, grabbed a slim folder from the corner of his desk, and gestured toward the door.

Leo followed, falling into step behind him.

The corridor outside was bright, sunlight spilling through the long row of windows and painting soft rectangles on the tiled floor.

They passed a few staff members who greeted Nolan in passing, though Leo could tell from the direction they were heading that this wasn’t one of his usual quick check-ins.

They stopped outside the office directly opposite, Dawson’s.

Through the glass panel in the door, Leo caught sight of Dawson standing beside a man in a dark suit.

The two were mid-conversation, the tone serious but polite.

Papers were laid out on Dawson’s desk, and a laptop screen glowed faintly between them.

The moment Dawson noticed the silhouettes outside, his focus shifted.

He offered the man a firm handshake, saying something brief, likely a thank-you or a final note of agreement.

The suited man nodded, gathering his folder before stepping past Nolan and Leo outside with a polite smile.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Dawson turned his attention fully toward the pair still waiting at the doorway.

”Come in,” he said, his voice calm.

He gestured toward the chairs across his desk as he moved back behind it.

Dawson leaned back in his chair, watching Leo settle into the seat across from him.

The older man’s expression was unreadable, half amusement, half something else that Leo couldn’t quite place.

”So,” Dawson began, tone casual, ”how are you, kid?”

Leo blinked, thrown off by the unexpectedly gentle opening.

”Uh... fine, I guess,” he said slowly, unsure of where this was going.

Dawson hummed in acknowledgement and bent down to open the bottom drawer of his desk.

Papers rustled softly, a faint metallic clink from a keychain following, before he pulled out two envelopes and placed them carefully on the table between them.

Leo frowned. ”What’s that?”

Dawson didn’t answer immediately.

He was still adjusting the envelopes, aligning them perfectly with the edge of his desk as if the presentation mattered.

Then he looked up, meeting Leo’s puzzled stare.

”Before that,” he said, tone mild, ”speak freely, alright? No filters. Just say what’s on your mind.”

Leo tilted his head, wary now.

”Uh... okay?”

He leaned back slightly in the chair, studying Dawson’s face for a hint of where this was heading.

”You’re kind of making this feel like a movie interrogation, you know that?”

Dawson’s lips twitched. ”That so?”

”Yeah,” Leo sighed, rubbing his forehead.

”Why are you being mysterious again? You could’ve just said what this is about instead of calling me in like, like some big reveal scene.”

Nolan, standing quietly to the side, tried to suppress a grin, but Dawson only chuckled.

”Just because I told you to speak freely,” he said, tapping one of the envelopes with his finger, ”doesn’t mean you can start questioning my methods of relaying information.”

Leo turned toward Nolan, eyes wide with disbelief.

”See? You hear this?”

Nolan only shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

”He’s sometimes like this. Don’t bother. He’s only stern with the boys because he wants to keep up appearances ”

Dawson ignored them both, sliding the envelopes forward with a quick slap that broke the quiet of the room.

The sound echoed for a moment as the duo looked back at Dawson.

Leo looked at the pair of envelopes, then back at Dawson.

”What’s... this supposed to be?”

Dawson met his eyes evenly, leaning forward just enough for the words to land with weight.

”Your future.”

For a second, the room froze in stillness.

Then, Leo let out a short laugh that quickly turned into full-blown laughter as Nolan joined him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

”Oh, come on,” Nolan said between laughs.

”You really had to say it like that?”

Dawson smiled faintly, unbothered. ”What? It’s true.”

Leo was still laughing, clutching his stomach.

”Coach, seriously, you missed your calling. You should’ve been on a soap opera or something. That delivery, man, it was perfect.”

Dawson rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

”Glad to know my dramatic flair’s appreciated.”

Leo finally caught his breath, still grinning as he leaned forward, eyes on the envelopes again.

His laughter faded, replaced by a curious calm.

”Alright,” he said, voice low now, more serious.

”What is it really?”

Dawson leaned back again, folding his arms. ”It’s a letter,” he said simply.

Leo raised an eyebrow, still unsure whether to expect another dramatic line. ”A letter,” he repeated flatly. ”From who?”

Dawson tapped the envelopes again. ”Two teams.”

Leo frowned and instinctively turned toward Nolan, who was now standing by the door with his hands in his pockets, watching in quiet amusement.

Dawson’s head immediately tilted, his tone rising a notch.

”Why do you always look at him?” he asked, half-annoyed, half-offended.

Leo shrugged innocently. ”Because I never know if you’re being serious or pulling something again. Why are two teams sending you letters and why do you need me for them?”

Nolan tried, and failed, to hide a smirk, while Dawson sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

”Okay, fine, point taken,” he muttered, gesturing toward the envelopes.

”Now, can I finish?”

Leo raised his hands in mock surrender. ”Go ahead.”

”Not club teams,” Dawson said, pausing deliberately.

”National teams.”

That made Leo blink.

”National teams?”

Dawson nodded once.

”From the U-18s of England... and the U-21s of Italy, specifically.”

The words hung in the air as Leo’s brow furrowed deeper, his eyes darting between the two envelopes like they were suddenly heavier than paper.

England...” he muttered under his breath, the word slow, almost testing it out.

Then his tone sharpened, a small incredulous laugh escaping. ”And, Italy?”

He looked up, bewildered. ”You’ve got to be joking.”

Dawson shook his head, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

”Not this time, no. Both of them want to bring you in for a ten-day camp, with two friendlies in between, right before the World Cup kicks off.”

Leo leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

”I can understand England,” Dawson went on, gesturing loosely with one hand.

”You’ve lived here for most of your life, went through a couple of their academy systems, all that. But Italy...” He trailed off, letting the word hang in the air for a second before squinting at Leo.

”I thought you were Spanish, with a name like Calderon.”

Leo gave a faint, awkward shrug. ”Well, I thought so too.”

”Right,” Dawson muttered, still eyeing him like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

”But still, how did Italy even get your file? You haven’t played that much yet.”

He tapped one of the envelopes with a finger, frowning thoughtfully.

”Either they’ve been digging deep... or someone’s been talking about you in the right rooms.”

”And that’s exactly why we called you in, lad.”

Leo looked up, attentive now.

Dawson exhaled, drumming his fingers on the desk before speaking again.

”If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let you go,” he said plainly.

”We’ve got a brutal stretch in the upcoming month, all against top sides. You’d probably miss at least 2 of them if you went.”

Leo’s expression softened, understanding what that meant.

”But,” Dawson went on, his voice lightening just slightly, ”I’m not going to block you either. This is your call.”

He slid the two envelopes closer to Leo across the table.

”Both camps start in a week. You’ve got until then to make your choice.”

Leo nodded slowly, the weight of the decision settling over him.

He reached forward, picking up the envelopes and turning them in his hands before setting them back down neatly on the table.

”Choose wisely, Leo,” Dawson added, his tone a mix of warning and support.

”Opportunities like this don’t come often... but neither does trust from your club.”

With a quiet sigh, Leo pushed himself to his feet.

”Alright,” he murmured, voice low but steady.

Dawson gave a curt nod, signalling the end of the meeting.

”Good lad. We’ll talk when you’ve made up your mind.”

Leo gave a half-smile, more out of politeness than ease, then turned toward the door.