Harbinger Of Glory

Leo walked through the narrow corridors of the training complex, his footsteps echoing softly off the polished floors.

Staff members passed him here and there, some offering a polite nod, others too wrapped up in their work to notice.

His thoughts, though, weren’t in Wigan anymore, they were tangled somewhere between England, Spain, and Italy.

By the time he reached his room, his head felt heavy.

He pushed the door open to find Ezra and Jake glued to the TV, their controllers clutched tight, faces lit by the flickering blue of the game screen.

The soundtrack of FIFA commentary filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of buttons.

”You back?” Ezra said without looking away, his tone casual, as though it were a routine update in the middle of their match.

Leo didn’t bother replying.

He dropped face-first onto his bed, the springs creaking beneath his weight, and exhaled slowly into the pillow.

For a moment, he just lay there, the muffled sounds of the game mixing with the faint hum of the air conditioner, until one word escaped him quietly.

”Italy...”

His own voice sounded strange in the stillness that followed.

His mind drifted toward his father, a loving man who had doted on them but as far as he knew, he wasn’t from Italy.

Spain, yes.

That was what he’d always been told.

But now... Italy?

The thought didn’t quite fit, and yet, it didn’t feel impossible either.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes before grabbing his phone.

He scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering for a second before tapping Sofia.

The call rang a few times, each tone dragging slightly longer than the last, until her familiar voice filled the line.

”Leo! How are you?”

”I’m good,” he said, trying to sound normal.

”You?”

”I’m alright. On my break, actually, I’m grabbing a coffee before heading back. What’s up?”

Leo hesitated, then leaned back against the wall beside his bed.

”I, uh... just had something on my mind.”

Sofia hummed, that mix of curiosity and sisterly concern already in her tone.

”That’s not rare,” she said with a chuckle before continuing.

”What’s eating you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. ”Where’s Dad from?”

There was a soft chuckle from the other end.

”Where’s that coming from?” she asked.

”How do you not know where your father’s from? You were living with our parents until... well, you know. Before I got you.”

Leo frowned slightly.

”Spain, right?” he muttered.

Sofia took a sip of her drink before replying, her tone a little gentler now.

”Spain, yes. But he wasn’t just Spanish, Leo. He was also Italian. He moved to Spain when he met Mum, and he got his Spanish nationality after they married. That’s why his papers looked like that, remember?”

Leo went quiet.

He hadn’t remembered that detail or maybe he’d never really paid attention since things like that didn’t matter much to a kid

”What’s all this about anyway?” she asked after a moment.

Leo let out a small laugh, the kind that was half amusement and half evasion.

”I’ll tell you once I’ve made a decision,” he said.

Sofia sighed.

”Oh, mysterious now are we. Fine, but don’t forget to call me after.”

”I won’t,” he promised.

”Good. Take care of yourself, Leo.”

”You too,” he said softly, before the call ended.

For a while, he just sat there, staring at his phone.

A mix of surprise and curiosity buzzed in his chest, but before he could sink any deeper into thought, his phone buzzed again.

He looked down. Unknown number.

He hesitated, then answered. ”Hello?”

”Leo? It’s Noah,” came the voice, calm and smooth through the line.

Leo straightened instinctively. ”Oh, Noah Sarin?”

”The very same,” Noah replied with a small chuckle.

”Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Leo shook his head, even though Noah couldn’t see him.

”No, not at all.”

”Good,” Noah said.

”Then I was wondering if you had some time today. Remember what we talked about the other day, me possibly representing you? I’d like to go over that properly, if you’re free.”

Leo leaned against the wall, a faint smile forming.

”Yeah, I’m free today. We can meet.”

”Perfect,” Noah said, sounding genuinely pleased.

”I’ll text you the details. Somewhere quiet, nothing formal, just a proper chat. You’ll see.”

”Alright,” Leo said.

”See you soon, then,” Noah added, and the call ended.

Leo lingered for a second, then tucked his phone into his pocket and stood.

He turned toward the door, slipping into his sneakers again.

”I’m heading out for a bit,” he called.

Ezra, still focused on the screen, didn’t look up.

”Damn, Brody got a girl before me.”

Before he could even finish, the door shut behind Leo with a soft click.

Jake, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the game either, let out a small whistle.

”Sheesh. Man didn’t even deny it.”

Neither of them looked away from the match, though.

The sound of their laughter trailed faintly down the hallway as Leo disappeared around the corner, his thoughts already elsewhere.

.....

The café sat on a quiet corner in the south of Wigan, one of those tucked-away places with soft pop playing and warm light spilling across polished wooden floors.

The scent of roasted coffee beans and baked pastries lingered in the air as Leo stepped inside, scanning the room for a familiar face.

He spotted Noah almost immediately.

The man sat near the far end of the café, in one of the more secluded spaces, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a dark pair of jeans.

His phone was face down on the table beside a half-finished cup of coffee, posture relaxed, gaze occasionally flicking toward the door as if expecting him.

Before Leo could take another step, a young waitress approached him with a polite smile.

”Table for one?”

Leo shook his head and pointed toward Noah.

”I’m with him.”

”Alright,” she said with a nod, stepping aside as he walked over.

Noah looked up the moment Leo approached, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

”Leo,” he greeted warmly, standing halfway to shake his hand.

”Good to see you again.”

Leo chuckled, eyeing his outfit. ”I thought I was underdressed.”

That drew a laugh from Noah, smooth and light.

”You didn’t expect me to turn up in a suit, did you? I save those for when I’m trying to look intimidating.”

Leo grinned as they both sat down. ”Well, you’d have succeeded.”

Just then, a waiter approached with a notepad while Noah gestured for Leo to go first.

”Uh, just an apple juice,” Leo said.

”And for you, sir?”

”Water,” Noah replied, ”still, please.”

When the waiter left, Noah leaned back in his chair slightly, crossing one leg over the other, the casual smile never leaving his face.

”So,” he began, ”let’s talk properly now.”

Leo nodded, leaning forward a little.

”I’ll start with the basics,” Noah said, taking a sip of his coffee.

”In football, an agent isn’t just someone who negotiates contracts or transfers. They represent you, manage your brand, handle sponsorships, image rights, and even the small details most people overlook.”

”Every agent works differently. For example, Mino Raiola, rest his soul, used to take around ten per cent from his players’ earnings but would aggressively negotiate bonuses and loyalty fees that easily made his players some of the best-paid in the world.”

”On the other hand, someone like Jorge Mendes prefers longer contracts with more stable clauses, focusing on career trajectory rather than short-term money.”

Leo listened quietly, his elbows resting on the table.

”No two contracts are identical,” Noah continued.

”Some agents take a five per cent cut from salaries only, some handle image rights separately. Others include performance-based clauses, goals, and assists. It’s all negotiable, but the key is trust. You need someone who won’t just sell you for a quick profit.”

Leo tilted his head slightly. ”And you?”

”I’m straightforward,” Noah said.

”Five per cent from salaries, and I only step in on sponsorships or deals you approve. I prefer building players for the long term rather than flipping them to the next highest bidder, since I see my clients as more than just that but sadly, some didn’t see me that way.”

The waiter returned briefly, placing the drinks on the table before leaving again.

Noah took a sip of his water before setting the glass down carefully.

He met Leo’s eyes, tone shifting slightly, more deliberate now.

”I’ll be honest with you,” he said. ”I think you have the potential to be one of the best.”

Leo blinked, caught slightly off guard by the bluntness.

”One of the best?”

”Yes, and I am not just saying that because I want your signature. Your profile is rare,” Noah said.

”Technically sound, intelligent off the ball, strong mentality, and still just seventeen. You’re creative without being careless, the kind of player modern football thrives on. Clubs are desperate for players who can think and execute, not just run.”

He leaned in a little.

”If you develop the way I think you can, clubs won’t hesitate to throw eighty million euros your way within the next couple of transfer windows. Maybe even more if you hit the right stride.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, half in disbelief, half in curiosity.

”Eighty million?”

Noah smiled faintly, not in arrogance but in quiet confidence.

”You’d be surprised. Look at how much young talents are going for now, Bellingham, Gavi, Musiala. The market doesn’t reward only experience anymore; it rewards projection. And you, Leo, project well. Very well.”

He sat back again, letting the words hang for a moment before taking another slow sip of his water.

Then, as if easing the tension he’d just built, he gestured with his hand toward Leo.

”But that’s enough from me. You probably have questions.”

Leo looked down at his glass for a moment, swirling the apple juice absently before looking up again with the faint trace of a smile that said he wasn’t entirely unmoved.

”I do,” he said finally, setting the glass down.