Harbinger Of Glory

A few days later, a deal was finally confirmed to the delight of the Wigan fans, but the one that actually got over the line first was neither of them because just two days after Femi Seriki’s transfer interest was announced, another signing came through, though this time, it was confirmed.

”Wigan Athletic are delighted to announce the signing of Mateus Reyes from Real Sociedad on a three-year deal.”

The post went up on a Tuesday morning with a picture of him in a blue and white shirt, arms folded, looking at the camera with the particular expression of someone who had been asked to smile for a promotional photograph and had compromised on something in the middle.

The reaction was immediate and split almost perfectly down the middle.

The fans who knew Real Sociedad’s recent seasons recognised the name and were quietly pleased.

A Portuguese-Brazilian creative midfielder who had come through Sporting CP, spent time at Porto B, and then made his name on loan at Lyon, where he’d been one of the more quietly impressive players in Ligue 1 that season before returning to his parent club.

A twenty-four-year-old maverick who was used to doing things his own way.

And this too was one of the signings that Dawson had had a huge hand in.

It came as a result of that same trip he had embarked on to San Sebastien, and the reason why the 1-week trip had almost turned into 3 was because of Reyes.

Dawson had gone on and watched one of the training sessions of the Real Sociedad team, but after that session, he was talking about nobody but Reyes.

He was technically astute and very gifted at seeing a pass, but despite all that he could offer, some Wigan fans felt anything other than pleased.

Someone dug up a clip from his time at Lyon of him walking off the pitch after being substituted, not aggressively, but with the particular body language of someone who had strong opinions about the decision and wasn’t fully concealing them.

It had been shared around enough times to have context completely removed from it and had taken on a life of its own.

Someone else found an interview he’d given to a Portuguese outlet where he’d described a previous coach’s tactical system as, and the translation was doing its best, something like playing football with your eyes closed, which had gone down about as well as you’d expect.

Dawson, what are you doing, mate

This guy walked out of the stadium when he got subbed at Lyon. We’re in the Premier League, not a playground.

Actually watched him play last season and he’s different class. You lot need to calm down.

The Lyon thing was massively overblown. The coach subbed him in the 60th minute when they were chasing the game. I’d have walked off, too.

Real Sociedad rate him highly. That’s enough for me.

They are saying Dawson went to Spain to watch someone else and came back with this guy. Either he’s lost the plot, or he saw something the rest of us haven’t. Same same, let’s just trust the man.

The debate ran for most of the day, and Dawson had seen it.

It was always almost like this until it wasn’t.

Until the same player they were hating on began playing like something else.

All while this went on, Leo read through the fan comments on his phone while sitting on the floor of his unit with his back against the bed and legs stretched out.

By the time he’d reached the bottom of the thread, he was shaking his head with a smile on his face.

”Seems like our newest signing is a bit of a character,” he said to the room, though nobody was there to hear it.

After that, he put the phone down and swung his feet off the table.

The team was shaping up, and despite his performances to bring the team to the Premier League, it wasn’t going to mean he was free from criticism.

One bad game was all it took to turn you into a villain, and that was something Leo was not going to become.

He picked up the boots next to him afterwards and then made his way out of the room for his last session alone before the team began training together once more!

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To any other person, a large house in one of the most thriving neighbourhoods in Italy, Forte Dei Marmi, would be a dream, but to Vittoria, who was sitting on the window seat in her room, it was one of the many things that suffocated her.

She sat with her arms wrapped around her legs on the same seat where she had rested her head on them.

And in her hand was her phone, and on it was the article that had been up since the morning.

L’erede D’Averna e il suo amore nascente.

The D’Averna heiress and her budding romance.

That was the title of the article, and in it were the same photographs she’d expected or had been told to expect.

After reading the article and watching the photos for most of the day, she had found herself starting to admire them, which felt funny when she caught herself doing so.

After a moment, she closed the article, opened her WhatsApp and tried calling Leo.

It rang.

And rang.

She moved the phone from her ear and looked at the screen to confirm it was still connecting, and then put it back.

The last ring came through, and nobody had picked up.

She exhaled through her mouth, lowered the phone and looked out the window at the garden.

Then she said quietly to the phone in her hand, ”Pickup.”

After that, she called a couple more times, but still nothing.

She set the phone on the cushion beside her and looked at it for a moment.

The thing about Leo, she thought, and it wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, was that with him, things never felt superficial.

Most of the men or boys she’d encountered in her life had arrived with something already decided.

An impression they wanted to make, an outcome they were steering toward, a version of her they’d constructed before they’d said a single word to her, and she’d gotten good at recognising it early.