Harbinger Of Glory

The school day had ended about twenty minutes earlier, but neither boy seemed particularly interested in getting home.

They walked along the pavement with their bags slung over one shoulder, occasionally kicking at loose stones as they went.

The afternoon had settled into that quiet stretch between school and dinner, when there was nowhere they needed to be and no reason to hurry.

”I’m getting on FIF-, I mean FC when I get home. I still can’t get used to the name change,” the first boy said, and to that, his friend groaned.

”Again?”

”What?”

”You’ve played it every day this week, bro.”

”So?”

”So there are other games.”

”FC is fine.”

”FC is the same game they’ve been selling us since we were born with a different number slapped on the cover.”

The first boy laughed before nudging the previous boy in the shoulder.

”You still play it.”

”Well, that is because you keep asking me to play.”

”Exactly. So stop complaining.”

”I’m not complaining. I’m trying to save you.”

”From what?”

”From wasting your entire childhood playing Ultimate Team or that chronological slop for that matter!”

The first boy shook his head.

”You’re acting like you’re forty.”

”I’m just saying, play something different.”

”Like what?”

”I don’t know. An adventure game. Something with a story.”

”I don’t want a story.”

”Of course you don’t.”

The first boy laughed and was about to answer when something across the road caught his attention.

He slowed and narrowed his eyes.

arrowed.

Two people were walking on the opposite pavement, both dressed casually, hoods pulled up against the cool afternoon air.

They weren’t doing anything unusual.

They were simply walking side by side, talking quietly as they went.

But there was something familiar about one of them.

The boy turned his head, watching keenly as they passed by.

”Is that...” he thought as his friend kept walking.

”Is that what?”

The boy didn’t answer and looked more keenly.

The taller figure had his hands tucked into his pockets, his head slightly lowered beneath a cap, and the feminine figure beside him was talking, occasionally looking up at him as they walked.

The boy’s eyes widened, looking to place, but the receding form wasn’t helping.

”Is that Leo Calderon?” he finally concluded, but that made his friend stop.

His friend stopped and looked across the road, trying to find what his friend was looking at before returning his gaze to the face of the latter, and before a second could pass, a grin slowly spread across his face.

”No, bro. Now that’s taking it too far.”

”I’m serious.”

His friend stared at him for another second before bursting out laughing.

”Broooo.”

”What?”

”You’re seeing things.”

”Bro, I am not even lying this time!”

”You’ve lost it.”

”I haven’t.”

His friend was still laughing as he adjusted his bag.

”The guy scored a hat-trick against United yesterday, and you’ve already started seeing him in the streets.”

”I’m telling you, that’s him.”

”You’re still thinking about that game, bro. Let it go.”

”I am not.”

”You were talking about it the whole day, so I thought you’d be okay by now.”

”That was because we lost too heavily!”

”Exactly.”

The boy pointed across the road, and then said, ”Look properly,” and his friend reluctantly looked again where two figures had continued walking.

”That’s not him.”

”How do you know?”

”Because why would Leo Calderon be walking around here when he’s like the hottest name in English football now?”

”Why wouldn’t he?”

”Because he’s Leo Calderon.”

”That’s not an answer.”

”It is absolutely an answer. If you said you saw him drive by, I would understand, but walking around, with a girl and without any security. Come on, bruh!”

The first boy rolled his eyes and sighed.

”Forget it,” he said, knowing the conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere with how his friend was being and slowly, they started walking again.

His friend managed another few steps before looking sideways at him.

”But imagine if it actually is him.”

”I told you it was.”

”Would you go over?”

The boy hesitated and then shook his head.

”No.”

”Why?”

”Because that’s weird.”

”You were the one who thought you saw him.”

”That doesn’t mean I’m going to run across the road and ask like a fan boy.”

At that, his friend broke out into another fit of laughter before recovering!

”You’d definitely ask for a picture.”

”After that battering, I probably would. Plus, with the news I saw this morning, bro, we might have suffered just to win the jackpot if we can sign him.”

”Bro, come off it. There is no way he is signing for your shitty ass team when he’s doing better at Wigan.”

The first boy shook his head.

”Whatever.”

They walked in silence for several seconds before his friend suddenly said, ”You know what?”

”What?”

”I’m glad I support City.”

”Bro, just one game and you are switching to the rivals,” the first boy said in a high-pitched voice, causing his friend to laugh again as they continued down the pavement, the argument already drifting toward something else.

Then the United supporter glanced across the road one final time, where the couple had moved farther ahead now.

Before long, they carried on walking, their voices fading into the afternoon traffic but neither noticed Leo glance back.

He had caught the boy looking at him several times, and was glad that they hadn’t confirmed it was me.

”That kid definitely recognised me.”

”It wouldn’t be that hard to do,” Vittoria said without turning around.

”You’ve only been the biggest story in football for about twenty-four hours.”

Leo smiled and then shook his head.

”I think he was trying to work out if it was actually me.”

”Well, congratulations,” she said, glancing at him.

”You’ve been recognised for the umpteenth time,” Vittoria said sarcastically.

Leo watched her for a moment before leaning closer and gently biting her cheek.

She immediately flinched and laughed.

”Leo!”

He pulled away, grinning.

”What?”

”Oh, that tickles.”

”That’s good then.”

She rubbed her cheek and looked at him.

”People are watching.”

”When have you ever cared what people think?”

”Oh, I was saying that for your shy sake, but I guess you don’t need it.”

Leo gave a smug look before Vittoria reached down, caught his hand and tugged him forward.

”Come on.”

”We’re going to be late.”

”For what?”

She looked at him, almost like he’d killed her pet or something.

”We are on a date, Per l’amor di Cristo(for Christ’s sake!)”

”I am just messing with you, Tori,” Leo said, but Vittoria didn’t laugh and instead dragged him along before he could stop her.

Leo laughed and followed, lifting his free hand to tug the brim of his cap lower over his face as the two of them disappeared farther down the pavement, swallowed gradually by the afternoon crowd.

Most people passed without noticing.

A few looked twice, but nobody made a scene or showed it if they’d recognised it.

.....

The next day, Wigan Athletic did not wait for the morning to properly arrive.

Before the sun had properly risen, the club had already released its statement.

There was no drawn-out explanation or carefully worded suggestion that discussions remained open.

The message was brief, direct, and almost unusually confident.

Leo Calderon was indispensable to the club, meaning that Manchester United’s offer would not be entertained; therefore, the proposal had been rejected.

That was it, and within minutes, the statement was everywhere.

Wigan supporters flooded the club’s social media pages, most of them celebrating the decision with varying degrees of restraint.

Some had considerably less restraint.

”That’s the nicest possible way of telling United to fuck off.”

Another fan replied beneath it.

”They really said thanks for the £105m, but no thanks.”

Someone else simply posted a picture of Dawson standing on the touchline with the caption:

”He’s not going anywhere.”

The reactions kept coming, but on the other side, Manchester United supporters argued about whether the club should have made the offer at all, considering they were being made to look something akin to a joke of a club.

For most of the day, it became the story.

Television panels discussed it, radio stations debated it, and social media recycled the same clips from Old Trafford alongside the same arguments about Leo’s future.

Then, as football always did, the urgency and recency of the Manchester United battering began fading.

It didn’t vanish, but with the incoming matchweek ahead, people were already arguing about other matches.

It didn’t mean they had forgotten.

That was just how football worked.

Yesterday’s humiliation became tomorrow’s argument, something supporters would drag out whenever the next debate demanded ammunition.

And Wigan had no time to sit around celebrating anyway.

Their next match had already been waiting.

Crystal Palace, this time at the DW Arena!

Another Premier League game and another three points to chase, and once more, another team that now had to figure out how to stop Wigan and Leo Calderon!