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Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 22: Possibilities · Oct 18, 2026

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Chapter List (629)

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1 Chapter 1: Once Upon A Team 2026-10-18
2 Chapter 2: The Shift 2026-10-18
3 Chapter 3: An Olive Branch 2026-10-18
4 Chapter 4: Relations 2026-10-18
5 Chapter 5: The Offer 2026-10-18
6 Chapter 6: Resolution 2026-10-18
7 Chapter 7: A New Day 2026-10-18
8 Chapter 8: An Unimportant File 2026-10-18
9 Chapter 9: New Goal 2026-10-18
10 Chapter 10: School- A Means To An End 2026-10-18
11 Chapter 11: Learning The Art 2026-10-18
12 Chapter 12: Extra Work 2026-10-18
13 Chapter 13: Behind The Scenes 2026-10-18
14 Chapter 14: New Dawn 2026-10-18
15 Chapter 15: Wigan’s U21s 2026-10-18
16 Chapter 16: Testing The Waters 2026-10-18
17 Chapter 17: Unfolding 2026-10-18
18 Chapter 18: Sign The Kid 2026-10-18
19 Chapter 19: One Step At A Time 2026-10-18
20 Chapter 20: Player To Be 2026-10-18
21 Chapter 21: Honing 2026-10-18
22 Chapter 22: Possibilities 2026-10-18
23 Chapter 23: The Ball Whisperer 2026-10-18
24 Chapter 24: How It’s going 2026-10-18
25 Chapter 25: The Talk 2026-10-18
26 Chapter 26: Tell Me Everything 2026-10-18
27 Chapter 27: Meet The Calderons 2026-10-18
28 Chapter 28: Contract Negotiations 2026-10-18
29 Chapter 29: Welcome to Wigan, Leo 2026-10-18
30 Chapter 30: Interest from an Old Flame 2026-10-18
31 Chapter 31: First training session 2026-10-18
32 Chapter 32: First training Session [2] 2026-10-18
33 Chapter 33: All eyes on him 2026-10-18
34 Chapter 34: First shirt 2026-10-18
35 Chapter 35: First Game 2026-10-18
36 Chapter 36: Vanishing Act 2026-10-18
37 Chapter 37: A story writes itself 2026-10-18
38 Chapter 38: Paper Boy 2026-10-18
39 Chapter 39 - 3-body Problem 2026-10-18
40 Chapter 40: Method- Acting 2026-10-18
41 Chapter 41: Uncanny Hero 2026-10-18
42 Chapter 42: On the Cusp 2026-10-18
43 Chapter 43: On the Cusp [2] 2026-10-18
44 Chapter 44: Top for A reason 2026-10-18
45 Chapter 45: Dumb It Down 2026-10-18
46 Chapter 46: Price For Genius 2026-10-18
47 Chapter 47: First Team Calling. 2026-10-18
48 Chapter 48: First Team Calling [2] 2026-10-18
49 Chapter 49: Slowly But Surely 2026-10-18
50 Chapter 50: Number 22 2026-10-18

When Leo’s final shot of the drill smacked against the outside of the post and rolled harmlessly away, his shirt clung to his back, drenched in sweat.

His legs ached, his calves twitched with strain, and he could feel a dull throb settling into his hips with each jog back to reset.

Nolan watched him for a few quiet seconds, then finally stepped forward and called it.

”That’s it,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

”We’re done for the day.”

Leo bent slightly, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

He wasn’t used to finishing training feeling worse than when he started. Usually, the pitch felt like home.

Today, it had been a lab, and he was the struggling test subject.

Nolan came closer, tossing Leo a towel and nodding toward the tunnel.

”Good session, even if you’re frustrated. But I don’t want to see you sneaking back here tonight.”

Leo looked up, a little caught off guard.

”Rest is as important as work, Leo,” Nolan said, gesturing around at the now-empty pitch.

”You don’t recover, you don’t improve. You need your body to fire right, not just your head.”

Leo nodded slowly, still breathing heavily.

”I hear you.”

”Good. Go shower, eat well, and sleep early,” Nolan added, already turning to gather a few stray balls.

”We go again tomorrow.”

As Leo made his way off the pitch, the sun beginning its slow dip over the training grounds, he glanced once more at the setup of the drill.

The mannequins. The tight angles.

The goals with only corners exposed.

...

Nolan stepped into his office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He didn’t even need to ask—Dawson was already standing by the window, arms crossed, looking out at the patch of pitch where he and Leo had spent the last hour grinding through shooting drills.

”You watched,” Nolan said as he moved toward his desk, voice casual but knowing.

Dawson smirked, his eyes still trained on the ghost of the session.

”Of course I did.”

Nolan pulled out the chair, sinking into it and rubbing the back of his neck.

”It didn’t go well.”

Dawson turned to face him finally, raising a brow.

”But it didn’t go badly either.”

”No,” Nolan agreed. ”It didn’t.”

He leaned back, thinking through it again—the scattered shots, the flashes of improvement, the near miss on the ninth Deadball, the wild blasts during the live runs.

”He’s got a sense of timing and balance that’ll serve him well. He just doesn’t have any technique when it comes to finishing. Not yet.”

”Which is why he’s here,” Dawson replied, coming around and settling into the chair across from him.

”You’ll get it out of him. One thing at a time, or who knows, he might just figure it out on his own.”

Nolan let out a small breath, shaking his head.

. ”He’s got the mind for the game. You can see it with everything else. But when it comes to shooting... it’s like his feet forget what the rest of him sees.”

Dawson gave a low chuckle. ”Maybe it’s better that way for now. If he was pinging them into the top corner, too, we’d have to start a bidding war.”

Nolan glanced out the window now, the same way Dawson had.

The pitch was empty again, silent.

But he could still picture Leo out there, wiping sweat from his brow, resetting each time like the last attempt didn’t matter.

”We’ll see what he looks like after two weeks,” Nolan murmured.

”If he’s still ballooning them over the bar, then we’ll have to try something else.”

”He’ll come around,” Dawson said confidently.

”He just needs structure. He’s never had it before, not like this.”

Nolan nodded, already planning the next few days in his head.

”Let’s hope you’re right.”

...

Leo, on the other hand, lay sprawled on the small mattress, eyes tracing the ceiling as if it held some sort of answer.

The room was still, the kind of quiet that felt heavy.

The sounds from the hallway had faded, and the weight of the day pressed down on him—every missed shot, every clumsy strike, every sharp word Nolan had barked during the drills.

He turned onto his side, one arm curled under the pillow, staring at the wall.

Why couldn’t he shoot like the others?

Why did the ball always sail over, drift wide, or roll harmlessly to a stop?

Even with all the calm he had when the ball was at his feet in midfield—when it came time to strike, it was like something short-circuited.

He clenched his jaw, frustrated.

But then... something stirred.

He wasn’t like the others. He never had been.

That much was clear from the beginning—back at United, at school, everywhere.

Even before this sudden sight had come to him, people hadn’t known what to make of him.

He was quiet, strange, always thinking too much, always seeing too much.

And they hadn’t liked that.

So they mocked him, pushed him around, left him out of games, and made him believe that maybe they were right.

Maybe he didn’t belong. But they hadn’t known what to do with someone who didn’t play the game the same way.

Leo sat up.

If passing was his strength—no, his gift—then why not treat it as a weapon?

Why not sharpen it, wield it in ways others couldn’t even think of?

Why try to turn himself into something he wasn’t when he could double down on what made him different?

He swung his legs off the bed and reached for the notepad in his bag, flipping it open.

Shoot like you pass, he scribbled in the corner.

Not with power. With precision. With disguise. With angles, no one would expect.

He grabbed his phone and searched:

”Disguised passes that led to goals.”

”Famous through balls instead of shots.”

”Low-driven passes into corners.”

Clip after clip flooded his screen—Fabregas, Iniesta, Pirlo, even Busquets once or twice, stroking the ball low into the corner like it was a threaded pass instead of a blast.

Leo’s eyes lit up.

He could work with this. He didn’t have to shoot like them. He could find his own way to finish.

A pass could be just as deadly if placed right. If the keeper didn’t see it coming.

He added more notes:

— disguise the shot like a pass

— low and wide, never straight

— inside foot placement

— delay and open the body

— think one step ahead, like always

It wasn’t about fixing something broken.

It was about reshaping it.

He looked at the page, the half-lit room around him, and finally lay back down—mind buzzing with possibilities.

Tomorrow, he wasn’t going to force shots.

He was going to pass them into the net.

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