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Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 119: Carlo’s Conundrum. · Oct 18, 2026

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Chapter List (629)

Page number / 13

101 Chapter 101: Lactics Equalizer. 2026-10-18
102 Chapter 102: An Idea. 2026-10-18
103 Chapter 103: A Decision Made. 2026-10-18
104 Chapter 104: 2026-10-18
105 Chapter 105: It’s Fallen For...... [PLEAAASSSSSEEEE, DOOO NOT READ.] 2026-10-18
106 Chapter 106: The Agent. 2026-10-18
107 Chapter 107: Italia. [1] 2026-10-18
108 Chapter 108: Italia. 2[Che La Luna] 2026-10-18
109 Chapter 109: Federazione Italiana de Giuoco Calcio. 2026-10-18
110 Chapter 110: 2026-10-18
111 Chapter 111: Nice To Meet You. 2026-10-18
112 Chapter 112: Too Much For One Night. 2026-10-18
113 Chapter 113: First Interaction. 2026-10-18
114 Chapter 114: Another Day In Wigan. 2026-10-18
115 Chapter 115: Headstart. 2026-10-18
116 Chapter 116: Now You See Me, Now You Don’t. 2026-10-18
117 Chapter 117: Hard! 2026-10-18
118 Chapter 118: The Invitation. 2026-10-18
119 Chapter 119: Carlo’s Conundrum. 2026-10-18
120 Chapter 120: Turned Therapist. 2026-10-18
121 Chapter 121: Relentless. 2026-10-18
122 Chapter 122: Misunderstanding. 2026-10-18
123 Chapter 123: Not There Yet. 2026-10-18
124 Chapter 124: First Game In Sight. 2026-10-18
125 Chapter 125: Against Japan U21. 2026-10-18
126 Chapter 126: Against Japan U21 [2] 2026-10-18
127 Chapter 127: Fragmented Game. 2026-10-18
128 Chapter 128: Calm Under Pressure. 2026-10-18
129 Chapter 129: At The Back But In Front. 2026-10-18
130 Chapter 130: Game Days. 2026-10-18
131 Chapter 131: Different Projects. 2026-10-18
132 Chapter 132 132: End Of Reign. 2026-10-18
133 Chapter 133 133: Interim. 2026-10-18
134 Chapter 134 134: Leo, The Base Of Everything. 2026-10-18
135 Chapter 135: First Start for Italy U21S. 2026-10-18
136 Chapter 136: Running The Show. 2026-10-18
137 Chapter 137: Back After The Break. 2026-10-18
138 Chapter 138: A Dream For Scouts. 2026-10-18
139 Chapter 139: It’s All Over. 2026-10-18
140 Chapter 140: That’s All Folks. 2026-10-18
141 Chapter 141: Last Night. 2026-10-18
142 Chapter 142: Reason For The Party. 2026-10-18
143 Chapter 143: Leo’s Day Out. 2026-10-18
144 Chapter 144: Welcome Back. 2026-10-18
145 Chapter 145: Buongiorno! 2026-10-18
146 Chapter 146: Support From The Couch. 2026-10-18
147 Chapter 147: Second String. 2026-10-18
148 Chapter 148: Football’s Coming Home. 2026-10-18
149 Chapter 149: Back At The DW. 2026-10-18
150 Chapter 150: Lackluster Wigan. 2026-10-18

”And I wanted to be a social media person if the football didn’t work out,” Leo said as he lay sprawled across his bed, the air conditioner filling the quiet room.

His phone rested against his knee, screen bright with the Instagram app open.

He squinted a bit as he typed the last few words into the bio section, short, clean, and, in his mind, perfect.

Then he hit save and muttered, ”Finally,” under his breath like he’d just conquered a mountain instead of signing up for an app.

He exhaled, stretching his arms above his head.

”Noah better appreciate this,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes before glancing at the screen again.

His new account looked oddly professional for something so empty, no posts, no highlights, just his name, a photo where his face was half-lit, and that neatly written bio.

”Good enough,” he whispered.

Then, as if checking something off a list, he tapped the magnifying glass icon and typed: Wigan Athletic.

He followed the team account first.

Within seconds, the algorithm started doing its thing, throwing out familiar names, Thelo Aasgaard, Chris Sze, James Mclean and even some staff accounts he recognised.

The more he followed, the more faces appeared.

A few of the lads from the U21S popped up too, mainly coming after he followed Jake and Ezra, as well as a few of his mates from the U21S.

He leaned against the headboard, thumb flicking over the follow button again and again until it felt like everyone he knew at the club had been ticked off.

It was almost satisfying in a weird way, like arranging boots after training.

”OCD is really not for the lazy.”

Before he could close the app, a red notification popped up at the top: Wigan Athletic followed you back.

Leo raised a brow.

”That was quick.”

Then, almost instantly, more notifications rolled in: Thelo Aasgaard followed you, Charlie Hughes followed you, Chris Sze followed you.

The chain reaction had started.

Within minutes, his followers had gone from zero to nearly five hundred, mostly teammates and fans who had probably noticed the club’s follow.

He watched the number climb for a few seconds, then gave a small nod, lips twitching upward.

”Okay,” he muttered, satisfied.

He backed out of the app and switched to messages, opening Noah’s chat.

Leo: ”Done.”

He barely had time to put the phone down before the three dots appeared, followed by a reply.

Noah: ”Good. About time.”

Another text came in right after.

Noah: ”Tomorrow, make a few posts. Use some of the training pics that the Italy U21 media guys take. Don’t overthink it. Just look alive.”

Leo chuckled softly through his nose and typed back, ”Got it.”

He was about to toss his phone aside when the door handle rattled.

A moment later, Carlo walked in, hair a bit messy, his expression somewhere between annoyed and tired of everything in the world.

Leo looked up, phone still in hand.

Carlo didn’t say a word, just nodded faintly in Leo’s direction, a silent ”hey”, before trudging straight to his bed.

He dropped down face-first, legs still hanging off the edge, shoes and all.

Leo blinked, half amused, half confused.

”You good?” he asked, but there was no response, just a muffled groan into the pillow.

”Alright then,” Leo muttered, shaking his head lightly.

He turned his eyes back to his phone, then at Carlo again, still unmoving.

For a moment, he thought about asking what happened, but decided against it.

Instead, he sighed, turned off his phone screen, and set it on the bedside table.

”Mind your business, Leo,” he whispered to himself, pulling one leg up onto the bed and leaning back against the pillow.

The next morning, the mood on the pitch was off from the start.

Leo stood a few meters from the group, one foot resting on the ball, his eyes following Marco as he tore into Carlo.

The assistant coach’s voice bounced across the training ground, sharp, clipped, and full of the kind of frustration that made everyone else keep quiet.

Carlo just stood there, shoulders sagging, barely responding as Marco ripped through him with rapid Italian that Leo couldn’t make sense of.

Udogie and Ricci lingered off to the side with a few others, their expressions caught somewhere between concern and discomfort.

They weren’t laughing, they weren’t whispering and were just watching.

For a group that hadn’t really seen Marco lose his head before, what they were watching was new to them.

Leo hadn’t been called up for his turn yet.

He stayed back, bouncing the ball lightly with his foot as Marco finally stopped barking and blew the whistle.

Then, the coach turned and started walking in Leo’s direction.

Leo slowed the ball under his sole, tilting his head slightly as Marco came up.

”You know what’s going on with Carlo?” Marco asked, still sounding more irritated than curious.

Leo raised a brow. ”You’re asking me?”

”Yes. You’re his roommate, aren’t you?”

”Yeah,” Leo replied, nodding like he’d just learned that himself.

”But I’ve got no clue what’s up with him. He came back like that last night. I think he went out with a few of the boys, Ricci, Ruggeri, and Udogie were the names I remember. Might be better to ask them.”

Marco gave him a curt nod, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the trio.

Ricci and the others looked like kids caught doing something they shouldn’t be, shuffling toward Marco when he called them over.

Leo stepped aside, dragging the ball with him, pretending not to care, but he stayed close enough to hear.

The problem was that most of it was in Italian.

Fast Italian.

He caught maybe one word in ten.

After about thirty seconds, he exhaled, shaking his head.

”Man can’t even eavesdrop properly,” he muttered, rolling the ball under his foot again.

He started juggling to pass the time, right foot, left foot, thigh and then back to the ground.

It was just steady, keeping him busy while Marco’s voice rose and fell a few meters away.

The players’ eyes kept flicking between Carlo, who was now sitting on a water crate with his head down, and Leo, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Eventually, Marco clapped his hands, cutting through the murmurs. ”Next batch!”

Leo’s group moved forward for the shooting drill.

The setup was simple: receive, touch, strike.

One by one, the players took their turns.

When Leo’s came, he jogged up, took the pass, and struck wide.

His second went straight at the keeper, and then the third skidded off the turf and missed by a yard.

A few heads turned, some smiling a bit as Leo continued.

He reset, took his fourth shot, this time catching it clean, the ball smacking against the post with a hollow clang before bouncing away.

A couple of players murmured under their breath at the switch from missing his first three to almost scoring a goal most strikers would be proud of.

And then, on the fifth, he finally buried it with a low drive into the far corner past the goalkeeper.

When he looked up, a few of the players were still watching him, not in judgment, but in that way people do when they realise something about someone they hadn’t before.

Maybe it was how he missed shots they expected him to score, or the irritation behind his calm face whenever they stared too much at him.

Either way, it held their attention longer than he liked.

Leo just shrugged inwardly, picked up his water bottle and stood among them again, though still a bit away from the whole group.

Marco barked new instructions as the players rushed to finish the session amid the sun, which was climbing higher.

After making the players run around to close out their training, Marco finally blew the whistle to end the session.

”Alright, enough,” Marco called out, his voice cutting through the chatter.

”Let’s continue with recovery in the building,” he said as most of the players nodded, turning to walk away.

”Carlo, Ricci, Udogie, Ruggeri, stay back. You too, Fabbri, Tonelli... all of you. The rest can go.”

There was a moment of stillness before anyone moved again.

Then, the players started peeling off their bibs, tossing them into the bin at the side of the pitch.

Carlo didn’t look surprised.

He just sighed, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt before turning toward Marco.

Leo, still a few steps away from the group, kept his eyes on the ball at his feet.

He rolled it from left to right, the soft thud-thud of leather against turf filling the silence around him.

He wasn’t part of whatever had gone down, and he didn’t plan on finding himself in it either.

As the rest of the squad drifted toward the exit, Leo stayed back, letting the crowd thin out.

When he finally glanced up, he spotted one of the staff photographers packing up near the sideline, a camera hanging from his neck and a few memory cards in his hand.

Leo hesitated for a second, then jogged over, brushing the hair off his forehead.

”Hey, Mister”, he called, though his tone came out more like a question.

”Uh... pictures? Can I—see some?”

The man looked up, blinking before a grin spread across his face.

”My English is good,” he said in a thick accent.

Leo paused, caught off guard.

”Oh,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. ”Sorry.”

The man laughed softly. ”No, no, good! It’s okay.”

Relieved, Leo smiled back and nodded.

”Alright. Can I see them?” he asked again, this time pointing toward the camera.

The man gestured with his hand, motioning for Leo to follow him toward one of the benches near the edge of the pitch.

”Come, come,” he said. ”I show you.”

Leo nodded before walking after him.

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