Harbinger Of Glory

[Manchester, Same Evening]

Sofia stepped out of the bathroom, still rubbing a towel through her hair while the steam followed her into the bedroom.

Mia was sprawled on Sofia’s bed with her legs crossed, scrolling through something she clearly wasn’t paying attention to.

”Didn’t Leo have a game today?” Sofia asked as she worked the towel down to the ends of her hair.

Mia blinked, then lifted her head a little.

”Oh my god... he did.”

Both of them froze for a second before scrambling for their phones.

Mia practically rolled off the bed trying to find hers, while Sofia unlocked hers with wet fingers that kept slipping.

Mia was the first to speak.

”They won.” She said it slowly, almost in disbelief.

Sofia leaned closer to her own screen.

”Looks like he scored the winner too.”

That silenced both of them as the excitement died a little under the weight of guilt settling in.

They stared at their phones, neither of them saying much, until Mia finally let out a quiet groan and pressed her palm to her forehead.

”He’s going to roast us,” she muttered.

Sofia sank onto the edge of the bed. ”Yeah... we definitely can’t just pretend we didn’t forget.”

Another moment passed, while the two of them thought the same thing, before Sofia sat up straighter.

”Alright. We’ll make it up to him. We go to Wigan tomorrow. With food. Something proper.”

Mia nodded right away.

”Yeah. That works. And school will be calm after your test in the morning,” Sofia continued.

”Dead,” Mia corrected with a sigh. ”After that paper, I won’t have energy for anything except apologising to him properly.”

”Good. Then we go after that.”

Mia nodded, the guilt still lingering but softened now that they had a plan.

And the room fell quiet again, this time calmer, the two of them already thinking about what they should bring.

....

Leo pushed his door open with his shoulder as the smell of the food Sofia and Mia had brought still hung faintly in the hallway.

Jake was already planted on the edge of Leo’s couch, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees while his eyes stayed glued to the PS5 screen.

”Huh,” Jake said without looking away, ”I saw your aunt come by earlier.”

”Yeah,” Leo replied as he dropped the bags onto his desk.

”They came to bring me food. They forgot to watch the game yesterday, so this was their apology.”

Jake finally paused the game and turned a little in his seat.

”At least they care.”

Something flickered across his face, a tiny dip of the eyes, a tightening around his mouth, but he pushed it away before Leo could get a proper read on it.

Leo didn’t call it out and just started unpacking the containers, lifting lids and setting everything side by side until the desk looked like a buffet.

”You eating?” he asked, nudging one of the bowls toward Jake.

Jake dropped the controller beside him and stood up.

”Yeah, give me some before Ezra comes back and decides he suddenly doesn’t feel full again.”

He stepped over and leaned in, peering at the spread like he was checking for landmines.

”He’ll regret not eating this one,” Jake added, voice lighter now as he pulled a chair closer.

Leo cracked a small smile and slid a container toward him as the former slid a piece of chicken into his mouth, smacking his tongue in appreciation of the well-seasoned chicken.

”Damn!” he said before turning towards Leo.

”Can you ask if she wants to adopt a 19-year-old hunk of a striker from Wigan’s U21,” with Leo chuckling at Jake calling himself a hunk.

”Keep dreaming,” Leo said while he continued eating.

That evening, the room felt heavier.

The only real noise came from the iPad that had just been set up on Leo’s table, where the pundits were still talking over Argentina’s shock loss.

Jake sprang up from his chair like he’d won something himself.

”I can’t believe it. Saudi Arabia, man. Saudi Arabia!”

He spun toward the others with both hands in the air. ”Tell me this isn’t the funniest thing you’ve seen all week.”

Ezra didn’t move.

He sat on the couch with his arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen.

”This is bad,” he muttered.

”This is actually bad. What if it’s 2018 again? What if they even go out in groups? Nah... nah, this is mad.”

Jake laughed even harder.

”Oh, relax. Messi’s not getting packed home that early. They’ll sort it out.”

Ezra didn’t look convinced, while Leo wasn’t really paying attention to either of them.

He sat on his bed, leaning against the wall, his phone glowing softly in his hands, when a new message popped up.

Noah Sarin:

Hey. Are you free for a chat tomorrow? Let me know what time works.

Leo read it twice and then typed back.

Yeah, I’m free. Just tell me when.

He hit send, lowered the phone, and let it rest on his chest for a while.

A moment later, a response came, with all the details of the meet, right before Jake asked Leo to hop on the game.

The next morning, the session set the players back in so much so that it was like they hadn’t played football before.

Dawson had the group moving through short-possession grids that kept shifting every few minutes, and Leo’s batch had been running loops around the pitch to stay warm while the previous set finished theirs.

When Dawson blew his whistle and waved them in, the switch-over looked seamless except for one midfielder who lost his footing trying to adjust to the pace.

”Hold it,” Dawson called as he stepped in, stopped the sequence, and repositioned the cones himself.

”Reset. Don’t force the turn if your body isn’t balanced. Play what’s in front of you.”

Everyone shuffled back into place while Leo remained where he’d been, already reading the new angles.

His calmness stuck out to others, but he was already tuned into the drill.

The grid restarted, and the ball found Leo’s feet almost immediately.

He took one touch, lifted his head, and clipped a long, skimming pass across the square.

It cut through two lines and dropped straight into Fletcher’s stride before anyone could adjust.

Fletcher guided it forward and slid it past Ben Amos without a second thought while Dawson clapped once in approval. ”Good. That’s the rhythm.”

Leo’s group jogged off as the next set stepped in, while Fletcher slowed beside him, still grinning from the finish.

”What did they feed you in Italy?” he asked.

Leo laughed softly. ”Nothing special. I just don’t live off Coco Pops for dinner.”

Fletcher placed a hand on his chest like he’d been wounded.

”Alright. I’ll have you know cereal is a perfectly respectable meal.”

”It is,” Leo said, ”just maybe not five times a week.”

Fletcher shook his head like he refused to accept the slander, then nudged Leo.

”What are you doing after? Heading home or staying around?”

”Meeting someone,” Leo said, wiping sweat from his jaw.

”A girl?” Fletcher pressed, eyebrows raised, but Leo ignored him, took a sip from the bottle he’d left by the sideline, and walked on.

Fletcher followed, chuckling to himself before peeling off toward his station.

When the last rotation wrapped up, Dawson gathered everyone at the centre circle.

The players formed a loose semicircle, boots scuffing at the grass while they waited.

”We’re getting there,” Dawson said.

”The ideas are settling, and you’re starting to trust the structure. That’s what I wanted. After the World Cup, we’ll put this into full use. Until then, rest properly, watch the games, and keep your heads clear while switching on too for our next game in a couple of weeks.”

He looked around once more with a satisfied nod before continuing.

”Alright. Dismissed.”

The players all broke off, most walking in groups but each going to their own.

...

After training, Leo didn’t waste any time confirming with Noah if the arrangements were still the same before proceeding to dress and leave the complex.

A few minutes later, Leo moved through the town centre, his steps neither overly fast nor slow.

The afternoon sunlight caught the edges of shop windows and reflected off the wet pavements from a morning drizzle, sending brief flashes across his eyes beneath the mask he had bought not long ago.

Just on his little walk in town, he had been recognized twice, and so he copped a simple fabric barrier that let him breathe a little easier without drawing attention.

People walked past, heads down, carrying shopping bags or stopping briefly to check their phones.

Leo kept his pace steady, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, scanning the streets but mostly letting his mind settle.

Each step brought him closer to the café where the meeting was arranged, the chatter of the city fading into a muffled hum as he approached the corner where the small brick building sat tucked between a florist and a bookshop.

And then pushed through the café’s door.

In a corner, a familiar figure, in Noah Sarin, sat waiting, relaxed and unbothered.

The latter lifted his arms in a casual greeting the moment he spotted Leo, who made his way over to his coffee table.