Harbinger Of Glory

Dawson, after making his way out of the locker room, slowed his steps as he reached the tunnel exit.

The floodlights had now been turned on, spilling in from ahead after the sky darkened, threatening to rain, but not a drop had fallen.

In the stadium, the half-time pause had done nothing to cool the place.

If anything, it had sharpened it.

”Good player, you’ve got there,” a voice suddenly came.

Dawson turned slightly as Jon Dahl came alongside him, walking at an easy pace with hands clasped behind his back.

”He keeps the ball well,” Dahl continued. ”Knows when to play fast, when to hold it. That’s rare at this level and age.”

Dawson gave a small nod, waiting.

”But be careful,” Dahl added, stopping just long enough to let the words settle.

And then he turned to face Dawson with a smirk.

”Players like that are bound to be swept up soon. I wonder how long you can keep him for?”

Dawson tilted his head, a wry smile cutting across his face.

It wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t hostile either.

”I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied as Dahl smiled faintly, satisfied, and moved past him toward the pitch.

Dawson lingered for a second, then turned back toward his players.

They were drifting out some metres behind him now, disorderly and loud.

Some were still tugging at their shirts, others taking the last swigs from their bottles.

Leo was just behind them, standing near the wall with the physio from earlier.

His shorts were rolled slightly higher from the massage he had gotten.

Dawson continued, watching as Leo tugged off his compression top and sleeve before slipping back his shirt, before he moved on.

And just as he did, the officials came first, emerging from the tunnel.

The players followed in no formation at all, spilling onto the grass in ones and twos.

Chants surged back to life, pulling everyone straight back into the atmosphere, as if the break had never happened.

Leo jogged toward his position, stretching his legs as he went.

He took a breath and looked up at the stands once before fixing his eyes on the ball, which Blackburn was kicking off.

And then a moment later, the whistle went.

”And we are back underway for the second half,” the commentary cut in on the broadcast.

”If you’re just joining us on the Sky Sports Championship broadcast, it’s Wigan Athletic one, Blackburn Rovers nil.”

Although Blackburn had the ball, Wigan didn’t waste any time reclaiming it, forcing early mistakes from their opponents.

”You have to say,” the voice continued as the passes zipped around, ”teams across this division will be watching this and wondering exactly what Coach Dawson has been feeding his players. The intensity, the tempo, it just doesn’t drop.”

”Well,” his analyst took over, ”They have overperformed their expected goals and even predicted position at the start of the season. Many expected them to be around the lower-tier positions towards the relegation end, but a nice change of Coach and a few young guns injected fresh energy into the squad.”

On the pitch, Leo checked his shoulder once and spotted a Blackburn man on him, but he still raised his hand open and called for the ball.

”Here. Here.”

The ball came into his feet, and so did the pressure as the Blackburn players bore down on his back.

But Leo ignored that and in the next moment, he saw the run immediately and didn’t hesitate, splitting the pitch open with a sharp pass out wide.

It skipped past outstretched legs and rolled perfectly into Will Keane’s path.

Keane drove forward, crowd rising with him, but the challenge came hard and late.

Harry Pickering slid across him, catching him as he pushed the ball on.

Keane was sent tumbling, skidding over the sideline as the whistle shrieked almost instantly.

”Oh, that’s a poor one,” the commentator said. ”And the referee has no doubts at all.”

The yellow card came out, but the Wigan end erupted in boos, long and loud, unhappy with the colour of it.

The broadcast cameras cut to Jon Dahl on the touchline, a brief smirk tugging at his face.

Then they swung to Dawson, arms folded in his seat, expression flat, giving nothing away.

Back on the pitch, Darikwa was already pulling Keane up.

Keane stamped his left foot twice, then once more, working out the tightness before motioning a thumbs-up signal towards the medical staff on the touchline.

And Leo stood over the ball afterwards.

He waited for the whistle and for his teammates to settle, then sent it in with pace, curling toward the heart of the box.

It flashed across the goal, begging for a touch, but nobody could get there in time.

The chance slipped away, and Leo jogged back, eyes already scanning again.

From there, the game stretched out into a long, demanding spell.

Blackburn tried to grow into it, pushing higher, circulating the ball with more confidence, showing flashes of why they sat fifth in the table.

But Wigan refused to give them room.

Every pass was chased, and every touch was contested, so much so that it got annoying for the Blackburn players, who resorted to fouling and unsportmanlike antics.

And Leo, who was roaming about on the pitch, got subjected to such treatment more than a few times.

”Leo again,” the commentary noted as he wriggled free of two shirts.

”Has been the subject of warranted attention. They’ve been clipping him and fouling him, but that won’t bother him because he’s got the better of the Blackburn players in every situation.”

Time crept on with little to no inventiveness from both teams, except for a save at the near post that brought everyone to their feet before settling them back down again.

For Wigan, it was understandable because they were in the lead and would clinch all three points should nothing go awry.

By the seventy-seventh minute, legs were heavy, the noise had taken on a strained edge, and Dawson was already standing near the touchline, eyes fixed on the pitch.

”And Wigan are taking advantage of a pause in play here,”

the commentator said. ”Looks like Dawson is ready to make a change.”The fourth official stepped forward, and the board was lifted.

In the stands, Mia leaned forward, eyes flicking from the numbers to the touchline.

”It’s not him,” someone behind them said quickly, relief clear in their voice.

”Yeah, yeah. Thank God. They always hook him around this time.”

The announcement followed.

Naylor off. Cousins on.

A wave of approval rolled through the Wigan end, both clapping for Naylor, who was going off after doing a good job and at Dawson for not taking Leo off, as he did against Rotherham, even though Leo was playing well in that game.

Then it shifted.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise.

Groans followed, loud and immediate.

On the pitch, Leo was down on one knee, a hand gripping his ankle.

The challenge had been clumsy more than dangerous, but the frustration was clear.

He looked up, eyebrows raised, saying something to the referee that didn’t get a response.

A Blackburn shirt stepped in close.

Tyrhys Dolan.

”Get up,” Dolan snapped, giving Leo a shove with the heel of his hand.

The reaction was instant.

”What’s he doing?” Mia barked, already on her feet.

Wigan shirts swarmed in, arms out, bodies closing the space.

One of them got right in Dolan’s face, and another tugged Leo gently back.

Words flew while the referee rushed over, whistle at his lips.

Leo stood up and walked away with a little smile on his face, like he was saying the altercation wasn’t worth it.

After that, a chant started before the situation had fully settled.

”Ohhh, you’re hard,” Mia shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth.

”Beefing with a kid!” someone near her picked up instantly.

”Seventeen! Se-ven-teen!”

Mia turned, grinning, and raised her arms, urging it on.

The chant grew, bouncing from section to section, the rhythm taking hold.

Laughter mixed with jeers as the Blackburn player backed away awkwardly.

Down on the pitch, Leo finally glanced up.

He spotted her straight away.

He shook his head, half amused, half embarrassed, then lifted his thumb toward the stands.

”Talk about support,” the commentator laughed as the cameras found Mia mid-chant, voice high and relentless.

”That’s family backing right there, and the rest of this stadium is loving it.”

Joe Bennett, in the midst of that, stood ready on the touchline.

McClean also jogged off to applause, chest heaving, and Bennett took his place without ceremony before the restart came quickly.

The ball was played short, and Leo was already moving.

He took his first touch forward, eyes locked on Dolan.

The Blackburn number 10 squared up, low stance, arms out, determined to win the ball.

Leo slowed, just for a heartbeat, then went into his feet.

One stepover.

Then another.

Tight, controlled and almost casual.

”He doesn’t usually do this,” the analyst said, voice rising. ”He’s taking him on here.”

The crowd rose with him as Leo nudged the ball past Dolan’s right foot and spun away, shoulder dipping through the space before contact could come, then he rolled the ball back.

A quick one-two followed, the return pass slipped back into his stride just as the Blackburn midfielder lunged and missed again, and suddenly he was free.

”Leo driving again,” the commentary rattled on. ”This is dangerous.”

He shaped as if to pass after getting near the edge of the box, and the defender bit.

But then he opened his body for the shot, faked it again and then dragged the ball across himself and struck it with his left.

”Leooo, he’s dangerous!”

The sound alone turned heads as it cannoned off the post with a sharp crack, skipped across the face of the goal, and kissed the inside of the far upright before settling in the net.

Then the place exploded.

”GOAL!” the commentator roared. ”Oh my goodness, what a finish! What a moment!”

Leo wheeled away, fists clenched, roar tearing out of him as the noise swallowed everything.

He turned back toward Dolan, lifted two fingers, and shouted over the chaos.

”Two! Two times!”

The Wigan players piled into him afterwards, dragging him into a blur of arms and shouts.

In the stands, Mia was jumping, screaming, hugging Sofia and Gianna at the same time, nearly knocking Carlo off balance as Vittoria laughed and shook her head.

”This could be it,” the commentary continued, breathless now. ”Two-nil, and with the way Blackburn have played, you struggle to see a way back for them from here.”

A/N: Sorry, guys, for not releasing earlier. As an apology, I added some extra words for this Chapter and will see you soon with a Christmas Chapter. Thanks for reading, and love you all. Merry Christmas.