Harbinger Of Glory

5 minutes into added time, a steady rhythm began clapping out of the stands of the DW, eroding the whole stadium in a matter of seconds.

Every fan got in on the action, and they did so just before the chants began.

We had Ben Watson at Wembley,

Rose above them all,

Now we’ve got Leo running games,

Writing legends at this club.

Blue and white forever,

Cup winners once,

From Watson... to Leo,

Wigan could be kings at Wembley again!

The words hit the pitch in waves, filling every pause in play.

”You can hear it,” the commentator said, letting the chant fill his pause before coming in again.

”The Wigan fans are making themselves heard now. Once upon a time, some ten years ago, they lifted the trophy of this very competition, and so, it would be an understatement to say they want to relive that glory once more after talks of there being little to no focus on this competition.”

On the pitch, Leo took a simple pass near the right touchline after Nyambe sought an outlet.

He let the ball settle under his foot while keeping his eyes on the approaching press.

The moment the press got close enough, he panned his body towards the left, before cutting back onto his right, and then skipping past his marker.

A resounding cheer followed closely as he crossed the halfway line, but just before then, the referee’s whistle cut through the thick atmosphere, causing all bodies to slow.

For a split second, everything froze.

Then the roar hit, full and unfiltered, pouring down from every side of the stadium.

”That’s it,”

came the call from the gantry.”A very fitting end for Wigan, and for their supporters in particular. They made it clear they were not interested in throwing the cup aside for the league.”

The camera pulled back, then found Leo standing alone near the centre of the pitch, bent over for a moment before he straightened up again.

”And they will not have to,” the commentator continued.

”Because they have won the game. And they have one man... or one boy... to thank.”

The lens tightened on Leo as he began to move, first toward his teammates.

He was met with embraces, quick words and little shoves before he moved on, crossing to the Luton players, shaking hands with the few he came across and picking up the rest from their seated positions on the grass.

Then he turned toward the touchline.

There, Dawson stood near the technical area, arms folded, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Leo jogged over and let out a roar as he reached him, fists clenched, adrenaline still buzzing, before double high-fiving his manager.

Dawson shook his head, amused more than surprised.

”Enjoy it,” he said, voice calm but warm.

”But remember, you just made things harder for ourselves.”

Leo laughed under his breath. ”How so?”

”Well, we can’t back down now,” Dawson replied.

”We will have to show up on both fronts. League and cup. More games, more pressure and more eyes.”

Leo nodded, the reality settling in quickly.

”That’s fine,” he said. ”That’s what we want.”

Dawson clapped him on the shoulder once.

”Good. I hope you’ll keep that attitude up.”

Together, they turned toward the tunnel where, just inside, a small platform had been set up, lights already warming with a standing there presenter waiting and a microphone in hand.

They stopped just short of cords running somewhere into the tunnel while the interviewer smiled as the red light blinked to life.

”Good to have the two of you here,” he said, turning slightly to fit both of them into frame.

Dawson answered first, natural and measured.

”Pleasure,” he said. ”Always is.”

Leo, who stood just half a step behind him, nodded but said nothing, eyes drifting briefly toward the pitch before settling back on the interviewer.

”I won’t keep you long,” the interviewer continued.

”But I do want to ask about this win. There’s been plenty of talk about Wigan not putting full focus on the FA Cup this season. Was that fair?”

Dawson nodded, not dodging it.

”Yeah, that’s true,” he said.

”The priority has been the league. Promotion matters to this club, and that’s where most of our energy has gone and was going.”

He paused, then let out a chuckle.

”But,” he added, glancing sideways, ”someone had other plans.”

The interviewer caught it instantly and laughed, following Dawson’s look toward Leo.

”Seems that way.”

He then turned fully to Leo.

”What was going through your head out there today? Especially with that goal and all that celebration against the Luton Town fans.”

Leo lifted the microphone closer, thinking for a second before answering.

”Well, they were making a lot of noise for an away end, so I was thinking of ways to get them quiet, and thankfully, I was able to do so. As for the game, I just don’t like losing,” he said. ”Especially not games I feel we can win. And we did.”

The interviewer smiled.

”That’s a strong mentality to have at your age.”

Leo nodded once, bringing the microphone up to his jaw.

”And what about the tournament itself?” the interviewer asked.

”Now that you’re through, how do you see it?”

Leo glanced toward Dawson as he answered, a faint smirk crossing his face.

”Everyone’s here to win it,” he said.

”And now that my manager has approved the challenge...”

He turned his head slightly toward Dawson.

”We’ll do our best to win it too.”

The interviewer leaned back a touch, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

He looked at Dawson with a knowing grin.

Dawson just shook his head, lips pressed together, the look of a man already regretting a sentence he knew would be replayed later or used in a bad way altogether.

Leo, on the other hand, stood there, unaware, calm as ever.

”Well,” the interviewer said, recovering, ”that’s conviction if nothing else.”

He lowered his microphone.

”I won’t take any more of your time. Thanks to both of you for coming over.”

”Cheers,” Dawson replied.

Leo nodded again, short and polite, before handing off the microphone to a staff member who appeared from behind the interviewer right after.

Then, together with Dawson, they turned towards the tunnel fully.

Even by the time they entered the dressing room, it was still relatively loud, mostly with laughter and after-game chatter that refused to die down because of the win.

And when Leo entered, it got even more rowdier, mainly because they had watched the interview on the locker room TV.

”Touching speech,” Fletcher said, grinning. ”You planning on waking up tomorrow and living with all that?”

Before Leo could respond, Mclean’s voice chipped in.

”Declaring war on the FA cup is a first for me, even in all my years of playing.”

Leo stopped at his spot and looked around, confused more than anything.

He raised an eyebrow. ”What did I say?” he asked. ”I answered the question.”

That only made it worse.

A few of them laughed harder, shaking their heads like it was already too late for him.

Before Leo could scroll back through the interview in his head, Dawson’s voice cut clean through the room.

”Alright,” he said, firm but calm. ”Sit down.”

The noise from then on began dying down bit by bit until all the players found benches, some still smiling about whatever had been said.

Leo sat too, still half lost, still unsure why his words had been taken in such a way, but when Dawson moved, he threw those thoughts away.

The latter, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back while watching his player.

Then a moment later, he nodded toward Leo.

”The youngest one in here,” he said, ”has started a challenge.”

A few heads turned towards Leo with smirks and head-bops.

”So now,” Dawson continued, ”every time we step into the FA Cup, we rise to it. At least, that’s what is expected of us from now onwards. And at the same time, we keep showing up in the league, because promotion doesn’t wait.”

He let that sit for a moment.

”It won’t be easy,” he said.

”It and I are going to ask more from all of you. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

The usual groans Dawson expected weren’t heard.

Rather, replacing it were faces set with determination.

Seeing that, Dawson smiled, small, genuinely, before nodding slightly.

”Good,” he said. ”Now get yourselves sorted and let’s get out of here. We have to rest well after this.”

He turned and walked out afterwards with Nolan right behind him, already talking quietly as they went, and the noise crept back in slowly after that.

For Leo, though, the next morning came too quickly.

Even after the game yesterday, Leo was already moving through the training complex, hood up, one hand running through his hair while the other held his phone.

He hadn’t slept badly, but his head felt full, mainly because of the headline that was staring back at him.

Wigan to win the FA Cup? says Leo Calderon.