Harbinger Of Glory

[Wigan Dressing Room, Wembley.]

The players, the moment they entered the room, hadn’t hesitated to hit the showers.

It was an out for them. A brief moment to collect their thoughts, and as they stepped out, one could tell it had done it for them.

Some applied pomade, others just sat still, but no one was really talking.

After a while, the players came through the tunnel in ones and twos, now changed into joggers and hoodies and whatever they’d brought to travel back in.

The same tunnels and walkways that they had found short when they were entering the stadium some hours ago now felt longer.

Eventually, they exited and made their way towards the underground parking lot, and when they got there, Dawson was already seated.

He’d chosen his seat at the front and left the rest of the space to the other staff who had come with them.

The players filed in gradually and found their spots without much discussion.

Bags went into overhead compartments, and headphones came out while some of the players began closing their eyes before the engine had even started.

Leo went to the back, straight into the same seat he was in earlier.

He settled into the window seat, dropped his bag on the seat beside him, and leaned his head against the cool glass as the bus pulled out of the underground lot and began making its way out of Wembley.

The streets around the stadium were still busy and had supporters moving in both directions, with some City fans still celebrating and Wigan fans heading wherever they were heading.

As the bus picked up pace and the stadium began to shrink behind them, Leo spotted a group of Wigan fans walking away.

There were maybe eight or nine people whose shoulders had dropped slightly with hands in pockets as if the world had dealt them something difficult.

Leo watched them for a second.

Then he pulled his phone out and took the picture through the window before the bus moved too far.

It wasn’t a great picture technically, as it was slightly blurred and had the glass giving everything a faint tint, but it showed exactly what he wanted it to show.

The receding backs of supporters who had come all the way to Wembley for them.

He opened Instagram and started drafting.

He wasn’t a big poster.

His total posts since he created that account were only 10 in total, with most of them from earlier in the season or from the Italy camp and the remaining being the only sponsorship he had under his belt.

A promotional video of the Glory cafe, which he endorsed.

He typed slowly, deleting and restarting twice before settling on something that felt honest without being dramatic.

We gave everything we had today. Every single one of us. The result hurts, but it doesn’t define us, and it doesn’t finish us. We’ve still got something to play for, and we’ll be ready. Thank you to everyone who came today and everyone who watched. This isn’t over. Latics forever!

He attached the picture of the fans walking away and posted it before he could second-guess it.

Then he refreshed, and as he did, the likes started coming before the page had fully reloaded.

Comments began stacking underneath, with most being well-wishes from Wigan fans, while the few out of the usual were just neutrals who had watched the game.

After that, he checked his followers almost without meaning to.

101K.

He’d been at 93K yesterday morning but now.....

He looked at the number for a moment, then put his phone in his pocket and leaned his head back against the window and watched the city lights pass outside as the bus moved through London and pointed itself north.

--

The morning after the FA Cup final, the coverage was everywhere.

It had been the biggest sporting event in football over the past weekend, especially in the UK, so the attention was there as well as the potential for clicks.

Most of the major outlets led with the result and the manner of it, showing how close it had been than City liked.

Others also lead with the note about a Championship club that had almost been relegated the season before, pushing the Premier League champions to their limit at Wembley.

The tactical breakdowns came quickly after, with analysts picking through City’s first-half struggles and the adjustment Pep had made at halftime.

But the story that travelled furthest wasn’t about City.

It was about what Pep had said in his post-match press conference, almost as an aside, and it was the kind of comment that journalists know to hold onto.

Calderon? He is a very good player. Very intelligent. The way he reads the game, the way he uses the people around him. Last night was a showcase I liked very much, despite being opposition. I’ve had players like that before, and I still do, but at the moment, none affect the game from that deep like Calderon does. Wigan are lucky to have him.

These words might have seemed like harmless praise from Pep Guardiola, but for the media houses, this was enough.

By morning, the articles were running.

The national outlets picked it up first.

Then the regional ones near Wigan ran their own versions with the headlines leaning into it with everything they had.

Who is Leo Calderon, Pep Guardiola’s New Interest?

From Manchester United’s Reject Pile to Pep’s Wishlist.

The Teenager Who Made City Sweat.

The clicks came with the headlines, and the clicks brought more articles, and by mid-morning, Leo Calderon had become the name that people who hadn’t watched a minute of the Championship all season were suddenly typing into search bars.

Leo, though, was already outside before most of his teammates had opened their eyes.

[A/N; Okay guys. It’s a bit late, I think but thanks for waiting. It’s like 8 am and I haven’t slept so have fun reading and I will see you soon with another Chapter!]