Harbinger Of Glory

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

It had been a bit colder than usual, and his muscles had opinions about the jog he was insisting on, but he pushed through it like he’d done so far since the start of his season.

By the time he got back, the soreness had loosened its grip enough that the shower felt like a reward rather than just a necessity.

He stood under it longer than usual, and when he stepped out and dried off, he felt something close to human again.

He picked up his phone, which felt hotter in his grip.

He’d muted the notifications the night before after the messages from unknown numbers had started coming in waves, and now the screen showed a number that made him blink before he decided not to look at it too closely.

Immediately after that, he went to WhatsApp, where Mia had messaged at half eight.

What do you want for your birthday, btw?

Leo stared at the message as he sorted his thoughts.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds, hovering without landing, and then he slipped the phone back into his pocket and stood by the window for a moment.

He was turning eighteen in two weeks.

The 31st of May, and it was arriving with a whole bunch of things that he’d rather not face at the moment.

Adulthood.

The thought sat with him in the quiet of the room, and however nervous he tried to feel, it didn’t work.

It’s just like any other age, he thought!

Then another thought followed it, and it was one he had been putting off for a while.

The accommodation question.

When you/a player, turned eighteen at the Wigan complex, you were expected to move out of the youth housing to make room for the next wave coming through.

Jake and Ezra had stayed until nineteen, which was allowed if you asked and got approved, which wouldn’t be too difficult for Leo, considering his current standing at the club.

But he’d been thinking about his own place for a while now.

More than thinking about it, actually.

He knew the benefits.

The space, the quiet and the possibility of Mia and Sofia joining him there should the latter not refuse, which a part of him knew she was going to.

He exhaled.

”Things will sort themselves out,” he muttered, which was what he always said when he didn’t want to deal with something immediately.

After that, he took his phone back out and typed a reply to Mia.

idk

The moment he finished sending it, he muted his phone and slid it back into his pocket before she could ask a follow-up question he’d have to think about.

...

While Leo stayed in the England frenzy, Rome stayed vibrant, albeit peaceful.

In the minimalistic-looking apartment, Vittoria had been awake for half an hour but hadn’t moved much further than her bed, lying on her back with her phone above her face, scrolling through what had turned into an unavoidable feed of articles and posts about the FA Cup final since she followed Wigan’s official account with her main Instagram account as well as her burner account with the latter being the one which she was using right now.

As she did, she paused on Leo’s Instagram post.

The picture through the tinted bus window, the backs of the Wigan fans, and the caption underneath.

She read it twice and then kept scrolling, but her thumb slowed.

She looked at the time, and then she looked back at the post.2

Then she put the phone face down on the duvet and stared at the ceiling for a moment, asking herself a question she’d been circling since she woke up.

Should she call him?

She had gotten to watch the game live the night before, but had decided to let the matter breathe before she reached out and now, here she was being indecisive again.

She picked the phone back up, but then put it down again before she swung her legs off the bed and walked to the living area like she wanted a change of scenery.

Once she got there, she dropped onto the couch instead, deciding that the question could wait until she’d at least had something to drink.

As her thoughts stalled, her phone buzzed, bringing her back to herself.

It was from Mia, and the message was simple.

It was just a date. 31st May.

And above it, in small text that Mia had added as a label.

Leo’s birthday.

Vittoria’s brow went up as she hadn’t known the date.

She’d known it was coming, as Sofia had mentioned it once in passing, but the specific date had never landed properly until now.

Another message came through before she’d finished processing the first.

Would you want to be part of the surprise?

Beside the message was an emoji which looked like eyes questioning her.

Vittoria looked at the message for a long moment.

Then she sat up slightly on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her, and began typing back.

...

The training ground had a different feel when the players returned.

Dawson stood in front of them on the first morning back and didn’t waste time getting to it.

”I’ve had a few days to sit with that result,” he said.

”And the thing that stayed with me wasn’t the scoreline. It was the feeling of standing on that touchline and not being able to do enough to change what was happening.” He paused. ”I don’t like that feeling. I don’t want to feel it again.”

”So what we do between now and the playoff final is simple. We sharpen everything. Every detail, every shape, every run. I’m not going into another game feeling like I sent my players out underprepared. That’s on me when it happens, and it won’t happen again.”

He looked around the group once more and then nodded toward the pitch.

”Let’s get to work.”

After that, the days passed, and the time spent felt purposeful.

Outside the complex, the conversation began building.

Pundits, journalists, supporters, and fans of other clubs who had followed Wigan’s season from a distance all arrived at the same question.

When the final whistle blew at Wembley in the playoff final, which version of Wigan Athletic were they going to be looking at?

The same club they’d been for the past few years.

Or a Premier League one.