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Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 421: Is It Too Soon! · Oct 18, 2026

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Chapter List (629)

Page number / 13

401 Chapter 401: A Matter Of Inches! 2026-10-18
402 Chapter 402: Astute! 2026-10-18
403 Chapter 403: Blue Avalanche! 2026-10-18
404 Chapter 404: The New Pulse Of The Azzurri! [GT - !] 2026-10-18
405 Chapter 405: The Debut! 2026-10-18
406 Chapter 406: Truly Italian! 2026-10-18
407 Chapter 407: Home Again! 2026-10-18
408 Chapter 408: The Media’s Attitude! 2026-10-18
409 Chapter 409: Back At The Complex! 2026-10-18
410 Chapter 410: Stalemate! 2026-10-18
411 Chapter 411: Fine Margins! [GT - ] 2026-10-18
412 Chapter 412: A New Question Every Week! 2026-10-18
413 Chapter 413: A Man.........With A Plan.....Sort Of! 2026-10-18
414 Chapter 414: Biggest Test Yet! 2026-10-18
415 Chapter 415: Hate To See You Win! 2026-10-18
416 Chapter 416: Game On! 2026-10-18
417 Chapter 417: Baiting The Pack! 2026-10-18
418 Chapter 418: Not Out Of The Woods! 2026-10-18
419 Chapter 419: Scare! 2026-10-18
420 Chapter 420: Pinned! 2026-10-18
421 Chapter 421: Is It Too Soon! 2026-10-18
422 Chapter 422: A Time Not Too Far Gone! [GT - !] 2026-10-18
423 Chapter 423: That Time Of The Year! 2026-10-18
424 Chapter 424: First Card! 2026-10-18
425 Chapter 425: Press Play! 2026-10-18
426 Chapter 426: EFL Cup Third Round! 2026-10-18
427 Chapter 427: Guildford Studios! 2026-10-18
428 Chapter 428: Boy And Reporter! 2026-10-18
429 Chapter 429: Players Of The Round Table! 2026-10-18
430 Chapter 430: Battle At Goodison! [GT - ] 2026-10-18
431 Chapter 431: Battle At Goodison! [2] 2026-10-18
432 Chapter 432: Up From The Spot! 2026-10-18
433 Chapter 433: Back Underway! 2026-10-18
434 Chapter 434: Head On! 2026-10-18
435 Chapter 435: Happy Feet! 2026-10-18
436 Chapter 436: The Art Of Knuckle! 2026-10-18
437 Chapter 437: Company At The Top! 2026-10-18
438 Chapter 438: League Leaders! 2026-10-18
439 Chapter 439: A Mid-week, Not For The Weak! 2026-10-18
440 Chapter 440: Different Game! 2026-10-18
441 Chapter 441: Almost.......[GT Chapter!] 2026-10-18
442 Chapter 442: Unware Genius! 2026-10-18
443 Chapter 443: Doesn’t Take Much! 2026-10-18
444 Chapter 444: Gun To Your Head! 2026-10-18
445 Chapter 445: Last Man! 2026-10-18
446 Chapter 446: Someone Else! 2026-10-18
447 Chapter 447: Broken Saviour! 2026-10-18
448 Chapter 448: On A Roll! 2026-10-18
449 Chapter 449: HomeBound! 2026-10-18
450 Chapter 450: Evolving The Blueprint! 2026-10-18

The DW answered with a roar as O’Shea climbed back to his feet, already waving his teammates further up the pitch.

Right then and there, the fourth official appeared on the touchline and brought up the board with him, showing the four minutes of added time bestowed upon the game.

But the home fans did not receive this warmly.

Every stoppage in the second half had been counted and remembered, and four minutes felt like a number generated by someone who hadn’t been watching the clock.

The away fans felt the opposite, four minutes being three and a half more than they wanted.

A moment later, Semedo took the throw and found Neto with it.

The winger planted himself between Max Power and the ball, absorbing the challenge before rolling it back into Semedo’s path as the full-back burst into the channel.

Through this, the former Barcelona man never broke stride.

Glancing just once into the box, he sent the cross deftly and dangerously.

It flashed within the 12-yard area of the box searching for Cunha until it began drifting beyond him.

For a heartbeat, it looked gone, but then, twisting and turning, Cunha did the unexpected.

He spun, and as his back almost faced the goal, he threw himself into the air, twisting on instinct more than technique.

”CUNHA...” the commentator’s voice rose sharply as the Wolves forward met the dropping ball with an overhead kick.

”...OH, WHAT AN EFFORT!”

The ball met his shin, but it did enough as the strike screamed toward the bottom corner.

Amos reacted on pure instinct, not getting the time to think as he hadn’t really been expecting Cunha’s effort.

He flung himself full stretch to his left, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to alter its path.

A fraction later... the crowd groaned.

CLANG!

The shot crashed against the outside of the post before bouncing back across the face of the goal and the next instant, the entire stadium gasped.

For the briefest moment, forty thousand people simply stared as the rebound dropped invitingly inside the six-yard box.

Luckily, Whatmough was already there.

The Wigan captain launched himself across the turf and hacked it clear before another yellow shirt could gamble on the loose ball.

Cunha landed awkwardly, both hands flying to the back of his head in disbelief before he was back on his feet almost immediately.

There wasn’t time to dwell on what had almost been.

”How has that stayed out?” the commentator shouted.

”An outrageous overhead kick from Matheus Cunha... a magnificent save from Ben Amos... and then the post comes to Wigan’s rescue! This game refuses to slow down!”

The co-commentator could only laugh.

”We’ve had everything this afternoon. Absolutely everything.”

Moving past the sidelines, Semedo was already retrieving the ball.

He took the throw before Wigan had fully reset, launching it long into the penalty area.

Fábio Silva attacked it, but from behind him, Whatmough attacked it harder.

The Wigan captain rose above him and powered the header clear, sending the ball dropping toward Carlo on the edge of the box.

He pushed it past Semedo’s reach immediately with a single touch before dashing right past the latter as Max Power gave it back to him instantly.

Suddenly Carlo was in space, moving, and the DW rose behind him.

”Now it’s Wigan on the attack. Do we have something more on our hands here? You would think so with the way the Wigan fans are cheering.”

Toti came across to meet him, the replacement defender setting himself, reading Carlo’s body language as the approach for a one-on-one.

Carlo indulged him, and Carlo moved as if he would go past him, but then he touched the ball inwardly to Jake, who slowed just enough to turn his back to goal and turn it right to Reyes.

Reyes, without slowing the play down, sent the ball right past the reach of Lemina and into the left channel.

Through it all, the home side cheered, enjoying the scenes their players were creating.

The ball was moving too quickly for Wolves to settle, blue shirts exchanging passes almost as fast as they could think.

”Wigan are flying here...” the commentary continued as eyes found Carlo, who never stopped his run.

He reached the byline just as the move threatened to run out of space, and then without a second thought, he sent the ball away.

It found Reyes just inside the area.

The Wigan number 10 slowed and leaned into the ball, his body coiling as Reyes’ left leg pulled back.

Every Wolves defender reacted, anticipating the oncoming effort.

Three yellow shirts hurled themselves toward him, and even the commentary was sold on it.

”REYES...” they called, but he never touched it.

The ball rolled cleanly between his legs, and for a split second, the entire Wolves defence froze.

They’d committed, and the shot they’d come to block didn’t exist.

Behind them... a blue shirt appeared.

He had stayed out of the move almost entirely, drifting into the space nobody had been watching, arriving just as the ball rolled perfectly into his stride.

One touch would’ve been safer, but he didn’t take any.

Without a single thought, his right foot planted and his left whipped through the ball with everything he had left.

The strike exploded off his boot, and José Sá saw it, but he simply couldn’t get there.

The shot screamed beyond his fingertips before crashing into the underside of the crossbar.

BANG!

The ball ricocheted down behind the line and back out again, and for the briefest instant, nobody moved.

Then the referee pointed.

It was a goal.

”GOAAAAALLLLL!”

”IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM AND WHO ELSE BUT LEOOOOO CALDERON!” the commentator roared over the chaos.

”HE’S DONE IT AGAIN!”

”WHAT A STRIKE! WHAT A STRIKE! WIGAN HAVE TURNED IT AROUND FROM TWO GOALS DOWN!”

”YOU DO NOT SEE THIS EVERY DAY. WIGAN ARE ELECTRIC!”

Leo was already turning, his shirt coming over his head before he’d taken three strides.

He tossed it toward the ground and ran toward the Wigan faithful in the stands and leapt, disappearing into the arms of the crowd as his teammates arrived behind him.

The whole Wigan bench emptied onto the pitch, the players and the supporters becoming the same thing for those few seconds.

The commentary let the noise run for a long moment before coming back.

”Five wins from five in the Premier League,” the commentator said, when the volume allowed it.

”Wigan Athletic. A newly promoted side from the Championship. Five wins from five. And I’ll ask the question that I think most people watching this across the country are now asking themselves.”

”Is it too soon to start thinking about something special happening here?”

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