Chapter 102: An Idea.
The tension burst into sound, a wave of cheers, of exhaustion, and of slight triumph and relief all blending into one.
Players of the away side dropped to their knees, at how thin and close the end had been.
How they had almost conceded and lost the game for almost the entirety of the latter stages of the game.
"Full time!" the commentator called over the noise on the broadcast.
"And what a finish we’ve had here! Wigan 1, Middlesbrough 1, but that doesn’t tell half the story. The home side were relentless, fearless, and it’s that young man again, Leo, at the heart of it all. This kid just keeps on turning up game after game, and I am not surprised they are chanting his name. What a performance. What a moment."
On the pitch, Leo stood still for a second, his chest rising and falling, the noise crashing around him like waves.
Then he looked up toward the stands, thousands of fans still chanting, the Wigan chants, with some roars of his name in the mix, even if not all of them knew it by heart yet.
He smiled faintly, turned toward the nearest Boro player, Howson, helping the veteran onto his feet.
"You really made us work hard for this, draw kid," he said, before walking away.
The scoreboard glowed above them, the clock frozen at ninety-plus-whatever.
It was over.
....
In the stands, the tension had long since broken the bounds of partisanship.
The two Italian men who had come expecting a quiet afternoon now sat with their backs pressed to their seats, knuckles white against the armrests.
They weren’t even sure when it had happened, that shift from casual observation to full-blown investment.
Maybe it was the clearance off the line.
Maybe the vision in that second assist-that-almost-was.
Whatever it was, by the time the final whistle went, they’d realised they were holding their breath for a club they didn’t even follow.
One of them, the older of the two, finally noticed his hand still gripping the armrest.
He let out a quiet laugh under his breath, unclenching his fingers.
"Dio mio," he muttered, shaking his head. "We got carried away."
His colleague beside him exhaled, leaning back with a crooked grin.
"Yeah," he said softly, still looking down at the pitch. "For a kid we didn’t even know existed a 2 weeks ago."
Down below, Leo stood near the touchline, talking quietly with Darikwa.
His hair clung to his forehead, his shirt stuck to his skin, but his smile was faint from the satisfaction of the effort he had put in tonight.
Darikwa clapped him on the shoulder, saying something the Italians couldn’t hear, and Leo just nodded, still catching his breath.
The two scouts exchanged a look.
Then, almost in sync, their eyes drifted toward the small tripod camera they’d set up midway through the second half, a precaution at first, now something far more valuable.
It had been aimed squarely at Leo since the 60th minute.
They didn’t say a word.
Just a glance, one that carried quiet understanding.
Then they both stood, brushed their jackets straight, and turned toward the exit, their footsteps quiet under the roar that still echoed faintly from the concourse.
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was the exact opposite.
Steam hung in the air as boots thudded against the floor.
It wasn’t a full-blown celebration, but satisfaction.
One of how they had been able to put in a shift against a team in 5th place despite all the odds not being in their favour.
Dawson, who had just entered after his interview, stood in the middle.
He clapped his hands once, sharply, and the chatter dulled just enough for his voice to cut through.
"Alright," he began, pacing slowly. "That’s what I’m talking about."
"That second half, that’s us. That’s who we are. And that’s what we can do when we get up to speed and put our minds to it. You turned up for the fans. For yourselves. And I’ll tell you what," he gestured loosely, a grin breaking through "—you made a bloody good team look rattled."
A few cheers and nods followed, with Chris Sze almost clapping before putting his hands back down.
Dawson turned then, eyes scanning the group until they landed on Leo, who was sitting near the far end, towel over his shoulders, still trying to untie his laces.
"Another assist," Dawson said, voice lifting slightly, "and man of the match again. What’s that now? Three in five?"
The room erupted in laughter, a few whistles echoing off the walls.
Leo just looked up, grinning bashfully, shaking his head as Dawson kept going.
"At this rate," Dawson continued, mock-serious, "I might just let him play every position in midfield at once. Save the club a bit of money."
The players broke into a chorus of laughter.
Max Power, sitting nearby, called out between chuckles, "We’ll have to start guarding our spots then, gaffer! The kid is making us look bad!"
"Too late for you, mate!" someone shouted from the back.
The room burst into laughter again as Dawson joined in, before composing himself and then looking at his players.
"It’s a bit too early to start dreaming, but play the way we are in, we just might sneak into a playoff spot, and when that happens, you know what’s coming right."
His words came off as a sort of challenge for his men, one which would bring all sorts of perks, including better wages, more exposure for some who had been playing in the championship their whole life, and a new stage to show their talents.
"But let us focus on now," Dawson’s voice broke the players out of their reverie.
"Let us focus on keeping this run of form on, and see how this plays out, okay. Now, hurry up and shower for those of you who want to, so we can all go home."
The dressing room soon got hectic, with the players moving around, but with a new motive of challenge at the back of their minds.
....
"Race you to the finish, Leo!" Ezra’s voice cut through the cold of the early morning fog.
Before Leo could even respond, Ezra was already sprinting ahead, his laughter echoing down the narrow lane leading toward the Wigan training complex.
Leo grinned and shook his head, then suddenly kicked into gear, his strides quick and sharp, his breathing steady as he picked up speed.
Jake, the slowest of the four, shouted after them but was quickly left behind.
Benjamin, running just ahead of Jake, turned his head in disbelief as Leo surged past him effortlessly, the rhythmic sound of his trainers slapping the pavement filling the quiet air.
Ezra, glancing over his shoulder, caught sight of Leo gaining ground.
"No way you’re catching me!" he yelled, pushing harder, his laughter turning into panting breaths.
But by the time they neared the complex gate, Leo had closed the gap, running neck and neck with him until both of them slowed to a stop, hands on their knees, sweat glistening under the golden hue of the evening sun.
Benjamin came in moments later, breathing heavily, followed by Jake, whose red face and labored breaths.
"Bloody hell," Benjamin puffed out between breaths, straightening up.
"You’ve gotten... noticeably faster, mate. And that stamina, unreal." He took a gulp of water from his bottle, shaking his head.
"I still remember your first training with the U18S. You couldn’t even finish the scrimmage they set to test you without collapsing like a dead fish."
Leo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Yeah, well... that’s what happens when you run around the whole pitch every day before and after training as well as in games."
He stretched his arms behind his head and stood tall, his breathing already returning to normal.
"If you guys did that too, you’d stop complaining about being tired all the time."
Jake groaned.
"Here we go again."
He leaned on Benjamin’s shoulder, gasping dramatically.
"Show-off."
The group burst out laughing, the exhaustion melting into lightheartedness as they began walking through the complex gates.
As they neared the accommodation building, Ezra suddenly slowed down, a mischievous grin creeping across his face.
"Alright, alright. One more race," he said, already bouncing on his heels like he couldn’t help himself.
"First person to reach the accommodation plays the PS5 first tonight."
Jake groaned again. "Nope. Not this time."
Benjamin shot him a glare. "Ezra, if you start running, I swear—"
But it was too late.
Ezra had already taken off, sprinting down the path with that same wild energy.
"Last one there watches!" he called over his shoulder.
Leo laughed, shaking his head. "You can hog the game to yourself, Ez! I’m not chasing you again!"
Ezra’s voice echoed faintly as he skipped toward the complex, "You lot are not fun at all!"
"Let’s just go," Leo said quietly, as he helped Jake, who had sat down again, up.
"Seriously, you need to get your stamina up. That’s one of your only problems," Leo said, chuckling as Jake shook his head.