The hum of chatter, boots on concrete, the smell of damp earth and turf—it all wrapped around them like the end of a satisfying day.
Another step forward.
"Leo!" a stern voice called from the touchline.
Both boys turned towards the source of the voice and found Coach Thompson standing near the technical area, arms crossed, eyes steady.
But it wasn't just him.
Beside him stood a young woman in a black blazer and jean, sleeves rolled up, holding a piece of paper and glancing toward Leo with something between curiosity and appraisal.
Leo's brow lifted.
Ezra gave a low whistle under his breath.
"Uh oh," he murmured. "New physio? Or scout?"
But Leo didn't answer and just moved towards the duo.
Coach Thompson didn't say anything at first as Leo approached the touchline—he just gave him that usual tight nod, before turning to his left.
Standing beside him, however, was the young woman Leo had spotted from across the pitch.
Now, up close, she looked familiar.
Slight frame, curly black hair pulled into a neat bun, media lanyard clipped to her jacket, and a black notebook in one hand.
Her eyes—alert and interested—landed squarely on Leo as he stepped up, sweat still clinging to his brow, shirt clinging to his back.
"Leo," Coach Thompson began, short and to the point, "this is Maya Linton. From the local press. She's been following the team. I've agreed to let her do a short interview with you."
He glanced at Maya. "Don't take too long. The lads need recovery."
Maya smiled politely and nodded. "Of course, Coach."
Thompson gave Leo one last look, then walked off with his hands behind his back, boots crunching against the grass.
"Hi," Maya said, turning to Leo with a warmer tone now.
"Thanks for doing this. I know you're probably sweating through that kit and dying to get it off, so I'll keep it short."
Leo raised a brow, a small smile forming. "Is it that obvious?"
She laughed.
"Let's just say you've got that 'I've just played ninety minutes and need to shower immediately' look about you."
"Fair enough."
Maya glanced down at her notebook, flipping a page.
"Alright, let's begin simple. For people reading this—who is Leo, and how did you end up here at Wigan? You're not exactly a local face, and if you were around before, I'm sure a player of your caliber would find the interest of people even if you didn't want it."
Leo scratched the back of his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Well… I'm just a midfielder trying to play good football, really."
Maya gave him a look. "That's a nice soundbite, but I think you can do better."
Leo chuckled. "Alright… I'm from Manchester. I'm seventeen and I only joined Wigan officially 3 weeks ago."
She nodded, pen scribbling. "And why Wigan?"
Leo hesitated a beat, thinking it over.
"They extended a hand towards me. Right coach, right timing. A place where I could actually play, get minutes, and get challenged. There's pressure, but… It's not empty. It means something."
Maya hummed in understanding.
"You've already made quite a few people curious after today's performance. Noticed the crowd reacting to you during warm-ups?"
"I did," Leo admitted, glancing back toward the stands. "It's a little strange and new, to be honest. But I try not to let it get in my head."
Maya let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, "So before Wigan, where were you?"
Leo met her eyes for a moment, then shrugged.
"United. The academy."
Her pen stopped. That got her attention.
"As in… Manchester United?"
"Yeah."
Maya blinked, absorbing it. "So… you were part of one of the biggest academies in the country. Then you left. And now you're at Wigan."
Leo nodded slowly. "That's the journey, yeah."
She didn't speak immediately. Just let her pen rest against the page as thoughts ran clearly across her face—thoughts she didn't say out loud.
Leo waited.
Something about Maya made him curious, too—not in the way most reporters prodded, but in the way she watched everything, thoughtful behind the eyes.
He had a feeling that her next question might go deeper than the surface.
And he wasn't sure if he'd answer it.
But the question he expected never came. Maya just leaned forward before jotting some things down.
"Okay Leo, that will be all. Thank you for your time" she said before turning away.
Leo just watched her walk away, brows furrowed a bit before also walking away.
....
The next day brought with it a briskness in the air—typical northern skies with that mix of sun that didn't quite warm and wind that didn't quite freeze.
Leo was heading back toward the 2-block dorms after a late breakfast, hoodie on, headphones in, mind somewhere between training drills and thoughts of whether Coach Thompson would show him the match footage from yesterday.
He hadn't asked. But he wanted to.
And then—
"LEO!"
The scream tore through the quiet car park just as he turned the corner.
He didn't even have time to react before something launched at him.
He staggered back half a step, arms instinctively wrapping around a blur of denim jacket, curls, and too much perfume.
Mia.
She'd flung herself at him like a missile, a backpack behind her and cheeks flushed from the cold and from excitement.
Leo blinked in disbelief, stumbling a bit as he caught her.
"You're actually here?" he managed, half laughing.
"Of course I'm here! I said I'd visit! Wait, didn't that old guy tell you?" she said as she finally released him, stepping back and brushing hair from her face.
"Old Guy, wait, Dawson? " Leo asked, but Mia just smiled.
"He told me that you would come yesterday, but then we had a match, so I figured it would be another time, just not today."
"You thought I wouldn't?" she asked.
"I didn't think you'd scream my name like that in front of the physio building," he said dryly, glancing around at the few staff nearby, giving amused looks.
"I was subtle," she said, completely unapologetic.
Behind her, walking with the calm grace of someone used to sudden chaos, came Sofia.
Black coat, oversized sunglasses, she was already pulling down as she reached them.
"I told her not to sprint," Sofia said with a sigh.
"But she nearly tackled one of the old groundsmen, mistaking him for you ten minutes ago, so you should be thankful it was actually you this time."
Leo gave her a grin.
"Good to see you too, Sofia."
She leaned in, gave him a quick cheek-kiss in her usual classy way.
"You were excellent yesterday."
"How did you know I was. Did you come to watch it?" Leo said as Mia stuck to his arm once again.
"We got a video from Dawson yesterday, right before we slept, and after Mia found that it concerned you, she didn't sleep until she watched it about 3 times."
The trio stood there talking for a while until Mia halted the talk.
She looped her arm around his.
"So, Big shot. Where are you taking your favorite sister and her lovely aunt for lunch?"
Leo sighed dramatically.
"You storm into my training ground, nearly break my ribs, and now I owe you lunch?"
"Yes," both Mia and Sofia said in unison.
Leo looked skyward.
"Why did I ever tell you I play football here again?"
Mia smirked. "Because deep down, you love being the centre of attention. Admit it."
He chuckled, nudging her lightly.
"Let me get changed first. Then maybe I'll show you around Robin Park—if you behave."
"No promises," Mia said, grinning like a troublemaker.
Leo couldn't help but smile as he moved towards their block.
....
In the quiet of the coaching office, the room dimly lit by the overcast afternoon light leaking through the blinds, Dawson sat with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him.
The replay from the Wigan U21 vs Crewe Alexandra match was paused mid-action—Leo, mid-sprint, the ball glued to his feet, two defenders closing in on him like stormclouds.
Next to him, Nolan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, rewinding a few seconds on the earlier clip.
Nolan paused the footage and looked toward Dawson, who finally sat back, rubbing his jaw.
He reached for the remote and skipped to the next video.
The screen flickered and changed—now inside the makeshift equipment-room locker room.
The camera was grainy, mounted in the corner, meant for security rather than footage review.
But it caught enough.
Jake walking toward the door, towel slung over his shoulder. Leo stepping in front of him.
A brief exchange. No audio, but the tension was there.
The way Leo slammed his palm against the wall, Jake startled, shrinking slightly, then nodding.
The two sat in silence, in the same mood since they had started watching the footage.
Then Nolan finally broke it.
"So what, you gonna let him train with the seniors or not?"
Dawson didn't reply immediately.
He looked past the monitor, toward the whiteboard on the far wall—formations, rotations, tactical shifts scribbled in erasable marker.
But it wasn't that he was seeing.
He turned, opened a folder on his desk, and pulled out a printed sheet—the injury report.
It was getting thick.
He stared at it now, eyes scanning the names.
A midfielder. Two wingers. A left-back.
Dawson didn't answer Nolan and just kept staring at that list but he seemed to have come to his own conclusion.