CHAPTER 157: ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS!

Leo dropped into the chair with all the grace of someone who had reached the end of his battery.

The cafeteria was mostly empty by then.

Most of the senior boys had gone home, leaving a few of the reserves scattered around the far tables.

The place felt quieter, warmer, almost like it belonged to them alone, while Jake, who sat across from him, was already halfway through his plate of fish and chips.

Leo stared at it for a second, then shook his head.

"You’re the only person I know who thinks fish and chips is some revolutionary meal."

Jake didn’t even look up.

"Relax. This is just to fill the gap."

He then pointed his fork at Leo.

"Besides, you’ve still got your aunt’s food. Don’t pretend you don’t. I checked your fridge."

Leo pulled out his phone and scrolled without reacting.

"Well, you’re not getting your hands on it," he muttered.

"What?" Jake asked, leaning in a bit. "What did you say?"

Leo kept his eyes on his screen.

Either he was ignoring Jake, or he simply didn’t care enough to repeat himself, and the latter sounded more plausible.

Jake clicked his tongue but didn’t push further.

Leo finally started eating the lean meal he had gotten from the cafeteria, taking slow bites while staying glued to his phone.

Usually, he would have set his phone down and eaten, but today, it was still in his hands, and Jake didn’t fail to notice.

"Who are you texting?" Jake asked, but Leo didn’t even blink or even acknowledge him.

Jake let out a short snort, grabbed his tray, and stood.

Ezra looked up from his own plate and exchanged a glance with Leo, thinking Jake had finally taken offence and decided to bail.

Leo didn’t comment, but he definitely expected the same.

Instead, Jake walked straight to the serving counter.

The cafeteria worker paused, eyes narrowing just a little.

"You already had a serving."

"Yeah, but I’m a big lad," Jake said, gesturing at himself.

"Coach Dawson will burn through whatever’s left of me tomorrow, so I’m just preparing."

The worker hesitated.

Jake wasn’t even supposed to be dining with the senior squad, and he knew it.

But his confidence carried him like a passport.

After a moment, the worker sighed and handed over the extra portion.

Leo and Ezra now stood behind him, having wandered over to see how the negotiation ended.

They both shook their heads as Jake strutted back to their table with his second plate, like he had just won a trophy.

.....

The next day, it was deja vu all over again for the players.

Dawson’s voice cut across the pitch again as he instructed his men with intensity.

The morning sun had dipped low enough to stretch long shadows over the grass, and the session had already gone well past what anyone considered reasonable.

Half the squad had dropped where they stood after the last sequence, sprawled out like they’d staged a protest.

Nolan watched them from the sideline with his arms folded.

He let out a low breath before turning his head toward Dawson.

"You don’t think we’re pushing them a bit too far?"

Dawson didn’t stop arranging the markers.

"We are."

Nolan blinked at him. "Alright. Thought you’d deny it."

"No point." Dawson straightened, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The board keeps telling me they expected something bigger from us already."

Nolan gave a short laugh. "You gave them too much optimism for a team that finished nineteenth last season."

"That’s what I get for making things look tidy in my first couple of months in charge", Dawson shook his head.

"But it’s not all bad. They’ve started talking about giving me a proper budget for January."

"That’s what they said?" Nolan turned to look at him fully. "You actually need it?"

Dawson looked over at the players sprawled across the pitch.

"Not really," he said. "What we have is enough if things go the way I want."

Nolan raised his brows.

"Then maybe let them breathe. They look half-dead."

Dawson clicked his tongue once.

Then he stepped forward and blew his whistle sharply.

"Up. All of you. That’s enough lying around."

A chorus of groans rolled across the pitch, but the players began to pick themselves up.

Some used their elbows like they were climbing out of trenches.

Others stayed on their knees a few seconds longer, hoping he’d forget about them.

Dawson walked toward them with a calm that meant he was nowhere close to finishing.

"You’ve rested long enough," he said. "We’ll run the last shape again, and then we’re done."

"That is what you said the last time," Cousins complained, but all the others were glad he spoke for them.

"Well, life is a bitch inni’t. You never get what you want unless you get too good to have it. Now quit moping around before I get you 10 more laps," he said, causing the players to quickly get to their feet.

Cousins had said it, though, because Dawson made his men do two extra set-ups before finally calling it a day after Nolan informed him of their lunch.

Not all of them got that luxury, though, because Thompson called out Leo’s name as the session wrapped up, catching him just before he could slip away with the rest of the group.

Leo froze for a moment, then turned slowly toward him.

The older coach was already gesturing for him to come over for their usual one-on-one.

Most of the time, he was either with Thompson or Dawson and never two in a day, but Thompson was suggesting just that.

He tried saying that to Thompson, but the latter didn’t look like he was going to take no for an answer, telling Leo that they weren’t going to do much, but the latter knew he would rather trust the devil than Thompson.

Leo tried one last attempt at escape and looked over to Dawson, hoping for some sort of mercy, but Dawson didn’t even look back at him.

He had already walked off with Nolan, deep in conversation, leaving Leo stranded.

Leo let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders emptying as he trudged begrudgingly toward Thompson.

Once with Thompson, they ran through touches, positioning adjustments, and the same shooting drills Leo drills to get Leo’s ability in that section up, only now with Thompson watching him closely and stopping him whenever he didn’t like something.

The extra hour dragged, but Leo kept at it, trying not to let his frustration show because he knew this was just a small step for his foundation.

His shooting at first, as the modern man would say, was "ass-cheeks", but day by day and in games, he could see things working out for him in the department, slowly but surely.

By the time Thompson dismissed him, the floodlights had fully kicked in, and most of the pitch had fallen silent.

The rest of the week blurred together.

Training, recovery, more training.

Thompson’s one-on-ones became routine, and Leo found himself living in a loop of drills, meetings, and quick meals at the complex.

In the middle of all that, Noah Sarin arrived with papers in hand.

They met in one of the small offices beside the media room, the one with the glass wall that looked into the hallway.

Sofia came along, her excitement barely contained even before they sat.

"It’s a simple representative contract," Noah said as he pushed the document toward Leo.

"I’ve already read through multiple times, and nothing seems out of order."

Leo skimmed through the pages while Noah explained the finer points.

He wasn’t used to this part of the job and hadn’t really thought about something like this happening to him because even if it wasn’t that huge to others, it was to him.

Sofia, by his side, tried to blink away the wetness in her eyes, but it didn’t work.

She turned her face a little, wiping quickly as if nobody noticed, while Noah smiled at her reaction.

"This is just the start."

"It is," she said, voice soft but proud.

The representative from Glory Cafe handed over a neat folder, promised to update them on the schedule for the photoshoot, and left with an enthusiastic handshake.

Plans began to roll from their side almost immediately.

Location options. Outfit ideas.

The projected release date.

Things Leo couldn’t picture himself doing a few months ago.

Days kept moving, and December arrived before he even realised the month had changed.

Matchday came on the fourth.

Wigan at home against Hull City.

Cold air, grey skies, and that typical winter sharpness brushing over the town.

The players gathered at the training complex in their winter kits, bags slung over their shoulders, hands tucked into pockets.

Conversations were drifting more than usual, mainly in annoyance about how the FA of the championship had decided to schedule their game, the same day that England was playing their last group game in the World Cup, the same time that they were playing Hull City.

Leo, on the other hand, couldn’t care less and fell into line with the others as the staff directed them toward the bus waiting outside.

One by one, the players stepped up into the bus.