Harbinger Of Glory

"So..."

"Mm?"

"How did he take it?"

Vittoria’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

"Better than I expected."

"That’s... reassuring."

Leo nodded slowly.

"He just..."

She searched for the words.

"He said he’d rather meet you before deciding what he thinks."

Leo raised an eyebrow.

"...That’s either really good or really bad."

"I honestly don’t know."

She smiled nervously, thinking about it.

"I think it’s good."

"I’ll choose to believe that."

Another small silence followed before Vittoria spoke again.

"He invited you to dinner. During the international break. He asked me to ask you, but I said only if you are free and that he can’t force it."

Leo leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath through his nose.

"...Right."

Vittoria watched him carefully.

"You don’t have to say yes."

But Leo looked up immediately.

"No."

His answer came so quickly that she blinked.

"I was just thinking...Do I wear a suit?"

Vittoria stared at him, completely thrown off by his question and reaction since it wasn’t what she expected.

"Am I overthinking it?" she thought to herself as Leo pretended to knock on his phone like it was a door to her.

"Too much?" he said, causing her to nod, but Leo just shrugged innocently.

"I thought it might make a good first impression."

She covered her face with one hand.

"I cannot believe you’re serious," she said and then laughed.

It started quietly, then grew until she had to turn away from the camera, shaking her head with her eyes squeezed shut.

When she looked back, she was still smiling.

Leo also smiled, as seeing her laugh like that somehow made the idea of meeting her father feel a little less intimidating.

.......

The following day, the panellists and pundits came out guns blazing with the materials they had gotten that Sunday morning.

"The league leaders," the presenter said, "somehow hold their three-point lead. And that is because the league leaders are Wigan and that is why we are wording it that way."

He looked at his notes and then at the camera.

"But it’s not just the results. If you look across the statistical categories of the Premier League right now, you find Wigan players at or near the top of almost all of them, and that makes you understand how a club with the lowest squad value is doing this."

"...And just to put this into perspective," the pundit said, looking down at the sheet in front of him, "the second-highest scorer in the Premier League right now isn’t a striker. It isn’t a winger. It’s an eighteen-year-old defensive midfielder in his first top-flight season."

He looked back at the camera.

"That’s right, it’s Leo Calderon with seven league goals."

The other pundit let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

"That’s ridiculous when you actually say it out loud."

"It is," the first replied.

"The only player ahead of him is Erling Haaland on eight, who will be looking to add to it today as City go against Arsenal. A top watch for all sides alike."

He flicked his notes over.

"Behind Leo you’ve got Son Heung-min on six. Think about that for a second. After eight matchdays, a defensive midfielder is outscoring almost every forward in the division."

He wasn’t finished.

"Then you look at Wigan as a whole. Ezra leads the league for successful dribbles. Carlo Regutti is right behind him. They’ve kept five clean sheets in eight matches; the most in the league, and they’ve conceded the third lowest in the Premier League..."

He smiled.

"Honestly, you could sit here for another ten minutes just reading through what they’ve done already."

Someone behind the camera asked for the television to be turned up.

The volume rose just enough for the room to hear it clearly.

Tucked in one corner of the cafe, Leo pointed toward the screen without glancing at it.

"It still feels strange hearing them talk about the stats like I am a war hero or something."

At that, a laugh escaped Noah.

"Welcome to the start of success."

While Leo smiled, Noah reached into the folder in front of him.

It was noticeably thicker than usual.

He thumbed through several pages before pulling out three and laying them neatly on the table.

"I’ve been thinking since yesterday."

Hearing his words, Leo glanced down at them.

"And?"

"The conclusion’s pretty straightforward."

He tapped the papers once.

"You need a bigger stage."

Leo’s eyebrows pulled together, and Noah knew where his line of thinking had gone.

"No, not another club," he clarified immediately as Leo relaxed again.

"I don’t mean football but rather your profile."

He pointed toward the television.

"Everything they’re talking about right now? That’s happening because of what you’re doing on the pitch."

"But the reach doesn’t match the performances. You’re second in the Premier League scoring charts as a defensive midfielder."

"You’re helping Wigan do things they’ve never done before."

"And yet players are having quieter seasons who are still bigger names commercially. This means that we are lacking something, and I am here to provide you with that."

For the next several minutes, Noah walked him through everything.

Commercial reach.

Social media growth.

Why recognition almost always lagged behind performance unless someone actively bridged the gap.

"The easiest example of your rise is your Instagram."

"A month ago you were sitting at around one-point-seven million followers," he said as he turned the screen around.

"You’re just over five million now."

"And it’ll keep climbing if things continue like this."

Leo leaned back slowly, and for the first time in a meeting, he genuinely looked overwhelmed, and it didn’t go amiss.

"Too much?" Noah muttered as Leo laughed quietly through his nose.

"...Yeah."

His eyes stayed on the graph for another few seconds before he looked back up.

"But I get what you’re saying," Leo said as he looked at Noah.

Leo sat with that for a moment before a small smile appeared.

"I can get behind that."