Harbinger Of Glory

Inside, most of the squad had already arrived.

Leo exchanged greetings as he made his way through the dressing room.

Leo had barely finished changing when Dawson walked through the doorway.

He looked around the room and found the returning faces, giving each a nod before speaking.

"Good morning."

A few players answered as Dawson nodded.

"Good. Everyone seems happy. That’s about to change," Dawson said and walked toward the door with Nolan.

"Those of you who stayed during the break know what we’re doing. The rest of you will find out."

Ezra muttered under his breath.

"Sorry, mate."

Leo gave a questioning look before they headed outside.

Dawson stood in the middle of the training pitch with the squad gathered around him.

"Villa are next," he said.

"They’re not interested in your international caps, your goals or how tired you are after travelling because they are mostly in the exact same shape as you, but still they will run until you run out of answers.

He pointed toward the far side of the pitch.

"So we’re going to make sure you’re ready for that."

He blew his whistle.

"Let’s go."

Ezra and the other players who had not been away with their national teams had spent the break training at the complex, keeping themselves sharp while the internationals travelled and it showed.

The first sprint was manageable for Leo but the second was harder.

By the third, nobody was really talking.

Dawson moved the squad from sprints into pressing exercises, then into small-sided games where every mistake meant another run.

Each, "Again!", that they heard from the manager meant that they had to run.

And through it all, Leo kept moving.

At first, he felt fine.

His legs were a little stiff from travelling, but that was normal.

Then the heaviness started.

It was subtle at first, but his breathing became harder to settle.

He told himself it was the journey as he had spent the last two weeks moving between hotels, training grounds and airports.

Of course he was tired, and to him that explanation was easier.

During the next sprint, Jake finished ahead of Leo and turned around as Leo crossed the line several steps later.

Jake looked at him and then bent over just as Leo had done.

"That’s sloppy, Leo," Jake joked as Leo bent forward more, hands resting on his thighs.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m just getting back into it."

Jake walked off afterwards as Dawson’s whistle sounded again.

"Back in!" he gestured, and Leo straightened and joined the group.

He pushed through the next drill, and then the next.

But by the final running block, he was struggling to stay with the others.

Dawson, keen as a hawk, filed all that he’d noticed towards the back of his mind.

When the whistle finally ended the session, Leo slowed to a walk and bent forward, trying to get his breathing under control as Dawson approached.

"You’ve had enough."

Leo looked up.

"I’m fine."

"You’re breathing as if you’ve just played ninety minutes."

Leo wiped his forehead with his sleeve as he stood to face the man.

"I’ve just come back from Italy."

"So?"

"So I’ve travelled a lot. Different time, different training, all of that."

At that, Dawson folded his arms and kept looking at him.

"You sure that’s just it?"

"Yeah."

There was a brief silence before Dawson finally nodded.

"Fine. Eat properly today and get some good sleep tonight."

"I will."

"And if you’re still feeling like this tomorrow, tell the doctor."

Leo nodded as Dawson walked away.

Leo watched him go before turning toward the dressing room.

At the time, he still believed it was nothing more than fatigue.

The next morning, however, he woke up feeling exactly the same.

The tiredness had become something else.

His body felt strangely heavy and he was cold when everyone else seemed comfortable.

Then, an hour later, he was sweating through his shirt.

He started wondering if he had picked something up during the international break.

So he went to the team doctor, where the examination took longer than Leo expected.

It all started with blood pressure and temperature before the doctor began asking questions about how he had been feeling and about where he’d travelled recently.

The doctor frowned slightly at one of his answers.

"Have you been feeling feverish?"

"On and off."

"Headaches?"

"Yeah."

"Any chills?"

Leo nodded, and at that the doctor made a note.

"I want some blood work done."

Leo looked at him as the doctor moved around.

"What is it?"

"I don’t know yet. That’s why we’re checking."

The tests came back with something that neither of them had expected.

The doctor sat across from Leo with the results in front of him.

"You have malaria."

Leo stared at him and didn’t say anything.

The doctor explained what they had found and why the symptoms made sense.

Leo leaned back.

"So that’s why I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus."

"That’s one way of describing it."

"How did I even..."

"Your recent travel is the most obvious possibility. We’ll treat it, but you need to take this seriously."

Leo looked down at the medication the doctor had prescribed.

"And what about tomorrow?"

The doctor looked at him and then recognised what he meant.

"You have a match tomorrow no!"

"Yeah."

"You shouldn’t be playing."

Leo sighed as the doctor continued before he could answer.

"Your health comes first. You need rest, and you need to follow the treatment exactly."

Leo nodded.

"Okay."

There was no argument.

At least not in the room.

The next morning, England woke to the return of the Premier League.

Sports programmes had been building toward the weekend fixtures since the international window ended.

The television screens showed training-ground footage, team news and predictions as well as the top fixtures of that Saturday with Manchester City facing Manchester United as well as Wigan facing Villa.

The first of the latter sides was smaller compared to the clubs mentioned, but it was hard to ignore them when it came to talks about top fixtures.

The league leaders were still perfect, and were now trying to make it ten.