Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 364: The Story Grows Legs!

That same morning, Leo came back from his run, headed straight for the kitchen and drained most of a bottle of water in one go, but that did little to quench his thirst.

He pulled out another bottle and drank another half, and it was only then that he felt it was enough.

After that, he set the bottle down and walked to his couch, where he’d left his phone the previous night and then the first thing he opened was his Instagram.

He needed to satisfy his curiosity.

"How many is it now?" he thought as he clicked on his profile, and a second later, the lines appeared.

1.1 M

"Okay, that’s getting ridiculous now," he muttered as he stared at the number.

Last night it had been around eight hundred and thirty thousand when he’d checked before bed.

At the time, even that had felt absurd.

Now another three hundred thousand people had apparently decided they wanted to follow his life overnight.

Leo looked at the screen, then at the empty kitchen in front of him before looking back down at the phone.

"I also want to know what they are interested in," Leo said as he thought about how content and bleak his life seemed compared to other players.

Still, it felt good.

"Guess this is how those big YouTubers must feel like," he muttered as he navigated to Wigan’s team account, which was now at 170,000 followers, up by around 30k from the previous day.

On that account, a post was pinned at the top.

It was a graphic with Leo on the cover holding Fletcher’s jersey and the match score for the Chelsea game sitting above him in clean white numbers.

He looked at it for a moment and then clicked on the post.

After that, he went to the comments where it seemed he had unknowingly started a war.

Welcome to join us anytime, mate; we’ve got a spare room at Etihad.

Lol, as if he’s going anywhere. Lock him down, Wigan.

75k a week is not enough for this player, I’m sorry. Even though this isn’t my club, after this performance, they should be looking to up things. January isn’t that far.

Someone tell those other clubs commenting to back off; he’s ours.

The mind to support the injured player and the way he held up that Fletcher jersey. That’s a leader right there.

Leo laughed at one of the fan comments telling rival supporters to leave and then exited the app.

After that, he lingered around the apartment, but then, as if he’d remembered something, he picked the phone back up immediately.

He found the number and called.

It rang twice, and then on the third, the call went through.

"Fletcher," he said when it connected.

......

Like always after games, Dawson sat in his office questioning why he even had a job.

They’d just played a game the previous day, and although he hadn’t participated really physically, it was still draining to be at the helm of his side.

"I also need a break," he muttered, setting his head down before picking it up a moment later, his eyes searching the table.

Dawson reached for the next report on the pile and slowed when he saw the name at the top.

With a sigh, he pulled the file closer.

The office was quiet apart from the occasional sound of traffic somewhere beyond the stadium, but Dawson barely noticed either as his eyes moved down the page.

His jaw tightened as he read the report.

As if he could unsee it, he shook his head and then read it again.

"Eight weeks for the fracture to heal," he muttered as he continued reading.

It was going to take eight weeks to heal but ten for a full recovery and potentially longer depending on how rehabilitation progressed.

Dawson leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Brilliant," he said flatly.

Despite missing some really good chances in the two games, Fletcher had been playing some of the best football of his career as he was more than just goals.

With him up top, defenders became hesitant.

The dressing room loved him.

The supporters loved him, but now he was going to spend the next two months watching from the stands or the comfort of his couch.

Dawson looked back at the report, set it down and then stared through the office window toward the pitch outside.

Football never really stopped for anyone.

He drummed his fingers once against the arm before sitting up.

"It’s only been two games," he said once more before reaching forward and pulling two other files toward him.

It was Jake’s.

And Will Keane’s, who was coming back from his own injury and was maybe a week from full availability.

He looked at them and then reached for Reyes’s football file, which detailed his performance metrics and his role patterns, and stacked it on top of the other two.

After that, he looked at the small pile and then tossed them lightly onto the desk in front of him and sat back.

"You guys will have to do," he said right before getting to his feet and then walking over to the calendar, where he’d placed a magnetic top on the day of their next fixture.

"West Ham," he muttered before bobbing his head to the side.

"This won’t do," he muttered, slowly shaking his head before he looked at the table behind him and then moving out of the room.

He really needed rest.

....

In a studio in Milan, a man was a bit hunched over, thanking a woman profusely.

"Seriously," he said, lowering his camera. "You’ve saved my life these past three weeks. It shouldn’t have even been possible, but you made it so. Thank you really!"

At that, Vittoria laughed tiredly.

"That’s dramatic."

"You haven’t seen the first drafts."

That got a small smile out of her.

"Well, your shoots aren’t exactly things I’d miss, or anyone for that matter!"

All around them, the set was being dismantled with staff moving around them groggily.

After that, Vittoria walked off to change, and half an hour later, she waved goodbye to the set and headed for her van.