The afternoon sun hung low over the youth ground, casting long shadows across the pitch.
The place was mostly quiet—until the sharp crack of a ball being struck rang out.
Dawson stepped onto the pitch just as Leo’s shot curled and kissed the right corner of the crossbar, bouncing out with a satisfying clang.
Dawson raised a brow. "Not bad."
Leo turned, surprised.
"That’s enough for today," Dawson called out, walking over. "Go freshen up. We need to talk."
Leo jogged off the pitch, towel draped over his shoulder, sweat clinging to his shirt.
As he stepped into the changing room, the silence gave space to his thoughts—What did Dawson want to talk about?
He moved through the motions: rinsing off the sweat in a quick shower, changing into a clean shirt, splashing water on his face.
But his mind raced. Was this it? Had they decided to let him go?
He tried shaking the thought, but doubt crept in.
Sure, he’d improved—his body had changed, his movent was cleaner, tighter, and more defined.
He could feel it in the way he ran, the way his shirts fit differently. He had finally hit his growth spurt too.
Every session, he was seeing soone new in the mirror.
But then there was the shooting.
That stubborn thing. For weeks, he’d failed, again and again—but he’d also studied, tweaked, and experinted.
His progress hadn’t been perfect, but it had been steady.
And today’s shot? That one had kissed the bar, nearly perfect.
He exhaled. No, he told himself. This wasn’t the end. Not when he was this close.
Leo left the changing room, his pace even, his mind clearer than it had been in weeks.
When he reached the office, Dawson was already inside, seated beside Malachi, who offered him a nod.
Leo stepped in, ready.
Dawson gestured toward the empty chair across from them. "Have a seat, Leo."
Leo nodded and eased himself down, sitting upright, hands resting on his knees.
Malachi leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed, eyes scanning him like always—not harsh, not soft either. Just weighing.
Dawson gave a small nod, voice casual. "So... how’s it been here at Wigan? How’ve you found the past month?"
Leo blinked. The question caught him off guard, if only a little.
They had been there the whole ti—training with him, watching, correcting, adjusting everything from his stride to his plate during lunch.
Still, he knew better than to shrug it off. "It’s been tough," he admitted.
"But good. I’ve learned a lot. Got stronger. I think I’m starting to feel like a real player now... not just a talented kid."
Malachi smirked slightly, trading a quick glance with Dawson.
"That’s honest," Dawson said. "And accurate. We’ve seen the change. You’re sharper now. More confident, more focused. You’ve been consistent—physically and ntally."
Leo stayed quiet, sensing there was more coming. He was right.
"We already knew you had sothing," Dawson continued, "but we didn’t want potential—we wanted foundation. We wanted to see if you’d take responsibility if you’d fight through the parts that didn’t co naturally."
Malachi added, voice calm, "Especially that right foot of yours."
Leo cracked a small grin. "Still working on it."
They both gave a low chuckle, the air in the room relaxing, but just slightly.
Then Dawson leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Well... it’s ti we talk about what cos next."
Dawson shifted in his seat, drawing a breath—and with a deliberately straight face, he looked Leo dead in the eye.
"We’re going to have to let you go," he said.
Leo blinked. His heart paused. The room froze.
But before the weight could fully drop, Dawson smirked and added, "—back ho."
Leo’s shoulders eased, but only slightly. Dawson leaned back, a file in hand now, as he slid it across the table toward him.
"You’ve done your month, Leo. The trial’s over. Now it’s ti for sothing more permanent."
Malachi nodded.
"We’ll be coming to your place. Your aunt, Sofia, has to be there when we go through this. Still got a bit of paperwork to make official since you’re not of age yet."
Leo glanced down at the folder, still a bit stunned.
Dawson watched him carefully.
"Don’t look like that. You earned this. Everything we asked of you—diet, bodywork, training, discipline—you t it head-on. You didn’t run when things didn’t go your way, you stayed. And you grew."
Malachi leaned forward now, his tone calm but firm.
"This isn’t just about talent anymore, Leo. This is about trust. And we trust you to carry our plans forward."
Leo stared down at the folder again, hands resting just shy of touching it, knowing full well what it ant.
His fingers hesitated over the folder before he looked up at Dawson. "Can I... take a look?"
Dawson gave a nod, slow and sure. "Go on."
Leo opened it carefully, flipping through the first few pages until his eyes locked on the numbers, and he froze.
"Four thousand...?" he muttered under his breath, blinking again just to be sure.
"Per week?"
A grin tugged at the corners of Dawson’s mouth.
"That’s right."
Leo looked up, stunned.
"This is what you’re offering ?"
"It’s what so of the Wigan reserves are earning," Dawson explained.
"You’ve shown us enough to be worth that—and more. But we also know we’re just scratching the surface with you. You keep this up, break into the senior team, and perform..." He shrugged.
"The fans themselves will beg the club to give you a new contract."
Malachi added with a smile, "This is the start, Leo. Not the peak. Think of it as the door opening."
Leo looked back down at the figure again. It didn’t feel real.
But then—neither had the last month.
A/n; Okay. I’m back again. I havent gotten a schedule to rlease this so for now, you can expect at least a Chapter per day because of my commitnts to my other novel but after the pace picks up, I’ll try to double the release. Have fun reading and I’ll see you in a bit.
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