Harbinger Of Glory-Chapter 199: Opportunity In A Setback!

[An hour and a half ago.]

"Right when I was starting to climb."

The words stayed in the room a second after he said them, and a moment later, the door opened again.

Nolan stepped back in first, phone still in hand, now by the specialist.

The doctor closed the door gently and moved straight to the foot of the bed while Nolan came to the side.

"Dawson’s on his way," he said.

The doctor nodded.

"Good. We’ll need everyone aligned."

He glanced down at Leo’s raised leg, propped carefully on a cushioned platform.

"We take this slow. I’ll speak with a couple of physiotherapists I trust. We’ll see what we can do to optimise recovery without forcing anything."

Leo didn’t react much, just watched the doctor as he pressed his index and middle fingers against his thigh.

"I’ll draft a proper plan," the doctor continued.

"Phases in the caretaking. The Load management and reference material. It might not be the same as the others, but it’ll at least help with certain things."

Nolan gave a short nod.

"Whatever gives him the best chance long term."

The doctor picked up his bag from the chair, slipping the strap over his shoulder.

"I’ll get started."

He headed for the door, where Nolan followed him out, pausing only long enough to glance back at Leo.

"He’ll be here soon," he said.

Then they were gone.

The room quieted again as Leo adjusted slightly on the massaging chair, back against the raised headrest, leg still elevated.

He picked up his phone and opened Instagram without thinking too much about it, and he soon found something about him that the Wigan Athletic account had posted.

It was a picture of him mid-strike from the goal with the rain suspended around him like frozen glass.

And below was the caption, "Get well soon, Leo," with a little blue heart on the sides.

The comments were flooding in with similar hearts, prayers and fire emojis.

Seeing that helped him loosen up a bit as he liked that post, but just as he did so, the door opened once again, and this time, Dawson stepped in.

"Doctor gone?" he asked, to which Leo nodded.

Dawson hummed, eyes flicking briefly toward the assistants in the corner before they quietly stepped away to give them space.

Dawson pulled a chair closer and sat beside Leo’s, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

Dawson leaned back, elbows on his knees, studying the floor like he was mapping something out.

"I’ve got to find someone to take your job," he said finally with a little chuckle.

Leo nodded and hummed, his only reply as the former leaned forward.

"At least," Dawson added, glancing at him, "until you’re healed."

Dawson reached out and gave Leo a small shove to the shoulder after he didn’t respond.

"Oi. Don’t sink."

Leo finally let out a breath through his nose.

"This is a bump," Dawson said. "Not a wall. You’re not done climbing."

Leo stared at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

"I could’ve used these months to get ready", he said quietly. "You know, for when we get to the Premier League."

At that, Dawson let out a short scoff. "Premier League?"

Leo turned his head toward him. "You wouldn’t laugh if you didn’t think we could."

Dawson held his gaze for a second, then looked away, a corner of his mouth twitching.

"We’ve just crawled into playoff contention."

"And we’re staying there," Leo said. "Or better."

Dawson shook his head, amused despite himself, while Leo’s voice softened.

"Feels like I’m missing everything."

"You’re not," Dawson said.

Leo looked at him.

"There’s opportunity in this," Dawson continued.

"You just don’t see it yet."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping a few times before turning the screen toward Leo.

The runtime at the bottom read 4:57:32.

Leo squinted at it.

"You want me to watch a five-hour film when I’m sulking?"

Dawson snorted.

"Relax. Just the start."

Leo sighed and then took the phone as the video opened to a series of clips.

Clips of different matches and different angles.

Clips of almost every little touch Leo had taken over the last few months were stitched together.

Movements.

Passes.

Turns.

Presses.

Missed runs.

The camera tracked him constantly, isolating him even when the ball wasn’t near.

"This is what the analysts have been building," Dawson said. "Since you started playing real minutes."

Leo watched himself receive the ball under pressure and then watched himself spin away.

He saw himself drive forward, attempt the ambitious pass and then some more, but he saw something else too.

There were moments where he overreached.

Times when a safer option existed.

Instances where a teammate shifted to cover the space he’d vacated.

Dawson studied his reaction and then continued.

"You’re good," he said plainly. "Sometimes, I feel like you’re a veteran, but at times, too, your inexperience shows, and it shows how chaotic you really are."

Leo exhaled softly.

"You rely on instinct. It works. But sometimes it works because someone else cleans up behind you."

"This," Dawson gestured toward the screen, "is your chance to understand your own game. You might not even know it fully yet."

Leo kept watching.

"If, and if we get to the Premier League," Dawson continued, "you won’t always have someone covering you like that. The margins shrink, and the mistakes get punished."

Leo nodded slowly.

"There are more," Dawson said.

"Breakdowns and side-by-side comparisons."

"With who?" Leo asked.

"Pirlo. Busquets. Iniesta."

Leo’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Rodri," Dawson added while Leo kept watching.

"And De Bruyne."

That made him look up.

Dawson rolled his eyes.

"Don’t look at me like that. You can learn a thing or two from the Belgian. His passing weight alone would fix half your chaos."

Leo huffed a faint laugh while Dawson’s voice grew steadier.

"This isn’t the end. It’s a bigger road. When you come back, you won’t just be fit. You’ll be sharper. Smarter."

He tapped the phone lightly.

"There will be a place for you. That’s not changing."

Leo stared at the screen, but he wasn’t really seeing it anymore.

There was something in Dawson’s tone.

Trust.

And it hit him quietly, so much so that a tear slipped down before he even registered it.

Dawson noticed but didn’t make a thing of it.

He just reached over and rubbed Leo’s shoulder once.

"All that’s left is time," he said. "And the work you’re willing to put in."

He leaned back slightly.

"Because, unlike the main character in my favourite novel, Izan Hernandez, you don’t have a system!"

Leo blinked and wiped at his cheek.

"What?"

Dawson shrugged.

"What? I read sometimes."

Leo stared at him.

"Character’s well written," Dawson went on.

"Bit much with the constant smiling, though."

"You should check it out, it’s called the God of Football," Dawson said, illustrating the title with his hands like some grand thing.

For a second, Leo just looked at him.

Then he laughed, to which Dawson smirked.

"There you go," he said. "That’s better."

Leo shook his head, still chuckling, and looked back down at the screen.