Harbinger Of Glory-Chapter 161: Pitch To Portraits!

The fifteen minutes of halftime slipped by faster than most people expected, and soon the players reemerged from the tunnel looking more energetic and full of life than they had gone in.

Wigan returned exactly as they had ended the first half, no changes, just the same steady confidence in their stride.

Hull City, though, came back with a different shape.

Their manager had taken a gamble, pulling off a defender and bringing on an extra attacker while shifting another player into midfield.

It was an open declaration that they weren’t going to let the match drift away without throwing something at it.

When the referee’s whistle cut through the air for the restart, the stadium responded with fresh energy.

But within minutes, it became clear that Hull’s adjustments weren’t doing much to slow Wigan down.

Leo slipped right back into his rhythm, taking the ball on the half-turn and firing passes between lines with a precision that drew murmurs around the ground.

Every time he picked up possession, Hull’s back line tightened, bracing themselves, and still he found pockets to punish.

"The effect you get when a single player gets into the groove. Leo has been unplayable today," one commentator said.

"Wigan are stretching Hull every time Leo gets a touch. His teammates are just sprinting into space, trusting him to find them, and so far, he has been."

The pressure built with each wave of attack, and it finally broke Hull City in the 80th minute when Leo received the ball near the edge of the centre circle, shaped as if he was going left, then threaded a pass straight through the heart of Hull’s defence.

Mclean burst onto it and redirected the ball first time into the box.

It bounced awkwardly, defenders scrambling, but Fletcher, who had come on not long before, reacted quicker than anyone else and stabbed the loose ball into the bottom corner, sending the DW into another wave of ruckus and cheers.

"Three nil," the lead commentator said, voice rising above the noise.

"And that’s that. Hull City can’t get near Leo, and Wigan are cruising now. Brilliant awareness from Mclean, perfect positioning from Fletcher, but once again, the whole move starts with a very unconventional route of attack from Leo."

Fletcher wheeled away toward the corner flag, teammates gathering around him in a small wave of celebration, as the crowd switched to raining applause on the players.

The match slipped into a slower, quieter tempo after that.

Wigan no longer pressed with the same urgency, choosing instead to keep the ball moving, forcing Hull to chase tired legs against tired legs.

The fans sang in intervals, filling the pauses with Wigan chants and waves of applause every time Leo touched the ball, even if it was something as simple as a soft layoff to a teammate.

Hull pushed half-heartedly for a late consolation, but Wigan’s structure held firm.

The clock ticked into the eighty-eighth, then the ninetieth, with the final minutes feeling more like a cool-down session than a contest.

When the referee lifted the whistle to his lips and ended the match, the response from the stands swept across the pitch in one long cheer as the Wigan players exchanged handshakes and pats on the back.

"So there it is," the commentary began, showering its thought on the broadcast.

"The final whistle and what an enthralling fixture this has been, though not so much for Hull City, and I am sure for that. 3 goals here at the DW and 3 points for Wigan, who have surprisingly gone 5 for 5, taking 15 points from a possible 15, and I must say, it would be nice to be a Wigan fan at this point."

"This solidifies their contention for a playoff spot and should Norwich, who are in 7th, drop points, it could be just 3 points or a 4-point lead for Norwich, well within good distance for Wigan to rein them in and pass them on the league table."

The crowd’s applause began fading little by little as the players entered the tunnel, with Leo being one of the very last to leave, reciprocating the gesture of the crowd.

The cameras stayed on him long enough to catch the moment he disappeared inside.

Up in the stands, two men who had been watching the game sat back in their seats.

The man in the puffer jacket let out a long breath and rubbed his face with one hand.

"Someone’s going to have a lot of explaining to do," he muttered. "Or they might be clearing their desk soon."

His friend glanced at him, then looked up toward the large screen mounted above the opposite stand.

It had just switched to a close-up of Leo entering the tunnel, shaking hands with one of the staff.

The first man pushed himself up from his seat with a quiet grunt, his eyes fixed on the screen a second longer before he turned toward the nearest stairway.

"If we want a chance, we need to be quick about it."

The former nodded as the duo slipped into the flow of people leaving the stands.

.....

Half an hour later, the Wigan team bus eased away from the stadium, rolling past the last clusters of supporters scattered along the road.

Some were already heading home, hands stuffed into pockets to keep out the cold, but they still lifted their arms to wave as the bus moved by.

Others lingered near the barriers, faces lit with the warm mix of victory and national pride.

A three-nil win for Wigan, and a three-nil win for England in Qatar.

It felt like the whole town had been handed two reasons to celebrate on the same night.

Inside the bus, it was a different story.

A few players scrolled through their phones, checking reactions online or replying to messages, while others leaned back with their headphones on, letting the adrenaline bleed out of their muscles.

The earlier laughter in the locker rooms had been replaced by a blanket of silence as some drifted to sleep, even though the ride to the complex wasn’t going to take that long.

Leo sat by the window, half-turned toward the glass.

The cool surface pressed against the side of his head as he watched the glow of streetlights smear across the pane with each passing turn.

Fans flashed by in small pockets, scarves lifted, giving the bus one last cheer before the road curved away from the stadium.

He breathed out softly and let his eyes drift shut, with the day’s efforts beginning to settle.

....

Two days later, Leo sat beneath a set of studio lights that had been roasting him for the better part of an hour.

The small booth set up inside Glory Café’s event space felt tighter than it looked, crowded with reflectors, cables, a backdrop that kept being adjusted, and a photographer who had the energy of three people combined.

"Alright, that’s the last one. We’re wrapped," the photographer said, lowering his camera with a satisfied nod.

Leo let out a breath he didn’t bother hiding.

His shoulders dropped as he stepped off the marked spot on the floor.

At this point, he had posed with a mug, without a mug, smiling, not smiling, half-smiling, standing like he was mid-pass, leaning on a fake counter, tilting his head one degree left, now one degree right, with even some football motions in the mix.

The man had basically been treated like a walking mannequin with a pulse.

He ran a hand through his hair and shook out his arms.

"Thank God," he muttered under his breath.

Noah, who had been leaning against a portable light stand, pushed himself upright.

He had been watching the whole thing with an amused tilt to his mouth, like he was torn between sympathy and laughter.

"You survived," Noah said as he walked over.

"Honestly, that was a long one. Stuff like this can get to people a bit, especially when it’s the first time doing a full run. You handled it well."

He handed Leo a bottle of water, which Leo took and cracked open immediately.

"If they made me stand in one more weird pose, I’d have quit on the spot."

Noah chuckled.

"No, you wouldn’t."

Leo took a long drink and finally sat down on one of the stools they’d dragged off to the side.

His legs felt fine, but the mental fatigue was something else entirely.

Around them, the crew started breaking everything down.

Stands clattered as they were folded away, as the backdrop was peeled off its clips while someone rolled the fake counter across the room.

The entire space shifted from production mode back into a regular café layout in real time.

"I’m going to talk to the manager about the final selections," Noah said, already glancing toward the far end of the room where the shoot coordinator was checking images on a tablet.

"Stay here and breathe for a second."

Leo didn’t argue.

He just nodded, leaning back with the water bottle resting against his knee while Noah headed off to handle the rest.

A/N: Special Thanks to, Rhyshanley2 for the Golden Tickets.