Harbinger Of Glory-Chapter 163: The Record.

"Why? Why? Why?"

In her apartment in Italy, Vittoria lay stretched across the bed, one leg bent at the knee, the other hanging just slightly over the edge as if she had dropped there without thinking.

The ceiling above her was plain, minimalistic but nice.

It was nothing like the ornate sets she had spent the other day moving through but she couldn’t keep her eyes off it.

Her phone rested loosely in her hand, screen dark now, the last message still fresh enough to feel warm.

"It wasn’t even a joke," she muttered to herself, staring up. "Why did I send it like that?"

She rolled onto her side, then onto her back again, letting out a breath that sounded more like a laugh than anything else.

Her hair fanned out across the pillow, still smelling faintly of product and studio lights.

Would she actually go?

The question landed and stayed.

She hadn’t known Leo long.

A month and a half, give or take.

Not long enough to cross continents for Christmas.

Not long enough to disrupt schedules.

And not close enough to leave commitments behind.

"Would you really just drop everything?" she asked the ceiling.

"Fly out because a footballer you met once asked you to?"

She paused, lips pressing together.

"He didn’t even ask yet," she added, as if correcting herself mattered.

She shifted again, propping herself up on her elbows.

"And even if he did, what then?"

Her phone lay against her chest now, the weight of it oddly grounding.

"You’re not impulsive," she said, more firmly this time.

"You plan. You think things through. You don’t do... this."

She let herself fall back into the mattress with a quiet huff, one arm thrown over her eyes just before a soft ping cut through the room.

For a split second, she didn’t move, as if ignoring it might undo whatever had just happened.

Then she dropped her arm, rolled onto her side, and grabbed the phone with both hands.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t one message. It was several.

Images filled the screen, clean and neatly arranged.

Hotel exteriors first, then interiors.

Warm lighting, modern lines, one place with understated elegance, another with views that looked out over water and city lights.

It looked thoughtful to say the least.

At the bottom, a simple line followed.

Which one feels like you?

She stared at the screen, heart thudding a little harder than she liked.

"Oh my.....?" she whispered and before she could stop it, a laugh slipped out of her.

She let the phone drop back onto the bed and covered her face with both hands.

"Shit," she muttered, the word muffled but sincere.

When she uncovered her eyes, the smile was still there as she reached for the phone again.

.....

[Back In Manchester]

"Leo, dinner’s ready."

Sofia’s voice carried down the hallway, getting nearer by the second.

A moment later, there was a light knock on his door.

Leo glanced at his phone once more before setting it face down on the desk, before deciding against that and then slipping it into his pocket.

Sofia was already halfway turned back toward the living room by the time Leo opened the door.

"You disappeared," she said over her shoulder.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Leo replied easily as he followed her.

"Nothing wrong. Just needed a minute."

She slowed her pace enough to look back at him properly.

"A minute to do what?"

He shrugged. "Texting a friend."

That should have been the end of it.

It would have been, if Mia hadn’t been sprawled across the couch, eyes flicking up the moment she heard his voice.

"A friend?" Mia echoed.

"What kind of friend makes you leave a movie to go type in your room?"

Leo didn’t answer straight away, nor did he ever intend to answer her.

He grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with water while Mia leaned forward, squinting at him like she was putting pieces together.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Wait. Oh my God."

Leo sighed. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" She was already smiling. "You have a girl."

"I don’t," he said, turning back toward the table.

"You do," Mia shot back, pointing at him. "You absolutely do. Look at your face."

Sofia let out a soft laugh as she set plates down.

"Mia, leave him alone."

"No," Mia said, standing now. "This is important. Who is she?"

Leo shook his head, pulling out a chair.

"She’s not anyone you know," he tried to say, but his voice trailed off at the end, making Mia bolder.

"Oh my gosh. Do I know her? Is she in Wigan? Manc?" Mia pressed.

Leo opened his mouth to speak again, before deciding against it and turning slightly toward Sofia instead.

"Mia was trying to convince me earlier that you can influence what people buy you for Christmas by, and I quote, projecting the right—"

Mia swatted his arm before he could finish. "Leo!"

He laughed, leaning away from her reach.

Sofia shook her head, still smiling as she took her seat.

"Both of you, eat before we talk about Leo’s new fling," Sofia said causing Leo to groan at her while Mia dropped onto her seat, eyes still on Leo, suspicious and excited all at once.

....

[Carrington]

"We can’t keep pretending this is bad luck," Jonas said into the phone.

His voice was low, the kind that came after the anger had already passed.

"It’s a pattern now."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the training pitches outside his office window.

A light drizzle clung to the grass where sessions were winding down, cones being gathered, players drifting inside.

"No, I’m not talking about one player," he continued.

"He is the latest of a long line but I’m talking about the judgment process. We let too much slide, and then we act surprised when it shows up somewhere else and makes us look stupid."

There was a pause as he listened, jaw tightening.

"I was there," Jonas said. "I watched him live. You don’t miss that unless you’re not looking properly. Or unless you’ve convinced yourself you’re right before you even sit down."

Another pause, shorter this time. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"I’m saying this needs fixing," he added. "Quietly, but properly. Because if we don’t, it keeps happening. Different names, same story."

A knock landed on the door, firm but polite.

Jonas stopped mid-thought and glanced at the door, then back to the window.

"We’ll talk later," he said into the phone. "This isn’t finished."

He set the phone face down on the desk, straightened slightly in his chair, and raised his voice.

"Come in."

Jonathan Reeves stepped in and closed the door behind him with more care than necessary.

He did not rush and did not look around the room either.

He wasn’t in a position to admire the view over the pitches.

He went straight to the chair opposite the desk and sat, hands coming together in his lap as if he had rehearsed the motion.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Reeves cleared his throat but said nothing.

Jonas exhaled slowly, reached to his right, and slid a thin file across the desk until it rested just short of Reeves’ hands.

"Do you recognise that?" Jonas asked.

Reeves glanced down.

He did not touch it.

His eyes lingered on the name at the top, and that was enough.

"Yes," he said quietly.

Jonas nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.

He opened the file anyway, flipping it around so both of them could see.

"Unremarkable," Jonas read, tapping the page with his finger.

"Physically weak."

"Lacks presence."

"Nothing that stands out to the eye."

"These were submitted as final assessments," Jonas said.

His voice was even, but there was a tightness beneath it.

"Not early notes. Not something to revisit. Final."

Reeves shifted in his chair while his shoulders dipped slightly like a man bracing for impact.

Jonas closed the file.

"I watched that same player dominate a Championship match," he continued.

"I watched him win a penalty, create another goal, and control the tempo against senior professionals. Not once but repeatedly."

He leaned back now, eyes fixed on Reeves.

"And you signed off on this," Jonas said. "You let it go through without a second look. Can you tell me how many of the kids right now in our academy can do things like that, in the Championship?"

Reeves opened his mouth, then stopped. He swallowed.

"At the time," he began, then paused again. "At the time, he didn’t project."

Jonas tilted his head. "Project into what?"

Reeves hesitated. "Into what we were prioritising."

Jonas’ jaw tightened.

"That’s not an answer," he said. "That’s a cover."

He leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk now.

"You didn’t check," Jonas said. "You didn’t ask for another report. You didn’t send anyone else to watch him. You trusted words on paper and let a player walk out the door in the middle of the year."

Reeves stared at the file, his fingers finally brushing the edge but not opening it.

"He wasn’t disruptive," Reeves said softly.

"All the coaches who watched him said the same."

At that, Jonas gave a short, humourless breath.

"All the Coaches or just the one who wrote that file?"

Reeves turned to Jonas, meeting his eyes for the first time since entering the room.

"He was the one in charge of Leo and had worked with him the longest and closest so I took his word for it."

"So you missed him," Jonas retorted.

Then, after a beat, "Or worse, you decided he wasn’t worth the time."

Silence stretched between them as Jonas straightened, his tone lowering.

"Tell me why," he said. "Not the version for a report."