Harbinger Of Glory-Chapter 229: Sudden Death!

Noah dropped into his seat like something had gone out of his legs.

He’d been on his feet, arms up, and for about four seconds, he hadn’t cared where he was or who was watching.

Then he looked around and remembered the people he was in the midst of.

The rest of the box was either silent or unhappy.

A few people were already on their phones, while others muttered a few words that Noah didn’t need to hear to understand.

For others, too, pissed was an understatement, with one person even going as far as smashing the glass in his hand against the floor like he had his life savings on the game and with the reaction he gave after Wigan equalised, that might not have been far off from the truth.

Coming back to himself, Noah straightened his jacket and said nothing, but the smile took a while to fully leave his face.

Back on the pitch, the Wigan players were making their way to their half, and the Wigan end was still going, chants rolling down from the upper tier, loud and unrelenting and completely unbothered by the fact that the game wasn’t won.

"Well," the commentator said, finding his breath again.

"Well. We were almost certain we knew who was going to Wembley for the final, but now, Manchester City might want to start reconsidering who they’re preparing for."

In the cafeteria of the Etihad Campus, eyes around the screen had narrowed slightly; the easy indifference of an hour ago had quietly given way.

From somewhere behind the group, Bernardo Silva leaned forward.

"That pass though," he said. "Did you see that pass?"

"What pass?"

KDB had just come through the door, still in his training gear, and was moving toward the counter when he caught the screen.

The 1-1 sat in the corner of it.

Bernardo gave him the short version, and KDB listened, looked at the screen for a moment, and then made a quiet sound that was almost a laugh.

"Classic United," he said, and walked away towards the ladies behind the tables with a plate in hand.

Back on the pitch, the game started, but just as it did, the referee’s whistle ended it shortly, while the broadcast commentary proceeded to fill the pause after that.

"Ninety minutes and the tie cannot be separated. So we go again. We are suddenly at last. This one is not done. It’s the penalty shootouts next!"

On the pitch, Leo had his hands on his knees near the centre circle.

It wasn’t the hamstring, or not only the hamstring.

It was everything.

The tank that had been running low already had now been scraped clean, and the body was making sure he knew it.

"It’s been like 17 minutes," he muttered as Ezra went past him and slowed.

"You alright?"

Leo nodded without lifting his head.

Then he lifted his head, nodded again, and pushed himself upright, before he began walking toward the touchline where the Wigan players were gathering around Dawson.

When they got there, Dawson looked at them and said they had fought well, and he meant it, and they could hear that he meant it.

But what was next up wasn’t for the weak-willed.

While Dawson closed out his pep talk, Nolan stepped up beside him while the players began walking towards the halfway line.

"Fletcher, McClean, Tiehi, Whatmough," Nolan said quietly. "That’s my four."

Dawson nodded, seeing where Nolan was coming from.

"That’s four, though?" Dawson questioned only to receive a nod from Nolan.

"Aasgaard fifth."

Dawson said nothing for a moment, his eyes drifting briefly toward the players behind them before he turned back to face Nolan.

"After that," he said, "it’s whoever wants it."

Nolan looked at him.

"You sure about that?"

Dawson, however, didn’t answer.

He just took the finalised paper and handed it over to Curtis Tilt, who was still on the sidelines, taking a sip of water.

The player nodded at Dawson before bringing over the list to Fletcher at the halfway line.

Before the shoot-out could commence, the referee and the two captains met in the middle for a brief exchange, and then everyone moved toward the end where De Gea had spent the final minutes of the game.

"Penalties. Penalties. Penalties. Wigan Athletic against Manchester United. It’s five for each team, but then sudden death after that, and these 22 players are going to try their best not to falter at something most players try to avoid in their careers"

Fletcher took the ball from the referee without breaking stride, walking the length of the centre circle toward the spot like a man who had already decided.

On the opposite end, De Gea bounced on his line, arms spread, trying to fill the goal with his presence as the referee’s whistle went live.

The run-up was short, and the ball was gone before De Gea had fully committed, smashing into the top left corner and leaving little room for argument.

The Wigan players clapped him back as the turn of Manchester United came.

Rashford went next, and Ben Amos had no chance, sending the ball towards the bottom right before the keeper had even finished moving.

Then McClean, who converted despite everything the United end threw at him from behind the goal.

Sancho followed and made it two apiece before Tiehi picked the ball up.

The Wigan players behind the line exchanged glances.

Nobody said anything, which was its own kind of conversation.

When had any of them last seen Tiehi take a penalty?

To take it a step further, when had Tiehi last taken a shot, for that matter?

But the person in question didn’t look bothered.

He just belted down at the ball and sent it straight down the middle, leaving De Gea committed one way while he watched it go through where he’d just been standing.

"Tiehi. Straight down the middle, and De Gea had absolutely no chance. Three from three for Wigan."

Bruno converted his without ceremony, while Whatmough followed next and made it four from four for Wigan, walking back with the same expression he’d walked up with.

A moment later, Casemiro made it four apiece as Aasgaard stepped up to the ball, looking to make it 5 out of 5 for Wigan

The Wigan end was behind him, and they were loud, but the noise seemed to be landing on him rather than lifting him.

When the whistle sounded, he ran up and hit it, but for a moment, it looked disheartening.