Harbinger Of Glory

After he said that, he pointed toward the fixture graphic as it appeared.

"Because if they’re going to pull a Leicester City and win the league in their first season back, they’re going to have to prove it against some serious opposition."

"But haven’t they already?" the host questioned with a smile on his face, causing the panellist to also smile.

"They have Tim, but none like this," he replied.

And before anything else, the screen changed, revealing the upcoming fixture, battles even for Wigan!

ARSENAL — AWAY

MANCHESTER CITY — HOME

NEWCASTLE — AWAY

SHEFFIELD UNITED — AWAY

CHELSEA — HOME

The host looked directly into the camera and then scoffed at the sheet of fixtures and how gritty it looked!

"They go away to the Emirates, then they welcome Manchester City to the DW."

He glanced at the fixture list again.

"After that, it’s Newcastle away, Sheffield United away..."

The final fixture remained on the screen.

"And then Chelsea come to the DW for the return game on Matchday 19."

He leaned back slightly.

"If Wigan are still sitting here after all of that..."

His eyes moved toward the table.

"...then we might have to start treating them as something other than a club with a dream."

...

On the web, the reactions were less subdued and more unhinged after the game.

For the people who had spent the final ten minutes waiting for Wigan to finally stumble, the ending was almost insulting.

They had watched Wigan go down to ten men, then nine and believed the perfect start was finally coming to an end.

For seven minutes, they had been waiting for the moment when the table would finally look a little more normal.

Instead, Leo Calderon had ruined it.

...

I spent ninety minutes hate-watching Wigan only for Calderon to do that.

I cannot believe Brentford lost this game.

Two-man advantage. Seven minutes added time. At home. And you concede that.

Being a Wigan hater has become a full-time job and a bad decision at the same time.

A post showed a replay of Whatmough clearing Wissa’s header off the line, and the caption read:

Brentford: Surely this is it.

Wigan: No.

And that post had already accumulated thousands of likes.

Then came the comments from people who had genuinely expected Wigan to drop points.

I have never hated watching a football match more.

I was ready to celebrate the draw.

Why did Brentford defend like they were the ones who had nine men?

Wigan had nine players and still looked more dangerous.

One particularly blunt comment simply read:

Brentford are shit.

And it was liked more than almost anything else beneath the post.

A game that should have ended Wigan’s run had become another piece in the puzzle.

While the internet continued arguing about him and his team, Leo was already several miles away from the noise.

The key turned in the lock as he pushed the door open and stepped inside, and he looked exhausted.

His shoulders were low, his hair was still damp from the shower at the stadium, and the tiredness showed clearly across his face.

Then he noticed Vittori, who was sitting on the couch, one elbow resting against her thigh as she watched him come through the door, and a smile appeared almost immediately.

She looked him over for a moment, and then she said,

"You only played around six minutes."

Leo laughed quietly as he tossed his keys into the small bowl beside the door before pulling his bag from his shoulder.

"This was much more mental than physical."

Vittoria nodded before smirking.

She rose from the couch and walked over, and Leo barely had time to set his bag down before she reached for his hand.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Kitchen."

She pulled him along before he could say anything else.

Leo followed her into the kitchenette and dropped onto one of the stools as Vittoria opened the refrigerator and brought out a small dish.

She placed it in front of him and then gestured towards it.

"Flan," she said as Leo looked at it and then at her.

"You made this?"

"Obviously," she answered, picked up a spoon and handed it to him.

"This was the result of my afternoon."

Leo scooped up a piece and took a bite.

He chewed slowly.

Then he took another.

And another, all while Vittoria stared at him, with her arms folded, as Leo took a fifth and then a sixth, and she watched him with an increasingly amused expression.

Finally, Leo swallowed and nodded.

"It’s not bad."

At that, her eyes widened slightly.

"Not bad?" she said, glaring at Leo, who shrugged and immediately took another spoonful.

Vittoria rolled her eyes.

"Your words don’t really match what you’re doing."

Leo laughed around another bite, and she couldn’t help chuckling herself.

"You should take another shower. Aside from the one at the locker room."

He nodded while already working on his eighth bite, and Vittoria leaned against the counter.

"And then maybe you finish this ’not bad’ food afterwards."

Leo swallowed and finally looked up.

"Did you shower?"

"Of course."

He nodded and then placed the spoon down before leaning closer, all while Vittoria raised an eyebrow as he moved toward her.

"What?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, Leo leaned toward her neck and took a quick sniff before pulling back.

"Nah."

Vittoria blinked.

"What do you mean, nah?"

"You need another shower," he said, and at that, her mouth fell open.

"Leo," she said, and he laughed as he caught her wrist.

"Let’s shower together."

"Absolutely not. I knew that was always your intention!"

Before she could move away, Leo bent down and swept her off her feet.

Vittoria let out a startled cry as his arms secured her.

"Leo!" she wailed, but he laughed, already carrying her toward the hallway.

Her protests only made him laugh harder before, finally, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder as he carried her toward the showers.

"Just know that you’re not getting flan anymore out of me," Vittoria huffed, but that made Leo laugh even more.

"I already got what I want to eat in hand!"

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