The Wigan Athletic training facility looked different this time.
Not in structure—no walls had shifted, no new buildings had sprung up—but in the way Leo walked through its doors.
This time, he wasn’t visiting. This time, he was a player.
Dawson led the way, clipboard tucked beneath one arm, his gait relaxed but focused.
"You’ll be staying in the second-floor wing," he said as they passed a corridor of glass-paned offices.
"That’s where most of the U21s are. Some of the senior fringe players too, lads bouncing between the first team and bench."
Leo nodded, eyes scanning the space. The walls bore framed jerseys of Wigan legends, while fresh cleats clattered in a basket by the stairwell. The air smelled of turf and floor polish.
Dawson held open a heavy door at the end of the hallway and stepped aside.
"Room 2A. It’s one of the bigger ones."
Leo entered and paused.
It wasn’t luxury, but it was clean and homey.
A single bed in the corner with navy sheets, a built-in desk with a monitor, shelves already fitted into the walls, and a closet with a printed schedule pinned to the inside door.
A large window overlooked one of the side pitches.
"This is yours now," Dawson said simply.
"Make it feel like home, but don’t get too comfortable. Comfort’s the first thing that slows down growth."
Before Leo could respond, a voice came from behind them.
"Thought I heard someone moving in."
Ezra leaned casually against the doorframe, a familiar grin on his face.
He was in training kit already, socks rolled halfway up, curls pulled back with a band.
"You got the corner room?" Ezra added, stepping in without waiting for permission.
"Lucky bastard. Mine’s got a view of the loading bay."
Leo cracked a small smile. "I guess you’ve been upgraded to neighbor."
Dawson gave them both a look.
"Don’t spend too much time comparing scenery. You’re both here to work."
"Yes, Mr Dawso- err, I mean Coach," Ezra muttered, before slapping Leo lightly on the back.
"You’ve got orientation stuff with Malachi after lunch. Admin bits, ID photos, medical updates. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow—training. Proper training."
He stepped back toward the door.
"You’ve got everything you need, give me a shout. Otherwise—clock’s ticking."
The door shut with a muted thud behind him.
Leo looked around again, taking in the simple room with a strange, swelling feeling in his chest.
Leo’s breath came out in soft clouds, even though the morning air wasn’t especially cold.
Just crisp enough to wake him up. The early Wigan sky still held onto a dim blue-grey hue, the town yawning quietly beneath it as Leo ran through the narrow footpath near the club’s training grounds.
"Right foot’s heavier today. Maybe too much on the push-off."
He adjusted his stride slightly, rolling through the next few steps smoother.
The concrete path thudded rhythmically beneath his trainers, and the buzz of distant traffic made for a kind of offbeat metronome.
He passed a shuttered corner shop, the same one he clocked yesterday on the way in.
Still hadn’t opened yet. Just past it was a patch of scraggly grass and a rusted bench — familiar markers already forming in his brain like a personal map.
"Four thousand a week. Jesus. I still can’t say that without flinching."
He ran on, dodging a crack in the pavement with a little skip.
"Sofia’s right to push. She probably read the whole FA contract manual before signing.
She’s mad like that. But I need to make sure it means something. Every damn penny of it."
He slowed briefly as he reached the small uphill stretch near a line of trees, hands on his hips as his breath grew heavier. The wind hit a little harder here.
He straightened up and pressed forward again, gritting his teeth against the incline.
"You’ve already been let go once. That badge at Carrington didn’t protect you then. Wigan gave you a second shot — not a guarantee."
The road evened out. Leo let himself exhale a sharp breath and rolled his neck side to side.
"You’ve got to do more than show up. Every session, every touch — you show you belong. You shut their mouths before they even open them."
As he turned back toward the training complex, sweat collecting under the collar of his hoodie, his mind settled into something quieter.
The ground still held the remnants of last night’s rain, the grass a shade darker, slick under his boots.
Leo didn’t mind; in fact, he preferred it. The wet conditions gave him an extra challenge, the slight give of the surface forcing him to adjust his touches and balance.
It was still early, barely 6: 30 AM.
Leo set up the cones for his shooting drills.
It had been tough but he could say he had definitely improved.
Now, as he placed each cone in its spot, there was a sense of confidence in his movements—less uncertainty, more muscle memory.
He knew what he was doing.
His first shot was a clean strike, his right foot connecting with the ball just where it needed to.
The ball sped across the damp grass, hitting the far corner of the net with a satisfying thud.
Leo paused for a second, eyes tracking the ball’s trajectory, then allowed himself a small nod.
He had a clear mental picture of what he wanted from these drills now.
No more experimenting, no more wondering about what worked. This was about repetition and consistency.
The next shot came with even more ease. He stepped into it with more authority, his body shifting fluidly through the motion.
The ball swerved slightly, catching the dummy keeper’s near post before rolling into the back of the net.
Another clean goal and Leo exhaled, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
After a few more successful shots, Leo stepped back, taking a moment to reset his focus.
A couple of U21 players jogged onto the field, still half-heartedly stretching and talking amongst themselves.
"Look at this," one of them, a midfielder named Jake, joked, glancing at Leo.
"Our boy here, thinking he’s Ronaldo, already out here doing extra training before the rest of us even wake up."
The player said it quietly but in a quiet morning like that, Leo could here even if he didn’t want to.
But he paid them no mind.
Instead, he lined up another shot, his foot sending the ball into the bottom corner with ease.
The sound of it slapping the net made Jake, a Wigan local scoff, but it didn’t deter Leo’s focus.
He just kept on, until then the grounds became much more lively