Chapter 8: An Unimportant File

Leo stepped into the academy building, following the staff member down the narrow hallway lined with framed photos of past academy graduates—players who had made it, players who mattered. His name was never going to be among them.

The office they stopped at had a plaque that read Jonathan Reeves – Head of Academy.

The staff member knocked once, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response.

Inside, Reeves barely glanced up from his computer screen.

A middle-aged man with graying hair and deep lines on his forehead, he exuded the aura of someone who had seen too many hopefuls come and go—someone who had long stopped caring about players like Leo Calderon.

The office was filled with binders, scouting reports, and stacks of paperwork, yet Reeves made no move to grab Leo’s file.

Instead, he let out a small sigh, as if this entire meeting was a waste of his time.

Leo took the seat across from him, but Reeves didn’t look at him. He kept scrolling through his screen before finally exhaling and leaning back in his chair.

"Alright, let’s get this over with," he muttered. "So... Wigan Athletic." He said it like it was a joke like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. "They’ve expressed interest in you."

Leo didn’t react, but he noticed how Reeves didn’t say it as a compliment—more like confusion.

"I’ll be honest," Reeves continued, finally clicking on something on his computer. "I don’t even know why. Your file isn’t impressive. Never stood out. Never caused any trouble, which is the best thing I can say about you. I don’t even recall watching you play properly."

Of course, he didn’t. Why would he? Leo had spent most of his time here being invisible.

Reeves leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Now, they’ve asked us to let you go without a fuss. And honestly?" He let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"I don’t see the point in making this complicated. You’re not under contract, so they don’t even need our permission. This is just a courtesy."

A knock on the door cut through the conversation before it swung open.

Dawson stepped in like he owned the place.

He didn’t spare Reeves a glance at first, instead looking straight at Leo.

"You ready, kid?" Dawson asked casually, as if they had already sealed the deal.

Reeves raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And you are?"

"Dawson. Wigan Athletic," he said, finally turning to Reeves.

"Assistant coach—soon-to-be head coach if things go the way I expect."

Reeves scoffed, leaning back. "Figures. Can’t believe Wigan’s that desperate."

Dawson didn’t react to the insult. Instead, he slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

"Didn’t have to come here, you know. Didn’t need to ask for anything. Could’ve just called the kid and signed him outright." He tilted his head.

"But we thought we’d do it the right way, keep things respectful."

Reeves chuckled again. "How thoughtful."

Leo sat still, taking it all in.

"So, what now?" Reeves asked, crossing his arms. "You want us to give the boy some kind of grand send-off?"

Dawson smirked. "Nah, just letting you know we’re taking him. That’s all."

Reeves shook his head, already done with the conversation.

"Fine. Take him. Won’t make a difference to us."

Leo didn’t let the words sting. He had already made his decision.

Dawson nodded toward the door. "Come on, kid. Let’s get you out of here."

As soon as they stepped out of the academy building, the cold air hit them like a wall.

The December sky was dull and overcast, the wind biting at Leo’s exposed skin. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, his boots crunching against the frosted pavement as he walked beside Dawson.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Then Dawson let out a small chuckle. "So," he said, glancing at Leo. "How do you feel?"

Leo exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "Dunno," he admitted. "Feels weird."

Dawson smirked. "Weird how?"

Leo thought about it. Just half an hour ago, he was still part of Manchester United’s academy—even if it never felt like it.

Now, he was leaving without fanfare, without anyone trying to stop him. Maybe that was what felt strange.

"I guess... I thought I’d feel more excited," he said honestly.

Dawson nodded as if he understood. "Moves don’t always hit straight away. It’ll sink in when you step onto the pitch wearing different colors."

Leo swallowed at that. "Yeah... about that." He hesitated before looking at Dawson. "How’s this gonna work? I mean... what happens next?"

Dawson stopped walking, forcing Leo to do the same. He turned to face him fully, hands in his coat pockets.

"We’re bringing you in for a trial with the U21s," he said.

"One month."

Leo’s stomach dropped. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

"So I still have to prove myself?"

Dawson’s gaze didn’t waver. "Yeah."

Leo looked down, nodding slowly. Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Even a League One club wasn’t going to just hand him a contract.

"Listen, kid." Dawson’s voice softened slightly. "I know that look. You’re thinking, ’What if I’m not good enough? What if I mess up?’"

Leo stayed silent, but Dawson knew he had hit the mark.

"If we didn’t believe in you. If I didn’t believe in you, I wouldn’t be here," Dawson continued.

"I wouldn’t have wasted my time convincing the club. We’re not signing you as a charity case—we see something. Now it’s up to you to show us we’re right."

Leo looked up at him, searching for any doubt in his expression, but there was none. Dawson believed what he was saying.

"But we’ve got two weeks before you come in," Dawson added, starting to walk again. "And we’re gonna make the most of it."

Leo frowned slightly, falling into step beside him. "What do you mean?"

Dawson smirked. "You think I’m just going to let you sit around and wait?

Nah. If you’re going to step onto that pitch in two weeks, you’re stepping on as the best version of yourself."

Leo felt something stir in his chest—an unfamiliar mix of nerves and excitement.

For the first time in his life, someone was investing in him.