Chapter 88: A Blast From The Past.

"Is he in?" Leo posed the question to the woman before Nolan’s door, earning a nod in return.

"Thank you," he said before making his way to the door and then knocking on the frame.

"You wanted to see me?" Leo’s voice carried in softly as he opened the door, still in his training gear despite them finishing drills an hour ago.

Nolan looked up from his desk and gave a small nod.

"Yeah. Won’t take long. Come in, sit."

Leo stepped inside, easing himself into the chair across from him.

The boy sat with his back straight, hands clasped together on his lap, while his foot tapped nervously against the floor.

"Were you still with Thompson?" Nolan asked, looking at the teenager in front of him, to which Leo nodded.

"That dumb..., Dawson told him to take it easy after drills," Nolan said, studying Leo’s face for a moment before leaning back slightly in his chair.

"I take it you’ve met an agent called Noah Sarin?"

The name drew a flicker across Leo’s face as his eyebrows raised a sharp glance at Nolan.

"Wait... how do you know that?"

A small smile touched Nolan’s lips.

"He’s an old friend. From back in the day."

Leo blinked once, then leaned back in his chair, connecting the dots.

"That’s the link then. Makes sense now." He paused, brow furrowed.

"But why bring him up?"

Nolan folded his arms.

"He called me yesterday evening. Just as I was leaving after training. Said he’d met you, gave you his card, but never got your number. Claimed he waited, but you never called."

Leo’s shoulders dropped slightly, a sheepish smile tugging at him.

"Right... yeah. I didn’t forget about him, exactly. Just..." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling.

"Been wrapped up in training. Trying to get sharper, stronger. It just... slipped my mind."

"No worries," Nolan said gently.

"That’s not a crime. I just wanted to let you know why he reached out. What he wants is simple. He’d like to meet you properly. And I thought it’d be best to ask first. If you’re fine with it, I’ll pass your contact on to him."

Leo hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, it’s okay."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the hum of the air vent the only sound between them.

Leo tapped his thumb against his knee before finally speaking up again.

"Coach... what do you think about him? Noah, I mean." His gaze lifted, searching Nolan’s face.

"I’ve been thinking... maybe I should go with him as an agent."

Nolan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers laced together.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he let out a slow breath, weighing his words and making it a bit more dramatic than it needed to be.

"Noah’s... persistent," Nolan said finally.

"Always has been. The kind of man who doesn’t let go once he sets his mind on something. Back when we were younger, that worked for him. He could talk his way into or out of anything. Charming, clever... a bit of a fox, if I’m being honest."

Leo’s lips curved, half a smile breaking through. "A fox?"

"Yeah," Nolan said, chuckling under his breath.

"You’ll see what I mean if you sit across from him long enough. He knows the business inside out. He’ll fight tooth and nail for his players. But... he’s also the sort who’ll always have three different plans running in his head, and sometimes you’ll wonder which one is really for you."

The words lingered, heavier than the casual tone they’d been delivered in as Leo sat with them, brows knitting, gaze drifting to the floor.

"So... you don’t trust him?" he asked quietly.

Nolan shook his head.

"It’s not that simple. I trust him to be good at what he does. I trust him to know the game, to protect his clients in the big fights. But do I think he’s flawless? No. No agent is. And it’s been a while since we talked, so I don’t know how he is now. What matters is whether

you

feel he’s the one who’ll look out for you the way you need after you meet him. That’s the part nobody else can decide."

Leo leaned back in his chair, absorbing every word.

The thought of an agent, of contracts and negotiations, always seemed distant until now.

Hearing Nolan talk about it made it feel real, tangible.

A door half-opened.

"I think he went through a rough patch..." he started, then stopped, searching for the right words.

"I’ve seen how messy agent-player relations can get from the side, and I don’t want to imagine how it could get when you are the one facing it directly. He said he wanted a brother, not just a give-and-take relation."

"I feel like whatever he’s gone through the past couple of years has had an impact on him, and for now, I think it is good."

Nolan’s expression softened.

He reached across the desk, resting a hand briefly on Leo’s shoulder.

"That’s a good instinct, son. Don’t lose it. You’ll meet plenty of people who’ll promise the world, but the one worth keeping is the one who listens to you as much as they talk."

Leo nodded slowly, that quiet determination flickering back into his eyes.

"Alright. Then I’ll meet him. See for myself."

"Good," Nolan said with a small smile. "That’s all I wanted to hear."

For a moment, then Nolan leaned back again, easing the moment.

"Now, go on. Get yourself ready. We’ve got work to do tomorrow."

Leo stood, giving a short nod. "Thanks, coach."

As he turned to leave, Nolan’s voice followed him. "And Leo?"

He glanced back.

"Don’t let him talk you into anything you’re not ready for. Foxes are sly like that."

Leo grinned faintly. "Noted."

And with that, he slipped out the door, leaving Nolan staring after him, an unreadable mix of pride and concern in his eyes.

"Noah, you’ve got to treat this boy well," Nolan said, like Noah Sarin had already signed Leo, but in his mind, he knew, Leo might as well have penned the contract because Noah was that good.

.....

Noah Sarin sat at the edge of his bed, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone when the screen lit up with Nolan’s name.

He answered quickly.

"Yeah?"

On the other end, Nolan’s voice carried that calm steadiness Noah remembered so well.

"Just sent it over. Be good to the kid, Noah."

Noah leaned back on the mattress, smiling faintly.

"You’re a saint, Nolan. Really. Thanks."

A grunt of amusement came from the line before Nolan added,

"Don’t make me regret it."

Then the call clicked dead.

Noah dropped the phone onto his lap and let out a small breath, running a hand through his hair.

He tapped the screen, pulling up his messages.

And there it was, the new contact Nolan had passed on.

Just a first name and a number, simple as that.

Leo.

For a moment, Noah just stared at it, thumb hovering over the call icon.

But then he stopped.

His eyes flicked toward the little suitcase propped against the wall, the half-packed folders and the fixture calendar he’d laid out on the desk earlier that day.

Wigan had a game tomorrow.

He knew because he had it circled.

Noah let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Not now," he muttered under his breath. "Timing, Noah. Timing."

The last thing he wanted was to look overeager, barging in on the boy’s rhythm a day before a match.

He tossed the phone lightly onto the bed, watching it bounce once on the duvet before landing flat.

His smile lingered, wry and a little tired.

"Tomorrow night," he told himself.

"Or the day after. Let him breathe."

Pushing himself up, Noah stretched his shoulders and made for the bathroom, his bare feet padding softly against the carpet.

.....

"It’s halftime at the DW,"

the commentator’s voice cut in, just as the camera panned across the pitch where players trudged towards the tunnel, boots scuffing against the grass.

"And really, not much to separate the two sides so far, but not for the right reasons."

A replay rolled on the screen, a tame shot that dribbled straight into the goalkeeper’s gloves.

The co-commentator sighed, almost as though he was speaking for the crowd.

"Yeah, it’s been poor, hasn’t it? Sunderland came into this sitting tenth, Wigan a couple of places below in twelfth, so you’d expect a proper scrap in midfield, a few good chances at least... but what we’ve had is flat, sluggish football from both teams."

The main voice came again, firm but measured.

"Exactly. It’s a mid-table battle, but the energy’s missing. You look at Sunderland, no real bite going forward. Wigan, same story, a couple of half-hearted moves, but no cutting edge. The fans are restless, and you can’t blame them."

The camera lingered on the stands where supporters were shaking their heads, some folding their arms, others muttering as they headed down for their halftime pies.

"If things don’t pick up in the second half,"

the co-commentator added dryly,

"this’ll feel like a waste of money for the people who’ve turned up here tonight. Something’s got to change, either side has the quality to raise the tempo, but at the moment, it’s been... well, it’s been dreadful."

The shot cut once more to the tunnel, players disappearing into the shadows, the low hum of jeers faintly audible under the commentary.

"Nil-nil at the break,"

the lead voice signed off.

"Plenty of room for improvement. Let’s see who comes out ready to make something happen in the second half."