For the drama, for the clicks, the media piled on the praise.
“Genius.” “Star of the future.” They slapped every label they had onto Leo Hale.
The British press had always loved hyping up young English players.
Never mind that Leo was half Chinese.
As far as they were concerned, he held an English passport.
That made him a homegrown talent.
The Guardian posted a photo on their social media.
Leo, fist clenched, staring up at the stands with a resolute look in his eyes.
The headline was designed to linger.
*Flash in the Pan?
Or Future of the Foxes?* The article itself went deep.
They had professional scouts and football analysts break down every minute of Leo’s FA Cup cameo.
Their preliminary verdict?
They pegged his player profile as a Cesc Fabregas type.
Like Fabregas, Leo’s physical attributes were average.
He wasn’t fast.
But his vision was elite.
His passing, imaginative and cutting.
That said, Fabregas came out of La Masia.
His technical ability was far beyond Leo’s.
His goal threat, far greater.
A much more complete player.
As things stood, Leo was, at best, a poor man’s Cesc Fabregas.
Still, the hype did its work.
Several Premier League scouts who had been at the FA Cup tie sent word back to their clubs’ recruitment departments.
The message was the same: *Leicester City have a young talent worth watching.* The response from every club came back identical.
Keep monitoring.
After all, Leo had played a grand total of a dozen or so minutes of professional football.
A dazzling cameo, yes.
But a dozen minutes was not enough to convince a Premier League club to open their checkbook.
Even if those minutes had been nearly flawless.
The day after Leo was officially promoted to the first team, Leicester City updated their squad list on the club website.
And there he was.
Number 23, Leo Hale.
A sharp half-body photo.
On the roster.
Fans who had watched the FA Cup tie flooded the club’s site with comments.
“Finally!
The club knows what they’re doing!” “That dark-haired kid is an absolute genius.” “His passing is pure magic.
I see the making of a midfield maestro.” “And he’s gorgeous!” The top comment, the one with the most likes, came from a user whose handle read “Big Will.” He had posted a photo.
It showed a Leicester City blue home shirt.
Across the chest, in clean letters, was Leo Hale’s signature.
“Ran into the kid on the road.
He was on his bike.
I asked him for an autograph and he was happy to do it.
Polite kid.
Humble.
I’m officially his fan as of today.” “Looking back, I can’t believe I forgot to get a photo with him.
Absolutely kicking myself!” Most of the comments were positive.
Expectant.
But a few voices pushed back.
“He doesn’t look strong enough.
One shove and he’d go flying.
Whether he can handle the Championship is still up in the air.” “That pass was nice, sure.
Let’s just hope he’s not a one-hit wonder.” Either way, the media had spoken.
The fans were watching.
Leo Hale, this small stone, had been tossed into the vast lake of English football.
The ripples were spreading.
January 10th.
Leicester City, Belvoir Drive.
The tactics room was packed with first-team players.
Tomorrow, Leicester would face their 25th league match of the season.
The opponent: Derby County, the Rams.
Through 24 rounds, Leicester sat top of the table with 16 wins, 3 draws, and 5 losses.
51 points.
Derby County were fourth.
13 wins, 5 draws, 6 losses.
44 points.
Burnley held second place.
13 wins, 8 draws, 3 losses.
47 points.
Queens Park Rangers were third with 46 points.
These four clubs.
These were the contenders for the two automatic promotion spots to the Premier League.
The gap between them was just five points.
Less than two matches.
So this clash with Derby County was a direct duel for a Premier League place.
A classic six-pointer.
Leicester had to beat Derby.
They had to keep their lead.
As was standard, the day before a league or cup match, the manager would announce the starting eleven and the eighteen-man squad.
This time was no different.
“Right.
I’ll now announce tomorrow’s starting lineup.” Leo watched as Nigel Pearson began reading out the eleven names who would face Derby County at home.
“Kasper.” “Morgan.” “Danny.” “Jamie.” When the last name landed, more than a few faces in the room flickered with surprise.
They were all thinking the same thing.
*Why isn’t Leo Hale in the starting eleven?* He had been lights out in training.
The media had anointed him the next big thing.
And yet.
Pearson, having finished the list, made a point of looking toward the back row.
He wanted to see Leo’s reaction.
What he saw caught him slightly off guard.
Leo’s expression was calm.
No anger.
No disappointment.
Pearson gave a small internal nod.
*Kid’s level-headed.
Good.* What Pearson didn’t know was that Leo had already seen this coming.
He had only been with the first team for a few days.
His understanding of the tactical system, his chemistry with the squad, his match rhythm.
None of it was fully there yet.
And the season was halfway done.
The starting lineup was long since settled.
Even with his training performances, it made perfect sense that the manager wouldn’t throw him straight into the eleven.
He had figured he would at least make the bench.
Sure enough, when Pearson read the substitutes, Leo’s name was on the list.
After the eighteen-man squad was announced, Pearson moved to the tactics whiteboard.
The club had computers and a projector screen.
But Pearson was an old-school English manager.
He still preferred to walk his players through the tactical details on the board.
“David.
When you hold the ball up with your back to goal, scan for Jamie’s run immediately.” “Matty.
I need you to bring the steel in midfield.
Every second.” The analysis and instructions ran their course.
The meeting wound down.
“Alright.
That’s all.
Get some rest.
We’ll see each other on the pitch tomorrow.” Afterward, Leo said his goodbyes to Mahrez, Vardy, and a few of the other lads he had grown closer to.
Then he headed back to his room in the residence hall.
He sat on the bed, looking out the window at the training pitch bathed in the last light of the setting sun.
One thought filled his mind.
Tomorrow, he might make his Championship debut.
The thought sent a ripple through his chest.
The past week had been surreal.
He had lived through moments most professional players never get to taste.
A substitute appearance in the FA Cup.
Dragging his team to a comeback victory.
His name splashed across the sports pages.
Labeled a “star of the future,” a “genius.” Fans recognizing him.
Asking for his autograph on their shirts.
The kind of stuff you only read about.
And it had all happened to him.
It made him fall deeper in love with it all.
But he did not let the media hype go to his head.
He had lived two lives.
He was not some wide-eyed kid who would get puffed up by flattery.
He knew exactly what the media were.
A pack of weathervanes.
When he played well, they would drown him in praise.
The moment his form dipped, the first ones to mock him, to twist the knife, would be those same outlets that had built him up.
If he wanted the media to keep singing his name, to never give them an opening to tear him down, he had to maintain a high level on the pitch.
Every single match.
And to do that, he had to stay locked in.
Keep improving.
Keep getting stronger.
Leo raised an eyebrow and opened his player interface.
Over the past few days of training and intra-squad matches, he had discovered something crucial.
His attribute values could be improved through training.
The first team’s professional sessions had already nudged some of his numbers.
Under the Mental category, his Off the Ball had ticked from 66 to 67.
Under Defensive, his Tackling had climbed from 38 to 40.
His Marking from 35 to 37.
Leo had pieced together how it worked.
Every time he executed a specific skill on the training pitch, or studied match footage, the corresponding attribute earned experience.
Once the experience built up enough, the number went up.
Intercept a pass in a practice match, and his Tackling got a little closer to the next level.
Intercept another, and another.
Eventually, the attribute would rise.
Just like a game.
One thing stood out.
Over the past few days, the skill he had used most in training was passing.
Hundreds of passes.
His Passing attribute had not moved a single point.
Leo figured the effect of training was tied to how high the attribute already was.
The lower the number, the less experience needed to level it up.
The easier the climb.
The higher the number, the more experience required.
The harder the grind.
Mastering a skill starts with the easy part.
Getting from beginner to decent is straightforward.
But when you are already at an elite level, pushing further is always going to be harder than those first steps.
Made perfect sense.
As long as he kept grinding, and had the system backing him, those attributes would keep climbing.
He would get stronger.
More complete.
Leo felt a stir of anticipation.
What would it feel like, someday, when all six of his major attributes hit S-rank?