The moment he answered, a gentle female voice came through the line.
“Leo?
Where are you?
Did I catch you at a bad time?” “No, I’m just in my dorm.” “I’m calling because your dad and I watched the FA Cup match on TV.
You were absolutely brilliant out there!
We’re so proud of you, both of us.” Hearing those words, Leo felt a rush of warmth.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth without him even meaning to.
“Thanks, Mom.
Hey, the team’s off tomorrow.
I’ll come home and tell you all about it.” “Perfect.
I’ll hit the supermarket in the morning and cook your favorites.” Before she’d even finished, a man’s deep voice boomed in the background.
“Leo!
Tomorrow, you and me, a couple of drinks to celebrate!” That was his dad, Simon Hale.
In England, you could legally drink at eighteen.
But for the sake of his son’s career, Simon had never let him touch alcohol.
Not even a sip of wine.
Not once.
Now, with a perfect excuse finally in hand, there was no way he’d let it slide.
Leo let out a quiet, helpless laugh.
“Alright.
See you tomorrow.” He stared up at the white ceiling and let the day replay in his mind.
In a single day, he’d stepped onto the pitch of a competition with over a hundred years of history.
He’d made his professional debut.
And he’d delivered two assists to drag his team to a comeback win.
But this was only the start.
Leo wasn’t satisfied with shining in the FA Cup.
He wanted to stand on bigger stages.
He wanted to go head to head with the biggest names in the sport and fight for trophies and glory.
He’d been given a second chance at life.
He was going to live it to the fullest.
With that vision of the future still burning in his chest, Leo closed his eyes and drifted into a slow, easy sleep.
…
The next morning.
Seven thirty.
Under bright winter sun, helmet strapped on and a black windbreaker zipped up, Leo pedaled his Raleigh bicycle out of Belvoir Drive.
He’d bought it with his first week’s wages.
Cycling was a common way to get around in England.
By law, you rode in the bike lane.
No bike lane, you rode in the road.
Pedaling on the pavement would get you a fine from the police.
Since rush hour kicked in at eight and Leicester’s bike lanes ran narrow, Leo had left half an hour early on purpose to avoid the morning traffic.
January in Leicester meant temperatures in the low single digits.
The biting wind hit his face the moment he got moving, and he instantly regretted not just getting his driver’s license and buying a car.
It had only been a few days since he’d crossed over.
England’s unpredictable weather still hadn’t fully sunk in.
About ten minutes into his ride, he pulled up at a red light.
A small van rolled to a stop on his right.
Leo glanced over, took it in, and thought nothing of it.
But the driver, a guy with a thick beard, had spotted something interesting.
A puzzled look crossed his face.
He rolled down the window, one hand on the wheel, and gave Leo a long look.
“Hey, mate.
You look familiar…” Leo turned his head.
Before he could get a word out, the driver’s voice shot up and nearly made him jump.
“It’s you!
That number twenty-three from yesterday!
The black-haired kid!” Leo froze for a second, then caught up.
Had he just been recognized?
Before he could react, the driver, acting like they’d known each other for years, shot him a thumbs-up.
“Mate, those passes you made yesterday were pure class.
If it weren’t for you, we’d have lost that one.” “You’re Ling, right?” Leo nodded, then corrected him.
“That’s my last name.
Full name’s Leo Hale.” He knew his FA Cup performance would draw some attention.
But he hadn’t expected to get spotted by a random passerby this fast.
The light turned green.
A car horn blared behind them, cutting the conversation short.
“Hey, can you pull over up ahead?
Let’s talk for a second.” Leo didn’t overthink it.
He just nodded.
They rolled past the light and stopped at the curb.
The driver climbed out and hit him with his first sentence.
“Mate, can I get your autograph?” Leo blinked, then answered without thinking.
“Sure!
But I don’t have a pen…” “I do!” The driver pulled a black marker from his jacket pocket, then reached down and unzipped his coat.
Leo found himself staring at what was underneath: this season’s Leicester City home shirt.
It took a beat to click.
No wonder the guy had recognized him.
A Leicester fan.
Although, spotting a Leicester fan on the streets of Leicester?
Made perfect sense.
While Leo was still processing, the driver tapped the blank space next to the club crest and shot him a hopeful look.
“Sign it right here!” Marker in hand, Leo hesitated.
“You sure you want me to sign this?
I’m just an under-21 kid.
I literally made my first-team debut yesterday.” “I’ve been a Foxes fan since I was five years old.
I have never seen a player on this team with passing as good as yours, as dangerous as yours.
I’m telling you, you’re going to be a massive star.” “And when that day comes, this signed shirt’s gonna be worth something.” Something stirred in Leo.
The feeling of being truly seen.
Watching the driver’s pleased expression, Leo let a smile break through.
“Gotta say, mate, you’ve got way more confidence in me than I do.” He took the marker and signed his name in clean letters across the shirt.
“Good to meet you, Mister…?” “Call me Big Will.” They shook hands.
Leo’s smile turned genuine.
“Big Will.
Thank you.
You’re the first fan who’s ever asked for my autograph.” “Don’t mention it.
Hey, are you playing in the league match next week?” “No idea.
That’s up to the gaffer.” A couple more words, signed and done.
Maybe he was running late on a delivery, because Big Will waved goodbye, climbed back into his white van, and drove off.
Leo stood there, not quite ready for the moment to end.
The encounter was still playing in his head.
So that’s what it feels like to get asked for an autograph by a fan.
He could get used to that.