The noise hits him first, a wall of booming thunder bouncing off the concrete walls of the Elland Road tunnel.
For the second time now, Callum stands in the line-up as a starter for the Leeds United XI.
Beside him, the Cardiff players look stern, focused, bouncing on the balls of their feet and clapping their hands together to cut through the cold air.
But around Callum, the energy is electric.
Kalvin Phillips gives him a firm, heavy slap on the shoulder pad, his eyes wild with match-day energy.
“You ready, starboy?” Kalvin shouts over the roar of the crowd.
“Show ’em!”
Callum adjusts his socks, the sharp smell of winter turf, menthol rub, and leather filling his lungs.
He looks back down the tunnel toward the pitch, where the daylight cuts through the entrance like a spotlight.
Above the stadium noise, Marching On Together begins to echo from forty thousand throats, rattling the very foundation beneath his boots.
Directly across from the tunnel entrance, high up in the main stand, his eyes instinctively flick toward Executive Box 14.
He can’t make out individual faces behind the glass from down here, but a quiet, confident smirk touches the corner of his lips anyway.
“Right, lads!” Sol Bamba’s voice booms from the front of the line, his massive hand clapping together as he turns back to face the team.
“We set the tempo from the first whistle!”
The referee takes the match ball, steps forward, and leads them out into the blinding daylight of Elland Road.
The roar of the home crowd reaches a deafening pitch, and Callum jogs onto the pristine grass, completely locked in.
As the line of white shirts moves down the row for the pre-match handshakes, Callum’s focus narrows completely.
He brushes past the goalkeeper, past the full-back, until he reaches Cardiff’s central defender; Sean Morrison, the broad-shouldered, 6’4″ mountain of a center-half with a scowl etched into his face and a heavily taped right wrist.
This is the man assigned to mark him for ninety minutes.
When their hands meet, Morrison’s grip is hard, a subtle attempt to assert dominance before the whistle even blows.
The towering defender doesn’t let go immediately, leaning down just enough to lock eyes with Callum, his glare cold, intense, and meant to intimidate the teenage striker making only his second senior start.
Callum doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t pull his hand back, nor does he break eye contact.
Instead, a calm, razor-sharp focus takes over.
He matches Morrison’s grip strength, meeting the glare with a cool, unbothered smirk that says everything without a single word: I’m not going anywhere.
After a long, tense beat, Morrison finally lets go, giving Callum one last dismissive tap on the shoulder as he moves down the line to shake hands with Lewis Cook.
“Watch out for Morrison, Cal,” Lewis mutters under his breath as they break off to take their positions on the pitch.
“He likes to throw his weight around on set pieces.”
“Let him try,” Callum replies smoothly, rolling his shoulders and trotting toward the center circle.
He takes his place on the half-way line, bouncing on his toes as the ref checks his watch.
Morrison takes up his stance ten yards behind him alongside Matt Connolly, barking orders at the Cardiff backline.
Callum adjusts his shin guards, shoots one last glance toward the VIP box high above the pitch, and then fixates entirely on the ball resting at his feet.
The referee brings the whistle to his lips.
PWEET.
The match is underway.
The deafening roar from the Elland Road crowd erupts, turning the stadium into a cauldron of noise.
Callum explodes into motion, immediately darting forward to press Cardiff’s midfield, his eyes tracking the movement of the ball while keeping a mental map of Sean Morrison trailing his back hip.
Within the first two minutes, a high, looping ball is whacked down the line by Sol Bamba.
Callum reads the trajectory, backing into Morrison to protect the space.
Morrison crashes straight into his back, throwing a heavy forearm across Callum’s shoulder to pin him down, but Callum drops his center of gravity, absorbing the hit, and cushions the ball cleanly down to Lewis Cook’s feet before spinning around Morrison’s left shoulder.
“Get into him, Sean!” the Cardiff bench shouts, but Callum’s already gone, bursting into space toward the edge of the eighteen-yard box as Lewis looks up to pick out a pass.
Lewis Cook threads a razor-sharp pass straight through Cardiff’s central midfield, splitting the lines effortlessly.
Callum drops his shoulder, feinting as if to come short to receive it, and Sean Morrison bites hard, stepping up to make a tackle.
But in an instant, Callum spins off Morrison’s back hip, opening his stride.
Cardiff’s other central defender, Matthew Connolly, quickly senses the danger and scrambles across to cover the gap.
It isn’t even close.
Callum shifts into another gear entirely.
Running like an Olympic sprinter, body low, knees driving high, arms pumping in pitch-perfect rhythm.
He explodes past Connolly like he’s standing completely still.
The sheer, blistering acceleration leaves Connolly lunging at air as Callum burns past his shoulder, taking the weighted pass cleanly into stride and bearing down single-handedly on the penalty area.
The stadium holds its breath as Callum bursts clear into the box, completely isolated with only the Cardiff keeper, David Marshall, rushing out to narrow the angle.
Time seems to slow down for the young striker.
The deafening roar of Elland Road fades into background noise.
Marshall spreads himself wide, staying low, expecting a hard-driven shot across the deck.
Callum doesn’t panic.
With cold-blooded composure, he opens his hips as if shaping to curl it toward the far right post.
Marshall bites on the body shape, shifting his weight just a fraction of an inch to his left.
That’s all Callum needs.
With an effortless flick of his left ankle, Callum chips the ball cleanly over Marshall’s diving arm.
The ball hangs in the air for an agonizing half-second before dropping smoothly into the bottom left corner, rustling the back of the net.
GOAL!
(3′)
Leeds United 1-0 Cardiff City F.C.
Elland Road erupts into absolute bedlam.
Callum doesn’t stop running.
Peeling away toward the corner flag at top speed, Callum hits a fast, smooth slide on his knees across the wet Elland Road turf, popping up instantly before the motion even fully stops.
As he looks toward the stunned away section and Sean Morrison, who is still staring back from the penalty spot in disbelief, Callum raises a single finger, tapping the side of his temple twice with a ruthless, icy-cool calm.
Before he can even drop his arms, a roaring Kalvin Phillips comes charging in at full pelt, leaping straight onto Callum’s back! New chapters come out on g.com first.
“YOU ABSOLUTE BEAUTY!” Kalvin screams, wrapping his arms tight around Callum’s neck as Callum catches him effortlessly, taking a couple of bouncing steps under the weight while laughing out loud.
“Told you! I told you!” Kalvin roars, messing up Callum’s hair from behind as Lewis Cook, Sol Bamba, and the rest of the starting XI swarm them at the corner flag, pounding Callum on the back and drowning in the deafening, thunderous roar of forty thousand Leeds fans chanting his name.
“OH OH CALLUM’S ON FIRE! YOUR DEFENSE IS TERRIFIED! OH OH CALLUM’S ON FIRE!”
(To the tune of Seven Nation Army)
As the referee ushers the celebrating Leeds players back toward their own half, Callum trots toward the center circle, jogging alongside Kalvin, who is still clapping his hands and barking encouragement to the midfield.
Callum wipes a line of sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, rolling his shoulders to shake off the residual adrenaline.
As he crosses the halfway line, his eyes drift naturally upward, tracking past the tiers of screaming supporters in the West Stand until they land squarely on Executive Box 14.
Behind the glass, bathed in the warm interior lights of the suite, Chloë is standing right at the edge of the window.
While the rest of the suit-and-tie executives around her are still sitting or making polite applause, she’s leaning slightly forward against the railing, clapping enthusiastically.
As if sensing him looking up, her face lights up with a broad, genuine smile.
“Oi, starboy!” Kalvin nudges him with an elbow as Sean Morrison places the ball back on the center spot, scowling heavily in their direction.
“Save some focus for the next eighty minutes, yeah? Morrison looks like he wants to eat your shinpads.”
“Let him come,” Callum chuckles, bouncing on his toes as the referee gets ready to restart play.
PWEET!
Cardiff kicks off, rolling the ball backward to restart the match.
Hearing all those fans bellowing his name sets Callum’s blood on fire.
He instantly springs into action, hunting down the ball as Whittingham drops a simple back-pass to Sean Morrison.
Morrison, clearly rattled from the goal and desperate to set a tone, takes a heavy touch and looks up, only to see Callum charging down on him at full speed like a freight train.
“Watch your back, Sean!” Connolly screams.
Morrison panics, boot-whacking the ball blindly down the touchline just a split-second before Callum closes him down, forcing the ball straight out for a Leeds throw-in.
Callum doesn’t slow down; he turns back toward Morrison, giving him that same cool, unbothered smirk as the South Stand erupts into another round of cheers.
Morrison barks something under his breath, veins bulging in his neck, but Callum just winks, jogging back to take his position as Gaetano Berardi steps up to take the quick throw.
Berardi’s throw skips off a wet patch of grass and bounces to Stuart Dallas, who has pulled wide onto the right flank.
Dallas brings the ball down with a slick, cushioned touch, taking full advantage of the fact that three Cardiff defenders are completely hyper-focused on suffocating Callum.
With Morrison anchored to his back and Connolly glued to his flank, Callum realizes the trap instantly.
Instead of fighting for a ball that isn’t coming to him, he uses his physical frame to pin both center-backs in place, holding them hostage in their own zone.
“Stuart, wide!” Callum shouts, leaning back hard into Morrison to keep him anchored.
The clever movement creates a massive, vacant expanse of green turf for Dallas to exploit.
Realizing the danger too late, Gunnarsson abandons his position in front of Callum and scrambles toward the touchline, but Dallas is already driving forward at full speed into the open space.
Dallas drives forward with purpose, taking two quick, aggressive touches down the right flank to exploit the space Gunnarsson abandoned.
Seeing the gap open up, Leeds pour bodies into the penalty area in a surging wave.
Lewis Cook bursts late through the central channel with his trademark acceleration, Alex Mowatt sweeps toward the edge of the box to offer a trailing option, and Souleymane Doukara comes charging in like a freight train from the opposite wing, attacking the back post.
With Morrison still desperately trying to wrangle Callum at the front post, Dallas whips a vicious, low-swinging cross across the slick Elland Road grass, aimed right into the chaotic heart of Cardiff’s penalty box.
Callum locks his eyes onto the trajectory of the ball as it curls off Dallas’s boot.
Harnessing every ounce of explosive power in his legs, he springs off the turf, climbing high into the damp air.
Beside him, both Sean Morrison and Matthew Connolly leap in tandem, a wall of Cardiff blue rising to meet him.
Morrison throws his weight into Callum’s hip mid-air, while Connolly reaches out, desperately trying to get a head to the ball first.
For a split second, all three are suspended in the air over the six-yard box, fighting through the slick rain for absolute dominance.
Callum snaps his neck back, muscling through Morrison’s heavy shoulder, determined to win the header and direct Dallas’s lethal delivery toward the goal.
THWACK!
Callum wins the aerial duel, snapping his header cleanly through the clashing arms of Morrison and Connolly.
The ball rockets past the sprawling hands of David Marshall—only to crack viciously off the inside of the left-hand post!
The stadium lets out a collective, agonizing gasp as the ball ricochets at a sharp angle, skittering straight across the line, past the far post, and rolling out for a goal kick.
Callum hits the turf on his feet, stumbling back slightly, and throws his hands onto his head in absolute disbelief.
“AHHH! So close, Cal!” Cook shouts, clapping his hands as he jogs back into position.
Morrison exhales a massive breath of relief, wiping wet grass from his forehead and shooting Connolly a look that says ‘We got lucky.’
Over on the touchline, the Cardiff bench is practically screaming at their back four to wake up, while the South Stand breaks into a round of appreciative applause for the lightning-fast attack.
Callum shakes off the frustration, adjusts his shinguards, and gives Dallas a thumbs-up as Marshall prepares to clear the ball downfield.
David Marshall hoists a heavy kick deep into the Leeds half.
Callum doesn’t immediately sprint back; he takes a breath, hands resting briefly on his hips, slowly walking back across the halfway line as he tracks Cardiff’s buildup.
The air is thick with tension.
Cardiff’s midfield quickly snaps up the second ball, turning to transition into a rapid counter-attack.
Aron Gunnarsson controls it, immediately laying a neat pass off to Peter Whittingham, who looks up to orchestrate the break.
Cardiff’s wingers spring forward, stretching the pitch and trying to catch Leeds on the retreat after sending so many shirts into the box.
Callum watches the shape unfold from the center circle, keeping his eyes moving, reading Cardiff’s passing lanes, measuring the space between Morrison and Connolly, and getting ready to pounce the second Lewis Cook or Kalvin Phillips forces a turnover.
Cardiff’s winger, Anthony Pilkington, spots the movement early.
Taking a deft touch out from his feet, he curls a beautiful, sweeping ball high over the heads of Cooper and Bamba.
It drops perfectly into the path of Lex Immers, who, timing his run to perfection, leaps between the static center-backs and snaps a powerful header straight into the top corner, leaving Silvestri with absolutely no chance.
GOAL.
(25′)
Leeds United 1-1 Cardiff City F.C
The small pocket of away fans in the John Charles Stand erupts into wild celebrations as Immers turns toward the corner flag, slide-marking the wet turf while Pilkington sprints over to jump on his back.
Callum stands near the center circle, hands on his waist as Cardiff celebrate.
He catches Kalvin Phillips’ eye and gives him a quick, resolute nod.
PWEET!
Once the Cardiff celebrations finally settle, Callum stands over the ball at the center spot alongside Lee Erwin. This story is hosted at g.com.
He taps it short to Erwin, who rolls it back to Kalvin Phillips, and Leeds immediately set off into a fluid, rhythmic passing sequence.
Phillips takes a cool touch and sweeps a low pass wide to Gaetano Berardi on the right flank.
Berardi plays a sharp one-two with Lewis Cook, who drops deep into space, takes the ball on his back foot, and rotates it smoothly across the backline to Liam Cooper.
Cooper casually shifts the ball to his preferred left foot and feeds Charlie Taylor, who is already galloping down the left wing.
Taylor pings a crisp, first-time pass into the feet of Alex Mowatt near the center circle.
Mowatt turns brilliantly away from Gunnarsson and slips a precise, threaded ball forward to Souleymane Doukara.
Doukara shields his man, spins, and quickly lays a cushioned pass out to Stuart Dallas on the right.
In one fluid movement, Dallas cuts back inside and slides a weighted pass into the path of Lee Erwin, who instantly flicks a delicate, outer-boot pass through the heart of Cardiff’s defense, straight into the stride of Callum, who is already bursting through the center to spearhead the attack.
Callum collects Erwin’s flick in stride, taking the ball completely on the half-turn.
In a flash, he explodes through the gap, his blisteringly quick acceleration catching the Cardiff defense totally off-guard.
Sean Morrison frantically scrambles across to cover, lunging in with a desperate, heavy-legged slide tackle to try and wipe out the ball.
Callum anticipates the challenge instantly.
With incredible close control, he executes a razor-sharp, chop-touch with the inside of his boot, shifting the ball past Morrison in the blink of an eye.
Morrison misses entirely.
His momentum carries him skidding hopelessly across the slick, rain-soaked grass, sending him sliding straight onto his backside as Callum glides right past him without slowing down.
“SIT DOWN!” screams a fan in the East Stand.
The home crowd roars as Callum surges into the penalty box, leaving the Cardiff captain scrambling on the turf behind him, with only Matthew Connolly and David Marshall standing between him and the back of the net.
As Connolly rushes over to close the gap, Callum draws both the defender and Marshall out, reading the keeper’s weight shifting to narrow the angle.
Instead of pulling the trigger, Callum shows ice-cold composure.
He slides a disguised, unselfish roll of the ball across the face of the six-yard box, straight into the path of Souleymane Doukara, who is storming in completely unmarked at the back post.
CLANG!
Doukara leans back a fraction too far on the wet turf and gets under the ball, lifting his side-footed effort completely over the crossbar and rattling it off the stanchion behind the goal!
The entire stadium lets out a massive, collective groin-gasp of utter disbelief.
Doukara grabs his head with both hands, dropping to his knees on the turf in absolute agony, knowing he had a wide-open net staring him down.
Callum stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide in shock at the miss, before immediately striding over to Doukara, grabbing him by the back of the shirt, and hauling him to his feet with a loud clap on the shoulder.
“Keep your head up, Souley! We’re tearing them apart; we go again!” Callum shouts, clapping his hands to keep the energy soaring.
Marshall quickly grabs a spare ball to restart play, but Cardiff’s defense is visibly shaken; Morrison is slowly pulling himself up off the grass with grass stains all over his shorts, looking thoroughly rattled as Elland Road continues to roar with momentum.
David Marshall boots the ball high into the Yorkshire sky, Cardiff desperately attempting to repeat their earlier success with another long, looping ball over the top.
Gaetano Berardi reads it all the way.
Refusing to let the ball bounce, Berardi attacks the flight with furious intensity, throwing his body into the air and forcefully heading the clearance straight out to the touchline, snuffing out Cardiff’s counter-attack before it even begins.
The Elland Road crowd erupts in applause for Berardi’s trademark grit.
The ball bounces harmlessly into touch for a Leeds throw-in, keeping Cardiff pinned back and completely unable to build any momentum.
Berardi doesn’t waste a second.
After bouncing the ball once on the touchline, he launches a throw straight into Alex Mowatt’s chest.
Mowatt reads the flight perfectly, cushioning the ball down with his sternum before shielding off a tracking Gunnarsson.
With one smooth, fluid pivot, Mowatt turns into open space in the central midfield, instantly keeping the tempo sky-high as Leeds look to tear right back through Cardiff’s unsettled shape.
Mowatt shifts his weight, drawing Whittingham in just enough to open up the central passing lane.
Spotting Callum already on the move and smartly bending his run between Connolly and the recovering Morrison, Mowatt uses the outside of his boot to slide an exquisitely weighted, inch-perfect through ball straight into his path.
The ball skips across the slick pitch, cutting through Cardiff’s mid-block like a warm knife through butter.
Callum hits top gear without losing a stride, latching onto the pass just inside the 18-yard box with only David Marshall rushing off his line to narrow the angle.
With total composure, Callum absorbs the pace of Mowatt’s through ball with a feather-light touch, effortlessly shifting the ball onto his right foot and setting up the angle in a fraction of a second.
David Marshall throws his arms wide, diving out to make himself as big as possible, but Callum doesn’t even look at him.
He opens his hips and strikes the ball with pure, unadulterated sweet-spot precision.
BOOM!
The ball cuts through the air like a missile, swerving viciously into the top right corner and smacking off the underside of the crossbar before bouncing straight down into the roof of the net.
GOAL!
(43′)
Leeds United 2-1 Cardiff City F.C.
The entire South Stand explodes into pure, unbridled euphoria.
Callum wheels away toward the corner flag with a massive grin, slapping his chest and sliding on his knees onto the wet, rain-soaked turf.
Within seconds, Doukara, Mowatt, and Cook dive right on top of him in a wild, chaotic celebration.
Breaking out from the bottom of the chaotic dog pile, Callum pulls himself up, rain dripping from his hair and grass stains covering his kit.
He turns to face the roaring South Stand, grabs the Leeds United crest on his chest, pulls it tight, and plants a passionate kiss right on the badge.
The stadium roars back in approval, fans singing his name at the top of their lungs as his teammates slap him on the back, Callum launches a, double-fisted pump high into the night air.
“C’MON!” he roars, his face a picture of pure intensity.
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A/N: It’s just too easy for Callum at this level, especially with how his form has been since being on loan at Accrington, absolutely mental for a normal Championship loanee.
15 G/A in 14 matches.
So he absolutely can replicate it with the right push.
And I do see him moving to another club in the future, one that is in desperate need of a talisman.
I won’t spoil too much.