CHAPTER 144: WELCOME BACK.

By the time the afternoon sun began slanting across the training ground the next day, the team photos were finally wrapped up.

The boys drifted off in small groups, some heading toward their rooms, others stopping to talk to staff or grab a late lunch.

Leo had already peeled away from the crowd, walking toward the players’ accommodation with his bag slung over one shoulder, when Marco called out to him.

"Leo. Hold on."

Leo slowed and turned as Marco stepped closer, brushing dust from his track pants.

"Before you disappear, Mr Piatelli asked to see you."

Leo nodded once. "Alright. I’ll go now."

Instead of turning toward his building, he crossed the courtyard and followed the path that led to the administrative wing.

The place felt quieter than the rest of the complex as he wormed his way through the various corridors.

Eventually, he reached Piatelli’s door and knocked.

A voice came from inside.

"Who is it?"

Leo pushed the door open slightly. "It’s me."

Piatelli looked up, the shift in his expression quick and warm.

"Ah. Leo. Come in."

Leo stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and took the seat across from the desk.

There was a small Italian flag resting beside a stack of folders.

He picked it up, turned it once between his fingers, then set it back upright.

"You’re leaving already," Piatelli said.

"Yeah. My flight’s soon."

Piatelli nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"I wanted to thank you before you left. You accepted the call-up without hesitation, even though it was probably the first time you heard that you were Italian."

Leo gave a faint smile.

"Any player with ambition would’ve said yes."

"Maybe," Piatelli said, "but there’s a difference between wanting something and actually stepping into it."

He waved a hand, as if brushing aside his own attempt at being philosophical.

"I won’t keep you long. Marco already told me you’re cutting it close."

Leo shifted forward in his seat as if preparing to stand, but Piatelli reached into one of his drawers.

"Before you go. This is for you."

He pulled out a folded jersey.

It was old, the fabric softened by time.

When he turned it around, the name printed on the back made Leo’s brow rise.

Ravanelli.

Piatelli held it out.

"One of your father’s shirts from his years at Benevento. He gave this one to me after I asked him for it when we won a match we should have lost. Here, I want you to have it."

Leo took it carefully, almost like he was worried it might come apart.

He let his thumb run across the worn lettering, and after a moment, he looked up.

Piatelli met his eyes, his voice lower than before.

"You earned your place here. You impressed everyone on this call-up. And I hope I’ll be seeing you again for the next one."

Leo nodded slowly, the jersey resting on his lap for a while, before rising to his feet and then moving towards the door.

"Thank you for noticing me," he said towards Piatelli before walking out of the room, leaving Piatelli leaning back in his chair.

An hour later, Leo sat tucked into a corner seat near the big window, watching planes drift across the tarmac and away from the comfort of the FIGC complex.

His backpack and suitcase rested between his shoes, and his boarding pass was already folded in his hand with the distant announcements filling the space around.

His phone buzzed a second time as he looked at what his sister had sent once more.

Mia: When are you coming back?

Leo typed back quickly.

I’m at the airport. Boarding soon.

He watched the three dots flicker for a second before her next message came through.

Mia: Okay. Are you going to come home, or will you go to Wigan first?

Leo: I might go to Wigan first, but I will make sure to come to Manchester either same day or tomorrow morning, depending on how tired I am.

Mia: Okay.

He smiled, slipped the phone onto his thigh, and leaned back for a moment, but just as it seemed he could get some quiet before his flight, the phone buzzed again.

This time it was Carlo.

Carlo: Why’d you leave without saying anything?

Leo frowned at the screen, thumb hovering as he crafted his reply.

I told you yesterday.

When are you coming back to Manchester anyway? I am sure your club didn’t give you an extra day to frolic around.

Carlo: Day after tomorrow.

Leo nodded to himself.

Before he could respond, a soft chime rolled through the lounge, and the display boards flicked.

His flight number changed from "Wait" to "Boarding."

He rose from his seat and picked up his bag.

See you in Manchester, he typed, sending it just as he joined the stream of passengers heading toward the gate.

He tucked his phone into his pocket and followed the line, the quiet shuffle of people ahead of him carrying him forward.

....

The training pitches at the Wigan complex were nearly empty by the time Ezra and Jake wandered off the grass.

Most of the squad had already headed inside, boots slung over their shoulders or tied to their bags, but the two of them lingered under the weak afternoon sun, cooling down without really thinking about it.

Ezra kicked at a stray cone, nudging it back toward the equipment cart before turning towards Jake.

"When did Leo say he’d get here?" he asked.

Jake stretched his arms behind his back as he answered.

"He said his flight was at two. He’s probably in the air already."

He turned and waved at one of the staff members walking past.

"Sorry, what time is it?"

The staffer checked his watch.

"One forty-seven."

"Thanks," Jake said, then looked back at Ezra.

"Rome’s an hour ahead, so yeah, he’s already on the plane. Unless they delayed it."

Ezra gave a small grunt that almost sounded like approval.

"Sometimes you’re actually useful."

Jake blinked. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ezra said, brushing it off. "Let’s just hope he gets here safe."

Jake nodded, then his expression shifted into the kind of grin he couldn’t hold back even if he tried.

"I can’t wait to see his face when he sees me training with the senior team."

Ezra stared at him for a second.

"You’ve been training with them. You still play for the U21S."

"Yeah, yeah," Jake said, brushing off the correction like he hadn’t even heard it properly.

The excitement stayed right where it was. "Still counts."

Ezra shook his head, amused despite himself as Jake started toward the building, boots clacking lightly against the pavement.

Ezra followed a moment later, as the training ground finally fell quiet.

An hour and a half later, Leo stepped out of the terminal with his backpack resting on top of his suitcase, the wheels bumping lightly over the pavement as he found a spot near the pickup lane.

He pulled out his phone, opened the rideshare app, and ordered an Uber without much thought.

Afterwards, he stood there, fidgeting with the bracelet a bit until the car arrived a few minutes later, a clean grey sedan rolling up to the curb.

The driver hopped out to help, but Leo gave a small shake of his head and lifted the suitcase into the boot himself before settling his backpack in beside it.

He closed it gently, then climbed into the back seat.

The ride settled into a quiet mood almost as soon as they pulled away.

The driver wasn’t talkative, and Leo didn’t mind.

The motorway stretched out ahead, the sky dimming slowly, and he found himself drifting in and out of thought.

A few minutes into the journey, he remembered to tell Mia about his arrival, and so he did, sending the latter a text as well as one to his aunt.

And then sent another one too, to Marco, who had told him to put him in the know when he got back to Manchester.

They reached Wigan in about thirty-seven minutes as the car rolled past the outer gates of the training complex, headlights catching the familiar brickwork and clean-cut lawns.

The security guards stepped out of the booth, and once they recognised him through the window, they waved the car through with easy smiles.

"Welcome back, Leo," one of them called.

Leo lifted a hand in return as the driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, a small, curious look that lingered for a second before he looked away again.

They pulled into the parking lot and came to a gentle stop.

Leo unbuckled, thanked the driver, and stepped out into the cool air.

His suitcase came out of the boot with a soft thud, and he slung his backpack over his shoulder as he looked around, the place almost feeling a bit distant to him.

"Is this how players feel after International duty?" he questioned as he adjusted his grip on the suitcase handle and started toward the accommodation wing.