The bus eased into the rear lot behind the training ground.
The ride back had been quiet for the most part — tired bodies, a few murmurs, some phones out, nothing loud.
It wasn't a celebration.
It was relief that they had finally been able to break a bad streak.
Most of the first-team players filed off quickly and split toward their cars.
They lived around Wigan, some closer to Manchester, a few near Liverpool.
Only a couple stuck around long enough to nod toward the building before disappearing into the night.
Leo climbed off last, kitbag slung over one shoulder.
The air smelled like damp concrete and old grass, but it was all familiar to him now.
This was now his home.
He walked alone across the lot, cutting toward the players' residence wing tucked on the far side of the facility.
The lights were off in most windows, as the academy flats were usually quieter on match days.
He tapped his pass against the door, stepped inside, and climbed the stairs two at a time.
