Chapter 672: Work, Work, Work.

Manchester City’s elimination naturally became one of the biggest talking points of the FA Cup fifth round.

For a club accustomed to reaching the latter stages of the competition, going out before the quarter-finals was never going to pass unnoticed.

Their defeat to Wigan had caught plenty of people off guard, particularly given the quality still available to Guardiola on the bench.

But cup football had a way of making reputations irrelevant.

There were no second chances once the final whistle went.

And Wigan, sitting at the top of the Premier League, had given everyone another reminder that they were no longer simply enjoying an unexpected run among the country’s best.

They were competing with them.

Following the Wigan game, the remaining results soon gave the quarter-final draw its shape.

Liverpool had been ruthless against Southampton, putting three goals past them without reply.

Manchester United had a much less comfortable evening, scraping through with a narrow 1–0 victory over Nottingham Forest.

Wolves also advanced by the same scoreline against Brighton, while Chelsea survived a five-goal thriller against Leeds United.

Being one of the only two Championship sides, Coventry City provided another result worth mentioning, seeing off Maidstone United to continue their cup run while Leicester City, the other half of the two Championship teams remaining, defeated Bournemouth.

Then Newcastle completed the list after overcoming Blackburn Rovers.

The draw brought its own share of interesting matchups.

Wigan would face Newcastle in a few weeks, giving Dawson’s side another difficult test as they pursued a place in the semi-finals.

Manchester United were drawn against Liverpool, setting up a meeting with Jürgen Klopp’s side.

Coventry would take on Wolves, while Chelsea and Leicester would contest the remaining tie.

For Wigan, the Newcastle fixture offered little time to enjoy their victory over City before another challenge came calling.

Still, nobody in the town seemed particularly interested in thinking about that just yet.

The celebrations had already begun, and long after the match had ended, the streets around Wigan remained busy.

Pubs that would ordinarily have started emptying by that hour were still packed, their doors opening every few minutes to let in another group of supporters.

All in all, the town of Wigan was very merry.

Conversations filled the pavements as men drunk on their excitement piled onto the pavements of the town.

Inside one establishment, a replay of Leo’s second goal played on the television above the bar where a group of men watched it again, even though most of them had probably seen it a dozen times already.

"Look at that. Look at the anticipation. I truly don’t know how we got this boy on our hands."

When a man said that, his cohort nodded in agreement.

"Here’s to the quarter-finals," the same man gestured before glasses clinked, and another round of cheers followed.

It was more than the result itself.

For once, the town had a victory worth talking about without having to look towards the next fixture.

It was a night of relief, pride and a little disbelief.

By Thursday morning, however, the celebrations had given way to something considerably less pleasant.

A sudden cold spell had settled across the north of Manchester overnight.

The temperature had dropped sharply, leaving the streets damp and the air biting enough to make the morning commute uncomfortable.

Thick coats had become the order of the day.

Those with the option stayed indoors, delaying their journeys or finding reasons not to leave the warmth of their homes.

The Wigan Athletic players had no such luxury.

Less than twenty-four hours after beating Manchester City, they were expected back at the training ground.

It was only a recovery session, but that did little to improve anyone’s mood when they stepped out of their cars and felt the cold against their faces.

Jake arrived with his jacket zipped up to his chin, rubbing his hands together as he walked towards the entrance.

"Couldn’t have waited until next week to get this cold?" he muttered.

Ezra, walking beside him, gave him a look.

"You were celebrating like hell last night. You should be warm enough."

Jake abstained from saying anything, but a few steps behind them, Carlo laughed.

"Maybe you should have stayed at the pub."

"Maybe I should have."

The conversation continued through the entrance, where the players were greeted by the familiar sight of staff preparing the recovery facilities.

There was little room for complaints.

The previous night’s result had been excellent, but the Premier League schedule offered no allowance for a team wanting to enjoy it for another day.

Matchday 27 was approaching, and Aston Villa were next.

Unai Emery’s side had become one of the most dangerous teams in the league over the preceding months.

They had quietly climbed into fourth place, putting themselves in a strong position to secure Champions League football.

Their performances had become increasingly convincing, and their position in the table was no accident.

They were chasing something, and they had no intention of letting it slip.

Wigan, meanwhile, were still at the top.

Their lead had survived tests, but their defeat to Liverpool had already shown how little room there was for complacency.

Dawson understood the importance of the upcoming fixture, and he also understood the condition his players were in.

The recovery session was deliberately light.

Those who had played the majority of the City match spent time on the treatment tables, while the medical staff monitored their soreness and general fatigue.

Others worked through gentle mobility exercises before heading inside.

Leo was among those who received additional attention.

His legs were still carrying the strain of the previous evening.

The bruising around his body had become more noticeable, and the stiffness in his muscles made certain movements uncomfortable.

He went through the prescribed work without making much of it, though Dawson kept an eye on him whenever he passed.

There was no point pretending the schedule was kind.

Aston Villa had enjoyed more than a week to prepare, but Wigan had two days to recover, train and travel through the demands of another Premier League fixture.