After the whistle sounded, the crackle of the stadium PA cut through the cheers.
"Tonight's Man of the Match…" the stadium announcer's voice boomed, dragging the syllables as the crowd hushed.
"Number ten… Will Keane!"
Applause rang out as Keane, who now had a puffer jacket on, raised a hand, clapping back toward the stands as his name echoed around the tannoy.
But the sound that followed wasn't quite for him.
The chant that rose from the South Stand told its own story.
"Le-o! Le-o! Le-o!"
The symbolic pronunciation rolled across the DW, raw and uncoordinated, but unmistakable.
A name carried by voices that had made their own decision.
On the touchline, Dawson caught Leo by the wrist, pulled him in, and pressed a hand to his shoulder.
Just a quick embrace, nothing dramatic.
"Well done, kid," Dawson said under the noise, keeping his voice low.
"You made a difference once again. Now get out there, go with the lads."
