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September 23, 2014
The late afternoon sun stread through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the living room in long, golden streaks that stretched across the hardwood floors. It was a rare quiet day—no whistles, no flashing caras, and most of all, no Vardy.
Tristan lay on the couch, absentmindedly flicking his thumb as he scrolled through Twitter silently lanting the loss of Tik Tok—doom scrolling was no fun anymore.
His parents were out—his dad working, and his mom was spending the day with friends—so the only other person in the house was his assistant, Sophia.
She had been there for hours, working through emails, finalizing logistics, and coordinating with ndes. Now, she walked into the living room, tablet in one hand, a Red Bull in the other.
Tristan leaned back, sinking further into the couch. Days like these were few and far between, so he intended to slack off to the max. "You know, most people say 'hi' first."
Sophia didn't even look up. "Hi. Now, let's talk business."
Tristan sighed, pulling himself up with a groan. "Alright, what's the latest news?"
She took a seat across from him, swiping through her notes with practiced ease. "First things first—your financial team. ndes has started putting everything in place. Portfolio managers, legal advisors, and investnt analysts. He's already looking at long-term wealth strategies—stocks, real estate, the whole package."
Tristan nodded. "Good. I want my money working for , not just sitting around to collect dust."
"Exactly. Now, on my end—your personal team is nearly finalized. Security, chef, dietitian—it's all set. Just waiting for final paperwork."
Tristan leaned forward, lightly tapping his fingers on the table. "Alright. What else?"
Sophia swiped to the next section. "Brand deals. We're still in talks—nothing is signed yet, but here's where things stand."
Tristan nodded, paying rapt attention.
"Nike's moving quickly to expand your deal, your first signature boot is already in its design phase. Although Adidas and Puma aren't showing any signs of backing down, both brands are pushing to win you over, and each deal is bigger than Nike's original contract. But Nike still maintains its priority in negotiations."
Tristan's brow furrowed in thought, considering the information. "Let ndes handle it. I want to see how far they're willing to go—I'm not easily bought."
Sophia glanced up at him from her notes. "Of course. He's weighing all options before we decide to go forward with anything."
"Good. What about lifestyle brands?"
Sophia's head dropped down, as she quickly flicked through her notes. "Louis Vuitton and Dior are both in discussions. Gucci too, but LV is the most aggressive. They want a campaign centered around you—not just a sponsorship, but full integration into their brand image. Dior, on the other hand, wants you as the face of their new fragrance line. They're pitching it as 'Tristan for Dior'—a full campaign, comrcials, global ads."
Tristan adopted a thoughtful frown. "A cologne deal, huh?"
Sophia raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's weird."
"Not weird, just... unexpected."
"It's Dior, Tristan. It's a massive deal. But again, nothing's signed yet—ndes is negotiating terms, and we're making sure it's the right move."
Tristan nodded, absorbing all of it. "And magazines?"
"GQ, Esquire, and n's Health are all pushing for features. GQ wants a cover story on you as the 'face of English football.' Esquire is going with the 'young superstar lifestyle' angle. n's Health wants to focus on your training, diet, and physical transformation."
She paused before adding, "And, of course, Vogue still wants you and Barbara, but we already know that's on hold."
Tristan leaned back with a wry smile. "They're impatient."
"Very."
"Alright, I'll review everything before we make a final call."
Sophia nodded, then hesitated before speaking again. "There's one more thing."
Tristan arched an eyebrow. "What?"
"A new interview request ca in," she said carefully. "I know you told us to hold off on dia, but I figured you'd want to hear about this one."
Tristan's expression morphed, curiosity etching his face. "Go on."
"It's Gary Lineker. BBC. He's been wanting to do a full sit-down with you since your debut, and now that you're...well you, they're finally making it happen."
That got Tristan's attention.
"Lineker?"
"Yeah. Full pri-ti interview. Not just post-match soundbites—this is the interview. Your journey, your rise, your future."
Tristan was quiet for a mont, then nodded. "Alright. Set it up."
Sophia smirked, tapping her tablet. "I figured you'd say that. I think I can set it up for tomorrow—your schedule is clear, you might as well use it."
Tristan shook his head, amused. "You love this, don't you?"
"A little," she admitted with a laugh.
Tristan rolled his eyes.
.....
The Next Morning
Tristan ran a towel through his damp curls as he stood in front of the mirror, the steam from his shower still clinging to the air. He had already thrown on a pair of sweats, but his shirt was still sitting untouched on the bed.
Incoming FaceTi – Barbara Palvin
His lips twitched upward as he swiped to answer.
The screen lit up, revealing Barbara curled up in bed, her hoodie loose on her fra, hair a little ssy from sleep.
"Hey," she greeted, her voice still soft from the morning. "Figured I'd check in before you leave. How are you feeling?"
Tristan chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not nervous, if that's what you're asking."
Barbara gave him a look. "Tristan."
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Alright, maybe a little. But it's not the interview itself, it's just... it's Gary Lineker."
She rested her chin in her palm. "That's kind of a big deal, huh?"
Tristan huffed a short laugh. "More than a big deal. He's a Leicester City legend. My dad loves the guy. And now I'm supposed to sit across from him and pretend this is just another interview?"
Barbara's expression softened. "That's not nothing," she admitted. "eting soone you've admired for that long... I get why it feels different."
Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. Feels surreal."
Barbara watched him for a second, then tilted her head. "You know he's just as excited to talk to you, right?"
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"I'm serious," she continued. "I've seen the stuff he's said about you—he's been hyping you up since last season. You're not just so kid showing up to et his hero. You belong there."
Tristan let that sit for a mont before a small smile tugged at his lips. "You always this good at pep talks?"
Barbara shrugged. "Only for you."
Tristan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well, appreciate it. Just don't let it go to your head."
"Oh, it's already there."
He chuckled, glancing at the ti. "I should get going."
Barbara stretched slightly, still watching him. "You'll be great, you know."
Tristan t her eyes. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair one last ti. "Alright. I'll text you after."
Barbara smirked. "Try not to faint when you et him."
Tristan scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Go back to sleep."
She laughed, and with that, the call ended.
Tristan locked his phone, taking a mont before finally grabbing his shirt and getting dressed.
She was right. He belonged there.
Tristan took one last glance in the mirror, adjusting his cuffs before grabbing his phone and heading downstairs. As he reached the bottom step, the scent of fresh coffee and toast filled the air, and the low hum of conversation drifted from the kitchen.
His parents were already there, seated at the dining table, mugs in hand. His dad was flipping through the morning paper, while his mom glanced up from her tea the mont she saw him.
"Oh, look at you," she said, smiling warmly. "All dressed up."
His dad set the newspaper down and gave him an approving nod. "Sharp suit, son. Big day, huh?"
Tristan smirked, stepping into the kitchen. "You could say that."
Sophia, already perched on one of the stools at the island, gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Wow. Tristan Hale in a suit. Never thought I'd see the day."
Tristan rolled his eyes, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. "Alright, alright, we get it. I usually dress casual. Let's all move on."
His mom stood, smoothing out the sleeves of his jacket. "You look wonderful. I'm proud of you."
Tristan's smile softened. "Thanks, Mum."
His dad leaned back in his chair, grinning. "You know, since you'll be eting Gary Lineker and all... think you could get an autograph?"
Tristan snorted. "You serious?"
His dad raised a brow. "The man's a legend."
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll see what I can do."
Sophia crossed her arms. "Honestly, I still don't get why you were dodging interviews for so long. You're a natural on cara."
Tristan shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "Just had to wait for the right one I suppose."
His mom gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Well, you've got this. Just be yourself."
Tristan smirked. "You sound like Barbara."
Sophia rolled her eyes. "Of course, you talked to her first thing in the morning."
Tristan ignored her comnt, grabbing his keys. "Alright, I better get going before soone starts analyzing my entire personal life."
His dad chuckled. "That's what families are for, son."
His mom kissed his cheek, and Sophia grabbed her bag as they headed out.
Tristan slid into the driver's seat of his blue Range Rover, the leather cool against his palms as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. The low hum of the engine filled the quiet morning air as he pulled out of the driveway, the sunlight bouncing off the car's sleek exterior.
Beside him, Sophia tapped away on her phone, likely confirming last-minute details for the interview. She was always like this—constantly double-checking, making sure every last-minute detail was accounted for.
"You nervous?" she asked without looking up.
Tristan kept his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel tighter. "Not really."
Sophia finally glanced at him, unimpressed. "You practically have the wheel in a death grip," she deadpanned.
Tristan stilled his fingers against the leather. "Just thinking."
She smirked. "Right. Thinking. Not at all overanalyzing how you're about to have a sit-down with soone you admire."
Tristan huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "It's just... different. Press conferences? Easy. This? It's not just a few clipped answers. It's a conversation."
Sophia nodded knowingly. "Yeah, but that's what makes it good. You get to actually talk about football. Your career. Your perspective. And, honestly, you're great at that."
Tristan exhaled, loosening his grip on the wheel. "I know. Just gotta get into the right mindset."
Sophia's phone buzzed, and she glanced down before smirking. "Barbara says you'd better not ss this up."
Tristan scoffed but couldn't fight the grin pulling at his lips. "Of course she does."
"She also said, and I quote, 'If he wears that navy suit I picked, he'll be impossible to resist.'"
Tristan bead. "Can't bla her for having good taste."
Sophia rolled her eyes. "You two are insufferable."
Traffic was light, making the drive smooth. As they neared the BBC building, the towering glass cast a long shadow on the road underneath, standing tall against the London skyline. Tristan pulled into the designated parking area, letting the engine purr to a stop.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Sophia shut her phone off and turned to him.
"You ready?"
Tristan glanced at the building, then back at her.
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
With that, they stepped out of the car and headed inside.
He wasn't nervous. Not really. Ok, maybe that was a lie, but he couldn't fault himself—this wasn't just any interview: it was Gary Lineker. BBC. Pri-ti.
Before they made their way to the front desk, Sophia turned to him. "Just a reminder—this isn't a quick post-match chat. It's a full sit-down. They'll talk about your career, your rise, England, and yeah... and maybe Barbara, but I requested them not to"
Tristan fidgeted with the sleeves of his fitted black sweater, suddenly feeling uneasy. "Barbara?"
Sophia shot him a look. "Who else?"
He chuckled, pushing his nerves aside. "I didn't think they would ask about her," he admitted, "I appreciate you shutting it down."
"I figured so, that's why I'm here. Besides, I'll take a look at the episode before it airs in case we need to remove anything.
.....
The caras were set, producers gave their final cues, and at the center of it all was Gary Lineker—a legend of the ga—sitting across from the ga's newest rising star.
"There he is!" Gary's voice bood across as he clapped his hands together. "The man of the mont! About bloody ti we got you in here."
Tristan rose from his own chair, walked over to Lineker, and extended a hand, shaking Gary's own firmly. "Appreciate you having ."
"Having you?" Gary scoffed, though the massive grin on his face told Tristan there was no bite. "Mate, I've been chasing you for this interview! Thought I'd have to bribe you with a statue outside the King Power."
Tristan chuckled, adjusting his suit jacket. "Still waiting on that, by the way."
Gary laughed, patting him on the back. "Co on, let's get started."
The caras rolled, the iconic BBC intro playing in the background as Tristan and Lineker settled back into their respective seats. The lights were bright, but the atmosphere felt comfortable—almost like two mates catching up.
Gary leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "Alright, let's begin. Tristan Hale: nineteen years of age yet you're already one of the biggest nas in football. The world's been watching you, mate. Does any of it feel real yet?"
Tristan paused, wiping the sweat that had built up on his palms on the leg of his pants, as he considered his response.
"So days it feels like I'm still the sa kid from Leicester, kicking a ball around with my mates, begging my parents to take to Leicester matches. But then I step onto the pitch, and the whole stadium is chanting. That's when it hits ; this isn't just a dream, it's real."
Gary nodded. "It's surreal, isn't it? Although, I'd say you're still that sa kid considering how fast your rise has been," he laughed. "Speaking of your teoric success, how do you deal with the spotlight? It was just a year ago that you made your senior debut after all."
Tristan let the silence linger as he thought over Gary's words and prepared his reply. "It's about perspective I suppose?" he shrugged. "I know that without putting in the work I'd never be able to reach this level, and should I stop putting in the work all of this," he motioned to the room, and the fancy equipnt. "Can slip away. Keeping that in mind helps keep grounded and lets ignore the dia—never stop grinding and all that."
Gary gave a knowing smile, as he leaned back, clearly impressed with the response. "That's the right mindset, mate. Though, I wonder, is that the sa way you deal with expectations? Even ignoring your role at Leicester, the people of this country have taken to calling you the Crown Jewel of England—how do you manage the weight of those expectations?"
Tristan also leaned back, contemplating his answer. "Expectations are always going to be there, so I try not to worry too much about them. At the end of the day be it Leicester or England, there's a whole squad out there with so I try to focus on just doing my part for the team. I'm just a piece of the puzzle, but, yeah, if I get the chance to lead England to success, then I'll do whatever it takes."
Tristan paused, before adding: "It has to co ho one day, no?"
Gary let out a long laugh. "I'm sure the fans at ho are stoked to hear that. But it's funny you ntion the future of the country—speculations as to whether you plan to stay with Leicester or move have been popping up. Arsenal, Barcelona, City, Madrid—they've all been waiting for the opportunity to snatch you up, so I have to ask, what are your plans for the future?"
Tristan shifted slightly in his seat, a bit uncomfortable with the question. "Right now, my present is committed to Leicester. I owe a lot to this club, Leicester is ho to , and I'll give my all for this club, which I can promise. And that's about where my heart is at the mont. "
Lineker's brow furrowed. "That's a very...carefully worded answer. Fans want honesty, so do you see yourself here for the years to co?"
Tristan, opened his mouth, before closing it, trying to co up with a response. He didn't have the heart to lie to the city he loved so dearly.
"My present is Leicester," was the response he settled for.
The mont of hesitance had already told Lineker what the answer was going to be, even before the words ca out of Tristan's mouth, and it shattered his heart.
"As long as you don't end up United, eh mate?"
Tristan chuckled softly, feeling so tension ease after hearing Lineker's humor. "After the last ga, I doubt they'll even want ," he smirked.
Gary laughed in tandem with Tristan, both enjoying the misfortune of the Red Devils.
"Speaking about United," Gary turned to the massive screen behind him, where highlights of Leicester's 7-1 victory over United played, each goal accompanied by roaring comntary.
The screen cycled through various key monts. Then—
Tristan's voice echoed through the studio.
"TALK NOW! TALK NOW!"
Tristan leaned back in his chair, letting out a sheepish laugh. "Yeah... should've known that was going follow forever."
Gary grinned. "Oh, it absolutely will. The internet lost it. And we all want to know—who was it for? Robin van Persie? Van Gaal? Soone else entirely?"
Tristan's grin lingered as brought a finger to his lips. "Shh. I'll let people keep guessing."
"You know," Gary continued, smiling at Tristan's antics. "This stood out because you're not known for this. You're not the guy shouting at opponents or getting into fights. I can only recall one incident—kicking the ball at a Championship player—and, forgive —whom I've forgotten the na of."
Tristan laughed, shaking his head. "Oh man, a lot was going into that United ga. Normally, I'm all about playing the ga the right way, keeping my head down, being disciplined—how my parents raised . But that match?" He exhaled.
"That one was personal—I suppose United players are used to being at the top, and they might've taken offense when I called myself the best in the league. Either way, I think I made my point," he grinned. "Besides, soone wanted a hat trick so who am I to deny them?"
Gary arched an eyebrow. "Big words. You truly believed you would stroll into Old Trafford and score a hat trick?" he asked incredulously
Tristan tilted his head, his expression unbothered. "Yeah."
Gary whistled. "Confidence, son. I like it." Gary leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his tone shifting slightly. "Now, let's talk about sothing that I know has been a wild ride for you—your social dia explosion."
Tristan exhaled, knowing exactly where this was going.
"A month ago, you had 7.3 million Instagram followers. Now? 8.3 million. And on Twitter—8.1 million. That's a massive jump in just a few weeks. How are you handling that?"
Tristan rubbed his chin, thinking. "It's... different. I always knew football ca with attention, but this past year? It's been sothing else."
Gary nodded. "Do you feel it off the pitch?"
"Oh, 100%," Tristan admitted. "It's little things—more caras at training, more eyes watching everything I do.
Gary laughed. "Mate, trust , it's only going to get worse, try to get used to it now. That's the price of being England's golden boy."
Tristan smirked. "Guess so."
Gary tapped the table. "Alright, let's shift gears. We know where you've been, but let's talk about where you're going."
"This is only the beginning for you," Gary continued. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Tristan didn't hesitate. "Winning. That's all I care about. Winning for England. Everything else? We'll see."
Gary nodded. "And the Ballon d'Or?People are saying it's only a matter of ti."
Tristan's response was calm but confident. "That's for other people to decide. I'll let my football do the talking."
Gary grinned. "Fair answer. Alright, last one—biggest lesson you've learned since becoming the guy?"
Tristan thought for a second before replying, "Stay hungry, and never believe in your own hype."
Gary leaned back, clearly pleased. "Thanks for your ti, it's been a pleasure, truly. Tristan Hale, everyone!"
The caras cut, and applause echoed in the studio.
As the crew packed up, Gary turned to Tristan, still grinning. "That was brilliant. You get this dia thing, don't you?"
Tristan chuckled. "I try."
Gary clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, I'll tell you this—Leicester's got a superstar on their hands."
Tristan adjusted his watch, his smirk returning. "Appreciate that."
Gary laughed. "Now, I won't ask you for a signed shirt—but if you happen to get one, I won't complain."
Tristan grinned. "I'll see what I can do."
.....
3658, not counting this end section
Need them stones and I start doing the bonus thing I see so writers doing from tomorrow
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