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"Congratulations, son, you're going to Brazil!"
His mom couldn't contain her joy as she hugged Tristan with all her might. His dad joined in the hug as well, nearly crushing him.
As the mont continued, the familiar buzz of his mobile phone caught his attention from the desk. It was lighting up with countless notifications—text ssages from teammates, coaches, friends, and even forr rivals.
He scanned through the nas: Pearson, Walsh, Mahrez, Ramsey, Maguire, Lingard—all congratulating him. It was remarkable how, in just half a season, his network had grown so large without him even realizing it.
Before he could begin replying to them all, a call from an unfamiliar number suddenly ca through. Tristan raised an eyebrow in curiosity and gestured for his mother to quiet down a little, pressing the answer button.
"Hello?"
"Is this Tristan Hale?" a composed voice asked from the other end.
"Yes, this is him. Who's calling?"
"I'm Ray Livington, assistant coach of the England national team."
Hearing that, Tristan's heart raced. His voice remained steady, but his mind was spinning. "Oh, hello, Mr. Livington."
"First of all, congratulations. You've been officially called up to the senior squad."
Tristan could feel his grin widening. "Thank you! That's incredible news."
Livington continued, "We're convening at St. George's Park tomorrow at 9 AM. Training will last for about two weeks before we head to Brazil. During this period, players are expected to remain on base, so make sure you bring your essentials. Don't worry about packing for Brazil just yet—you'll get ti to return ho before we leave."
"I understand. I'll be there on ti."
"Great. Mr. Hodgson and the rest of us are looking forward to seeing you."
After thanking the coach once more and hanging up, Tristan's mother, Julia, who had been watching his expression the whole ti, imdiately asked, "Who was that, Tristan?"
Tristan smiled at her excitent. "It was the assistant coach of the England team. I've been called up—I report tomorrow."
Julia's eyes shone with pride. "Wonderful! Your father and I will drive you there. We have to celebrate tonight!"
His dad imdiately made his way toward the kitchen. "Let's have a couple of drinks to celebrate, then!"
Before he could grab anything, Julia stopped him in his tracks with a firm stare. "Are you trying to ruin your son's career?!" she exclaid.
Ling blinked in confusion, bottle in hand. "Huh?"
"Tristan has to report tomorrow morning! Do you want him to show up hungover for his first day with the national team?" Julia's voice was sharp, but it held deep care.
Ling sheepishly put the bottle back, rubbing his neck in embarrassnt. "Yeah, sorry my bad."
Just as the mood was lightening, his phone buzzed again. This ti, the na on the screen made him laugh: Jamie Vardy, his Leicester teammate and now fellow World Cup squad mber.
"Hey, man!" Vardy's unmistakable voice crackled with excitent.
"Jamie! What a night, huh?"
"Mate, I just wanted to call and say thanks. You've been incredible with all those assists this season. I owe a lot of this to you—I couldn't have done it without your passes."
Tristan grinned. "It was my pleasure. Tristan's passes, always at your service."
"Haha, see you at camp tomorrow?"
"Definitely. See you then."
The announcent of England's final 23-man World Cup squad caused a stir across the football community and dia. There were few surprises, but the exclusions of players like Carrick, Barkley, and Chamberlain sparked debate. Still, many praised Hodgson's decision to include Tristan and Vardy in the final list.
Leicester legend Gary Lineker even tweeted, calling Tristan's inclusion the "wisest decision Hodgson has made." The recognition was heartwarming, but Tristan knew this was only the beginning. He had proved himself on the pitch, especially after his breakout performance in the FA Cup final. Where he showcased his poise, creativity, and relentless energy over 120 grueling minutes. His clutch goal, scored in the dying monts, solidified his place in the minds of fans and critics alike.
There was already talk comparing him to the likes of Michael Owen in '98, with many speculating that Tristan could make a similar teoric rise in Brazil. The key, however, was whether Hodgson would give him the chance to prove himself on the world stage.
Not only was Tristan's career on the rise, but his presence in Vardy's life also sparked a new Chapter for his teammate. Vardy, who originally wouldn't have been selected for the national team until a year later, found himself propelled into the spotlight.
Thanks to his record-breaking 31 goals in the Championship, combined with his Golden Boot-winning FA Cup performances—fueled largely by Tristan's playmaking—the 27-year-old was also headed to Brazil. Vardy's incredible rise, from non-league football to the World Cup, had beco one of the most talked-about stories in the dia.
The next morning, Tristan arrived at St. George's Park training base. His parents had driven him there in their Lexus, and he had arrived half an hour early, nerves tingling with anticipation. As the car pulled up, he noticed a man standing by the entrance, wearing an official Three Lions shirt and holding a cara.
Tristan stepped out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He gave the man a nod. "Hey, what are you filming?"
The man smiled. "I'm Johansson, the team photographer. I'm here to docunt the squad's journey to the World Cup."
Tristan chuckled. "I thought maybe my fans were getting sneakier, sneaking into training camp."
Johansson laughed and offered to take a photo of Tristan with the Three Lions logo on the wall behind him. Tristan, knowing the importance of growing his public profile, agreed.
After snapping a few shots, Tristan gave a quick fist-bump to Johansson and walked inside the training complex.
The reception area was pristine, more like a five-star hotel than a football facility. The clean lines, modern decor, and open space made it clear that this place symbolized the FA's commitnt to the future of English football.
For the first ti in his career, Tristan was part of the national team setup. Unlike many of his teammates, he had never been involved in any of the youth squads, so St. George's Park was entirely new territory for him.
As he stood in the lobby, unsure of where to go next, a voice called out from behind him.
"Tristan! Glad to see you made it."
Tristan turned around and recognized the voice imdiately. "Mr. Livington?"
The assistant coach approached, offering a handshake. "That's right. Early bird, eh?"
Tristan smiled. "I like to be on ti."
"Alright, hand your boots to the equipnt manager first, and then I'll show you to your room."
"Got it."
For every professional player, boots aren't just gear—they're almost a belief system on the pitch. So players swear by a particular pair, convinced they bring good luck, and won't change them until they lose. Others have specific rituals—wearing certain colors at ho, others away. But for Tristan, it was simple: his black Adidas Predators were the best.
They carried a lot of sentintal weight. He hoped to carry the success he'd had with his club to the national team, and perform just as well in the World Cup.
In a perfect world, he'd shine on the biggest stage—beco a true star, see his value soar. It's the kind of dream many young players have, though deep down, Tristan knew this fairy-tale scenario was more dia hype than reality.
The British press was notorious for overhyping the national team before every major tournant. On paper, England always looked strong, but when it ca down to it, the results were often disappointing. And after every failure, there was always a scapegoat.
Tristan wasn't too optimistic about England's chances in Brazil. In his first life, England didn't even make it out of the group stages. But now, with two wild cards—himself and Vardy—maybe things could turn out differently.
For now, Tristan set himself a simple goal: an assist and an goal in Brazil. Whether the Three Lions could go further would depend on more than just skill—it would take a bit of luck too.
After handing over his boots and following the assistant coach, they arrived on the third floor, which looked more like a luxurious five-star hotel than a team facility. This was where the players stayed. At Room 308, the coach handed Tristan a key card.
"This is your room. You'll be sharing it with Luke Shaw. Shouldn't be hard for you young lads to get along."
"Thanks, coach."
"Once you're settled in, head to the office. Mr. Hodgson would like a word with you."
"Will do."
The room was spacious, almost like a suite. After unpacking, a staff mber ca by with his England kit—several T-shirts and training gear. After slipping into a crisp white shirt with the Three Lions emblem, Tristan made his way to Hodgson's office.
Outside the door, he knocked.
"Co in," called a voice.
Tristan entered to see Hodgson, casually dressed, sitting behind his desk.
"How are you, coach?"
"I'm well, take a seat," Hodgson replied, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "You're early. I wasn't expecting you for another half hour."
"I figured it'd be good to make a strong first impression on you and the lads."
Hodgson smiled, nodding in approval. "I like players who are punctual."
"Thank you," Tristan said, settling into his chair.
After a brief pause, Hodgson leaned forward, his tone more serious. "I saw your performance in the final—it was impressive. I'm hoping you can bring that sa level of play here. We'll need those precise passes of yours to create more chances for our forwards."
"I'll give everything I've got," Tristan responded earnestly.
"Good," Hodgson said, satisfied. "We'll start training in about three hours. In the anti, get yourself familiar with the place and introduce yourself to the other lads."
"Understood, coach."
Given that this was his first day with the national team, he knew it was important to make a good impression. A warm greeting could pave the way for better relationships down the road.
In his mind, there were only three figures who truly commanded respect in the England squad's faction-heavy locker room: Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, and Wayne Rooney. These were the players whose words carried weight, the ones whose experience and leadership made them the pillars of the team.
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