If you are reading this on 2/9/2025 and the days ahead than you may noticed compared to the first five Chapters, the quality for this Chapter isn't that good, that's because I am in the process of rewriting the first 20 Chapters as when I first started this story, I didn't take it as seriously as I am now.
.....
Fortunately, as he landed, Tristan instinctively rolled onto his back, a reflex that offered him a asure of cushioning. Even the softest grass couldn't spare him from the sharp impact that would have jolted his bones had he hit the ground flat. Sitting up on the grass, he frowned, fixing his gaze on Michael Brown, determined to imprint the man's features in his mory. This mont felt significant, a blend of anger and resolve stirring within him.
Fouls were an unavoidable part of football—a truth he had internalized over the years. Yet, the intensity of his emotions contradicted that understanding. When Brown's shoulder connected with his back, a wave of indignation surged through him. If the foul had been unintentional, he might have brushed it off, but Brown's deliberate strike, even after the ball had been played, spoke volus. That was no accidental collision; it was clearly a flagrant foul.
A shrill whistle pierced the air as the referee trotted over to the scene of the incident. Without hesitation, he produced a yellow card—an Ares card, glimring like a sapphire in the sunlight—and brandished it at Brown. The referee's voice cut through the din of the crowd, stern and unwavering: "Watch your moves!"
Brown, the perpetrator of the foul, scoffed, dismissively patting his shoulder as if the contact had been trivial. "Co on! I barely touched him! This doesn't warrant a yellow card!" His words dripped with disdain, "He's just too soft."
"I'm warning you," the referee retorted sharply, his brow furrowing with authority. "The ball has been passed. This is an unnecessary and dangerous action! Also, mind your language!"
Frustrated that he couldn't sway the referee, Brown dropped the act. He shot Tristan a venomous glare before turning away, a clear sign of his displeasure. From the stands of Elland Road, boos erupted as fans reacted to their player receiving a yellow card. The jeers were a mix of indignation towards the referee and disdain for Tristan.
"That kid's too fragile! This isn't a foul!"
"It's a normal part of the ga!"
"What's with the referee? Is he blind?"
"Diving, that's what it is!"
Amid the uproar, Dany Drinkwater, Mahrez, and even Vardy—who stood a little further away—imdiately rushed to Tristan's side, forming a protective barrier around him.
"Tristan, are you alright?" Mahrez asked, his voice low but concerned.
Tristan accepted Mahrez's extended hand and rose to his feet, shaking his head slightly, a small smile breaking through the frustration. "I'm fine." But his gaze flickered toward Brown, who still seed unconvinced by the referee's decision.
Sensing Tristan's unease, Drinkwater leaned in closer, his tone serious. "That bastard's got it out for you. Just keep your wits about you."
Tristan nodded, acknowledgnt blending with determination. Michael Brown, having been cautioned, remained unfazed. The tension simred as he strode toward Tristan, leaning in nacingly. "Football isn't for weaklings like you. Go ho and drink your milk!"
Tristan t his gaze with a steady intensity, refusing to give in to the provocation. He recognized Brown's ploys—this was more than a re physical challenge; it was a psychological battle. Brown aid to intimidate him, to shake his confidence, hoping that the jeers from the crowd would rattle his performance. But Tristan understood the stakes. Whether faced with the hostility of the fans or the malice of opposing players, the ultimate goal was to secure a win for Leicester City.
He couldn't let them succeed. The best revenge was to triumph on the pitch.
Taking a deep breath, Tristan steeled himself. With the sun shining down and the noise of the crowd fading into a dull roar, he felt a fire igniting within him. He was ready to show them that he was anything but fragile.
. . .
With the referee's whistle, the ga resud. Leeds United likely expected Brown's show of aggression would make Tristan hesitant, that he would shrink back from the challenge of controlling the ga. Instead, they were taken aback as Tristan sprang into action, moving with renewed vigor into open space. He even dropped back into a defensive midfield position, linking up with his teammates through a series of quick, precise passes.
"Leicester City is firmly asserting their control on the field," the comntator noted, his voice filled with anticipation. "Leeds United should be on high alert—just look at how Derby County fell victim to this strategy in their last match."
Despite the warning, Leeds United's players and coach were at a loss. It wasn't ignorance that paralyzed them; it was their inability to regain possession. Most teams in the Championship, Leicester City included, favored a traditional British style of play characterized by long passes and swift attacks down the wings. But with Tristan and Mahrez orchestrating the offense, Leicester was weaving a web of passing that transford their approach.
Though their style may not rival that of elite teams like Barcelona or Arsenal, whose mastery of possession was second nature, Tristan and Mahrez had cultivated a passing ga that was innovative within the Championship context. As the Leicester City players maneuvered with the precision of seasoned fishern, expertly luring Leeds United's formation into their traps, Tristan erged as the most critical lure in this tactical play.
On the sidelines, the Leeds United head coach had abandoned his seat, now pacing anxiously, his voice rising above the noise of the crowd as he gestured emphatically to his players. In stark contrast, Leicester City's coach, Pearson, remained composed in the visitors' booth, his deanor relaxed as he observed the unfolding scene.
Under Tristan's leadership, Leicester City had commandeered the rhythm of the ga, and it was evident that a breakthrough was imminent. As the clock ticked down to the 75-minute mark, the tension thickened; the stalemate was about to shatter.
With Leeds United overextending their formation in an attempt to regain control, they left a gaping hole in their defense. Tristan, with the tactical foresight reminiscent of Kevin De Bruyne, recognized the opportunity. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as he spotted Nugent retreating to create space. This was his mont.
With deft cooperation from Nugent, Tristan made a decisive move. He surged forward, unfazed, and unleashed a perfectly weighted ground-rolling diagonal pass to the left flank. The ball sliced through the defense, exploiting the gap between the center back and the right back, arriving just in front of the penalty area.
Erging from the left, Vardy sprinted into position, expertly evading the offside trap. Tristan's heart raced; he knew this was it.
"Beautiful pass!" the comntator exclaid, excitent building in his voice. "Number 22, Tristan, has found Vardy!"
As the stadium erupted with a mix of curses and desperate prayers from the ho fans, Vardy capitalized on Tristan's vision. He executed a powerful shot, driving the ball into the near corner of the goal.
The net rippled violently as the ball struck ho.
"Goal!"
"Leicester City takes the lead, 1-0, at Elland Road!"
The comntator's voice soared with enthusiasm, but the ho crowd fell into a stunned silence, disbelief etched across their faces. They clutched their heads, a collective expression of despair washing over them. Their team had dominated for so long, yet it was Leicester who had found the back of the net.
In stark contrast, the away fans erupted in cheers, waving their blue fox scarves high in celebration, chanting, "Jamie, Jamie, our Super Jamie!" In the midst of the jubilant singing, Vardy, rather than racing toward the corner flag for a traditional celebration, sought out Tristan. He enveloped him in a hearty embrace, gratitude shining in his green eyes.
"Man, that pass was incredible!" Vardy's warm praise resonated deeply with Tristan, solidifying their bond on the pitch. Having a good relationship with a player like Vardy was a definite advantage. After their mont of celebration, Vardy raised his hand to point at Tristan, proudly announcing to the crowd, "This goal was all thanks to this young man!"
As the players reveled in the aftermath of Vardy's opening goal, the atmosphere within the stadium crackled with energy. The sound of cheering Leicester fans reverberated, but their joy was tempered by Wes Morgan's commanding presence.
"Stay focused, lads! One goal isn't enough!" he barked, rallying his teammates. "We need to keep the pressure on!" Nugent, grinning from ear to ear, felt the excitent of the mont, yet he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of regret that lingered after failing to support Tristan during that earlier foul. What if that had been my mont? he silently berated himself, vowing to make ands on the pitch.
anwhile, the Leeds United bench erupted with frustration. Their head coach, a seasoned tactician known for his fiery deanor, paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "How can we let an 18-year-old—who's just playing his third professional ga—run riot on our pitch?" he fud, gesturing animatedly toward the field. "Get closer to 22! Do not let him breathe!"
The frustration was palpable in his voice, rising above the cacophony of the crowd. He could hardly contain his anger as he watched his players struggle against a young midfielder whose reputation had barely begun to form. The idea that they had allowed such a player to dictate the rhythm of the ga infuriated him.
"Do sothing! This is unacceptable!" he shouted, his face flushed with irritation. His players, heads hanging low, exchanged guilty glances, understanding the stakes but feeling the weight of their coach's disappointnt. It was not just about losing a match; it was about failing to contain a rising star who had the audacity to outplay them so decisively.
As the match resud, the ho crowd, once full of hope, began to murmur among themselves, glancing at each other with expressions of confusion and disbelief. What went wrong? they pondered, their cheers fading as the reality of the score set in. How did we let them take control?
The referee signaled the continuation of play, and with the match ongoing, Leeds United found themselves pushing forward, seeking a quick response. But Leicester's defense held firm, Morgan's header clearing the ball back to the midfield. Nugent, now fully engaged, seized the mont. With a deft touch, he played the ball to Tristan, who had been drifting into space, searching for opportunities to make an impact.
Tristan took control, his heart pounding with the thrill of competition. The boos from the Leeds supporters washed over him, but rather than demoralizing him, they ignited a fire within. They think they can silence ? Let's show them what I'm capable of!
As he maneuvered the ball forward, he noticed Mahrez making a run. The defender tried to anticipate the pass, but Tristan was one step ahead. He sent a perfectly weighted ball soaring past the backline, allowing Mahrez to chase it down.
"Mahrez is on the move!" the comntator exclaid, the tension palpable. "He's got pace—can he make it count?"
With deft skill, Mahrez raced toward the end line, leaving the defender trailing in his wake. He reached the edge of the box, glancing back at the goal before executing a slick reverse pass into the danger area.
And there was Tristan, timing his run perfectly, as if he had choreographed the mont. He struck the ball with the inside of his foot, sending it rocketing toward the net.
"GOOOOOOAL!" the comntator erupted, and the roar of the Leicester fans echoed like thunder.
Tristan, montarily stunned, quickly gathered himself as the realization washed over him—he had just scored his second goal of the season. Euphoria surged through him, and he took off sprinting toward the corner flag, arms outstretched, the taste of victory intoxicating.
"YES! I did it!" he shouted, exhilaration pouring out as he slid to his knees in celebration.
The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of support crashing over him as he soaked in the mont. "TRISTAN! TRISTAN!" the chants rang out, drowning out the Leeds fans, whose confusion grew as they watched their team falter.
What is happening? the ho supporters whispered to one another, concern creeping into their voices. We can't let this happen!
With the score now standing at 2-0, the realization dawned on the ho crowd that their hopes of a coback were dimming with every tick of the clock.
But Tristan wasn't done. Energized by the ecstatic atmosphere, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him like electricity. As the match progressed, Leicester maintained their grip on the ga, and with every touch of the ball, the anticipation grew.
The clock ticked toward the 75th minute, and as Leeds attempted to push forward, their defense was caught off guard.
"Leicester has a chance to extend their lead!" the comntator exclaid, his voice rising with excitent. "Can they strike again?"
With the ball at his feet, Tristan danced past two defenders, weaving through the chaos like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. He could feel the energy of the fans building, their chants rising to a fever pitch. The roar of "TRISTAN! TRISTAN!" enveloped him, urging him on.
This is it. Ti to make it count.
Just outside the penalty area, he took a deep breath, assessing the scene. Vardy was making a run on the right, but Tristan spotted an opening in the middle. With a quick glance, he unleashed a thunderous strike from the edge of the box—a shot that felt like it had a life of its own.
"NO WAY!" the comntator shouted, the excitent palpable. "HE'S GOING FOR IT! TRISTAN FROM DISTANCE! OH MY GOODNESS—"
The ball soared past the outstretched arms of the Leeds goalkeeper, and for a split second, ti stood still. Then, it hit the back of the net with a resounding thud.
"GOOOOOOOAL! TRISTAN HAS DONE IT AGAIN! WHAT A STRIKE! A SECOND GOAL FOR THE YOUNG STAR!"
The stadium erupted into a cacophony of cheers and roars, the Leicester fans practically shaking the stands with their enthusiasm.
Tristan could hardly believe it—he had scored twice in his third professional match. He felt invincible, as though he could conquer the world. Sprinting to the corner flag again, he celebrated with uncontained joy, arms spread wide, soaking in the euphoric atmosphere.
The chants grew louder, a beautiful symphony of support: "TRISTAN! TRISTAN!"
With the final whistle signaling a 3-0 victory for Leicester City, the jubilant crowd erupted once more, the atmosphere electric with celebration. Tristan couldn't help but beam, knowing he had made a significant impact in just his third ga, tallying up to three goals and three assists for the season.
As the referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of the match, the Leicester City players erupted in cheers. They had secured a decisive 3-0 victory, and the atmosphere in the locker room was electric. Tristan, still buzzing from the ga, prepared for the post-match interview.
"Tristan, can we get your thoughts on the match?" a reporter asked as he approached, microphone in hand.
"Of course!" Tristan replied, his excitent palpable.
"Congratulations on the win! You've now scored three goals and provided three assists in your first three professional matches at just 18 years old. What's been the secret to your early success?" the reporter inquired.
Tristan grinned, his enthusiasm shining through. "Thanks! I think it really cos down to the support from my teammates and the coaching staff. They've believed in from the start, and that confidence has helped play my best."
"That first goal tonight seed to ignite the team. Can you walk us through how it unfolded?" the reporter asked.
"Absolutely! Dany (Drinkwater) made an incredible pass, and I focused on placing my shot right. It felt amazing to score, and I think it really boosted our montum," Tristan explained, recalling the mont vividly.
"And your second goal—what a finish! How did you manage to get that shot off?" the reporter pressed.
"Yeah, that one felt great! I noticed an opening and just decided to go for it. The buildup was fantastic, and the support from the crowd really motivated to take that chance," Tristan replied, his eyes lighting up at the mory.
"Your performance ratings so far have been impressive—9.0, 7.5, and now a 9.4 tonight. How do you feel about that kind of recognition?" the reporter continued.
"It's nice to see, but for , the focus is always on the team. I just want to help us win, and if those ratings co along with it, that's a bonus. I'm just trying to improve every ga," Tristan stated modestly.
"There was quite a reaction from the crowd, especially when you stepped onto the pitch. How did that affect you during the match?" the reporter asked, noting the atmosphere.
Tristan chuckled lightly. "Elland Road is intense! The boos don't bother ; they push to step up and show what I can do. I take it as a challenge, and it's all part of the experience."
"During the match, there was a controversial foul you were involved in. What's your take on that situation?" the reporter pressed, eager for insight.
"I think it was a foul, and the referee made the right call," Tristan said calmly. "I respect the officials; it's part of the ga. My focus remains on my performance and helping the team."
"Given your early success, what are your aspirations moving forward in your career?" the reporter concluded.
"I'm just really excited! Each match is a new opportunity to learn and grow. I want to keep earning my place in the starting eleven and contribute as much as I can to the team's success," Tristan declared, determination evident in his voice.
As the interview wrapped up, the reporter couldn't help but think, This kid is sothing special.
Back in the locker room, Tristan suddenly heard two system prompts in his mind:
[Ding Dong!]
[Achievent "First Championship Goal" achieved]
[Achievent rating: A]
[Achievent Reward: One Free Attribute Point]
[Ding Dong!]
[Achievent "Man of the Match in the Championship" achieved]
[Achievent rating: A]
[Achievent Reward: One Free Attribute Point]
With a broad smile, he turned back to his teammates, ready to celebrate this significant mont in his budding career.
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