January 4, 2014
Britannia Stadium, Stoke-on-Trent.
The Britannia Stadium stood like a fortress, its red-brick walls towering over the bustling crowd of Stoke City fans, who filled the stands with a sea of red and white. Their voices boomed through the chilly winter air, chants echoing off the structure like the drums of war. For them, this FA Cup third-round match against Leicester City was more than just a game; it was a battle, a test of their team's grit against the aspiring young squad.
The players on both sides felt the intensity as the clock inched toward the seventy-fifth minute. The scoreboard still read 1-0 in favor of Stoke City. Leicester had struggled all game to break through Stoke's disciplined and physical defense. Stoke's style, built on aggression and high-pressure football, had worn down the visiting team. The Leicester players had been pushed off the ball, their rhythm disrupted by crunching tackles and towering headers.
On the sidelines, Nigel Pearson stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he scanned the field. He knew Leicester needed a spark, something to turn the tide of this match. His assistant, Steve Walsh, stood beside him, equally concerned as they watched Stoke continue to dominate the midfield.
"We're getting outmuscled," Pearson muttered. "We need fresh legs and a new approach."
Walsh nodded, his eyes narrowing. "They're crowding us out in midfield. We need someone who can see the game differently—who can unlock their defense."
Pearson glanced down the bench, where a few of the younger players sat eagerly, waiting for their chance. At the edge of the bench sat Tristan Hale, an 18-year-old who had been with Leicester's U21 team for the past season.
His blonde hair and green eyes caught the sunlight filtering through the winter clouds, and he watched the game with intensity, his focus unshakable. His features—sharp, yet youthful—were a striking mix of his English mother's heritage and his Chinese father's lineage, a contrast that made him stand out in the world of football.
[Image of Tristan Hale]
[Quick Notice: For some reason people are already hating the story before even reading the rest of the chapters; there's no mention of China or anything related to it; it doesn't even come up once; it's just the main character is mixed, that's all. And if you can't read a story because because the main character has a Chinese dad, something is wrong with you, get some help.]
For a footballer, moments like these could define an entire career. The FA Cup—a competition steeped in history, magic, and countless stories of underdogs slaying giants—was the perfect stage for such moments. And for Leicester City, this game held immense importance. Battling for promotion from the Championship, a solid FA Cup run could boost their confidence, build momentum, and provide the prestige of knocking out Premier League opposition.
The air was crisp with the biting winter cold, and as the 1-0 scoreline stood in favor of Stoke, Leicester's players felt the weight of the game pressing down on them. Nigel Pearson's side had fought hard, but Stoke had repelled their attacks with brute force and organization. Time was running out, and Pearson needed something—someone—to turn the tide.
In the 75th minute, that someone was ready.
"Tristan! Warm up!" Pearson called from the touchline, his voice sharp with urgency. Tristan Hale, Leicester's promising 18-year-old midfielder, felt his heart thump in his chest as he stood up. He quickly shrugged off his warm-up jacket, revealing the Leicester jersey underneath, the number 22 shining on his back. This was the moment he'd been waiting for—his professional debut.
The weight of the occasion settled over him like a familiar cloak, but it was different this time. This wasn't just his debut—it was a second chance at life. Just days ago, he had been involved in a car accident that should have ended his failure of a career and life.
But somehow, miraculously, he had been given a reset, waking up in his 18-year-old body back in 2014. The world thought this was his first match as a professional, but Tristan knew the truth. He'd been blessed with something extraordinary: the Champion Codex, a mysterious system that had awakened within him after the accident.
One of the first gifts from the Codex had been the [Peak De Bruyne] star card—endowing him with the vision and passing ability of one of the world's best midfielders in history. Kevin De Bruyne wasn't yet a global superstar in 2014, but Tristan knew the heights the Belgian would soon reach. And now, with these abilities coursing through his veins, Tristan was about to showcase them on football's grandest stage.
Pearson pulled him aside as he made his way toward the pitch. "Listen, son," he said, his voice measured but firm. "This is a big moment, but I've seen what you can do. Just stay composed and play your game. Use the space in between their lines—Stoke's midfield will drop deep to protect the lead. That's your opening."
Tristan nodded, feeling a surge of determination. "I'm ready, coach."
As the substitution was made official, the commentator's voice started talking about the youngster.
"Here comes young Tristan Hale, just 18 years of age, making his professional debut for Leicester City. From what we've heard, this lad has vision beyond his years. The academy coaches have been raving about him, especially his composure on the ball. Let's see if he can handle the pressure of an FA Cup tie in a place as tough as the Britannia."
The stadium lights gleamed off Tristan's blonde hair as he jogged onto the field, and the Leicester fans behind the goal erupted in cheers. Some murmurs of curiosity rippled through the crowd as well—after all, it wasn't every day a young debutant was thrown into such a pivotal match.
Tristan could feel the eyes on him, watching, waiting. But instead of nervousness, a strange calmness settled over him.
The Champion Codex hummed faintly in his mind, the [Peak De Bruyne] card guiding his instincts.
Leicester had shifted to a 4-2-3-1 formation, with Tristan slotted into the No. 10 role, the attacking midfielder charged with pulling the strings. Vardy was the lone striker ahead of him, with Mahrez and Albrighton providing width on the flanks.The two holding midfielders sat deeper, giving Tristan the freedom to roam between Stoke's defense and midfield.
His first touch came almost immediately—a simple sideways pass to Mahrez. But even in that brief moment, it was clear to those watching that Tristan had something special. His control was smooth, his touch precise. There was an ease to his movements, as if he had all the time in the world, even with Stoke's physical presence closing in around him.
As the game resumed, Leicester began to press harder. Stoke, perhaps sensing danger, started to drop deeper, inviting pressure. Tristan drifted into the gaps, receiving the ball and looking to pick out passes. His enhanced vision, courtesy of the Champion Codex, made the pitch feel like an open book—every run, every defensive gap, every opportunity lay before him with crystal clarity.
"He's playing with his head up, always scanning the field," one commentator noted, impressed by Tristan's early involvement. "For a lad his age, his awareness is remarkable. He's not rushing, not forcing things. Talent like that is hard to teach."
By the 80th minute, Leicester had taken control of possession, pushing Stoke onto the back foot. Tristan, dictating the tempo, pulled the strings from the middle, linking up with Mahrez and Albrighton in wide areas. He knew the moment would come. He just had to be patient.
Then, it happened.
Tristan found himself near the center circle, the ball at his feet, his back to goal. A Stoke midfielder surged toward him, intent on shutting him down. But with a quick drop of the shoulder and a deft touch, Tristan spun away from the pressure, leaving his marker flat-footed. The crowd gasped, and the commentator's voice rose in excitement.
"Look at that! Tristan Hale just spun his man like a seasoned pro! Incredible composure for an 18-year-old on debut!"
As Tristan lifted his head, the enhanced vision from the Champion Codex kicked in. He saw the entire field with a clarity that bordered on supernatural. Jamie Vardy was making a run—darting between Stoke's center-backs, timing his movement to perfection. Without hesitation, Tristan played the pass.
It was a thing of beauty.
The ball curled through the air, splitting Stoke's defense like a knife through butter, bending just out of the reach of the center-backs and landing perfectly at Vardy's feet. The striker didn't need to break stride. He took one touch to control the ball and then unleashed a low, driven shot into the bottom corner of the net.
GOAL!
The Leicester fans erupted, their cheers echoing around the stadium. Vardy sprinted toward the corner flag, fists pumping in celebration. But before he reached the flag, he turned, pointing back at Tristan in acknowledgment.
"What an assist!" the commentator roared. "Tristan Hale, with a debut pass that would make any world-class playmaker proud! The vision, the weight on that ball—it's absolutely sublime!"
Tristan jogged over to join the celebration, his heart pounding with exhilaration. Vardy clapped him on the back, grinning. "That was top class, mate. Keep feeding me like that, and we're winning this."
But Tristan wasn't finished.
Stoke, rattled by the equalizer, began to push forward in desperation. Their long balls bombarded Leicester's defense, but the backline held firm. Each time the ball was cleared, it found its way to Tristan's feet, and each time, he made the right decision—whether it was a quick pass to maintain possession or a clever ball to release a teammate on the counterattack.
With just minutes left on the clock, Leicester won a corner. Mahrez swung the ball into the crowded penalty area, but a Stoke defender rose high to head it clear. The ball floated out toward the edge of the box, where Tristan stood waiting.
For a split second, everything seemed to slow down. The ball bounced once, perfectly into his path.
Time stood still, the entire stadium holding its breath. Tristan knew what to do. The Codex guided his every movement.
He struck the ball cleanly with his right foot, sending it soaring through the air. The shot curled away from the goalkeeper, dipping at the last moment. The keeper dived, but it was too late. The ball nestled into the top corner of the net.
GOAL!
Pandemonium erupted. Leicester players raced toward Tristan, piling onto him in a frenzy of celebration. The fans in the away end were chanting his name, their voices echoing around the stadium.
"TRISTAN HALE! What a strike! On his debut, he's not only provided the assist for the equalizer, but now he's scored an absolute screamer to win it for Leicester! This kid is special—mark my words, we're witnessing the birth of a star!"
The commentators couldn't believe it. "The technique on that strike—it's flawless! For an 18-year-old to show this kind of composure in this kind of game? This lad has talent that's visible to the naked eye. Leicester may have just found their future playmaker."
As soon as the final whistle blew, the roar from the away section of the Britannia Stadium was deafening. Leicester City had secured a 2-1 victory over Stoke City, and it was thanks, in no small part, to the heroics of their debutant, Tristan Hale. The young midfielder stood near the center of the pitch, hands on his knees, still catching his breath from the frenetic final minutes. He could hear his name being chanted from the Leicester fans in the stands, louder and louder with each passing second.
"Tristan! Tristan! Tristan!"
It took him a moment to register what was happening. He glanced around at his teammates, many of whom were already making their way toward the fans to applaud them for their support. But for Tristan, this wasn't just the usual end-of-match applause. This was different. The entire away section had risen to their feet, chanting his name, their voices filled with admiration and gratitude.
A standing ovation.
The 18-year-old blinked, momentarily frozen in place. His green eyes, a striking contrast against his blonde hair, swept across the sea of Leicester supporters waving scarves and shouting his name. For a brief second, the magnitude of the moment hit him hard. He was living every young footballer's dream—making his professional debut in an FA Cup tie, setting up an equalizer, scoring a stunning winner, and now, being celebrated by the fans.
"Come on, mate, this is your moment!" Vardy shouted, jogging up beside him, clapping him on the back with a grin. "Go give them a wave."
Tristan smiled, still trying to process everything, but Vardy's words snapped him back into the present. He straightened up, raised his head high, and slowly began walking toward the fans, clapping as he went. His heart pounded in his chest, not from the effort of the game, but from the sheer rush of adrenaline that came with being adored by the crowd. The supporters were singing his name with even more vigor now, their hands raised in celebration of their new hero.
"Listen to that!" the commentator's voice crackled over the stadium speakers. "Tristan Hale, only 18 years old, and he's just been handed a standing ovation after an absolutely extraordinary debut performance. What a day for the youngster—an assist and a goal to win it for Leicester. Talent like this doesn't come around often!"
As Tristan reached the edge of the pitch, he raised both arms in the air, clapping back to the fans who had been so generous in their praise. His movements were humble, but the emotions running through him were overwhelming. This moment belonged to him, but he knew it also belonged to the fans. They had believed in him, even before he'd stepped onto the pitch. Now, he was giving something back.
He scanned the crowd, making eye contact with as many fans as he could. Some were waving, others were shouting words he couldn't quite make out, but their smiles were unmistakable. The connection was palpable; the bond between player and supporter was sealed in those few electric moments.
His mind wandered briefly to the events that had brought him here—the car accident, the rebirth, the Champion Codex. It still felt surreal. He had been given a second chance at life, and with it, the power to make an impact far beyond his natural abilities. That Peak De Bruyne star card had given him the vision and passing of a world-class midfielder.
As he clapped back to the fans, Vardy came up beside him again, this time with a wide grin plastered across his face.
"Not bad for a debut, eh?" Vardy laughed, throwing an arm around Tristan's shoulder. "You've got them eating out of your hand, mate."
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. "I still can't believe it."
"Believe it," said Mahrez, joining the pair. "You were class out there. We knew you had talent, but that was something special."
The praise from his teammates felt as good as the applause from the fans. To earn the respect of players like Vardy and Mahrez, who had already proven themselves, meant the world to him.
As the three of them continued their walk toward the tunnel, Tristan looked back once more toward the stands. The chants of his name hadn't died down yet, and he knew they wouldn't for a while. He gave one final wave, clapping in rhythm with the crowd, before turning back to follow his teammates down the tunnel.
But the noise didn't fade. Even as the tunnel swallowed him, the echoes of the crowd's cheers lingered in the air, a sound that would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Once inside the tunnel, Nigel Pearson approached, his expression somewhere between pride and satisfaction.
"You've done well, lad," the manager said, patting him on the shoulder. "Kept your head, delivered when it counted. Just what we needed."
"Thank you, boss," Tristan replied, still feeling the rush of the crowd's love.
Pearson paused for a moment, then added, "There's a lot more to come from you, isn't there?"
Tristan nodded. He knew this was only the beginning.
"I'll keep working hard," Tristan promised.
As he continued walking down the tunnel, his mind buzzed with the possibilities that lay ahead. His debut had been nothing short of a dream come true. He had not only contributed to his team's FA Cup victory but had left an indelible mark on the fans and his teammates alike. But beyond the magic of the day, Tristan understood that it was his hard work—and the secret gift of the Champion Codex—that had made it all possible.
There was still so much left to learn, so much more to improve. The Champion Codex had opened doors for him, giving him abilities that would help him grow into the player he dreamed of becoming. Today, it had shown him the vision and passing of a great playmaker—tomorrow, it could grant him even more.
As he clapped one last time to himself, Tristan felt his chest swell with excitement for the future. Whatever challenges awaited him, he was ready to face them head-on. The football world had just seen the first glimpse of Tristan Hale—and they were about to see a lot more.