[Drop some powers, leave a comment or review if you want and enjoy the chapter]
.....
Fortunately, as he landed, Tristan instinctively rolled onto his back, a reflex that offered him a measure 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 memory. This moment 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 volumes. 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, glimmering 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. "Come 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 game!"
"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—immediately 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 seemed 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, acknowledgment blending with determination. Michael Brown, having been cautioned, remained unfazed. The tension simmered as he strode toward Tristan, leaning in menacingly. "Football isn't for weaklings like you. Go home and drink your milk!"
Tristan met his gaze with a steady intensity, refusing to give in to the provocation. He recognized Brown's ploys—this was more than a mere physical challenge; it was a psychological battle. Brown aimed 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 game resumed. Leeds United likely expected Brown's show of aggression would make Tristan hesitant, that he would shrink back from the challenge of controlling the game. 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 commentator 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 transformed 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 game that was innovative within the Championship context. As the Leicester City players maneuvered with the precision of seasoned fishermen, expertly luring Leeds United's formation into their traps, Tristan emerged 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 demeanor relaxed as he observed the unfolding scene.
Under Tristan's leadership, Leicester City had commandeered the rhythm of the game, 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 moment.
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.
Emerging from the left, Vardy sprinted into position, expertly evading the offside trap. Tristan's heart raced; he knew this was it.
"Beautiful pass!" the commentator exclaimed, excitement building in his voice. "Number 22, Tristan, has found Vardy!"
As the stadium erupted with a mix of curses and desperate prayers from the home 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 home.
"Goal!"
"Leicester City takes the lead, 1-0, at Elland Road!"
The commentator's voice soared with enthusiasm, but the home 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 moment 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 excitement of the moment, 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 moment? he silently berated himself, vowing to make amends on the pitch.
Meanwhile, the Leeds United bench erupted with frustration. Their head coach, a seasoned tactician known for his fiery demeanor, paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "How can we let an 18-year-old—who's just playing his third professional game—run riot on our pitch?" he fumed, 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 game infuriated him.
"Do something! 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 disappointment. 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 resumed, the home 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 moment. 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 me? 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 commentator exclaimed, 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 moment. He struck the ball with the inside of his foot, sending it rocketing toward the net.
"GOOOOOOAL!" the commentator erupted, and the roar of the Leicester fans echoed like thunder.
Tristan, momentarily 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 moment. "TRISTAN! TRISTAN!" the chants rang out, drowning out the Leeds fans, whose confusion grew as they watched their team falter.
What is happening? the home 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 home crowd that their hopes of a comeback 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 game, 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 commentator exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. "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. Time 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 commentator shouted, the excitement 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, time 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 game, 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 game, 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 excitement 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 comes down to the support from my teammates and the coaching staff. They've believed in me from the start, and that confidence has helped me play my best."
"That first goal tonight seemed 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 momentum," Tristan explained, recalling the moment 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 me to take that chance," Tristan replied, his eyes lighting up at the memory.
"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 me, the focus is always on the team. I just want to help us win, and if those ratings come along with it, that's a bonus. I'm just trying to improve every game," 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 me; they push me 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 game. 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 something special.
Back in the locker room, Tristan suddenly heard two system prompts in his mind:
[Ding Dong!]
[Achievement "First Championship Goal" achieved]
[Achievement rating: A]
[Achievement Reward: One Free Attribute Point]
[Ding Dong!]
[Achievement "Man of the Match in the Championship" achieved]
[Achievement rating: A]
[Achievement Reward: One Free Attribute Point]
With a broad smile, he turned back to his teammates, ready to celebrate this significant moment in his budding career.