Capítulo 4: First-Team Training
Despite the January transfer window being in full swing, Leicester City remained relatively quiet. While clubs across Europe scrambled for reinforcements, Nigel Pearson and the Leicester board were content with their squad.
They had made only one significant move—selling a fringe midfielder who had barely featured all season.
In his place?
They promoted Tristan Hale to the first team.
Dressed in a black GPS monitoring vest beneath his long-sleeved training gear, Tristan followed his teammates onto the training pitch.
The crisp winter air filled his lungs as he stepped onto the lush green grass, freshly cut and still damp with morning dew.
Laughter and chatter filled the atmosphere, blending with the rhythmic thud of footballs being passed around.
Tristan took a deep breath and calmed himself down.
As the squad began their warm-up drills, Pearson and his assistant Steve Walsh stood on the sideline, watching closely.
"Keep it moving, lads! Let's warm up those legs!" Pearson's voice carried across the pitch, commanding attention.
But his real focus? Tristan Hale.
He and Walsh observed every movement—the way Tristan sprinted, the way he carried himself, and the intensity he brought to training.
Pearson murmured, eyes locked on Tristan.
"His burst and speed are impressive. He moves with real purpose."
Walsh, nodding in agreement, added, "And look at his stamina—he's keeping pace with the fittest guys out there. If we play him in midfield, he'll contribute defensively as well. His reading of the game is natural."
Their eyes followed Tristan as he executed the next set of drills:
Tight ball control exercises? Sharp and precise.
Quick dribbling drills? Smooth, confident.
Short-passing sequences? Flawless.
Shooting drills? Decent, but room to improve.
Of course, his passing was the standout.
His ability to switch play effortlessly, his vision, and his weight of pass were something no one else in the squad could replicate.
And after what he did against Stoke-City, it was no surprise to see him shining in training.
As the session progressed, Pearson and Walsh continued their quiet evaluation.
"His performance in the game wasn't a fluke," Pearson muttered.
Walsh smirked. "No. And if he keeps this up, he won't just be part of the squad—he'll be running our midfield soon enough."
Pearson simply nodded, a satisfied glint in his eye.
As the warm-up wrapped up, the team transitioned into technical and tactical drills. The crisp morning air buzzed with anticipation as small groups formed across the pitch, focusing on passing, dribbling, and shooting exercises.
"Alright, Tristan! Show us what you've got!" Vardy called out, juggling a ball casually before volleying it high into the air.
"Yeah, mate! No hiding now!" Mahrez grinned, offering a quick thumbs-up as he breezed past in a dribbling drill.
Their encouragement steadied Tristan's nerves.
A few drills later, Matty James received a perfectly weighted pass from Tristan and maneuvered past a defender effortlessly.
"That's the stuff, Tristan!" James called back.
"Look at that vision!" Vardy chimed in. "Kid's got a radar in his head."
Tristan exhaled, his confidence growing.
He sharpened his focus, delivering a series of pinpoint passes—driven balls, lofted switches, delicate through balls—each one executed with precision. The ball zipped between teammates as if Tristan had measured each pass with a ruler.
"Alright, now you're showing off," Mahrez chuckled, collecting a slick diagonal pass from Tristan.
"Was waiting for you to actually make a run," Tristan shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Laughter rippled through the group.
As the drills continued, one thing became clear to the coaching staff:
That FA Cup assist? It wasn't a fluke.
Tristan wasn't just playing safe passes—he was seeing moves unfold before they happened.
From the sideline, Pearson turned to Walsh.
"He's got it, doesn't he?" Pearson mused.
Walsh nodded. "You can't teach that level of awareness."
As the players regrouped for an intra-squad competition, Pearson divided them into two teams. The first-choice starters donned bright orange vests as Team A, while Team B—a mix of substitutes and younger players—stood opposite them.
Tristan found himself among Team B, lining up alongside Andy King, Matty James, and Liam Moore.
Andy clapped a hand on Tristan's back, grinning. "Don't think you're getting an easy ride, rookie! Let's see if you can keep up with us old-timers."
Tristan smirked. "I don't plan on just keeping up—I plan on winning."
Matty let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I like the confidence. No pressure, mate—just don't bottle it in front of the gaffer."
From the other side, Vardy, leading Team A, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted toward Tristan.
"Oi! Don't be too fancy with those passes, Tristan—we actually want to play football, not tic-tac-toe!"
Mahrez, standing beside him, nudged Vardy playfully. "You're just worried he's gonna embarrass you."
The banter eased some of Tristan's nerves, but as the whistle blew, his focus sharpened.
The game started at an intense pace, with Team A quickly asserting dominance. Danny Drinkwater and Matty James controlled the midfield, their experience showing as they dictated possession.
Tristan quickly realized he had no time to settle. Every touch was pressured, every pass contested.
"Watch Drinkwater!" Andy called out, shifting his position beside Tristan. "He's always looking for that quick ball behind."
"Got it," Tristan responded, already tracking Drinkwater's movement.
The midfield battle was fierce, with Tristan working tirelessly to close passing lanes and regain possession. But Team A was relentless, shifting the ball quickly to stretch Team B's defensive line.
Drinkwater spotted Knockaert making a darting run and sent a quick through ball toward him.
Tristan read the pass instinctively, stepping in at the perfect moment to intercept it.
"Nice read, Tristan!" Matty called out as Tristan immediately transitioned into attack, spraying a quick diagonal pass out wide to Mahrez.
"Keep it up, lad!" Andy encouraged, clapping his hands as the momentum shifted.
Despite Tristan's strong defensive work, Team A's veteran players weren't going down easily. Lloyd Dyer used his experience to pull Tristan out of position, while Knockaert's agility kept him on edge.
Pearson, watching from the sideline, shouted, "Don't let him get past you, Tristan! Stay strong!"
The pressure was relentless, but Tristan fed off it.
Team B began finding their rhythm, with Tristan at the heart of it.
He linked up smoothly with Mahrez and Albrighton, dictating play with precise, well-timed passes.
His vision was on full display. Short, quick exchanges. A lofted switch to the right. A driven through ball splitting defenders.
Vardy, watching from Team A, called over to Pearson with a mock complaint.
"Boss! Hale's making us look bad—take him off!"
Pearson chuckled. "Then maybe stop giving him the ball."
The players laughed, but the intensity remained.
With Team A pressing high, Tristan spotted an opportunity. As soon as he received the ball, he took a quick touch forward and drove into space.
Pearson's voice boomed across the pitch: "Push forward!"
Tristan didn't hesitate. He accelerated past an onrushing midfielder, dodged a half-hearted challenge, then threaded a perfectly weighted ball between two defenders toward Mahrez.
"Go on, Riyad!" Tristan urged, eyes locked on the play.
Mahrez took it in stride, cutting inside with his signature move, but just as he shaped to shoot, his footing slipped slightly, and the defender recovered.
"Unlucky!" Vardy called, jogging over to pat Mahrez on the back. "Next time, mate!"
Tristan clenched his jaw, disappointed it hadn't led to a goal—but Mahrez clapped him on the shoulder as they jogged back.
"That pass was perfect, man," Mahrez reassured him. "We'll get the next one."
As the game progressed, Tristan felt his confidence growing.
He was no longer just keeping up—he was setting the tempo, making an impact in every phase of play.
Every pass, every movement, every decision was sharper.
As the whistle blew for a break, players gathered around, panting but grinning.
"God damn, what's inside that head of yours!" Vardy said, clapping a sweaty hand on his back. "Not just a pretty face, then."
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head.
Mahrez nodded approvingly. "If you keep playing like this, you'll be in the starting lineup sooner than you think."
Tristan let the words sink in. He wasn't just another academy kid anymore—he was a player the first team could trust.
"Alright, lads! We build on this! Keep working hard, and we'll see where it takes us!" Pearson shouted at the team once training was over.
As training wrapped up, Tristan lingered on the pitch, watching the sun dip below the training ground.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
Sinbad_12
Sinbad_12 Leave some power stones and your thoughts on the story so far would be appreciated thank you
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder