章節 2: FA Cup Debut 2
Tristan Hale stood near the edge of the mixed zone, still clad in his Leicester City jersey. his muscles aching slightly from the intensity of the match. At 187cm, he towered over most of the reporters gathering around him, yet he still felt a small flutter of nerves.
He had played in front of thousands of fans and handled the pressure of his first Championship League match, but this? This was different. The spotlight was directly on him now. One wrong word, one awkward answer, and it would be all over social media in seconds.
Relax. You've been through worse than this, he reminded himself. Taking a steady breath, he stood tall, squared his shoulders, and prepared for his first professional post-match interview.
A woman in a tailored navy suit with dark red hair pulled into a bun—Charlotte Pierce from Sky Sports—was the first to step forward, extending her microphone.
"Tristan, congratulations on an incredible debut! A goal, an assist, and a win—can you put into words how you're feeling right now?"
Tristan smiled, still riding the high of the match.
"Thank you! Honestly, it's an amazing feeling. To come on and help the team in any way is all I could've asked for. The coach trusted me, and I just wanted to make the most of the opportunity."
Next up was Tom Reed from BBC Sport, a tall man in a gray blazer, flipping through his notepad.
"You earned the highest player rating on the pitch—an 8.5 out of 10. Did you expect to have such an impact so quickly?"
Tristan let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
"Not really. I just focused on doing my job. Ratings are great, but football isn't played on paper—it's about moments. It's about working for your teammates and finding ways to win. That's what matters most to me."
Tom nodded in before stepping aside allowing a younger reporter with short blonde hair to ask her question.
"That pass to Ulloa—just perfect weight and vision. Can you take us through what you saw?"
Tristan's eyes lit up as he recalled the moment.
"Leo made a brilliant run. I saw the space open up, and it was just about timing the ball right. He did the hard part with the finish. Those are the moments you train for—to see something before it happens and make it count."
A stocky reporter with salt-and-pepper hair and a slightly wrinkled blazer, spoke up next.
"Stoke were physical today, especially in the second half. You took a few rough challenges but never seemed fazed. How did you handle that?"
Tristan nodded thinking on how to answer that question.
"Yeah, they were aggressive, but that's football. It's part of the game. The key is not letting it get into your head—keep moving, keep the ball circulating, and don't give them a target to hit."
Daniel smirked. "You say that, but Shawcross definitely tried to take you out a couple of times."
Tristan laughed. "Yeah, I felt that! But that's just football—nothing personal."
Another reporter, Maya Patel from BBC Radio 5 Live, wearing a sleek black coat, checked her notes.
"Your stats today were impressive—one goal, one assist, 85% pass completion, five key passes, and even some defensive contributions with a tackle and two interceptions. Do you see yourself as a midfielder who does it all?"
Tristan thought for a moment before answering.
"That's the goal. I don't want to just be a playmaker—I want to help in every part of the game. Every player should contribute defensively, just like every defender should be comfortable on the ball. That's how football is evolving, and I want to be ready for that."
"Tristan, this was your debut, but you played with a composure beyond your years. Do you feel any pressure going forward, knowing the expectations are only going to grow?"
Tristan took a second to gather his thoughts.
"Pressure is part of the game. It pushes you to be better, to stay sharp. But I don't let it get to me—I just focus on playing, improving, and helping the team however I can."
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you don't feel pressure?"
Tristan smirked slightly. "I feel it. I just don't let it control me."
Who do you model your game after?"
Tristan grinned, the answer coming naturally.
"I've always admired Beckham for his crossing and set-pieces, Kaka for his ability to glide through midfield, and Iniesta for how he sees the game. They all bring something special, and I try to take little things from all of them."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Ever met any of them?"
Tristan chuckled. "Not yet. But I'd love to one day."
....
As he stepped back into the visiting locker room, the atmosphere was electric. The scent of sweat, grass, and damp jerseys lingered in the air, but none of that mattered—the team was still riding the high of their 2-0 victory over Stoke.
Before Tristan could even put down his bottle of red champagne, a familiar arm slung around his shoulder.
"Hey, our little hero is back—with champagne!"
It was Vardy, grinning.
Immediately, a round of applause erupted, led by captain Wes Morgan, whose deep voice boomed across the room.
"Well done! Absolute class out there!"
Tristan felt their support. He raised the champagne bottle, a grin breaking across his face.
"Thank you, everyone! But honestly, this was a team effort. Couldn't have done it without you lot!"
Vardy, never one to waste a moment, grabbed a plastic cup from god knows where and popped the champagne open with a dramatic flourish, and poured a generous amount.
"Right then, lads! A toast—to our young star, Tristan, and to many more wins to come!"
The players cheered, some banging on their lockers, others lifting their water bottles in mock toasts.
Tristan took a sip from a water bottle as he had no intention of drinking at all.
After the initial buzz of celebration settled, Vardy nudged Tristan playfully.
"You know, you've just set yourself up, right?" he said with a knowing smirk. "One goal, one assist on debut—now we're all expecting world-class performances every match."
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head.
"No pressure, huh?"
Vardy laughed. "None at all, mate. Just, you know, don't turn into a one-game wonder."
Tristan grinned, but he knew Vardy wasn't just joking—there was truth in his words.
And then, for a brief moment, Vardy's tone shifted—still playful, but with an edge of seriousness.
"Listen, it's not about one game. It's about consistency. One good match won't make you, but consistency? That's what turns players into legends. Keep working hard, and you'll make a name for yourself in this league."
Tristan nodded, taking those words to heart.
As the celebrations continued, with players exchanging banter and laughter filling the room, Tristan took a moment to himself.
He had come into this match as a rookie, an academy graduate looking for his chance.
Now, he was walking out as a player who had delivered.
But he knew—this was just the beginning.
With that thought, he lifted the champagne bottle once more, turning toward the squad with a confident smile.
"To Leicester City!"
The team cheered once again, the unity in the room undeniable.
After the long bus ride back to Leicester, the team finally arrived at Belvoir Drive, their training ground. The players exchanged goodbyes, some heading back to their homes, others staying back for post-match recovery sessions.
Tristan, however, made his way toward the youth team dormitory—his home since signing his first professional contract at 17.
Though his actual family home was just a half-hour drive away, he had opted to stay in the dorms during the week. The hour-long commute would have taken away from his training, recovery, and personal drills, and he wasn't willing to lose that extra time.
But ever since his second chance at life, he had started going home more often.
Being with his parents mattered now in a way it never had before.
As he unlocked his dorm room, Tristan stepped inside, greeted by the familiar sight of his modest single bed, a small desk, and a wooden chair tucked against the wall.
Sitting on his bed, Tristan felt the urge to check his player interface. With a mere thought, a translucent light screen appeared before him, much like a character panel in a video game:
[Player Name: Tristan Hale]
Age: 18
Height: 187cm
Weight: 65kg
Regular Leg: Right
Club: Leicester City
Talent: Kevin De Bruyne Vision and Passing
[Attributes: Ball Control C, Shooting D, Passing S, Defense D, Physical C, Mental B]
[Overall Rating: 73]
He stared at the translucent attribute panel floating in front of him. His eyes traced over the ratings, and despite the undeniable S-level passing ability gifted to him by the Champion Codex, a frown still tugged at the corners of his lips.
His Passing and Mental attributes were world-class, yet everything else…?
Mediocre.
Without the Peak De Bruyne card, his overall ability might barely scrape past 50 or 60—the kind of rating that would leave him stuck in youth teams or warming the bench in a lower-tier league.
His fingers hovered over the panel as he exhaled slowly.
"Speed. Strength. Skill. Football IQ."
That was the core of success in professional football. The top level wasn't just about talent—it was a war of physicality and intelligence, a game of inches where the fastest, smartest, and strongest prevailed.
Tristan tapped a finger against his desk.
"So how do I get better?"
Would it be through daily training? Would he have to complete system-assigned tasks to raise his stats? Or was there another way the Champion Codex would push him to improve?
He didn't have those answers yet.
But right now, he had two free attribute points to allocate—and they had to count.
Each primary attribute had subcategories, measured numerically rather than by letter grades. Passing, for example, broke down into Short Pass, Long Pass, Cross, and Arc, where his numbers were nothing short of elite:
Short Pass – 95Long Pass – 97Cross – 97Arc – 98
And with [Kevin De Bruyne Vision], his Vision stat was a staggering 99.
For an 18-year-old, this was unheard of.
But what good was world-class passing if he couldn't move fast enough to use it?
Tristan's Physical category had several components—Explosion, Speed, Balance, Bounce, Strength, Reaction, Endurance, and Physique.
The ones most vital to his position?
Burst – 70Speed – 70Reaction – 72
Simply put: not good enough.
In the Premier League, pace was king. The ability to burst past a marker, accelerate away in tight spaces, and react faster than defenders? That was the difference between a good player and a great one.
Tristan made his decision.
He tapped on Burst, using both of his attribute points, raising it from 70 to 72.
Then… nothing.
No glowing golden aura. No sudden rush of power. No immediate sense of transformation.
"I don't feel any different."
Maybe he was expecting something dramatic. But football wasn't a video game—this wasn't a fantasy world where upgrades were instant. The real test would come on the training ground.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair.
That's when his iPhone 5S buzzed on the table.He picked it up and saw the caller ID: Mom.
he moment he answered, a warm, familiar voice came through the line.
"Tristan! Are you busy? I hope I didn't disturb you."
"No, Mom, it's fine. Just in my dorm."
There was a small pause before her voice brightened with excitement.
"Your dad and I watched the FA Cup match! You played brilliantly—we're so proud of you!"
A wave of warmth washed over him. He could almost see her smile through the phone.
Tristan grinned. "Thanks, Mom. The team has a day off tomorrow, so I'll be coming home. I'll tell you all about it then."
Her happiness was palpable. "That's wonderful! I'll go to the supermarket in the morning and cook all your favorites."
Before Tristan could respond, another voice—deep, strong, and unmistakably his father's—cut in.
"Tristan! Let's celebrate properly tomorrow!"
A soft chuckle escaped him.
"Alright, Dad. See you both tomorrow."
As he hung up, a deep sense of emotion settled over him.
This wasn't just about football.
This was about family.
He had failed them before—wasted their money, their belief, their sacrifices. He had thrown away his first chance.
But not this time.
He was going to succeed—for them.
For his parents, who had given up so much to support his dream.
The next morning, after handling personal errands, Tristan took a walk through the city, enjoying his rare day off.
Leicester was still buzzing from the FA Cup victory, and as he passed a small café, he noticed a group of fans excitedly chatting.
He wasn't going to stop—until a young voice called out.
"Hey! Aren't you Tristan?!"
Tristan turned to see a wide-eyed boy, no older than ten, clutching a Leicester City scarf.
"You played amazing in the match! Can I get your autograph?"
Tristan felt a spark of pride. This was why he played.
"Of course." He took the boy's marker and signed his blue Leicester jersey.
The boy beamed. "Thank you! Can I take a picture too?"
Tristan laughed. "Absolutely."
He knelt beside the kid as the boy's father took a quick photo. More fans started to notice, and within seconds, Tristan found himself signing a few more shirts, shaking hands, and taking pictures.
Each signature felt like a promise—a commitment to never take this for granted, to work harder, to earn the love and respect of these fans.
After several more interactions, he waved them off and continued down the street, a smile lingering on his face.
As he walked through the city, his mind raced with thoughts.
He had once been a player full of wasted potential.
Now?
He was a player with a second chance.
A player who wasn't going to waste it again.
A second shot at destiny.
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