England's Greatest

[Check out the Patreon, I think there's like 51 advance chapters there with daily chapters, and drop some power stones, comment and review if you guys want to, trying to hit 1100 power stones this week.] 

....

August 15, 2014 - King Power Stadium Media Room, Leicester.....

The media room at King Power Stadium hummed with anticipation on the eve of Leicester City's return to the Premier League. Journalists and broadcasters from across the country filled the rows of seats, eager to hear from the two managers ahead of the highly anticipated clash. Cameras flashed as the doors opened, signaling the start of the pre-match press conference.

Roberto Martinez was the first to take his seat at the podium, a picture of confidence in a tailored navy suit.

"Good afternoon. First, let me congratulate Leicester City on their achievement last season. Winning the Championship is no easy feat along with winning the FA Cup and Nigel Pearson deserves credit for the job he's done," he began. His tone was polite, but the underlying message soon followed. "That being said, this is the Premier League. It's a different level."

The room immediately came alive with questions, hands shooting up from every corner. A journalist from Sky Sports got the first word in:

"Roberto, Leicester are known for their relentless pressing style and pace on the counter. How do you plan to deal with players like Jamie Vardy, Riyad Mahrez and Tristan Hale who can cause problems for even the best defenses?"

Martínez leaned forward,"Every team has strengths," he replied, "but the key is understanding how to neutralize them. We've studied Leicester thoroughly. Their energy is impressive, but if we control possession and dictate the tempo, we can minimize the threat they pose on the break."

A reporter from The Times followed up:

"You've invested heavily in players like Romelu Lukaku and brought in Samuel Eto'o. Does this signal a shift in Everton's ambitions this season?"

Martínez nodded confidently before answering the question, "Absolutely. This is a team that belongs in European competitions. Romelu gives us power and consistency up front, and Samuel brings experience at the highest level. They're part of a squad that's capable of achieving something special."

The journalists scribbled furiously as Martinez continued, praising his players' preparation and highlighting the impact of Everton's summer signings, including Romelu Lukaku and Samuel Eto'o. 

His confidence bordered on arrogance.

When Martinez left the stage, the room settled again, awaiting the arrival of his counterpart. 

Moments later, Nigel Pearson stepped up to the podium dressed in a Leicester City tracksuit, he was a stark contrast to his counterpart.

Pearson began without preamble. "Good afternoon. First, I'd like to thank everyone for being here today. We're looking forward to the challenge ahead. The Premier League is where we want to be, and we're ready to fight for every point."

The questions came quickly. A local journalist from the Leicester Mercury spoke up:

"Everton are a team with European aspirations. How do you approach a game like this, knowing the quality of their squad?"

"We respect Everton's quality, but we're focused on ourselves," he replied. "It's about sticking to our principles—staying compact defensively, working as a unit, and making the most of our opportunities when they come. We're under no illusions about the challenge ahead.We've got a great group of lads who are ready to give everything for this badge."

A reporter from BBC Sport pressed further: 

"Tristan has drawn a lot of attention, but this is his first Premier League season at the age of 19 and he's the team's main star. Do you think he's ready to handle the step up?"

Pearson's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone firm. "I have full confidence in him, he's shown his quality the last months and so. And Leciester City isn't just about him, you know we got a incredible squad that I know will surprise like Jamie and Riyad. This is a big stage, but they're ready for it."

The questions became more pointed as another journalist asked:

"Roberto Martínez has spoken about targeting Champions League football. What are Leicester's realistic ambitions for this season?"

Pearson paused, his voice calm but deliberate. "Our first goal is survival," he said plainly. "We're not going to make bold claims or talk about things beyond our reach. What we can promise is that we'll compete in every match. We're here to prove that Leicester City deserve to be in this league."

The mood shifted slightly as a national journalist chimed in:

"Nigel, Roberto Martínez said earlier that controlling possession is key to neutralizing Leicester's press. Do you see that as a potential weakness in your system?"

Pearson almost laughed at that before replying, "Possession is one thing, but football isn't played in statistics. It's played on the pitch. If Everton want to keep the ball, that's fine—but we'll make sure they don't do anything with it."

As the press conference ended, the stage was set. The talking was over. Tomorrow, under the lights of the King Power Stadium, the Premier League would welcome its newest challenger.

The Next Day…..

The King Power Stadium pulsed with life, a cauldron of blue and white ignited by the passion of tens of thousands of Foxes fans. Their chants rolled like thunder, each wave of sound crashing against the walls, shaking the very core of the ground. It wasn't just noise—it was a symphony of belief, hope, and unrelenting pride.

The stands were a living, breathing ocean of blue, scarves raised high and fluttering like banners in a triumphant march. The rhythm of drums carried the crowd's anthem, "Leicester! Leicester!" as voices joined in unison, weaving a tapestry of loyalty and determination. Every beat, every chant seemed to feed into the atmosphere, electrifying the air until it was almost tangible.

This wasn't merely a game—it was a celebration, a culmination of ten long years of dreams and toil.

Among the sea of blue, one name was on every fan's lips—Tristan. No. 22 jerseys dotted the stands like constellations in a night sky, each representing faith in the young star who had captured the hearts of the Foxes faithful. From his unforgettable World Cup performances to his moments of brilliance in the FA Cup, Tristan was more than a rising talent; he was the beating heart of this Leicester squad.

The weight of expectation on his shoulders was immense, but as his name echoed through the air in deafening chants, it was clear he wasn't alone. The city was with him. They believed in him. Tristan wasn't just a player; he was a symbol of their return to glory.

In the stands, Big William and Bob, stood proudly Tristan jerseys signed and delivered to them by the star himself, something Tristan had done 100 for members of the Fox Society. 

 That small gesture of gratitude had cemented the young star's place not just in the team but in the hearts of everyone who bled blue. He wasn't just a talent; he was one of them.

The anticipation was electric, almost overwhelming

From battling in the lower leagues to now standing toe-to-toe with the giants of English football, this was their chance to prove they belonged.

But their first test was formidable. Everton, a team steeped in tradition and brimming with talent, awaited them. The Toffees had their own aspirations—Champions League qualification was the goal, and they had the squad to back it up. Romelu Lukaku, their record £28 million signing, was a towering presence, a striker capable of tearing through defenses with raw power and precision.

Behind him, Everton's midfield oozed experience and class. Gareth Barry brought calm and control, while the dynamic Samuel Eto'o added a lethal edge. With emerging talents like Muhamed Bešić adding energy and steel, this was a team built to compete at the highest level.

…..

The mood inside the Leicester locker room was electric. The players sat in various states of preparation—some lacing their boots with laser focus, others sharing quiet words of encouragement. The muffled roar of the crowd outside filtered through the walls, a reminder of the thousands of fans waiting to see their team's return to the top flight.

Nigel Pearson entered the room with purpose, his demeanor from the previous day replaced by a fiery intensity. The players immediately quieted as he clapped his hands, signaling for their attention.

"Alright, lads," he began, pacing the room with deliberate steps. "You've heard all the talk. Martinez and his lot think they're walking out of here with three points in the bag. They're not giving us a chance. But let me tell you something—they don't know what this team is made of."

Pearson's voice grew stronger, his words charged with conviction.

"We've worked too hard to let anyone dictate what happens on that pitch. This is our house. Those fans out there didn't come here to see us sit back and let Everton run the show. They came here to see us fight."

The players nodded, the energy in the room building with every word. Pearson's gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with each of them in turn.

"From the first second, we take control of the game," he said, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Every tackle, every pass, every sprint—make it count. Show them what it means to play for Leicester City. Prove to them—and to yourselves—that we belong here."

The locker room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers as the players rallied around their coach's words. Pearson clapped Tristan on the shoulder as the teenager rose, his No. 22 jersey gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"This is your stage, son," Pearson said with a nod. "Show them why your England's best."

The King Power Stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the fans reverberating through the evening sky as the Premier League season kicked off. Blue and white flags waved furiously in the stands, while chants of "Leciester!" filled the air. The Foxes were back in the top flight, and the city of Leicester was ready to embrace every moment.

"Welcome to the Premier League!" boomed the voice of the first commentator over the broadcast. "It's Leicester City versus Everton—what a matchup we have to start the season! The Foxes return to the big stage after a decade-long absence."

"And what a challenge they face tonight," the second commentator chimed in. "Everton are no pushovers—they're aiming for a spot in Europe this season. But Leicester, with the likes of Jamie Vardy, Riyad Mahrez, and the exciting young Tristan in midfield, are not here to make up the numbers."

The broadcast cut to the lineups as the two teams stood in the tunnel, waiting to emerge. Leicester City were set up in a familiar 4-2-3-1 formation. Kasper Schmeichel stood in goal, with Ritchie De Laet, Liam Moore, captain Wes Morgan, and Paul Konchesky forming the backline. The midfield featured Danny Drinkwater and Matty James as the holding pair, providing balance and control.

"Jesse Lingard gets the nod on the left wing, replacing Lloyd Dyer from last season," noted the first commentator. "It's a sign of Nigel Pearson's intent to inject more youth and dynamism into this squad. And, of course, keep an eye on Tristan, who plays just behind Vardy in that attacking midfield role. The boy had a phenomenal summer at the World Cup."

On the other side, Everton also lined up in a 4-2-3-1. Tim Howard commanded the goal, with Leighton Baines, Sylvain Distin, Phil Jagielka, and Seamus Coleman as the defensive wall. Gareth Barry and James McCarthy provided grit and composure in midfield, while Kevin Mirallas and Steven Pienaar added width. Ross Barkley occupied the central attacking role, with Romelu Lukaku leading the line up front.

"Everton look solid on paper," the second commentator said. "But Leicester have home advantage, and with the King Power faithful behind them, anything is possible."

The tunnel was buzzing with excitement and tension. The Leicester players shuffled in line, exchanging quiet words and final adjustments. Mascot children stood beside them, looking both awed and thrilled to be part of the occasion.

Tristan stood at the back of the lineup, adjusting the sleeves of his blue long-sleeve undershirt under his Leicester jersey. A nine-year-old girl named Lily stood beside him, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her oversized Leicester kit. The shirt practically swallowed her, and her ponytail bounced as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Tristan crouched down to her eye level and offered her an easy smile. "You doing alright there, Lily?"

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "There's… so many people."

"Yeah, it's a bit noisy, isn't it?" he said, glancing at the roaring crowd. "But don't worry—they're just here for the football. You and me? We're the calm ones out here."

Lily gave a small nod but kept glancing toward the stands. "What if I trip or something?"

"Trip? Nah, you won't trip," Tristan said, shaking his head. "And even if you do, I'll trip right next to you so no one notices. Deal?"

That got a giggle out of her. "You'd trip on purpose?"

"Of course," Tristan replied with mock seriousness. "But only for you. You've got the coolest job out here—way more important than mine."

She tilted her head. "Really? What's my job?"

"Simple," he said, pointing toward the pitch. "Smile, wave if you want, and make sure I don't mess up. Think you can handle that?"

Lily grinned for the first time, her nerves easing. "Okay. I'll make sure you don't mess up."

"Perfect," he said, holding out his hand. She grabbed it tightly, and together they walked toward the tunnel entrance.

As they stepped out onto the pitch, the King Power Stadium erupted in cheers.

"Here they come!" the first commentator called. "The Foxes take to the field, and listen to that roar! What an atmosphere!"

Walking hand in hand, Tristan glanced down at Lily. "You hear that? They're cheering for you."

Lily rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. "They're not cheering for me."

"Are you sure? I think I heard someone shout, 'Go, Lily!'" he said with a playful shrug.

"You're making that up," she said, but this time her voice carried more confidence.

"Maybe. But it's a good story, isn't it?"

When the line for pre-match handshakes formed, Lily gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go. "Good luck, Tristan!"

"Thanks, Lily," he replied. "You'll bring me luck, so I think we're good."

She ran to join the other mascots, her ponytail bouncing as she went. Tristan straightened up, his focus shifting to the Everton players waiting in line.

"What a moment, it's been ten long years since we have last seen Leciester City in the top flight!" exclaimed the first commentator as the players started shaking hands.

 The King Power erupted into cheers, the atmosphere electric.

"Listen to that noise!" the second commentator said. "The Leicester fans are making themselves heard tonight. What a moment for this club."

"Hey, Leighton. Phil," Tristan greeted his England teammates Baines and Jagielka, shaking their hands.

"Big day, mate," Jagielka said with a nod.

"Every day's a big day now," Tristan replied with a smirk, his confidence clear.

Romelu Lukaku, towering and lean, caught Tristan's eye next as he shook hands. The Belgian striker's imposing figure was impossible to ignore.

Pearson's instructions echoed in Tristan's mind: Shadow Lukaku. Press high. Disrupt their flow. The plan was clear—Wes Morgan would handle the physical battles with the Belgian striker, while the quicker Liam Moore would provide backup

"Come on, boys, let's take this game!" Wes Morgan rallied, his voice cutting through the noise.

On the Everton side, Ross Barkley stood just behind Lukaku as the teams prepared for kickoff, his eyes fixed on Tristan. Barkley's frustration was palpable.

"He took my spot at the World Cup," Barkley muttered under his breath. In his mind, it was supposed to be his breakout summer—not Tristan's. Watching Tristan excel in Brazil, leading England to the quarterfinals, had only fueled his jealousy. Tonight, Barkley was determined to prove he was the better player.

But Tristan didn't notice—or care. He was focused entirely on the game ahead.

The referee blew his whistle—beep!—and Lukaku tapped the ball back to Barkley. The 2014-2015 Premier League season was officially underway.

"Here we go," said the first commentator. "Leicester versus Everton—a battle between experience and ambition. Let's see who comes out on top."

Barkley took the return pass from Lukaku, scanning the pitch for options. But before he could settle, Vardy exploded forward, charging at him like a missile. The crowd roared as the Leicester striker closed in with terrifying speed. Barkley panicked, instinctively sending the ball back to McCarthy.

"Vardy's pressing hard—Barkley's under pressure!"

McCarthy, startled by the intensity of Leicester's high press, quickly looked to the right flank and played the ball toward Mirallas. But Leicester's press wasn't a one-man show—it was a relentless system.

"McCarthy's looking shaky here!" one commentator exclaimed.

"This is relentless from Leicester!" added the other.

Tristan, reading the play before it even unfolded, surged forward, cutting a perfect diagonal to intercept the pass. His timing was impeccable—he stretched his leg and snatched the ball away, the King Power Stadium erupting into deafening cheers.

"TRISTAN CUTS IT OUT!" shouted the first commentator.

"What a read! Leicester's No. 22 is everywhere!" the other added.

Without hesitation, Tristan drove into Everton's half, the crowd on their feet, sensing something special. Barkley, stung by his earlier misstep, barreled toward him with the force of a freight train.

Barkley slammed into Tristan's back, trying to muscle him off the ball. For a moment, it seemed like the Everton midfielder had won the battle—Tristan stumbled slightly, the ball slipping ahead.

"Barkley's not giving up—he's right on him!"

"Tristan's in trouble here!"

But Tristan wasn't done. With incredible balance, he righted himself instantly, using his body to shield the ball. In one fluid motion, he slid a perfect pass to the left flank, where Lingard was already on the move.

"LINGARD'S ON THE LEFT!"

"What vision from Tristan! He's unlocked the Everton defense!"

Lingard took the ball in stride, his first touch pristine as he accelerated down the wing. Coleman rushed to close him down, sliding in with a desperate lunge, but Lingard was too quick, gliding past him as Coleman left the ground in a heap.

"LINGARD BEATS COLEMAN—HE'S INTO THE BOX!"

Lingard didn't hesitate. With a pinpoint cross, he delivered the ball low toward the penalty spot.

"This could be dangerous!" one commentator yelled.

"Everton are stretched—they're in trouble here!" added the other.

Vardy's run pulled Jagielka and Distin toward the near post, opening up a gap at the top of the box. The ball slid through, and Mahrez appeared, right on time.

"MAHREZ IS THERE!"

Mahrez, poised to shoot with his favored left foot, shaped up as if to unleash a rocket. Distin, reading the move, lunged to block. But Mahrez had other ideas.

"MAHREZ FAKES IT! HE LETS IT RUN!"

"WHO'S BEHIND HIM?"

The dummy completely bamboozled Everton's defense, and the ball rolled untouched into the chaos. Out of nowhere, Tristan arrived at full speed, sprinting into the box like a man possessed. The stadium held its breath.

"TRISTAN!!!"

With calm precision, Tristan met the ball with the inside of his foot, sending a powerful, accurate shot toward the near post.

"BANG!"

The ball flew, swerving slightly as it cut through the air. Tim Howard, caught out by Mahrez's dummy, scrambled to dive back, but it was too late. The shot clipped the inside of the post, and with a satisfying thud, it ricocheted into the net.

"GOOOAAAAALLLL!!!"

"TRISTAN SCORES! LEICESTER STRIKE FIRST!"

The King Power erupted. Fans leaped from their seats, waving scarves and fists in celebration. Tristan, cool as ever, stood still, arms outstretched, soaking in the adulation. His expression was serene—borderline arrogant—as if this moment had been inevitable.

"The Premier League has been put on notice!" one commentator yelled.

"What a debut, what a statement! Tristan has arrived, and he's here to stay!"

....

I will not write three-chapter matches for every single game—only the first games of a competition or league, or against big clubs. And whoever decided that schedule for Leicester City in 2014 is a bitch, lmao—they had to face like three of the big six clubs right from the start.

As for other matches, I will write about them, but not in great detail, and they will be combined with other things in a chapter. No one wants to read three chapters about Crystal Palace, lmao.

Also I saw someone mention the community shield, not gonna lie, I forget about it. It doesn't matter either way, it's a worthless trophy, only Arsenal fans really care about it.