Sinbad
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Chapter 272: Some Fun
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 01:43:32 +0000 UTCApril 9th, 2016
Belvoir Drive – Next Morning
The second Tristan stepped through the doors of Belvoir Drive, he knew he was finished. Not injured finished. Not transfer finished. A different kind of finished. The kind you felt when thirty pairs of eyes followed you into the building, smirks and jokes already spreading like wildfire.
He kept his head up, but inside? He was begging the floor to open and swallow him whole. Should’ve faked an illness. Pulled the star card. Said “sorry lads, media duties.”
Anything.
Because the moment Barbara hit upload at midnight, their silly little “Stella Q&A” video had gone nuclear. Close to a million views in less than 24 hours. Trending on Twitter. Fan edits already circulating on Instagram with captions like “ Future Ballon d’Or winner or beauty influencer?”
And now here he was, walking into the lion’s den.
For the first time in his career, Tristan actually considered abusing his privileges, hiding in Ranieri’s office, slipping into training late, anything to dodge the stares. But he forced himself to keep walking, boots squeaking against the polished floor.
He wasn’t ashamed, not really. If anything, he was kind of proud. The video was meant as a joke, and a sweet one at that. Him and Barbara having fun. And judging from the thousands of laughing comments and heart emojis, most people got it.
Sure, there were a few trolls in the mix. The “what the hell is he doing wearing makeup” brigade, the insecure voices screeching in the replies. But Tristan had scrolled past them without a second thought. If someone was truly offended by a 20 year-old footballer wearing a little blush and eyeliner while answering fan questions with his girlfriend, then clearly they weren’t his fans to begin with.
Still.
That didn’t make walking into a dressing room full of actual teammates, Jamie Vardy, Riyad Mahrez, Wes Morgan any easier. Because if Twitter had been relentless, he knew the banter here would be ten times worse.
And judging from the muffled laughter drifting from the boot room, it had already begun.
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath.
God help me.
The laughter hit him before the door even opened. A low rumble at first, then a sharp cackle he knew instantly.
Vardy.
Tristan pushed the door and stepped inside. Every head turned at once. Silence for half a second. Then…
“Ey up, lads, cover your faces!” Vardy shouted, standing on the bench like a town crier. “Golden Boy’s here to contour us all!”
The room exploded. Boots banged against lockers, bottles rattled on the floor. Mahrez doubled over, clutching his stomach. Huth just shook his head, muttering something in German that sounded suspiciously like “pretty boy.”
Tristan rolled his eyes, dropping his bag at his spot. “Morning to you too.”
“Morning?” Vardy hopped down, phone already in hand. “Bruv, you don’t get it. I’ve not stopped laughing since midnight. Look at this one.”
He shoved the screen in Tristan’s face. A tweet, overlaid with a still of Tristan pouting mid-blush.
@Matri: "Leicester City: Champions of England, Champions of Highlight & Glow."
The squad roared again. Even Kasper, usually stoic, was wheezing into his gloves.
Vardy scrolled. “Here’s another, ‘Tristan out here fighting for the Ballon d’Or and James Charles’ subscriber count.’”
Tristan dragged a hand down his face. “You’ve been saving these, haven’t you?”
“Course I have!” Vardy said proudly. “Lads, he’s trending above Arsenal Fan TV. Above Arsenal Fan TV! Do you know how funny that is?”
Mahrez piped up next, voice deadpan but eyes sparkling. “Bro, you should’ve seen my girlfriend this morning. She asked if I needed you to do her eyeliner for the Sevilla match.”
The room howled.
Danny pointed across the room, miming with his fingers like a tiny brush. “Oi, mate, can you get rid of these bags under my eyes too? Cheers, mate.”
Even Morgan chuckled as he shook his head. “You lot are shameless. Let the boy breathe.”
But Vardy wasn’t done. He leaned in close, stage whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. “Be honest, mate. You enjoyed it. Don’t lie.”
Tristan smirked despite himself. “I’ll admit this much: I looked fabulous.”
The lads groaned like a chorus.
Mahrez pretended to cover his eyes. “Nah, he’s owning it. Dangerous man.”
Kanté, who had been lacing his boots quietly, finally spoke. “I think… it was good. I liked the video. And Barbara seemed very happy.”
Vardy clapped Tristan hard on the back. “See? Even N’Golo approves. Can’t argue with that.”
Tristan just shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I hate all of you.”
“Love you too, makeup mogul,” Vardy shot back.
The laughter rolled again, bouncing off the walls of the dressing room. And though his cheeks burned, Tristan didn’t run away.
.
The cones were set. Bibs handed out. The air was crisp, the grass damp, and Leicester’s miracle men jogged out in loose pairs, chatter filling the cold air.
But poor Tristan didn’t make it ten yards before the teasing restarted.
“Careful, lads!” Ben bellowed, jogging backwards in front of him. “Don’t tackle too hard or you’ll smudge his foundation!”
The squad roared. Even Schmeichel jogged past with a sly grin. “We’ll need makeup wipes at half-time, yeah?”
Tristan bit back a laugh, shaking his head. “One of you slips today, I’m not helping you up. Just saying.”
Mahrez wasn’t letting go either. As they lined up for rondos, he tapped his cheek with mock seriousness. “Bro, can you do mine next? I want that glow before we face Sevilla. Maybe distract defenders.”
Simpson chimed in, brushing his fingers along his cheekbones like a catwalk model. “Call it the ‘Stella Special.’ Boom. Match-winner.”
The circle burst out laughing, and even Claudio Ranieri, setting up a drill across the way, was smiling knowingly as if he’d already heard half the jokes.
Then came the warm up jog.
Vardy slowed until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Tristan, hips swaying dramatically like he was on a catwalk. “Work it, Stella. Yassss queen.”
The others nearly tripped from laughing. Okazaki actually did trip, collapsing in the grass as he wheezed.
“Unbelievable,” Tristan muttered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a grin. “Champions of England and this is what we’ve become.”
“You started it!” Vardy fired back. “Million views in a day, mate. You’re bigger than Fenty now.”
Fuchs ran up, phone in hand during a water break, waving it like a trophy. “Look at this one, someone edited Tristan’s face onto Beyoncé at Coachella.” He turned the screen. The whole team collapsed in hysterics.
“Show me,” Tristan demanded, grabbing the phone. He squinted, then burst out laughing so hard he had to bend double. “Okay, that one’s actually brilliant. Send me that.”
By now, every touch Tristan took in the rondos was met with commentary.
“Smooth application!” shouted Huth.
“Blend it, lad, blend it!” Drinkwater called.
“Highlight that pass!” Vardy added, nearly choking from his own joke.
Ranieri finally clapped his hands, calling everyone in. “Basta, basta! Enough teasing. Save your energy for Sunderland and Sevilla!”
The lads jogged over, still giggling, though Ranieri’s grin betrayed his stern tone. Tristan shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow, cheeks still flushed with laughter.
As they broke into the first drill, Vardy leaned over, muttering just loud enough for him to hear: “Stella Hale. Has a nice ring to it, don’t it?”
Tristan groaned, half exasperated, half exhausted “You’re never going to shut up about this, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Vardy smirked, sprinting off to chase the ball.
Tristan followed not before he took a deep breath although Stella as a name didn’t sound that bad.
.
Hours Later - Back Home
The boots were off, joggers back on, and Tristan was stretched across the couch like he’d melted into it. A protein shake balanced in one hand, his phone in the other, Biscuit nestled like a warm pillow against his ribs.
A replay of Leicester’s 2–0 win in Seville hummed softly from the TV, but Tristan wasn’t watching. He was scrolling.
Their first video had detonated across the internet. Not “gone viral” but exploded. Twitter clips. IG edits. GIFs on Tumblr. Reaction threads on Reddit. Fashion journalists debating his bone structure.
Tristan snorted, thumb flicking through mentions that never seemed to stop.
@Teh_Storm: When Tristan said ‘I feel fabulous’ with pink blush on… I transcended. That’s our future Ballon d’Or winner, ladies and gentlemen, lmao.
Tristan chuckled, deciding to reply and adding some fun to the mess.
@Tristan_22: Peak performance confirmed. ✨⚽️
@LordShiva: My guy scored against Sevilla AND survived a full glam session with his girlfriend. Versatility king.
He typed back.
@Tristan_22: One day Europa League, next day contour. Life’s about balance.
@Emma: You can keep your Kakas and Ronaldos. I want Tristan who confessed his love in Hungarian on Christmas. All the ladies’ standards for boyfriends just went up by 100%.
Tristan grinned, ears a little warm, and replied: Blame SpongeBob slippers. That’s where it all started. 💛👟
@Taz: Barbara Palvin building a billion-dollar brand while Tristan becomes the greatest footballer in history. They really are a power couple.
He read it out loud, grinning toward the kitchen. “Babe! We’re a power couple now.”
From the other room, Barbara’s voice floated back. “We already were. We just became more important.
@Lenny: We need Mahrez and his girl to do a reaction video. Or a skincare collab. This squad’s too attractive.
Tristan laughed so hard Biscuit stirred, grumbling. He thumbed a reply:
@Tristan_22: Trust me, Riyad would never survive eyeliner or anything on face.
The replies came like a tidal wave, Tristan’s phone buzzing non-stop as fans tore into his answers with equal parts memes, love, and fury.
@naz🇹🇹: Tristan calling Vardy & Mahrez “loud older brothers” is the most accurate description of them ever. 😂
@KanteLovesGrass: Imagine being Kante, humble, quiet, winning every tackle and your best mate is literally the Golden Boy of England. Elite bromance.
@Gaiseric Persian: Yeah, lmao. Kante had one crazy year. I honestly wonder what he thought when he signed for Leciester at the start of this year
@vardy7: LOUD?? LOUD??? I’ll show you loud at training tomorrow you cheeky sod. LOUD????? [50 laughing emojis]
Someone clipped a video of Vardy screaming “SHIT, FUCK YOU!” on loop with the caption: This is who Tristan called his older brother. Makes sense why Tristan can be unhinged sometimes.
@Aee: You little troll. Leicester is a Sunday pub team. We made you relevant. Pipe down.
@ɴʏᴀʙʟᴀᴄᴋʏ: Imagine being United, spending £250m, and Tristan still enjoys cooking you for fun. Couldn’t be my club.
@Tobirama: Tristan saying “Manchester United with a smile on his face just ended an entire fanbase. Pack it up lads
@Sinbad_12: BREAKING: Manchester United file legal complaint against Tristan Hale for excessive bullying.
Someone photoshopped Tristan in front of Old Trafford holding a “Sorry, not sorry” banner. Thousands of retweets in under an hour.
@BayernArmy: He said “you don’t really know football until you’ve survived Bayern’s press for 90 minutes.” Sir, with all due respect… you won’t survive.
@MessiMagic: Man just casually name-dropped Messi & Ronaldo like he’s ordering dinner, lol. I can’t imagine anyone else saying that and not getting mad fun of for
@CR7Goat: Cristiano would eat this boy alive. Stop hyping him.
@Clarence Ng: The way Tristan speaks about Messi & Ronaldo is different tho. Like he actually wants the smoke. I rate it.
@Ares: [Clip of Tristan’s Sevilla assist with Messi’s face deepfaked onto him, captioned: Manifesting the day these two share a pitch.]
The chaos reached peak meme status when someone posted a fake Champions League bracket with Leicester facing Barcelona, captioned: “UEFA if you love us, make this happen.”
Another had Tristan’s face photoshopped onto Goku staring down Ronaldo and Messi as Vegeta and Broly. Caption: “The new generation is here.”
By the time Tristan set his phone down again, his protein shake was gone. Biscuit had rolled onto her back demanding belly rubs, and Barbara was hovering over him with an amused smirk.
“You enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“They’re unhinged,” Tristan said, shaking his head with a grin. “I literally said I like playing United, and now half of Manchester wants me dead.”
Barbara plopped beside him, stealing the last sip of his shake. “Don’t worry. They already hated you anyway.”
Tristan laughed, running a hand through his curls. “True. Might as well give them even more reasons to hate me.”
He cracked a smile just as Barbara climbed onto the couch beside him, curling into his side like it was second nature. She grabbed the remote without asking, switched the channel, then tucked her feet beneath his leg and leaned her head on his shoulder.
A soft content hum escaped her lips.
Then his phone buzzed with a new message.
Ed Sheeran: Yo lad. You alive under all that highlighter? 😆 You free to link up soon?
Tristan blinked at the message, then huffed out a short laugh through his nose.
Barbara tilted her head from where she was nestled into his side, still scrolling channels with one hand.
“Ed?” she murmured without looking.
“Yeah,” Tristan said, smiling. “Checking in. Think he saw the video.”
He typed back:
Tristan: Just survived the locker room war. Barely. We play Sunderland tomorrow. I’m free after that. 12th work?
Ed: Bet. Might rent out a studio in Leicester. Haven’t written anything new in a while. You down to help me write?
Tristan’s brows lifted a little.
Tristan: You know I’m down. I need a day away from football. I’ll bring Biscuit. She’s got opinions.
Ed: Queen Biscuit’s invited. Only if she doesn’t bark during takes.
Tristan laughed quietly, thumb hovering over the screen before locking the phone and setting it down beside him and focusing his attention back to the TV.
.
I apologize for the lack of chapters for a while. I just went back to work 4 days ago but that's no excuse for my laziness.
And fortunately for me this time, Patreon is still ahead by 16 chapters so I can extend it back to 20 chapters in a few days once I’m locked in starting from tonight.
