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Chapter 149: Back to Europe
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 02:04:49 +0000 UTCNovember 2nd, 2014: The Morning After…
The soft hum of the morning settled over the house, golden sunlight slipping through the blinds, casting warm streaks across the kitchen counter. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, though the only sign of Felix was the cleaned-up dishes by the sink and the note he had left behind.
Barbara sat atop the marble counter, her legs dangling lazily, dressed in one of Tristan’s hoodies that practically swallowed her frame. Her hair was still messy from sleep, and her fingers absently traced patterns along the cold surface.
Across from her, Tristan stood near the fridge with a glass of water, rolling his shoulders, shaking off the lingering aches from last night’s game. He caught Barbara watching him, her lips pressed together as if she was holding something back.
"Talked to your mom yesterday," she murmured, breaking the comfortable silence.
Tristan took a slow sip of water before setting the glass down, leaning against the counter across from her. "Yeah? What did she say this time? Embarrassing childhood stories? Or did she finally manage to get you to sign a contract for grandkids?"
Barbara let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Something like that."
Tristan noticed how her fingers kept tracing absent patterns on the counter, her usual playfulness dimmed. His teasing faded slightly.
"You alright?"
Barbara hesitated for a second, then exhaled, her shoulders shifting slightly. "I don’t know."
Tristan pushed off the counter and walked closer, his hands resting on either side of her thighs, effectively boxing her in. "Talk to me."
Barbara met his gaze, her blue eyes uncertain. "I just…" She let out a frustrated sigh. "I don’t even know what we are, Tristan."
His brows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
Barbara bit the inside of her cheek before finally looking at him. "We never talked about it. It just… happened. And I know you care about me. I know this is real. But we never actually defined it, and I—" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don’t want to assume I’m yours if I’m not."
Tristan’s grip on the counter tightened slightly.
Barbara’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. "And maybe you do, or maybe you don’t. But I just—I don’t want to be in something where I’m more invested than you. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize this was just… casual for you."
Tristan was silent for a long moment, his green eyes locked onto hers, studying every flicker of doubt.
Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hurried. It was slow, deliberate, as if he needed her to feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
Barbara’s fingers clenched against his hoodie as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I thought we were already together."
Barbara blinked, caught off guard.
Tristan’s lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. "In my head, you were already mine."
Her pulse stuttered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Tristan leaned back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers tracing slow, feather-light circles against her thigh.
"But if you need me to say it—" His voice dropped lower, teasing but tender. "Ms. Palvin, would you like to be mine?"
Barbara exhaled, her lips parting slightly.
Tristan grinned against her skin, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw.
Barbara let out a soft breath before finally whispering.
"Yes. I’m yours.”
Tristan exhaled like he had been waiting for that answer, his lips ghosting over hers again. "Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting you go anyway."
Barbara rolled her eyes, nudging him lightly in the chest. "You really thought we were already together?"
Tristan huffed a small laugh, his hands sliding to her waist. "What, did you think I was just buying houses for random women? Love, we are literally living together like a married couple, you can’t blame me and you never said anything.”
Barbara narrowed her eyes playfully. "I don’t know. You’re very… generous."
Tristan let out an exaggerated sigh. "My own girlfriend questioning my loyalty."
That word. Girlfriend.
Barbara liked how it sounded. But there was still something gnawing at her, something she couldn’t shake.
She hesitated. Then—
"Tristan."
He looked at her, sensing the shift in her tone.
"This… us," she swallowed. "It’s moving so fast."
Tristan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.
"I like being with you, I do," she continued. "But we’ve barely been together two months, and it already feels like my entire world has shifted. And maybe I should be happy about that, but I just—" she shook her head. "What if we’re rushing into something neither of us is ready for?"
Tristan was quiet for a moment before stepping between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs.
"Are you looking for a way out?" His voice was calm, but his grip tightened slightly, like he was bracing for her answer.
Barbara frowned. "No. I just… I don’t want to get hurt."
Tristan exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against her skin.
"You think I’d hurt you?"
Barbara bit her lip before finally whispering, "I’ve been cheated on before, Tristan. You know my history.”
His expression darkened.
She continued, voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn’t enough for him, and I—" she swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I guess part of me is scared that I won’t be enough for you either."
Tristan didn’t move for a second. Then, his hands slid from her thighs up to her waist, gripping her firmly.
"You are enough," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Barbara let out a shaky breath. "You say that now. But I’m always away. You’re always busy. The media will spin things. One bad photo, one rumor, and suddenly, there’s a scandal. People will say things, Tristan. And what if—"
"What if I’m the one who’s scared?" Tristan interrupted.
Barbara blinked. "What?"
Tristan looked at her, really looked at her, his green eyes unguarded.
"You’re a supermodel. You’re constantly surrounded by men who are richer, taller, more famous than me. Every event, every photoshoot, every party—do you think I don’t know what people will say?"
Barbara felt her throat tighten.
Tristan exhaled, then suddenly gripped her thighs and lifted her off the counter effortlessly.
She gasped, laughing as he carried her toward the couch.
"Tristan!"
He grinned, tossing her down before climbing over her. "You’re mine, Barbara."
She laughed, pulling him down into a kiss.
Maybe it was fast. Maybe it was terrifying.
But she loved him. And that was enough.
Tristan carried Barbara effortlessly into the living room, his grip steady, warm, and far too comfortable. The hoodie she wore—his hoodie—felt even cozier against his body heat, and she let out a small huff, her arms still loosely wrapped around his neck.
"You do realize I can walk, right?" she muttered, arching an eyebrow.
Tristan didn’t bother hiding the grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he said easily before dropping onto the couch with her still in his arms.
Barbara let out a small yelp as she landed against the cushions, her body pinned beneath his, his weight sinking into her just enough to make escape difficult.
"But this is more fun," Tristan murmured, propping himself up on his elbows, green eyes glinting with amusement.
Barbara exhaled dramatically. "And this is supposed to be… what, exactly?"
He smirked—no, grinned, because smirking was too subtle for whatever he was about to say. "Quality time."
Barbara narrowed her eyes. "You’re just trying to distract me."
"Am I?" he countered smoothly, dipping his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her neck.
She shivered—traitorous body—but managed to push at his chest. "Star Wars first. Then you can continue whatever you think you’re doing."
Tristan let out an exaggerated groan, burying his face against her shoulder. "You ruin all my fun."
Barbara smirked, reaching for the remote. "It’s called discipline, Hale."
"That better not be a Jedi joke."
Barbara shot him a look. "It wasn’t, but now that you mention it—"
Tristan suddenly brightened. "Are you saying you’re my Master and I’m just a young padawan in training?"
Barbara immediately grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him in the face before he could continue.
"Fine, fine!" Tristan laughed, shielding himself. "Star Wars it is."
Still grinning, he settled back against the couch, flicking through the streaming options before settling on The Empire Strikes Back. As the familiar yellow text scrolled across the screen, Barbara curled up against him, resting her head against his shoulder while his arm draped lazily over her waist.
For the first twenty minutes, they actually paid attention.
Tristan absentmindedly traced slow, feather-light circles on her hip while Barbara occasionally commented on the cinematography or mumbled something about still being in love with Han Solo.
Then—somewhere between Luke training with Yoda and Leia calling Han a "scruffy-looking nerf herder"—Barbara let out a soft sigh.
"Are we actually watching this?"
Tristan blinked, glancing down at her. "…Not really."
Barbara grabbed the remote. "Something else, then."
Tristan let Barbara scroll through the channels, leaning back against the couch as she flicked absentmindedly. Then—she stopped.
A familiar set popped up on the screen, the bright lights, the roundtable discussion, the bold graphics in the corner indicating Sky Sports' Super Sunday.
Tristan immediately groaned. "No."
Barbara grinned, hugging the remote to her chest like a prize. "Oh, come on. Let’s see what they have to say about you."
Tristan dragged a hand down his face. "This is self-inflicted pain."
Barbara was already settling in, adjusting so she was half-laying on him, completely ignoring his exaggerated suffering.
"Shh, it’s starting."
Tristan exhaled sharply, but his arm still curled around her waist, his hand resting idly against her hip. If she was going to watch football debates, at least he could do it while holding her hostage on the couch.
The Sky Sports studio was buzzing with anticipation as the pundits prepared for another heated debate. The headline on the screen read:
"Premier League Dark Horses Clash: Leicester City vs. Southampton"
Barbara’s eyes flickered with interest, her chin resting lightly on Tristan’s chest. "This is gonna be good," she murmured. She really did love watching people praise her boyfriend.
David Jones, the host for the evening, leaned forward, hands clasped together. "Alright, let’s talk about the matchup everyone’s been looking forward to—Leicester City against Southampton. Sixth versus second. Two teams no one expected to be this high up the table, yet here we are. Two dark horses, but only one can come out on top."
The camera cut to Gary Neville, who wasted no time getting into it.
"This is huge. Leicester, a newly promoted side, sitting in sixth place. Southampton, a team that lost half its squad over the summer, now in second. It’s a testament to the coaching, the recruitment, and the players stepping up. But let’s be honest—this game is about one man’s return."
A video highlight package played—Tristan weaving through defenders, slipping a killer pass through tight gaps, unleashing that thunderous goal against West Brom.
Barbara nudged him. "Look at you. A whole highlight reel."
Tristan sighed. "They’re just setting me up so they can tear me down in a minute."
Sure enough, Jamie Carragher jumped in.
"Leicester’s form dipped when Tristan Hale was out. One win in their last four, and they struggled to create the same clear-cut chances. But now, he’s back. And we saw against West Brom—when he’s on the pitch, this team is different. But can he deliver against Southampton, a team that has been one of the best defensively this season?"
Graeme Souness leaned in.
"That’s the key battle here. Southampton have only conceded five goals all season—the best defensive record in the league. They’ve been organized, disciplined, and they don’t give teams space. Tristan thrives when he has time on the ball, but Southampton won’t let that happen easily."
A tactical breakdown appeared on-screen, displaying both lineups.
Leicester City (4-3-1-2)
🧤 Schmeichel
🛡 De Laet, Morgan, Wasilewski, Konchesky
🔵 Cambiasso, Drinkwater, King
🎩 Tristan Hale
⚡ Vardy, Ulloa
Southampton (4-3-3)
🧤 Forster
🛡 Clyne, Fonte, Alderweireld, Bertrand
🔥 Schneiderlin, Wanyama, Davis
⚡ Tadić, Pellè, Mané
Gary pointed at the Southampton lineup.
"This is where the real battle happens—Southampton’s midfield trio of Schneiderlin, Wanyama, and Davis have been immense. They’re physical, they’re aggressive, and they control games. If Leicester want to win, Tristan needs to find a way to break through that press."
Jamie, however, wasn’t fully convinced.
"But let’s not forget Leicester’s attack. Vardy’s relentless, Ulloa’s a target man, and Tristan’s the one who brings it all together. If Southampton’s defense makes one mistake, he’ll punish them."
David leaned forward. "So let’s call it. Who takes this one?"
Gary shook his head. "Southampton have been too good defensively. They win 2-1."
Graeme nodded. "I agree, Southampton edge it. Maybe a moment of brilliance from Tadić or Pellè wins it."
Jamie, however, scoffed.
"You lot are sleeping on Leicester at home. They’ve already beaten Manchester United 7-1 this season. When this team gets going, they’re fearless. And with Tristan back, I think they edge it. 2-1 Leicester."
Barbara turned slightly, catching Tristan’s thoughtful expression as he stared at the pundits debating fiercely on the TV.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked softly, brushing a gentle hand along his chest.
Tristan stretched his arms behind his head, exhaling deeply. “They’re acting like Southampton’s going to eat us alive. As if we didn’t put seven past United a few weeks ago.”
Barbara smiled lightly, tracing a finger over his shirt. “Well, they have to sell drama, right? You know how media works better than anyone.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make it less annoying.”
She tilted her head, looking up at him curiously. “Are you worried?”
Tristan hesitated a moment, eyes flickering briefly to the ceiling before meeting hers again. “Not worried, just… cautious, I guess. Southampton’s second for a reason. They’re tough, they’re disciplined, and people are underestimating us. Again.”
Barbara watched him carefully, seeing the subtle shift in his gaze. There was always more to Tristan than he let on. “But you like proving them wrong, don’t you?”
He met her eyes, his lips curving gently. “Maybe a little.”
She shook her head playfully, leaning back comfortably into his chest. “And what about Trabzonspor? Everyone seems to have forgotten about them.”
“Exactly,” he said, his tone becoming more serious. “We can't afford to forget. Southampton is important, but Trabzonspor is dangerous if we take them lightly. The boys beat them once already without me, but anything can happen.”
Barbara’s expression softened. “The pressure doesn’t get to you?”
Tristan shrugged lightly, fingers idly tracing small circles along her side. “The pressure is part of the game. Honestly, I prefer it this way. If it’s easy, it’s not worth it.”
She raised an eyebrow teasingly. “So you do like the chaos.”
He laughed lightly, a warm sound that filled the quiet space. “Keeps life interesting.”
Barbara poked his chest gently. “Typical footballer. Always chasing drama.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk, Ms. Cover Girl. Aren’t you always chasing the spotlight yourself?”
Barbara laughed softly, shaking her head. “Alright, fine, maybe we both have a problem.”
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Maybe. But at least we have each other.”
Barbara felt warmth bloom in her chest.
“Smooth talker.”
He laughed softly, kissing her forehead.
Barbara tilted her head, thoughtful again.
“You feel ready, though? For both games?”
Tristan exhaled, considering her question. “Yeah. Trabzonspor first, then Southampton. We handle each challenge as it comes. But after the international break, I’m thinking we deserve a bit of a break ourselves.”
She looked up at him curiously. “What did you have in mind?”
Tristan’s expression brightened. “Well, since we’ll be in Malibu, we could head to L.A. Explore the city, maybe catch an NBA game. Lakers are playing soon. It’d be fun.”
Barbara’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love basketball. That sounds perfect.”
He smiled, running a gentle hand through her hair. “Good. Also, we still haven’t even started on that LEGO set.”
Barbara grinned, a playful sparkle returning to her eyes. “We’ll get to it eventually. I’m waiting until you’re properly focused. You’re too easily distracted.”
Tristan leaned closer, his expression mischievous. “Only by you.”
Barbara rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling him into a quick, soft kiss. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Hale.”
He laughed quietly, then effortlessly scooped her into his arms again, making her squeal softly in surprise.
“What are you doing?” she laughed, gripping his shoulders.
“Moving us to the bed,” Tristan replied casually. “If we’re planning, I need you comfortable.”
She laughed as he carried her easily.
Settling against him, Barbara sighed contentedly as they reached their bedroom.
….
Match Day: Leicester City vs. Trabzonspor
The cool autumn afternoon settled over the King Power Stadium, sunlight filtering weakly through grey, lingering clouds. Leicester fans, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, made their way to their seats, sipping from steaming cups of tea or coffee. The pitch glistened softly from the morning drizzle, capturing a quiet anticipation that pulsed throughout the stands.
At Tristan’s parents’ home, Barbara sat comfortably on the living room couch, legs tucked beneath her as she cradled a warm cup of tea. Beside her, Julia adjusted a few snacks on the coffee table, glancing occasionally at the muted television screen displaying the stadium starting to fill up. Ling, Tristan’s father, settled into his favorite armchair, his attention already fixed on the pre-match commentary.
Barbara set her tea down and shifted a little nervously. "You’re absolutely sure it’s okay I’m here, right? I didn't want to watch alone, and Tristan kind of insisted."
Soma and Sophia were out busy with their own stuff and Tristan wanted her to spend more time with his family otherwise she would have been at the game.
Julia smiled warmly, giving Barbara’s knee a reassuring pat. "Oh, sweetheart, you’re always welcome here. Tristan made that very clear." She paused, her smile softening further. "Besides, it’s wonderful having another woman around. Otherwise, it's just Ling and his constant shouting at the television."
Ling huffed from his armchair, arms folded, pretending offense. "I'm passionate, not loud."
"Passionate?" Julia raised an eyebrow, teasing gently. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Barbara laughed softly, feeling instantly more at ease. "Tristan’s pretty bad, too. He talks to the TV as if they can hear him."
Julia chuckled warmly. "Oh, he gets that from his father."
Ling raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the TV. "That's because they don’t listen! If Pearson would just follow my advice, we’d be top of the table already."
Barbara exchanged an amused glance with Julia, who shook her head fondly. "Yes, dear. I'm sure Nigel Pearson would benefit immensely from your wisdom."
Barbara settled deeper into the couch cushions, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. Being here felt easy and comfortable—like she belonged. Still, she couldn't shake the slight embarrassment lingering at imposing on Tristan's family.
As the camera briefly found Tristan on the pitch warming up, Barbara’s heart skipped a beat, a soft smile tugging at her lips. When he caught sight of the camera, he flashed a playful wave toward the stands before heading back to the locker room.
….
As Leicester City and Trabzonspor prepared to step onto the pitch, the energy inside King Power Stadium crackled with anticipation. The stands hummed with chatter, a sea of blue scarves and flags waving energetically, cutting through the chilly autumn air.
Barbara curled up comfortably on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, nursing a warm cup of tea. Julia and Ling sat beside her, their eyes equally glued to the television screen. Barbara leaned forward slightly as the camera found Tristan in the tunnel, her lips curling into a gentle smile at the familiar intensity in his eyes.
Julia noticed her expression and chuckled softly, nudging her gently. "Enjoying the view, Barbara?"
Barbara glanced sideways, her smile growing. "Something like that."
Ling laughed lightly, shaking his head. "He always has that look, ever since he was little. Football's everything to him."
"I know," Barbara whispered, eyes still locked onto the screen. "Sometimes it scares me how intense he gets. But at the same time..." she trailed off, shaking her head slightly.
Julia smiled knowingly. "That’s why we worry, but it’s also why we're proud. He lives for these moments."
Barbara's smile widened softly, nodding in agreement. "He really does."
As the broadcast transitioned to the Sky Sports studio, the energetic voices of Darren and Steve cut through the pre-match tension.
"Welcome back to the King Power Stadium for tonight's crucial Europa League match between Leicester City and Trabzonspor," Darren introduced with his usual blend of authority and excitement. "A fascinating clash awaits. Leicester come in strong after a commanding 3-0 victory in Turkey, and tonight they've got their star man back—Tristan Hale."
"Indeed, Darren," Steve interjected smoothly, his Liverpool accent clear. "Tristan’s return couldn’t come at a better time for Leicester. This match is pivotal. Win here, and their progression is nearly assured. Lose, and the group becomes wide open again."
Barbara listened intently, fingers tightening around her mug slightly at the mention of the stakes.
On screen, graphics appeared detailing Leicester’s starting lineup:
Leicester City (4-3-1-2)
🧤 GK: Kasper Schmeichel
🛡 RB: Ritchie De Laet
🛡 CB: Wes Morgan (C)
🛡 CB: Marcin Wasilewski
🛡 LB: Paul Konchesky
🔵 CM: Esteban Cambiasso
🔵 CM: Jesse Lingard
🔵 CM: Riyad Mahrez
🎩 CAM: Tristan Hale
⚡ ST: Jamie Vardy
🦊 ST: Leonardo Ulloa
"Pearson’s gone for an attacking approach," Steve continued, analyzing the graphic carefully. "He’s chosen Jesse Lingard and Riyad Mahrez in midfield alongside Cambiasso. That’s a big statement—he clearly believes Leicester can dominate possession and create plenty of chances."
Barbara tilted her head slightly. "Lingard’s starting tonight?"
Ling, sipping his own tea, nodded. "Yeah, Tristan mentioned Nigel wanted to rest Andy King. Lingard's got fresh legs, and he’ll provide plenty of pace."
Julia chuckled softly. "I think he wants to keep everyone sharp for Southampton too."
The screen then switched, highlighting Trabzonspor’s formation.
Trabzonspor (4-2-3-1)
🧤 GK: Onur Kıvrak
🛡 RB: José Bosingwa
🛡 CB: Carl Medjani
🛡 CB: Mustafa Yumlu
🛡 LB: Kévin Constant
🔴 CDM: Mehmet Ekici
🔴 CDM: Carl Medjani
⚫ RM: Yusuf Erdoğan
⚫ CAM: Mehmet Ekici
⚫ LM: Özer Hurmacı
⚡ ST: Óscar Cardozo
Steve continued his tactical analysis. "Trabzonspor have a strong midfield, anchored by Medjani and Ekici. Cardozo up front is their primary threat. But Leicester’s biggest advantage tonight is Tristan. He wasn't even available last time, and Leicester still won comfortably."
The camera quickly cut back to the pitch as the players walked out onto the grass, the Europa League anthem playing loudly. Barbara watched as Tristan appeared from the tunnel, stretching his neck lightly, exhaling visible breath into the cool night air.
Julia glanced at Barbara, noticing her quiet intensity. "You alright?"
Barbara nodded slowly. "I always get a bit nervous. Especially after everything that’s happened in the Newcastle game.”
Julia’s smile softened, patting Barbara’s hand reassuringly. "He thrives in these moments, darling. Just watch."
As the players shook hands on-screen, Darren continued from the commentary box. "Well, the stage is set. Leicester City, flying high domestically and in Europe, welcome Trabzonspor—looking to secure their passage into the knockout rounds. All eyes, as ever, are on Tristan Hale. Can the crown jewel deliver once again?"
Steve chuckled lightly. "No pressure, eh?"
Wave of cheers, scarves waving like banners as Leicester City kicked off against Trabzonspor. The sky had turned a muted gray, clouds gathering overhead, casting a chilled atmosphere fitting for a tense European night.
Right from kickoff, Leicester set a commanding tone. Cambiasso received the ball and calmly passed it back to Morgan, who played it across to Wasilewski. Leicester's defensive duo patiently began orchestrating play, probing for weaknesses.
In the commentary box, Darren’s voice carried clear excitement. "And we're underway at the King Power Stadium! Leicester on the front foot right from the off, Steve—they're clearly determined to dictate tonight's game."
Steve McManaman nodded, observing Tristan closely as the young midfielder began making sharp movements between Trabzonspor’s defensive lines. "Exactly, Darren. Pearson’s clearly sent his men out with instructions to dominate possession early. With Tristan returning tonight alongside Mahrez and Lingard, Leicester look set to attack from the first whistle."
The crowd hummed with anticipation as the ball was quickly moved forward. De Laet and Mahrez exchanged neat, rapid passes on the right flank, drawing appreciative murmurs from the stands as Leicester pushed into Trabzonspor territory. But each forward pass met the firm resistance of Trabzonspor’s compact defensive shape.
In the fourth minute, Cambiasso threaded a neat pass through the midfield, finding Tristan with his back to goal, closely shadowed by Ekici. Immediately, the Turkish midfielder lunged in, attempting to steal possession, but Tristan calmly shielded the ball, rolling it away from pressure.
“Lovely skill from Tristan there,” Darren admired. “Two men around him, yet he’s kept it effortlessly.”
Tristan twisted swiftly, feinted to his left, drawing Carl Medjani off-balance, then darted sharply to his right. A roar surged through the stands—but Kévin Constant stepped forward, blocking his path. With no immediate forward option, Tristan calmly laid the ball back to Lingard, resetting the play.
"Good defensive cover from Trabzonspor," Steve noted. "But they’re clearly wary of Tristan—double marking him every chance they get."
In Tristan's parents' living room, Barbara nervously bit her lip, eyes fixed on the television. Julia, noticing Barbara's slight tension, gently patted her knee.
“He’s fine, dear,” Julia assured her warmly. “Tristan thrives in games like these. Always has.”
Barbara gave a small, nervous laugh. “I know. It’s just different, watching instead of being there.”
Ling smiled knowingly from his chair. “You get used to it, trust me.”
On the pitch, Leicester maintained relentless pressure. Cambiasso, ever composed, continued directing traffic, linking neatly with Lingard and Mahrez as they sought openings in Trabzonspor’s disciplined backline. The visitors responded by tightening further, determined to avoid another embarrassment after their home defeat.
In the twelfth minute, Mahrez found space out wide. He whipped a dangerous cross into the area, and Vardy rose powerfully, heading towards goal.
"Vardy rises—!" Darren called excitedly, but Joleon Lescott expertly anticipated, heading it clear at the last second.
Steve shook his head, impressed. "Vital defending from Lescott. Leicester getting closer, though."
Tristan adjusted his positioning again, continuously glancing across the defensive line, analyzing gaps. He exhaled, communicating quickly to Lingard. “Jesse—try to find me earlier. They’re doubling down every time.”
Lingard nodded firmly, chest heaving slightly. "Got it."
As the clock ticked past twenty minutes, Trabzonspor finally had a chance. Yumlu spotted Cardozo making a run and launched a precise pass. Cardozo controlled beautifully, turning smoothly to shoot—but Morgan lunged in decisively, deflecting the effort wide.
"Important intervention from Morgan there," Darren remarked, clearly relieved. "Captain leading by example again."
Back at the house, Barbara let out a relieved breath, leaning back into the couch. Ling chuckled softly. “That’s our captain. He doesn’t make mistakes.”
Barbara smiled slightly, relaxing again.
On the pitch, frustration began to grow amongst Leicester’s attackers. Tristan, constantly under close watch, felt Trabzonspor’s physicality every time he received the ball. Yet, he kept his cool, searching patiently for openings, his eyes constantly scanning for an inch of space to exploit.
In the 25th minute, he finally saw an opening. Lingard slid a quick ball into Tristan’s feet at the edge of the box. Immediately, Medjani and Ekici closed in. Without hesitation, Tristan flicked the ball first-time with the outside of his boot into Mahrez’s path, sending the winger down the flank.
"Brilliant pass from Tristan!" Darren exclaimed. "Mahrez is away!"
Mahrez raced forward, cutting sharply into the box, firing a fierce low shot—but goalkeeper Onur reacted quickly, making a vital save with his outstretched leg.
"Oh, superb goalkeeping," Steve admired. "Trabzonspor’s keeper keeping his team alive."
Tristan clenched his jaw in frustration but clapped encouragingly towards Mahrez. "Next one, Riyad!"
Pearson shouted instructions from the sideline, urging calmness. "Patience! Keep your composure!"
The first half continued in similar fashion, Leicester dominating possession yet unable to breach Trabzonspor’s disciplined rearguard. Every attack ended with a desperate block, a crucial tackle, or a fingertip save, the tension inside the King Power Stadium rising noticeably with each passing minute.
By halftime, the score remained goalless. The players walked off to polite applause mixed with slight anxiety from the home fans.
Inside Tristan’s parents’ living room, Barbara let out a frustrated sigh. "They’re so close… they just need one breakthrough."
Julia smiled reassuringly. "It’ll come, sweetheart. Tristan always finds a way."
Back in the dressing room, Pearson’s voice echoed clearly. “Keep calm. The goal is coming. Trust the plan.”
The players nodded, refocusing, prepared to seize control in the second half.
As the teams emerged for the second half, Darren spoke again, setting the tone. “Still nil-nil, Steve, but surely Leicester’s pressure will eventually pay off?”
Steve nodded firmly. "Absolutely. The question is who’ll break first. With Tristan on the pitch, it feels like just a matter of time."
Barbara, curled up comfortably, felt her heartbeat quicken again as Tristan appeared back on the screen, jogging onto the pitch with confidence.
She whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else, "Come on, Tristan."
Julia smiled gently beside her, understanding exactly how she felt.
And with another whistle, the second half began.
The whistle echoed sharply through the King Power Stadium, signaling the start of the second half. Leicester immediately surged forward, their intentions clear.
Right from the restart, Leicester's urgency intensified. Cambiasso dictated the midfield rhythm, neatly sliding passes through tight gaps, drawing applause from the home supporters. Tristan moved fluidly, exchanging quick one-twos with Lingard, trying to unlock Trabzonspor's stubborn lines.
In the 54th minute, the breakthrough finally arrived.
Cambiasso received the ball just inside Leicester’s half, calmly scanning the pitch before feeding it neatly to Tristan, who stood poised at the heart of midfield. Tristan immediately felt Fatih Atik and Ekici closing him down, but this time, he acted instantly, threading a delicate pass through their midfield into Mahrez's stride out wide.
"Mahrez now—he’s got space ahead!" Darren called out, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Riyad collected the ball elegantly, eyes flickering upward. He saw defenders closing in, but instead of releasing it, he surged forward, stepping past Medjani with a quick shift of his hips, leaving the defender stumbling in confusion.
"Mahrez beats one—now another! Riyad Mahrez still going!" Steve cried, practically rising from his seat as Mahrez twisted past Mustafa Yumlu, the crowd roaring their encouragement, louder with every defender left behind.
Inside the living room, Barbara was at the edge of her seat, fingers curled tightly around her mug. "Go on, Riyad," she whispered urgently.
Julia smiled, feeling the same excitement. "He’s almost there…"
Mahrez cut inside sharply, shifting the ball onto his left foot, eyes locked on goal. With one final touch, he faked to shoot, sending Kevin Constant sprawling to the ground. The stadium collectively held its breath—
Then, without hesitation, Mahrez fired.
“MAHREZ—OH, THAT IS BRILLIANT!” Darren’s voice exploded with raw excitement as the ball curled beautifully, nestling into the far corner, beyond the despairing dive of Onur.
The King Power Stadium erupted, a wave of pure jubilation rippling through every stand. Mahrez wheeled away, arms outstretched, sliding on his knees, teammates sprinting to pile onto him in celebration.
"Unbelievable!" Steve declared, laughter evident in his voice. "Riyad Mahrez dances through three defenders and sends the King Power wild! That was magic from the Algerian wizard."
On the pitch, Tristan raced over to Mahrez, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, grinning widely. "Ridiculous, mate! You didn't need me this time?"
Riyad laughed breathlessly, returning the grin. "Had to show you how it’s done."
Barbara relaxed, finally letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding. Julia gave her a playful nudge, eyes bright with excitement. "Feeling better?"
Barbara nodded, smiling warmly. "Much."
But Leicester weren't done.
The goal energized the Foxes, who quickly seized full control. Trabzonspor began to unravel, their disciplined shape starting to fracture under the relentless pressure.
In the 63rd minute, Leicester struck again.
This time, Tristan received possession deeper in midfield, quickly scanning for openings. Spotting Vardy’s perfectly timed run, he threaded a sensational pass through Trabzonspor’s entire defensive line.
"Magnificent pass from Tristan—Vardy is through!" Darren shouted, the tension rising rapidly.
Vardy took the ball in stride, steadied himself, and fired—
But Onur rushed out brilliantly, parrying the shot with an instinctive save!
Barbara groaned softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "How did he miss that?"
But Leicester weren’t finished yet. Mahrez quickly seized the loose ball, swiftly turning back inside, looking for support. He danced gracefully, drawing two defenders toward him before sliding a clever, disguised pass into the path of Lingard, who arrived at full sprint into the box.
"Lingard’s got a chance—HE SHOOTS!" Darren roared, excitement palpable.
Jesse struck the ball cleanly, low and hard, tucking it neatly past the outstretched arm of the keeper into the bottom corner.
"AND THERE IT IS—LINGARD SCORES! LEICESTER CITY DOUBLE THEIR LEAD!"
Lingard sprinted toward the corner flag, pumping his fist triumphantly, the King Power Stadium roaring in approval.
Steve laughed appreciatively. "Fantastic teamwork, Darren! First Tristan, then Mahrez, and Lingard finishes brilliantly. Leicester have taken control!"
Barbara laughed softly, clapping her hands in relief. Julia smiled brightly, eyes fixed proudly on the screen.
On the pitch, Tristan embraced Lingard warmly. "Great run, Jesse," he praised, eyes twinkling with satisfaction. Lingard laughed, breathless but buzzing.
"Couldn't miss with a pass like that," Jesse replied.
From that moment, Trabzonspor seemed broken. Leicester continued pressing relentlessly, dictating the tempo, as the visitors' resistance faltered, frustration and fatigue clearly creeping into their ranks.
By the 80th minute, Leicester put the game completely out of reach.
Tristan, again pulling strings in midfield, exchanged passes beautifully with Cambiasso and Mahrez. He received the ball outside the area, spun elegantly, and drove a crisp pass straight into Vardy’s stride.
This time, Jamie didn’t hesitate.
One touch to set himself—
A powerful strike—
BANG!
The ball rifled into the top corner, sending King Power Stadium into delirium.
"VARDY SCORES! A brilliant strike—and once again, Tristan creates magic from nothing!" Darren yelled, adrenaline surging through every word.
Steve exhaled in disbelief. "What a performance from Tristan. Every time he touches the ball, something special happens."
Barbara shook her head slowly, awe etched across her face as she watched the replay. "He’s incredible."
Julia squeezed Barbara’s hand gently. "That’s our boy."
With the final whistle echoing moments later, the stadium erupted once more, celebrating Leicester's emphatic 3-0 victory. Tristan, Mahrez, and Lingard exchanged triumphant smiles as they walked off the pitch together, arms slung around each other's shoulders.
Darren concluded dramatically, excitement still resonating in his voice. "A magnificent victory for Leicester City! They march confidently onward in the Europa League.”
Barbara settled back into the couch, smiling contentedly, warmth flooding her chest as Julia and Ling began enthusiastically discussing the highlights.
This day was perfect.
The 3-0 victory over Trabzonspor was decisive, and the atmosphere buzzed with pride and satisfaction. Players clapped appreciatively toward the fans, acknowledging the scarves waving in rhythmic celebration from the stands.
Tristan exhaled heavily, brushing a damp curl off his forehead, fatigue clear on his face as teammates approached him, exchanging quick pats on the back and exhausted smiles.
Tristan walked off the pitch, breathing deeply as the Sky Sports crew swiftly approached him, Mahrez, Vardy, and Lingard, the microphone quickly set up for Darren to begin the post-match interview.
"Well, Tristan," Darren began enthusiastically, turning first to Leicester's standout number twenty-two, "your first European game back after your short rest, and you immediately make an impact with another assist and a commanding performance. How are you feeling after that?"
"Tired," Tristan said honestly, letting out a soft laugh, "but good. It was great to be back out there. The boys made it easy, especially Mahrez and Lingard tonight. Their goals really gave us the control we needed."
Darren turned toward Mahrez, who was still breathing a bit heavily, smiling brightly. "Riyad, talk us through your goal—absolutely brilliant."
Mahrez grinned, clearly pleased. "Honestly, Darren, I saw the defenders hesitating, so I decided to take a chance. Tristan drew players away, and once I cut inside, I knew I had the space. Thankfully, it went in."
"Beautifully taken," Darren said warmly. "Jamie, another tireless performance tonight.Another goal tonight for you. How important is having Tristan back behind you?"
Vardy chuckled, nodding toward Tristan. "Massive. When he's there, defenders panic. They don’t know whether to step up or sit back. He makes life easy for us attackers."
Darren then turned to Jesse Lingard, who had scored Leicester's crucial second goal. "Jesse, coming off the bench tonight and making an immediate difference. Talk us through that goal from your perspective."
Lingard smiled, the joy evident on his face. "It felt great, honestly. I saw Riyad shaping for the cross, so I just got into position. He put the ball exactly where I needed it, all I had to do was get good contact. Great feeling, especially in front of the home fans."
Darren chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Fantastic strike. Nigel Pearson will be delighted with your impact off the bench."
Lingard nodded humbly. "I’m just happy I could help the team get the win. We all knew how important tonight was."
Darren then looked back to Tristan. "Your stats tonight were impressive once again—let’s quickly take a look."
Tristan Hale vs. Trabzonspor (Europa League):
🅰️ 1 Assist (Corner, 64’)
🎯 90% Pass Accuracy
🧙♂️ 6 Key Passes
⚡ 5 Dribbles Completed
🎯 4 Shots (2 on Target)
⭐ Match Rating: 8.8 (Man of the Match)
"And let's quickly acknowledge your teammates as well," Darren added.
Riyad Mahrez:
⚽ 1 Goal (58’)
🎯 85% Pass Accuracy
🧙♂️ 3 Key Passes
⚡ 4 Dribbles Completed
🎯 3 Shots (2 on Target)
⭐ Match Rating: 8.2
Jesse Lingard (subbed in, 60’):
⚽ 1 Goal (64’)
🎯 88% Pass Accuracy
⚡ 2 Dribbles Completed
🎯 2 Shots (1 on Target)
⭐ Match Rating: 8.1
Jamie Vardy:
⚽ 1 Goal (80’)
🎯 82% Pass Accuracy
🧙♂️ 2 Key Passes
⚡ 1 Dribble Completed
🎯 2 Shots (1 on Target)
⭐ Match Rating: 8.1
Tristan adjusted his posture, his expression focused but confident. "Yeah, the boys were brilliant tonight. Lingard came in fresh, gave us exactly what we needed. Big performance."
"Now Tristan," Darren continued, "everyone’s eyes are now turning to that huge match against Southampton at the weekend. Does this win tonight set you up perfectly?"
Tristan ran a hand through his curls, exhaling slowly. "Absolutely. Southampton's been fantastic this season—organized, aggressive, really tough to beat. The media’s calling it a battle of dark horses, and honestly, that's fair. But we’ll be ready. Games like this build confidence, and we know we can compete with anyone. Tonight proves it."
Darren nodded, addressing the camera with enthusiasm. “Well, there you have it. Leicester City—dominant in Europe and now turning their sights back to the Premier League. The stage is set for a showdown between two dark horses this weekend. You won’t want to miss it.”
…………
6685 word count, not counting this end section
Tired as fuck but I enjoyed writing the last few chapters; I really liked it and I hope you did as well
Peace
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SINBAD.... thank you
