England's Greatest

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Tristan's dominant performance in the away match against Leeds United sent ripples through the football world, sparking widespread discussions across social media, newspapers, and magazines. At just eighteen years old, he was more than just a player with striking good looks—he was a footballing prodigy, and his meteoric rise was becoming impossible to ignore. Though the Championship was technically the second tier of English football, it was renowned for its intensity, often considered one of the most competitive leagues in Europe. Tristan's rapid ascent within this fiercely competitive environment only highlighted his extraordinary talent.

Following the match, Tristan became the face of the sports pages across countless media outlets. Fans, pundits, and analysts couldn't stop talking about him, dissecting his every move on the pitch with a blend of awe and admiration. Whether watching from home or roaring from the stands, those who witnessed his performance came to a unanimous conclusion: Tristan was a name the football world should watch closely. His performance had been electric—his vision, assists, and crucial goals had helped lead his team to victory, cementing his status as a rising star even though he was yet to earn a regular starting spot at Leicester City.

The next morning, The Leicester Mercury captured the moment perfectly, with a front-page photo of Tristan celebrating, arms outstretched, surrounded by the fans' adulation. The bold headline simply read, "Genius!" in large, striking letters, perfectly encapsulating the excitement that had swept through the city.

Inside the newspaper, two full pages were dedicated to Tristan. The article charted his journey, from his days as a promising youth player to his breakout performances in the FA Cup and his recent promotion to Leicester City's first team, where his appearances off the bench were already making an impact. Football experts gave in-depth analyses of Tristan's playing style, praising his exceptional vision, his sharp positional awareness, and his ability to dictate the tempo of the game with his intelligent passing. The coverage was comprehensive, marking him as a talent on the verge of greatness.

The paper also engaged its readers in a fan poll, asking them to predict how many assists and goals Tristan would accumulate by the end of the season, with the promise of a year's free subscription to the newspaper for the winner. This interactive element not only generated more buzz but also strengthened the community's connection to their team's rising star.

Meanwhile, at Belvoir Drive, Leicester's training base, the atmosphere in the massage room was one of ease and camaraderie. Players, including Tristan and Mahrez, were stretched out on massage beds, recovering from a taxing training session. The room was filled with the sounds of laughter and light-hearted banter, the relaxed vibe a stark contrast to the intensity of the pitch. As Tristan lay back, savoring the skilled hands of the physiotherapist working on his sore thighs, he closed his eyes, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation.

But his peace was short-lived as Mahrez shattered the silence. 

"Hey, man! Did you see the Mercury yesterday? You're on the cover!"

Tristan kept his eyes shut, lying back on the massage table, pretending to be indifferent. "Nah, didn't get the chance. But my parents bought a copy this morning and called to tell me." His voice was calm, betraying none of the thrill bubbling beneath the surface.

Mahrez, undeterred, stared at him in disbelief. "You didn't read it? How are you so calm about this? I'd be losing it!" He threw his arms up for emphasis, clearly expecting more of a reaction.

"It's just a headline," Tristan replied with a casual shrug, though inside, his heart was racing. He had already asked his mum to save the paper as a keepsake. This was his first time gracing the front page of a newspaper—a milestone that, despite his best efforts, filled him with pride.

Mahrez squinted at him, clearly suspicious of Tristan's cool facade. "Just a headline?" he repeated, smirking. "Mate, you're on the front page! And you're still acting like it's no big deal?"

Tristan forced a chuckle. "It's not a trophy, Riyad," he said, brushing it off again, even as the thought of his face on the front page sent a rush of excitement through him. He wanted to appear grounded in front of his teammates, but deep down, he was buzzing.

"You're too chill, man." Mahrez shook his head with a laugh before pulling out his phone. "By the way, how many followers do you have now? Twitter's going mad!"

"I wouldn't know," Tristan said, his voice nonchalant. "I don't have Twitter on my phone."

Mahrez almost dropped his phone in shock. "What? You don't have Twitter? You're a footballer in 2014, not 1994, bro!"

"Social media's just a distraction," Tristan shrugged, enjoying Mahrez's disbelief. "I just keep my phone for calls, team chats, and music. That's all I need."

Mahrez blinked at him as though Tristan had just announced he was moving to the moon. "You don't know what you're missing, man," he said, scrolling through his phone. "Fans are losing it on the club's official page. Wanna see?"

"Sure, why not?" Tristan raised an eyebrow, mildly intrigued.

Mahrez handed him his phone, and Tristan scanned the comments on Leicester City's official Twitter. The sheer volume of support was overwhelming.

"Tristan is the next midfield maestro!" one comment read.

"Let him start, coach!" said another.

"He deserves more playing time!" someone else chimed in, followed by similar demands from fans clearly eager to see more of him.

Tristan felt a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. The buzz around his recent performances was starting to build, and he couldn't help but feel the warmth of the fans' praise. One comment, however, made his eyes widen—a tweet from Gary Lineker himself, the legendary Leicester City and England striker.

"Tristan is the most creative midfielder Leicester has seen in years! From today, I'm a fan," the comment read, amassing thousands of likes and retweets.

For a moment, Tristan was speechless. Lineker's words hit him harder than he expected. This was a man whose name was synonymous with football greatness, praising him. He handed the phone back to Mahrez, a bit dazed but hiding his excitement behind a composed exterior.

"Man, you've got Lineker backing you now! You've officially made it!" Mahrez said, slapping him on the shoulder, his pride for his teammate obvious.

"Yeah, well," Tristan handed back the phone with a calm smile, "it's just social media. I've got to keep my focus on the pitch."

Mahrez nodded. "True, true. But don't play it down too much. This is your moment, mate. Time to shine!"

Just then, Wes Morgan, the team's captain, wandered in, catching the end of their conversation. "What's all this?" he asked, his booming voice making both players look up. "Pretty boy over here trending on Twitter again?"

"Yup," Mahrez confirmed, grinning. "Front page, Twitter blowing up—he's the new face of Leicester!"

Tristan chuckled as Wes walked over, looking amused. "Just don't let it get to your head, kid," Morgan said, though there was no real sting in his words. He clapped Tristan on the back, his usual encouraging, captain-like demeanor showing. "You've still got a lot to prove on the pitch."

"Don't worry, Cap," Tristan replied confidently. "I'm not letting anything distract me."

As Mahrez headed off to the training pitch, another player—Danny Drinkwater—strolled in, catching onto the teasing mood. "Oi, Ling!" he called out, using Tristan's nickname. "Don't let all that pretty boy hype make you soft on the ball!"

Tristan laughed. "I've been watching you long enough, Drinkwater. I'll keep my passes tight!"

"Better," Danny winked. "Don't need you making me look bad out there."

More players filed in, the air buzzing with friendly banter, each one chipping in with playful digs at Tristan's newfound fame. Some of the older players recounted their own early days of hype, and others, like Vardy, just smirked from the sidelines, clearly enjoying watching the younger player get ribbed by the veterans.

"Alright, enough chit-chat, lads!" Coach Pearson called out from the doorway. "Let's get this session started!"

Tristan felt a surge of energy as he got up from the massage table. His body felt loose, ready to tackle the day's drills. The jokes and teasing had eased his nerves, but also reminded him that he was still earning his place in this tight-knit group.

As the training session began, Tristan threw himself into the drills, focused and determined. His passes were crisp, his first touch smooth, and his movements sharp. The banter faded into the background as the sound of boots hitting the ball and shouts of "Man on!" filled the air.

After practice, while everyone headed to the showers, Tristan found himself lingering by his locker, Mahrez beside him again. "So," Mahrez started, his tone more serious now, "you gonna set up a Twitter account or what? The fans are waiting."

Tristan hesitated for a second, then smirked. "Alright, I'll bite. Why not? Might as well see what all the fuss is about."

It didn't take long before Tristan had a Twitter account set up. He chose "Tristan_22" as his handle and used a photo his mum had taken of him for the profile pic. As soon as the account was live, Mahrez tweeted out the link with a thumbs-up emoji.

Within minutes, Tristan's phone buzzed with notifications. "Wow, these people don't sleep, do they?" he muttered, watching his follower count rise rapidly.

"You're officially on the map now, mate," Mahrez said with a grin, before snapping a quick selfie of the two of them. "For your first tweet."

Tristan rolled his eyes but smiled as Mahrez posted the picture with the caption: "Massage with the new prince of Leicester!"

The replies flooded in instantly. Tristan laughed at some of the comments questioning whether the account was really his. So, in true footballer style, he snapped another selfie, making a V-sign, and tweeted: "Yep, it's me!"

The notifications continued to roll in, but one comment caught his eye—a message from Lineker himself. "Welcome to the game, Tristan. Keep it up!"

For a second, Tristan couldn't believe it. He had never imagined he'd get a personal reply from someone like Gary Lineker. He quickly responded with a simple, "Thank you! I'll keep working hard," feeling a genuine rush of pride.