England's Greatest

[God, we're finally done with this stupid awards show bullshit. The Chinese novel had like 6 chapters for this shit; dude was dragging it. Anyway, check out the Patreon, there's 44 advance chapters there with daily chapters, and drop some power stones, comment and review if you guys want to, trying to hit 200 power stones this week again.] 

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Though this newfound precision gave him confidence, Tristan knew better than to think it was a guaranteed goal every time. Long shots were never just about technique; they were also influenced by various attributes like [Shot Power], [Long Shot], [Finish], and [Curve]. His stats were good but not yet outstanding. His [Shot Power] was decent but not overwhelming, his [Finish] solid but still needing refinement. In fact, only his [Curve] had yet to surpass the 80-point mark.

But that didn't bother Tristan. Not at all. Just knowing that he could now confidently take long-range shots gave him immense satisfaction. It felt like a new weapon had been added to his growing arsenal, something that could change games in an instant, though not always. Sometimes effective, sometimes not—long shots were like that.

Yet Tristan liked the idea. In this season, most of his goals had come from short-range finishes or positioning himself perfectly in the box to capitalize on crosses. He had rarely attempted long-range shots, fearing inaccuracy or missing the target completely. Now, things would be different. He could stay outside the penalty box and still pose a significant threat to the goal.

He grinned at the thought.

Of course, Tristan knew that long shots were like life—unpredictable. Even the best shooters missed more often than they scored. But all it took was one clean strike, one perfect moment, to make the difference. He thought about the times he'd seen incredible goals scored from distance, how the ball would float almost majestically before swerving into the top corner. If he could replicate even a fraction of that, it would be worth the attempts.

That night, Tristan fell into a deep sleep, content with the progress he had made. In his dreams, he saw himself playing in the Premier League, taking on the giants of the league with audacious long-range shots. He could almost feel the thud of the ball leaving his boot, hear the roar of the crowd as the net bulged behind a helpless goalkeeper.

The following day, Tristan and his family spent some time in London. They strolled along the bustling streets, visited a few familiar spots, and enjoyed a pleasant afternoon. Yet, as much as they loved the city, there was always something that drew them back to Leicester. London was an exciting place, but Leicester was home.

After a few days, they reluctantly made their way back. Tristan had enjoyed the brief respite, but he had bigger things on his mind now.

Upon returning, Tristan received a call from Jorge Mendes, his agent. Originally, Tristan had decided against attending the PFA Awards ceremony. After all, he hadn't been nominated for any of the major awards, and he knew his chances were slim at best.

Mendes, however, had other ideas.

"Listen, Tristan," Mendes said firmly over the phone. "I know you're not up for any of the big awards this year, but that's not the point. You're going to make waves in this league sooner or later, and the PFA is all about relationships. If you get an invitation and don't show up, it'll leave a bad impression. Next time, even if you're a serious contender, people might overlook you. This is about building connections, showing your face, and playing the long game."

Tristan understood. Football wasn't just about performance on the pitch; it was also about navigating the politics of the sport. "Alright, Jorge. I'll go," Tristan agreed. "You're right. Can't hurt to make an appearance."

Satisfied, Mendes arranged everything.

With the decision made, Tristan sought permission from his head coach, Nigel Pearson, to attend the ceremony. Pearson, understanding the importance of the event, agreed without hesitation. "Take the day, Tristan. You've earned it."

Tristan prepared himself for the trip, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. The PFA awards ceremony was a huge deal, and even though he wasn't a Premier League player just yet, his performances in the Championship had earned him some recognition.

April 27, 2014, was a day that would go down in Premier League history, though not for the reasons Tristan initially thought. As he arrived at the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, the atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation. That night, Liverpool and Chelsea were set to clash in one of the most crucial matches of the season.

While Tristan was getting ready for the ceremony, over at Anfield, the hopes of thousands of Liverpool fans rested on the shoulders of their captain, Steven Gerrard. If Liverpool could manage a draw, they would keep their title hopes alive. Everyone knew it was theirs to lose.

But destiny had other plans.

During the match, Gerrard famously slipped at a critical moment, allowing Chelsea's Demba Ba to score and ultimately sinking Liverpool's title aspirations. By the time the PFA awards ceremony began, word of the slip had spread like wildfire, and it quickly became the main topic of conversation among the players and guests in attendance.

Tristan, sitting at a table among Premier League stars, could overhear the murmurs and discussions about Gerrard's misfortune.

"He'll never live that down," one player said, shaking his head.

"It's a shame. He's carried them all season," another responded.

Tristan silently agreed. In his eyes, Gerrard couldn't be blamed entirely for Liverpool's failure. The slip was unfortunate, but it didn't erase everything Gerrard had done to get Liverpool into the title race in the first place. Football could be cruel like that.

His thoughts, however, were soon interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hey, Tristan," called a man's voice. Tristan turned to see Eden Hazard, the Chelsea star, approaching his table. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Of course, go ahead," Tristan replied, surprised that Hazard had remembered him. They'd only faced each other once, in an FA Cup match, but apparently, Tristan had made enough of an impression.

As Hazard took a seat, he gestured towards the two players sitting with him. "These are my mates—Luke Shaw and Aaron Ramsey."

Tristan extended his hand, shaking both of theirs. He knew Shaw was being hailed as the next great English left-back, while Ramsey had established himself as a key player for Arsenal. Both were young, like him, but already making waves in the Premier League.

Ramsey, however, seemed to take a particular interest in Tristan. "I've heard about you," he said. "Wenger wanted to bring you to Arsenal during the winter transfer window, didn't he?"

Tristan nodded. "Yeah, but I ended up staying at Leicester. We had a good thing going, and I wanted to see it through."

Ramsey smiled, nodding in understanding. "Makes sense. You'll be in the Premier League next season anyway. We'll meet soon enough."

Hazard leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with amusement. "You know," he said, smirking slightly, "you might've dodged a bullet there. Arsenal had a bit of an injury crisis this season. You'd have been thrown right into the deep end."

Tristan chuckled. "Maybe. But I wouldn't have minded the challenge."

As the evening progressed, Tristan couldn't help but feel slightly out of place. He was still technically a Championship player, sitting among some of the best talents in the Premier League. Even though he had won two individual awards in the Championship, there was an undeniable divide between where he was now and where he wanted to be.

However, conversations with players like Hazard, Shaw, and Ramsey helped ease that feeling.

As the night wound down, the Premier League Player of the Year award was announced. Unsurprisingly, it went to Luis Suárez, whose incredible season with Liverpool had cemented his place as one of the world's best.

Tristan applauded along with everyone else, feeling a mix of admiration and motivation. Watching Suárez lift that trophy, Tristan knew one thing for sure—this was where he wanted to be. Not just attending the ceremony, but on that stage, winning awards, proving himself among the best.

When the ceremony finally ended, Tristan stepped outside into the cool London night. The city was still alive, buzzing with activity, but in his mind, the only thing he could think about was playing in the Premier League.