January 11, 2014, Saturday afternoon.
The King Power Stadium was alive with anticipation. More than 20,000 Leicester fans had packed the stands, turning the seats into a sea of blue. Their chants echoed through the crisp evening air, a deafening show of support that made it clear—they expected nothing less than a win tonight.
Tristan sat among the substitutes, his Leicester City jacket zipped up to his neck, eyes scanning the roaring crowd.
Up in the commentary booth, veteran broadcaster Gary Hewitt adjusted his headset as he glanced at the teams lining up on the pitch.
"Welcome to the King Power Stadium, where Leicester City host Derby County in this crucial Championship fixture," Hewitt announced, his voice cutting through the crowd noise for those watching from home.
Beside him, former player-turned-commentator Chris Baines scanned the team sheets. "Nigel Pearson keeps faith in the same starting eleven that beat Millwall last week. No surprises there."
The camera panned to the Leicester bench, stopping on Tristan, who sat with his hands tucked into his sleeves. He felt the shift in attention before he even saw the screen, and instinctively, he looked up. Without thinking, he flashed a small, relaxed smile.
"And there's an interesting name on the bench tonight," Hewitt noted. "Eighteen-year-old Tristan makes his first league squad appearance after that brilliant FA Cup showing against Stoke."
Baines let out a short chuckle. "Yeah, and judging by that smile, he doesn't seem too nervous about it. But let's see if he gets minutes tonight—Championship football is a different beast from cup games."
Tristan wasn't sure why, but he found himself grinning. He wasn't even on the pitch yet, and somehow, they were already talking about him.
His teammates stretched, some bouncing on their toes to stay loose. The starters were dialed in, focused on the task ahead. This was a big match—Leicester sat top of the table, but the promotion race was tight. Derby County were fourth, hungry to close the gap.
Hewitt glanced at his notes. "Derby won the reverse fixture 1-0 earlier this season, but Leicester are a different side now. Unbeaten in six, home crowd behind them, momentum on their side. Should be a good one."
Tristan sat back, rolling his shoulders. He wasn't in the starting lineup, but that didn't matter. His time would come. When it did, he'd be ready.
The sharp blast of the referee's whistle cut through the noise, signaling kickoff. Leicester and Derby were officially underway, and from the first pass, it was clear this match wouldn't lack intensity.
"Leicester City in their usual aggressive start," Hewitt noted from the commentary booth. "They know Derby's coming off a 1-0 loss to Wigan and will be looking to bounce back."
"Yeah, but this Leicester side is flying," Baines added. "They're top of the table for a reason, and right now, this crowd is giving them an extra gear."
The chants of the home fans filled the King Power, a rhythmic chorus of "Foxes, go!" pulsing through the stadium like a heartbeat.
On the pitch, Vardy and Nugent wasted no time making their presence felt. Vardy, all speed and tenacity, darted between defenders like a shadow that couldn't be caught. Nugent, Leicester's top scorer, used his physicality to bully the Derby backline, holding up play, linking up attacks, and looking every bit the clinical finisher that had bagged him 12 goals this season.
Tristan watched from the bench, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the action. The sheer speed of the game, the precision of every movement, every pass, every decision—it was addicting. His fingers twitched at his sides, already imagining what it would feel like to be out there, to hear the ball at his feet, to be part of this controlled chaos.
He caught Vardy's gaze from across the pitch, and the striker winked at him before turning back to the game. Tristan smirked, shaking his head. Even in the middle of battle, Vardy found time for mischief.
The cross came in perfectly, and Nugent rose above his marker, meeting the ball with a thundering header that crashed into the back of the net.
The King Power erupted. The roar of 20,000 voices shook the stadium, a wall of sound that Tristan could feel in his chest.
"Leicester take the lead!" Hewitt called as Nugent wheeled away in celebration, fists clenched, face alight with triumph.
Tristan shot to his feet along with the rest of the bench, hands raised, grinning as his teammates mobbed the goal scorer. He high-fived Mahrez beside him celebrating.
"That's Nugent's 13th goal of the season, and what a time to get it!" Baines said, barely audible over the still-cheering crowd.
The first half continued with Leicester firmly in control, and when the halftime whistle blew, they jogged off leading 1-0. The energy in the locker room matched that of the stands—charged, electric.
"Brilliant first half, lads," Pearson said, his voice carrying through the room. "We've completely overwhelmed them. Keep that pressure up."
There were nods and murmurs of agreement as the team settled in, discussing adjustments for the second half. Tristan listened intently, absorbing everything. He wasn't on the pitch yet, but he felt like he was already part of the fight.
When play resumed, Leicester picked up right where they left off. Drinkwater, dictating the tempo from midfield, controlled the game with ease. Derby tried to push forward, but Leicester's press was relentless.
Then, in the 65th minute—
Drinkwater found himself in space and unleashed a shot from distance. The ball swerved past the outstretched keeper and into the net. Dıscover more novels at ɴovelfire.net
"WHAT A STRIKE! DRINKWATER MAKES IT TWO!" Hewitt's voice rang out as the stadium exploded once again.
On the bench, Tristan barely had time to celebrate before he heard his name.
He was already moving before Pearson finished speaking.
Tristan and Mahrez were on their feet instantly, jogging to the sidelines as the cameras zeroed in on them. Tristan slipped on an orange training vest, rolling his shoulders, the nerves mixing with adrenaline.
The crowd noticed. A wave of cheers rippled through the stadium, voices calling his name, welcoming him into the moment.
"Leicester City making their first changes of the night," Hewitt remarked as movement stirred on the sideline. "And listen to that reaction—the fans know exactly who's coming on."
The stadium's big screen flickered, zooming in on Tristan as he stretched on the sidelines. A wave of applause swept through the King Power, a mixture of excitement and expectation.
Mahrez, standing beside him, smirked. "Crowd's got your back already," he said, rolling his shoulders.
Tristan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "They'll be cheering for you soon enough." He gave Mahrez a knowing look. "Trust me."
Pearson stood by the touchline, signaling them over. "Alright, Tristan," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Slot in behind Nugent, play off him when you can."
Tristan nodded, absorbing the instructions.
"Mahrez," Pearson continued, shifting his focus. "You'll be out wide, keep stretching them."
Mahrez grinned. "Got it."
As the fourth official raised the substitution board, the roar of the home crowd grew. Tristan took a deep breath.
He stepped forward, the bright lights of the stadium bathing the pitch, the cheers ringing in his ears.
His first league appearance.