readytorunbook Chapter 126: Man United - The Crumpling Giant 3 (End)
Chapter 126: Man United - The Crumpling Giant 3 (End)
Chapter 126 - Man United - The Crumpling Giant 3 (End)[Check out the Patreon, I think there's like 51 advance Chapters there with daily Chapters, and drop some power stones, comment and review if you guys want to, trying to hit 1300 power stones this week. Also please read the end notes, they are kind of important as I get questions asked that are answered there.]
[Had to delete the Chapter to fix a few mistakes due to some errors when I was pasting this Chapter from Patreon. So I'm gonna need them paragraph comments back. ????]
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The tunnel was filled with tension as the players walked out for the second half. The sound of boots clacking against the concrete floor mixed with the distant roar of the King Power Stadium, where thousands of fans waited, eager for more.
For most of the players, it was just another half of football. For Tristan Hale and Robin van Persie?
It had become deeply personal.
Van Persie had been waiting for this moment.
Forty-five minutes. That's how long he had spent chasing shadows, watching a 19-year-old midfielder tear apart his team. Two goals. An assist. A goal-line clearance that had robbed him of a certain goal.
Van Persie, a former Golden Boot winner, one of the most lethal strikers in Europe, had been outshined—by a kid.
And that didn't sit right with him.
The Dutchman edged closer, walking just beside Tristan as they made their way toward the tunnel exit. His voice was low, laced with frustration.
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
Tristan didn't flinch. He turned his head slightly, looking at Van Persie with an expression that was calm, confident, dangerous.
"That all you've got?" Tristan's voice was steady, unreadable.
Van Persie's jaw tightened.
"You think this game is over?"
Tristan exhaled sharply through his nose, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.
"I don't think. I know."
He paused just long enough to let it sink in, then added, almost as an afterthought—
"And by the way... I have more goals than you this season. And I don't even play striker."
Van Persie stopped walking.
The words hit harder than any tackle.
Tristan could feel the frustration rolling off him, the barely contained anger, the bruised ego. The tension between them was razor-sharp, one wrong word away from exploding.
Before it could escalate further, a firm hand pressed against Tristan's chest.
Wes Morgan.
The Leicester captain knew exactly where this was heading, and he wasn't about to let his young star get dragged into something stupid.
"That's enough, calm down," Morgan muttered under his breath, his tone warning.
Tristan didn't argue, but he also didn't back down. His stare remained locked onto Van Persie for a second longer before he finally took a step back.
A few feet away, Wayne Rooney grabbed Van Persie by the arm.
"Leave it. Focus."
Rooney's voice was level, but there was an edge to it. He had played alongside Cristiano Ronaldo, had seen what obsession looked like.
Right now?
Tristan Hale had that same look.
He had never seen this version of Tristan before and neither had the world.
This wasn't just about winning. This was about humiliation.
And right now, Tristan wasn't just beating United—he was breaking them.
As the players stepped onto the pitch, the King Power Stadium erupted, the noise deafening.
The second half was about to begin.
And for Manchester United?
It was about survival.
As the players stepped onto the pitch for the second half, the King Power Stadium was shaking. The Leicester fans were buzzing, singing, chanting—completely caught up in the chaos unfolding before them.
Manchester United fans?
They looked shell-shocked.
Martin Tyler's voice carried over the broadcast, his tone filled with disbelief.
"Welcome back to the King Power Stadium, where Leicester City lead Manchester United 3-1 after a first half that, quite frankly, has been a nightmare for the visitors."
The camera panned to Louis van Gaal standing on the touchline, arms crossed, face like stone. But his body language gave him away—he was seething.
Tyler continued. "Alan, this isn't just bad—it's embarrassing. This is Manchester United we're talking about, a club that prides itself on dominance. And right now, they're getting outplayed, outrun, and frankly, outclassed by a newly promoted side."
Alan Smith exhaled. "It's shocking, Martin. Absolutely shocking."
A highlight reel played on the screen:
Tristan's first goal—a clinical finish inside the box, showcasing his intelligence and movement.His second? An outrageous solo goal, where he dribbled past three United players before smashing a 35-yard rocket into the top corner.His defensive heroics—denying Van Persie a certain goal with a last-ditch block on the goal line.Vardy's goal—an electric counter-attack, finished with a deadly one-on-one against De Gea.
Tyler wasn't finished.
"And let's talk about Tristan," he continued. "Two goals, one assist, and two goal-line clearances. The 19-year-old is putting on a masterclass tonight."
Smith shook his head. "And here's the thing—he's a midfielder. Yet, he's got more goals than Van Persie this season. More goals than Falcao. More goals than some of the top strikers in this league."
Tyler let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "And you can see it's getting to Van Persie. He's spent more time glaring at Tristan than he has celebrating. And that exchange in the tunnel just now? That tells you everything. He knows he's getting outshined."
Smith agreed. "And it's not just the goals, Martin. It's the way Tristan carries himself. Normally, he's calm, composed, almost too mature for his age. But tonight? He looks different. He looks angry. Like he's on a mission."
Tyler's voice dropped slightly. "Maybe it's personal. Maybe it's just the occasion. But whatever it is—United haven't figured out how to stop him."
The camera zoomed in on Van Gaal, gesturing furiously at his assistants.
"And United need to figure it out fast, Alan, because if they don't, this could turn into a complete disaster."
Smith didn't hesitate. "Forget a comeback—if they keep playing like this, they could get embarrassed."
Tristan Hale's five goals and six assists in just five games weren't just impressive.
They were historic.
Sky Sports pulled up a comparison graphic, showing Tristan's stats alongside some of Europe's biggest stars so far in the 2014-15 season (as of September):
✅ Tristan Hale – 5 Goals, 6 Assists (Premier League)
✅ Cristiano Ronaldo – 3 Goals, 2 Assists (La Liga, Real Madrid)
✅ Lionel Messi – 4 Goals, 4 Assists (La Liga, Barcelona)
✅ Neymar – 3 Goals, 3 Assists (La Liga, Barcelona)
✅ Diego Costa – 7 Goals, 1 Assist (Premier League, Chelsea)
✅ Thomas Müller – 4 Goals, 2 Assists (Bundesliga, Bayern Munich)
✅ Karim Benzema – 3 Goals, 1 Assist (La Liga, Real Madrid)
✅ Robin van Persie – 1 Goal, 0 Assists (Premier League, Manchester United)
Tyler whistled as the numbers flashed on the screen.
"Look at that, Alan. Tristan at just 19 years old, is putting up numbers that rival the best players in the world. And we're still in September!"
Smith let out a chuckle. "And I'll tell you what, Martin—he's not done yet."
The referee raised his whistle.
One deep breath.
Then—
The second half was underway.
"And we're back underway at the King Power!" Martin Tyler's voice boomed through television sets around the world. "Manchester United have 45 minutes to save themselves from total embarrassment."
Alan Smith shook his head. "They're going to throw everything at Leicester now, Martin. The question is—can they actually turn this around? Or are they just going to leave themselves even more exposed?"
Leicester didn't sit back.
They smelled blood.
Di María was still the only United player who looked like he had any fight left in him.
In the 51st minute, he picked up the ball just past midfield.
One glance up—then he took off.
Drinkwater stepped up—too late.
A quick shift of the hips, and Di María was past him like he wasn't even there.
The Argentine drove forward, Rooney peeling off to his left, Van Persie sprinting ahead into the box.
"Here comes Di María!" Tyler's voice climbed. "He's got options, and Leicester are scrambling to get back!"
Schlupp tried to block his path, but Di María didn't even slow down—he cut inside and threaded a perfectly weighted ball into Rooney's feet.
Rooney took one touch, then flicked it over to Van Persie, who was already rising like a giant in the box.
The cross was perfect.
The header was even better.
Van Persie's head snapped forward, the ball flying like a missile toward the far post.
Schmeichel dived at full stretch—
THUNK!
The ball smashed off the post and bounced straight back into play!
Gasps filled the stadium.
"OFF THE WOODWORK!" Alan Smith yelled. "That was nearly the lifeline United needed!"
But it wasn't over.
The ball ricocheted straight to Falcao, standing just six yards from goal.
A guaranteed tap-in.
Except—
Wes Morgan.
The Leicester captain threw himself across the box like a human shield, his chest meeting the shot before Falcao could even react.
The ball bounced away, and Leicester cleared their lines.
The King Power erupted.
"MORGAN, LIKE A WALL!" Tyler roared. "MANCHESTER UNITED JUST CAN'T GET A BREAK!"
Van Gaal's face turned red on the touchline.
Leicester countered instantly.
Tristan had barely stopped moving before he saw it—Mahrez breaking free on the right wing.
Blind, United's defensive midfielder, had made a mistake—a sloppy pass toward Herrera.
Tristan read it instantly.
A quick interception, then a first-time through ball splitting United's entire midfield apart.
"HERE COME LEICESTER!" Tyler shouted.
Mahrez was off like a rocket, his pace sending alarm bells ringing through United's fragile backline.
Rojo lunged—Mahrez skipped past him like he wasn't even there.
Blackett was next.
Mahrez feinted left—Blackett bit hard.
Then—GONE.
Mahrez exploded to his right, leaving the United defender flat on his back.
"OH, HE'S SENT HIM FOR A HOT DOG!" Alan Smith laughed.
Mahrez was inside the box now.
De Gea came off his line, desperate.
Mahrez didn't care.
He rifled a shot toward the near post.
De Gea saw it late.
Too late.
THE NET RIPPLED.
4-1.
The King Power erupted into absolute chaos.
"GOOOOOAAAAAL!!!" Tyler's voice cracked with excitement. "RIYAD MAHREZ SEALS IT FOR LEICESTER CITY! 4-1! THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!"
Alan Smith was laughing in disbelief. "This isn't just a bad day for United, Martin. This is an outright humiliation."
Mahrez slid on his knees, fists clenched.
Vardy grabbed him, shaking him. "You're a magician, mate!"
Tristan arrived last, grinning.
"Knew you had it in you."
Mahrez, still breathless, just laughed. "Too easy, man. Too easy."
The camera cut to Louis van Gaal.
He sat on the bench, his usual stone-faced expression betraying the turmoil boiling underneath. His arms were crossed tightly, his fingers gripping his forearm so hard his knuckles were white. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but his eyes—his eyes—were empty, hollow. He wasn't just watching a team lose.
He was watching Manchester United collapse.
Wayne Rooney stood near the center circle, motionless, staring at the ground like he was
Because now?
Now it was too easy.
Louis van Gaal sat motionless.
Muttering something under his breath.
His arms folded. His jaw tight.
He had run out of words.
He had run out of excuses.
This wasn't just a bad day.
This was a nightmare.
Alan Smith was shaking his head.
"This is a disaster. An absolute disaster."
The away fans were gone.
The United players were ghosts.
The King Power crowd?
They weren't cheering anymore.
They were chanting.
"SACKED IN THE MORNING! YOU'RE GETTING SACKED IN THE MORNING!"
Loud.
Merciless.
Pure humiliation.
Tyler sighed. "Martin, we are witnessing history. This might be the worst defeat Manchester United have ever suffered in the Premier League era."
Smith agreed. "And you know what's crazy? It could still get worse."
Because Leicester?
Leicester weren't done.
The scoreboard still read 5-1.
But soon?
It was going to change.
Jamie Vardy, exhausted but still hungry, felt it in his bones.
One more.
He had been tormenting United's backline all game, running them into the ground, stretching them, chasing every lost cause.
Tristan, standing at the center of his masterpiece, received the ball from Cambiasso.
One glance.
Vardy had already started his run.
Tristan didn't even take a touch.
One perfectly weighted, slicing, defense-shattering through ball.
It cut through Evans and Blackett like a surgeon's scalpel.
"VARDY'S IN!" Martin Tyler roared.
The King Power Stadium held its breath.
Vardy took one touch to control.
One to push it past Evans.
And suddenly—
It was just him and De Gea.
Vardy could have chipped it.
Could have placed it.
Could have rolled it into the bottom corner.
But no.
Not Jamie Vardy.
Instead—
He let it fly.
A rocket.
A thunderous, unstoppable strike from the edge of the box.
The ball rose like a missile, an arrow fired straight into the top corner.
BOOM!
THE NET EXPLODED.
DE GEA DIDN'T EVEN MOVE.
6-1.
he King Power was shaking.
The Leicester fans lost their minds.
People were hugging strangers.
Beer flew into the air.
Scarves were whipped around in a blur of blue.
"JAMIE VARDY, YOU ARE SOMETHING ELSE!" Alan Smith laughed in disbelief.
"THIS ISN'T JUST A BEATING," Tyler added.
"THIS IS A PUBLIC EXECUTION!"
Vardy sprinted toward the corner flag.
He slid on his knees, fists clenched, screaming into the sky.
Tristan ran over, laughing, punching Vardy's chest playfully.
"You crazy bastard!" Tristan shouted, grinning.
Vardy smirked, breathless.
"You loved that, didn't you?"
Tristan nodded.
The camera cut to Van Gaal.
His hands were on his head.
Muttering.
Shaking his head.
He looked like a man who had just lost all hope.
Rio Ferdinand, covering the game as a pundit, had his head buried in his hands.
"You can't even call this a football match anymore," he muttered. "This is... I don't even know what this is.This is Manchester United. This is the badge. And this? This is a disgrace."
The United away end?
Almost empty.
The fans had given up.
A line of red shirts marched toward the exits, heads down, shoulders slumped.
The scoreboard flashed:
LEICESTER CITY 6-1 MANCHESTER UNITED.
The biggest humiliation in Premier League history was unfolding in front of the world.
Despite the scoreline, Manchester United desperately tried to salvage a single goal.
Something. Anything.
But it was too late.
Di María, the only United player who still looked like he cared, picked up the ball deep in midfield and surged forward.
He danced past Drinkwater.
Skipped over Cambiasso.
Charged toward the box like a man possessed.
"Di María, still fighting!" Tyler called.
Rooney made a darting run, screaming for the ball.
Di María saw it—slipped through the perfect pass.
Rooney lashed at it—
His entire body committed to the shot.
But just as he pulled the trigger—
A WALL STOOD IN HIS WAY.
WES. MORGAN.
The Leicester captain threw himself at the strike, blocking it with his entire body.
The ball cannonballed off his chest and rocketed back up the pitch.
The King Power erupted.
"WES MORGAN! THAT IS LEADERSHIP!" Smith shouted.
Rooney collapsed to his knees, hands on his head.
It was over.
But Tristan wasn't done.
Not yet.
Not until he got his hat-trick.
Leicester broke one last time.
Mahrez, still playing with his food, danced past Blind like he wasn't even there before whipping in a looping cross into the box.
Evans jumped for it, stretching—just getting the slightest of touches.
But the ball—
It popped straight into the air.
And then—
The world slowed down.
Tristan's eyes locked on the falling ball.
This was it.
His body moved on instinct.
He jumped.
Both feet left the ground.
His entire frame twisted sideways, his eyes never leaving the ball.
The stadium held its breath.
A bicycle kick.
A perfect, pure bicycle kick.
BOOM.
It exploded off his boot, spinning toward goal like a missile.
De Gea dived.
But it didn't matter.
The ball ripped into the top corner.
"OH. MY. GOD!" Martin Tyler screamed.
"TRISTAN HALE HAS JUST SCORED ONE OF THE GREATEST GOALS IN PREMIER LEAGUE HISTORY!"
The King Power Stadium lost its mind.
Mahrez grabbed his head, his mouth wide open in shock.
Vardy collapsed onto the pitch laughing. The other Leciester City players just still stood from pure shock and awe.
Tristan lying on the ground, breathless from the acrobatics—just grinned.
His eyes fluttered shut for a second, soaking in the chaos.
He did it.
A hat-trick.
A game for the ages.
The referee looked at his watch.
One last deep breath.
Then—
THE FINAL WHISTLE BLEW.
Tristan sat up.
The crowd's noise was deafening, a roar so loud it felt like the entire city was shaking.
He exhaled.
Then, he stood.
With one smooth motion—
He peeled off his jersey.
And lifted it.
Held it up to the Leicester fans, presenting it like a work of art.
Like a moment that would live forever.
The King Power erupted again.
Fans screamed.
They reached for the jersey, hands stretching toward the sky.
A sea of blue trying to grab a piece of history.
A photographer on the sideline captured the exact second Tristan stood there, shirt raised, arms outstretched, the Leicester crest facing the crowd.
An iconic image that would be immortalized in football history.
"LOOK AT THAT!" Martin Tyler shouted.
"THIS IS THE GREATEST INDIVIDUAL PERFORMANCE THE PREMIER LEAGUE HAS EVER SEEN!"
Alan Smith laughed, shaking his head.
"A hat-trick of goals. A hat-trick of assists. Six goal contributions. A two goal-line clearances, perfect defending. Against Manchester United. At 19 years old. WHAT ARE WE WITNESSING?"
The camera cut to the United players.
They weren't angry.
They weren't even frustrated anymore.
They were broken.
The away section?
Empty.
The United fans had seen enough.
They had been witnesses to a massacre.
A 7-1 demolition.
Leicester City had just written history.
And Tristan cemented himself as the league's best.
As Manchester United's players dragged themselves toward the tunnel, the contrast between the two teams couldn't have been more apparent.
On one side—Leicester City, victorious, euphoric, celebrating like kings.
On the other—Manchester United, heads down, broken, running from history.
Van Persie? Stormed straight down the tunnel, his expression dark, not even glancing at the pitch.
Di María? Shaking his head, avoiding the cameras, muttering under his breath in Spanish.
Falcao? Barely moved. He stared at the grass, hands on his hips, as if trying to process what had just happened.
And then there was Wayne Rooney.
Nobody did.
United didn't want to acknowledge what had just happened.
Because this wasn't just a loss.
This was a historic embarrassment.
This was the kind of defeat that would never be forgotten.
It was a stain on the club's history.
As the United players filed into the tunnel, Wayne Rooney suddenly stopped.
He turned back.
And there was Tristan watching the United players leave.
The Leicester star hesitated. Just for a second. Then he jogged over.
Rooney sighed, rubbing the back of his head. His body ached. His pride even more.
"You didn't have to go that hard, kid," he muttered.
Tristan cracked a small smile, he felt a little guilty but what could he do about it.
"I know," he admitted. "I know. But..."
Rooney raised an eyebrow. "But what?"
"I promised someone I'd score a hat-trick tonight," Tristan responded patting Rooney on the shoulder before going to celebrating with his team.
The King Power Stadium was a madhouse.
The final whistle had blown, yet the noise refused to die. Fans weren't leaving. How could they? They had just witnessed something historic. Something surreal.
Leicester City hadn't just beaten Manchester United.
They had humiliated them. 7-1.
The scoreboard glowed in the night, a brutal, unforgiving reminder of the carnage. For United, it was a wound that would fester for years. But for Leicester? For Leicester, it was legend.
And at the heart of it all?
Tristan Hale.
A hat-trick.
A hat-trick of assists.
And then—just because he could—a bicycle kick to seal it all.
The cameras swarmed him, Sky Sports shoving a mic in his face, Man of the Match trophy in his hands, he was the best player with a perfect rating of 10.
His name rang through the night, over and over.
"Tristan! Tristan! Tristan Hale!"
The energy was electric. The world had just watched one of the greatest individual performances in Premier League history.
And yet, as Tristan stood under the floodlights, his face half-lit by the stadium's glow.
Sky Sports' Geoff Shreeves stood near the pitch, microphone in hand, shaking his head in disbelief. Behind him, the stadium was still buzzing—fans singing, players embracing, the energy of a legendary performance still lingering in the air.
He let out a breathy chuckle, turning back to the man of the moment.
"Tristan, we've seen a lot of incredible performances in this league. But tonight..." He gestured around at the electric atmosphere. "This might just be the best we've ever seen."
Tristan, still dripping with sweat, still catching his breath, adjusted the Man of the Match trophy in his hands. His expression was calm—not arrogant, not overly emotional—just a quiet confidence, like he knew this was always how it was supposed to go.
"I told you," he said simply, tilting his head slightly. "I told everyone before the match—I'm the best player in this league."
The words weren't cocky. They were just true.
Geoff laughed, shaking his head. "A double hat-trick of assists, a bicycle kick that'll be replayed for years, and complete dominance in every moment—where did that come from?"
Tristan exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. "Honestly?" He shrugged. "I had to score. I promised someone."
Geoff raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You promised?"
Tristan looked directly into the camera, a knowing smile creeping onto his lips.
"I know you're watching."
A smirk flickered at the corner of his mouth. And then—
"I kept my promise. Now I want my reward."
Behind him, Vardy burst out laughing, grabbing Tristan's shoulders and shaking him. "Ohhh, mate, you are something else."
Mahrez clapped his hands, grinning. "Nah, I need to know—who's watching, bro?"
Tristan just shook his head, refusing to give them the satisfaction.
But while his individual brilliance would dominate headlines, this wasn't a one-man show. This was a team performance for the ages.
Geoff turned his attention to the squad. "Tristan, we'll talk more about you in a second, but let's talk about this team. Because it wasn't just you—it was everyone. How good were the boys tonight?"
Tristan nodded, his respect for his teammates evident. "Unreal. Absolutely unreal. Look at Schmeichel—made ridiculous saves again and again. One-on-one stops, reaction saves—he kept us in it. That's why he's one of the best."
Geoff agreed. "And the backline—man I just can't say enough about them today."
Tristan pointed toward them, where they were still celebrating near the fans. "They don't get enough credit. They were warriors tonight. Throwing themselves in front of everything. Winning every aerial duel. Keeping the shape. People talk about the goals, but without them, none of that happens."
Geoff smiled. "And the midfield?"
Tristan laughed. "Everyone was amazing, I can't say enough about them including myself of course.
Geoff nodded. "And up front, Vardy, Mahrez...Lingard"
Tristan grinned. "They make it too easy. The movement, the link-up—it's just instinct at this point. They don't even need to call for the ball, I already know where they're going to be."
Geoff took a deep breath, still shaking his head in awe. "So, Tristan... after a night like this, after a performance like this... what would you say to your doubters and naysayers?"
Tristan grinned, "Just watch me!
The roar from the fans behind him said it all.
.....
6630 exact word not counting this end section and the Patreon plug above.
You guys are going crazy, lmao. Thank you for the support. Keep at it.
Anyway there won't be another 3 match Chapters for a while as there is no big games, so there's no reason for that. So for a while expect slice of life Chapters with games mixed in it, don't worry they are still good, they are the most viewed and liked Chapters on Patreon, lmao.
It will be mostly focused on Tristan and Barbara, setting up the foundations for their relationship. The Greatest of All Time ruined his story for me because the author doesn't know how fucking relationships work. So I don't plan on making that mistake. Don't worry the Chapters are good, I did a poll where 133 answered and only 3 replied they disliked the romance. So I'm doing something right so I ask again since Chapter 100, allow me to cook.
Also this is for the future, do you guys have any other chinese stories you would like to see me work on, I wanna start another story once this book is finished. I'm not gonna translate it, I'm done with that, I just need the base of a story or the idea like this one where now it's a original. But with a new story, I will write original Chapters right from the start. The chinese story could be anything football, basketball to anime or comics. I'm into all of that, it just that I struggle finding any decent chinese stories thats why I'm asking.