readytorunbook Chapter 1: FA Cup Debut
Chapter 1: FA Cup Debut
Chapter 1 - FA Cup DebutFor your own sake and mine, go straight to Chapter 100 as the first 100 Chapters are translated and are shit compared Chapters to Chapters from 100 and above, that's what the reviews are talking.
January 4, 2014: Britannia Stadium - Stoke-on-Trent
.....
The Britannia Stadium was alive with energy, filled with Stoke City supporters draped in red and white. Their chants echoed through the cold January air, a steady rhythm of encouragement for the home side. On the pitch, Leicester City fought to break through, but with seventy-five minutes gone, the scoreboard still read 1-0 to Stoke.
It had been a tough match for Leicester. Stoke's disciplined, physical approach had made it difficult to create chances, their midfield closing down space and their defenders winning every aerial battle. Every attempt to build an attack had been interrupted by a crunching tackle, a well-timed block, or a towering header.
On the sidelines, Nigel Pearson stood with arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched his team struggle. Steve Walsh, his assistant, shifted uncomfortably beside him.
"We're getting outmuscled," Pearson muttered.
Walsh nodded. "They're shutting down the midfield. We need someone who can change the pace."
Pearson's eyes scanned the bench,
A quick drop of the shoulder. A feint. A delicate half-turn.
His marker lunged—and missed completely.
With a single, fluid motion, Tristan had spun away, leaving his opponent stumbling in his wake.
The crowd gasped—a mix of admiration from the Leicester fans and frustration from the home supporters.
In the commentary box, excitement rippled through their voices.
"OH, LOOK AT THAT! Tristan Hale just spun his man like a seasoned pro!"
"That's outrageous composure for an 18-year-old on debut!"
But Tristan wasn't done.
As he lifted his head, the Champion Codex's enhanced vision flickered to life.
And in that one split second, he saw it.
Jamie Vardy.
Making his signature run, cutting between the Stoke center-backs, his timing perfect, his acceleration lethal.
Tristan didn't hesitate.
With one smooth motion, he struck the ball.
The ball soared through the air, curling around the defenders, bending just out of reach of the desperate center-backs.
It dipped at the perfect moment, landing right at Vardy's feet, in full stride.
"WHAT A PASS!" the commentator shouted, his voice rising in excitement. "Tristan Hale has just unlocked Stoke's defense with an absolutely world-class ball!"
Vardy didn't even need to break stride.
One touch to control. One touch to finish.
A low, driven shot, arrowed into the bottom corner of the net.
Begović dived, stretching as far as he could—but it was hopeless.
The ball nestled into the net, and the Leicester end of the stadium erupted.
The moment exploded.
Leicester's traveling fans roared, their voices cutting through the Britannia's cold air. In the stands, arms shot into the sky, fists pumped, scarves waved.
Jamie Vardy sprinted toward the corner flag, yelling in celebration, but before he reached it, he turned—pointing directly at Tristan.
"That's ALL YOU, mate!" he shouted over the noise, a grin stretching across his face.
The commentators could barely contain themselves.
"WHAT A GOAL BY JAMIE VARDY!"
"And WHAT AN ASSIST from Tristan Hale!" another voice cut in. "That's a pass that would make any world-class playmaker proud! The vision, the weight on that ball—it's absolutely sublime!"
Tristan jogged over, his heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Vardy clapped him on the back, still grinning. "That was top class, mate. Keep feeding me like that, and we're winning this."
Tristan allowed himself a small smile, but he wasn't satisfied yet.
The game wasn't over.
And he wasn't done.
Stoke, rattled by the equalizer, abandoned their cautious approach and pushed forward in desperation. Their midfield, which had been disciplined for most of the game, was now stretched thin, their defenders pumping long balls forward in search of a late winner.
But Leicester's backline held firm.
Morgan and Moore dominated the aerial battles, meeting every cross with towering headers. Danny and James shielded the defense, cutting out passing lanes and snapping into tackles.
Each time Stoke launched the ball forward, it was cleared—and each clearance seemed to find its way to Tristan.
And every time he got it, he made the right decision.
A quick pass to keep possession. A calm switch of play to relieve pressure. A perfectly weighted through ball to release Mahrez or Albrighton on the counter.
Despite the intensity of the moment, Tristan played like he had all the time in the world.
"The composure on this kid is unreal," one commentator remarked. "He's dictating the tempo like a veteran!"
With minutes left on the clock, Leicester won a corner after Vardy's darting run forced a last-ditch clearance.
Mahrez trotted over to take it, wiping sweat from his forehead as he glanced toward the box. Leicester had sent everyone forward.
The ball was swung in dangerously, curling toward the crowded penalty area.
A Stoke defender rose highest, powering a header clear.
The ball floated toward the edge of the box.
Straight to Tristan.
For a split second, everything seemed to slow down.
The ball bounced once, rolling perfectly into his path.
Tristan didn't hesitate.
He adjusted his body and struck it cleanly with his right foot.
The shot soared through the air, curving away from the goalkeeper.
The crowd held its breath.
It dipped at the last moment, rocketing toward the top corner.
The keeper dived, stretching desperately—
Too late.
The ball smashed into the net.
GOAL!
For a second, the entire stadium stood frozen. Then, pandemonium erupted.
"TRISTAN HALE! WHAT A STRIKE!"
"OH MY WORD! On his debut, he's not only provided the assist for the equalizer, but now he's scored an absolute screamer to win it for Leicester!"
"This kid is special—mark my words, we're witnessing the birth of a star!"
In the stands, Leicester's traveling supporters lost control.
Down on the pitch, his teammates swarmed him.
Vardy was the first to reach him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him with excitement.
"Are you kidding me?!" he yelled, laughing.
Within seconds, Mahrez, Albrighton,Danny, and the rest piled onto him, hugging, shouting, ruffling his hair, their energy infectious.
On the touchline, Pearson clenched his fists, letting out a rare display of emotion as his assistant, Steve Walsh, turned to him, shaking his head in disbelief.
As soon as the final whistle blew, the Leicester fans erupted again.
They had secured a 2-1 victory over Stoke City, and at the heart of it was an 18-year-old debutant who had changed the game with an assist and a wonder goal.
Tristan stood near the center of the pitch, hands on his knees, still catching his breath from the frenetic final minutes.
Then he heard it.
"Tristan! Tristan! Tristan!"
At first, it barely registered.
Then he looked up.
The entire away section was on its feet, scarves raised, chanting his name.
A standing ovation.
For him.
His eyes swept across the sea of Leicester supporters, thousands of voices singing his name.
For a moment, he just stood there, taking it in.
This wasn't just applause. This was recognition. Appreciation.
It was every young footballer's dream—to step onto the pitch, to change the game, and to walk off as a hero.
Vardy jogged up beside him, clapping him on the back with a grin.
"Come on,go enjoy it, this is your moment! Go give them a wave!"
Tristan let out a breath, smiling despite himself.
He straightened, lifted his head, and began walking toward the fans, clapping as he went.
The chanting only grew louder, his name echoing through the Britannia Stadium.
From the commentary box, the admiration was clear.
"Listen to that!"
"Tristan Hale, only 18 years old, and he's just been handed a standing ovation after an absolutely extraordinary debut performance!"
"What a day for the youngster—an assist and a goal to win it for Leicester. Talent like this doesn't come around often!"
As Tristan reached the edge of the pitch, he raised both arms, clapping back to the Leicester fans.
This moment belonged to him. But it also belonged to them.
They had cheered for him before he had even touched the ball, and now, he was giving them something in return.
He scanned the sea of blue and white scarves. Some were waving, others were shouting words lost in the noise, but their smiles said everything.
The connection between players and supporters was forged in those moments.
"Look at this! The fans are still on their feet, giving Hale the kind of ovation you'd expect for a club legend!"
"And why not? This isn't just a debut—this is a statement performance! A stunning assist, a wonder goal, and a confidence that belies his age!"
"We are witnessing the birth of something incredible—this lad has the potential to be a world class player! Mark my words."
As the chants of his name echoed through the stadium, Tristan felt a strange wave of disbelief.
Not at the match itself—he had done what he knew he could do—but at how surreal it all felt.
The car accident. The rebirth. The Champion Codex.
It still didn't feel real.
He had been given a second chance at life, a gift that had already transformed him into something beyond his natural ability.
The [Peak De Bruyne] Star Card had given him the vision and passing of one of the world's greatest midfielders.
Before he could get lost in thought, a familiar voice snapped him back.
"Not bad for a debut, eh?"
Vardy, still buzzing from the win, threw an arm around Tristan's shoulder, his grin wide as ever.
"You've got them eating out of your hand, mate."
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. "I still can't believe it."
Mahrez jogged up beside them, his own smirk unmistakable. "Believe it," he said. "You were class out there. We knew you had talent, but that? That was different."
The praise from his teammates felt just as good as the roar of the crowd.
The three of them continued their walk toward the tunnel, but Tristan could still hear his name ringing through the air.
"Tristan! Tristan! Tristan!"
The away fans hadn't stopped chanting, their voices growing louder.
One final time, Tristan turned back toward them, raising his hand in appreciation.
The chanting intensified, and he clapped in rhythm with them, sealing a moment that would live in his memory forever.
"Listen to that!" the commentator's voice crackled with energy.
"Tristan Hale, at just 18 years old, has put in a performance that will be remembered for years to come!"
"An assist and a goal to win the match—this is the kind of night that launches careers!"
"Mark this day down, because Leicester may have just found their player!"
As Tristan walked through the tunnel, Pearson was waiting. He patted Tristan on the shoulder, his expression somewhere between pride and satisfaction.
"You've done well, lad," Pearson said, his voice steady. "Kept your head, delivered when it counted. Just what we needed."
Tristan met his gaze. "Thank you, boss."
Pearson studied him for a second longer, then added, "There's a lot more to come from you, isn't there?"
Tristan didn't hesitate.
"I'll keep working hard."
Pearson nodded. That was all he needed to hear.
The football world had just seen the first glimpse of Tristan Hale.
And they were about to see a whole lot more.