England's Greatest

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...

At the moment of passing the ball, Tristan felt as if the entire world had paused.

With his eyes fixed on the trajectory of the ball, he knew the moment had come. It was a test of his vision, his trust in his teammates, and his belief in their shared goal. He muttered to himself, "Jamie, it's up to you."

Then, as if the universe itself had aligned, Jamie Vardy appeared exactly where he was supposed to be. With the precision of a seasoned striker, Vardy ruthlessly buried the ball into the back of the net. The heavy weight that had been pressing down on Tristan's chest lifted in an instant, and an ecstatic roar surged from deep within his soul.

"YES YES YES!"

The roar of tens of thousands of Leicester fans at Wembley erupted in unison, drowning out the noise of everything else. It was a deafening cheer, so loud it seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet.

Peter Drury, the voice of the moment, broke through the chaos:

"What a moment! Jamie Vardy, the man who never gives up, slams it home with a clinical finish! This FA Cup final has just exploded into life once again! And it's thanks to a brilliant assist from the young Tristan — a pass that was nothing short of sublime. It's 2-2! We're level here at Wembley!"

Vardy, with his face flushed red from both excitement and exertion, sprinted towards the corner flag, his arms raised in triumph.

The camera panned to the Leicester bench, where manager Pearson was bouncing on his heels, nearly lost in the intensity of the moment. He rushed over to assistant coach Steve Walsh, lifting him off the ground in a bear hug. "Steve, we're tied! We're tied!" Pearson shouted, the joy and disbelief written all over his face.

"Yes, Nigel, we did it," Walsh replied, his voice thick with emotion.

On the other side, the Arsenal players stood frozen in stunned silence. The stadium, previously dominated by their fans, now stood divided, a sea of confusion spreading across the pitch.

Drury, commenting on the Arsenal players' collective bewilderment, said, "Arsenal's defense caught off-guard, and I think even they are wondering how on earth that goal came to be. How did that ball thread its way through the defense, between the keeper and the last man? And how was Vardy left with that much space?"

The confusion wasn't just in the Arsenal defense. Even the Gunners' fans could only stare in disbelief, many struggling to understand how the equalizer had arrived so suddenly and so decisively.

In a calm and composed manner, Wenger's leadership became evident. The veteran manager paced the sideline, his eyes scanning his team. As the game paused, he called his captain, Laurent Koscielny, over.

"Laurent, tell the boys it's alright," Wenger said, his voice low but steady. "It's just a tie. Don't panic. Stay calm, control the ball, and we'll take them in overtime."

Koscielny, ready for a dressing-down, was surprised at Wenger's composed demeanor. After a brief pause, he nodded firmly. "I know, boss. I'll tell them now."

With a flicker of understanding in Wenger's eyes, it was clear the manager had already formulated his strategy. The equalizer had come at the worst possible time for Arsenal, but he was confident that Leicester, despite their elation, would fall back into defense to protect their new-found lead.

"Will the Foxes tire, or will their spirit carry them through?"

As both teams regrouped, the cameras focused on Hodgson, who had been watching from the stands. The England national coach could barely contain his admiration. The brilliant pass from Tristan, threading its way through the chaos, had him clapping enthusiastically.

"Absolutely sensational," Hodgson muttered under his breath. "This kid — he's a star. I can see why Southgate rates him so highly. He's a game-changer, and we need him in the England squad."

Drury, commenting on the situation, said, "The England manager looks convinced, and so do we! This young lad, Tristan Hale, with that pass, may have just sealed his place in the upcoming World Cup. A moment of brilliance that will surely be remembered."

As Tristan reveled in the celebrations with his teammates, he was completely unaware of the effect his performance had on those observing from the stands, including the national team coaches. 

"Vardy's goal has leveled things up," Drury continued, "but this final is far from over. With just minutes left in regular time, will either team push for a winner, or will they settle for overtime?"

Indeed, Leicester players, now brimming with confidence, pulled back into their own half, the momentum of the game shifting with the goal. Pearson had warned them all, but they had no intention of pressing further — at least not until extra time.

Meanwhile, Arsenal, under Wenger's instructions, kept possession in the midfield, calmly passing the ball around, trying to regain their composure.

"It's an incredible twist in this FA Cup final," Drury concluded. "Leicester City, after being down 2-0 early on, have clawed their way back, and now it's Arsenal's turn to react. Both sides are gearing up for what promises to be a thrilling overtime!"

The referee's whistle marked the end of regular time, and as the two teams walked off the pitch, the anticipation for extra time was palpable.

In the locker room, the atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The players were drenched in sweat, their jerseys clinging to their bodies. The last-minute equalizer had taken a toll, but the adrenaline was keeping them going. Pearson gathered the team, urging them to stay calm and focus on the task ahead.

"Great job, guys!" Pearson said. "Ninety minutes, and we didn't lose! Now, let's keep the momentum going. In overtime, focus on defense first, then counterattack when we can."

Tristan sat in front of his locker, staring at the orange-yellow drink in his prop bar.  

[Item name: Physical drink]

[Effect of the item: After drinking it, your physical strength will be restored to its best state immediately! ]

Looking at the can of orange-yellow drink in the prop column that looked like a certain cow, Tristan fell into deep thought.

To drink or not to drink?

This is a problem.

Drink it and your physical strength will be completely restored.

This will give him a physical advantage in the subsequent overtime and increase the chances of winning the FA Cup; if he doesn't drink it, there's a high possibility that Arsenal would score another goal in extra time and they lose.

After careful consideration, he decided to use the [Energy Drink]. He promised he never will use this thing unless it was absolutely needed and at this moment, he needed it more than ever.

And if it was considered cheating so what he already had a built-in system cheat given by god.

If he hadn't cheated, he wouldn't even have been able to be promoted to Leicester City's first team, and he would never have been able to lead Leicester City to break the Championship winning streak and reach the FA Cup final!

So, why bother with those ridiculous ideas of unfair victory?

In the world of sports competition, victory and championship are the most important!

[Use energy drinks? ]

"yes!"

Along with that, the orange-yellow drink in the prop bar suddenly disappeared and turned into an orange-yellow stream of light that flew into Tristan's chest.

The next second, Tristan felt that all the fatigue in his body disappeared instantly, and even his spirit was lifted.

With renewed strength, he stood up, ready for the challenge ahead.

.....

The referee blew the whistle to signal the start of extra time. Leicester City took their positions.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of extra time. The atmosphere at Wembley was electric, the stadium vibrating with the energy of tens of thousands of fans, their chants creating an undulating roar. The scoreboard still read 2-2, and it was anyone's game now.

Leicester City, despite the exhaustion of the past 90 minutes, immediately dropped back into their defensive formation. Their strategy was clear—absorb Arsenal's pressure and strike when the opportunity arose. The midfielders, Drinkwater and James, visibly tired, exchanged glances but pressed forward, still putting in the work, knowing the team depended on them.

Arsenal, as expected, came out swinging. Podolski's substitution for the young and energetic Yaya Sanogo had injected new life into their attack. Sanogo paired up with Giroud, towering in the box, creating a dual threat that the Leicester defenders couldn't afford to ignore.

The ball zipped across the pitch, with Arsenal keeping the majority of possession. They were probing for a gap, testing Leicester's defenses, but the Foxes were holding firm. Then, just as the 15th minute of extra time ticked closer, a quick interception from Mahrez near midfield sent a surge of adrenaline through the team.

He passed the ball swiftly to Vardy, who in turn, laid it off to Tristan. It was in that moment—when the ball landed at his feet—that Tristan felt the world slow down.

The roar of the crowd seemed distant, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. He glanced up at the goalkeeper, who had his eyes locked on him. The defenders were closing in, but there was a pocket of space just behind them—just enough for a perfect strike.

"Now or never," Tristan whispered to himself.

His eyes never left the goal. The angle was tight, but he knew this was it. 

With a slight shift of his weight, he sent the ball flying, curling it toward the far post.

Time seemed to stand still as the ball sailed toward its destination. The stadium held its breath. The goalkeeper lunged, but it was too late. The ball hit the side netting and the stadium erupted in chaos.

"GOAL!!!" Peter screamed, his voice barely audible over the deafening roar of Leicester fans.

"It's Tristan Hale! What a sensational strike!" Peter continued, the excitement in his voice impossible to contain. "Leicester City have the lead in extra time! That's the kind of moment you dream of, folks. The young man has done it when it matters most! What a finish! A fantastic goal from Tristan, and Leicester are 3-2 up with just minutes to go!"

Tristan stood there for a split second, taking it all in, his heart racing. And then, with a primal roar, he sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched as his teammates flooded around him.

"Tristan! You beauty!" Vardy shouted, slapping him on the back as they reached the corner flag. The entire team piled on top of him, a mass of bodies celebrating in wild abandon.

The Leicester supporters, who had been on the edge of their seats for what felt like an eternity, erupted in jubilation. Thousands of voices screamed in unison as the chants of "Foxes, Foxes!" echoed throughout Wembley. The decibel level was almost unbearable as fans leapt from their seats, waving scarves and flags.

At that moment, Pearson was seen on the sidelines, his arms raised to the sky in sheer disbelief. "We're winning this, lads! We're winning it!"

The cameras panned to the Leicester supporters, some crying in joy, others shaking their heads in utter disbelief, as they all recognized what was happening—Leicester City was about to lift the FA Cup.

Wenger stood frozen on the Arsenal sidelines, watching in stunned silence. His face was a mixture of frustration and disappointment. His team had battled hard, but now they were facing the final minutes of extra time with their backs against the wall.

"Hold on!" Pearson urged his team from the touchline. "Just a few more minutes!"

Leicester had one last task—to defend their lead. With Arsenal desperate to force a final, last-minute equalizer, the Foxes dug in, their tired bodies finding reserves of energy, holding firm, not letting the Gunners get another look at goal.

With each passing minute, the tension mounted. The ball bounced around the midfield, Arsenal pushing, Leicester resisting. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the referee blew his whistle for full time.

"FULL TIME! Leicester City have done it! The FA Cup is theirs!" Peter exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement. "What a moment for Leciester City, what a moment for Tristan Hale! The goal that well be remembered as the one that brought this trophy home! What an unbelievable journey it has been for Leicester City—champions of the FA Cup in one of the most thrilling finals we've ever witnessed!"

Peter's voice rang out with pure elation "What a moment, ladies and gentlemen! At just 18 years old, Tristan Hale has just done what every young boy dreams of—he's written himself into the history books. From the youth fields to Wembley, from Leicester's academy to the pinnacle of English football, he's just defeated the Premier League giants, Arsenal, and won the FA Cup for his boyhood team! It's a dream come true—a triumph that's been 140 years in the making for Leicester City! Remember this name—Tristan Hale, remember his face."

Tristan, soaked in sweat and utterly spent, stood motionless for a moment. And then, the realization hit him—the trophy was his, the team's. 

He looked over to his teammates, who were all ecstatic, some kneeling, others embracing. Leciester City had done the impossible—against all odds, they had won the FA Cup.

As the players gathered in celebration, the stadium erupted once again—but this time, it wasn't just the usual cheers of victory. The fans had something special in store. They began to sing, their voices swelling in unison, filling the air with a song that had come to symbolize everything Tristan had achieved in that moment.

"Tristan! Tristan!

From Leicester, he's our shining star!

With every pass, he takes us far!

His vision's sharp, his touch is gold,

A football tale that's yet to be told!"

The song rang out like a tidal wave, carried by thousands of voices, each one singing with pride and admiration. It was as if the entire stadium had become a choir, united in their celebration of the young hero who had just delivered them their greatest triumph. Even the players, caught up in the emotion of the moment, couldn't help but turn toward the stands, their faces lit up by the infectious energy of the fans.

Tristan stood at the center of it all, overwhelmed. His chest swelled with pride as he listened and kissed the badge on his jersey, hearing his name echo back at him in the most beautiful of ways.

"Tristan! Tristan!

With skill and heart, he'll lead the way!

A hero on the pitch, watch him play!

Tristan! Tristan!

We cheer for you, our pride today!"

The entire stadium sang in perfect harmony, a chorus of voices that reverberated through the walls of Wembley, a tribute to the 18 year old. It wasn't just a song; it was their declaration of love, of gratitude, and of victory.

And as the fans sang, Tristan couldn't help but be swept up in the moment. His legs felt heavy, but his heart was light. This wasn't just a goal—it was a legacy. His name would forever be intertwined with this cup, this team, and this unforgettable moment in history.

It was a moment he would never forget.

The atmosphere on the pitch was one of pure euphoria. The bench, who had spent the entire match on the edge of their seats, rushed onto the field, surrounding him as if he were the hero of the day—which, in many ways, he was. His crucial assists and the stunning through pass to Jamie Vardy had been pivotal in turning the game around.

The coaching staff, who had been tightly focused throughout the match, broke into broad smiles. Nigel Pearson, usually known for his reserved demeanor, couldn't contain his joy. He embraced his assistant, Steve, with the kind of enthusiasm that only a long-awaited triumph can bring.

"Steve, we did it!" Pearson exclaimed, shaking the older coach with exuberance.

Walsh, ever the stoic figure, tried to maintain his composure but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Yes, yes, Nigel, we did it, I know. Don't shake me so hard," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

On the other side of the pitch, the contrast was stark. Arsenal's fans, who had been so confident in their team's victory, were now left in stunned silence. Some were already wiping away tears, unable to process the crushing defeat.

It had all started so promisingly—Arsenal had taken a 2-0 lead within the first fifteen minutes, a lead that seemed unassailable. The Gunners' fans had already started envisioning the end of their nine-year trophy drought, expecting a victory to lift their spirits after another season of disappointment in the Premier League.

But Leicester, led by the tenacious performance of their number 22, had other ideas. The match, which had seemed like Arsenal's for the taking, had swung in Leicester's favor after a dazzling assist from Tristan, which helped Vardy pull one back for the Foxes.

Then, just as Arsenal thought they had the upper hand, Tristan's pinpoint delivery to Vardy once more set the stage for an equalizer, taking the match to extra time. And finally, in the dying moments of extra time, Leicester seized the opportunity, with Tristan's decisive contribution sealing the win.

Despite the heartbreaking loss, Arsenal's manager, Arsène Wenger, remained the picture of grace. Approaching Pearson after the final whistle, he extended his hand in a gesture of sportsmanship.

"Mr. Wenger, it was an absolutely fantastic match," Pearson said, his voice tinged with respect for the legendary manager.

Wenger, his face etched with a mixture of disappointment and admiration, shook Pearson's hand. "Congratulations, you played very well, and you seized the few opportunities you had. We didn't."

After the brief exchange, Wenger made his way toward his players. He squatted down to console them, one by one, offering words of comfort to those most visibly shaken by the loss. With decades of experience under his belt, Wenger had seen this kind of defeat before. 

The lack of silverware was a familiar companion for the Arsenal manager, but his composure in the face of such disappointment had only grown stronger with time.

At over 60 years old, Wenger had learned not to let the sting of a single defeat overshadow his long-term vision. His calming words to his players were not just about the game—they were a reminder that life, and football, move on. "Next season will be another chance," he seemed to say, as he gently guided his team off the pitch.

Though the defeat stung for Arsenal, it was Leicester City's night to celebrate, a victory that would be remembered for years to come.

After the exhilarating celebration on the field, Tristan and his teammates, now champions, made their way to the chairman's stand, eagerly awaiting the award ceremony. The fans were still loud, chanting in celebration, and the Leicester City players basked in the joy of their hard-fought victory.

On the other side, despite the defeat, Arsenal's players took the time to regroup under Wenger's calm leadership. The fans who had been so hopeful now looked defeated, the tears from some young Gunners a testament to the weight of their disappointment. A season of promise had crumbled in front of their eyes, just like their many other near-misses.

In the midst of the post-match emotions, Tristan, who had been instrumental in securing the victory for Leicester City, found a quiet moment to approach Aaron Ramsey. With a gentle hand on the shoulder, he offered his appreciation, "Good game, Aaron. Your passing and control were spot on; you almost had us on the edge."

Ramsey gave a slight smile, clearly lifting from Tristan's words, his usual competitive edge softening in the face of the young player's respect. After a brief exchange, Tristan moved on to Wenger, seeking to offer his own words. "Mr. Wenger, I'm sorry."

Wenger, ever composed, extended his hand to shake Tristan's, his voice steady, "Don't be sorry, young man. You earned this victory. Your performance was outstanding, it was perfect."

Tristan, a little taken aback by Wenger's generosity despite the loss, nodded in gratitude. "Thank you."

"Your passing is exceptional, but you need to bulk up, develop more strength for the Premier League. Not every team plays as cleanly as Arsenal," Wenger added, offering a rare moment of wisdom despite the pain of the defeat.

With a final appreciative nod, Tristan acknowledged the advice, deeply moved by Wenger's grace under pressure. "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you."

As the teams filed toward the award stage, the mood was one of triumph for Leicester City. Tristan walked up the steps to the podium, his heart racing with every step as he high-fived the cheering fans. His face lit up with a smile as he received his champion's medal from Prince William.

When the time came to lift the FA Cup, Morgan and King, Leicester's captains, raised the trophy high before handing it over to Coach Pearson. Pearson, grinning ear to ear, passed it to Tristan, the most important player. With excitement bubbling over, Tristan lifted the trophy, his heart swelling with pride.

The stadium erupted with cheers from Leicester fans, and as Tristan held the cup high, the roar of the crowd made everything feel surreal. He had led Leicester to their first FA Cup victory in history, and the emotions of the moment were overwhelming.

Back in the stands, Wenger looked on, his thoughts a mix of admiration and regret. He had once considered bringing Tristan to Arsenal, but that moment had passed. Now, watching the young man who had turned the game on its head, he couldn't help but wonder if things might have been different. What if he had brought Tristan in earlier? What if Arsenal had had the advantage of a player like him?

However, there were no what-ifs in football. Wenger knew that his team had missed the chance this time, but he also recognized that Leicester City's victory was not just a fluke. With players like Tristan, the future was bright for the Foxes.

As the celebration continued, Tristan was led to the locker room, his mind still buzzing from the win. Suddenly, the familiar sound of system prompts filled his mind, signaling the achievements he had unlocked:

[Ding Dong! ] [Achievement "FA Cup Champion" achieved] [Achievement evaluation: A] [Achievement Reward: Item Box]

[Ding Dong! ] [Achievement "FA Cup Assist Leader" achieved] [Achievement evaluation: A] [Achievement Reward: Two Free Attribute Points]

[Ding Dong! ] [Achievement "New FA Cup Assist Record" achieved] [Achievement evaluation: A] [Achievement Reward: Two Free Attribute Points]

[Ding Dong! ] [Achievement "FA Cup Best Team" achieved] [Achievement evaluation: A] [Achievement Reward: Two Free Attribute Points]

Each achievement brought a rush of satisfaction, knowing that his efforts on the pitch had been recognized, and that his journey as a footballer had truly begun to take shape.

...

Holy fuck we are finally done with bullshit ass game, I truly didnt mean it to drag on this long, the chinese was like 12 chapters as I stated before, dude made three fucking chapters about them having a penalty shootout. I wasn't going to fucking write that shit so I just decided to change it and make Tristan score the goal at the last minute, I think it was better then the original.

I like to think I cooked with the Peter Drury commentary part, I really put my heart and soul into it as the man deserves the best. 

Now just to let everyone know, there will not anymore games that are this fucking long, swear to god even if each chapter is like 6k words, I promise you that. At worst they will be 4 chapters, nothing more.