England's Greatest

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....

With that in mind, Tristan headed over to the reception desk, hoping to introduce himself to his teammates and make a good impression—especially on the key figures in the squad. As he settled on one of the sofas in the lobby, he mentally prepared himself for what he knew was an important day. After a few minutes, the door opened, and in walked a man with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Tristan immediately recognized him.

It was Steven Gerrard—Liverpool's legendary captain and one of the most respected figures in English football. He was the heart of his club and an icon for the national team, having led both through countless games.

Tristan instinctively stood up, feeling the need to show respect. "Mr. Gerrard!" he called out, his voice carrying a mixture of admiration and nerves.

Hearing this unfamiliar title, Gerrard paused, slightly caught off guard. In his daily life, his friends and teammates usually addressed him by either his first name or surname. "Mr. Gerrard" wasn't something he heard often. Following the sound, he saw Tristan standing near the sofa, waving with a hint of excitement.

Recognition flickered across Gerrard's face as he realized who the young man was. A polite smile spread across his features, and he stepped forward, extending his hand. "Tristan, nice to see you here!" he said, his familiar Liverpool accent immediately noticeable.

Of course, Gerrard knew Tristan. The young midfielder had been making headlines across England. Even though Gerrard hadn't yet watched Tristan play in person, he'd certainly heard about the rising star. Tristan's recent performances with Leicester City, particularly after their stunning title-winning campaign, had captivated the media and the nation.

The 18-year-old had been instrumental in breaking records and had recently shone in a victory over Arsenal. There was no doubt Tristan was England's next big hope.

Shaking Gerrard's hand, Tristan smiled and replied, "I'm glad to meet you too, Mr. Gerrard." The respect in his voice was genuine.

Tristan's admiration for Gerrard ran deep. His love for football had started with David Beckham and Kaka but over time, Gerrard had become a player he deeply respected. From the 2006 World Cup to countless Premier League campaigns, Gerrard's leadership, loyalty, and sense of responsibility had made him a footballing hero in Tristan's eyes. In a sport that was becoming increasingly flashy, Gerrard's character stood out.

Sensing Tristan's respect, Gerrard smiled and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "We're teammates now. Just call me Steven. Mr. Gerrard sounds a bit strange."

Tristan nodded, smiling wider. "Okay, Steven."

After passing his bag of sneakers to the equipment manager, Gerrard continued, "You're here pretty early. Have you met the coach yet?"

"Yes, I have," Tristan responded.

"Good," Gerrard said with a nod. "Wait here for a moment. I'll put my stuff away, and then I'll show you around and introduce you to everyone."

As captain of both Liverpool and the national team, Gerrard was used to taking young players under his wing, guiding them through the nerves and pressure that came with stepping up to the big stage. And Tristan, eager to learn from one of his heroes, gladly accepted the offer.

As soon as Gerrard left, the door opened again, and in walked Frank Lampard, the other titan of England's midfield. Tristan couldn't help but feel a bit amused.

Unlike Gerrard's calm demeanor, Lampard seemed slightly more enthusiastic. After all, he had faced off against Tristan in the FA Cup and even exchanged jerseys with him. Without hesitation, Lampard approached with a warm hug.

"Tristan, congratulations on your first selection!" Lampard said, his voice full of genuine goodwill.

"Thank you, Mr. Lampard," Tristan replied, once again using the formal title that had surprised Gerrard just moments earlier. But unlike Gerrard, Lampard didn't correct him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the respectful address, his smile widening just a bit.

"This is your first time here at St. George's Park, right? Want me to show you around?" Lampard offered, eager to take the young midfielder under his wing.

Tristan hesitated for a moment. "Oh, I'd love to, but Steven just said he'd take me around to meet the others, so..."

The smile on Lampard's face faltered, freezing in place for a brief second before fading. "Oh, that's fine," he said, his tone noticeably cooler. "Since he is showing you around, I won't get in the way."

Without another word, Lampard turned and walked away, leaving Tristan standing there, puzzled.

"Is Lampard upset?" Tristan wondered, replaying the interaction in his head.

He quickly realized that Lampard's sudden shift in mood likely had to do with Gerrard. Tristan knew from his years of watching the Three Lions that there had always been tension between the two midfield legends.

They had similar roles, and with one hailing from Chelsea and the other from Liverpool, their club rivalry had naturally spilled over into the national team. Despite their undeniable individual brilliance, their partnership in midfield never quite worked as hoped.

Tristan had seen interviews and documentaries where this unspoken competition was subtly revealed. Neither Lampard nor Gerrard had ever fully yielded to the other, and both preferred to push forward, often leaving the dirty work of the midfield to others. It was no wonder the double midfield experiment had often been imbalanced for England.

[The Beckham glazy in this chapter in the chinese version was crazy, had to remove all of it.] 

Now, Tristan understood why Lampard seemed unhappy. Despite Lampard's accomplishments, Gerrard had been chosen to lead, and it was clear that Lampard believed he deserved the role.

For Tristan, this was the first time he had personally felt the underlying tensions in the England locker room. Though he had admired both players growing up, seeing the subtle dynamics in person was a different experience.

Still, Tristan had no intention of getting involved in any of the team's internal power struggles. He knew that after this World Cup, both Gerrard and Lampard were to retire from international football, and their rivalry would fade with them.

For now, Tristan decided he would focus on being himself, learning from all his teammates, and building relationships that would last beyond any factionalism.

Just when Tristan had made up his mind to ignore the factional struggles of the team, a familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Hey, Tristan!"

He turned and saw Jamie Vardy, his club teammate, walking through the main gate with an excited grin. The sight of a familiar face immediately lifted Tristan's spirits.

"Jamie!" Tristan greeted him, embracing Vardy with a hearty hug.

"How's it going, mate?" Vardy asked, still buzzing from the call-up to the national team.

"Pretty good. Oh, by the way, Gerrard's going to take me around the base in a bit. You want to come along?"

"Definitely!" Vardy nodded without hesitation.

"Great. Drop your stuff off, and we'll wait here for you."

"Be right back!" Vardy dashed off with a spring in his step, clearly thrilled to be part of the England squad.

Moments later, Gerrard returned. After Tristan explained the situation, Gerrard welcomed Vardy to join them, nodding in approval. It wasn't every day that two Leicester City players were called up to the England squad together.

While they waited for Vardy, several other teammates arrived at the base, trickling in one by one. Some raised eyebrows upon seeing Tristan and Gerrard deep in conversation, clearly already bonding. It didn't go unnoticed that the newest addition to the squad was already in the good graces of their captain.

Gerrard introduced him to a few of the arriving players. "Tristan, this is Leighton Baines, our left-back." Baines gave him a firm handshake and a smile. "And this is Glen Johnson."

The pleasantries continued, but soon enough, Vardy returned, and Gerrard began the tour. As they walked through St. George's Park, Gerrard proudly introduced Tristan and Vardy to the gym, the tactical room, the physiotherapy area, and the impressive indoor football field. They passed the jacuzzi and heated swimming pool, causing both newcomers to exchange glances.

"Mate, this is next level," Vardy whispered with awe.

Tristan nodded. The facilities here rivaled those of any luxury hotel.

The final stop was the team's locker room. It was simpler compared to the other parts of the base, but spacious and functional. It had everything they needed to focus on the task at hand—winning.

"Tristan, that's your spot over there. Jamie, yours is right next to it," Gerrard pointed out, their new national team kits hanging neatly in place.

Tristan's shirt bore the number 22. It was a surreal moment, seeing his name stitched onto the back of the iconic white shirt of the Three Lions. His clubmate, Vardy, shared a similar look of disbelief as he took his seat beside him.

As Tristan entered the locker room, his eyes immediately landed on the jerseys hanging in the neat rows. A flash of surprise washed over him when he saw the number 22 kit hanging by his locker, waiting for him.

"Wait, wasn't that Forster's number?" Tristan asked, turning to Vardy.

Vardy shrugged. "Yeah, it was originally his, but I heard the coaches switched it up. Apparently, Forster's fine with another number—something about making sure the newer guys feel like they belong."

Gerrard stepped over, hearing the conversation. "That's right. The staff thought you deserved a solid number, Tristan. Forster's been incredibly supportive about it."

Tristan ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the weight of the responsibility. "22... I appreciate it."

The team was originally going to give him number 18, however, after that game against Arsenal, Tristan became a lot more important in the national team's plan, so after the coaches had a talk with Forster, he willingly gave it up after he would most likely never see game time considering how much Tristan seems to like the number 22.

As more players filed into the locker room in preparation for the upcoming training session, the air grew more charged. The likes of Rooney, Lampard, and Joe Hart joined the fray, chatting amongst themselves, but their eyes eventually fell on the two newcomers.

Gerrard clapped his hands, commanding the room's attention.

"Alright, everyone. Let's give a warm welcome to Tristan and Vardy, who have joined us for the first time."

Polite applause echoed around the room.

"Let's have some introductions," Gerrard continued. "Tristan, why don't you go first?"

Tristan stood up, heart pounding but determined to make a strong impression. He looked around the room, seeing the legends of English football before him—Lampard, Rooney, Gerrard. It was a dream he'd chased his whole life, and now he was finally here.

"Hey, everyone. I'm Tristan, I'll be turning 19 in a couple of weeks. I play in midfield."

The room erupted in applause again. The pressure eased slightly as Vardy took his turn next.

With the introductions out of the way, it was time to prove himself. In football, reputations were built on the pitch, not in the locker room. Tristan knew he had to let his performances do the talking.

...

Eleven o'clock in the morning.

After changing into their black GPS vests and sneakers, the team left the locker room and headed to the outdoor training ground.

The venue, Sir Bobby Charlton Stadium, bore the name of one of the greatest players to ever grace the pitch for both Manchester United and England. His legacy was a reminder of the standard every England international aimed to reach.

The weather was perfect for football—sun shining bright, with a pleasant breeze. The kind of day where the ball felt alive under your feet.

The coaching staff led the session, with Roy Hodgson keeping a watchful eye from the sidelines. First, the players warmed up under the guidance of the physical trainer, followed by some basic passing and receiving drills.

For Tristan, this was the moment to prove himself. The newspapers had been hailing him as a prodigy—comparing him to all time greats. But none of that mattered now. He knew that if he didn't win over his new teammates today, it wouldn't matter how many glowing headlines were written about him.

During the passing drill, Tristan felt the eyes of his teammates on him. Premier League stars, the heart of the England squad, were watching with skepticism. As a newcomer, he had to earn their trust.

After the drill, Tristan grabbed Vardy by the arm. "Let's show them what we can do."

They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the half-pitch near the sideline, setting up for long-pass drills. The other players looked on, curious to see what the new kid had to offer.

Vardy was the first to lob a ball over to Tristan. The pass floated high, a routine lofted ball. Most players would control it, take a touch, and then make their next move.

But Tristan had other plans.

As the ball dropped from the sky, he met it with the outside of his foot, delivering a stunning volley-pass that skipped across the grass like a laser, landing perfectly at Vardy's feet.

The watching players raised their eyebrows in surprise. Tristan's touch was so precise that it felt as if he had measured the pass with a ruler.

But it wasn't a fluke. Vardy sent another high ball over, and Tristan again volleyed it back—no touch, no hesitation, just one clean strike with pinpoint accuracy. The ball seemed to float effortlessly, yet it always landed exactly where he intended. Again and again, they traded passes, each one executed with surgical precision.

The rest of the team began to gather around, murmuring in disbelief. The difficulty of pulling off those volley passes was extraordinary, even for seasoned pros. It wasn't just about accuracy, but the sheer technique required to hit the ball so cleanly, without stopping, and deliver it perfectly over distance.

As the drill went on, the skepticism began to fade. What was once disbelief turned into respect. Tristan was no ordinary newcomer. He wasn't just another pretty face riding on hype. His skill spoke volumes.

Watching him, the other players couldn't help but exchange glances, their thoughts aligning.

This kid is really something.

.....

God I hated this fucking chapter, don't know why the chinese author thinks he knows everything going in the England's locker room like bro shut the fuck up and stop trying to make it like a Chinese sect with different groups fighting for power and can decide who plays and what not. 

This whole chapter and the next few ones just annoyed the fuck outta me, don't worry I rewrite everything and tone down all the in-fighting and stuff but I didn't remove everything as there was beef between players but I just lowered it and made it less cringe.