England's Greatest

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Boris, a reporter for The Sun, stared in disbelief as the black Land Rover disappeared into the night, its taillights glowing faintly before vanishing around the corner. He had just watched Tristan casually stroll into the hotel alone, and it didn't make sense.

 Boris had been snapping photos discreetly from a nearby table, convinced that the night would end with the two of them heading upstairs together. Yet here he was, alone in his car, watching the exact opposite unfold.

"What's going on?" Boris muttered, leaning forward against the steering wheel. "Did Kendall lose interest already?"

It didn't seem likely. Not with how relaxed and connected they'd seemed earlier. His mind raced for explanations. Maybe she was just avoiding the paparazzi, waiting for the coast to clear before coming back later? Or perhaps they were keeping things under wraps to avoid headlines splashed across every tabloid tomorrow morning.

Boris smirked to himself, the possibility fueling his resolve. "That's got to be it," he whispered. "She'll be back when no one's watching."

Feeling the thrill of an exclusive scoop in the making, Boris reclined in his seat, his camera ready, and settled in to wait. He pictured himself catching Kendall sneaking into the hotel after hours, delivering the story that would make the front page.

But as the hours ticked by, Boris's excitement began to wane. Midnight turned into 2 a.m., the hotel's revolving doors remaining stubbornly empty. By 4 a.m., the street was deserted, save for the occasional late-night wanderer.

By 6 a.m., Boris's patience was worn thin. His back ached, his coffee had gone cold, and his faith in the "late-night rendezvous" theory had all but vanished. Slumped in his seat, dark circles under his eyes, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Damn it," he hissed, his patience long gone. He had waited all night for nothing.

Boris consoled himself with one thought: the photos of Tristan and Kendall leaving the Bel-Air Hotel together were still valuable. Hours earlier, he had sent them, along with a short write-up, to The Sun's deputy editor-in-chief, Abel Lancaster.

By now, Abel would've seen them. It was just past 6 a.m. in London, prime time to prep a morning exclusive. Boris knew the combination of a rising football star and a Hollywood A-lister was irresistible tabloid material.

He wasn't wrong. Abel had opened the email at dawn, sipping his coffee as the images loaded. The photos weren't scandalous—just Tristan and Kendall walking side by side—but the story practically sold itself. Two worlds colliding, football and Hollywood.

Abel smirked as he fired off a message to the editorial team: "Tristan and Kendall. Front page. Make it sharp, make it big."

The headline they settled on was simple but effective: "Rising Star Tristan Hale Spotted with Kendall Jenner." It didn't overpromise, but it didn't need to. Readers would click.

Two hours later, The Sun hit newsstands across the UK, its front page screaming with bold letters: "Tristan Hale and Kendall Jenner: Hollywood's New Power Pair?" The grainy photos of them leaving the Bel-Air Hotel together and having dinner added fuel to the speculation.

By 8:30 a.m., The Sun's readers were flipping through the details of Tristan's supposed romantic connection with Kendall, all thanks to Boris's late-night perseverance. Exhausted but triumphant, Boris allowed himself a smug grin as he saw the articles. This story would make waves—and sell papers for days.

Back in Los Angeles, it was just after 7 a.m. when Tristan's phone buzzed insistently on his nightstand. Groaning, he rolled over, trying to block out the morning light seeping through the curtains. Reluctantly, he grabbed the phone and squinted at the screen.

Tristan's phone buzzed sharply, pulling him from a deep sleep in his hotel room. He groaned, fumbling to silence the noise before sitting up, stretching his arms as early sunlight crept through the curtains. He was about to roll out of bed when his phone rang again, the screen lighting up with a name he recognized instantly: Jorge Mendes.

"Hey, Jorge. Morning," Tristan greeted, his voice groggy as he rubbed his eyes.

"Good morning, Tristan," Jorge replied, his tone calm and measured. "How's Los Angeles treating you?"

"Not bad," Tristan said, stifling a yawn. "What's up?"

"Well, I thought you might want to know—you're on the front page of The Sun this morning. You and Kendall Jenner, to be exact."

Tristan blinked, still waking up. "Wait, what? Me and Kendall?"

"Yes," Jorge said with a chuckle. "The paparazzi got photos of the two of you leaving dinner together. It's a full story—headline and everything."

"Oh," Tristan muttered, leaning back against the headboard. "That explains why my phone's been buzzing."

Jorge's tone remained easygoing. "It's nothing to stress over, but I thought I'd give you a heads-up. These kinds of stories tend to grow legs pretty quickly."

Tristan sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "We're not dating or anything. It was just dinner."

"I figured as much," Jorge said. "Still, when you're seen with someone as high-profile as Kendall, it's going to turn heads. Comes with the territory."

"Is this going to be a problem?" Tristan asked, a slight edge of concern in his voice.

"Not at all," Jorge reassured him. "If anything, this might boost your profile. Being linked to someone like Kendall puts you in the spotlight, and that's not a bad place to be—so long as you handle it well."

Tristan nodded to himself. "Alright. So, what should I do if people ask?"

"Keep it simple," Jorge advised. "Tell them the truth: you're just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't add fuel to the fire, and it'll blow over soon enough."

"Got it," Tristan said with a faint smile. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"Of course," Jorge replied. "Enjoy the rest of your trip, Tristan. And if anything else comes up, you know where to reach me."

"Will do," Tristan said before ending the call.

Hanging up, Tristan sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed on the screen as a notification popped up—an article from The Sun with his face side by side with Kendall's. His agent wasn't wrong; this was just the beginning of the media frenzy.

Wanting to shift the narrative, Tristan opened his social media app and quickly uploaded a series of photos from the charity match the day before. The collection featured candid moments with David Beckham, Ronaldinho, Chris Brown, Kendall, and others. His caption read:

"First charity match! What an experience! Huge thanks to @Beckham for the invite and the chance to meet legends and make new friends. 🙌⚽ #Grateful #Unforgettable"

Satisfied, he set his phone down and walked to the bathroom to splash water on his face. The cool water helped clear his head, but before he could fully unwind, there was a gentle knock at his door.

"Tristan, love, are you awake?" his mother, Julia, called softly.

"Yeah, Mum, come in," Tristan replied, grabbing a towel.

Julia stepped in, her phone in hand and a curious expression on her face. "I just saw something about you in the papers... and Kendall Jenner. Care to explain?"

Tristan chuckled, shaking his head as he dried his face. "It's nothing, Mum. We're just acquaintances. We had dinner after the charity match, that's all. The press just needs something to blow out of proportion."

Julia raised an eyebrow, "Just friends, huh? You know, that's exactly what your dad said when we went for coffee the first time," she teased.

Tristan rolled his eyes with a grin. "Mum, I promise. No coffee dates turning into love stories this time."

"Seriously, Mum," Tristan insisted, drying his hands on a towel. "I'm too focused on my career right now. The last thing I need is a Kardashian circus in my life. And honestly, I don't think Kendall and I would work out anyway. If I'm ever interested in someone, you'll be the first to know, I promise."

From the doorway, his father, Ling, chuckled, arms crossed with a knowing smile. "Smart lad. Nothing against the girl, but those Kardashians can be a handful. Your mum keeps up with their show like it's the news."

Julia shot him a playful glare and swatted his arm. "Hey! I watch it occasionally, not religiously."

Tristan grinned, the lighthearted banter between his parents easing the tension. "Don't worry," he said, flashing a reassuring smile. "If I ever get serious about someone, you two will be the first to hear about it—before the tabloids, I swear."

Julia softened, though her concern lingered. "Alright, but remember, we want to stay involved in your life. You've worked so hard to get here, Tristan. Just… stay focused, okay? You've got the world ahead of you."

"I know, Mum," he replied, his tone firm yet warm. "I won't let this distract me. I've come too far for that."

His father clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Good lad. Now, what's next? You signing that contract soon?"

"Yeah," Tristan said, his excitement bubbling to the surface again. "Should be within the next few days. I'm flying back to London today to finalize it."

Julia's eyes lit up with pride. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. Your first big contract—what a milestone."

"Absolutely," his father added, a smile spreading across his face. "Let's get home and celebrate properly."

After a quick breakfast and gathering his things, Tristan and Sophia checked out of the hotel and returned the BMW Beckham had loaned him. They boarded the earliest flight back to London, eager to get back to their routine.

 But as soon as they stepped out of the airport terminal, a barrage of flashing lights and shouting reporters greeted them.

"Tristan! Over here!"

"Tristan, are you and Kendall officially together?"

"Tristan, give us a statement!"

Julia gasped and instinctively clutched her son's arm. "Oh my goodness, Tristan! What is this?"

Tristan exhaled, offering her a reassuring smile. "Just the start of the madness, Mum."

Tristan took a deep breath, flashing a practiced smile as the cameras surrounded him. He knew he had to address the questions directly to put an end to the rumors.

"Tristan, are you and Kendall officially together?" one reporter asked, camera lenses snapping.

Tristan shook his head, maintaining his calm. "No, we're just friends. We met through some mutual connections, had a coffee, had dinner. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."

Another reporter quickly followed up, "Tristan, what's next after your World Cup breakout? Any big moves coming?"

"Well, I've got a few things lined up.We'll see where things go."

He could feel the weight of the cameras on him, but he kept his tone light and confident, hoping to wrap things up quickly.

"Anything else?" he asked, looking around at the swarm of reporters.

Seeing that they weren't getting the answers they hoped for, the reporters slowly began to back off, allowing security to guide Tristan, his family and Sophia through the crowd.

Finally, with the help of security, Tristan and his parents managed to break free from the chaos and get into the waiting car. As soon as they were seated, Tristan let out a long exhale, relieved to escape the frenzy. His mother, Julia, looked a bit frazzled from the scene, while his father, Ling, chuckled lightly, finding amusement in the chaos.

Sophia, sitting in the front seat, turned around to face him. "Boss, I seriously think it's time to get a bodyguard," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Tristan grinned. "Not a bad idea, Sophia. At this rate, I might need one soon."

His mother, however, frowned with concern. "A bodyguard? My son, needing a bodyguard? Tristan, is this going to be normal from now on?"

"Probably, Mum," Tristan replied softly, trying to ease her worry. "It comes with the territory."

Julia sighed, shaking her head slightly, but Tristan's father gave her a reassuring smile, kissing her on the head. "He's becoming a star, love. Attention like this is just part of the journey."

Tristan leaned back in his seat, letting the city blur by as they drove home. The rising tide of fame was something he was still getting used to, and while he appreciated the support, moments like these made him long for some normalcy. His social media had exploded ever since the rumors of him and Kendall had surfaced, particularly among his female fans. Despite the clarifications, the comments kept rolling in.

Some of his fans even went as far as attacking Kendall on her own social media, leaving insulting remarks even when he spoke out. It was overwhelming at times, watching the level of passion and intensity people brought into his personal life. The rumors had subsided somewhat, but the frenzy around him was far from dying down.

The next day, as Tristan was unwinding at home, another wave of news hit—this time about his professional value. The official Transfermarkt update had just gone live, and it didn't take long for the footballing world to buzz with excitement.

The official Transfermarkt update had just gone live, and the footballing world buzzed with excitement.

Messi and Ronaldo, the two greatest of all time, still dominated the top of the value charts, each worth over €100 million. But there was another name making waves, spoken of with increasing admiration: James Rodriguez. The Colombian star, having become the breakout sensation of the World Cup, saw his market value leap from €35 million to €60 million. Rumors were already swirling that Real Madrid had finalized an €80 million deal for him, making headlines across the globe.

Yet, Tristan's meteoric rise was the second-biggest story. Before the World Cup, his valuation had been a respectable €10 million—solid for a promising young player. But after leading England to the quarterfinals and being awarded Best Newcomer of the tournament, his value had skyrocketed to an eye-watering €50 million.

"Fifty million euros…" his father muttered as they sat together in the living room, scrolling through the news. "Not bad for a nineteen-year-old."

"Not bad at all," Tristan echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Feels unreal."

His father clapped him on the shoulder. "You've earned every bit of it. Now, you just need to keep working."

Tristan smiled, knowing his dad was right. But with the fame and accolades came complications. Offers from Europe's elite clubs had already started pouring in—Manchester United, Paris Saint-Germain, Monaco, and Liverpool all came knocking, ready to meet his €50 million valuation. But Leicester City wasn't willing to let him go. Fully aware of what they had, the club rejected every offer, determined to hold on to their prized young star.

A few days later, Tristan's phone buzzed. It was his agent, Jorge Mendes. Tristan, sprawled on the couch, casually answering the call while catching up on a TV series.

"Tristan," Jorge's voice came brisk as always, "it's time. Get to the club and sign the new deal."

The excitement surged through Tristan once more as he sprang to his feet, eager to get dressed. His parents, by now well accustomed to the whirlwind pace of his career, were right beside him, beaming with pride as they made their way to Leicester City's offices.

There, in a room filled with the club's director, head coach, and the flicker of flashing cameras, Tristan sat at a long table. A fresh contract lay before him. His parents watched proudly as he picked up the pen, flashed a confident smile at the cameras, and signed his name.

With that stroke of the pen, his weekly salary soared from £15,000 to an incredible £70,000. Leicester, fully aware of the rising value of their young star, doubled his release clause—upping it from £30 million to £60 million.

Tristan felt the weight of the moment as the cameras continued to flash, sealing his future with the club.