England's Greatest

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After England's win against Switzerland, the Three Lions wrapped up their national team duties in high spirits. The squad boarded a flight back to England, each player ready to enjoy a few days of rest before club football resumed.

The plane ride was anything but quiet. Tristan sat with Henderson, Sterling, and Vardy.

 Across the aisle, Rooney and Joe Hart discussed upcoming fixtures, while a few of the younger players leaned back in their seats, headphones on.

Sterling scrolled through his phone and nudged Henderson. "You seen the pictures from training?" he asked, turning the screen to show a shot of a few players mid-sprint, faces contorted in concentration.

Henderson chuckled. "They always catch us at the worst moments, don't they?"

Further down, Sturridge and Welbeck were taking turns flicking bottle caps into an empty cup on the tray table, quietly keeping score. Vardy, watching, shook his head. "You lot are easily entertained."

Tristan leaned back, stretching his legs as best he could in the cramped space. "Feels good to get the win, though," he said.

"Yeah," Henderson agreed. "Long way to go, but we'll take it."

The conversations drifted between football, club schedules, and plans for the days off. Some players dozed off, others kept chatting. It wasn't anything special—just a team enjoying a quiet moment together before everything picked up again.

...

The plane touched down smoothly on the runway at Luton Airport, the slight jolt stirring a few players who had dozed off during the flight. The quiet hum of conversation picked up again as seatbelts clicked open and the team prepared to disembark.

Tristan stood up, stretching out the stiffness from the flight, while around him, the usual post-trip routine played out—players retrieving their bags, exchanging quick words about club matches, and making loose plans to meet up before the next international break.

"Safe travels, lads," Joe Hart said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he made his way down the aisle.

"See you lot soon," Rooney added, giving a few pats on the back as he passed.

Sterling and Henderson walked ahead together.

Vardy was being picked up his girlfriend, so he didn't have to drop him off as he was being picked up by Sophia. 

Tristan stepped off the plane and into the cool air sighing looking just feeling the depression in the atompshere, god he wanted to back to Brazil. 

The tarmac was wet from earlier rain, the runway lights reflecting off the slick surface. As he made his way toward the arrivals area, he spotted Sophia in front of his Range Rover. She picked it up from St. George as he left his key to a stuff member responsible for the players cars. 

Sophia's gaze flicked to him as he approached her. 

"Welcome back,boss" she said. No sarcasm, no exasperation. Just a statement.

Tristan smirked slightly. "Didn't think I'd get that from you and your not gonna stop calling me that, are you?"

She opened the trunk before answering, "Nope, and I've thought you would have gotten used to it." 

She mostly just calls him boss as a way to annoy him and just for fun, she was warming up to him. When she first heard she was going to be assistant to a rising 19 year old, she was expecting a lot more baggage she have to handle. 

But she had nothing to worry about that with Tristan, he was responsible and just nice to be around. But she's not gonna tell him that.

Tristan tossed his bag into the trunk, shaking his head with a small grin. "Yeah, yeah. Suppose I have."

Sophia shut the trunk and walked around to the driver's seat while he slid into the passenger side. The car was warm, the contrast to the cold drizzle outside making him relax slightly.

She pulled out of the airport, the roads slick with rain, the streetlights casting a soft, hazy glow over the city.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Tristan let his head rest against the seat, watching the world blur past the window. 

…..

Next Day 

After weeks of relentless fixtures, both for his club and the national team, Tristan had finally been granted a rare day off. In the past month alone, he had played three intense league matches and two international games, racking up two goals and six assists. His body wasn't screaming for rest just yet, but he wasn't about to argue with a well-earned break.

Sprawled across his sofa, he absentmindedly scrolled through social media, catching up on football news, teammates' posts, and the usual flood of memes in the group chat. A few clips from training had surfaced—one of him nutmegging Henderson, which was already getting traction. He smirked, shaking his head at the comments.

The familiar sound of a plate being set down pulled him from his screen.

"Boss, your tuna salad," Sophia said simply, placing the dish onto the coffee table in front of him.

She wasn't just responsible for his schedule and errands—her role extended beyond that. Some days, she drove him to training when he didn't feel like dealing with London traffic. Other times, she taught him Spanish and once he's decent at that, he considere asking her for lessons in Portuguese, German, and Italian cause why not. 

And occasionally, like today, she handled meals when his usual support system wasn't around.

Normally, his mum would be the one in the kitchen, but his parents were off in France for a quick getaway, leaving the house feeling a little emptier than usual.

"Thanks," Tristan said, barely glancing up as he grabbed the plate. He speared a piece of perfectly boiled tuna with his fork and took a bite. It was lightly seasoned with black pepper, the freshness cutting through the simplicity.

He could cook but he just wasn't that great at it.

Sophia didn't say anything, just sat on the opposite end of the sofa with her laptop, typing away as she sorted through emails and upcoming obligations. She wasn't the hovering type, which he appreciated.

Sophia's voice cut through the quiet as Tristan ate.

"Boss, I need to talk to you about something."

Tristan glanced up, slightly surprised. "Yeah? Go ahead."

She hesitated for a moment, but when she spoke, her tone was as direct as ever. "I think you should hire a private chef. And a nutritionist."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Sophia folded her arms. "Because asking me to cook for you isn't a long-term solution. I'm your assistant, not your chef. I can handle your schedule, your travel, and a hundred other things, but I'm not qualified to manage your diet the way a professional athlete needs. A chef and a nutritionist should be your next priority."

Tristan set his fork down, mulling it over. "Didn't really think about it like that. But I don't know if I've got the budget for both."

Sophia nodded, already anticipating the concern. "You don't need a full-time team, just the essentials. A nutritionist can create a plan tailored to your needs, and a chef can prep meals based on that plan. Right now, you eat well when you're at the club because they control what's on your plate. But when you're home? It's on you. And let's be real—your mum's cooking, as good as it is, isn't designed for a footballer."

Tristan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that's fair. And I can't expect her to cook for me forever, especially if I move out soon."

"Exactly," Sophia said. "This is about setting yourself up properly. The higher you climb, the more important these things get."

He leaned back, thinking it through. Hell, he had the idea before forming a team similar to Ronaldo but he just did't have enough money for that but she make good points. 

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll do it. I just don't know where to start."

"No worries," Sophia replied. "I'll put together a list of candidates for both. You can try them out and decide who fits best."

Tristan smirked slightly. "You always have a plan, don't you?"

She shrugged. "That's my job."

She jotted a note in her planner, then flipped to another page. "While we're on the topic of hiring… remember the bodyguards we talked about?"

Tristan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yeah. Been thinking about that too. With everything going on, it's probably time to get serious about it."

He was more serious about this than anything else considering what happens in the future, the safety of his parents and his were more important than anything else. He wouldn't mind feeling the dent in his bank because of it.

Sophia nodded, satisfied. "I'll set up interviews with the best candidates. We'll narrow it down together. The higher your profile gets, the more attention you attract, and not all of it is good."

"Yeah, let's do it," he agreed.

Sophia checked something on her phone and continued. "One last thing—I've booked your flight from Warsaw to Milan for the morning of the 18th. Hotel's sorted too. I sent the details to your email, so check when you have a chance and let me know if anything needs adjusting."

Tristan nodded. Leicester City would be traveling to Warsaw on the 17th for their first Europa League group-stage match. The season was picking up fast.

"Got it. Thanks for sorting all of this."

Sophia gave him a small, satisfied nod before heading toward the door. "That's what I'm here for."

.....

Need them stones, folks.