Chapter 343: New League (3/3)

Currently 5:21, been awake all night, can’t sleep, nervous as fuck as I have a appointment in like 3 hours to get all 4 wisdom teeth removed. Pray for me, wish me some luck. Managed to finally get my ass up and finish this chapter. 

The story hasn’t been dropped or any of the other two. I don’t even know what to say. I can't make or say any excuse besides I’m sorry. The current plan is to get 4 chapters out per week and see where that goes.

Thank you for your time, kindness and patience. There are still things going on in the background, complications and treatments I'm still going through with the added stress of my job but I still have plans to finish all of my stories.

…

August 5, 2016 - Melwood Training Ground - 10:31 a.m.

A sharp whistle cut through the crisp morning air. 

"Come on, boys!" one of the coaches called. "Wake up! I want to see some energy!" 

The first team players immediately broke into a steady jog around the training pitches as Liverpool's first preseason session officially got underway.

That morning had already been busy.

Every player had reported to Liverpool's sports science department for the usual preseason assessments to determine weight, body composition, and everything else under the sun. Every measurement was carefully recorded before a ball had even been kicked.

For some, the results were exactly what Liverpool's performance staff had expected. Some like Milner, Henderson, Firmino and Lallana were all comfortably within their target ranges as they had trained all summer knowing this upcoming season was gonna be a lot different.

Others weren't quite as fortunate.

A few players had returned carrying an extra kilogram or two after the break, earning playful comments from both the coaching staff and their teammates before individualized conditioning plans were quietly handed out.

Tristan's report naturally drew more attention than anyone else's. As Liverpool's record signing and the face of the club's new era, every detail surrounding his physical condition was scrutinized. His teammates were curious, the coaching staff meticulous, and beyond Melwood's walls, the media would have dissected every number if they had been given the chance to do so.

.

The final player stepped off the scale.

One of Liverpool's performance analysts glanced down at the tablet before entering a few final figures.

"One hundred and eighty-eight centimetres."

He nodded to himself.

"Looks like you've grown another couple of centimetres."

Tristan looked over.

"I was wondering why I kept hitting my head on things."

A few quiet laughs spread around the room.

The analyst continued.

"Ninety kilos."

His fingers moved quickly across the screen before looking toward Klopp.

The Liverpool manager wandered over, coffee still in hand.

"So?"

The analyst turned the tablet slightly so both men could see.

"Nothing to worry about."

"Body fat's still excellent."

"The only recommendation we'd make is dropping a few kilos before the season starts."

"Around four kilos."

Klopp nodded thoughtfully.

"Eighty-six?"

The analyst nodded.

"I'd say that's your ideal playing weight."

"You'll keep all the strength while gaining a little more acceleration over the first few metres."

Tristan studied the numbers in silence.

Ninety kilos.

Damn...

It wasn't a bad number. Most footballers would've reported back in far worse shape after a summer like the one he'd just had.

But Tristan wasn't comparing himself to most footballers.

He was comparing himself to himself.

For the past two years, every kilo he'd gained or lost had been part of a plan.

Everything had been controlled.

This summer, between winning the Euros, the celebrations, Barbara's surgery, and the move to Liverpool...

Not so much.

He rubbed the back of his neck before letting out a quiet laugh.

"I really let myself go."

The room fell silent for a moment before the analyst smiled.

"I wouldn't go that far."

Tristan shook his head.

"No."

"I've just... never really been this far off my target before."

"For the past few years, my conditioning's been spot on."

"This summer..." He shrugged. "My routine wasn't as disciplined as I would've liked."

Klopp didn't look remotely surprised.

"I know."

Tristan looked up.

The German smiled reassuringly.

"You've probably had the busiest summer of any footballer on the planet."

The analyst nodded.

"We've gone through all your previous testing from Leicester."

He tapped the screen.

"Your standards are... unusually high."

Another member of the performance staff laughed.

"I'd call them absurd."

A few people chuckled.

The analyst pointed back toward the tablet.

"We're talking about four kilos. Not because you're out of shape, but because your body's changed."

"You're taller now, and we want to find the ideal playing weight for this version of you."

Tristan looked down at himself before responding.

"Honestly... I don't even feel any different."

The analyst smiled.

"Most players don't."

He tapped the screen again.

"The numbers do."

"An extra couple of centimetres changes your centre of gravity, your stride length, even how your body carries its weight."

"It's not a massive adjustment, but it's enough that we want to optimise around it."

Tristan nodded slowly.

"Makes sense."

Klopp folded his arms.

"You've already shown the world how good you are."

"Our job now..."

"...is making sure you're the best version of yourself every single week."

Tristan looked back down at the figures.

He wasn't worried.

Four kilos wasn't much.

A couple of disciplined weeks, a slight adjustment to his nutrition, and a return to the conditioning routine he'd followed for years.

He'd be back where he wanted to be before the Premier League even kicked off.

He looked up and smiled.

"Eighty-six."

The analyst smiled back.

"We'll have you there."

.

The steady rhythm of boots against the grass filled the morning air as the squad completed another lap around the training pitches.

Tristan settled into an easy pace near the front of the group.

A few seconds later, someone matched his stride. Henderson gradually drifted alongside Tristan as they settled into an easy jogging pace.

The captain glanced around to make sure none of the coaches were within earshot.

"So..."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "What d'you want?" 

Henderson laughed. "Mate, I've only said one word."

"I know that stupid look on your face. What you want?” Tristan asked, sighing a little. 

Henderson lowered his voice. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. The club likes to keep everyone's numbers private."

Tristan nodded.

"But..."

Henderson continued.

"...I'm dying to know."

Tristan looked at him.

"About?"

"Your weigh-in."

He chuckled. "After the Euros, I had to work like hell to get back where I wanted to be."

"The celebrations nearly ruined me."

Tristan laughed.

"That bad?"

"You've seen how we celebrated."

"I don't think my body saw a gym for about ten days."

The pair laughed.

"So?" Henderson asked.

"Did you keep up your usual routine?"

Tristan let out a long sigh.

"...Not even close."

Henderson blinked.

"Really?"

"I came in at one ninety-eight."

The captain looked him up and down.

"I hate you."

Tristan frowned.

"What?"

"You say that like you've turned into Sunday league."

"I'm trying to lose three kilos."

Tristan scratched the back of his head.

"I know..."

"But for me that's basically obesity."

Henderson burst out laughing.

"Obesity?"

"I'm serious."

"If Vardy heard me say one ninety-eight..."

He shook his head.

"...he'd never let me hear the end of it."

Henderson grinned.

"Oh, I'm definitely telling him."

"Don't you dare."

"I'm absolutely doing it."

"I've got his number."

Tristan groaned dramatically.

"Great."

"By lunchtime he'll have convinced the entire Leicester dressing room I've spent the summer living in McDonald's."

Henderson laughed so hard he had to slow his pace for a moment.

"You've forgotten one thing."

"What?"

"I'm going to tell Milner too."

Tristan looked ahead at the Liverpool vice-captain, jogging besides Kante.

"...You know what?"

"I'll lose the weight by tomorrow."

Henderson laughed again.

"Now that's motivation."

Another ten minutes passed in a blur.

The jogging gave way to dynamic stretches before flowing naturally into short passing drills and quick one-touch exercises.

Laughter echoed around Melwood every now and then as misplaced passes earned playful jeers from teammates.

Kanté looked as though he hadn't broken a sweat which seemed to be the norm no matter the club.

A sharp whistle rang out once more.

"Bring it in!"

The squad immediately gathered around Klopp.

The Liverpool manager looked around at the players gathered before him before reaching down for a mesh bag resting beside him.

"So it begins," Sturridge muttered. 

Klopp grinned before tossing the bibs out one after another, quickly dividing the squad into two six-man teams. 

As expected, Tristan and Kanté ended up on opposite sides. 

Tristan looked across at his former Leicester teammate.  "They've finally split us up."

Kanté smiled. "I was expecting it."

Milner laughed as he pulled on his bib.

"About time." 

"I've had enough of watching you two gang up on everyone." 

A few players laughed. Klopp waited for the chatter to settle before pointing toward one of the small grids marked out by orange cones. 

"Six against six." 

"Keep the ball." 

"The moment you lose it..." 

"...win it back." 

He dropped a ball into the middle of the square. "Let's go."

The whistle shrilled.

Instantly, the twelve players sprang into motion.

The ball rolled out from Henderson's feet as the blue team immediately looked to establish possession. One touch became two. Two became three. Lallana drifted into space, Lucas dropped deep to offer an outlet, while Clyne hugged the touchline, stretching the small grid as far as the cones allowed.

The red bibs reacted just as quickly.

Firmino led the press.

Sturridge curved his run to cut off the return pass.

Milner charged forward with far more enthusiasm than anyone should have possessed in a preseason possession drill.

"Quicker!" Klopp barked from the sideline.

"Move the ball!"

Lucas found Tristan between the lines with a crisp pass.

One touch.

Back to Henderson.

Another touch.

Out wide to Clyne.

The tempo immediately increased.

Tristan could already feel the difference.

Leicester had thrived by exploding into space the moment possession was won.

Liverpool wanted something else.

Constant movement.

Short combinations.

Everyone offering an angle.

Nobody standing still.

It suited him.

His first few touches weren't perfect.

One diagonal toward Clyne carried a little too much pace, forcing the fullback to stretch before keeping it in play.

A few seconds later, he tried slipping Firmino through a narrow gap only for the Brazilian to arrive half a step late.

"Unlucky!" Firmino called, jogging back into position.

Tristan simply nodded as he trying to get back some of his rythme which slowly began to return.

Henderson received with his body already half-open.

Tristan had seen that movement countless times while studying Liverpool over the previous two seasons.

Before Henderson even looked up, Tristan was already moving into the space he knew the captain preferred.

The return pass arrived first time.

One touch.

Across to Lallana.

Back to Tristan.

The exchange was effortless.

A few possessions later, Lallana drifted inside after releasing the ball, exactly as Tristan knew he liked to do.

Without even needing to glance up, Tristan rolled the pass into his path.

Lallana smiled.

"Lovely."

On the opposite side, Firmino dropped between the lines.

Again, Tristan found him immediately.

He'd spent years watching Liverpool.

He knew Henderson's habits.

He knew Lallana never stopped moving.

He knew Firmino loved abandoning the striker's position to create space for everyone else.

Knowing those tendencies from the outside was one thing.

Playing with them was another entirely.

Across the grid, Klopp folded his arms.

A faint smile crossed his face.

The understanding wasn't perfect.

But it was coming faster than he'd expected.

Then—

A flash of red.

Kanté.

Nobody saw him arrive.

One second Lucas had the ball.

The next...

He didn't.

The Frenchman had nicked it cleanly before immediately finding Firmino with a simple pass.

"Transition!" Klopp shouted.

The red team exploded forward.

Firmino played a quick one-two with Coutinho before slipping the ball into Sturridge's feet.

Goal.

Milner clapped once.

"That's more like it."

The players jogged back into position.

Tristan shook his head, laughing quietly.

"Still a thief."

Kanté smiled innocently.

"I just ran."

"You always 'just run.'"

Another whistle.

Play resumed.

This time Tristan reacted immediately the moment possession changed.

Instead of admiring the turnover, he sprinted toward the ball.

He cut off Henderson's passing lane before closing down Firmino from the blind side.

Firmino was forced backwards.

Lallana stepped in.

Interception.

Klopp pointed immediately.

"Yes!"

"Again!"

"Three seconds!"

The blue team swarmed forward together.

For nearly a minute the ball never stopped moving.

One touch.

Two touches.

Constant angles.

Constant movement.

It wasn't spectacular.

It was exhausting.

Every player was expected to think before the ball arrived.

The moment someone hesitated...

They lost it.

Eventually Henderson found Tristan between two defenders.

Instead of controlling it, Tristan let the ball roll across his body before flicking it first time into Lallana's path.

The midfielder returned it instantly.

Firmino stepped toward him.

One touch carried Tristan onto his stronger foot.

He struck through the ball.

It fizzed toward the far corner...

...and skimmed inches wide of the post.

Sturridge threw both hands into the air.

"Oi!"

The entire group looked over.

"I was standing right there!"

Tristan looked at him.

"I know."

"You ignored me!"

"I had to make sure the goal still fit."

The squad burst into laughter.

Even Klopp couldn't suppress a smile.

Sturridge shook his head dramatically.

"This is why strikers suffer."

"I've been here five minutes and he's already forgotten I exist."

"I'll remember you when you score," Tristan shot back.

"See?"

Sturridge pointed at him.

"Abuse already."

The laughter lingered as everyone jogged back into position.

The football wasn't perfect yet.

The timing wasn't flawless.

But with every passing sequence...

Every recovery run...

Every burst of pressing...

Liverpool looked a little more like the team Klopp wanted them to become.

Several hours later...

The intensity of the morning had finally faded.

Training bibs had long since been tossed into laundry bins.

The pitches, so full of shouting only an hour earlier, had quieted considerably as the squad prepared for the afternoon video analysis session.

Some players remained outside.

Milner and Henderson were locked in a light-hearted competition over free kicks. No one had asked Tristan to join any challenges to do with free-kicks.

Sturridge had somehow convinced Firmino to join him in a game of crossbar challenge.

A few of the younger players sat beneath the covered benches, chatting quietly while working through recovery drinks prepared by Liverpool's nutrition staff.

Inside the training centre, the atmosphere was even calmer.

Ice baths.

Massage tables.

Recovery bikes.

The steady hum of conversation drifted through the corridors.

Tristan had claimed one of the sofas in the players' lounge. He lay stretched across it with one arm resting behind his head.

His phone was held above his face.

A familiar ringtone echoed for only a second before the screen lit up.

Barbara.

Almost immediately, another face squeezed into view.

A small cream-coloured Maltipoo enthusiastically bounced up and down in front of the camera.

"Biscuit."

The little dog froze. Her ears shot upright. Then the tail became an uncontrollable blur.

"Oh no..."

Tristan laughed.

Biscuit immediately began pawing at the phone.

Her tail wagged so violently that Barbara struggled to keep the camera steady.

"I think someone's missed you."

"I've missed her too."

"You hear that, mate?"

Biscuit barked at the screen before enthusiastically licking the camera.

Barbara sighed dramatically.

"Brilliant."

"Now my phone's covered in slobber."

Tristan grinned.

"She's just making sure I don't forget her."

"I don't think that's possible."

Barbara smiled softly before settling back into her chair.

"So..."

"How's China?"

Tristan asked.

"I still feel bad I couldn't make it."

Barbara shook her head.

"Don't."

"We both knew this could happen."

"Liverpool weren't going to delay preseason because my boyfriend wanted another holiday."

Tristan chuckled.

"True."

"So how's everything going?"

"Really well."

Barbara's smile grew.

"The response has honestly been incredible."

"The grand opening for Stella's flagship store is in two days." She turned the camera for a moment.

Outside the hotel window, banners advertising the launch could be seen hanging from nearby buildings.

"There are people waiting outside almost everywhere we go."

"Most of them are incredibly sweet."

"A lot of them were disappointed you couldn't come, though."

Tristan winced.

"I figured."

"I made sure to mention you in every interview."

Barbara smiled reassuringly.

"I told them you were desperate to come, but Liverpool's preseason had already started."

"And..."

She looked back into the camera.

"...I promised you'd be here next summer instead."

Tristan nodded.

"I can live with that."

"Hopefully next time I won't have Klopp making me run until I forget my own name."

Barbara laughed.

"I think they'll forgive you."

"They seemed pretty happy with that answer."

Tristan smiled before raising an eyebrow.

"I bet learning Mandarin finally came in handy."

Barbara tilted her head innocently.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come off it."

"You spent months learning it."

"I always thought it was just another excuse to flirt with me."

Barbara burst into laughter.

"I cannot believe you're bringing that up."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"It absolutely worked."

She shook her head, still smiling.

"Well..."

She switched effortlessly into fluent Mandarin before translating it herself.

"'We're very excited to finally bring Stella to China.'"

"'Thank you for all the love and support.'"

"'I'll definitely be back.'"

She looked back at Tristan.

"So yes..."

"I'm very glad I learned it."

Tristan nodded approvingly.

"Not bad."

Barbara raised an eyebrow.

"'Not bad?'"

"I was expecting at least an eight out of ten."

"I'll give you a nine."

She gasped dramatically.

"Only a nine?"

"The other point was reserved for your flirting."

Barbara rolled her eyes, unable to hide her smile.

"I walked right into that one."

She rested her chin against her hand.

"Enough about me."

"How's Liverpool?"

"How was the first day?"

Tristan glanced toward the large windows overlooking Melwood's training pitches.

"It feels... different."

Barbara tilted her head.

"Different how?"

"I guess the atmosphere? Right now nothing hasnt started but I can feel a different kind of expectations compared to Leciester."

"I knew what I was signing up for but being here..."

He shook his head.

"...it's something else."

Barbara listened quietly.

"The training's intense."

"Klopp notices everything."

"If your body shape is wrong..."

"He'll stop the drill."

"If your press is half a second late..."

"He'll stop the drill."

"If one player isn't moving..."

"He'll stop the drill."

Barbara smiled.

"So..."

"You like it."

Tristan laughed.

"I love it."

"I've got a lot to learn about the club and all my teammates"

"But..."

He looked around the players' lounge.

"...I already feel happy with everything."

Barbara's expression softened.

"I knew you would."

"I was a little nervous."

"Nervous?"

"New club."

"New teammates."

"Different city."

She shrugged.

"You never know."

Tristan smiled.

"I think this is going to work."

"No..."

He corrected himself.

"I know it will."

Barbara nodded proudly. "I've got to go. The Stella team is waiting for me downstairs."

"And I've got video analysis in about ten minutes."

The two shared one last smile.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Barbara brought the phone closer to Biscuit.

"Say goodbye."

The little Maltipoo barked once before tilting her head toward the screen.

Tristan laughed.

"I'll see you both soon."

The call ended.

For a brief moment, the lounge was quiet.

Tristan slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned back into the sofa.

The first day at Liverpool had gone better than he could've hoped.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Peace.

It lasted all of three seconds.

The lounge door burst open.

A member of Liverpool's media staff sprinted inside, phone clutched in one hand.

His face was pale.

His voice echoed through the entire room.

"OI!"

"TURN THE TELLY ON!"

Every head snapped toward him.

"What happened?"

He pointed wildly toward the television mounted on the wall.

"It's breaking news!"

Someone grabbed the remote.

The screen flickered to life.

Sky Sports.

Red banner.

BREAKING NEWS

Before anyone had time to read the headline—

Someone behind Tristan shouted at the top of his lungs.

"NEYMAR'S GOING TO MANCHESTER CITY!"