Please do check: Naruto: Ashes of the Leaf
Link: https://www.webnovel.com/book/naruto-ashes-of-the-leaf_34559048308213005
And Basketball's Greatest.
Link: https://www.webnovel.com/book/34373284400173805
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June 15, 2016 | Parc Olympique Lyonnais - 5:34 PM Local Time
The stadium buzzed with pre-match energy, a low hum that felt like static under the skin. Drums rolled from the upper stands, flags rippled in every row, and the whole place pulsed like it was alive. But tucked high above all that noise, behind glass and polished steel, the VIP boxes felt like a different world entirely.
Just thirty minutes before the start of Northern Island vs Ukraine.
John stood just inside the door of one of them, arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement in the hallway. With Tristan talking about building an entire security team for his family, John knew he had to stay sharp. He doubted Tristan would actually fire him, they had a close bond but he wasn't about to test the bond.
He loved this job far too much to slip now.
.
Tristan sank into the plush seat, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, rolling a bottle of water between his palms. Vardy dropped into the chair beside him with his legs wide like he owned the place, already halfway through a tray of sliders.
Rebekah sat just off to the side, and Barbara leaned closer to the glass, her eyes tracking the slow swell of fans filling the stadium.
Rebekah's youngest tugged at her wrist, chocolate smudged across his fingers. She handed him a napkin without missing a beat, then glanced over at Vardy with an eyebrow raised.
"Does it feel weird being on this side of the glass? And should you really be inhaling junk food right after a match?"
Vardy paused mid-chew, staring at her with a look of pure offense. "Love it," he said, voice muffled around a mouthful of bread and beef. "Nothin' better than stuffing my face and not running six miles after. And our Captain here hasn't said a thing. My body's built on junk and Red Bull. It's what keeps me alive. I thought you would know by now."
Barbara laughed under her breath, the sound warm as she turned from the glass. "Your fitness coach would actually pass out if he heard that."
"All the coaches already know," Tristan said, leaning back, lips pulling into a tired, amused line. "There's just nothing they can do. His numbers are too good. Eventually everyone gave up."
Vardy slowly lowered his slider, staring at Tristan like he'd personally betrayed him. "Get fucked."
Tristan raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Just speaking facts."
Vardy's eye twitched. "Keep talkin' and I'm eating your sliders next."
Barbara nudged Tristan with her elbow, smiling. "He will, you know."
She had a point, so Tristan let it go.
Now, you might wonder why they were even here watching Northern Ireland vs. Ukraine. Simple they had nothing else to do after their match against Wales. No scouting, no analysis, no taking notes. Neither team was on England's radar.
They were here to relax, eat food, have a good time, and watch football like normal people for once.
Well… Tristan had one extra reason. He kept a casual eye on Rebekah, making sure her mood stayed on the calm side of the spectrum. He didn't have the chance to interact with her before today.
From the 2016 Euros, there weren't many moments he remembered besides England getting embarrassed by Iceland but he definitely remembered Rooney's wife and Rebekah getting into drama. And he was not letting that happen in this timeline.
But Rebekah looked fine. Not a complaint, not a side comment, nothing. She was too wrapped up in planning her wedding to start trouble.
Thank God for that.
Barbara leaned in toward Rebekah, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. "So… how are the wedding plans going?" There was a spark in her voice as weddings always pulled her in, and with that promise ring on her finger, the topic hit a little closer to home.
Rebekah sighed. "We're drowning. Half the guest list keeps changing, his mum's losing her mind over the flowers, and Jamie only cares about the food and whether there's a beer tap next to the DJ booth."
Vardy raised a hand proudly. "Those are literally the two most important things."
Barbara nudged Tristan. "You taking notes?"
Vardy turned immediately, eyes narrowing with fake suspicion. "Yeah, buddy. When's your big wedding then? Every time I open Instagram or Twitter, you two are cuddling somewhere. I swear I'm getting force-fed your lovey-dovey pictures till I'm about to get diabetes."
Tristan let out a quiet laugh. "Mate, that's not diabetes, that's just jealousy clogging your feed."
Vardy scoffed. "Oh, piss off."
Tristan shook his head, amused. "But yeah… we've talked about it."
Rebekah leaned closer, interest written all over her face. "Oh? Really now?"
"We're just waiting a few years," Tristan said, giving Vardy a pointed side-eye. "We're still young. Unlike some people."
Vardy clutched his chest dramatically. "Oi, I'm not that old."
Tristan tilted his head. "Your hamstrings disagree."
Vardy jabbed a finger at him. "Keep talking. I'll two-foot you in training."
The group broke into easy laughter. Outside the glass, the pitch crew rolled out the final corner flags as fans began filling into the lower tiers in louder waves.
"Feels good," Vardy said after a moment. "Just sittin' here. No pressure. No tackles. Just us and our girls."
Tristan nodded. They really needed a break.
The match wasn't much of a spectacle. Cagey. Scrappy. More of a midfield fistfight pretending to be football.
Tristan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Northern Ireland grind their way down the left again.
"Would you believe this lot might actually go through?" Vardy muttered, halfway through a Coke. "Only time I've seen more hoofball was when Stoke had Crouchy and a hurricane pushing him from behind."
Tristan smirked. "Still better than Portugal's match. I thought Ronaldo was gonna show up like Superman with all the pressure he's under." He had expected fireworks, prime Ronaldo, chest out, dragging Portugal through the group on pure ego and talent. Two games in, he hadn't seen it yet. But there was still time. Tristan wanted that version of Ronaldo. He wanted to face the best Ronaldo in the finals or semi finals.
Vardy barked a laugh. "You just want him going off so you can say you beat Ronaldo in his best form…not his current form."
Rebekah snorted into her drink. "Please. He's already got enough highlight reels of himself hitting the floor. Doesn't need more material."
Even John — still standing guard, arms crossed — let out a quiet breath through his nose.
For him, that counted as full-on laughter.
The second goal came in the 88th minute — a simple cross, a messy scramble, and a finish that barely rolled over the line. The Northern Ireland bench exploded like they'd just won the whole tournament. Tristan felt a small smile tug at his mouth.
"They're gonna be unbearable if they go through," Vardy groaned.
"Bit of spirit, though," Tristan said. "Hard to hate that."
When the final whistle hit, they all pushed up from their seats, stretching out stiff legs. The roar of the stadium dulled through the glass rolled over them as fans poured toward the exits in a buzzing wave.
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Streets of Lyon – 8:02 PM
The SUV crawled through the traffic, headlights washing over cobblestone and riverfront cafés.
Tristan watched the Lyon skyline drift by, the city glowing gold in the evening light as it stretched across the water.
In the backseat, Barbara rested her head against his shoulder, her breath warm through his shirt. Rebekah fought a losing battle trying to keep her kids from bouncing off the seats.
They pulled up to the team hotel. John stepped out first, scanning the entrance before opening the doors. Security gave quick nods. Goodnights passed around in soft waves.
Barbara leaned in and kissed Tristan's cheek. "Goodnight. I love you."
"Night, babe. Love you too."
The doors shut gently behind them, leaving Tristan, John, and Vardy in the quiet of the SUV.
Vardy stretched out his legs with a grunt. "Well… that's them sorted."
John settled back into his seat. "We heading straight in?"
Tristan rubbed a hand over his face. "Doesn't have to be straight in. You two in the mood for food? I'm feeling a bit hungry."
Vardy sat up immediately. "Mate, I'm always down. Those tiny sandwiches barely fed a child. I'm starving."
Tristan let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "Good. Because I don't know why, but I'm really craving shawarma right now."
Vardy's eyes widened like he'd just seen God. "Oh, say less. Now you're speaking my language."
John nodded once, already shifting forward in his seat. "I'm sure we could find a place quick. Let me just look through Google Map."
"Perfect," Tristan said, leaning back as the SUV rolled away from the hotel.
The shawarma stand they found wasn't glamorous but it smelled amazing.
Vardy took one bite and practically melted. "Oh my God. This is better than sex."
Tristan shot him a look. "Yeah, your wedding's gonna be fantastic."
Vardy pointed his wrap at him without shame. "Don't tell my future wife."
They found a bench across the quiet street, warm shawarma in hand, city lights stretching over the pavement. John stood a few paces away, arms crossed, pretending he wasn't listening while absolutely listening.
"Feels like we never get to do this anymore," Vardy said, leaning back, chewing slowly for once. "It's been a while since it was just the two of us hanging out."
Tristan nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah… it has."
The streetlamps hummed above them, their yellow glow softening the quiet Lyon street. Shadows stretched long across the pavement. A car eased by with a low rumble. Somewhere far off, fans were singing a national chant pitchy, drunk, and strangely comforting.
Vardy wiped his fingers on a napkin, eyes following the motion like he needed something to do with his hands. The grease made the paper shine. He crumpled it up and tossed it into a bin with a small flick of his wrist.
"Hey," he said, voice low, almost careful. His mouth tightened before he spoke again. You could see him working up to it.
"I know you haven't said it straight… but with you leaving… I've been thinking about all this."
Tristan's head shifted toward him, brow softening, but he stayed quiet. He wasn't surprised by Vardy saying he was leaving. This was pretty much public information by now.
Vardy kept talking, slower now, his shoulders sinking a little. "Once the season starts, you'll be in Liverpool. I'll be in Leicester. New team. New dressing room. New life for you." He wet his lips, eyes dropping to the ground between them. "And I don't know when we'll get moments like this again busy with our lives."
Tristan's gaze fell to the pavement. His fingers tightened around the shawarma wrapper. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
Vardy exhaled through his nose, releasing a sigh in acceptance. "It's weird, man," he said. His voice cracked on the edge of a laugh. "Knew it was coming. Everyone did. But knowing it and… actually seeing it? Two different things entirely."
Tristan gave a small nod.
Vardy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, staring at nothing. "These last couple years?"
"Best time of my life. I'm not even joking. Playing with the lads, winning trophies, proving everyone wrong… watching you turn into some monster out there…" His voice softened even more. "It meant everything."
He paused then forced a lopsided grin because that's who he was.
"And yeah, I'm probably gonna fall off now that I won't get your cheat-code passes anymore."
He nudged Tristan's leg with his knee. "Back to creating my own chances like some bloody peasant."
That tugged a quiet laugh out of Tristan in that moment.
Vardy's eyes flicked toward him, warm and sharp at the same time. "But seriously… thank you. For every ball you played. Every time you made me look better than I was. For the goals. For dragging us up when we were shit. For being the heart of that team." He swallowed."I'll never hate you for leaving. Not even for a second. So… when's the announcement?"
Tristan looked up at the night sky for a moment, chest rising slowly, then back at him.
"After the Euros," he said. "The club's planning something. A proper farewell. For me… and Kante. It's all going to be official. I'm not sure who else is leaving. Kante is going to Liverpool by the though. Figured I just tell you now."
Vardy nodded, but his throat moved like he was trying to swallow a stone. "So this really is the end, huh?"
"It's the end of an era," Tristan said softly. "Not the end of us."
Vardy looked away, eyes tracing the empty street like it held some answer. His bottom lip pressed tight before he spoke again.
"You ever know something's coming for ages… but when it actually arrives, you don't know whether to cry or smile?"
Tristan's voice was barely above a whisper. "Smile. Because of everything we did."
Vardy blinked hard, then let out a shaky breath. "Yeah… we really did it, didn't we?"
"We did," Tristan said as his eyes got watery.
They sat together in the warm hush of Lyon's night, drifting between memories and whatever came next. For a little while, it didn't feel like a goodbye at all. It felt like a quiet celebration of everything they'd built side by side.
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Apologizes for the Ronaldo slander, I lost a bet to a friend and had to include some slander about him in this chapter, lol.