Chapter 2: [2] "Everything Begins With Losing"
Luc stopped dead. There was a bedroom around the corner. He was able to hear voices. Specifically, Chloé’s voice.
She was giggling. That was the moaning she reserved for him, that high-pitched one.
[70% Initialised]
Then, a man’s voice. Smooth and deep voice and clear speech in French.
Luc clenched his fist on his duffel bag so hard that his knuckles went white. The beating of his heart, which failed to get loud when he chipped the keeper an hour ago, now pounded against his ribs.
He went forward but slowly and quietly.
He went around the corner and looked into the bedroom.
He couldn’t believe the raw-dogging happening on his sheets. "What style was that even?" he thought to himself. He’d never seen it before in the states.
Luc was standing in the door for ten seconds. He was not noticed by either of them. The sex was probably too good. Chloé’s eyes began rolling to the back of her head.
[90% Initialised]
On top of everything that was happening, he realised he had been ignoring something that seemed to be nearing completion.
Luc shook his head, cleared his throat.
It wasn’t a loud sound but in the rhythm of the room it penetrated like a gunshot.
Chloé gasped; her eyes snapped to the doorway. Her face became as pale as a the sheet of white.
Shrieking, she scrambled to pull the bed sheets over her chest.
"Luc!"
The fellow who she had been riding ferociously stopped and slowly turned his head. He didn’t look distressed. He didn’t look scared. He seemed rather angry. Much like a King who suddenly has a peasant talking to him.
Luc could have no doubt about who he was. Every football enthusiast around the globe would know exactly who he was.
Despite the mess of the bed, his dark hair was still perfectly styled, sharp jawline, arrogant smirk permanently marked on his face.
Olivier Fontaine.
The French football golden boy. Last season’s top scorer for Ligue Alpha. The man whose image was displayed on billboards throughout the country.
"Who the hell?" Olivier’s voice was thick and extremely condescending as he tried to speak English. He didn’t take care to cover himself up. He simply leaned against the headboard, giving Luc a disapproving stare.
Luc ignored him. His eyes were locked on Chloé. The girl whom he had left everything behind for.
Luc’s voice was as cold as death, "Chloé...care to explain?"
Chloé swallowed hard, unable to decide which of the two to look at: Luc or Olivier. The fear in her eyes gradually subsided and was replaced by something else. Calculation. She knew she had been caught: and in that fleeting moment, she decided to choose a side.
"Luc, what are you coming back early for? The trial was supposed to last for 2 more hours."
"I had finished early. I got the contract," Luc said flatly. "I was thinking you might like to celebrate"
Olivier grinned briefly and gave a bark laugh. "You have a contract? you? I’m sure it’s for some bottom-feeder club? Good for you, kid."
Finally, Luc looked at Olivier. "Shut up."
Olivier’s smile was quickly replaced by a frown. He narrowed his eyes to menacing slits. "Do you know who I fucking am?"
"Yeah. Yes, I do," Luc replied without a beat. "You’re the one who’s warming up my half of the bed right now.
But Olivier shook his head in scorn, rising from bed with grace. He went over and picked up his pants from the ground. "Chloé, tell your little college dude that if he’s still in there, I’ll get some hotel security to drag him out into the street."
Chloé glared at Luc. "Well, Luc, you gotta go, be realistic."
Luc raised an eyebrow. "Realistic?"
Suddenly, she became confident, "Yes!" she snapped. "You’re a newbie, you’ll be getting paid pennies, Olivier is the MVP, he’s royalty here, he can give me the life that I deserve. Luc, you were fun in college, but here you’re not."
Luc stared at her. He expected there to be a heavy burden in his heart. He expected heartbreak. He thought that at a time like this he was going to want to cry out.
But he didn’t.
What he felt wasn’t just anger. A slow smoldering blaze in his belly. However, it was not a wild, blinding rage. It was very concentrated. It was sharp.
He glanced at Chloé, huddled in the bed, clinging to the bed sheets. He surveyed Olivier, who tightened his designer belt with a smirk of total triumph.
Olivier was rich. He had the fame. He had the girl.
"Okay," Luc replied coldly.
The lack of a breakdown threw Chloé off, as Luc had actually come to think of the whole situation quite rationally. "Okay? That’s it?"
Luc said, "Yeah," and turned around and walked towards the door. He stood in the entrance hall, gazing over his shoulder. He made sure to meet the superstar’s gaze, and that he knew the true menace of his gaze.
Luc lowered his voice another octave, "Enjoy her," he said conveying a dark promise. "She’s the last thing you’re ever going to take from me."
Olivier stopped, his smile slipped for a second.
"From now on," Luc added, his voice echoing in the still room, "I’m coming for your place. I’m coming for your Golden Boot. And I’m going to take everything that makes you a King."
Olivier was amused, eliciting a laugh and shaking his head. "Good luck, little rookie. You’ll need it."
Luc didn’t reply. He came out of the room and slammed the heavy wooden door behind him.
He went down the hallway holding in his hand the newly signed contract for the Ligue Alpha. His eyes were fixed on his own name written at the bottom of the page, then suddenly a semi-transparent blue interface hovered between him and the contract.
[System Notification]
[User has acquired The Everything System]
