Open Play: Ladies, Goals, The Everything System in-between

Chapter 71: [71] "Unwanted familiar face"

Wednesday morning arrived with the same slow, grey indifference that was becoming typical of a December morning.

Luc woke up before the alarm could get a chance to ring. Still in Juliette’s bed, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing beside him. The events of the previous night were still fresh in his muscles, but his mind was already fixated on the upcoming matchday.

"TES"

He summoned the blue interface without moving his head.

[System Notification]

[Balance: 2 General Points | 5 Skill Points | Predatory Aura ×1 | 100% guaranteed goal x1]

[Passive Upgrades Active: Weaner size upgrades (Permanent), Blind Side Run Timing, First Touch Under Pressure, Acceleration Burst, Pressing Resistance, Physical Conditioning Buffer]

"Two general points left," Luc thought, closing his eyes. "Fifteen points burned on something I didn’t even want."

"Well done TES"

He dismissed the screen with a mental swipe. A latge percentage of his points were now gone. There was no refund policy in The Everything System. He would have to face AC Nord with the arsenal he already had.

And he had already purchased almost everything in the last store upgrade.

He slipped out of bed quietly, leaving Juliette asleep.

The kitchen was cold. He turned on the espresso machine, the familiar sound filling the quiet apartment. He drank it quickly, feeling the caffeine hit his empty stomach.

He needed air. He needed to move his legs before the afternoon recovery session at the training complex.

Luc pulled on a dark hoodie and a heavy winter coat, slipping out of the apartment and into the morning. The streets were mostly empty, maybe due to overnight rain.

He walked without a destination, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. The wager was a heavy, invisible weight on his shoulders. Fontaine was on fourteen. He was on thirteen.

One goal needed. Ninety minutes against a team fighting for their lives.

He turned onto Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, heading toward a small bakery he sometimes frequented. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the warm smell of butter and baking bread filling his nose.

He ordered a black coffee to go. As he turned to leave, a voice stopped him.

"You look exactly the same when you’re brooding."

Luc froze.

He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it since the gala. Something he had heard for the first time at a crowded, suffocating balcony of that party back in the States. The party that had changed the trajectory of his entire life.

He turned slowly.

Sitting at a small corner table, wearing an impeccably tailored beige coat and holding a ceramic cup with both hands, was Chloé Martin.

Her striking blue eyes met his, her blonde hair was styled perfectly. She looked expensive. She looked exactly like the carefully constructed trap that had lured him across the Atlantic.

"Chloé," Luc said. His voice was entirely flat.

"Luc." She smiled, the same delicate, calculated smile that had once convinced him she was offering him the world. "I was wondering if I’d run into you. France is a big country, but the circles we move in are remarkably small."

He didn’t walk over to her table. He stood by the counter, holding his paper cup.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I live here. Remember?" she said smoothly, crossing her legs. "I’ve been into sports management PR. My agency has been transferring me across France a lot lately. It turns out, discovering the ’American Menace’ looks very good on a resume."

Luc stared at her. The audacity of it was almost impressive.

"You didn’t discover me," Luc said. "You were a whore who’d spread for anybody as long as they had money."

"Language." Chloé’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. "I told you that you were wasting your time playing against boys. I told you Europe would make you a king. Look at you now, Luc. Thirteen goals. The whole country is talking about you."

She stood up, leaving her coffee on the table, and closed the distance between them. She stopped just outside his personal space, weaponizing her softness exactly as she always did.

"I opened the door for you," she murmured, looking up at him. "You walked through it. But you don’t have to navigate this city alone. My agency works with Paris Royal now. I could make introductions. When your contract is up..."

"Stop."

The word cracked like a whip in the quiet bakery.

Chloé blinked, genuinely surprised by the coldness in his tone. He was hitting new levels compared to what she had been witnessing.

"You think I’m still the same dumb college kid you met on that balcony," Luc said, his voice low and devoid of any warmth. "You think you can play the same trick twice."

"Luc, I’m just offering—"

"You’re offering yourself a percentage of my next transfer fee," Luc interrupted, stepping back. "I know how this game works now. It’ll be truly dumb if I didn’t by now."

He looked at her, really looked at her, and had long since realized she had absolutely no power over him. She was just a scout in a nice coat.

A scout who had made a bad call on the original asset and was now trying to negotiate a stake in the returns.

It was actually a little sad.

"Enjoy Paris, Chloé," Luc said, turning toward the door. "Don’t contact me."

He walked out into the street, the bell chiming behind him yet again. He didn’t look back. The ghost of his past was long dead.

---

The walk back took longer than the walk there.

He didn’t hurry. The air was sharp and the streets were filling out with the first wave of the city’s morning traffic, delivery vans and commuters and a woman trying to manage an umbrella in a wind that kept changing its mind.

Luc drank the last of the coffee and crushed the paper cup in his hand.

"Chloé’s working for the same agency that handles Paris Royal’s PR. The same club that pays Fontaine’s wages every week. The same club I scored against, in their fortress. Me to Paris? Yeah right."

She hadn’t mentioned that detail casually. She had placed it like a piece on a board.

He dropped the cup into a bin at the corner and kept walking.

[System Notification]

[Observation: Chloé Martin is now professionally adjacent to Paris Royal FC]

"I noticed."

He had also noticed she hadn’t asked about Juliette. Not even a casual probe disguised as small talk. Which meant she already knew by now who exactly Juliette was to Luc. She had done her homework before the accidental encounter... that wasn’t accidental at all.

The morning was fully grey now, clouds pressing low over the rooftops.

He turned back onto Juliette’s street.

Thursday was a light recovery day. Friday was the final tactical session. Saturday was ninety minutes against the bottom of the table.

He let himself back into the apartment. Juliette was up, standing at the counter in a plain grey sweater with her hair loose, pouring coffee.

"You went for a walk," she said.

"Yep."

"Anything interesting?"

Luc put his coat on the hook by the door.

"Ran into someone I used to know."

Juliette put a second cup on the counter without asking.