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

Chapter 80: [80] "Altitude Sickness"

SEE Table after Chapter 79 IN Auxiliary Chapter

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"We are tied second in the Ligue Alpha table," Cillian said, dropping his phone onto the low glass table.

Luc looked at the phone but didn’t pick it up. He already knew that. Everyone in the building knew the that by now.

"FC Belleville has thirty-two points," Cillian continued, leaning back into the leather sofa. "We have thirty-two points. Only goal difference separates us."

"Paris Royal has forty-two," Hugo pointed out from the corner chair. He had an ice pack strapped to his left ankle.

"Paris Royal is too good," Cillian argued. "They don’t count. We are technically the best of the rest."

The players’ lounge was a bit quiet. It was the Sunday before Christmas and the training complex felt hollow. The adrenaline of the AC Nord victory had faded into a deep, bone-aching exhaustion.

"Thirty-one goals scored in the league this season," Hugo said, staring at the ceiling. "Sixteen of them are Luc’s. That’s more than half our total output."

"Don’t do that kind of math" Cillian groaned. "It ruins the magic."

"What shitty magic. It’s dependency," Hugo said flatly. "If Luc takes a bad tackle and tears a hamstring, we drop to eighth as soon as February."

Luc set his cup down. The ceramic clinked sharply against the glass.

"My hamstrings will be fine, except you want to injure me yourself" Luc said.

"They better be," Mateo said, walking into the lounge.

The captain wasn’t wearing his club tracksuit. He wore dark jeans and a heavy wool coat. A massive bag was slung over his shoulder.

The sight of the bag shifted the gravity in the room immediately.

"You’re leaving today?" Cillian asked, sitting up straight.

"My flight to Riyadh was pushed to four," Mateo said. "The medical is tomorrow. The club wants me settled before the window officially opens on the first of January."

Nobody said anything for the moment. Mateo had been a fixture in this building for years. The walls practically relied on him to hold the roof up.

Mateo dropped the bag on the floor. He walked over to Cillian first, pulling the Irishman up by the hand and giving him a rough embrace.

He had done the primary goodbyes after the Nord game.

"Stop chasing the ball like a dog," Mateo said into Cillian’s ear. "Hold your space in the midfield. Don’t vacate for pointless forward runs."

"Yeah, captain," Cillian said. His voice was unusual.

Mateo moved to Hugo next. He didn’t pull the teenager up because of the ice pack. He just gripped Hugo firmly by the back of the neck.

"Keep solving their problems, kid," Mateo said. "But speak louder. They need to hear you a hell of a lot more now."

"Yes, captain," Hugo promised.

Mateo finally turned to Luc. The two men looked at each other in the quiet lounge.

"Walk with me to the car, eh yankee."

Luc nodded. He grabbed his dark winter coat from the back of a chair and followed the big midfielder out of the room.

The December wind was brutal outside. The sky was the color of something similar to wet concrete. They walked in silence across the asphalt toward Mateo’s SUV, parked near the front gates.

"Tied for second," Mateo said, his breath releasing white clouds in the cold air. "I’ve never been higher than seventh at Christmas."

"We’re doing doing great thanks to collective hard work. We’ll hold our position."

"Holding it is harder than getting there," Mateo warned. He unlocked the SUV but didn’t open the door. "Valérie is going to buy someone to replace me."

Luc looked at him. "You know this for a fact?"

"C’mon, you know how billionaires think, we are in a Champions League qualification spot. The television money alone is worth a fortune, and she won’t risk losing it."

Mateo turned to fully face Luc. The cold wind bit violently at their faces.

"Whoever comes in is going to be expensive, and expensive means ego. You are the captain now, Yankee, whether Henri makes it public tomorrow, next week or never. The team will follow you."

"I can handle an ego."

"Maybe, maybe not this kind," Mateo said grimly. "A January signing to secure Champions League football is going to be a veteran. Someone who looks at you and sees the college kid you showed us you evolved from."

Luc shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. "Then I’ll blind him with the glare of my own ego and my goals."

Mateo laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that fought the wind. "Good. Stay arrogant. But remember, a captain doesn’t just score goals."

He opened his car door and threw the bag onto the passenger seat.

"A captain keeps the house from burning down," Mateo said. "Take care of the kids."

"I will."

Mateo extended a massive hand. Luc took it. The grip was firm, a final transfer of authority in an empty, freezing car park.

Mateo got into the SUV and started the engine. Luc watched until the taillights disappeared down the main road.

---

Christmas Eve arrived.

Luc let himself into Juliette’s apartment. The smell of roasted chicken and rosemary immediately filled his nose, cutting through the sterile winter chill he had brought in with him.

Juliette was in the kitchen. She wore a loose, oversized sweater and was pouring red wine into two crystal glasses.

"I guess he’s gone?" she asked, handing him a glass.

"Flew out at four," Luc said, taking a slow sip. It was an excellent vintage.

"The group chat has been completely silent all afternoon," she noted.

"They’re still processing it, Mateo was the only captain most of them have ever had here."

Juliette leaned back against the counter, her green eyes searching him the way they always did.

"And how are you feeling?" she asked softly.

"I’m only thinking about the fact that we’re tied for second, and everyone in this country is waiting for us to fall back down."

"You aren’t going to fall," Juliette said.

She reached out and traced the sharp line of his jaw. Her touch was warm against the lingering cold from outside.

"Henri called me today," Juliette said, her tone shifting.

Luc looked at her. "About what?"

"He wanted a detailed, baseline medical assessment of the whole squad. He said Valérie is finalizing a transfer... or two."

Luc’s grip tightened slightly on the stem of the wine glass. Mateo had been absolutely right.

"Did he give a name?" Luc asked.

"No," Juliette said. "Just that it’s a midfielder with a very specific, demanding physical profile. Someone who expects to start every single match."

Luc set his glass down on the counter. The quiet domesticity of the apartment suddenly felt very fragile.

A new veteran midfielder meant a new dynamic. It was a disruption to the tactical set up they had almost perfectly perfected. It meant someone walking into the locker room who hadn’t bled with them through their miserable days.

"It’ll be handled like I handle everything," Luc said coldly.

Juliette smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew the ruthless nature of the sport too well. Luc may finally meet his ego match.

"It’s Christmas Eve, Luc," she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Let’s stop analyzing for one night."

"I don’t think I can. But you know what can take my mind off it."

She laughed softly and kissed his neck. "I know."

Luc looked out the window at the dark Parisian skyline. The wager against Fontaine was over. The survival phase of his career was done... maybe.

The real war to hold the crown he had just been handed a part of, was only just beginning.