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

Chapter 81: [81] "The New Year’s Eve Gala"

New Year’s Eve in Paris belonged to one person, not the people who paid rent in them.

Valérie Laurent had rented out the entire top floor of a luxury hotel overlooking the Arc de Triomphe. It was a statement of intent dressed up as a holiday party. SC Valois was tied for second in Ligue Alpha, and Valérie wanted the rest of the French elite to look at her players and understand that the hierarchy had fundamentally shifted.

The ballroom was an expanse of crystal chandeliers and waiters carrying silver trays of champagne.

The SC Valois squad looked mostly uncomfortable.

Cillian was wearing a tuxedo that looked slightly too tight, he was nursing a glass of whiskey while trying to figure out which fork belonged to which course at the buffet tables.

Hugo sat in a corner booth, dressed impeccably but looking like he would rather be watching film of AC Nord’s defensive errors or literally anything but this.

Idriss stood near the bar, looking entirely unbothered but his dark suit was perfectly tailored.

Luc stood near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of sparkling water in his hand.

Juliette was beside him. She wore a different dark, emerald-green evening gown (her favourite colour being obvious now) with a high slit, her hair pinned up severely. She looked like she belonged in this room far more naturally than any of the Valois players did.

"Cillian is going to break a glass before midnight," Juliette observed, taking a sip of champagne.

"It’s considered good luck," Luc said.

The double doors of the ballroom opened.

Rose Montgomery walked in, wearing a sharp, backless red dress that matched with her pink hair perfectly. Zara was a step behind her, wearing a tailored black pantsuit that made her look more like an assassin from the movies choosing to attend a corporate function.

"I know them. I didn’t know Valérie invited Paris Royal," Juliette said, raising an eyebrow.

"She invited anyone who has a high enough commercial profile. Rose has a massive following."

Rose spotted Luc immediately. She smiled, whispered something to Zara, and navigated through the crowd toward them.

"Beaumont," Rose said, arriving with a bright, effortless energy. She looked at Juliette, extending a hand. "I’m Rose. I don’t think we’ve officially met."

"Juliette. Official Head Physio of the league."

"Sheesh. Dropping in her Christmas promotion." Luc thought to himself.

Juliette shook her hand, her grip was firm. Her green eyes scanned Rose quickly, but she found nothing threatening. "I saw your goal against Lyon’s women’s team in your last. Good finish. I follow the women’s league quite often."

"Thanks," Rose smiled. "Zara told me I should have crossed it. I told her to shut up."

They both laughed.

Zara, arriving just in time to hear the end of the sentence, adjusted her glasses. "The cross had a better chance of resulting in a tap-in. The shot had a tight angle."

"But it went in, right?" Luc pointed out.

"Hi, Luc," Zara replied smoothly, though she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tilted it towards Juliette as a form of greeting.

Luc liked their dynamic. It was light. It also came as a distraction from the heavy, suffocating weight of Mateo’s absence that everyone in the room was actively pretending not to feel.

He excused himself to get a refill of water from the bar.

The bartender poured the water with finesse. Luc turned to head back to the window when a voice stopped him.

"You look good in a tuxedo, Luc. Very... civilized."

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The scent of her expensive perfume had already cut through the smell of the ballroom.

Chloé Martin.

She wore a silver dress that caught the chandelier light, holding a champagne flute with two manicured fingers. She smiled that same calculated, weaponized smile.

"I’ve warned you, haven’t I? And what the fuck are you doing HERE," Luc said, his voice dropping to a level that barely carried over the jazz playing in the corner.

"Chill out. I didn’t contact you. I was invited," Chloé said smoothly, stepping up to the bar beside him. "My agency represents a lot of interests in this room. Paris Royal’s executives, for one."

Luc looked at her. "Paris Royal must be scared, huh."

"Terrified," Chloé corrected, without missing a second. "You’re tied for second, you drew Fontaine in the wager... although his total goals make yours look like child’s play. You know I didn’t quite understand why you didn’t include penalties when you issued the wager. I’m sure you knew you stood no chance."

"Against that fucking penalty merchant. Nobody stands a chance."

"Oh, Luc," Chloé murmured, leaning in slightly. "You must think Valérie’s money protects you? Forget the wager draw. Paris Royal’s ownership has deep pockets, and they have influence."

Luc took a sip of his water. "Get to the point."

"The Qatari consortium," she whispered. "The ones looking at Henri for a technical director role. Where do you think that recommendation came from? Paris Royal doesn’t need to beat you on the pitch if they can just dismantle your coaching staff mid-season."

Luc’s jaw tightened. Valérie had mentioned the Qatari interest, but knowing Paris Royal had orchestrated the approach as a sabotage tactic changed the shape of the threat.

"Henri won’t leave," Luc said.

"Everyone has a price," Chloé smiled. "Enjoy the party, Captain. It’s going to be a very long January transfer window."

She turned and slipped back into the crowd, melting into a group of wealthy executives.

[System Notification]

[Observation: TES hates her]

[Watch your back]

He didn’t need TES to tell him the stakes had changed. The system had upgraded between Christmas and New years, after Luc had officially been assigned the captain’s armband. The upgrade made it a little bit more chatty.

The jazz stopped playing. The low hum of conversations quieted as the large digital clock projected onto the far wall began its final countdown.

Ten. Nine. Eight...

Luc found Juliette in the crowd. She raised her glass to him from across the room.

Three. Two. One.

The room erupted in cheers. Outside the massive windows, fireworks exploded over the Parisian skyline, lighting the dark clouds in brilliant flashes of red and gold.

12:00 AM.

January 1st, 2024.

The transfer window was officially open.

Before the cheering could die down, the security guard in the dark suit materialized beside Luc.

"Madame Laurent requests your presence in the private suite, Mr. Beaumont," the guard murmured.

Luc set his glass on a passing tray and followed the guard through a door, away from the noise and the music.

The private suite was soundproofed. Valérie Laurent was standing by a heavy mahogany desk, looking out a smaller window at the fireworks. She turned as Luc entered, holding a single glass of champagne.

"Happy New Year, Beaumont," she said.

"Happy New Year. Cut to the chase," Luc said, crossing his arms. "The window is open. Who did you buy already?"

Valérie smirked. She appreciated that he never bothered with small talk behind closed doors. She walked over to the desk and picked up a heav folder, tossing it onto the polished wood.

"We are in a Champions League spot," Valérie said, her tone all business. "Mateo is gone. We need an anchor. But more than that, we need to make a statement. I told the board I wanted a player who has already lifted the trophies we are trying to win."

Luc looked at the folder.

"Klaus Becker," Valérie said.

Luc’s eyes narrowed. Almost everyone in Europe knew that name. Klaus Becker. Thirty-two years old. A German midfield general. He had won the Champions League with Bayarni Munch three years ago. He was famously aggressive, highly tactical, and carried an ego the size of a stadium.

"He’s been out of favor at his current club because he had a screaming match with their manager," Luc noted.

"He’s available because he’s difficult. But he is elite. He controls the tempo of a match better than anyone in this league, except maybe Neji. I couldn’t get that one, fucking Belleville. I finalized the paperwork ten minutes ago infact. He arrives at the training complex tomorrow morning to complete his medical."

"He’s a veteran who expects to run the show," Luc said, his voice hardening. "I’m the captain now. If he fractures the locker room, your expensive statement is going to cost us the season."

Valérie stepped closer, her dark eyes locking onto his.

"I buy," she said coldly. "It is your job and the coaches job to manage it. You want to be the King of this league? Kings don’t complain about the soldiers they are given. They force them into line."

Luc stared back at her. The silence in the soundproofed room was absolute.

"See that you do that." Valérie raised her champagne glass. "To the second half of the season."

Luc didn’t have a glass to raise. He just turned and walked out of the suite, the door clicking shut behind him.

The fireworks were still going off outside, but the celebration was already over. January had begun.