Chapter 108: [108] "Tactical Lie"
Idriss lowered the weights to the floor with a heavy thud. He stood up straight, wiping sweat from his forehead. He was a pure number nine. Being pushed out wide was an insult to most strikers, a concession that they weren’t good enough to lead the line.
"I’m a striker, Luc," Idriss said.
"And tomorrow, you’ll be a striker starting against Paris Royal in the Round of 16," Luc countered seamlessly. "You told me you wanted minutes. I just got you ninety of them on the biggest stage in the country. You’re going to get service from Hugo, and you’re going to have space because their center-backs will be focused on me. Do you want the spot or not?"
Idriss stared at him for three long seconds. The hunger in the Ivorian’s eyes finally overpowered his pride. "I’ll play the left. But I’m cutting inside. If Gabriel crosses it, I’m going to be there to finish it."
"That’s exactly what I want," Luc said.
One ego managed. One to go.
Luc walked out onto the pitch. The rain was coming down hard, soaking into the training gear. Gabriel Assis was standing near the center circle, juggling a ball casually, looking entirely unbothered by the weather or the occasion.
Luc walked straight up to him. He didn’t need a system upgrade for this, he just needed raw manipulation.
"You’re starting tomorrow," Luc said, stopping two feet away from the Brazilian.
Gabriel caught the ball on his neck, letting it roll down his back before flicking it up and catching it in his hands. He smirked. "Of course I am. The owner didn’t pay forty million for me to sit on the bench while we play the biggest team in the country."
"No, she didn’t," Luc agreed smoothly. "But Paris Royal’s left-back is internationally capped. He is faster than you, he is stronger than you, and he loves to overlap. His entire game plan tomorrow is going to be running past you to expose our defense, because the whole league saw you get hooked at halftime on Saturday. They think you’re a defensive liability."
Gabriel’s smirk vanished.
"If you walk tomorrow," Luc continued, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper, "if you let him run past you even once, the media won’t talk about your price tag. They’ll talk about how Paris Royal exposed the Brazilian fraud on national television. Fontaine will score from your side, and you will be the reason we lose."
Gabriel stepped back, his pride flaring. "Nobody will insult me."
"Then prove it," Luc challenged, stepping right back into the winger’s space. "Track him. Suffocate him. The moment he realizes he can’t get past you, he’ll lose a bit of motivation. That is how you get your highlight reel tomorrow."
Gabriel held Luc’s gaze, processing the reality embedded in the insult. The Brazilian’s massive ego demanded that he be the star, and Luc had just handed him the blueprint to do it.
"I will bury him," Gabriel hissed.
"See that you do," Luc said, turning his back and jogging toward the rest of the squad.
---
Wednesday night. Parc des Royals.
The hostility of the stadium hit them the moment the team bus turned into the designated arrival zone. The sky was lit with the red and blue glow of flares, and the deafening chants of sixty thousand Parisian ultras penetrated the reinforced glass of the bus windows.
This was the real french empire.
Luc sat near the window, his headphones were off, he was absorbing the atmosphere. The last time they had been here, Valois had been dismantled. They had been outclassed, outpaced, and psychologically broken by the sheer gravity that is, Paris Royal.
But as Luc looked around the bus, he didn’t see the same scenes he had seen earlier in the season. Klaus Becker was calmly adjusting his watch. Bense Baini was reading a book. Leo Hernandez was staring out the window with a look of pure aggression. Valois had brought their own gravity this time.
The away locker room deep inside the stadium was pristine quiet.
Henri stood in the center of the room, looking at the squad. He didn’t give a long speech. He didn’t need to.
"They must still think they broke us," Henri said, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "They think our January business is just a desperate attempt to stay relevant in the title race. They probably own this pitch, but we’ll own them tonight." Henri looked at Luc, then at Klaus, then slowly at the rest of the squad. "Show them who we are now. Out onto the pitch."
The squad filed out into the tunnel.
The noise from the stadium was a physical weight pressing down on them. The concrete walls vibrated. As Valois lined up on the left side of the tunnel, the Paris Royal players emerged from their dressing room to line up on the right.
They wore their immaculate deep blue kits.
They looked like royalty.
Luc stood at the front of the line. He felt a presence stop directly beside him.
Olivier Fontaine.
The King didn’t look at Luc immediately. He stared straight ahead toward the mouth of the tunnel, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying focus.
"I see you brought the expensive toys Valérie bought you," Fontaine said quietly, his voice perfectly clear over the roar of the crowd.
"I brought a team," Luc replied, turning his head away from the top striker to the players behind him.
"We will see," Fontaine murmured.
Luc glanced further down the Paris Royal line. Standing near the middle, looking intensely uncomfortable in his new deep blue kit, was Bastien Leroux.
The young midfielder caught Luc’s eye. Bastien didn’t smile. He offered a single, tight nod. He had earned his starting spot for Paris Royal, proving Gabriel Assis wrong, but the cost was facing the men who had built him.
Hugo, standing behind Klaus in the Valois line, stared at Bastien. The teenage prodigy’s face was completely unreadable, but his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. The tactical partnership that had defined Valois’s midfield for a run of games was officially severed. They were enemies now. Rivals.
"Ready!" the match official shouted, stepping between the two lines holding the match ball.
"TES," Luc thought, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second. "How much would it cost to lift the ban on the usage of predatory aura?"
[System Notification]
[Checking...]
[Checking..]
[All the points you have would suffice. Predatory Aura x2 would also be added to your balance]
"Do it."
[Limit of 1 Predatory Aura a match, lifted]
[Predatory Aura x2 deposited]
Luc stepped out of the tunnel.
The wall of sound that greeted them was almost apocalyptic. Sixty thousand fans screaming, whistling, and roaring for their destruction. The floodlights were blinding, washing the green pitch in a harsh, clinical light.
Luc walked to the center circle for the coin toss, exchanging the standard pennant with Fontaine. The referee flipped the coin. Paris Royal won the kickoff.
Luc jogged to his position in the center of the pitch. He looked to his left. Idriss was stationed wide, but already angling his body inward, ready to crash the center. He looked to his right. Gabriel Assis was bouncing on his toes, his eyes locked onto the Paris Royal left-back with a look of pure, predatory intent.
Behind him, Hugo stood ready, flanked by the massive frames of Baini and Klaus.
The referee checked his watch. He brought the whistle to his lips.
Piii.
The match exploded into motion.
Paris Royal didn’t test the waters. They didn’t feel out the new Valois formation.
They launched themselves forward with a terrifying, synchronized ferocity that only the absolute elite could manage. The ball was zipped back to their midfield, and instantly driven out wide to their right winger.
Thierry Owusu, Valois’s left-back, was immediately isolated. The Paris Royal winger dropped his shoulder, accelerated with blistering pace, and whipped a dangerous, curling cross into the box before the second minute had even ticked onto the clock.
Leo Hernandez threw his massive frame into the air, colliding heavily with Fontaine. The ball glanced off Hernandez’s forehead and flew out for a corner.
The home crowd roared, smelling blood instantly.
"Shape!" Luc bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise, amplified by the Captain’s Aura. "Hold fucking position!"
The corner was whipped in fast and low. Klaus Becker met it with a thunderous clearance, sending the ball rocketing out of the penalty area.
It fell perfectly into the path of Hugo Blanc.
The teenager didn’t panic under the immediate pressure of Bastien Leroux, who was sprinting at him to win the second ball. Hugo took one touch to absorb the pace, spun on his heel, and executed a blind, perfectly weighted pass out to the right flank.
Gabriel Assis was already running.
The Brazilian winger hit top speed in three strides, leaving the highly rated Paris Royal left-back scrambling to recover.
The trap was sprung. The tactical lie Valérie had forced them to tell was about to be weaponized.
Luc put his head down and sprinted toward the Paris Royal box.