Chapter 143: [143] "New league record"
Minute thirty-eight.
The relentless pressure yielded the ultimate prize.
Bense Baini intercepted a panicked clearance and instantly zipped a horizontal pass to Hugo. Hugo received the ball with his back to the goal, twenty-five yards out. The Alsace defensive midfielder, desperate to stop the bleeding, charged in from behind, attempting to hack the teenager down.
Hugo executed what was now becoming a signature, a flawless Zidane roulette, spinning away from the violent tackle with breathtaking grace. He emerged facing the Alsace goal.
Luc wasn’t making a standard run in behind. He checked his run, taking two sharp steps toward the penalty spot, deliberately dragging the center-backs out of their rigid line. As they stepped up to close him down, Luc instantly pivoted, dropping his shoulder and bursting into the space behind them.
Hugo threaded the needle. It was a no-look, outside-of-the-boot pass that skidded across th grass, sliding perfectly through the legs of the retreating Alsace captain.
The ball arrived at Luc’s feet just inside the six-yard box.
He was at point-blank range. The goalkeeper spread his body to make himself massive, attempting to recreate the miraculous save from the Bretagne match.
Luc didn’t blast it. Wit terrifying composure, he simply opened his ankle and delicately rolled the ball between the goalkeeper’s legs.
Two nutmegs from Valois in one attacking sequence.
Goal!!!
3-0.
Stade Valois’ noise was apocalyptic.
Luc didn’t celebrate immediately. He stood by the goalpost, looking up at the massive digital scoreboard glowing against the dark last day of February sky.
Beaumont - 38’
He had twenty-six league goals.
He had officially overtaken Fresko. He had taken the throne back once again, and he had done it before the halftime whistle had even blown.
He turned around and jogged back to the center circle, engulfed by his teammates. Klaus Becker grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him violently. "That is how you execute!" the German roared over the crowd.
Hugo jogged past, offering a subtle, knowing smirk. "Three assists," the teenager noted. "I think I’m finding my rhythm, Captain."
"Don’t stop now," Luc warned him, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
The referee blew for halftime shortly after. SC Valois walked down the tunnel to a standing ovation. RC Alsace looked like men walking out of hell, entirely demoralized, their tactical game plan shredded into irrelevance.
---
The atmosphere inside the home dressing room was dangerously calm. There were no frantic adjustments, no shouting, no tactical overhauls.
Henri stood by the whiteboard, but he didn’t pick up a marker. He just looked at his squad.
"They are broken," Henri said softly, the silence of the room amplifying his words. "You have played forty-five minutes of perfect football. Hugo, your vision is flawless tonight. Zack, you have locked the flank down. Luc, your finishing is absolute."
Henri paced slowly across the room. "But we do not show mercy. When a team attempts to kick us off the park, we do not let them off the hook when we take the lead. We step on their throats. We humiliate them so profoundly that they never attempt to play physical against us again. Go back out there and finish the job."
---
The second half was not a football match. It was prolonged, and almost highly choreographed.
RC Alsace emerged from the tunnel having clearly decided that damage limitation was their only objective. They packed all ten outfield players behind the ball, creating a two-tiered wall of desperation on the edge of their penalty area.
But Hugo Blanc was in a state of flow that defied defensive structures.
Minute sixty-one.
Valois won a corner on the left side. Hugo trotted over to take it. He raised both arms, signaling a specific set-piece routine they had drilled tirelessly during the week.
Instead of whipping the ball into the crowded penalty box, Hugo drove a low, blistering pass straight to the edge of the eighteen-yard box.
Leo Hernandez, the massive center-back, had ghosted, looping his run perfectly to arrive at the edge of the area entirely unmarked.
Hugo’s pass found him perfectly in stride. Hernandez didn’t try to control it. He threw his massive frame into a ferocious, first-time volley. The strike was pure. It tore through the air like a cannonball, clipping the underside of the crossbar before slamming into the net.
Goal!!!!
4-0.
Hernandez roared, beating his chest like a silverback gorilla as he ran toward Hugo. The teenager simply raised a hand, accepting the high-fives from the defense. Four assists. He was orchestrating a historic performance.
At 4-0, Henri finally began to rotate the squad, protecting his key assets. Idriss Konaté was brought on for Bachra Goza, shifting the dynamic of the attack. Jose Mallorca replaced Baini, immediately throwing his weight around the midfield to ensure Alsace didn’t even think about launching a consolation counter-attack.
But Luc stayed on the pitch.
He didn’t want to rest.
He had 26 goals. He wanted 27. He wanted to build a cushion so massive that Fresko would drown trying to catch him.
As the clock ticked toward the eightieth minute, the physical toll of chasing shadows finally caught up to RC Alsace. Their defensive line began to fracture, gaps opening up as players lost the energy to track the opposition players.
Minute eighty-two.
Mallorca won a gritty, sliding tackle near the center circle, immediately popping up and feeding the ball to Hugo.
The teenager turned, his eyes scanning the pitch with terrifying, robotic precision. He saw the entire scope of the field in a fraction of a second. He saw the massive gap between the two center-backs.
And he saw Luc Beaumont hovering on the shoulder of the last defender.
Hugo didn’t even bother to properly set his feet. With an audacious, almost arrogant flick of his ankle, he launched a perfectly weighted, curving through ball that bypassed three exhausted Alsace defenders. The pass possessed a wicked backspin, causing the ball to aggressively slow down the moment it hit the grass inside the penalty area, sitting up perfectly.
He hoped it would be his fifth assist of the night. Capping off a flawless playmaking masterclass.
Luc exploded past the Alsace captain. The defender didn’t even try to pull his jersey this time, he was simply too slow...besides his yellow card, his muscles completely flooded.
Luc arrived at the ball completely alone. The goalkeeper, thoroughly traumatized by the previous four goals, hesitated on his line, unsure whether to rush out or brace for impact.
Luc didn’t give him the chance to decide.
He opened his hips, feinted a powerful strike to the far post, sending the keeper diving prematurely into the empty air and casually, beautifully, chipped the ball straight down the center of the goal.
The ball floated in a slow arc over the sprawling keeper and bounced softly into the back of the net.
Goal!!!!!
5-0.
Hat-trick for Luc Beaumont.
The stadium erupted in a deafening, sustained roar. The ultras ignited black and gold flares, blanketing the stands in smoke.
Luc jogged toward the corner flag, but he didn’t do a knee slide or tap his crest. He waited for Hugo Blanc to arrive.
When the seventeen-year-old jogged over, Luc grabbed him and pointed at the kid, making sure the entire stadium, the cameras, and the world knew exactly who had orchestrated the massacre.
"Five assists," Luc yelled over the apocalyptic noise. "Fucking genius!"
Hugo finally cracked a wide smile, his teenage exuberance breaking through the stoic professionalism he was trying to keep. "I told you, Captain. I’ll keep finding you."
---
The final eight minutes of the match.
SC Valois kept the ball, passing it around the perimeter in a hypnotic, humiliating rondo. RC Alsace didn’t press. They didn’t tackle. They simply stood in their positions, waiting for the referee to end their suffering.
When the final whistle blew, sounding with three sharp blasts, the scoreline remained perfectly intact.
SC Valois 5, RC Alsace 0.
Luc Beaumont walked off the pitch carrying the match ball under his arm. He was breathing heavily, his jersey soaked in sweat.
[System Notification]
[League Goals Scored: 27]
[You lead the Golden Boot race by a margin of 2 goals.]
[Hugo Blanc has also set a Ligue Alpha record with 5 assists in a single match.]
[Balance: 30 General Points | 25 Skill Points.]
[Consumables: 0 remaining.]
[Passives: Captain’s Aura, Absolute Poacher, Physical Anchor.]
He disappeared down the tunnel, the roar of the Stade Valois home crowd echoing in his ears.