Chapter 106: [106] "Captains aura"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw yet another black and gold blur tearing down the left flank.
Dário Ferrão had timed his run to perfection, completely losing the exhausted Corse right-back who simply didn’t have the legs to track a fresh substitute in the eighty-fifth minute.
Luc rolled the under of his boot over the top of the ball, dragging it backward before snapping a sharp, blind lay-off pass into the left side of the penalty area.
Dário kept running and arrived onto the ball like a man possessed. He opened his hips up and unleashed a curling strike with his right foot.
The ball whipped past the diving goalkeeper, spinning beautifully before crashing into the top right corner of the net.
Goal.
4-2.
The sheer volume of the noise shook the stands. Dário sprinted toward the corner flag, screaming in Portuguese, sliding on his knees as the pent-up frustration of losing his starting spot exploded into pure elation.
Luc was the first one to reach him, tackling the winger into the grass, followed closely by Hugo and Cillian, while Owosu and Aubert were coming over too.
"That’s my winger!" Luc shouted, slapping Dário’s back. "That is how you fight for your spot!"
Dário was laughing breathlessly as the rest of the team piled onto them.
---
The final five minutes plus stoppage time, Corse had absolutely nothing left to give. Cillian Doyle finally slowed down to a jog, his job was pretty much done. Klaus Becker passed the ball around the backline with Amadou and Hernandez, draining the clock down with professional ease.
When the referee finally put the whistle to his lips, blowing it three times...
Piii. Piii. Piiii.
...the scoreline was cemented. SC Valois 4, SC Corse 2.
Cillian was bent over, his hands on his knees, completely spent but he was smiling. Bachra was swapping shirts with a Corse player, the La Masia kid having proven he had grit to match his gold chains.
Dário was waving to the fans, having staked his claim on the left wing. And on the touchline, Henri was shaking the opposing manager’s hand.
[System Notification]
[Match Complete: SC Valois 4 - 2 SC Corse.]
[Locker Room Cohesion: 80% (Rising).]
[Integrated Bachra and gave him confidence. Led and scored for the team using consumables when the match was tied.]
[Reward: 25 General Points and 25 Skill Points]
[Remember TES store is restocked]
[Balance: 33 General Points | 33 Skill Points]
Luc smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The egos were falling into place... except one.
The 4-3-3 was proving to be lethal.
---
Sunday morning.
The physical toll of operating as a lone striker in a 4-3-3 formation was different from anything Luc had experienced in the two-striker system. He wasn’t just running that’s for sure. He spent ninety minutes acting as a human backboard for two center-backs who outweighed him, shielding the ball, absorbing cleats to the Achilles, and constantly fighting for an inch of space to lay off passes to the wingers.
He woke up with a dull, localized ache in his lower back and a sharp stiffness in his right shoulder.
Juliette was awake, sitting at the edge of the bed in an oversized t-shirt, scrolling through her tablet with her reading glasses falling down her nose.
"You’re wincing," she said, not looking up from the screen. "You took a beating yesterday."
"I’m fine," Luc said, sitting up and rolling his shoulders until they popped.
"I’m already booking you an ice bath and deep tissue massage at noon. Don’t argue with me."
"I wasn’t going to."
She looked up, offering a small, satisfied smile before returning to her work.
Luc leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.
"TES."
The familiar interface snapped into the darkness of his vision. The system had been quiet since the match ended, letting him enjoy the lack of penalties. But he had a massive balance burning a hole in the pocket of his curiosity.
[System Notification]
[Balance: 33 General Points | 33 Skill Points]
[Store Status: Restocked.]
[Welcome, Captain. Ready to spend?]
"Show me the inventory."
TES scrolled rapidly, expanding into a list of new upgrades and consumables. The system had clearly adapted to his new role. The items were less about individual stats and more about influence.
[Item 1: Playmaker’s guide (Passive)]
[Cost: 20 Skill Points]
[Effect: Increases your spatial awareness of your own midfielders by 15%. You will likely always know where Hugo and Klaus are without looking.]
[Item 2: Captain’s Aura (Passive)]
[Cost: 15 General Points | 10 Skill Points]
[Effect: Emits absolute authority. Teammates within ten yards of you experience a 5% boost to composure under pressure. Also raises baseline Locker Room Cohesion by a few %. Cannot be fractured by a single player’s ego.]
[Item 3: Tactical Mute (Consumable)]
[Cost: 10 General Points]
[Effect: For ten minutes, the opposition’s defensive communication drops to zero. They cannot call out switches or notify teammates ahead of danger.]
[Item 4: Injury Nullifier (Consumable)]
[Cost: 15 General Points | 15 Skill Points]
[Effect: Instantly heals any muscular injury. Does not fix torn ligaments or broken bones, but cures fatigue, cramps, and deep bruising instantly.]
Luc reviewed the list. The Injury Nullifier was tempting, a literal get-out-of-jail-free card for the schedule ahead. But Captain’s Aura was exactly what he needed to keep Valérie’s multi-million euro Frankenstein squad from turning on each other when things got difficult.
"Purchase Captain’s Aura," Luc commanded.
[Transaction Complete: -15 GP, -10 SP]
[Balance: 18 General Points | 23 Skill Points]
[Captain’s Aura equipped.]
"And give me the Tactical Mute consumable."
[Transaction Complete: -10 GP]
[Balance: 8 General Points | 23 Skill Points]
[Inventory: Tactical Mute x1]
[Happy hunting.]
Luc dismissed the interface. He immediately felt a strange, settling warmth in his chest. It wasn’t a physical change like the speed upgrades, but a mental one. A quiet, terrifying certainty in his own gravity as captain.
---
Monday morning.
The training pitch was covered in freezing drizzle.
The fallout from Saturday’s match was entirely visible in the body language of the squad. Bachra Goza was buzzing, joking with Cillian and pinging passes with confidence. A kid who had just secured his place in the hierarchy.
Dário Ferrão looked sharp, laser-focused on maintaining his newly reclaimed left-wing spot against Sordell.
But Gabriel Assis...
The forty-million-euro Brazilian winger stood at the edge of the rondo circle, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his wet training jacket. When the ball came to him, he played it lazily, one-touching it back without bending his knees or adjusting his stance. He was physically present, but entirely checked out.
Henri blew the whistle, pacing around the circle. "Gabriel! On your toes! You are flat-footed!"
Gabriel didn’t respond. He just stared at the wet grass.
Klaus Becker caught the ball, holding it under his foot. The massive German glared at the Brazilian. "If you do not want to train, go sit in the locker room."
Gabriel’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "Worry about your own passes, old man."
Before Klaus could take a step forward, Luc moved.
He didn’t shout, rather he walked into the center of the rondo circle, closing the distance to Gabriel. As he approached, the newly acquired Captain’s Aura flared.
The effect was subtle but undeniable. The agitated murmurs from the rest of the squad instantly died down. Cillian straightened his posture. Even Klaus stopped moving. A heavy, stabilizing weight settled over the immediate vicinity.
"You’re sulking," Luc said to Gabriel, his voice low and utterly devoid of sympathy.
"I was disrespected," Gabriel shot back, his poor English dripping with venom. "I am a creator, a prolific attacker. I was humiliated in front of thirty thousand people because the coach wants me to play like a defensive fullback."
"You were humiliated because you walked while the team bled ans sweat," Luc corrected coldly. "You want to create? Then earn the right to stay on the pitch. You think you’re the only one who had to adapt? Look at Idriss."
Luc pointed across the pitch. Idriss Konaté was running sprints by himself on the far touchline, punishing his own body to stay sharp, refusing to complain despite losing his starting spot to the 4-3-3 shift.
"He has a bunch of goals," Luc said. "Yet, he is on the bench. He isn’t crying about it. He is working. You have one choice, Gabriel. You either run for this team, or you rot in the reserves until Valérie sells you at a loss."
Gabriel stared at Luc. He wanted to argue. He wanted to throw his multi-million euro weight around. But under the pressure of Luc’s gaze and the invisible weight of the aura, the Brazilian’s defiance cracked.
Gabriel swallowed hard, looking away. "Fine."
"On your toes," Luc commanded. He turned to Klaus. "Play the ball."
The drill resumed. Gabriel’s touches were suddenly sharper. It wasn’t a miraculous attitude adjustment, but the rebellion had been stamped out before it could spread.
[System Notification]
[Locker Room Cohesion: 83% (Rising)]
[Captain’s Aura functioning optimally.]