Chapter 94: [94] "A little too much Normandie"
"Hugo’s going to be fine. He’s seventeen with a footballing IQ that has been described as generational by people who get paid to describe things." Luc turned. "He’ll play well enough for three Bastiens."
Bastien was quiet for a second, gathering his thoughts.
"I learned more in six months with you here than I did before you arrived. Hell! I could’ve been rotting in the reserves without you," he said. "I want you to know that."
"I know that," Luc said. "I watched it all happen."
They stood together in the cold January morning. Luc looking down at Bastien like a proud father.
"When do you go?" Luc asked.
"Window closes January thirty-first. But the deal will be finalized by the twenty-eighth."
"MD19 is the twenty-seventh."
"I’ll hope to play it. Though I don’t know how ethical that’ll be. If Henri selects me, that is."
"He’ll select you." Luc picked up his water bottle. "I’ll make sure of it."
[System Notification]
[Observation: Bastien Leroux departs for Paris Royal FC.]
[Irony detected: The player Luc Beaumont helped build will now become a weapon in Fontaine’s arsenal.]
[TES has no further comment at this time.]
"I actually pity him more than worry about him being a weapon for Fontaine," Luc said under his breath. "Not with the twenty minutes a week at Paris Royal."
---
Hugo found out during the afternoon session.
The tactical session was underway, Klaus and Hugo working the central passing triangles that had become the engine of SC Valois’s build-up since Mateo’s departure. Hugo received the ball, checked over his shoulder, and played a first-time pass into Bastien’s run.
After the play broke down, Bastien walked up to Hugo.
He said something way too quiet for Luc to catch from twenty yards away. Hugo only responded with what seemed like a single sentence.
After that Hugo turned and walked away.
He didn’t talk to Bastien again for the remainder of the session.
Not out of anger... or atleast Hugo didn’t show anger that way. He processed it internally and let it show in his game, which became noticeable in the final minutes of the session. Every pass was clearly more accurate. Every movement was a second quicker.
He was playing through it.
That was how you knew something had gotten to him.
---
Gabriel Assis, who had now been at the club for a couple of days and had therefore decided he understood the social dynamics of the squad, got Bastiens attention in the corridor after the session.
He told Bastien something about Paris Royal and proving the manager wrong. Gabriel’s english wasn’t the best so you can only wonder how well Bastien understood.
Bastien ended the conversation by laughing and they parted ways.
"What did you say to him?" Luc asked. He saw them talking from behind.
"I told him Paris Royal was going to bench him for four months while they decided what to do with him," Gabriel said.
"And what did he say?"
"He said he knew, that it was likely, and that it was worth it anyway. So I encouraged him to prove them wrong."
Paris Royal would bench anyone initially. It was how they operated, an entrance examination conducted in real time, patience would be assessed before minutes were given.
If Bastien passed that examination, he’d be a better player than the one SC Valois had developed.
They both walked to the dressing room.
---
MD19. FC Normandie. Away. January 27th, 2024.
The return... return leg against the team that had beaten them 2-0 at home, and then lost 3-0 at the same Valois home ground.
The match that Bastien Leroux would play in the black and gold for the last time.
Normandie were thirteenth in the table with a confidence that their home(league) win against SC Valois had inflated beyond its actual significance.
Their manager had cited that as evidence of his team’s ability to compete with higher-placed opposition. Although they had literally just lost to the same team a few days ago.
Luc carried that as fuel for a specific kind of focus.
Henri’s team talk was short and targeted. He identified three specific weaknesses in Normandie’s defensive shape, all three of them very familiar by now.
Their right center-back held the line too narrowly when under pressure from the left. Their holding midfielder marked space rather than runners, meaning he consistently arrived late to the second ball... very familiar stuff.
"Their confidence is real, they’re fooling themselves into thinking they never cared about the cup," Henri said. "They believe they can repeat a win against us. Use that belief against them."
Bastien sat in the corner with his kit on, his starting position confirmed. Gabriel beside him, his hoodie folded under his match kit bag.
Amadou sat at the end of the row, cleaning his boot studs with the focus he brought to everything.
Klaus had his arms folded.
Progress.
[System Notification]
[System upgrading...]
Luc thought. "Right."
He stood up and looked at the room.
"The first fixture against them was their match," Luc said. "Tonight is ours. Same principles. Higher intensity. Hugo finds the pockets, Gabriel stretches the line. Klaus controls the tempo. Amadou owns them defensively." He looked at Bastien last. "Bastien makes his runs early and trusts the delivery. This is his last game with us, let’s send him off with a win."
Bastien looked back at him without flinching.
The last one was the only instruction that really mattered tonight.
---
Piii.
Normandie’s stadium at night had this particular brand of hostility towards the Valois players.
Obviously not like the war zone that was Parc des Royals. It was something smaller and something more personal. A crowd of barely eighteen thousand people who had watched their team lose to SC Valois not even up to a full week ago.
The away end had maybe four hundred Valois supporters.
They made themselves heard anyway.
Minute three.
Normandie pressed immediately, their two wide forwards running narrow and aggressive, trying to collapse the SC Valois build-up before it left the defensive third.
The same structure that had forced two errors and two goals in the previous fixture.
Klaus received from Hadj and didn’t move like a man who was about to be ambushed. He shifted his weight onto his back foot, let the first presser arrive at full sprint, and rolled the ball out of his feet with the outside of his right boot before the contact was made.
The press became a whiff. The way he averted it was almost too professional.