Chapter 96: [96] "Long away fixtures"
The cross was delivered before the left back could recover. Whipped in with pace on it, aimed at the six-yard area.
Idriss had run off the near center-back from the moment Gabriel received the ball. Two units of separation at the near post, arriving early rather than late, because Idriss had watched enough of Gabriel’s deliveries in training to understand that this particular Brazilian crossed early and low rather than slow and floated.
He met it at knee height with his left foot.
3-0.
The away end was in genuine joy for the how-many-eth time at this ground.
Minute sixty-seven.
Henri made the substitution.
Bastien off for Cillian who shifted a bit more central. The rotation was respectful and logical.
Bastien walked off the pitch and Henri met him at the touchline, pressing a hand firmly onto his shoulder and keeping it there for a few seconds.
He sat on the bench, watching the game continue without him on the pitch.
Luc, jogging back to his position from a Normandie goal kick, looked at him.
Bastien nodded at him.
Done. He was ready to leave the team that built him from nothing, leaving a parting gift as he did.
---
Minute seventy-four.
Normandie scored from a set piece.
A free kick from the left side, thirty yards out. Their tall center-back ran across the Valois defensive line at the near post and got the flick-on that Hadj had predicted but couldn’t completely prevent.
The ball deflected off Hadj’s shoulder instead and trickled across the line.
3-1.
The home crowd found its voice for the first time in over an hour.
Normandie’s manager pumped his fist. His team had scored, and that was the only thing that mattered to him in this moment, the dignity of a goal.
Hadj walked without looking back at the goal or his furious goalie. He replayed the delivery in his head and identified the adjustment he would make on the next near-post run. That was how he dealt with conceded goals. Not with frustration.
Minute seventy-nine.
Luc put the match to bed.
Hugo played him in behind the right center-back with a pass that was so precisely weighted it looked reckless to anyone who didn’t understand what weight meant in that context. The ball rolled exactly fast enough to skip past the center-back’s attempted interception and slow enough to allow Luc’s acceleration to reach it in stride.
One-on-one. The Normandie keeper coming off his line aggressively, making himself as large as possible.
Luc opened his body and shaped for the far post.
The keeper committed.
Luc passed the ball through the gap between the keeper’s legs, slow and contemptuous.
Nutmeg!
4-1.
---
The final eleven minutes were... can you guess? controlled possession management. Klaus dictated the tempo, moving the ball through short combinations that kept Normandie’s forwards running in circles without touching anything useful.
But Normandie still scored again in the eighty-eighth minute. A lose pass from Cillian led to a consolation goal from the Normandie substitute striker, who had been otherwise invisible.
4-2.
The final whistle arrived five minutes of added time later.
Piii Piii Piiii.
SC Valois 4, FC Normandie 2.
The result was never really in doubt. The player’s celebrations were not loud or amplified. They had done what they arrived to do and were now preparing to do the next thing.
Bastien sat in the corner of the away changing room with his kit still on.
He wasn’t going to be back in any locker room with this Valois team. He had accepted that days ago when he agreed to Paris.
He reached into his kit bag and pulled out a single folded piece of paper, today’s tactical printout. The one he carried to games since Hugo started slipping them into his bag months ago.
He set it on the bench beside Hugo without saying anything.
Luc, putting on his jacket, watched the exchange from across the room.
Gabriel was already showered, in his yellow hoodie, texting again. Amadou had his boots off and was working a knot out of his left calf with his thumb. Klaus was in the shower, the sound of running water the only sound.
Cillian was saying something to Idriss that involved a lot of hand gestures, which was a general symptom of Cillian having opinions about football.
---
Luc had just changed out of his kit and boots.
[System Notification]
[Upgrade complete]
[No more system penalties]
[Won MD19. Bastien’s farewell handled]
[System upgrade Reward applied: +1 First touch goal]
[Balance: 8 General Points | 8 Skill Points | Predatory Aura ×1 | First touch goal ×1]
[Updated League Position: SC Valois remain 3rd.]
[MD20 incoming: SC Corse. Home.]
"Home to Cors--" Luc thought. "Did I just see no more system penalties? Best fucking time to be alive...besides the fact that Bastien is leaving."
With this the second half of the season was the thing now. The Champions League spot. The cup. The restructuring for a squad that had just lost its second-most influential young player to the club sitting at the top of the table.
Henri appeared at the door.
"Bus in twenty," he said. "Well done."
He left.
Luc picked up his bag and walked out.
The corridor outside the away dressing room at Normandie’s stadium smelled of industrial cleaning products. The lights in the corridor were the kind that buzzed faintly when the building was quiet.
He passed the framed photographs of Normandie’s previous seasons lining the wall. Third place finishes. A cup quarter-final from eight years ago.
He didn’t look at them for too long.
The exit was at the end of the corridor. He pushed through.
The bus was already running even though Henri gave them twenty minutes, exhaust disappearing into the dark above the parking lot.
Bastien was standing near the front of the bus, his bag at his feet, his phone in his hand.
He looked up as Luc passed him.
"I really hope you succeed at Paris Royal," Luc said without stopping.
"Have a little faith. I will," Bastien confirmed.
Luc got on the bus.
He sat at the back. The seat by the window, the same seat he had been using since August on every away trip, where he got a good view of Mateo sleeping on the trips back after long away fixtures.
He put his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.
The bus filled up as the players were ready to leave. The doors closed. The engine shifted gear and hit the road.