Open Play: Ladies, Goals, The Everything System in-between

Chairs scraped violently against the floor as both teenagers stood up simultaneously.

The entire dining hall fell dead silent. The clinking of silverware stopped. Seasoned professionals, Champions League winners, and multi-million euro signings turned to watch two eighteen-year-olds snap under the weight of Valérie Laurent’s expectations.

"You want to call me a coward?" Zack said, stepping around the table, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. "Say it again. Say it! I dare you!"

"You’re a coward," Yannick repeated immediately, stepping forward to meet him, closing the distance until they were chest to chest. "You don’t belong in the first team. You’re going to cost us games."

Zack shoved Yannick hard in the chest.

Yannick stumbled back, his eyes going wide with fury, before he lunged forward, raising his hands to grab Zack by the collar of his shirt.

Before a punch could be thrown, a heavy hand clamped down on Yannick’s shoulder, gripping his muscle.

Luc.

The dining hall was silent, the kind that only descends when an altercation is seconds away from spiralling out of control. The air was poised for violence. Zack Florez and Yannick Cabral wete standing chest-to-chest.

Luc’s hand didn’t tighten on Yannick’s shoulder, he didn’t need to... the mere weight of his grip and the sudden, overwhelming aura of the captaincy was enough to force a momentary pause.

"Step back," Luc said. He didn’t need to shout, plus he had already spent the day dealing with millions of euros worth of ego.

Yannick blinked, the anger flickering in his eyes reducing as he finally came to terms with who was holding him. He looked up, his fingers still clutching the collar of Zack’s shirt. He looked at Luc, then at the surrounding room of seasoned professionals.

Baini, Klaus Becker, Alex Sordell, all watching. They had probably seen this exact scene or something similar play out in locker rooms from London to Munich to Milan.

Yannick hissed, his grip loosening.

Luc’s eyes shifting to Zack, who was trembling. "If both of you think for one second you’re going to settle your promotion-year frustrations in the middle of Valérie Laurent’s organised dinner, you are the most delusional kids I have ever seen."

Luc shoved Yannick backward, he sent the teenager stumbling two steps toward the buffet table. He released his grip and straightened his sweater, his gaze sweeping the room.

"It’s over. Everyone back to their seats," Luc said.

The dining hall began to move again. The conversations returned, low at first, then gradually rising back to its previous volume. But the atmosphere had been irreversibly altered. The dinner was no longer a celebration of the club’s success, it gave everyone... especially the youngsters, a front-row seat to the reality of professional football.

Zack and Yannick stood, the anger fading from their faces, replaced by shame. They had embarrassed themselves in front of the hierarchy. They had shown their childish personalities.

"Get out of here," Luc muttered to them, keeping his voice quiet so only they could hear. "Go back to the youth dorms for all I care. And if you have the resolve to continue hear, I never want to see this again."

The two eighteen-year-olds turned and walked out through the side exit, leaving the room with their heads down.

Luc exhaled, the faded tension finally allowing him to relax. He turned back toward his table, only to find Klaus Becker watching him with a strange, contemplative expression. The German was leaning back on his chair.

"Not bad," Klaus said, his voice barely audible over the noise of silverware. "Most captains would have called a manager or a security guard. You did it yourself."

"Nah. I don’t need a manager to handle two kids," Luc said, sliding back into his chair.

"No," Klaus agreed, taking a slow sip of the wine in the glass in his hand. "But you do need them to fear you more than they fear the coach. That is the first rule of holding a squad together. If they fear the manager, they’ll hide their mistakes. If they fear the captain, they’ll prefer to die before they make one."

"That sounds like Munich talking. I don’t need my younger teammates fearing me."

"That is football talking," Klaus said, turning his gaze back to his plate.

Luc glanced toward the far table. Idriss Konaté nodded, then raised his fork in his hand. His only care being about the number nine position.

[System Notification]

[Locker Room Cohesion: 50% (Not good)]

[Warning: System penalties have been frozen. But you need to do something about team chemistry]

Luc was focusing his attention on the dinner. He was really enjoying the lack of penalties. Honestly, it wasnt quite fitting for him to suffer from something that should be in place to help him.

TES before the upgrade would have hit him with a headache or reduced his stats for something unrelated to the pitch.

---

Throughout the remainder of the evening, the silent politics of the end of the transfer window were at play. The veterans, Baini, Sordell, Hernandez, gravitated toward each other, their conversations conducted in a mixture of Italian, Spanish, English, and French.

[System Notification]

[Downloading Italian...]

[Download complete]

The closer of the youths huddled together.

Valérie Laurent made another appearance before the dessert, drifting through the room like she owned the place...yeah. She stopped by every table, speaking in hushed, confident tones that promised Champions League glory or professional damnation, depending on who she was addressing.

Valérie stood by Luc with an arm on his shoulder. They looked perfect together to everyone watching... including Juliette.

"The cars are waiting outside for any member of the squad who doesn’t want to drive home, considering how late it’s going to get," she said, her voice carrying just enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "I want everyone focused on Corse. No match can be won by accident."

Valérie had cast Luc as her personal enforcer. Every player in the room saw it. The younger ones looked at him with renewed awe, the veterans with a mixture of professional jealousy and caution, and Idriss couldn’t do anything but realise a starting position was that much tougher.

---

Luc stood up, the tiredness from the day’s events finally catching up with him. He walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the complex’s training pitches. The fresh air felt deserved.

A moment later, the sliding glass door opened, and Hugo Blanc stepped out.

The seventeen-year-old was shivering, his thin, elegant frame huddled inside a borrowed suit jacket that was clearly two sizes too large. He passed Luc and stood by the railing, staring out at the dark.

"They’re going to keep coming, aren’t they?" Hugo asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t get, you mean the signings?"

"The changes. The fights. The pressure." Hugo rubbed his arms. "The club isn’t the same family anymore, Luc. A lot of new faces. We’ll be playing a different type of football, but we’re getting along with each other less."

Luc walked up to Hugo and leaned against the railing, the gentle breeze biting through his sweater. "It’s the ambition and everything that come with it. When you stop playing for survival and start playing for a legacy, the conversations change. The guys who are worried about their spots won’t talk as much because they’re busy trying to improve their own performances. That’s what’s happening with Sordell and Dário, it would be happening between Idriss and me if Idriss wasn’t reasonable."

"And us?" Hugo looked up at him. "Are we going to stop talking?"

"You and I?" Luc shook his head. "Never. You’re my guy, now and forever. The present and future of midfield. I can see it."

Hugo managed a faint, fleeting smile, the first one Luc had seen from the kid since...Bastien left. "You praise me a whole lot don’t you think."

"Maybe."

Luc looked back toward the dining hall, seeing the golden light spilling out of the floor-to-ceiling glass. He could see Klaus Becker arguing with one of the waiters about the wine list, while Baini tried to calm him down.

Bachra Goza flirting with a few of the female younger staff members, and he saw Idriss sitting alone. Somehow he felt sorry for him. Luc had no doubt that Idriss would never start ahead of him...not in any life. His belief in himself was absolute to that extent.

The team was now massive, complex, and filled with landmines.

"Get inside, Hugo," Luc said. "You’ll catch a cold. We have work to do on Saturday."

As Hugo vanished into the warmth, Luc remained on the balcony. He felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone.

A message from an unknown number:

Hi Lucky. Heard about the massive movement in the Valois roster. Jyst hope you won’t be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulder. Seeing as you’re the captain now and all. Careful. That weight can crush you if you don’t find someone to share it with (wink emoji) —C

It could only be one person, he thought of Chloé Martin.