Chapter 144: [144] "Former"
The walls of the tunnel beneath Stade Valois were cool, absorbing the residual heat radiating off Luc Beaumont’s skin. The deafening roar of the thirty thousand fans above was muffled down.
A hat-trick, shoving Fresko back down to second place and keeping Olivier Fontaine firmly at arm’s length in third.
As he crossed the threshold separating the tunnel from the locker room corridor...
"TES," Luc thought, his eyes tracking forward but his mind completely open to the interface. "Match evaluation? Surely there’s a reward."
[System Notification]
[Was computing...]
"When you’re done I guess--"
[Match Evaluation Complete: SC Valois 5 - 0 RC Alsace.]
"Of course."
[- Hat-Trick.]
[- Regained outright possession of the Ligue Alpha Golden Boot (27 Goals).]
[- Orchestrated absolute offensive dominance.]
[Calculating Rewards...]
[For the Hat-Trick...]
[Reward: +20 General Points | +20 Skill Points]
[For reclaiming the #1 position in the Golden Boot race...]
[Reward: +25 General Points | +25 Skill Points]
[For Orchestrating absolute offensive dominance...]
[Reward: +5 General Points | +5 Skill Points]
[Total Deposit: 50 General Points | 50 Skill Points]
[Current Balance: 80 General Points | 75 Skill Points]
[Consumables: 0]
Luc stopped walking for a fraction of a second. The payout was staggering. The Everything System was effectively functioning as a high-stakes casino, and all he had to do was perform, to hit the jackpot.
Eighty General Points and seventy-five Skill Points constituted a massive pocket for the American. It was enough capital to fundamentally alter the trajectory of the grueling month of March that loomed ahead.
He dismissed, the blue text dissolving into the shadows. He pushed open the double doors of the home dressing room.
The atmosphere inside was electric, a stark contrast to the tense silence that had preceded the kickoff. The air smelled heavily of fucking victory.
Jose Mallorca was enthusiastically reenacting his crunching midfield tackles to a laughing Cillian Doyle, the jester of the team. Leo Hernandez was sitting by his locker, icing himself, but boasting loudly about his first-time volley that had nearly broken the crossbar.
But the center of gravity in the room wasn’t the goalscorers. It was the seventeen-year-old sitting quietly.
Hugo Blanc was untaping his ankles, his expression maintaining its usual stoic neutrality, though the faint trace of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Luc walked through the center of the room, the conversations naturally dying down as the captain approached the teenage prodigy. Luc stopped in front of Hugo and held out the match ball.
Hugo looked up, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "Captain?"
"Five assists in a single match," Luc said, his voice projecting clearly enough for the entire squad to hear. "That’s a new Ligue Alpha record. It’s never been done before, not by any veteran playmaker in this country."
Luc tossed the ball. Hugo caught it against his chest, entirely surprised.
"A hat-trick is just a hat-trick," Luc continued, looking around the room, making sure the expensive egos and the seasoned veterans absorbed the message. "What you did tonight was phenomenal. You don’t get five assists without completely breaking the opposition’s mind. The ball belongs to you."
Klaus Becker pounded a heavy fist against the metal lockers. "Hear, hear! The boy is a maestro!"
Bachra Goza leaped up from his seat, throwing an arm around Hugo’s neck and ruffling the kid’s perfectly maintained hair. "He fed me too, he is a cheat code!"
Hugo looked down at the leather ball resting in his hands. The stoicism cracked, replaced by unfiltered teenage pride. He looked back up at Luc. "Thank you, Luc."
"Don’t thank me," Luc said, grabbing his towel. "Just do it again next match." Winking at him.
Before the celebrations could escalate further, the door of the dressing room swung open. The club’s chief press officer stepped inside. He looked frantic.
"Beaumont. Blanc. Coach, sir," the press officer barked, pointing at the three of them. "Shower quickly. Get your tracksuits on. The media room is in a frenzy right now. Every major outlet in the country is demanding quotes."
---
Ten minutes later, Luc found himself sitting at the raised podium in the bowels of the stadium. Coach Henri sat to his right, while Hugo sat to his left, looking slightly uncomfortable under the blinding assault of different camera flashes.
The room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with journalists. The narrative Valérie Laurent had engineered with the GQ cover had poured gasoline on an already raging fire. The media didn’t just view this as a football match anymore, they viewed it as a Chapter in a cinematic new story.
A reporter from L’Équipe stood up, holding a digital recorder forward.
"Luc, twenty-seven goals. You’ve broken ahead of Fresko mere days after he secured the lead. Can you comment on the Golden Boot race? Did the pressure of sharing the ’New Kings’ title affect your performances?"
Luc leaned into the microphone. He didn’t blink under the flashing lights.
"There is no shared title," Luc stated. "The magazine cover was a great piece of marketing, but marketing doesn’t put the ball in the net. Fresko is an elite striker and I respect his output. But I don’t look over my shoulder, and I don’t share. Let me try to be a but humble here, I play for SC Valois, and my only objective is ensuring we win every match. The goals are just a byproduct of that objective."
A murmur rippled through the press. It was the perfect soundbite. Arrogant, respectful, and ruthless all at once.
Another journalist, a woman from a prominent Paris-based sports network, stood up rapidly.
"Luc! Olivier Fontaine posted a message on social media earlier this week claiming he was ’back amongst the goals’ and referring to Valois as trash. The post was deleted within minutes, but the screenshots went viral. Do you have a response for your rival?"
"Former rival," Luc said as he adjusted his posture slightly. He knew the trap. If he insulted Fontaine further, the media would milk the dead feud for weeks... But if he ignored it, he looked weak.
"Olivier Fontaine is a world-class athlete who scored a hat-trick, though against a bottom table club," Luc replied smoothly, stripping the emotion entirely from his tone.
"I scored a hat-trick tonight to take us to a 5-0 victory and secure second place in the league table. I don’t need to respond to deleted social media posts. The scoreboard responded for me."
Before the journalist could follow up, Luc gestured with his hand toward the teenager sitting quietly on his left.