Free Web NovelChapter 26: [26] "Quiet Ones Are the Worst"
RC Alsace away. freewebnovёl.ƈom
The drive to Strasbourg took four hours on a bus that smelled of leftover sandwiches.
Luc was in the back row again. Eyes open this time. No taped ribs to breathe around. The painkillers from Nantaise were a memory now, the bruising on his back a dull yellow-green when he checked in the mirror.
He was reading the about Alsace on his tablet.
Mid-table team. One loss in eight across all competitions. Clean sheet in four of their last six.
They were not dramatic or violent. Not like Belleville or Aquitaine.
Just quiet, competent, organised football.
"Those were the teams that got you." Luc thought to himself.
Hugo appeared in the seat beside him without asking.
He put a folded printout on Luc’s knee. Hand-drawn arrows over a photocopied paper he used to go over tactics.
"Alsace press in a 4-4-2 medium block," Hugo said, his voice low and even. "But their two strikers press the CBs diagonally, they want to force the ball wide and then link up with either of their wide midfielders to double up on the full back."
Luc looked at the printout.
"They don’t press high enough to leave gaps behind," Hugo continued. "But the number eight, Reinhard, tracks the second striker aggressively. If Lacombe drops, Reinhard follows."
Luc tapped the paper. "So Lacombe’s usual pocket of space becomes mine?"
"If you time the run," Hugo said. He was already standing up to go back to his seat.
Luc watched him walk down the aisle. The kid had been doing a lot of this lately. Just arriving with solutions and leaving.
He’d likely be a manager one day.
[System Notification]
[Reminder]
[Penalty: Temporary 20% reduction in passing accuracy for the next match. You will play like Mateo on a bad day.]
Luc stared at the screen.
"That’s genuinely evil. I totally forgot about this. Shit!"
---
Stade de la Meinau was cold and fully packed.
RC Alsace were compact from the first whistle. Their shape was disciplined and they were completely unhurried in their passing. Nothing flashy, nothing reckless.
Luc felt it immediately. The midfield was tight, Alsace’s wingers were narrow and their 8 and 6 passed each other’s shadows.
Reinhard was already tracking Lacombe.
Exactly as Hugo said.
Luc dropped into the hole Lacombe had vacated as Lacombe pushed wide.
Reinhard went with Lacombe.
There was no one between Luc and the edge of the area.
Mateo hit it first time, hard and flat, into Luc’s path.
Luc’s first touch killed it perfectly. He was already facing goal. One center-back closing him down hard without wasting time.
The center-back committed early.
Luc used the oldest trick in the book. He dropped his left shoulder, the defender bit, he rolled the ball onto his right and clipped a low shot inside the near post.
It hit the post.
"Shit!"
Then hit the keeper’s back and went in. It was scrappy and filled with luck, but...
1-0.
---
Luc let the moment pass. He didn’t stare down the camera. He didn’t tap his wrist.
Alsace’s response was not panic. It was adjustment.
They pushed Reinhard tighter into the space Luc had occupied. Their manager, a cold-faced Belgian who wore the same grey sweater every game, signaled from the touchline and the shape narrowed.
For the next thirty minutes, there was nothing.
SC Valois held possession in the middle third but couldn’t break through. Alsace waited. They were compact and patient. Not conceding another goal was high on their priority list.
Henri was pacing on the touchline by the 40th minute because Luc was constantly misplacing his passes. Aside from the goal, he looked like the worst player on the pitch.
Minute 43.
Demirci had the ball on the right under light pressure. He played it square to Ekberg, the left-footed Swedish center-back who had no obvious pass to play.
Luc had already broken into a wide right channel, near the touchline.
Ekberg looked up and hesitated. Luc wouldn’t have been his natural target for a pass.
"Ekberg!" It was a command dressed as suggestion.
Ekberg played it.
The pass was fine, not perfect but fine. Luc had to check his run slightly to collect it in the right channel.
The Alsace left back came flying in.
Luc took one touch with the outside of his right boot, cushioned the ball against the direction he had received it, and suddenly had the left back running away from play.
He looked up.
Lacombe had peeled off the back post. Completely unmarked, all he needed was for Luc to deliver a classic diagonal cross.
Luc didn’t try to beat two men himself.
He drove a hard, low cross... it was a horrible cross, he fluffed it completely.
He couldn’t curse TES for just this alone. Afterall, it had been helping him more times than it punished.
Hugo was there to pick up the pieces. He one-touched the wasted attempt at a pass through the legs of the defender and passed it through to Luc’s initial target, Lacombe.
Lacombe didn’t have to think too much about what to do, the pass was exquisite. He side-footed it into the bottom corner.
2-0. An assist for Hugo.
Luc’s play, Ekberg’s trust, Lacombe’s run and Hugo’s positioning. You could say it was a team goal.
A collective piece of architecture that had nothing to do with the American being the only man on the pitch.
Something was changing. The team wasn’t just fighting for Luc’s wager anymore. They were fighting for themselves.
---
The second half began without issue. Alsace scored on the hour mark. A well-worked corner routine that Blažek should have done better with. freewebnovel.cσ๓
2-1.
Luc was subbed off immediately after the goal. His clearance led to the corner. It was a bad game overall for him.
The last 30 minutes were uncomfortable. Alsace pushed hard. Their shape held and the grey sweatered manager shifted them into a 4-3-3 they clearly hadn’t rehearsed enough. The transitions were too wide, too open.
SC Valois held on.
Final whistle. 2-1.
Three points secured.
---
The locker room was not filled with celebrations. It was all business now.
Mateo was unbuckling his shin guards. Hadj and Ekberg were talking quietly in the corner. Hugo had his headphones on.
This was a different relief.
These men were starting to look like a team that expected to win.
Luc noticed it.
---
His phone lit up before he reached the shower.
Valérie. Again. She was beginning to chat him up more than Juliette now. For someone who doesn’t really have a passion for football, she is following the wager through and through.
Her message read:
Fontaine scored twice against Alsace’s city neighbors this evening. Both Open Play goals. And clean finishes at that. The press is calling it a return to form.
Luc leaned against the cold concrete wall.
He typed back:
Score?
V replied immediately:
Beaumont 7, Fontaine 7.
Tied.
For the first time since Nantaise, the lead was gone. Seven apiece with nine matchdays remaining before December.
He picked his bag up, put his phone in it and walked to the showers.
[System Notification]
[Wager Tally updated: Open Play Goals — Beaumont 7 | Fontaine 7]
[MD9 incoming: Dijon Métropole. Home]
[Idriss Konaté has not forgotten what you took from him.]
Idriss.
The Ivorian striker he had displaced as a starter from matchday two. He had not caused visible problems. He had not confronted Luc. He had trained hard, said almost nothing, and watched from the bench for seven straight matchdays besides the opening day.
"The quiet ones."
"Those were always the worst."
