Free Web NovelChapter 34: [34] "Mark It! Luc’s First Domestic Cup Match"
Saturday. The training schedule on the board read something different for once.
No tactical breakdown this time. Just a date, handwritten in red marker at the top corner.
Sunday, 29 October.
Luc saw it while walking back to the locker room on his way to from the ice bath. AS Garonne was played on Wednesday, 3 days later a cup game, the first of the 2023/2024 season. His calves ached but they were recovering... nothing close to the hamstring saga.
Hugo was on the bench in the corner, his ankle still strapped, scrolling through something on his phone with the same focus he gave a tactics sheet. He was supposed to be resting at home far away from anything football. He looked up at Luc.
"Cup de France, Luc," Hugo said. "It’s finally up to the Sixth round."
"I know."
"I’m sure you didn’t a minute ago."
Luc didn’t argue the point.
The dressing room had a different energy that morning, something not associated with the 4 nil trashing they had suffered. Mateo was telling a story in French to three other players, his hands carving shapes in the air, and whatever the punchline was, it must’ve hit hard enough for Demirci to nearly fall off the bench while laughing.
Cup week did that. League football was work. Cup football, for one round at least, was a party with a small chance of public humiliation attached to it.
"Who do we have?" Luc asked, dropping onto the bench beside his locker.
"US Brassac," Mateo said, still grinning. "They are in the bottom half of Ligue Beta. You’ve never heard of them I’m sure."
"Then why’s everyone smiling like that’s good news."
Mateo’s grin thinned out, just slightly. "That’s just how it is. They have a small team, they’ll be upgrading from their small stadium to ours for the 90 minutes of play, nothing to lose."
It was a real piece of football logic that most bigger teams used to underestimate the smaller ones.
Henri came in by 10.
The whiteboard had a picture of a crest on it that Luc didn’t recognise... yellow and green kit with a wolf’s head stitched into the chest area as the club’s badge. Someone had printed it off the internet.
"US Brassac," Henri said, tapping the photo. "Mid-table in Ligue Beta. They play in a stadium that holds only six thousand. They have eliminated two Ligue Alpha teams in the last five years on penalties."
The room went a little quiet.
"They’re not afraid of us," Henri continued. "They have nothing to protect and everything to lose. We have everything to protect."
"So we don’t underestimate them," Luc said.
"You don’t underestimate anyone who has spent three months dreaming about this run of cup matches," Henri said. "For them, this is the whole season. For us, it’s a Sunday."
Luc considered that... the whole team considered that.
---
The locker room emptied out after the walkthrough, and Luc found himself alone with Idriss, both of them packing up at the same bench for the first time without a single word exchanged about minutes or contracts.
"You’ll start," Idriss said. freewēbnoveℓ.com
"Probably."
"I’ll come in during the second half." Idriss tied off his laces. "Henri’s already told me. Cup rotation and stuff."
"Good," Luc said. "Score one for yourself this time. Don’t make me feel guilty about it again."
Idriss almost smiled.
"I don’t need your assists, Beaumont. I’ll get my goals with more minutes."
Idriss stood up, picked up his bag, and walked out without waiting for a reply. Luc let him have the last word. It cost nothing.
Juliette caught Luc in the corridor as she was stepping outside medical, with her clipboard tucked under one arm. Her hair was loose even though it was a working day.
"Sunday," she said. "Cup day. I’m still wondering how you’re fit enough. It feels like it should be illegal at this point in the season."
"Don’t jinx it."
"I don’t believe in jinxes. Henri’s resting Mateo for the first half."
"I heard."
"Doyle starts in midfield in Mateo’s position. Bastien gets a half up top just behind you and Lacombe."
Luc raised an eyebrow at that, wondering why a physio is reporting the lineup to him. More importantly, why he didn’t know the full lineup for the match.
"Bastien is the kid Hugo replaced," Juliette said, reading the look. "He needs the minutes. He needs to remember he’s still a footballer and not a ghost on the bench."
"Bastien’s fine," Luc said. "...he just plays like he’s apologizing for taking up space."
"Then maybe don’t make him feel smaller tomorrow, okay?" Juliette said as she put her two arms around his neck.
"That’s quite an order. I’m not going to pump up anyone that doesn’t have confidence in their own ability," Luc said back leaning in for a kiss.
Juliette released her hold on his neck and stepped back. "I guess Hugo was a special case then."
She turned around and disappeared as she turned the corner down the hallway.
"Shit."
[System Notification]
[Objective: Treat the cup like a league match]
[Reward: +2 Composure stat (permanent)]
[Penalty: If SC Valois is eliminated, Reduction of 10% to all stats will be applied]
"Ten percent? Brutal."
He didn’t argue with it. He’d learned that much by now.
---
Stade Valois on a cup Sunday looked different from a league Saturday.
Smaller crowd. Quieter crowd. The corporate boxes were half-empty. Domestic cup football didn’t pull sponsors the way the league did, not this early in the rounds anyway. But the away end was packed with travelling fans.
US Brassac arrived in a single bus, no media at the gates awaiting their arrival. Their kit bags were carried in by the players themselves. The massive travelling support had made the four-hour drive north, and it was reported that they sang the entire walk from the car park to the away end, loud enough that it carried over the stadium wall.
Luc watched the Brassac players as they came through the players’ tunnel, he was warming up in his half of the pitch.
A lower league side with nothing to protect and everything to prove. Henri’s words from Saturday came back to him.
He looked for the visiting bench. Their manager was a man in a tracksuit two sizes too small, pacing up and down already, shouting instructions that didn’t matter yet because the match hadn’t started.
Valérie’s box was empty today. She’d sent one text that morning.
Cup games are basically just charity for the brand, but make sure you win it and don’t get hurt. I don’t even know why you’re playing this match — V
"It seems my teammates aren’t the only ones underestimating Brassac." Luc thought.
Henri gathered the starting eleven in a loose circle.
"Brassac will park ten men behind the ball," he said. "They’ll try to take this to penalties. Don’t gift them set pieces, don’t give away needless fouls near the box, and don’t relax just because the name on their shirt doesn’t ring a bell."
Mateo, who wasn’t starting, hit Bastien on the shoulder from the side. "Score one, kid. Show them why you were the answer before the American showed up and replaced you with Hugo."
"Mateo! What the fuck? Why would you say that?" Luc yelled.
Bastien’s face did a very complicated thing that nobody could classify as an expression.
Luc said nothing to him. He just nodded once in his direction.
---
The two teams walked out side by side.
Brassac’s players were taller than expected, broader in the shoulders, built like men who worked second jobs between training sessions. A few of them looked at the SC Valois badge on Luc’s chest like it meant something personal.
The referee checked his watch.
The two captains shook hands at the center circle, with Demirci wearing the captain’s armband today in Mateo’s place. Him and the Brassac captain held the handshake a half-second longer than necessary, it looked like he said something in French that made Demirci’s jaw tighten.
Luc didn’t catch the words from the distance.
Some things translated through a handshake alone.
He took his position up top, glanced once toward the away end where the massive travelling fans of maybe three thousand had gone quiet, holding their breath the way only an underdog crowd could.
"TES, I don’t have to play a deeper role today right?"
[System Notification]
[That is correct. The enforced penalty continues during your next league match]
The referee raised the whistle to his lips.
Piii.
