Free Web NovelChapter 38: [38] "Wind and wolves"
Sporting Bretagne played on a pitch that the Atlantic would be jealous of.
The wind came in off the coast in long intervals. It wasn’t gusting but it was constant. It could potentially turn every long ball into a short one and could make every set piece a lottery.
Luc felt it in the warm-up and made a decision immediately.
"No long balls today."
[System Notification]
[Penalty enforced: Until Hugo returns, Luc Beaumont is required to drop into midfield or second striker role for a minimum of 45 minutes per match. No pure striker luxury]
---
Bretagne set up in a 4-3-3. Defensively solid. Their two wide forwards pressed the center-backs aggressively, denying the build-up. Their holding midfielder, a 29-year-old veteran who had played in this league for seven years screened everything centrally.
He played like a man who knew his exact worth.
Cillian Doyle started in Hugo’s slot. He was ready.
Minute 8.
Luc dropped into the gap between Bretagne’s holding midfielder and their left center-back. The space was tight, maybe four yards or so.
He received the ball from Mateo. There was an immediate press from the Bretagne holding midfielder.
He didn’t try to turn. He laid it back to Mateo with one touch and ran immediately into the channel behind the man who had just pressed him.
Mateo saw Luc’s movement and played a first time cross. But the cross was blocked.
Minute 17.
Luc dropped deep again. Same pocket of space as last time. The Bretagne holding midfielder followed Luc this time, expecting another lay-off to one of his teammates.
Luc received, then turned through him. Two touches, tight and sharp.
The space opened behind the midfielder.
Luc then drove a weighted through ball between the center-backs. Idriss saw the pass, then ran onto it.
The Bretagne right center-back scrambled across and got a toe to it.
It went out for a corner.
"One chance created." Luc pointed two fingers at Idriss. "Just keep making those runs."
The wind made the corner useless.
Minute 28. Bretagne scored.
A long diagonal from their goalkeeper, straight into the chest of their center forward. He brought it down cleanly in spite of the wind and held off Hadj with his shoulder. The turn was sharp. The finish was low.
1-0.
Hadj could only look at the sky. The Bretagne striker was poorly defended.
---
The locker room at halftime had a certain productive air to it. They still had fight... they lacked Hugo’s presence in midfield, but they had fight.
Henri’s voice was controlled but strained. He was talking about shape adjustments and pressing but his eyes had a familiar mathematical expression. Goal differences. Points gaps. Things that mattered in March towards the season’s end.
Luc sat quietly.
He was behind in the wager. Hugo was out. The wind was making the game ugly. Idriss had worked hard but didn’t seem to convert his chances
---
The second half began. Luc moved even deeper. Almost into the midfield line.
Cillian Doyle noticed and adjusted his own position without being told, pushing slightly higher to occupy the space Luc had vacated.
That was something.
Minute 54. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
Luc received in the left side of the pitch, twenty-eight yards from goal. Two Bretagne players closing him immediately.
He didn’t look for a pass.
He waited. Let both men commit to the press.
Then slipped the ball sideways to Dário with the outside of his right boot, simultaneously pointing hard at the space that had just opened behind the full-back.
Dário drove into the space that freed up without hesitation and looked to cross the ball.
The cross was early, hard, whipped in before the wind could interfere.
Idriss arrived at it. The header was clean, it was headed downward and perfectly well-placed.
The keeper saved it with his legs.
But it was a chance. A dangerous and well constructed one from a pocket of space twenty-eight yards away
Minute 63.
Mateo made a crunching tackle in the Valois half, the sound of it audible above the wind. He looked up.
Luc had already started his movement.
He sprinted into the right channel this time, drawing Bretagne’s left midfielder out of position.
He didn’t want the ball actually, he just found himself calling for it anyway, acting as a dummy runner.
The Bretagne midfielder followed, leaving space behind him.
"Cillian!" Luc called.
Cillian ran into the lane Luc had hollowed out. Mateo played it first time straight into Idriss path instead.
Idriss had pace when he ran in a straight line. He had it now as he drove to the byline and cut the ball back.
Cillian met it at the penalty spot.
1-1.
Gooal!
The wind didn’t care. But the Valois bench erupted.
Henri had his arms in the air. Cillian slid across the wet grass and screamed at the sky like an Irishman who had been waiting for months for a moment to justify himself.
Luc jogged over. He gripped Cillian by the back of the neck.
That was enough.
---
The last twenty-five minutes were pure survival.
Bretagne pushed for the winner. The wind helped them, lengthening their long balls, complicating Blažek’s catches.
Hadj and Ekberg were extraordinary. Every header contested. Every second ball fought for. Mateo ran himself into the ground covering the width of the midfield alone.
Minute 89. A Bretagne corner. The wind carried it past the near post. Blažek punched it clear.
Minute 90+2. Valois broke. Three players against two. Idriss had the ball. The last man tracked him.
He didn’t shoot. He squared it... to nobody.
The ball ran out for a goal kick.
Idriss stood with his hands on his head.
Final whistle. 1-1.
---
One point, but it was a good point.
Cillian sat with his head back against the wall in the locker room, eyes closed. Lacombe who didn’t play today was rolling his ankle. Hadj had a cut above his eye from a headed duel he hadn’t mentioned to Juliette yet.
Luc checked his phone.
A message from Valérie:
Fontaine blanked against Nantaise. Paris Royal won 2-0 but both goals came from their left winger.
Still 10 to 9. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
Luc typed:
Hugo’s timeline?
The reply was quick, but he texted Juliette this time, not Valérie:
Minimum two weeks. Maybe three.
[System Notification]
[Wager Tally: Open Play Goals — Beaumont 9 | Fontaine 10.]
[MD13 incoming: FC Normandie at Home]
Outside the small stadium the Atlantic was enormous.
He shouldered his bag and walked to the bus.
Still just that one goal behind.
