Chapter 37 - 35 - The Other Answer

Chapter 37: Chapter 35 - The Other Answer

Monday passed through recovery work, and by Tuesday morning Rafael could already see that the space he and Renaud had been given was beginning to close.

He noticed Loïc Vautrin before he had even finished the warm-up.

The senior striker had spent most of the previous week moving between the performance staff and short pieces of team training, but now he was inside the main attacking group with Caron and Perrin. There was still a monitor beneath his training top and one of the fitness coaches remained close enough to keep checking him between exercises, yet the football itself looked normal.

That was what mattered.

Caron received on the half-turn during the first possession drill and released the ball before Vautrin had clearly started his movement. Vautrin went anyway, arriving exactly where the pass expected him to be before returning it first time and spinning into the next space.

Nobody praised the combination or stopped to discuss it. They had clearly done it often enough that there was nothing worth saying.

Rafael was waiting outside the square when Renaud came over and stood beside him.

"Morning."

Rafael glanced across. "Morning. Legs all right?"

Renaud stretched one calf behind him and made a face. "Kieffer left me a few souvenirs."

"You kept asking for the ball with him on your back."

"Didn’t mean I wanted him coming with it every time."

Rafael smiled.

Renaud watched the drill for a moment before nodding toward Perrin. "That pass you gave Noah was good on Sunday."

"I thought Kieffer was going to hold his position."

"So did I. Then he followed you and Noah was gone."

"Made the pass easier."

"You still had to see it."

The coach called the next rotation before Rafael could answer, and they both stepped forward.

Vautrin’s return stayed in Rafael’s mind more than the compliment.

He had seen enough injured professionals return during his first career to recognise the important part of what was happening. The staff were not assessing whether Vautrin understood the level or fitted the attack. They were checking whether his body could handle the workload again.

That was a very different question from the one hanging over Rafael.

Vautrin belonged here already.

Rafael was still proving that he should.

The thought carried an old instinct with it. Whenever a striker returned from injury during Rafael’s first career, he had immediately started calculating minutes. One more player fit meant fewer opportunities somewhere else, and back then he had often treated another forward’s good news as if it automatically had to become bad news for him.

He knew better now.

The calculation still came.

Vautrin was close to full training. The other senior centre-forward was expected to begin joining parts of the group the following week, while Renaud had just spent forty-five minutes against Mondorf showing why the staff trusted his body more when a match became direct.

There would not be unlimited room.

Rafael entered the possession square when his turn came and pushed the thought aside.

Knowing how squad competition worked did not make worrying about it useful.

Vautrin stayed through the technical work and the first tactical block. Near the end, the performance coach called his name and pointed toward the side of the pitch.

Vautrin slowed instead of leaving immediately.

"I’ve got another block."

"Not today."

"I feel fine."

The coach glanced at the data on his tablet. "Good. I’d like you feeling the same way tomorrow."

Vautrin looked back toward the exercise. "I’ve barely done anything."

Caron laughed from several metres away. "You’ve been complaining for an hour. That counts."

Vautrin gave him a look, but the edge left his expression and he pulled off his bib.

"Tomorrow, then."

"If the numbers agree."

Vautrin muttered something under his breath as he walked toward the recovery staff.

The exchange told Rafael almost as much as the football had. Vautrin was not worried about whether the coaches wanted him around. He was frustrated because he wanted his normal workload back.

Renaud wandered closer as the next group assembled.

"He’ll get minutes Saturday."

"Looks that way."

Renaud rubbed the back of his neck and looked toward Vautrin. "The other one’s back next week too, right?"

"Supposed to join parts of training."

Renaud nodded, then let out a quiet breath. "Thursday’s going to be fun."

Rafael looked at him. "You say that like it wasn’t already important."

Renaud’s mouth twitched. "Fair."

The assistant coach called them into position, and Tuesday moved on without either of them discussing the numbers again.

They both understood them.

Thursday was the comparison Rafael had expected since the Mondorf game.

The staff kept the variables simple. Caron played underneath the striker, Perrin started from the right, Vasseur anchored the defence, and Rafael and Renaud would work with the same surrounding players in separate blocks.

Vautrin had already completed his own tactical work with the likely starting unit. Before leaving for controlled conditioning, he had shown another part of why the senior players trusted him.

A cross had come early from the right, and Vautrin had attacked the near post before the winger fully set himself. The movement dragged one centre-back with him, and instead of forcing the finish from a poor angle, Vautrin let the ball travel behind him for the midfielder arriving late.

The shot went wide.

Nobody needed to explain what Vautrin had done.

Rafael had played with enough experienced forwards to recognise a striker who understood the timing of other people’s runs rather than merely his own.

That was another standard waiting above him.

The head coach called Rafael and Renaud over once Vautrin’s block ended.

"Same group around you," he said. "Mat first, Rafa after. Don’t spend your whole turn thinking about what the other one just did. Play properly and we’ll do the comparing."

Renaud nodded. "All right."

Rafael gave the same response and moved outside the area while Renaud went in.

The difference appeared quickly.

When Metz could play through Caron and the wide players, Renaud’s involvement was ordinary enough. Once the midfield route closed, his value became clearer.

A centre-back drove a hard pass into him with Vasseur already tight against his back. Renaud set his stance early, absorbed the contact and kept Vasseur outside the ball before laying possession into Caron’s path.

Metz stayed high.

Several minutes later, another direct pass arrived under pressure and Renaud protected it long enough for Perrin to move inside. The eventual attack broke down near the penalty area, but the original problem had already been solved.

Renaud had given the team somewhere to go when the cleaner option disappeared.

Rafael understood what the staff were seeing without needing them to explain it. He had spent too many seasons as a professional centre-forward not to recognise the value of a striker who could turn an ugly pass into another phase of possession.

His own block offered something different.

Caron found Rafael early with Vasseur close behind, and Rafael released the ball before the defender could settle into the contact. He immediately changed his angle, received again from Perrin and moved the attack through the pressure before Vasseur had time to establish another duel.

When the football stayed quick, Rafael could make the senior attack quicker with him.

Then both midfield options closed.

Metz’s centre-back drove the pass directly into Rafael.

He recognised the situation before the ball arrived and widened his stance, trying to make first contact rather than waiting for Vasseur to dictate it. At thirty-four, Rafael’s old body would have known exactly how much weight to give back through his legs and hips.

This body knew the instruction.

It could not yet produce the same force.

Vasseur arrived almost with the pass and shifted Rafael far enough off balance to step around him and take possession.

Rafael turned immediately into the counterpress, but his jaw tightened as he ran.

It was worse when you knew exactly what your body had failed to do.

The separate blocks continued long enough to make the comparison impossible to avoid. Renaud still had the stronger argument if Metz wanted one striker to stand between two centre-backs, contest direct passes and hold the line by himself.

Rafael had known that before Thursday.

Watching the coaches confirm it did not make him like it.

When the assistant blew his whistle, Rafael began walking toward the touchline.

"Mat, stay," the head coach called. "Rafa, back in."

Rafael turned.

Renaud was looking toward him as one midfielder came out of the attacking group.

Rafael recognised the new shape immediately.

Two forwards.