Chapter 221: [221] "LEAGUE NOTIFICATION"

Ding.

Luc did not reach for his pocket immediately. He kept his right arm draped across the back of the wooden park bench, the cold morning air biting at his exposed knuckles.

"If that is a reminder to do more exercise, I’m leaving," Zara muttered, her voice muffled through the thick fabric of her oversized black hoodie. "I have endured enough already. I will not stand for any more."

"It’s not that," Luc replied, finally pulling his phone from the pocket of his windbreaker.

He unlocked the screen. The notification wasn’t a reminder, a text message from a teammate or a corporate demand from Valérie Laurent. It was an email. The sender banner displayed the official, stylized crest of the Ligue Alpha governing body.

Luc frowned, sitting up slightly. The league administration rarely sent out anything official unless it involved disciplinary hearings, media obligations, or awards. A mass email on a Wednesday morning was an anomaly.

He tapped the banner, opening the full text.

"What is it?" Rose asked, sitting up and pulling the collar of her windbreaker tighter around her neck to block the sudden gust of wind.

"League newsletter," Luc said, his eyes scanning the block of formal French text. He cleared his throat and read the contents aloud so the two women could hear.

"’To all participating clubs, players, and affiliated staff. The Ligue Alpha Governing hereby announces a mandatory administrative conference to be held before the conclusion of the current competitive calendar. Representatives from all clubs, encompassing both the Men’s and Women’s divisions, are required to attend. The agenda will cover the implementation of new league rules, regulatory shifts, and the commercial future of Ligue Alpha. The scheduled date and venue will be communicated shortly.’"

Luc lowered the phone, the screen timing out and going dark in his palm.

"That’s it?" Zara asked, pulling her hood back just enough to expose her highly skeptical expression. "They interrupt a perfectly miserable morning to send corporate spam?"

"It isn’t spam," Luc corrected, staring at the blank screen of his phone. "The governing council doesn’t call mandatory conferences mid-season unless something massive is shifting behind the scenes. They usually save rule changes and commercial briefings for the summer break when the calendar is completed."

"What kind of rules?" Rose asked, her natural curiosity overriding the chill of the park. "Like, rules on the pitch? VAR introduction?"

"Maybe," Luc said, his mind automatically processing the implications. "But the inclusion of the commercial future and pulling in the women’s division at the exact same time points to something big. They might also be restructuring the broadcast revenue distribution. Or tightening the financial regulations."

Zara scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Let me guess. The old men in the suits realized that clubs like yours are making too much money, and they want to figure out a way to cap it so the boring teams can stay relevant."

"You aren’t entirely wrong," Luc admitted, leaning back against the wooden slats of the bench. "Look at what Valérie has done with Valois this season. We went from a mid-table squad to a title contender with massive international merchandising spikes. The GQ cover alone blew up the league’s standard marketing metrics. When one club centralizes that much attention and revenue, the governing body usually steps in to try and equalize the playing field."

"Valérie Laurent is going to hate this I’m sure... whatever it is," Rose observed smoothly. "She doesn’t strike me as the kind of owner who plays nicely in committee meetings."

"She will despise it," Luc agreed, a faint smirk breaking across his face. "If the league tries to implement a salary cap or restrict commercial sponsorships, Valérie will turn that conference into something else. She views SC Valois as an independent empire. She doesn’t want the league dictating how she scales her business."

"And the women’s teams?" Rose pointed out. "Why bring them into the same conference? Usually, the administrative bodies treat the divisions separate."

Luc thought about the Valois women’s squad. They operated out of the same training complex, utilizing the same medical facilities and departments, but their administrative overlap was minimal.

"Unified broadcast rights, maybe," Luc theorized. "If the league is trying to negotiate a new international television deal, packaging the men’s and women’s leagues together creates a more lucrative asset. Or they are mandating that all top-tier men’s clubs must fully integrate and fund their women’s academies to meet new licensing requirements."

"Good," Zara stated bluntly. "About time they force these billionaires to actually invest across the board instead of just buying another private jet."

Luc pocketed his phone. The administrative politics of Ligue Alpha were vast and complicated, but ultimately, they were out of his control. He was the captain on the grass, not the boardroom negotiator. He would leave the conference battles to Valérie and Coach Henri. His immediate jurisdiction was limited to the white chalk lines of the pitch, and the rapidly shrinking gap in the Golden Boot race.

"They’ll send the date eventually," Luc said, dismissing the topic. "Doesn’t change the match on Sunday."

Rose turned her head, studying his profile. She knew his deflection tactics better than anyone. "You’re thinking about that again."

The purchase of the Absolute Strike and the Cannon Header consumables in his system inventory had provided a clinical layer of confidence.

"You said they cross the ball constantly," Zara chimed in, shivering as another gust of wind swept across the clearing. "And your backup goalkeeper is terrified of leaving his line. Sounds like a recipe for a miserable Sunday."

"It would be, if we let them cross," Luc explained, his hands resting on his knees. "But we won’t. They rely on their fullbacks overlapping with their wingers to create two-on-one overloads against the touchline. If they get the numerical advantage, they whip the ball in. So, we eliminate the advantage."

"How?" Rose asked.

"Work rate," Luc answered simply. "Wingers are going to have to track back deeper than they have all season. They essentially have to operate as secondary fullbacks when we lose possession. If Côte d’Azur pushes two men wide, we meet them with two men. We trap them against the chalk and force them to play backward."

"And what do you do?" Zara asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just stand around and wait for them to do the hard work?"

Luc laughed. "I wish. No, my job is to make sure they can’t afford to push their fullbacks forward in the first place. If I stay high and occupy both of their central defenders, their fullbacks are forced to tuck inside to provide cover. If their fullbacks tuck inside, they lose their wide overlap."

"Ninety minutes," Rose summarized, her tone laced with mild concern. "Right after spending days on a couch."

"The knee is fine, Rose," Luc assured her, tapping his right thigh. "Your routine proved it. The bone is solid. The tissue is healed. I am fully cleared, I’ll go in for confirmation tomorrow."

Zara pushed herself up from the bench, shivering aggressively. "Great. You are healed. Now, can we please leave? My organs are beginning to shut down from the cold, and I refuse to die in a park wearing sweatpants."