Chapter 224: [224] "JULIETTE TATTLETALING"

"It increases the technicality," Juliette corrected. "The board wants to protect players like Hugo and Max. They want high-scoring matches."

The integration of VAR and stricter officiating would permanently alter things in the penalty area. For a striker, it was a massive advantage. Luc had spent his Ligue Alpha time operating inside the brutal box.

Defenders anchored him by the jersey, threw elbows into his ribs, and stepped on his toes when the referee was looking right at them. If cameras were watching every movement in the box, the center-backs would be forced to play clean.

Coupled with his new Phantom Step and Cannon Header consumables, the reduced physicality from the defenders would turn him into an unmarkable asset.

"What about the pitches?" Klaus asked, his mind moving past the officiating. "You cannot play technical football if the grass is a swamp. Aquitaine deliberately destroyed their own field to slow us down."

"The board is addressing that as well," Juliette confirmed, nodding at the German. "Mandatory stadium checks. Standardized turf maintenance protocols. Any club that fails to meet the strict pitch quality forty-eight hours before kickoff will be fined heavily, and continuous infractions will result in point deductions. They are eliminating the mud-based tactics."

"A whole lot of teams are going to get relegated next season if they actually enforce that," Max Caster pointed out quietly.

"That is exactly what the league wants," Juliette stated, her tone was matter-of-fact. "They want the clubs that rely purely on stalling to adapt or drop down to Ligue Beta. They are elevating the standard of the top flight."

Luc looked down at the floor. The changes were nice. The entire culture of Ligue Alpha was being forcibly dragged into the modern era of commercialized, highly polished football. For SC Valois, a team that had already transitioned into a possession-heavy, technical juggernaut under Coach Henri, the new rules were a massive tailwind.

They were already built for the future the league was trying to mandate.

But that future was next season. They still had to survive the current reality. They still had to travel to FC Côte d’Azur on Sunday and fight a team that relied on old-school, wing-play and crosses.

"It’s good information, Jules," Luc said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping fully into the hallway. "But it doesn’t help us this weekend. We still have to deal with the refs we have now."

"Agreed," Klaus rumbled, turning away from the wall. The captain’s focus snapped instantly back to the immediate calendar. "We have a tactical briefing soon. Henri wants to review the defensive shifting for the wide channels. If Pinto won’t leave the line, we have to stop the crosses at the source."

"I’ll see you in there," Luc said.

The group dispersed, Cillian and Bachra continuing their argument about the VAR as they walked down the corridor toward the film room, Max trailing quietly behind them. Klaus offered Luc one final nod before following the others.

Luc turned back to Juliette, who was already gathering her ultrasound equipment from the counter.

"They’re loud," Juliette remarked, not looking up as she wiped down the scanner cable.

"They’re relieved," Luc corrected, walking back into the room and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking at the blank monitor. "The squad was stretching themselves too thin trying to cover the gaps. They needed the focal point back. Me."

Juliette leaned back into his chest slightly, her hands pausing their work. "You are not going out there to be a battering ram on Sunday, Luc. The bone is healed, but the surrounding muscles haven’t taken match-level impact in days. You have to play smart."

"I know," Luc promised, his mind instantly accessing the dormant interface of The Everything System. He had the Vacuum Trap ready for transition control, the Phantom Step for evasion, and the Cannon Header for the crosses. He didn’t need to be a battering ram anymore. He had evolved past brute force.

"Henri is going to drill you hard tomorrow," Juliette warned, turning in his arms to face him. She reached up, adjusting the collar of his training shirt. "He wasn’t happy about the dropped points. He is going to demand perfection in the defensive transition."

"Let him demand it," Luc smiled, entirely unfazed by the prospect of the manager’s wrath. He felt a resonant surge of energy flooding his system. The mandated rest was over. The isolation of the executive box was finished. He was returning to the grass.

"I’ll survive the drills."

"You better," Juliette said, her professional tone melting into something significantly warmer. She kissed him quickly, before stepping back and grabbing her clipboard. "I have a meeting with the club executives to review medical protocols in ten minutes. Valérie is apparently already in a terrible mood regarding the conference email."

"Good luck with that," Luc chuckled, taking a step backward toward the hallway. "I’ll see you later."

Luc turned and walked down the corridor, the silence of the medical wing giving way to the distant thumping of footballs being kicked on the fields. He navigated the complex with a renewed sense of ownership.

Every step he took transferred his full weight through his right knee, and every step confirmed what the ultrasound had already proven.

He reached the doors of the film room. He pushed them open.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the bright glow of the projector screen against the far wall. Coach Henri stood at the front, a laser pointer in his hand, highlighting a specific defensive failure from the Nantaise match. The entire squad was seated in the tiered rows, completely silent, absorbing the manager’s harsh tactical dissection.

Luc walked down the aisle, slipping into an empty seat in the second row next to Klaus Becker.

Henri stopped speaking. The manager lowered the laser pointer, his eyes locking onto Luc in the darkness. The tension in the room spiked momentarily, the players waiting to see how the manager would address his returning captain.

Henri didn’t offer a dramatic welcome. He didn’t crack a smile.