Chapter 240: [240] "MATCHDAY d’Azur 2"

If a cross came into the box, he had the Cannon Header. If he needed to snap an ankle in the penalty area, he had the Phantom Step.

And if he needed an undeniable guarantee to secure three points, he held the nuclear option as well.

He dismissed the interface. The blue text faded, returning him to the harsh lighting of the locker room.

The door at the front of the room swung open.

Coach Henri stepped inside.

The manager was dressed in his tailored matchday suit, a dark navy two-piece over a crisp white shirt. He held a single sheet of paper in his right hand. He didn’t carry the board marker this time.

He walked to the center of the room. The low conversations died instantly. The players stopped taping their wrists and tying their boots. All eyes locked onto the manager.

Henri did not waste time with a motivational speech. He had spent the entire week drilling the defensive shifts, screaming at them on the grass, forcing them to run transition drills until their lungs burned.

Their blueprint was already permanently seared into them. They knew exactly how Côte d’Azur was going to attack, and they knew exactly how they were expected to defend it.

There was nothing left to explain.

Henri looked down at the sheet of paper.

"The starting eleven," Henri announced, his voice stern with the weight of absolute authority.

He just read the names again, though they already knew.

"Pinto."

The backup goalkeeper nodded sharply, slapping his gloves against his thighs.

"Florez. Hernandez. Amadou. Aubert."

The backline acknowledged the call. Zack Florez stared straight ahead, mentally preparing to solo-defend the left channel. Amadou and Leo exchanged a brief glance, confirming their pact to own the airspace. Kévin Aubert adjusted his shin guards, knowing Gabriel would be dropping deep to support him.

"Cillian. Klaus. Hugo."

The midfield engine room. Cillian cracked his knuckles. Klaus remained perfectly still. Hugo Blanc simply blinked, his mind already thinking of the opening pass sequences.

"Gabriel. Dário."

The wingers. Gabriel took a deep breath, accepting the heavy defensive workload that awaited him. Dário tightened his laces, ready to exploit the counter-attacking space on the left.

Henri paused. He lowered the sheet of paper, looking at the wooden bench where his captain sat.

"Luc."

Luc met the manager’s gaze without speaking. He just held the eye contact, confirming that he was ready to anchor the system and carry the attack.

Henri folded the piece of paper and slid it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"You know the shifts. You know the assignments," Henri stated, looking around the room one final time. "Do not let them cross the ball. Pin them deep. Take the three points."

The manager turned and walked out of the locker room, heading toward the technical area on the pitch.

Klaus Becker stood up immediately. The German grabbed the captain’s armband from his bag, walking across the room and tossing it into Luc’s chest.

Luc caught the elastic band. He pulled it up his left arm, securing it tightly over his bicep.

"Let’s go," Luc commanded, his voice carrying calm certainty. A man who held a loaded weapon...loaded artillery in his inventory.

The squad rose in unison. The clatter of studs against the floor created a deafening march as they filed out of the locker room.

The broadcast cameras caught them briefly as they marched down the corridor, their faces set in identical expressions of beaming focus.

They got passed the usual tunnel formalities.

They didn’t stop to shake hands with the Côte d’Azur players lined up in the tunnel. They walked straight past them, emerging from the shadows of the stadium interior and out into the glaring daylight.

The roar of thirty thousand hostile fans hit them like a scintillating wave. The Côte d’Azur ultras were in full voice, waving massive flags behind the goal, creating a wall of intimidation.

SC Valois ignored the noise.

They broke formation, jogging out to their starting coordinates on the pitch.

Luc walked to the center circle. He didn’t look at the opposition center-backs who were currently sizing him up. He stood exactly on the white chalk dot, resting his right cleat on top of the match ball.

He looked to his left. Dário Ferrão was hugging the touchline, hovering high, ready to sprint.

He looked to his right. Gabriel Assis was positioned slightly deeper, already checking his shoulder to locate the Côte d’Azur left-back he was assigned to double-team.

Behind him, Hugo Blanc stood, his eyes scanning the pitch. Klaus and Cillian formed the double pivot, communicating with quick, sharp hand gestures.

Further back, the defensive line was locked in. Amadou Fall and Leo Hernandez stood on the edge of their own penalty arc. Pinto was ready on the goal line.

Luc took a deep breath. The coastal air filled his lungs.

He glanced up at the massive digital scoreboard hanging over the northern stands.

The clock read 14:59.

Across the country, where Phocéen resided and in Paris, two other referees were checking their watches. Fresko and Olivier Fontaine were standing in their respective center circles, waiting for the exact same signal.

The Golden Boot race and the Ligue Alpha title race were perfectly synchronized, suspended in a vacuum of anticipation.

The referee stepped into the center circle of the Côte d’Azur pitch. He looked at Pinto, receiving a thumbs-up. He looked at the Côte d’Azur goalkeeper, receiving the same confirmation.

The clock ticked over to 15:00.

The referee brought the whistle to his lips.

Piii.

The noise of the referee’s whistle cut through the wall of noise generated by the thirty thousand hostile fans inside the FC Côte d’Azur stadium.

The sound marked the official commencement of Matchday 27. The clock on the massive scoreboard above the stands ticked from 00:00 to 00:01.

Luc Beaumont stood over the match ball in the center circle. He placed the sole of his right cleat on top of the ball, dragging it backward with a firm motion.