Chapter 291: [291] "Conquered all"

Timeskip

Saturday 25th May 2024

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The referee placed the whistle between his lips and blew it.

Piii

Piii

Piii

The sound cut through the humid air of the capital. It echoed against the massive tiers of the Paris Royal stadium, signaling the definitive end of the SC Valois season.

Luc stood, his boots planted firmly in the grass of their fiercest rival’s fortress. He dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes as the realization washed over him.

They had done it.

The Cup de France was theirs.

The final ninety minutes of a grueling, ten-month campaign had just expired, and SC Valois stood victorious in a few ways.

Around him, the pitch was in absolute chaos. The remaining parts of the match dissolved in a fraction of a second. Cillian Doyle collapsed onto his back, screaming into the night sky, his fists pounding the turf. Gabriel Assis ripped his black and gold jersey over his head, sprinting blindly toward the corner flag where the traveling Valois supporters were actively trying to tear down the fencing in pure euphoria.

Klaus Becker, the stoic German anchor, simply dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

Luc took a deep breath, letting the oxygen fill his lungs. He opened his eyes and looked around the arena.

Winning a domestic cup inside the stadium of Paris Royal carried a specific weight to it. Paris Royal had taken the Ligue Alpha title. They had secured first place by a margin of seven points, pulling away in the final three weeks of the calendar when the fixture congestion finally cracked the Valois depth.

But finishing second in the league, securing automatic Champions League qualification, and ripping the domestic cup away from the rest of the country was a triumph that could not be diminished. Valois had transitioned from a lower mid-table squad to an elite European contender in a single season.

Something heavy slammed into Luc’s back.

He stumbled forward, catching his balance just in time to see Amadou Fall wrapping a massive arm around him.

"We got the silverware!" Amadou roared, his voice hoarse from shouting defensive assignments for the past hour. "We actually got the silverware!"

"Get off me, you heavy brute," Luc laughed, shoving the center-back away, but he pulled Amadou right back in for a firm embrace.

Pinto arrived seconds later. The goalkeeper was unrecognizable from the nervous, hesitant player who had stood frozen months ago. Pinto had commanded his penalty area tonight with authority. He jumped onto Amadou’s back, slapping the top of the center-back’s head.

"Clean sheet in a final!" Pinto shouted. "Nobody exposes us!"

Luc left the defenders to their celebration and walked toward the touchline. The Valois bench had emptied. The substitutes, the medical staff, the kit managers, and the technical coaches were flooding the grass.

Through the sea of black and gold tracksuits, Coach Henri walked forward.

The manager had his tailored suit jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened at the collar. Not really for the first time since Luc had signed his contract, but not frequent enough, Henri was smiling. It wasn’t a smirk of mild approval. It was an unrestrained one.

Henri stopped in front of his captain. He did not offer a handshake. The manager stepped forward and pulled Luc into a fierce hug.

"You executed brilliantly," Henri said, his voice quiet but carrying immense pride. "From the first day of training to the final whistle. You led the line. You anchored this squad. You gave them the belief."

"You built the system, Coach," Luc replied, stepping back. "We just ran it."

"You ran it to the ground," Henri corrected, looking out at his exhausted players. "Second in the league. Champions League secured. A domestic trophy. You did exactly what I demanded of you."

"We’ll get the league next season," Luc promised. The seven-point gap to Paris Royal still gnawed at the back of his mind.

"We will," Henri agreed seamlessly. "But tonight, you celebrate. You earned this."

Henri patted Luc’s shoulder and moved past him, heading toward Klaus to validate his vice-captain.

Luc turned back toward the pitch. The stadium security had formed a loose perimeter, preventing the away fans from spilling onto the grass, but the noise was deafening. The stadium’s public address system was blasting a generic celebratory anthem, heavily drowned out by the chants of the Valois ultras.

"Luc!"

He turned around.

Juliette was navigating her way through the crowd of celebrating staff members. She was not wearing her official medical tag around her neck or her standard sideline gear. She wore dark jeans and a black jacket, having watched the final from the Paris executive boxes rather than the dugout.

Luc closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her clean off the grass. He spun her around, burying his face in her breast.

She laughed.

"Put me down, you’re covered in sweat," Juliette protested, though her grip on his shoulders only tightened.

He set her feet back on the turf, keeping his hands resting on her hips. "We won."

"We did. And I watched every second of it," she smiled, reaching up to wipe a smudge of dirt from his cheekbone. "You didn’t do anything stupid. The squad held up. I’m proud that you actually listened to my medical advice for an entire ten months."

"I had a very strict administrator as a girlfriend," Luc smirked. "I didn’t have a choice."

"You never have a choice when it comes to me," Juliette agreed smoothly. She looked around the pitch, taking in the scale of the celebration happening inside the rival stadium. "It feels different down here. Watching it from the box, you see the shape and nothing more. Down here, you just see the chaos."

"It’s the best kind of chaos."

A few yards away, another interaction was taking place.

Hugo Blanc, the now 18 yr old maestro, looked unbothered by the ninety minutes of intense midfield warfare he had just survived. His kit was relatively clean, his posture immaculate as always.

Standing next to him was Talia.

Dressed casually, wearing a simple jacket and a Valois scarf draped around her neck. She was looking up at the massive tiers of the Paris Royal stadium, her eyes wide as she took in the scale of the environment. She looked deeply fascinated.

Luc nudged Juliette, gesturing toward the teenager. They walked over.

"Hugo," Luc greeted.

Hugo turned. "Captain. Juliette."

"Talia, this is Juliette," Hugo introduced, his voice carrying its usual tone, though a faint hint of protectiveness underscored the tone.

"This is Luc, I believe you met at the cafe a while back. The striker I have to constantly cover for."