Open Play: Ladies, Goals, The Everything System in-between

Bachra, who had been watching the interaction, let out a sudden, explosive snort of laughter, immediately trying to disguise it as a cough by burying his face in his napkin.

Zara reached her leg towards him under the table and kicked her brother in the shin, though her own eyes were dancing with amusement.

Talia raised an eyebrow, looking down at Hugo. "The what? The menu? You want to eat the menu?"

"No," Hugo said quickly, his voice cracking marginally. He cleared his throat, a faint, unprecedented flush of pink rising on the back of his neck. "The cassoulet. Please. I will have the cassoulet."

"Good choice," Talia said, offering a bright, lopsided smile that made the flour on her cheek stretch. "It’s heavy, but it’s cold outside. It works. And for you?" She turned her attention to Luc.

"I’ll have the same," Luc said, leaning back against the leather, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

"Two cassoulets, one sparkling water, one black coffee," Talia repeated, tearing the sheet of paper off her notepad and stuffing it into her apron. "I’ll grab your drinks. Don’t go anywhere."

She turned and marched back toward the kitchen, her combat boots thudding against the floorboards yet again.

The moment the kitchen doors swung shut behind her, Bachra lost all composure. He collapsed against the back of his chair, laughing so hard no sound came out, slapping the tabletop with his hand.

"Shut up," Hugo snapped, his voice dropping into a lethal, defensive whisper. The flush on his neck had rapidly spread to his ears.

"The boy is in love!" Bachra wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Five assists in a single match, but a girl with a pencil in her hair asks for his order and his hard drive completely wipes itself! ’I... the...’" Bachra mimicked Hugo’s stutter flawlessly.

"I didn’t expect her to ask so suddenly," Hugo defended himself, refusing to look at Luc. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. "I was just... thinking of something else."

"You hadn’t even opened the menu, Hugo," Zara pointed out reasonably, taking a sip of her water. "You were staring at her face like you were trying to memorize her bone structure."

Luc leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He couldn’t help but smile. Their was a seventeen-year-old kid hiding beneath the prodigy’s exterior.

"She’s an intern, from her tag," Luc said casually, twisting the knife in Hugo’s back just a fraction. "Or a waitress. Probably a local student. Seems nice."

"I don’t care," Hugo muttered, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I am here to eat and recover."

"Right," Bachra snickered, leaning over the divider. "When she comes back with the drinks, try forming a complete sentence. If you need me to help you say ’thank you,’ just let me know."

Hugo shot the winger a glare so cold it could have frozen water. "If you do not stop talking, Bachra, I---."

Bachra held up his hands in immediate surrender. "Alright, alright. I’m backing off. Don’t mess with my service, bro."

Zara shook her head, smiling fondly at the younger boys. She looked at Luc. "It’s good to see you guys. The media narrative around the club right now is suffocating. Even I feel it, and I don’t even play for the team. Bachra checks his phone every five minutes to see if someone tagged him in a highlight video."

"I have to monitor my personal brand, Zara," Bachra argued defensively. "I’m a public figure."

"You’re still my dumb little brother and a teenager who spends too much money on sneakers," Zara corrected effortlessly.

Luc laughed quietly. "She’s right, Bachra. You have to disconnect. If you live inside the noise, it burns you out. We have a massive schedule coming up. Belleville, the Cup Quarter-Final, and then Phocéen at the end of the month. We can’t carry the stress of the media into those matches."

The mention of Phocéen caused a brief ripple of tension to pass over the tables. Everyone knew what that fixture meant. It wasn’t just a league match. It was the ultimate collision between Valois and their direct rivals, what may be the final battleground for the Golden Boot race between Luc and Fresko.

Before the conversation could drift back into football politics, the kitchen doors swung open again.

Talia emerged, balancing a small tray holding a bottle of sparkling water, a glass, and a steaming mug of black coffee. She navigated the narrow aisles with the same chaotic, hurried energy as before.

Hugo sat up straight, his hands falling flat onto the table. He looked like a soldier bracing for an inspection.

Bachra covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Zara kicked him under the table again, harder this time.

"Here you go," Talia said, sliding the coffee mug in front of Luc. She placed the sparkling water and the glass in front of Hugo. She paused, pulling the pencil out of her hair to jot something down on her notepad, causing her dark curls to tumble down around her shoulders.

Hugo stared at the water glass as if it were an explosive device.

Talia tucked the pencil behind her ear and looked at him. "The cassoulet takes about twenty minutes to bake properly. You guys okay waiting, or do you want me to bring out some bread to hold you over?"

Luc didn’t say anything. He simply picked up his coffee mug, took a slow sip, and waited to see if his playmaker could navigate a conversation without assistance.

Hugo took a deep breath. His eyes flickered up, meeting Talia’s gaze. The panic was still there, buzzing just beneath the surface, but the rigorous discipline that allowed him to dominate professional midfielders kicked in.

"Bread would be acceptable," Hugo said. His voice was slightly stiffer than usual, overly formal, but it didn’t crack. "Thank you. Talia."

Talia smiled, unfazed by his robotic delivery. "Bread it is. Be right back."

She spun on her heels and walked away.

Hugo let out a long, slow exhale, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Progress," Luc noted approvingly, setting his coffee down. "You didn’t ask her to eat the menu this time."

"I am going to murder both of you," Hugo stated, glaring at Luc and then at Bachra, who was currently burying his face to muffle his hysterical laughter.

"You did great," Zara said, offering Hugo an encouraging smile. "Next time, try blinking. It makes you look a little less like a serial killer."

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