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

"Forget Valérie. Dijon...they didn’t want to play football. We lost Leo Hernandez to a red card and that’s when you could see them playing."

Rose leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice so it didn’t carry over the ambient noise of the restaurant. "The stamina you displayed in the final thirty minutes... it was unnatural, Luc. You pressed and outran the center-back by yards. How are you maintaining that level?"

Luc kept his expression neutral. He took another sip of his coffee. He couldn’t tell her about TES. He couldn’t explain that he had literally purchased temporary immunity to fatigue buildup to survive the disadvantage.

"Conditioning," Luc lied smoothly, setting the mug down. "And anger. When they went a man up, they got arrogant. I just waited for them to make a mistake. I’m pretty much the only striker in the league that can pull it off. Someone like Fresko doesn’t have to deal with that in Marseille where he is. He gets to stand in the box and wait for the ball to arrive."

A knowing glint flashed in Rose’s eyes. She understood the rivalry perfectly. So to feed Luc’s ego, "Fresko is a system player, Luc. A brilliant one, but still a system player. You are carrying the system itself. There is a difference, and the crowd knows it. Even Fontaine knows it too. That’s why he uploaded the quickly deleted social media post. He realizes the narrative has shifted away from him."

"I don’t care about the narrative," Luc said, resting his forearms on the table. "I care about the math. Twenty-nine to twenty-five. I need to widen the gap. We have Belleville on Sunday. I’m going to ruin their whole weekend."

"Good," Rose smiled, a sharp, competitive edge matching his own, though she now knew that Luc was more concerned about goals and many other things, way more than he let’s on. "Speaking of schedules, did Valérie mention the Cup Quarter-Final draw?"

"She mentioned it’s coming out this week," Luc replied. "We need to be ready for anything. Henri wants to rotate the squad, but Valérie wants maximum points and total domination. It’s a tug-of-war."

Before Rose could respond, the doors leading to the kitchen opened.

Talia marched out, carrying an oval-shaped serving tray balanced precariously on one hand. The tray was loaded with three heavy bowls of steaming cassoulet and a fresh basket of sliced baguette. The smell of rich duck confit, roasted garlic, and white beans immediately flooded the aisle.

She navigated the tight space between the tables like someone who had a dozen other tasks waiting for her in the back.

"Watch your elbows, hot plates coming through," Talia announced, her voice bright and lacking the hushed reverence expected in high-end dining establishments.

Hugo Blanc, who had spent the last ten minutes staring a hole into the table, instantly stiffened. His spine locked rigidly against the back of his chair, his shoulders squaring up as if bracing for impact.

Talia stopped at Hugo’s table. She effortlessly hoisted one of the bowls from the tray, a cloth napkin protecting her hand from the heat.

She placed it in front of Hugo.

"One cassoulet," she said, tapping the edge of the wooden table with her knuckles. "Don’t touch the sides of the bowl, it will literally burn your fingerprints off. I’m serious. The chef just pulled these out of the oven."

Hugo looked down at the bubbling stew. He nodded. "Understood. Thank you."

Talia paused, wiping a streak of sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. The pencil was again stabbed haphazardly through her messy bun, holding the dark curls in place... probably scolded at for letting it loose before. She looked at the seventeen-year-old prodigy, her head tilting slightly.

"You’re the quiet one, right?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone. "Are you always this tense, or is it just the anticipation of the beans?"

Bachra let out a strangled coughing noise from his side, desperately trying to mask his laughter by shoving a piece of dry bread into his mouth.

Hugo’s neck flushed crimson. He opened his mouth, his brain frantically searching for a response that didn’t sound compleely robotic.

"I... am focused," Hugo managed to extract from his paralyzed vocal cords.

"Focused," Talia repeated, her lopsided smile returning. She shook her head, clearly amused by th awkwardness radiating from the boy. "Right. Well, focus on not burning your tongue."

She turned her attention to Luc and Rose, lifting the second heavy bowl from the tray. She took a step toward his table and set the dish down in front of him.

"And one for the captain," Talia said, sliding the basket of bread to the center of his table.

Luc looked up at her, offering a relaxed smile. "Appreciate it, Talia. Smells incredible."

"It better taste incredible too, Marcel has been yelling at the cooks for an hour to get the crust right," she replied, resting the empty tray against her hip. She turned her attention to the newest arrival sitting beside Luc. "I didn’t take your order. What can I get the kitchen to start for you?"

Rose looked up at the young waitress, her high-fashion aura neutralizing against Talia’s chaotic, flour-dusted energy. "I will have the same as Hugo. The cassoulet. And a glass of whatever dry red wine Marcel recommends."

Talia whipped her notepad out of her apron pocket, clicking her pen rapidly with her thumb. "One cassoulet, one dry red. Got it. I’ll put it in right now."

She didn’t walk back to the kitchen to deliver the ticket. Instead, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, directing her voice straight at the bar.

"Marc! One more cassoulet! And pour a glass of the good red, not the house stuff!"

Marcel, currently pouring a pint of beer for a local patron, rolled his eyes dramatically but offered a quick thumbs-up. "I heard you, menace! Give me five minutes!"

Talia turned back to the table, sliding the notepad into her pocket. "Coming right up. Enjoy the food, guys. Holler if you need refills."

She spun around and disappeared into the heat and noise of the kitchen.

The moment the doors closed, the tension at the tables shattered.

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