Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

February 8th.

Turin, Italy.

Juventus General Manager Giuseppe Marotta sipped his coffee while flipping through information on young players.

This was one of his daily pleasures—reviewing young players from various European leagues.

Scouting young talents was like gambling; it was addictive.

To achieve results, you naturally had to buy proven players, but proven players were expensive. Young talents seemed much more cost-effective—low transfer fees, low wages, sometimes even no signing bonuses.

If they didn't work out, you didn't lose much. If one broke through, you'd struck gold.

Last season, Marotta took on the role of Juventus General Manager. As a new vigorous GM, he armed Juventus to the teeth, but coach Luigi Delneri led the team into chaos, and a championship-worthy squad finished seventh in Serie A!

Having lost so thoroughly, Delneri actually had the nerve not to resign. This infuriated Marotta so much that he directly paid the penalty clause to kick him out.

This season, Marotta didn't lose heart. After clearing out players unsuitable for the team, he continued with big-money signings, even bringing Andrea Pirlo, whom neighboring AC Milan didn't want, to Turin.

After dismissing Delneri, he brought in club legend Antonio Conte, who had played for the Zebras for thirteen years.

And Conte truly brought surprises to Juventus!

This season, they were currently unbeaten in 21 Serie A matches: 9 draws, 12 wins.

Marotta was in excellent spirits.

He was even more confident about tomorrow's Italian Cup semifinal against AC Milan.

After enduring a season without any trophies, Juventus deserved to win a championship!

Marotta kept flipping through the reports, but nothing caught his eye.

Until he happened to notice an additional note from a scout: "Former AC Milan player Marco rates him highly and hopes Milan can sign him."

AC Milan?

Berlusconi had already been fined 560 million euros. What money did they have left to sign players? They probably couldn't even keep their current main players next season and would have to sell them to pay debts.

With such a thick stack of information, he really hadn't looked carefully at this player's situation.

He habitually looked at appearances first.

This player had only made three first-team appearances in Ligue 2, so he naturally overlooked him.

Marotta read the page again carefully. Julien De Rocca, a 17-year-old French winger.

"Three matches, four goals, one assist?"

"Excellent ball sense, extremely strong dribbling ability, elegant style, template Ronaldinho?"

Reading the scout report, Marotta became interested. He immediately called the scouting department. "There's a winger named Julien De Rocca at Ligue 2 club Bastia. Follow up on him, get detailed information, and give me a comprehensive scout report next month."

Marotta hung up and continued reading.

"N'Golo Kanté? Another Ligue 2 player? Who submitted this? Don't just make up numbers like this."

Bastia Training Base.

Faruk Hadzibegic announced the squad for tomorrow's match against Lille, and Julien's name appeared prominently in the starting lineup.

Julien's starting position had been rumored these past few days.

When they actually heard it confirmed, they still felt somewhat amazed. He was only 17 years old with an unlimited future ahead.

The French Cup, this kind of match against Ligue 1 teams, was the best opportunity for lower-league players to showcase themselves.

Given their understanding of Julien's ability, he would surely attract attention from many top-league clubs.

After the last match against Monaco, besides the usual praise from local Bastia media, even some Paris media had begun reporting on Julien.

According to one journalist, Paris Saint-Germain hoped to sign Julien in the summer window. The reason was simple: Julien's ability had been recognized, and additionally, Julien's brother, Loup De Rocca, was currently in PSG's youth academy.

This was Paris—the city most coveted by French people.

Life there was far better than on the island of Bastia, and many players envied it immensely.

"Alright, training ends here. Everyone rests well and prepare for tomorrow's match," Hadzibegic said before dismissing them, then looked specifically at Julien. "Julien, come with me."

Julien immediately followed.

In the office.

Hadzibegic said, "Starting, you'll face tremendous defensive pressure. How about it? Are you confident?"

Julien nodded. "As long as Maoliada and the others can create space for me, I'm confident."

Unexpectedly, Hadzibegic shook his head.

Julien looked puzzled at this.

Hadzibegic continued, "You won't have much support in this match. We're playing 5-4-1, defensive counterattack. If there really is a counterattack opportunity, it'll basically depend on you alone. At most, Maoliada can help a bit. The others will be fine early on, but later their stamina definitely won't keep up. And you—I plan to play you for sixty minutes. Is your stamina okay?"

"Fine, stamina's no problem."

Facing Lille, defensive counterattack was Bastia's only way out. Julien could understand this.

Julien was actually still puzzled about why Hadzibegic had called him in. It was surely not just for these two reminders?

Hadzibegic seemed to understand his thoughts and changed the subject, asking, "Julien, do you think we can beat Lille?"

Julien immediately replied, "Until the final whistle, I don't know the result, and I try not to think about results. I only focus on doing my best when I'm on the pitch, sending the ball into the net."

"Haha, good! This is exactly why I called you in alone—you have fighting spirit! You're also young and more ambitious!" Hadzibegic walked over and patted Julien's shoulder. "Do your best. If we can win this match, you'll start every subsequent French Cup match."

Julien was even more puzzled.

Hadzibegic asked, "Don't you want to win the French Cup?"

'Huh?'

Julien's expression remained unchanged, but internally he grumbled—you're painting pie in the sky for me, aren't you?

Hadzibegic didn't wait for Julien's answer and continued, "I want the championship. Just a Ligue 2 championship isn't enough for me. I admit, there's an element of gambling involved, and that's you!"

"I won't strengthen the attack with more personnel, so I can only rely on your individual combat ability. I can only guarantee sufficient personnel on defense to concede as few goals as possible."

"The further we go, the stronger our opponents will become, and they'll take us more seriously, because the further you go, the greater the chance of winning the championship. Those who want to give up might have already given up in these two rounds."

"So, do you want the championship?"

Hadzibegic delivered this string of words.

Julien knew he was painting pie in the sky, but when it came to winning championships, honestly asking himself—didn't he really want it?

He did want it!

If competitive sports weren't about championships and honor, then competitive sports would have no reason to exist.

Competition!

It's about determining superiority!

Championships are proof that you're better than others. No one remembers the runner-up, unless you open champagne at halftime.

"I want it!"

Julien answered firmly.

A wild ambition for championship glory sprouted and took root at this moment.

When Julien returned to the training ground, his teammates had already left.

Seeing the training ground still not cleaned up, he continued taking balls and practicing shots.

Hadzibegic's words still echoed in his mind.

"You won't have help from teammates."

"You'll be surrounded by opposing defenders."

"You're the team's only offensive hope."

Bang! Bang!!

The dull sound of ball striking echoed across the training ground.

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