Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

Hadzibegic unconsciously clenched his fists. He had placed his championship ambitions on the team, and on Julien.

The entire Cesari Stadium seemed to fall silent, with Bastia fans holding their breath. Only their eyes flickered with burning intensity.

Julien didn't hesitate—the defending players behind him were catching up, and he didn't have much time.

He drove hard down the flank!

Digne immediately followed, staying tight to Julien but not daring to commit to a tackle.

However, After following for two steps, Digne realized something was wrong.

Julien had no intention of driving to the byline!

Just as Digne realized this, Julien executed a no-look pass, using his heel while still moving forward to play the ball behind him.

Behind him, Rothem was making his run.

Julien's pass was extremely subtle and caught many off guard. With no defender in front of him after receiving the ball, Rothem didn't hesitate.

BANG!

A thunderous shot!

The ball flew toward goal as goalkeeper Landreau quickly dove to make the save, barely managing to parry it but unable to push it out for a corner.

Maolida and Chedjou seemed locked together, their bodies entangled, but Maolida used his long-leg advantage to get the better position and complete the rebound.

Landreau quickly got back up, but the rebound shot was too close.

The ball hit the net.

2-0!

"Brilliant! Bastia's attacking combination, Maolida with the rebound finish—Bastia leads by two goals!"

The commentator exclaimed in shock at this scoreline that surprised so many.

No one before the match would have imagined that a Ligue 2 team could score two goals against last season's double crown winners.

Though considering the French Cup's reputation as a breeding ground for upsets, many neutral fans, after their initial surprise, found it acceptable.

After all, the French Cup had no shortage of amateur teams defeating professional ones.

Even due to the French Cup's special format—allowing overseas territory teams to participate—there had been amateur teams from overseas territories reaching the round of 32.

In the 1988/89 season, ASC Gelda from French Guiana reached the French Cup round of 16, creating the best record for an overseas territory team.

"2-0!"

"Pity it wasn't Julien who scored—he's only got one goal now, so it's only a 10% discount, not satisfying enough!"

"Haha, but this is Lille! We're two goals up—what more do you want?"

The fans in the bar cheered while also expressing regret.

They were still fantasizing about Julien treating them to drinks with his goals.

Meanwhile, the gamblers had no mood for celebration—of course, gamblers' hearts were never purely about football.

"What?!"

"No way, friend, playing like this..."

"God, I was wrong! Next time I'll definitely back Julien!"

"My accumulator!"

"If I got another chance, I'd definitely believe in Julien—his threat in the final third is just too great. I'll take my losses, but come on, Rudi Garcia, won't you consider targeting Julien specifically? Just Chedjou and Digne—how could they possibly stop him?!"

Rudi Garcia had no time to think about defense right now—was this really about defense?

Not for him.

The problem was they couldn't create any attack!

Without attack, without goals, what good was strong defense when trailing in a cup tie?

Bastia would never come out to play attacking football.

Rudi Garcia scratched his hair, feeling frustrated. 'Was the French Cup going to end here too?'

Champions League group stage elimination, League Cup quarterfinal exit—he could explain those as squad depth issues, saving energy for the league title defense.

But if they were knocked out of the French Cup now, could he still use that excuse?

He'd just said their target was the double crown before the match—was he going to eat his words like this?

Amid the stadium-wide celebration.

The match continued.

Julien continued to drift around the final third, waiting for the ball.

But this time he didn't get his chance.

Tweet!

After another ineffective Lille attack, the first half ended.

Both teams headed to the halftime break.

This match had Bastia fans envisioning advancement in their minds.

"Could we really be going to the quarterfinals?"

"Julien is really something!"

"Of course—he once made it into Chelsea's first-team squad in the Premier League. Even though he didn't play, it proved his talent."

"Julien played brilliantly in this match. If we can win, he deserves 90% of the credit for our attack, though the other players' defense was great too."

Fans chatted as they passed by Elion.

Elion listened to these conversations where six or seven out of ten sentences were about Julien, feeling gratified.

Julien had truly grown. In the past, he would never have passed the ball for the second goal.

He would have taken it to goal himself or had it cleared by the opposition.

Considering this match's progress, he felt reluctant to fully explain Julien's situation when meeting with the Juventus scout tomorrow.

After all, Elion still wanted Julien to go to Chelsea.

Especially with Bastia also wearing blue—the more he looked, the more it seemed right.

In Lille's dressing room.

Rudi Garcia was somewhat angry: "How are you playing? Eden has already created the space—why is no one coming up to support?! Where are the attacking players! I've said it countless times—layers! Layers! Are you really so unwilling to make runs?!"

He took out his pen and drew on the tactical board while arranging how the players should make their attacking runs in the second half.

"And defense!"

Rudi Garcia threw his pen aside, looking at Chedjou, Digne and others: "He's just a 17-year-old kid who hasn't even played many first-team matches. If you can't win the ball at his feet, use your bodies! What did I say before the match?! Did you forget everything once the game started? How much stamina can a young player have? Give him a few physical challenges and how much energy will he have left to dribble? Think clearly! I've always emphasized—play with your brains!"

Only Rudi Garcia's voice filled the dressing room.

Lille's players sat in silence.

Bastia's players were fired up—they were about to beat last season's double winners at home.

"Maintain the defense!" Hadzibegic said, wigwagging in the air as he spoke. "You need to work together, watch your teammates' positions, become a wall! Keep them all outside the wall! I know you're tired—constant running drains your energy, but they're tired too! At times like this, it's a battle of will between men! We're leading, we have the advantage. As long as we can keep blocking their attacks, their fighting spirit will get weaker and weaker!"

After his passionate impromptu "speech."

Hadzibegic's face was flushed with excitement, then he walked over to Julien.

"You might have to play the full match—you can't come off. You're the team's biggest threat."