Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

"Julien! Julien! Corsica's lightning stride!

From Clairefontaine to Bastia, you carry our pride!

Blue blood in your sweat, victory in your veins—

With every step, you break the chains!

Julien! Julien! You're the hurricane's cry!

Your shots blaze through like fire in the sky!

Forza Bastia! Turchini's sword!

Julien De Rocca—our god, our lord!"

When the match ended, amid the thunderous cheers filling the Cesari Stadium, Ultras Bastia members sang their composed "Song of Julien" in perfect unison.

Modoso held high a sign covered with lyrics.

Leading the UB members in chorus.

The broadcast director was very accommodating, immediately cutting to a close-up of Modoso's double-sided lyric board.

Fans in the other stands, seeing the close-up on the big screen, joined in the singing.

"Like Papan atop the mountain's crest,

You strike with fury, you give no rest!

Each goal—a thunderclap, each sprint—a quake,

You rattle the world with every break!

The Deep Blue Army follows your flame,

Julien De Rocca—remember the name!

Can you hear it? The volcano's cry?

That's Julien rising—Bastia flies high!

Today, we fight—tomorrow, we're lore!

With Julien leading, we conquer once more!"

The cheers swept through the entire stadium.

In the center of the pitch, surrounded by the chaos of celebration, Julien stood frozen in time.

The seventeen-year-old striker, still wearing his sweat-soaked jersey and mud-stained boots, found himself unable to process what was happening around him.

His dark eyes, wide with disbelief, swept across the stadium as if he were seeing it for the first time. The faces in the crowd blurred together joy and adoration, their cheers creating a wall of sound that seemed to press against him from all sides.

"Forza Bastia!

Julien!! Julien! Julien!!!"

Rothen, the veteran midfielder whose own career had been resurrected by this magical season, recognized the signs immediately.

With gentle hands, Rothen placed his palms on Julien's shoulders and pushed him forward, guiding him toward the center of the pitch where the celebration would reach its climax.

"Come on, lad," He whispered. "This is your moment. Don't let it pass you by."

The words seemed to break whatever spell had held Julien captive. He blinked, shook his head slightly, and suddenly the world came rushing back into focus.

The crowd, the lights, the overwhelming emotion—it was all real, all happening to him.

Slowly, almost tentatively at first, he began to raise his arms toward the stands. The gesture was simple, almost childlike in its innocence, but it had the effect of pouring gasoline on a fire. The crowd responded immediately and overwhelmingly.

He turned to face the North Stand, where the UB members continued their chanting, then to the South Stand where families with children screamed his name, then to the East and West where supporters of all ages had risen to their feet in tribute.

With each wave of his arms, the cheers grew louder, more passionate, more desperate.

As the song reached its final notes, the stadium erupted in a thunderclap of applause that seemed to roll across the island like a storm front.

Clap clap clap!

Julien, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment, did the only thing that felt appropriate. He bowed deeply toward the North Stand, his body folding almost in half as he paid tribute to the supporters.

Modoso led the UB members in continued chanting of De Rocca's name—their hero's name.

"Julien! Julien! Julien!"

Just like Bastia legend Claude Papan, Julien De Rocca was being etched forever into the hearts of Bastia supporters.

As the celebration continued to rage around them, the stadium began to empty slowly, but nobody seemed to want to leave.

When the entire Bastia team embarked on their traditional lap of honor, the cheers reached new heights. Each player was greeted like a returning hero, but it was clear that Julien remained the focal point of the crowd's adoration.

Hadzibegic, still riding the emotional high of the greatest victory of his coaching career, pulled his young striker into a fierce embrace.

"Good lad, you've done us proud!" He whispered into Julien's ear, his voice dense with emotion.

In the stands, several pairs of eyes observed the celebration with more than casual interest.

Elion, the scout who had first spotted Julien's talent, found himself struggling to reconcile what he was seeing with his memories of the awkward, angry boy who had been cast aside by Chelsea.

Yet here was the evidence, playing out before his very eyes. The young man who had once been dismissed as a failure was now the hero of an entire island.

Elion felt a mixture of emotions—pride at having recognized the talent early, regret at not being able to nurture it properly, and acceptance that sometimes the best thing you could do for a player was to let them find their own path.

Of course, he also knew that Chelsea's chances of re-signing Julien were virtually zero.

De Rocca wouldn't leave now.

He would definitely create a legendary story with Bastia before making a complete departure from Corsica.

Zidane shared the same thoughts, which was why he had come quietly and left quietly.

He no longer harbored thoughts of bringing Julien to Real Madrid. Julien was different from Raphael.

This wasn't a player who needed a platform to showcase his talents—he was the platform. Teams would need him, not the other way around. Staying at Bastia, surrounded by this love and support, would help him improve faster than any move to a bigger club could.

"I could call Blanc though," He thought to himself. "He might like this kid."

In another section of the stadium.

In the crowd, Mbappé felt his scalp tingling with excitement as he watched the celebration unfold.

This was his first experience of witnessing a player's ultimate charisma live, and it was unlike anything he had ever imagined.

The superstars he had seen on television seemed distant, almost mythical in their perfection. Their achievements felt like something from another world, untouchable and irrelevant to his own dreams.

But Julien was different. Julien was close—so close that the young Mbappé felt like he was part of the celebration itself. This was a living example of what was possible, a demonstration that greatness could emerge from the most unlikely circumstances.

"Julien!!" he shouted along with the Bastia fans, his voice cracking with emotion as he repeated the name over and over again.

His younger brother Ethan, caught up in the infectious atmosphere, added his own voice to the chorus.

While Bastia celebrated, the defeated Rennes squad faced the harsh reality of their defeat. In the post-match interview area, Antonetti's pre-game composure had evaporated completely.

Though he had once been part of Bastia, he had now lost. Lost in a frustrating manner.

"I spent several decades of my life at Bastia, I know everything about this place—which street has good Corsican cheese that won't make you sick, which beach has beautiful shells to collect. I know it all too well."

"So, I also know the football here, and Bastia's style, Bastia has never played football—it's rugby mixed with Corsican bandit tactics. But I need to congratulate Bastia, because not every day does a team win with lumberjack tactics."

"As for De Rocca's goal? Yes, it was beautiful, but ask your common sense—a sixth-place Ligue 1 team with 72% possession and 18 shots loses to a tap-in inside the box. What does that tell you?"

His analysis was technically accurate but missed the point entirely. Football wasn't played on spreadsheets or decided by possession statistics. It was won by courage, determination, and the ability to seize the moments that mattered most.

"It tells you our team's football is sick, sicker than Rennes city government's finances!"

The comparison was harsh, personal, and revealed more about Antonetti's state of mind than about the quality of his team's performance.

When asked about his future, the his response was defiant but tinged with resignation. "Ha! If the club fires me, I'll go fishing in Corsica tomorrow. But remind them—Antonetti's release clause is enough to buy the entire island of Bastia."

In stark contrast to his opponent's bitterness, Hadzibegic was extremely excited after the match but remained modest with reporters.

"Well, this was a wonderful night, indescribable, as exciting as my wedding night," He began, his face creased with genuine joy. "This is a victory for all Bastia people, the result of all players' efforts."

When the conversation turned to Julien, Hadzibegic's smile grew even wider. "He's a genius, and I think you'll agree—a pure football genius."

When a reporter, displaying the media's typical fascination with scandal, brought up De Rocca's troubled past

"Who hasn't made mistakes when young?" Hadzibegic shrugged, the gesture dismissing negative headlines with casual ease. "He's just a young man who made some childish errors."

Rothen, who accompanied Hadzibegic to the post-match interview, also praised Julien's performance. "Playing alongside him is one of life's great pleasures."

Originally, Hadzibegic had wanted Julien to participate in the post-match interviews. The coach understood that if Châtaigner's plan to make the young striker famous was to succeed, public exposure would be essential.

But Julien had no interest in dealing with the media circus. The spotlight that others craved held no appeal for him—his focus remained purely on the game itself and the system that was quietly transforming his abilities.

While others faced the cameras and microphones, he retreated to the dressing room to examine his latest rewards.

[Victory Points +80]

The number on his mental display made him catch his breath. Eighty points—more than he had ever received for a single match. After a moment's consideration, he understood why.

After brief consideration, he understood—this was because his performance in this match had real value.

The winning goal against sixth-place Ligue 1 opposition.

Looking at his total—105 points—he realized he had enough for another victory chest. The decision was easy, but as he prepared to make the exchange, he found himself hoping for luck, rubbing his face in a gesture that was part superstition, part prayer.

[Opening Victory Chest x1]

The familiar interface appeared in his mind.

[Obtained Random Enhancement Ability—Stamina attribute receives additional enhancement!]

[Stamina Additional Enhancement +1: Gained Berserker ability, triple stamina consumption, gain 30% boost to Strength and Speed attributes, increased physical stress, increased injury probability.]

[Synergistic Attribute Increase: Stamina +4]

As he read the full description, a slow smile spread across his face. This was another all-or-nothing ability, the kind of enhancement that could change the course of a match or end his career if used unwisely.

The Berserker ability could even stack with his existing double acceleration, creating combinations that would make him unstoppable for short periods. The only drawback was the massive drain on his stamina reserves, which would limit how often he could use such power.

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