Boom! Boom-boom!
Suddenly, intense drumming erupted from the stands, followed by unified chanting.
"Julien!"
"Julien!!"
One voice after another, never ending.
Then, some fans in the north stand stripped off their shirts, going bare-chested. From a distance, these shirtless supporters clearly formed the number "10."
Combined with the 10th-minute chants of Julien's name, the TF1 commentator quickly understood. "This is Bastia fans showing support for their number 10 core, Julien De Rocca."
On the pitch, the ball didn't stop for the stands' commotion.
De Bruyne passed to Julien, then made a forward run. Julien read it perfectly, he feinted a breakthrough that made Goldana commit his weight, then suddenly stopped and slipped a diagonal pass to the advancing De Bruyne before surging down the wing himself.
Chanting continued from the stands. "...Papi's armband burns on your arm..."
De Bruyne faced pressure from the other defensive midfielder, Djemba. Though aged, his Premier League experience sufficed for defense. After all, this double-named midfielder had spent two years under Ferguson at Manchester United, playing nearly forty matches.
But De Bruyne used his rhythm and physical strength to prevent Djemba from winning the ball.
Meanwhile, Julien had found space on the wing. De Bruyne pushed the ball right with his outside foot, it was completely beyond Djemba's notice.
Julien burst past Antebi's zone and touched the ball forward.
"Blue seawater flows through your veins..." The stand's song grew more passionate.
With that touch, Antebi couldn't catch up. Center-back Haimovich rushed out to defend, his towering body blocking Julien's path.
Julien nudged the ball left and cut past him, then drifted from the right wing toward the center, the perfect corridor for cutting inside!
Haimovich knew exactly how dangerous Julien's left foot was and quickly followed. Goldana also chased back, trying to disrupt Julien.
But Julien flicked his ankle, threading the ball through Haimovich's legs while twisting past his right side.
A nutmeg near the penalty area!
"Julien! Julien! The one we worship!" The song reached its crescendo.
The singing never stopped. No one sat—all eyes bright, necks craned in anticipation.
Edel's instincts told him Julien might shoot, but Lukaku emerging from the crowd made him wary of a pass. Any cross from Julien would leave Lukaku with an open goal.
Edel didn't dare come out, positioning himself between near post and center.
After the nutmeg, the big center-back's slow turn left him trailing as Julien broke clear.
One-on-one!
"The north stand's fire burns in our eyes—
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Kill our way out of this city's corners!"
Bang!
As the song peaked, Julien glanced toward the center, then fired low past Edel's outstretched fingers.
Whoosh!
Goal!
"Julien! Julien! The one we worship!!"
The song shook the heavens! The entire ground erupted as over twenty thousand voices unified in a roar that made ears ring.
They'd scored!
"The one we worship!!"
As the song ended, an even more intense cry replaced it.
"Julien!"
Blue seawater flooded Stade Armand-Cesari, the air thick with the heat of Bastia's burning passion.
The moment Julien scored, he spun and attempted a sliding celebration toward the stands. But his excitement got the better of him—the slide failed, leaving five furrows behind him.
It didn't diminish his style one bit. He rolled forward to his feet and spread his arms to the crowd, eyes closed, face tilted slightly upward, listening to the world cheer his name.
"Julien!"
"So cool!"
Teammates swarmed him, hanging on his shoulders and surrounding him, every face glowing with excitement.
Not even 12 minutes gone—they led!
Lukaku lifted Julien onto his shoulders while Mané, Kanté, and De Bruyne steadied him, all beaming. Behind them, Rothen, Angoula, and others raised their arms to the fans.
The supporters were flushed red with excitement. For Bastia, this match was their answer across 34 years.
Seeing another number 10, another captain score, the older fans wept openly. They saw not just Julien's goal or Bastia's lead—they saw the spirited Papi leading Bastia's charge into Europe in that bygone era. They saw their own youthful passion, their own burning youth!
Hadzibegic embraced his assistants excitedly. In the stands, Chataigner celebrated wildly with De Rocca family.
Loup screamed "Julien JULIEN JULIEN!!" He was proud of his brother.
In his heart, Julien was his lifelong idol—no one could compare with him.
Pierre and his wife felt the same pride. Julien had improved the family not just economically, but psychologically, bringing them immense satisfaction. What parent doesn't want their child to be their pride?
In Bondy, Mbappé and Saliba jumped and cheered in their bedroom.
After his excitement, Mbappé said regretfully, "William, I told you we shouldn't have worried about the extra cost for those resale tickets. Being there for this match must have been incredible. You saw it—Julien is simply Bastia's hero!"
Saliba shook his head. "Kylian, I wanted to go too, but after travel and other expenses, we simply didn't have enough for resale tickets. You saw how high those scalpers drove the prices."
Éthan chimed in sweetly. "Kylian, William, I still have five euros if you need it?"
Both shook their heads.
"Éthan, keep that for something you like. We've already missed this match," Mbappé shrugged helplessly.
Saliba had a thought. "Hey Kylian, maybe we can pool money for the end of the month—Spain!"
"Madrid?"
"Right! Bastia plays Atlético Madrid in the Europa League. I think we can start saving up. I can borrow from Walker and the others."
"Yes!"
Mbappé looked at the close-up of Julien on TV, his heart burning.
The broadcast continued as play resumed.
Mbappé turned to look at the wall poster of Julien—that sliding celebration with thunder roiling behind him. The image made him yearn to grow up quickly and start playing.
He too wanted to be the name all fans cheered. He too wanted to streak across the pitch like thunder and lightning, piercing every defense!
"Julien!!"
The commentator's voice suddenly rose.
Not just Mbappé and his friends, but every fan at Stade Armand-Cesari turned their gaze back to Julien once more.
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