The Stade de France stood against the grey sky. It had rained the last day and the temperature remained rather chilly even as the clouds finally broke.
Julien followed his teammates through the tunnel and into the stadium's vast interior. Because this was merely a friendly international, only half the stadium's sections had been opened to the public.
Still, that meant approximately 40,000 seats.
And remarkably, those 40,000 tickets had been almost entirely sold out.
Even though it was "just" a friendly, even though the opposition was Japan rather than a traditional European rival, French fans recognized that the current French team was something special.
Different from the dysfunctional, mutinous squad that had embarrassed the nation at the 2010 World Cup. It was at least worth buying tickets to support.
The stadium DJ's voice boomed through the massive sound system as he began announcing France's starting lineup, each name preceded by dramatic music.
"...Number nine, Olivier Giroud!"
Cheers erupted from the home sections.
"...Number thirteen, N'Golo Kanté!"
More applause, particularly enthusiastic given that this was Kanté's debut.
Each name the DJ announced drew support from the fans scattered throughout the stadium.
BOOM! BOOM BOOM!!
The drums in the supporters' section filled the atmosphere.
However, when the final name in the lineup rang out, the Stade de France nearly blew its roof off. The roar reached a volume that seemed to vibrate the air.
"Number ten—"
The DJ deliberately paused for effect, letting the tension build.
"JULIEN DE ROCCA!!!!"
"JULIEN!! JULIEN!! JULIEN!!"
The chant erupted spontaneously from all sections.
One call after another, building and building until it became a wall of noise.
The Japanese players looked serious as they entered the field to line up for the traditional pre-match handshake.
This was France's home. These were France's people. And that number 10 they kept chanting about was going to make their evening very difficult.
On the sideline, managers Didier Deschamps and Alberto Zaccheroni met for the usual handshake and brief exchange of pleasantries.
Back in the 1990s, Deschamps had captained Juventus to Champions League glory while Zaccheroni was busy coaching AC Milan. Despite being rivals, they'd developed mutual respect. Zaccheroni had even managed to win a Serie A title with Milan in the 1998/99 season—it was no small feat in that era of Italian football.
They knew each other well, understood each other's philosophies.
"Good luck today, Alberto," Deschamps said with a polite smile.
"And to you, Didier. May the best team win."
TWEET!
The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the match began.
Japan immediately implemented exactly the formation that the French coaching staff had predicted: a disciplined 4-4-2. The starting lineup matched pre-match predictions almost perfectly, with only minor variations.
From the opening whistle, Japan's tactical approach was definite and pragmatic: sit deep, stay compact, make yourselves difficult to break down.
Completely defensive. Completely risk-averse.
France, as expected, immediately controlled possession. Within the first five minutes, their share of the ball approached 70%, and it would only increase from there.
But possession without penetration is just sterile dominance—aesthetically pleasing but ultimately meaningless.
Both sides spent the opening minutes slowly probing, feeling each other out, finding their match rhythm. Moreover, the intensity of a friendly match was naturally lower than competitive fixtures. The pace wasn't particularly fast, the challenges not particularly aggressive.
Players were conscious of avoiding injuries, of getting through the 90 minutes intact rather than risking everything for a result that ultimately didn't matter in the standings.
Around the 12th minute, Julien received the ball on the right wing, about 35 yards from Japan's goal.
He was immediately the player Japan focused on most intensely in the entire French team. Their game plan clearly centered on neutralizing him specifically.
So as soon as he got the ball, even in a relatively unthreatening position, Yasuhito Endo and Yuto Nagatomo moved to block his path—one in front, pressuring the ball, one behind, cutting off the backward pass.
Moreover, Japan's left midfielder Kengo Nakamura also dropped back into a deeper defensive position, essentially creating a three-man trap.
When Julien got the ball anywhere on the right flank, three Japanese players immediately swarmed him like antibodies attacking a virus.
Additionally, Japan's overall deep defensive setup left minimal space for Julien to exploit. The gaps between their lines were too narrow. It was difficult for even a player of his quality to make an impact against such organized, congested defense.
Julien quickly recognized the situation and passed the ball backward to Debuchy, and slowly began looking for alternative opportunities rather than forcing the issue.
For this match, Deschamps had deliberately given newer players valuable experience, so the midfield combination wasn't France's regular starting trio at all.
Instead, the engine room featured: Moussa Sissoko as a box-to-box presence, Blaise Matuidi pushing forward aggressively, and Kanté as the single defensive midfielder sitting deep to provide cover.
Both fullbacks—Debuchy on the right and Gaël Clichy on the left pushed high up the pitch to help the team attack, essentially creating a 2-3-5 shape in possession.
But Japan's defense was remarkably stubborn, and repeatedly blocked France's attacks with well-timed interceptions, last-ditch tackles, and bodies thrown into the path of shots.
Julien remained tightly marked whenever he touched the ball, often triple-teamed.
The right winger position, where Ribéry would normally create havoc, was instead filled by Lyon forward Bafétimbi Gomis. He received significantly more freedom than Julien, and had more space to operate.
However, none of his possessions created particularly dangerous scoring opportunities. Gomis was a target forward by trade, not a tricky winger, and it showed in his awkward attempts to beat defenders one-on-one.
France maintained overwhelmingly high possession, probably 65-70% throughout the half but lacked overall attacking threat. The match felt somewhat dull, almost training-exercise-like in its lack of genuine drama.
Only when Julien got the ball would it draw enthusiastic cheers from the fans in attendance, like momentary spikes of excitement in an else flat performance.
The first half ground toward its conclusion with chances few and far between on both sides.
Instead of France scoring, Japan nearly grabbed a shock lead. In the 42nd minute, Shinji Kagawa player played a clever through-ball that nearly assisted the Mike Havenaar in scoring.
Havenaar was a fascinating irregularity: a pure white player with blonde hair and European face who looked completely out of place in the Japanese team photo.
However, he wasn't a naturalized player or a mercenary brought in for convenience. Havenaar was genuinely Japanese born in Yamanashi, raised in Kanagawa, as Japanese as anyone else on the pitch despite his appearance.
His parents were Dutch citizens who had naturalized as Japanese years ago, settled permanently in Japan, and then given birth to the Havenaar brothers. Essentially, aside from different genetic heritage and facial features, Mike Havenaar was entirely, authentically Japanese.
At 1.94 meters tall, he was a rare physical specimen for Japan, a genuine big center forward of the type their national team almost never produced.
His header from Kagawa's delivery flew just wide of Lloris's left post, and the chance was wasted.
The halftime whistle blew with the score still 0-0.
During the halftime break, Deschamps made several substitutions to give additional players minutes and to inject fresh energy into a stagnant performance.
He withdrew Julien, Matuidi, and Kanté, bringing on Yohan Capoue, Ribéry, and Mathieu Valbuena in their places.
The effect wasn't intensely better.
Ribéry provided more directness and unpredictability on the left wing, his low center of gravity allowing him to change direction explosively. Valbuena added intelligent movement between the lines.
But Japan's defensive discipline never wavered. They absorbed pressure, compressed spaces, threw bodies in front of shots.
The match dragged on, the score remaining locked at 0-0 as the clock ticked into the final minutes.
Until the 86th minute, when the pattern of the match briefly broke open.
France continued their persistent forward pressure, wave after wave of attacks crashing against Japan's defensive dam. Giroud, frustrated by 80+ minutes of physical combat with Japanese center-backs, suddenly unleashed a powerful shot from near the penalty area line.
The ball flew toward goal, dipping slightly. Goalkeeper Eiji Kawashima could only parry it away, unable to hold onto the shot's power and swerve.
Corner kick for France.
Valbuena's delivery was met by another French header, which Kawashima again blocked at close range—excellent reflexes keeping Japan's goal intact.
Another corner kick.
But this time, after the corner was taken and the ball was cleared from the crowded penalty area, Japan launched a devastating lightning counterattack.
Substitute center-back Yasuyuki Konno controlled the cleared ball right at the edge of his own penalty area. Instead of playing it safe and passing to a teammate, launching it long downfield, he took one touch to settle it, looked up, and began running.
And running.
And running.
He charged forward with the ball at his, covering 70 meters in what felt like seconds. The French midfield, caught too far forward from their corner kick, couldn't recover in time to stop him.
At the edge of France's penalty area, with three French defenders finally converging, Konno slipped a pass wide to his right.
Yuto Nagatomo, who had sprinted the entire length of the pitch from his left-back position, collected the ball near the touchline and immediately whipped a dangerous cross toward the penalty spot.
And there, sliding in with perfect timing, was Shinji Kagawa.
His outstretched foot made clean contact, redirecting Nagatomo's cross past a helpless Hugo Lloris.
0-1.
The Stade de France fell into helpless silence.
Kagawa celebrated wildly, sprinting toward the small section of Japanese supporters who had made the journey to Paris. His teammates mobbed him, their joy unrestrained and genuine.
French fans throughout the venue could only shake their heads helplessly, the bitter taste of injustice filling their mouths.
Watching such a match unfold at home, dominating possession, creating chances, only to concede against the run of play was psychologically torturous for supporters who had paid good money to witness what they'd assumed would be a comfortable French victory.
After scoring, Japan retreated even deeper into their defensive shell, parking every available body behind the ball. Their tactics became purely destructive: time-wasting, cynical fouls, slow restarts.
They held on grimly until the final whistle blew.
When the referee signaled the match's end, Deschamps wasn't visibly angry or particularly emotional—he understood the nature of friendlies, the experimental lineups, the reduced intensity.
But behind this match was a string of broken records that the French media would gleefully record:
Deschamps' perfect unbeaten record since taking office came to an abrupt end
France's unbeaten history against Japan in international A-level matches (previously 4 wins, 1 draw) became history
The two-year unbeaten record in friendlies that began during Laurent Blanc's era was also shattered
After the match, in the mixed zone where journalists waited to pounce, Zaccheroni conducted his post-match interview with satisfaction.
"I think our first-half performance was quite good," He said. "We maintained our defensive shape excellently. The French lacked accuracy in their final-third execution. If not for our goalkeeper's excellent performance, Kawashima was truly magnificent tonight. It would have been very difficult to guarantee we wouldn't concede. But the final result proves we did well."
A Japanese reporter asked about their upcoming fixture.
Zaccheroni's expression became more serious. "Our next match will be against Brazil in Recife. Brazil is equally strong. We need to maintain our current defensive organization and hope we can create similar opportunities on the counter."
Meanwhile, Deschamps dealt with his own media responsibilities. Having suffered his first defeat since taking charge of the national team, he naturally couldn't hide his disappointment when interviewed, though he maintained his professional composure.
However, he was careful to frame the loss in context, refusing to allow the narrative to spiral into crisis mode.
"This is a very bad result, obviously," Deschamps began, choosing his words carefully. "But it's not indicative of a technical flaw in our system or a fundamental problem with this team. We had many chances, we just didn't score. We were wasteful in the final third. Japan defended resolutely and then seized their single opportunity. That's football sometimes."
He continued, his tone becoming more assertive: "We have enough reason to be satisfied with this match in terms of our overall performance. In terms of match content, the way we controlled the game, we performed well.
Our tactics had a positive effect. We created enough to win comfortably. We'll quickly recover from this defeat, both physically and mentally, and then focus entirely on facing Spain. That's what matters."
When returning to the locker room after fulfilling his media duties, Deschamps gathered the players one final time.
The atmosphere was suite, not devastated, but disappointed.
Players sat on benches, some still in full kit, others already changed, all processing the unsatisfying result.
"Listen," Deschamps said, standing in the center of the room to ensure everyone could see and hear him clearly. "It's just a friendly. These things happen. I want you to forget this result immediately and prepare well for the next match against Spain. That's where our focus needs to be."
The players nodded, already mentally moving forward.
As Deschamps turned to leave, he paused at the doorway as if remembering something important. He turned back to address them once more.
"One more thing," he said, his voice taking on a sterner edge. "The day after tomorrow we're traveling to Spain for the qualifier. During this entire period, today, tomorrow, the travel day, I don't want to see anyone leaving the training base without permission. No exceptions. Am I clear?"
"Yes, boss," came the joint murmur.
With that final instruction delivered, Deschamps left the room.
Hearing Deschamps' words about not leaving the base, Julien's thoughts immediately jumped to the U21 situation. He wondered how Griezmann and the others were faring.
By the time the senior team's match ended, it was already early evening.
The U21 European Championship playoff first leg against Norway U21 had already finished earlier that afternoon in Le Havre.
Julien pulled out his phone and sent a brief message to Varane: "How did it go?"
Rather than texting back, Varane called him directly.
"We won," Varane's voice came through, carrying unmistakable excitement despite his attempt to sound casual. "A narrow one-goal victory, 1-0. I got forward for a corner and managed to head it in. First goal for the U21s!"
"Congratulations!" Julien said warmly, genuinely pleased for his young friend. "That's excellent. Winning the first leg away gives you a real advantage."
They chatted for a few more minutes about the match details: how Norway had been physical and difficult, how the goal had come late in the second half, how the team had defended resolutely to preserve the lead.
Then Varane's tone shifted abruptly, becoming quieter, more serious.
"Julien," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You were right."
Julien felt his pulse quicken slightly. "Hmm?" he responded, deliberately keeping his tone neutral, playing ignorant. "What happened?"
Varane paused, and Julien could hear shuffling sounds, presumably Varane walking away from other people to ensure privacy.
He then spoke again: "Before the match today, four people from our team left the training base at night without permission. They went to Paris, partied all night at some nightclub, and got caught. The whole thing blew up."
Julien allowed appropriate surprise to color his voice. "What? Who?"
Varane named them quietly: "Mvila, Mavinga, Ben Yedder, and Niang. They thought they could slip out and back without anyone noticing. But apparently some federation official saw them leaving, or someone tipped off the coaching staff, I'm not sure of the exact details. Point is, they got caught red-handed."
"That's serious," Julien said, which was perfectly true.
"The coaching staff kept it quiet until after the match, they didn't want to disrupt preparations or create a distraction before an important playoff. But there's going to be consequences. Big ones."
Varane sighed heavily.
"You know what, Julien? I'm really grateful you told me and Antoine about what's happening at the federation—about them wanting to crack down on discipline. If you hadn't warned us..." He trailed off meaningfully.
"Don't worry about these things too much," Julien said, steering the conversation back. "As long as you focus on playing football, staying professional, it's only a matter of time before you establish yourself in the senior team. You've got the talent. Just keep your head down and do the work."
"Right," Varane said, sounding reassured. "You're right. Thanks, Julien. And sorry about your loss tonight—saw the result. Tough one."
"It's just a friendly. We'll bounce back."
After hanging up, Julien sat quietly for a moment, processing the confirmation.
Hearing that Griezmann wasn't among those caught that his warning had successfully prevented him from making a career-damaging mistake brought him genuine satisfaction.
In his previous life, Griezmann had been one of the four players suspended. The ban had been a significant setback in his development, a black mark on his record that had taken time to overcome.
Now, that particular timeline had been altered.
Julien smiled to himself. He didn't dwell on the matter further, it didn't really concern him beyond his friendship with Griezmann and his general desire to see talented players succeed.
What mattered now was preparing properly for the match against Spain.
Friendlies could be lost without serious consequences. The result was embarrassing, the broken records unfortunate, but ultimately meaningless in the larger context.
But World Cup qualifiers were different.
World Cup qualifiers could NOT be lost.
While the French team was absorbing their disappointing friendly defeat, Spain was achieving a big victory in Minsk.
Spain had traveled to challenge Belarus in their own Group I World Cup qualifier, and the result had been overwhelming.
In the first half, Jordi Alba scored what was initially ruled an offside goal but was ultimately allowed to stand after consultation between officials. Pedro Rodríguez added another before halftime.
In the second half, Pedro scored twice more to complete his hat-trick, his movement and finishing exposing every weakness in Belarus's hapless defense.
The final score: Belarus 0-4 Spain
Spain achieved their second consecutive group stage victory with ruthless efficiency.
This result meant that Spain and France now had identical records: both teams sitting on six points from two matches.
The direct qualification spot from Group I: the precious first-place finish that guaranteed automatic passage to the 2014 World Cup in Brazil without the uncertainty and risk of playoffs would clearly go directly to either France or Spain.
The other teams in the group: Finland, Belarus, Georgia posed no threat to the Spanish-French. They would battle among themselves for the slim hope of a playoff spot, but the real drama existed exclusively between the group's two giants.
Time passed quickly in the world of international football.
As the French team prepared to fly to Madrid for their crucial qualifier, Julien received another text message from Varane.
He opened it and read the brief update:
"Official announcement just came down. The four, Mvila, Mavinga, Ben Yedder, and Niang were all handed suspension bans ranging from eight to fifteen months. Mvila got the longest at fifteen. The federation made an example of them. You called it perfectly. Thanks again for the warning."
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