"Relax, it's just a league match. We've already taken down teams like Atletico Madrid. Facing league opponents shouldn't be that difficult."
Hadzibegic was still encouraging the players in the locker room.
Though Bastia had quite a few players on rotation for this match, it didn't mean they could accept defeat.
They were currently just two points behind first place. And they had kickoff a day before Marseille.
So even if this was just a fleeting taste of the top spot, they had to savor it—the flavor of being France's Ligue 1 leader!
For Julien, the reason to win this match was simple enough.
Winning points.
Based on the league's point allocation system, winning this would likely net him between five to ten winning points.
He was only four points away from opening the treasure chest.
That would be enough.
"Your old rival is the opposing coach. He praised you in his pre-match interview. You better show him a thing or two during the match to live up to his compliments, hehe," Lukaku said while adjusting his shin guards, addressing Julien.
De Bruyne stood between them. However, De Bruyne was on the bench for this match. The pre-match assessment showed he still had significant muscle fatigue.
This was technically Hadzibegic's doing.
Hadzibegic was extremely protective of Julien, after all, he was the team's core player and naturally needed to be preserved. But De Bruyne and Lukaku were on loan, so Hadzibegic frequently ran them the full ninety minutes. If others wouldn't exhaust them, he'd stand up and do it himself!
At least Lukaku had better endurance.
Julien didn't respond to Lukaku's banter directly. Instead, he said, "Bordeaux isn't that strong. This is your home ground. Can't you manage at least a brace this match? Never mind a hat trick?"
Lukaku thumped his chest. "Guaranteed! You just get me the ball, and watch me carve them up, yeah?"
As he spoke, he ran a hand through his flowing hair.
Julien felt a twinge of nostalgia seeing this gesture, he remembered when Lukaku had his head shaved, you could see the wrinkles on the back of his skull; more wrinkles meant more toughness. He wasn't sure when Lukaku had started growing his hair out.
The players took to the pitch for warm-ups.
The Ultras Bastia section erupted, their voices rolling like thunder as they chanted songs with rhythmic clapping.
This was their pre-match ritual.
After warm-ups ended, as the players emerged from the tunnel, the Stade Armand Cesari reached its first crescendo of the night.
Boom! Boom boom!!
The sound from twenty thousand fans became incomprehensible as distinct voices. The players on the pitch could only hear a deafening roar.
Their ears nearly ached from the volume.
The Bordeaux players were jealous of Bastia.
For a newly promoted team to get this level of fan support was genuinely enviable. And in a place like Bastia, of all places: a "barren land."
The pre-match protocols began.
Julien received the most camera attention.
The TF1 commentator spoke: "According to the transfer market update from this morning, Julien De Rocca absolutely dominates Ligue 1 valuations at sixty million euros. He's the only Ligue 1 player in the world's top ten by market value.
The second-highest Ligue 1 player is PSG's striker Ibrahimovic at forty-five million euros.
Don't underestimate that fifteen-million-euro gap.
More importantly, Ibrahimovic's valuation has essentially plateaued. His value will likely only decrease, not increase. But Julien is still young. While this valuation does contain potential factors, as he continues to demonstrate his extraordinary abilities especially if he wins the Ballon d'Or, there's no reason he couldn't reach the over one-hundred-million-euro valuations that Messi and Ronaldo have gotten."
Meanwhile, in the stands.
Chataigner finally made it to the match after a busy period. He sat beside Geronimi, as always.
"You've worked hard these past weeks. I reviewed your report, it's solid. I don't understand all the details, but if you think it works, let's proceed with it," Geronimi said, his management style characterized by absolute delegation without fussiness.
Chataigner smiled and nodded, then broached another topic, "I heard some rumors while I was abroad. Real Madrid might sign a heavyweight striker in the summer window."
"Hm?" Geronimi looked bewildered. Real Madrid already had C. Ronaldo leading their attack. Why would they need another heavyweight?
What were they planning?
Chataigner continued, "It's all hearsay—take it with a grain of salt. But it does seem credible. A scout I know in Holland told me that Real Madrid is in talks with Tottenham. They want Tottenham's Bale and are willing to pay a massive fee—potentially breaking the transfer record that C. Ronaldo set a few years ago."
Geronimi listened with stars in his eyes. This was what big clubs did, they bought whoever they wanted. If they liked someone, they bought them.
"Allegedly, Perez is thinking of promoting the younger Bale to become Real's flagship player instead of C. Ronaldo."
Geronimi nodded. From a club owner's perspective, this made sense. Younger players were easier to manage and cheaper. Older players were just accumulated salary burdens from repeated contract extensions.
It was the same logic as hiring for his used car company. Geronimi preferred hiring fresh talent, promising raises for good performance, then once they hit a salary ceiling: "optimization" he'd hire fresh talent again. There was never a shortage of people willing to work.
Boom!
A drum sounded from the stands.
Chataigner fixed his gaze on Julien and asked Geronimi, "So now do you understand what kind of treasure we're guarding, Mr. Chairman?"
'Huh?'
Geronimi didn't catch on immediately. But when he followed Chataigner's gaze to Julien, his breath suddenly grew heavier.
That's right.
If even Tottenham's Bale could get a price exceeding C. Ronaldo's transfer fee, then Julien who was arguably no weaker than Bale and even younger, would be worth...
He couldn't think about it. He couldn't. Geronimi genuinely couldn't let his thoughts continue down that path.
Since entering football, the largest transfers he'd personally handled were in the millions of euros.
Now Julien... he simply didn't dare imagine.
The two sat in silence, their eyes burning with intensity.
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