When David Dein received a call like this from Abdullah—
He was overjoyed.
That summer, UEFA had already begun scrutinizing clubs' compliance with Financial Fair Play, and by any reasonable measure, Liverpool's spending didn't comply.
Of course, they weren't the only ones.
Manchester City and Chelsea didn't comply either but nobody was slowing down.
So, David Dein had assumed this summer window wouldn't bring major changes. After all, from his years of experience at Arsenal, the current Liverpool squad already looked complete.
The front line, if anything, was overloaded.
Players as good as Sterling and Coutinho could only get substitute minutes; even Sturridge sometimes had to settle for the bench. It was almost obscene, how deep they'd gone.
And now Abdullah was telling him they needed to strengthen further still.
He'd even given a direction to pursue.
The moment he hung up, David couldn't wait to call Klopp.
On the other end of the line, Klopp was still savouring De Rocca's stunning performance.
The two exchanged a few pleasantries.
Then David Dein's voice, unable to hide its excitement, cut straight to the point. "Jürgen, I don't need to tell you—you saw what Julien did. That kid's talent has exceeded everything any of us expected. He's the key to our Champions League push."
Klopp laughed. "David, I watched the whole match. Julien was unbelievable. Twenty years old, a World Cup final quarter-final—" he caught himself, delighted, "—a four-goal final. His future has no ceiling."
"To have a player like that is our good fortune."
"That's exactly why the club has decided to increase our investment this summer," David said, relaying the club's intent. "We won't be sparing with the money. Whatever reinforcements you want, name them—any player who can strengthen the squad and help us push for the Champions League, we'll back you fully.
The chairman would probably like to see us bring in someone who plays well alongside Julien."
That was more or less a hint: French players.
David Dein went on. "Julien has nothing left to prove. But we need to surround him with the best teammates we can find, let him keep shining at Liverpool—and let us finally get our hands on that damned trophy."
Klopp grew animated. Who doesn't love spending money, after all.
His voice rose a notch. "David, this is thrilling. Thank you—thank the club for its trust. I've always believed that if we reinforce the squad properly, we absolutely have what it takes to stand at the top of Europe. Julien's impact, his chemistry with teammates—that's exactly what we need. With financial backing, we can target the back line and midfield specifically, build a squad that can go toe-to-toe with any giant in the game."
"We believe in your ability, Jürgen." David Dein was full of anticipation.
Having watched Julien lift the World Cup trophy, he now found himself hoping Liverpool could go on winning everything under Klopp's management.
"Julien has grown so fast under you—from Premier League champion to World Cup champion. Nobody understands how to bring out his talent better than you do. The club will support you fully—money, transfer authority, all of it. We just want you to lead this team to more trophies."
"Don't worry, David. I won't let the club or the fans down. With a core player like Julien, and the club's financial support behind me, this is the biggest platform of my managerial career. I will seize this chance. I will lead Liverpool to the top of Europe."
He hung up the phone.
Klopp rose slowly from his seat.
He walked to the window as his eyes began flickering with fierce light, ambition was surging in his chest.
He clenched his fist, and a confident smile spread across his lips.
In his mind, the blueprint for the summer window was already taking shape.
Julien's talent needed no further evidence. All they had to do was patch the squad's remaining weaknesses—give the midfield more creativity, make the back line steadier and Liverpool would become an unstoppable force.
"Julien," Klopp murmured to himself, brimming with anticipation of his own, "the World Cup is only the beginning. Next season, we will go after the Champions League together. Together, we will write Liverpool's next legend."
He knew it in his heart: Liverpool now had both a world-class core in Julien and the club's financial muscle behind them. There was no longer any excuse to let the Champions League slip away.
This confidence, this opportunity—this was the platform he had spent years searching for.
He believed that under his own guidance, with Julien leading the line, Liverpool would blaze across Europe's stage and finally claim the Champions League trophy they'd dreamed of for so long.
Whatever regret he'd carried from his time at Dortmund—Liverpool would make up for it.
Julien, of course, had no idea that his championship had also given Liverpool this surge of confidence.
After the match that night, he celebrated with his teammates until the small hours, the party going on and on.
Even the great names of French football came by the locker room to celebrate with them—Blanc, Zidane, and others were among them.
Even some French officials came to join the celebration.
Up and down, it was all jubilation.
The team stayed in Brazil for just one day to rest.
Then the entire French squad, unable to wait any longer, left their Brazilian base and set off to fly home to France.
They were going back to celebrate with their own fans.
The French team's chartered plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris.
France's captain, Julien De Rocca, holding the World Cup trophy, was the first to step off the plane with pride across his face, and the trophy raised high above his head.
A roar went up.
The fans waiting at the airport erupted into cheers.
Julien shouted out to the fans gathered at the airport: "France! We did it! This trophy belongs to every person who loves French football!"
The moment the words left his mouth, the crowd ignited.
The fans roared in unison: "De Rocca! De Rocca! Champions of France!"
"We brought the World Cup home!"
Julien waved again and again toward the crowd, holding the trophy tight against his chest the whole time, showing every fan there this supreme glory that belonged to France.
In fact, long before the players had even arrived—
Since early morning, tens of thousands of fans had already flooded the Champs-Élysées, the great avenue of French football fandom. Dressed in blue France jerseys, waving flags and posters of Julien, Pogba, and the rest, they had come early to celebrate this historic moment together with their champions.
"Allez les Bleus! Julien De Rocca is a legend!"
"We are world champions!"
The shouting hadn't stopped since dawn. Many fans had the French flag painted across their faces.
Some held up signs reading: "Thank you, Deschamps. Thank you to every hero."
Now, at Charles de Gaulle, the French players walked off the plane one by one, Julien was still leading the way with the World Cup trophy in his hands.
Pogba, Griezmann, Lloris, Kanté, Varane, and the others followed close behind, every face was lit with the smile of victory, waving to the fans.
Pogba waved with one hand while shouting to the crowd with the other: "Thank you for your support! We didn't let you down!"
Griezmann made a heart shape with his hands and called out, "This glory belongs to every one of you!"
The fans roared for their World Cup heroes, applause and shouting deafening.
The cries rose and fell in waves.
Many fans were moved to tears, reaching their hands out, straining to touch the idols in their hearts.
Paris Mayor Anne Hidalgo also came to the airport to welcome the heroes home, shaking hands and embracing Julien and the other players one by one, offering them her warmest congratulations and praising them for bringing France this supreme honour.
Julien held the mayor's hand and said sincerely, "This is the effort of our whole team—and even more, the strength of every French fan. We only did our job."
Afterward, the French players boarded the bus the French Football Federation had arranged for them, heading straight for the fan boulevard on the Champs-Élysées to celebrate with the supporters.
Waiting for them there was a magnificent open-top parade float, sponsored by Renault, specially decorated with two stars representing France's two World Cup titles. The body of the float was printed with a group photo of the entire French squad and the words "France's Glory," gleaming under the sun.
The players climbed aboard the float and, moving along the fan boulevard, celebrated the team's second World Cup title together with the fans lining the streets.
The entire French squad, trophy in hand, rode the parade float down the Champs-Élysées fan boulevard toward the Arc de Triomphe, passing the banks of the Seine, the Place de la Concorde, Rue Saint-Honoré, Avenue Montaigne, and the Pont Alexandre III.
The fans along the route were already boiling over, the streets were packed on both sides.
"France! We are the champions!"
"Julien De Rocca! The GOAT of football!"
The shouting carried the whole way. Some fans threw coloured confetti and flowers at the float, singing "La Marseillaise" together at the top of their lungs.
Song and cheering intertwined, echoing over the rooftops of Paris.
On the float, the players answered the crowd's love in kind. Julien held the World Cup trophy high, shouting again and again: "Vive la France! Thank you to every single fan!"
Pogba stood at the edge of the float, throwing up the champion's gesture toward the crowd, shouting, "Next up in line is the Euros!"
Griezmann picked up a microphone and said softly, "Winning this with my brothers is the honour of my life. Thank you for being with us every step of the way."
Hearing the players call out to them, the fans along the route cheered even louder.
They waved their flags, answering back to the players they loved.
The parade float finally arrived at Place Charles de Gaulle, beside the Arc de Triomphe, where hundreds of thousands of fans had already gathered, packing the square so tightly nothing could move through it, their cheering was nearly loud enough to shake the Parisian sky.
At the square, head coach Deschamps led his coaching staff up onto the stage to offer his most sincere thanks to the fans gathered there.
"My dear countrymen, thank you for your support and your company every step of this journey. It was your voices that gave us endless strength. This championship trophy belongs to every French person."
The crowd answered as one.
"Deschamps! Thank you!"
Afterward, the players split into groups to say a few words to the fans waiting there, closing the distance between them.
Giroud—the tall man, the striker who'd scored a decisive goal in the final broke down in tears right there on the stage. He picked up the microphone, his voice was choking. "Thank you, everyone, thank you for your support all along. This glory has a piece of me in it—but it has an even bigger piece of you. I'll keep fighting for the national team. I won't let you down."
Then he bowed deeply to the fans, and the whole square erupted into cheers once more.
Besides the France players, well-known French singers also took the stage to perform for the fans, their voices lit up the atmosphere as everyone celebrated this moment of glory together.
The fans waved their flags along with the music, lost in the joy of victory.
Finally, the entire French squad came up on stage together. Julien once again raised the World Cup trophy high, and facing the hundreds of thousands of fans below, spoke again:
"Today, standing here, holding this trophy—I want to say, this isn't my glory alone. It's the glory of our whole team. It's the glory of every French fan. Going forward, we'll keep working—toward the Euros, toward the next World Cup—to win more glory for France!"
When he finished, he led all his teammates in a unified shout: "Thank you to every fan—vive la France!"
The cheering in the square reached its peak.
The fans waved their flags, roaring, "Vive la France! Vive les champions!"
The players' parade had come to an end.
But France's celebrations were far from over.
Paris's revelry would carry on deep into the night, the Champs-Élysées still full of fans waving flags, singing the team anthem, and chanting France's championship long after the players had gone.
And celebrations across the rest of France would continue for days—from Marseille to Lyon, from Lille to Bordeaux, all the way to Bastia on the island of Corsica.
The whole of France would remain wrapped in the joy of a World Cup title.
That evening the uproar of France's championship celebration had faded somewhat; night had settled in deep.
Julien had finally finished the stadium celebrations and the media interviews, and made it home. He talked with his family for a while, and they celebrated properly together, just the family.
As De Rocca headed back to his room, Pierre came in alone to speak with him.
"Exhausted, aren't you, my boy." Pierre brought in a glass of water and handed it to Julien, then sat down beside him, looking at this teenager who had just made World Cup history with a gaze full of tenderness. "You were dazzling out there. The whole of France is cheering for you. Your father is so proud of you."
Julien took the glass, drank a sip, and said softly, "I'm okay. Just still too excited. Even now it still feels like a dream. Winning the World Cup—it was all worth it."
Pierre smiled, took out his phone, opened a page, and held it out for De Rocca to see. It was the traffic data for Player's Tribune.
"Take a look at this. Our website's traffic has exploded—there are more comments than we can even read. I think the fans must be dying to hear the story behind your championship."
Julien laughed. "Isn't that exactly what we planned for? Of course I'll write it."
As he spoke, his thoughts had already begun to drift.
He was quietly working out, in his head, what the open letter should say. Not only will I write it—I'll write it very well.
Julien looked at Pierre and went on, "I want more kids in France—even kids in other countries—to look at this championship of ours and see what it looks like when a dream comes true.
It's more than football; it's a way of life!"
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