"Julien, my boy, first of all, congratulations! World Cup champion!"
On the other end of the line, David burst out laughing. "A hat-trick—no, four goals—in the final, and the Golden Ball on top of it. You've proven yourself dominantly, and you've made the whole of Liverpool proud.
Everyone at the club, every member of staff, every fan—they're all cheering for you. This glory belongs to you, and it belongs to all of us at Liverpool too."
Julien laughed and replied, "Thank you, David. It really has been a dream of a month…"
The two of them exchanged pleasantries for a while.
Then David said, with a smile in his voice, "While I've got you, let me fill you in on how the team's doing.
We've been playing friendlies this stretch. Without you, without Luis, and the rest of the lads who were away at the World Cup, the squad hasn't been at full strength, but overall we've looked solid. Jürgen's pleased with how preparations are going, and the players' form keeps climbing steadily. We're just waiting on you core players to get back so we can knit the side together."
FIFA required that any player who'd taken part in the World Cup had to rest for three weeks before playing an official match again.
So, players eliminated in the group stage could gradually rejoin their clubs and start training. But a World Cup finalist like Julien would have to wait until August.
Hearing this, Julien said, "That's great to hear. I completely trust them. Once my break's over and I'm back, I'll do everything I can to catch up with the team's rhythm as fast as possible."
Once they'd finished going over the friendlies, David exactly as Julien had expected—brought up the summer transfer window. "Oh, and Julien, there's something else I wanted to ask you.
The club has decided to increase our investment this summer, to give Jürgen everything he needs for a real push at the Champions League. You've got a sharp eye—do you have anyone in mind you'd recommend?"
This was David hoping to get another recommendation out of Julien.
After all, the players Julien had recommended before had turned out extraordinarily well!
Van Dijk, Kanté—both of them had walked straight in and started performing immediately!
At that, Julien gave a light laugh and said, with total honesty.
"I'm really sorry, David. Between preparing for and playing in the World Cup, I've been swamped—training every day, reviewing every match. During our own push for the Premier League, it was much the same. I've had almost no time to keep an eye on other leagues or other players, so I honestly don't have any recommendations worth making. I'd rather not throw out a name carelessly and end up holding up the club's business."
Julien wasn't about to start pointing fingers at random.
Once or twice, sure—that could be chalked up to having seen a lot, having a good read on things. But if he kept getting it right every single time, that would start to look a little strange.
"No, no, don't worry about it at all." David laughed the concern away. "You throwing yourself completely into the World Cup—that's the best thing you could've done, both for yourself and for the club. As for transfers, Jürgen and the coaching staff have it handled. You don't need to feel any pressure over it."
The two of them chatted on for a bit longer, drifting from the final's biggest moments to Liverpool's goals for next season.
At the end, David's tone softened. "Julien, spend this time taking a real rest. Be with your family. Relax a little.
The club and the fans are all waiting for you to come back with your batteries fully charged. Once you're back at Liverpool, you'll lead the team into next month's International Champions Cup, and we're all looking forward to watching you shine on the pitch again."
"Mm," Julien said.
Then David hung up.
Julien's thoughts turned to the International Champions Cup.
The International Champions Cup was, these days, one of the most prominent pre-season warm-up tournaments around.
It had grown out of the World Football Challenge, which had started back in 2009.
And last year—the tournament had gotten a title sponsor, and along with that, simply changed its name.
Its full name now was the Guinness International Champions Cup.
After a successful run last year, this year the tournament had expanded its footprint of host cities even further.
The matches would run from July 26th to August 4th.
The number of host cities was bigger than ever—Denver, New York, Philadelphia, Ann Arbor, Miami, Dallas, Maryland, Berkeley, Pittsburgh, Charlotte, Minneapolis, Toronto, Chicago, and more.
Basically, every single match would be played in a different city.
All eight participating teams came from Europe: Liverpool, Manchester City, Manchester United, AC Milan, Inter Milan, Roma, Real Madrid, and Olympiacos.
The eight teams were first split into two groups, with the top two from each group advancing to the semifinals, and the semifinal winners meeting in the final.
The format was simple enough.
Julien could just about make it in time for the very last match—assuming, of course, Liverpool didn't get knocked out early and actually reached the final.
Still, for a purely commercial, warm-up-only competition like this, some teams weren't exactly desperate to lift the trophy.
As long as the appearance fee cleared, that was good enough.
After turning it over in his mind for a moment—Julien let go of it all completely. Football, trophies, the tournament—he set every bit of it aside.
What came next—he was about to begin a stretch of vacation meant purely to empty his mind and body.
July along the Mediterranean coast was exactly the season for it, and he brought his family—parents, siblings—and his girlfriend Pauline along, shedding the spotlight, becoming, for a while, simply an ordinary person heading off toward a foreign romance along the Mediterranean shore.
He was going to savour every moment of this time with his family, without holding anything back.
Days like these didn't come often.
For the first week of the vacation, they chose Italy's Amalfi Coast.
As one of the most celebrated resort destinations on the entire Mediterranean—the Amalfi Coast in July had exactly the sunlight it was famous for.
Deep blue water met a jumble of colour-washed cliffside villas, the coastline curving like a silver ribbon binding mountain to sea—every casual snapshot came out looking like a painting.
Julien skipped the crowded tourist spots and instead rented out an entire private villa perched on the edge of a cliff.
It was quiet here, secluded. Open the window and the Mediterranean's blue stretched out in front of you; the sea breeze carried in a faint trace of salt, and the outside world's noise felt very far away.
That week, their days were simple and relaxed, following whatever rhythm felt right, with no set itinerary at all.
In the mornings, Julien and Pauline would walk the cliffside trail together, watching the sea glitter through the morning mist, listening to waves breaking against the rocks.
His father and his mother would brew a pot of coffee out on the villa's terrace, taking in the mountains and sea spread before them, savouring a quiet that was hard to come by.
The siblings, meanwhile, each went off to find their own kind of fun.
In the afternoons, they'd drive into the town of Amalfi, wandering through lanes painted in every colour, picking out handmade local ceramics and lemon goods, or resting at some seaside open-air café, ordering a fresh seafood salad and a glass of the local limoncello, soaking in the Mediterranean's unhurried ease.
In the evenings, they'd head back to the villa and sit down to a dinner prepared by a Michelin private chef, out in the open-air courtyard.
Under the stars, with the sound of the waves in the background, the whole family would talk about life.
Once the week on the Amalfi Coast came to an end, they packed up and moved on to the second stop of the trip—Santorini, Greece.
This volcanic island in the middle of the Mediterranean carried a reputation as something out of a blue-and-white fairy tale.
White buildings topped with deep blue domes, nestled against the endless blue of the Aegean, paired with volcanic terrain and legendary sunsets—it was the perfect place to completely empty your mind.
Julien once again rented out an entire seaside villa, this one with its own private pool and a dedicated viewing deck; step out the door and the sea stretched out with no end in sight, the breeze cool and gentle against the skin.
During that week on Santorini, he and Pauline would sunbathe on the private terrace, looking out over the sea.
Or they'd all take a private yacht out with the family, weaving between Santorini's scattered little islands, feeling the sea wind against their faces, taking in the sweep of the Mediterranean, occasionally stopping to slip into the water and play among the fish below the surface.
Or they'd follow a local guide to explore the ruins of the volcano, taking in the raw beauty of the place.
Every day they slept until they woke up naturally, ate fresh Mediterranean seafood feasts, and in the evenings headed to the village of Oia to watch the world-famous sunset, the sky meeting the sea and the white walls into gold and red.
They talked about nothing in particular, all small unimportant things—no noise, no pressure, just as a vacation should be.
Those two weeks—Julien completely let go of everything. No football news, none of it. No training, no interviews. He gave himself over entirely to being with his family.
He didn't have to think about who he was to everyone else; for once, he could truly relax.
There were no responsibilities to carry—just this moment, just the good of it, just life itself.
But happy stretches of time always seem to slip by like a horse glimpsed through a crack in a fence—they were gone before you know it.
The two-week Mediterranean vacation quietly drew to a close, and as the end of July carried a certain reluctance on the wind, Julien said his goodbyes to his family and to Pauline at the airport.
They boarded a flight bound for Paris.
Julien, meanwhile, boarded a private plane bound for Chicago, in the United States—his leisure time had officially come to an end, and a new chapter was already beginning.
He was heading to reunite with his Liverpool teammates, to prepare for the coming International Champions Cup.
A warm-up tournament like this didn't exactly put him on edge.
He'd treat it as a chance to find his rhythm ahead of the new season.
Once he landed in Chicago, someone from the club was already there to meet him, and by the time he'd checked into the hotel,
Julien found familiar faces waiting—Suárez, Sturridge, Coutinho, Robertson, Henderson, Gerrard, and the rest of his teammates were already there.
Every face had a warm smile, and the moment they spotted Julien walking over, they crowded around him.
"Congratulations, Julien! World Cup champion—that's unbelievable!"
Suárez stepped forward first, clapping Julien hard on the shoulder. Uruguay's own run at the tournament hadn't exactly gone the way they'd hoped.
"Seriously, Julien, four goals in the final—we were losing our minds in front of the TV! Though, I mean, going that hard on Brazil felt a little brutal, don't you think?" Coutinho said with a laugh. "Welcome back. With you here, we've got a lot more confidence heading into next season."
Julien gave an awkward scratch at the back of his head—as a Brazilian, this whole business had clearly put Coutinho in an uncomfortable spot.
A massacre, at that scoreline, right on his own doorstep.
Luckily, Gerrard stepped in, wrapping Julien in a light embrace. "Young and already accomplished—no wonder you're the heart of this Liverpool side. Keep it up. We're all looking forward to chasing down more trophies together."
Robertson, Henderson, and the others crowded in too, one after another, offering their own congratulations—
"Well done,"
"Welcome back," passed around the group.
Just then, Klopp's booming laugh carried over.
He strode forward and pulled Julien into a huge hug, clapping him on the back, his voice ringing out loud, "My boy, welcome back! The World Cup title is only the beginning—the new season's here now, so put the vacation mode away, and let's go win some more of those damn trophies together!"
Julien laughed and nodded. "Don't worry, Jürgen! I've got myself dialled in already—ready to jump straight into the fight, shoulder to shoulder with everyone."
Julien's return filled the whole squad with confidence. And it wasn't only about this warm-up tournament.
It was the confidence heading into the whole new season—already running over!
After that, Julien dropped off his things, got settled in quickly, and followed his teammates out to the training ground, joining the squad's warm-up session.
Still, everyone understood that Julien wouldn't be featuring in the early matches of the International Champions Cup.
Van Dijk was also set to sit out for now, for the same reason.
Both of them had just come off their World Cup campaigns and needed more time to get their form back—and besides, neither of them yet met FIFA's mandatory rest period.
Klopp had specifically arranged for the two of them to focus on recovery-based training, to avoid burning them out any further.
In truth, anyone familiar with the International Champions Cup knew that, at its core, the tournament was purely a commercial competition built around warm-up matches.
Its weight, as a title, was fairly modest.
Most of the time, clubs would send out new signings and younger players—it served double duty, giving the squad depth some minutes while letting the core players rest properly.
But since the tournament was, after all, bankrolled by American sponsors, the big-name stars would still make appearances in matches—both to look after the sponsors' interests and to give something back to the fans in the stands—playing a stretch here and there, balancing commercial appeal with the quality of the show itself.
All of this, naturally, got written into contracts. Without a contract in place, it was hard to hold certain clubs to it.
After all, not everyone was willing to just show up and play whenever asked—some of the bigger clubs had too many tangled interests running underneath.
Different positions had different interests at stake.
July 27th.
In the group stage of the International Champions Cup, Liverpool faced Olympiacos at Soldier Field in Chicago.
Throughout the match, Klopp stuck mostly with younger players, right up until deep in the second half, when Suárez came on as a substitute and immediately shifted the rhythm of the game.
Drawing on his instinct in front of goal, Suárez went on to score twice, completing a brace.
In the end, Liverpool cruised past Olympiacos, opening their tournament with a win.
On July 30th, Liverpool moved on to Yankee Stadium in New York to take on their rivals, Manchester City.
For this match, Klopp brought in part of his first team, with Coutinho and Sturridge starting. The two of them combined beautifully, each finding the net once, putting Liverpool up 2-0.
But City fought back, pulling level with two goals of their own, and the match ended 2-2 after extra time.
The game went to a penalty shootout.
In the shootout, Liverpool's goalkeeper Mignolet was outstanding, saving two of City's penalties, and Liverpool advanced to the semifinals on the strength of that shootout win.
On August 2nd, the semifinal kicked off at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia, with Liverpool facing Serie A giants AC Milan.
In this match, Liverpool showed strong form. Through tight coordination and efficient attacking play—they closed the match out 2-0 against AC Milan, booking their place in the International Champions Cup final.
The moment the final whistle blew, Liverpool's players erupted in celebration—and everyone knew exactly who was waiting for them in the final: their dear rivals, Manchester United.
The new season hadn't even officially begun, and already Liverpool was walking into their first Merseyside–Manchester showdown of the year!
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