Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

Substituting Nasri and bringing on young PSG midfielder Matuidi.

This substitution choice didn't just confuse the fans and commentators. Even Nasri himself was bewildered. He wore the same puzzled expression as Ben Arfa when he was substituted earlier, double-checking that the substitution board indeed showed his number 11.

Immediately, anger flared up. He was France's absolute core—why substitute him?!

Nasri didn't want to leave the field. He looked toward the bench, wanting to communicate with Blanc. But Blanc wasn't even looking at him.

Blanc had his arm around Matuidi's shoulder, giving him instructions. "After you go on, make more forward runs to link up with De Rocca. Combine with him more, focus on the right flank.

Pass to the left when there's an opportunity, but if there's no good chance and you don't know how to handle it, just give the ball to De Rocca for individual play. Let him break through to create space for you all. Remember to make runs."

"Got it!"

Matuidi was thrilled with this opportunity. He had thought that with Nasri and Ben Arfa in midfield, he wouldn't get a chance to play in this European Championship.

Who would have thought that both of them would be taken off, and now it was his turn.

Under the gaze of the entire stadium, Nasri reluctantly walked toward the sideline. He couldn't understand how Blanc had the audacity to substitute him.

He was the midfield core of a Premier League champion! He was France's midfield core!

Even commentators worldwide were surprised by Nasri's substitution.

"Nasri is France's most creative midfielder. What is Blanc trying to achieve with this adjustment?"

"Perhaps France wants to start controlling the tempo? They're currently in the lead."

However, Zidane and other French legends weren't particularly surprised.

Everyone knew France's problems. But at least two people needed to step forward: one who could shoulder the responsibility of being the team's foundation, and another willing to make tough decisions against popular opinion and face the media storm.

Now France had both. But this was also a huge gamble. Zidane couldn't help but look at De Rocca, hoping the young man could handle this pressure.

To become a top star, talent and hard work weren't enough, you also needed exceptional mental strength and psychological resilience.

Many talented players had become mediocre under pressure.

Gourcuff was like this, as was Barcelona's Bojan.

Premature exposure and excessive expectations could crush a genius.

What about De Rocca?

Bang!

After being substituted, Nasri had no communication with Blanc and kicked a water bottle on the sideline. He didn't even go to the bench.

Instead, he walked straight to the dressing room.

Back in the dressing room.

Nasri flipped over a table, venting his fury!

Substituted after just 50 minutes. This was a public humiliation!

"Merde! Don't expect me to play for you again!"

Simultaneously, a thought was brewing in Nasri's mind: a strike. The 2010 France team had done it before; he would follow his predecessors' example.

Meanwhile, the match at Donbas Stadium continued. On France's bench, the players' minds were already wandering. Everyone knew Blanc's intention.

Just like with Ben Arfa, this was likely the end for Nasri too.

Benzema's face was dark.

The successive removals of Ben Arfa and Nasri actually upset him the most. At least those two had been substituted after starting, while he had been relegated straight to the bench!

What gave Blanc the right? With Nasri's substitution, Benzema was also reaching his limit. But he was never one to cause open conflict, he preferred to work from the shadows.

He was convinced Nasri would eventually explode. He would just be the one to echo him.

France was seething with undercurrents.

Blanc remained unmoved, standing proudly on the sideline. Perhaps many people, seeing his glasses, had forgotten the invincible iron-willed center-back of the past!

The "President" nickname had been forged during France's golden era, the dramatic header against Paraguay in the 1998 World Cup, the decisive presence in the 2000 European Championship final when he kissed Barthez's bald head.

His current bold actions might gradually remind people of this French legend.

He stood proudly on the sideline.

The sideline cameraman focused on him, capturing his somewhat disheveled hair and the hawk-like eyes behind his black-framed glasses.

His gaze was fixed on De Rocca with the ball.

As the camera's focus gradually shifted to Blanc, his gaze merged with the lens's focus.

The "President" was using his final act of authority with the national team to elevate a true French talent—

"Julien!"

Giroud held off his marker while knocking the ball back to De Rocca, shouting his name.

Bang!

De Rocca received the ball with a feint, fake shot and real pass, chipping the ball to Giroud's run. Giroud headed the ball powerfully.

Pyatov stretched his body to the limit, barely managing to tip the ball over the crossbar.

France had a corner kick.

"Alive! Giroud's two headers are much better than his first-half performance when he could only wrestle with opposing center-backs. I thought France's creativity would weaken after Nasri came off.

But it seems that against Ukraine's deep defensive tactics, De Rocca's abilities are being showcased. In tight spaces, De Rocca is clearly France's number one!"

The TF1 commentator continued, "I think France's goal won't be far away."

On the field, players prepared for the corner kick.

Blanc's assistant coach ran over, whispering to him, "Nasri is threatening to go on strike."

The assistant's eyes were full of concern.

Blanc waved his hand dismissively. "Anyone who doesn't want to play can go home. Don't worry about them. Let's win this match first before thinking about what comes next."

"Right."

Bang!

France's corner kick was delivered.

Chaos in the penalty area, with Shevchenko, who had dropped back to defend, heading the ball clear to outside the box.

Matuidi got the ball but, seeing a crowd of players near the penalty area, wasn't sure what to do for a moment.

Suddenly, he remembered Blanc's instructions—

If there's no good opportunity and you don't know how to handle it, just give the ball to De Rocca.

At that moment, De Rocca had dropped back to the right flank.

Matuidi switched the play.

De Rocca received the ball again. In front of him, Konopljanka and Voronin marked him from left and right, with Selin and Khacheridi ready to provide cover from behind.

De Rocca's few breakthrough attempts had tormented them enough.

After the rain, the ground was already slippery.

They couldn't understand how De Rocca could maintain control of the ball, managing to continue his dribble even after several slips.

Now seeing De Rocca with the ball, they felt anxious.

Julien held possession, glancing at the defensive setup.

He didn't accelerate, just gently touched the ball with his right foot, studying the opponents' positioning.

This was a psychological battle between forward and defenders.

It was about who would break first.

Konopljanka, feeling he had backup, couldn't hold out and immediately stepped forward two paces, trying to pressure De Rocca.

But De Rocca suddenly accelerated. His right foot knocked the ball toward the touchline, then immediately sprinted toward the byline.

When Konopljanka tried to turn and chase De Rocca, he was already a step behind. De Rocca had never given the impression of being a pace-based player. But in this small area on the right side of the penalty box, he had no disadvantage.

Left-back Selin immediately covered. He pressed close to De Rocca, trying to force him toward the byline without giving him space to cross.

At that moment, all eyes in the stadium focused on the right side of Ukraine's penalty area.

This was a genius at work.

As De Rocca charged toward the byline, he timed it perfectly, using his left foot to knock the ball outward, the ball threading right between Selin's legs.

Then Julien stopped sharply, turned, and cut inside, using his hand to brush against Selin for leverage.

The young fullback from Ukrainian Premier League side Vorskla Poltava couldn't possibly keep up with Julien's rhythm.

By the time he turned, Julien had already burst into the penalty area.

Fortunately, teammates Khacheridi and Voronin had covered, but Julien didn't continue moving laterally, instead continuing toward the byline space.

Khacheridi immediately rushed up to block De Rocca's position.

However, the next moment—

Whoosh!!!

All the Ukrainian fans couldn't help but gasp!

"Elastico! My God! De Rocca!"

Accompanied by the commentator's exclamation. Julien performed an elastico near the byline, threading the ball through at the limit.

Voronin, seeing the danger, launched into a sliding tackle.

Meanwhile, goalkeeper Pyatov covered the near post.

Fans from both sides unconsciously held their breath at this moment.

De Rocca's every move commanded their complete attention.

Bang!

Julien's left foot, using the outside, delivered a cutback pass!

Most defenders in the penalty area had focused their attention on De Rocca. Giroud's run was only tracked by the other center-back, Mykhailo.

Giroud had a physical advantage over Mykhailo.

De Rocca's cutback arrived.

Pyatov immediately turned toward the six-yard box.

Bang!

Giroud side-footed a volley, smashing the ball into the net!

France had scored!

The 69th minute, 2-0!

This was almost the goal that sealed the victory!

After shooting, Giroud fell to the ground, and seeing the ball hit the net, he leaped up excitedly. This was his first goal in an official France match!!

At twenty-five, he had finally achieved his national team dream!

In that instant, Giroud's eyes welled up. He felt an emotion in his chest that needed release. He rushed toward De Rocca, roaring wildly.

Only wild roaring could release the emotion in his chest.

Giroud and De Rocca embraced tightly, with Giroud wiping what could have been sweat, rain, or tears from his face. He was too excited to speak.

Behind them, more and more teammates rushed up to embrace them.

French fans celebrated frantically, shouting at the players.

Two goals ahead against a team like Ukraine, they could basically confirm their group stage qualification as winners.

When the broadcast camera focused on Giroud and De Rocca, it quickly cut to a woman in the stands.

Jennifer.

She was already in tears. Having been with Giroud since they were teenagers, she knew how long he had waited for this day and how much effort he had put in.

At this moment, she felt proud of her husband.

"Giroud!! The core striker of this season's championship-winning Montpellier, Ligue 1's top scorer! At this moment, he's proven his ability as a goalscorer!" TF1 shouted. "Don't underestimate Ligue 1's top scorer! And of course, there's De Rocca, who once again showed us what wing play excellence looks like."

"Beautiful!!"

Blanc on the sideline shouted excitedly, embracing his coaching staff.

Giroud and De Rocca, plus Matuidi who created space, these were all valuable assets for France's future.

Their performance further strengthened Blanc's convictions.

France might become the center of media attention in the coming days. After the Netherlands went home, France would have a major internal conflict.

But did it matter?

Using one tournament's pain to secure the future—Blanc thought it was worth it!

Not far from Blanc, Blokhin slumped dejectedly into the coaching chair, watching the isolated Shevchenko. How he wished he could be thirty-plus years younger and fight alongside Shevchenko on the pitch.

Unfortunately, time flows on, never stopping or reversing for anyone.

Blokhin shook his head. Two goals down, Ukraine's task had become difficult.

Meanwhile, Italy, Spain, and England, all watching the broadcast, had basically confirmed their knockout stage opponents.

Their coaching teams began preparing tactical arrangements.

Italy vs France; Spain vs England.

"Putain! Merde!" Nasri watched the broadcast on the dressing room TV, seeing Giroud, De Rocca and others celebrating, feeling incredibly frustrated.

After his public humiliation, they scored?

What did this mean?!

Nasri felt isolated by the team, they had never truly considered him their core.

Instantly, more thoughts flooded his mind.

Bang!

He threw a chair directly at the TV screen.

Hearing the noise, staff members rushed in and were shocked by the chaos in the dressing room.

They quickly escorted Nasri away, then urgently reported to their superiors about how to handle the situation.

The staff were furious, this was someone else's stadium, and now they were causing trouble! There would be compensation to pay, and when the media got hold of this, wouldn't France be mocked to death?

Le Graët watched the match. Soon he received reports about the negative consequences of Blanc's substitution.

Le Graët had always supported the head coach, even though Blanc was about to leave.

But there was no justification for players to override the head coach, especially since he had already narrowed down the next France coach to Didier Deschamps and Zidane.

Both were Blanc's friends. If he didn't take a stand, these two probably wouldn't take on this mess. So, he would definitely handle this seriously.

However, looking at De Rocca, Giroud, Matuidi and others on the field, since France already had a future...

Perhaps it was time to let those troublemakers become even more reckless, whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.

France needed this kind of painful renewal!

Le Graët sighed, only feeling somewhat sorry for Blanc, who had become the biggest victim in this round of France's generational change.

Whoosh!

Just as Le Graët was thinking about how to completely resolve France's "internal conflict tradition," the Donbas Stadium fans erupted in exclamations.

Ukrainian fans clutched their heads in disbelief.

Many fans were shouting, "No, that's not a penalty!!"

On the field, Julien lay on the ground. His breakthrough down the right flank had just entered the penalty area when Selin brought him down with a sliding tackle.

His ball control was so good that no one could take the ball away while it was at his feet.

Only through fouls.

After Kuipers firmly blew his whistle, he pointed to the penalty spot.

Shevchenko approached Kuipers to appeal. "Could this foul possibly have occurred outside the penalty area? I suggest taking a careful look. I accept this is a foul, but I don't think it happened inside the penalty area."

Kuipers shook his head. "Both the linesman and I saw it clearly. De Rocca had already entered the penalty area, and the foul occurred inside the box."

Ukrainian players still wanted to appeal.

Kuipers remained firm. "Your appeals are also counting as time, you're wasting your own opportunities."

Shevchenko knew the decision couldn't be changed.

He pushed his teammates away. "Trust Pyatov, defend well, we still have chances! France is strong, but I've already detected problems in their team. We need to seize this opportunity! Win this, and we qualify!"

But as he looked up at the stadium screen, the time kept ticking toward 90 minutes.

85:01, 02, 03...

Did Ukraine really still have a chance?

Were these his final ten minutes of professional football?

Shevchenko momentarily lost focus.

Scenes from the past flooded his mind. After tonight, he would bid farewell to football forever.

It was so difficult to accept.

So very difficult to accept!!

Tweet!!

The referee's whistle brought his thoughts back.

Ribéry stepped up to take the penalty.

Run-up, shot, celebration...

Pyatov couldn't save Ribéry's penalty.

Ribéry ran to the sideline, embracing his teammates and hugging De Rocca tightly. In his view, De Rocca's performance in this match was perfect.

One goal, one assist, and earned a penalty.

Ribéry didn't know how much longer his France career would last, but at this moment, he finally felt he could let go.

The future was in good hands.

Shevchenko, while his teammates were dispirited, ran into the goal, grabbed the ball, and shouted at his teammates to quickly restart play.

He wanted to fight once more! Fight once more!

But butterflies cannot cross the ocean, and even the nuclear warhead cannot defeat time.

In the 2006 Champions League semifinal, the Milan ultras in the Curva Sud lit up the entire San Siro with flares, and through the smoke, that golden-haired figure scored the third goal against Barcelona, like a knife piercing through the red and blue defense.

That Sheva was a flame forged in the Eastern European cold winds, the most efficient and elegant killer in the Italian peninsula.

In red and black, he left fans with the most beautiful memories.

Now, his first European Championship was also his last.

Ninety minutes passed.

When he couldn't break free from Mexès' defense, when he stumbled receiving the ball, when his desperate shot was easily caught by Lloris.

Football fans worldwide suddenly realized:

Time's bullet had finally struck that lightning-fast number 7.

Tweet!

Kuipers blew the final whistle.

The stadium was filled with French fans' excited cheers.

And that number 7, with his head raised dejectedly, swept his gaze across the pitch again and again.

This was his youth, and it was many people's youth too. He tried not to let the tears fall.

Milan's faithful might someday flip through yellowed copies of La Gazzetta dello Sport, with headlines still showing his soaring expression when lifting the Ballon d'Or in 2004.

Suddenly, applause rang out at Donbas Stadium.

Ukrainian fans, with tears in their eyes but smiles on their faces, applauded with all their might.

French fans also understood this was Shevchenko's national team swan song. They suppressed their celebrations and gave Shevchenko their applause too.

At this moment, the entire stadium's focus belonged to Shevchenko.

The applause wasn't crowning a legend.

It was a collective farewell to the red and black era.

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