Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

"This European Championship has seen an emergence of talent. In just the first round of group stage matches, 18-year-old and 71-day-old Williams from the Netherlands broke the record for youngest European Championship appearance, previously held by Belgian legend Enzo Scifo since 1984. Shortly after, 17-year-old French winger Julien De Rocca broke the record once again."

"Every team has left us with unforgettable young players. These young faces are likely to become regular fixtures in their national teams, perhaps even key players."

"24-year-old Portuguese goalkeeper Patrício, 22-year-old Ukrainian striker Yarmolenko, 23-year-old German midfielder Reus, 21-year-old English striker Welbeck, and 23-year-old Spanish fullback Alba—all these players had outstanding performances during the group stage. Some have even shown star potential in the knockout rounds."

"Of course, the player who left the deepest impression on fans is still the 17-year-old French winger, Julien De Rocca."

"Two group stage appearances: one as a substitute to score the winner against England, one as a starter with a goal and an assist. Today's knockout match against Italy, he starts once again."

"But in the first half, against Italy's iron wall defense, De Rocca had few opportunities."

The commentary voice echoed from the television. In the clinking glass tumblers, pastis reflected the broadcast images.

Blue and white colors intertwined. Wave after wave of tackles and sprints drew gasps from the tavern patrons.

Of course, there were also the old fans at Sunset Coffee Tavern, indignant on De Rocca's behalf—

"How is this De Rocca having few opportunities? It's clearly that the French team doesn't have anyone worthy of playing alongside Julien!"

"The French team is getting worse and worse. I don't know if any capable young players will emerge, or I'm really worried Julien will be wasted."

"Julien's ball-handling ability is clearly a cut above the rest of the team, but no one can share the burden with him, so most of the opposing defense is focused on him."

"It's getting more and more pathetic. After the era of Zidane and Deschamps, the French team has been in decline. We're still living in the past."

Bang!

A glass was slammed down hard on the table. "Bertrand, more wine!"

Bertrand rushed over with the bottle and filled the glass to the brim.

"Mexès commits a clumsy foul! He receives France's third yellow card of the match! Balotelli's impact was too strong. Italy gets a free kick about four meters outside the penalty area. France is in foul trouble."

The commentary continued to flow from the television.

The tavern fans' faces all looked grim.

"Bertrand, the bill. See you at the Super Cup next season." A fan placed his glass aside and staggered toward Bertrand, wanting to pay him.

Clearly, he didn't want to watch anymore.

"Martin, go rest in the back room for a bit. Don't worry about the bill, you're drunk."

"What, they're going to score? No! No way, Italy won't score!"

Bertrand shook his head and called on nearby fans to help escort Martin to the back room.

"We pay taxes to watch this?! Screw this! Go home!"

"I've seen enough of this farce, let's go home!"

"Playing like amateur youth league players!"

When Bertrand reached the back room, he could hear the continuous cursing echoing from the tavern.

Martin's eyes were closed, but he was still unconsciously muttering, "They're all useless, wasting De Rocca's talent."

Bertrand walked out of the room. The tavern atmosphere wasn't great. Most fans were cursing while shaking their heads.

He frowned and looked toward the TV screen: the score had changed to 2-0.

Italy had scored again.

The broadcast was still showing replays of that moment.

Pirlo's free kick to the far post, Chiellini heading the ball into the goal.

Many people had already put down their glasses, wanting to settle their bills and go home.

73rd minute, Italy 2-0 France.

They had no desire to continue watching.

But when the Italians were celebrating wildly, the referee blew his whistle and raised his right hand: offside.

The linesman had also raised his flag.

"Yes!! Offside!!!"

"There's still a chance!!!"

Instantly, the tavern's mood lifted, this was a feeling of being saved from disaster.

Even though they knew there probably wouldn't be any more miracles tonight, deep down, they still yearned for that glimmer of hope.

They said they weren't watching anymore, that they were going home, but their bu*ts didn't move from their seats, their eyes were still glued to the TV screen. This is what being a football fan means.

"Cazzo!!"

As Chiellini passed by De Rocca, he was still muttering under his breath, he didn't think it was offside. But the referee had blown his whistle.

Julien wiped the sweat from his face. Throughout this period, he had tried desperately to link up the front line.

But it was the same old problem, his teammates couldn't hold onto the ball.

Giroud's dropping back wasn't as effective as Benzema's. He was better suited to battling center-backs in the penalty area, creating space for wingers.

Whenever Julien made a move, three players would converge on him.

Even when he drifted toward the center, without other teammates to draw attention, he would be marked out of the game.

Ribéry on the left could barely manage to get to the byline for crosses, but that was it.

Italy simply defended against Ribéry's cutting inside and let him cross from the byline.

"Huff!"

Julien exhaled heavily. He needed a chance! Just one chance!

Blanc quickly made a substitution during the dead ball, taking off the aging Diarra and bringing on Matuidi.

Having Matuidi partner with Cabaye should at least enable them to get the ball to the front line in midfield!

Unfortunately, this substitution only strengthened the defense. At least Matuidi could run and stick to Pirlo.

Italy's attacks were repeatedly intercepted by the French team. But time was also ticking away, minute by minute.

Italy made their own changes. Prandelli substituted Nocerino for De Rossi, then Motta for Cassano.

This was to strengthen the defense.

Looking at the clock showing over eighty minutes, Prandelli planned to gradually tighten the defense and see out the remaining time.

He would win!

81:32

Deschamps looked at the time on the scoreboard and said to Zidane with a bitter smile, "For the upcoming World Cup qualifiers, I might have to replace at least half the squad."

Zidane nodded slightly, saying nothing more.

At this moment, he was like those silent French fans, slowly dying inside while yearning for a miracle.

He looked toward De Rocca. Somehow, Zidane had an intuition that De Rocca would become France's hero.

He looked again toward the Bastia fans across the way.

The white "De Rocca" banners kept undulating, like Mediterranean evening breezes rippling the water, spreading in circles, gently lapping the shore.

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