The offending Valero kept waving his finger at the referee, "No, this is absolutely not a penalty. I touched the ball first."
The home Rouen fans kept making noise, even shouting "corrupt referee" and "dive."
The referee was very firm, pointing to his own eyes and saying, "I saw it. This was indeed a foul."
And at the assistant referee's prompting, he ran to the sideline to show Quevilly-Rouen head coach Garde a yellow card.
Because Garde had just unleashed a tirade at the fourth official.
Garde shrugged his shoulders and muttered some more.
He knew he would get a yellow card, and he even knew this was a penalty, but at such an important moment, as head coach, he had to step forward.
He had to put pressure on the referee.
He couldn't let the players protest and get yellow cards, could he? In this match, they already had a high risk of yellow cards.
Garde sat down on the bench, gulped down two mouthfuls of water, and sighed heavily. Thinking of De Rocca, he asked the assistant coach beside him, "Any ideas?"
The assistant coaches all shook their heads.
Their expressions were somewhat grim—this Bastia was even harder to play against than Marseille.
De Rocca's point was really difficult to handle.
Garde couldn't help but complain, "Where the hell did Bastia find such a monstrous player? I'm so damn envious. Why doesn't our Rouen have this kind of player?"
No one answered.
On the field.
Maolida held the ball and stood at the penalty spot.
Beep!
When the whistle sounded, Maolida cleanly blasted the ball into the top corner, giving goalkeeper Issa Coulibaly no chance at all.
The ball hit the net!
0-1.
Bastia took the lead away from home!
Maolida rushed toward Julien, lifted him straight up, and roared "Julien!"
The rest of the players also rushed over.
They were all beaming with joy. This was the first step toward reaching the final!
Hadzibegic saw the team take the lead, celebrated with a few punches in the air, then calmed down.
This season, Bastia was the most attacking team in the French Cup, mainly because they had thrashed lower-level league teams in the early rounds.
In the seventh round of the French Cup, they had crushed Sens-Beaujeu 8-0 away, and in the eighth round and round of 32, they had won both matches by four goals.
So, playing against a National team, especially with Julien on the field—was one goal really that much?
The players walked toward the center circle.
On the way, Rothen patted Julien on the back and said, "Be careful, don't get injured. Their pitch quality isn't great, and they play rough. Watch yourself."
Hearing Rothen's words, Julien felt warmth in his heart.
He nodded, "Got it."
Beep!
The match continued.
Quevilly-Rouen didn't rush to attack. They were worried about giving Bastia more attacking space, so they wanted to stabilize the situation.
But Bastia had no intention of giving them a chance to recover.
They increased the pressing intensity in the final third.
Especially David, who ran very actively. This might be his last experience competing for a cup title with Bastia, and he wanted to leave something for the Bastia fans.
He didn't want to become one of those names that are no longer remembered after leaving the club.
So, he was especially active.
The Quevilly-Rouen players' technical ability wasn't strong to begin with.
After just a few passes, Bastia intercepted the ball.
Under Hadzibegic's instructions, Julien increased his range of movement. He not only suddenly increased Quevilly-Rouen's defensive pressure but also made their players' positioning somewhat chaotic.
They hadn't anticipated that Julien would move to the center.
When Julien got the ball, Rouen couldn't even determine who should mark him, and could only have the nearest player cover.
In the hasty covering defense, Julien slipped past them at first contact.
Julien drove forward with the ball straight through the middle!
In front of Quevilly-Rouen's penalty area, there was panic everywhere.
Defensive players rushed toward Julien from all directions, forming a three-man circle to try to stop him.
But they completely didn't expect that during his dribbling breakthrough, Julien suddenly accelerated.
Whoosh!
Even the home fans were stunned by this move from Julien.
Single-handedly, he beat four players!
Center-back Vanukia panicked and went down in a sliding tackle toward Julien.
Julien suddenly stopped, then cut again.
Face to face with the goalkeeper!
His right foot planted on the ground, his left foot swung back preparing for a shot. The moment the goalkeeper reacted, his ankle flicked.
He kicked in the opposite direction!
Swoosh!
Issa was helpless.
0-2!
After scoring, Julien didn't even celebrate, just smiled and pumped his fist toward his teammates.
"Goal!! Too easy!!" The French Cup broadcast commentator exclaimed. "Julien's dribbling is becoming more and more effortless. Against a lower-level team like Quevilly-Rouen, even his speed isn't a disadvantage—they simply can't defend against him! It's a complete mismatch!"
"Zidane was right—this match is just Julien's performance before the final!"
Bastia.
At the Sunset Café Bar, cheers rang out continuously.
The TV kept replaying the slow-motion footage of Julien beating four players.
"Julien is so cool! Without slow motion, I couldn't even see his movements clearly!"
"I'm now full of confidence in the team. I feel that under Julien's leadership, we can definitely recreate the 1981 French Cup victory."
"Thirty-one years... time flies so fast. When we won the cup that year, my father was still alive. We haven't won the French Cup for a full thirty-one years. Without Julien, who knows how many more sets of thirty-one years we'd have to wait."
"Julien, win this damn French Cup and give us the double Crown!"
The Double Crown!
Cheers mixed with the sound of clinking glasses echoed in every Bastia fan's heart, all crying out about their championship dreams.
Madrid, Spain, Conde de Orgaz district.
In Zidane's mansion.
Morientes sighed, "This definitely isn't his real ability. He should be in the top flight, not wasting time in Ligue 2."
Watching the referee on TV repeatedly pull-out yellow cards.
Morientes felt nervous for Julien's opponents—truly, except for fouling, there was no way to stop Julien.
Zidane nodded, "Among all the players I've seen, his ball-handling ability is in the strongest tier. He just lacks in physicality, but those things can be trained. Ball sense—you're either born with it or you'll never have it."
"But speed is also innate. His speed isn't fast, which will hinder his performance in top-level leagues. Dribbling without speed is very difficult," Morientes said.
Zidane smiled and shook his head, asking back, "Do you really think his speed isn't fast?"
Morientes looked puzzled, "From the current matches, it certainly seems so."
Zidane wagged his finger, "That's exactly Julien's intention. Put it this way—his speed could be said to be no worse than Di María's or Kaká's."
"Ah, what? Are you sure you're not joking? De Rocca's speed? No worse than Di María's or Kaká's?!"
Morientes clearly didn't believe it.
"Blanco told me this, and combined with multiple matches where Julien showed obvious second-gear acceleration, I don't think he was lying to me."
Zidane smiled and continued, "Perhaps we can bring him to Real Madrid and have him race against Di María—whoever's slower becomes the substitute."
Morientes pressed, "Are you confident you can poach Julien?"
Zidane shook his head.
"Then you should at least poach that Kylian Mbappé."
Zidane didn't answer.
Meanwhile.
Beep!
The halftime whistle sounded on the TV broadcast.
The score: 0-4.
Bastia's advancement to the final was basically secured.
Zidane said to Morientes, "I suddenly feel like Julien might achieve the Double Crown this season."
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