Mané was like a black whirlwind.
He burst out from the crowd, charging so fast that De Bruyne's pass seemed almost like a chase-down ball.
But he didn't stop the ball.
Instead, he pushed it forward with another touch. Sirigu had initially wanted to rush out, but seeing Mané's pace, he quickly calculated and retreated back into the penalty area to guard the goal.
In the center, Alex and Silva buried their heads and sprinted back desperately.
Since Jallet had just pushed forward in attack, he couldn't get back in time, leaving only left center-back Alex to cover.
But Mané was too fast. He gave Alex no real chance to defend, forcing him to just chase behind.
However, just as Alex and Silva were both focusing on Mané's side, and even Sirigu was shifting toward the left...
Mané suddenly stopped dead. Alex and Silva, not expecting the sudden halt, couldn't brake in time.
This sharp stop created a massive gap between them.
Mané passed the ball.
Bang!
On the right flank, Julien's figure was equally fierce, charging forward in full burst mode, sprinting relentlessly.
If not for staying onside, Julien would have already burst into the penalty area.
Mané's pass came right into his attacking zone.
Julien took one step forward and quickly curled a shot with his left foot, sending the ball straight toward the near post.
When Sirigu saw Mané's pass, he was already rushing toward the center. After Julien's shot, he desperately lunged to make a save, but the distance was too great.
Julien's shot wasn't particularly fast, but it was precise.
The ball quietly arced through the air, carrying the hopes of all the Bastia faithful, and nestled into the net.
BOOM!
Instantly, the entire Armand Cesari Stadium erupted!
"Julien!"
"Julien!!"
The roar shook the heavens and earth—twenty thousand fans' collective will focused in this single moment.
Apart from shouting "Julien" at the top of their lungs, no words could express their emotions.
After scoring, Julien pointed at Mané, then turned and slid on his knees, gliding past the corner flag.
Behind him, he left three parallel lines in the grass.
Rising to his feet, Julien pointed to the badge on his chest, then nodded while spreading his arms wide toward the stands.
The fans in the front rows wanted nothing more than to charge onto the pitch and celebrate wildly with Julien.
Unfortunately, the security staff held them back.
But this did nothing to dampen their explosive passion—
"Julien, you're a Bastia legend!"
"We're all your die-hard fans!"
"That's right! Kick their asses! Send them back to Paris!"
His teammates rushed up to embrace Julien.
Julien hugged Mané and exclaimed, "Great pass! Keep playing like this—the counterattacks depend on you and me."
Then De Bruyne high-fived Julien and said, "I thought you couldn't run anymore, otherwise I would have passed to you."
Julien chuckled, "I can't keep running constantly, but a few bursts here and there are no problem."
On the sidelines, Hadzibegic threw his head back and roared "Bastia!" to the sky.
This goal absolutely thrilled him—this was counterattacking football at its finest! When you have two lightning-fast players up front, with both wings flying, who could possibly stop them?!
He turned to glance at the substitutes' bench.
Bastia still had a big bulky striker who hadn't come on yet, and his pace was equally outstanding.
If not for Hadzibegic's concern that bringing on Lukaku would weaken the team's defense too much, he would definitely have thrown caution to the wind.
The thought of three arrows firing forward simultaneously was enough to get anyone excited.
In the stands, Zidane sat beside Deschamps. At kickoff, Zidane had still been in the box and hadn't come out yet.
Deschamps looked at Zidane and said, "This trip to Bastia hasn't been in vain for you. Julien continues to display top-level wing play. That finish was absolutely beautiful."
Zidane smiled, "So congratulations to you for securing such a talent. I'm quite optimistic about your chances of taking the group winner's ticket and going straight to Brazil."
Hearing this, Deschamps shook his head and said.
"Julien alone isn't enough. I'm still looking for more players, still trying out new ones. The results so far haven't been great."
"Try Raphaël at center-back, and consider him in midfield too."
Zidane said, pointing toward Kanté in the center circle. "Having watched several Bastia matches, I've noticed this kid has terrifying coverage area and tremendous running ability. He might not look tall enough to play defensive midfielder, but facts prove he does it very well."
"I'm already keeping an eye on him. Bastia's players are really excellent. If only that Kevin De Bruyne were French—his passing is quite good, his progression too. France currently lacks midfield players with his kind of talent."
"Perhaps Paul from Juventus could work," Zidane chimed in.
Deschamps nodded as well, "He's on my watch list too. I'll gradually give these players opportunities until I find the most suitable lineup."
As they spoke, the match continued on the pitch.
Ancelotti pointed toward the flanks, wanting his PSG players to attack more down the wings.
Honestly, seeing Julien made him quite envious.
If PSG's squad had a wing destroyer like Julien, Ancelotti would be completely confident about leading the big Paris club to success in the Champions League.
Unfortunately, PSG's wings lacked a player of Julien's caliber.
Facing Bastia's defensive wall, they were struggling somewhat. Particularly after Hadzibegic substituted out Cioni, rotating Choplin and Angoula at right-back, Bastia's defense no longer had such obvious weak points.
On the pitch, during a PSG cross, as Angoula and Ibrahimović contested the ball, Zlatan went down, then got up and casually shoved Angoula.
Angoula swatted Zlatan's hand away and said in English, "What are you doing? Want to fight? You're welcome to try!"
When Angoula knocked his hand away, Ibrahimović was immediately displeased. Hearing these words, he directly confronted Angoula: "What, you want to get beaten up at home?"
"Come on then! Softie!"
As a street kid who'd grown up wandering, Angoula had a thuggish look and showed no fear of Ibrahimović.
PSG forward Gameiro quickly came over to pull Ibrahimović away, "Ibra, Cool down."
Ibrahimović actually knew that Angoula was just trying to provoke him.
He was crystal clear about these small clubs' tactics. But he'd never been the type to suppress his feelings for the so-called greater good.
He never would be! Whenever he felt displeased, he was ready to flip the player at any moment.
It was that simple.
After Ibrahimović glared hard at Angoula, he threw himself back into the match.
In this game, Ibrahimović's position was quite restricted.
A man's fearsome reputation sometimes restricts him. Bastia was giving Ibrahimović special attention.
Instead, Gameiro beside Ibrahimović had more opportunities. This French striker who'd first emerged at Château-Thierry, then truly taken off at Lorient, had twice won the Ligue 1 silver boot—his ability was formidable.
To get him, PSG had spent over ten million euros to bring him from Lorient to Paris.
Moreover, despite being only about 1.7 meters tall, Gameiro played like a "target man."
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