2-0!
This scoreline, this lead—Bastia's celebration swept across the Cesari Stadium with the sea breeze.
The cheers continued to rise in great waves!
"Champions! We are champions!"
"Forty-four years! It's been forty-four years since our last Ligue 2 championship!"
The fans were beside themselves with excitent.
Perhaps for so prestigious clubs, anything less than a top-League championship or Champions League title would be beneath notice.
But for Bastia—a small club that had once teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, point deductions, and relegation—a Ligue 2 championship was the highest honor.
Enough to make the fans cheer themselves hoarse.
Boucher listened to the stadium-wide cheers and shook his head helplessly, slumping onto the bench.
Honestly, being Bastia's opponent in such a crucial early championship-clinching match left him feeling truly helpless.
Who wants to be the backdrop for their opponent's triumph?
Who wants to listen to the opposing fans' celebrations?
Moreover, Châteauroux had nearly fallen into the relegation zone this season, yet here they were, forced to watch Bastia celebrate their Ligue 2 championship.
Such disparity in fortune was hard for Boucher to accept.
Whistle!
As the referee's whistle blew, Châteauroux's players continued with the kickoff, but their attacking desire was utterly lacking.
The players even seed to be giving up.
They simply couldn't beat Bastia. The last ti at Châteauroux's own ho ground, they had been easily dispatched 2-0 by a Bastia side without Julien, let alone now when Bastia had acquired this devastating weapon!
Already two goals down in just over ten minutes.
How could they possibly compete?
Châteauroux's players felt bitter inside, yet had to accept this reality—they would rely serve as stepping stones for Bastia's championship.
This night belonged to Bastia.
And it belonged to Julien.
Amid the stadium-wide cheers, in the 25th minute, Maolida's shot was saved, but Julien was there for the rebound, slotting ho at the near post.
The mont the ball hit the net, Châteauroux's players hung their heads even lower, with no communication between them.
Julien sprinted out of the penalty area.
After a sliding knee celebration, he rose and spread his arms wide, embracing the cheers cascading from the stands.
Blue flags fluttered everywhere!
"Julien!"
Bastia fans roared his na one after another, their passion ignited, waving their arms frantically, their faces flushed red with excitent.
"It's completely over! De Rocca with a brace has killed the match. The gap in class between these two sides is too obvious—this isn't even a contest at the sa level."
Mbappé listened to the Ligue 2 comntary coming through, dancing with excitent.
Alan was also shouting, "Mon dieu! Julien is truly incredible! Kylian, I have to admit, your idol really is extraordinary!"
"Of course! This is De Rocca. I've watched so many of his matches. Believe , this is just the beginning of his career. His future extends far beyond Corsica, far beyond France. He'll beco an idol to many more people, just like Zidane, like Henry, like Ronaldo!"
Mbappé watched Julien, surrounded by teammates and lost to the broadcast caras, the flush of excitent still bright on his face.
He was wondering, "So what's the next destination?"
Mbappé knew Julien would definitely leave Bastia, but where to next?
He followed the newspapers and dia daily for transfer rumors about De Rocca, and had even asked Julien directly.
Julien hadn't told him, but the dia had.
PSG, Real Madrid, Arsenal, Juventus, Chelsea—one prestigious club na after another, one money-waving figure after another, constantly flashed through Mbappé's mind.
He fantasized about the day when he too could be like Julien, with European giants waving their checkbooks to secure his signature.
Would such a day co?
Lost in thought, Mbappé began to picture himself in place of the Julien on screen.
Was this what it felt like to be the center of attention?
"4-0!!"
"De Rocca with a hat trick!!"
Outside the Cesari Stadium, Bertrand and other fans who hadn't managed to get tickets were gathered around Old Bell's barrel, having brought out a television to watch the broadcast.
As the first half was drawing to a close, Julien had single-handedly torn through four distracted Châteauroux defenders with his dribbling on the wing.
Then he cut into the penalty area, and facing the goalkeeper, he didn't shoot imdiately.
Instead, he continued using body feints, determined to round the keeper before scoring, rolling the ball ho with ease.
4-0!
In that mont, Bertrand smiled and looked up toward Bastia's night sky.
He seed to see Jacques there.
Jacques was smiling.
They were both smiling.
The voice from the television continued: "De Rocca has completed another hat trick! This is the second hat trick of his career! And on such an important, morable championship night—I believe for Bastia fans, this evening, this championship, will be unforgettable forever."
"Break out the wine!!"
Bertrand laughed and shouted.
"Wow!!"
"Old Bell!!"
The surrounding fans called out Old Bell's na.
Soone else said, "Bertrand, it's only halfti."
Bertrand shot back, "Do you think the team will lose?"
The others imdiately countered the questioner.
"You're showing no faith in the team at all—it's a penalty: you get less to drink!"
"If we get overturned from here, I'll jump off the harbor tomorrow!"
"I believe in De Rocca!"
Bertrand caressed the aged barrel, and also touched the lines carved by Modosso—
"May 23, 1981 - French Cup Champions"
"Old Bell's Last Drop of Sweat"
"Reactivated by Julien after 31 years"
Blue paint flowed through these lines like blood through veins.
Bastia had finally returned to Ligue 1.
In the locker room, unrestrained laughter from Bastia's players echoed without any suppression, the sounds even reaching the nearby away team's changing room.
Châteauroux's players listened to these joyful sounds.
They could only smile bitterly.
On the sa pitch, in the sa space, they could only be spectators, envying their opponents' joy.
Châtaigner stood outside Bastia's locker room, embracing every staff mber in celebration.
But he didn't enter the changing room.
He wasn't needed there.
Looking through the doorway, he saw cheers, joy, and waves of passion steaming through the air.
Hadzibegic noticed Châtaigner. He walked out with a smile.
The two embraced tightly. "We've achieved our season-opening goal. But our success is only half complete."
"Yes, only half complete," Châtaigner replied.
As they separated, both n shared another knowing smile.
Then Hadzibegic said solemnly, "I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have doubted your decision to bring in Julien. Fortunately, I didn't have the authority to overrule your decision!"
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