Penalty!
When Chapron pointed to the penalty spot, Lyon fans were completely devastated.
90 minutes, and four minutes of added ti.
And now, trailing at score of 1-2, they had given Bastia a penalty.
Lyon players surrounded Chapron in protest. Even though they knew the chances of overturning the decision were slim, they were willing to try.
This decision had pushed them to the edge of the cliff.
"Yes, this is a penalty! Koscielny kicked De Rocca's leg—I saw it clearly. Rember, appeals also count toward the ti." Chapron appeared very confident.
In fact, whether comntators or fans, after seeing the replay, no one would question this penalty.
De Rocca had driven into the penalty area, and after his habitual shoulder drop and change of direction, fatigue from playing the full match had caused him to not quickly connect to his next move, failing to complete the escape.
But this also ant Koscielny's tackle directly caught Julien's foot.
Originally, Bastia's first penalty taker was Maolida, with Rothen as second choice. Now with Maolida off the pitch.
Rothen picked up the ball and handed it to De Rocca. "Go on, a final hat-trick!"
Other teammates also ca over to encourage Julien.
Vincent patted his shoulder. "Co on, finish them off. We're waiting to celebrate the championship with you!"
Julien took the football. He took a deep breath and walked toward the penalty spot.
The opposing goalkeeper Lloris even walked to the penalty spot. "Listen, kid, I'm going to save your shot. Look at your legs shaking from all that dribbling—do you even have the strength to shoot?"
Julien couldn't be bothered with his trash talk, pushing him away and placing the ball properly.
Chapron also signaled for Lloris to return to the goal area.
Lloris stood in front of the goal, constantly gesturing, jumping up and down, trying to distract De Rocca.
Julien looked down at the football.
Scenes flashed through his mind—the painting of Bastia's Terra-Vecchia center building; the TIFO at Stade Furiani; the fans' cheers; Bertrand's story about the champion-flavored pastis; and the words he had spoken to Bastia fans.
Scene after scene appeared in his mind.
He knew this penalty might just be the icing on the cake, but he believed every Bastia fan was waiting for him to score.
A French Cup final hat-trick—he would be the first to achieve it, wouldn't he?
At this mont.
Countless eyes were focused entirely on Julien. Tonight was undoubtedly De Rocca's night.
He had once again dominated the match.
Just as the broadcast comntator said—"After tonight, Bastia sporting director Châtaigner's desk will be piled high with offers for De Rocca."
Tweet!
The whistle sounded.
Julien wiped away sweat, exhaled deeply, then began his run-up.
He paid no attention to Lloris throughout.
All his focus was entirely on his own feet and the football.
The countless shooting drills on the training ground overlapped with this mont.
Behind every shot were thousands upon thousands of leg swings.
BANG!
His left foot struck the football powerfully.
The ball flew toward the goal, Lloris dove, but what echoed through the stadium was a tallic sound.
CLANG!!
The ball hit the underside of the crossbar and bounced into the net.
Perfect angle!
WHOOSH!
After a gasp of amazent ca the eruption of the Stade de France!
The stands where Bastia fans sat exploded with vibration, their sound waves washing over everyone present, making eardrums ache.
Hat-trick!
This was the first player in French Cup history to achieve such a feat!
Never before had anyone managed a hat-trick in the final!
Even the great Papin had only managed one in the 1991 round of 16 for Marseille.
The mont the ball went in, Julien roared and charged toward the stands.
Along the way, he tore off his shirt and threw it aside, running bare-chested with arms spread wide, shouting "C'est moi!!" as he reached the stands and faced the fans with arms outstretched!
Rothen and others also rushed over, shouting toward the stands "C'est magique!" and "Pour la Bastia!!"
Fans were so excited they wanted to vault the barriers, but they were held back, only able to wave their arms continuously and chant Julien's na.
Amid the cheers, Julien continued roaring "This is !!"
His emotions were ignited by the Bastia fans, finally achieving fulfillnt for this season!
He embraced his teammates tightly in celebration.
In the stands.
The De Rocca family wept with joy.
Châtaigner and Geronimi stood cheering, already dreaming of the Europa League.
Wenger applauded De Rocca, smiling with eyes full of appreciation.
Blanc calculated how to promote Julien for the European Championship.
Zidane considered how to help De Rocca improve.
Elion showed the contentnt of watching his own child grow up.
Mbappé cheered while imagining himself in Julien's position.
And many others—Modesto, Bertrand, Leonardo, Dominique, Hadzibegic—everyone found their own dreams amid the trembling of the Stade de France.
A football stadium is where emotions converge at their extres.
Bastia's heaven was Lyon's hell.
Aulas stared blankly at the pitch, eyes unfocused, lost in thought.
Garde slumped into the coaching chair.
Players hung their heads, silently walking toward the center circle.
Even the usually fiery Lloris had his temper shot away by De Rocca's perfect strike.
Bastia players celebrated quickly—they couldn't wait for the match to end.
Rothen brought Julien's shirt over and helped him put it on.
He had imdiately gone to pick it up when Julien had thrown it away.
Chapron routinely gave Julien a yellow card.
But it no longer mattered.
The match continued. The joy of Bastia fans never ceased.
When added ti ended, when Chapron blew the final whistle, Bastia fans felt they had seen God!
A surge of hot blood seed to burst from their heads!
They had won!
They were French Cup champions!
They were the double winners!!
The instant tremor made the entire Stade de France feel like an earthquake, but this earthquake was only on one half.
The other half, Lyon's side, was as silent as in a funeral.
Everyone from Bastia's bench and coaching staff rushed onto the pitch, tackling De Rocca to the ground in a massive pile-on.
All Bastia mbers lay stacked together in the center of the pitch.
"FORZA, Bastia!!"
In the stands, fans roared the sa phrase.
CRASH!!
Amid the cheers, Ultras Bastia threw a barrel into the pitch.
No one knew how they had smuggled it in.
When the barrel hit the ground, it shattered into pieces.
The rich pastis inside splashed out, moistening this patch of grass.
Under the lights, even the grass beca dazzling.
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