"Defend! Defend!"
Hadzibegic's voice cut through the air, his brief flicker of disappointnt over the missed chance was already buried beneath tactical pragmatism.
He quickly called out to his players, urging them not to be affected by the missed shot and to continue defending.
From the touchline, Antonetti gestured frantically for his team to surge forward after the goalkeeper's clearance, but Rennes had tasted Bastia's venom. The lower-division side's attacking threat had planted seeds of doubt in minds that should have been confident.
The visitors couldn't afford to gamble on their right flank anymore. Their attacks beca predictable—channeled through the left wing and the congested center, their offensive arsenal suddenly beca inadequate.
Hadzibegic watched this scene from the sidelines and nodded approvingly. This was the situation he had anticipated.
Rennes was not a team that excelled in positional warfare.
Rennes thrived on fluid, expansive football, the kind that required space and multiple attacking vectors. Now, with De Rocca's re presence shackling their right-back, preventing the overlapping runs that powered their best moves, they had lost another attacking option.
Although Rennes' attacking line gradually pressed forward as ti passed, attempting quick passes around the penalty area to tear apart Bastia's defensive line, Bastia's players maintained extrely high defensive concentration. With their physical strength at its peak in the first half, they gave Rennes no opportunities whatsoever.
"Rennes still hasn't found a way to break through Bastia's defense. Despite controlling seventy percent of possession, they can't convert that control into attacking efficiency," the comntator observed the situation on the field. "On the contrary, Bastia, boosted by their ho advantage, are growing more confident in defense. They show none of the nervousness typical of lower-division teams facing Ligue 1 opponents."
"Moreover, with Rennes concentrating defensive players on the right flank to contain De Rocca, Bastia's left-wing counterattacks are becoming increasingly effective. Rennes are now extrely passive!"
On the sidelines, Antonetti saw thirty minutes had passed and his frown deepened. He realized that while they had successfully limited De Rocca, if it weren't for Bastia's other players having relatively lower attacking capabilities, Rennes would have already conceded.
If this continued, De Rocca might not get to showcase his abilities, but Antonetti didn't dare gamble on the other players never scoring.
He needed to find a solution.
In the stands, Mbappé wasn't particularly interested in the other players. His gaze remained fixed on Julien, though occasionally he would glance at Jires on Rennes' bench, wondering if he as substitute would get a chance to play in the second half and compete directly with Julien.
"Kylian, that De Rocca isn't that impressive. I've only seen him make one decent breakthrough and pass. Most of the ti, he's just making simple transitions without any notable performances," said six-year-old Ethan Mbappé, sharing his thoughts.
Mbappé smiled and patted his head. "De Rocca will have his monts. Don't worry, there's still an hour left."
Wilfried, asserting his role as a football coach, began educating Ethan early, "Ethan, rember this—a good striker doesn't need to be constantly on the ball. As long as he can be in the right position when opportunities arise and put the ball in the net, he's a good striker."
Ethan nodded thoughtfully.
Like all the Bastia fans in the stadium, Mbappé was anticipating Julien's mont.
Julien road the field. During this period, he felt relatively relaxed. The opposition had at least three players on the right flank, ready to form a defensive line whenever he received the ball.
So he played the role of phantom, drifting between spaces, creating chaos through his presence while his teammates exploited the gaps his movent created.
Then it happened.
Rennes' latest raid into Bastia's final third broke down, the ball recoiling off a defender's shin to Rothen's feet. Without hesitation, Rothen sent the ball to David in the center circle.
Hadzibegic's pre-match instructions echoed in David's mind: Don't conserve energy—you only have half a match to make your mark.
David's first touch was perfect, his second explosive. He drove forward like a man possessed, forcing Rennes players to converge from all angles. The space began to compress around him, but that was exactly what Bastia needed.
Seeing the situation develop, Julien imdiately made a forward run. As he moved, the defensive players around him began to shift as well.
But De Rocca had the initiative. Defense is always reactive.
After his forward run, Rennes players could only try to predict his intentions and position themselves to cut off his passing lanes.
De Rocca advanced down the right flank.
After David carried the ball to within seven or eight ters of the penalty area, he quickly passed it to De Rocca's feet.
Julien received the ball in space, but that space was shrinking fast. The crowd imdiately erupted in cheers, all eyes were now focused on him.
Danzel approached from behind, his powerful strides eating up the ground. Apam positioned himself ahead.
Players like Apam, with their physical build, relied on speed and strength. When facing De Rocca, he didn't dare give him any space. Having been beaten by De Rocca multiple tis before, he didn't hesitate this ti—he launched himself into a sliding tackle aid at the ball!
When Julien saw Apam's sliding motion, he was already prepared. With a delicate touch, he nudged the ball forward a split second before Apam's challenge, sending it past the defender's feet. In a flash, he lifted his leg to avoid the sliding tackle, took a few quick steps, and continued his advance with the ball.
Now only one defender remained in front of him, with Danzel still pursuing from behind.
The stadium held its breath.
Julien's eyes found David in the center, unmarked and ready. The pass was inch-perfect, finding David's favored left foot with precision.
Goalkeeper Costil was already moving, reading the danger. Behind him, Boyer who had been marking De Rocca abandoned his position to provide cover, leaving holes in the defensive line.
David shaped to shoot, his body language screaming "goal." Costil committed, diving to his right.
But David had other plans. Instead of shooting, he slid the ball sideways, finding the one player who had continued his run into the most dangerous position of all.
Julien De Rocca.
Empty net. Side-foot finish. Inevitable.
The ball nestled in the far corner.
GOAL!
Bastia had taken the lead!!
The Armand Cesari Stadium didn't just erupt—it exploded. Every Bastia fan was on their feet, scarves whirling above their heads. The noise was deafening.
"DE ROCCA! DE ROCCA! DE ROCCA!"
The cheers rged into one voice, forming a sword that pierced the diterranean night sky.
In the stands, Mbappé leaped from his seat, his usual composure forgotten in the mont of pure joy. He grabbed Ethan's shoulders, shaking him gently.
"Did you see that? Did you see it? I told you he would have his mont!"
Ethan, whose view had been blocked by the celebrating fans, could only nod excitedly, swept up in the infectious euphoria around him.
On the pitch, Julien sprinted toward the North Stand, where the most passionate ultras were creating a wall of noise. He stopped directly beneath them, pounding his chest where the club crest sat over his heart.
As Hadzibegic had said, this crest wasn't just fabric and thread—it was Bastia's soul.
Now, he had raised that soul high!
"De Rocca!!!"
The fans in the stands were so excited they had no words left. They could only keep shouting De Rocca's na to release their emotions.
That surge of passion shot straight to the skies, boiling like a boundless blue ocean!
David reached him first, wrapping him in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet and shouted and roared. Soon, more and more teammates arrived and joined the celebration.
This was Bastia's mont.
And it was only the beginning.
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