[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca":3,"chapter-emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-chapter-399":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1556136,2020,"Chapter 399: Chapter-399 A Letter","emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-chapter-399",399,"\u003Cp>A \"Five-Three Plan\": Champions League in five years, Premier League in three.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To Julien, the timeline seemed almost conservative. But naturally, he wouldn't say so at this stage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After informing Chataigner, giving him time to prepare mentally—Julien opened his laptop and logged into the backend of The Player's Tribune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He would post his first article as a verified player.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The platform had been ready for weeks. His brother Rene had already spent considerable money on advertising. Once Julien published, the full promotional campaign would launch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now was the perfect moment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By tonight at the latest, news of Liverpool's Saudi-backed takeover would leak—the buyers themselves would ensure it. And they'd make clear their primary target: Julien De Rocca.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The attention would be massive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Simultaneously launching The Player's Tribune with the article Julien had written last night would introduce the platform to millions of football fans in one stroke.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then the site would release its backlog of pieces from other players—personal letters, reflections, insider perspectives they'd been preparing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After that, the platform would essentially be established. It would just need consistent management.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sponsorship wouldn't be an issue either. Abdullah had already secured a five-year advertising contract.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Julien uploaded his document. The backend automatically formatted it. He previewed the layout—perfect—and published.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Player's Tribune's inaugural article went live.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"To Antoine\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When I write these opening words, it's 2 AM in Amsterdam. Outside my hotel window, the night sky hangs dark and silent, absolutely still.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet in my ears, the roar from the final whistle still echoes like crashing waves.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just hours ago, my teammates and I completed a celebration that bordered on madness. But when I returned alone to my room and opened the Bastia supporters' forum, I found a post titled: \"If There Must Be a Farewell, Let It End in Perfect Wholeness\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I fell silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Antoine, I've never met you.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But tonight, through your father's words, I feel I can see you—a young man my age, a soul who once cheered for me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two years ago, someone praised my dribbling as \"unpredictable as the sea breeze.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two years ago, we shared the same pitch, the same moment in time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fate was cruel enough to take you away, yet mysterious enough to let your father's life intersect with mine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After reading that post, I sat at my computer for a long time, unable to settle. My fingers hovered over the keyboard repeatedly, rising and falling, searching for words adequate to express what churned inside me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finally, I deleted every pale, insufficient sentence and decided to write this letter—to you, to your father, to everyone who made Bastia a lighthouse in my life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looking back now, the championship's clamor feels distant—as distant as the dust rising from the gravel pitch in Bondy, drifting across fourteen years to reach me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I come from Bondy, a suburb of Paris. That place molded my earliest football dreams.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At four years old, the irregular black-and-white ball I kicked at Stade Leo Lagrange was actually something my brother pulled from a rubbish heap. Its stitching had split open, dark stuffing poking through the gaps. But when I kicked it, I felt the entire world vibrating beneath my feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back then, I didn't understand what talent meant. I only knew that when the ball rolled across broken gravel into our makeshift goal—two battered bins—the old men watching from the sideline would drop their bottles to applaud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kicking that misshapen ball, I never imagined I'd one day stand on top of European football.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Football was my only escape from reality. But it also became the place where I lost myself amid fame and pressure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>June 7, 2011—a Tuesday afternoon, I think. That year, my form was terrible. An adductor injury made every explosive movement feel like knives cutting through muscle. The player you saw wasn't the best version of me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These details your father probably didn't know. Just as I didn't know that five months later, you'd be gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The world lost someone who loved football.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Around that same time, on my seventeenth birthday, I made the mistake that sent me to prison. I never thought fate would grant me a second chance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Bastia gave me that chance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Monsieur Chataigner told me firmly: \"Julien, this isn't the end. It's where you begin again.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Coach Hadzibegic trusted me, saying simply: \"Julien—for Bastia.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My teammates passed me the ball with confidence, allowing me to complete our attacks, to finish what we'd started together.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And your father, Antoine—sitting in the second row of the South Stand, his presence became the warmest gaze I felt during every home match.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I didn't know the story behind it. Didn't know that every goal I scored carried the weight of two lives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Antoine, your father said this trophy was my farewell gift to Bastia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He's half right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More accurately, this trophy represents a promise we all fulfilled together—you, your father, Monsieur Chataigner, Coach Hadzibegic, every supporter who roared my name from the stands, and that four-year-old boy kicking a torn ball on Bondy's gravel. All of us won this match together.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It's my repayment to Bastia. My thanks to everyone who believed in me. And my tribute to you, Antoine—the young man who once cheered for me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yes, offers from elite clubs have arrived.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I won't deceive you. This will be my final season wearing Bastia's blue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But please believe me—this decision came with great difficulty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lifting that trophy beneath Amsterdam's night sky, I wished desperately that time would freeze in that single second.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet this is football's nature: the most beautiful meetings often herald departure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But departure doesn't mean forgetting. It means preparing for a better reunion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So through this letter, I want to make a promise—to you, to every Bastia supporter:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No matter where my career takes me, Bastia will always be my second home. Bastia's blue has merged with my blood, becoming an inseparable part of who I am.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Someday, after I've competed across Europe's great leagues, when I feel my playing career approaching its end, I will return here.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not as some sentimental final act. But as coming home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Returning to Stade Armand Cesari to take one last shot, make one last run, hear one last time the sea breeze and roar of Bastia's faithful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When that day comes, I hope to retire as a Bastia player. To hang up my boots here, where it all began.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By then, I hope to use everything I've learned at the highest level to help Bastia develop the next \"Julien\"—perhaps a kid from Bondy, perhaps a young man who loves football just as you did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This isn't merely a promise. It's my deepest connection to this land.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beginning at Bastia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ending at Bastia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you, Antoine, for showing me that football transcends winning and losing—it's about life and legacy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you to your father for teaching me that every goal carries countless dreams and expectations.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you to every staff member, coach, and teammate who gave me their trust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thank you to every Bastia supporter whose roar pushed me beyond my limits time and again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tonight, this trophy belongs to Bastia. To Corsica. And to you, Antoine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If we must say goodbye, let us part in the most perfect way possible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But remember—this isn't forever.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It's a farewell that promises a better reunion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When the sea breeze sweeps across Corsica's peaks again, when the roar returns to Stade Armand Cesari, you'll know: that boy from Bondy will always be proud to wear Bastia's colors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Julien reviewed the published article one final time through the user interface. Everything looked perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He called Rene. \"Watch Sky Sports UK. Once they officially announce Liverpool's takeover, start the advertising campaign.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Got it!\" His brother's excitement was obvious. This would be their venture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That afternoon, Bastia's chartered plane soared across Europe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Julien leaned against the window, watching the landscape blur past below. A sudden surge of ambition rose within him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bastia's story had ended.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A new chapter was about to begin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>________________________________________________________\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Check out my patreon where you can read more chapters:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>patreon.com\u002FLorianFiction\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thanks for your support!\u003C\u002Fp>",1347,"2026-06-06T07:35:06.183Z",1,"novelbin.me","a50c778d6b90a20df70bc5aef0f454676bd1fcded9eeb38853a6dbda5c2e5087","emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-chapter-400","emperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-chapter-398",628,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Femperor-of-football-julien-de-rocca-cover.jpg"]