They entered the Giuseppe Meazza Stadium.
Julien and his teammates quickly changed their gear and took to the pitch to warm up, preparing for tonight's match.
By now, roughly half the stadium had filled with supporters.
The entire venue was awash in blue and black.
This was Julien's first time here in every sense that mattered.
He knew well that, the Rossoneri faithful called it San Siro, while the Nerazzurri insisted on Meazza.
Some even claimed: "Inter's home is the Meazza—only the other lot call it San Siro."
Originally, when the stadium was built, it was named after the district: San Siro. That's how a century of legend began.
Interestingly, the man who made that decision was Piero Pirelli—Milan's president at the time, and son of the founder of the legendary Pirelli tire company.
In 1935, AC Milan sold the ground to the city of Milan. By 1947, Inter had begun using San Siro as their home.
Then, in 1980—a year after the death of Giuseppe Meazza, the legendary forward who'd played for both Milan clubs—the city government decided to rename the stadium in his honor.
So the official name became Giuseppe Meazza Stadium.
But San Siro had been rooted in people's hearts for so long that neither the clubs nor the city ever made much effort to enforce one name over the other.
To this day, both names remained in common use across all contexts.
On Milan's metro map, the station was still labeled San Siro.
Italians didn't subscribe to the idea of club-specific names.
Every Italian used San Siro in daily conversation—including Inter president Moratti and captain Zanetti.
Every Italian business used Meazza in legal documents—including AC Milan itself.
Perhaps it was the sheer mythic weight of both clubs that made people care so much about something as small as a name.
As Julien warmed up, listening to the rolling thunder of Inter's supporters and catching sight of the Bastia away contingent in their corner, he thought about the legends soaked into this ground.
Countless Milan derbies.
What did the Milan Derby mean?
Everyone had a different answer.
To outside observers, it had once been the world's greatest derby—but now, in turbulent times, it seemed to be fading into obscurity. To the fans of both clubs, though, the derby was something else entirely: a feeling, a battle. Its very name was sacred.
Half of Milan was red and black. The other half, blue and black.
Something like that.
And then there was the infamous "Flare Derby."
That year, red-black and blue-black hatred intertwined as the northern three powers converged in the Champions League semifinals—Serie A's last united brilliance before its long decline.
That year, a storm of flares brought the derby to a sudden halt. The frozen silhouettes of Materazzi and Rui Costa became iconic.
Thinking of all this, Julien couldn't help but recall facing Shevchenko in that national team match against Ukraine.
When these players retired, it truly marked the end of an era.
Football was no longer Serie A's world.
Gone were the stars that once filled the sky in the "Little World Cup" days.
Now, football belonged to the Messi-Ronaldo duopoly.
Since Cristiano won the Ballon d'Or in 2008, Messi had claimed four straight. No one else had come close.
But a so-called "Two Kings Era"?
Just wait, Julien thought. This is only my first season. I'm coming for them both.
He would be the one to usher in the new age.
As time ticked down, the stands continued to fill. The Italian commentary team for the Europa League broadcast had already begun their buildup:
"Good evening, football fans! We're live at the great San Siro–Meazza Stadium here in Milan for the Europa League Round of 16 first leg—a marquee clash! Inter Milan host the sensational French underdogs from Corsica: Bastia."
"For Stramaccioni's Inter, this match has only one acceptable outcome: victory. With the Serie A title out of reach, the Europa League has become one of their most important targets this season."
Inter fans had arrived on time, waiting for kickoff.
As warm-ups concluded, both sides returned to their dressing rooms for final pre-match preparations.
Stramaccioni spoke quickly, direct and to the point.
"Listen up. Just a few things."
"Don't mess around in midfield with them! Their Kanté presses like a madman, Van Dijk dominates in the air. Get the ball wide early. Stretch them! Wide service needs to be quick and accurate—find Rodrigo," he gestured toward Palacio. "Attack the box hard."
"Second: watch the counter! Focus on De Rocca! Javier," He turned to Zanetti, "stick to him. Don't let him get a run going. Esteban," now Cambiasso, "cover the middle. If he gets the ball, be decisive—take him down if you have to. Don't worry about the yellow."
"Finally, set pieces are our chance! Every corner, every attacking free kick—move! If their defense doesn't screw up marking, it'll be a miracle. Capitalize!"
"Clear? No mistakes. Be efficient. Away goals are gold, but at home, we need the win. A strong start is everything. Now go!"
Stramaccioni finished his rapid-fire instructions.
Captain Zanetti picked up the thread. "Let's go. Show them this is our house."
"Forza Inter!"
The veterans still carried memories of the Grande Inter era.
Some no-name club from the sticks thought they could challenge Inter?
The younger players, meanwhile, swayed by the atmosphere, had hearts pounding with the desire to prove themselves.
Across the corridor, in Bastia's dressing room, Hadzibegic said nothing about tactics. Instead, he repeated a single chant: "Trust your teammates. Trust yourself. Trust Bastia."
Before heading out, the team gathered in their ritual—hands stacked, voices unified:
"FORZA BASTIA!"
Julien led the way out of the dressing room.
Waiting by the door was Chataigner. He embraced Julien warmly.
"I never imagined Bastia would leave France, let alone reach San Siro," Chataigner said softly. "But I believe we're writing a legendary story together. Go on—show the Italians what a French superstar looks like."
The nickname "French Superstar" had been coined by Le Journal de Bastia after the team's double over Paris and their elimination of Spurs. It had quickly caught on among Bastia's fanbase—simple, bold, powerful.
Julien smiled and shook his head, returning the embrace with quiet conviction.
"Alright."
Over the past year, they'd become more closer like friends. Chataigner had given him unconditional support. In return, Julien had delivered glory Bastia had never known.
This was Mutual elevation.
At the far end of the tunnel, Julien spotted Inter's legendary captain, Javier Zanetti.
Their eyes met as Zanetti turned his head.
Both men smiled.
Then, heads high, they strode onto the pitch together—opening night's curtain was officially rising.
Julien had heard the roar of the Meazza from inside the tunnel. But when he stepped through the mouth of that corridor, the sound became something else. It pressed against him like invisible hands, pushing him back, telling him he was an outsider here. Telling him to submit.
Julien walked forward, chin level, stride firm.
As his foot crossed the touchline, he tapped the white stripe instinctively with his toe.
Then he stepped onto tonight's stage.
The Meazza.
Around the stands, banners rippled:
"FORZA INTER SEMPRE!"
"AMALA!"
The anthem C'è solo l'Inter swelled through the terraces:
"C'è solo l'Inter per me, per me!
L'Inter siamo noi, noi, noi!
Sempre insieme cantiamo: forza Inter!"
[
TRANSLATION:
"There's only Inter for me, for me!
We are Inter, we are, we are!
Always together we sing: forza Inter!"
]
By the end, only one word echoed across the stadium: "INTER!"—a chant that swept the stadium.
Julien, wearing the captain's armband, met Zanetti again at midfield.
They shook hands. The coin toss followed.
Meanwhile, TF1 was broadcasting the match live in France. The commentator introduced the starting lineups:
"Bastia field their strongest XI. After bold rotation in their last two league matches, Hadzibegic's first-choice squad should be fresh and fully rested. Inter, by contrast, are fielding a patchwork side—several injuries have forced them to call up youth team players.
Bastia return to their 4-2-3-1 formation. Lukaku leads the line. Behind him: Mané, De Bruyne, and Julien in the attacking three."
"The double pivot features Kanté and Rothen—youth and experience, the most solid shield Bastia have had all season."
"In defense: Sidibé returns from a minor knock to start at left-back. Angoula at right-back. The center-back pairing is Choplin and Van Dijk."
"In goal: Emiliano Martínez."
"Inter line up in a 4-3-1-2. Up front: Palacio and the returning Cassano."
"Behind them: Guarín."
"Deeper still: Gargano, Kovačić, and Cambiasso."
"The back four from left to right: Jonathan, Juan Jesus, Chivu, and Zanetti."
"In goal: Handanović."
"Both sides are in position at midfield. And with the referee's whistle—kickoff!"
THUMP.
Lukaku rolled the ball back. Against a team like Inter, Bastia wouldn't rush forward recklessly.
Hadzibegic had emphasized spacing repeatedly. After the victories over Paris and Spurs, Bastia had learned the value of compressing key opponents' space.
Facing Inter, his confidence was even higher.
This was what people meant by "champion mentality." Teams that fought through gauntlets, slaying giant after giant, underwent transformation.
Hadzibegic could feel it—his gifted young players were like sponges, absorbing everything, growing stronger with every challenge.
Especially Julien.
His improvement was startling. So, when Julien had approached him before the match and said, "If possible, I'd like to try taking a free kick,"
Hadzibegic had agreed without hesitation.
Normally, De Bruyne and Rothen handled set pieces.
But Hadzibegic had noticed Julien staying late after training sessions, working with both players on free-kick technique.
What coach wouldn't love a player who combined talent with that kind of dedication?
As Bastia dropped into their defensive shape, Inter's formation pressed higher, maintaining pressure and hunting the ball.
After a few passes, Bastia lost possession.
But there was no panic. Rothen, who'd given the ball away, immediately closed down his man. The rest of the team snapped into position.
Moments later, Jonathan delivered a dangerous cross from the left flank.
Palacio, his trademark braid swaying, tried to rise against Van Dijk.
No chance.
After battling Ibrahimović and Adebayor in recent weeks, Van Dijk's confidence was sky-high. His duel with Palacio was emphatic.
He gave him no space.
With Van Dijk's full body weight pressing into him, Palacio couldn't get elevation. The ball sailed over both their heads.
Cassano tried to react on the far side, but Martinez came off his line decisively and claimed the ball cleanly.
ROAR.
The Meazza erupted in frustration—this had looked like a golden opportunity.
Jonathan's cross had been perfect.
In fact, Jonathan was completely out of his depth.
Last summer, the declining Maicon had been sold to Manchester City for £3 million. The burden of the right-back position had fallen squarely on Jonathan's shoulders before he'd even adjusted to Serie A's rhythm.
Young coach Stramaccioni trusted him, but Inter had entered the post-treble decline. Results were sliding. The team's collective malaise affected Jonathan's form.
After delivering that promising ball, he hadn't even started tracking back yet.
Mané had already begun his run.
When Martinez threw the ball to De Bruyne who'd dropped deep—the Belgian controlled it with his back to goal, feinted past Kovačić with a body swerve, spun a full circle, and without looking—
WHACK.
A long, raking pass out to the left channel.
He knew Julien on the right would draw heavy attention. That meant space on the left.
Mané's performances had steadily earned his teammates' trust. After all, he'd been Bastia's record signing last summer. The talent was there.
And his speed?
It was a lethal weapon.
As Mané exploded forward at full tilt, Julien, Lukaku, and the others surged upfield in support. Kanté and Rothen advanced more cautiously, maintaining defensive cover.
Jonathan only started sprinting after De Bruyne released the pass.
It was too late.
Mané was already two or three body lengths clear.
Thankfully, Gargano covered across.
The Uruguayan midfielder was known for his tackling. He backed himself.
Seeing Mané cut inside at speed, Gargano lunged into a sliding challenge.
Mané had anticipated it. He knocked the ball forward—and Gargano's studs caught him on the shin.
Mané went down hard.
TWEET!
The referee's whistle shrilled.
Foul.
He pointed to the spot.
Free kick to Bastia.
Lukaku immediately grabbed the ref's arm. "That's a yellow! That's a yellow!"
The referee waved him off.
Julien checked on Mané, then took the ball from De Bruyne and walked toward the spot.
He placed it carefully inside the arc.
________________________________________________________
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