Lukaku was still muttering under his breath in frustration, convinced it should've been a card.
'Can't believe the ref didn't book him...'
He adjusted his long braids, they'd come loose during his sprint and as he passed Palacio, he caught sight of the wispy ponytail trailing from the back of the Argentine's head.
His eyes went wide.
"Wait—you have a braid?!"
Palacio turned, baffled. Lukaku had blurted it out in French.
He had no idea what the big guy was on about.
'Why's this dude looking at me like that?'
A minor interlude, unnoticed by the crowd.
Because at that moment, nearly every eye in the stadium had turned to Julien—and those gazes were filled with surprise and confusion.
"Julien takes free kicks?"
That was the universal question. He'd never demonstrated any ability in this area before.
As he stood over the ball, people instinctively overlooked De Bruyne, who was also positioned nearby.
De Bruyne taking a free kick?
That was normal.
Julien?
This wasn't his usual.
Both the French and Italian broadcast teams were caught off guard.
The TF1 commentator stammered: "Wait... is that Julien over the ball? This is unexpected! Normally this would be De Bruyne or veteran Rothen.
According to the data, Julien has never—never—taken a direct free kick in a competitive match this season. In fact, in his entire professional career! Is this a tactical strategy from Hadzibegic? Or just a decoy?"
The Italian commentator assumed: "Perhaps De Rocca is simply there to draw attention—helping De Bruyne with the setup."
On the pitch, Julien knew exactly what kind of reaction his presence here would provoke. He'd studied the description of his trait carefully, read it over and over before making the decision to take this kick.
He glanced toward the box. Most of Inter's defenders looked uncertain. Their pre-match scouting had surely focused on De Bruyne and Rothen, definitely not him.
Handanović was setting the wall, looking conflicted.
De Bruyne was right-footed. Julien was left-footed.
Now they stood on opposite sides of the ball.
Who should he prioritize?
TWEET.
The referee's whistle.
Julien and De Bruyne exchanged a glance. Both understood.
They raised their arms simultaneously.
Bastia's players in the box tensed, ready to attack. Set pieces were rare scoring chances for them.
Then—
Julien moved first. He took his run-up and drove his boot sharply into the ball.
Most expected him to be a dummy runner. But in Julien's mind, a door had opened—a door to the goal. The sensation was overwhelming, far more vivid than anything he'd felt in training.
He didn't hesitate.
His body extended fully. His hips drove through. His entire leg whipped like a lash into the leather.
CRACK.
GASP.
Under the stadium's collective scrutiny, the ball curled sharply around the wall.
The spin was vicious.
It arced viciously toward the top right corner.
Handanović moved immediately, launching himself through the air. It was a desperate, instinctive reaction.
He'd expected De Bruyne. But the instant he left his feet, he knew.
'Too far.
Top corner.
Absolute top corner.'
And the pace—blistering. Handanović stretched every sinew of his body.
It was still not enough.
SWOOSH.
The ball kissed the side netting. Handanović could almost hear the mesh ripple.
For less than a second, the Meazza existed in an emptiness—there was total silence.
Then came the disbelief. The shock. The refusal to accept reality.
They were behind?
At the same moment, every Bastia player erupted in joy, sprinting toward Julien with wide grins.
Julien, the instant the ball hit the net, pulled his shirt outward to kiss the badge. Then he slid to his knees, right in front of the Inter ultras' section.
He stopped just short of the advertising boards, facing a wall of stunned faces and camera lenses.
Arms spread wide, chin tilted up, eyes closed.
He drank it in—the chaos of the Meazza, the awe of his opponents, the roar of his teammates.
CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.
Camera flashes exploded. The image of the young man, drenched in defiance beneath the San Siro night sky, was captured for eternity.
"JULIEN!"
Lukaku got there first, lifting him clean off the ground.
De Bruyne arrived with a massive grin.
He thought back to a few weeks ago, right after the Spurs tie, when Julien had approached him saying: "Kevin, teach me how to take free kicks."
Less than two weeks.
And now this.
De Bruyne was thrilled for him but also astonished by his talent.
He'd always considered himself special.
Now, he realized: his talent might just be the baseline required to recognize how special Julien truly was.
Even among geniuses, there were levels.
The TF1 commentator exploded:
"JULIEN! IT'S IN! INCREDIBLE! UNBELIEVABLE! His first-ever competitive free kick—at the MEAZZA! Against INTER MILAN! That is world-class quality!"
"My God! A winger known for his speed—and he just unleashed a perfect free kick! That curve! That placement! That power! Flawless! Handanović had no chance! How big a card has Hadzibegic been hiding?!"
As the replay rolled in slow motion, the commentator's voice trembled with admiration:
"Look at this! Perfect contact. The ball climbs over the wall with wicked spin and drops into the absolute top corner! Handanović gave everything—but this was unstoppable!"
"Who could have predicted this?! Bastia's bench has gone berserk! Hadzibegic is roaring! The Corsican away section is in raptures! The Meazza—stunned into silence!"
"This is football! This is genius! Just when you think you've seen everything Julien can do, he unlocks a new dimension!"
"An 18-year-old French superstar, standing under the San Siro lights, announcing to the world with one breathtaking strike: I am limitless."
"Bastia lead 1-0."
Back in Bastia, every street corner, every bar, erupted in astonished celebration.
At the Sunset Café, Martin slammed his glass onto the table and roared:
"JULIEN EST PUTAIN D'INCROYABLE"
TN: Julien is fucking unreal.
The entire bar shook with excitement. Julien always found a way to blow their minds.
Someone shouted, half-laughing: "Where the hell did that come from?!"
Bertrand sat back, genuinely stunned by the technique—the dip, the swerve.
Julien's €60 million valuation suddenly felt like a bargain.
Forget his current ability—just his rate of improvement was unmatched.
He was evolving week by week.
On the touchline, Hadzibegic celebrated wildly. Stramaccioni, meanwhile, cursed under his breath:
"Che cazzo?!"
TN: WHAT THE FUCK
Nothing in the pre-match briefing—no video analysis, no scouting report had mentioned Julien's free-kick ability. This was completely outside his tactical framework.
Still, his in-game adjustments were sharp.
His expression hardened. Jaw tight, eyes sweeping the pitch, mind racing.
He barked instructions at the nearest players, making immediate tweaks.
Inter needed to push forward.
Bastia's celebration didn't last long, they were professionals, and this was an away leg. But Julien's signature pose—arms wide, head tilted back was already spreading across the internet in high-definition glory.
What does swagger look like?
18 years old.
Free kick.
Top corner.
At the MEAZZA
That's what it looks like.
When play resumed, Hadzibegic tapped his temple furiously, signaling his players to refocus.
Stay calm. Stay disciplined.
Bastia dropped deep again, waiting patiently for the next counter.
Inter, stung by the goal, ramped up their attacking intensity. They shifted the ball side to side, probing for gaps in Bastia's shape.
Time passed.
Inter's players couldn't find a way through. Especially with Kanté in midfield—his coverage was suffocating. The man never stopped running.
A midfielder who could run like that was nightmarish to play against.
Meanwhile, on Bastia's fan forum, dormant a year ago, now buzzing with life—the thread count was climbing rapidly.
Amid the flood of posts praising Julien, one stood out. It rose quickly, gathering momentum and emotion:
"The Wind Sweeps Over the Grass On The Court, the Young Boy Must eventually embark on his journey — For Julien"
Julien scored again.
As always, as if it were just another training-ground goal.
But this time was different.
That free kick—curling, lethal, precise—buried itself in the net with a certainty that took our breath away.
He'd never taken one before. Not once in any match.
That's Julien. Talent growing quietly in the shadows of effort, blooming when you least expect it. He surprises us again and again, constantly reshaping what we think we know about him.
I cheered like always. But my heart hung suspended, caught between joy and something heavier.
The louder the celebration, the clearer the feeling became—a premonition of the ending creeping in at the edges of triumph. The more brilliant he is, the harder it becomes to let go.
It's already March. How long until June? How long until goodbye?
How do we even measure this past year?
How do we look back and see the boy who arrived from Oisquercq and reconcile him with the player standing before us now? The one who leaves us breathless with every sprint, every celebration, every moment of pure, unfiltered joy on the pitch?
Maybe every story has to circle back to its beginning.
I think of that afternoon when he was 17—a last-minute substitute in a Coupe de France match. The first page of the chapter, quietly turned.
All the talk of prodigious talent feels like footnotes now. What's etched into memory is the trail he's blazed with every single run, every fearless challenge, every time he picked himself up and pushed forward.
When we watch a story unfold, we're always torn. We want the climax to keep building, the magic to intensify—but we pray it never ends.
Julien leaving feels like the inevitable final note of Bastia's symphony. A crescendo we knew was coming but hoped we could postpone just a little longer.
Yet to have had him here, shining on this stage, watching him rise from promising teenager to a player ready to take flight—that's a gift. A precious, irreplaceable memory for this small town and for people like us who believed in him from the start.
Summer will come.
No matter where Julien goes, no matter how the story ends on paper, all the reluctance and pride and hope swirling in my chest will eventually settle into one simple, earnest wish:
May your future be bright.
May you become the player you dream of being—and more.
May luck follow you through every match of your long career.
And may you always carry that spark—the fearless fire that made you ours. The joy that reminded us why we love this beautiful game.
Forever blessed, Julien.
The wind sweeps over the grass. The boy embarks on his journey.
And we remain here, grateful witnesses to something extraordinary.
The replies poured in, raw and heartfelt:
"Man, I teared up reading this. I've been avoiding transfer rumors all month—every time I see a headline linking Julien to some big club, I swipe away. But watching him pull off a free kick we didn't even know he had... it finally hit me. He's always evolving. How could he ever stop here?"
"I almost closed this post the second I saw the title, but I couldn't stop reading. Now all I can think about is that first Coupe de France appearance—watching him come off the bench and destroy the opposition with pace and skill. But even the most beautiful storm has to move on eventually."
"Perfectly said. He's not a star we developed. He's a ray of light God lent to Bastia. And for a year, he took us places we never dreamed—beating PSG? Eliminating Spurs? Leading Inter at the Meazza? Why should we be sad? We should be grateful."
"When I got to 'the precious, irreplaceable memory,' I cried and laughed at the same time. Because we're LIVING the best moment right now! 13 points clear in the league, into the Europa League Round of 16, fighting Inter... Julien is leading us down the most glorious road in Bastia's history. Even if he leaves this summer, we'll have THIS.
A shining season. Not an empty regret."
"Exactly! Every match is a treasure now! Every goal Julien scores brings us closer to silverware. Every Europa League win adds another chapter to our story.
Why stress about summer? Enjoy the present!
Scream for every sprint, lose your mind for every win!
And when he lifts a trophy—whichever one it is—THAT smile will be the memory we hold forever."
The sentiment among Bastia fans was simple, clear, bittersweet:
Julien was like their youth itself.
If you can't hold onto it—
Then live it to the fullest.