Beyond the pitch, under the sheltered area, David Dein and Abdullah stood side by side. Light rain fell steadily, water was dripping from the canopy's edge, splashing near their feet.
Abdullah wore a spotlessly tailored dark suit contrasting with Dein's casual training wear, though he'd rolled up his sleeves, and appeared quite relaxed.
On the pitch, the scrimmage intensity peaked. Julien sent another pinpoint through-ball, splitting the defense for Sturridge to tap home.
"Good God..." Dein drew a sharp breath, his voice was trembling with disbelief. "I guarantee you—Julien's even stronger after this summer! I watched him play last season. He's improved! I absolutely believe now that he's going to turn the Premier League upside down!"
Abdullah's gaze never left that orange-bibbed figure, a meaningful smile had appeared at his face. "David, you're right, but it's not enough. We're not here to disrupt the Premier League—we're here to dominate it!"
Another gasp from the pitch—Julien had just used explosive acceleration to shake off two defenders again.
Dein couldn't help applauding: "He's built for the big moments!"
Abdullah finally revealed a satisfied smile. "I've heard that Manchester United's Ferguson once said, 'Liverpool are fortunate to have Gerrard, but unfortunate because they only have one Gerrard.' Gerrard protected Liverpool's past. Now we have Julien—he'll lead Liverpool to conquer the future."
"Players battle on the pitch, David, but don't forget to protect the team off it. We'll provide all necessary support!"
"Absolutely!" David Dein agreed immediately.
He was beginning to relish his new career at Liverpool!
Soon the scrimmage whistle blew. Only the players' heavy breathing remained on Melwood's training ground. Sweat and rain had soaked everyone's shirts.
Gerrard was first to approach Julien, vigorously ruffling his hair and handing him a water bottle. "Not bad, kid. But next time I shout 'pass,' maybe don't try dribbling past three men yourself. My judgment tells me I shouldn't pass to a teammate surrounded by three defenders."
His tone was teasing, but his eyes held unconcealed approval.
Julien smiled. "Sometimes defense isn't about numbers. They gave me too much space. Add two more and I'd still get through."
Luis Suárez went further, slinging an arm around Julien's neck and declared in heavily accented English: "Keep it up! Next weekend I want every defender to taste what you can do!"
He was already anticipating combinations with this new partner in competitive matches.
The three stood talking while others quickly rehydrated and rested. This scrimmage's intensity had far exceeded any friendly, yet everyone's attention kept drifting toward the teenager drinking water at the touchline.
Kolo Touré frowned while gulping his sports drink, exchanging glances with Agger. Both center-backs wore wry smiles mixing helplessness with resentful respect.
"Honestly," Touré wiped sweat from his face, "when that kid went past me, I'd actually read his feint—but my legs just couldn't keep up."
Agger simply shook his head. "You think you'd read it. You hadn't."
Nearby, Coutinho quietly removed his shin guards, his fingers were unconsciously tracing the number 10 imprinted there—though the number no longer belonged to him next season. He watched Julien laughing with Suárez from a distance, his expression turned complex.
There was disappointment, but more prominently, clarity after being shocked. Seeing Julien play gave him that sensation of being crushed by absolute talent, forcing him to admit this teenager deserved that heavy number 10 shirt.
He drew a deep breath, tossed his shin guards into the kit bag, and silently vowed to reclaim his starting position through performance.
Sterling's reaction was more straightforward. He angrily booted aside a water bottle by his feet. He realized that maintaining his playing time would require double his previous effort.
Even the usually stern Rodgers stood at the touchline, arms crossed, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. Watching teammates gradually gather around Julien, he knew the dressing room door was slowly opening for true genius.
And he felt his tactics might need adjustment.
Julien and Kanté integrated faster than expected, allowing Rodgers to boldly experiment with his tactics.
Before the opening Premier League fixture on the 16th against Stoke City, two friendlies remained for testing.
However, regarding Julien and Liverpool, English media showed no mercy at all.
"Betting €80 million on an 18-year-old with just one season of highlights? Liverpool's new Saudi owners seem to treat football like roulette. The Premier League isn't Ligue 1—there's no adaptation period here, only naked physicality and brutal survival laws."
"I'll concede his Europa League final performance was astonishing, but friendlies and the Premier League are entirely different matters. We've seen too many 'geniuses' lost in the Premier League—Rémy, Cissé, even Shevchenko back in the day. His price tag will become a millstone, not a medal."
"His technique is impeccable, but the Premier League demands all-weather warriors. Think about rainy nights at Stoke, think about the physical battles at Stamford Bridge—can his slender body really handle it?"
"Liverpool seems to have forgotten what happened to their last French striker. Premier League defenders will pounce on him like starving wolves spotting fresh meat. €80 million? That just makes the hunt more entertaining."
"Statistics show that over the past decade, fewer than 30% of Ligue 1-to-Premier League transfers truly adapt. His duel success rate and defensive contributions barely reach passing grade by Premier League standards—you can't solve that with dribbling alone."
"Let's be realistic: for him to succeed at Liverpool requires a miracle. Rodgers's system demands high-intensity pressing, yet his average distance covered per match at Bastia only ranked mid-table in the league—is he prepared to run 12 kilometers weekly?
"Football isn't a video game! Look at his defensive attitude: symbolic two-step recovery after losing possession. In the Premier League, players like Fletcher and Milner will devour you alive!"
Countless skeptical voices rose through English media outlets. People seemed unconvinced Julien could succeed at Liverpool.
However, pre-season friendlies completely silenced everyone—temporarily.
Liverpool's home match against Olympiacos saw Julien enter in the second half, producing two goals and two assists, utterly dismantling the Greek side's defense. He turned a friendly into a rout.
After that match, some stubbornly insisted it was because Greek league teams were mediocre, with loose playing styles—it didn't count.
The final friendly saw Liverpool host Scottish Premiership side Celtic. Julien again came on in the second half. In just twenty minutes, he completed a hat-trick plus two assists.
He left everyone stunned!
In these tactical integration matches designed for assessing new players, Julien was simply a cheat code—total domination!
Celtic's defense was penetrated seven times by Julien alone.
These two matches instantly changed English media narratives.
"Calm down! Olympiacos's defense was on holiday, Celtic played like it was a charity match! Can Greek and Scottish league intensity hold the Premier League's jockstrap? Wait until Stoke City's rain-soaked night when Shawcross takes him down three times—then we'll discuss 'genius'!"
"Friendly goals quality hype? Opponents weren't even properly tackling! Real tests come in the Premier League! Premier League defenders will teach him what English football means!"
"We must admit, his technical execution far exceeds his age group. Five goals, four assists might be inflated statistics, but his ball-handling rhythm and vision genuinely show elite player qualities. Perhaps we should reassess his adaptation capabilities."
"Shut up, doubters! We might genuinely possess a generational talent! His dribbling made Celtic defenders look like training cones, his finishing left Olympiacos's keeper despairing! This is the answer we've been waiting for!"
"Alright, I might have been wrong. His second chip was inhuman. Still just friendlies, but this kid has something special."
"Two friendlies prove nothing, but they're enough to pause our skepticism. His technique can clearly handle higher-intensity opposition. Real answers come August 16th at Anfield."
"I still worry about his defensive contributions, but can't deny his attacking talent is phenomenal. If Rodgers uses him properly, Liverpool's attack will be terrifying."
"Who dares to call him a flop now?! Watch how he toyed with those defenders! €80 million? Now it looks like highway robbery! Suárez + De Rocca will be the Premier League's most frightening attacking combination!"
These comments displayed English media's typical response pattern: from initial skepticism and mockery, through cautious acceptance after statistical validation, to complete conversion by some outlets and fans.
One could only say Julien was conquering English media through performance.
For his part, Julien had no particular thoughts about it. He understood English media's nature too well. They'd say anything.
Back during the Hillsborough disaster, if The Sun hadn't fabricated stories, Liverpool wouldn't have been sanctioned so severely. Even now, anti-Sun slogans surrounded Anfield.
These media outlets had no conscience when chasing clicks.
On August 15th, Melwood Training Ground's lights gradually lit as purple-red twilight colored the Merseyside sky.
Gerrard unscrewed a water bottle, leaning against the equipment room doorframe, watching Julien—fresh from extra training stuffing boots into his bag.
"First round tomorrow," Gerrard said after drinking, his voice hoarse from exertion. "Nervous?"
Julien zipped up his bag, looking up with a smile, sweat dripping down his face. "If I said not at all, Steven, would you believe me?"
Gerrard chuckled softly, wiping his neck with a towel. "Wouldn't believe it."
"Really!" Julien turned fully to face him curiously. "Steven, what did your first match feel like?"
Gerrard gazed toward the distant pitch lights beginning to extinguish, his expression turned distant. "Too long ago. '98. Fifteen years—who remembers clearly anymore?"
He fell silent momentarily, then shook his head. "Probably just... brain completely blank. Could hear my own heartbeat like a drum. Terrified of screwing everything up, terrified of letting down this red shirt."
He suddenly looked at Julien, and smiled. "But thinking back now, all that nervousness was useless. Once you're on the pitch, you only need to do one thing." He clapped Julien's back firmly. "Trust that your feet are smarter than your brain."
Julien nodded thoughtfully.
"Come on," Gerrard said, his empty water bottle arcing perfectly into a distant bin. "Another new season. Been doing this for fifteen years now..."
Julien heard the weariness in Gerrard's voice but said nothing. Just walked quietly beside him.
They headed toward the car park together, their shadows stretching long in the fading light. Liverpool's night was peaceful, but both could sense it—tomorrow's roaring Anfield, waiting silently for them.
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