May 25th, afternoon.
Julien, with his family, had wrapped up a leisurely vacation in Lisbon and returned safely to Paris.
Having said goodbye to Pauline, René, Clémence, and the rest of the family, Julien packed his bags for the national team's training camp and drove straight for Clairefontaine—the gathering point for the French national team, and the starting line of his journey toward the 2014 World Cup.
The car was quiet. Julien's thoughts drifted, unconsciously, back to last night in Lisbon.
Back to that Champions League final that would go down in the history of the sport.
Even knowing the outcome already, he still felt a pang looking back on that contest.
The Real Madrid–Atlético derby had played out exactly as scripted. Atlético had come within a single step of the club's first-ever Champions League title.
Right up until less than a minute into stoppage time, they had still been ahead.
Then Ramos's header levelled the score and rewrote everything.
Julien let out a soft sigh, his heart was full of sympathy for Atlético.
This tenacious side had fought its way through to the final, pouring in immeasurable effort, only to fall agonizingly short at the very last moment. That kind of heartbreak—so close, yet so far was almost too much to bear.
This Atlético side could not have played any better.
They had given everything they had.
Even Carvajal said as much in a later interview: "I saw the match slipping out of our control, the clock ticking away second by second, and I watched our fiercest rivals about to beat us to a Champions League title. That was the one time on a football pitch I truly felt fear—or something close to it, anyway."
Working-class football against galáctico football—and once again, it was the galácticos who won out in the end.
He had witnessed no shortage of heartbreak in football, but Atlético's loss still stung.
Like Gerrard's slip in his last life, like the legends who walked away from the pitch—football's joys and sorrows had a way of catching everyone off guard.
Not long after, Julien pulled into Clairefontaine to find that quite a few of his national team teammates had already arrived.
On the lawn outside the training pitch, a handful of teammates stood together, chatting.
Plenty had only just gotten there themselves.
They too were deep in conversation about last night's Champions League final.
Julien walked toward them, and even from a distance he could hear someone sighing, "Such a shame for Atlético. They were so close to their first-ever Champions League title—that last minute was pure agony to watch."
Someone else marvelled, "Ramos was unbelievable. That equalizer was salvation snatched from the jaws of defeat. Real Madrid's luck was really absurd."
"Julien, you're here!"
Giroud was the first to call out when he saw Julien approaching, waving him over.
Varane, Griezmann, and Kanté were all smiling too, coming forward to meet him.
Julien's standing within the national team needed no explaining.
Especially with Giroud and the others—the bond ran deep, the camaraderie was unmistakable. They were true brothers.
The looks his teammates gave him carried both admiration and expectation.
Everyone understood: Julien was the greatest source of confidence France had for chasing the World Cup title.
After the greetings, the conversation circled back once more to last night's Champions League final.
Talking all the while, they made their way to the rest area.
Julien sat down next to Varane; Giroud and Griezmann took seats nearby; Kanté listened quietly, occasionally chiming in with a word or two.
Julien, too, was no longer as quiet as before—every so often he'd share his own thoughts with the others.
Privately, he found himself reflecting: some outcomes simply could not be changed.
Atlético still wouldn't get their hands on that Champions League trophy.
As the conversation carried on, someone happened to bring up the World Cup squad announcement.
A moment like that always brought out a mix of joy and sorrow.
Those who'd made it here were, of course, overjoyed.
Those who hadn't didn't feel quite the same way.
And of all the chatter surrounding the squad list, none was noisier than the one involving Nasri's girlfriend.
Nasri's form at Manchester City had actually been decent enough. But add to that a ban handed down by the French Football Federation—not only could he not go to the World Cup, he couldn't even get through the national team's front door and it had sent Nasri's girlfriend straight onto social media to vent.
She'd gone off on Twitter, cursing out the French national team and Deschamps by name.
In fact, Nasri himself had already known he had no chance of making the squad. Set aside his feud with Julien—his conflict with Deschamps ran plenty deep on its own, to say nothing of the ban.
And so, in an interview beforehand, Nasri had already said he knew he wouldn't make the final list: "It's a rough situation, but there's nothing I can do about it. It's already decided. I'll be watching from home."
Still, after France's squad was officially announced, Nasri posted one more line on Twitter: "Thanks to everyone for the support. Missed another World Cup—and I'll never get the chance again. That's life. But the pain makes you stronger."
His girlfriend, though, wasn't nearly so gracious about it. She went straight onto Twitter with a blast of her own: "F*** the French Football Federation, f*** Deschamps! F*** De Rocca! You're all a pile of trash!"
Then, the British model fired off another tweet: "In case you didn't quite catch my meaning, let me say it again. F*** the French Football Federation!!! F*** Deschamps!!! F*** De Rocca!!!"
As far as she was concerned, it was entirely these people's fault that Nasri couldn't play in the World Cup.
As for how well she actually knew Nasri—that was anyone's guess, seeing as the two of them had only been together for two months.
But this quickly drew the ire of French fans.
Cursing out France, sure. Cursing out the French Football Federation, fine—some would even join in and poke fun at it themselves.
Even cursing Deschamps had people willing to back her up.
But cursing Julien?!
Was Julien someone you could just curse?!
Didn't she know he was a national treasure of France?!
French fans wasted no time flooding her Twitter into oblivion.
So Adana was quick to apologize: "If I've offended French fans, then I apologize."
But it seemed the matter wasn't going to end just because Nasri's girlfriend had come out and apologized.
Julien hadn't reacted to any of it yet.
But, Deschamps and the French Football Federation had already decided to sue Nasri's girlfriend.
Of course, Julien couldn't be bothered to pay any mind to someone like that.
Even Nasri himself wasn't worth his attention—there was no need to get tangled up with a loser.
Nasri would never play in a World Cup.
So why bother?
By evening, dusk was settling in thick over Clairefontaine.
After dinner, Deschamps gathered everyone and headed to the conference room for the pre–World Cup pep talk.
Deschamps greeted each player as they came in, exchanging a few words with each one.
When he saw Julien, he even pulled him in for a hug.
Soon, once everyone had assembled, Deschamps stepped up to the front and turned a touch more serious.
He began in earnest: "First of all, welcome to Clairefontaine. Shortly, we'll be heading to Brazil, stepping onto the World Cup stage—an honor for every footballer, and a mission resting on all our shoulders: to represent France, and go chase the World Cup trophy."
The moment he stopped, the room went silent, every player's eyes were lifting toward him.
Every one of them was full of hunger.
Deschamps paused, then went on: "I want to say—the choices behind this squad, I weighed them carefully, over and over. Every player selected has strengths, and every one of you is who I believe is right for this team.
So, starting now, I want everyone to set aside outside distractions, set aside personal feelings, and put all your energy into this camp.
The national team is one body. Unity is the key to our success.
On the pitch or off it, we need to think as one, pull in the same direction, cast off distractions, and fight side by side. Only then can we go the distance at this World Cup.
I hope none of you let me down—after all, you're the players I picked as the strongest France has to offer.
At the same time, don't let yourselves down either!
Not everyone gets the chance to play in a World Cup. And not everyone gets the chance to play in the next one."
The players all nodded.
It was true enough.
Just as Ribéry had said in an interview a few days earlier: "The 2014 World Cup in Brazil will be the last of my career. My goal in going to Brazil is simple—help France lift the trophy once again."
For some, this was a veteran's final stand.
For others, it might be that they weren't quite strong enough, or injury had kept them out.
Then, Deschamps continued, "The training camp ahead is going to be tough. We need to sharpen our tactics with purpose, shore up our weaknesses, adjust to the rhythm of the World Cup, and get familiar with how every one of your teammates plays.
I know that for some of you, this is your first time on a World Cup stage, and you're full of anticipation.
But no matter where you come from, no matter what you've been through—from the moment you pull on that France jersey, you have exactly one identity.
Players of the French national team. What rests on your shoulders is the hope of the entire country.
There are no weak teams at a World Cup. Every match is full of the unknown, full of challenges. We might hit setbacks, we might run into difficulty but I want you to remember: you are the French national team, and you have the support of countless fans behind you.
I know the World Cup is full of uncertainty, and I don't want you carrying too much pressure.
For us, reaching the quarterfinals would already count as a success—that's our baseline. That's the foundation we build steadily from.
And the championship—that's our ultimate goal, the glory we're throwing everything we have at!
But there's no need to rush it. One step at a time. Just take care of every match, every training session, and that's enough.
I'm not demanding that you win the whole thing. But I am demanding that in every match, you leave nothing on the table, no regrets and in every training session, you give it everything, and then some!"
At that, the players all nodded again, their expressions were growing steadily more resolute.
Quarterfinals?
No—they wanted to go further than that!!
Julien sat in his seat, listening quietly to Deschamps's speech, his heart was full of thought as well.
He, of course, knew exactly how the 2014 World Cup would unfold, and knew the road ahead for France would be full of challenges.
This French team was one caught in an awkward generational gap.
But he also knew this French team wasn't the same French team from his previous life.
Deschamps kept talking.
Everyone kept listening.
After a short time, Deschamps's speech was drawing to a close, and he looked out at everyone with steady resolve: "All right, that's what I have to say.
I hope you'll all remember what's been said here today—set aside distractions, focus on this camp, stay unified, and give it everything you've got.
One more thing—let me stress two points. First, tonight, everyone rest well, set down every burden you're carrying, and get your energy back up. Starting tomorrow, we will officially move into preparation mode. Everyone needs to take every training session seriously, follow camp discipline strictly, and get yourselves into peak condition.
Second, on the 28th, we'll travel to Nice for a friendly against Norway. The whole point of that match is to get the squad working together, get familiar with our tactics, and start settling into the rhythm of World Cup preparation—finding that chemistry and instinct out on the pitch.
Rest well tonight. Starting tomorrow, everything you've got."
Once the pep talk wrapped up, the players walked out of the conference room one by one.
Dusk had deepened, making the lights seem all the brighter.
Julien walked toward the dorms alongside Giroud, Varane, and the others.
Varane sidled up next to Julien, slinging an arm casually around his shoulder with the casual familiarity of old friends, and asked, "Julien, you think we've got a shot?"
He didn't spell it out, but everyone understood without needing to be told—the "shot" in question meant winning the World Cup.
Julien glanced sideways at him and grinned. "You're asking. That means we do."
Varane burst out laughing at that.
Then he added, "Zizou said this World Cup's champion will be a European team. I really hope that team's us."
Julien nodded slowly. "So do I."
What Varane had just said, Zidane really had said, just a few days before.
This year, in Brazil, plenty of media and pundits were pegging Spain, Germany, Brazil, and Argentina as the favourites to lift the trophy.
France rarely got a mention at all.
Asked about the current French squad, Zidane had offered a vote of confidence in a media interview:
"I think France will do well. Yes, they were poor in South Africa, but under Deschamps, this team is a different animal now. Julien's in phenomenal form right now—he just shattered the Premier League's single-season scoring record and won the treble. That's about as good a case as you can make. I can't wait to see what Julien does at this World Cup."
Historically, no European team had ever won a World Cup held on American soil.
Going by that rule of thumb, a lot of experts figured Brazil and Argentina were the biggest favourites to win it all.
But Zidane didn't see it that way. He told reporters, "I can't promise it, but I believe a European team is going to win this World Cup. They're capable of winning it in the Americas—Germany, Spain, Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, and France all have what it takes. Germany's probably the most likely of the bunch, if you ask me. But I'm hoping it's France."
Under the draw's seeding rules, France landed in Pot 4.
Aside from Pot 1, made up of seeded teams ranked by standing, every other pot was sorted by geography.
Pot 2 held seven teams from Africa and South America; Pot 3 was made up of eight teams from Asia and the CONCACAF region (North and Central America and the Caribbean); and Pot 4 held nine teams from Europe.
Because Europe had one extra team, Italy ended up bumped into Pot 2 to balance things out.
At the final draw ceremony, France was grouped with Switzerland, Ecuador, and Honduras.
An absolute gift of a draw!
Every single strong side was completely avoided.
The French press was ready to pop champagne over advancing from the group.
But when asked about France's chances of getting out of the group, Zidane cautioned against complacency: "Every team at a World Cup is one of the thirty-two best in the world. None of them are easy target."
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