"We're 2-1 ahead, but that's nowhere near enough!"
"That goal we conceded? Consider it a goddamn alarm bell for our defense!"
Inside Chelsea's dressing room, Rafa Benitez wore no trace of satisfaction despite the lead. His face was set like stone as he laid into his players, his voice was cutting through the halftime air.
His sharp gaze swept across the defensive line, lingering especially on Ashley Cole and David Luiz.
"De Rocca! I've told you this countless times—this kid's acceleration and change of direction are top-level threats. But that breakthrough in the first half..."
His eyes locked onto both defenders. "Cole, Luiz—you were both out of position. You gave him a clean run at goal!"
The eye contact was intense.
Both Cole and Luiz loosened uncomfortably. Benitez's lack of warmth, his detached approach to man-management—it was legendary, and not in a good way.
Just recently, former Arsenal and Liverpool player Jermaine Pennant had spoken publicly about his time under Benitez.
Pennant, the player who'd been jailed for 90 days after a drunk-driving conviction in 2005—released after 30 days but forced to wear an electronic tag even while playing matches for Birmingham.
He was quite the character. And his time overlapping with Benitez at Liverpool had left a bitter taste.
"Of all the managers I've worked with," Pennant had said, "Benitez was probably the worst at handling people. Seriously. He never explained his decisions. Why you weren't playing, for instance. I remember being named man of the match once, and he came up to me later—not to congratulate me, but to point out everything I'd done wrong.
That's who he is. When you play well, you'll never hear 'Well done, keep it up for next match,' or get a pat on the shoulder. Never. And there's no point knocking on his door asking for explanations either, because he won't give you any."
Now, in Chelsea's dressing room, Benitez remained true to form.
John Terry sat slumped in the corner, staring into space. He wasn't listening to a word the Spaniard said. For Terry, the only chance of playing time seemed to be Benitez's departure and thankfully, José Mourinho's return was impending.
God, Terry missed Mourinho.
Last November, Terry had picked up an injury against Liverpool that kept him out for two months. Since returning, he'd trained with the squad consistently, but from mid-February ahead, he'd barely strung two consecutive starts together. He'd become a rotation option—him, John Terry, club captain and soul of Chelsea.
It was humiliating.
That discomfort had festered into resentment. Now, just seeing Benitez's stubborn face in the dressing room made Terry's blood pressure rise.
After Chelsea's Premier League loss to Manchester City in February, Terry and Benitez had clashed aggressively. Terry had openly questioned the manager's methods, his tactics, his entire approach. The club had managed to suppress the incident, but their relationship had never recovered.
At least Benitez was confirmed to be leaving at season's end.
But that also meant he had no reason to appease the dressing room anymore. Dropping Terry came with zero consequences for him.
And it wasn't just Terry.
Frank Lampard was here too, somehow clinging to a starting spot today—a minor miracle considering what had happened ten days ago.
In the FA Cup semifinal against Manchester City, Benitez had banished both Lampard and Terry to the stands. Not even a minute of playing time between them. Not a single substitution.
When questioned about Terry's absence, Benitez had denied any personal conflict, claiming it was purely tactical—Terry was aging, injury-prone, lacking the necessary fitness.
Yet bizarrely, in that same match against City, Benitez had refused to use his final two substitutions despite the game slipping away. He just watched as Chelsea crashed out of the FA Cup.
Even Chelsea insiders couldn't stomach it.
Pat Nevin, the Chelsea legend working as a pundit for BBC, hadn't minced words: "What surprises me is that when you're trying to play long balls, Lampard is still sitting on the bench!"
The statistics told the story. Due to age and injuries, Lampard and Terry had only started together 17 times this season out of 59 total matches. That was not a huge number.
But more important than tactics was what they represented spiritually.
At Chelsea, Terry and Lampard weren't just names, they were the backbone, the heartbeat of the club.
Especially in big matches, you needed veterans holding the line.
Since 2006, neither Terry nor Lampard had missed a single minute of an FA Cup semifinal or final—not a single one. Until this year. For the first time in seven years, both sat unused for the full 90 minutes.
By benching these two legends, Benitez had ripped out Chelsea's soul. To the Chelsea fans, it was borderline criminal.
If Benitez hadn't already been confirmed as leaving, the fans would've revolted weeks ago.
As it stood, they were simply enduring. Waiting, like Terry, for their savior—Mourinho to return.
"...He likes cutting inside? Then choke off the inside lane! Force him wide! Even if he gets to the byline and crosses, the danger's minimal compared to what happened with that goal—standing there like a damn statue while he ghosts past you!
You're supposed to be the Premier League's best left-back, and you let an 18-year-old kid waltz through? You're not embarrassed by that? He's just a kid..."
Benitez's voice drilled into Terry's ears continuously.
It grated irritatingly on him.
The thing was, Benitez hadn't just made enemies at Chelsea. Even at Liverpool, the club where he'd built his reputation, he'd left a trail of resentment.
Terry knew Steven Gerrard had publicly criticized him saying: "I could pick up the phone and call every manager who's ever coached me at Liverpool, except Benitez."
Gerrard also recounted that when Benitez first met Gerrard's mother, his opening line was: "Does Steven like money?"
The comment had infuriated Gerrard.
Terry used to think Gerrard was exaggerating. But after enduring a season under Benitez at Chelsea, he understood perfectly.
If Terry had once wanted to deck that arrogant little shit De Rocca, right now he wanted to knock out this Spanish fat bastard even more.
By comparison, De Rocca didn't seem so irritating anymore.
Hell, Terry almost hoped De Rocca would tear Chelsea apart in the second half—make Benitez taste utter, crushing defeat.
Terry had wanted to punch De Rocca before, sure, but even he could see the kid had good talent and was a wastrel then.
Time ticked away. The halftime break was ending. Both sets of players prepared to return to the pitch.
At that moment, Elion was making his way excitedly through the stands, having just taken a phone call.
From Marina Granovskaia.
The conversation had been brief, but its content had left Elion euphoric.
Abramovich had softened his stance.
With Torres confirmed for sale, Granovskaia was now pushing Abramovich to re-sign Julien. His ability was undeniable. The past issues were insignificant trifles.
So Granovskaia had called Elion with one clear instruction: leverage his personal friendship with Julien to facilitate a Chelsea return. Terms wouldn't be a problem.
She'd been rather blunt: "When I contacted them directly, I didn't get a response."
Elion had agreed immediately. He could barely wait to reach out to Julien and deliver the news.
The Stamford Bridge boy—it was time to come home.
In Elion's eyes, Julien could be Chelsea's cornerstone for the next decade, maybe longer. He didn't dare imagine how many trophies they could win building around him.
Bastia, a tiny club, had become France's dark horse this season.
So, what could Chelsea with all their financial muscle accomplish?
The picture was too beautiful. He couldn't let himself think about it.
"Blue is the colour!"
As Elion stepped into the stands and found his seat, the Chelsea supporters' chants rolled through Stamford Bridge in waves.
An uncontainable smile spread across Elion's face.
He adored Julien—that incomparable technical ability, the hallmark of a true genius.
And he loved Chelsea. His family had been Blues supporters for generations. He'd witnessed Chelsea's darkest nights, which made him all the more grateful for the golden era Abramovich had delivered.
And now, he could see an even greater Chelsea dynasty on the horizon.
"Do you two actually have beef?"
As both teams walked back onto the pitch, Kevin De Bruyne fell into step beside Julien, his curiosity was piqued. He was talking about Terry.
De Bruyne was genuinely confused. If Julien and Terry had this supposed rivalry, why had Terry looked at Julien in the tunnel just now with something that looked unmistakably like... appreciation?
Julien shrugged. "Not friends, at least."
Then he gave De Bruyne a light shove toward the center circle. "Don't worry about that. Think about how you're going to get me the ball later."
Soon, both teams stood ready in their positions, waiting for the whistle.
The commentator's voice filled the broadcast, "Welcome back to Stamford Bridge, everyone! The second half is about to begin. The score stands at Chelsea 2-1 Bastia.
On the surface, the Blues hold the advantage. But beneath that scoreline? there are turbulent undercurrents.
Neither side has made substitutions. Chelsea still lead by a goal, but Julien's first-half solo goal—that reverse-footed finish after skinning two defenders—it's like a thorn lodged in the heart of this stadium. It wasn't just a goal. It was a assertion that Bastia are no pushovers, that they possess a superweapon capable of changing the game.
The second-half pivotal point is obvious: Julien versus Chelsea's defense, round two. Benitez will have made adjustments. Can Cole redeem himself? Can Chelsea neutralize Julien?
Meanwhile, Bastia's collective resilience faces its ultimate test. In the cauldron of Stamford Bridge, can they stay composed? Can they turn the hope Julien ignited into sustained attacking threat?
At 1-2, anything's possible. Another Chelsea goal likely seals it. But if Bastia equalize, they'll leave London with a precious away-goals cushion and the momentum will swing intensely.
The whistle blows—second half's underway!"
FWEET!
The ball rolled forward.
Bastia kicked off, and Chelsea immediately swarmed forward, pressing aggressively. Their focus was the midfield. Specifically, De Bruyne.
Fans could mock all they liked, but Chelsea knew exactly who pulled Bastia's strings in the middle of the park.
De Bruyne received the ball and was instantly bulldozed by Ramires, hitting the turf hard.
Chelsea were dictating the tempo now, trying to impose their physicality.
Bastia had clearly anticipated this. Their defensive line compressed immediately, denying Chelsea space to accelerate.
Hadzibegic had committed fully to parking the bus in front of Stamford Bridge. Fighting fire with fire—Mourinho's own tactic had now turned against his future club.
And parking the bus worked.
Chelsea's attacks sputtered.
The key issue?
Hazard had been neutralized. With both N'Golo Kanté and Angoula joining on the left half-space, Hazard's dribbling penetration became arduous.
Could Kanté completely shut down Hazard?
No, of course not. But he could restrict him significantly, make him far less comfortable than in the first half.
In the center, Juan Mata finally found a bit of freedom. He tried linking up with Torres and Hazard, looking for intricate through-balls and one-twos.
But Bastia's central defense was rock-solid. Against balls played to feet, Bastia's "lower-league center-backs"—promoted from Ligue 2 held firm.
Choplin, Angoula, they had the tools. And Torres wasn't the type of target man who could win physical battles up top.
So, Chelsea found themselves in a frustrating paradox: possession without penetration, unable to break down Bastia's defensive wall.
The commentator sighed: "Chelsea are stuck in an awkward predicament. They've got the ball, but they can't find the hammer to smash through the wall.
Hazard's being smothered. They try going through the middle, but they're crashing into Bastia's steel curtain. Torres is isolated in the box. Their attacks are all sound and fury, signifying nothing."
Still, for scouts watching from the Premier League and beyond, this was an audition worth noting. Their summer transfer shortlists had just gained a couple of new names.
Virgil van Dijk. N'Golo Kanté.
They were absolute quality.
Chelsea were inadvertently showcasing their talent.
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