Time flowed swiftly.
From Liverpool's afternoon recovery session through the remainder of Matchday 1, results rolled in one after another.
Liverpool's 5-0 demolition of Stoke City was joined by other significant outcomes:
Manchester City's new manager Pellegrini opened with a 4-0 thrashing of Newcastle. Manchester United's Moyes debuted with a 4-1 victory over Swansea. Chelsea, with Mourinho returning, secured a 2-0 win against Hull City. Tottenham's new signing Soldado converted a penalty in a 1-0 victory over promoted Crystal Palace.
All the heavyweights had won.
Notice anyone missing?
Yes. Arsenal.
Wenger's side, hosting at the Emirates, watched Koscielny collect two yellows for a red card as ten-man Arsenal fell 3-1 to Aston Villa. Giroud's early strike couldn't prevent the collapse.
The reason was painfully simple—they had nobody.
This summer, Arsenal had released seventeen players and signed just one on a free transfer. Despite holding £70 million in funds and being linked with numerous transfer targets, Wenger hadn't spent a penny.
The Villa defeat left Arsenal with multiple injuries. With their current squad, Wenger could field just twelve first-team players.
Think about that. Beyond the starting XI, they had one substitute.
Without reinforcements, in a season where City, Chelsea, and others were locked in an arms race, Arsenal might struggle even to maintain their "Top Four Trophy" status.
Julien felt sympathy for Wenger's predicament. But sympathy aside, this was precisely why he'd avoided Arsenal. The power struggle between two major shareholders was crippling their competitiveness. Arsenal had to be self-sufficient while servicing stadium debt.
Only Wenger could keep such an Arsenal challenging for Champions League football. Another manager might have them flirting with relegation.
Even legendary Wenger wasn't immune to fan frustration. The Emirates crowd had responded to their transfer inactivity with gushing boos.
Arsenal supporters wanted genuine signings, not endless speculation. Even Giroud voiced his concerns post-match: "In my view, the team needs to sign a striker. I've been thinking about this for a while because the current situation might change if we can bring in a high-quality player. There's no point lamenting—I know what I need to do and what I'm capable of."
Speaking those words, Giroud's mind was filled with memories of playing alongside Julien for France.
If only...
But that remained fantasy.
After Matchday 1 concluded, Liverpool's five-goal margin topped the table, followed by City's four-goal difference and United's three.
This landscape prompted English media to herald "the era of genuine Premier League competition."
The Daily Mail declared: "Liverpool's ruthless opening, Manchester City's assured performance—together they announce a restructuring of Premier League power. This is no longer the familiar two-horse race but genuine three-way supremacy. More exciting still, mid-table competition has intensified across the board. The Premier League is entering its most unpredictable era."
The Guardian focused on the title race: "When Liverpool displays such terrifying dominance, both Manchester clubs must recognize they face the Premier League's most brutal championship battle in history. The era of multiple contenders has arrived and this is just the beginning."
Unlike other clubs juggling multiple competitions particularly Champions League, Liverpool faced only domestic fixtures this season.
That was a significant advantage.
August held two more matches: a Matchday 2 away fixture at Aston Villa, and a League Cup second-round home tie against Notts County—a League One side, not even Championship level.
As training days passed, Julien's chemistry with teammates deepened organically.
When banned Suárez's silhouette appeared in training ground opposition, the team's attacking style shifted noticeably.
Despite his match suspension, Suárez's training intensity and competitive edge remained sharp. His movement stayed ghostly, his ability to stretch defenses world-class.
The Uruguayan striker quickly recognized that the right flank had undergone a fundamental transformation from last season.
During one attacking drill, Suárez instinctively used a reverse run to shake Skrtel's marking in central areas. The instant he accelerated, the ball arrived perfectly into the space ahead—weight, pace, timing all calculated precisely, allowing him to connect without adjusting his stride.
The pass came from Julien.
Completing his finish, Suárez glanced back at the French teenager, a complex smile was crossing his face. He jogged over, his English heavily accented with Spanish nuance: "Julien, that pass was perfect! So comfortable!"
He gestured excitedly: "You saw that pocket? Right there! You played it exactly where I needed it. Fantastic!"
Julien smiled at Suárez. "Then just make your runs. I'll find you."
For a striker of Suárez's caliber, that feeling was precious.
He no longer needed to drop deep into midfield or wide areas constantly to receive possession and create chances himself. He could focus on prowling near the penalty area, waiting for the killing moment.
Throughout subsequent training, their understanding became increasingly evident.
Suárez discovered that playing with Julien made central striking significantly more comfortable. This French teenager possessed not just explosive individual ability—his passing selection, timing, and technique, especially those low, driven crosses or cut-backs that defenders hated most, consistently found defensive gaps and reached strikers in their optimal positions.
During a break, Suárez draped an arm around Julien's shoulders, half-joking, half-serious to Gerrard and the others: "Just wait, lads. When I'm back, Julien and I will ruin Christmas for every Premier League defender!"
His eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Julien smiled and nodded, but a complex ripple stirred within.
He knew better than anyone that in the original timeline, this talented, fierce Uruguayan beside him would desperately pursue a Liverpool exit, ultimately joining Barcelona to form the legendary MSN trident with Messi and Neymar.
"But now?" Julien thought, heading toward the water station while discreetly observing Suárez. When Liverpool underwent such dramatic transformation, would Suárez still consider Barcelona his only inevitable destination?
Julien didn't know. But it didn't matter.
With him here, Liverpool wouldn't fade into mediocrity again.
August 23rd.
Day before Matchday 2.
Afternoon rain misted Liverpool's city center. Julien, hood up, was walking briskly along Albert Dock, enjoying personal time before the match.
"Hey! Wait! Are you Julien? Julien?!"
An excited voice called from behind—a father in a worn Liverpool shirt with his wife and son.
Julien stopped, pulling back his hood with a smile. That definitive shout rippled like a stone dropped in still water.
"It really is Julien!"
Nearby, a man smoking outside a café immediately stubbed out his cigarette.
"Where? Where's Julien?"
A woman's voice emerged from a neighboring shop.
The sparse foot traffic seemed to receive some silent signal, rapidly converging toward this focal point. Tourists, locals, office workers just finishing their shifts—different people wearing identical expressions of excitement and disbelief.
"Julien, can you sign this?"
"God, can we get a photo?"
"Saturday's match was incredible!"
Requests and praise flooded from all directions.
Julien found himself surrounded by enthusiastic fans. Even the rain couldn't dampen their fervor. He did his best to accommodate everyone—accepting offered pens, signing jerseys, caps, even phone cases, patiently posing for every photo request.
The young boy who'd first spotted him got hoisted onto his father's shoulders, draping an arm around Julien's neck for the camera, beaming with joy.
"Smash Villa next match!"
"Stay healthy, Julien! We need you!"
"Keep playing like this—show all of England what you can do!"
Encouragement and hope surrounded him.
Julien signed autographs while occasionally looking up to acknowledge supporters with nods, responding with simple "thank yous" and "I'll do my best."
The scene lasted nearly ten minutes until a patrolling officer noticed the gathering and helped disperse the crowd kindly. Julien finally escaped, pulling his damp hood back up and hurrying away.
Behind him, excited fan discussions continued.
The rain's coolness was completely overwhelmed by this wave of warmth. Julien glanced back at the crowd, smiling.
This wasn't just stadium cheering anymore—it was the living, tangible hope of an entire city. Every signature, every handshake, every "keep it up" carried the genuine expectation of real people.
Julien understood he was gradually becoming an authentic part of this city.
Meanwhile, Rodgers was holding forth at the pre-match press conference.
"The first match's result and performance were satisfying, but it's already history. Villa Park has always been a difficult away venue. Paul Lambert's team is well-organized with stubborn defending. We must maintain absolute focus and respect every opponent... Julien has adapted excellently.
But the Premier League's challenge is facing different, targeted defensive approaches every week. For him, staying calm and trusting his teammates to make the right decisions for the team is crucial. Our victories always depend on the collective, never individuals... Luis's absence is factual, but we've seen excellent form and goalscoring ability from Daniel, Philippe, Jordan, and others.
Our attacking system is built on collective responsibility... Yes, our objective is clear—leave with three points. We respect Villa, but we arrive with clear plans and strong confidence. The team is ready."
After Liverpool's press conference concluded, the entire squad departed for Birmingham.
On the flight, Julien gazed at the fog hovering over Birmingham, wondering idly if the Peaky Blinders really had smoked enough to create this perpetual haze. Did the Shelby family truly have whiskey for blood?
Birmingham.
This city, dubbed "England's second city," the industrial heart—it had never been gentle.
As the Industrial Revolution's birthplace, steel, steam, and sweat coursed through its veins. Its people were known for their pragmatic, resilient, even rough "Brummie" accents.
Mention local popular culture, and many immediately recalled Peaky Blinders—those flat-capped figures with razor blades sewn into brims, controlling everything from shadowed alleys. That bone-deep toughness and defiance formed part of this city's essential character.
Birmingham possessed deep football traditions, and Aston Villa was unquestionably the most distinguished nobility on its football map. They'd helped establish English football, won the European Cup in their glory days. Despite subsequent struggles, their historical pride had never diminished.
Villa Park was this industrial city's football cathedral.
Late August in Birmingham—the sky hung heavy. The industrial city's characteristic grey tone shrouded everything, the air was carrying coolness and faint coal-smoke traces.
But Villa Park had awakened early, like a Victorian-era steel giant preparing for battle.
Villa fans in traditional claret and blue stripes streamed toward the ground from all directions. Surrounding pubs were already heaving with people. Villa supporters clutched bitter ales, discussing tactics—conversation inevitably focusing on one person:
"That French kid De Rocca who cost £80 million."
"Got to give him something to think about—show him Birmingham isn't Stoke City!"
"Mark him tight, don't let him run wild!"
These voices echoed throughout the crowds.
Liverpool's dominant opening, particularly Julien's explosive emergence, had transformed an ordinary league fixture into something approaching a city honor defense, adding tension to the impending clash.
At the away section entrance, a small patch of vivid red stood out conspicuously—Liverpool's traveling supporters gathered there like an "isolated force penetrating enemy territory."
They sang You'll Never Walk Alone with defiant pride.
After the opening weekend's demolition, they craved seeing their team maintain firepower away from home.
As both team coaches arrived at the ground, the atmosphere reached its peak.
Villa's anthem "Hi Ho Aston Villa" swelled from thousands of home supporters—not as haunting as Anfield's anthem but filled with pride and resolute belonging.
Liverpool's coach crawled toward Villa Park, windows framing navy blue and claret masses outside.
Julien leaned against the window, watching fans with painted faces singing themselves hoarse. Spotting Liverpool's coach, many faces instantly twisted with fury, making provocative gestures. Even through soundproofed glass, their jeers and abuse were faintly audible.
"Welcome to Premier League away days, Julien."
Jordan Henderson, sitting beside him, noticed his gaze and smiled with veteran nonchalance.
Julien nodded.
So, this was English football culture. Compared to Ligue 1, the hostility here was more direct, the atmosphere more primal and unhinged.
The coach struggled through a police-cleared corridor, finally stopping at the players' entrance. The door opened to denser chaos and camera flashes.
Players quickly disembarked, heads down, escorted by staff and security toward the tunnel.
Gerrard naturally slowed his pace, falling into step with Julien. He lightly patted Julien's back, voice steady. "How are you feeling?"
"Intense."
Julien answered honestly. The atmosphere was completely different from Anfield.
"Get used to it," Gerrard said, his gaze gentle, tone seasoned with experience. "Every away ground is the same—they save their best 'welcome' for us. Don't let it affect you. Save your focus for the pitch. Treat all their noise like they're cheering for us."
Julien nodded.
Entering the away dressing room, the atmosphere quieted somewhat.
Rodgers stood at the room's center. After everyone settled, he scanned the group, expression calm and confident.
"Right, lads, final word before we go out. Remember—they're not our opponents. We have only one opponent: ourselves. Execute what we've trained, maintain our intensity and passing rhythm. They can't keep pace with us.
Two details: first, concentration defending set pieces. Second, quick distribution in transition. Do those things, perform normally, and the result will come."
Soon, warm-ups concluded.
Players regrouped in the dressing room, then headed toward the tunnel.
The narrow space compressed tension. Julien felt undisguised scrutiny from every direction.
Yet his gaze remained calm.
He'd grown accustomed to this. Since his breakout at Bastia, he'd always been the opponent's primary "target." Being treated as a threat, a problem to solve—he knew this feeling intimately.
But what defined a superstar?
Remaining composed under intense spotlight, executing your game plan despite suffocating defensive attention.
The jeers, the stares—all just background noise.
Real conversations only happened between football and net.
He knew that in ninety minutes, only one thing would transform those hostile glares into respect: goals, and victory.
And he was ready.
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