August 27th, Anfield
League Cup Second Round: Liverpool vs. Notts County
With a comfortable opponent from League One and Julien reporting minor muscle tightness after his exertions at Bournemouth, Brendan Rodgers made the sensible decision: complete rest. He didn't even make the matchday squad.
Liverpool didn't need him. The gulf in quality was insurmountable, and the Reds cruised to a 4-1 victory, securing safe passage to the next round.
For Liverpool supporters, the match offered glimpses of academy prospects and fringe players but one name captured particular attention.
N'Golo Kanté.
Absent from the first two Premier League matchdays, the French defensive midfielder had yet to make his competitive debut in a Liverpool shirt. That changed in the 70th minute.
With the score comfortably at 3-1, Rodgers turned to his bench. The fourth official raised the substitution board.
OFF: Jordan Henderson → ON: N'Golo Kanté
At the touchline, Kanté took a deep breath. Rodgers draped an arm around his shoulders, voice calm and reassuring in his ear.
"Relax, N'Golo. Just like in training. Protect the space in front of the defense. Keep it simple."
But Kanté's eyes instinctively drifted past Rodgers toward the bench. The face he sought wasn't there.
He turned further, scanning the stands behind the substitutes. Then his expression softened, a shy smile was breaking across his face.
There, in the seats, Julien gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up and a radiant grin.
In that instant, all of Kanté's nerves vanished. The strangeness of a new league, a new country, a new stadium, it all melted away beneath that familiar smile and gesture of encouragement.
Henderson jogged off, pulling Kanté into a quick embrace. "Go on, mate. Enjoy it."
Kanté nodded firmly, turned, and stepped onto the Anfield turf.
His Liverpool debut had begun.
The stadium announcer's voice echoed around the ground as the commentary team introduced him.
"Now entering the match, new signing N'Golo Kanté. This French defensive midfielder might not be familiar to Liverpool fans yet, but if you've followed Julien's career, you'll know exactly who Kanté is.
Last season at Bastia, these two formed the spine of a miracle. Together, they won an unprecedented treble: Ligue 1, Europa League, and the French Super Cup. While Julien dazzled in attack, Kanté provided the foundation.
His game isn't built on flashy dribbles or thunderous long shots. Watch him casually, and you might not even notice he's there. But observe the full ninety minutes, and you'll see him everywhere.
He's not the traditional defensive midfielder—not tall, not physically imposing. But his football intelligence, his anticipation, his relentless covering of ground... he's an invisible shield. He appears in passing lanes a fraction before the opponent even releases the ball, intercepting with minimal fuss.
Alongside veteran Jerome Rothen, Kanté formed the defensive base of Bastia's success. Liverpool secured him for just €10 million—a fee that borders on theft, frankly. He's a treble-winning starter, increasingly important for the French national team. That price only happened because of Julien's strong recommendation.
Let's see if this 'invisible' master can translate his brilliance to English football."
Against lower-league opposition, Kanté looked like he was playing a different sport.
His positioning was flawless; his interceptions were surgical. Time and again, he snuffed out Notts County attacks before they developed, then recycled possession with simple, efficient passes that set Liverpool moving forward again.
The Anfield crowd, appreciating effort as much as flair, applauded his tireless running. Even without spectacular tackles or Hollywood passes, Kanté's work rate alone earned respect.
This was exactly the type of player Liverpool fans adored—someone who gave everything, every single match.
"Kanté runs like he's one of us," one supporter joked in the stands. "Proper Liverpool mentality!"
Final Score: Liverpool 4-1 Notts County
Liverpool advanced comfortably to the next round.
The following morning at Melwood, the atmosphere was light after the League Cup victory. Recovery training had been brief, and now the dressing room buzzed with the chaos of players preparing to scatter across the globe.
Steven Gerrard, methodically packing his kit bag, glanced over at Julien, who was lacing his boots.
"Julien, take it easy with the national team this time. Don't go leathering the ball with that thigh muscle like before."
His tone carried the protective concern of an older brother, then shifted to playful teasing. "Though I suppose if you'd left Bastia a bit later in the summer, you'd be picking up a European Super Cup medal right about now. They're facing Bayern, aren't they?"
Julien looked up, smiling with warmth and confidence.
"Steven, I believe in my brothers at Bastia. They don't need me to compete. They're a real team."
No regret tinged his words—only trust in his former teammates.
Jordan Henderson walked over with a kit bag slung over his shoulder. "That's the right attitude, Julien. Now it's all about the World Cup qualifiers. We've all got jobs to do."
His gaze shifted to Kanté, sitting quietly nearby. "N'Golo, you and Julien are heading back to France together. At least you'll have each other."
Kanté nodded, his response was characteristically brief. "Yes."
Gerrard clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. The captain's authority filled the room naturally.
"Right, lads. An international break means all of you flying off to represent your countries and that's an honor, a responsibility. But I've only got one requirement."
His eyes swept across the room, landing finally on Julien.
"Stay healthy. Come back in one piece. Liverpool's campaign continues when you return, and we need every one of you."
Philippe Coutinho grinned. "Don't worry, captain! We'll bring back three points and healthy bodies!"
Laughter rippled through the dressing room as players exchanged farewells and shouldered their bags. Red training kits were packed away, replaced by the colors of different nations.
Hours later, on the flight to Paris, Julien stared out the window as Liverpool's skyline receded below.
He turned to Kanté beside him thoughtfully.
"N'Golo, remember what I told you back in the Bastia dressing room? We'd prove ourselves on bigger stages."
Kanté looked out at the clouds, his expression was calm but determined.
"I remember. Now the stage is even bigger."
Julien smiled.
'Yes. Bigger stages demand bigger performances.'
When their plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport, French Football Federation staff were already waiting. The car ride to Clairefontaine passed in familiar silence, the Parisian suburbs were giving way to rural landscapes.
Through the car window, Julien caught his own reflection, two faces were superimposed. One, the slightly rebellious teenager from two years ago. The other, the composed, hardened professional he'd become.
The memories flashed like a montage: Bastia's miracle run, the record transfer, his Premier League debut, the late winner. Two years were compressed into seconds.
The car pulled through Clairefontaine's gates, and Julien refocused. Anfield's roar had faded. Now he wore a different shirt, carried a different responsibility.
Didier Deschamps stood waiting at the entrance, dressed in France's blue training kit, his face was lit with joy.
"Julien! Welcome back, my captain!"
His voice boomed as he strode forward, pulling Julien into a firm embrace and clapping his back with enthusiasm.
Stepping back but keeping his hands on Julien's shoulders, Deschamps looked him over with paternal pride.
"That goal at Anfield—mon Dieu! The entire coaching staff watched it together. Absolutely magnificent! Well done, son!"
Julien smiled. "Thanks, Didier. It's always good to be back here."
"Good? It's more than good!" Deschamps steered him toward the building, arm still around his shoulders. "The timing of your return is perfect. Olivier, Raphael—they arrived early and have been rewatching your goal on repeat. Your form gives the whole squad a lift!"
His tone shifted slightly, maintaining warmth but adding seriousness.
"Celebrations aside, we've got serious work ahead. This qualification campaign is critical. I need you focused immediately. Are you ready?"
"Absolutely." Julien's eyes hardened with determination.
The World Cup.
Another stage—the biggest stage.
Inside the facility, Julien and Kanté were immediately swarmed.
"Oi! Look who's back! Our captain has returned!" Olivier Giroud opened his arms wide, crushing Julien in a bear hug. "That winner against Villa—I jumped out of my chair watching the replay! Absolutely insane!"
Varane approached next, bumping fists with Julien's shoulder. "Julien, that goal wasn't human. Seriously."
Julien laughed, returning their embraces and banter.
Payet and Ribéry joined the circle. Payet mimicked Julien's celebration pose while Ribéry joked in his thick accent, "Kid, all of France is talking about you now. You're stealing my spotlight!"
Giroud snorted. "Franck, he passed you in popularity ages ago! How do you even compete with Julien's fanbase?"
The room erupted in laughter, the atmosphere was warm and friendly.
Julien draped his arms over Giroud and Varane's shoulders, lowering his voice to a conspirative tone—half-joking, half-serious.
"Honestly, boys, you should all come to Liverpool. Imagine us playing together—proper brotherhood football. The three of us linking up? The Premier League wouldn't know what hit them."
Giroud roared with laughter, ruffling Julien's blonde hair. "Haha! Win Liverpool a trophy first, then we'll talk! But... I won't lie; it sounds tempting."
Varane, more reserved, smiled thoughtfully. "Julien, it's a nice dream. Playing together would be special. But you know how complicated these things are. Still... if the opportunity came one day? Who knows?"
Payet interjected from the side, grinning. "Hey! You lot planning a Premier League exodus right in front of me? What about those of us staying in Ligue 1?"
More laughter filled the corridor.
That evening in Clairefontaine's tactical room, the lights dimmed as the projector showed a map of Europe.
Deschamps stood before the screen, laser pointer in hand, his demeanor shifting to focused intensity.
"Our objective is crystal clear: finish top of the group and qualify directly for the 2014 World Cup in Brazil."
The red dot circled the group standings.
"Currently, we lead. Our advantage is head-to-head results against Spain—which means if we win our remaining four matches, we secure first place regardless of Spain's results."
The laser moved to highlight the upcoming opponents.
"Georgia and Belarus. On paper, we're superior. But these are away matches—hostile environments, difficult pitches, organized defensive blocks, potential counterattacks. I'm demanding zero mistakes. Six points from six."
Deschamps switched off the projector, lights coming back up. His gaze swept the room, settling on Julien.
"Our summer struggles were obvious: attacking inconsistency. The friendly goal drought exposed that clearly. Julien, my expectations for you remain the same: when the team can't break through, I need you to use your individual quality to solve problems."
Julien nodded.
Deschamps addressed the entire squad toughly.
"This road to Brazil won't be easy. But reaching a World Cup should never be easy. I believe in our talent and our unity. We can take every point that's ours to take. Any complacency, any lack of focus, is a betrayal of this blue shirt. Understood?"
"Understood!"
The response echoed through the room.
As the meeting ended and players came out, Julien spotted Mombaerts waiting in the corridor, smiling and waving him over.
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