The road to godhood starting from Ligue 1 Chapter 081

Gao, naturally, did not refuse.

He recognized the speaker as Modoso, the head of Ultras Bastia, who had visited the Bastia training ground multiple times during the team’s open days.

Chatham had introduced this fan organization to Gao; they were Bastia’s most unwavering supporters.

Even if Bastia declined all the way to dissolution, this group would be the ones to pick up the pieces for Bastia.

Soon.

Modoso drove ahead, leading the way, all the way to Terra-Vecchia. Gao had actually rarely wandered since arriving in Bastia.

Now, looking out from the car window, the historic buildings in the city, balconies adorned with various colorful flowers, ancient streets, painted shutters, and towering houses all exuded a Mediterranean charm.

This was Bastia, a small city with a strong Mediterranean flavor that had been a bustling port since ancient times.

Terra-Vecchia City was the name of the downstream area in northern Bastia.

A few minutes later.

Modoso and his car stopped. By then, hundreds of fans wearing Bastia jerseys had already gathered around.

“We’re here!”

Modoso came over and opened the car door for Gao.

Pierre got out of the car with him, but Gao was quickly surrounded by fans, separating him from Pierre.

This was the Terra-Vecchia Central Building.

At this moment, the side of the central building was covered by a large white cloth. Gao wasn’t sure what Modoso meant, but he had a vague guess.

“Gao!”

“You are Bastia’s hero!”

The emotions of the surrounding fans slowly began to rise, and many pulled out their phones to take pictures.

Modoso pointed to the white cloth on the central building and said to Gao, “Gao, don’t worry, Bastia will never forget anyone who has contributed to it!”

Then he looked at the surrounding fans and shouted, “Come on! Sing the Song of Gao!”

“Gao! Gao!!”

Thump! Thump-thump!!

The surrounding fans cheered while clapping and stomping their feet rhythmically.

Besides these UB loyal fans, Bastia residents near the central building also gathered.

“…Your figure is the hurricane of Corsica!

Your shots burn the enemy’s net!

Fight, Bastia!”

The UB fans sang one after another. To accommodate Gao, they used French instead of Corsican.

The onlookers also joined in the singing.

Currently, almost all Bastia fans know how to sing “The Song of Gao.”

“…Your goals are fists smashing opponents!

When you run, the earth trembles…

The Deep Blue Legion is your army!”

“Fight, Bastia!”

The song ended.

Clap, clap, clap!

Everyone burst into applause.

Gao pursed his lips, his chest rising and falling more dramatically. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times before he managed to suppress the excitement in his heart.

The voices of hundreds of people around him now gave Gao a feeling that far surpassed the excitement of thousands cheering in a stadium.

He was immersed in it.

He felt a surge of hot blood rush to his head, an experience he had never had in both his lives.

At this moment, Gao so desperately wanted to bring a championship to Bastia.

This team had been without a championship for too long!

“Thank you all!” Gao said, waving his arm to the surrounding fans.

“Gao, you don’t have to thank us, we should thank you!”

“Yes, Bastia thanks you!”

“You are our hero, we will always support you!”

Modoso shouted, “Alright, no need for more words. Now let’s see Bastia’s future landmark!!”

“Great!!”

Many fans became excited; they were waiting for this moment.

“Gao, look!”

Modoso pointed to the central building, then gestured to the people below the building.

Whoosh!

The next second, the white cloth was pulled down, revealing a giant mural covering the entire side of the central building.

Gao watched the white cloth fall.

The image was the TIFO from the last match: him holding a crown engraved with the letters “N” and “B,” facing the mainland.

At the bottom of the image was the phrase, “Ashes to the indifferent, glory to our king,” written in both French and Corsican.

“Gao!!”

“Gao!!!”

The moment the white cloth completely fell, the fans present put their hands on each other’s shoulders, jumping and cheering together.

At this moment, Gao’s emotions reached their peak.

What does football mean?

Perhaps victory, perhaps a championship,

But more than that, it’s that emotion—the countless sunsets where sweat drops from your temples burst onto the training ground turf.

It’s the ball wrapped in a plastic bag at six years old in the slum, which thirty years later will be admired by fans in a glass case at the Louvre.

It’s the paper airplane made from the receipt of a pawned wedding watch, landing on the signature line of a youth training contract in the pouring rain.

It’s the thirty grams of salt hidden in the wrinkles of a one-legged old man’s season ticket, unchanged for twenty years, soaked with tears on the night Bastia finished last in Ligue 2 and was relegated.

Thirty grams—

Exactly the same weight as the handful of confetti that fell into a baby carriage during Bastia’s championship parade in 1986…

What is football?

Everyone has their own answer.

Now,

In the hearts of all Bastia fans present, what is football?

Football is the surging passion hidden in every shout of “Gao”—the longing hidden before the giant mural…

“Gao!”

“Gao!!”

Pierre squeezed into the excited crowd, put his arm around Gao’s shoulder, and brought Gao’s wandering thoughts back to reality.

“This is crazy, Gao, I’m proud of you.”

Noise continued to fill the area in front of the central building.

Modoso pointed to the wall and said to Gao with a laugh, “This will become a landmark of Bastia!”

“Thank you.”

“I told you, you never have to thank us. Everything you’ve done for the team is what we need to thank you for, thank you for your dedication to Bastia!” Modoso said.

“Alright, we’ve delayed you for twenty minutes. Go quickly, go to the national team. We’ll be waiting to watch your European Championship matches on TV this summer!”

Gao nodded.

He waved to the fans, then walked towards the car door, and the fans made way for him.

The fans shouted.

“Go, Gao! Let those who doubt you see what talent is!”

“Gao, go to the national team and prove yourself!”

Gao responded with a smile.

He walked all the way to the car door, and just as he was about to get in, he suddenly stopped.

Then he firmly said to all the fans, “I will bring back a championship trophy for you!”

As soon as these words were spoken.

There was a half-second pause, followed by a thunderous roar of sound!

“Gao!!”

A simple name, carrying the boundless emotions of everyone, diffused throughout the center of Terra-Vecchia!

Gao took the car to the airport.

Behind him, far away, he could still hear the cheers… Carried by the Mediterranean sea breeze, sweeping over the island of Corsica, blowing towards the European continent.