The road to godhood starting from Ligue 1 Chapter 200

“Papi!”

The fans exclaimed. The name of the former captain of Bastia was forever etched in the history of Bastia.

On the big screen.

Papi, in a black and white image, smiled and spoke.

Then his voice echoed through the stadium.

Whoosh!

The fans were even more shocked. They wondered, “Was this an old interview with Papi by the team? Or something else?”

However,

Papi’s words dispelled their doubts.

“Lads, listen to me—

I’ve smelled the fragrance of this very turf under your feet in 1978, and I’ve heard the waves of the Mediterranean rise for our every sprint back then.

Yes,

We were once just one step away from the championship trophy.

But what I want to tell you today isn’t about regret, but about why we fight.

This island taught us.

Bastia’s reefs never fear giant waves. Smallness isn’t a weakness; it’s the spark that ignites our fighting spirit!

Thirty-four years ago, we stepped onto the European continent with the roar of Bastia.

Today, the whole of Bastia is still behind you—but never be bound by labels of ‘strong’ or ‘weak.’ Bastia’s football is always born for the ‘impossible.’

And, Gaio—”

On the screen, Papi’s face broke into a smile.

Some fans had already noticed that Papi’s lip movements didn’t match the voice coming from the speakers, but no one exposed it.

They reminisced about this legend.

They even thought,

“If,

If Papi were still alive, how wonderful it would be for him to witness his beloved Bastia win the championship, achieve the treble, and compete in European competitions again.”

Papi, whose life was cut short at the age of 34, joined Bastia’s youth academy at 15 and began his first-team career at 19. His entire professional career thereafter was dedicated to Bastia.

It wasn’t until 1981, after leading the team to Bastia’s first French Cup title and fulfilling his promise to bring a championship to his hometown fans, that he could finally retire with peace of mind, having been plagued by chronic knee injuries.

He left Bastia with a record of 455 appearances and 129 goals.

“Papi’s” voice flowed gently.

“Gaio, look at the captain’s armband on your left arm. Wear it, and always remember two things:

First, every touch you make carries the heartbeat of all Bastia people;

Second, if your jersey is dirtier than your opponent’s when the final whistle blows, even if you lose, the mountains of Bastia will bow in respect.

Failure is never terrible, just like that runner-up finish.

Did we lose?

Yes, we did.

But those old men with white hair today—they used to unload goods with me at the port, hawk fish in the market, yet they pooled money to buy standing tickets to Holland to cheer us on the night of the final.

They made me understand.

The significance of Bastia reaching the final was never about the trophy, but about proving that small teams can also be seen.

Today, it’s your turn: disregard strength or weakness, go step by step, and let Europe remember how hard the bones of Bastia people are!

Let Europe hear the roar of the Mediterranean!”

As the words fell.

On the screen, Papi waved, as if bidding farewell to everyone.

At Stade Armand Cesari.

The young fans were fine; they just felt a fire burning in their chests, wanting to be unleashed.

But the older fans.

They were already in tears.

Claude Papi, he was their youth.

In their prime, this omnipotent number ten core led Bastia to conquer one opponent after another.

Facing countless offers from wealthy clubs, he resolutely fulfilled his promise of “one man, one club.”

Clap! Clap! Clap!

A thunderous applause erupted in the stadium.

Gaio and the other players had finished the pre-match ceremony and stood at the center circle. A fire seemed to burn in each of their hearts.

Bastia,

Bastia!!

The stands roared. Today, there was no TIFO, no banners, no earth-shattering opening spectacle.

Only the old captain’s message.

The TF 1 commentator, seeing this scene, introduced Claude Papi to everyone.

“…This is a fighter. The people of Bastia are commemorating their legend in this way, and using the legend to inspire the current players.”

“Gaio, as the inheritor of Bastia’s number ten and as Bastia’s captain, he is carrying on the glory of his predecessors. Let’s look forward to Bastia’s performance in the Europa League this season.

They reversed a win against Viktoria Plzeň in their last away game. Now, in their first Europa League home game in 34 years, they face a not-so-strong Hapoel Tel Aviv.

Perhaps, the result won’t be bad…”

Beep!!

The referee blew a long whistle, and the match began.

Hapoel Tel Aviv knew the gap between them and a Ligue 1 team, so they didn’t underestimate Bastia, a fourth-tier team, just because they were a third-tier team themselves.

Hapoel Tel Aviv kicked off, but they immediately pulled back their formation.

Letting Bastia press.

Bastia showed no hesitation either. After kickoff, the attacking players all pressed towards Hapoel Tel Aviv’s ball-carrier.

But Hapoel Tel Aviv’s coach, Dado Avramović, had a clear strategy today.

Defend deep and look for counter-attacking opportunities.

They completely positioned themselves as the weaker team.

This was the first-ever encounter between the two teams, and they were unfamiliar with each other.

Bastia hadn’t played in European competitions for many years.

They had been floundering in lower divisions.

But Bastia played very proactively in this match, perhaps it was the fighting spirit brought by “Papi’s” message.

The players were passionate.

The fans were equally so, cheering whenever the team had exciting moments.

In the seventh minute.

Gaio dribbled continuously down the right wing, breaking through the defense of Hapoel Tel Aviv’s young defensive midfielder Gordana and Antebi.

He cut inside and unleashed a curling shot.

Unfortunately, Gaio focused on power and didn’t curl it enough, allowing Armenian goalkeeper Edér to gather the ball.

Whoosh!

The Bastia fans gasped, followed by warm applause.

Edér, after getting up, looked at his team’s positioning and saw no opportunity for a counter-attack.

So he threw the ball to a defender.

Edér was a relatively familiar face to French fans. From 2007 until last year, he had played for Paris Saint-Germain.

Although not the starting goalkeeper, he had made 71 appearances for PSG over four years.

He had won one French Cup with the team.

Time gradually passed with Bastia’s siege.

The last second of the ninth minute ended.

Entering the tenth minute.

Boom!

Boom! Boom!!

Suddenly, intense drumming erupted from the stands, followed by synchronized chanting—

“Gaio!”

“Gaio!!”

One after another, without stopping.

Then,

Some of the fans in the North Stand took off their jerseys, going shirtless.

But looking from a distance.

It was clearly visible that these shirtless fans formed the shape of a “ 10.”

Combined with the chanting of Gaio’s name in the tenth minute.

The TF 1 commentator quickly reacted, “This is Bastia fans showing their support for their number ten core, Gaio.”

On the field.

The football did not stop because of the commotion in the stands.

De Bruyne passed the ball to Gaio’s feet, then quickly moved forward.

Gaio understood.

He feigned a dribble, causing Gordana to easily shift his weight, then suddenly stopped and made a diagonal pass to the onrushing De Bruyne, while he himself quickly advanced down the wing.

The singing still echoed in the stands, “…Papi’s armband burns on your arm…”

De Bruyne was tangled by the other defensive midfielder, Djemba-Djemba. Djemba-Djemba, though older, his past Premier League experience was more than enough to support his defending.

After all,

This identically named defensive midfielder had managed to stay at Sir Alex Ferguson’s Manchester United for two years, playing nearly forty games.

But De Bruyne, relying on his footwork and physical strength, prevented Djemba-Djemba from taking the ball from him.

Meanwhile,

Gaio had created space on the wing. De Bruyne pushed the ball to the right with the outside of his right foot.

Completely surprising Djemba.

Gaio burst out of Antebi’s defensive zone and took a touch forward.

“…Blue seawater flows in your veins…” The singing in the stands gradually grew louder.

With that touch, Antebi couldn’t catch up.

Center-back Haimovich quickly came out to defend, his tall frame completely blocking Gaio’s path.

Gaio nudged the ball to the left, smoothly cutting past him.

He then dribbled horizontally from the right side of the penalty area towards the center.

A perfect corridor for an inside cut!

Haimovich knew how dangerous Gaio’s left foot was and quickly followed.

Gordana behind him also tried to catch up, attempting to interfere with Gaio.

But Gaio flicked his ankle, kicking the ball through Haimovich’s legs, and twisted his body to sprint past him on the right.

A nutmeg near the edge of the box!

“…Gaio! Gaio! Whom we adore!” The song reached its climax.

The singing continued.

No one was sitting, all eyes gleaming, eagerly awaiting.

Edér’s intuition told him that Gaio might shoot, but Romelu Lukaku emerging from the crowd made him wary of a central combination.

If Gaio had passed horizontally, Lukaku would have had an open goal.

Edér dared not rush out.

He simply stood relatively centrally near the near post.

Gaio nutmegged Haimovich, the tall center-back, who was slow to turn and completely left behind by Gaio.

One-on-one!

“…The fire of the North Stand burns in our pupils,

Kill! Kill! Kill! Carve out the edges of this city!”

Bang!

As the song reached its peak, Gaio glanced at the center and unleashed a low shot, piercing through Edér’s fingertips.

Swish!

The ball hit the net!

“Gaio! Gaio! Whom we adore!!”

The singing shook the heavens!

The entire stadium erupted in cheers, the roar of over twenty thousand people converging, making eardrums ache.

Goal!

“Whom we adore!!”

The song ended, but it was replaced by an even more intense roar—

“Gaio!”

Blue seawater permeated the entire Stade Armand Cesari, the air filled with the heat of Bastia’s burning passion.

The moment Gaio scored, he turned and slid on his knees towards the stands.

However, this time he was too excited.

The slide failed.

Leaving five stripes behind him.

But it didn’t affect his handsomeness in the slightest. He did a front roll to stand up and opened his arms towards the stands.

Eyes closed.

Head slightly raised.

Listening to the world cheer for him.

“Gaio!”

“So cool!”

His teammates also rushed up, one by one hanging on him, surrounding him, their faces full of excitement.

Less than 12 minutes.

They were leading!

Lukaku even lifted Gaio onto his shoulders.

Mané, Kanté, and De Bruyne supported Gaio, their faces beaming with smiles.

Further back, Rothen, Angoula, and others outside the huddle pumped their fists at the fans.

The fans in the stands were so excited their faces were flushed.

This match was Bastia’s response after 34 years.

Seeing Gaio, also a number 10 and captain, score.

Older fans wept openly.

They weren’t seeing Gaio’s goal; they weren’t seeing Bastia’s lead.

They were seeing a spirited Papi, leading Bastia into Europe in that era!

They were seeing their own youthful fervor, the burning of their own youth!

Hajibegić excitedly embraced his assistant coaches.

Chatham, in the stands, cheered wildly with the Pierre family.

Loïc was shouting “Yann! Yann! Yann!!”

He was proud of his brother.

In his heart, Gaio was his lifelong idol; no one could compare to Gaio.

The Pierre couple were equally proud.

Gaio had not only improved the family financially but also psychologically.

Making them immensely satisfied.

What parents wouldn’t want their child to be a source of pride?

Bondy.

Mbappé and Saliba were in the bedroom, cheering wildly.

After his excitement, Mbappé lamented, “William, I told you we shouldn’t have skimped on that extra resale ticket money. This match would have been incredibly shocking live. You saw it, didn’t you? Gaio, he’s practically the hero of all Bastia!”

Saliba shook his head, “Kylian, I wanted to go too, but after deducting our travel expenses and other costs, there really wasn’t any extra money to buy resale tickets. You saw, those people have inflated the resale ticket prices so much.”

Ethan piped up in a clear voice, “Kylian, William, I still have five euros, do you need it?”

Both shook their heads.

“Ethan, keep it to buy what you like. We’ve missed this match,” Mbappé shrugged helplessly.

Saliba suddenly said, “Hey, Kylian, I think we can pool our money and go to Spain at the end of the month!”

“Madrid?”

“Yes! Bastia and Atlético Madrid have a Europa League match. I think we can start saving money. I can borrow some from Walker and them.”

“Alright!”

Mbappé looked at Gaio in the broadcast’s close-up, his heart burning with anticipation.

The match continued on TV.

Mbappé turned to look at the Gaio poster on his bedroom wall.

That poster of him sliding to celebrate, with thunder behind him, made him feel an urge to grow up quickly and play in matches soon.

He also wanted to be like Gaio, to be the name cheered by all the fans.

He also wanted to be like Gaio, to gallop across the field like thunder and lightning, breaking through all defenses!

“Gaio!!”

The commentator’s voice suddenly rose.

Not just Mbappé and the others.

The fans at Stade Armand Cesari, at this moment, all eyes turned back to Gaio.