"Hey, Rocca, wake up."
William felt someone shaking him in his drowsy state, but his eyelids seemed sealed shut—he couldn't open them no matter how hard he tried.
His consciousness gradually stirred.
'Rocca? Who was that?'
'Pain!'
As his awareness slowly returned, William felt a needle-like agony pierce through his head. Countless memories came flooding in like a torrent.
The pain nearly made him lose consciousness again.
"Hey! Rocca! What's wrong with you?!"
"Doctor! Quick! Call a doctor! Something's wrong with Rocca!"
William no longer cared about what was happening around him—he was fighting the pain with everything he had.
In his hallucination, countless images flashed through his mind like slides in a projector.
Football, Clairefontaine, genius, confronting coaches, Chelsea, Abramovich, doubt, France, Nantes, injuries, Bastia...
Scene after scene swept through him, drowning William in this torrent of information.
Until a police officer's voice cut through it all.
"I'm sorry, but Rocca was involved in this robbery. He was one of the ringleaders, and we must take him away."
Then came his parents' tears. The farewell. The scene of entering Fleury-Mérogis Youth Prison.
These scenes played out like a movie, immersing William completely as the images wrapped around him like flowing water.
Splash!
Suddenly, a bright light shot into William's mind. He felt like a drowning man being pulled from the depths.
He gasped for air desperately.
Everything before his eyes began to change—white ceiling, harsh lights, and an unfamiliar white face.
"His vital signs are normal. He just fell into some kind of hallucinating state. This might be related to his existing psychological issues. He needs a psychiatrist."
William lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, motionless. He was trying to accept reality.
'Transmigration and reincarnation? Soul possession?'
As the pain in his head subsided, he seemed to understand everything before him.
He had been an ordinary amateur player who, on the evening of September, 2024, watched a Manchester United match and got so angry that he fought with the opposite home fans. In the chaos, someone hit him with a brick, and he lost consciousness on the spot.
When he woke up, it was now.
He had become a French troubled youth named Julien De Rocca, a former Clairefontaine prodigy who was now a prisoner.
A month ago, on November 29, 2011—De Rocca's 17th birthday—he and his friends had robbed a perfume shop just five or six hundred meters from his home, armed with knives.
It was called robbery, but it was more like venting their dissatisfaction with their current situation. They only stole a few dozen euros and were caught before they could even spend it.
But before all this, Julien De Rocca had been a super prodigy expected by countless French football professionals.
He joined Clairefontaine at eleven, entered Chelsea's youth academy at fourteen, and was promoted to Chelsea's U16 team. His future should have been limitless.
But De Rocca had fatal psychological problems. He despised authority, was extremely volatile, emotionally unstable, and obsessive. He was overconfident in his talent, played as an attacking midfielder and winger, always trying to dribble past every opponent with his natural ability, playing very selfishly.
His technique and individual ability amazed Chelsea's coaches. "This is simply art," they said. He was even promoted to Chelsea's first team because of this.
But his personality prevented him from going further.
He got into arguments with Ricardo Carvalho in the first team and even confronted John Terry. If not for Didier Drogba's protection and high regard for De Rocca, the Chelsea veterans would have beaten him up long ago.
Still, he was released by Chelsea six months ago. The reason was simple: he had beaten up a Russian player in Chelsea's youth academy—someone Abramovich particularly liked.
He then returned to France and joined Nantes' youth academy, but was released again due to an adductor muscle injury. After that, he joined Bastia's youth academy.
Before he could show any talent at Bastia, he ended up in prison.
Looking back on all this, William honestly envied De Rocca. He envied these chosen ones who had the confidence to be reckless, who drew so much attention.
Unlike himself, who loved football but had nothing. Despite his best efforts, he could barely reach amateur level, all while juggling work and life, which left him exhausted.
But heaven seemed to have given him a chance to start over.
"Julien De Rocca."
William murmured this name, this new life. A smile crept across his lips.
Since you couldn't live this blessed life properly, let me take this top-tier talent and write a chapter in football history.
What he could never achieve even with all his effort was merely the starting point for these talents.
Now he had become one of them.
Although his predecessor had wasted too much time, fortunately, De Rocca was only 17—everything was still possible.
Just as De Rocca smiled, his parents beside him couldn't stop their tears from flowing.
In their eyes, De Rocca had gone mad.
This past month had been the most torturous period for their entire family.
His father Pierre was just an ordinary French working-class man, slightly better off than most, but supporting six children was still a struggle.
The whole family had been counting on their third child De Rocca's football talent to lift them out of their current modest circumstances.
In fact, Julien had already helped them through many difficulties. When he joined Chelsea's youth academy, Chelsea provided a sum of money and covered the educational expenses of his siblings.
Even though Julien's contract with Chelsea had ended, Chelsea still promised to help the other children complete their education.
So facing Julien, Pierre and his wife had both parental responsibility and expectations for him.
They had used every possible means to secure his bail.
But when they came to visit him in prison, they saw their child in what appeared to be a mentally ill state. It broke their hearts.
"Julien..." His mother's tears flowed as she whispered his name.
Lying there, Julien turned to look at them, then propped himself up.
"Julien?!" Pierre was somewhat surprised.
Julien waved his hand. "I'm fine."
The couple was immediately delighted, looking relieved. His mother hugged Julien without speaking, her body trembling.
He was awake and seemed to be okay—the same taciturn boy as always.
The youth prison immediately began the bail process. He could train at Bastia's youth academy during the day, but had to be monitored at night to prevent reoffending.
When Julien left the prison, he brought nothing with him.
His delinquent friends shouted his name, asking him to help arrange their bail.
Julien showed no reaction. Head down, silent, he walked out of the prison without looking back.
William—no, Julien De Rocca—looked up at the French sky and smiled.
"From now on, I'll take over your life."