Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

Chapter 655 - 655: Chapter-654 The Chaos

That chance seemed to break some psychological barrier. Liverpool completely took control, launching wave after wave of attacks that pinned Everton deep in their own half.De Bruyne's corner kick found Van Dijk attacking the near post, his leap timing was perfect, his header went toward goal but the connection lacked power, and the ball scraped over the crossbar by inches.

Coutinho received possession twenty-five yards out, his first touch created space while his second sent a vicious curling shot toward the top corner. Howard flung himself full-stretch, fingertips just reaching the ball, palming it away spectacularly.

Julien drove inside from the left, beating two challenges through close control, delivering a dangerous low cross that Baines blocked desperately at full stretch.

The attacks kept coming relentlessly, Everton's was holding firm through a combination of organization, commitment, and occasional fortune. Anfield's volume increased with each attack.

But the scoreline stubbornly remained 0-0, Everton was clinging on through discipline and heroic defending.

On the Everton bench, Martínez couldn't sit still. He marched the technical area constantly, shouting instructions that were barely audible over the crowd noise, gesturing frantically at his players to maintain their shape and concentration.

He knew that this opening period was Everton's greatest danger. If they couldn't weather Liverpool's initial storm—if the dam broke under the pressure—the result would be catastrophic, potentially matching or exceeding the 4-0 humiliation at Goodison Park.

That first derby defeat still haunted him, the memory of watching his team dismantled over ninety painful minutes. He absolutely could not allow a repeat performance, especially not at Anfield in front of Liverpool's jubilant supporters.

"Stay compact! Hold your positions!" His voice was hoarse from constant instruction, but he couldn't stop.

Liverpool's attacking momentum seemed irresistible, their quality was overwhelming but football's beautiful unpredictability was about to manifest.

The 23rd minute brought the match's first genuine shock.

James McCarthy won a midfield battle against De Bruyne, his tackle was flawless though aggressive. The ball broke loose, and McCarthy instantly recognized the opportunity. Rather than playing safe and relieving pressure temporarily, he gambled and stabbed through-ball immediately before Liverpool could reorganize.

Mirallas had already begun his run, anticipating the pass. The ball bisected Liverpool's backline dropping into space behind Piszczek who'd pushed high supporting the attack and was now caught out of position.

Suddenly Everton had numerical advantage—Mirallas was alone against Van Dijk, with Naismith sprinting to provide support centrally.

Mirallas touched the ball into the penalty area, his pace sent him clear of Piszczek's attempted recovery. Van Dijk had placed himself well, cutting off the direct route to goal but that still left Mirallas with a shooting angle if he could get his shot away quickly enough.

Mignolet made his decision instantaneously and exploded off his line, rushing out to narrow the angle.

Mirallas, under pressure from the charging goalkeeper and aware of Van Dijk's presence blocking the near post, had no time for a second thought. He instinctively a low drive aimed toward the far corner, hoping his placement would beat power.

CRACK!

The connection was clean, the ball travelled low and hard across Mignolet's diving body.

Time seemed to slow, forty thousand people were holding their breath simultaneously, following the ball's trajectory...

CLANG!

The ball struck the inside of the far post with a metallic thud—so close to crossing the line before spinning away to safety.

Hhhhissssssss!

The collective intake of breath from Liverpool supporters was audible even over the ambient noise.

That had been terrifyingly close—absurdly close given the run of play.

Martínez spun away from the touchline, his hands were clasped on top of his head, face was tilted toward the sky in anguish. His body language screamed frustration and disbelief.

That chance—that golden counter-attacking opportunity had been executed perfectly and still failed by the finest of margins.

The match's character had transformed. What had threatened to become one-sided domination had evolved into appparent end-to-end football where both teams sensed vulnerability in the opponent.

Neither side could establish constant control.

The 28th minute brought Liverpool's clearest opportunity yet.

Gerrard received possession thirty yards from goal. His peripheral vision caught Suárez's movement, finding space between Everton's central defenders just as the offside trap was being set.

Gerrard's through-ball was weighted beautifully, bisecting the defence, played into the channel where Suárez was accelerating onto it.

He was suddenly clean through, one-on-one with Howard with the goal post before him.

Howard charged out aggressively, making himself large, trying to reduce the available target. Suárez took one touch to steady himself, then opted a side-footed push toward the near post, attempting to squeeze the ball past Howard's advancing body.

Howard had committed early, diving in the direction Suárez was aiming, and his gamble paid off.

The ball struck his outstretched leg, deflecting away from danger.

Whhhoooaaahhh!

Anfield erupted again in collective anguish, the groan of disappointment was even louder than before. That had been the chance that absolutely should have been converted.

"UNBELIEVABLE! Suárez has somehow failed to score from point-blank range!" Martin Tyler sounded almost breathless, his voice showed his genuine shock. "How is this match still goalless? Liverpool have created chance after chance, dominated territorially and statistically, and yet cannot find a breakthrough!

This is vintage derby football—chaotic, unpredictable, refusing to follow the script! I'm not sure my heart can handle much more of this tension!"

Three minutes later, Everton launched another devastating counter that had Liverpool supporters' hearts in their mouths.

Barry's long diagonal pass bypassed Liverpool's midfield press completely, and found Naismith making a diagonal run across the backline. Naismith's header was intelligent rather than powerful and flicked before dropping into Barkley's path.

Barkley was suddenly in space inside Liverpool's penalty area, eighteen yards from goal with time to shoot. Van Dijk was closing rapidly but hadn't arrived yet. Barkley set himself and unleashed a powerful drive aimed toward the top corner.

Mignolet reacted instantly, his reflexes were exceptional. He flung himself full-length toward the ball's trajectory and somehow got fingertips to it.

The touch was minimal but sufficient, just enough deflection to send the ball over the crossbar rather than inside the post.

Another incredible save. Another collective exhale from the Liverpool fans.

Mignolet landed heavily, bounced back to his feet immediately, and began shouting at his defence, clapping his hands sharply and pointing at players' positions.

The Everton players couldn't believe their misfortune. Two golden chances in eight minutes, both spurned by the finest of margins. Barkley stood with hands on head, staring at the sky in disbelief.

That shot had been perfect and still Mignolet had somehow kept it out.

"WHAT A SAVE! What an absolutely extraordinary save from Mignolet!" Tyler's voice had gone up another octave. "Barkley's shot was destined for the top corner—I'd have bet my house on that finding the net!

Thirty-one minutes played, and both teams have created multiple gilt-edged chances that absolutely should have resulted in goals! This match is living on a knife-edge, the tension is unbearable!

Everything about this derby is exceeding expectations! Nobody predicted this level of end-to-end chaos, this many high-quality chances at both ends. If you'd told me before kick-off that we'd be scoreless after half an hour despite all these opportunities, I'd have called you mad!"

High in Anfield's executive boxes, away from the mayhem and emotion consuming the stands, Liverpool's ownership observed with rather different perspectives than the supporters below.

Abdullah sat forward in his seat, one hand pressed lightly against his chest as if steadying his heartbeat.

He turned toward David sitting beside him, and spoke with a mixture of amusement and concern:

"Klopp is truly unique, isn't he? Everton have created several dangerous counter-attacks, exposed our defence repeatedly, and yet he persists with this high-pressing approach without adjustment. I have to admit, watching this is making me rather nervous!"

Dein's initial reaction was uncertainty about how to interpret that statement. Was Abdullah criticizing Klopp's tactical stubbornness? Questioning whether the manager's philosophy was sustainable?

But examining Abdullah's expression more carefully, Dein relaxed slightly.

He gave a tactful response, keeping his own gaze fixed on the pitch,

"Indeed, his tactical philosophy is uncompromising, extremely aggressive by nature. Though I must say, our luck tonight hasn't been particularly kind. We've created so many clear opportunities without converting any of them. On another night, we'd be three or four goals ahead by now."

Abdullah's smile widened, clearly enjoying the spectacle despite—or perhaps because of the tension: "To be fair, Everton are experiencing the same frustration. That missed one-on-one moments ago? Martínez must be tearing his hair out on the touchline."

He paused, his attention drawn by another piece of Julien magic on the pitch—a sudden burst of acceleration, a defender was left grasping at air—before continuing:

"Julien's performance has been exceptional tonight. As the team's creative fulcrum, he's completely dominated play in the attacking third. Every time he touches the ball, something dangerous develops. His dribbling, his passing, his positioning—all are exceptional.

What's remarkable is that he's only nineteen years old. Nineteen! At that age, most players are still learning their trade in reserve teams or lower divisions. He's already one of the Premier League's most influential players."

Dein nodded in agreement enthusiastically, sensing an opportunity to reinforce the success of their recruitment strategy:

"Absolutely. And even more remarkably, he captains France's national team despite his youth. That leadership quality at such a young age is genuinely rare."

Abdullah's smile broadened further, clearly pleased with the Julien investment. "Indeed."

Dein continued, building his case:

"Julien's quality is obvious to anyone watching, but it's not just him. His chemistry with Suárez and Coutinho improves with every match—they're reading each other's movements intuitively now. And beyond our attacking stars, the winter signings have all integrated brilliantly. Piszczek provides quality and experience at right-back. Van Dijk despite his youth has shown he can handle Premier League intensity. De Bruyne's creativity from midfield has been transformative.

Klopp deserves immense credit for how quickly he's integrated new players into his system. Some managers take years to successfully blend new signings. Klopp has them operating cohesively within weeks."

Abdullah nodded thoughtfully, his expression becoming more serious.

"This bodes well for summer planning. Our recruitment strategy becomes clearer—identify specific positional needs, target players who fit Klopp's system, and strengthen the squad depth further. With another window of investment, this team's ceiling will rise considerably."

Dein agreed, "Precisely."

Then Abdullah added, almost like in passing: "One thing to remember, David—there's no need for excessive financial caution. Don't try to save the club money through bargain hunting. When spending is justified, spend without hesitation. The most expensive mistake is the player we failed to sign because we haggled over price."

Dein's stomach dropped slightly, his mind immediately understood the subtext.

This was about the Felipe Luis situation during the January window. Atlético Madrid had demanded what Dein considered an inflated fee for their experienced left-back. Rather than meeting their asking price, Dein had negotiated hard, ultimately deciding the player was overpriced relative to his age and remaining contract length.

Instead, Liverpool had signed Robertson—a young, inexpensive gamble from Scottish football rather than an established La Liga defender.

At the time, Dein had felt proud of his financial prudence, his refusal to let Liverpool be exploited as a wealthy club with more money than sense.

But Abdullah's comment revealed a fundamental misalignment in philosophy. The Qatari ownership didn't particularly care about saving a few million pounds here or there. They wanted the best possible players, regardless of whether the price represented perfect value.

They'd rather overpay for quality than underpay for potential.

Robertson might develop into an excellent player as his debut had shown promise but he was a lottery ticket, not a sure thing. Felipe Luis was a defender who'd already proven himself at the highest level.

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