Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

Chapter 671 - 671: Chapter-670 The Hope

At Evening.Everyone had been expecting a clash of titans—Arsenal's home fixture against Manchester United, a collision of fire and stone.

On one side: Arsenal, freshly humiliated in a 5–0 rout by Liverpool, desperate for a home win to purge their rage and wrestle back the initiative in the title race.

On the other: United, mired in a winless stretch, hungry to break the stalemate and push for a top-four place.

Add to that United's overwhelming head-to-head dominance—ten wins, two draws, one loss across the last thirteen meetings and almost everyone predicted a war.

Instead, the match gave nothing.

It was suffocatingly dull.

Two hundred and seventeen meetings of history between these clubs, and none of it happened into anything worth watching. Neither side wanted to lose. Naturally, neither could find a way to win.

From the first whistle, both teams were flat. Attack, defence—there was nothing to admire. It was total dullness.

Arsenal's closest moment came in the sixty-second minute: a corner was swung in, Koscielny attacked the near post with a sharp header, only for Valencia to clear it off the line in a heart-stopping scramble.

United's best chance arrived in the seventy-ninth—It was a swift counter with Rooney threading a forty-five-degree ball to the back post, Van Persie meeting it with a diving header. Szczęsny palmed it onto the crossbar. It bounced clear.

Those two moments were all the drama this stagnant match had to offer. For the rest of the ninety minutes, both sides shuttled the ball aimlessly around midfield, unable to conjure a single clear threat.

The final whistle blew: 0–0.

A dead draw.

Arsenal had failed to channel the fury of last week's humiliation on their own turf. United had extended their miserable run to three league games without a win, their gap to the top four was growing wider.

Wenger, however, claimed he could live with the result.

At the post-match press conference, he said, "We dropped two points, missed a chance to win but the one point we took keeps us in contention. The last few fixtures haven't been easy; Liverpool and United are both formidable sides. We have to find our form from here and start winning again."

He gave his analysis of the game as well.

"If you only look at possession, we should have won. But United gave us very few opportunities, and the ones we had, we didn't take. When we lost the ball in their half, their ability to push forward was genuinely dangerous—Van Persie, Mata, Januzaj, all threats were on the counter-attack. Perhaps it looks like we were too focused on not conceding, too cautious in our approach. But we conceded five goals last Saturday. You have to factor that in."

He acknowledged, too, that his team had been nervous in the final third.

"Yes, I could sense the anxiety. Usually we create danger with quick, incisive passing—I believe they'll loosen up eventually. When you suffer a blow like last Saturday, the players are desperate not to lose again.

Tonight, securing the draw was the priority.

The attacking fluency will come back. And credit to United's defence as well—when we chose to cross, Vidić and Ferdinand were there to deal with it; when we tried to play through, Carrick was an immense influence. United are a side that can match anyone in this league. Their current position doesn't reflect their true quality. You cannot say they lack ability."

On United's chances of still reaching the Champions League places, Wenger was restrained: "Mathematically it's not impossible, but it will be very hard. Spurs won, Liverpool won—in that regard, I know no more than what the media knows."

Giroud had again struggled to make an impact, wasting several chances, though Wenger shielded him: "He worked hard. If we keeps that attitude up the goals will come."

As for what lay ahead—Liverpool and then Bayern, one after the other, Wenger said the positives grimly: "We've played two tough matches and the results haven't been ideal, but we remain in contention. That's the only good news right now."

Wenger said he could accept the draw.

But for Moyes, this was another bitter night.

By the numbers, United had accumulated just six points from their Premier League matches against the other top-seven clubs this season. For the defending champions, that was a damning indictment.

Unable to beat the best—that was the verdict on Moyes's United. Top four was slipping further from their grasp.

Beaten by Chelsea, beaten by City, beaten by Everton, beaten by Spurs, beaten by Liverpool.

This United bore no resemblance to the side that had ruled English football the last season.

Last year, they'd stormed to the title with 89 points. In their matches against that season's top seven, Ferguson's United had posted six wins, two draws, four losses showing a fifty-percent win rate.

This season, that figure had collapsed to eleven percent.

Eleven percent.

It was a number that made the eyes water.

And it was, by and large, the same squad with the addition of Fellaini for £24.5 million and Mata for £37.1 million.

The only change was the manager. Could the problem really rest completely on Moyes?

The truth was, United fans had long since grown restless.

Even before kick-off, Arsenal fans had begun taunting him without mercy—the Emirates was chanting as one: "Moyes, you're getting sacked in the morning."

It was mostly enemy's mockery, yes. But a visible number of United fans had joined in.

Moyes stood there, trapped in his own humiliation.

Arsenal and United drew.

Perhaps the happiest people on the planet right now were Liverpool fans.

The gap between them and their rivals had widened further.

And before the red half of Merseyside could even settle into their satisfaction, the next piece of news arrived: Chelsea had drawn away at West Bromwich Albion. 1–1.

Chelsea had dropped points too. This result extended Liverpool's lead at the top.

Chelsea hadn't lost—their eleven-match unbeaten run remained intact but they'd failed to take the three points that mattered.

The game itself had at least offered more drama than the Emirates stalemate. Ivanović had put Chelsea ahead deep into first-half stoppage time, the visitors appeared seemingly set to see the result out. But Anichebe levelled for West Brom in the second half, and the points were shared.

The table now showed: Chelsea on 57 points, temporarily second. Liverpool on 61, firmly top. Arsenal on 56, third. The two draws had tilted the title race even further in the Reds' favour. They were four points clear. Liverpool fans could finally see the light at the end of a very long tunnel.

On the club's fan forums, the mood was euphoric. One fan posted: "Four points ahead! Surely this year's Premier League title is ours? After all these years of waiting—the trophy's finally coming home!"

"We beat Fulham, Chelsea drew, Arsenal drew—who on earth is stopping this?"

The celebrations weren't limited to the title picture. The rival managers became fair game too.

Regarding of Chelsea's draw, one fan sneered: "Same old Mourinho—takes the lead and immediately parks the bus. Got punished for it. Cheers, José."

United's Moyes received a more gleefully scheming treatment: "Please don't sack Moyes. Keep him there, let him drag United into mid-table oblivion—ideally right into a relegation fight. He's the best thing that ever happened to us."

Others dredged up Wenger's pre-match talk of vengeance, scoffing: "He was going to channel their rage, was he? That dreary nil-nil against United? They've no energy left after we battered them. Should be fun when we meet again."

Another piled on, "We knocked all the fight out of them last week. They couldn't even beat United—just imagine what happens when we face them again."

The media were equally breathless. Column after column declared this Liverpool's golden window, the best chance in a generation to end the long, hollow years without a league title.

Former Liverpool greats came out of the woodwork to agree. The squad depth, the form, the fixture list, all of it aligned, they said, as rarely before in the club's history.

Jamie Carragher wrote in his column:

"I have never seen Liverpool lead the Premier League with this kind of dominance. Klopp has forged this squad into a high-functioning machine—the balance between attack and defence, the depth across the pitch, it's something we simply haven't had for years. Every condition points in our favour. This is the moment. We cannot let it slip."

The noise was everywhere. The adulation, the expectation, the coronation in all but name.

But none of it penetrated Melwood.

Inside the training ground, the players went about their preparation for the FA Cup replay against Arsenal with the same disciplined focus as always. There was no complacency or loosening of the routine.

The pre-match press conference arrived in due course.

Most of the questions were variations on the same theme: the title race, the growing lead, the inevitability of it all.

When asked whether he agreed that this was Liverpool's best chance in years, Klopp gave a slight shake of his head.

"What others discuss is their business. For us, the only thing that matters right now is maintaining our rhythm—and staying deaf to the noise."

He paused, letting his gaze pass across the room.

"I won't pretend what it's not. We Liverpool are one of the title favourites in this Premier League. But being the favourite is not the same as being the champion. We haven't won anything yet—nothing worth celebrating. There are many more rounds of league football still to play. There is an FA Cup tie to be fought. Every match carries its own uncertainty. The only path forward is to be fully present in each one."

On the FA Cup rematch with Arsenal, he was equally restrained.

"The 5–0 will not give us any complacency, and the noise outside will not push us off course. Arsenal have resilience. They will come into this prepared for revenge. As far as we're concerned, it is simply another match we need to win, no different from every other one we've played this season."

He closed the press conference with:

"Honours are never won in conversation. They are won through every sprint, every tackle, every moment of commitment on the pitch. Until we lift that trophy, we are challengers—nothing more."

Wenger also offered little at his own pre-match briefing beyond a declaration that his side would compete and defend their home with pride.

The following evening was the night of the FA Cup replay.

The London Underground's Northern Line was packed with Arsenal fans in red and white. But the buoyant energy of normal matchdays was nowhere to be found.

Conversations were hushed. Sighs drifted through the trains.

Every face wore its own version of the same dread.

That last defeat had shaken them very badly.

"It's rough," a middle-aged fan muttered to the person beside him heavily with resignation. "It's just so rough. Is this a curse? We always fall apart at the worst possible moment."

The shadow of so many February collapses lay over him. "I thought the home fixture might spark something. But against this Liverpool side... I genuinely cannot work up any confidence."

His companion exhaled slowly and leaned against the handrail; his eyes were distant. "You can't blame it entirely on the curse. Liverpool are just that good right now. The squad they have, the attacking rhythm they play with—it's top-level. That De Rocca in particular. He's impossible to plan for."

At the mention of Julien his tone shifted and an edge of sorrow crept in.

"Honestly, if the club had moved for him when they had the chance, our attack would look completely different right now. The way he finds space, the way he finishes—there's no specific defensive system that can contain it. Liverpool have him, and suddenly they've got a blade that cuts from anywhere. What a waste. What an absolute waste."

The words spread like a ripple through the train carriage.

A young fan in an Arsenal cap picked up the thread, "Exactly. That bicycle kick last week—and the way he just unlocks the whole front line. Our defence can't hold up against that. Even if we set up specifically to limit him, Liverpool still have De Bruyne, Suárez, players who can take over a game. Their firepower is just on another level."

"And Klopp understands how to win the hard ones. He's drawn every bit of toughness out of this group," another fan added with a restless anxiety in his voice. "We lose one big match and we fall apart. That's the difference. If we go out of the cup tonight, the league confidence is gone too. Liverpool are already five points ahead of us."

The train fell quiet. Only the rumble of the train filled the space.

Each sound felt like a knock against the chest.

Then, just as the gloom was thickening, a young woman spoke up—her voice was soft and sounded uncertain.

"Let's not give up before it starts. This is the Emirates. We're at home." She pause then said slowly. "Maybe there's still a miracle in us. Liverpool have been playing through a packed schedule too. If we can hold firm in the opening and find our feet... it's not impossible."

Her words dropped into the silence like a pebble into still water like a faint ripple, nothing more.

A few heads nodded. But nobody spoke.

Miracles are miracles precisely because they are so rare.

The train slid into the station nearest the Emirates. The doors opened. Fans poured onto the platform; their footsteps were heavy.

The red-and-white tide moved toward the ground.

The despair was still there, still spreading.

But underneath it, small and stubborn, there remained the faintest ember of something that refused to go out—the last, unreasonable insistence that tonight might still surprise them.

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