Emperor of Football: Julien De Rocca

Chapter 673 - 673: Chapter-672 Match End

On the pitch.Julien and his teammates were still riding the high of their celebrations, their energy showed no signs of dying down.

Sterling threw an arm around Julien's shoulder and landed a light fist against his chest, grinning. "Beautiful! That rocket shot was unstoppable, they had absolutely no answer for you!"

"Keep this rhythm up," Julien said, "and they won't be able to hold on."

Gerrard clapped them both on the back, his voice remained steady and low. "Don't ease off. Press forward while we have the momentum, give them no room to breathe."

On the touchline, Klopp had finally come down from his earlier fist-pumping euphoria. He stood watching the white-shirted figures walking back to the centre circle. This victory was worth celebrating but his ambitions had always reached further than this.

He thought of the Champions League final loss at Dortmund. That defeat still sat in his throat like a shard.

A final loss was bad enough. Losing to Bayern made it even worse.

But this group of gifted young men at Liverpool had given him reason to believe the wound could be healed.

Win this match. Win the league. And next season's Champions League, we'll have a go at that too. He pressed his lips together, already impatient for what was to come. I'll take you to the top of Europe. Liverpool gave me this chance, and I'll give this city a European Cup in return.

That was his ambition.

That was the future he was building toward.

Tweet!

The celebrations wound down. The referee's whistle cut through the noise, and the match resumed.

Down 0–2, Arsenal were not ready to surrender.

Their players threw themselves back into it with a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve, pushing to claw something back. Arteta drove forward to organize the attack; Sanogo and Podolski made runs in behind, hungry for any chance to narrow the deficit.

The Emirates roared, trying to will the team back to life.

But the fight felt frantic and feeble.

Arsenal's first attacking move of the half died instantly against Liverpool's solid defence.

Podolski attempted to take on Robertson down the left, only to be dispossessed cleanly. The ball moved swiftly to Gerrard's feet who didn't hesitate much scanned the space ahead and launched a powerful, raking long ball that cut through Arsenal's defensive line and dropped into the void behind Mertesacker.

Klopp had hammered this point in pre-match preparation: Mertesacker was slow to turn. There was no reason not to exploit it.

At the same moment, Sturridge had read the pass before it was made. He made his run to beat the offside trap, took one long step to push the ball into his path, and was gone.

Mertesacker couldn't live with Sturridge's pace not even close.

Knowing he'd been caught out of position, watching Sturridge bear down on goal with a clear run at the goalkeeper, Mertesacker acted on instinct.

He reached out and grabbed Sturridge's shirt. Then he hauled hard.

Sturridge's balance went down. Both men crashed heavily to the ground.

A collective intake of breath rose from the Arsenal supporters.

They already knew.

And then—Tweet! Tweet!

The shrill, urgent blast of the whistle. The referee had blown the instant they hit the turf and was already striding resolutely toward the incident.

His gaze fixed on Mertesacker. His expression left no room for doubt.

His left arm extended as right hand dived into his pocket.

A red card was held high.

Last man. Straight red.

The Emirates erupted not in joy, but in disbelieving despair.

"No!!!"

Home supporters stared wide-eyed in horror. Some buried their faces in their hands. Others punched the air in helpless frustration. "How are we supposed to play now?!"

Two goals down, on the back foot, and now a man short.

Arsenal were in ruins on their own ground.

Mertesacker picked himself up slowly, stared at the card with hollow eyes, and offered no protest, no argument. He simply lowered his head and walked toward the tunnel. He had known what his foul meant the moment he made it. But with Sturridge in behind, he'd had no other choice.

On the touchline, Wenger that tall, imposing figure seemed to have shrunk. His arms were folded across his chest as always, but his face was ashen, and something in his eyes looked beaten.

The shadow of the 5–0 defeat last week had not yet lifted. Now this. Destroyed in their own home. Liverpool had not merely outplayed Arsenal, they had stripped them of the will to fight back.

Wenger wanted to shout something, anything, to spark his players. But the words got caught in his throat.

In the end, only a long, heavy sigh left him.

Out on the pitch, Arsenal's players looked lost. Their backline had already been carved apart by Liverpool's wing play. A man down, they would be even more exposed and they knew it.

The commentary delivered what felt like a verdict. "It's over for Arsenal. It really is over now.

Two goals down and a man short against a Liverpool side in this kind of form, there is simply no way back. Liverpool's attack was already unstoppable at eleven against eleven. With the numerical advantage on top of that, this FA Cup tie is effectively finished…"

In the away end, the Liverpool supporters swung their red scarves and roared with their arms raised. Some had already begun celebrating the progression to the next round.

Back in Liverpool, the Boot Room pub was bedlam.

"Red card! Arsenal are done! The FA Cup is ours!"

"This team is absolutely unstoppable!"

Tweet!

The referee restarted play. Liverpool's free-kick set the ball in motion.

The match tilted into complete one-sidedness. Ten-man Arsenal, three goals from a miracle, abandoned any pretence of attack and retreated en masse to the edge of their own penalty area. The remaining half-hour became a Liverpool training exercise.

The red shirts kept the ball with ease, their passing remained crisp and slow, meticulously probing for gaps in the Arsenal shape.

At 32nd minute, Liverpool built down the left. Robertson drove forward and sent in a low cross; Julien attacked the far post but was blocked out for a corner by Koscielny. From the set piece, Van Dijk's header grazed the bar and drifted wide.

Three minutes later, De Bruyne drove through the centre, shrugging off two challenges, before sending it to Sterling on the edge of the box, his near-post effort was tipped around the post by Fabiański.

Arsenal's defensive shape was fraying at the edges. The relentless recycling of possession, the constant probing, the patience of Liverpool's build-up—it all began to pull the defence apart, thread by thread.

The life drained visibly out of Arsenal. Communication dried up between players; passes started going astray; at one point, a back-pass to the goalkeeper nearly produced a catastrophic own goal.

At 40th minute, Gerrard received from Sterling in midfield, spotted Arsenal's entire defence packed into their own box, and stepped forward two paces before rifling a booming shot from the top of the arc.

Thud!

The ball screamed toward goal with ferocious spin. Fabiański flung himself full-length in a brilliant save with his fingertips just reaching the ball.

But the touch was desperate. He couldn't control the deflection.

The ball spilled loose into the centre of the box.

Suárez had anticipated that. He was moving before the ball had even left Fabiański's grasp, arriving a fraction ahead of Koscielny's covering run to slot calmly into the empty net.

0–3!

Liverpool three goals up at the break.

The contest was over.

Suárez sprinted to the corner flag and screamed his celebration. Gerrard met him with a fierce embrace. The entire Liverpool squad swarmed in.

On the touchline, Klopp allowed himself a calm, satisfied smile and exchanged a high-five with his assistant.

Qualification for the next round was a formality.

The Liverpool fans were delirious as scarves rose in the air.

Arsenal's players trudged back to their starting positions wityh their heads bowed. The soul had left the building.

At half-time, English football's social media was spent by what had just unfolded.

Liverpool's dominance was the story.

"Liverpool are genuinely unstoppable right now. Arsenal couldn't even breathe. Klopp has built something extraordinary."

"Next season's Champions League just got very interesting. This squad, this system—Liverpool can go far."

But there was mourning for Arsenal too.

"How did Arsenal collapse this fast? 5–0 last week, now 0–3 at home. They were top of the Premier League not long ago. How has it unravelled so completely?"

"The February curse strikes again. The red card was a blow, but it's the complete loss of belief that's fatal. After this, Arsenal are surely out of the title race."

One fan posted with black humour: "Wenger said 'or' before the game. Turns out he chose 'repeat the disaster'—just didn't expect it to be quite this bad."

The comments piled up. The topic trended for hours.

Inside, the noise of the outside world didn't reach the Arsenal dressing room. Only silence, the heavy, pressing kind. Players sat at their stalls, heads down, the shame of a home thrashing was settled over them like a weight.

Wenger walked in. He was still firm and composed, but the exhaustion in his eyes was undeniable. His voice, rough at the edges, cut through the silence.

He did not reproach them. He looked at each face in turn.

"The responsibility for this match is mine. I failed to prepare you adequately. I didn't give you the tools to hold up under this pressure."

As heads lifted, surprise showed on every face.

Every man in that room knew the defeat wasn't Wenger's alone to carry. Yet here he was, taking it all.

Wenger walked to the centre of the room and let out a breath.

"The FA Cup—we let it go."

There was silence again. A few expressions of frustration were shown but ot quickly suppressed. The decision was the right one. That much was understood.

"I know you're sad," he said firmly with emotion. "Losing this way at home, it's painful for everyone. But we cannot let this defeat break us. We still have European competition and the league to fight for. Those are our focus now. There is no point burning what's left of your spirit on a match that cannot be reversed. Better to save your energy and compete where you still have something to fight for.

This match—the weight of it is on me. The criticism and the questions from outside, I'll answer for those. What I need from you is to put this behind you, reset, and be ready for what's next. You are Arsenal players. One bad defeat does not define you. I believe in you."

Arteta nodded firmly and rose to his feet. "The boss is right. We don't go under. For the games ahead, and for ourselves—we have to give everything we have."

The squad nodded with him.

The decision to concede the FA Cup had not come easily to Wenger. Every trophy mattered. Arsenal hungered for them all.

But he understood better than anyone that protecting his players' mental state, preserving the team's ability to compete in the weeks ahead, mattered more right now than any faint hope of a comeback that would never come.

In the worst moment, he had chosen to stand in front of the storm.

To give his players room to breathe again.

That was what a manager was supposed to do not point fingers at the players, or the board, or find other excuses.

The interval ended.

Both squads returned to the Emirates pitch.

Liverpool made two changes: Julien and De Bruyne were withdrawn; Coutinho and Kanté came on.

Klopp, mindful of the schedule ahead, chose not to push.

The commentary team noted the substitutions with admiration.

"The squad depth at Liverpool is extraordinary. De Rocca and De Bruyne rest, and on come Coutinho and Kanté, both of them are Premier League starters by any measure. Coutinho's cutting inside and driving runs are a constant danger; Kanté's midfield interception is simply impeccable. Klopp has options that most clubs can only dream of, and that depth is exactly why Liverpool can sustain this level across multiple competitions…"

Tweet!

The second half began.

Liverpool's grip on the game never loosened. Without their two attacking starters, the tempo didn't drop at all, Coutinho linked with Robertson on the left in neat triangles, while Kanté anchored the midfield and choked off every Arsenal attempt to build.

The approach shifted, though. Unlike the first half, Liverpool slowed the game down deliberately keeping the ball, running down the clock with no urgency to add to the score.

Klopp's second-half message had been clear: control the game, protect the squad. The real enemy now wasn't Arsenal, it was fatigue, injury, the risk of burning out in the long weeks ahead.

At 65th minute, Coutinho cut inside from the left and sent a delicate ball through for Sterling, whose close-range effort was pushed away by Fabiański. The goal had looked certain.

Seventy-five minutes in, Arsenal produced their most threatening moment of the second half—Podolski's long-range drive clipped the outside of the post and stayed out.

After that, nothing of note. Liverpool kept the ball; Arsenal kept their shape and hoped for the final whistle.

The score held.

Tweet!

The referee brought it to an end.

0–3. Full time.

Liverpool had won away at Arsenal and moved through to the next round of the FA Cup.

The Emirates emptied quietly, Arsenal supporters were drifting out with their shoulders down, the disappointment was obvious. The away end sang on.

In the post-match mixed zone, reporters clustered around Julien the moment he appeared.

"Julien, you scored and the team won comfortably—are you happy with how you and the squad played tonight?"

Julien nodded looking easy and relaxed. "Very happy. We executed the manager's plan well right from the start, controlled the game from the first whistle. The result was a team effort."

"You came off at half-time—was that for fitness? And what did you make of the substitutes who came on?"

"Yes, with such a packed schedule, managing energy levels is important, and the manager made the right call. Our substitutes are all genuinely quality players. Philippe and Ngolo were excellent today. That's what makes this team what it is."

Finally, the question about the season ahead.

Julien smiled. "My goal has never changed. I want to bring Liverpool more trophies. So as far as I'm concerned, Liverpool's future is about winning them and we're confident enough to go after every competition we're in, all the way to the end."

The fallout from the match continued to build through the evening.

At the post-match press conference, Wenger spoke with the gravity the result demanded.

"The outcome today was harsh, but we have to face it honestly. Liverpool were flawless. Their intensity, their squad depth, their tactical execution—all of it was above us, especially that high press in the first half, which completely disrupted our rhythm. The red card was the turning point in terms of the scoreline, but even at eleven against eleven, I'm not sure we could have handled a Liverpool side in this kind of form."

On Mertesacker's sending-off, Wenger was clear.

"Per made the only decision available to him in that situation. He was the last man; he had to stop a clear goal-scoring opportunity. That is not a mistake on his part. The fault is mine—I didn't prepare the team well enough to hold our shape when we fell behind, and I didn't give them the composure to manage the moment. All criticism should be directed at me, not at the players."

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