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CHAPTER 52 — THE NEXT BATTLE
The sun had barely risen over Marseille when the players gathered at the academy stadium. Frost clung to the turf, crunching underfoot as they jogged in circles, warming up before the next big challenge. The previous Monaco victory was still fresh, but there was no time to bask in it.
Kweku's breath formed small clouds in the cold morning air. He tugged his gloves tighter, feeling the tension of anticipation coil in his chest. Louis jogged up beside him.
"Ready to do this all over again?" Louis asked, eyes sparkling.
Kweku smirked, shaking his head. "Ready as I'll ever be. But we need to focus. Montpellier isn't Monaco. They're physical, fast, and they'll punish mistakes."
Coach Devereux blew his whistle sharply, gathering everyone for tactical instruction.
"Today is about compactness and movement," he said, gesturing to the chalkboard. "Our opponent plays a high line and presses aggressively. Kweku, your midfield role is critical — control tempo, split defences, and cover the half-spaces. Anticipate runs, dictate play, and remember — trust your midfield role", Kweku nodded. He'd internalised evidence during the week of preparation. This wasn't just another academy match. This was an opportunity to cement his presence — to show that his last performance wasn't a fluke.
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The referee's whistle pierced the crisp air. Marseille kicked off, the ball moving rapidly among midfielders. Kweku touched it first, instantly assessing the formation, scanning for passing lanes.
"Mensah receiving, controlling… a tidy touch under pressure — he's settled into this midfield beautifully."
The first ten minutes were cagey. The opponent pressed high, forcing quick passes and sharp pivots. Kweku spun, finding Ndiaye near the left flank. A one-touch pass, a feint, and the ball was returned. The movement drew the pressing midfielder away, creating a sliver of space in front of Kweku.
"Mensah with vision — threading a pass that cuts the first line of defence. Ndiaye is moving, looking for an opening!"
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The next few minutes saw the first real test. The opposing defender broke free, darting along the right flank, whipping in a low cross. Reynaud lunged — fingertip save — and the stadium erupted in applause.
"Danger! Quick thinking from Marseille's goalkeeper. That could have been the early opener!"
Kweku sprinted back, his chest pumping, as he scanned his options. He received a diagonal pass from Louis, turned, and accelerated into midfield space. The cold air bit at his lungs, but adrenaline kept his legs firing. He slipped the ball to Ndiaye, who drove toward the box. A defender lunged — block — rebound — Fofana fired low… just wide.
The stadium hissed collectively. Close, but Marseille had already settled into the rhythm Kweku wanted.
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Minute 27. Kweku intercepted a hurried pass at midfield. He twisted, evaded one challenge, then another. The pitch opened like a puzzle before him.
"Mensah again — pulling strings in midfield! Look at the composure, the timing!"
He spotted Louis sprinting along the right wing. Kweku slipped the ball into his path — perfectly weighted. Louis advanced, drawing two defenders. He squared it to Ndiaye, who controlled, feinted, and fired a low shot…
GOAL. 1–0 Marseille.
The stadium erupted. Players rushed to Kweku first, patting his back and shoulders. He smiled faintly, hands raised just enough to acknowledge the team. It wasn't a solo effort — it never was.
Coach Devereux barked instructions. "Keep the ball moving! Maintain structure! Don't invite pressure!"
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The last few minutes before the first half ended were frantic. The opposing team pressed, forcing turnovers and sending in crosses from the wide areas. Kweku dropped deeper to intercept and recycle possession, calmly threading passes, dragging opponents out of position.
"Mensah acting as a metronome in midfield — dictating tempo, covering half-spaces, creating options. Brilliant control under pressure."
A dangerous counter saw a breakaway striker challenge Reynaud — saved. Then a quick throw-in. Kweku intercepted. He glanced at Louis and Ndiaye. Quick one-twos, body feints — the ball danced between them as the opponents scrambled.
Kweku's mental focus was sharp. Snowflakes glinted in the sunlight, slow-moving in the cold breeze, while his mind moved faster than ever — reading angles, anticipating pressure, orchestrating the attack.
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1–0 at halftime. Not comfortable, not decisive.
In the locker room, Coach Devereux's voice was steady but intense. "Good first half. You've created chances, maintained control, and Kweku, you've dictated tempo wonderfully. But the second half will be more physical. Stay compact. Press intelligently. Don't allow transitions. Trust each other."
Kweku nodded, his mind already racing through second-half scenarios. He sipped water, muscles tensed, ready for the storm that would come.
Louis leaned in. "We're doing it together, man. Same rhythm, same triangle, same plan."
Kweku smiled faintly. Team first. Always.
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Walking out to the pitch, the snow began to fall heavily. Frost glimmered under the floodlights. Kweku felt his legs warming, heart steady, eyes sharp. He replayed every Monaco scenario in his heavily intercepted, forward drives, defensive rotations — and then adapted them to today's opponent.
The whistle blew. Second half. The stadium is alive, every spectator on edge. Every pass, every movement, every sprint could change the game.
And Kweku was ready to orchestrate it.
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