Chapter 77– The Decision
Morning rain clung to the glass walls of the Robert Louis-Dreyfus Training Centre when Kweku arrived.
The parking lot already buzzed with quiet activity. First-team players walked in with headphones and coffee cups. Staff moved equipment carts between buildings. A few academy kids lingered outside longer than usual, pretending to tie their boots while watching the senior players pass.
Two assists in two games.
The noise around him had only grown.
But the training ground remained the same place it had always been — unforgiving, practical, and brutally honest.
If you played well, you trained harder.
If you changed games, expectations doubled.
Inside the locker room, Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang sat calmly scrolling through his phone while stretching.
"Morning, provider," the striker said with a grin.
Kweku shook his head. "You finished the goals."
"You delivered them."
Kweku sighed, he didn't like the attention. It felt good, but all he wanted to do was play.
Across the room, Leonardo Balerdi was laughing with Geoffrey Kondogbia about something in Spanish.
Normal locker room life.
But under the surface, something was shifting.
Because every time the tactical screen replayed those assists — first against OGC Nice, then against Stade Rennais F.C. — the same question quietly hovered in the room.
How long could he stay on the bench?
--
The team gathered in the video room.
At the front stood Jean-Louis Gasset, remote in hand.
The Rennes match was played across the screen.
He paused at minute 88.
Kweku runs into open grass.
"Look here," Gasset said calmly.
The video froze just before the final pass.
"Defender commits too early."
He clicked forward one frame.
"Kweku waits."
Another frame.
"Aubameyang arrives."
Goal.
No dramatic praise.
Just analysis.
But the message was clear.
Timing like that was rare.
Then Gasset switched clips.
Montage of other moments: quick touches, defensive tracking, clever positioning.
Not highlights.
Details.
Finally, the coach turned around.
"The next opponent presses differently," he said. "We will need intelligence between the lines."
His eyes lingered on Kweku for half a second longer than necessary.
The room was noticed.
--
That afternoon, Kweku returned to find that school had become a very different environment.
His school hallway buzzed like a stadium tunnel.
Students whispered. Phones came out. A few asked for pictures.
Someone had printed the headline from a local sports site:
"MARSEILLE'S YOUNG SPARK AGAIN."
Louis leaned against the lockers waiting.
"Okay," he said dramatically. "Now it's official."
"What is?"
"You're famous."
"I'm not."
Louis pointed at a group of students watching a replay on their phones.
"Explain that then."
Kweku shrugged.
But it wasn't comfortable.
Attention followed him into class. Teachers asked about the match. Even students who had never spoken to before him suddenly wanto engage in ted conversation.
Only Camille stayed the same.
She sat beside him during lunch as nothing had changed.
"You look tired," she said quietly.
"Training was early."
"No," she said. "That's not it."
He didn't answer.
Because she was right, she smiled at him and gave him a hug, " Y'know being so stoic won't get you any girls".
Kweku looked at her blankly, " I don't really care about that besides you're already here".
Camille blushed pushing him playfully, "When did you get so smooth". But she couldn't stop smiling as she fidgeted with her hair.
Pressure was creeping into places football normally didn't reach and other things were also growing in their own way.
---
Later that week, the same struggling writer who had once written the article about Kweku's story appeared again outside the training ground.
La Provence had published his piece.
And now he had another idea, he'd managed to meet Kweku after training to get a few words.
"Two assists," the writer said eagerly. "That's not a coincidence anymore."
Kweku hesitated.
"I'm just doing my job."
"But the story is changing," the writer insisted. "From potential to impact, it seems being calm is the secret to your success".
Kweku spoke with him a little before he headed back to his room but one phrase echoed in Kweku's mind later that night.
"Potential to impact".
Football loved labels.
But labels came with expectations.
---
Two days before the next match, a staff member knocked on the locker room door.
"Kweku. Coach wants you."
Inside Gasset's office, tactical boards covered the walls.
The manager gestured for him to sit.
"You understand why you've been effective off the bench?"
Kweku thought for a moment.
"Space late in games," he said.
"Yes," Gasset replied. "And calm."
Silence settled.
Then the coach leaned forward slightly.
"But football is different when you start."
The words landed heavily.
"You will face pressure earlier. Less space. More responsibility."
Kweku nodded slowly.
Gasset watched him carefully.
"Do you want that?"
The question felt strange.
Because the answer had always been obvious.
"Yes."
The coach smiled faintly.
"Good."
He stood up and dismissed him with a small gesture.
No promises.
But something had clearly shifted.
---
The lineup sheet appeared on the dressing room wall hours before kickoff.
Players approached one by one.
Some glanced quickly.
Others studied it carefully.
Kweku waited until the small crowd cleared.
Then he stepped forward.
His eyes moved down the list.
Goalkeeper.
Defenders.
Midfield.
Then he saw it.
Mensah.
Starting.
Across from him: their next opponent, AS Monaco FC.
One of the fastest teams in the league.
Players like Wissam Ben Yedder and Aleksandr Golovin are capable of punishing mistakes instantly.
Not an easy game.
Not a gentle promotion.
A test.
Behind him, Aubameyang chuckled softly.
"Looks like you're not a substitute today."
Kweku exhaled slowly.
His first start had been exciting.
This one felt different.
Now everyone expected something from him.
--
In the stands of the Stade Vélodrome, Camille and Louis found their seats early.
Louis held up his phone.
"Starting," he announced.
Camille smiled slightly.
"Of course he is."
Below them, players warmed up under the evening lights.
Kweku jogged across the grass, touching the ball lightly, focusing on rhythm.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation.
They had seen what he could do late in games.
Now they would see what happened when the game started with him.
---
The Monaco players lined up opposite.
Ben Yedder is chatting casually with teammates.
Golovin stretches calmly.
Veterans are used to big games.
Kweku bounced lightly on his toes.
For a moment, he thought about Ghana.
The dusty pitches.
The early tournaments.
The long road here.
Then the referee signalled.
The tunnel doors opened.
And as the roar of the Vélodrome surged forward, one thought settled clearly in his mind.
Coming off the bench had changed games.
But starting meant something else entirely.
Now he would have ninety minutes to prove it.