Chapter 80 – A Quiet Day in a Loud City
Marseille never really slowed down.
Even on calmer days, the streets of Marseille carried a constant rhythm — distant traffic, voices spilling from cafés, the sea breeze brushing through narrow alleys. It was a city that always felt alive.
For Kweku, that had become normal.
What hadn't become normal was everything else.
The noise around his name.
The expectations.
The quiet pressure that followed him from the pitch to school and back again.
So when Camille texted him that morning — "You're free today. No excuses." — he didn't argue.
---
They met near the Vieux-Port de Marseille, where the harbour stretched wide and calm under the afternoon sun.
Boats rocked gently against the docks. Seagulls circled overhead. The air smelled faintly of salt and grilled food from nearby restaurants.
Camille stood leaning against the railing, her hair caught slightly in the wind.
"You're late," she said without looking at him.
"I'm not," Kweku replied. "You're early."
She turned, raising an eyebrow.
"That's the same thing."
He smiled slightly.
For once since he arrived in France, there were no cameras. No teammates. No coaches watching.
Just the two of them.
They walked slowly along the harbour, passing small shops and street performers.
At first, the conversation stayed light.
School, teachers, Louis doing something ridiculous again.
"He tried to recreate your assist in PE," Camille said.
Kweku groaned. "Please don't tell me he failed."
"He fell," she said. "Immediately."
That made him laugh — properly laugh, not the short, controlled kind he used around teammates or reporters.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal.
No football, no expectations, just a conversation with someone he felt comfortable with.
---
They stopped at a small café tucked along the port.
Camille ordered something simple. Kweku barely looked at the menu.
"You're distracted," she said after a while.
"I'm not."
"You are."
He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"It's just… everything's getting louder."
Camille didn't interrupt.
So he continued.
"Training, matches, school… even when I'm not playing, it feels like I am."
She nodded slowly.
"That's what happens when people start expecting things from you."
He looked down at the table.
"I don't even know if I've done enough for that."
Camille tilted her head slightly.
"That's the problem," she said. "You think it's about what you've done."
He frowned.
"It's about what they think you can do."
That sat with him.
Because she was right.
The pressure wasn't coming solely from his performance but also from his potential.
Not many players live up to their potential because the expectations either kill them or their pride destroys them.
--
After they left the café with croissants and coffee, Camille led him up a narrow street he hadn't noticed before.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"You'll see."
They climbed higher until the city began to spread out beneath them.
Finally, they reached a viewpoint overlooking Marseille — rooftops stretching toward the sea, sunlight reflecting off the water in the distance.
Kweku stopped walking.
The view caught him completely off guard.
"I didn't know this was here," he said.
"Most people don't," Camille replied.
They stood side by side in silence for a moment.
No noise.
No pressure.
Just space.
"You see that?" Camille said, pointing toward the city.
"That's everything you're dealing with right now."
Kweku followed her gaze.
"It looks… small from here."
"Exactly, once you are above it, you realise how little your biggest problems are."
He let out a quiet breath.
Because for the first time in days, things actually felt smaller...more manageable.
---
They sat on a low wall overlooking the view.
"You're going to get even bigger," Camille said suddenly.
Kweku frowned. "That sounds weird."
"You know what I mean."
He didn't respond.
"More matches. More attention. More pressure," she continued. "That's not going away."
"I know."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
He thought for a moment.
Then shrugged.
"Keep playing."
She shook her head.
"That's not enough."
He looked at her.
"Then what is?"
Camille met his gaze directly.
"Decide who you are before they decide for you."
The words landed heavier than anything she had said before.
Because on the pitch, everything made sense.
Run.
Pass.
Shoot.
But off the pitch…it was different.
---
By the time the sun began to set, they had walked back down toward the harbour.
The city was louder again now — restaurants filling up, music drifting into the streets.
But something inside Kweku felt quieter.
More controlled.
"Thanks," he said as they stopped near the water.
"For what?"
"For this."
Camille smiled slightly.
"Don't get used to it."
He laughed.
"I won't."
But he knew he needed moments like this where football didn't define everything.
---
That night, back in his room, Kweku sat on his bed scrolling through messages.
Clips of his assist.
Headlines.
Speculation.
The noise hadn't gone anywhere.
But it didn't feel as overwhelming now.
Because for a few hours, he had stepped outside of it.
And that had made all the difference.
He placed his phone down and leaned back.
Training will start again tomorrow.
Matches would come.
Decisions would get bigger.
But for now—
He had something simple.
Balance.
And maybe that was just as important as anything he did on the pitch.