Chapter 81 – Le Classique (Part I)
The next match came quickly and it was the biggest one yet. Marseille would face the kings of France and once again Kweku would start.
The roar started before the whistle.
It rolled through the Stade Vélodrome in waves, thick and constant, like something physical pressing down on the pitch.
No buildup.
No time to think.
Just football.
Across the halfway line stood Paris Saint-Germain F.C..
Stars everywhere.
Kylian Mbappé stood slightly left, bouncing on his toes.
Ousmane Dembélé wide on the right.
Vitinha and Warren Zaïre-Emery are ready to control the midfield.
Kweku didn't look at them for long.
The whistle blew
---
PSG started fast.
Too fast.
Within two minutes, Vitinha slipped a pass between the lines. Mbappé turned instantly, accelerating into space.
Shot.
Blocked at the last second by Leonardo Balerdi.
The stadium erupted in relief.
Marseille responded immediately.
The ball moved quickly through midfield before reaching Jonathan Clauss, who drove forward and switched play.
Right side.
Kweku.
First touch clean.
Second touch forward.
Lucas Hernández stepped up to meet him.
This wasn't Monaco.
No hesitation from the defender.
Kweku tried to burst past.
Contact.
Ball out.
Throw-in.
The message was clear.
Nothing would come easy tonight.
---
The game opened up immediately.
Minute 11.
Dembélé danced past one challenge, then another, cutting inside before firing low.
Saved by Pau López.
Minute 13.
Marseille countered.
Aubameyang sprinted into space, dragging a defender wide. The ball found Kweku again near the edge of the box.
He didn't overthink this time.
Quick touch.
Cross.
Dangerous.
Cleared by Marquinhos.
Back and forth.
No control.
Just intensity.
--
Both teams played at the top of their game, but by minute 22, the gulf in quality became apparent.
PSG struck.
Zaïre-Emery recovered possession high and slipped the ball quickly to Mbappé.
One touch.
Acceleration.
He cut inside Balerdi with terrifying ease.
Shot.
Goal.
0–1.
The away section exploded.
Mbappé barely celebrated — just a small fist pump, like it was expected.
Kweku stood still for a second.
That was the level.
One mistake and you'd be punished instantly
-
Marseille didn't collapse, they quickly reset with more vigour than before.
They pushed.
Harder.
Clauss overlapped relentlessly. Geoffrey Kondogbia began winning duels in midfield.
Minute 31.
Ball switched wide again.
Kweku received it under pressure from Hernández.
This time, he didn't try to beat him immediately.
He slowed.
Waited.
Then suddenly cut inside.
Space opened for a split second.
Shot from a distance.
Blocked.
But the rebound fell to Aubameyang.
Strike.
Saved by Gianluigi Donnarumma.
The Vélodrome roared anyway.
They could feel something building and it showed once more in the 38th Minute.
Corner to Marseille.
Clauss delivered.
Chaos in the box.
The ball bounced loose.
Kondogbia reacted first.
Shot.
Deflection.
Goal.
1–1.
The stadium exploded.
Players collided in celebration.
Kweku didn't even see the net ripple — just bodies, noise, movement.
And suddenly they were back level.
---
PSG responded immediately.
Dembélé began targeting Kweku's side, trying to exploit space behind him.
Minute 43.
Dembélé slipped past him once.
Crossed it in, luckily it was cleared just in time.
Kweku tracked back harder after that.
Every run mattered, every duel mattered.
There was no room for passengers, you couldn't get carried in a match like this.
The two teams went at it until the ref blew the whistle to end the first half.
1–1.
Breathing heavy.
Legs already burning.
As Kweku walked toward the tunnel, Dembele passed by him briefly.
No words.
Just a glance.
A measuring look.
Not dismissive.
Not impressed.
Just… aware.
---
In the tunnel, the noise followed them inside.
It didn't fade.
It never did in Marseille.
Kweku leaned against the wall for a second, chest rising and falling.
First half against PSG.
He hadn't disappeared.
But he hadn't dominated either.
And something inside him knew—
That wasn't enough.
---
Back in the dressing room, as voices echoed and instructions were given, one thing stayed clear in his mind:
He had assisted.
He had influenced games.
He had proven he belonged, that was good but not nearly enough.
But tonight—
Against the best of the best, he needed more.
Not just impact or presence.
Something decisive, something that couldn't be ignored.