Chapter 82 – Le Classique (Part II)
The whistle cut through the noise again.
The second half started just like the first.
No reset, no easing in. Just pressure.
Paris Saint-Germain F.C. came out sharper.
More controlled.
Less chaos.
Vitinha dropped deeper, dictating tempo.
Warren Zaïre-Emery pushed higher, pressing aggressively.
Marseille were forced back.
In the 49th minute, PSG had another chance.
The ball switched wide.
Ousmane Dembélé isolated his defender again.
Step-over.
Acceleration.
Cross.
Dangerous.
Cleared at the last second by Leonardo Balerdi.
The pressure was building.
---
Minute 55, another PSG attack.
Vitinha threaded a pass between two lines.
Mbappé spun off his marker.
Shot.
Saved by Pau López.
The rebound bounced loose and was cleared desperately.
The Vélodrome roared, not in celebration — but in defiance.
Kweku stood near the halfway line, breathing hard.
This was different from anything he had faced.
PSG weren't just attacking.
They were controlling, suffocating.
By the hour mark, they'd adjusted and Marseille finally broke the pressure.
Kondogbia won a duel in midfield and released the ball quickly.
Out wide.
Kweku.
This time, he didn't rush.
He didn't try to beat his man immediately.
He slowed the game.
Waited.
Lucas Hernández stepped up again.
Kweku shifted his weight.
Feint inside.
Hernández didn't bite.
So Kweku went the other way.
Sharp and explosive.
He got half a yard and didn't try anything else, whipped it into the box.
Blocked at a corner.
A small win but important for his confidence.
---
With just 20 minutes left now, both teams began to feel it.
The pace dipped slightly, but the tension doubled.
Every pass mattered.
Every mistake felt fatal.
From the stands, the noise never stopped.
Camille stood gripping the railing.
"Something's going to happen," she muttered.
Louis nodded beside her.
"Yeah."
Neither knew what.
But they could feel it.
---
Minute 78.
PSG pushed forward again.
But this time, Marseille read it.
Interception.
Quick pass forward.
Aubameyang dropped deep, pulling a defender with him.
Space opened.
Kondogbia saw it instantly.
He drove forward, then released the ball wide.
Right side.
Kweku.
Open grass ahead and the crowd rose.
Hernández sprinted across and so did Marquinhos, covering centrally.
Kweku slowed just slightly.
Enough to think.
Enough to choose.
He could cross.
Aubameyang was making the run.
He could cut back.
Support was arriving.
But something inside him said—Not this time.
He pushed the ball forward.
Direct.
Aggressive.
Hernández lunged.
Kweku knocked it past him into the box.
The angle was tightening, and Marquinhos closed in.
Donnarumma stepped forward.
Everything collapsed into one moment.
One decision.
Strike!
Kweku hit it low across the goal towards the far post.
For a split second—
Silence.
Then—
The net bulged.
Goal.
The Stade Vélodrome erupted.
Not just loudly, violently.
Explosive a couple of flares in the stands.
Teammates rushed him instantly.
Aubameyang grabbed him, shouting something he couldn't even hear.
Kweku dropped to his knees, sliding across the grass as the noise swallowed everything.
His first goal and not just any goal.
Against PSG.In Le Classique.
--
In the stands, Louis lost his mind.
"I TOLD YOU!"
Camille didn't shout.
She'd been one of the first people to jump when Kweku swung his foot.
She had seen it coming.
---
The match continued after the celebrations and PSG reacted immediately.
Mbappé pushed higher.
Dembélé attacked relentless
Mbappé broke through again but the pressure had its effects.
A desperate shot.
Saved.
The pressure was relentless.
Minute 90.
Cross into the box.
Header.
Over.
The referee checked his watch and decided he'd seen enough.
Full Time
Whistle.
2–1.
Marseille win.
The stadium didn't calm down.
It couldn't.
Players collapsed onto the pitch.
Exhausted.
Victorious.
Kweku stood still for a moment.
Just breathing.
Taking it in.
---
As players shook hands, Mbappé passed him and he spoke, "Good finish."
Simple.
Respectful.
Kweku nodded.
That meant something coming from someone who was already tearing it up at Kweku's age
---
As he walked toward the tunnel, the crowd chanted.
His name.
Over and over.
Not as a surprise anymore or as a question.
But as something certain.
Balerdi was chosen as the man of the match for his shift today but Kweku was a close second, reporters wanted to interview him but Gasset not wanting to put him under the spotlight so soon refused
---
Later that night, alone again, Kweku replayed the moment in his head.
The run.
The decision.
The strike.
His first goal.
And not just any goal, it changed something.
Because assists proved he could help.
But goals—Goals made people believe.