CHAPTER 51— PREPARATION AND FOCUS
The morning after the Monaco win, Marseille's academy felt different — heavier, energised, alive. Word of Kweku's performance had spread like wildfire, carried by whispers in classrooms, the cafeteria, and the corridors. He could feel it in the way some players glanced at him, some smiled, and others tried to impress.
Kweku walked through the snowy courtyard, backpack slung low, boots leaving faint prints behind. His breath fogged in the cold air. Louis caught up, swinging his bag.
"Another day, another training session," Louis said, grinning. "But hey… You looked unreal ."
Kweku shrugged. "It's just one match. I can't get carried away."
Louis laughed. "Says the guy who practically ran Monaco's midfield single-handedly."
Kweku smiled faintly but remained silent. He knew the truth — the academy and school demanded consistency. One great game only raised expectations, and he wasn't ready to rest on yesterday's glory.
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In class, the day dragged, as usual, but Kweku found it easier to concentrate. Snow still lined the windowpanes, the sun reflecting off white rooftops. Camille glanced at him from across the classroom, giving a subtle nod of encouragement. She didn't comment on the Monaco game directly today— she didn't have to. The energy in her eyes spoke volumes.
By lunchtime, Kweku and Louis sat together, unpacking sandwiches. Other academy teammates joined, eager to hear about the match, replaying highlights in rapid-fire chatter.
But Kweku stayed focused. He thought about the next opponent — a physically imposing, aggressive team known for pressing big and punishing mistakes.
"This isn't Monaco," he muttered to himself, taking a bite. "We can't relax."
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The afternoon session at the academy field was brutal. Cold winds whipped across the turf, dusting snow into their eyes, but the coaches were relentless. Warm-ups quickly transitioned to tactical drills, pressing exercises, and situational games.
Coach Devereux assembled the midfielders.
"Messieurs," he began, pointing to Kweku, Louis, and Ndiaye. "Your control of space will define the match. Monaco taught you patience, yes, but tomorrow will test vision, decision-making, and stamina. Pay attention. Anticipate. Communicate."
Kweku listened, taking every word to heart.
Drills were intense: Kweku ran patterns, made sharp passes, pressed relentlessly. Each movement mirrored the anticipated challenges — opponents closing him down, switching plays, or cutting off passing lanes.
He felt his legs burn, lungs screaming, but a quiet determination settled over him.
Next match. Full focus. No mistakes.
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Bonding and Team Dynamics
After drills, the players gathered near the snow-covered benches. Kweku and Louis sat together, laughing and joking with teammates. Small talk, teasing, and camaraderie — it was a mental reset.
"Don't forget the basics," Louis said. "We trust each other. Don't try to do everything alone."
Kweku nodded. "I know. Team first. Always."
The team's unity was palpable — an invisible thread connecting each player. The coach watched from a distance, satisfied. They were preparing both physically and mentally, but the trust within the group would ultimately define their performance.
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That evening, after dinner, Kweku sat alone in his dorm, phone in hand. He dialled his mother.
"Hi, mama," he said softly.
"You aren't very busy if you can call so many times", she said with a laugh. "Anyway, how's my superstar today?" she replied warmly.
"Good… school was okay. Training was intense," he said, chuckling. "We're preparing for another big match."
"Another one already?" she asked, surprised.
Kweku nodded. "Yeah. We have to stay sharp. I can't let Monaco's game get to my head."
"I'm proud of you," she said. "Don't forget — it's your heart, your discipline, and your team that matter most."
"I won't, mama," he replied. The warmth in her voice anchored him, reminding him of why he worked so hard.
He ended the call, chest still tight with adrenaline and focus. Snow had begun to fall again outside, a silent witness to the hours of preparation, the quiet tension before another challenge.
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Before sleep, Kweku lay in bed, running through scenarios in his mind:
Receiving under pressure
Splitting defences with clever passes
Covering for teammates when pressed
Anticipating counterattacks
Each scenario was meticulous. Every movement, every decision, he visualised it perfectly. He knew the academy coaches were watching, and he was aware that scouts were taking notes. But more importantly, he knew that his own growth demanded more than the accolades from yesterday — it demanded focus today.
Tomorrow, he would step back onto the pitch, snow crunching beneath his boots, lights shining down, the stadium alive.
And he would play not just for himself, but for the team, for the academy, and for every lesson he had learned since stepping onto European soil.
The match was coming.
And Kweku was ready.
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