Chapter 86 – The Table
The screen lit up inside the analysis room at the Robert Louis-Dreyfus Training Centre.
This time, it wasn't abstract.
It wasn't hypothetical.
It was real.
The 2023/24 Ligue 1 table.
Unchanged.
Except for one thing.
At the top, as expected:
Paris Saint-Germain F.C.
AS Monaco FC
Stade Brestois 29
LOSC Lille
OGC Nice
And then—
A change.
Olympique de Marseille
That was new.
That wasn't how the season started, that wasn't where they were expected to be.
But now it was real.
---
Coach Jean-Louis Gasset didn't speak immediately.
He let it sit.
Let the players take it in.
"You see it," he said finally.
No explanation needed.
Sixth meant European contention was within reach.
---
The top four teams qualified for the Champions League rounds.
Fifth—Europa League.
Sixth—Conference League.
The margins were small and brutal.
Everything was still to play for; a single slip-up and you were done.
---
Gasset zoomed in.
Points.
Goal difference.
3 fixtures remaining.
"Two wins," he said.
"Two wins change everything."
He pointed higher.
"One mistake and you all know what happens to us. Next season's tone will be set here and now, if you choke that's it."
No one spoke.
Because now it wasn't theory.
It wasn't "if."
It was "now."
Kondogbia leaned back slightly, eyes still on the table.
"We're right there," he said quietly.
Aubameyang nodded.
"But we're not in yet."
---
Out on the training field, the shift was immediate.
Everything was sharper, faster, more demanding.
"Two touches!" Gasset shouted.
"Move it!"
Kweku received the ball.
Pressure instantly.
As always.
Two players are closing.
He didn't hesitate.
Touch.
Pass.
Move.
Again.
Cleaner this time.
Quicker.
More certain.
Even in training, it was clear.
"Stay tight on him!"
"Don't let him turn!"
Kweku heard it constantly now.
He didn't react.
Didn't fight it.
He adapted.
--
During a small-sided game, something changed.
Kondogbia received under pressure.
Looked up.
Played it wide—
To Kweku.
Immediately.
No hesitation.
Trust.
Real.
Kweku didn't hold it.
Quick pass inside.
Movement continued.
Flow.
"Good!" Gasset called out.
---
Across France, the narrative had shifted again.
"Marseille are climbing."
"They've forced their way back into European contention."
"And Mensah?"
"He's become a key part of their attacking structure."
Not a spark anymore.
A system.
---
Back home in Ghana, the conversation had changed again.
Less excitement.
More expectation.
"The media loved a good story and this one was especially good."
---
That night, Kweku sat alone.
Phone in hand.
But not scrolling.
Just staring at the table.
Sixth.
So close.
He traced the positions mentally.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Tiny gaps with huge consequences.
---
His phone buzzed. Camille.
"You've seen it, haven't you?"
He typed back:
"Yeah."
Three dots.
"Then don't play small now, we're all behind you."
He exhaled slowly.
---
The last session before the next match was different.
No laughter.
No distractions.
Just work. Sharp, precise and focused.
Kweku felt it in every touch.
Every pass, every movement.
This wasn't development anymore, this was an execution.
---
As training ended, Gasset gathered them briefly.
"No pressure," he said. "Just consequences, the table doesn't lie. It didn't care about potential, only results. And now every match decides where we will stand so play your heart out
---
Matchday 32
The whistle blew.
No buildup.
No patience.
Just urgency.
The ball moved quickly across the backline of Olympique de Marseille.
One touch.
Two.
Forward.
Papa Gueye received under pressure—turned sharply, and released.
Wide to Kweku, who was pressured immediately.
Adrien Truffert stepped tight.
Too tight.
Kweku felt it instantly.
No turn.
No time.
One touch back.
Move.
Again.
Ball recycled.
Switched again.
Kweku.
This time—he didn't wait. First touch forward, then acceleration.
Half a step.
Then—Contact. He felt like he was hit by a truck.
Traoré again.
Stronger this time.
The ball went out for a throw-in.
---
"Mensah closed down early—Metz not giving him anything."
---
Metz built from the back.
Patient and precise.
Kevin N'Doram dropped deep—collected—turned.
Forward pass.
Sharp.
Mikautadze spun off the line.
Shot—
Blocked by Balerdi for a corner.
---
The corner came in fast to the near post.
Flicked on—
Cleared late.
Scramble.
Shot by Mikautadze— Over the bar.
---
Marseille tried to settle after that but it didn't happen.
Metz pressed higher, harder, smarter.
Passing lanes disappeared so Kweku dropped deeper to receive.
He looked up to see if there was space for a breakthrough but pressure was already there.
He released Kondogbia and moved again.
The opposition had definitely done their homework.
---
Minute 15.
The ball came quickly again.
Kweku checked his shoulder.
One defender.
Second closing.
He didn't hesitate.
Quick one-two inside but the return pass was heavy.
Intercepted.
"Metz reading it well—they're anticipating every move!"
---
Metz moved again.
Sabaly wide.
Cross.
Dangerous.
Mikautadze attacking—
Header—
Saved by Pau López.
Big, strong hands.
But it was worrying, Metz had too many chances.
---
Minute 21.
Marseille needed control.
Kondogbia forced it.
Won a duel.
Drove forward.
Slipped it wide to Kweku who found space this time, just a little.
He turned and drove inside.
One step.
Two— then he got knocked down by Ismaël Traoré.
Foul.
Free kick.
"Better from Mensah—he needed that."
---
Kweku gave no reaction, he stayed down a little just breathing.
--
The free kick got cleared but the second ball dropped.
Kweku reacted first, he rushed at it and shot but it got blocked instantly.
There were bodies everywhere.
---
Metz slowed the game.
Held possession.
Moved the Marseille side to side.
Waiting
Then suddenly a quick switch.
Mattieu Udol overlapping.
Cross low but it was cut out at the last second.
---
Kweku got the ball again.
But it was the same pattern.
Pressure every time but he didn't fight or force it.
He took a touch, passed and moved.
---
"Great discipline from Mensah—he's not forcing things."
It opened briefly.
Kondogbia got it high and Aubameyang dropped.
Then it lay off for the first time.
Harit running onto it—
Edge of the box.
Shot—
Deflected.
Corner.