CHAPTER 62 — WATCHED
Julien Morel arrived early.
Too early, really, he'd wanted to see the main character of his article in action. To see if the match performance was a fluke. The gate to the training ground was still locked when he got there, breath fogging the cold air as he checked his watch for the third time. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and waited, notebook tucked under his arm like something fragile.
He told himself he wasn't nervous.
But this was different.
The article had done modestly well — no spike in traffic, no angry emails — but the editor had surprised him that morning.
"Go again," she'd said. "See if there's more."
So Julien went again.
---
Inside the Marseille youth locker room, the mood was lighter than usual.
Someone had music playing from a phone. Boots thudded against benches. The tension of matchday was there, but it was thinner, stretched by familiarity.
Kweku noticed it the moment he stepped in.
"Eh, journalist!" someone called out.
Laughter.
Kweku froze.
A defender held up his phone, screen glowing. "This you?"
Another voice chimed in. "Careful now he's a famous man, you have to be more polite."
Kweku shook his head, embarrassed. "It's just one article."
"That's how it starts," Louis said, grinning. "Next thing you know, they'll want quotes."
Kweku dropped his bag, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck. "He didn't even talk to me."
"That's worse," someone joked. "He's imagining you."
More laughter.
But it wasn't cruel.
If anything, it was a sign of acceptance — the kind where you only tease people who belong.
Kweku smiled despite himself.
---
From the touchline, Julien watched warm-ups carefully.
He recognised Kweku immediately — not by size or speed, but by posture. Head up. Shoulders relaxed. Always scanning.
Julien scribbled notes.
Receives on a half-turn.
Don't rush.
Talks quietly.
He glanced at the bench. Kweku wasn't starting again.
Good, Julien thought. That told him something about the coaches.
He liked stories that unfolded slowly.
---
The match began with a cautious rhythm. Both sides are preparing, neither committing too much. Julien tracked the ball but kept returning to Kweku, who sat wrapped in his jacket, eyes fixed on the pitch.
No headphones.
No distractions.
At the thirty-minute mark, a red card caused a change in tactics, so the coach took off one attacker.
Julien's pen paused.
Kweku stood immediately.
No dramatics.
Just readiness.
From the first touch, Julien saw what he'd written about — the restraint.
Kweku didn't try to announce himself. He passed, moved, adand justed his position. He made the game easier for those around him, even when the pressure increased.
Julien leaned forward as a sequence unfolded.
Kweku received the ball under pressure, turned it over, and drew a foul.
Not flashy.
Effective.
Julien underlined the note twice.
---
When Kweku misplaced a pass causing the ball to go out of play, someone shouted, "Careful! That'll be in the paper!"
More laughter.
Kweku glanced over, rolled his eyes, and jogged back.
Julien smiled.
That, he realised was the balance — pressure, but not isolation.
---
At halftime, Julien stood near the tunnel pretending to check his phone.
He overheard two coaches speaking.
"He's settling quite nicely," one said.
"He listens and executes, a textbook player.," the other replied.
The same word again.
Julien wrote it down.
---
The second half saw the game tighten. Space disappeared and challenges grew heavier.
Kweku tracked back, intercepted a pass, and calmly recycled possession. Later, he slipped a short pass that led to a shot that was saved.
No assist this time.
That was fine.
Julien wasn't counting numbers, he wasn't a scout.
He was counting moments.
---
The whistle finally blew for full-timeThe match ended in a draw.
Players clapped the fans politely. No one lingered.
Kweku jogged off, breathing hard, face flushed from the cold.
Julien closed his notebook.
He didn't approach, it wasn't the time yet. He didn't think Kweku was the type, but he didn't want the new attention to go to his head; pride is one of the greatest killers of potential.
---
Back in the locker room, the teasing resumed.
"So," Louis said, tossing Kweku a towel, "what's it like being observed, you could notice more fans watching you huh?"
Kweku laughed. "Uncomfortable."
"Good," Louis replied. "Means you care."
Kweku sat down, towel over his head, smile fading into something thoughtful.
He felt it now — the difference.
Before, he had played to improve.
Now, people were watching to evaluate.
That changed nothing and somehow, everything.
---
That night, Julien opened a new document.
He didn't know what the headline would be yet.
But he knew the angle.
The second test is always harder than the first.
He paused, fingers hovering.
This time, he wouldn't write about potential.
He'd write about pressure — and how quietly some players carry it.