THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME-Chapter 723: Ready to Shine Again

The Parisian night enveloped Zachary Bemba as he leaned back in the luxurious back seat of the sleek Audi A8, the Ballon d’Or resting securely in its case beside him.

The Grand Palais, still illuminated in the distance, seemed like a dream now—a magical backdrop for a moment he had long envisioned but never truly believed would come to pass.

Outside, the City of Light glimmered with an otherworldly charm, its streets alive with energy. Yet, inside the car, the hum of the engine was the only sound, offering a much-needed reprieve after an evening filled with fluctuating emotions.

The weight of the Ballon d’Or still felt almost symbolic as Zachary’s gaze wandered to it. He had held it aloft for the world to see, but now, in this quiet moment, it was just him and the golden orb—a testament to a journey filled with struggles and second chances.

His phone vibrated incessantly, the flood of congratulatory messages unrelenting.

Kristin, his personal assistant, had already texted him: "Everything is ready for your return tomorrow. Rest well—you’ve earned it!"

Klopp’s message followed closely behind: "You’ve made us all proud, Zachary. Enjoy the moment, and then it’s back to business!"

As the Audi made its way through the cobbled streets of Paris, Zachary stole a moment to reply to a few messages.

To Klopp, he wrote simply: "Thank you, boss. This one’s for all of us."

For Kristin, his message was warm but brief: "You’ve been amazing as always. See you tomorrow!"

He then leaned back, allowing the sights of Paris to blur past as the car neared the iconic Hotel Plaza Athénée.

The hotel staff greeted him with a mixture of awe and professionalism, their smiles widening as he stepped out of the car, carrying the Ballon d’Or himself.

"Congratulations, Monsieur Bemba," the concierge said, bowing slightly as he opened the door. The majestic lobby, with its chandeliers and elegant decor, seemed brighter tonight, as if sharing in the celebration.

Once inside his suite, Zachary placed the Ballon d’Or carefully on the table, where it caught the ambient light and seemed to glow. He stood by the window, looking out at the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

It was then that the emotions of the evening once again caught up with him—the pride, the gratitude, the bittersweet memories of his grandmother, whose unwavering belief had carried him through his darkest moments.

He sighed and shook his head before showering and jumping into bed for the night.

The next morning, the city woke slowly, but Zachary’s schedule was far from leisurely. By 9:00 AM, Kristin had ensured everything was ready for his journey back to Liverpool.

His private jet awaited him at Le Bourget Airport, and a light breakfast was prepared for the short flight. After bidding farewell to the hotel staff, who lined up to congratulate him once more, Zachary boarded the Audi for the last leg of his Parisian stay.

The drive to the airport was serene, the early morning sunlight casting long shadows over the Seine.

At the terminal, Kristin’s planning shone through once again.

The jet’s crew greeted him warmly, congratulating him as they secured the Ballon d’Or in its case. Zachary took his seat, gazing out at the tarmac as the jet prepared for takeoff.

As the aircraft ascended, he felt a sense of grounding despite the altitude. Paris had given him a memory for the ages, but Liverpool was where the next chapter awaited.

By mid-morning, the jet touched down at Liverpool John Lennon Airport, and as he disembarked, the familiar chill of Merseyside greeted him. Kristin was waiting, as efficient and composed as always, a knowing smile lighting her face.

"Welcome back, champ," she teased, holding out a coffee for him.

Zachary chuckled as he accepted it. "You’ve outdone yourself this time, Kristin. Everything went perfectly."

"Of course it did," she replied, her tone playful but her pride evident. "Klopp wants to see you at training this afternoon. And don’t argue—from what I have heard, he’s already decided you’re sitting out tomorrow’s game."

"Oh…" Zachary replied, feeling a little bit disappointed. But, he understood the coach’s reasoning, and thus, quickly suppressed the negative feelings. He then settled in the back seat of the waiting car along with Kristin.

The ride back to Woolton was quiet, giving Zachary a chance to reflect. His mansion, nestled in the leafy suburb, soon offered a momentary sanctuary. After freshening up and enjoying a quick breakfast, he donned his Liverpool training gear and made his way to Melwood, the club’s iconic training ground.

The moment he stepped inside, he was met with a wall of applause. His teammates had been waiting, and their cheers echoed through the halls. Jordan Henderson was the first to greet him, pulling him into a mock headlock. "Look who it is—our very own Golden Boy!"

Andy Robertson joined in, grinning. "What’s next, mate? A statue outside Anfield?"

Even Klopp emerged from his office, his smile as broad as ever. "Zachary," he said, clapping the young star on the shoulder. "We’re all so proud of you. But," he added with a mock-serious expression, "you’re not getting out of recovery drills. Back to work!"

The banter flowed easily, a testament to the team spirit that had propelled Liverpool to the top of the Premier League.

The training that followed was light for Zachary that day, focused more on recovery and tactical discussions. As Klopp outlined plans for their midweek fixture against Burnley, Zachary listened intently, offering insights where needed but respecting the manager’s decision to rest him for the game.

The next day, Liverpool arrived at Turf Moor under a wintry sky. The compact stadium, with its fervent home crowd and old-school charm, posed a unique challenge.

From the bench, Zachary watched as Klopp’s rotated lineup fought to break through Burnley’s resolute defense. The first half was tense, but Liverpool’s quality shone in the second.

A pinpoint cross from Trent Alexander-Arnold found Firmino, whose deft header gave the visitors the lead. Salah added a second minutes later, securing a hard-fought 2-0 victory.

Back in the dressing room, the players celebrated their win with jubilant laughter and banter. Jordan Henderson leaned over to Zachary, grinning. "So, how does it feel watching us do all the work for once?"

Zachary smirked. "You’re just making my job easier for the weekend."

Even Klopp couldn’t resist joining in. "Rest up, Zachary. Bournemouth won’t know what hit them."

Later on, as the team bus made its way back to Liverpool, Zachary sat near the back, the energy of yet another Liverpool victory buzzing around him.

Liverpool’s victory over Burnley had extended their unbeaten run in the Premier League, but for Zachary Bemba, the match had been an exercise in patience.

Watching from the bench as his teammates battled to a hard-fought 2-0 win had only sharpened his hunger to be back on the pitch. As the team bus rolled into Melwood late that Wednesday evening, Zachary’s focus was already shifting to the weekend fixture against Bournemouth.

That night passed uneventfully, and eventually, Thursday morning dawned crisp and clear over Merseyside, the air carrying a faint chill as winter began to tighten its grip.

While most of the squad reported for light recovery training, Zachary had a different plan. Klopp had approved his request for a personalized session to keep his sharpness at its peak, and by 8:30 AM, he was already on the training pitch, working with one of Liverpool’s assistant coaches.

The session was intense but purposeful. Zachary moved through dribbling drills designed to replicate in-game pressure, weaving through cones at top speed before firing precise shots into the corners of the net.

The assistant coach added layers of complexity, shouting commands for him to adjust direction mid-drill or to finish with his weaker right foot. Each challenge was met with the same ferocious focus that had defined Zachary’s ascent to the pinnacle of world football.

As the session wound down, Zachary worked on free kicks. With the goal framed by an imaginary wall of mannequins, he curled the ball into the top corners with unerring accuracy. Each strike carried a message—to himself, his teammates, and anyone watching: he was ready.

The following day was Friday, the eve of the game, and by 9:00 AM, the energy at Melwood was intense as the entire squad reconvened for full training.

The session began with tactical drills, Klopp’s animated voice echoing across the pitch as he orchestrated his players’ movements like a conductor leading an orchestra. Zachary slotted seamlessly into the flow, his sharpness evident in every touch and pass.

Klopp watched closely, his eyes narrowing in satisfaction as Zachary intercepted a loose ball, turned sharply, and sent a perfectly weighted through pass to Sadio Mané. The Senegalese winger latched onto it, finishing with a crisp strike.

"That’s what I like to see!" Klopp shouted, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

After training, Klopp pulled Zachary aside. "You’re starting tomorrow," he said with a grin. "You’ve been itching to get back out there, and we’ll need your energy against Bournemouth. Just remember—play your game, and the rest will follow."

Zachary’s excitement was evident, but he kept his response measured. "Thanks, boss. I won’t let you down."