Asian club football stands at one of the most consequential crossroads in its modern history. Barely two seasons after the Asian Football Confederation (AFC) compressed its premier competition into the newly branded AFC Champions League Elite (ACLE), the governing body is already preparing for another fundamental change an expansion from 24 to 32 clubs.
On the surface, it sounds like a technical adjustment. In reality, it is a geopolitical, commercial and sporting gamble that could determine whether Asia moves forward as a unified footballing force or fractures under competing regional interests.
The ACLE was launched in 2024 with a clear purpose: concentrate quality. After years in which a 40-team Champions League produced lopsided scorelines and limited broadcast appeal, the AFC trimmed the elite tier to 24 clubs, creating a Swiss-style league stage split between East and West Asia. The promise was simple fewer teams, better matches, higher commercial value. That logic has not disappeared. But now, powerful new forces are reshaping the landscape.
The biggest of those forces is money. Asian football has never been richer. Broadcasting and sponsorship revenues surged after the 2023 Asian Cup, pushing AFC revenues beyond $300 million. The ACLE’s prize structure reflects this ambition: clubs receive $800,000 just for entering the league stage, while the champion earns a staggering $12 million. For teams from smaller leagues Australia’s A-League or Southeast Asia’s emerging competitions this is transformational funding. It can underwrite wages, infrastructure and youth development for years.
Yet, the money has not silenced dissent. If anything, it has made the political stakes higher.
Japan, South Korea and Australia historically the backbone of elite Asian club football have grown increasingly uneasy with how the competition is being run. Central to their frustration is Saudi Arabia’s dominance over the ACLE’s final stages. The quarter-finals, semi-finals and final are all played as single-leg matches in Saudi Arabia, a move designed to create a television-friendly “festival of football” and to leverage the kingdom’s vast financial resources. But for East Asian clubs, it feels like structural home advantage for West Asia.
The tension has reached a dangerous level. There are now credible reports that the Japan Football Association has explored the idea of an East Asian breakaway confederation potentially joined by South Korea and Australia which would fundamentally reshape world football. In that context, the AFC’s proposal to expand the ACLE to 32 teams looks less like a sporting reform and more like a political balancing act.
By adding eight more slots, the AFC can give greater access to fast-growing football markets such as Vietnam, Indonesia, Thailand and Malaysia. These countries bring enormous fan bases, rising commercial interest and governments keen to invest in sport. Bringing more of them into the elite tier could dilute the influence of Japan and its allies, strengthening the AFC’s political base in Southeast and West Asia.
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The ACLE already pushes players to the limit. Asia’s geography means clubs routinely fly across multiple time zones for league-stage matches, then return home for domestic competitions. FIFPRO, the global players’ union, has warned that many players already feel overworked and under-compensated for continental duties. Travel subsidies do not cover real costs, and clubs lose local sponsorship revenue because AFC “clean stadium” rules require the removal of domestic branding during ACLE matches.
Adding more teams could mean more matches, more flights and more strain. If the league stage grows from eight matches to ten, as some AFC planners prefer, clubs will be squeezed even harder by an already congested calendar that also includes national leagues, cups and the new AFC Nations League.
This is where the commercial logic meets its first serious test. For the expansion to succeed, the AFC must grow the total prize pool so that the $800,000 entry payment and the $12 million champion’s reward remain meaningful. If those figures are diluted, elite clubs will see little reason to support a format that increases costs without increasing returns.
There is also the question of identity. The ACLE was created to be Asia’s equivalent of Europe’s Champions League a tournament where every match feels elite. Expansion risks reviving the very problem the AFC tried to solve: uneven quality. The confederation insists that strict licensing will protect standards, but political pressure from ambitious federations could test that resolve.
And yet, the opportunity is enormous. Southeast Asia is one of the most passionate football markets in the world. A Champions League Elite that regularly features clubs from Vietnam or Indonesia could unlock new broadcasting deals, new sponsors and new narratives exactly what Asian football needs to break out of its regional silos.
That is why the 32-team proposal is so pivotal. It is not just about eight extra clubs. It is about whether the AFC can balance West Asian financial power, East Asian footballing heritage and Southeast Asian growth into a single coherent product. Get it right, and the ACLE could become the fastest-growing elite club competition in global football. Get it wrong, and the continent risks a political rupture that would leave Asian football weaker, more divided and less relevant on the world stage.
For the AFC, the message is stark: expansion must mean inclusion without compromise, growth without exploitation, and unity without bias. The future of Asian club football depends on it.
