"Morning, Professor," Harry, the captain, called out. He was sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. "You are famous, kid."

Alex felt his face get warm. "What do you mean?"

Harry just laughed and turned the paper around.

On the back page, in huge letters, was a picture. It was not of Alex. It was of Mark, roaring, his arms out, after scoring the goal. But the headline...

"THE PACKAGE," Harry read, his voice full of laughter. "Arsenal's new wonderkids, 'The Brain' and 'The Speed', destroy Fulham."

Alex groaned. "Oh no. They are not really calling us that."

"They are!" Harry said. "It is brilliant! Here you are... 'The Brain'."

He pointed to a smaller picture, of Alex, his arm out, pointing, just before he made the big pass.

The locker room door opened. Mark walked in.

He was not wearing his U18 kit. He was wearing his brand new, very shiny, grey suit. He was holding his silver boots in a separate bag. He looked like a very fast, slightly confused young businessman.

"Morning, 'Speed'!" Harry yelled.

Mark just beamed. He had seen the paper.

"It is a good headline," Mark said, trying to sound cool. "I like it. 'Speed' and 'The Brain'. It sounds right. Speed should come first."

"You scored the goal, Mark," Alex said, shaking his head. "You get the headline."

"Yeah, but your pass... it was not terrible," Mark said, which was his version of a huge compliment. "Milo called my dad. He is sending me a new suit. A blue one. He said blue is my color."

Alex just laughed. This was his new life.

The manager, Steve, walked in. The room went quiet.

"Good win," he said. "Forget it. It is gone. We have a new game. But first. Professor."

Alex froze. "Yes, coach?"

"You have a new job today. You are not training with the team for the first hour."

"I am... I am not?" Alexs stomach sank. Was he being demoted?

"No," Steve said. "You are going to a press conference."

Alexs blood ran cold. That sounded... worse. "A... a what?"

"The press," Steve said. "The newspapers. The TV cameras. They want to talk to you. You are sixteen. You were Man of the Match. You are the 'Brain'. They want to know your story. You will go with me."

Alex looked around. He was desperate. "Me? Alone? Can't Harry go?"

Harry just smiled. "Sorry, Professor. They do not want to talk to my boring old face. They want the wonderkid. It is your turn."

"Be smart," Steve said. "Be boring. Do not say anything stupid. Do not give them a big headline. Be a professional. Go put on a clean shirt. You have five minutes."

Alex felt like he was going to be sick. This was a new kind of terror. This was not a physical fight. This was a mental one.

Alex walked into a bright, hot room. It was not a locker room. It was a sterile, white room, full of people.

He saw dozens of reporters. He saw giant cameras.

The sound of click, click, click from their cameras was like small gunshots.

He sat down at a long table. Steve was on one side. A club press officer was on the other. Alex was in the middle.

He felt so small. He was in his club tracksuit. He wished he had his suit.

A reporter, a man with glasses, raised his hand. "Alex. Great game on Saturday. You have come from nowhere to become a starter. Are you the new Arsenal superstar? Are you the next Antoine?"

Alexs mind went completely blank. He looked at Steve. The manager was just staring straight ahead, like a statue. He was no help.

Alex took a deep breath.

Okay. Analyst. What is the data?

The reporter wanted a big headline: "Kid says he is the new star."

The manager wanted no headline.

Alex leaned into the small microphone.

"I am... I am not the next anyone," he said, his voice shaky but clear. "Antoine is... he is a legend. He is the best in the world. I am just... I am just Alex. I am the new kid. I am here to work hard and to learn from him."

Good. Safe. Boring.

Another reporter raised her hand. "Alex, that pass to Mark... it was incredible. The papers are calling you two 'The Package'. Can you talk about that connection?"

Alex almost smiled. "Mark is... he is a great player. He is very, very fast. I am just... I am just the lucky one who gets to pass to him. My job is easy. I just have to kick the ball into space, and he does all the hard work."

In the front row, a few reporters smiled.

Then, a third reporter, a tough looking man, raised his hand. "You were playing U18 football a month ago. Now you are a Premier League starter. Isnt this all too much? Are you not scared? You look about twelve years old."

The room laughed. Alex felt his face get hot.

He looked at the reporter. He was not going to be a duck.

"I am scared," Alex said. Everyone went quiet. "Of course I am. It is... it is the Premier League. It is the fastest, smartest football in the world. I am sixteen. I am terrified every time I walk on the pitch."

He took a breath. "But... I am very lucky. I have a great team. I have players like Harry and Bastian to help me. And the coach... he just tells me to be smart, and not to lose the ball. So I try to be smart. And I try not to lose the ball. That is my only job."

Steve, the manager, almost, almost smiled.

A final reporter. "Antoine is close to returning from his injury. Are you ready to fight him for your place? Do you think you can keep him on the bench?"

Alex saw the trap. His analyst brain saw it a mile away.

"Finch says he is better than Antoine." That would be the headline.

He looked at the reporter. He smiled. A small, smart, analyst smile.

"Better than Antoine?" he said. "No. Nobody is better than Antoine. He is our number ten. He is the best. When he is fit... he plays. Everyone knows that."

He leaned in a little. "I am just... I am just trying to keep his shirt warm for him. And I am trying to learn as much as I can, before he comes back and takes it from me."

The whole room laughed. It was the perfect answer. It was humble. It was smart. It was funny.

Steve stood up. "Thank you, gentlemen. He is sixteen. He has to go do his schoolwork."

The press conference was over. Alex was shaking. His clean shirt was stuck to his back.

He walked out of the room.

Steve put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Good, Professor," Steve said. "You were not boring. You were smart. 'Keeping his shirt warm'. I liked that. Very good. You won."

Alex felt a huge wave of relief. He had passed the test.

He walked back to the training ground. He was just... tired. He was mentally exhausted.

He got to the locker room. It was empty. The team was already on the pitch.

He was about to change...

"So."

The voice was soft. It was French.

Alex froze.

He turned.

Antoine was sitting at his locker. He was not in a kit. He was in his normal, very expensive clothes. His ankle was in a small, black, medical boot.

Alexs heart stopped. "Antoine! You are... you are here."

"I am here," Antoine said. He was smiling. "I came to see my doctor. And... I just watched your press conference. On the TV."

"Oh," Alex said. His whole body went cold. "I... I..."

"So," Antoine said. He stood up. He limped a little as he walked over. "You are 'keeping my shirt warm' for me, yes?"

"I... I... I did not mean... I just... they asked..." Alex stamdmered.

Antoine just burst out laughing. It was a big, warm, friendly laugh.

"Relax, kid! It was perfect! I loved it! You are smart. I like that."

He put his hand on Alexs shoulder. He was not a giant like Bastian. He was just... a normal guy. A normal superstar.

"But," Antoine said, his smile fading just a little, his eyes full of fire. "I am coming back soon. Next week, maybe. And... I want my shirt."

Alex looked at his hero. His new rival.

"It is a good shirt," Antoine said. "You look good in it. But it is my shirt."

Alex just looked at him. He was not scared anymore. He was excited.

"Okay," Alex said, his voice suddenly strong. "You will have to come and get it."

Antoine just stared at him. He was surprised. Then, his face broke into a huge grin.

"Yes!" he said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "Yes! That is the answer! I like you, Professor. I like you a lot."

"Now," Antoine said, "come on. I am late for my physio. But... show me this 'fake fake' move. Mark told me about it. He said it is... stupid. But it works."

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