Alex stared at the piece of paper on his desk. His hands were shaking slightly.

He had played against Real Madrid. He had played against Paris Saint-Germain. He had faced Mbappe and Sergio Ramos.

But this... this was terrifying.

Mr. Henderson, his history teacher, stood over him.

"Well, Mr. Finch," the teacher said, peering over his glasses. "The results are in."

Alex looked at the paper. It was his history exam. The one he had taken the morning of the PSG game. The one he had written about steam engines while thinking about transition attacks.

He flipped the page.

B+.

Alex let out a breath that sounded like a deflating balloon.

"You passed," Mr. Henderson said, a small smile on his face. "It seems your analysis of the industrial revolution is almost as good as your analysis of the French midfield."

"Thank you, sir," Alex said, putting the paper in his bag next to his Champions League player of the match trophy.

"Don't get cocky, Finch," the teacher added. "Geography is next week. And I hear plate tectonics are harder than marking Kylian Mbappe."

Alex laughed. "I don't know, sir. Tectonic plates move slower."

He walked out of school. The neon green sports car was waiting.

Mark was leaning against it. He was wearing a bright orange tracksuit today. He looked like a traffic cone that had won the lottery.

"Did you pass?" Mark yelled, before Alex even reached the car.

"B plus," Alex grinned.

"YES!" Mark punched the air. "THE PROFESSOR IS SMART! GET IN! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR THE VIDEO GAME THING!"

"The what?" Alex asked, getting in.

"Milo texted," Mark said, revving the engine. "Big surprise. At the training ground. Hold on."

Mark floored it. The car squealed.

Alex closed his eyes. He preferred facing Mbappe.

The Arsenal training ground was buzzing.

In the middle of the canteen, Milo was standing on a table. He was wearing a suit made of... velvet? Purple velvet.

He was holding a giant cardboard cutout.

"THEY ARE HERE!" Milo screamed when he saw Alex and Mark. "THE STARS! THE ICONS!"

The whole team was gathered around. Jude was eating an apple, looking amused. Bastian was drinking coffee, looking annoyed. Antoine was fixing his hair in a reflection.

"What is it, Milo?" Alex asked.

Milo flipped the cardboard cutout.

It was the cover of a video game. Pro Football 25.

On the cover, there were three players.

In the middle, screaming, was Haaland.

On the left, dribbling, was Vinicius Jr.

And on the right... pointing at his head... was Alex.

The room went silent.

"Is that... me?" Alex whispered.

"IT IS YOU!" Milo roared. "THE PROFESSOR! ON THE COVER! GLOBAL BRANDING, BABY!"

Harry, the captain, whistled. "Okay. That is big. That is very big."

Mark stared at the cover. He looked at Alex. He looked at the empty space behind Alex on the cover.

"Where am I?" Mark asked. "Where is the Arrow? Where is the Chaos?"

"You are inside the game, Speed!" Milo said quickly. "You are a... a downloadable content! Very exclusive!"

"Downloadable?" Mark grumbled. "I want to be on the box."

Jude walked over. He looked at the cover.

"Nice," Jude said. "But they got your nose wrong. It is too big."

"Thanks, Jude," Alex sighed.

"Enough!" Steve, the manager, walked in. He looked at the giant video game cover. He looked at Milo.

"Milo. Out. Take your cardboard with you."

"Marketing never sleeps, Steve!" Milo yelled, jumping off the table and running for the door. "Pre-orders are live!"

Steve stood in the middle of the room. The fun was over.

"Brighton," Steve said.

The mood shifted instantly.

"Saturday. Away. The Amex Stadium."

Steve looked at the team.

"You beat PSG. You beat Madrid. You are the 'Diamond Hurricane'. You think you are unstoppable."

He paused.

"Brighton... they want you to think that. They want you to run at them. They want you to press them. They are the best team in the league at... baiting."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. This is a trap game. Brighton stands on the ball. They put their foot on it. They wait. They wait for you to jump. When you jump... they pass around you. They are the matador. We are the bull."

Alex nodded. He knew Brighton. De Zerbi-ball. It was risky, smart, and dangerous.

"If we press like crazy," Steve said, "they will kill us. If we sit back, they will keep the ball for ninety minutes."

He looked at his midfield. Alex, Jude, Antoine.

"We need... a hybrid," Steve said. "We need to press... but only when the trap is broken. Professor. You decide. You are the trigger. If you go... Jude goes. Antoine goes. Mark goes. If you stay... everyone stays. Do not get it wrong."

Alex felt the weight. The number 8 shirt. The video game cover. The responsibility.

"I will be ready, coach," Alex said.

Saturday. The south coast.

The air smelled of salt and sea. The stadium was beautiful, modern, and loud.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He was wearing his white boots.

Next to him was Dunk, the Brighton captain. A giant defender.

"Nice cover, kid," Dunk grinned. "My son wants you to sign his copy. After I kick you, of course."

"Deal," Alex said.

Mark was behind Alex. He was vibrating.

"They pass too much," Mark whispered. "I hate teams that pass. Just kick it and run!"

"Patience, Speed," Jude said from behind Mark. Jude looked calm. "Let them pass. Then we smash them."

The whistle blew.

The game was... weird.

Brighton did exactly what Steve said.

Their center backs stood in their own box. They put their foot on the ball. They stopped.

They just... waited.

The crowd booed.

"Come on!" Mark yelled from the striker position. "Play football!"

Mark wanted to run. He twitched. He took a step forward.

"NO!" Alex screamed. "MARK! STAY!"

Alex held his arms out. He was the anchor.

If Mark pressed now, Brighton would ping a pass through the midfield, and Arsenal would be open.

Mark stopped. He looked furious. "They are mocking me!"

"Wait," Alex said.

For ten minutes, nothing happened. Brighton passed it two yards. Then stopped.

It was a staring contest.

Alex watched the eyes of the Brighton midfielder. He watched the hips.

He was analyzing the data in real time.

They are waiting for the switch. They want to pass to the winger.

Fifteenth minute.

The Brighton defender took a heavy touch. Just a tiny, little mistake. The ball rolled six inches too far.

Alex saw it.

The trigger.

"GO!" Alex roared.

It was like releasing a pack of wolves.

Mark exploded. He sprinted at the defender.

Antoine cut off the passing lane to the left.

Jude... Jude was a train. He charged through the middle.

The Brighton defender panicked. The trap had failed.

He tried to kick it long.

Jude jumped. He blocked the kick with his chest. THUD.

The ball fell to Alex.

He was thirty yards out. The Brighton defense was split.

He saw Mark making a diagonal run.

He saw Antoine drifting wide.

But he also saw Jude. Jude had kept running after the block. He was powering into the box like a runaway locomotive.

Alex didn't pass to the speed. He passed to the power.

He slid a pass through the gap.

Jude ran onto it. He didn't shoot. He just... ran through the last defender. Shoulder to shoulder. The defender bounced off.

Jude smashed it.

GOAL.

One zero.

The Arsenal away end went crazy.

"THE BULLDOZER!" Mark yelled, jumping on Jude. "YOU ARE A TANK!"

Jude just laughed and pointed at Alex. "Good trigger, Professor. Perfect timing."

Brighton didn't panic. They were smart.

They restarted. They went back to their game. Wait. Pass. Wait.

Arsenal had to be disciplined.

Alex was the brain. He was constantly talking. "Left! Right! Hold! GO!"

He was moving his teammates like chess pieces.

But Brighton was good.

In the 40th minute, Alex got it wrong.

He called the press too early.

"GO!"

Mark ran.

But the Brighton defender was baiting him. He flicked the ball over Mark's head.

He passed to the midfield.

Alex stepped up to intercept. He missed.

Brighton were through.

They played fast. One touch. Two touch.

Their winger crossed. Their striker headed it.

Goal.

One one.

The stadium erupted.

Alex stood there, hands on his hips. He had miscalculated. He had jumped the gun.

Steve, on the sideline, didn't yell. He just pointed to his temple. Think.

Halftime. One one.

The locker room was hot.

"They are annoying," Antoine said, fixing his hair. "They play like... flies. Buzzing. Waiting."

"We are too eager," Steve said. "Mark. You are running too early. Alex. You are calling it too early. You are bored. Do not be bored. Be a sniper. One shot. One kill."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are trying to outsmart them. But sometimes... you don't need to be smart. Sometimes... you just need to be better."

"Better?" Alex asked.

"Look at Jude," Steve said.

Alex looked at Jude. Jude was sitting calmly, eating a banana.

"Jude is bigger than their midfielders," Steve said. "He is stronger. Stop trying to pass around them. Go at them. Use the Power."

Alex nodded. Use the Power.

Second half.

Alex got the ball.

The Brighton midfield was set. They were waiting for the pass.

Alex looked at Jude.

Jude was standing next to the Brighton playmaker.

Alex didn't pass to space. He passed to Jude's feet.

But he passed it... hard. A "fired" pass.

Jude controlled it.

The Brighton player tried to tackle him.

Jude just... turned. He used his body. He swiveled. The Brighton player bounced off him like he had hit a tree.

Jude was free.

He drove forward. The "Power" element of the Hurricane.

Brighton collapsed. They had to stop him. Two defenders ran at Jude.

Jude didn't pass. He kept running. He loved the fight.

He drew three players to him.

Now... there was space.

Alex had followed him. He was the support.

Jude, surrounded, flicked the ball back to Alex.

Alex was twenty yards out.

He looked at the goal. He could shoot.

But he saw Mark.

Mark was on the far side. The entire Brighton defense was sucked in by Jude's power run. Mark was all alone.

Mark raised his hand.

Alex hit the pass.

It wasn't a ground pass. It was a clip. A soft, dinked ball over the mess of bodies.

It landed on Mark's chest.

Mark controlled it.

He let it drop.

He volleyed it.

BOOM.

The net rippled.

Two one.

Mark ran to the corner. He pointed at Jude. Then he pointed at Alex.

"POWER AND BRAINS!" Mark screamed. "I AM JUST THE ENDING!"

Jude ran over and lifted Mark into the air like he weighed nothing.

Alex joined the hug.

"That," Alex said to Jude, "was a bulldozer run."

"I clear the road," Jude grinned. "You drive the car."

The last ten minutes were tense. Brighton threw everything forward.

Alex was the shield again. He blocked. He tackled.

He was tired. His school exams, the travel, the game... it was heavy.

In the 90th minute, Brighton had a corner.

The keeper came up.

The ball came in.

Alex jumped. He didn't win the header.

But Jude did.

Jude powered above everyone. He headed it clear.

The ball fell to Antoine.

Antoine looked up.

The goal was empty. But he was eighty yards away.

He saw Alex running.

"Professor!" Antoine yelled.

He passed it to Alex.

Alex was tired. But he saw the open pitch.

He ran.

He crossed the halfway line.

The Brighton defender was chasing him.

Alex's legs were burning. He wasn't fast like Mark.

He heard footsteps behind him.

He looked at the empty goal.

He could try to shoot from forty yards.

But he saw Mark sprinting past him.

Mark was fresh. Mark was the Arrow.

Alex slid the ball.

Mark took it. He didn't slow down. He ran the ball all the way into the net.

He didn't even shoot. He just ran into the goal with the ball.

Three one.

Game over.

Mark lay in the net, hugging the ball.

"I LOVE GOALS!" Mark yelled.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 3. Brighton 1.

A tactical battle won by power and patience.

Alex walked off the pitch. He shook hands with Dunk.

"You signed the game cover yet?" Dunk asked, smiling.

"I will send one," Alex promised.

He walked into the tunnel.

Jude put his arm around him.

"Good game, Professor. We figured it out."

"We did," Alex said.

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