Alex sat in his English Literature class on Thursday morning.

The room was warm. The teacher, Mr. Keating, was reading Hamlet.

"To be, or not to be," Mr. Keating recited dramatically. "That is the question."

Alex rested his chin on his hand. His eyes were heavy.

To press, or not to press, Alex thought. That is the real question.

He was exhausted. The Dortmund game had drained him. The travel, the noise, the running. His body felt like it was made of lead.

"Mr. Finch?"

Alex snapped his head up. "Yes, sir?"

"Is something troubling you?" Mr. Keating asked. "You look like you are carrying the weight of Denmark on your shoulders."

"Just... gravity, sir," Alex mumbled. "And lactic acid."

"Well, try to stay awake. Hamlet dies in the end. Spoilers."

Alex nodded. He didn't want to die. He wanted to win.

He walked out of school. It was raining. Again.

The black SUV was waiting. Mark was in the driver's seat. He was wearing a sleeping mask... on his forehead.

"Get in, Professor," Mark yawned. "I am driving with my eyes open today. Mostly."

Alex climbed in. "You look tired, Speed."

"I am not tired!" Mark protested, rubbing his eyes. "I am just... storing energy. Like a battery. A very fast, very handsome battery."

"We are going to need it," Alex said. "Manchester City. Tonight."

"The League Cup," Mark groaned. "The baby trophy. Can't we just... give it to them?"

"The Suit is watching," Alex reminded him. "We have to win everything. Or we get sold."

Mark sat up straight. He slapped his cheeks.

"Right. The Suit. The evil villain. Okay. I am awake. Let's go beat the robots."

The Etihad Stadium was cold. It wasn't the Champions League atmosphere. It was quieter. More serious.

The League Cup was usually for the reserve players. The kids.

But tonight, the Arsenal team sheet was full of stars.

Alex. Jude. Antoine. Mark. Bastian.

They were all starting.

"This is cruel," Antoine whispered, shivering in the tunnel. "I am an artist. I should be in a gallery. Not in Manchester on a Thursday night."

"We need the win, Magician," Steve, the manager, said, walking past. "Win fast. Then you can sleep."

Alex looked at the City team.

Pep Guardiola, the City manager, had also played a strong team. Not his best, but strong enough. Foden was there. Alvarez was there.

And a new kid. A seventeen-year-old midfielder named Rico.

Rico looked at Alex. He looked hungry. He looked like Alex did three months ago.

"He wants your spot, Professor," Jude said, cracking his neck. "He wants to be the new Golden Boy."

"He can have the spot," Alex sighed. "I just want my bed."

The whistle blew.

It was a sluggish game. Both teams were tired. The passing was slow.

Tick. Tock.

City kept the ball. Arsenal let them.

Steve's plan was simple: "The Vampire."

"We suck the life out of the game," Steve had said. "We do not run. We do not chase. We stand. We block. And when they fall asleep... we bite."

It was a boring plan. But Alex loved it. Running was hard today.

For forty minutes, nothing happened.

City passed sideways. Arsenal shuffled left. City passed back. Arsenal shuffled right.

The crowd was quiet. Someone in the front row was actually reading a book.

Alex stood in the middle. He was the Shield.

Rico, the City kid, was trying hard. He was running everywhere.

"Move!" Rico yelled at Alex, trying to push past him.

Alex didn't move. He just used his core. He bumped Rico away.

"Save your energy, kid," Alex whispered. "It is a long season."

Rico scowled. He ran faster.

In the 44th minute, Rico made a mistake. He tried to run through Jude.

It was like a bicycle trying to run through a wall.

Jude didn't even flinch. Rico bounced off him.

Jude took the ball.

"WAKE UP!" Jude roared.

The Vampire woke up.

Jude drove forward. The Power.

He passed to Antoine.

Antoine didn't run. He just flicked the ball over a defender's head.

Mark was waiting. The Arrow.

He sprinted.

He got to the ball. He shot.

The keeper saved it.

But the rebound fell to Alex.

Alex was on the edge of the box. He had followed the play.

He saw the goal.

He wound up to shoot.

But his legs... his legs were heavy.

He didn't hit it clean. He scuffed it.

The ball rolled slowly... painfully slowly... towards the corner.

It hit the post.

Thump.

And stayed out.

The whistle blew for halftime.

Zero zero.

Alex put his head in his hands. He should have scored.

The locker room was silent.

"My legs are jelly," Mark moaned, lying on the floor. "I am not the Arrow. I am the Noodle."

Steve walked in. He looked at them.

"You are tired," Steve said. "I know. But you are Arsenal. And the Suit is watching."

He pulled out his phone.

"He just texted me. '0-0 is boring. Win. Or I sell Jude to Madrid tomorrow.'"

Jude sat up. "He can't do that."

"He can," Steve said. "He owns the pen."

Jude stood up. He looked angry. "I am not going back to Madrid. The food is good, but the traffic is terrible."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. We need a goal. One goal. Then we sleep."

"I missed," Alex said quietly.

"So don't miss next time," Jude said. "Think. Analyze. How do we beat them without running?"

Alex closed his eyes. He visualized the pitch.

City was high. Their keeper was aggressive.

But their wall... on free kicks... they jumped. They always jumped. They were young. They were eager.

"Set pieces," Alex said. "We need a free kick. On the edge of the box."

"And then?" Antoine asked.

"Then," Alex said, opening his eyes. "We use gravity."

The second half started.

Arsenal didn't attack. They waited.

They looked for the foul.

Mark got the ball. He didn't run to goal. He ran at the defenders legs.

He invited the contact.

In the 60th minute, he got it.

A City defender tripped him.

Whistle.

Free kick. Twenty-two yards out. Central.

"Perfect," Alex whispered.

He walked to the ball.

Antoine walked over. "Do you want it, Professor? I can curl it."

"No," Alex said. "They know you curl it. They will jump."

Antoine looked at the wall. The City players were big. They looked ready to leap.

"So what is the plan?" Antoine asked.

"The Mouse," Alex said.

Antoine smiled. "The Mouse. I like it."

Alex placed the ball. He looked at the wall.

He looked at the keeper.

He stepped back.

He took a deep breath.

He ran up.

The wall jumped. They jumped high. They wanted to block the top corner shot.

Alex didn't shoot at the top corner.

He hit the ball... on the ground.

A soft, hard pass. Right underneath the jumping feet of the defenders.

The ball slid under the wall.

It looked like a mouse scurrying across the floor.

The keeper had dived to the top corner. He was in the air.

He watched, helpless, as the ball rolled slowly... gently... into the bottom middle of the net.

GOAL.

One zero.

The Arsenal fans cheered. It was a cheeky goal. A smart goal. A Professor goal.

Alex didn't run. He didn't jump.

He just turned to the camera.

He tapped his temple.

Think.

Antoine laughed and hugged him. "Under the wall! The oldest trick in the book! And the best!"

Jude ran over. "Gravity!" Jude yelled. "Gravity wins!"

Now, they had to survive.

Thirty minutes left.

City was angry. They brought on the big guns. Haaland came off the bench. De Bruyne came off the bench.

The Machine was fully operational.

It was a siege.

Alex was the Shield. He blocked. He tackled. He intercepted.

He was so tired his vision was blurry.

Haaland ran at him. A Viking giant.

Alex didn't try to tackle him. He just... stood in the way.

Haaland ran into him.

Alex fell over. He drew the foul.

"Smart," Bastian grunted, pulling Alex up. "Soft, but smart."

"I am a pebble in his shoe," Alex wheezed.

89th minute.

De Bruyne had the ball. He crossed.

Haaland jumped.

He headed it.

It was going in.

Ramsdale was beaten.

But Mark... Mark was on the line.

The Arrow had come back to defend.

Mark jumped. He wasn't a defender. He didn't know how to head the ball.

So he used his shoulder.

THUD.

He blocked it on the line.

The ball flew out.

Mark fell into the net.

"I SAVED IT!" Mark screamed from inside the goal. "I AM A GOALKEEPER! I AM EVERYTHING!"

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 1. Manchester City 0.

They had won the ugly game. They had survived.

Alex sat on the pitch. He couldn't move.

Jude walked over. He picked Alex up like a sack of potatoes.

"We are safe," Jude said. "For another week."

"My legs," Alex mumbled. "They are gone. I need new ones."

"Milo probably has some," Jude laughed.

They walked into the locker room.

Milo was there. He was wearing a suit that looked like a disco ball. Mirrors everywhere.

"THE MOUSE!" Milo screamed. "THE UNDER-THE-WALL! GENIUS! I AM TRADEMARKING 'THE MOUSE'! WE WILL SELL CHEESE!"

"Milo, please," Alex groaned. "No cheese."

"Fine! No cheese! But listen! The Suit called!"

The room went quiet.

"What did he say?" Steve asked, walking in.

"He said..." Milo paused for drama. "He said... 'Efficient.' And... 'Keep going.'"

Steve let out a breath. "Efficient. I'll take efficient."

He looked at the team.

"Go home. Sleep. You have two days off. You earned it."

The team cheered.

Alex packed his bag. He put his black boots away.

Mark was next to him. He was rubbing his shoulder where the ball had hit him.

"I saved the game," Mark said proudly. "Did you see? I am a hero."

"You are a hero, Speed," Alex said.

"Does this mean I get a statue?" Mark asked.

"Maybe a small one," Alex smiled. "Made of plastic."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.