"You look like a boxer, Alex," she said, touching his cheek carefully. "A very small, very brave boxer."

"I blocked the ball, mum," Alex said, trying to chew without moving his face too much.

"With your face," she sighed. "Next time, use your foot. Or your knee. Or... someone else's face."

His dad, David, walked in. He was holding a newspaper. He looked like he had won the lottery.

"The Nose of God!" David roared, slapping the paper on the table.

The headline was huge. Below it was a picture of Alex, eyes shut, ball smashing into his face.

"It is not my best angle," Alex muttered.

"It is beautiful!" his dad said. "You saved the season! You saved the team! The Suit ripped up the contract! You are staying!"

"I am staying," Alex smiled. "But I have a physics project due today. And if I don't hand it in, Mr. Harrison will terminate my contract with school."

He grabbed his bag. He grabbed his project—a model of a bridge made of popsicle sticks.

"Bye mum! Bye dad!"

He ran out the door.

Mark was waiting in the driveway.

He was not in a car. He was not on a bike.

He was on... a scooter. An electric scooter.

And he was wearing a helmet that looked like a giant football.

"Get on, Professor!" Mark yelled. "We are late for greatness!"

Alex looked at the scooter. "Mark. Where did you get that?"

"Milo sent it!" Mark beamed. "It is the 'Speed Scooter 3000'. It goes twenty miles an hour! And it has a horn that sounds like a referee whistle!"

Mark honked the horn. Fweeeeet!

"It is... loud," Alex said.

"Hop on! Hold my waist! Do not be shy!"

Alex sighed. He climbed onto the back of the scooter, holding his popsicle bridge carefully.

"If you break my bridge, Mark, I will break your legs."

"Roger that! Operation: Bridge Delivery is a go!"

They zoomed off down the street. Mark was weaving in and out of traffic, honking the whistle horn at startled pedestrians.

"I AM THE ARROW!" Mark screamed at a cat.

Alex handed in his bridge. It was intact. Just.

"Interesting design, Mr. Finch," Mr. Harrison said, poking it. "Is it stable?"

"It is stable," Alex said. "Like a midfield anchor."

He walked out of school at 3 PM.

The scooter was gone.

Instead, a black van with tinted windows was waiting.

The door slid open.

Milo was inside. He was wearing a suit made of... mirrors. Actual, tiny mirrors.

"GET IN! WE HAVE A CRISIS!" Milo shrieked.

Alex climbed in. Mark was already there, eating a bag of chips.

"What crisis?" Alex asked.

"The Boot Company!" Milo yelled. "They are panicking! They made fifty thousand pairs of 'The Professor' boots. But they are white!"

"So?"

"So! You blocked the ball with your face! Your face is purple! They want to change the boots to purple! To honor the 'Nose of God'!"

Alex stared at him. "Purple boots?"

"Yes! 'The Bruiser' edition! Limited release! It will sell millions!"

"Milo," Alex said calmly. "I am not wearing purple boots. I am not Barney the Dinosaur."

"But the branding!" Milo wailed.

"No," Alex said. "White. With the gold brain. That is the brand."

Milo sighed. He looked defeated. "Fine. White. But I am making purple socks. Compromise."

They arrived at the training ground.

Steve, the manager, was waiting on the pitch.

He looked serious.

"Right," Steve said. "The survival month is over. We survived. We are top of the league. We are in the Champions League knockouts."

The team cheered.

"But," Steve said, raising a hand. "Now... the real work begins. Now... we hunt."

He clicked his remote. The big screen by the pitch lit up.

It showed a logo. A familiar logo.

A red devil.

Manchester United. Again.

"FA Cup Semi-Final," Steve said. "Wembley. Saturday."

"We beat them already," Mark said, crunching a chip. "The Professor nutmegged Bruno. It was funny."

"That was the league," Steve said. "This is the Cup. And they are angry. They have signed a new player. A striker. From Italy."

The screen changed.

It showed a giant. A man who looked like he was carved from granite.

"Vlahovic," Steve said. "He is big. He is strong. He scores goals for fun. And he hates losing."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You stopped Haaland. You stopped Mbappe. Now... you have to stop a tank."

Alex looked at the screen. Vlahovic looked scary.

"Bastian," Alex said. "I think this is a job for a big rock."

"I will handle the tank," Bastian grunted, cracking his knuckles. "But you, Professor... you must stop the supply. You must stop Bruno. Again."

"Bruno hates me," Alex said.

"Good," Bastian smiled. "Hate makes mistakes."

Training was intense.

Steve had them practicing penalties.

"Semi-finals go to penalties," Steve warned. "We must be ready."

Alex stepped up to the spot.

He looked at the keeper, Ramsdale.

Ramsdale waved his arms. "Come on, Professor! Calculate the angle!"

Alex took a deep breath.

He didn't smash it. He didn't chip it.

He looked at the top corner. He shaped his body to shoot right.

Ramsdale dived right.

Alex rolled the ball... left.

It trickled into the corner.

"Panenka on the ground!" Mark yelled. "Disgusting! I love it!"

"It is called the 'No Look Roll'," Alex said.

"I call it 'The Cheeky Professor'," Antoine laughed.

Saturday. Wembley.

The stadium was split in half. Red for Arsenal. Red for United.

A sea of red.

Alex stood in the tunnel. His nose was still a bit purple, but the swelling had gone down.

Bruno Fernandes was there. He looked at Alex.

"The nose looks good, kid," Bruno sneered. "Matches your shirt."

"Thanks, Bruno," Alex smiled. "Ready for another lesson?"

Bruno growled. He looked like he wanted to bite Alex.

Vlahovic, the new striker, loomed over everyone. He looked at Bastian.

"German," Vlahovic said.

"Serbian," Bastian replied.

They stared at each other. It was like Godzilla meeting Kong.

The whistle blew.

The game was a brawl.

United didn't want to play football. They wanted to fight.

They kicked. They pushed. They fouled.

Bruno was a man possessed. He chased Alex everywhere.

In the 10th minute, Bruno slid in. He missed the ball. He caught Alex's ankle.

Alex went down. It hurt.

The referee gave a yellow card.

"Be careful, Bruno," Alex whispered as he got up. "You are on a warning."

"Shut up, kid," Bruno spat.

But Alex knew. He had the advantage. Bruno was angry. Bruno was reckless.

Alex played his game. The Shield.

He kept the ball. Pass. Move. Pass. Move.

He frustrated United. He made them chase shadows.

In the 35th minute, it happened.

Alex got the ball. He saw Bruno coming.

He didn't pass. He waited.

He waited until the last possible second.

Then, he did the "fake fake".

He faked left. Bruno bit.

Alex went right.

Bruno stuck out a leg. He tripped Alex.

It was a clear foul.

The referee blew the whistle.

He reached into his pocket.

Red card.

Second yellow.

Bruno was off.

The United captain screamed. He pointed at Alex. "He dived! He dived!"

Alex lay on the grass. He didn't say anything. He just looked at the sky.

He hadn't dived. He had just... been smarter.

Bruno walked off. He kicked a water bottle. It exploded.

United were down to ten men.

But ten men United were dangerous. They parked the bus. They defended with their lives.

Vlahovic was a monster. He held up the ball. He fought Bastian.

It was 0-0.

Extra time loomed.

Eighty-eighth minute.

Arsenal had a free kick. Thirty yards out.

Too far for a shot.

Or was it?

Antoine stood over the ball. "I can cross it," he said.

"No," Alex said. He looked at the wall. He looked at the keeper.

He saw something.

The United keeper, Onana, was standing slightly to the left. He was expecting a cross.

He was cheating.

"Mark," Alex whispered.

Mark ran over. "What? Is it time for the Arrow?"

"Stand in the wall," Alex said. "Stand right in front of the keeper."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Be annoying."

Mark ran to the wall. He stood in front of the keeper. He waved his arms. He made funny faces.

"Hey! Keeper! Look at my silver boots! Look at them!" Mark yelled.

The keeper was distracted. He tried to push Mark away.

"Ref! He is blocking my view!" Onana yelled.

While the keeper was shouting... Alex took the kick.

He didn't wait for the whistle. The referee had already signaled play.

Alex didn't run up. He just took one step.

And he hit it.

He hit it with the "Knuckleball" technique he used against Milan.

The ball flew. It didn't spin. It wobbled.

It went over the wall.

Onana saw it late. He was still looking at Mark.

He dived.

But the ball dipped. It swerved away from his hand.

It hit the inside of the post.

CLANG.

And went in.

GOAL.

One zero. Arsenal.

The stadium erupted.

Alex didn't run. He didn't slide.

He just stood there. He put his finger to his lips.

Shhhh.

Mark ran over. "I DID IT! I DISTRACTED HIM! I AM THE DECOY KING!"

"You were very annoying, Speed," Alex laughed, hugging him. "Perfectly annoying."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 1. Manchester United 0.

They were in the FA Cup Final.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was exhausted.

Bastian walked next to him. "Good free kick, Professor. Smart."

"Mark did the hard work," Alex grinned.

"Being annoying is his talent," Bastian agreed.

Milo was in the tunnel. He was wearing a suit made of... red feathers. He looked like a giant bird.

"THE FREE KICK!" Milo squawked. "THE SURPRISE! I AM SELLING THE VIDEO! 'THE PROFESSOR'S SNEAK ATTACK'!"

Alex just shook his head.

He walked into the locker room. He checked his phone.

A text from Mrs. Gable.

"I saw the goal. A perfect parabola. Physics in action. A plus. But you still have homework."

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