Alex woke up at 7:00 AM on Monday.

The alarm didn't ring. He had woken up naturally.

He sat up. He looked at his desk.

It was empty.

No textbooks. No essays on the Tudors. No calculus worksheets.

His A-Levels were finished. School was over.

For the first time in his life—both his old life and his new one—Alex Finch was free.

He walked downstairs. The kitchen was quiet.

"Morning, Professor," his dad said, buttering a piece of toast. "No school run today?"

"No school run ever again," Alex said. He sat down. He felt... strange. "Dad, what do adults do with all the free time?"

"They worry about bills," his dad laughed. "But you are a rich footballer. So I suppose you just... play FIFA?"

Alex frowned. "FIFA is not realistic. The midfield spacing is terrible."

"Eat your eggs," his mum said, kissing his head. "You are a professional now. Full time. You need protein."

He arrived at the training ground at seven thirty. "Super-Bastian early."

The giant German wasn't even there yet. The locker room was empty and dark.

Alex turned on the lights.

He sat at his locker, Number 8. He looked at his white boots with the gold brain.

He had everything. The contract. The trophies. The fame.

But he felt a new kind of pressure.

Before, he was a "Wonderkid". A student who played football. If he had a bad game, people said, "He is tired from school."

Now? Now he had no excuses. He was a full-time pro. He had to be perfect.

The door creaked open.

Bastian walked in. He was holding a very small espresso cup.

He saw Alex. He stopped.

"Professor," Bastian grunted. "You are here before me. This is... disturbing."

"I have no homework, Bastian," Alex said. "I am bored."

"Boredom is dangerous," Bastian said, sitting down. "Boredom makes you buy stupid cars. Like Speed."

Speaking of Mark...

A loud HONK echoed from the car park. It sounded like a cruise ship.

The door burst open. Mark ran in.

He was wearing a suit made entirely of denim. Denim jacket. Denim jeans. Denim tie.

"CANADIAN TUXEDO!" Mark yelled. "IT IS A VIBE!"

"It is a disaster," Bastian muttered.

"I am a full-time athlete!" Mark announced, doing a spin. "No more math! No more science! Just goals! And fashion!"

"That is not fashion," Antoine said, gliding into the room. Antoine was wearing a beige trench coat and looked like a detective from a cool French movie. "That is... an accident in a jeans factory."

Mark looked at his denim sleeve. "Milo said it is 'Workwear Chic'. It shows I am ready to work!"

"Then go get the balls," Bastian said. "Work."

Mark saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Steve, the manager, walked in. He looked refreshed. The "Suit" was gone. The contract drama was over.

Now, it was just football.

"Right," Steve said. "New season. New rules. You are not the underdog anymore. You are the Champion. Everyone wants to beat you."

He clicked the remote. The screen showed a team in orange and black.

"Wolverhampton Wanderers," Steve said. "Wolves. Saturday. Away."

He looked at the team.

"They are fast. They are aggressive. They counter-attack. They are basically... a cheaper version of us."

The team chuckled.

"Do not laugh," Steve warned. "They have Neto. They have Cunha. They are 'The Pack'. They hunt in groups. If you lose the ball... they swarm."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. This is your first game as a full-time professional. No school to save you. You need to control the tempo. If the game gets too fast... Wolves will eat us. You must be the brake pedal."

"The brake pedal," Alex repeated. "I can do that."

"Good," Steve said. "Because if we run a race against them... we might lose."

Training was sharp.

Without school, Alex had more energy. He stayed later. He watched more video.

He sat with Jude in the video room.

"They press the middle," Jude said, pointing at the screen. "See? Three of them jump on the pivot."

"So we don't play through the middle," Alex said. "We play... over them."

"Or," Jude grinned, flexing his arm. "We play through them. I can push them."

"You can push them," Alex laughed. "I will bounce off."

Milo arrived on Friday.

He was wearing a suit made of... artificial grass? It was green and fuzzy.

"THE PITCH!" Milo screamed. "I AM ONE WITH THE GAME! ALEX! I HAVE AN IDEA!"

"No," Alex said immediately.

"HEAR ME OUT! 'The Professor's Chair'! We put a leather armchair in the center circle for the warm-up! You sit in it and read a book! It symbolizes your intellect!"

"Milo," Alex said. "I am not reading a book in the center circle."

"A Kindle?"

"No."

"Fine!" Milo huffed. "Mark! Come here! I have a denim cowboy hat for you!"

Mark squealed with joy.

Saturday. Molineux Stadium.

The Wolves' home ground was loud. It felt tight. The fans were right on top of the pitch.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

The Wolves players were jumping up and down. They looked ready for a fight.

Their captain, Kilman, looked at Alex.

"No homework today, kid?"

"Graduated," Alex smiled.

They walked out.

The whistle blew.

Wolves did exactly what Steve said. They were a pack.

As soon as Arsenal got the ball, three orange shirts swarmed.

Alex got the ball. Swarm.

He passed to Jude. Swarm.

Jude held them off, but he had no passing options.

Mark tried to run in behind, but the Wolves defense was deep. They were playing "Counter-Attack".

In the 20th minute, Arsenal lost the ball.

Wolves broke.

Neto ran down the wing. He was fast. Incredibly fast.

He crossed.

Cunha headed it.

Ramsdale made a diving save.

"WAKE UP!" Ramsdale screamed. "THEY ARE FASTER THAN US!"

Alex stood in the midfield. He was sweating.

The game was too fast. It was like a basketball match. Run. Shoot. Run back. Shoot.

Arsenal was playing Wolves' game. Chaos.

"Professor!" Antoine yelled. "Slow it down! I am getting dizzy!"

Alex nodded.

The brake pedal.

Alex got the ball from Bastian.

Two Wolves players sprinted at him. They expected him to pass quickly. To panic.

Alex didn't pass.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball. He stood completely still.

The Wolves players, surprised by the sudden stop, overran him. They slid past.

Alex turned. He walked with the ball.

He didn't run. He walked.

Another player came. Alex did a slow turn. A pirouette.

He passed to Jude.

"Hold it," Alex said.

Jude held it. He used his strength. He waited.

The frantic pace of the game died.

The Wolves players stopped sprinting. They were confused. Why wasn't Arsenal running?

Tick. Tock.

Alex got the ball back. He passed to Antoine.

Antoine held it. He juggled it once. He passed it back.

The crowd started to boo. "BORING!"

Alex smiled. Boring was good. Boring was control.

He looked at Mark.

Mark was vibrating on the shoulder of the last defender. He wanted to run.

Not yet, Speed. Wait.

Alex kept the ball. Pass. Move. Pass. Move.

He lulled Wolves to sleep. He hypnotized them with boredom.

44th minute.

The Wolves midfield was flat. They were standing still, watching the ball.

Alex saw it.

The moment of distraction.

Their left back stepped forward, just an inch too far.

Now.

Alex didn't signal. He didn't shout.

He just changed gear.

From zero to one hundred.

He played a first-time, driven pass.

Not to Mark.

To Antoine.

Antoine was in the pocket.

Antoine turned instantly. The Magician.

He saw Mark.

Mark was gone. The Arrow was released.

Antoine played a through ball.

Mark ran onto it. He was clear.

One on one.

He didn't miss. He smashed it into the bottom corner.

GOAL.

One zero. Arsenal.

The Wolves fans were silent. They didn't understand what happened. One minute they were watching a slow game of chess, the next minute they were losing.

Mark ran to the corner. He did a new celebration.

He pretended to look at a watch on his wrist. Then he yawned. Then he exploded into a jump.

Sleep. Then Attack.

"THE WAKE UP CALL!" Mark screamed.

Halftime. One zero.

Steve was grinning.

"Brilliant," Steve said. "You bored them to death. Then you stabbed them. That is mature football. That is Champion football."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Perfect tempo. You killed their fire with ice."

"It is simple physics, boss," Alex said. "Action and reaction. We stopped the action."

"Don't quote textbooks at me," Steve laughed.

"But second half," Steve warned. "They will be angry. They will come at you hard. No more walking."

"We will be ready," Jude said.

Second half.

Wolves were furious. They came out fighting.

They tackled hard. They fouled.

Alex got kicked in the shin. Jude got pushed.

It was a scrap.

60th minute.

Wolves equalized.

A corner. A scramble in the box. A messy goal.

One one.

The Molineux stadium erupted. The noise was back. The chaos was back.

Alex looked at his teammates. They looked rattled.

Mark was arguing with the referee. Antoine was fixing his socks, looking annoyed.

We need to reset, Alex thought.

But they couldn't slow it down now. The crowd was too loud. The energy was too high.

They needed... a moment of individual brilliance.

They needed the Diamond to shine.

75th minute.

Alex got the ball. He was deep.

He saw Jude.

Jude was making a run. A "Power" run.

Alex passed to him.

Jude took the ball. He drove past two players. He was a tank.

He got to the edge of the box.

He was blocked. Three defenders.

Jude couldn't shoot. He couldn't pass forward.

He looked back.

Alex was there. He had followed the play.

Jude laid it off.

Alex was twenty-five yards out.

He looked at the goal. It was crowded. Bodies everywhere.

He couldn't shoot through them.

But he saw Antoine.

Antoine was standing to the left. Just standing.

Alex faked a shot. The defenders flinched.

Alex passed to Antoine.

Antoine didn't shoot. He lifted the ball.

A tiny, soft scoop.

Over the defensive line.

Mark was there.

He didn't head it. He didn't volley it.

He did a bicycle kick.

It was crazy. It was unnecessary. It was Mark.

He jumped. He spun in the air.

His silver boot connected with the ball.

CRACK.

The ball flew into the top corner.

GOAL!

Two one.

It was the goal of the season. Maybe the goal of the decade.

Mark landed on his back. He lay there for a second.

Then he jumped up.

He ripped off his shirt. (Yellow card).

He ran around the pitch screaming.

"I AM THE GREATEST! I AM THE KING OF GRAVITY!"

Alex ran over. Jude ran over.

They couldn't believe it.

"You are crazy," Alex laughed, hugging him. "Why did you do that?"

"Because the normal shot is boring!" Mark yelled. "I wanted style!"

"That was style," Antoine agreed. "Ten out of ten."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Wolves 1.

They had survived the fight.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was tired. Being a full-time pro was hard work.

Milo was in the tunnel. He was wearing a tracksuit made of... velvet. Green velvet.

"THE BICYCLE!" Milo shrieked. "MARK! YOU MANIAC! I LOVE YOU! I AM CALLING THE CIRCUS! THEY WANT TO SPONSOR YOU!"

"I am not joining the circus, Milo," Mark said, putting his shirt back on. "I am a serious footballer."

"You are a acrobat!" Milo said.

Alex walked to the locker room.

He sat down.

He checked his phone. No homework reminders. No exam results.

Just a text from his dad.

"Good win. Mark is insane. Please tell him to be careful. Your mum nearly fainted."

Alex smiled.

He looked at the team.

Jude was putting ice on his knee. Antoine was watching the replay of the goal. Mark was demonstrating the kick to Bastian, who looked unimpressed.

"You could have broken your neck," Bastian said.

"But I looked cool," Mark argued.

This was his life now. No school. Just football. Just this crazy family.

Alex leaned back.

"Hey, Professor," Jude said. "What are you going to do tomorrow? Day off."

Alex thought about it.

"I might... read a book," Alex said. "For fun. Not for school."

"Rebel," Jude grinned.

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