"I am a normal boy, mum," Alex said, taking the toast.

"A normal boy who is playing in the Champions League Semi-Final second leg next week," she corrected.

"Details," Alex shrugged.

He grabbed his bag. Inside was his geography textbook, a calculator, and his Champions League player pass.

Just the essentials.

He walked out.

Mark was waiting.

The car today was... a taxi.

A black London taxi.

Mark was in the back seat. He rolled down the window.

"TAXI FOR THE PROFESSOR!" Mark yelled.

Alex sighed. "Mark. Why?"

"Because we are Londoners!" Mark said. "We represent the city! Also, Milo said it is 'urban chic'. Get in!"

Alex climbed in. The taxi smelled of leather and expensive cologne.

"Where to, guv?" the driver asked. He was wearing an Arsenal hat.

"School," Alex said. "And then... glory."

School was weird.

Everyone knew.

The younger kids whispered as he walked by. "That's him. The Brain."

The teachers were nicer. Even Mr. Evans let him skip the map quiz.

"Just... locate the goal on Wednesday," Mr. Evans winked.

Alex sat in the library at lunch.

Maya was there. She was reading a book about astrophysics. Again.

"You won," Maya said, turning a page.

"We won," Alex corrected. "It was a team effort."

"Statistically, your contribution was significant," Maya said. "Your pass completion rate was 94%."

"You checked?"

"I always check the data," she smiled.

She pushed a notebook towards him.

"I did some calculations," she said. "For the second leg."

Alex looked. It was a heat map of Barcelona's defense.

"They leave gaps here," Maya pointed. "And here. When they press high, their right-back gets isolated."

Alex stared at the diagram. It was brilliant. It was exactly what he had been thinking.

"Maya," Alex said. "You should be a coach."

"I prefer physics," she said. "Football is too... chaotic. Humans are unpredictable variables."

"That is the fun part," Alex said.

The week flew by. Training. Tactics. Sleep. Repeat.

Wednesday night. The Emirates Stadium.

The second leg.

Arsenal led 2-1. But Barcelona were dangerous. They were wounded.

The stadium was rocking. Red flares. Flags. Noise.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

He looked at the Barcelona players. They looked angry. They wanted revenge.

Pedri, the Spanish golden boy, looked at Alex.

"Tonight," Pedri said, "we play football. Real football."

"I like football," Alex said.

The whistle blew.

The game was a chess match played at 100 miles per hour.

Barcelona dominated possession. They moved the ball like a pendulum. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Arsenal defended. They were the Shield.

Alex was everywhere. He blocked passes. He intercepted crosses.

But Barcelona were good.

In the 30th minute, Yamal, the wonderkid winger, danced past the defense. He curled a shot into the top corner.

GOAL.

One zero Barcelona.

2-2 on aggregate.

The stadium went quiet. The fear crept in.

"Calm down!" Alex yelled, clapping his hands. "We are fine! Stick to the plan!"

But Arsenal were rattled. They couldn't get the ball.

Halftime. One zero (2-2).

Steve, the manager, was calm.

"They are playing well," Steve said. "But they are tired. They are running too much."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Remember the data. The right-back. He is isolated."

Alex nodded. Maya's heat map flashed in his mind.

"We target him," Alex said.

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. Second half... you live on the left wing. You haunt that right-back. You make him wish he had stayed in Spain."

Mark grinned. "I like haunting."

Second half.

Arsenal changed shape.

Alex moved to the left side of midfield. He overloaded the zone.

Mark stayed wide.

Every time Alex got the ball, he looked for Mark.

55th minute.

Alex got the ball. The Barcelona right-back stepped up to press him.

Mistake.

Alex didn't pass to feet. He chipped it over the defender's head.

Mark ran onto it. He was free.

He drove into the box. He crossed.

Jude was there. The Power.

He headed it.

GOAL!

One one. (3-2 aggregate).

The Emirates exploded.

"THE WEAKNESS!" Mark yelled, pointing at the right-back. "WE FOUND THE HOLE!"

Alex smiled. Thank you, Maya.

Barcelona panicked. They needed a goal.

They pushed everyone forward. Even their center-backs were attacking.

The game became open. Chaotic.

It was perfect for the Hurricane.

75th minute.

Arsenal won the ball deep.

Alex got it.

He looked up.

The entire Barcelona half was empty. Just the goalkeeper standing alone.

Antoine was making a run. Mark was making a run.

Alex had a choice.

He could play a safe pass to Antoine.

Or... he could try the "Impossible Pass".

He saw Mark. Mark was sprinting. He was 60 yards away.

Alex wound up.

He hit it.

A low, driven, curling pass that traveled half the length of the pitch.

It curved around the last defender. It landed perfectly in Mark's path.

It was the best pass Alex had ever hit.

Mark didn't even have to break stride.

He was one on one.

He went round the keeper.

He tapped it in.

GOAL!

Two one. (4-2 aggregate).

Game over.

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

He pretended to look through a telescope.

"I SEE THE FINAL!" Mark screamed.

Alex ran over. The team piled on.

"The telescope!" Antoine laughed. "I like it!"

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Barcelona 1.

Arsenal were in the Champions League Final.

Again.

Back to back finals.

Alex fell to his knees. He was exhausted. But he was exhilarated.

Jude picked him up.

"We did it, Professor," Jude said. "One more game."

"One more," Alex whispered.

He looked at the big screen. The other semi-final result was flashing.

Real Madrid vs Bayern Munich.

Winner: Real Madrid.

It was destiny.

The Final.

Arsenal vs Real Madrid.

The Professor vs The Kings.

Round Two.

Alex felt a shiver.

Sergio Ramos would be waiting. Vinicius would be waiting. Bellingham's old team.

It was the ultimate boss battle.

Alex walked off the pitch.

Milo was waiting. He was wearing a suit made of... confetti.

"THE FINAL!" Milo shrieked. "WE ARE GOING TO ISTANBUL! ALEX! THE TELESCOPE! I AM SELLING BINOCULARS! 'SEE THE VICTORY'!"

"Milo, stop," Alex laughed.

He walked into the locker room.

It was a party. Music. Dancing.

But Alex sat in his corner.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Statistically, playing Madrid in the final is the hardest possible outcome. Their win probability in finals is 90%. You have your work cut out for you, Professor."

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