Alex sat in the back of Mr. Evans' geography class. It was Tuesday.

The room was hot. A fly was buzzing against the windowpane.

"Istanbul," Mr. Evans said, pulling down a map. "A city that straddles two continents. Europe and Asia. A meeting point of cultures. Of history."

He looked at Alex.

"And, apparently, the meeting point of the two best football teams in the world."

The class turned to look at Alex. They didn't giggle anymore. They looked at him with awe.

Alex Finch. The boy who sat in row four. The boy who was going to play in the Champions League Final on Saturday.

"Are you ready for the tectonic shift, Mr. Finch?" Mr. Evans asked.

"I am ready for the travel, sir," Alex said. "It is a four-hour flight."

"And Real Madrid?"

"They are... a very large mountain," Alex admitted.

"Well," Mr. Evans smiled. "Don't forget to pack your compass. You might get lost in their midfield."

School finished. Alex walked out.

There was no neon car today. No hearse. No horse.

There was a tank.

Well, not a real tank. It was a giant, armoured hummer. It took up two parking spaces.

Mark was sitting on the roof. He was wearing a suit made of... shiny red foil. He looked like a giant, angry candy wrapper.

"ISTANBUL!" Mark screamed at the sky. "WE ARE COMING!"

Alex sighed. He walked over.

"Mark, get down. You are going to dent the roof."

"It is armoured!" Mark yelled, sliding down the hood. "It is bulletproof! It is Madrid-proof! Milo rented it! He said we need 'Heavy Metal' for the final!"

"We are playing football, not invading a country," Alex said, climbing into the passenger seat.

"Same thing!" Mark grinned, starting the engine. It sounded like a thunderstorm.

The training ground was buzzing.

It wasn't just the usual press. It was the world's press. Cameras from Brazil, Japan, America.

Steve, the manager, had closed the training session. "No spies," he said.

Inside the locker room, the mood was different.

Before the Semi-Final, it had been excited.

Now, it was heavy. Serious.

Bastian was sitting in his corner. He wasn't reading. He was just staring at his boots.

"Bastian?" Alex asked. "You okay?"

"Real Madrid," Bastian grunted. "They are not a team, Professor. They are a... a curse. You think you have beaten them. You think they are dead. And then... snap. They score. In the last minute. Always the last minute."

"We beat them before," Alex said.

"In the Quarter Final," Bastian said. "That is just a skirmish. The Final... the Final is their home. They own the trophy. We are just... borrowing it."

Jude walked in. He looked calm. Too calm.

He sat next to Alex.

"They are talking," Jude said. "My old friends at Madrid. Vinicius. Rodrygo. They are texting me."

"What are they saying?" Alex asked.

"They are laughing," Jude said, his eyes narrowing. "They say the 'Hurricane' is a cute name. They say... 'Welcome to the funeral'."

Mark stopped bouncing. He looked at Jude.

"Funeral?" Mark whispered. "But... I returned the hearse."

"They think we are children," Jude said. "They think we got lucky."

Antoine walked in. He fixed his hair in the mirror.

"Let them laugh," Antoine said softly. "Arrogance is a heavy coat. It slows you down."

Steve walked into the center of the room.

He didn't have the tactics board. He had a single piece of paper.

"Real Madrid," Steve said. "Thirteen titles. Kings of Europe."

He ripped the paper in half.

"History," Steve said. "Paper. It burns. It tears. It means nothing on Saturday."

He looked at the team.

"They have a system. Ancelotti, their manager... he trusts his players. He lets them flow. Vinicius attacks. Modric controls. Rudiger destroys."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. In the Quarter Final, we beat them with a trap. The 'Fainting Goat'. The 'Ghost Run'. They know those tricks now. Sergio will not step out. Rudiger will not be fooled."

"So we need a new trick," Alex said.

"No," Steve said. "We do not need a trick. We need... to evolve."

He looked at the Diamond. Alex. Jude. Antoine. Mark.

"You four. You have played as a structure. A shape. The Shield, the Sword, the Arrow, the Power."

Steve smiled.

"Today... we melt the shape."

"Melt?" Mark asked. "Like cheese?"

"Liquid," Steve said. "Total Football. In the Final... there are no positions. Alex... if you want to run to the striker position... you go. Jude... if you want to play left back... you go."

"I don't want to play left back," Jude said quickly.

"You fill the gaps," Steve said. "If Alex goes, Jude stays. If Mark drops deep, Antoine runs long. You must be water. You must flow. Madrid cannot mark a ghost. Be ghosts."

Alex's analyst brain whirred. Fluidity. Interchangeability.

It was the hardest way to play football. It required perfect understanding. Perfect telepathy.

He looked at Mark. Mark was trying to balance a ball on his head.

"We can do it," Alex said.

"We have to," Steve said. "It is the only way to kill a King."

The flight to Istanbul was long.

Milo was on the plane. He was wearing a fez. A red fez with a gold tassel.

"TURKEY!" Milo shouted, walking down the aisle. "THE GATEWAY TO THE EAST! ALEX! I HAVE A DEAL WITH A TURKISH DELIGHT COMPANY! 'THE PROFESSOR'S SWEET TOOTH'!"

"I don't like Turkish Delight, Milo," Alex said. "It tastes like perfume."

"IT IS A DELICACY!" Milo insisted. "Eat it! Smile!"

Alex sat next to Antoine.

Antoine was watching a video of Sergio Ramos.

"He is old," Antoine said. "But he is clever. Look."

He pointed at the screen.

"He pulls the shirt. Just a little. When the referee blinks. He stands on your toes at corners. He whispers things about your mother."

"My mother is very nice," Alex said.

"He does not care," Antoine said. "He will try to make you angry. He will try to make Mark angry. Mark... Mark is a problem."

Alex looked back. Mark was asleep, his mouth open, drooling on his shiny red suit.

"Mark is chaos," Alex said. "Maybe Sergio can't predict chaos."

Istanbul was hot. Humid. The air was thick.

The bus drove through the city. Red Arsenal flares and White Madrid flares mixed in the streets. It looked like a war zone.

They arrived at the Atatürk Olympic Stadium.

It was vast. The stands curved away into the sky.

Training was quiet. Focused.

They practiced the "Liquid" system.

Alex ran forward. Jude dropped back. Mark went wide. Antoine came central.

It was messy at first. They bumped into each other.

"Communicate!" Steve yelled. "Use your eyes! Use your brains!"

Slowly, it started to click.

They moved like a flock of birds. One unit. Changing shape.

Bastian watched from the defense. He nodded.

"It is... confusing," Bastian grunted. "If I am confused... Rudiger will be confused. Good."

Friday night. The hotel.

Alex couldn't sleep.

He stood on the balcony of his room. He looked out at the Bosphorus Strait. The lights of Asia twinkling on the other side.

Jude walked out onto the balcony next door.

"Can't sleep?" Jude asked.

"No."

"Me neither," Jude said. "It is the silence. It is too quiet before the storm."

"Are you scared?" Alex asked.

Jude thought about it.

"I was scared in the Quarter Final," Jude said. "Because I had something to prove. To Madrid. To myself."

He looked at Alex.

"Now... I am not scared. I am just... ready. We are the best team in the world, Alex. I believe that."

"We are," Alex said.

"Mark is scared," Jude laughed. "He is hiding in the bathroom. He thinks Sergio is under his bed."

"I will go talk to him," Alex said.

He went to Mark's room.

Mark was sitting in the bathtub (dry). He was wearing his full kit. And his boots. And his shin pads.

"Mark?"

"I am ready," Mark squeaked. "I am armored. I am safe."

Alex sat on the edge of the tub.

"Mark. You are the Arrow. You are the fastest thing on two legs."

"Sergio is scary," Mark whispered. "He has tattoos. Scary tattoos."

"He is just a man," Alex said. "And he is slow. You are fast."

Alex remembered the "Professor Puffs" box. The puzzle.

"Mark. Remember the maze? On the cereal box?"

"The one I couldn't solve?"

"Yes. You couldn't solve it because you tried to draw a line straight through the walls."

"It was the fastest way!"

"Tomorrow," Alex said. "You don't go through the walls. You are the water. You flow around them. If Sergio stands there... you are not there. You are gone."

Mark looked at his boots. "Flow. Like water. Fast water."

"Like a waterfall," Alex said.

Mark grinned. "A waterfall. I like that. A waterfall crushes things."

Saturday. Matchday.

The stadium was full hours before kickoff.

Arsenal Red. Madrid White.

The noise was a physical wall.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

He looked at the trophy. The Big Ears. It was sitting on a podium right there.

It looked huge.

Real Madrid lined up.

Vinicius. Rodrygo. Valverde. Camavinga.

And Sergio. The Captain.

Sergio looked at Alex.

He didn't wink this time. He didn't smile.

He looked... respectful.

"Finch," Sergio nodded.

"Sergio," Alex nodded back.

There was no trash talk. No threats.

This was the end of the road. Only football mattered now.

Harry Kane shouted, "LET'S GO, BOYS! MAKE HISTORY!"

They walked out.

The Champions League Anthem played. The choir sang. The stars swayed in the center circle.

Alex closed his eyes for a second.

He smelled the grass. He felt the heat.

He opened his eyes.

He saw Maya in the crowd, holding a sign that said E=MC^2 (ENERGY = MARK x CHAOS x 2).

He saw his mum and dad.

He saw Milo, wearing a suit made of... actual Turkish rugs. He looked like a walking carpet.

Alex smiled.

The whistle blew.

The game began.

Real Madrid were comfortable. They had been here fourteen times before. They passed the ball. They controlled the tempo.

Vinicius ran at Bastian. Bastian used his experience, slowing him down.

But Madrid were dangerous. In the 10th minute, Rodrygo hit the post.

CLANG.

Arsenal woke up.

The Liquid system started to work.

Alex dropped deep. The Madrid midfielder followed him.

Jude ran into the space.

Mark dropped into midfield. The Madrid defender hesitated.

Antoine ran in behind.

It was fluid. It was confusing.

Madrid couldn't mark them.

In the 25th minute, Alex got the ball.

He saw Sergio stepping up to crush him.

Alex didn't turn. He didn't pass back.

He spun.

But he didn't spin away. He spun past Sergio.

He used Sergio's momentum against him.

Alex was free.

He drove at the defense.

He saw Mark. Mark was wide.

He saw Antoine. Antoine was central.

Alex faked a pass to Mark. The defense shifted.

He slid a pass to Antoine.

Antoine was one on one with Courtois, the giant keeper.

Antoine shot.

Courtois saved it. A massive hand.

"AHHH!" Antoine yelled.

It was close.

Halftime. Zero zero.

It was a stalemate.

"They are confused," Steve said in the locker room. "They don't know who is playing where. Alex, you are a striker one minute, a defender the next. Keep doing it."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. You are being too polite. You are flowing around them. Sometimes... a waterfall needs to crash."

"Crash?" Mark asked.

"Run at them," Steve said. "Make them foul you. Make them scared."

Second half.

Mark stopped flowing. He started crashing.

He ran at Rudiger. He ran at Alaba.

He got kicked. He got up. He ran again.

60th minute.

Mark got the ball. He sprinted.

Sergio came across. The collision was inevitable.

Mark didn't slow down. He knocked the ball past Sergio.

Sergio stuck out a leg.

Mark flew over it.

He tumbled. He rolled.

The referee blew the whistle.

Foul.

Yellow card for Sergio.

And a free kick. Twenty yards out.

"The Mouse?" Antoine whispered to Alex.

"No," Alex said. "Courtois is too tall. He will reach the ground."

"The Knuckleball?" Jude asked.

"Maybe," Alex said.

He looked at the wall. He looked at the goal.

He had an idea.

"The Professor," Alex said.

"What is the Professor?" Mark asked.

"I shoot," Alex said. "But... you run. You run across the ball. You pretend to shoot. You scream. Make them flinch."

Mark grinned. "I can scream."

Mark stood over the ball. Alex stood behind him.

Mark ran up. He yelled "YAAAAH!"

He swung his leg.

The wall flinched. They jumped early. They turned their backs.

Mark didn't touch the ball. He ran over it.

The wall was coming down. They were off balance.

Alex stepped up.

He didn't smash it. He didn't knuckle it.

He curled it. A soft, precise, deadly curl.

Over the falling wall.

Into the top corner.

Courtois didn't move. He had been watching Mark screaming.

The ball hit the net.

GOAL!

One zero. Arsenal.

In the Champions League Final.

Alex ran. He ran to the corner.

He pointed to his head. The Brain.

Mark ran over. "I SCREAMED! I SCARED THEM!"

"You were terrifying, Speed," Alex laughed.

Real Madrid were the Kings of the Comeback.

They did not panic. They just played.

75th minute.

Vinicius dribbled past two players. He crossed.

Benzema (who had returned for one last season) was there.

He volleyed it.

GOAL.

One one.

The Madrid fans roared. The "kings" were back.

"Stable!" Alex yelled at his team. "We are fine!"

But they were tired. The liquid system was exhausting.

88th minute.

The game was heading to extra time.

Alex had the ball in his own half.

He was so tired. His legs burned.

He saw Jude. Jude was tired too.

He saw Antoine. Antoine was stretching his calf.

He looked at Mark.

Mark was standing on the halfway line. He was looking at Alex.

He wasn't moving.

Then... Mark winked.

He pointed to the space behind the Madrid defense.

It was a tiny space. Rudiger was fast.

But Mark... Mark believed.

Alex took a breath.

He hit the Hurricane pass. One last time.

It wasn't high. It was flat. A driven, laser pass.

It cut through the air.

Mark turned. He sprinted.

Rudiger sprinted.

It was a race. The Arrow vs The Rock.

Mark was tired. But he found something. A reserve tank.

He got to the ball first. Just.

He touched it forward.

He was entering the box.

Courtois came out. He was a giant spider, arms and legs everywhere.

Mark didn't have space to go around. He didn't have space to chip.

He did the only thing left.

He slid.

He slid feet first at the ball.

He got there a split second before Courtois' hands.

He poked it.

The ball rolled under the keeper's body.

It rolled towards the empty net.

It was slow. Painfully slow.

A Madrid defender was chasing it. He was sliding.

The ball...

The defender...

The ball crossed the line.

Just as the defender kicked it out.

GOAL!

Two one.

90th minute.

Mark stayed on the ground. He couldn't get up.

Alex ran. He fell on top of Mark.

"YOU DID IT!" Alex screamed. "THE ARROW!"

"I am... tired," Mark whispered, smiling.

The last four minutes were a blur.

Alex headed a ball off the line. Jude made a tackle that shook the ground.

The whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Real Madrid 1.

Champions of Europe.

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