"Saturday," Steve said. "Manchester United. Away. The FA Cup Fifth Round."

The team groaned. Old Trafford again.

"They are angry," Steve said. "They haven't forgotten the 'Mouse' goal. They haven't forgotten the 'No Look Roll'. They want revenge."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the Ballon d'Or winner now. Do you know what that means?"

"More interviews?" Alex guessed.

"It means a target on your back," Steve said. "A giant, golden target. Every player in the league wants to be the one who stopped the Best Player in the World. Casemiro will try to break you. McTominay will try to run through you."

"I am stable," Alex said.

"Be more than stable," Steve said. "Be... elusive. Be a ghost."

Saturday. Old Trafford.

It was raining. Manchester rain. Cold, sharp, miserable.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Casemiro, the United midfielder, was standing next to him. He was a tank. He had won five Champions Leagues.

He looked at Alex.

"Golden Boy," Casemiro grunted. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Alex said.

"Today," Casemiro said, cracking his knuckles, "we see if gold bends."

Alex didn't reply. He just adjusted his shin pads.

Mark was bouncing behind him.

"He is scary," Mark whispered. "He has eyes like a shark."

"Sharks can't run on grass," Alex said.

"Sharknado could," Mark pointed out.

The game started.

It was a battle.

United played physical. They hit hard.

In the 5th minute, Casemiro smashed into Alex.

WHAM.

Alex flew. He landed in a puddle.

The crowd cheered.

"Welcome back, Professor!" a fan yelled.

Alex got up. He was wet. He was muddy.

He wasn't angry. He was calculating.

Casemiro commits. He dives in. He leaves space behind him.

Alex looked at Jude.

"Bait him," Alex whispered.

Jude nodded.

20th minute.

Alex got the ball.

He saw Casemiro coming. The Shark.

Alex didn't pass. He waited.

He waited until he could smell the grass on Casemiro's boots.

Then, he turned.

He turned his back to Casemiro. He shielded the ball.

Casemiro pushed.

Alex used the push. He spun.

He rolled off Casemiro like water off a duck.

Casemiro stumbled.

Alex was free.

He drove forward.

He saw Mark.

Mark was making a run.

But Alex saw something else.

He saw Antoine.

Antoine was standing still. In the D.

Alex faked a pass to Mark. The defense shifted.

He slid the ball to Antoine.

Antoine took a touch. He curled it.

GOAL.

One zero. Arsenal.

Antoine ran to Alex. "The spin! You spun the shark!"

"Physics," Alex smiled. "Centrifugal force."

United fought back.

They were strong. They were desperate.

In the 50th minute, Rashford scored. A rocket.

One one.

The game turned into a deadlock. Mud. Tackles. Noise.

80th minute.

Alex was tired. The mud was heavy on his boots.

He got the ball deep in his own half.

He looked up.

He saw nothing. No pass. No run.

United were organized. They were a wall.

Alex started to run.

He didn't know where he was going. He just ran.

He ran past McTominay. He ran past Maguire.

He crossed the halfway line.

"GO ON!" the Arsenal fans screamed.

He was the Professor. But he was running like the Arrow.

He got to the edge of the box.

He was surrounded. Three red shirts.

He couldn't shoot. He couldn't pass.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball.

The three United players stopped. They were confused. Why did he stop?

Alex looked left. He looked right.

Then... he did something he had never done before.

He scooped the ball up.

With his toe.

He juggled it. Once. Twice.

The defenders stared.

On the third juggle, Alex volleyed it.

A pass.

Over the heads of the defenders.

To Mark.

Mark was standing on the penalty spot. He was shocked.

The ball fell to him.

He didn't let it drop.

He hit a scissor kick.

CRACK.

The ball flew into the top corner.

GOAL!

Two one.

Mark landed on his back. He looked at Alex.

"YOU JUGGLED!" Mark screamed. "IN THE BOX! YOU ARE CRAZY!"

Alex laughed. He was crazy. He was the Professor of Chaos.

Jude ran over. "The seal dribble! You are a seal!"

"I prefer... aerial relocation," Alex panted.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Manchester United 1.

They were through to the next round.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was covered in mud.

Casemiro walked past. He shook his head.

"Gold does not bend," Casemiro said. "It bounces."

Alex smiled.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing a suit made of... rubber? Black rubber. Like a wetsuit.

"THE SEAL!" Milo shrieked. "ALEX! THE JUGGLE! I AM CALLING THE AQUARIUM! WE NEED A SPONSORSHIP WITH A DOLPHIN!"

"No dolphins, Milo," Alex said.

"SEALS THEN! OR OTTERS! OTTERS ARE CUTE!"

Alex walked into the locker room.

Steve was waiting.

"You stopped thinking," Steve said.

Alex looked worried. "Coach?"

"You stopped thinking," Steve smiled. "And you started playing. That juggle... it wasn't data. It wasn't logic. It was... art."

He patted Alex on the shoulder.

"The Professor is becoming an Artist. I like it."

Alex sat at his locker.

He looked at his muddy boots.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"I calculated the trajectory of the juggle. It was highly improbable. But aesthetically pleasing. B plus for style. Don't be late for physics tomorrow."

Alex laughed.

He was the best player in the world.

He was a juggler.

And he still had to go to school.

He closed his eyes.

Life was good.

Very, very good.

**

Alex sat on the steps of the school library. It was a warm Friday afternoon.

He was wearing his school uniform, but his tie was loose and his blazer was slung over his shoulder.

Maya was sitting next to him. She was reading a book about quantum entanglement.

"You know," Maya said, turning a page. "Statistically, the probability of a team winning the quadruple is less than 0.01%."

"Quadruple?" Alex asked. "We are just trying to win the next game."

"You have the League Cup," Maya counted on her fingers. "You are top of the Premier League. You are in the FA Cup Semi-Finals. And you are in the Champions League Quarter-Finals."

She pushed her glasses up her nose.

"That is a trajectory towards total dominance. Or total collapse. Physics allows for both."

"Let's hope for dominance," Alex smiled.

"I hope so too," Maya said. "Collapses are messy. And Mark would cry."

"He cries anyway," Alex laughed. "He cried when they discontinued his favorite flavor of chips."

A shadow fell over them.

It wasn't a cloud. It was a bus.

A double-decker, red London bus.

But it had been painted.

It was painted gold.

And on the side, in giant, sparkling letters, it said: THE PROFESSOR'S PARTY BUS.

Mark was hanging out of the top window. He was wearing a conductor's hat.

"ALL ABOARD!" Mark screamed. "TICKETS PLEASE! THE DESTINATION IS GLORY!"

"Oh no," Alex whispered.

"Is that... legal?" Maya asked, looking at the gold paint.

"With Milo involved, probably not," Alex sighed.

He stood up. "See you later, Maya. I have to go... conduct a bus."

"Good luck with the physics of that," Maya smiled.

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