Alex walked into the training ground on Monday. His ankle was taped. His leg was stiff.

Mark was already there. He was wearing a construction worker's helmet. A bright yellow one. And a tool belt.

"BUILDING THE DYNASTY!" Mark screamed, hammering a nail into... a sandwich.

"Mark," Alex sighed. "Why are you hammering a sandwich?"

"Structural integrity!" Mark yelled. "Also, I am bored. We don't play until Saturday."

"We need rest," Alex said, sitting down carefully.

"Rest is for the weak!" Mark said. "And for people with normal ankles. How is the foot?"

"It is blue," Alex said. "And green. And a bit yellow."

"Like a bruise rainbow," Mark nodded. "Very artistic."

Steve walked in. He looked focused.

"Semi-Final Draw," Steve said. "It is happening now."

He turned on the TV.

The four teams left:

Arsenal.

Real Madrid. (They had beaten Bayern Munich).

Manchester City. (They had beaten PSG).

And... Inter Milan.

Alex looked at the screen.

"I want Inter," Mark said. "Italian food is good."

"I want City," Jude said. "I want to beat them again."

"I want Madrid," Antoine said. "The final boss."

The draw started.

First ball.

"Real Madrid," the man said.

The room held its breath.

"Will play..."

"Manchester City."

A huge cheer went up. The two giants were playing each other.

That meant...

"Arsenal," the man said.

"Will play..."

"Inter Milan."

Mark punched the air. "PIZZA! PASTA! FINAL!"

Alex smiled. Inter Milan.

They were tough. They were organized. They were the Italian champions.

But they weren't Madrid. And they weren't City.

"It is a good draw," Steve said. "But do not underestimate them. They are defensive masters. They will try to bore you to death."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You know Italian football. Tactics. Defense. Patience."

"I know," Alex said. "We have to be surgical."

"Exactly," Steve said. "But first... we have the league to win."

The weeks flew by.

Arsenal kept winning.

They beat Tottenham (again). Mark scored a hat-trick and did a different celebration for each goal. (The Lightning, The Professor, and The Sleeping Baby).

They beat Chelsea (again). Jude scored a header from outside the box.

They were unstoppable.

Then came the Champions League Semi-Final.

First leg. San Siro. Milan.

It was a fortress. The fans were loud. Flares. Smoke.

But Arsenal were ready.

The game was tight. Inter defended with eleven men.

0-0 at halftime.

In the second half, Alex took control.

He slowed the game down. He made Inter chase.

In the 70th minute, he saw a gap.

He played a reverse pass to Antoine.

Antoine didn't shoot. He flicked it to Mark.

Mark scored.

1-0.

They held on. An away win in Italy.

The second leg at the Emirates was a party.

Arsenal won 3-0. Mark scored two. Jude scored one.

They were in the Final.

Back to back Champions League Finals.

And their opponent?

Manchester City.

They had beaten Real Madrid 5-4 on aggregate in a crazy, wild tie.

So it was set.

Arsenal vs Manchester City.

The two best teams in England. The two best teams in the world.

The Treble was on the line for Arsenal.

League. FA Cup. Champions League.

It was the ultimate prize.

The week before the final was intense.

The media was crazy.

"THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN!" the headlines screamed. "THE PROFESSOR VS THE ROBOT!" (Referring to Haaland).

Alex tried to ignore it. He focused on his training.

He was fit. His ankle was healed. He was ready.

On Friday night, the team flew to the final location.

Munich. The Allianz Arena.

It was a neutral ground, but it felt like home. They had beaten Bayern there.

They arrived at the hotel.

Alex sat in his room. He looked out the window at the German city.

His phone buzzed.

It was a video call.

From Sergio Ramos.

Alex answered.

Sergio looked old. He was retired now. He was sitting by a pool in Spain.

"Professor," Sergio said. He was wearing sunglasses.

"Sergio," Alex smiled.

"So," Sergio said. "You are in the final again. Without me."

"We missed you," Alex lied.

"You play City," Sergio said. "They are machines. They do not feel pain. They do not feel fear."

"I know."

"But machines... they can be broken," Sergio said. "You must be the wrench in the gears."

"The wrench," Alex repeated.

"Yes. Break their rhythm. Make them angry. And... win. For football."

Sergio hung up.

Alex stared at the phone. Win for football. No pressure.

Saturday. Matchday.

The Allianz Arena was split. Red for Arsenal. Blue for City.

The noise was deafening.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Haaland was standing next to him. The Robot. He looked huge. He looked ready to destroy worlds.

De Bruyne was there. The Ginger Prince. The best passer in history (until Alex, maybe).

Pep Guardiola, the City manager, walked past. He looked stressed. He was scratching his bald head.

He looked at Alex.

"You," Pep said. "You are the problem."

"I try to be," Alex smiled.

"Today," Pep said, "we have a solution."

He walked away.

Alex wondered what the solution was. A cage? A net?

Mark was vibrating next to him.

"I am ready," Mark whispered. "I am going to run so fast I will travel through time."

"Just stay in this timeline, Speed," Alex said. "We need you here."

The whistle blew.

City's solution was simple.

They didn't press Alex. They didn't tackle him.

They... ignored him.

They man-marked everyone else.

Two players on Antoine. Two players on Jude. Two players on Mark.

They left Alex alone with the ball.

"Go on then," De Bruyne seemed to say. "Beat us. Alone."

It was a bold strategy.

Alex had the ball. He had space.

But he had no options. Every pass was blocked. Every run was covered.

He drove forward.

City just backed off. They let him run.

He got to the edge of the box.

He shot.

Ederson saved it easily.

City countered. Fast.

Haaland ran. He scored.

1-0 City.

10th minute.

The plan was working. Arsenal were choking.

Alex stood in the midfield. He was frustrated.

"They are blocking the outlets!" Antoine yelled. "I can't move!"

"They are letting me have the ball," Alex said.

"So do something with it!" Mark shouted.

Alex thought. Analyze.

They were giving him space. But they were blocking the passing lanes.

If he couldn't pass... he had to dribble.

But he wasn't a dribbler. He was a passer.

Or was he?

He remembered the "Fake Fake". He remembered the "Seal Dribble".

He remembered the "Sledgehammer".

He looked at the City defense. They were deep. They were waiting for the pass.

Alex got the ball.

He didn't look for a pass.

He ran.

He ran straight at Rodri.

Rodri expected a pass. He stepped left to block the lane.

Alex went right.

He beat Rodri.

He was running at the center backs. Ruben Dias.

Dias backed off. He was waiting for the pass to Mark.

Alex didn't pass.

He kept running.

He did a stepover. He learned it from Antoine.

He went past Dias.

He was in the box.

Ederson came out.

Alex didn't shoot.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball.

Ederson slid past him.

Alex looked at the empty goal.

He tapped it in.

GOAL!

1-1.

The Arsenal fans went wild.

Alex ran to the corner. He pointed at his head.

Then he pointed at his feet.

Brain. And Feet.

"SOLO GOAL!" Mark screamed, jumping on him. "YOU DID A ME!"

"I borrowed your chaos," Alex laughed.

The game changed.

City had to press him now. They couldn't leave him alone.

And when they pressed him... the passing lanes opened.

The Diamond started to shine.

Alex to Jude. Jude to Antoine. Antoine to Mark.

It was beautiful.

In the 60th minute, Arsenal scored again.

A classic Hurricane goal.

Alex long ball. Mark run. Cross. Antoine volley.

2-1. Arsenal.

City panicked. The machine was broken.

They threw everything forward. Haaland hit the bar. De Bruyne missed a free kick.

Arsenal held on.

The clock ticked down. 90 minutes. 93 minutes. 95 minutes.

The final whistle.

Arsenal 2. Manchester City 1.

The Treble was complete.

Champions of Europe. Again.

Alex fell to his knees. He was crying.

He had done it.

From a thirty-two-year-old failure... to a seventeen-year-old legend.

He felt hands on him. His team. His family.

Milo was there. He was wearing a suit made of... actual trophies. He clanked when he walked.

"THE TREBLE!" Milo screamed. "THE TRIPLE CROWN! ALEX! I AM BUYING A CASTLE! A REAL CASTLE!"

Alex laughed.

He stood up. He hugged Mark. He hugged Jude. He hugged Antoine.

He looked at the trophy.

It was his.

He looked at the crowd.

He saw his mum and dad. They were holding a giant banner.

"CLASS DISMISSED."

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