"This game cheats," Phil complained. "My virtual player is too slow. I am much faster in real life."

"Maybe your virtual player ate too much pasta," Alex suggested.

Phil laughed. "Speaking of pasta. Italy tonight. Are you ready, Professor?"

"I am ready," Alex said.

He was nervous. Beating Brazil was a dream. But Italy was a nightmare. Italy was the team that broke hearts. They were the masters of the Catenaccio. The Door bolt. The Lock.

Gareth Southgate stood at the front of the bus. He looked serious.

"Listen up," Gareth said. "Brazil was a party. Italy is a job. They do not want to dance. They want to stop you from dancing. They want to step on your toes and apologize while they do it."

The bus turned into Wembley Way.

The fans were there. Thousands of them. They were wearing plastic ponchos. They were wet. They were cold. But they were singing.

"It is coming home!" they sang.

Alex felt a shiver. It was not the cold. It was the hope. Hope was a heavy thing to carry.

The dressing room was warm.

Harry Kane put on his captain armband. He looked at Alex.

"Finch," Harry said. "You controlled the chaos against Brazil. Today, there is no chaos. There is only a wall. Can you break a wall?"

"I brought a hammer," Alex said.

"What hammer?" Harry asked.

"My brain," Alex said.

Harry smiled. "Good answer. Let us go."

The tunnel was narrow.

The Italian players were standing there. They looked huge. Their defenders, Bastoni and Mancini, looked like statues carved out of marble. Their goalkeeper, Donnarumma, looked like he could touch the crossbar without jumping.

They were wearing blue. The Azzurri blue. It was beautiful and terrifying.

The whistle blew.

The game began.

It was exactly what Gareth had predicted.

England tried to attack. They passed the ball. They moved. They ran.

But Italy did not move.

They stood in two lines of four. They shifted left. They shifted right. They were like a machine. A blue machine that destroyed space.

In the tenth minute, Alex got the ball.

He looked for a pass.

He saw Phil making a run. But the gap closed instantly.

He saw Harry asking for the ball. But a defender was hugging him.

Alex had to pass backward.

The crowd groaned. They wanted excitement. They wanted goals.

But Italy wanted silence.

In the twentieth minute, disaster struck.

England lost the ball in midfield.

Italy did not hesitate. They launched a counter attack.

Chiesa ran down the wing. He was fast. He was electric.

He crossed the ball into the box.

Scamacca, the Italian striker, jumped. He was strong. He headed the ball down.

Pickford dived. But he was too late.

The ball rolled into the corner of the net.

Goal.

One zero to Italy.

The Italian fans cheered. A small corner of the stadium turned into a volcano of blue smoke.

Alex looked at the scoreboard.

England 0. Italy 1.

It felt like a mountain had just fallen on the pitch.

"Keep going!" Harry yelled. "Do not panic!"

But it was hard not to panic. Italy with a lead was the hardest thing in football. They did not just defend. They suffocated you.

Halftime arrived.

The mood in the dressing room was heavy.

"They are too tight," Jude said, drinking water. "I cannot find space. It is like playing in a phone booth."

"We need to pick the lock," Gareth said. He looked at the tactics board. He moved the magnets around. "We need something special. A moment of magic."

Alex sat quietly. He closed his eyes.

He thought about his physics class.

He thought about Maya.

Force equals mass times acceleration.

But what if the mass is immovable?

Then you need leverage.

"Professor," Gareth said. "You are quiet."

"I am thinking," Alex said.

"Think faster," Gareth said. "We have forty five minutes."

Second half.

The rain fell harder. The grass was slippery.

England pushed forward. They threw everything at the blue wall.

Phil Foden tried to dribble. He slipped.

Saka tried to cross. It was blocked.

Seventy minutes passed. Eighty minutes passed.

The crowd was getting quiet. The hope was turning into fear.

"We are going to lose," a fan whispered near the dugout.

Alex heard it.

"No," Alex whispered to himself. "Not today."

Eighty fifth minute.

Jude Bellingham received the ball. He drove forward. He was the Power.

He ran at the Italian defense.

He was tripped.

The referee blew the whistle.

Foul.

It was a free kick.

It was twenty five yards out. Just outside the box. Slightly to the right.

It was the perfect position for a left footed player.

But England did not have a left footed specialist on the pitch. Saka had been substituted.

Harry Kane picked up the ball.

"I will take it," Harry said. "I will smash it."

Alex walked over.

He looked at the wall. The Italian wall. Five tall men jumping up and down. Donnarumma was standing in the goal. He covered almost the entire net.

If Harry smashed it, the wall would block it. Or Donnarumma would save it.

"Captain," Alex said.

Harry looked at him.

"Let me take it," Alex said.

"You?" Harry asked. "This is high pressure, kid."

"I see the angle," Alex said. "Harry. Please. Trust the math."

Harry looked at Alex eyes. He saw the calculation. He saw the focus.

Harry handed him the ball.

"Make it count, Professor."

Alex placed the ball on the grass. He aligned the valve.

He stepped back. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

He looked at the goal.

He did not see a goalkeeper. He did not see a wall.

He saw a parabola. An arc. A trajectory.

The Magnus Effect.

If he hit the ball with enough spin, the air pressure would change. The ball would curve.

He took a deep breath.

The stadium was silent. Ninety thousand people held their breath.

Alex ran up.

He did not smash it. He did not blast it.

He whipped it.

He struck the side of the ball with his instep. He pulled his leg across his body.

The ball flew into the air.

It looked like it was going wide. It looked like it was going out for a goal kick.

Donnarumma took one step to the right. He thought it was missing.

But then, physics took over.

The spin caught the air.

The ball swerved. It turned violently in mid air.

It curved back towards the goal.

Donnarumma eyes went wide. He dived. He stretched his giant frame.

But the ball was perfectly placed.

It kissed the inside of the post.

Clang.

And went in.

Goal.

One one.

The stadium exploded. The noise was so loud it hurt.

Alex stood there. He did not run. He did not scream.

He pointed to his head.

"Calculated," he mouthed.

Harry Kane grabbed him in a headlock. "YOU GENIUS! YOU ABSOLUTE GENIUS!"

The game was tied.

But Alex was not done.

Italy was shocked. The lock was broken. The door was open.

Ninety second minute. Injury time.

Italy tried to keep the ball. They wanted the draw now.

But England smelled blood.

Alex won the ball in midfield. He intercepted a pass from Barella.

He looked up.

He saw Jude running.

Alex hit a long pass. A simple, beautiful pass over the top.

Jude controlled it. He was through on goal.

He squared it to Harry Kane.

Harry did not miss.

Goal.

Two one.

England had done it.

The whistle blew.

England 2. Italy 1.

Revenge was sweet. And it tasted like victory.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was soaked. He was muddy. He was exhausted.

But he was happy.

He checked his phone in the dressing room.

A message from Mark.

"I SAW THE CURVE! IT WAS BANANAS! IT WAS A CROISSANT! IT WAS A BOOMERANG! MILO IS CRYING! HE LOST A BET WITH ANTOINE! YOU ARE THE KING OF PHYSICS!"

Alex smiled.

Then, a text from Maya.

"I calculated the arc. You applied approximately 400 revolutions per minute of spin. The deviation was 1.2 meters. It was scientifically beautiful. Also, don't forget we have a history test on Friday. The Industrial Revolution awaits."

Alex laughed.

He had beaten Brazil.

He had beaten Italy.

He had conquered the world of football.

But the Industrial Revolution was still waiting for him.

He packed his bag. He put the Italy shirt next to the Brazil shirt.

He walked out of Wembley.

His dad was waiting in the car park.

"Good game, Professor," his dad said, beaming with pride.

"Thanks, Dad."

"School tomorrow," his dad said. "Double Maths."

"I know," Alex said. "I am looking forward to it."

"Really?"

"Yes," Alex said, looking at the rain. "Maths is easy. Football... football is hard."

They drove away.

The next morning, Alex walked into school.

The halls were buzzing. Everyone was looking at him.

"That is him!" a Year 8 student whispered. "That is the guy who bent the ball!"

"He beat Italy!" another shouted.

Alex walked to his locker.

Mark was there. He was wearing an England shirt.

"TRAITOR!" Antoine yelled from down the hall. Antoine was wearing a France shirt.

"I support the winner!" Mark yelled back. "The Professor is a winner!"

"You are French!" Antoine argued.

"I am a citizen of the world!" Mark declared.

Alex opened his locker.

Inside, there was a plate of spaghetti. Uncooked.

And a note.

The Industrial Revolution was powered by steam. Your free kick was powered by genius. - Milo.

Alex shook his head.

He picked up the spaghetti.

"Anyone hungry?" Alex asked.

"Me!" Mark said. "I am starving. Being a fan is hard work."

They walked to class together.

Alex Finch was a Wonderkid. A National Hero. A Legend.

But right now, he was just a boy with a packet of raw spaghetti, walking to history class with his best friends.

And that was the best feeling in the world.

The Dynasty was growing. The legend was real.

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