"Check," Maya said calmly.

"I hate this game," Alex sighed. "The pieces do not move like footballers. The Knight moves in an L shape. It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Maya said, adjusting her glasses. "Chess is not about running, Professor. It is about position. It is about controlling the board without moving a muscle."

She pointed to the White Queen.

"See this piece? This is Real Madrid. It can go anywhere. It can kill you from a distance. It is powerful. It is arrogant. And it is waiting for you."

Alex stared at the White Queen. It looked scary.

"So how do I beat the Queen?" Alex asked.

Maya smiled. She picked up a small, humble Pawn.

"You do not beat her with power," Maya said. "You beat her with sacrifice. You give her something she wants... so you can take what she needs."

She moved the Pawn forward. The Queen took the Pawn. But in doing so, the Queen moved into a trap.

"Checkmate," Maya whispered.

Alex sat back. "Sacrifice. I can do that."

"Good," Maya said. "Because Modric will not fall for simple tricks. He has been playing since before you were born."

Wednesday. The flight to Spain.

The plane was filled with nervous energy. This was not the Group Stages. This was not the Quarter Finals. This was the Semi Final.

The Kings of Europe were waiting.

Alex sat next to Mark.

Mark was wearing a plastic gold crown. He had a red velvet cape draped over his shoulders. He was holding a plastic scepter.

"Mark," Alex said. "Please tell me you are not going to the Bernabeu dressed like a King."

"I am not a King!" Mark declared. "I am the Emperor of Speed! I am going to overthrow the monarchy! I am bringing democracy to the wing!"

"You look like a mascot for a burger restaurant," Alex said.

"Respect the crown, peasant!" Mark said, taking a bite of a sandwich. "This is royal ham. Jamon Iberico. It gives me noble power."

Steve, the manager, stood up at the front of the plane.

"Real Madrid," Steve said. "They have won this trophy fourteen times. They think it belongs to them. They think we are just guests in their house."

He looked at the team.

"They have the history. They have the aura. When you walk onto that pitch, the white shirts look brighter than normal shirts. The stadium looks taller. The grass looks greener."

Steve paused.

"It is an illusion. It is a magic trick. Do not look at the shirts. Look at the men inside them. They bleed. They get tired. They make mistakes."

"Even Modric?" Jude asked.

"Modric is a wizard," Steve admitted. "But even wizards run out of mana eventually."

Madrid. The Santiago Bernabeu.

It was not a stadium. It was a palace.

The roof was closed. The noise was trapped inside. It sounded like a jet engine taking off.

The Real Madrid fans were all in white. It looked like a snowstorm.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

To his right stood the legends.

Luka Modric. Small. Long hair. He looked relaxed, like he was waiting for a bus.

Vinicius Junior. Smiling. Dancing.

Antonio Rudiger. The crazy defender. He was staring at Mark with wide, scary eyes.

"He wants to eat me," Mark whispered to Alex. "Look at him. He is hungry."

"Just run fast," Alex whispered back.

"I will run to the moon," Mark promised.

The referee picked up the ball. The music started.

The Chaaaaampions.

The roar was deafening.

The whistle blew.

Real Madrid did not press. They did not run like Bayern. They did not fight like Atletico.

They strolled.

They passed the ball with lazy elegance. Kroos to Modric. Modric to Valverde. Valverde to Vinicius.

It was hypnotic.

In the tenth minute, Modric got the ball.

Alex ran to close him down.

Modric did not look at Alex. He looked at the stands. He looked at the referee.

Then, with the outside of his boot, he flicked a pass.

He did not even look.

The ball curved perfectly around Alex. It landed at the feet of Rodrygo.

Rodrygo shot.

Post.

The sound rang through the stadium.

"Close!" the crowd chanted.

Alex felt dizzy. Modric had not even sprinted. He had just... existed.

"He is playing chess," Alex thought. "And I am playing checkers."

The first half was a lesson.

Arsenal chased the ball. Real Madrid hid it.

In the fortieth minute, Vinicius got the ball on the wing.

He looked at Ben White, the Arsenal defender.

Vinicius did not dribble. He passed the ball to the empty space in the box.

Nobody was there.

Then, out of nowhere, Bellingham (the Real Madrid one - wait, no, Jude is on Arsenal).

Correction: Jude is on Arsenal. So let us say Valverde runs into the box.

Valverde sprinted into the box. He smashed the ball.

Goal.

One zero. Real Madrid.

The stadium did not go wild. They just cheered politely. They expected this. It was normal for them.

Alex looked at Modric. Modric was fixing his hair band. He did not even celebrate.

"They are arrogant," Mark said, panting. "I hate them."

"They are Kings," Alex said. "We have to knock the crown off."

Halftime. One zero.

Steve was calm.

"You are respecting them too much," Steve said. "You are watching them play. Stop watching. Start playing."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Modric is controlling the board. He is the Queen. You need to make him move. You need to annoy him."

"How?" Alex asked.

"Sacrifice," Alex whispered to himself. "Maya said sacrifice."

"What?" Steve asked.

"I know what to do," Alex said.

Second half.

Alex ran onto the pitch. He looked at Modric.

Alex decided he would not play football. He would play tag.

Everywhere Modric went, Alex went.

If Modric went to get water, Alex followed him. If Modric tied his shoe, Alex stood next to him.

Modric started to look annoyed.

"Do you want my autograph?" Modric asked in English.

"No," Alex said. "I want your space."

Modric frowned.

In the sixtieth minute, the plan worked.

Modric dropped deep to get the ball. Alex followed him.

This left a gap in the Arsenal midfield. A dangerous gap.

Kroos saw the gap. He passed the ball into the space.

Vinicius ran into the space.

It looked like a suicide move by Alex. He had left his position.

Vinicius was through.

The crowd stood up. "Goal!" they thought.

But this was the trap. The Sacrifice.

Alex knew Vinicius would run there.

And he knew who was waiting.

Gabriel, the big Arsenal defender, stepped up.

Offside.

The linesman raised his flag.

Vinicius stopped running. He looked angry.

"Trap!" Vinicius yelled.

Alex smiled. He had sacrificed his position to force the error.

Real Madrid lost their rhythm. They were used to freedom. They were not used to being tricked.

Seventy fifth minute.

The game was still 1-0.

Modric was tired. He was thirty eight years old. Having a teenager follow him for an hour was exhausting.

Steve made a sub.

"Milo!" Steve yelled. (No, wait, Milo is not a player). "Trossard! You are on!"

But Alex had an idea.

"Mark!" Alex yelled. "The Crown!"

Mark looked at him. "My plastic crown? It is in my bag!"

"No! The Queen! The piece that moves everywhere!"

Mark understood.

Mark stopped staying on the wing. He started running everywhere. Left. Right. Center.

Rudiger, the crazy defender, did not know who to chase.

"Stay still, little man!" Rudiger shouted.

"Catch me if you can, big man!" Mark yelled.

Eighty fifth minute.

Real Madrid were tired. They had chased Mark all over the pitch.

Alex got the ball.

He saw Modric coming.

Alex did not pass. He held the ball.

He waited for Modric to tackle.

Modric stuck his foot in.

Alex flicked the ball up.

It went over Modric leg.

Alex ran past him.

He was driving at the defense.

Rudiger came out to kill him.

Alex waited.

He saw Mark. Mark was running diagonally.

But Alex also saw Antoine.

Antoine was standing still. In the exact spot Modric had left empty.

Alex passed backward.

A "Cutback".

Antoine was all alone on the edge of the box.

He had time. He had space.

"Merci," Antoine whispered.

He curled the ball.

It went around the defender. It went around the goalkeeper.

It hit the inside of the post.

Goal.

One one.

The stadium went silent. The snowstorm had stopped.

Alex ran to Antoine.

"The King is checkmated!" Alex yelled.

Mark ran over. He tried to do a slide on his knees but the grass was dry and he fell on his face.

"OUCH!" Mark yelled. "BUT WORTH IT!"

The last five minutes were scary.

Real Madrid woke up. They attacked. They threw the kitchen sink.

Bellingham (The Madrid one - wait, I need to be consistent. Let's say Rodrygo) hit the bar.

Vinicius missed a header.

But the whistle blew.

Real Madrid 1. Arsenal 1.

A draw at the Bernabeu. It was a golden result.

Alex walked off the pitch.

Modric walked past him. The legend looked at the boy.

Modric did not smile. He took off his shirt and threw it at Alex.

"You are annoying," Modric grunted. "You run too much."

Alex caught the shirt. It was heavy with sweat and history.

"See you in London," Alex said.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing a full King costume. A real velvet robe. A gold crown with fake diamonds.

"ALL HAIL!" Milo shouted. "THE PRINCE OF THE DRAW! ALEX! THE TACTIC! I AM SELLING CROWNS! BURGER KING CROWNS! FIVE POUNDS EACH!"

"Milo, you look ridiculous," Alex laughed.

"I LOOK ROYAL!" Milo argued. "THE SPANISH KING WANTED TO BUY MY ROBE! I SAID NO! IT IS FOR THE DYNASTY!"

Alex walked into the dressing room.

The team was happy. They had survived the palace.

Alex sat down. He looked at Modric shirt in his hands.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"I saw the offside trap. You sacrificed your positional integrity to create a false geometric advantage. It was a classic Queen's Gambit. Well played. Also, do not forget drama class tomorrow. We are studying Macbeth. Ambition is dangerous."

Alex smiled.

Macbeth. The King who killed to get the crown.

"We did not kill the King today," Alex whispered. "But we made him bleed."

"What did you say?" Mark asked. He was eating another ham sandwich he found.

"Nothing," Alex said. "Just homework."

"I love homework," Mark lied. "Especially if it involves eating."

They walked out of the stadium.

The Madrid night was warm.

They had a draw.

They had the away goal (well, away goals do not count anymore, but the result was good).

And next week, the Kings were coming to London.

To the Emirates.

"We will be ready," Alex said.

"And I will wear my crown," Mark promised. "And maybe a cape. Do you think I can play in a cape?"

"No, Mark."

"Spoilsport."

The bus drove away.

The Professor closed his eyes.

The final game of the chess match was coming.

And he had one more move left.

The Dynasty was one step away from the final.

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