Mark was already on the pitch. He was not in his new U21 kit. He was in his old U18 tracksuit. He was just... running. Back and forth. Sprints. In the cold morning mist.

He looked like a small, angry, very fast ghost.

Alex watched him for a minute. Mark was not just fast. He was furious. He was running like he was trying to punish the grass.

Alex went to his locker, number 38. He pulled out his new, beautiful, all black boots. They still had that new boot smell.

He sat down. He was next to Bastians empty locker. He felt... good.

The locker room door opened. Ben, the captain, walked in.

He saw Alex. "Morning, Professor. You are early. I am impressed."

"Morning, Ben."

Ben looked out the window. He saw Mark, who was still running sprints.

"Your package," Ben grunted. "He looks... energetic."

"He is just... excited," Alex said.

"He looks angry," Ben corrected. "Good. Let him be angry. Coach Wilkins is going to love him."

Alex was not so sure.

Training started. Coach Wilkins gathered the U21 squad.

He looked at Mark. Mark was panting, his face red, but he stood tall.

"This is Mark," Coach Wilkins said, his voice flat. "He is fast. He thinks he is a superstar. He is not. He is a U18 prospect. He is here to learn. Do not be nice to him."

Mark just glared.

"Mark," Wilkins said. "I am told you are the 'Speed' part of the package. Let us see it."

He pointed to Ben. "Ben. You are the defender. Mark. You are the attacker. The drill is simple. You start at the halfway line. You have to get past Ben and score. Go."

Oh no. Alex felt his stomach tighten. This was a test. A brutal one.

Ben just grinned. He cracked his neck. "Come on, 'Speed'."

Mark jogged to the halfway line. Alex could see how tense he was.

Wilkins blew his whistle.

Mark took off. He was a rocket. He was faster than anyone on the pitch.

He ran straight at Ben.

Ben did not move. He just... waited.

When Mark got close, he tried to push the ball past Ben and run around him. His classic U18 move.

Ben just... put his arm out.

It was not a foul. It was just... an arm. A very large, very strong arm.

Mark ran straight into it. It was like a small car hitting a brick wall.

Mark just bounced off and landed on the grass.

Ben took the ball. He passed it back to the coach.

A few of the U21 players snickered.

"Get up," Wilkins said.

Mark got up. His face was bright red. He was furious.

"Again," Wilkins said.

Mark ran. This time he tried to dribble. He did a fast step over.

Ben just... took the ball. He did not even move his feet. He just took it.

"Again."

Mark tried again. He ran. He faked left. He went right.

Ben just... was there. He put his shoulder into Mark.

WHUMP.

Mark flew into the sideline.

"Again."

"This is stupid!" Mark roared, punching the grass. "He is just fouling me! He is too big!"

Coach Wilkins walked over. He looked down at Mark.

"Yes," Wilkins said, his voice cold. "He is big. Everyone you will play against is big. You are fast. They are big. This is professional football. Your one little trick, 'I run fast in a straight line', it does not work here."

He pointed at Alex. "Even he knows that. You are a package? Right now, you are just... baggage. Get in the rondo. You are in the middle."

Alex felt terrible for his friend. Mark looked completely broken.

Mark got into the middle of the rondo.

It was a disaster.

He was angry. He was clumsy. The speed of the U21 passes, the zip zip zip, was too much.

He ran around, chasing shadows. He kept losing his footing.

"Control, Mark!" Alex found himself yelling. "Stop chasing! Predict!"

"Shut up, brain boy!" Mark snapped back.

The ball came to Alex. He was wearing his new black boots. A defender saw them. He wanted to make a point. He lunged in.

Alex was ready. He was stable. He had done his gym work.

He popped the ball over the defenders foot. He kept it.

He saw Mark, who was just standing in the middle, panting and angry.

Help your partner.

Alex passed the ball. Not a hard pass. Not a magic pass. A simple, five yard pass, right to Marks feet.

Mark was surprised. He was not in the middle anymore. He was part of the circle.

The ball came to him. He panicked. He tried to pass it one touch.

He missed. The ball rolled away. He was back in the middle.

Alex just sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Coach Wilkins blew his whistle. "Small game. Bibs versus no bibs."

He looked at his list. "Finch. You are with the bibs. Mark... you are with the bibs."

Alex felt a small spark of hope. They were on the same team.

But... they were playing against Ben.

The game started. Mark was trying too hard. He was running everywhere. He was running into Alexs space. He was running into the defenders.

"Mark! Stop!" Alex yelled. "Stay high! Be the striker!"

"I am trying to get the ball!" Mark yelled back.

"You are a mess!" Alex said.

They were losing. One zero.

Alex got the ball. He was wearing his new boots. He felt good in them.

A defender, a new U21 kid, saw the boots. He saw Alex. The kid from the TV.

He came in, studs up. A terrible, late, angry tackle.

Alex saw it coming. He jumped.

The kid slid right under him.

The whistle blew. It was a foul.

But Alex was on the ground. He landed hard.

Mark saw it.

He ran over. He was not looking at Alex. He was looking at the new kid.

"What was that?" Mark roared. "Are you crazy? You tried to break his leg!"

"It is football," the kid sneered. "Stop crying. And nice boots, superstar."

"I will show you superstar," Mark growled.

Ben ran over. "Mark! Shut up! It is a foul. We play. Alex, get up."

Alex got up. He was okay. "I am fine, Mark."

"He tried to hurt you," Mark said, his eyes still on the new kid.

"I know," Alex said. "So let us make him pay."

The game restarted.

The ball came to Alex. The new kid charged at him again.

Alex just smiled. He popped the ball to his winger.

The game flowed.

Ten minutes later.

Alex got the ball in the midfield. He was the pivot. He was calm.

He saw the new kid, the defender, watching him. He was cheating. He was too focused on Alex.

Alex looked up. He saw Mark.

Mark was not running in a straight line. He was doing the curved run. The smart run.

Alex did not hesitate. He hit the pass. The 40 yard 'magic' pass.

It was perfect.

The new kid turned. He was too late.

Mark was on the ball. He was one on one.

The old Mark, the U18 Mark, would have smashed it as hard as he could.

The new Mark... he just... stopped.

He put his foot on the ball.

The keeper, who was charging out, just... slid. He slid right past Mark, looking silly.

Mark looked at the open goal.

He did not shoot.

He looked up. He saw Alex, who had sprinted. His lungs were burning. He had run all the way to the box.

Mark just... passed the ball. Sideways.

A simple, perfect, unselfish pass.

Alex ran onto it. He did not even think.

He just passed the ball, with his left foot, into the empty net.

GOAL.

One one.

The game stopped.

Alex just stood there, stunned. "You... you passed it."

Mark jogged over. He was not even breathing hard. "You were open," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My angle was bad."

"Your angle was perfect," Alex said.

"Yeah, well," Mark said, trying to look tough. "I did not want to miss. Now, come on. We need another one."

They won the game. Two to one.

Alex did not score the second goal. Mark did. It was a fast, angry, brilliant shot. But Alex did not care.

He only cared about the first one.

They were in the locker room. They were the last two again.

Mark was sitting on the bench, his head in his hands. He was just... quiet.

"You okay?" Alex asked, pulling off his new boots.

"I was terrible," Mark whispered. He did not look up. "He was right. Ben. Wilkins. I am... I am not good enough. I am just... fast. It is not enough."

Alex sat down next to him.

"No," Alex said. "You are not just fast. You are a learner."

Mark looked up, confused. "What?"

"You got hit by Ben. You got angry. You got yelled at. And then... you changed. You made the smart run. And... you made the smart pass."

Alex smiled. "That goal... that was not me. That was you, Mark. You were not just 'Speed'. You were 'Brains'. You were thinking."

Mark just stared at him. "I... I saw you. You were open. It was the right play."

"It was the right play," Alex agreed. "And you made it. You are not just 'baggage', Mark. You are my partner."

Mark did not say anything. He just nodded.

He looked down. "My contract... Milo called my dad. He said... he said it was all you. That you... you pulled me up."

"Milo talks too much," Alex said. "He needed a package. I needed a striker. It was just... good business."

Mark stood up. "Right. Well. Good business."

He grabbed his bag.

"Four o'tclock tomorrow," Mark said.

"What?" Alex said. "Tomorrow is Sunday. It is our day off."

"I do not care," Mark said. "I am slow. I am weak. I need to get better. I need to beat Ben. And your heading... it is still a duck. A pidgeon, maybe. But still a duck."

He walked to the door.

"Four o'clock, Alex. Do not be late." Alex just watched him go. He was tired. He was sore.

And he had work to do tomorrow. He looked at his new black boots.

"Okay, partner," he whispered. "Four o'clock."

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