"Professor," Bastian grunted.

"Bastian," Alex nodded. He felt... calm. The win at Anfield had changed him. The fear was gone.

The locker room was quiet. Alex sat at his locker, number 38. He pulled on his new black boots. They felt perfect.

Antoine came in. He was not wearing his medical boot. He was in his full kit. He looked like a superstar. He smiled at Alex.

"Morning, Professor. Ready to be my shield?"

"Morning, Magician," Alex smiled back. "Ready to be my sword?"

Bastian just grunted. "Too much talking. Not enough work."

Mark was the last one in. He was wearing his shiny suit and his silver boots. He looked like a pop star.

"You are late, Speed," Harry the captain called out.

"I am not late!" Mark said, his voice shaky. "I am... I am here."

"Go get the balls, package," Ben, the U21 captain, yelled from the physio room. Ben was also training with the first team now.

Mark went bright red. He looked at Alex. Alex just shrugged.

Mark sighed. He went to go get the balls.

On the training pitch, the manager, Steve, was waiting. He had a look on his face Alex had not seen before. He looked... excited.

"Right," Steve boomed. "Newcastle. On Saturday. They are a good team. They are a rich team. They are fast. They are strong. They will try to run all over us."

He smiled. "But we... we have a new toy. We have the Hurricane."

The whole squad looked around. What was the Hurricane?

Steve pointed. "Bibs. Professor. Magician. Speed."

Alex, Antoine, and Mark. They were all on the same team.

Steve pointed at Bastian, Harry, and the other main starters. "No Bibs. You are Newcastle. Your job is to stop this hurricane. Good luck."

Bastian just cracked his knuckles. He looked at Alex. "A hurricane? You are a small wind, Professor. A tiny breeze."

Harry was just laughing. "This is going to be fun."

Alex was not laughing. He was in a team with Antoine and Mark. This was... this was a test.

"Okay," Alex said, jogging into the midfield. He looked at Antoine. "You are the sword. You are the magic. You go where you want."

"Good," Antoine said.

Alex looked at Mark. "You are the speed. You are the arrow. You stay high. Run in behind. Be the chaos."

"I am the chaos," Mark grinned.

"And me?" Alex said to himself. "I am the shield. I win the one. I make the simple pass."

The whistle blew.

It was a complete, total, embarrassing disaster.

The "No Bibs" team, led by Bastian and Harry, was a solid blue wall. They were smart. They were strong. They were a real team.

Alexs team was just... three ideas.

Alex won the ball. He passed it to Antoine.

Antoine tried a magic, no look flick.

Harry, the England captain, was not a U18 defender. He was not fooled. He just... took the ball. He passed it. His team scored.

"One zero!" Harry yelled. "Nice try, Magician!"

Antoine was angry.

They started again. Alex won the ball. He looked for Mark.

Mark was running. He was a blur of silver.

Alex hit the pass. The sixty yard 'magic' pass.

Bastian just... watched it. He saw it coming all the way. He took one step, intercepted the ball, and passed it to his midfielder.

"Too slow, Professor!" Bastian roared.

Mark was furious. "Alex! What was that! It was a terrible pass!"

"It was not a bad pass!" Alex yelled back. "It was just... he is too smart!"

"This is not a hurricane!" Steve yelled from the sideline. "This is a mess! You look like three kids who have never met! Fix it!"

Alex was frustrated. His analyst brain was on fire. What was wrong?

He had the Shield. He had the Sword. He had the Speed.

But... they were not working together. They were just... three things.

Alex got the ball. He was deep. He was the Shield.

He saw Antoine asking for the ball. He saw Mark ready to run.

He looked at Bastian. Bastian was watching him. He was waiting for the long pass to Mark.

He looked at Harry. Harry was watching Antoine. He was waiting for the magic pass.

They were both... waiting.

They were both... reacting.

Stop reacting, Alex thought. Predict.

They were predicting him. They knew his game.

So... he had to change the game.

"Antoine!" Alex yelled.

Antoine looked at him, annoyed. "What?"

"Come here! Come deep! Get the ball!"

Antoine looked confused. He was the 'ten'. He was the magic. He did not go 'deep'.

"Just do it!" Alex yelled.

Antoine sighed. He jogged back, right next to Alex.

Harry, the captain, who was marking Antoine... he followed him.

Now, Harry was deep. He was out of position.

Bastian was still in the middle, watching Alex and Mark.

"Mark!" Alex yelled.

"What?" Mark yelled back.

"Not high! Come to the ball! Now!"

Mark was totally confused. But he did it. He ran back, towards Alex.

Bastians eyes followed him.

Now... Bastian and Harry... the two best defenders... were both in the wrong half. They were in Alexs half.

And the other teams entire defense was open.

Alex smiled.

He passed the ball. A simple, five yard pass. To Antoine.

"What is this?" Antoine said.

"Wait," Alex whispered.

Antoine passed it back.

Alex looked up.

He saw... space. A huge, empty, beautiful green field.

And he saw his winger. The one everyone had forgotten.

Alex did not chip it. He did not smash it.

He just... passed it. A low, hard, perfect, thirty yard pass, right into the empty space.

The winger ran onto it. He was all alone.

He scored.

One one.

The pitch was silent.

Bastian and Harry were just standing there, looking confused. They were a hundred yards from their goal.

Steve, the manager, was just... staring.

"Huh," Steve said.

Antoine walked over to Alex. He was not smiling. He was... thinking.

"You... you pulled them," Antoine said. "You used me... as a distraction."

"I used us all as a distraction," Alex corrected. "They were watching us. The Package. The Hurricane. They forgot... we have nine other players."

A slow, dangerous, beautiful smile spread across Antoines face.

"Professor," he said. "You are... you are very, very smart. I like this. This is good."

The game restarted.

And now... they were a hurricane.

It was beautiful.

Alex stayed deep. The Shield.

Antoine stayed deep, right next to him. The Sword.

They just... passed the ball. Zip. Zip. Zip. Back and forth. Simple. Easy. Boring.

The other team, the superstars, got angry. They were bored. They wanted to attack.

They started to run at Alex and Antoine.

"Here they come," Antoine whispered.

"I see them," Alex whispered back.

A defender ran at Alex.

Alex passed it. One touch. To Antoine.

Another defender ran at Antoine.

Antoine, the magician, just... flicked it. A perfect, no look, heel pass.

Right back to Alex.

Now... all the defenders were high. They were out of position.

And the pitch... was open.

Alex looked up.

"Mark," he said, his voice calm.

Mark was not running straight. He was on the line. He was waiting.

Alex hit the pass. The sixty yard rocket.

Mark was on it. He was gone.

The 'fake fake'.

The keeper came out.

Mark didD not chip it. He did not stop.

He just... smashed it. As hard as he could.

GOAL.

Two one.

"THAT!" Steve roared, pumping his fist. "THAT IS THE HURRICANE! THAT IS THE TRAP! YES!"

Bastian and Harry were exhausted. They had been completely and totally beaten. By two kids and a superstar who were just... passing the ball.

Training finished.

Alex, Antoine, and Mark were walking back to the locker room.

"That," Antoine said, "was fun. You... you are not just a shield, Professor. You are the eye of the storm. You pull everyone in."

"And you are not just a sword," Alex said, smiling. "You are the bait."

"And I," Mark said, puffing out his chest, "am the lightning. The one who scores. The hero."

"You are the arrow, Speed," Antoine corrected, ruffling Marks hair. "The arrow that we fire. Now go. Get the balls. You are still the new kid."

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