The Monday after the Newcastle game was... loud.

Alex walked into the first team locker room at seven forty seven in the morning. He was "Bastian early".

Bastian was already on the floor, stretching. He just grunted. "Professor."

"Bastian," Alex nodded.

The doors burst open. Harry, the captain, walked in. He was not holding a newspaper. He was holding a tablet.

"GENTLEMEN!" Harry roared. He was grinning. "Have you seen this? We are famous!"

He tapped the screen. It was a video. An online sports show.

The video showed Alexs first goal, the one against Newcastle. Then it showed Marks goal. It was all set to loud, fast music.

The commentator was shouting. "They are calling it THE HURRICANE! A sixteen year old 'Professor' with the brain of a genius, a superstar 'Magician' with the feet of an angel, and a seventeen year old 'Arrow' with the speed of a rocket! This... this is the most exciting thing in football!"

The whole locker room was cheering.

"The Hurricane!" Harry laughed, clapping Alex on the back. "I like it! You are a storm, Professor!"

"I am just a shield," Alex mumbled, his face bright red.

"Where is the Arrow?" Antoine asked, walking in. He looked perfect, as always.

The door burst open again. Mark ran in. He was in his full kit. He was sweating.

"I AM THE ARROW!" he yelled. "I AM THE LIGHTNING! I HEARD IT ON THE RADIO! THE HURRICANE!"

"You are late, Speed," Bastian grunted from the floor. "And you are too loud. Go get the balls."

Mark just beamed. He did not care. He was the lightning.

The manager, Steve, was not smiling. He stood in the middle of the pitch.

"So," he boomed. "You are 'The Hurricane'. You are famous. You are on the television. You are... predictable. Your secret is gone."

The team went quiet.

"They know our new play," Steve said. "They know the trap. They know you three." He pointed at Alex, Antoine, and Mark. "This Saturday, we have Aston Villa. At home. They are a good team. They are a smart team. They will have a plan. They will be ready for the trap. They will be ready... for you."

Alex felt a knot in his stomach. The manager was right. His analyst brain knew it. The data was public. They were a one trick pony.

"So what do we do, coach?" Harry asked. "Do we change the plan?"

Steve looked at Alex. "What do we do, Professor? You are the brain. You invented this trap. What happens when they know about it?"

Alex looked at the ground. He thought.

He was an analyst. This was his job.

"They... they know the trap," Alex said, his voice quiet. "They know we are trying to distract them. They know we want to pass to... to the other players."

"So?" Steve asked.

"So... they will stop watching us," Alex said. "They will... they will try to be smart. They will ignore us, the 'distraction'. They will focus on our other players. They will try to stop Tom, the left back. They will try to stop the 'boring' players."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Steves face. "Go on, Professor."

"So," Alex said, his voice stronger. "The trap... becomes a double trap. They think we are a distraction. They ignore us. And that... that is when the Hurricane actually hits."

Antoine just laughed. A beautiful, pure laugh. "Professor! You are... you are evil! I love it!"

"You want them... to ignore... me?" Mark asked, looking confused. He did not like being ignored.

"Yes," Alex said. "We will be a distraction... for our own distraction. It is... it is a fake fake fake."

Steve just clapped his hands. Once.

"THAT," he roared, "is why he is the Professor. You heard him. Aston Villa thinks they are smart. We... we are going to be smarter. We are going to be the most famous, most dangerous 'decoy' in the world. Now, let us practice."

Saturday. The Emirates. The stadium was full.

The air was buzzing. The fans had seen the videos. They had read the papers. They were not here for a boring one zero win.

They were here for The Hurricane.

Alex walked onto the pitch. His first start at home. He was in his new black boots.

He was next to Antoine. Mark was on the bench, his silver boots shining. He was the secret weapon.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

And it was... boring.

Alex, Antoine, and Bastian just... passed theV ball.

Zip. Zip. Zip.

Backwards. Sideways.

The crowd was loud. They were cheering every pass.

But Alex could see the Aston Villa team. They were not falling for it.

They were smart. Their captain was a very clever defender.

He was not watching Alex. He was not watching Antoine.

He was yelling at his team. "IGNORE THEM! IGNORE THE STARS! WATCH THE OTHER RUNNERS! WATCH THE LEFT BACK! IT IS A TRAP!"

Alex looked at Antoine. This was not working.

"They are too smart," Antoine whispered.

"I know," Alex said.

They kept passing. For ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

The crowd was getting... quiet. They were getting bored. This was not a hurricane. This was a light breeze.

The Aston Villa players started to get... confident.

Their captain was laughing. "Is this it? Is this the 'Hurricane'? You are just... passing! You are boring!"

He was right.

Alex got the ball. He was deep.

He saw Tom, the left back, make a run.

The Aston Villa captain saw it too. "SEE! THE TRAP! I TOLD YOU!"

Two defenders ran to cover Tom.

Alex looked at Antoine. Antoine looked at Alex.

Now.

The defense was gone. They had all run to cover the 'trap'. They had left the real danger wide open.

Alex did not pass to Tom.

He turned. He passed to Antoine.

Antoine was in space. He ran.

The defense panicked. They tried to get back. They were too late.

Antoine was one on one with the last defender.

He did not try to pass. He was the magic.

He faked left. He went right. The defender was gone.

The keeper came out.

Antoine just... chipped him. A perfect, beautiful, arrogant chip.

The ball floated into the net.

GOAL.

One zero.

The stadium exploded.

The Aston Villa captain just... stood there. He was bright red. He had been so smart... that he had been stupid. He had been beaten by the double trap.

Antoine ran to the corner. He did not celebrate. He just turned. He pointed at his own head. Brains. Then he pointed at Alex.

Halftime. The locker room was happy.

"Good, Professor," Steve said. "Good. The double trap. It worked. Now... they are confused. They are angry. They do not know what to watch. They do not know if you are the decoy, or if you are the weapon."

"So what do we do, coach?" Harry asked.

Steve just smiled. "Now... we just let them play. We let the Hurricane be the Hurricane. Go. Have fun."

He looked at Alex and Antoine. "You two. Go be magic."

The second half was a different game.

The Aston Villa defense was a mess. They were terrified.

If they marked Alex, Tom was open. If they marked Tom, Alex was open. If they marked both... Antoine was free.

It was chaos.

Alex was playing the best game of his life. He was not just a shield. He was... everything.

He won a tackle. He was stable.

He got the ball. He hit a 60 yard pass to the winger.

He got it back. He did the Bruno turn. The defender fell over.

He was having... fun.

Sixtieth minute.

The manager looked down the bench. "Speed. Go. It is time."

Mark ran on. He was replacing the other striker. The crowd roared. They knew. The full Hurricane was here.

Mark ran to Alex. "They are tired," he panted. "They are scared. Find me. It is time for the lightning."

"Go," Alex said.

The game restarted.

The energy was electric.

Alex got the ball. He was deep.

He saw Antoine. He saw Mark.

He saw the defense. They were all... just... watching. They were frozen. They did not know who to cover.

Alex smiled. His analyst brain saw it all.

He did not pass.

He ran.

He ran right at the defense.

A defender stepped up.

Alex passed. One touch. To Antoine.

Antoine passed. One touch. Back to Alex.

A perfect, one two.

Alex was in space.

Another defender stepped up.

Alex saw Mark. Mark was running. The 'fake fake' move.

Alex did not pass. He held the ball. He waited.

He was the eye of the storm. He was in control.

The defender who was supposed to be marking Mark... he saw Alex. He got greedy. He ran at Alex.

He had left Mark.

Now.

Alex just... chipped it. A tiny, soft, perfect pass, right over the last defenders head.

Mark was on it. He was all alone.

The keeper came out.

Mark looked at him.

He looked at the open goal.

He looked at... Alex.

Alex was running. He had run the whole way. He was right next to him.

Mark did not shoot.

He just... passed it. Sideways.

A simple, perfect, unselfish, beautiful pass.

The goal was empty.

Alex just... tapped the ball into the net.

Two zero.

He did not know what to do. He had scored. At the Emirates.

Mark did not scream. He did not run.

He just... grabbed Alex. He pulled him into a huge, head crushing hug.

"THE PACKAGE!" Mark yelled. "THE BRAINS AND THE SPEED! THE GOAL IS YOURS! BUT THE ASSIST... THE ASSIST IS MINE! I AM THE BEST!"

The whole team piled on.

The final whistle blew. Two zero.

Alex was Man of the Match. Again.

He was in the locker room. He was holding the champagne bottle. He was exhausted.

Mark was next to him. "My assist was better than your goal," Mark said.

"It was a perfect pass, Mark," Alex grinned.

"I know," Mark said. "Milo is going to love it."

Antoine walked over. He was holding his own bottle. He had been given one too.

"So," Antoine said. "The Professor... he scores goals now. The Shield... he is a Sword."

"And the Arrow... he passes," Alex laughed.

"This," Antoine said, "is a problem. I am the magic. I am the one who scores the beautiful goals."

He looked at Alex. He was not angry. He was... impressed.

"We are a good team, Professor," Antoine said. "But... I think your celebration is terrible. You just... stood there. You looked confused."

"I was confused," Alex admitted.

"Next time," Antoine said, "you do something better. Something... with style."

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