Alex felt like he was walking on clouds.

His first home start. His first home goal. A win. And an assist from his best friend.

His old life, the one where he was just an analyst in a small, beige office, felt like it belonged to someone else. He was Alex Finch. He was the Professor. He was, apparently, a Hurricane.

He walked into the training ground on Monday morning. He was not just Bastian early. He was "before the lights are on" early. He just wanted to be there. He put on his new black boots in the quiet, empty locker room. He loved the smell of the leather.

He was just starting to stretch when the door opened.

It was Antoine.

He was not in his training kit. He was in his street clothes. Very expensive, very cool street clothes.

"Professor," Antoine smiled. He was holding two small cups of coffee. "You are here. Good. I have been thinking."

"About the game?" Alex asked, taking the coffee. It smelled amazing.

"No," Antoine said, his face very serious. "About... after the game."

Alex was confused. "After?"

"Your celebration," Antoine said. He looked... disappointed. "Professor. It was terrible."

Alex felt his face go hot. "It was... I was surprised. I did not know what to do."

"I saw," Antoine said, shaking his head. "You just... you just stood there. Like a surprised pidgeon. And then Mark, the Arrow, he jumped on you like a... a crazy monkey. It was a mess. It had no... style."

"Style?" Alex asked. This was not a variable his analyst brain had ever considered.

"Style!" Antoine said, his eyes bright. "We are the Hurricane! We are the main event! When we score, it must be beautiful. It must be a show. The pass... beautiful. The goal... beautiful. The celebration... a disaster."

Alex did not know what to say. "I... I do not know how to celebrate."

"I know," Antoine said. He put his coffee down. "So today, I am your new coach. I am your 'Celebration Coach'. We will fix this."

Alex was pretty sure he was joking.

He was not joking.

After the main training session, after the manager Steve had yelled at them for being "too famous" and "too slow", Antoine grabbed Alex.

"Come," he said. "Your lesson begins."

He dragged Alex to an empty pitch.

Mark was already there, doing his extra heading practice.

"Speed," Antoine called out. "Come here. The Professor needs help."

Mark jogged over, scowling. "What now? Is he a duck again? I thought his heading was better."

"His heading is fine," Antoine said. "His... his joy... is a duck. It is terrible. We must teach him style."

Mark looked at Alex. "Style? He is the brain. He does not have style. He wears school trousers."

"Exactly," Antoine said. "He is embarrassing the Hurricane. Now, watch. A celebration must be simple. But cool. Like this."

Antoine pretended to score a goal. He ran to the corner. He did a small, perfect, one knee slide. He did not fall. He did not get mud on his shorts. He just... slid. He ended on one knee, pointing one finger to the sky. It looked... perfect.

"See?" Antoine said. "Clean. Cool. The fans love it. Now you."

"Now?" Alex said. "Here? In the mud?"

"Yes! Go!" Antoine pointed.

Alex sighed. He jogged. He tried to do the knee slide.

He did not slide.

He just... dug. His knees hit the wet grass and just... stopped.

He fell over, face first, into the mud.

Mark just burst out laughing. It was a loud, ugly, happy laugh. "HE IS A DUCK! HE IS A MUD DUCK!"

Alex got up, wiping mud off his face. He was not happy. "It is not funny, Mark."

"It is a little funny, Professor," Antoine said, trying to hide his smile. "Okay. No sliding. You are... you are not a slider. Okay. Try this."

Antoine pretended to score again. He just... ran to the crowd. He put his hands to his ears. "Listen," he whispered. "Simple. Strong."

"I can do that," Alex said.

He ran. He put his hands to his ears.

"No, no, no," Antoine groaned. "You look like... you look like you are trying to block out the noise. You look like you have a headache. You must be... open. Proud!"

Alex tried again. He looked, he thought, like a confused air traffic controller.

"This is hopeless," Mark said, shaking his head. "He has no style. He is all brains. Let me show you. A real celebration. It needs... a brand."

"A brand?" Alex asked.

"Yes! Milo said I am the Arrow. I am the Lightning. I need a brand. I have been practicing."

Mark ran to the goal. He pretended to score.

He ran to the corner. He stopped. He pointed both hands at the ground. He put his head down. Then he shot both hands up, like a... like a lightning bolt.

"BOOM!" he yelled. "THE LIGHTNING STRIKES!"

Alex and Antoine just... stared.

It was... truly... terrible. It was the most ridiculous thing Alex hadD ever seen.

"That," Antoine said, his voice very quiet, "was... a choice."

"It is good, right?" Mark said, his face beaming. "It is my brand. It is fast. It is cool."

"It is... very extra, Speed," Antoine said gently.

"You are both wrong," Alex said.

Antoine and Mark looked at him.

"What?" they said.

Alexs analyst brain was working. He was not thinking about style. He was thinking about data. About information.

"A celebration is not a celebration," Alex said, his eyes bright. "It is a signal."

"A signal?" Antoine asked. "What is this, a spy movie?"

"Yes!" Alex said. He was excited now. "In the Newcastle game, they knew our plan. They were too smart. They were reading us. We need a way to change the plan... in the middle of the game. A way that they do not understand. But we do."

Mark and Antoine were listening now.

"So," Alex said, pacing. "We do not need one celebration. We need three. A signal."

He pointed at Antoine. "When you score... you do your knee slide. That is 'Plan A'. The Hurricane. We attack. We are the storm."

Antoine nodded. "I like it. Plan A. The Storm."

"When I score," Alex said, "I... I do not do a knee slide. I do... this."

Alex ran to the corner. He did not slide. He just... stood still. He put one finger... to his head.

"The Professor," he said. "The Brain. It means... Plan B. The 'double trap'. The 'fake fake fake'. We are the decoy. We are being smart. We let the other players score."

Antoine and Mark looked at each other. They were smiling.

"I like that," Mark said. "The Professor. It is... boring. But it is smart. It is you."

"And when you score," Alex said, looking at Mark.

"The Lightning Bolt!" Mark yelled.

"No," Alex and Antoine said at the same time.

"What?" Mark said, his face falling.

"It is... too much," Antoine said. "It is too... loud. And it takes too long. We need... fast. Chaos."

"It is not chaos if you are standing still," Alex said. He thought. "You are the Arrow. You are the Speed. So... you just... run. You do not stop. You run to the bench. To the manager. That is the signal. 'Plan C'. The 'Chaos Plan'. It means... we are just going to run them into the ground. Pure speed. No tricks. Just... fast."

Mark thought about it. "I run. To the manager. I like it. It shows him I am ready. It is good."

Alex looked at his partners.

He had his Shield. He had his Sword. He had his Arrow.

And now... they had their signals.

"Okay," Antoine said, a huge grin on his face. "So. We have a plan for when we score. Now... we just have to score."

The door to the pitch opened. The manager, Steve, was standing there. He was just... watching them. He looked confused.

"What... are you doing?" Steve asked. "Are you... dancing? Professor, why were you on your face in the mud?"

"We are... uh... practicing, coach," Alex said, his face going red again.

"Practicing what?"

Alex looked at Antoine. He looked at Mark.

"We are practicing... our new tactic, coach," Antoine said, his voice smooth as silk. "A... a communication system."

Steve just stared at them. At the three of them. The superstar. The duck. And the lightning bolt.

"A communication system," Steve said. "You three. You are a headache. A giant, confusing, wonderful headache."

He shook his head. "I do not even want to know. Just... do not get hurt, Antoine. And Professor... go see the physio. You have mud... in your ear."

Steve turned and walked away.

Alex, Antoine, and Mark just stood there.

"He loves it," Mark said.

"He is confused," Antoine said.

"He is ready for the Hurricane," Alex said, a grin on his face.

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