Alex walked onto the pitch at the small stadium. This was it. His first game in an England shirt. It was just a friendly, but it was against Germany. There was no such thing as a "friendly" against Germany.

He was wearing the white kit of his country. His new number was 18. He was the youngest player on the pitch, by three years.

He looked across at the German team. They were huge. They all looked like... like small Bastians. They were big, strong, and did not look happy.

He was in the tunnel, lining up. Tom, the giant Liverpool defender, was in front of him.

"Okay, small rock," Tom rumbled, not looking back. "This is not Arsenal. This is not Chelsea. This is Germany. They are a machine. They do not make mistakes. And they will try to hit you."

"I know," Alex said, his heart hammering.

"So... do not be stupid. Be smart. Be stable. Do your job. I will... try to stop them from breaking you."

Alex just nodded. He was glad Tom was on his team.

James, the Chelsea striker, was in front of Tom. He was vibrating. "Germany," he hissed to himself. "I hate Germany. I am going to score three. Just watch. Just give me the ball, Professor."

Alex just sighed.

The national anthems played. Alex stood there, his hand on the Three Lions badge. He saw his parents in the small crowd. His dad was holding a little England flag. His mum was just... crying.

Alex smiled. He was doing this for them. For his old life. For himself.

The whistle blew.

The first half was, without a doubt, the worst forty five minutes of Alexs new life.

The manager, Coach Edwards, was right. Germany was a machine.

They were not like Burnley, all anger and mud. They were not like Liverpool, all speed and chaos.

They were just... perfect.

They passed the ball. Zip. Zip. Zip. One touch. Two touches. They were always in the right space.

Alex was playing his 'shield' role. He was the anchor.

But he could not get near the ball.

He would run to the man. The ball was already gone.

He would try to read the pass. The German midfielder would just... pass it somewhere else.

Alex was playing against... himself. A team of twenty one year old, giant, German analysts.

He felt... stupid. He felt slow.

"Professor!" James yelled. He was making his runs. But the German defenders were not like Ben. They were not fooled. They just... stood. And Mark... Alex missed Mark.

James was just running into a perfect, white wall.

In the 30th minute, the machine just... scored.

It was not a magic goal. It was not a fast goal. It was just... a goal.

Ten passes. Zip. Zip. Zip.

The German 'brain', their number six, a tall, blond player, hit a simple, smart, twenty yard pass.

Their striker took one touch. He scored.

It was so easy. It was so... boring. And it was so perfect.

One zero.

Alex just stood there. He was being completely, totally, out smarted.

His brain was not working.

Halftime. The whistle blew.

The England team walked into the locker room. It was silent. They were beaten. They were confused.

Coach Edwards was standing by his whiteboard. He was not angry. He was just... tapping a pen.

"Well," he said, his voice crisp. "They are good."

"They are too good, coach," Tom grumbled, sitting down. "They are... they are like robots. We cannot get near them."

"Yes," Coach Edwards said. "They are. They are a perfect system. But a system," he said, looking right at Alex, "always has a pattern. A pattern... always has a weakness. Professor. Analyze. What did you see?"

Alex looked up. His heart was pounding. This was his test.

He closed his eyes. He saw the game. He saw the passes. He saw the 'brain'.

"They are... they are perfect," Alex said, his voice quiet. "But... they are too perfect."

James scoffed. "What does that mean?"

"It means... they are predictable," Alex said. "They always play the 'right' pass. They never, ever, take a risk. They build the attack... the same way. Every single time."

He walked to the board. He picked up a pen. His hand was shaking.

"It all goes through him," Alex said, drawing a circle. "Their number six. The blond one. He is their brain. He gets the ball. He switches it to their left back. Their left back is their real weapon. He runs fast. He crosses. The striker scores. It is the same play. One, two, three."

Coach Edwards just nodded. "Good. So... how do we stop it?"

"We... we cannot stop it," Alex said. "He is too good. We cannot get the ball from him."

"So we lose?" James snapped.

"No," Alex said, his analyst brain on fire now. "We do not stop the play. We use the play. We let them... we let them think it is working."

He looked at his team.

"Coach... I have an idea. It is... it is a trap. It is the 'double trap'."

He explained. "They want to pass to their left back. So... we let them. I am going to... I am going to let their 'brain' think I am stupid. I am going to let him make the pass."

He looked at the England right back. "You. You have to be ready. The pass is coming."

He looked at James. "And you, James. You are not a decoy."

"I am not?" James said, looking happy.

"No," Alex said. "You are... the arrow. When we win the ball... their whole team is on the left side. The right side... will be completely, totally... empty."

James's eyes went wide. He was not just fast. He was... very, very fast.

"A trap," Coach Edwards said, a small, strange smile on his face. "You want to... out smart... the machine."

"Yes, coach," Alex said.

"I like it," Coach Edwards said. "Okay, Professor. It is your plan. Go. Be smart."

The second half started.

The whistle blew.

Germany had the ball. They were confident. They were perfect.

They started their play. Zip. Zip. Zip.

The ball came to their number six. Their 'brain'.

Alex was there.

He... let him turn. He pretended to be slow. He showed him the pass. The pass to the left back.

The German 'brain' smiled. He saw the "stupid" pass. He hit it.

Now.

The England right back, who Alex had warned, was not sleeping. He was an analyst now too. He started running before the pass was kicked.

He intercepted it.

He did not try to be a hero. He passed it, one touch.

To Alex.

The entire German team... was on the wrong side of the pitch. They were all on the left.

The right side... was an ocean of green grass.

James was not sulking. He was not waiting.

He was running.

Alex looked up. He did not have time to think. He just... did.

He hit the pass. The Hurricane pass.

His right foot. His new, strong, stable core.

A sixty yard, curling, beautiful, perfect pass.

It flew over the entire German team.

James, the fastest striker in England, was on it.

He was one on one.

He did not stop. He did not think.

He just... smashed it.

THWACK.

The net almost broke.

GOAL!

One one.

The stadium, which was mostly German fans, went completely silent.

The England players went crazy.

James did not run to the corner. He ran, at full speed, right to Alex.

He grabbed him. He lifted him up.

"PROFESSOR! PROFESSOR! YOU DID IT! YOU ARE A GENIUS! A CRAZY, TINY, GENIUS!"

Alex was just... laughing. He was on the shoulders of the Chelsea superstar.

Tom, the giant defender, ran over. He was grinning. "GOOD TRAP, SMALL ROCK! GOOD TRAP!"

The German team... was broken. They were confused. Their 'perfect' system had been used against them. They were... angry.

They were not a machine anymore. They were just... a mess.

They started to foul. They started to yell.

Alex was in heaven. This... this was his game.

He was the shield. He was the rock.

He won a tackle. He was stable.

He got hit. He got up.

The game was almost over. Eighty ninth minute. Still one one.

Germany had a corner.

The ball came in. It was high.

A giant German defender went up. He headed it.

It was going in.

Alex was on the post. He saw it.

He was not a duck.

He jumped.

He was sixteen. He was small. But he was... an eagle.

He hit the ball. With his head.

He cleared it. Off the line.

He saved the game.

The ball was loose.

Alex was on the ground. He had hit his head on the post. It hurt.

But he saw the ball. He saw... James.

He was on the ground. He could not get up.

He just... poked it. A desperate, smart, beautiful, tiny pass.

To James.

James was off. He was a rocket.

The German team was all in the box.

James was running. He was all alone.

He ran. And ran. And ran.

The keeper came out.

James just... ran around him.

He tapped the ball into the empty net.

Two one.

The final whistle blew.

Alex was still on the ground. His head hurt. He was covered in mud.

He had done it.

He had beaten the machine.

The entire England team piled on top of him.

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