Alex slept in his own bed. This was rare.

Usually, after a big game, he was too wired. Too full of data and adrenaline.

But after the Newcastle win, after his first goal, after the "Hurricane" was born, he had slept for ten solid hours.

He woke up feeling... good. Strong.

His new life was a runaway train, but he was finally learning how to stay on his feet.

He went downstairs. His dad was at the kitchen table, surrounded by every newspaper in London.

"Morning, Professor," his dad said. He was not just smiling. He was beaming.

"Look at this," his dad said, holding up a paper. "They are calling you the 'Heir to the Throne'. They are saying you and Antoine are the 'Magic and Logic' partnership."

"They are saying Mark is 'pure chaos'," his mum added, bringing Alex a plate of eggs. "I like that one. It suits him."

Alex just laughed. "It is just one game, dad."

"It is not just one game," his dad said, his voice suddenly serious. "It is... the start. I called Milo. We signed the papers. He is... he is your agent now. And Marks."

Alex felt a huge wave of relief. It was real.

"He is very... loud, Alex," his mum said, looking worried. "He keeps yelling about 'the brand'."

"He is a good guy, mum," Alex said. "He is... he is just like Mark. But with a suit."

At the training ground, the "Hurricane" was the only thing anyone was talking about.

Alex, Antoine, and Mark were the new heroes.

"The Shield! The Sword! The Arrow!" Harry, the captain, had yelled when they walked in.

Even Bastian had grunted. "Good work. You are... less terrible."

This was the new normal.

Until the manager, Steve, walked in.

"Right," he boomed. The laughter stopped.

"You are famous," Steve said. "You are all over the TV. You are in the papers. You are 'The Hurricane'. This is... a problem."

Alex felt his blood run cold. A problem?

"You are not a secret anymore," Steve said. "You are not a surprise. Everyone knows the plan. Everyone has seen the 'fake fake'. Everyone knows the 'trap'. They know... you."

He looked right at Alex, Antoine, and Mark.

"This Saturday," Steve said, "we play Chelsea. At home. They are a very good team. They are a very smart team. They have their own superstars. And... they will be ready for you."

Alex swallowed. He remembered James, the arrogant U21 striker. He remembered Tom, the giant U21 defender.

"They will have a plan," Steve said. "They will not be stupid like Newcastle. They will not be boring like Fulham. They will fight you."

"So, coach," Antoine asked, his voice calm. "What is our new plan? The Hurricane... it is predictable now, yes?"

"Yes," Steve said. "It is. If we do the same thing. So... we will not."

He looked at Alex. "Professor. You are the brain. You are the shield. But you are not just a decoy anymore. You are not just a trap."

He looked at Antoine. "You are the sword. But you are not just a magician."

He looked at Mark. "And you are the chaos. But you are not just an arrow."

"Today," Steve said, "we stop being three separate things. We become... one weapon."

Training was... confusing.

Steve did not just put them in a 'Hurricane' team. He mixed them all up.

He put Alex on a team against Antoine and Mark.

"What is this, coach?" Mark yelled. He was furious. "You are breaking up the package!"

"I am making you smarter," Steve roared back. "You cannot always play together! What happens if the Professor gets kicked? What happens if the Magician is marked? You must... adapt! Professor! You are the brain! You have no speed. You have no magic. Your team is... just... normal. Go. Win."

Alex looked at his new team. It was him, Bastian, and a lot of... solid, hardworking, but boring players.

He was playing against Antoine, Mark, and Harry. He was going to be destroyed.

The whistle blew.

And Mark... Mark was a nightmare. He was playing with Antoine. He was fast. Antoine was magic.

They scored. One zero. Mark did his stupid "Lightning Bolt" celebration, just to make Alex angry.

"Come on, Professor!" Mark yelled. "I thought you were the brain! You look... slow!"

Alex was angry. He was frustrated.

"Baaastian," Alex said, his voice low.

"What, Professor?" the giant German grunted. He was also angry. He hated losing.

"He is too fast," Alex said. "Mark. We cannot stop him. And Antoine... he is too magic."

"So we lose?" Bastian growled.

"No," Alex said. His analyst brain was on fire. "We... we do not stop them. We... we 'contain' them. We let them... have their fun. On the outside."

He explained. "We stop playing football. We just... become a wall. A big, German, boring wall. We let them have the ball on the wings. We let them cross it. But they can never come in the middle. The middle... is ours."

Bastian looked at him. He almost smiled. "A wall. A 'boring' wall. I like this. Okay, Professor. We are a wall."

The game restarted.

It was ugly.

Antoine got the ball. He tried to do his magic dribble.

Alex and two other players were just... there. A wall.

Antoine sighed. He passed it to the wing.

Mark got the ball. He ran. He was fast.

Bastian was there. He did not tackle. He just... stood. He was a giant, German wall.

Mark could not get past. He kicked the ball. It hit Bastians leg and went out.

For thirty minutes, Alexs team was a solid, boring, unmoving, ugly wall.

Antoine and Mark were getting... very, very angry.

"This is not football!" Antoine yelled. "This is... this is parking a bus!"

"Yes!" Alex yelled back. "And you cannot find a parking spot!"

Then... it happened.

The ninetieth minute. Still one zero.

Antoine tried one last, desperate, magic trick. He tried to dribble... through Bastian.

It was a mistake.

Bastian just... took the ball. He did not even move.

He looked up. He passed.

To Alex.

The other team was out of position. They were all attacking.

Alex had the ball. He was all alone.

He looked up.

He saw... his striker. A normal, boring, hardworking player. He was running.

Alex did not hesitate.

He hit the pass. The sixty yard 'Professor' pass.

It was perfect.

The striker was one on one.

He scored.

One one.

The whistle blew.

Alex had done it. He had beaten the "Magic" and the "Speed"... with "Boring".

He just fell on the grass. He was exhausted.

Mark stomped over. He was furious. "That was not fair! You did not even play! You just... stood there! You are a... a stupid, boring... wall!"

"Yes," Alex panted, smiling up at him. "A 'stable' wall."

Antoine walked over. He was not angry. He was... impressed.

"Professor," he said, helping Alex up. "You are... you are very, very annoying. You found the answer. You used my own team against me. You are... you are a true 'brain'."

Steve, the manager, was clapping.

"Good," he said. "Good! You all passed the test. You," he pointed to Alex, "you learned how to win... without your weapons. You used your real weapon. Your brain."

He looked at Mark and Antoine. "And you... you learned what it is like when the game is not easy. You learned... you need your brain."

He smiled. "The Hurricane... is not just one plan. It is... any plan. It is fast. It is magic. It is a trap. It is a decoy. And..." he looked at Alex, "it is a big, boring, very smart wall."

He clapped his hands. "Good work. Now... the real game. Chelsea. At home. This Saturday."

He looked at Alex, Antoine, and Mark.

"They will be ready for the 'Hurricane'. They will have a plan. They will have their own superstars."

He smiled. "So... let us show them... we have more than one trick."

"You... Professor. You... Magician. And you... Speed. You are all starting."

"The Diamond Hurricane... is back."

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