"You are nervous, Professor," Antoine said, not looking at him. He was just smiling at the crowd.

"I am... excited," Alex said, trying to stop his leg from shaking.

"Good," Antoine said. "Me too."

Across the tunnel, the Chelsea team was watching them. They were all superstars. They were not smiling.

Alex saw him. James. The U21 striker. He was on the bench, but he was warming up. He saw Alex. He just sneered and mouthed two words.

"You are dead."

Alex just nodded. Be a rock. Be a shield. Be stable.

The whistle blew. They ran out onto the grass. The noise was a physical thing. It was magic.

Steve, the manager, had been right. Chelsea had a plan.

Their coach was a genius, and he had seen the Newcastle game. He was not going to be fooled.

The first half was a tactical nightmare.

Chelsea was not pressing high. They were not sitting back. They were... a monster. A smart, blue, choking monster.

Their plan was simple, and it was brilliant.

They were not marking Mark. They were not marking Antoine.

They were marking Alex.

But they were not just marking him with one player. They were marking him with three.

It was a triangle. A suffocating, blue triangle.

Wherever Alex moved, the triangle moved with him. If he went left, the triangle went left. If he went right, the triangle followed.

He was the brain. And they had put his brain in a tiny, perfect, invisible box.

"Professor! I am open!" Mark would yell, making a fast run.

Alex could see him. But he could not make the pass. A Chelsea player was always in the way.

"Alex! Here!" Antoine would call, finding a magic pocket of space.

Alex could see him. But the pass was too risky. The triangle was too tight.

He was a pivot who could not pivot. He was an analyst who had no data.

He just... passed it. Backwards. To Bastian.

Zip.

He got it back. The triangle closed.

He passed it. Sideways. To Harry.

Zip.

The crowd was groaning. This was not the Hurricane. This was a light shower.

"Finch!" Steve roared from the sideline. "Be brave! Play the pass!"

Alex tried.

He got the ball. He saw Mark. He tried to hit the big Hurricane pass.

He did not even get his head up.

WHAM.

A Chelsea midfielder smashed him. A perfect, clean, hard tackle.

Alex was on the grass. The ball was gone.

"Too slow, kid!" the player yelled.

Halftime. The whistle blew.

Zero zero.

The Emirates was quiet. The fans were nervous.

Alex walked into the locker room. He felt terrible. He had failed. He had been... boring. He had been a ghost.

He sat at his locker, his head in his hands.

"This is not working," Harry said, sitting down. "They are... they are just... sitting on you, Alex. We cannot get you the ball."

"I know," Alex whispered. "I... I cannot move. They are too smart."

Mark was furious. "They are not even watching me! I am wide open! I am chaos! And you... you are just passing it backwards! Give me the ball!"

"I cannot!" Alex snapped. "I am in a box! A stupid blue box!"

"ENOUGH."

Steves voice cut through the room.

He was not angry. He was just... thinking.

"Okay, Professor," he said. He walked over to Alex. "Analyze. They have a plan. It is working. They are stopping you."

"They are," Alex agreed. "They are using three players... just on me. Their whole midfield is... just... me."

"Good," Steve said. "They are using three players. On one, sixteen year old kid."

He looked around the room. "Do you see? They are terrified. They are so scared of the 'Brain'... they are wasting three players."

Alex looked up.

"So," Steve said. "They are watching you. They are only watching you. They are not... watching... him."

Steve pointed.

At Antoine.

Antoine, who had been quiet all half. Who had been a ghost.

Alexs analyst brain... it just exploded.

He saw it.

"Coach," Alex said, his voice shaking. "They... they are not... they are not guarding Antoine. They are just... letting him stand there. Because they think... I am the one who makes the pass."

"Exactly," Steve grinned. "So. We change the job."

He looked at Alex. "Professor. Your new job. You are not the brain."

"I am not?"

"No. You are... the bait. The most important, most famous, most boring bait in the world. I want you to run. I want you to run into stupid places. I want you to drag that blue triangle with you. I want you to be... an annoying, wobbly, traffic cone."

Alex just stared.

Steve looked at Antoine. "Magician. You... you are the new shield. You are the new pivot. You are the 'six'. You are the new brain. You drop deep. You get the ball from Bastian. You... you become the Professor."

Antoine just... smiled. A slow, magic, beautiful smile. "I... I am the Professor? I like this. I am... a very handsome Professor."

"And Mark," Steve said.

"I know, coach!" Mark yelled. "I am chaos! I am the Arrow! I run!"

"Yes," Steve said. "You just... do that. Go. Fix it."

The second half started.

Alex ran onto the pitch. He felt... light. He did not have to be smart. He just... had to be annoying.

He could do that.

The whistle blew.

Bastian got the ball.

The blue triangle... all three Chelsea players... ran straight to Alex. They were ready to put him back in his box.

Alex just... ran away. He ran towards the sideline. He did not even look at the ball.

The three players... they hesitated. Then... they followed him.

"Follow him! He is the brain!" their captain yelled.

Alex was just... jogging. By the sideline. He was a decoy.

And Antoine... was all alone. In the middle of the pitch.

Bastian passed him the ball. A simple, five yard pass.

Antoine had... time. He had space.

This was a disaster. For Chelsea.

Antoine looked up. He was not a magician. He was a killer.

He saw Mark.

Mark was not running a fancy run. He was just... running. Straight.

Antoine hit the pass.

It was not a high, looping, 'Professor' pass.

It was a low, fast, curling, 'Magician' pass. It bent around the last defender.

Mark was on it. He was one on one.

He did not smash it. He did not stop.

He just... passed it. Into the corner of the net.

GOAL!

One zero.

The stadium exploded.

The Chelsea team... was just... standing there. They were all looking at Alex, who was still on the sideline.

"It... it was not him?" their captain whispered.

Mark ran to the corner. He looked at Alex. He looked at Antoine.

He pointed to his head. "Brains!"

Then he pointed to Antoine. "Magic!"

Then he pointed to himself. "Speed!"

Who do they mark? The Professor? Or the Magician?

Alex and Antoine were not a 'Shield' and a 'Sword'. They were... two swords. Two brains.

They were just... playing.

The 'Diamond Hurricane' was unstoppable.

In the eightieth minute, it happened.

Alex won the ball. He was stable. He was a rock.

He looked up.

He saw... not Mark. He saw... Antoine.

Antoine was not dropping deep. He was... running. Like a striker. Into the space.

Alexs brain did not even think.

He launched it.

A sixty yard, perfect, beautiful, 'Professor' pass.

Antoine was on it. He was not a Magician. He was... 'Speed'.

He was one on one.

The keeper came out.

Antoine just... laughed.

He just... stopped the ball. He put his foot on it.

The keeper slid past.

Antoine stood there. He looked at the open goal.

He saw Alex, who had run all the way up the pitch.

Antoine just... passed it. Sideways.

Alex was all alone. The goal was empty.

He remembered the Aston Villa game.

He did not just tap it.

He smashed it. He hit it as hard as he could.

GOAL!

Two zero.

Alex just... stood there.

He did not know what to do. His celebration.

He just... slowly... put his finger... to his head.

"The Professor."

Antoine ran over. He was not laughing. He was just... proud.

He did not say anything. He just... pointed at Alex.

The final whistle blew.

Two zero.

They had done it. They had beaten the smart team. They had been smarter.

Alex was in the locker room. He was holding his third Man of the Match bottle.

He was exhausted.

Mark was sitting next to him. "My goal was better. It was faster."

"Your goal was good, Mark," Alex grinned.

"But your goal," Antoine said, sitting on the other side. "It had... style. A little. The 'Professor' celebration. It is... boring. But it is cool. I like it."

Steve, the manager, walked in. He was not smiling. But his eyes were.

He looked at Alex.

"Good job, Professor. You are not just the brain anymore. You... you are the heart.".

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