The goal celebration was short.

It had to be.

Because when Mark scored that goal, when the ball hit the net and silenced the eighty thousand people in the Santiago Bernabéu, something changed.

Real Madrid woke up.

Before the goal, they were playing like kings. Arrogant. Relaxed. They were playing with their food.

Now, as they carried the ball back to the center circle, they did not look like kings. They looked like soldiers.

Sergio, the captain, was not smirking anymore. His face was a mask of pure, cold fury. He clapped his hands once. It sounded like a gunshot.

"Vamos," he said.

It was not a shout. It was an order.

The whistle blew.

And Arsenal disappeared.

For the next twenty minutes, Alex did not play football. He played "try not to die".

Real Madrid turned on a switch. They were faster. They were stronger. They were everywhere.

The ball moved so fast Alex could barely see it. Zip. Zip. Zip.

They were angry. And an angry Real Madrid was the scariest thing in the world.

Alex was the shield. He was the anchor. But he felt like a paper umbrella in a hurricane.

He ran left. Madrid passed right.

He ran right. Madrid passed left.

"Professor!" Bastian roared from behind him. "Close the gap! They are killing us!"

"I am trying!" Alex yelled back, his lungs burning. "They are too fast!"

He looked for Antoine. Antoine was deep, trying to help. Even the Magician looked worried.

He looked for Mark. Mark was isolated. He was standing on the halfway line, watching the siege.

Then, it happened.

Alex got the ball. He was deep in his own box. He had intercepted a cross.

He had a second to breathe.

He looked up.

He did not see the pass.

He saw Sergio.

The Madrid captain was running at him. He was not running to win the ball. He was running to send a message.

Alex tried to turn. He tried to use his core. He tried to be stable.

It did not matter.

Sergio hit him.

It was a shoulder barge. It was technically legal. But it was hit with the force of a moving train.

CRUNCH.

Alex flew through the air. He landed hard on the perfect Spanish grass. His breath left his body.

He lay there, gasping, seeing stars.

A shadow fell over him.

It was Sergio. He stood over Alex. He did not offer a hand. He just looked down.

"No more tricks, Professor," Sergio said, his voice low and dangerous. "Class is dismissed."

He walked away.

Alex rolled over. His ribs hurt. His head hurt.

He looked at the referee. The referee just waved. "Play on."

This was the Champions League. This was the deep end.

Harry, the Arsenal captain, ran over. He pulled Alex up.

"You okay, kid?"

"I think... I think he broke my soul," Alex wheezed.

"Welcome to the top," Harry grimaced. "Now get up. We have twenty minutes to survive."

The clock ticked. Seventieth minute. Seventy fifth.

It was still one one.

Arsenal was hanging on by their fingernails.

Bastian was a giant. He was heading everything away. He was shouting in German, English, and maybe Spanish.

But they could not keep the ball. Every time they cleared it, Madrid just came back.

Alex was exhausted. His analyst brain was trying to find a pattern, but the only pattern was "pain".

He looked at Antoine.

Antoine was tired too. He was defending. He hated defending.

"Antoine!" Alex yelled, during a break in play for a throw in.

Antoine looked over. He was sweating. His hair was messy.

"What?" Antoine panted.

"We cannot defend for fifteen minutes!" Alex said. "They will score. We need... we need the ball. We need magic."

Antoine looked at the Madrid players. They looked fresh. They looked hungry.

"They are too strong, Professor," Antoine said. "I cannot get the ball."

"Do not wait for it!" Alex said. "Come get it! From me! I will win it. I promise. Just... be close. Be the outlet."

Antoine looked at him. He saw the bruise on Alexs cheek. He saw the dirt on his kit.

He saw the fire in the kid's eyes.

"Okay," Antoine said. He stood up straighter. "You win it. I keep it. That is the deal."

"That is the deal," Alex said.

The game restarted.

Madrid attacked again. Their winger flew down the line.

He cut inside. He was coming into Alexs zone.

Alex saw him. He was tired. His legs were heavy.

But he was the Shield.

Do not be a duck. Be a rock.

He stepped in. He did not dive. He just... planted his feet.

The winger tried to run through him.

Alex held strong. He took the hit. He won the ball.

He stumbled. He was about to fall.

He saw a pair of white boots. Sergio was coming to finish him off.

Alex did not panic. He did not look.

He just... rolled the ball. Backwards.

Into a small pocket of space.

Antoine was there.

He had listened.

Antoine took the ball. Sergio missed his tackle.

And suddenly... the pressure lifted.

Antoine did not pass. He did not run.

He just... danced.

He put his foot on the ball. He spun. He held off a defender. He flicked it over another leg.

He held the ball for five seconds. Ten seconds.

The crowd booed.

But the Arsenal defense... they breathed. They reset.

Antoine passed it to Mark.

Mark did not try to score. He was smart. He ran to the corner flag. He held the ball up.

He won a throw in.

"YES!" Steve, the manager, roared from the sideline. "SMART! BE SMART!"

They had bought time. They had stopped the wave.

The ninetieth minute.

The board went up. Five minutes of added time.

The Bernabéu was a cauldron of noise. They wanted a winner.

Real Madrid threw everything.

Corner kick.

The Madrid keeper came up. It was chaos in the box.

Alex was marking a player twice his size.

"Do not let him jump," Alex told himself. "Just... be annoying."

The ball came in.

Bastian roared. He jumped higher than everyone. He punched the ball away with his head.

The ball flew out of the box.

It landed at Alexs feet.

He was on the edge of his own box.

He looked up.

The Madrid goal was empty. The keeper was still in the Arsenal box.

And Mark... Mark was running.

He was at the halfway line. He was all alone.

Alexs brain screamed. Kick it! Kick it long!

But Sergio was there.

Sergio was the last defender. He was standing between Alex and Mark.

If Alex kicked it long, Sergio would win the header. He was taller. He was stronger.

Alex had a split second.

He did not kick it long.

He... dribbled.

He pushed the ball past Sergio.

Sergio lunged. He tried to grab Alexs shirt.

Alex was small. He was slippery. He ducked under the arm.

He was past him.

He ran.

He was tired. But he ran.

He got to the halfway line.

Mark was screaming for the ball.

But Alex... he kept running.

He saw the empty goal.

He saw the Madrid defenders chasing him.

He realized... he could score. He could win the game.

The glory. The headline. "THE PROFESSOR CONQUERS MADRID".

He got to the edge of the box. His legs were jelly.

He pulled his leg back to shoot.

And then... he saw the defender sliding in. He was going to block it.

Alex stopped his leg.

He did not shoot.

He just... squared it. A tiny, soft pass to his left.

Mark was there.

He had run with him.

Mark had the open goal. No defender. No keeper.

Mark tapped it.

The ball rolled towards the line.

It was going in. It was going to be 2-1.

And then...

Out of nowhere...

A white streak.

Sergio.

He had sprinted back. He threw himself at the ball.

He slid. He hooked the ball off the line. A miracle clearance.

The ball flew away.

The referee blew the whistle.

The game was over.

One one.

Alex collapsed. He fell face first into the grass.

He had not won. But they had not lost.

He lay there, listening to the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

He felt a hand on his back.

"Get up, Professor."

It was not Antoine. It was not Mark.

Alex pushed himself up.

It was Sergio.

The Real Madrid captain was standing over him. He was covered in sweat and grass stains. He looked exhausted.

He was not scowling. He was not angry.

He was taking off his shirt.

He held the white Real Madrid jersey out to Alex.

"You," Sergio said, panting. "You are... a very annoying child."

Alex just stared at the shirt. The captain's shirt. The most famous shirt in the world.

"I... I tried to beat you," Alex whispered.

"You did beat me," Sergio said. "Once. That is enough."

He thrust the shirt at Alex. "Take it. Before I change my mind and kick you again."

Alex took the shirt. His hands were shaking.

He quickly took off his own Arsenal jersey. He handed it to Sergio.

Sergio looked at the name on the back. FINCH.

"Finch," Sergio said. "I will remember this name. In the second leg... in London... I will be ready for your traps."

He winked. A scary, respectful wink.

Then he walked away, Alex's shirt draped over his shoulder.

Alex stood there, shirtless, holding the white jersey.

Antoine walked over. He whistled.

"The Captain's shirt," Antoine said. "That... that is a trophy, Professor. That is respect."

Mark ran over. He looked at the shirt. He looked at Alex.

"He gave you his shirt?" Mark asked, his eyes wide. "But... I scored the goal!"

"I got hit by the train," Alex said, grinning. "I earned it."

"Fair enough," Mark said. He put his arm around Alex. "One one. At the Bernabéu. That is... that is not bad, right?"

"It is a miracle," Antoine laughed. "Come. Let us go. I need a very expensive massage."

The locker room was buzzing. It felt like a win. A draw at Madrid was a massive result.

Steve, the manager, walked in. He looked at them all. He looked at the mud, the bruises, the exhaustion.

"You grew up today," Steve said quietly. "You came to the house of the Kings. And you did not bow."

He looked at Alex. He saw the white jersey on Alexs lap.

"Professor," Steve said. "Good shift. You took the hits. You made the play. You were the brain."

He looked at the team.

"But remember," Steve said, his voice hardening. "This is halftime. They are coming to London. They are angry. And Sergio... he does not lose twice."

"We will be ready," Harry said.

Alex looked at the white shirt. He looked at his black boots.

He was ready.

He was not just an analyst watching a screen anymore. He was a player who had traded shirts with his idol.

He put the shirt in his bag.

He took out his phone. He had a text from Milo.

"A DRAW! A DRAW IS GOOD! AND THE SHIRT SWAP! IT WAS ON TV! THE RESPECT! THIS IS GLOBAL, ALEX! GLOBAL! I AM BUYING A YACHT!"

Alex laughed. He typed a reply.

"Buy two. One for Mark."

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