The Emirates Stadium at night was different.

It was not just a football ground. Under the floodlights, with the black sky above and sixty thousand people screaming, it looked like a spaceship ready to launch.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He was wearing the red and white Arsenal kit. On his arm was the Champions League patch. The ball made of stars.

He looked down at his black boots. They were clean. Perfect.

He looked to his left.

The Real Madrid players were standing there. They were in all black. They looked like ninjas. Huge, expensive, dangerous ninjas.

Sergio, their captain, was at the front. He was not looking at the pitch. He was looking right at Alex.

Sergio leaned over. He smelled of deep heat and intensity.

"Professor," Sergio said. His voice was low. "You have my shirt. That is enough charity. Tonight... school is closed."

Alex looked up. He was sixteen. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

But he remembered the mud at Burnley. He remembered the noise at Anfield.

"I am not here to learn, Sergio," Alex said, his voice steady. "I am here to win."

Sergio's eyes narrowed. He did not smile. He just turned and walked out onto the pitch.

The Champions League anthem started. The Chaaaaampions.

It was the most beautiful sound Alex had ever heard.

Mark, standing behind Alex, whispered. "I am shaking. Are you shaking?"

"Yes," Alex whispered back.

"Good," Mark said. "That means we are ready to explode."

The whistle blew.

The first leg in Madrid had been a tactical battle. A chess match.

This... this was a heavyweigght boxing match.

Real Madrid did not wait. They attacked.

They were angry. They were the Kings of Europe, and they had been held to a draw by a "Hurricane" of kids. They wanted to crush the rebellion.

For twenty minutes, Arsenal did not touch the ball.

Madrid passed. They moved. They swarmed.

Alex was the Shield. He ran left. He ran right. He blocked passing lanes.

Bastian was a giant. He headed away cross after cross.

"Hold the line!" Bastian roared. "Do not break!"

But Madrid was too good.

In the 25th minute, their striker found a half yard of space. He hit a rocket.

The ball flew past the keeper.

GOAL.

One zero to Madrid. Two one on aggregate.

The away fans, high up in the corner, went wild. The Emirates went silent.

Alex stood in the center circle. He looked at his teammates. They looked... scared. They looked like they remembered who they were playing against.

He looked at Antoine. The Magician looked frustrated. He was not getting the ball.

He looked at Mark. The Arrow looked isolated.

Alex took a deep breath.

Okay. Analyst. Data.

They are pressing high. They are aggressive. They think we are broken.

He clapped his hands. "Hey! Heads up! We are fine! We are stable!"

Harry, the captain, looked at him. "Stable? We are drowning, Professor."

"No," Alex said. "We are just... waiting. They are using all their energy. Let them run. We wait for the mistake."

Halftime came. Still one zero.

The locker room was tense. Steve, the manager, stood in the middle.

"They are better than us," Steve said.

The team looked down.

"Technically," Steve continued. "They are better. They have better players. They have more trophies."

He looked at Alex.

"But they do not have... the hunger. Look at them. They are walking off the pitch. They think the job is done. They think the kids are beaten."

Steve smiled. It was a shark's smile.

"They do not know about the Hurricane. Not the real one. They think the Hurricane is just a counter attack."

He pointed at the board.

"Professor. Magician. Speed. In the second half... we do not wait. We do not sit deep."

"We press," Steve said. "We press them."

Alex blinked. "Press Real Madrid? High up the pitch?"

"Yes," Steve said. "They expect us to be scared. So... we be brave. We run at them. We make them panic. Can you do that?"

Alex looked at Mark. Mark was bouncing his leg.

"Running?" Mark said. "I like running."

"Good," Steve said. "Go. Make them uncomfortable."

The second half started.

Madrid got the ball. Their defender tried to play a slow, easy pass to Sergio.

Mark did not wait.

He exploded.

He sprinted at the defender. He was a silver blur.

The defender panicked. He kicked the ball away.

Antoine was there. He intercepted it.

The crowd woke up. A roar started to build.

Arsenal was pressing. The kids were chasing the kings.

Fifty fifth minute.

Alex was high up the pitch. He was not the shield. He was the hammer.

He saw Sergio get the ball.

Alex did not back off. He ran at his idol.

Sergio tried to turn. Alex read it. He stuck his foot in.

He won the ball.

The stadium screamed.

Alex had the ball. Thirty yards out.

He saw Mark making a run. The Madrid defense moved to cover him.

He saw Antoine calling for it.

But Alex... he saw something else.

He saw a gap. A tiny lane.

He did not pass. He drove forward.

He feinted to shoot. The defender slid.

Alex dragged the ball back.

He was on the edge of the box.

He hit it. With his left foot.

It was not a power shot. It was a placement. Low. Hard. Corner.

The keeper stretched. He touched it.

But the power was too much.

It hit the post. It spun across the line.

And it went in.

GOAL!

One one. Two two on aggregate.

The Emirates shook. It actually shook.

Alex ran to the corner. He did not know what he was doing. He just put his finger to his head. The Professor.

Antoine jumped on him. "YES! THE BRAIN! THE BRAIN HAS TEETH!"

The game was tied.

But Madrid... Madrid was dangerous.

They came back. They attacked.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

Everyone was tired. The pace was insane.

Mark was gasping for air. "I... I cannot feel my legs, Professor," he whispered during a corner.

"Just one more run, Speed," Alex said, panting. "Just one more."

Eighty eighth minute.

Real Madrid had a corner.

Sergio came up. He wanted to win it.

The ball came in. Bastian rose like a tower. He headed it clear.

The ball flew out of the box.

It landed... at Alex's feet.

He was on the edge of his own area.

He looked up.

The pitch was open.

And Mark... Mark was running.

He had found the energy. He was sprinting.

But Sergio was chasing him. Sergio was fast. He was catching Mark.

Alex knew he could not just kick it long. Sergio would win the race.

He had to be perfect.

He had to be the Magician.

Alex started to run with the ball.

Two Madrid midfielders came at him. They were going to foul him. They were going to stop the counter.

Alex saw Antoine to his left.

He shouted. "MAGICIAN!"

He passed the ball to Antoine.

Antoine took it. He did not run. He stopped.

The Madrid midfielders ran past him, confused.

Antoine looked up. He saw Mark. He saw Sergio.

He saw Alex... continuing his run.

Antoine did not pass to Mark.

He passed it... back to Alex.

A perfect, through ball, between the defenders.

Alex ran onto it. He was in the clear. He was at the halfway line.

It was two against one.

Alex and Mark... against the Madrid keeper.

Sergio was gone. He had chased Mark, but the ball had gone to Alex.

Alex ran. The crowd was screaming. "SHOOT! SHOOT!"

He got to the box.

The keeper came out. He was huge. He spread his arms.

Alex looked at the goal. He could score. He could be the hero.

But his analyst brain saw the percentages.

The keeper was covering the angle.

Alex looked to his right.

Mark was there. He had run sixty yards. He was open.

The goal was empty.

Alex did not hesitate.

He squared it.

A simple, soft, selfless pass.

Mark was there.

He did not miss.

He tapped it into the empty net.

GOAL.

Two one.

The noise was not sound. It was pain. It was pure, white hot joy.

Mark did not run. He collapsed. He just fell on the floor. He was dead.

Alex fell on top of him.

"CHAOS!" Mark screamed into the grass. "WE ARE CHAOS!"

Antoine jumped on the pile. Bastian jumped on the pile. Even the manager, Steve, was running down the touchline, jumping.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Real Madrid 1.

They had done it. They had beaten the Kings.

Alex lay on the grass. He stared at the sky. The floodlights were blurry. He was crying.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

He sat up.

It was Sergio. Again.

The Madrid captain looked... tired. He looked old.

But he was smiling. A small, sad smile.

"Professor," Sergio said.

"Sergio," Alex whispered.

"You tricked us," Sergio said. "You used the Magician as a decoy. You used the Arrow as a decoy. And you... you were the dagger."

He shook his head.

"You are sixteen. It is... annoying. Very annoying."

He held out his hand.

Alex shook it.

"Good luck in the next round," Sergio said. "Do not lose. If you lose, it makes me look bad."

He walked away.

Alex stood up.

The stadium was singing his name.

"SUPER ALEX FINCH! THE PROFESSOR!"

Mark was walking over, supported by Harry. Mark had one boot off.

"We did it," Mark said, grinning like a maniac. "We beat them. We are the best team in the world."

"We are in the semi finals, Mark," Alex laughed. "Not the final."

"Details!" Mark waved his hand. "We are the Hurricane! Nothing stops the Hurricane!"

Antoine walked over. He put one arm around Alex, and one around Mark.

"The Brain," Antoine said. "The Speed. And me... the very handsome Magic."

He looked at the crowd.

"Take it in, boys," Antoine said softly. "This... this is why we play. This is the dream."

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