The England training camp.

Alex walked into the canteen for breakfast on the first day.

It was full of superstars.

At one table, the Manchester City players sat. They looked like robots, eating their perfectly measured oatmeal.

At another table, the Liverpool players were laughing, loud and confident.

Alex got his food. He looked around. He was alone.

Antoine was French. Mark was not in the squad (yet). Bastian was German.

He was the only Arsenal player.

He found an empty table in the corner. He sat down.

"Is this seat taken, Professor?"

Alex looked up.

It was James. The Chelsea striker. The one Alex had beaten in the U21 game.

James was holding a plate of eggs. He was smiling. But it was a nervous smile.

"It is free," Alex said.

James sat down. "So," he said. "Champions League winner. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Alex said.

"And you beat us," James said, wincing a little. "That pass... to Antoine. It was annoying."

"Sorry," Alex grinned.

"Do not be sorry," James said. "Just... do it for me. In this tournament."

He leaned in.

"Listen, Alex. This team... it is good. But it is... disjointed. City play like City. Liverpool play like Liverpool. We do not have a... a connection."

Alex's analyst brain woke up. "A connection?"

"We need a brain," James said. "Harry Kane is great. But he drops deep. We need someone to feed him. Someone to find the runs. Someone... stable."

He looked at Alex.

"The manager... Gareth... he likes you. He thinks you are the missing piece. The glue."

Alex swallowed. The glue.

"But," James warned, "the other players... they are not sure. They think you are a kid. A lucky kid. You have to prove it. Today. In training."

Alex nodded. "I will be a rock, James."

"Good," James said. "Because if you are a duck... they will eat you."

Training was intense.

Gareth, the manager, stood in the middle of the pitch. He was calm. He looked like a favorite uncle.

"Welcome," he said. "The Euros. It is a big stage. We are here to win. Not to participate."

He looked at the squad.

"Today, we play a game. Eleven versus eleven. Probables versus Possibles."

The 'Probables' were the stars. Kane. Sterling. The City defenders.

The 'Possibles' were the rest. The subs. The young players.

And Alex.

Alex was on the 'Possibles' team. He was in midfield with James and a tough, tackling midfielder from West Ham named Declan.

The whistle blew.

The 'Probables' were good. They kept the ball. They moved it fast.

But they were... predictable.

City played like City. Liverpool played like Liverpool. They were not a team. They were a collection of clubs.

Alex saw it. His analyst brain saw the gaps.

He got the ball.

He did not pass it safely. He did not play it backwards.

He saw James making a run.

He hit the pass. The Hurricane pass.

It flew over the 'Probables' defense.

James ran onto it. He scored.

"One zero!" James yelled, pointing at Alex.

The 'Probables' looked annoyed.

The game restarted.

Alex was everywhere. He was the shield. He tackled Kane. He intercepted a pass from the City winger.

He was stable.

And he was smart.

He saw Declan, the West Ham player, was strong but slow.

"Declan!" Alex yelled. "Stay! Be the wall! I will be the runner!"

Declan nodded. "Got it, kid."

Alex ran. He found space. He got the ball.

He saw a gap in the defense.

He did not pass. He drove.

He did the Bruno turn on a City defender. The defender stumbled.

Alex was through.

He saw James.

He passed.

James scored again.

Two zero.

The 'Probables' were furious. They started to tackle harder.

Alex got hit. He got knocked down.

But he got up.

He was not a duck.

The whistle blew. The 'Possibles' had won. 2-0.

Gareth walked over. He was smiling.

"Good," he said. "Very good. You," he pointed at Alex, "you are annoying. I like it."

He looked at the 'Probables'.

"You see?" Gareth said. "They are a team. You are just... stars. Stars do not win tournaments. Teams do."

He looked back at Alex.

"Professor. Come here."

Alex walked over.

"You have a roommate," Gareth said. "For the tournament."

Alex expected James. Or maybe a quiet defender.

"Harry Kane," Gareth said.

Alex's jaw dropped. "The... the captain?"

"Yes," Gareth said. "He asked for you. He wants to pick your brain. He wants to know... how to be a Hurricane."

***

The room at St George's Park was like a five-star hotel, but quieter.

Alex sat on his bed. He had unpacked his bag. His few clothes looked very small in the big wardrobe.

On the other bed, Harry Kane, the captain of England, was lying on his stomach. He was watching a laptop.

He was not watching a movie. He was not watching a show.

He was watching football.

Alex looked closer. It was the Arsenal vs. Real Madrid game.

"You watch this a lot?" Alex asked quietly.

Kane paused the video. He sat up.

"I watch everything, Professor," Kane said. "But this... I am watching the pass. The one to Mark. The winner."

He pointed at the screen.

"You didn't look," Kane said. "You just hit it. How did you know he was there?"

"I didn't know," Alex said. "I calculated."

Kane raised an eyebrow. "Calculated?"

"Mark... he is fast," Alex explained, his analyst brain waking up. "But he always starts his run on the defender's blind side. Sergio turned his head to the left. That meant Mark was on the right. The space was there. The probability... was high."

Kane just stared at him. He looked at the screen. He looked back at Alex.

"Probability," Kane muttered. He smiled. "I like that. I like high probability. You get me the ball in high probability spots, Alex... and we are going to have a very good summer."

"I will try, Captain," Alex said.

"Harry," Kane corrected. "We are roommates. Call me Harry. Now, go to sleep. Tomorrow, we run."

Training with England was different from Arsenal.

Arsenal was a family. It was chaotic. It was the Hurricane.

England was... a collection of weapons.

Every player on the pitch was the best player at their club.

Alex was in the middle. He was the baby.

But he was not scared. He was the Shield.

He got the ball. He passed it to Phil Foden. Zip. Foden did a magic turn. He got it back. He passed it to Bukayo Saka. Zip. Saka flew down the wing.

It was easy. It was like driving a Ferrari. You just had to tap the gas, and it went fast.

But there was one problem.

They were playing a friendly match on Saturday. The final warm-up before the Euros.

Against France.

The World Champions.

And playing for France... was Antoine.

"The Magician vs The Professor," the newspapers were already calling it.

Alex walked off the training pitch. He checked his phone.

A text from Antoine.

"I see you are rooming with Kane. He is boring. I hope he does not make you boring. See you Saturday. Do not kick me. My ankles are expensive."

Alex smiled. He typed back.

"I am a rock, Antoine. Rocks do not move."

Saturday. Wembley Stadium. Again.

But this time, the stadium was white. Flags with the red cross were everywhere.

Alex was on the bench. He was the "secret weapon" again.

He watched the warm-up.

He saw Antoine. He was wearing the blue of France. He looked... strange. He looked dangerous.

Antoine saw him. He jogged over to the England bench.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.