The days after the Croatia game were a blur of noise and white shirts.

Alex walked into the team breakfast room. He was wearing his England tracksuit.

The room went quiet.

Then, Declan, the big midfielder from West Ham, stood up. He started to clap. Slow. Rhythmic.

"The Professor!" Declan shouted.

The whole team joined in. They were clapping. For him.

James, the Chelsea striker, was grinning. "You benched a legend, Alex. Luka Modric looked like he needed a map."

"I just... I just stood in his way," Alex mumbled, his face burning red. He grabbed a piece of toast and tried to hide.

Harry Kane sat down next to him. The captain looked serious, but his eyes were happy.

"Enjoy it, Alex," Harry said. "But not too much. One game does not make a summer."

"I know," Alex said. "I am stable."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Because Friday... Friday is different. Friday is Scotland."

Alex swallowed his toast. Scotland.

"Is it... is it like a derby?" Alex asked.

Harry laughed. A dry, hard laugh.

"It is not like a derby, Alex. It is the derby. It is the oldest game in the world. They do not just want to beat us. They want to... embarrass us. It will be loud. It will be fast. And it will be wet. It always rains when we play Scotland."

Training that week was not about tactics. It was about battle.

Gareth, the manager, did not use the whiteboard. He just threw the ball into the middle of the pitch.

"Fight for it," Gareth said.

The sessions were brutal. James was tackling. Declan was shouting.

Alex was in the middle. He was the smallest player.

He got knocked down. He got up. He got knocked down again.

"Stay on your feet, Professor!" James yelled. "The Scots will not say sorry!"

Alex learned to be quicker. He learned to move the ball before the hit came.

He was not just a brain. He was becoming a survivor.

On Thursday night, his phone buzzed.

It was Mark.

"I bought a Scotland shirt," the text said.

Alex stared at the screen. He typed back.

"Why?"

"Because I like their kit. It is blue. And because I want to motivate you. If you lose, I am going to wear it to training. I will wear a kilt. I will play bagpipes. Do not make me play bagpipes, Alex."

Alex laughed. He could imagine Mark in a kilt. It was a terrifying thought.

"I will win," Alex typed.

Friday night. Wembley Stadium.

It was raining. Of course it was raining.

The roof was open. The water came down in sheets.

The noise was different from the Croatia game. That was happy noise.

This was angry noise.

Twenty thousand Scottish fans were in the stadium. They were singing. They were booing. They were making a wall of sound.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

The Scotland players looked like giants. They were wearing dark blue. They had fire in their eyes.

Their captain, a huge left back named Andy, looked at Alex.

"You are the wonderkid?" Andy asked. He had a thick Scottish accent.

"I am Alex," Alex said.

"You look like a mascot," Andy laughed. "Try not to cry when we tackle you."

Alex just stared at him. He was stable.

Harry Kane put a hand on Alexs shoulder.

"Ignore them," Harry said. "They are loud. We are good. Lets go."

They walked out. The rain hit Alexs face. It felt cold. It felt real.

The anthems were sung. The roar was deafening.

The whistle blew.

The game was a storm.

It was not football. It was chaos. The ball skidded on the wet grass. Players slid into tackles from five yards away.

Splash. Thud. Crunch.

Every time Alex got the ball, a blue shirt was there. Hitting him. Pushing him.

He could not play his game. He could not find the rhythm.

The Scotland captain, Andy, was everywhere. He ran up and down the line like a train.

In the twentieth minute, Andy smashed into Alex.

Alex went flying. He slid five yards on his stomach in the mud.

The Scottish fans cheered.

Alex got up. He wiped the mud from his eyes.

"Welcome to the game, wee man!" Andy yelled.

Alex did not say anything. He just looked at the space Andy had left behind him.

Andy was attacking. He was aggressive.

He is leaving a gap, Alex thought. His aggression is a weakness.

Alex looked at Harry Kane. He pointed.

Harry understood.

The next time Alex got the ball, he did not look for a pass. He waited.

He waited for the train.

Andy came sprinting. He was going to smash Alex again.

Alex stood still. He was a statue in the rain.

At the last second, Alex dropped his shoulder.

He did not touch the ball. He just let it roll through his legs.

The dummy.

Andy slid past him. He slid ten yards on the wet grass. He looked like a seal.

The ball rolled to James.

James was in the space Andy had left.

James ran. He crossed.

Harry Kane was there. He headed it.

The ball hit the post.

CLANG.

The crowd groaned. It was so close.

But Alex smiled. He had found the key.

Halftime. Zero zero.

The locker room was wet and steamy.

"They are leaving gaps," Alex said, squeezing water out of his shirt. "Their captain. He is too angry. He wants to hit me."

"Let him," Gareth said. "Be the bait, Professor. Draw him out. Make him miss."

"I will," Alex said.

The second half started.

The rain got heavier. The pitch was a swimming pool.

Alex was the bait.

He stood near the sideline. He invited the pressure.

Every time Andy ran at him, Alex moved the ball. Just a tiny bit.

Touch. Pass. Move.

Andy was getting frustrated. He was chasing a ghost.

In the seventieth minute, it happened.

Alex got the ball deep in midfield.

He saw Andy coming. But he also saw something else.

He saw Sterling making a run through the middle.

The Scotland defense was wide. They were trying to cover the wings. The middle was open.

Alex did not pass to the wing.

He looked at Andy. He faked a pass to the right.

Andy jumped to block it.

Alex pulled his foot back. He hit a reverse pass.

A straight, hard, ground pass. Through the mud. Through the rain. Through the middle of the Scottish defense.

It was a "Laser".

Sterling ran onto it. He did not have to break stride.

He was through on goal.

The keeper came out.

Sterling chipped him.

The ball floated over the keepers hands.

It landed in the net.

GOAL!

One zero. England.

Wembley exploded. The rain did not matter. The cold did not matter.

Sterling ran to the corner.

Alex just stood there. He was soaked. He was shivering.

But he was smiling.

Harry Kane ran over. He picked Alex up.

"THE BRAIN!" Harry yelled. "THE BRAIN IN THE RAIN!"

"That rhymes!" Alex laughed.

The last twenty minutes were a siege.

Scotland threw everything at them. Long balls. Crosses. Elbows.

Alex was not the brain anymore. He was the Shield.

He stood in front of the defense. He headed the ball. He blocked shots.

He got kicked in the shin. He got an elbow in the ribs.

He did not fall. He was a rock. A wet, muddy, sixteen year old rock.

The whistle blew.

England 1. Scotland 0.

They had won the derby.

Alex fell to his knees. The water soaked into his trousers.

He was done. He had nothing left.

Harry Kane pulled him up.

"You survived," Harry said. "You are a man now, Alex."

Alex looked at his shirt. It was brown. The white was gone.

He walked off the pitch.

The Scotland captain, Andy, walked past. He looked angry. But he stopped.

"You are tough," Andy grunted. "For a mascot."

"Good game," Alex said.

Andy just shook his head and walked away.

Alex sat in the locker room. He was holding a warm cup of tea.

His phone buzzed.

It was Mark.

"I am burning the kilt. I am deleting the bagpipes app. You won. You survived. The pass was okay. It was a bit slow. But it worked. Now come home. I am bored. And I need someone to tell me I am

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.