The Berlin Olympiastadion was not a football ground. It was a coliseum of stone and history.

Alex sat in the locker room. It was silent.

He was taping his ribs. Every breath was a sharp, hot reminder of the block against Spain.

"Tight?" the physio asked, pulling the bandage.

"Tighter," Alex said. "I do not want to feel them."

The physio pulled. Alex gasped.

"Good," Alex said. "Now I am a mummy. A stable mummy."

Harry Kane was sitting next to him. The England captain was staring at the floor. He looked like he was meditating.

"This is it, Professor," Harry said quietly. "The big one. The one we dream about."

"It is just a game," Alex lied.

"It is never just a game against France," Harry smiled. "They are the World Champions. They have the best player in the world."

He meant Mbappe.

"And," Harry added, "they have your best friend."

Antoine.

Alex looked at his boots. The white ones with the gold brain.

"He is not my friend today," Alex said. "Today, he is just a problem. A data point I have to solve."

The tunnel was wide and cold.

The England team lined up on the left. The France team on the right.

Alex looked across.

He saw the blue shirts. He saw Mbappe, who looked like he was vibrating with speed. He saw the giant defenders.

And he saw Antoine.

The Magician was standing at the front of the line. He looked relaxed. He was winking at the camera. He was chewing gum.

He saw Alex.

Antoine stopped chewing. He stepped out of line. He walked over to Alex.

The referee tried to stop him. Antoine just ignored him.

He stood in front of Alex. He looked down at the taped ribs under Alex's shirt.

"You are hurt, Professor," Antoine said softly.

"I am fine," Alex said.

"You are brave," Antoine smiled. It was a sad smile. "But bravery does not win finals. Magic wins finals."

He leaned in.

"Do not hate me after this, Alex. I have to win. It is... what I do."

"I know," Alex said. He looked his hero in the eye. "But I have to win too. It is... what I learned."

Antoine laughed. He patted Alex on the cheek.

"Good luck, little rock."

He walked back to his line.

The teams walked out. The noise was a physical wave. Seventy thousand people. Flags. Flares. Noise.

The anthems played. Alex sang. He felt the tears prick his eyes.

He thought of his dad in the stands. His mum.

He thought of Mark, somewhere in that sea of people, probably wearing a ridiculous outfit.

The whistle blew.

The Final began.

It was fast. Faster than Madrid. Faster than City.

France was terrifying.

Mbappe was a cheat code. He touched the ball and he was gone.

In the tenth minute, Mbappe ran. He ran past the England right back like he wasn't there.

He crossed.

Antoine was there. He drifted into the box. The ghost.

He volleyed it.

SMACK.

The ball hit the bar. The whole stadium shook.

"WAKE UP!" Harry Kane roared.

Alex was trying. But his ribs hurt. Every time he turned, it felt like a knife.

And Antoine... Antoine knew.

Antoine was smart. He knew Alex was hurt. He played on Alex's left side. He forced Alex to turn the painful way.

He was targeting the weakness.

In the 35th minute, it broke.

Antoine got the ball. He ran at Alex.

Alex tried to turn. His ribs screamed. He was a fraction of a second too slow.

Antoine breezed past him.

He played a slide-rule pass to Mbappe.

Mbappe didn't miss.

GOAL.

One zero. France.

Antoine didn't celebrate wildly. He just hugged Mbappe. He looked back at Alex. He looked... sorry.

Alex stood there, holding his side. He was failing. The Professor was failing.

Halftime. One zero.

The mood in the locker room was dark.

Gareth, the manager, stood in the middle.

"They are faster than us," Gareth said. "We know this."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are hurting."

"I am fine," Alex said through gritted teeth.

"You are not fine. You are slow. Antoine is eating you alive."

Alex looked down. It was true.

"But," Gareth said, "he is getting arrogant. He thinks you are finished. He thinks you are just a broken boy."

Gareth knelt down so he was eye level with Alex.

"Use that. He thinks he knows you. He thinks he knows your limits. Show him... something he hasn't seen."

"What hasn't he seen?" Alex asked. "He trains with me every day. He knows my passes. He knows my turns."

"He knows the Professor," Gareth said. "He knows the safe, smart, stable Alex."

Gareth smiled.

"He doesn't know the Gambler."

Alex blinked.

"Take a risk, Alex. Do something stupid. Do something... chaotic. Surprise him."

The second half started.

Alex came out. The pain was still there. But his mind was different.

Chaos. Be like Mark.

Antoine got the ball. He looked at Alex. He expected Alex to stand off. To be the Shield.

Alex didn't stand off.

He ran.

He ran straight at Antoine. He slid.

It was a crazy tackle. A desperate tackle.

Antoine was surprised. He jumped. He lost control of the ball.

Alex won it. He was on the ground.

He didn't pass safely.

He got up. He ran.

He ran with the ball. Through the middle of the pitch.

The French midfielders were shocked. The "Stable" kid was dribbling?

Alex beat one man. He beat two.

He was thirty yards out.

He saw Harry Kane making a run.

The old Alex would have passed.

The new Alex... the Chaos Alex... faked the pass.

He cut inside.

He shot.

With his left foot.

It was a rocket. It dipped. It swerved.

The French keeper, Lloris, made a fingertip save.

Corner.

The crowd roared. England was alive.

Alex looked at Antoine. Antoine looked... rattled.

"You are changing the rules, Professor," Antoine whispered during the corner setup.

"I am rewriting the book," Alex panted.

Seventy-fifth minute. Still one zero.

England was pushing. France was defending.

Alex was running on fumes. His ribs were agony.

He got the ball in midfield.

Antoine was marking him tight.

"You cannot pass," Antoine said. "I know your angles."

Alex looked at Harry Kane. Kane was covered.

He looked at Saka. Covered.

He looked at Antoine.

Antoine was watching Alex's eyes.

Watch the eyes, Luka Modric had said.

Alex looked left. Hard. He shaped his body to pass left.

Antoine moved left.

Alex didn't pass.

He did the 'Fake Fake'.

Mark's move.

He faked the pass, chopped the ball back, and spun right.

Antoine, the Magician, the master of movement... bought it.

He went the wrong way.

Alex was free.

He was in the hole.

He drove forward. The French defense stepped up.

Alex saw the gap. It was tiny. A needle eye.

He hit the pass.

It wasn't a lofted pass. It was a ground pass. Hard. Fast.

It went through the legs of the French defender.

It found Sterling.

Sterling didn't shoot. He squared it.

Harry Kane was there.

The Captain.

He tapped it in.

GOAL!

One one.

Wembley exploded. The sound was so loud it hurt.

Kane ran to the corner.

Alex didn't run. He just pointed at his head. Brains.

Antoine walked past him. He shook his head.

"The Fake Fake," Antoine muttered. "You stole that from Speed. That is cheating."

"It is learning," Alex smiled.

Extra time.

The players were falling down with cramps. It was a war of attrition.

One one.

118th minute. Two minutes to penalties.

Alex could barely walk.

France had the ball. Antoine had it.

He was trying to win the game. He was trying to be the hero.

He ran at the England defense.

He wound up to shoot.

Alex saw it.

He was ten yards away. He knew he couldn't get there in time to tackle.

But he had to try.

He threw his body.

He didn't slide at the ball. He slid into the space where the ball was going.

The block.

Antoine shot.

THWACK.

The ball hit Alex. Right in the ribs. The broken ones.

The pain was white, blinding light.

Alex screamed. He fell.

But the ball... the ball bounced away.

It bounced to Saka.

Saka ran.

France had committed everyone forward. They were exposed.

Saka ran. He was fast.

He crossed the halfway line. It was three against two.

Saka passed to Kane.

Kane held it up.

He saw a runner.

It wasn't a striker.

It was Alex.

Alex had gotten up. He was holding his side. He was crying from the pain.

But he was running.

He was making the run into the box. The late run. The Frank Lampard run.

Kane saw him.

He chipped the ball.

It floated over the tired French defenders.

Alex watched it come down.

Time slowed down.

He saw the ball. He saw the goal. He saw the keeper.

He couldn't shoot with power. He had no power left.

He remembered the training with Mark.

The header.

Use your neck. Be a rock.

Alex jumped.

He met the ball. He didn't smash it. He guided it.

He nodded it down. Into the corner.

The keeper dived.

His fingers touched it.

But the ball... rolled.

It hit the post.

And it trickled across the line.

GOAL.

GOAL.

GOAL.

Alex fell to the ground. He didn't see it go in. He just heard the noise.

The noise of a country losing its mind.

England 2. France 1.

120th minute.

He lay on the grass. He couldn't breathe. The pain was everywhere.

Then... he felt the weight.

Harry Kane was on top of him. Sterling. Rice. Pickford.

They were piling on him.

"YOU DID IT!" Kane was screaming. "THE PROFESSOR! THE HERO!"

Alex just laughed. It hurt to laugh. But he laughed.

The final whistle blew.

England were European Champions.

Alex was helped up by the medics. He couldn't stand straight.

He was draped in an England flag.

Antoine walked over. The French superstar looked devastated. He was crying.

But he hugged Alex.

"You broke my heart, Professor," Antoine whispered. "You stole my trophy."

"I learned from the best," Alex said.

"The block," Antoine said, touching Alex's ribs gently. "That was crazy. That was... that was not logic. That was just heart."

"I am a stable rock," Alex winced.

Antoine smiled through his tears. "Go. Lift the trophy. Before you fall down."

Alex walked to the podium.

He stood next to Harry Kane.

Harry put the trophy in Alex's hands.

" together," Harry said.

They lifted it.

Silver streamers exploded. Fire filled the sky.

Alex looked into the crowd.

He saw his dad. His dad was sobbing into an England scarf.

He saw his mum. She was dancing.

And then... he saw him.

In the front row. Wearing a full England kit. Wearing a wig with the St George's cross painted on his face.

Mark.

Mark was screaming. He was pointing at Alex.

He was holding up a sign.

It was a picture of a brain. And a picture of a goat.

THE GOAT BRAIN.

Alex laughed. He lifted the trophy higher.

He was Alex Finch. He was sixteen.

He was a Champion of Europe.

He was a Champion of England.

He had beaten the legends. He had become one.

His old life... the office, the loneliness, the regret... it was gone forever.

He looked at the gold medal around his neck.

He looked at his friends.

This was his life now.

And it was the best life in the world.

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