The summer was a blur of gold medals, open-top buses, and Milo screaming into Alex's phone.

But eventually, the noise faded. The confetti was swept away. The trophies were put on shelves (Alex's mum had to buy a bigger shelf).

It was August.

The new season was starting.

Alex walked into the Arsenal training ground. He was not a kid anymore. He was seventeen. He was a European Champion.

He walked into the first team locker room.

It was quiet.

He went to his locker. Number 38.

It was empty.

His name was gone.

Alex felt a sudden panic. Did they sell me? Did I get fired?

"Relax, Professor," a deep voice grunted.

Bastian was sitting in his usual spot, drinking coffee. He looked bigger than ever.

"You are not fired," Bastian said. "You moved."

"Moved?"

"You are not Number 38 anymore," Bastian said. "Go look at the main row."

Alex walked to the center of the locker room. The prime spots. Where the superstars sat.

He saw Antoine's locker. Number 10.

Next to it was Harry's locker. Number 9.

And in between them... was a new locker.

ALEX FINCH.

Number 8.

Alex stared at it. The number 8. The number of legends.

"Steve gave it to you," Harry said, walking in. He slapped Alex on the back. "No more 38. You are a starter now. Officially. You are the engine."

Alex touched the shirt. Number 8.

"It is... heavy," Alex whispered.

"It is," Harry agreed. "But you are strong enough. You are a rock, remember?"

The door burst open.

Mark flew in.

He was wearing a gold tracksuit. Literally gold. It hurt Alex's eyes.

"I AM BACK!" Mark roared. "THE CHAMPION HAS RETURNED!"

He ran over to his locker.

It was not in the corner anymore. It was right next to Alex's.

Number 11.

Mark saw it. He stopped screaming. He just... touched the number.

"Eleven," Mark whispered. "The winger's number. The speed number."

He looked at Alex. His eyes were wet.

"We made it, Professor," Mark said quietly. "We are... we are real players."

"We are," Alex smiled.

"Okay!" Mark yelled, the moment over. "Look at my boots! Milo got them made! They have my face on the tongue! Look! It is me!"

Alex looked. There was, indeed, a tiny cartoon Mark on the boot.

"It is... terrifying," Alex said.

"It is majestic!" Mark insisted.

Steve, the manager, walked in.

He looked rested. He looked tan. He looked ready for war.

"Welcome back, champions," Steve said.

The team cheered.

"Enjoy the feeling," Steve said. "Because it is gone. Last season... you were the surprise. You were the Hurricane. You were the underdogs."

He looked at them.

"This season... you are the target. Everyone wants to beat the champions. Everyone wants to break the Hurricane."

He pointed at Alex.

"Professor. You are not a secret. They know your brain. They will mark you. They will kick you. They will study you."

He pointed at Mark.

"Speed. They know you are fast. They will sit deep. They will deny you space."

He looked at the whole team.

"Last year, we won with chaos. This year... we must win with control. We must evolve. We must be... smarter."

He smiled.

"And I have brought some help."

The door opened.

A new player walked in.

He was tall. He was elegant. He had long hair tied back.

Alex gasped.

It was Jude.

Jude Bellingham.

The other English wonderkid. The midfielder who played for Real Madrid.

"No way," Mark whispered. "We bought Jude?"

"We bought Jude," Harry grinned.

Jude walked over. He shook hands with Harry. He shook hands with Bastian.

He stopped in front of Alex.

"So," Jude said, smiling. "You are the Professor. The one Sergio hates."

"I... I am Alex," Alex stammered.

"I watched the final," Jude said. "That block... with your ribs. That was crazy."

He looked at Mark. "And you. The Arrow. You are fast."

"I am lightning!" Mark corrected.

"Okay," Jude laughed. "Lightning."

He looked at Alex.

"Steve told me about the project," Jude said. "The Hurricane. But he said... it needs one more piece. It needs... a Engine."

He pointed at himself.

"You are the Brain. Antoine is the Magic. Mark is the Speed. I am... the Power."

Alex's analyst brain exploded.

Alex (Brain). Antoine (Magic). Mark (Speed). Jude (Power).

It was... it was unfair. It was a cheat code.

"The Diamond," Steve said from the front. "Is now... complete."

He pointed to the pitch.

"Go. Show me what the new machine looks like."

Training was insane.

Having Jude in the team changed everything.

He was everywhere. He tackled. He ran. He passed.

Alex didn't have to be the Shield anymore. Jude was a better shield.

Alex didn't have to run box to box. Jude did that.

Alex could just... think. He could just be the Brain.

He got the ball. He looked up.

He had options.

Antoine was drifting. Mark was running. Jude was charging through the middle.

It was too easy.

Alex hit a pass to Jude. Jude drove forward. He drew two defenders.

He flicked it to Antoine. Antoine spun.

He passed to Mark.

Mark scored.

It took six seconds. From Alex's foot to the net.

"THIS IS CHEATING!" Mark yelled, running back. "IT IS TOO EASY! I LOVE IT!"

Bastian, on the other team, just shook his head.

"Four monsters," Bastian grunted. "It is not fair."

The first game of the season.

Community Shield. Wembley.

Against Manchester City. Again.

City were angry. They wanted revenge.

But Arsenal... Arsenal had evolved.

The game started.

City tried to keep the ball. Tick. Tock.

But Jude... Jude did not let them tick.

He smashed into their midfielder. He won the ball.

He gave it to Alex.

Alex was in space. He had time.

He saw City's high line.

He saw Mark.

But he also saw Jude continuing his run.

And he saw Antoine drifting wide.

City didn't know who to mark. They were overloaded.

Alex didn't rush. He waited. He baited them.

A City defender stepped up to close him down.

Mistake.

Alex played a tiny, soft pass through the gap.

To Antoine.

Antoine didn't shoot. He flicked it.

To Jude.

Jude didn't shoot. He squared it.

To Mark.

Mark tapped it in.

One zero. Five minutes played.

It was perfect football. It was "Total Football".

City tried to fight back. But they couldn't.

If they stopped Jude, Alex passed around them.

If they stopped Alex, Antoine dribbled through them.

If they stopped Antoine, Mark ran behind them.

It was a hydra. Cut off one head, three more appeared.

Arsenal won 3-0.

It wasn't a fight. It was a demolition.

Alex walked off the pitch. He wasn't tired. He wasn't sore.

He felt... powerful.

Jude put his arm around him.

"Professor," Jude said. "I think we are going to have fun."

"I think so too," Alex smiled.

That night, Alex was at home.

His mum was cooking a celebratory dinner. Roast chicken.

His phone buzzed.

It was Mark.

"DID YOU SEE THE PACE? DID YOU SEE THE POWER? JUDE IS A TANK! AND YOU! YOU WERE LIKE A CONDUCTOR! A TINY CONDUCTOR! WE ARE GOING TO WIN EVERYTHING!"

Alex laughed.

He looked at his wall.

The Madrid shirt. The Barcelona shirt. The England shirt.

And now... the Number 8 Arsenal shirt.

He sat at his desk. He opened his laptop.

He wasn't looking at data for the next game. He was looking... further. The World Cup. Two years away. He started a new folder.

"PROJECT: WORLD CHAMPION."

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