CHAPTER 488: 1

The hotel room was silent. It was the calm before the storm.

Alex sat at the desk. He was staring at a tactics board. He moved the magnetic pieces around.

Red pieces for England. Blue pieces for France.

But the blue pieces seemed to vibrate.

His phone buzzed on the table. It was a video call from Maya.

Alex answered.

Maya appeared on the screen. She was wearing a lab coat. She stood in front of a whiteboard covered in equations.

"The variables are dangerous," Maya said without saying hello.

"Hello to you too, Maya," Alex said.

"Listen to me, Professor," Maya said. She pointed to a red circle on her board. "France has Mbappe. Top speed thirty eight kilometers per hour. They have Dembele. Top speed thirty six kilometers per hour. And they have Mark."

Maya paused. She adjusted her glasses.

"I have calculated Mark top speed from the Australia game," Maya said. "He hit thirty nine kilometers per hour. He ran so fast he actually created a small vacuum in the air behind him."

"Thirty nine?" Alex asked. "That is illegal."

"It is physics," Maya said. "If France plays all three of them... England will face a velocity overload. You cannot catch them. If you race them, you lose."

"So we do not race," Alex said.

"Correct," Maya nodded. "You create friction. You put speed bumps in the road. You clog the engine."

"Traffic jam," Alex whispered.

"Exactly," Maya smiled. "Make them wait in traffic. Speedsters hate waiting."

Alex hung up the phone.

He looked at the magnetic board.

He moved the red pieces closer together. He built a wall in the midfield.

"Traffic jam," Alex said to himself. "I can do that."

Saturday Night. Al Bayt Stadium.

The world stopped.

It was the Quarter Final of the World Cup. England vs France. The two best teams in Europe.

The stadium was split down the middle. One side was singing God Save the King. The other side was singing La Marseillaise.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

He looked to his right.

There was the French team. They looked scary. They looked like champions.

Mbappe was chewing gum, looking relaxed. Griezmann was fixing his long pink hair.

And Mark.

Mark Speed was standing at the front. He was not smiling. He was staring at the ground. He was wearing the blue number 11 shirt.

Alex walked over to him.

"Mark," Alex said.

Mark looked up. His eyes were focused.

"Hello, Professor," Mark said. His voice was serious. It sounded strange.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked.

"I am focused," Mark said. "I am the Emperor today. Emperors do not joke."

"Do you want a croissant?" Alex asked, trying to break the tension.

Mark lip twitched. He almost smiled.

"No," Mark said. "I ate three before the game. I am full of fuel. I am going to run past you, Alex. I am sorry in advance."

"Do not be sorry," Alex said. "Just try not to slip."

Harry Kane shouted from the front. "Let us go!"

They walked out onto the grass.

The noise was deafening. It felt like standing inside a jet engine.

Milo was there.

He was standing near the dugouts.

Milo was dressed as a Musketeer. He had a giant hat with a feather, a blue tabard, and a fake mustache that was falling off.

"EN GARDE!" Milo screamed. "I AM THE FOURTH MUSKETEER! ALEX! I AM SELLING BAGUETTE SWORDS! THEY ARE STALE! THEY ARE HARD AS ROCKS! PERFECT FOR DEFENSE!"

"Milo, go sit down!" Alex laughed.

"ALL FOR ONE! AND ONE FOR FIVE POUNDS!" Milo yelled, waving a hard bread stick.

The referee blew the whistle.

The game began.

It was exactly what Maya predicted. Velocity overload.

France started fast. Too fast.

Mbappe got the ball on the left. He sprinted. Kyle Walker tried to match him, but Mbappe was flying.

On the right, Mark got the ball.

He did not do a skill. He just pushed the ball and ran.

Luke Shaw tried to tackle him. Mark was gone. It was like trying to tackle smoke.

"They are blurring!" Jude Bellingham yelled. "I cannot see them!"

In the seventeenth minute, France scored.

Mark ran down the wing. He cut the ball back.

Griezmann dummy.

Tchouameni shot from twenty five yards.

Boom.

Bottom corner.

Goal.

One zero. France.

The French fans erupted. Mark ran to Tchouameni and jumped on his back.

"ALLEZ!" Mark screamed.

Alex stood in the center circle. The English fans were quiet.

"Traffic jam," Alex whispered. "We need a traffic jam."

The game restarted.

Alex stopped passing long. He started passing short.

Pass. Move. Stop. Pass.

He kept the ball. He made France chase.

Mbappe wanted to run, but he could not run without the ball. He started getting annoyed. He stood with his hands on his hips.

Mark was running in circles. "GIVE ME THE BALL!" Mark yelled at his own defenders. "I AM BORED!"

Thirty fifth minute.

England controlled the possession.

Alex had the ball on the edge of the box.

He saw Bukayo Saka make a run.

Alex played a one two with Harry Kane.

Alex received the ball back.

He was in the box.

Upamecano, the French defender, came to tackle him.

Alex faked a shot. Upamecano slid.

Alex dragged the ball back.

He saw the gap.

He passed to Saka.

Saka was fouled by Tchouameni.

Penalty!

The referee pointed to the spot.

Harry Kane picked up the ball.

He faced his Tottenham teammate, Hugo Lloris.

Harry ran up.

Smash.

Top corner.

Goal.

One one.

The game was tied.

Halftime.

Gareth Southgate was sweating.

"They are dangerous on the break," Gareth said. "Do not lose the ball. If you lose the ball, they kill you."

He looked at Alex.

"Finch. Mark is faster than Shaw. We need you to help on that side. Double up."

"Understood," Alex said.

Second half.

The tension was unbearable.

It was a chess match played at sprinting speed.

Seventy eighth minute.

France had a corner.

The ball was cleared. It came out to Griezmann.

Griezmann crossed it.

Olivier Giroud jumped. He was a giant. He headed the ball.

It hit Maguire shoulder and went in.

Goal.

Two one. France.

Disaster.

Twelve minutes left. England were going home.

Mark ran to the crowd. He saluted. "THE EMPEROR CONQUERS!"

Alex looked at the scoreboard.

80:00.

France 2. England 1.

He looked at Jude. Jude looked tired.

"We are not done," Alex said.

"They are parking the bus," Jude said. "They are defending deep."

"Then we break the windows," Alex said.

Eighty fourth minute.

Mason Mount was subbed on. He ran into the box.

He was pushed by Theo Hernandez.

VAR check.

The referee ran to the monitor.

The whole stadium held its breath.

The referee came back. He pointed to the spot.

Penalty!

Another penalty for England.

Harry Kane picked up the ball again.

This was history. If he scored, he would break the England goal record. And he would save the game.

Harry placed the ball.

He looked at Lloris.

He ran up.

He hit it hard.

Too hard.

The ball flew over the bar.

Miss.

The England fans gasped. Silence fell over the red half of the stadium.

Harry Kane put his shirt over his face. He was devastated.

France celebrated like they had won.

Eighty eight minutes.

Two minutes plus stoppage time.

England looked dead. The players were in shock.

But Alex Finch was not in shock.

Alex Finch was calculating.

Probability of winning: Low.

Probability of giving up: Zero.

Alex ran to Harry Kane. He grabbed his captain by the arm.

"Head up!" Alex shouted. "We are not dead yet! Get in the box!"

Harry looked at Alex. He saw the fire in the boy eyes. Harry nodded.

Ninetieth minute.

Four minutes of injury time added.

Alex got the ball in midfield.

Mark came to press him.

"It is over, Professor!" Mark yelled. "Go home!"

Alex looked at Mark.

"Class is dismissed when I say so," Alex said.

Alex dropped his shoulder. He did a "Body Feint".

Mark moved left. Alex went right.

Alex drove forward.

He ran past Rabiot. He ran past Griezmann.

He was twenty five yards out.

The French defense was deep. They were protecting the lead.

Alex saw a wall of blue shirts.

There was no pass. There was no gap.

Alex remembered the physics lesson.

Air resistance.

Curve.

Magnus Effect.

He did not look for a pass.

He looked at the top corner of the goal.

"Shoot!" the crowd screamed in desperation.

Alex swung his right leg.

He hit the ball with the outside of his boot. A "Trivela".

The ball flew out wide. It looked like it was going for a throw in.

Lloris took a step to catch it.

But the spin caught the air.

The ball swerved violently. It curved back in.

It bent around the defender head. It bent around the goalkeeper hand.

It smashed off the inside of the post.

And went in.

Goal.

Two two.

The stadium exploded.

Alex ran to the corner. He did not celebrate. He just stood there. He tapped his head.

"THINK!" Alex roared.

Harry Kane ran over and hugged him so hard Alex thought his ribs would break. "YOU SAVED ME! YOU SAVED US!"

The whistle blew.

Full time. 2-2.

We were going to Extra Time.

Thirty more minutes of war.

Alex walked to the bench to get water.

Mark walked past him. Mark looked tired. He looked shocked.

"That curve," Mark whispered. "That was not physics. That was magic."

"It was geometry, Mark," Alex smiled. "I told you. I studied."

Steve gathered the team.

"They are tired!" Steve shouted. "They thought they had won! We broke their hearts! Now we take their legs!"

Alex drank his water.

He looked at the French team. They were arguing. Mbappe was shouting at Giroud.

The momentum had shifted.

The Dynasty was not dead.

Alex looked at the pitch.

Thirty minutes.

Then penalties.

Or maybe... maybe he could finish it before that.

He looked at Mark one last time.

"Ready for round two, Emperor?" Alex asked.

Mark adjusted his socks. He pulled out a small, squashed croissant from his shin pad. He took a bite.

"I am ready," Mark said. "But next time, I run faster."

"Run as fast as you want," Alex said. "I will still find you."

The referee blew the whistle.

Extra Time began.

The desert night was cold.

But the fire on the pitch was burning hotter than the sun.

The Professor vs The Emperor.

The final exam continued.