"Dodgeball," Mr. Armstrong shouted. "The sport of kings. The sport of survival. If you get hit, you are out. If you catch it, they are out. Simple physics. Action and reaction."

Alex stood on the baseline. He bounced on his toes.

"Reflexes," Alex whispered. "Calculate the trajectory."

Mark stood next to him. Mark was wearing swimming goggles and a snorkel. He had also taped two pillows to his chest with duct tape.

"I AM THE TANK!" Mark yelled. "HIT ME! I AM SOFT AND SQUISHY!"

"Mark," Alex said. "You cannot run with pillows on your chest. It is not aerodynamic."

"I do not need to run!" Mark said. "I am a fortress! I will absorb the impact!"

Mr. Armstrong blew his whistle.

Chaos erupted.

Balls flew through the air like red meteors.

Alex did not run. He watched.

A ball came at his head. He tilted his neck to the left. The ball missed him by an inch.

A ball came at his knees. He jumped.

He was the Matrix. He was water.

Mark, however, was a magnet.

Three balls hit him at the same time. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"MAN DOWN!" Mark screamed, falling onto his back. "THE FORTRESS IS BREACHED! TELL MY MOTHER I LOVE PIZZA!"

"You are just out, Mark," Mr. Armstrong sighed. "Go sit on the bench."

Mark rolled away like a sad sausage.

Maya was on the other team. She held a ball. She adjusted her glasses.

She looked at Alex.

"Target acquired," Maya whispered.

She threw the ball. It did not go straight. It curved.

Alex saw it coming. He tried to dodge. But the curve was statistically perfect.

It hit him on the shoulder.

"You are out, Professor," Maya smiled. "Physics always wins."

Alex walked to the bench. He sat next to Mark.

"She is dangerous," Alex said.

"She is scary," Mark agreed. "She throws like a sniper."

The bell rang.

Alex wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Dodgeball was fun. But tonight, the balls would be harder. And the stakes would be higher.

Champions League. Semi-Final. First Leg.

Arsenal vs Paris Saint-Germain.

The Emirates Stadium.

It was the rematch. The Revenge Game.

Mbappe was coming back to London. And he was angry.

Alex walked out to the car park.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was dressed as... the Eiffel Tower.

He was wearing a grey cardboard suit that rose to a point above his head. He had blinking fairy lights wrapped around his legs.

"BONJOUR!" Milo shouted. "I AM THE TOWER OF POWER! ALEX! I AM SELLING FRENCH TOAST! IT IS JUST BREAD I SAT ON! BUT IT IS AUTHENTIC!"

"Milo, you look like a traffic cone with lights," Alex laughed.

"I AM A MONUMENT!" Milo insisted. "TOURISTS ARE TAKING PHOTOS OF ME! I CHARGE FIVE POUNDS A CLICK!"

They drove to the stadium.

Mark sat in the back, trying to untape the pillows from his chest.

"Are you ready?" Mark asked. "Mbappe wants to race."

"We do not race," Alex said. "We dodge."

The Emirates Stadium was rocking.

It was a European night. The lights were dazzling. The air was cold and crisp.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Kylian Mbappe stood next to him.

Mbappe looked different. He was not smiling. He looked like a machine focused on destruction.

"Professor," Mbappe said. His voice was cold.

"Ninja," Alex replied.

"You beat me in Qatar," Mbappe said. "You got lucky. The knuckleball. The penalty. Luck runs out."

"Luck is just probability taken personally," Alex said.

Mbappe frowned. "Stop with the math. Tonight, I run. Try to catch me."

"I will try," Alex said.

The music played. The Chaaaaampions.

They walked out.

The roar was incredible. Red smoke filled the air.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

It was not a chess match. It was a drag race.

PSG played fast. They had Dembele on one wing and Mbappe on the other.

In the fifth minute, Hakimi played a long ball.

Mbappe sprinted.

Ben White tried to grab him. Mbappe was too slick. He slipped away.

He ran into the box.

He smashed the ball.

It hit the side netting.

The crowd gasped.

"He is fast!" Ramsdale yelled. "He is faster than last time!"

Alex stood in the midfield. He analyzed the pattern.

Problem: Mbappe is using pure velocity. He is running in straight lines.

Solution: Dodgeball mechanics. Make him change direction.

"Mark!" Alex yelled.

Mark was on the wing. He was wearing his lucky socks (he had not washed them since the World Cup).

"Yes Boss?" Mark asked.

"Do not run straight!" Alex shouted. "Run crooked! Be a snake!"

"I am a cobra!" Mark hissed.

Arsenal restarted.

Alex got the ball.

He saw Mbappe coming to press him.

Alex did not run away. He waited.

Just like in the gym.

Mbappe lunged.

Alex dipped his shoulder. He let the ball roll through his legs.

Mbappe ran past him.

Alex spun.

He was free.

He saw Mark making a run.

But Mark was running weirdly. He was zigzagging across the pitch. Left. Right. Left.

The PSG defenders, Marquinhos and Skriniar, were confused. They did not know where to stand.

"What is he doing?" Marquinhos yelled. "Is he dizzy?"

"I am a snake!" Mark shouted as he ran past them.

Alex hit the pass.

It was a curved ball. It bent around the confused defenders.

Mark caught it.

He was one on one with Donnarumma.

Mark did a shimmy. He shook his hips.

Donnarumma fell over.

Mark tapped the ball into the net.

Goal.

One zero. Arsenal.

Mark ran to the corner. He lay on the ground and slithered like a snake.

"SSSSSS!" Mark hissed. "THE COBRA STRIKES!"

Alex ran over. "The snake worked!"

"I am venomous!" Mark laughed. "I am deadly!"

Halftime. One zero.

Steve, the manager, was cautious.

"Do not celebrate yet," Steve warned. "Mbappe is quiet. That means he is charging up. He will explode in the second half."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Keep the ball. If we have the ball, he cannot run."

"Possession," Alex nodded. "Starve the engine."

Second half.

PSG came out angry.

Mbappe changed gears.

He stopped staying wide. He moved to the center.

In the sixtieth minute, he got the ball.

He ran at Saliba.

Mbappe did a "Ronaldo Chop". He cut the ball behind his leg.

Saliba slipped.

Mbappe was through.

He shot.

Top corner.

Goal.

One one.

Mbappe grabbed the ball. He ran back to the center circle. He did not celebrate. He wanted to win.

"He is serious," Jude whispered. "He is in Terminator mode."

The game became a war.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

Both teams were tired. The pace was insane.

Eighty fifth minute.

PSG had a corner.

They sent everyone up. They wanted the away win.

Dembele crossed it.

Gabriel headed it clear.

The ball flew out to the edge of the box.

Alex was there.

He controlled it with his chest.

He looked up.

The field was open.

But there was one problem.

Mbappe was the last man back.

It was the ultimate showdown.

The Professor vs The Ninja.

Alex started to run.

He drove forward with the ball.

Mbappe waited. He stood in the center circle. He looked like a final boss in a video game.

"Come on," Mbappe seemed to say.

Alex ran at him.

He knew he could not beat Mbappe with speed. Mbappe was faster.

He had to use physics.

Alex approached Mbappe.

He slowed down.

Mbappe slowed down. He prepared to tackle.

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

Mbappe shifted his weight to block the pass.

But there was nobody there.

It was a "Phantom Pass".

Alex dragged the ball to the right with his other foot.

Mbappe tried to turn. But his momentum was going the wrong way.

He slipped.

The great Kylian Mbappe fell to one knee.

Alex went past him.

The crowd roared.

Alex was alone.

He ran towards the goal.

Donnarumma came out. He was huge.

Alex was tired. His legs burned.

He thought about the dodgeball.

Curve. Trajectory.

He did not shoot hard.

He chipped the ball.

But he put side spin on it.

The ball floated up.

Donnarumma jumped. He stretched his arm.

The ball swerved away from his glove.

It hit the post.

CLANG.

It bounced across the line.

It hit the other post.

CLANG.

And it spun out.

"NO!" Alex screamed.

But wait.

Mark was there. The Cobra.

Mark had followed the run.

The ball bounced to him.

The goal was empty.

Mark tripped.

He fell forward.

He hit the ball with his nose.

The ball rolled into the net.

GOAL.

Two one. Arsenal.

Mark lay on the goal line holding his face.

"MY NOSE!" Mark yelled. "I BROKE MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!"

Alex jumped on him. "It is in! You scored with your face!"

"IT HURTS BUT IT COUNTS!" Mark screamed.

The stadium went wild.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. PSG 1.

First leg advantage.

Alex collapsed on the grass.

Mbappe walked over. He looked at Alex.

"You tricked me," Mbappe said. "The Phantom Pass. Where did you learn that?"

"Physics class," Alex smiled. "Inertia."

Mbappe shook his head. "I will see you in Paris. In Paris, physics works differently."

"I look forward to it," Alex said.

Milo ran onto the pitch. The fairy lights on his suit were flashing like a disco.

"THE LIGHTHOUSE!" Milo screamed. "WE GUIDED THE SHIP HOME! ALEX! THE PHANTOM! I AM SELLING GHOST DETECTORS! FIND THE INVISIBLE PASS! ONLY TWENTY POUNDS!"

"Milo, you are a fire hazard," Alex laughed.

"I AM ELECTRIC!" Milo buzzed.

They walked into the dressing room.

Mark was holding an ice pack to his nose.

"Is it crooked?" Mark asked Jude.

"It looks the same," Jude said. "It was always a bit crooked."

"Hey!" Mark protested. "I am a model! A face model!"

Alex sat down. He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Dodgeball tactics successful. Evasion rate: 92 percent. Mark facial impact velocity: 15 km/h. Conclusion: A painful but statistically valid goal. Also, Mr. Armstrong says you still have to run laps tomorrow for getting hit in class."

Alex groaned. Laps.

He was a Champions League winner. A World Cup winner. And he still had to run laps in PE.

"Hey Professor," Mark said through the ice pack.

"Yeah?"

"In Paris... can we visit the real Eiffel Tower?"

"Maybe," Alex said.

"Do they sell pizza at the top?"

"I think they sell expensive food, Mark."

"I will bring my own pizza," Mark decided. "Pocket pizza."

Alex laughed.

They had won the battle. But the war was not over.

Paris waited.

The Parc des Princes.