Wembley Stadium. Ninety thousand people.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

To his right, the white shirts of Madrid.

Vinicius Junior was dancing to music in his headphones. Rodrygo was praying. Thibaut Courtois was touching the top of the tunnel ceiling because he was so tall.

And there was Antonio Rudiger.

The crazy defender.

Rudiger was staring at Mark. He was smiling. It was a scary smile.

"Little fast man," Rudiger said. "I will catch you today."

"I am the wind!" Mark replied, adjusting his shin pads. "You cannot catch the wind! You can only feel the breeze as I run past you!"

"We will see," Rudiger laughed.

The referee picked up the ball.

They walked out.

Fireworks exploded from the roof. The Champions League anthem played.

The Chaaaaampions.

Alex looked at the trophy. It was right there. He had lifted it last year. He wanted to lift it again.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

Real Madrid played with arrogance. They controlled the ball. Kroos and Modric (who was on the bench but his spirit was there) controlled the tempo.

Arsenal pressed.

In the twelfth minute, Vinicius got the ball.

He ran at Ben White.

Vinicius did a "Rainbow Flick". He flicked the ball over Ben White's head.

The crowd gasped.

Vinicius volleyed the ball across the box.

Rodrygo was there.

He tapped it in.

Goal.

One zero. Real Madrid.

They celebrated like it was easy. Like it was normal.

"It is the history!" Jude yelled. "They always score first!"

Alex stood in the center circle.

"Forget history," Alex shouted. "History is just old news. Write the new page!"

Arsenal restarted.

Alex took control.

He realized that Madrid's strength was their confidence. They gave you space because they thought they were better.

"Mark!" Alex yelled. "The space!"

Mark saw it. Rudiger was attacking. He left a gap.

Alex played a long ball.

Mark sprinted.

Rudiger turned. He ran.

It was a race of titans. The crazy defender vs The speedster.

Mark got to the ball.

He cut inside.

He was one on one with Courtois.

Mark shot.

Courtois saved it.

The ball bounced out.

Saka shot.

Blocked by Carvajal.

"They are a wall!" Saka screamed.

The first half ended. 1-0 to Madrid.

Steve was calm in the dressing room.

"They are waiting for you to panic," Steve said. "Do not panic. Play your game. The goal will come."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Vinicius is cheating. He is staying high. Overload his side."

"Variable identified," Alex nodded.

Second half.

Arsenal came out flying.

They pushed Madrid back.

Sixtieth minute.

Alex got the ball. He drove past Valverde.

He saw Vinicius standing near the halfway line.

Alex ran into the space.

He passed to Odegaard. Odegaard passed to Saka.

Saka crossed.

The ball went to the back post.

Gabriel Martinelli was there.

He headed it down.

Goal.

One one.

The Arsenal end of Wembley exploded.

"Game on!" Alex shouted.

But Madrid were dangerous. When they concede, they wake up.

Seventy fifth minute.

Vinicius got the ball. He ran past three players.

He passed to Bellingham (The Madrid one).

Bellingham shot from distance.

It hit the bar.

CLANG.

The stadium shook.

Eighty fifth minute.

Five minutes left.

The game was stretched. Players were tired.

Alex had the ball in the center.

He looked up.

He saw the pattern.

Madrid were tired. Their midfield was open.

Alex started to run.

"I am the catalyst," he whispered.

He ran past Tchouameni. He ran past Camavinga.

He was twenty five yards out.

Rudiger came out to stop him.

Alex saw Mark making a run to the right.

Rudiger looked at Mark. He expected the pass.

Alex did not pass.

He dropped his shoulder. He went left.

He was alone on the edge of the box.

Courtois was huge. He covered the whole goal.

Alex remembered the physics.

Force. Precision. Surprise.

He did not shoot with his laces.

He poked it.

The "Toe Poke". The Romario finish.

It was quick. There was no backlift.

Courtois did not expect it. He did not have time to dive.

The ball rolled fast. It went right into the bottom corner.

GOAL.

Two one. Arsenal.

Eighty seventh minute.

Alex ran to the corner flag. He slid on his knees.

The noise was incredible. It was a sonic boom.

Mark jumped on him. "THE TOE POKE! THE UGLIEST GOAL EVER! I LOVE IT!"

"It was efficient!" Alex laughed. "Minimum time, maximum result!"

Madrid threw everything forward.

They launched long balls.

Ninety fourth minute.

Last minute of stoppage time.

Corner to Madrid.

Courtois came up. The giant goalkeeper.

The ball came in.

It was a scramble. Legs everywhere.

Saliba kicked it. It hit a Madrid player.

It fell to Rudiger.

Rudiger shot.

Ramsdale made a reflex save.

The ball flew up in the air.

Alex jumped. He headed it off the line.

The referee blew the whistle.

Peep. Peep. PEEEEEEEP.

It was over.

Arsenal 2. Real Madrid 1.

They had beaten the Kings. They were the Kings now.

Alex fell to the ground.

He looked at the Wembley arch. It was lit up in red.

He had done it.

Back to back Champions Leagues.

Mark lay next to him.

"We did it, Professor," Mark said. "We broke the habit."

"We created a new one," Alex smiled.

They stood up.

They walked up the famous steps.

The trophy was waiting.

Alex lifted it.

Gold confetti rained down.

He looked at the crowd. He saw his mum and dad. He saw Mrs. Baker. He saw Mr. Socrates holding a sign that said 'EXCELLENCE ACHIEVED'.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Statistical anomaly confirmed. Beating Real Madrid in a final has a probability of 18%. You defied the odds. Again. Also, summer reading list is attached. We have to study for A-Levels next year."

Alex laughed.

A-Levels.

He was a double European Champion. But school never stopped.

He looked at Mark.

Mark was wearing the trophy on his head like a hat.

"Hey Alex!" Mark shouted. "Do you think this trophy holds soup?"

"Probably," Alex said.

"I am going to fill it with onion soup!" Mark declared. "Victory soup!"

Alex looked at the stadium.

The season was over.

They had won everything.

The Dynasty was not just built. It was a fortress.

"What now?" Jude asked, walking over with a flag draped around him.

Alex looked at the night sky.

"Now," Alex said. "We rest. We study. And then..."

"Then?" Mark asked.

"Then we do it again," Alex smiled.

"Boring!" Mark laughed. "But I like it. Let's go get pizza. I am starving."

"Pizza sounds logical," Alex agreed.

They walked down the tunnel, arms around each other.

***

The psychology classroom had a poster on the wall that said 'Who are you?'. It was a very deep question for a Tuesday morning.

Mrs. Jung stood at the front. She was wearing glasses on a chain and looked like she knew everyone's secrets.

" The Ego," Mrs. Jung said. "It is the part of the mind that seeks to please itself. It wants attention. It wants glory. It screams 'Look at me!'."

Alex sat at his desk. He looked at the back of Rico's head two rows in front. Rico was currently watching highlights of himself on his phone under the desk.

"The Ego," Alex whispered.

"And then," Mrs. Jung continued. "There is the Super-Ego. The conscience. The rule-keeper. It wants order. It wants perfection. It says 'Do it right'."

Alex looked at his own notebook. It was neat. Organized. Color-coded.

"I am the Super-Ego," Alex thought. "And Rico is the Ego."

Mark sat next to Alex. Mark was wearing a tinfoil hat. It was shaped like a pyramid.

"Mark," Alex whispered. "Why are you wearing a baked potato on your head?"

"It is a shield!" Mark whispered back. "Mrs. Jung is trying to read my mind! She wants to know my pizza topping preferences! I must protect the data!"

"I think she just wants you to do your homework, Mark."

"That is what she wants you to think," Mark said, tapping his temple (which made a crinkling sound). "Psychological warfare, Professor. Stay vigilant."

The bell rang.

Alex packed his bag. He had a headache.

Psychology was complicated. But football was becoming complicated too.

It was Matchday 1 of the Premier League.

Arsenal vs Chelsea.

Stamford Bridge.

The lineups had been posted in the group chat an hour ago.

Starting XI: Ramsdale, White, Saliba, Gabriel, Zinchenko, Rice, Odegaard... Rico.

Substitutes: ... Finch.

Alex stared at the phone screen until it went black.

He was on the bench.

The World Cup winner. The Champions League winner. The Professor.

On the bench.

He walked out to the car park. The summer air was warm, but he felt cold.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was dressed as... a Magician.

He had a top hat, a cape, and a wand that looked suspiciously like a chopstick painted black.

"ABRACADABRA!" Milo shouted. "I AM THE GREAT MILO-DINI! ALEX! I AM SELLING INVISIBILITY CLOAKS! THEY ARE JUST CLEAR PLASTIC RAINCOATS! BUT NOBODY CAN SEE YOU IF YOU STAND VERY STILL!"

"I feel invisible enough already, Milo," Alex said quietly.

Milo stopped waving his wand. He lifted his top hat.

"Hey," Milo said, dropping the act. "I saw the lineup. Steve is crazy. Rico is good, but he is not you."

"He is the new toy," Alex said. "Everyone loves a new toy."

"Toys break," Milo said. "Legends last forever. Get in the car. I will drive. I passed my test yesterday!"

"You did?"

"Well, I bought a license from a guy in a pub," Milo winked. "Same thing."

"I will drive," Alex said quickly.

Stamford Bridge.

The stadium was blue and hostile.

Alex sat on the bench. The seat was comfortable, but it felt like a prison.

He watched the warm-up.

Rico was juggling the ball. He flicked it over his head. He caught it on his neck. The fans cheered. Even the Chelsea fans applauded.

"He is a show pony," Mark whispered, sitting next to Alex.

"You are starting, Mark," Alex said. "Why are you sitting here?"

"I am protesting," Mark said, crossing his arms. "I am on a sit-down strike until you play."

"Mark, get on the pitch or Steve will drop you too."

"Fine," Mark grumbled. "But I will run angrily."

The whistle blew.

The game started.

It was the Rico Show.

He demanded the ball. Give it to me! Here! Here!

When he got it, he dribbled.

He nutmegged Caicedo. He did a spin around Enzo.

It was beautiful to watch. It was like a dance.

But it was not effective.

In the twentieth minute, Rico dribbled past three players. He was on the edge of the box.

Mark was making a run. A perfect run.

Rico did not pass. He tried to beat the fourth player.

Thiago Silva, the veteran defender, just stood there. He took the ball.

Chelsea countered.

Mudryk ran. He was fast.

He crossed to Nkunku.

Goal.

One zero. Chelsea.

Steve kicked a water bottle.

"Pass the ball!" Steve screamed at Rico.

Rico waved his hand. "Relax! I had him!"

Alex watched. He analyzed.

Problem: The Ego is too big. It takes up all the space. There is no room for the team.

The game continued.

Arsenal looked disjointed. They were ten players watching one player perform magic tricks.

Halftime. One zero.

The dressing room was loud.

"You are greedy!" Mark yelled at Rico. "I ran forty yards! My legs are burning! And you try to dribble the whole world!"

"I am creating art!" Rico shouted back. "You just run! Anyone can run!"

"I RUN WITH PURPOSE!" Mark screamed. "I AM A TACTICAL MISSILE!"

Steve slammed the door.

"Silence!"

He looked at Rico.

"This is the Premier League. Not a circus. If you want to juggle, go to the park."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Warm up."

Alex felt a spark in his chest.

"Yes, Boss."

Sixtieth minute.

Alex stood on the sideline. The Fourth Official held up the board.

OFF: Jorginho.

ON: Finch.

Rico stayed on.

Steve grabbed Alex's shoulder.

"Fix it," Steve said. "Make him work. Find the balance."

Alex ran onto the pitch.

The Arsenal fans cheered. One of our own.

Alex ran to Rico.

Rico looked at him. "So, the teacher is here to give a lesson?"

"No," Alex said. "The conductor is here to lead the orchestra. You play the solo. I will keep the beat."

Rico frowned. "What?"

"Just run," Alex said. "I will find you."

The game restarted.

Alex changed the geometry.

He did not try to compete with Rico. He supported him.

When Rico got the ball, Alex dropped deep. He covered the space. He protected Rico's back.

This gave Rico freedom.

Rico realized he didn't have to beat everyone. He had a safety net.

Seventy fifth minute.

Alex got the ball.

Chelsea pressed him. They expected him to pass to Saka or Mark.

But Alex saw Rico.

Rico was standing in the "Number 10" pocket.

Alex hit a pass. It was hard. It was wrapped in authority.

Take it.

Rico controlled it. He turned.

Because Alex had drawn the defenders away, Rico had space.

Rico drove forward.

He did a stepover. He beat Silva.

He was in the box.

Mark was screaming for the ball.

Rico looked at the goal. He wanted to shoot. The Ego wanted the glory.

But Alex was there too. Alex had made a box-to-box run.

"Rico!" Alex yelled.

It was a command. Not a request.

Rico hesitated. The Super-Ego clashed with the Id.

Then, Rico passed.

He rolled the ball sideways.

Alex ran onto it.

He did not smash it. He placed it.

Bottom corner.

Goal.

One one.

Alex didn't run to the corner. He pointed at Rico.

Rico looked surprised. Then he smiled.

Rico ran over. He hugged Alex.

"Okay," Rico whispered. "Good beat, Conductor."

"Good solo," Alex replied.

Eighty fifth minute.

The momentum had shifted. Chelsea were tired. They were chasing two playmakers now.

Alex and Rico started to click.

Alex provided the structure. Rico provided the chaos.

It was a deadly chemical reaction.

Alex won the ball. He passed to Rico. Rico flicked it back to Alex. Alex chipped it over the top.

Mark was running.

"Finally!" Mark yelled. "SERVICE!"

Mark ran onto the chip.

He headed it over the goalkeeper.

Goal.

Two one. Arsenal.

Mark ran to the camera. He put his hands on his head like a tinfoil hat.

"THE MIND IS SAFE!" Mark screamed. "THE DATA IS SECURE!"

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Chelsea 1.

A comeback win.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was exhausted.

Rico walked next to him.

"You are not bad, Professor," Rico said. "For a calculator."

"You are not bad, Rico," Alex said. "For a firework."

They shook hands. It wasn't friendship yet. But it was respect.

Milo ran onto the pitch. He was holding a deck of cards.

"THE MAGICIAN!" Milo shouted. "WE PULLED THE RABBIT OUT OF THE HAT! ALEX! RICO! THE DYNAMIC DUO! I AM SELLING DUO CARDS! COLLECT THEM ALL! ONE MILLION POUNDS FOR THE SET!"

"Milo, go home," Alex laughed.

They walked into the dressing room.

Alex sat down. He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Psychological analysis complete. Synergy rating: 85%. You balanced his narcissism with your altruism. It is the perfect equilibrium. Also, Mrs. Jung wants to see your notes on the Super-Ego. She thinks you understand the concept of 'Control' very well."

Alex smiled.

He looked at the team.

Rico was dancing with Mark. Mark was trying to teach him the "Tinfoil Hat Dance".

The new season had started.

The competition was harder. The egos were bigger.

But the Professor had found the solution.

He didn't need to be the only star.

He just needed to be the one who made the stars shine brighter.

"Lesson learned," Alex whispered.