Alex took a deep breath. Mark was already fifty yards away, tapping his foot, looking impatient.

"Well?" Mark yelled, his voice echoing in the empty training ground. "Are you going to kick it or just look at it?"

Alex grabbed a ball from the bag. "Run," he said.

Mark started to sprint. He ran in a straight line. It was a very fast, very boring, very predictable run.

Alexs analyst brain sighed. This was the problem. Mark just ran straight. He ran at defenders, expecting to run right through them.

Alex kicked the ball anyway. He looped it over the top.

Mark was fast. He got to it. But the defender in this imaginary game would have easily followed him. It was a useless run.

Mark jogged back, picking up the ball. "That pass was too slow. Put it in front of me."

"The run was bad," Alex said, trying to be helpful. "You ran right where the defender would be."

Mark scowled. "What? Just kick the ball, brain boy. Let me do the running."

"But your runs are wrong," Alex insisted. He could not help it. His analyst side was taking over. "You are fast, yes. But you are fast in a straight line. The best strikers, they run in curves. They bend their runs. They attack the space behind the defender, not just race him."

Mark threw the ball at Alexs feet. "You are not the coach. And you had never scored a goal until last week. Just pass the ball."

Alex felt that old frustration. This was like talking to a wall. A very fast, very angry wall.

"Fine," Alex said.

For the next thirty minutes, it was a disaster.

Mark ran in straight lines. Alex tried to pass to him.

Sometimes Mark was too fast. Sometimes the pass was too late. They did not connect once.

They were both muddy, sweaty, and angry.

"This is a waste of time," Mark growled, kicking the last ball into the woods. He did not even wait for Alex. He just stormed off towards the showers.

Alex stood alone on the big empty pitch. He was so tired he wanted to lie down.

"This is impossible," he muttered to himself.

The next day, it was the same.

And the next day.

Tuesday. Mark ran. Alex passed. They failed.

Wednesday. It was raining. The mud was thick. Mark slipped and fell over. Alexs pass hit him in the back of the head. Mark said a word that Coach Steve would not like.

Thursday. They were both sore. They did not even talk. They just... failed. Silently.

From his office window, Coach Steve watched. He just sipped his tea. He did not intervene.

The other players noticed.

"How is your new best friend?" Sam asked Alex at lunch. Sam was trying very hard not to laugh.

"He is not my friend," Alex muttered, pushing his peas around his plate. "He is a... a running machine. A very stubborn, very fast running machine."

"It looks fun," Sam giggled. "You both look so angry. Like two wet cats in a bag."

"It is not fun," Alex said. But in his mind, the analyst was working.

He was not just passing anymore. He was studying.

He studied how Mark moved. He saw that Mark hated running to his left. He always wanted to go right. He saw that Mark slowed down, just a tiny bit, right before he wanted the ball. It was a tell. A data point.

Alex was not just training his new body. He was training his old brain. And he was building a database on Mark.

It was Friday. The last training before the weekend match. They were exhausted.

"One last drill," Coach Steve had said. "Then you two... extra time."

Mark and Alex were the last ones on the pitch. The sun was low. It was cold.

"Lets just get this over with," Mark sighed. He looked so tired he could barely stand.

He started to jog. He was not even trying. He made his usual, lazy run to the right.

Alex looked at him. He saw the lazy run. He saw the pattern.

No. Not this time.

"Hey!" Alex shouted.

Mark stopped, annoyed. "What?"

"You are doing it again," Alex said. "The lazy right run. It is boring. The defender would eat you alive."

Mark stomped back over, his face like thunder. "Well? What do you want, genius? You want me to do a backflip?"

"I want you to try something," Alex said. His heart was beating fast. This was it. The analyst was taking over. "Run... run at me. As if you are coming for the ball."

Mark looked confused. "That is stupid."

"Just do it! Run at me. And when you get close... break left. Hard. Into that space." Alex pointed to a patch of empty grass.

Mark looked at the grass. He looked at Alex. He sighed. "Whatever."

Mark started his run. He ran straight at Alex.

Alex stood still, the ball at his feet.

Mark got closer. Ten yards. Five yards.

Now.

Mark planted his foot and cut. He exploded to his left.

At the exact same second, Alex did not kick the ball. He scooped it. A deft, spinning, perfect pass.

It was not a pass to Mark.

It was a pass to the space.

Mark ran onto it. He did not even have to break his stride. The ball was right there.

He hit it first time. The ball rocketed into the empty net.

It was perfect.

Mark stood there, stunned. He looked at the ball in the goal. He looked back at Alex.

Alex was breathing hard, a small, tired smile on his face.

"That," Alex panted. "That is the run. That is the pass."

Mark just stared. He was quiet for a long time.

"...Do it again," Mark said.

Saturday. They were playing Reading away. Reading were a good team. Very organized. Very boring.

The first half was just... flat.

Alex and Mark tried their new move.

Alex got the ball. He looked at Mark. Mark ran at him. He cut left.

Alex passed.

The Reading defender was smart. He had been watching them. He stepped in front and stole the ball.

Mark threw his hands up in the air. "It does not work! They are too good!"

"It will work," Alex said, jogging back. "We were just too slow. We showed him what we were doing."

Halftime. Zero zero. The locker room was quiet.

"You are trying too hard," Coach Steve said. He was not angry. "You two." He pointed at Alex and Mark. "Stop trying to force it. Stop showing them the move. The move is a surprise. Let the game come to you. Then... you attack."

The second half was a long, hard fight. Reading was defending well. Alex was getting tired.

Seventy minutes. Still zero zero.

Alex got the ball in the midfield. He was surrounded. He passed it back to Sam.

He got it back. He looked up.

He saw Mark. Mark was just standing there, looking at him.

The Reading defender was watching Mark. He was ready for the new move.

Alexs analyst brain kicked in. He is expecting the move. He is overplaying it. He thinks I am a one trick pony.

Alex met Marks eyes. He gave a tiny, almost invisible nod. Not this time. The other one.

Mark understood.

Mark did not run at Alex. He just exploded.

He made his old, simple, original run. The straight line sprint he loved so much.

The Reading defender, who was so sure the "cut left" move was coming, was caught. He was flat footed. He was two steps behind.

Alex did not hesitate. He did not calculate. He just felt it.

He smashed the ball. A low, driving, 40 yard pass, just like in the derby.

It flew over the grass. It was perfect.

Mark ran onto it. The keeper came out.

Mark did not even look. He hit it first time.

GOAL. One zero.

The Reading defenders just stared at each other. They had been completely fooled.

Sam was the first to arrive. He was screaming. "YOU DID IT AGAIN! YOU DID THE OTHER ONE! THE MAGIC PASS!"

Mark jogged back. He was breathing hard. He ran past Alex.

He did not say anything. But as he passed, he gave Alex a quick, hard pat on the shoulder.

It was not a hug. It was not a high five.

But for Alex, it felt like a victory parade.

They won the game. One zero.

The locker room was loud and happy. Coach Steve was smiling.

"Good work, lads. Good adjustments." He looked at Alex and Mark. "Good partnership."

Alex was sitting on the bench, taking off his muddy boots. He was so tired he could barely move.

Mark sat down next to him.

They sat in silence for a minute. The shouts of the team were all around them.

"That pass was good," Mark said finally, his voice low.

"That run was good," Alex replied.

Mark finished with his boot. He stood up. He looked down at Alex.

"Monday. After training," Mark said. "Do not be late. We need to work on your left foot. It is weak."

He turned and walked to the showers.

Alex just sat there. He watched him go.

His whole body ached. He had mud in his hair. He smelled terrible. He just smiled.

The partnership was real. And they were just getting started.

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