"This is stupid, Mark," he panted, rubbing the top of his head. The ball had just bounced off it and gone sideways.

"No," Mark said, his voice flat and annoyed. "You are stupid. You jump wrong. You are scared of the ball."

"I am not scared of the ball!" Alex shot back. "I am scared of you throwing it at me like you are trying to break my nose!"

This was their new routine. After the extra work on passing, after their partnership was solid, Mark had decided to fix Alexs biggest weakness.

His heading.

Coach Steve was right. Alex really did jump like a stunned duck.

His analyst brain understood the physics. Force. Trajectory. Timing.

But his body... his body just did not want to do it. He closed his eyes. He jumped too early. Or he missed the ball completely.

For thirty minutes, Mark had been crossing the ball into the box, and Alex had not won a single header against the imaginary defender.

"Again," Mark commanded.

"No. This is not working," Alex said. He was the analyst. He had to fix the data. "You are just crossing it. There is no pattern. Let me... let me try something."

Alex ran to the six yard box. "Throw it," he said.

Mark threw the ball. High.

Alex jumped. He met the ball. THWACK. It was a good, clean header. It went straight, but it was not powerful.

"Okay," Alex said, mostly to himself. "I can do it when I am standing still. The problem is the run. The timing."

"Yes," Mark said, like he was talking to a child. "That is what heading is. Timing. You have no timing. You just... flap."

"Then stop crossing it," Alex said. "Stand there. Hold the ball up. High as you can."

Mark looked confused, but he didit. He held the ball high above his head.

"Now," Alex said. "I am going to run. I am going to jump. I am going to head the ball out of your hands."

"This is the dumbest drill I have ever seen," Mark muttered.

"Just do it," Alex said.

Alex backed up. He took a deep breath. Do not think about the ball. Think about the timing. Attack the ball. Do not wait for it.

He ran. He exploded upwards. He focused on the ball in Marks hands.

He jumped.

He hit the ball with his forehead. WHUMP.

He also hit Marks hands, Marks face, and Marks shoulder.

They both crashed to the ground in a heap.

"OW!" Mark yelled, pushing Alex off him. "You are a maniac! You almost broke my nose!"

Alex was just lying on the grass, his head spinning, but he was grinning. "I got it though! I got the ball! That was a good header!"

Mark rubbed his face, his eyes angry. "You are an idiot. You cannot just jump through people."

"But that is what you are supposed to do!" Alex said, sitting up. He was excited. "You have to be aggressive! You have to attack the ball! I was being too nice!"

Mark just stared at him. Then he stood up, brushing mud off his shorts.

He looked at Alex on the ground.

"Your timing was still early," Mark said. "But... your jump was better. You were not a duck. You were... maybe... a small, angry chicken."

He kicked a ball towards Alex. "Get up. We are doing it again. But this time, try not to break my face."

Alex laughed. This was progress.

Saturday. The bus ride was long. They were playing Millwall away.

Even in his old life, Alex knew what Millwall meant.

They were tough. They were strong. They were loud. They did not play football. They fought football.

The locker room was small, and they could already hear the home fans singing. It was not a nice song.

"Alright, lads," Coach Steve boomed, his voice echoing in the tiny room. "You know who they are. They are going to kick you. They are going to shout at you. They are going to try and bully you. Do not let them."

He looked right at Alex.

"You are the pivot, Alex. You are our brain. Do not let them rattle you. You control this game. You set the tempo. Play our football. Play smart. Play fast. Make them run."

Alex felt the eyes of the team on him. Sam gave him a quick, nervous smile. Mark was just staring at his boots, focused.

Alex nodded. "Yes, coach."

He would not be scared. This was just another problem. Another dataset.

The noise when they walked out onto the pitch was incredible. It was a wall of sound. The Millwall fans were right on top of them.

"Welcome to hell, kid!" a man yelled at Alex.

Alex just smiled. He had played against the Arsenal first team. He had faced Bastian. This was just noise.

The whistle blew. Millwall, as promised, came out fighting.

They were not trying to play football. They were trying to break it.

A big defender smashed into Mark in the first thirty seconds. No foul.

Their midfielder slid right through Sam. Yellow card.

They were targeting Alex.

"Get the brain boy!" their captain yelled.

A midfielder came flying at Alex.

But Alex was not the same player he was a few weeks ago. He was playing at U21 speed.

His brain was two steps ahead.

Before the player even got close, Alex had played a fast, one touch pass to his winger.

Zip.

He got the ball back. Another defender charged.

Alex saw him coming. He let the ball run, turned his body, and the defender ran right past him into empty grass.

Alex was not scared. He was in his element. He was the analyst. He was the pivot.

He started to boss the game.

"Sam! Space! Go!" he yelled.

"Mark! Check! Check back!"

He was not just playing. He was conducting. He was the bossy Alex that Sam liked.

The U18 team, who had trained with this new Alex all week, responded. They were moving. They were thinking. They were playing at his speed.

The Millwall players were just chasing shadows. They were getting frustrated.

In the 35th minute, it happened.

Alex got the ball in the center circle. He looked up. He saw Mark.

The Millwall defender was tight on Mark, ready for the straight run.

Alex met Marks eyes. The new one.

Mark ran at the defender. Then he planted his foot and cut left, into the open space.

The defender was completely fooled.

Alex did not wait. He scooped the pass. The one he had practiced.

It was perfect. It landed right in Marks path.

The keeper came out.

Mark did not even think. He hit it first time, hard and low.

The net bulged.

One zero. Arsenal.

The entire Millwall stadium went completely silent. You could hear the Arsenal players yelling.

Sam jumped on Alexs back. "YOU DID IT! THE PARTNERSHIP! IT IS REAL!"

Mark jogged back to the halfway line. He did not smile. He just looked at Alex and pointed at his own head. Smart.

Alex pointed back. Fast.

This was their language.

The second half was a war. Millwall were furious. They stopped trying to tackle and just started fouling.

The game was ugly. Alexs team could not get the ball down.

70th minute. Millwall won a corner.

The stadium was loud again.

The ball came flying in. A high, looping, dangerous ball.

It was coming right to Alexs zone.

His analyst brain knew it. He was in the right place.

Okay. Timing. Attack the ball. Not a duck. A chicken.

He got ready. He bent his knees.

The Millwall captain, a man who looked like he ate bricks for breakfast, came running.

Alex jumped.

The captain did not just jump. He climbed. He used Alexs shoulder as a ladder. He got up, high in the air.

WHAM.

He smashed the ball with his head.

Goal. One one.

Alex was on the ground. His shoulder hurt. He had been bullied. Completely.

He had failed.

The stadium exploded.

Mark ran over. He did not offer Alex a hand. He just glared down at him.

"You cost us," Mark snapped. "You were weak. Now get up. And fix it."

Alex looked up. Mark was right. He had been weak.

He got up.

Five minutes left. The game was chaos.

Arsenal won a corner.

Alex ran over to take it.

"No," Sam said, grabbing the ball. "I will take it. You get in the box."

"What?" Alex said. "Sam, I am useless in the box. I am the stunned duck!"

"Just get in there!" Sam yelled. "Be a distraction! Go bother someone!"

Alex sighed. He ran into the box. It was a mess of arms and legs.

The big Millwall captain saw him. He smiled. He stood right next to Alex. "Ready for another one, little boy?" he sneered.

The ball came in. It was a good cross from Sam.

Alex tried to move. The captain just pushed him.

But the ball... it went over everyone. It was cleared.

It went high in the air. Bouncing...

...right towards the edge of the box.

Alexs brain clicked. He was not a target anymore. He was an analyst. He saw the arc.

He sprinted out of the box.

The Millwall players were all pushing out.

The ball was dropping.

Alex did not think about his left foot. He did not think about his right foot.

He just ran. He watched the ball fall.

Attack it. Like the drill. Attack it.

He did not wait for it to bounce.

He jumped.

He met the ball on the full. A volley.

THWACK.

It was the cleanest connection of his entire life, new or old.

The ball was a rocket. It never got more than five feet off the ground. It flew through the crowd of players.

The Millwall keeper did not even move. He did not even see it.

The ball hit the back of the net so hard it made the goal shake.

Two one. Arsenal.

Alex just... stopped. He had scored. With a volley. In the last minute.

He did not know what to do. He just stood there.

Then, the entire team was on top of him. A giant pile of screaming, happy teammates.

He was at the bottom, gasping for air, but he was laughing.

The whistle blew.

They had won.

In the locker room, it was chaos. Coach Steve was so happy he was just hugging everyone.

"THAT IS PASSION! THAT IS HEART! I LOVE IT!"

Alex was trying to get his muddy boot off.

Mark walked over. He was quiet. The celebration was over.

He stood in front of Alex.

"The volley," Mark said.

"Yeah," Alex panted, grinning. "Pretty good, right?"

Mark almost smiled. Almost.

"It was lucky. You closed your eyes."

"I did not!" Alex laughed.

"Yeah you did," Mark said. "But... it was a good hit. Very good."

He paused. "Your header, though. It was still terrible. You looked like a baby bird."

"I know, I know," Alex said.

"Monday," Mark said, turning to go to the showers. "We are only doing heading. All day. Until you stop being a duck."

Alex just watched him go, smiling. He could not wait.

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