Alex walked into the U21 locker room on Monday. It felt... easier.

He was not the new kid anymore. He was just the kid.

His new locker felt like his. He put his bag down.

Ben, the U21 captain, was sitting across from him, taping his ankle.

"Finch," Ben grunted.

"Ben," Alex replied, giving him a nod.

"Good pass on Saturday. Smart move. You made that mountain look stupid."

"Thanks," Alex said, surprised. "I just... I saw the space."

"Yeah, yeah, you saw the space," Ben said, not looking up. "I also saw you get pushed over by their striker. Twice. You are lucky he was bad at shooting."

Alexs good feeling faded. Ben was right.

"Coach Wilkins is right," Ben continued, ripping the tape with his teeth. "Your defending is a joke. You are like a... a very smart, very small traffic cone."

Alex just sighed. He was getting tired of being compared to inanimate objects. First a duck, now a cone.

"Do not worry," Ben said, standing up. He looked... less angry today. "We will fix it."

"We will?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. Coachs orders. You are my new project. This week, you are going to learn how to tackle. It is going to be fun. For me."

Alexs stomach sank. This was not going to be fun at all.

Coach Wilkins did not make them run laps. He did not make them lift weights.

He took Alex and Ben to a small pitch, marked with cones.

"FInd," Coach Wilkins said, holding his clipboard. "Your brain is your best weapon. We all know this. But your body does not listen to it. In defense, you panic. You are slow. We cannot fix slow in one week."

"But we can fix stupid. And you are playing stupid."

Alex flinched.

"Defending, for you, is not about strength," Wilkins continued. "It is about geometry. It is about angles. You are an analyst. Analyze this."

He pointed to Ben. "Ben is the attacker. He will try to run past you."

He pointed to a line of cones on the left. "That is the sideline. That is your best friend. Your job is not to win the ball. Your job is to force Ben to go to that line. That is the 'cold' zone. He has no options there. Understood?"

"I think so," Alex said.

"Good. Go."

Ben grinned. It was a scary grin. "This is my favorite drill."

Ben took the ball and started to run at Alex.

Alexs brain went into overdrive. Okay. Angles. Force him left.

He tried to get his body in position.

Ben just... stopped. He cut right. He blew past Alex like he was not even there.

"Too slow, traffic cone!" Ben yelled.

"Finch!" Coach Wilkins barked. "Your feet are clumsy! You opened your whole body! You gave him the choice! Do not give him the choice! Stand sideways! Show him the line! Make him go where you want him to go! Again!"

Ben ran at him again.

Alex stood sideways. Show him the line. Show him the line.

Ben ran straight at him.

Alex panicked. He stuck a leg out. It was a weak, stupid tackle.

Ben just hopped over it and kept going.

"Terrible!" Coach Wilkins yelled. "You are just a speedbump! Your job is not to win the ball! It is to delay! Stop trying to be a hero! Be annoying! Again!"

They did this for an hour.

Alex was covered in sweat. His legs felt like jelly. He had not won a single tackle.

But... he was getting better.

He stopped trying to lunge. He just... got in the way.

He used his brain. He watched Bens hips. He knew which way he was going to turn.

He got his small, sixteen year old body in the way.

Ben ran at him. Alex just... shuffled. He ran backwards, always keeping his body between Ben and the goal. Always pushing him, pushing him... to the sideline.

Ben was getting angry. He could not get past. Alex was not trying to tackle him, so Ben could not just run past a tackle. He was just... there. Like a little shadow.

"He is just running away, coach!" Ben complained, finally kicking the ball out in frustration.

"He is doing his job," Coach Wilkins said, and Alex thought he saw a tiny smile. "He is forcing you to make a decision. You ran out of space. Your attack is dead. Good adjustment, Finch. You are annoying."

Alex had never been so happy to be called annoying.

He was not a good defender. He knew he would never be a world class tackler.

But he could be a world class annoying defender. He could use his brain to be in the right place.

He was exhausted when he walked into the main canteen for lunch.

His U21 teammates were all sitting at a big table. They were laughing and joking.

Ben saw him and pointed. "There he is! The traffic cone!"

The whole table laughed. But it was not a mean laugh. It was... friendly.

"Did you learn how to tackle?" one of the other players asked.

"No," Alex said, grabbing some food. "I learned how to be annoying."

"Good," Ben said, taking a huge bite of chicken. "You were already annoying. Now you are annoying and useful."

Alex sat down with them. He was in.

He was halfway through his meal when he heard a familiar, loud voice.

"ALEX! OVER HERE!"

Alex looked over. In the corner of the canteen, at the U18 table, Sam was waving his arms like a crazy person.

Alex smiled. "Excuse me, guys."

He walked over.

"Dude!" Sam said, his mouth full of pasta. "You are famous! You are sitting with the big boys! Does Ben smell as angry as he looks?"

"He is okay," Alex laughed, sitting down.

"I saw your game," a voice grunted.

Alex looked. Mark was sitting there, his plate piled high with chicken and rice. He was not looking at Alex. He was just eating.

Alexs analyst brain kicked in. He had not expected this. Mark watched his game?

"You watched it?" Alex asked.

"Yeah," Mark said, finally looking up. "The scouts put all the videos on the academy server. I was bored."

"And?" Alex asked, leaning in. He actually wanted to know. Mark was a terrible teacher, but he was a very honest analyst.

Mark chewed his food. He swallowed.

"Your defending," Mark said, "is the worst thing I have ever seen. You are a complete liability. You are lucky that Chelsea team was not very good."

Sam choked on his pasta. "Dude! He got an assist!"

"His assist was okay," Mark said, waving his fork. "The pass was good. But your movement before the pass... it was slow. Your first step. You take too long to accelerate. And you got pushed over. You are weak. You need to go to the gym."

Alex just sat there. He was not even mad.

Mark was 100 percent correct.

Mark had not just watched his game. He had analyzed it. He had broken it down. He was giving him data points.

"You are right," Alex said.

Mark stopped eating. He looked surprised. "I am?"

"Yes. My first step is slow. And I am weak. Coach Wilkins is working on my defending. But the gym... that is a good idea."

Mark just stared at him. He did not know what to do. Alex was supposed to get angry.

"Oh. Well... good," Mark muttered, and went back to his chicken.

Sam was just looking back and forth between them. "What is happening? You two are weird. You are like... old married men. Arguing about football."

Alex just laughed. He finished his lunch.

"I have to go," Alex said, standing up. "I have a gym session."

Mark looked up again, his eyes sharp. "Good. Do not just work on your arms. You need to work on your legs. Your core. You are all wobbly."

"Got it," Alex said, a grin on his face. "Thanks, coach."

"I am not your coach, duck," Mark shot back.

Alex just waved and walked away.

The rest of the week was a blur of hard work.

In the morning, Alex had his team training. Tactical work. Positioning.

Then, he had "Defending with Ben," which was mostly just Ben trying to run him over and Alex learning to be an annoying shadow.

Then, in the afternoon, Alex was in the gym.

He had never really been in a gym before. In his old life, he just had a treadmill.

The Arsenal gym was incredible. It was full of machines Alex did not understand.

A trainer, a very nice woman named Chloe, showed him what to do.

"Coach Wilkins told me your goal," she said, smiling. "He said, and I quote, 'make him less wobbly'."

"That sounds right," Alex panted.

She did not make him lift heavy weights. She made him do... strange exercises. Balancing on one leg. Jumping onto boxes. Using big rubber bands.

"It is not about getting huge," she explained. "It is about getting stable. Your core. Your balance. It is what will make you faster on your first step. It is what will stop Ben from pushing you over so easily."

It was agony. His whole body burned.

By Saturday, Alex was so sore he could barely walk.

He sat in the locker room before their home game against West Ham.

Ben walked past and slapped him on the back. "Ready to be annoying, traffic cone?"

"Ready, captain," Alex groaned.

The game started.

The West Ham players were fast. Their star attacker got the ball. He ran right at Alex.

The old Alex would have panicked.

The new Alex smiled.

He got low. He stood sideways. Show him the line. Be annoying.

The player tried to cut right. Alex was there, his feet moving.

The player tried to cut left. Alex was there.

The player was stuck. He could not get past. He was getting frustrated.

He tried to push Alex.

Alex was ready. He engaged his core. He was not a rock, like Ben. But he was not a "wobbly" duck, either. He was... stable.

He held his ground.

The attacker tried to force a pass.

Alex saw it coming. He stuck his foot out. A perfect, simple, clean tackle.

He won the ball. The crowd, just parents and scouts, gave a little clap. Ben, ten yards away, just nodded. Good.

Alex did not celebrate. He just got his head up.

He saw his striker making a run. He did not hesitate. His analyst brain and his new, stable body were working together. He launched a 60 yard pass. It was perfect. The striker ran onto it. He scored.

Alex just raised his arm. He did not score. He did not get the assist.

But he had started it all. He had won the ball. He had made the pass. He was not a liability. He was the pivot. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

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