Alex walked on air. He did not think his feet were actually touching the ground as he walked down the tunnel. The roar of the stadium was a beautiful song in his ears.

He walked into the first team locker room. The team was already celebrating. Music was playing. Players were shouting and hugging.

He just stood by the door, his heart pounding, his legs shaking. He was a sixteen year old schoolboy who had just played against Manchester United. He felt like he was in a movie.

Harry, the captain, saw him. He was only in his shorts, and he walked over, his face red with effort.

"Finch!" he yelled over the music. He grabbed Alex in a big, sweaty hug. "You did it, kid! You were not scared! That turn... that turn on Bruno... that was magic!"

Alex just laughed, completely overwhelmed. "I think I closed my eyes."

"Does not matter!" Harry laughed. "It worked! You listened, you were smart. You did your job."

Bastian, the giant German, walked past. He was going to the showers. He stopped. He was so tall he was like a mountain.

He just looked down at Alex. He did not smile. But he held out his huge hand.

Alex, confused, shook it.

Bastian just nodded once. A simple, powerful nod. "Good. You have a brain."

He did not say anything else. He just walked away.

For Alex, that nod from Bastian was worth more than a trophy. It was respect.

The manager, Steve, came in. He was not smiling. But he was not angry.

"Good win," he said to the room. "You worked hard." He looked at Alex. "Finch. My office. Now."

The music stopped. Everyone looked at Alex.

Alexs blood went cold. Oh no. What had he done wrong?

He followed the manager to the small office. He was terrified.

Steve shut the door. He sat down.

"You are not a good defender, Finch," the manager said.

"No, coach. I am not," Alex agreed.

"You are slow. And you are small. And you passed backwards on your first touch. You looked terrified."

"I was, coach," Alex whispered.

"Good," Steve said.

Alex blinked. "Good?"

"Yes. You were terrified. And then... you stopped being terrified. You got hit. You got yelled at. And you did not hide. You showed me your brain. That pass to the striker... that was world class. You have... guts. I like guts."

He opened a drawer. He pulled out a small, white box.

"This... is a bonus," the manager said, sliding it across the desk.

Alex just stared at it. "A bonus?"

"You are a kid. You do not have an agent. You are not on a big contract. But you just played against Manchester United. And you won. Do not tell the other academy kids."

Alex opened the box. Inside was a watch. A simple, beautiful, very expensive watch.

Alex was stunned. "Coach, I... I cannot accept this."

"Yes, you can," Steve said. "It is from the team. A... thank you. For not being a total disaster." He almost smiled. "Now get out of here. Go see your family. And do not wear that school suit again. You look ridiculous."

Alex practically floated out of the stadium. The security guard at the door was smiling.

"Good game, Mr. Finch," he said, opening the door for him.

Alex stepped out into the night air. The fans were gone. It was just quiet.

His dads little car was waiting.

Alex got in.

His mum, Sarah, was in the back. She did not say anything. She just burst into tears.

"Mum!" Alex said, alarmed. "What is wrong?"

"I am just so proud!" she cried, pulling him into a hug over the seat. "My baby! You were on the television! You looked so... so big!"

Alex laughed. "Mum, I was the smallest person on the pitch."

His dad, David, was in the drivers seat. He was just gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

"Dad?" Alex asked. "Are you okay?"

His dad did not turn. He just... nodded. His shoulders were shaking a little.

"Dad, are you crying?"

"No," his dad said, his voice thick. "I am not crying. I just... I hate Manchester United. And you... you were good, Alex. You were really... good."

Alex felt his own eyes sting. His dad had never said that. Not even in his old life.

They drove home. They did not talk about football. They just sat in the comfortable, happy silence.

When Alex got to his room, he plugged in his phone.

It exploded.

He had never seen a phone do that. It just buzzed and buzzed and buzzed for three straight minutes.

He had hundreds of messages.

He opened the first one. It was from Sam.

It was not a message. It was just... letters. A long line of letters.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHH YOU WERE ON TV YOU PLAYED YOU PLAYED I SAW YOU YOU ARE A SUPERSTAR MY MUM IS CRYING MY DAD IS SHOUTING I AM SO HAPPY I THINK I AM GOING TO BE SICK AAAAAHHHH"

Alex laughed out loud. He missed Sam.

He saw another one. Coach Steve. The U18 coach.

"Saw the game. You were not a duck. Good job."

Alex smiled. That was high praise.

He saw one from Coach Wilkins. The U21 coach.

"Your positioning on the Bruno turn was excellent. Your defensive pressure was a disaster. You let the game go too fast. You must learn to control the tempo, not just survive it. I have three new defensive drills. They are very hard. Be at training. Eight am."

Alex sighed. Back to work.

Then he saw the last message.

He had been waiting for it. Mark.

Alex opened it. He was ready for the criticism.

The text was short.

"I saw the game. Your first touch was scared. The pass was lucky. The striker should have scored. You got pushed over too easily. You are still weak. You need to go to the gym."

Alex smiled. It was exactly what he expected.

Then... he saw the little typing bubble. A new message was coming.

He waited.

The new message came.

"But. That turn on Bruno. That was... not bad. Not bad at all, brain boy."

Alex just stared at the message.

Mark had given him a compliment. A real one.

This was a bigger shock than playing in the game.

Alex finally put his phone down. He was exhausted. He was happy. His whole body ached.

He walked into his bathroom. He looked in the mirror.

He saw the sixteen year old kid. Tired eyes. Messy hair.

But it was not just the kid. It was not just the thirty two year old analyst.

It was... him. Alex Finch. He was a Premier League player.

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