Alex walked through the big glass doors.

It was not a dream this time. He was not a visitor. He was not a competition winner.

He was, for now, a member of the Arsenal first team.

Antoine was injured. His ankle would take three weeks to heal. And the manager, Steve, had decided that Alex was the new backup. The official, sixteen year old, school suit wearing backup.

His life was a runaway train. He was just trying to hold on.

He walked into the first team locker room.

And there it was.

His locker was not the temporary one in the corner anymore.

They had given him a real one. A permanent one, with a new number. Number 38. FINCH.

It was slotted right between BASTIAN and HARRY.

He was sitting between the giant German defender and the captain of England.

Alex just stood there, looking at it. His heart was doing a little flip.

"Morning, kid."

Alex jumped. Harry, the captain, was sitting on the bench, already in his kit. He was smiling.

"You look like you have seen a ghost," Harry laughed.

"It is just... a locker," Alex stammered.

"It is a good locker," Harry said. "You are next to the two best looking guys on the team. Me and Bastian."

Bastian, who was on the other side of Alex, just grunted. He was stretching his huge legs. He did not look up.

"Morning, Professor," Bastian rumbled.

Alex blinked. "Professor?"

"Yes," Bastian said, finally looking up. His eyes were serious. "You are not a kid anymore. You are the 'Professor'. Because you think too much. And you are too small to be anything else."

"Oh. Thanks," Alex said. He was not sure if that was a good thing.

"And Professor," Bastian added. "You are late."

Alex looked at the clock. It was nine fifteen. Training started at ten. "I am... I am forty five minutes early."

"Early is on time," Bastian grunted. "On time is late. And late... is unacceptable. You are late."

Alex just nodded. Okay. New rule. He would be here at nine tomorrow.

He got changed. The kit felt different. It was his.

The manager, Steve, walked in. He did not say good morning. He just looked at his watch.

"Good. You are here, Finch. Do not be late again. Pitch. Now."

Training was a different level.

The U21s were fast. The first team was... supernatural.

The ball did not touch the grass. It was a white blur.

They started with a rondo. A possession game. The whole first team. Twenty players in a huge circle. Three players in the middle.

Alex was in the middle. With two other players.

It was awful.

He ran. He chased. He could not get near the ball.

Zip. Zip. Zip.

The ball was gone before he even got there.

Bastian, Harry, the strikers... they were all playing one touch. They were not even looking.

Alex was just a running, panting, confused traffic cone.

He was in the middle for five straight minutes. His lungs were on fire. The team was laughing.

"Come on, Professor!" Harry yelled. "Use that big brain! Predict the pass!"

Alex was tired. He was frustrated.

Okay. Analyst. Stop chasing. Watch. Predict.

He stopped running like a headless chicken. He just stood still.

He watched. He saw the pattern. The left back always passed to Bastian. Bastian always passed to the midfielder.

The midfielder got the ball. Alex did not wait. He ran.

He sprinted right into the passing lane.

The midfielder kicked the ball, not even looking.

THWACK.

The ball hit Alex right in the chest. He had done it. He had read it.

The whole circle clapped.

"Good brain, Professor!" Bastian yelled.

Alex was out. He was in the circle. He was safe.

The game restarted. It was faster now.

The ball came to Alex. He had half a second.

He passed it. One touch. To Harry.

He got it back. He passed it again. One touch. To Bastian.

He was doing it. He was keeping up.

He was a part of the team.

Then, the manager blew his whistle. The rondo stopped.

The players were all breathing hard, getting water.

The manager, Steve, walked into the middle of the pitch. He was staring at Alex.

His face was not happy.

"Finch!" he yelled.

Alex froze. "Yes, coach?"

"What was that? What do you call that?"

"I... I was playing one touch, coach. I was keeping the ball."

"You were hiding," Steve barked. The whole team went quiet.

"You were playing safe. You were a ghost. I have twenty ghosts on this team! I do not need another one! I called you up because you are smart! Because you take risks! Because you see things! I have not seen one smart pass from you all morning!"

Alexs face was burning. The superstars were all watching him.

"You are not here to 'fit in', son," Steve said, his voice hard. "You are here to make a difference. Now, we are doing it again. And if you pass that ball backwards one more time, you are running laps until you puke. Show me your brain. Show me why you are here."

The whistle blew. The rondo started again.

Alex was shaking. He was terrified.

The ball came to him. He wanted to pass it backwards to Bastian. It was the safe play.

He saw the managers face in his mind. Show me something.

A defender was charging him.

Alex saw him coming.

Okay. Risk. Analyst. Brain.

He faked the safe pass.

He did not do the Bruno turn. He did not have time.

He just... stopped the ball.

Then he did a "Cruyff turn." A move he had only ever practiced in his bedroom. He dragged the ball behind his standing leg.

The defender flew past him, tackling empty air.

Ooooh.

The circle reacted.

Alex had space. For half a second.

He saw Harry make a run, through the middle of the circle.

It was an impossible pass. A crazy pass.

He had to do it.

He did not use his right foot. He used his left. The one he practiced with Mark.

He did not chip it. He drilled it. A low, hard, fast pass, right through the legs of another defender.

It was perfect.

It hit Harrys foot like a magnet.

The whole drill just stopped. Everyone was staring.

Harry looked at the ball, then at Alex. He just... started clapping.

Slowly, the whole team started to clap.

Bastian walked over. He was not smiling. But his eyes were.

"Good brain, Professor," he grunted. "Good brain."

The manager just blew his whistle. "Again. Faster."

Alex was in the locker room. He was so tired he felt like he was floating. His brain was soup.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up.

It was Milo. The agent.

"Alex! My boy! My brain! My pivot!" Milos voice was so loud Alex had to pull the phone away.

"Hi, Milo."

"How was training? Did you show them? Of course you did."

"It was... hard, Milo," Alex said, rubbing his eyes.

"Good! Hard is good! Now, listen. I have news. Big news. Are you sitting down?"

"I am, yes," Alex said.

"The boot deal. It is done. Finished. Signed. You are officially the new face of the 'Control' boot. They love the 'Professor' angle. They are sending you five pairs of all black boots. Very smart. No more green monsters."

Alexs heart leaped. His own boots. "Wow. Milo, that is... wow."

"But that is not the news, Alex. That is just... the appetizer."

Alex sat up. "What?"

"The contract," Milo said. His voice was suddenly serious. "I spoke to the club. They were tough. They tried to play games."

"Oh," Alex said, his stomach sinking.

"So I played games back," Milo said, and Alex could hear the smile in his voice. "I told them another club was interested. A big club. In Spain."

"What? Is that true?"

"Of course not! But they do not know that! They panicked, Alex. They panicked!"

"So... what is the deal?"

"The deal," Milo said, taking a deep breath, "is this. You are no longer on an academy contract. As of today, you are an official, professional football player for Arsenal. Five years. The money... Alex, the money is... life changing. You can buy your dad a new car. You can buy your mum a new house."

Alex just... stopped breathing.

He could not speak.

"Milo... are you... are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Milo said. "You did it, kid. You are a professional."

Alex just sat there, the phone pressed to his ear. He looked at his muddy, torn, free academy boots.

"But. Wait," Milo said. "I saved the best part."

"There is more?" Alex whispered.

"The 'package'," Milo said. "They did not want to do it. They said Mark was 'too wild'. 'Too inconsistent'. I told them, you do not get the Brain without the Speed. It is a package. You do not get the pivot without the striker he was trained to find."

Alex held his breath.

"They folded," Milo laughed. "Mark is getting a two year professional prospect contract. He is not U18 anymore. He is moving up. You did it, Alex. You pulled your partner up with you. You are a very, very good friend."

Alex just closed his eyes. He felt a huge wave of relief.

"Thank you, Milo," he said, his voice thick.

"Do not thank me. Thank your brain. And your left foot. I will send the papers to your dad. Go... be a professional, Alex. I will call you soon."

Milo hung up.

Alex just sat there. Alone in the giant locker room.

A professional. He had a five year contract.

He had just changed his parents life.

He had just changed Marks life.

His phone buzzed. A new text.

He looked. It was Mark.

"Milo just called my dad. My dad is... he is crying. He said thank you. I do not know what to say. This is... wow. I owe you. You are my partner."

Alex smiled. He was so happy for his friend.

He was about to text back when another message came through. From Mark.

"This does not change anything, by the way. Your heading is still a complete joke. You are a duck. A professional, well paid duck. I am on the practice pitch. Four o'clock. Do not be late."

Alex just burst out laughing. He was a professional. He was the Professor.

And he still had to go and practice being a duck.

He could not wait.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.