The first team locker room was empty and dark. He was the first one there. He was forty five minutes early even for Bastian.

He sat at his locker, number 38. He just... sat. He looked at his new black boots. He looked at the professional kit laid out for him.

The door opened.

It was Bastian. The giant German walked in, his footsteps like small thunderclaps in the quiet room. He did not look surprised to see Alex.

"Professor," Bastian grunted. He was already pulling off his jacket. "You are early."

"You said on time is late," Alex said, his voice a little shaky.

"Good," Bastian said. He sat at his own locker. "You are learning. Now, you must learn something else."

He looked at Alex. His eyes were very serious.

"You are starting on Saturday," Bastian said.

"I know," Alex breathed. "I am... I am nervous."

"Do not be nervous. Be angry," Bastian said.

Alex blinked. "Angry?"

"Lincoln City. They are not Manchester United. They are not smart. They do not play football. They fight. They are big. They are strong. They will try to break you. They will see you. A small sixteen year old boy. They will try to... to eat you."

Alex swallowed. That did not sound fun.

"You cannot be the 'Professor' in this game," Bastian continued. "You cannot be the smart, tricky one. You must be... a rock. You must be hard. They will hit you. You must hit them back. Not with your fists. With your brain. And with your body. You must be stable."

"My core," Alex whispered, remembering his gym work.

"Yes. Your core," Bastian nodded. "Today, in training. Do not be smart. Be strong. Show me."

The door opened again.

It was Mark.

He was not floating. He looked... terrified. He was holding his bag in front of him like a shield. He saw Alex. He saw Bastian. He froze.

Bastian looked at Mark. He looked him up and down.

"The package," Bastian grunted.

"I... I am Mark," Mark stammered.

"I do not care what your name is," Bastian said, standing up. He was a mountain. Mark had to look straight up. "You are a U18 kid. You are fast. This is good. But here, you are nothing. You are the new boy. You do not speak. You do not complain. You just... run."

He pointed to a big metal skip full of practice balls.

"You are here early. Good. You can take the balls to the pitch."

Mark just stared at him. "Take... take the balls?"

"Yes. That is your job now. You are the ball boy. Now go."

Mark looked at Alex. His eyes were on fire. He was humiliated. He was the star.

Alex just gave him a tiny, tiny shrug. Welcome to the team.

Mark grabbed the handle of the heavy metal skip. He was so angry he was almost shaking. He started to push it out the door.

"And package," Bastian called out.

Mark stopped.

"Your boots are ridiculous. Get new ones."

Mark looked down at his bright orange boots. He just grunted and pushed the skip out the door.

Alex felt a little bad for him. But he also felt... good. He was not the new kid anymore. He was the Professor.

Training was exactly what Bastian said it would be.

It was a fight.

The manager, Steve, split them into two teams. The "Starters" versus the "Reserves."

Alex was in the starting bib. Mark was in a reserve bib, on the other team.

"I do not want to see any 'magic' passes, Professor!" Steve yelled at Alex. "I want to see fight! This is Lincoln! This is mud! This is war! Go!"

The whistle blew.

The reserves, led by Ben from the U21s, came out to kill them. They were all players who were not starting. They were angry.

Alex got the ball. He had a plan. He was going to try his new "fake double cut" pass.

He did not even get to turn.

Ben smashed into him. It was a perfect, clean, brutal tackle.

Alex flew. He landed on his back. The wind was knocked out of him.

"TOO SLOW!" Steve roared. "THIS IS NOT A TEST! GET UP!"

Alex got up. His back hurt.

He got the ball again. He was not going to be smart. He was going to be solid.

He put his body between the man and the ball. He used his new core strength. He shielded it.

A defender kicked his ankle. Alex did not fall. He was stable.

He passed the ball. A simple, five yard pass. To Harry, the captain.

"GOOD!" Steve yelled. "AGAIN!"

For the next hour, Alex did not make a single 'hero' pass.

He just... fought.

He ran. He defended. He used his body. He was the annoying shadow. He forced the other team to the sideline.

He got kicked. He got up. He got pushed. He pushed back.

He was not a "Professor" today. He was a "traffic cone." A very, very stable traffic cone.

Then, he got the ball. He was near the sideline.

He saw Mark. Mark was playing on the other team. He was playing winger.

Mark was running at him. Fast.

This was it. His partner. His rival.

Mark came at him, his eyes crazy. He wanted to prove he was better. He wanted to smash Alex.

Alex saw him coming.

He is fast. He is all right foot.

Alex got low. He stood sideways. He showed Mark the sideline. The "cold" zone.

Mark did not care. He tried to just kick the ball past Alex and run.

Alex did not go for the ball.

He just... stood there. He was a rock.

Mark ran straight into him.

WHUMP.

It was like Mark had run into a wall. A small, stable, sixteen year old wall.

Mark bounced off and fell to the ground.

Alex had the ball. He did not even look at Mark.

He just passed the ball, simple, to Bastian.

The entire training pitch went silent.

Mark was on the ground, stunned.

Alex... had just... won a physical battle. Against Mark.

Coach Steve blew his whistle. "THAT!" he roared, pointing at Alex. "THAT IS WHAT I WANT! YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE BIG, FINCH! YOU JUST HAVE TO BE SMART! GOOD!"

Alex was breathing hard. He looked down at Mark.

Mark looked up. He was not angry. He was... completely shocked.

Alex offered him a hand.

Mark ignored it. He got up, brushing mud off his shirt.

"You... you... you fouled me," Mark muttered.

"No," Alex said, a small smile on his face. "I was just... stable. You need to work on your core, Mark. You are all wobbly."

Mark just stared at him. He had no answer.

Training finished. Alex was covered in bruises. He was happy.

He was in the locker room. He was the last one, as usual.

He was pulling on his school trousers. He really needed to buy some new clothes.

Mark walked in. He was showered.

They were sleek. They were silver. They were the fastest, most expensive boots the company made.

"Milo is fast," Alex said.

"Yeah," Mark said. He was trying to sound casual. "He said... I have 'Speed'. He said 'Speed' sells. He said I need to look the part."

He sat down and started to put them on.

"So," Alex said. "You are okay? After... you know. The hit."

"You were lucky," Mark grumbled. "My foot slipped."

"Sure it did," Alex grinned.

"It did!" Mark insisted. "But... it was a good tackle. For a duck."

They were quiet for a moment.

"So," Mark said, not looking up. "You are starting."

"Yeah."

"Do not mess it up." "I will try," Alex said.

"I am on the bench," Mark said. He sounded... small. "I will be watching. I will be... ready."

"I know you will," Alex said.

"I will be the first sub," Mark said, his voice getting stronger. "And when I come on... I am goingScreen to score. The manager said he needs 'fighters'. I am a fighter."

"Yes, you are," Alex agreed.

Mark stood up. He was wearing his new, silver boots.

"Good luck, Professor," he said. He did not smile. He was deadly serious.

"You too, Speed," Alex replied.

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