"Show me," Antoine said. "This... 'fake fake' move. Mark told me it is stupid. But it works."

Alex felt a small bead of sweat. "I... I cannot show you, Antoine."

Antoines smile faded. "No?"

"It is not my move," Alex explained, his analyst brain trying to find the right words. "It is a package. I am just the 'Brain'. I need the 'Speed'. I need... I need Mark."

Antoine was silent for a moment. Then he just laughed. A big, warm, rolling laugh.

"A package! Yes! I love this!" he said, his French accent making it sound like music. "Okay, Professor. Go get your Speed. I will wait. Go."

Alex almost ran. He felt like he was on a secret mission. He left the first team building, ran across the perfect grass, and went back to the U21 locker room.

He found Mark. Mark was in the corner, at his tiny "new kid" locker. He was not sulking. He was polishing his new silver boots. He was polishing them so hard Alex thought he was trying to start a fire.

"Mark," Alex said.

Mark looked up. He was annoyed. "What? I am busy. I have to look professional."

"Drop the boots," Alex said.

"What?"

"Drop the boots," Alex repeated. "Antoine. He wants to see you. Right now. He wants to see the package."

Mark dropped the boot. It hit the floor with a dull thud. His mouth was open.

"Antoine? The... the real one? He knows my name?"

"He knows 'Speed'," Alex grinned. "Come on. He is waiting."

Alex had never seen Mark so quiet. He was walking so fast he was almost vibrating, but he did not say a word. He just kept looking at Alex like he was a ghost.

They got to the empty first team training pitch.

Antoine was there. He was leaning against a goalpost, his arms crossed. He looked like he owned the place. He did.

"So," Antoine said. "This is 'Speed'. You look fast."

Mark just... nodded. He could not speak. He was standing in front of his idol.

Alex felt a surge of confidence. This was his world. He was the analyst. He was the coach.

"Okay," Alex said, his voice taking charge. "Mark. I am the defender. Show Antoine the 'double cut'."

Mark looked at Alex. He took a deep breath. He nodded.

He was a professional now.

Alex stood still. Mark ran at him. He faked hard to his right. He planted his foot and exploded to his left. He was a blur of silver.

Antoine whistled, low and long. "Okay. Yes. That is... very, very fast. The defender is dead."

"Now," Alex said, his heart beating fast. "The new one. The 'fake fake'."

"I am the defender," Alex said again. "I know the double cut is coming. I am ready for it."

Mark nodded. He ran at Alex.

He faked right. Alex shifted his weight, preparing to block the left.

Mark saw it. He saw the tiny movement.

And he just... went. He did not cut left. He exploded to his right, into the space he had just faked to.

He was gone. It was unstoppable.

Antoine was not just smiling. He was laughing. He clapped his hands.

"Yes! Yes! Magnifique!" Antoine cheered. "It is beautiful! You are playing chess with his feet! He thinks you are playing checkers, but you are a grandmaster!"

He limped over. He looked at Alex.

"This... this was your idea," he said. "The brain."

"He still has to make the run," Alex said. "We work together."

"A team inside the team," Antoine said, his eyes shining. "I like this. I like this very much. You... you are going to be trouble, Professor."

The next day, the vibe was different.

Alex walked into the locker room. Seven forty five. Bastian was already there.

"Morning, Professor."

"Morning, Bastian."

It was a routine. Alex felt like he belonged.

He put on his black boots.

Antoine walked in. His ankle was still in the boot, but he was wearing his training kit.

The manager, Steve, came in. "Okay. Listen up. Antoine is back. He is not fit. He is not playing. He is just... here. To remember what the ball looks like. He will join the possession drills. Do not hit him. Do not even breathe on him. Clear?"

"Yes, coach!"

"Good. Possession drill. Ten against ten. Bibs versus no bibs."

Steve read the list. Alexs stomach tightened.

"Bibs: Harry, Bastian, our winger... and... Mark."

Mark, who was in his corner, looked like he had just won the lottery. He was on a team with Bastian and the captain.

"No bibs," Steve continued. "The rest of you. And... Professor. You are with Antoine."

Alex just stared.

He was on the same team as his hero.

But he was playing against his partner.

This was a new, very strange test.

The drill started. It was fast.

Alex was so nervous he could barely breathe. He was playing with Antoine. He did not want to mess up.

He got the ball. Antoine was open.

Alex passed it to him. One touch. Safe.

He got the ball again. Antoine was open.

He passed it to him. One touch. Safe.

He was just... feeding the superstar.

After the fourth time, Antoine stopped. The whole drill stopped.

"Professor," Antoine said. He was not angry. He was just... curious. "Why do you only pass to me? I am open, yes. But... Harry is open. Your other midfielder is open. You have a whole pitch."

Alex felt his face flush. All the superstars were staring at him.

"I... I thought I should pass to you," Alex said. "You are... you are Antoine."

Antoine laughed. "I am. But if you only pass to me, you are not the 'brain'. You are... my postman. A very boring postman. I do not need a postman, Alex. I need a partner. Be the brain. Play the game. Not just to me."

The whistle blew. The drill restarted.

Alex was embarrassed. But he understood. He was not an assistant. He was a player.

He got the ball. Antoine was open.

Alex looked right past him.

He saw Harry, the captain, make a smart run between the lines.

Alex did not hesitate. He drilled a fast, hard, left footed pass.

THWACK.

It was perfect. Harry took a touch and his team kept the ball.

Alex got the ball again. Antoine was calling for it.

Alex ignored him.

He saw Mark. Mark was being marked by two players. He was frustrated.

Alex saw the space behind Mark.

"Mark! Spin!" Alex yelled.

Mark spun.

Alex chipped the ball, a perfect, spinning pass, right into the space.

Mark ran onto it. He did not score. It was just a drill. But he had kept the ball.

Mark looked over at him. He gave a tiny, surprised nod. Alex had found him, even on the other team.

The drill was over. Alex was breathing hard. He was worried Antoine would be angry.

He walked to his locker.

Antoine was waiting for him.

"Good," Antoine said. "You did not pass me the ball."

"I... I saw the other players," Alex said.

"Yes," Antoine said. "You were not my postman. You were a pivot. A real one. You made the right pass. Not the easy pass. This is good."

Alex felt a huge wave of relief.

"But now," Antoine said, and his eyes were full of fire, "we have a problem."

"A problem?" Alex asked.

"You and me," Antoine said. "We both want the same shirt. We both want to be the pivot. This is going to be... very fun."

He smiled. "But I am still injured. For now. So... you have to play on Saturday."

Alexs heart jumped. "Coach told you?"

"No," Antoine said, his smile turning into a grin. "I told him. I am not ready. But you are. He agreed. So... do not mess it up, Professor. You are keeping my shirt warm for me. You had better win."

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