"Find X," the teacher, Mrs. Gable, said. She tapped the board.

Alex looked at X. It was easy. It was just logic.

He raised his hand.

"Yes, Alex?"

"X is twelve," Alex said.

"Correct," Mrs. Gable smiled. "You are very sharp today, Alex. Is this your 'Professor' brain working?"

The class giggled. Alex felt his face get warm.

"It is just math, Miss," Alex mumbled.

"Well, do not use all your brain power here," a boy behind him whispered. "You need it for Wednesday. Inter Milan. They are tough."

Alex sighed. Even in math class, he could not escape.

He was seventeen years old. He was a Champions League winner. He was the "Professor."

But right now, he just wanted to finish his equations.

The bell rang.

Alex grabbed his bag. He walked to the gate.

The neon green car was waiting.

Mark was in the drivers seat. He was wearing... a cowboy hat. A bright, silver, glittery cowboy hat.

"Howdy, partner!" Mark yelled, leaning out the window.

Alex stopped. He looked at the hat. He looked at Mark.

"No," Alex said.

"Yes!" Mark grinned. "Milo sent it! We are global! We are expanding to America! The 'Sheriff' look! Get in!"

Alex got in the car. "Please take it off, Mark. You look like a disco ball."

"I look like justice," Mark said, speeding away.

They arrived at the training ground.

Bastian was at his locker. He saw the cowboy hat.

"No," Bastian grunted.

"It is fashion!" Mark insisted.

"It is a crime," Bastian said.

Jude Bellingham walked in. He was wearing a very cool, very expensive tracksuit. He looked effortless.

"Nice hat, Speed," Jude laughed. "Going to a rodeo?"

"I am riding the bull of success!" Mark shouted.

Antoine walked in. He saw the hat. He just shook his head and kissed his fingers. "Tragic. But... bold. I respect the boldness."

Steve, the manager, walked in.

"Hat off, Speed," Steve said. "Now."

Mark sighed and took off the hat. His hair was a mess.

"Right," Steve said. "Wednesday. Champions League. Group Stage. Matchday Two."

He clicked the remote. The screen showed a team in blue and black stripes.

"Inter Milan," Steve said.

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"They are the Italian champions," Steve said. "They play a 3 5 2. Three giant center backs. Five midfielders who run forever. Two strikers who fight."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Brighton was a test of patience. This... this is a test of surgery."

"Surgery?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Steve said. "They are a body. A strong, healthy body. They do not have gaps. They do not have holes. You have to cut them open. You have to be precise. One wrong pass... and they counter. And they score."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. There is no space behind them. Their defenders sit on the goalkeeper's toes. If you run... you run into the net."

Mark looked horrified. "No space? But I need space! I need to run!"

"You cannot run," Steve said. "You have to move."

He looked at Jude.

"Power. They are strong. But you... you are stronger. I want you to be the battering ram. You hit the wall. You make it crack. Then... the Professor finds the crack."

"I like hitting walls," Jude grinned.

Wednesday night. The Emirates Stadium.

It was a European night. The lights were bright. The stars on the ball seemed to glow.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He was wearing the red and white kit. Number 8.

He looked at the Inter players.

They were huge. They looked like statues carved from marble. Their captain, Barella, was staring at Alex. He looked angry.

"Ready, Professor?" Jude asked, standing next to him. Jude looked calm. He looked big.

"Ready," Alex said.

"They are tight," Jude whispered. "I will loosen them up."

They walked out. The anthem played. The Chaaaaampions.

Alex felt the shiver. It never got old.

The game started.

It was exactly what Steve predicted.

Inter Milan was a fortress.

They had five defenders in a line. Three midfielders in front of them. It was a blue and black wall.

Arsenal had the ball. They kept the ball.

But they could not get in.

Alex passed to Antoine. Antoine tried to dribble. Two defenders swarmed him.

Alex passed to Jude. Jude tried to drive. A midfielder tackled him.

It was tough. It was physical.

Mark was miserable. He was trying to make runs, but he just ran into defenders.

"Move!" Mark yelled at a giant Italian defender.

"No," the defender grunted.

The first half was a grind. Zero zero.

The crowd was getting nervous. They wanted goals. They wanted the Hurricane.

But the Hurricane was hitting a mountain.

Halftime.

The locker room was quiet.

"They are disciplined," Antoine said, wiping sweat from his face. "They do not move. They are robots."

"They are waiting," Steve said. "They want a draw. Or a lucky goal."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are playing safe. You are passing to feet. It is too slow."

"There is no space, coach," Alex said. "The angles are closed."

"Then make new angles," Steve said. "Use Jude."

He pointed to the board.

"Jude. You are playing too deep. Go forward. Stand next to Mark. Be a second striker."

"Two strikers?" Jude asked.

"Yes. Force their defenders to squeeze together. When they squeeze... the sides open up."

He looked at Alex.

"When Jude goes forward... the middle will be empty. You have to fill it. You have to run into the box. The late run. The ghost run."

Alex nodded. The ghost run.

The second half started.

Jude moved up. He stood right next to the Inter defenders. He pushed them. He annoyed them.

The Inter defense got narrow. They tried to stop the Power.

This left space on the wings.

Alex saw it.

He got the ball. He didn't pass forward. He passed wide. To Saka.

Saka had space. He ran. He crossed.

Mark jumped. He missed the header. The defender cleared it.

"Better!" Steve yelled.

The game opened up. Just a little.

Sixtieth minute.

Alex had the ball in midfield.

He saw Jude. Jude was fighting with two defenders. He was pushing them back.

He saw Mark. Mark was making a run to the near post, dragging a defender with him.

The box was crowded.

But Alex saw a gap. A tiny lane of grass at the edge of the penalty area.

He passed to Antoine.

Antoine controlled it. He was surrounded.

Alex didn't stand still.

He ran.

He ran into the gap. The ghost run.

Antoine saw him. The Magician had eyes in the back of his head.

Antoine did a backheel. A soft, perfect flick.

The ball rolled into Alex's path.

Alex was running full speed.

He was twenty yards out.

He didn't try to place it. He didn't try to curl it.

He smashed it.

He hit the ball with his laces. Pure power.

The ball flew through the crowd of players. It was a rocket.

It went past Jude. Past Mark. Past the defenders.

The keeper saw it late. He dived.

Too late.

The ball hit the net.

GOAL!

One zero. Arsenal.

The stadium exploded.

Alex ran to the corner. He put his finger to his head. The Professor.

But he didn't stop there.

He pointed at Jude.

Jude ran over. He picked Alex up.

"THE GHOST!" Jude roared. "YOU ARE A GHOST!"

Mark jumped on them. Antoine joined in.

The Diamond Hurricane.

Inter Milan woke up.

They stopped defending. They started attacking.

They were good. They were dangerous.

They pushed forward.

Alex had to be the Shield again.

He tackled Barella. He intercepted a pass to their striker.

He was stable.

Seventy fifth minute.

Inter had a corner.

The ball came in. It was chaos. Bodies everywhere.

Bastian headed it clear.

The ball fell to Jude.

Jude was on the edge of his own box.

He looked up.

Mark was on the halfway line. He was waiting.

Jude didn't pass. He ran.

He powered past one midfielder. He shrugged off another.

He was a tank with a Ferrari engine.

He crossed the halfway line. It was three against two.

Jude. Mark. Antoine.

Jude passed to Mark.

Mark was on the wing. He had space.

He ran. He was the Arrow.

He got to the box.

He looked up.

Antoine was in the middle. Jude was arriving late.

But Mark saw something else.

He saw Alex.

Alex had sprinted. He had run seventy yards. He was at the back post.

Mark grinned.

He hit a cross. A low, hard, curling cross.

It went past Antoine. It went past the defender.

It came to Alex.

Alex was tired. His legs were burning.

But he was there.

He met the ball.

He side footed it.

It hit the post.

CLANG.

Alex groaned.

But the ball... it bounced back.

Right to Antoine.

The Magician was standing on the penalty spot. The goal was open.

Antoine didn't shoot.

He trapped the ball. He waited. The defender slid past him.

Then... he tapped it in.

GOAL.

Two zero.

Game over.

Antoine ran to Alex.

"Thank you for the assist, Professor!" Antoine laughed. "Or... the assist to the assist!"

"I hit the post," Alex said, breathless.

"It was a tactical post!" Antoine winked.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Inter Milan 0.

They had beaten the Italian champions. They had broken the fortress.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was exhausted. But he felt strong.

Jude walked next to him.

"Good run, Professor," Jude said. "Seventy yards. That is... power."

"I learned from you," Alex smiled.

Mark ran over. He had swapped shirts with an Inter player. He was holding the blue and black jersey.

"Look!" Mark said. "It is Italian! It smells like... victory!"

"It smells like sweat, Mark," Alex said.

"Same thing!" Mark said.

They walked into the locker room.

It was a party.

Steve stood in the middle.

"Surgery," Steve said. "Precise. Smart. And tough. You broke the wall."

He looked at Alex.

"Two goals in two games, Professor. You are becoming a problem for the other teams. They do not know if you are a shield or a sword."

"I am both, coach," Alex said.

"Yes," Steve smiled. "You are."

Milo was waiting outside the locker room. He was wearing a suit made of... neon lights? It was glowing.

"THE GHOST RUN!" Milo screamed. "IT IS TRENDING! #TheGhostProfessor! I AM MAKING T SHIRTS! GLOW IN THE DARK T SHIRTS!"

"No, Milo," Alex laughed.

"YES MILO!" Mark yelled. "I WANT ONE!"

Alex shook his head.

He walked out to the bus.

He checked his phone.

A text from his dad.

"Calculated. Efficient. Brilliant. Also... Mrs. Gable called. She said you forgot your calculator in class. Please bring it tomorrow. You have a test on Thursday."

Alex groaned.

A Champions League winner on Wednesday.

A math student on Thursday.

He looked at his teammates.

Jude was laughing with Antoine. Mark was trying to put the cowboy hat on Bastian.

This was his life.

And he loved every second of it.

He got on the bus. He sat next to Jude.

"Ready for the next one?" Jude asked.

"Who is next?" Alex asked.

"Manchester United," Jude said. "Old Trafford. Sunday."

Alex smiled.

"I am ready," Alex said.

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