Alex arrived at the training ground on Tuesday morning. He was not carrying a plastic bag this time. He was carrying a heavy, velvet-lined case.

He walked into the locker room. It was seven forty-five. Bastian early.

Bastian was there, foam rolling his quads. He stopped when he saw the case.

"The Golden Boy returns," Bastian grunted. "Do you need a special chair for it? Or perhaps a small throne?"

"It stays in the case, Bastian," Alex said, sliding it into his locker.

"Good," Bastian said. "Gold is heavy. It slows you down."

The door flew open. Mark sprinted in. He was wearing sunglasses, even though it was raining outside.

"WHERE IS IT?" Mark yelled. "WHERE IS THE BABY?"

"It is in the locker, Mark," Alex sighed.

Mark ran over. "Open it! I need to see my reflection in the gold! I need to absorb its power!"

Alex opened the locker. The golden ball trophy gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Mark gasped. He reached out a trembling finger. "It is... it is beautiful. It looks like a giant, expensive chocolate."

"Do not eat it, Speed," Antoine said, walking in. He looked elegant in a turtleneck sweater. "It tastes like metal and ego."

Antoine winked at Alex. "Congratulations again, Professor. But remember... now the sharks are hungry. They see the gold. They want to bite."

Steve, the manager, walked in. He looked serious.

He didn't look at the trophy. He looked at the team.

"Put the toy away," Steve barked.

Mark quickly shut Alex's locker.

"You are famous," Steve said. "You are the 'Golden Boy'. You are the 'Hurricane'. You are the 'Kings of Europe'. And do you know what that means?"

"We get free tables at restaurants?" Mark guessed.

"No," Steve said. "It means Liverpool wants to kill you."

The room went quiet.

"Saturday," Steve said. "Liverpool. Here. At the Emirates."

He pulled up the video screen.

It showed a team in red. They were running. They were not passing triangles like Barcelona. They were not standing still like Brighton.

They were sprinting. Everyone. All the time.

"Heavy Metal Football," Steve said. "Klopp is angry. They missed the Champions League last year. They want to prove a point. They press high. They tackle hard. And they never, ever stop running."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You have a shiny new trophy. Liverpool does not care. Their midfield... Szoboszlai, Mac Allister... they run like marathon runners who are also boxers. They will hunt you."

"Let them hunt," Jude Bellingham said from the back. The 'Power' was eating a bagel. He looked calm. "I like a fight."

"Good," Steve said. "Because this will be a fistfight. But with a ball. Professor... you cannot hold the ball. If you take three touches, you lose it. If you think too long, you lose it. You must be... instant."

Alex nodded. Instant.

Training was chaotic.

Steve made them play on a tiny pitch. Twenty players in a box the size of a living room.

"PRESS!" Steve yelled. "HUNT THE BALL!"

It was impossible to breathe. Bodies were flying everywhere.

Alex got the ball. Before he could look up, Bastian was on him.

Bump.

Alex lost the ball.

"TOO SLOW, GOLDEN BOY!" Bastian roared. "LIVERPOOL WILL EAT YOU!"

Alex got angry. He didn't want to be eaten.

Next time he got the ball, he didn't trap it. He flicked it. First time. Around the corner.

To Mark.

Mark was running.

"Good!" Steve yelled. "Instinct! Don't think! Do!"

By the end of the session, Alex was dizzy. His brain felt like it had run a marathon.

He walked off the pitch. Milo was waiting.

Milo was wearing a suit made of... gold foil? He looked like a baked potato.

"GOLDEN BOY!" Milo screamed. "I HAVE IT! THE NEW BRANDING!"

He held up a pair of shin pads. They were solid gold. Or at least, painted gold.

"GOLD SHINS!" Milo yelled. "PROTECT THE ASSETS WITH BLING!"

"Milo," Alex said, tiredly. "If I wear those, they will kick me harder just to see if they dent."

"That is the point!" Milo said. "Durability testing! We livestream it!"

"No gold shins," Jude said, walking past and taking the shin pads. "I will take these. They will make good doorstops."

"Hey!" Milo yelled. "That is intellectual property!"

Saturday. The Emirates Stadium.

It was raining. A classic, grey, English drizzle.

The atmosphere was heavy. Tense.

Liverpool were lining up in the tunnel. They looked huge. Virgil van Dijk, their captain, looked like a skyscraper.

Alex stood next to him. He felt very, very small.

Trent Alexander-Arnold, the Liverpool right-back, looked at Mark.

"I heard you are fast," Trent said.

"I am lightning," Mark whispered, bouncing on his toes.

"Lightning strikes once," Trent grinned. "Then it disappears."

"I strike all the time," Mark shot back. "Ask Madrid."

Alex looked at the Liverpool midfield. They looked like engines. Ready to run.

The whistle blew.

Heavy Metal Football was not a joke.

From the first second, Liverpool swarmed.

They didn't let Arsenal breathe.

Alex got the ball. Three red shirts were on him instantly.

He passed to Jude. Jude was tackled by two players.

He passed to Antoine. Antoine was shoved off the ball.

It was frantic. It was messy.

In the 12th minute, Alex tried to turn. He was too slow.

Mac Allister stole the ball. He passed to Salah.

Salah ran. He curled it.

GOAL.

One zero. Liverpool.

The away fans roared.

Alex stood in the midfield. The rain dripped off his nose.

"They are fast," Mark said, looking shocked. "They are... chaos. Like me."

"They are organized chaos," Alex said. "We have to break the rhythm."

"How?" Antoine asked, wiping mud from his cheek.

Alex looked at the Liverpool press. They hunted in packs.

When the ball went to the left, the whole Liverpool team shifted left. Like a tide.

"We switch," Alex said. "Instantly."

"Switch?" Jude asked.

"When they swarm me," Alex said, "the other side of the pitch is empty. We have to hit the long diagonal. First time. No looking."

"The blind switch," Jude smiled. "Risky."

"I like risky," Antoine grinned.

The game restarted.

Alex got the ball. He saw the red tide coming. Szoboszlai was sprinting at him.

Alex didn't panic. He didn't look.

He knew where Mark was. Mark was always on the right shoulder of the last defender.

Alex swung his leg.

He hit a sixty-yard cross-field pass.

The ball flew over the heads of the Liverpool midfield. It flew over the rain.

It landed... in space.

Mark was there. Trent was out of position.

Mark controlled it with his chest. He ran.

He was the Arrow.

He got to the box. Van Dijk came across. The Titan.

Mark didn't try to run past him. Van Dijk was too good.

Mark stopped. He did the 'fake fake'.

He chopped inside.

He passed.

To Jude.

Jude was arriving like a train.

He hit it. First time.

BOOM.

The ball hit the crossbar. It bounced down.

Did it cross the line?

The referee checked his watch. It buzzed.

GOAL!

One one.

Jude roared. He flexed his muscles.

Mark jumped on him. "THE SWITCH! THE PROFESSOR SWITCHED IT!"

The game became a basketball match. End to end.

Liverpool attacked. Arsenal attacked.

It was exhausting.

Alex was running more than he ever had. He was the Shield, blocking passing lanes. He was the Brain, launching counter-attacks.

Seventy-fifth minute. One one.

Both teams were tired. The pressing was getting sloppy. Spaces were opening up.

Liverpool had a corner.

Van Dijk came up. The giant.

The ball came in.

Alex was marking the post.

Van Dijk jumped. He headed it.

It was going in.

Alex couldn't reach it with his head.

He jumped. He stretched his neck.

He headed it... onto the bar.

It bounced out.

Chaos in the box.

Jude cleared it with a bicycle kick. A crazy, powerful clearance.

The ball flew to the halfway line.

Antoine was there. He trapped it.

He was two against two. Antoine and Mark vs two Liverpool defenders.

Antoine ran. He did a stepover. He confused the defender.

He passed to Mark.

Mark was wide.

He looked up.

He saw Alex running.

Alex had sprinted from the goal line. He was running the length of the pitch. The "Box to Box" run.

He was exhausted. His lungs were burning.

But he saw the glory.

Mark crossed it.

It was a perfect, low cross.

Alex arrived at the penalty spot.

He didn't smash it. He didn't have the energy.

He just... guided it.

With the inside of his white boot. The "Golden Brain" boot.

He placed it into the bottom corner.

GOAL.

Two one. Arsenal.

The stadium erupted.

Alex didn't run. He didn't do the Professor celebration.

He just collapsed. He fell onto his back in the mud.

He stared at the rain falling from the sky.

Mark stood over him.

"You ran," Mark said, breathless. "You actually ran."

"I am... the engine," Alex wheezed.

Jude and Antoine pulled him up. They were all covered in mud. They looked like soldiers.

"The Golden Boy," Jude laughed, slapping the mud on Alex's shirt. "Not so shiny now."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Liverpool 1.

They had beaten the Heavy Metal.

Alex walked off the pitch. He swapped shirts with Trent Alexander-Arnold.

"Good pass, kid," Trent said. "That diagonal... I see that pass. Not many people see that pass."

"Thanks," Alex said. "You strike the ball okay too."

Trent laughed.

Alex walked into the locker room.

Milo was there. He was wearing a raincoat made of transparent plastic. He looked like a sandwich bag.

"THE RUN!" Milo screamed. "THE BOX TO BOX! I AM CALLING IT 'THE MARATHON'! WE NEED A NEW SHOE! A RUNNING SHOE!"

"Milo," Alex said, sitting down heavily. "I need water. Not shoes."

Steve, the manager, stood in the middle of the room.

He looked at his team. Muddy. Bleeding. Happy.

"That," Steve said, "was a fight. And you won. You are not just a Hurricane anymore. You are... a tank. A smart, fast, magic tank."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You proved something today."

"What, coach?"

"That you can get your kit dirty," Steve grinned. "Now go shower. You smell like wet dog."

Alex laughed.

He looked at the Golden Boy trophy in his mind. It was shiny. It was perfect.

But the mud on his legs... that felt better.

He was Alex Finch. He was seventeen.

And he was winning everything.

His phone buzzed.

A text from his mum.

"I made stew. Come home. And bring your dirty kit. Do not leave it in your bag. It smells."

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