Alex sat at the kitchen table. It was a Tuesday morning in North London. It was raining.

On the table, sitting on a placemat usually reserved for hot pots, was the World Cup trophy.

It was the replica, of course. The real one was in a vault somewhere in Switzerland. But this one was heavy, gold, and shiny.

Alex was eating cornflakes.

"Do not drop milk on the trophy, Alex," his mum said, pouring tea. "It is very hard to clean gold."

"I am careful, mum," Alex said.

His dad walked in. He was wearing his bathrobe. He stopped. He looked at the trophy. He looked at Alex. He shook his head.

"It is still there," his dad whispered. "I thought I dreamt it."

"It is real, dad," Alex smiled.

"You are a World Champion," his dad said, sitting down. "You are eighteen years old. You have completed football. What are you going to do today?"

Alex swallowed a spoonful of cereal.

"I have to take the bins out," Alex said. "It is Tuesday."

His dad laughed. "The World Champion taking out the rubbish. This keeps you humble, son."

"Milo wanted to hire a 'Trash Butler'," Alex said. "I told him no."

"Good," his mum said. "Now go. The bin lorry is coming."

Alex walked down the driveway, dragging the black bin bags.

It was raining on his face. He was wearing his slippers.

A car drove past. It slowed down. The driver leaned out.

"OI! IS THAT THE PROFESSOR?"

Alex waved. "Morning!"

"YOU'RE A LEGEND, MATE! A LEGEND!"

The driver honked and drove off.

Alex smiled. He put the bins on the curb.

He was a legend. And his slippers were wet.

Life was weird.

A familiar sound tore through the quiet morning air.

It sounded like a jet engine mixed with a techno concert.

Mark's car.

But it wasn't the green car. It wasn't the black SUV.

A bright, metallic, purple sports car screeched to a halt in front of Alex's house. The doors opened upwards like wings.

Mark stepped out.

He was wearing a purple tracksuit that matched the car. He had gold sunglasses on. He was holding a boombox on his shoulder.

"WORLD CHAMPIONS IN THE HOUSE!" Mark screamed. The music was deafening.

"Mark," Alex said. "It is eight in the morning. My neighbors are sleeping."

"THEY SHOULD BE AWAKE!" Mark yelled over the bass. "THEY ARE LIVING NEXT TO ROYALTY!"

He ran over and hugged Alex. He smelled of expensive cologne and triumph.

"We did it, Professor! We actually did it!"

"We did," Alex said, patting Mark's purple back. "Nice car."

"It is the 'Royal Edition'!" Mark beamed. "Milo got it for me. He says purple is the color of kings. Get in. We are going to training. The King needs his chariot."

"I have to change my shoes," Alex said. "I am wearing slippers."

"Slippers are cool!" Mark shouted. "We set the trends now! Wear the slippers!"

Alex went inside to change. He put on his new training shoes. They were white, with a small gold star on the heel.

A gift from the boot company.

He grabbed his bag. He looked at the trophy one last time.

"See you later, gold guy," he whispered.

The drive to the training ground was... fast.

Mark drove like he played. Erratic, speedy, and slightly terrifying.

"So," Mark yelled over the music. "What happens now? We won the League. We won the Champions League. We won the World Cup. Is there... is there a Universe Cup? Can we play against Martians?"

"I think we just... play the Premier League again," Alex said.

Mark looked disappointed. "Again? But we already beat them."

"We have to beat them twice," Alex said. "To prove it wasn't an accident."

"It was not an accident!" Mark said, offended. "It was pure skill! And chaos!"

They arrived at the Arsenal training ground.

The security gate was decorated with balloons. Red, white, and gold balloons.

The guard saluted them.

They walked into the locker room.

It was full.

Jude was there. He was doing pull-ups on the doorframe. Shirtless.

"100... 101..." Jude grunted.

"Show off," Mark muttered.

Antoine was there. He was looking in the mirror, fixing his hair.

"Ah, the conquerors return," Antoine said, turning around. He smiled. It was a genuine, warm smile.

"Congratulations, boys," Antoine said. "You beat my country. You broke my heart. But... I am happy for you. Really."

"Thanks, Antoine," Alex said.

"But," Antoine added, his eyes narrowing. "Do not think I will let you win the league. The World Cup is over. Now... we are enemies again."

"We are on the same team, Antoine," Alex reminded him.

"In training," Antoine said. "In training, we are enemies. I must reclaim my honor."

Bastian was in his corner. He was reading a book. The Philosophy of Stoicism.

He looked up.

"Professor," Bastian grunted. "Arrow. Power."

"Bastian," Alex nodded.

"You won," Bastian said. "Good. Now... you are targets. Everyone wants to kill the King. Are you ready to be hunted?"

"I am the hunter!" Mark said, flexing his skinny arms.

"You are a purple grape," Bastian said, looking at Mark's tracksuit. "Go change. You hurt my eyes."

Steve, the manager, walked in.

He was not carrying a trophy. He was carrying a crate of apples.

He put the crate on the floor.

"Apples?" Mark asked.

"Hunger," Steve said.

The room went quiet.

"You are World Champions," Steve said. "You are European Champions. You are English Champions. You are the best team in the world."

He picked up an apple. He took a bite. Crunch.

"And that," Steve said, chewing, "is the most dangerous thing in football. Because when you are full... you stop hunting. You stop running. You think you are special."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Are you special?"

"I am... efficient," Alex said carefully.

"Good answer," Steve said. "Because today... you are not playing against the first team. You are not playing against the reserves."

He pointed to the window.

Outside, on the training pitch, a group of kids were warming up.

They looked young. Very young. Fifteen. Sixteen.

They were wearing oversized bibs. They were looking at the first team building with wide, terrified, hungry eyes.

"The Under 18s," Steve said.

"The babies?" Mark scoffed. "We will crush them. We will score twenty goals."

"Will you?" Steve asked. "They are hungry, Mark. They want your spot. They want your car. They want your boots. They look at you... and they see an old man."

"I am eighteen!" Mark yelled.

"In football years, you are a veteran," Steve said. "Today... you play them. Full pitch. Ninety minutes. And... I have given them a head start."

"A head start?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Steve grinned. "Three zero. The score starts at three zero to the kids. And... if you lose... you clean their boots. For a week."

The room erupted.

"CLEAN THEIR BOOTS?" Mark screamed. "I AM A WORLD CHAMPION! I DO NOT CLEAN BOOTS!"

"Then win," Steve said. "Go."

They walked out onto the pitch.

The U18s stopped warming up. They stared at the first team.

Alex looked at them. He saw himself.

Two years ago, that was him. Standing there, shaking, looking at the stars.

He saw a kid in the midfield. Small. Skinny. Wearing black boots.

The kid was looking at Alex. He wasn't scared. He was... analyzing.

"That kid," Jude whispered to Alex. "The small one. He is looking at you like you are a math problem."

"He is the new Professor," Antoine laughed. "Professor Junior."

"Let's teach him a lesson," Mark said, cracking his knuckles.

The whistle blew.

The score was 0-3.

The first team started casually. They were World Champions. They passed the ball around. Zip. Zip.

But the kids... the kids were fast. They were like angry wasps.

They pressed. They ran. They didn't stop.

In the fifth minute, Alex got the ball. He took a touch. He looked for a pass.

The small kid—Professor Junior—was there instantly. He didn't tackle. He just... poked the ball away.

Cleanly.

Alex stumbled.

The kid took the ball. He played a perfect through ball to a striker.

The striker shot. Ramsdale saved it.

"WAKE UP!" Ramsdale yelled. "THEY ARE NIBBLING MY ANKLES!"

Alex looked at the kid. The kid didn't smile. He just ran back into position.

"Okay," Alex whispered. "Respect."

Mark was trying to run past the young defenders. But they were sitting deep. They were terrified of his speed, so they didn't give him space.

"They are parking the tricycle!" Mark yelled.

It was 30 minutes in. Still 0-3.

Steve was on the sideline, eating an apple. He looked amused.

"We need to focus," Alex said to Jude. "They are playing our game. The 'Vampire'. They are sucking the life out of us."

"So we smash them," Jude said. "Power."

"No," Alex said. "They are too energetic. If we run, they run. We have to... out-think them."

He looked at the small kid.

"He is marking me," Alex said. "He is watching my eyes. Just like I watched Luka."

"So?" Jude asked.

"So... I will lie to him."

Second half.

Alex got the ball.

The kid came rushing in. He was eager.

Alex looked to the right. He shaped his body to pass to Antoine.

The kid moved right. He bit on the fake.

Alex didn't pass. He rolled the ball left.

He broke the line.

He ran.

The kid tried to recover, but Alex used his body. He was stronger now. Stable.

He held the kid off.

He drove forward.

He saw Mark.

"SPEED!" Alex yelled.

Mark made the run.

Alex didn't pass to Mark.

He passed to the space behind Mark.

Mark had to stop. He had to turn.

The defenders were confused. They had kept running.

Mark was now open.

He shot.

GOAL.

1-3.

"Why did you pass behind me?" Mark asked, jogging back.

"To stop you running into the keeper," Alex said. "Brakes are important."

Mark grumbled. "I have good brakes."

Now the first team was awake.

They turned up the heat.

Jude powered through three kids. He scored.

2-3.

Eighty-fifth minute.

The kids were tired. They had run themselves into the ground.

But they were still fighting. They wanted to win. They wanted the stars to clean their boots.

Alex had the ball.

The small kid was in front of him again. He was panting. His socks were down. But he wasn't moving.

Alex looked at him.

"You are doing good," Alex whispered.

The kid blinked. "Thanks."

Alex used the distraction.

He did the 'Fake Fake'.

He went past the kid.

He saw Antoine making a run.

Alex chipped the ball.

Antoine volleyed it.

GOAL.

3-3.

The whistle blew.

Draw.

No one had to clean boots.

The kids collapsed. They were devastated. They had almost beaten the World Champions.

Alex walked over to the small kid.

He extended his hand.

The kid took it. Alex pulled him up.

"What is your name?" Alex asked.

"Leo," the kid said.

"Well, Leo," Alex said. "You read my pass in the fifth minute. That was smart."

"I watched your videos," Leo said. "The 'Golden Boy' tapes. I studied you."

Alex smiled. It was like looking in a mirror.

"Keep studying," Alex said. "But next time... watch the hips, not the eyes."

Leo nodded. "Yes, Professor."

Alex froze. "Don't call me that. That is my name."

"Sorry... Alex."

They walked off the pitch.

Steve was waiting. The apple crate was empty.

"A draw," Steve said. "You let a bunch of children hold you to a draw."

"We came back," Harry said. "We showed character."

"You showed rust," Steve said. "But... you showed fight. That is enough for today."

He looked at Alex.

"That kid. Leo. He gave you trouble."

"He is smart," Alex said.

"He is the future," Steve said. "Just like you were. The wheel turns, Alex. If you stop moving... the wheel runs you over."

Alex looked back at the pitch. Leo was juggling the ball.

"I won't stop moving, coach," Alex said.

"Good," Steve said. "Because next week... the Premier League starts. And everyone wants to kill the King."

Alex walked to the locker room.

Milo was there. He was wearing a suit made of... bubble wrap?

"PROTECTION!" Milo yelled. "WE MUST PROTECT THE ASSETS! ALEX! POP!"

Milo popped a bubble on his sleeve.

"Milo," Alex said. "Why?"

"Stress relief!" Milo said. "Also... fashion! Now, listen. I have a deal. A shampoo commercial. 'The Brain needs to be Clean'. What do you think?"

"I think I need a shower," Alex said.

"Perfect! Method acting!"

Alex grabbed his bag.

He walked out to the car park. Mark was waiting in the purple car.

"We drew," Mark said, looking sad. "I wanted to crush them."

"They were good," Alex said. "They reminded me... of us."

Mark looked at the U18s.

"Yeah," Mark said. "They were fast. And annoying. Very annoying."

He grinned.

"But I am still faster."

"For now," Alex said, getting in the car.

"Forever!" Mark yelled, revving the engine.

They drove off.

The World Cup was over. The parade was over.

The new season was waiting.

New rivals. New kids. New problems to solve.

Alex sat back. He popped a bubble on Milo's suit (Milo had left a piece in the car).

He was ready.

The Professor was back in class.

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