"I am free," Alex whispered.

It felt terrible.

He got out of bed. He wandered downstairs. He ate a bowl of cereal very slowly.

He sat on the sofa. He picked up a book. The History of the Roman Empire.

He read one page. Then he looked at the clock. Eight fifteen.

"This is going to be a long day," Alex sighed.

He picked up his phone. He texted Mark.

"What are normal people doing right now?"

The reply came instantly.

"THEY ARE SLEEPING! OR EATING! OR DRIVING FAST CARS! WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?"

"I am bored," Alex typed.

"BORED? YOU ARE A CHAMPION! COME OVER! I BOUGHT A TRAMPOLINE!"

Alex took a taxi to Mark's house.

Mark lived in a new, modern apartment building near the stadium. But he had rented the penthouse, which had a giant roof terrace.

When Alex arrived, he found Mark bouncing.

Mark was wearing his gold pyjamas. He was jumping on a massive trampoline that looked dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"I AM FLYING!" Mark screamed, doing a backflip. "LOOK AT ME, PROFESSOR! I AM DEFYING GRAVITY!"

Jude was there too. He was sitting on a deckchair, wearing sunglasses and eating a bowl of grapes.

"He has been doing that for an hour," Jude said calmly. "I am waiting for him to bounce into the river."

"It is good for the calves!" Mark yelled, mid-air.

Antoine walked out onto the terrace. He was wearing a silk robe and holding an espresso.

"This is not relaxation," Antoine said, looking at Mark with disdain. "This is... a kangaroo on sugar."

"Alex!" Mark yelled, stopping his bounce. "Get on! We can do synchronized jumping! The Double Bounce!"

"I value my ankles, Speed," Alex said, sitting next to Jude.

"So," Jude asked. "How is retirement?"

"I am not retired. I just finished school."

"Same thing," Jude said. "No more teachers. Just football. And sponsorship deals."

Speaking of deals...

The elevator dinged.

Milo walked out.

He was wearing a suit made of... clouds. It was white and fluffy. He looked like a giant cotton ball.

"GENTLEMEN!" Milo roared. "REST DAY IS OVER! WE HAVE WORK!"

"No," Antoine said immediately. "I am drinking coffee."

"It is a fun job!" Milo promised. "A cooking show! 'Cooking with Champions'! Billions of viewers! We make pasta!"

"I can make pasta," Alex said.

"But can you make it... violently?" Milo asked.

Mark climbed off the trampoline. "I want to cook! Can I use a knife?"

"Maybe a spoon for you, Speed," Jude said.

The cooking show was a disaster.

Mark tried to chop onions at sprint speed and nearly lost a finger.

Jude mashed the potatoes so hard he broke the bowl.

Antoine refused to touch the raw chicken because it was "ugly."

Alex ended up doing everything. He measured the ingredients perfectly. He timed the boiling water. He was the Professor of Pasta.

"Delicious!" the TV host lied, tasting Mark's burnt garlic bread.

"It tastes like speed!" Mark grinned.

Wednesday morning. Back to work.

The training ground felt safe. It made sense. There were lines. There were rules.

Steve, the manager, called a meeting.

"Aston Villa," Steve said.

The room groaned.

Aston Villa was managed by Unai Emery. The tactical obsessionist.

"They are good," Steve said. "They are fourth in the league. They are organized. And they have one trick."

He clicked the remote.

The screen showed the Villa defense. They were standing in a perfect line. almost at the halfway line.

"The High Line," Steve said. "The Offside Trap."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. This looks like a dream for you. A lot of space behind the defenders."

"It is a buffet!" Mark said, licking his lips. "I will feast!"

"That is what they want you to think," Steve warned. "They step up. At the last second. They catch you offside. If you run too early... the flag goes up. If you run too late... the gap is closed."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. This is a game of timing. Milliseconds. You cannot just kick it. You have to wait. You have to hold the ball until the defender blinks."

"I can wait," Alex said.

"Can he?" Steve pointed at Mark.

Mark was vibrating. "I can wait! I am the master of patience!"

"You are shaking," Jude pointed out.

"That is just my engine idling," Mark said.

Saturday. Villa Park.

It was a historic stadium. Tight. Loud. The Villa fans were confident.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He looked at the Villa defenders. Pau Torres and Konsa. They looked calm. They trusted their trap.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

And the flag went up.

Again. And again. And again.

In the first twenty minutes, Mark was caught offside six times.

"ARGH!" Mark screamed at the linesman. "YOU ARE BLIND! I WAS LEVEL!"

"You were a mile offside, Speed," Alex said gently.

"They are stepping up too fast!" Mark complained. "It is a magic trick!"

Arsenal couldn't get a rhythm. Every time Alex looked up to pass, the Villa defense stepped forward in perfect unison. Mark was left stranded in no-man's land.

Villa was dangerous too. They won the ball back and countered fast.

In the 35th minute, Watkins, the Villa striker, broke through.

He scored.

One zero. Villa.

The crowd went wild.

Alex stood in the midfield. He was frustrated.

Jude walked over. "The trap is working. Mark is too eager."

"I know," Alex said. "He sees the space and he runs. He needs to... delay."

Halftime. One zero.

The locker room was tense.

"I hate linesmen," Mark grumbled, throwing his shin pads. "They have flags. I hate flags."

"It is not the linesman, Mark," Steve said calmly. "It is you. You are running too early."

"I am just fast!"

"You are predictable," Steve said.

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the brain. Fix him."

Alex looked at Mark. He thought about physics. He thought about relativity.

"Mark," Alex said. "Don't look at the defenders."

"What?"

"Look at me," Alex said. "When I have the ball... don't run. Look at me. Wait until my foot touches the ball. Actually touches it."

"But then I will be late!"

"No," Alex said. "You are fast enough to be late. Be late, Mark. Be fashionably late."

Mark frowned. "Fashionably late. Like Antoine at a party."

"Exactly," Antoine smiled. "Style requires patience."

Second half.

Alex got the ball.

He saw the high line. He saw the space.

Mark wanted to run. His muscles twitched.

But he looked at Alex.

Alex held the ball. He waited. One second. Two seconds.

The Villa defenders held their line. They were waiting for the run.

Alex didn't pass. He took a step.

Mark didn't run. He jogged sideways.

Then... Alex swung his leg.

Contact.

The moment Alex's boot hit the leather... Mark exploded.

He was onside. By an inch.

The ball flew over the defenders.

Mark was gone.

Torres tried to catch him. Impossible.

Mark was one on one.

He rounded the keeper. He tapped it in.

GOAL!

One one.

Mark ran to the corner. He pointed at an invisible watch on his wrist.

"FASHIONABLY LATE!" he yelled.

Alex ran over. "Perfect timing, Speed."

But Villa was good. They didn't panic.

They kept their high line. They kept pressing.

The game became a duel of nerves.

75th minute. One one.

Alex was tired. The mental effort of watching the line every second was exhausting.

He got the ball deep.

Jude was next to him.

"Go, Jude," Alex whispered.

Jude didn't need to be told twice.

He didn't run in behind. He ran with the ball.

The "Power".

He drove straight at the Villa defense.

The defenders didn't know whether to step up or drop back. If they stepped up, Jude would run past them. If they dropped back, they broke their own trap.

They hesitated.

That was all Jude needed.

He smashed through the midfield. He got to the edge of the box.

He saw Antoine.

Antoine was standing on the penalty spot.

Jude hammered a pass to him.

Antoine controlled it with a velvet touch.

He spun.

He shot.

The keeper saved it.

But the ball popped up in the air.

Chaos.

Mark was there. He had stayed onside.

He jumped.

He tried to head it. But he was too short.

He tried to kick it. But it was too high.

So he... chested it.

He chested the ball into the net.

GOAL!

Two one. Arsenal.

It was a weird goal. A messy goal.

Mark fell into the net, tangled in the mesh.

"I SCORED WITH MY PECS!" Mark screamed, struggling to get free. "MUSCLE GOAL!"

Alex laughed. He helped untangle his friend.

"Whatever works, Speed."

The final ten minutes were nervy.

Villa threw everyone forward. The high line disappeared. It was a siege.

Alex was the Shield. He blocked. He cleared.

Bastian was a tower.

The whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Aston Villa 1.

They had beaten the trap.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was mentally drained.

Unai Emery, the Villa manager, shook his hand.

"Good timing, Professor," Emery said. "You broke the machine."

"Mark broke it," Alex said. "I just... watched."

Milo was in the tunnel. He was wearing a referee's uniform. But it was made of silk.

"OFFSIDE TRAP?" Milo yelled, waving a flag. "WE ARE ON SIDE! WE ARE THE ONSIDE KINGS! ALEX! I HAVE A DEAL WITH A WATCH COMPANY! 'PERFECT TIMING'!"

"Maybe later, Milo," Alex said.

He walked into the locker room.

Mark was sitting there, looking at his chest in the mirror.

"Do you think my chest will be famous?" Mark asked.

"It is already famous," Jude said, throwing a towel at him.

Alex sat down. Number 8.

He checked his phone.

A text from his dad.

"Well done. That line was tight. Your mum was hiding behind the sofa for the last ten minutes. Also, can you pick up milk on the way home?"

Alex smiled.

He was a champion. He was a millionaire. He was the Professor.

But he still had to buy milk.

He packed his bag.

"Mark," Alex said. "Do you want to come to the shop? I need milk."

Mark put on his sunglasses.

"The Arrow needs calcium," Mark said seriously. "Let's go."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.