Alex sat at the kitchen table on Tuesday morning.

He was staring at a box of cereal.

It wasn't his usual brand. It was a bright red box. On the front, there was a cartoon picture of a boy with a very large brain, wearing an Arsenal kit.

The cereal was called "PROFESSOR PUFFS".

"Eat up, Alex," his mum said, pouring milk into a bowl. "They are full of... smart things. Vitamins. And fiber."

"Mum," Alex sighed. "My face is on the box. It is weird eating my own face."

"It is a very handsome face," his dad argued, reading the back of the box. "Look! There is a puzzle on the back! 'Help the Professor find the perfect pass!' I can't solve it."

Alex looked at the maze. "You have to go left, dad. Through the defensive line."

His phone buzzed.

It was Milo.

"THE CEREAL!" Milo screamed through the phone. "IT IS CRUNCHY! IT IS SMART! IT IS FLYING OFF THE SHELVES! I AM EATING THREE BOWLS RIGHT NOW!"

"Milo, please stop screaming," Alex said. "It is too early."

"TIME ZONES DO NOT APPLY TO LEGENDS!" Milo yelled. "Listen! The 'Professor' brand is expanding! I have a meeting with a calculator company! And a chess set manufacturer! You are going to be the King piece!"

"Can Mark be the Knight?" Alex asked. "Because he jumps around a lot."

"GENIUS! I WILL WRITE THAT DOWN! GOODBYE!"

Alex arrived at the training ground.

It was raining. The mood, however, was sunny. Too sunny.

Mark was wearing a beret. A red beret. And he was holding a baguette.

"Bonjour, mes amis!" Mark shouted as he walked into the locker room. "I am feeling very French today! I am the Arrow of Paris!"

"Take the hat off, Speed," Bastian grunted from his corner. "You look like a mushroom."

"I am a stylish mushroom!" Mark insisted.

Antoine walked in. He saw Mark. He covered his eyes.

"My culture," Antoine whispered. "You are killing it."

Jude was sitting on the bench, laughing. "Let him be, Antoine. He conquered Paris. He can wear the hat."

"He conquered Paris because I passed him the ball," Alex said, opening his locker.

"Details!" Mark said, taking a bite of the baguette. "We won! Two zero! We are basically in the Semi-Finals already!"

The room went quiet.

Steve, the manager, was standing in the doorway.

He walked in slowly. He didn't look happy.

"Basically in the Semi-Finals?" Steve repeated.

Mark stopped chewing. He hid the baguette behind his back.

"I... I meant... we have a good lead, boss."

"Two zero is the most dangerous lead in football," Steve said. His voice was cold. "One goal for them... and the panic starts. One goal... and the stadium turns against you."

He looked at the team.

"You are happy. You are relaxed. You are eating French bread."

He grabbed the baguette from Mark and threw it in the bin.

"Mbappe is not eating bread. Mbappe is running. Mbappe is angry. He is coming to London next week to destroy you. And if you think the job is done... he will."

Steve pointed to the pitch.

"But before Mbappe... we have Nottingham Forest. Saturday. At home."

The team relaxed a little. Forest. A smaller team.

"Do not relax!" Steve roared. "That is the problem! You think it will be easy! Forest are fast. They have Elanga. They have Gibbs-White. If you play at fifty percent... they will beat you. And then you will be sad for PSG. And then you will lose everything."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the brain. Tell them. What happens when a machine stops working?"

"It rusts," Alex said quietly.

"Exactly," Steve said. "Do not rust. Go train."

Training was hard. But the team was distracted.

Mark was trying to do "Rabona" passes every time he got the ball.

Antoine was trying to nutmeg everyone, including the fitness coach.

Jude was playing well, but he was laughing too much.

Only Alex and Bastian were serious.

"They are children," Bastian grunted to Alex during a water break. "They think they have won the war. They have only won a battle."

"They are excited," Alex said. "It is hard to come down from the clouds."

"Gravity brings everyone down," Bastian said. "Usually face first."

Saturday. The Emirates Stadium.

It was a calm afternoon. The fans were happy. They were singing "Champions of Europe". They expected a show.

Arsenal walked out.

Alex looked at the Nottingham Forest players. They didn't look scared. They looked focused.

They knew Arsenal might be tired. They knew Arsenal might be arrogant.

The whistle blew.

Arsenal started... sloppily.

Mark tried a fancy flick in the first minute. He lost the ball.

Antoine tried to dribble through three players. He lost the ball.

Forest countered.

They were fast.

Elanga, their winger, sprinted down the line. He was faster than the Arsenal fullback.

He crossed.

A Forest striker headed it.

Ramsdale made a save.

"WAKE UP!" Ramsdale screamed.

But Arsenal didn't wake up. They were playing "Exhibition Football". They wanted to look cool.

In the 25th minute, disaster struck.

Jude tried a risky pass across the midfield. It was intercepted.

Gibbs-White took the ball. He ran at the defense.

Bastian stepped up to stop him.

Gibbs-White passed it through Bastian's legs.

He was one on one.

He shot.

GOAL.

One zero. Nottingham Forest.

The stadium went silent. The fans stopped singing.

Mark stood on the halfway line, hands on his hips. He looked confused.

"How did they score?" Mark asked. "We are the Kings."

"Kings can bleed," Alex said, walking past him. "Now... stop being a King. Be a worker."

Halftime. Zero one.

The locker room was not happy.

Steve stood in the middle. He didn't shout. He just looked disappointed.

"I told you," Steve said. "You are rusting."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. You are trying to be a YouTube star. Stop flicking the ball. Pass it."

He looked at Jude.

"Power. You are arrogant. You think you can bully them. They are strong too. Respect them."

He looked at Antoine.

"Magic. You are playing for the cameras. Play for the team."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the only one thinking. But you are too quiet. You are letting them be stupid. Scream at them. Lead them."

Alex nodded.

"Okay," Alex said. He stood up.

He looked at his friends. His superstars.

"Guys," Alex said. His voice was shaking a little, but it got stronger. "Steve is right. We look like idiots. We are playing like... like we are already on holiday."

He looked at Mark.

"Mark. Run straight. Stop dancing."

He looked at Jude.

"Jude. Simple passes. Then run."

He looked at Antoine.

"Antoine. Connect us. Be the glue."

"We have forty-five minutes," Alex said. "If we lose this... Mbappe will smell fear. We cannot let him smell fear."

Jude stood up. He slapped Alex on the back.

"The Professor is right," Jude said. "Let's stop being clowns. Let's be the Hurricane."

Second half.

Arsenal came out different. The arrogance was gone. The anger was back.

Alex controlled the tempo. Tick. Tock.

He kept it simple. Pass. Move. Pass. Move.

He made Forest run.

In the 55th minute, Alex got the ball.

He saw Mark.

Mark wasn't trying a trick. He was on the shoulder of the defender. He was waiting.

Alex hit the pass. The laser.

Mark ran onto it.

He didn't try to chip the keeper. He didn't try to be fancy.

He just smashed it. Low and hard.

GOAL.

One one.

Mark didn't celebrate. He ran into the net, grabbed the ball, and ran back to the center circle.

"COME ON!" Mark yelled. "WE NEED ANOTHER!"

The crowd roared. They saw the hunger return.

75th minute.

Arsenal was pushing. Forest was defending deep.

Alex had the ball on the edge of the box.

He saw Jude making a run.

But the Forest defense blocked him.

Alex saw Antoine.

Antoine was marked.

There was no pass.

Alex looked at the goal.

He remembered his "Professor Puffs" cereal box. Help the Professor find the perfect pass.

Sometimes... the perfect pass is to yourself.

Alex did a "fake shot".

The Forest defender jumped to block.

Alex dragged the ball to his left.

He was free.

He was twenty yards out.

He hit it.

With his left foot.

It wasn't a knuckleball. It wasn't a curl.

It was a driven shot. Straight as an arrow.

It flew through a forest of legs.

The keeper saw it late.

It hit the bottom corner.

GOAL!

Two one. Arsenal.

The stadium erupted.

Alex ran to the corner. He did the Professor celebration. Finger to the head.

But this time, he added something.

He pointed to the ground. Focus.

Jude ran over and lifted him up.

"CLASS IS IN SESSION!" Jude roared.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Nottingham Forest 1.

It was a scare. A big scare.

But they had won.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was exhausted.

Steve was waiting.

"Better," Steve said. "You woke up. But next week... against PSG... you cannot sleep for one second. If you sleep against Mbappe... you die."

"We are awake, coach," Alex said.

Alex walked into the locker room.

He checked his phone.

A text from Milo.

"ALEX! THE COMEBACK! THE LEFT FOOT! I AM TALKING TO A SHOELACE COMPANY! 'THE FINCH KNOT'! IT NEVER COMES UNDONE!"

Alex shook his head.

Then, a text from Maya.

"I analyzed the first half. Your team's 'Expected Goals' was 0.1. Terrible efficiency. Second half: 2.4. Much better. Also, tell Mark that berets create drag. He should wear a cap."

Alex laughed.

He showed the text to Mark.

Mark frowned. "Drag? What is drag?"

"It means the hat makes you slow," Alex said.

Mark took the red beret out of his bag. He looked at it sadly.

"Goodbye, Pierre," Mark whispered to the hat. "You were beautiful. But I need speed."

He threw the hat in the bin.

"Ready for Paris?" Jude asked, sitting down next to them.

"They are coming here," Alex corrected. "London."

"Right," Jude said. "Ready for the French invasion?"

"We are ready," Antoine said, joining them. "I texted Mbappe. I told him to bring a warm coat. London is cold."

Next week... the Semi-Finals were on the line.

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