Alex walked into the Arsenal training ground on Monday morning. It was raining, because of course it was.

He wasn't wearing a school uniform. He was wearing a very sharp, very expensive hoodie that Milo had sent him. It had a tiny gold brain embroidered on the chest.

"Subtle," Alex muttered to himself.

He walked into the locker room. It was "Bastian early"—7:45 AM.

But Bastian wasn't alone.

Mark was there.

Mark was wearing a full tuxedo. A black tuxedo with a bow tie. He was also wearing his football boots.

He was juggling a ball. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Mark," Alex said, putting his bag down. "Is there a wedding? Or a funeral?"

"It is a special occasion!" Mark announced, trapping the ball on his neck. "Today is the draw for the Club World Cup! We are going to conquer the planet!"

"The Club World Cup is in December, Mark," Alex said. "It is August."

"Preparation is key!" Mark insisted. "Also, Milo said I look like James Bond. Do I look like James Bond?"

"You look like a waiter who got lost on a football pitch," Bastian grunted from his corner. The giant German was doing planks. He didn't look up.

"A very fast waiter," Mark corrected. "Table for one? Goal coming right up!"

The door opened. Jude Bellingham walked in. He was wearing a t-shirt that said POWER in neon green letters.

"Nice suit, Speed," Jude laughed. "Going to prom?"

"I am going to glory!" Mark shouted. "And maybe lunch. I am hungry."

Antoine walked in. He looked perfect, as always. He saw Mark's tuxedo.

"No," Antoine said simply. "Just... no."

"You are all jealous of my elegance," Mark sniffed.

Steve, the manager, walked in. He was holding a tactics board, but he looked... different. Excited.

"Right," Steve boomed. "Listen up. The season has started. We won the Community Shield. We beat Chelsea. We are flying."

He paused.

"But... we have a new problem."

"Is it injuries?" Harry Kane asked, looking worried.

"No," Steve said. "It is... fame."

He clicked a remote. The big screen lit up.

It showed a picture of the team bus. But it wasn't just a bus anymore.

It was surrounded. By thousands of fans. In Tokyo. In New York. In London.

"You are not just a football team," Steve said. "You are a pop group. You are the Beatles. You are One Direction."

"I am Harry Styles," Mark whispered immediately.

"You are Ringo," Bastian said.

Steve ignored them. "Everyone wants a piece of you. Sponsors. TV shows. Fans. It is... a distraction."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the face of this. The Golden Boy. The Brain. Everyone wants to know... what is your secret?"

"I just... look for the space," Alex said.

"Exactly," Steve said. "But now... they are trying to close the space. Every team we play... they sit deep. They park the bus. They build a wall."

He clicked the remote.

The screen showed a logo. A blue bird.

"Brighton," Steve said. "Saturday. At home."

"Brighton?" Mark scoffed. "They are easy. We beat them last year."

"They have a new manager," Steve said. "De Zerbi is gone. They have... a tactician. A defensive genius. He has watched every game you played. He knows the 'Hurricane'. He knows the 'Vortex'. He knows the 'Fake Fake'."

Steve looked serious.

"He has built a trap. A specific trap... for Alex."

Alex felt a chill. A trap for him?

"They call it... 'The Cage'," Steve said.

Training was intense. But it was also... weird.

Steve made them play a game where Alex wasn't allowed to touch the ball.

"What?" Alex asked. "But I am the pivot."

"Not today," Steve said. "Today, you are the ghost. You run. You move. You point. But you do not touch."

"So... I am a decoy?"

"You are the ultimate decoy," Steve said. "If they want to trap you... we will let them. We will let them build the cage around you. And while they are busy locking the door... the rest of the team will rob the house."

Alex spent the whole session running into empty spaces, dragging defenders with him, and shouting instructions.

"MARK! GO!"

"JUDE! DRIVE!"

"ANTOINE! MAGIC!"

It was frustrating. He wanted the ball. His feet itched for it.

But he saw the result.

With two or three defenders chasing Alex... Mark was open. Jude was open.

"It works," Jude said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "They are so scared of you, they forget about me. And I am very big to forget."

Saturday. The Emirates.

The sun was shining. The pitch looked perfect.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

The Brighton players looked... organized. Too organized. They were whispering, pointing at him.

Their captain, Lewis Dunk, looked at Alex.

"We have a box for you, Professor," Dunk grinned. "A nice, small box."

"I am claustrophobic," Alex smiled back.

They walked out. The roar. The anthem.

The whistle blew.

The trap was real.

As soon as the game started, four Brighton players formed a square around Alex.

A literal box.

If he moved left, the box moved left. If he moved right, the box moved right.

He couldn't get the ball. If Bastian tried to pass to him, it was intercepted.

"They are suffocating him!" Mark yelled from the wing. "Let him breathe!"

Alex wasn't panicking. He was analyzing.

Four players. Four players just for me.

That meant... seven players for everyone else.

Arsenal had a numerical advantage everywhere else on the pitch.

Alex looked at Jude.

Jude saw it too.

"Professor!" Jude yelled. "Stay in the cage! Enjoy the cage!"

Alex nodded. He stood still. He let the box surround him.

He was the prisoner.

And Jude... Jude was the jailbreak.

Bastian got the ball. He looked at Alex. He saw the cage.

He didn't pass.

He looked at Jude.

Jude had acres of space.

Bastian passed to Jude.

Jude turned. He ran.

The Brighton midfield was empty. They were all busy guarding Alex.

Jude drove forward. The Power.

He got to the edge of the box. A defender stepped out.

Jude passed to Antoine.

Antoine flicked it to Mark.

Mark was one on one.

He shot.

The keeper saved it.

"AHHH!" Mark screamed. "I HIT IT TOO HARD!"

But the chance was there. The plan was working.

Brighton didn't change. They were obsessed with Alex.

"Keep him in the box!" their manager screamed from the sideline.

Alex just walked around. He felt like a tourist.

But his brain was working overtime.

They are disciplined. But they are tired. Chasing a ghost is tiring.

30th minute.

Alex saw a moment.

One of the "cage" players, a young midfielder, looked at his watch. He lost focus for one second.

Alex didn't wait.

He sprinted.

He burst out of the box.

"HE ESCAPED!" a Brighton defender yelled.

Alex ran into space.

Bastian saw him. He hit the pass.

Alex controlled it. He was free.

The Brighton defense panicked. The cage was broken. They all rushed towards him.

Alex smiled.

Now.

He didn't shoot. He didn't dribble.

He hit a reverse pass. Back into the space where the cage used to be.

Who was there?

Jude.

The Power had followed the Brain.

Jude ran onto the ball. He was twenty yards out.

He didn't finesse it. He didn't chip it.

He smashed it.

A rocket.

It hit the top corner. The net almost ripped.

GOAL!

One zero. Arsenal.

Jude ran to the corner. He pointed at Alex.

"THE ESCAPE ARTIST!" Jude roared.

Alex laughed. He hugged Jude.

"I just opened the door," Alex said. "You walked through."

Halftime. One zero.

Steve was happy.

"They are obsessed," Steve said. "They are so worried about the Professor, they forgot about the tank."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. Second half. They will try to rebuild the cage. But they will be wider. They will try to stop Jude too."

"So?" Mark asked.

"So... the middle will be loose. The cage will have bars. Wide bars."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Don't stay in the cage. Run through the bars. Make runs from deep. Late runs. Lampard runs."

"Ghost runs," Alex nodded.

"Exactly. Be a ghost."

Second half.

Brighton adjusted. They tried to mark Jude and Alex.

But you can't mark everyone.

The game opened up.

Arsenal played with freedom.

65th minute.

Antoine got the ball on the wing. He did a magic trick. He disappeared past the fullback.

He crossed.

Mark was there. He headed it.

It hit the bar.

CLANG.

The ball bounced out to the edge of the box.

The Brighton defense pushed out.

But they forgot the ghost.

Alex was running.

He timed it perfectly. He arrived just as the ball dropped.

He didn't let it bounce.

He hit it on the volley.

With his left foot.

It was a "controlled" volley. He guided it.

It flew through the crowd. It stayed low.

It hit the bottom corner.

GOAL!

Two zero.

Alex ran to the corner. He didn't do the finger to the head.

He did a new celebration.

He pretended to open a door. Then he walked through it.

The Escape.

Mark jumped on him. "YOU ARE HOUDINI! YOU ARE MAGIC!"

"I am just stable," Alex laughed.

The game finished 3-0. Mark scored a late penalty (he argued with Harry Kane for it, and Harry let him have it).

Arsenal were flying.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was tired, but he wasn't battered. The cage had protected him, in a way.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing... a jailbird outfit. Black and white stripes. And he was holding a plastic key.

"THE ESCAPE!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! YOU BROKE OUT! I AM SELLING KEYS! 'THE KEY TO VICTORY'!"

"Milo," Alex sighed. "Please tell me you didn't buy a prison."

"I BOUGHT A CELL! IT IS VERY CHIC!"

Alex shook his head.

He walked into the locker room.

Leo, the 'intern', was there. He was cleaning boots.

"Good game, Professor," Leo said. "You manipulated the space perfectly."

"Thanks, Leo," Alex said. "Did you finish your chemistry homework?"

"Yes. Covalent bonds. They are strong."

"Like this team," Alex smiled.

He sat down.

He looked at his teammates.

They were winning. They were happy.

But Alex knew football. He knew physics.

What goes up... must come down.

He checked his phone.

A news alert.

"BREAKING: ARSENAL CAPTAIN HARRY KANE INJURED IN TRAINING. OUT FOR THREE MONTHS."

The room went silent.

Harry hadn't played today. He had a 'knock'.

But it wasn't a knock. It was a tear.

Alex looked at Harry's empty locker.

The Captain was gone. The goalscorer was gone.

Steve walked in. He looked pale.

"You saw the news," Steve said quietly.

The team nodded. Mark looked like he was going to cry.

"Harry is out," Steve said. "Until Christmas."

He looked at the Diamond.

"We don't have a striker. Not a real one. Trossard is good, but he is not Harry."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. You are not a winger anymore. You are not a chaos option."

Mark swallowed.

"You are the Number Nine," Steve said. "You are the main man. Can you do it?"

Mark looked at Alex. He looked at Jude. He looked at Antoine.

He stood up. He wasn't vibrating. He was still.

"I can do it," Mark said. "I am the Arrow. I will hit the target."

Steve nodded. "Good. Because next week... we play Liverpool. Again."

Alex looked at his friend.

Mark was fast. Mark was chaos.

But could he be... a killer? Could he carry the team?

Alex stood up. He put his hand on Mark's shoulder.

"We will feed you, Speed," Alex said. "Just run."

Mark looked at him. A fire lit up in his eyes.

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