"He will be back," Jude said, sitting down next to Alex. Jude was wearing a compression sleeve on his leg. "Three months. We just have to... survive."

"We have to do more than survive," Alex said. "We have to win. Without him."

Mark walked in. He was not bouncing. He was not wearing a funny hat.

He was wearing his training kit. He looked serious.

"I watched videos," Mark said. "Of Harry. How he moves. How he holds the ball."

"And?" Antoine asked, polishing his boots.

"And... I can't do that," Mark admitted. "He is strong. I am... aerodynamically efficient. If I hold the ball up, the defender will just pick me up and move me."

"So don't hold it up," Alex said. "Run away with it."

The next game was Liverpool. Away. Again.

Anfield.

Without Harry Kane.

The media was already writing the obituary. "ARSENAL'S TITLE HOPES CRASH WITH KANE INJURY", the headlines screamed.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He was wearing the captain's armband.

Steve had given it to him.

"You are the Brain," Steve had said. "Lead them."

The armband felt heavy. Heavier than the Golden Boy trophy.

He looked at Mark. Mark was staring straight ahead.

"Speed," Alex whispered.

Mark turned. "Yes, Captain?"

"Don't try to be Harry," Alex said. "Be Mark. Be the Arrow. But... be a smart Arrow."

Mark nodded. "Smart Arrow. Got it."

The game started.

Liverpool smelled blood. They knew Arsenal was wounded.

They pressed high. Van Dijk was a monster. He bullied Mark. He pushed him. He won every header.

In the 20th minute, Liverpool scored. Nunez.

One zero.

The crowd roared. "WHERE IS YOUR CAPTAIN?" they chanted.

Alex felt the panic rising in his team. Jude was trying too hard, tackling everyone. Antoine was disappearing.

Alex clapped his hands.

"CALM!" he shouted. "STABLE!"

He got the ball. He slowed the game down.

He passed. He moved. He passed.

He made Arsenal breathe.

Halftime. One zero.

The locker room was quiet.

"I can't beat him," Mark whispered. "Van Dijk. He is too big."

"He is big," Alex agreed. "So stop fighting him."

He grabbed the tactics board.

"Mark. Stop playing as a number nine. Stop standing in the middle."

"Where do I go?"

"Go wide," Alex said. "Go to the right wing. Stand on the touchline."

"But... who plays striker?" Jude asked.

"No one," Alex said.

The team stared at him.

"We play with a False Nine," Alex said. "But... a 'Ghost Nine'."

He looked at Antoine.

"Magician. You start in the middle. But you drop deep. Drag the defenders out."

"And then?" Antoine asked.

"And then," Alex said, looking at Jude. "The Power arrives."

"Me?" Jude grinned.

"Yes. You are the striker now. But you start from midfield. By the time you get to the box... you will be running at full speed. Van Dijk cannot stop a train."

Steve, who had been listening, nodded. "The Ghost Train. I like it."

Second half.

Arsenal came out.

Mark went wide. He pulled the Liverpool left-back away.

Antoine dropped deep. He pulled the center-back out of position.

A giant hole opened in the middle of the Liverpool defense.

55th minute.

Alex got the ball. He saw the hole.

He saw Jude.

Jude was running from deep. He was building up speed.

Alex hit the pass.

A perfect, weighted through ball into the empty space.

Jude ran onto it. He was flying.

Van Dijk tried to come across. But Jude was already at top speed.

Jude hit him. Shoulder to shoulder.

BOOM.

Van Dijk... bounced off.

The crowd gasped. The giant had fallen.

Jude was through.

He smashed it.

GOAL.

One one.

Jude ran to the corner. He roared. He pointed at Alex.

"THE TRAIN!" Jude yelled. "CHOO CHOO!"

Liverpool were rattled. They didn't know who to mark. There was no striker to mark.

Mark was wide. Antoine was deep. Jude was everywhere.

75th minute.

Mark got the ball on the wing.

He was one on one with the full-back.

He did a stepover. He went past him.

He looked up.

The box was empty. No Harry Kane.

But Alex... Alex was making a run.

Not a fast run. A smart run.

He ran to the edge of the box. The "D".

Mark cut the ball back.

Alex was there.

He was twenty yards out.

He didn't shoot.

He saw Antoine making a run across the defenders.

Alex flicked the ball. A tiny, first-time pass.

To Antoine.

Antoine took a touch. He curled it.

It hit the post.

CLANG.

The ball bounced out.

But Jude... the Train... had not stopped running.

He followed the shot.

He slid in.

He poked the rebound into the net.

GOAL!

Two one. Arsenal.

Jude lay on the ground, exhausted.

Mark jumped on him. Antoine jumped on him.

Alex ran over. He knelt down.

"Good train," Alex smiled.

"I need coal," Jude wheezed. "I am empty."

They held on.

They defended like lions. Alex cleared a ball off the line.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Liverpool 1.

They had won at Anfield. Without Harry Kane.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was the Captain. He was the winner.

He looked at the camera.

He tapped the armband.

For Harry.

He walked into the tunnel.

Milo was there. He was wearing a conductor's uniform. A train conductor.

"ALL ABOARD!" Milo screamed. "THE GHOST TRAIN! ALEX! I AM SELLING TICKETS! 'THE BELLINGHAM EXPRESS'!"

"Milo, you are ridiculous," Alex laughed.

He walked into the locker room.

He facetimed Harry.

Harry answered. He was sitting on his sofa, his leg in a cast. He was crying.

"You did it," Harry sniffed. "You crazy kids. You did it."

"We missed you," Alex said.

"You didn't look like you missed me," Harry laughed through tears. "Jude is a monster."

"He is a train," Alex corrected.

"Keep going, Professor," Harry said. "Keep the armband warm."

"I will," Alex promised.

Alex put the phone down.

He looked at his team.

Mark was asleep on the bench, still wearing his boots.

Antoine was fixing his hair.

Jude was eating a pizza.

They were a mess. They were chaos.

But they were winning.

Alex touched the armband.

He was the Professor. But now... he was the Leader.

He smiled.

The Hurricane was not just a storm anymore.

It was a force of nature.

And nothing could stop it.

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