The lecture hall at Imperial College London was steep.

Alex sat in the back row. He was wearing a hoodie, a baseball cap, and non-prescription glasses. He was trying to be invisible.

The professor, Dr. Aris, was talking about fluid dynamics.

"Bernoulli's principle," Dr. Aris said, writing on the chalkboard. "As the speed of a fluid increases, the pressure decreases."

Alex scribbled in his notebook. Speed increases, pressure decreases.

He smiled. That was football. That was the Hurricane. When Mark ran fast, the pressure on the defense dropped because they panicked.

"Hey," a whisper came from his left.

Alex froze. He didn't turn.

"Hey. Psst."

Alex looked. A student with messy hair and a coffee stain on his shirt was staring at him.

"Can I borrow a pen?" the student whispered.

Alex exhaled. "Sure." He handed over a pen.

"Thanks," the student said. He looked at the pen. It was a silver pen. It had ALEX FINCH - CHAMPION OF EUROPE engraved on the side. (Milo had sent a crate of them).

The student's eyes went wide. He looked at the pen. He looked at Alex.

"Oh my god," the student squeaked. "You are him."

"I am just a student," Alex whispered desperately.

"You are the Professor! In a lecture! This is meta!"

"Please be quiet," Alex begged.

"Can you sign my forehead?"

"No."

Alex ran out of the lecture hall at noon.

A black van was waiting.

Mark was leaning against it. He was wearing... a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. And a fake pipe in his mouth.

"GREETINGS, COLLEAGUE!" Mark shouted, waving the pipe.

"Mark," Alex sighed, climbing into the van. "Why are you dressed like Sherlock Holmes?"

"I am blending in!" Mark said, getting into the driver's seat (he had upgraded his license to drive vans now). "I am an intellectual. I read a book today."

"Which book?"

"The Hungry Caterpillar," Mark said proudly. "The plot twists were intense."

Alex laughed. "Drive, Speed. We have training."

The training ground was buzzing.

The new season was starting on Saturday.

Arsenal were the Treble winners. The targets on their backs were now the size of planets.

Steve, the manager, gathered the team.

"Welcome back," Steve said. "I hope you enjoyed your summer. I hope you enjoyed your trophies."

He looked at Alex.

"How was school, Professor?"

"Informative, coach," Alex said. "I learned about fluid dynamics."

"Good," Steve said. "Because Saturday... we play West Ham. Away. And West Ham... they are a brick."

He pointed to the screen.

"They are big. They are heavy. They do not flow. They sit. And they hit."

He looked at the team.

"We are the champions. Everyone expects us to win. That is dangerous. Arrogance is a poison."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. You are wearing a tweed jacket."

"It is for morale, boss," Mark said, quickly taking it off. Underneath, he was wearing his 'Arrow' kit.

"West Ham," Steve continued. "They have Ward-Prowse. The sniper. Do not give away corners. Do not give away free kicks. If you foul them near the box... we die."

He looked at Jude.

"Power. You are the key. West Ham likes to bully. You must be the bigger bully."

Jude cracked his knuckles. "I love bullies. They bounce well."

Saturday. The London Stadium.

It was a hot August afternoon. The bubbles were blowing in the air (West Ham's tradition).

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Kurt Zouma, the West Ham captain, looked down at Alex. He was huge.

"Back to school, kid?" Zouma grilled.

"Just a summer course," Alex smiled.

The whistle blew.

West Ham didn't care about Arsenal's trophies. They cared about smashing them.

They played "low block" football. They packed the box.

And when they got the ball, they hit it long to their giant striker, Antonio.

It was ugly. It was effective.

In the 15th minute, Antonio barged Bastian off the ball.

Bastian, the German mountain, actually fell over.

Antonio ran. He shot.

Ramsdale saved it.

"WAKE UP!" Ramsdale screamed. "THEY ARE HEAVY!"

Alex was trying to control the game. But the pitch was dry and slow. The ball was sticking.

Mark was frustrated.

"There is no space!" Mark yelled. "They are standing on my toes!"

"Move them!" Alex yelled back.

But they wouldn't move.

Halftime. 0-0.

It was a stalemate.

The locker room was hot.

"They are waiting for a set piece," Steve said. "That is their only plan. Survive for eighty-nine minutes, score a corner in the ninetieth."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You learned about fluid dynamics?"

"Yes, coach."

"Fluid flows," Steve said. "It finds the path of least resistance. Right now... we are hitting the dam. We are crashing against the wall."

"So we go around?" Alex asked.

"No," Steve said. "We change state. We turn from water... to steam."

The team looked confused.

"Steam?" Mark asked. "Like a kettle?"

"Pressure," Steve said. "We increase the pressure. We stop passing backwards. We stop passing sideways. Every pass must be forward. Every run must be a sprint. We boil them."

He looked at Jude.

"Jude. Turn up the heat."

Second half.

Arsenal came out fast.

They stopped playing patient football. They played "Chaos Ball".

Alex got the ball. He didn't look. He hit it forward.

Mark chased it.

Jude chased it.

Antoine chased it.

They were swarming.

West Ham couldn't rest. They cleared the ball. Arsenal sent it right back.

55th minute.

Alex got the ball on the edge of the box.

He was surrounded.

He saw Jude making a run.

Alex didn't pass to feet. He passed to space. A tiny pocket of air inside the box.

Jude threw himself at it.

He connected.

THUD.

The ball hit the post.

"AGAIN!" Jude roared, getting up immediately.

The pressure was building. The dam was cracking.

65th minute.

West Ham were tired. They were heavy.

Alex had the ball.

He saw Mark.

Mark was standing on the wing. He looked bored.

Then... Alex made a sign.

He touched his glasses (he wasn't wearing them, but he mimed it).

The Calculation.

Mark understood.

Mark didn't run forward. He ran backwards. Away from the goal.

The defender, confused, followed him.

This created a gap. A diagonal lane.

Alex didn't pass to Mark.

He ran into the gap himself.

"The Professor is running!" the commentator screamed.

Alex drove into the box.

He was one on one with Zouma.

Alex didn't have a trick. He had physics.

He dropped his center of gravity. He stopped instantly.

Zouma, heavy and tired, couldn't stop. He ran past Alex.

Alex was clear.

He saw Antoine at the back post.

He chipped it.

Ideally weighted.

Antoine didn't even jump. He just nodded his head.

GOAL.

One zero. Arsenal.

Antoine ran to Alex. "The steam! You boiled him!"

"Phase transition!" Alex laughed.

West Ham had to attack now. The wall had to move.

80th minute.

West Ham won a free kick. Twenty-five yards out.

Ward-Prowse stood over it. The Sniper.

The stadium held its breath.

Alex stood in the wall. He was nervous.

Ward-Prowse hit it.

It was a perfect curl. It was going top corner.

Ramsdale flew. He touched it.

The ball hit the bar.

It bounced down.

Chaos in the box.

Antonio tried to kick it in.

Bastian threw his body in the way.

BLOCK.

The ball bounced out to the edge of the box.

To Alex.

The field was open.

West Ham had committed everyone.

Alex looked up.

Mark was on the halfway line. He was jumping up and down.

Alex hit the Hurricane pass.

Seventy yards.

It landed on Mark's chest.

Mark turned. He was free.

He ran.

He ran so fast his cheeks flapped in the wind.

He reached the box.

He rounded the keeper.

He stopped on the line.

He waited.

He looked at the crowd.

He took a bite of an imaginary apple.

Then he tapped it in.

GOAL.

Two zero.

Mark ran to the corner. He put his hands together like he was holding a book.

"I AM READING!" Mark screamed. "I AM A SCHOLAR!"

Alex ran the length of the pitch. He hugged his friend.

"Good reading, Speed."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. West Ham 0.

The Champions had started with a win.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was tired.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing a mortarboard hat and a graduation gown made of red velvet.

"THE GRADUATE!" Milo screamed. "YOU PASSED THE TEST! ALEX! I AM SELLING DIPLOMAS! 'THE UNIVERSITY OF GOALS'!"

"Milo, please," Alex laughed. "I actually have university on Monday."

"WE WILL FILM IT! A REALITY SHOW! 'THE PROFESSOR GOES TO SCHOOL'!"

"No cameras," Alex said firmly.

He walked into the locker room.

Jude was there, ice on his knee.

"We boiled them," Jude grinned.

"Thermodynamics," Alex said, sitting down.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"I calculated Mark's top speed on the second goal. 36.4 km/h. He broke the speed limit for a school zone. Also, your essay on fluid dynamics is due Tuesday. Do you need notes?"

Alex smiled.

He typed back.

"I think I learned a lot about fluid dynamics today. But yes, send the notes."

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