"Tempo, class!" Mr. Calloway shouted. "Music is not just notes. It is the space between the notes. It is the silence. It is the rush. Adagio. Allegro. Presto."

Alex tapped his pen on his desk.

Tempo.

That was football.

Atletico Madrid played Largo—slow, heavy, painful.

Mark played Presto—fast, frantic, breathless.

"Mr. Finch?"

Alex looked up. "Yes, sir?"

"You are tapping in 4/4 time," Mr. Calloway said. "But the piece is in 3/4. You are disrupting the waltz."

"Sorry, sir," Alex said. "I was thinking about Manchester City. They play in a perfect 4/4 beat. It is... hypnotic."

"Well, try to keep the football on the pitch," the teacher sighed. "And bring your flute tomorrow. You have a recital."

Alex groaned. A recital. He could play in front of eighty thousand people, but playing a flute in front of twenty teenagers was terrifying.

School finished. Alex walked out.

The street was blocked.

Not by traffic. By a single vehicle.

It was a Monster Truck.

A giant, black truck with wheels taller than Alex. It had flames painted on the side.

Mark was sitting in the driver's seat, about ten feet in the air. He was wearing a construction vest and a hard hat.

"MAKE WAY!" Mark screamed through a megaphone. "HEAVY LOAD COMING THROUGH!"

Alex stood on the pavement. He covered his face with his hands.

"Mark," Alex yelled up. "How is this legal?"

"I HAVE A PERMIT!" Mark yelled back. "IT SAYS 'I AM A LEGEND' ON IT! MILO WROTE IT IN CRAYON!"

Alex climbed the ladder to the passenger seat. It took a while.

"Why a Monster Truck, Speed?" Alex asked, buckling a seatbelt that looked like it belonged in a fighter jet.

"Because Saturday is Manchester City," Mark said, revving the engine. The sound shook the nearby windows. "They are a machine. A big, scary machine. We need to be a bigger machine. We need to crush them!"

"It is a game of football, Mark. Not a demolition derby."

"SAME THING!" Mark shouted. "TO THE TRAINING GROUND! SORRY ABOUT THE FLOWER BED!"

He drove over the school's flower bed. It was an accident. Mostly.

The training ground was quiet. Focused.

Steve, the manager, was waiting. He looked at the Monster Truck parked across three spaces.

"You are paying for the grass, Speed," Steve said calmly.

"Put it on my tab!" Mark grinned, climbing down.

They went to the video room.

Steve turned on the screen.

Manchester City. The Champions. The Treble Winners.

They were passing the ball. It was perfect. Mechanical. Robotic.

Haaland, their striker, looked like a Viking god. De Bruyne, their midfielder, passed the ball like he had GPS coordinates for everyone's feet.

"The Machine," Steve said.

The room was silent.

"They do not make mistakes," Steve said. "They do not get tired. They do not get angry. They just... process. They process the game until you are dead."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Atletico was a street fight. This... this is a chess match against a supercomputer."

"Computers can be hacked," Jude said from the back. Jude was wearing a t-shirt that said SYSTEM ERROR.

"Yes," Steve said. "But you cannot hack them with power. They are strong. You cannot hack them with speed. Walker is fast."

He looked at Alex.

"You have to hack them... with rhythm."

"Rhythm?" Alex asked. He thought of Mr. Calloway.

"City plays to a beat," Steve said. "Tick, tock, tick, tock. They lull you to sleep. Then... bang. Goal."

Steve smiled.

"We must break the beat. We must be... jazz."

"Jazz?" Mark asked. "I don't like jazz. It is messy."

"Exactly," Steve said. "We need to be messy. Unpredictable. Off-beat. If we play a waltz... they will dance all over us. If we play jazz... they will trip."

Saturday. The Emirates Stadium.

It was a clash of titans. Arsenal vs. Manchester City. First vs. Second.

The stadium was buzzing.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Rodri, the City midfielder, stood next to him. Rodri was tall, calm, and looked like he had never panicked in his life.

"Professor," Rodri nodded.

"Rodri," Alex said.

"We saw your game in Madrid," Rodri said. "Cute trick. The 'False Mistake'. We will not fall for it."

"We have new tricks," Alex said.

"We have Haaland," Rodri replied simply.

It was a good point.

They walked out. The roar. The anthem.

The whistle blew.

City started the machine.

Pass. Pass. Pass.

They kept the ball. They moved Arsenal around.

Alex ran. He tried to intercept. But the ball was always gone before he got there.

City were perfect.

In the 20th minute, De Bruyne played a ball through the eye of a needle.

Haaland ran onto it. He didn't even look at the goal. He just smashed it.

GOAL.

One zero. City.

The machine had processed a goal.

Alex stood in the midfield. He felt helpless. It was like fighting the tide.

"They are too clean!" Antoine yelled. "They are perfect! It is annoying!"

"Break the beat," Alex whispered. "Jazz."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed!" Alex yelled.

Mark looked over.

"Stop running in straight lines!" Alex shouted. "Be weird!"

"Weird?" Mark asked.

"Yes! Run in circles! Run backwards! Confuse the computer!"

Mark grinned. "I am good at weird."

The game restarted.

Mark stopped playing striker. He started running... everywhere.

He ran to the left wing. Then he ran to the right back position. Then he ran around the referee.

The City defenders, Dias and Stones, were confused. Who were they supposed to mark?

"Stay in position!" Dias yelled.

"I am a free spirit!" Mark yelled back, doing a spin.

The City rhythm faltered. Just a little.

35th minute.

Alex got the ball.

Rodri came to press him. Rodri expected Alex to pass to Jude. That was the logical pass.

Alex didn't pass.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball. He tied his shoelace. (He pretended to).

Rodri stopped. He looked confused. Why is he stopping?

Alex stood up. He smiled.

He chipped the ball over Rodri's head.

He ran around him. He collected the ball.

The beat was broken.

Alex drove forward.

He saw Jude.

Jude was making a run. Not a power run. A "Jazz" run. A winding, snake-like run.

Alex passed.

Jude took it. He faked a shot. He faked a pass. He faked falling over.

The City defense froze.

Jude slid the ball to Antoine.

Antoine was on the edge of the box.

He didn't shoot. He did a rabona pass to the far post.

Mark was there.

He was doing jumping jacks. (Why? Nobody knew).

He stopped jumping. He volleyed the ball.

GOAL!

One one.

Mark ran to the corner. He started doing the robot dance, but doing it badly on purpose.

"GLITCH!" Mark screamed. "I AM A GLITCH!"

Alex ran over. "Perfectly weird, Speed."

Halftime. One one.

The City players looked annoyed. They liked order. They hated chaos.

Pep Guardiola was screaming in the tunnel. He was waving his arms.

Steve was calm.

"Good," Steve said. "You are annoying them. They cannot calculate you."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Second half. The tempo changes again. Go from Largo to Presto in one second. Slow... then fast."

"Like a heart attack," Jude suggested.

"Sure," Steve said. "Give them a heart attack."

Second half.

Arsenal played slow.

Alex walked with the ball. He passed it back to Ramsdale. Ramsdale held it.

City pressed. They got closer. They got comfortable.

"They are sleeping," Alex whispered to himself.

65th minute.

Alex had the ball deep. He was walking.

De Bruyne jogged towards him, not sprinting.

Suddenly, Alex exploded.

He didn't pass. He sprinted.

He ran past De Bruyne.

"GO!" Alex roared.

The whole Arsenal team shifted gears.

Mark sprinted. Jude sprinted. Antoine sprinted.

It was a flash flood.

Alex ran through the midfield. City couldn't react fast enough.

He passed to Jude.

Jude didn't stop. He played a one-touch pass around the corner.

To Antoine.

Antoine was in the box.

Dias came to tackle.

Antoine did the "Fake Fake Fake". (He added a third fake).

Dias fell over.

Antoine squared it.

Mark was there.

He tapped it in.

GOAL!

Two one. Arsenal.

The stadium erupted.

Mark ran to the City fans. He pretended to be a broken robot. Bzzt. Bzzt.

"SYSTEM FAILURE!" Mark yelled.

City were furious now. The Machine was broken.

They threw everything forward. Haaland was angry. He looked like he wanted to eat the goalposts.

85th minute.

City corner.

The ball came in. Haaland headed it.

Bastian blocked it on the line.

"NOT IN MY HOUSE!" Bastian roared.

The ball flew out to Alex.

He was on the edge of the box.

He looked up.

Ederson, the City keeper, was way out of his goal. He had come for the corner.

The goal was empty. Seventy yards away.

"SHOOT!" the crowd screamed.

Alex calculated. Distance. Wind. Friction.

He hit it.

He didn't smash it. He lofted it.

A high, beautiful arc.

The ball flew over the retreating City players.

It flew over the halfway line.

It bounced. Once. Twice.

It rolled towards the empty net.

Walker was chasing it. He was fast.

But the ball was perfect.

It rolled over the line just as Walker slid into the post.

GOAL!

Three one.

Alex just stood there. He put his hands in his pockets.

He shrugged.

The Professor.

Jude picked him up and spun him around.

"FROM DOWNTOWN!" Jude yelled. "FROM THE LIBRARY!"

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 3. Manchester City 1.

They had beaten the champions. They had broken the machine with jazz.

Alex walked off the pitch.

Pep Guardiola stopped him.

"You," Pep said. He looked tired. "You play... strangely."

"We play Arsenal," Alex said.

Pep smiled. A painful smile. "Well played, Professor."

Milo was in the tunnel.

He was wearing... a robot suit. Made of tin foil boxes.

"THE ROBOT SLAYER!" Milo buzzed. "I AM A CYBORG! ALEX! THE LONG GOAL! I AM SELLING TELESCOPES! NO, WAIT, ROCKETS!"

"Milo, take the box off your head," Alex laughed.

He walked into the locker room.

Mark was still doing the robot dance.

Jude was drinking a protein shake.

Antoine was checking his hair.

It was a happy room.

Alex sat at his locker. Number 8.

He checked his phone.

A text from Mr. Calloway, the music teacher.

"I heard the game on the radio. The tempo changes were... exquisite. A masterpiece of polyrhythm. A plus. Don't forget your flute tomorrow."

Alex groaned. The flute.

He looked at his teammates.

"Guys," Alex said. "Does anyone know how to play 'Hot Cross Buns'?"

Mark stopped dancing.

"I can play it on the drums!" Mark said.

"I can play it on the piano," Antoine said.

"I can hum very loudly," Jude offered.

Alex smiled.

They were the best team in the world.

And they were going to help him pass music class.

He closed his eyes.

The dynasty was building.

And the music... the music was just getting started.

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