The flute felt heavy. It was a small, silver tube, weighing only a few ounces, but to Alex, it felt heavier than the Premier League trophy.

He sat backstage in the school auditorium.

Through the thick velvet curtains, he could hear the squeak of a violin.

A Year 7 student was murdering a classical piece. It sounded like a cat stuck in a dishwasher.

"Nervous, Professor?"

Alex looked up. Maya was sitting next to him. She was holding a triangle.

"I have played against Real Madrid," Alex said, staring at his flute. "I have scored against Manchester City. I have been tackled by defenders who look like bears. But this... this is terrifying."

"It is just sound waves," Maya said calmly. "Vibrations in the air. Frequency and amplitude. Nothing to be afraid of."

"I don't know the frequency for Hot Cross Buns," Alex whispered. "I only know the frequency for a through-ball."

"Just blow into it and move your fingers," Maya advised. "And try not to pass out. Oxygen deprivation is a real risk for wind instrument players."

"Thanks, Maya. That really helps."

Mr. Calloway, the music teacher, clapped his hands. He was wearing a tuxedo that was slightly too tight.

"Next up!" Mr. Calloway announced. "Our special ensemble. Mr. Finch and... friends."

Alex stood up. His legs felt like jelly. He walked onto the stage.

The auditorium was full. Parents, teachers, students. They were all looking at him. He saw Mrs. Higgins, the art teacher, sitting in the front row. She was holding a sketchpad, probably ready to draw his failure.

Alex walked to the microphone. He held up his flute.

The silence was deafening.

Then, the double doors at the back of the hall burst open.

"MAKE WAY FOR THE BAND!" a voice screamed.

The audience turned around.

Mark walked in. He was wearing a white tuxedo with shorts and sunglasses. He was carrying a set of bongos.

Behind him was Jude. Jude was wearing a black suit and dark glasses, looking like a bodyguard. He was carrying a large bass drum strapped to his chest.

Antoine walked in last. He was wearing a velvet jacket and a scarf. He carried a melodica—a small keyboard you blow into.

"Sorry we are late!" Mark yelled, walking down the aisle. "Traffic was terrible! The paparazzi would not let us through!"

The audience gasped. Phones came out. Flashlights flickered.

"Is that Mark speed?" a student whispered.

"That is Jude Power!" another shouted.

Alex smiled. The cavalry had arrived.

The three footballers walked onto the stage. They took their positions around Alex.

"We are here, Professor," Mark whispered, setting up his bongos. "We brought the rhythm."

"Just follow my lead," Antoine said, adjusting his scarf. "I am the conductor of souls."

Mr. Calloway looked confused. He adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Finch? Who are these people?"

"These are my accompanists, sir," Alex said into the microphone. "We are... The Invincibles."

"Very well," Mr. Calloway sighed. "Proceed."

Alex lifted the flute to his lips.

He played the first note.

Toooooot.

It was shaky. It sounded a bit like a kettle boiling.

Mark nodded aggressively. "I FEEL IT!" he screamed.

Mark started hitting the bongos. He didn't have a rhythm. He just had speed. Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam! It sounded like a horse galloping on a tin roof.

Jude hit the bass drum. BOOM.

The whole stage shook. Dust fell from the ceiling.

BOOM.

"One a penny!" Alex played, trying to keep up with the chaos.

Toot-toot-toot.

Antoine started playing the melodica. He wasn't playing Hot Cross Buns. He was playing a sad, romantic French ballad. It didn't fit at all.

It was a disaster.

Alex squeaked out high notes. Mark assaulted the bongos. Jude set off car alarms in the parking lot with the bass drum. Antoine cried while playing the melodica.

It was pure, unadulterated noise.

But it was confident noise.

"Two a penny!" Alex played, sweating.

"YEAH!" Mark yelled. "TWO PENNIES! BARGAIN!"

Jude hit the drum again. BOOM.

Mrs. Higgins in the front row was covering her ears. The Physics teacher looked like he was calculating the structural integrity of the building.

Finally, they reached the end.

"Hot! Cross! Buns!" Alex finished with a long, wavering note.

Tooooooooooot.

Mark did a final drum roll that lasted twenty seconds. Jude hit the bass drum so hard the microphone fell over. Antoine held a high note and bowed dramatically.

Silence filled the room.

Nobody knew what to do. Was it art? Was it a prank? Was it a terrorist attack on their ears?

Then, a slow clap started.

It was Milo.

Milo was standing at the back. He was selling earplugs to the parents.

"BRAVO!" Milo yelled. "ENCORE! THE SOUND OF GENIUS! BUY THE ALBUM!"

The students started cheering. They didn't care about the music. They just loved that Arsenal players were on stage making a racket.

"MARK! MARK! MARK!" the kids chanted.

Mark stood on his chair and waved. "THANK YOU! WE ARE AVAILABLE FOR WEDDINGS!"

Mr. Calloway walked onto the stage. He looked pale. He looked at Alex.

"Mr. Finch," the teacher said. "That was..."

"Jazz?" Alex suggested hopefully. "Polyrhythmic experimental jazz?"

Mr. Calloway took a deep breath. "It was the loudest thing I have ever heard. You passed. Please get off my stage before the ceiling collapses."

"Yes, sir," Alex said.

They walked off the stage to thunderous applause.

Outside, the cool evening air felt good.

"We killed it," Mark said, high-fiving Jude. "We are rock stars."

"I think I broke the drum," Jude said, looking at the cracked skin of the instrument. "I have too much power."

"The emotion was there," Antoine said, wiping a tear. "I felt the buns. They were hot. They were cross."

Alex laughed. "Thanks, guys. I couldn't have done it without you."

"That is what teammates are for," Mark grinned. "Now, let's go. Milo is selling bootleg recordings of the concert in the car park. We need to stop him."

They walked towards the car park. Life felt simple. They were winning games. They were passing classes. They were together.

But football never sleeps.

As Alex opened the door to Mark's monster truck, his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen.

It was a number he didn't recognize.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Alex Finch?" a voice said. It was calm, authoritative, and sounded very British.

"Yes?"

"This is Gareth," the voice said. "Gareth Southgate."

Alex froze. He stopped climbing the ladder to the truck.

"The England manager?" Alex asked.

"The same," Gareth said. "I saw the City game. And the Atletico game. I like what I see, son. You have control. You have a brain."

Alex's heart started beating faster than Mark's bongos.

"Thank you, sir."

"The international break is coming up," Gareth continued. "We have a friendly against Brazil. At Wembley. And then a qualifier against Italy."

Brazil. The home of football.

Italy. The team that broke English hearts.

"I want you in the squad, Alex," Gareth said. "I want to see if the Professor can teach on the international stage."

Alex swallowed. "I... I would be honored."

"Good. Pack your bags. St. George's Park. Monday morning. Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Alex stood there, holding the phone.

"Who was that?" Mark asked from the driver's seat. "Was it a record label? Do they want to sign The Invincibles?"

Alex looked up at his friend.

"It was England," Alex whispered. "I got called up."

Mark's eyes went wide. Jude stopped loading the drum. Antoine froze.

"The Three Lions?" Jude asked.

"Yes."

"AGAINST WHO?" Mark yelled.

"Brazil," Alex said.

Mark gasped. "Neymar. Vinicius. The Samba Boys."

"And Italy," Alex added.

"Revenge," Jude grunted. His fists clenched.

"This is big, Professor," Antoine said seriously. "International football is different. It is not a league. It is a war for your country."

"I know," Alex said.

"But wait!" Mark shouted. "I am French! Antoine is French! We are enemies now!"

"Only for two weeks," Antoine said. "But yes. If we play France... I will have to nutmeg you, Professor. It is the law."

"You can try," Alex smiled.

He climbed into the truck.

The school recital seemed very far away now.

Hot Cross Buns was gone.

Now, it was God Save the King.

"To St. George's Park!" Mark yelled, revving the engine. "THE PROFESSOR IS GOING GLOBAL!"

As the monster truck rolled out of the school gates, crushing a few more flowers, Alex looked out the window.

He had conquered the academy.

He had conquered the Premier League.

He had conquered the Champions League group stages.

He had even conquered the flute.

Now, the world was waiting.

Monday morning. St. George's Park.

The home of England football.

It was quiet. The grass was cut to the millimeter. The air smelled of excellence and pressure.

Alex walked into the reception. He was wearing his England training kit. It felt different from the Arsenal kit. It felt heavy with history.

He wasn't the only new face.

Sitting in the lobby was a boy with floppy hair and a smile that looked like it cost a million pounds.

Phil Foden. The Manchester City star.

"Hey," Phil said, looking up. "The Professor."

"Hi Phil," Alex said.

"You scored from the halfway line against us," Phil said. He didn't look angry. He looked impressed.

"I got lucky," Alex lied.

"No you didn't," Phil grinned. "I saw the spin. You meant it."

Phil stood up and offered a hand.

"Welcome to the team," Phil said. "But be careful. Training here is harder than a match. Everyone wants a spot."

"I am ready," Alex said.

"Good," a deep voice boomed from the doorway.

They turned.

Harry Kane walked in. The captain. The legend.

He looked at Alex. He didn't smile.

"Finch," Harry said. "I heard you like to control the tempo."

"I try, Captain," Alex said.

Harry nodded. "We play Brazil on Saturday. They don't like to be controlled. They like to dance."

Harry stepped closer.

"Can you make them stop dancing?"

Alex thought about the flute recital. He thought about the noise. He thought about the silence between the notes.

"I can turn off the music," Alex said.

Harry Kane smiled. A small, dangerous smile.

"Good. Then let's get to work."

Alex followed the captain onto the pitch.

The sky was grey. The wind was cold.

But the shirt was white.

And the dream was alive.

This was the next level.

The Dynasty was expanding.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.