Mr. Harrison stood at the whiteboard. He was drawing a picture of a steam engine. It looked more like a teapot on wheels.

"The Industrial Revolution," Mr. Harrison said. "It changed everything. It replaced muscle with machine. It replaced chaos with structure. Efficiency. Power. Speed."

Alex sat at his desk. He blinked slowly.

He was tired.

He had just played two games for England. He had traveled to Wembley and back. His legs felt heavy. His brain felt like it was full of cotton wool.

"Alex," Mr. Harrison asked. "Can you tell me the most important part of the steam engine?"

Alex looked up. He thought about the football match against Italy. He thought about the midfield.

"The piston," Alex said. "It drives the rhythm. Up and down. Consistent. If the piston stops, the machine dies."

"Correct," Mr. Harrison smiled. "Although I suspect you are talking about Declan Rice, not James Watt. But I will accept it."

The bell rang.

Alex packed his bag. The Industrial Revolution was interesting, but he had his own revolution to fight.

Tonight was the London Derby.

Arsenal vs. Chelsea.

At Stamford Bridge.

It was not just a game. It was a war for the city.

Alex walked out to the car park.

Mark was waiting.

He was not in the Monster Truck.

He was not in the Hearse.

He was sitting on... a horse.

A real, live, brown horse.

Mark was wearing a cowboy hat and boots.

"YEE HAW!" Mark screamed. "SADDLE UP, PARTNER!"

Alex stopped. He rubbed his eyes.

"Mark," Alex said. "Why is there a horse in the school car park?"

"His name is Lightning!" Mark said, patting the horse on the neck. "He is fast! Like me! We are the Mustangs of London! Hop on!"

"I am not riding a horse to a Premier League match," Alex said.

"Coward!" Mark yelled. "Fine! I will meet you there! HYAH!"

Mark kicked his heels. The horse did not move. It just bent down and started eating the school grass.

"Go, Lightning!" Mark commanded. "We have a derby to win!"

Lightning ignored him.

Alex sighed and walked to his dad's car. "See you at the stadium, Cowboy."

Stamford Bridge was loud.

The Chelsea fans were rich and angry. They had spent one billion pounds on players. They expected to win.

Steve, the Arsenal manager, gathered the team in the dressing room.

"Chelsea," Steve said. "They have spent a fortune. They bought the most expensive midfield in history. Caicedo. Enzo. Lavia."

He looked at Alex.

"They bought power. They bought reputation. But they cannot buy chemistry."

Steve pointed to his head.

"They play like strangers. We play like family. Professor, teach them a lesson about value."

"Value is not price," Alex said. "Value is utility."

"Exactly," Steve nodded. "Go out there. Be useful."

They walked out of the tunnel.

The lights were bright. The noise was deafening.

Enzo Fernandez stood next to Alex. He was a World Cup winner. He cost one hundred million pounds.

He looked at Alex.

"Good luck, schoolboy," Enzo said.

Alex smiled. "Thanks. You too, banker."

The whistle blew.

Chelsea started fast.

They were powerful. They were fast.

Mudryk, their winger, sprinted down the line. He was lightning quick.

Mark chased him.

It was a race between two Ferraris.

Mudryk pushed the ball. Mark pushed his legs.

"I AM FASTER!" Mark yelled.

Mark slid. He took the ball. He stood up and saluted the crowd.

"NOT TODAY!" Mark shouted.

But Chelsea was dangerous.

In the fifteenth minute, Enzo got the ball. He did not pass. He shot from thirty yards.

It was a rocket.

Ramsdale dived, but he could not reach it.

Goal.

One zero. Chelsea.

The stadium erupted. Blue flags waved everywhere.

"Money talks!" a Chelsea fan screamed at Alex.

Alex stood in the center circle. He looked at the scoreboard.

One zero.

He looked at Enzo. Enzo was celebrating. He looked confident.

"We need steam," Alex whispered to Jude.

"Steam?" Jude asked.

"The Industrial Revolution," Alex said. "We need to replace muscle with machine. Efficiency. Structure. Let us build the engine."

Jude nodded. "I am the furnace."

"And I am the piston," Alex said.

The game restarted.

Arsenal changed.

They stopped trying to match Chelsea's physical power. They started to pass.

Short passes. Fast passes. Triangles.

Alex passed to Jude. Jude passed to Antoine. Antoine passed back to Alex.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

They moved the ball so fast the Chelsea players got dizzy.

Caicedo tried to tackle Alex. Alex was gone.

Enzo tried to press Jude. Jude was gone.

They were chasing ghosts.

In the thirtieth minute, Alex saw the pattern.

Chelsea was disorganized. They were individuals. They were not a unit.

Alex got the ball deep.

He saw Mark making a run.

But Mark was marked by Disasi, a giant defender.

Alex did not pass to Mark.

He looked at the space behind Mark.

"Run!" Alex yelled, but not to Mark.

He yelled to the empty space.

Antoine understood. The Magician read the mind of the Professor.

Antoine sprinted from the wing into the center.

Alex hit the pass.

It was a laser. It cut through the billion pound midfield like a hot knife through butter.

Antoine collected it without breaking stride.

He was through on goal.

The goalkeeper came out.

Antoine laughed. He did a little shimmy. He rolled the ball under the goalkeeper.

Goal.

One one.

The Arsenal fans in the away end went crazy.

Antoine ran to the corner. He pulled a baguette out of his sock (how did it fit there? Nobody knew) and took a bite.

"Dinner is served!" Antoine yelled.

Alex ran over. "Where did you get the bread?"

"I always come prepared," Antoine winked.

Halftime. One one.

Steve was happy.

"They are confused," Steve said. "They do not understand why their money is not working. Keep moving the ball. Make them run. Make them suffer."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Enzo is getting angry. He is leaving his position. Exploit it."

"I will find the gap," Alex promised.

Second half.

The rain started to fall. It was a classic London night.

Chelsea pushed hard. They wanted the win.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

The game was stuck in midfield. It was a battle of attrition.

Alex was tired. His legs burned from the England games. But his mind was clear.

Eighty fifth minute.

Chelsea had a corner.

All their big defenders went up. Even Enzo went to the edge of the box.

The ball came in.

Bastian headed it clear.

The ball flew high into the air toward the halfway line.

It was falling towards Caicedo.

But Mark was there.

Mark did not wait for the ball to land. He jumped.

He chested the ball past Caicedo.

Now it was a foot race.

Mark vs. The World.

"GO SPEED!" Alex screamed.

Mark sprinted. He was tired, but he smelled glory.

He ran down the right wing.

But he was isolated. There was nobody in the box.

Alex knew he had to get there.

He was at his own penalty box. The Chelsea goal was one hundred yards away.

He took a deep breath.

Energy equals mass times velocity.

He started to run.

He did not sprint like a sprinter. He ran like a distance runner. Efficient. rhythmic.

Mark held the ball up near the corner flag. He was surrounded by three Chelsea players.

"HELP!" Mark yelled. "I AM TRAPPED!"

Alex arrived.

"Here!" Alex shouted.

Mark turned. He saw Alex arriving at the edge of the box.

Mark did a nutmeg on Silva. It was rude. It was disrespectful.

He passed the ball to Alex.

Alex controlled it.

Enzo came flying in. He wanted to break Alex. He wanted to stop the goal.

Alex saw him coming.

He did not shoot.

He waited.

He waited until Enzo was one inch away.

Then Alex did the "La Croqueta".

Iniesta's move.

Ball from right foot to left foot. Quick. Smooth.

Enzo slid past him and ended up in the advertising boards.

Now Alex was free.

He was twelve yards out.

He looked at the goal.

He saw the bottom corner.

He placed it.

Gentle. Precise.

The ball rolled into the net.

Goal.

Two one. Arsenal.

Alex fell to his knees. He was exhausted.

Jude jumped on top of him. Then Mark. Then Antoine.

"THE ENGINE!" Jude roared. "THE PISTON DID IT!"

"YOU RAN THE WHOLE PITCH!" Mark yelled. "YOU ARE ALMOST AS FAST AS ME! ALMOST!"

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Chelsea 1.

They had beaten the billions.

Alex walked off the pitch. Enzo Fernandez was waiting.

Enzo looked at Alex. He looked at the scoreboard.

"You run a lot," Enzo said, shaking his head.

"Efficiency," Alex said, shaking his hand. "Good game."

Milo was waiting in the tunnel.

He was wearing a tuxedo made of... fake money?

"THE BILLIONAIRE!" Milo shouted. "WE ARE RICH IN GOALS! ALEX! THE BOX TO BOX RUN! I AM SELLING PEDOMETERS! 'THE FINCH STEP'!"

"Milo, is that real money?" Alex asked.

"IT IS MONOPOLY MONEY!" Milo grinned. "BUT THE PROFITS ARE REAL!"

Alex walked into the dressing room.

He sat down. He did not want to move for a week.

He checked his phone.

A text from Mr. Harrison, the history teacher.

"I saw the goal. A magnificent display of industrial efficiency. You turned raw energy into a result. A Plus. But remember, homework on the spinning jenny is due tomorrow."

Alex groaned. The Spinning Jenny.

"What is wrong?" Mark asked. He was eating the rest of Antoine's baguette.

"History," Alex said. "I have more homework."

"Don't worry," Mark said. "I know everything about history."

"Really?"

"Yes," Mark said confidently. "Napoleon was short. The Pyramids are pointy. And Arsenal are the Kings of London. End of lesson."

Alex laughed.

"Thanks, Speed. That helps."

"I can help too," Antoine said. "I know about the French Revolution. We cut off heads. It was very messy."

"Maybe I will just read the book," Alex said.

He packed his bag.

He walked out to the car park.

His dad was waiting.

"Great goal, son," his dad said. "Box to box."

"I am tired, Dad," Alex said, climbing into the car.

"I know," his dad said. "But look at them."

He pointed out the window.

A group of little kids was playing football in the park across the street. It was dark. It was raining. But they were playing.

One kid had the ball.

"I am Finch!" the kid yelled. "I am the Professor!"

The kid did a slow turn and passed the ball carefully.

Alex smiled.

He was not just playing for points anymore. He was playing for them.

"Let's go home, Dad," Alex said. "I have to read about the Spinning Jenny."

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