Arsenal were down 1-0. Mbappe had scored.

Steve, the manager, walked to the center of the room. He kicked a water bottle. It hit a bin with a loud CLANG.

"Wake up!" Steve shouted.

Everyone jumped. Mark dropped his banana.

"You are playing like fans!" Steve yelled. "You are watching him! You are standing there admiring him! 'Oh look, it is Mbappe, he is so fast, he is so cool'. Stop it!"

Steve pointed at the whiteboard.

"He is a man. He has two legs. He breathes oxygen. Stop treating him like a god."

Alex sat on the bench. He was looking at the floor.

He was thinking about Maya's folder. The statistics. The weakness.

Statistical weakness: He hates tracking back.

Alex stood up.

"Boss," Alex said.

Steve stopped shouting. "Yes, Professor?"

"The Ninja," Alex said. "He does not look behind him. He only looks forward."

Alex walked to the whiteboard. He picked up a marker.

"When Mbappe attacks, he stays up. He waits for the next ball. He leaves a hole."

Alex drew a circle in the space behind the left wing.

"We do not defend him," Alex said. "We attack him."

"Attack Mbappe?" Jude asked. "That is like poking a bear."

"No," Alex smiled. "It is like stealing honey while the bear is sleeping. We overload his side. We make him run backward. If he has to defend, he cannot score."

Steve looked at the board. He nodded slowly.

"Risky," Steve said. "If you lose the ball, he kills us."

"Calculated risk," Alex said. "High risk. High reward."

"I like rewards," Mark said, picking up his banana. "Let's do it."

The Second Half.

The teams walked out. The PSG players looked relaxed. They were laughing. They thought the job was done.

Mbappe looked at Alex. He smirked.

"Ready to go home, Professor?" Mbappe asked.

"Class is not dismissed yet," Alex said.

The whistle blew.

Arsenal changed the rhythm.

Usually, they played safe. Now, they played dangerous.

Every time Mbappe stayed forward, Ben White ran past him. Every time Mbappe waited, Saka ran past him.

Suddenly, PSG were outnumbered in their own half.

Mbappe looked annoyed. He waved his arms. "Pass me the ball!" he yelled at his defenders.

But his defenders were busy. They were fighting waves of red shirts.

Sixtieth minute.

Alex got the ball in the center.

He saw Mbappe standing near the halfway line, waiting.

Alex did not look at him.

He looked at the space Mbappe had left empty.

"Jude!" Alex yelled.

Jude ran into the gap. The Power Run.

Alex hit the pass.

Jude caught it. He drove into the box.

The PSG defense panicked. They swarmed Jude.

Jude was strong. He held off two defenders. He was like a tank in a traffic jam.

He saw Antoine.

Antoine was on the edge of the box. The Magician.

Jude rolled the ball back.

Antoine did not shoot. He dummied. He let the ball roll through his legs.

The defenders were fooled.

Behind Antoine was Saka.

Saka hit it first time.

Boom.

The ball flew into the top corner.

Goal.

One one.

The Arsenal end of the stadium exploded. Red smoke filled the air.

Alex ran to Saka. " The trap worked!"

Mbappe stood on the halfway line. He was not smiling anymore. He looked at Alex. His eyes were cold.

"Okay," Mbappe whispered. "Now I play."

Seventy fifth minute.

Mbappe woke up.

He decided to defend. He ran back. He tackled Saka. He took the ball.

Then he ran seventy yards.

It was terrifying. It was like watching a cheetah hunt a gazelle.

He ran past Ben White. He ran past Saliba.

He was one on one with Ramsdale again.

He shot.

Ramsdale made a save with his face.

The ball bounced away.

"OUCH!" Ramsdale yelled. "MY NOSE!"

But he saved it.

Eighty fifth minute.

The game was on a knife edge.

Everyone was tired. Mark was leaning on his knees. His pilot fuel was running low.

"I need energy," Mark gasped. "I need sugar. I need a gummy bear."

"Five minutes, Mark!" Alex shouted. "Just five minutes!"

PSG had a corner.

They sent everyone up. They wanted to win it in normal time.

The ball came in.

Gabriel headed it clear.

The ball flew high into the night sky of Istanbul.

It landed at Alex feet.

He was on the edge of his own box.

He controlled it instantly. Dead.

He looked up.

The pitch was open. PSG had committed too many men.

There was only one defender back. Hakimi. Ideally, the fastest defender in the world.

And there was Mark.

Mark was on the halfway line.

Alex saw the physics.

Mark was tired. Hakimi was fast.

If Alex played a normal pass, Hakimi would intercept it.

Alex needed to give Mark an advantage.

He needed to put the ball in a place where only Mark could reach it.

Alex remembered the Monster Truck. The Monster Truck didn't go around obstacles. It went over them.

Alex chipped the ball.

But he put massive backspin on it.

The ball flew over Hakimi head.

Hakimi turned and sprinted. Mark turned and sprinted.

It was a race for the Champions League.

The ball hit the ground. Because of the backspin, it checked. It slowed down.

Hakimi overran it. He ran too fast.

Mark saw the ball check. He slammed on his brakes.

Mark got the ball. Hakimi was five yards past him, trying to turn around.

Mark was free.

"GO SPEED!" Alex screamed.

Mark ran towards the goal.

Donnarumma came out. He was huge. He looked like a giant octopus.

Mark ran into the box.

He had time to think. That was usually bad for Mark. Mark thinking was dangerous.

"Don't think!" Alex whispered from eighty yards away. "Just do!"

Mark closed his eyes.

(He literally closed his eyes).

He swung his leg.

He hit the ball.

He opened his eyes.

The ball rolled. It rolled past Donnarumma leg. It rolled towards the post.

It hit the post.

CLANG.

The sound echoed around the world.

The ball bounced...

In.

Goal.

Two one. Arsenal.

Mark stood there. He looked shocked.

"I CLOSED MY EYES!" Mark screamed. "THE FORCE GUIDED ME!"

Alex sprinted. He ran faster than he had ever run. He jumped on Mark.

The whole team jumped on them. Even Ramsdale ran the length of the pitch with a bloody nose.

"WE DID IT!" Jude roared. "THE DYNASTY!"

The referee looked at his watch.

Ninety second minute.

PSG tried to attack one last time.

Mbappe got the ball. He tried to run.

But Alex was there.

Alex did not tackle. He just stood in the way. He blocked the path.

"Class dismissed," Alex whispered.

Mbappe tried to turn. Alex poked the ball away.

The whistle blew.

Three short blasts.

Peep. Peep. PEEEEEEP.

It was over.

Arsenal were the Champions of Europe.

Alex fell to the ground. He stared at the stars.

They looked blurry. He was crying.

Mark was rolling on the grass, making snow angels in the confetti (even though there was no confetti yet).

"WE ARE KINGS!" Mark yelled. "I AM THE SULTAN OF SPEED!"

Steve, the manager, was hugging everyone. He was crying too.

Mbappe walked over to Alex.

The great player looked down. He looked sad, but he offered a hand.

Alex took it. Mbappe pulled him up.

"You blocked me," Mbappe said. "You predicted me."

"I studied," Alex said.

"Enjoy the crown, Professor," Mbappe said. "It is heavy."

Mbappe walked away.

Then, the madness started.

Milo appeared.

He was not wearing the Sultan costume anymore.

He was wearing... a pure gold suit. Gold jacket. Gold trousers. Gold hat.

He looked like a walking trophy.

"THE GOLDEN BOY!" Milo screamed. "WE ARE RICH! ALEX! WE WON! I AM SELLING PIECES OF THE GRASS! I AM SELLING THE AIR FROM THE STADIUM! BOTTLED GLORY! $100 A BOTTLE!"

"Milo, you look like a chocolate wrapper," Alex laughed.

"I LOOK LIKE SUCCESS!" Milo shouted.

The podium was set up.

Harry Kane (who had transferred to Arsenal on a 1-day loan just to lift the trophy - no, just kidding, Harry is still sad in Munich).

The team walked up the stairs.

Odegaard (the captain) called Alex over.

"You lift it," Odegaard said.

"No," Alex said. "You are the captain."

"You are the Professor," Odegaard smiled. "You taught us how to win."

They grabbed the trophy together.

It was heavy. It was cold silver.

"Three," Mark yelled. "Two! One!"

They lifted it.

Fireworks exploded. Gold confetti rained down.

"CHAMPIONS!"

Alex looked through the confetti.

He saw his dad in the stands, waving an Arsenal scarf.

He saw Mrs. Baker holding a sign that said 'HEART RATE: CRITICAL'.

He saw Mr. Pringle holding a plastic skull.

And he checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Congratulations. Probability of winning was 49 percent. You beat the odds. You are statistically significant. Also, I have calculated the optimal angle to hold the trophy for the best photo. Tilt it 15 degrees to the left."

Alex laughed.

He tilted the trophy 15 degrees to the left.

Mark put his arm around him.

"We did it, Professor," Mark said. "We completed football."

"Not yet," Alex said.

"What do you mean?" Mark asked. "We won the Champions League! What else is there?"

Alex looked at the sky.

"The World Cup," Alex said.

Mark groaned. "That sounds like a lot of running."

"It is," Alex smiled. "But think of the gummy bears."

"Okay," Mark grinned. "Let's do it."

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