The school library was quiet. The only sound was the squeak of a globe spinning on its axis.

Maya sat at a wooden table. She adjusted her glasses. She looked very serious.

"Stop spinning the world," Maya said. "You are making the equator dizzy."

Alex put his hand on the globe. It stopped on the Pacific Ocean.

"Sorry," Alex said. "I am just looking at the distances. Qatar is far away. America is far away. The World Cup is everywhere."

"The World Cup is a statistical nightmare," Maya said. She opened her notebook. It was full of charts and numbers. "I have analyzed the groups. England is in Group B."

"Who else?" Alex asked.

"USA. They have athletes. They run fast. Iran. They defend with eleven men. And Wales. They have Bale. He plays golf, but he hits the ball like a cannon."

"So it is hard," Alex said.

"It is tricky," Maya corrected. "But look at France. Group D. They have Denmark. Tunisia. Australia."

"Easy for them," Alex sighed.

"Not easy," Maya said. "France has the 'Champions Curse'. The winner of the last World Cup usually crashes out in the group stage. It happened to Germany. It happened to Spain. It happened to Italy."

"So Antoine and Mark are cursed?" Alex smiled.

"Statistically," Maya nodded. "They are doomed."

"I like those odds," Alex said.

The library door banged open.

Mark walked in. He was wearing a backpack that was unzipped. Papers were falling out of it like snow.

"I AM HERE!" Mark whispered (very loudly). "I AM READY TO LEARN ABOUT THE WORLD!"

Mark sat down. He looked at the globe.

"Is that the Earth?" Mark asked.

"Yes, Mark," Maya sighed.

"Where is the bit where we won the Champions League?" Mark asked, spinning the globe violently.

"Istanbul," Alex pointed.

"And where is the bit where I become World Champion?" Mark asked.

"That place does not exist yet," Alex said. "Because I am going to stop you."

Mark stopped spinning the globe. He looked at Alex.

"You?" Mark laughed. "Professor. You are my best friend. But if you play against France... I will nutmeg you. I will run past you so fast your hair will fall out."

"We will see," Alex said.

The bell rang.

"Geography class," Alex said. "Time to learn about plate tectonics."

"I love plates!" Mark said. "I use them for pizza!"

Saturday came quickly.

The Premier League season opener.

Newcastle United. Away. St James Park.

It was a tough start. Newcastle had new owners. They had money. They had loud fans. They were called the Toon Army.

Steve, the manager, stood in the dressing room.

"Listen," Steve said. "You are the Champions of Europe. You have a gold badge on your sleeve. Do you know what that badge means?"

"It means we are awesome?" Mark suggested.

"It means they hate you," Steve said. "It means they want to beat you more than anyone else. Today, Newcastle will not play football. They will play war."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. The atmosphere will be hostile. Control the temperature. Keep it cool."

"I am the thermostat," Alex promised.

They walked out of the tunnel.

The noise was incredible. Fifty thousand Geordies screaming in black and white shirts. It looked like a giant chessboard had come to life and was shouting at them.

Milo was standing near the corner flag.

He was wearing a black and white striped suit with a beak mask. He looked like a giant bird.

"THE MAGPIE!" Milo squawked. "I AM THE BIRD OF BUSINESS! ALEX! I AM SELLING COAL! REAL NEWCASTLE COAL! DIAMONDS IN THE ROUGH! TEN POUNDS A LUMP!"

"Milo, get off the pitch!" the referee shouted.

"I AM FLYING AWAY!" Milo yelled, flapping his arms and running into the stands.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

Steve was right. It was not football. It was a brawl.

Newcastle players were big. Joelinton. Burn. Guimaraes. They were giants.

Every time Alex got the ball, a giant shadow fell over him.

In the tenth minute, Alex tried to turn. Joelinton hit him with a shoulder charge.

Alex flew three meters. He landed in the mud.

"Welcome to the North!" Joelinton laughed.

The crowd cheered. They loved it.

"They are big bullies!" Mark yelled. "Pick on someone your own size! Like... the corner flag!"

Newcastle pressed. They used their physical strength.

In the twenty fifth minute, Trippier crossed the ball.

Isak, the Newcastle striker, jumped. He was tall. He towered over Saliba.

He headed it.

Goal.

One zero. Newcastle.

The stadium erupted. The noise was deafening. TOON! TOON! TOON!

Alex stood up. He wiped the mud off his knees.

He looked at his teammates. They looked shocked. They were used to being the Kings. Now they were being bullied in the playground.

"Reset!" Alex shouted. "Use your brains! They are big, so they are slow to turn! Low center of gravity!"

The game restarted.

Alex changed the tactic.

No more high balls. No more physical battles.

He kept the ball on the grass.

Pass. Move. Pass. Move.

He made the giants run. He made them bend down.

Giants hate bending down. It hurts their backs.

Forty fifth minute.

Alex got the ball on the edge of the box.

He saw Guimaraes coming to tackle him.

Alex did not fight. He dropped his shoulder. He let the ball roll through his legs.

Guimaraes tackled thin air.

Alex spun around him.

He saw Mark making a run.

Mark was fast. Dan Burn, the Newcastle defender, was very tall but not very fast.

It was a race between a Ferrari and a double decker bus.

Alex slid the ball through.

Mark sprinted.

"BEEP BEEP!" Mark yelled as he ran past Burn.

Mark was through.

He smashed the ball into the roof of the net.

Goal.

One one.

Mark ran to the corner. He tried to do a cartwheel. He failed. He fell on his bum.

"I AM AN ACROBAT!" Mark shouted from the floor.

Halftime.

One one.

"They are tired," Steve said in the dressing room. "The giants are gasping. Keep moving the ball. Make them dizzy."

Second half.

The game got tighter. Newcastle sat back. They defended the point.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

It was still 1-1.

A draw on the opening day was not good enough for the Champions.

Eighty eighth minute.

Mark was fouled on the edge of the box.

It was a free kick. Twenty yards out. Central.

Dangerous position.

The Newcastle wall set up. Five big men. They looked like a castle wall.

Alex stood over the ball.

Mark stood over the ball too.

"I want to shoot," Mark said.

"You will hit the wall," Alex said. "Or the moon."

"I have a powerful knee!" Mark argued.

"We need a trick," Alex whispered. "They are watching us. Let us give them a show."

Alex leaned in. He whispered the plan to Mark.

Mark grinned. "I love acting."

The referee blew the whistle.

Alex started to run up to kick the ball.

But Mark suddenly pushed Alex.

"NO! IT IS MINE!" Mark yelled.

Alex pushed Mark back. "GET AWAY! I AM THE PROFESSOR!"

"I AM THE EMPEROR!" Mark shouted, waving his arms.

The Newcastle wall looked confused. The goalkeeper looked confused. Were they fighting?

"Stop it!" the Newcastle captain yelled. "Just kick it!"

While the defenders were distracted by the argument, Alex suddenly stopped pushing Mark.

He stepped forward.

He did not shoot hard.

He passed the ball along the ground. Under the wall.

The wall had jumped. They expected a shot.

The ball rolled under their feet.

It rolled into the bottom corner of the net.

The goalkeeper was still watching Mark wave his arms. He did not even move.

Goal.

Two one. Arsenal.

The stadium went silent.

Mark stopped shouting. He hugged Alex.

"OSCAR WINNING PERFORMANCE!" Mark screamed. "WE FOOLED THEM! THE FAKE FIGHT!"

Alex laughed. "Psychological warfare. Confusion is a weapon."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Newcastle 1.

Three points.

The Champions had started with a win.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was bruised. He was tired. But he was happy.

Milo was waiting in the tunnel. He had lost the beak mask.

"THE COAL TYCOON!" Milo shouted. "WE DUG DEEP! ALEX! THE FREE KICK! I AM SELLING ACTING LESSONS! DRAMA FOR BEGINNERS! FIFTY POUNDS!"

"Milo, you are crazy," Alex said.

"CRAZY RICH!" Milo winked.

They walked into the dressing room.

The team was celebrating.

But Alex saw Antoine sitting in the corner. He was looking at his phone.

Alex walked over.

"Good game, Magician," Alex said.

Antoine looked up. He did not smile.

"Did you see the news?" Antoine asked.

"What news?"

Antoine showed his phone.

WORLD CUP UPDATE: France squad announced. Kylian Mbappe named Captain. Antoine Griezmann named Vice Captain.

"We are coming for it," Antoine said softly. "The World Cup. We are not cursed, Professor. We are hungry."

Alex felt a chill.

He looked at Mark. Mark was trying to juggle socks.

His best friends were the World Champions. And they wanted to keep the crown.

"Bring it on," Alex said. "England is ready."

"Are you?" Antoine raised an eyebrow. "Can you stop Mark when he is not joking? Can you stop me when I am not your teammate?"

"I know your secrets," Alex said.

"Knowing a secret and stopping magic are two different things," Antoine said.

He stood up and patted Alex on the shoulder.

"See you in Qatar, Professor."

Antoine walked to the showers.

Alex stood there.

The Premier League had just started.

But the shadow of the World Cup was already long.

Mark walked over. He dropped the socks.

"Hey," Mark said. "Why is Antoine being so serious? Did someone steal his hair gel?"

"No," Alex said. "He is just focused."

"Boring!" Mark said. "Let's go get pizza. I am starving. Fighting giants makes me hungry."

"Okay," Alex said. "Pizza."

They walked out of the stadium.

The night was cold in Newcastle.

But the fire was lit.

The road to the World Cup had begun.

And the Dynasty was about to face its biggest test yet.

Friend vs Friend.

Brother vs Brother.

The Professor vs The World.

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