The walk into the training ground on Monday felt different.

Alex carried his bag over one shoulder. He was expecting... something. Shouts? Cheers? Maybe a high five?

The U18 locker room was just as loud as always. But when Alex walked in, the music felt a little quieter for a second. The shouting stopped.

Then, Sam was there. He jumped on Alex, almost knocking him over.

"Alex! That pass! That pass!" Sam was yelling, his face bright red with excitement. "It was like magic! Like you had a map of the whole pitch in your head! And the goal! You made that defender look so silly! He fell right over!"

Alex laughed, pushing his friend off. "It was a good pass, Sam. And a lucky goal."

"No way, man!" another player called out. It was one of the defenders. "That was not lucky. That was cold. You totally meant it."

"Good game, Alex," another one said, just nodding.

Alex felt a warmth in his chest. This was new. It was not friendship, not really. But it was respect. His old life as an analyst, he never got respect. He was just the computer guy.

Here, he was the guy who won the derby.

He looked over to the corner. Mark was at his locker, pulling on his boots. He had his back to the room. He had not said a word.

Alex felt that small knot of anxiety. Mark was the star. The leader. And Alex had just taken the spotlight.

Alex walked to his own locker, which was right next to Marks.

He sat down. The silence between them felt heavy.

"Hi, Mark," Alex said, his voice quiet.

Mark finished tying his boot. He stood up. He was taller than Alex. He looked down, his face a mask. No anger. No smile. Just... nothing.

"You got lucky," Mark grunted.

Alex nodded. He did not want to fight. "You made the run," Alex replied. "It was a good run."

Mark just stared at him for a second. He seemed confused. He expected Alex to argue, maybe. Then he just shrugged and walked out of the room.

Alex let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

Okay. So they were not friends. But Mark was not trying to kill him. That was progress.

On the training pitch, the grass was wet with morning dew. The air was cold.

Coach Steve gathered them in a circle.

"Right," Coach Steve boomed. His voice was all business. "Good win on Saturday. You showed fight. You showed passion."

He looked around the circle. His eyes stopped on Alex.

"And some of you... you showed brains. That was good."

He paused. "But it was one win. It means nothing if you do not do it again. Today, we work. We work harder than ever. Clear?"

"YES, COACH!" the team shouted.

"Good."

The first part of training was all running. Sprints. Shuttles. Alexs young body was fit, but his lungs were on fire. In his old life, he would have been walking after two minutes. Here, he was keeping up. He was right in the middle of the pack.

Then, Coach Steve blew his whistle.

"Alright! New drill! I call this one... The Vision Test."

He motioned to Alex. "Finch. Get in the center circle."

Alex jogged over, his heart thumping.

"The rest of you," Coach Steve shouted, "you are going to move. Random patterns. Pass the ball to Alex. Alex... you have two touches. One to control, one to pass."

He pointed to four small goals, set up far away at the corners of the pitch.

"When you pass, you have to hit one of those goals. I want to see those magic passes, Finch. I want to see if it was luck, or if it is real."

Oh.

Alexs analyst brain lit up. He loved this. This was not about passion. This was about data. Angles. Weight of pass. Vision.

The players started jogging.

A ball was passed hard into Alex.

"Player coming!" Sam shouted, running at him.

Alex tried to cushion the ball. His touch was too heavy. It rolled away. He had not even looked up.

"Too slow!" Coach Steve yelled. "Do not just think about the pass! You have to control the ball first! Again!"

Another ball came in.

Alex controlled it. Perfect. He looked up. He saw a player running. He saw the target goal. His brain calculated the distance. The power.

He swung his leg.

The pass was high. Too high. It sailed over the goal by ten feet.

He heard a laugh. It was Mark, who was watching from the side.

Alex felt his face get hot. He was failing. In front of everyone.

"That pass on Saturday was a fluke!" Mark called out. "He cannot do it again!"

"Shut up, Mark!" Sam yelled back.

"No, he is right," Coach Steve said, his voice hard. "It is a fluke... until you can do it on purpose. Again, Alex. Stop thinking so hard. Stop calculating. You are a footballer. Not a maths teacher. Feel the pass."

Feel the pass? What did that mean?

Alexs mind was racing. His old life, it was all about calculation. That was how he understood football.

The ball came again. He trapped it.

He looked up. He saw the players. He saw the goals.

His brain screamed. "Okay, target is 40 yards. Player moving at 15 miles per hour. Need to lead him. Adjust for wind. Strike the ball with the..."

He kicked it.

It was short. A defender cut it out easily.

Alex groaned. He was overthinking. He was back to being the scared analyst.

He closed his eyes for just a second. He pictured the pass to Mark in the derby. He remembered the feeling. It was not a calculation. It was... instinct. A simple, clean, knowing.

He opened his eyes.

"Ball!" he shouted.

A pass came in, fast.

Alex met it. He did not stop to think. He let his new, talented body take over. His head was up. He saw Sam making a run to the left.

He did not aim. He just knew where Sam was going.

He struck the ball with the inside of his boot.

It was not a kick. It was a release.

The ball flew. A low, fast, perfect line. It curled around the last defender and rolled right into the small goal.

The whole pitch went silent.

Even Coach Steve looked surprised.

"Again," Alex said, his voice suddenly full of a strange new confidence.

The ball came. He controlled it. He saw a gap.

Boom. Another perfect pass. Right into the far corner.

"Again."

Boom.

"Again."

Boom.

He was not missing. His analyst brain was finally quiet. It was just the wonderkid. It was just Alex. He felt like he could not miss. He felt like he could see the future.

Coach Steve blew his whistle. The drill stopped.

The other players were just staring at Alex. Their mouths were open.

Mark was not smirking. He was just watching, his eyes wide.

"Okay," Coach Steve said, walking towards Alex. He had a small, satisfied smile. "Maybe it is not a fluke."

Training ended. The players were tired, but the mood was high.

"Dude," Sam said, walking with Alex. "You are a robot. That was not human."

"It was just practice," Alex said, but he was grinning.

"Showers, lads!" Coach Steve called. "Except... Finch. Mark. You stay."

Uh oh.

The other players left, giving them curious looks.

It was just the three of them on the big, empty pitch.

Coach Steve threw a bag of balls down.

"Right," he said, looking at the two boys. "This is the new problem. Mark, you are the fastest kid in this academy. You run like a cheetah. But you only run for yourself."

He turned to Alex. "And you. You are the smartest kid in this academy. You see things no one else sees. But you can be too slow. Too safe."

He kicked a ball. It rolled between them.

"Apart, you are two good players. But together... you could be something special. You could be unstoppable."

Mark scoffed. "He is too slow, coach. He holds the ball too long."

"He is not slow," Alex said, surprising himself. "He just runs into walls. He needs better passes."

The two boys glared at each other.

"Good," Coach Steve smiled. "This is good. You are already talking. So here is the plan. Every day, after training, you two stay for thirty minutes. Mark, your job is to make runs. Every kind of run. Short. Long. Curved. Zig zags. I do not care. Just run."

"And Alex. Your job is to find him. Every. Single. Time. You will do it until you can do it with your eyes closed. You will do it until you are both so tired you cannot stand. You will learn to be a partnership."

He picked up his notepad. "I will be watching. From my office. Do not disappoint me."

Coach Steve turned and walked away.

Alex and Mark were left alone. The silence was back.

Mark sighed. A long, annoyed sigh.

"This is stupid," Mark muttered.

"Probably," Alex agreed.

Mark picked up a ball. He looked at Alex. "Well? Do not just stand there, brain boy. I am going to run. Try and keep up."

He kicked the ball deep into the corner and started to sprint.

Alex watched him go. He saw the power in his legs. He saw the speed.

His analyst brain came back, but this time, it was not scared. It was excited.

This was not a punishment. This was an opportunity. This was how he would become the best.

Alex smiled. He jogd to the bag of balls.

"Okay, Mark," he whispered to himself. "Lets see how fast you really are."

He picked up a ball. He looked up. And he kicked it.

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