CHAPTER 490: 1

The swimming pool at the hotel was quiet. The water was blue and still.

Alex sat on a sun lounger. He had a towel over his head.

Maya sat next to him. She was holding a tablet. The screen was full of red dots.

"Morocco," Maya said. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "The Atlas Lions. They are a statistical anomaly."

"Why?" Alex asked from under the towel.

"They do not concede goals," Maya said. "They have played Belgium, Croatia, Spain, and Portugal. They have conceded one goal. And it was an own goal. No opposition player has scored against them."

Alex took the towel off his head.

"They are a wall," Alex said.

"They are a diamond," Maya corrected. "A compressed, hard diamond. Their defensive shape is perfect. Amrabat runs 13 kilometers. Hakimi is fast. Ziyech is technical. And Bono... the goalkeeper is statistically the best in the tournament."

"Diamonds are hard to break," Alex said.

"You do not break a diamond with force," Maya said. "You cut it. With precision."

A splash soaked them both.

"CANNONBALL!"

Alex wiped water from his face.

Mark was in the pool. He was wearing an inflatable rubber duck around his waist. He was also wearing an England hat.

"Mark," Alex sighed. "Why are you splashing us?"

"I am washing away my sorrow!" Mark yelled. "Also, the water is nice. Very wet."

Mark paddled over to the edge.

"So," Mark said. "Morocco. They are tough. Hakimi runs fast. Maybe not as fast as me, but fast."

"We need a plan," Alex said.

"I have a plan," Mark grinned. "Give the ball to the Professor. Let him do math. Win the game. Eat pizza."

"That is a good plan," Alex smiled.

"I know," Mark said. "I am a tactical genius. Now, excuse me. I am going to race this rubber duck to the other side."

Wednesday Night. Al Bayt Stadium.

The Semi-Final.

One step from the biggest game in history.

The atmosphere was different tonight. It was not hostile. It was loud, but it was a celebration.

The Moroccan fans were amazing. They were whistling, cheering, and banging drums. The whole stadium was red.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Achraf Hakimi stood next to him. The PSG star.

Hakimi looked relaxed. He smiled at Alex.

"The Wonderkid," Hakimi said.

"The Bullet," Alex replied.

"My friend Mbappe told me about you," Hakimi said. "He said you are smart. He said you calculate everything."

"I try," Alex said.

"You cannot calculate passion," Hakimi said, tapping his chest. "We play for Africa. We play for the Arab world. We have a billion prayers behind us."

"We have Milo," Alex whispered.

"Who?"

"You will see."

They walked out.

The noise was incredible.

Milo was there. Standing near the corner flag.

He was dressed as... a Genie.

He was painted entirely blue. He had a gold ponytail and gold wristbands. He was holding a magic lamp (which looked like a gravy boat).

"I GRANT WISHES!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! RUB THE LAMP! I AM SELLING THREE WISHES! ONE GOAL! TWO GOALS! THREE GOALS! DISCOUNT FOR CASH!"

"Milo, you look like a Smurf," Alex laughed as he lined up.

"I AM A MAGICAL BEING!" Milo yelled. "POOF! I AM GONE!" (Milo did not vanish. He just hid behind a camera man).

The whistle blew.

The game started.

Maya was right. Morocco was a diamond.

They sat deep. They were organized. They moved together like a synchronized swimming team.

England tried to pass. Rice to Henderson. Henderson to Bellingham.

But there was no space.

Amrabat was everywhere. He was like a heat-seeking missile. Every time Jude got the ball, Amrabat was there to tackle him.

In the fifteenth minute, England made a mistake.

Maguire tried a long pass. It was cut out by Ounahi.

Morocco countered.

Ziyech got the ball. He had a left foot like a wand.

He curled a pass behind the England defense.

En-Nesyri was running.

He jumped. He jumped so high his knees were level with the defender’s head.

He headed the ball.

Pickford saved it.

But it was close.

"Focus!" Harry Kane yelled. "Do not get complacent!"

Thirty minutes passed.

It was 0-0.

England had 70% possession. But possession without goals is just exercise.

"They are too tight!" Saka complained. "I have two men on me every time!"

Alex stood in the center circle.

He closed his eyes for a second.

He visualized the pitch. It was a grid.

Problem: The grid is full. High density.

Solution: Change the state of matter. Turn solid into liquid.

"Fluidity," Alex whispered.

"Harry!" Alex shouted. "Switch!"

Harry Kane understood. He drifted to the left wing. Foden moved to the middle. Alex pushed forward.

They started to rotate.

The Moroccan defenders were confused. They were used to marking positions. Now the positions were moving.

Forty fourth minute.

Alex got the ball deep.

Amrabat came to press him.

Alex did not pass. He dribbled.

He drove straight at the heart of the defense.

He saw Hakimi coming to help.

This left a tiny gap on the left.

Alex faked a shot. The defenders froze.

Alex slid a pass to Luke Shaw.

Shaw crossed it low.

Harry Kane was there.

He shot.

Bono, the goalkeeper, made a miracle save with his foot.

The ball bounced out.

Half time.

0-0.

The dressing room was tense.

"It is like trying to break a bank vault," Jude said, wiping sweat from his face. "They are locked tight."

Gareth Southgate stood in the middle.

"Patience," Gareth said. "Do not force it. If you force it, they will counter and kill us. Wait for the mistake. One mistake is all we need."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. You are the lockpick. Find the tumbler."

Second half.

The game got tighter.

Fifty minutes. Sixty minutes.

The Moroccan fans were whistling every time England touched the ball. The noise was piercing.

Sixty fifth minute.

England had a free kick. Wide on the right.

It was a crossing position.

Harry Kane stood over it.

Alex stood over it.

"They are tall," Harry said. "Saiss. Aguerd. They win every header."

"We do not go high," Alex said. "We go low."

"Low?"

"Ground floor," Alex said. "The elevator is broken."

Harry smiled.

The referee blew the whistle.

Harry ran over the ball. A dummy.

The Moroccan defense stepped up, expecting a cross.

Alex did not cross.

He passed the ball hard along the grass.

It went towards the penalty spot.

It looked like a bad pass. There was nobody there.

But Jude Bellingham was running.

He ran from deep. He arrived late.

Jude hit it first time.

The ball flew through a forest of legs.

It hit the bottom corner.

GOAL.

One zero. England.

The English fans exploded.

Alex jumped on Jude. "The ground floor!"

"Best delivery service in the world!" Jude roared.

But Morocco was not dead.

They were Lions. And Lions fight when they are wounded.

They attacked.

Seventy fifth minute.

Hakimi ran down the wing. He was fast. So fast.

He crossed the ball.

Boufal volleyed it.

It hit John Stones in the chest.

"Handball!" the Moroccan players screamed.

The referee shook his head. "Chest!"

VAR checked it. No penalty.

The tension was unbearable.

Eighty fifth minute.

England were hanging on. They were tired.

Alex had the ball. He was surrounded by three red shirts.

He needed to relieve the pressure.

He saw Phil Foden making a run.

Alex did a "Roulette". He spun away from Amrabat.

He played the ball to Foden.

Foden ran to the corner flag. He held the ball.

"Keep it there!" Gareth Southgate shouted.

But Foden saw Alex running.

Foden passed it back to Alex.

Alex was on the edge of the box.

He saw the top corner.

He wanted to shoot. The glory was there.

But he saw Harry Kane in a better position.

Alex passed.

Selfless.

Harry Kane controlled it. He slotted it home.

GOAL.

Two zero.

Game over.

Alex fell to his knees.

They had done it.

They were in the World Cup Final.

The final whistle blew.

England 2. Morocco 0.

History.

The players went crazy. They were hugging, crying, dancing.

Alex stood up.

Hakimi walked over. He looked devastated, but he held his head high.

"You broke the diamond," Hakimi said.

"It was tough," Alex said. "You are incredible."

"Go win it," Hakimi said. "Do not let the South Americans win."

"I promise," Alex said.

Milo ran onto the pitch. The blue paint was running down his face because of the sweat. He looked like a melting Smurf.

"THE GENIE!" Milo screamed. "I GRANTED THE WISH! ALEX! THE FINAL! I AM SELLING TICKETS TO THE MOON! BECAUSE WE ARE OVER THE MOON!"

"Milo, you are dripping blue paint on my shirt," Alex laughed.

"IT IS THE COLOR OF VICTORY!" Milo yelled.

Alex walked towards the tunnel.

He checked his phone.

A text from Mark.

"I AM WAITING IN THE HOTEL. I HAVE ORDERED PIZZA. CONGRATULATIONS PROFESSOR. YOU PASSED THE TEST."

Alex smiled.

He looked at the TV screen in the tunnel.

It showed the bracket.

The Final.

Sunday. Lusail Stadium.

England vs Argentina.

Alex Finch vs Lionel Messi.

The Wonderkid vs The Goat.

Alex felt his heart stop for a second.

Messi.

The final boss. The greatest player of all time.

He put his phone in his pocket.

Jude walked up to him. Jude looked serious.

"Lionel," Jude said.

"Yes," Alex said.

"He is magic," Jude said. "Real magic. Not card tricks."

"I know," Alex said.

"Can we stop him?" Jude asked.

Alex looked at the tunnel light.

"He is physics," Alex said. "He is gravity. He pulls everyone towards him."

"So?"

"So we have to be anti-gravity," Alex smiled.

They walked to the bus.

The fans were singing. The drums were beating.

The Dynasty was one game away.

One game to become immortal.

One game to beat the God of Football.

Alex closed his eyes.

He imagined the trophy. The gold World Cup.

It was waiting.

"Sunday," Alex whispered.

"Class is in session."