Madame Dubois stood at the whiteboard. She was writing verb conjugations.

"Gagner," Madame Dubois said. "To win. Je gagne. Tu gagnes. Il gagne."

Alex sat at his desk. He was conjugating verbs in his head.

I win. You win. He wins.

It had been a good year for winning. The World Cup. The Champions League. The Premier League.

But there was one trophy missing. The individual one. The golden one.

"Monsieur Finch," Madame Dubois said. "Can you use the verb 'to shine' in a sentence?"

Alex looked up.

"The stars shine in the sky," Alex said in perfect French.

"Very poetic," Madame Dubois smiled. "But stars also shine on the red carpet, non?"

Mark raised his hand. He was wearing a tuxedo. A full black tuxedo with a bow tie. In school. At 9 AM.

"Mark," Madame Dubois sighed. "Why are you dressed like a penguin?"

"I am not a penguin!" Mark was outraged. "I am ready for the Gala! Tonight is the night! The Ballon d'Or! Paris! The City of Lights! The City of Cheese!"

"The ceremony is tonight," Alex whispered. "But we have double Maths this afternoon."

"Maths is for people who do not wear tuxedos!" Mark declared. He stood up and spun around. "Look at the fit! I look like James Bond, if James Bond was faster and liked pizza."

The bell rang.

Alex packed his bag. He felt a fluttering in his stomach.

The Ballon d'Or.

The Golden Ball.

The prize for the best player in the world.

He was nominated. Along with Haaland, Mbappe, and Messi.

It was crazy. He was eighteen years old. He still had to ask permission to go to the toilet during lessons. And tonight, he might be crowned the King of Football.

Alex walked out to the car park.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was dressed as... a Paparazzo.

He was wearing a trench coat and a fedora hat with a press card stuck in the band. He was holding a camera that looked like it was made of a cereal box and a toilet roll tube.

"FLASH! FLASH!" Milo shouted, jumping out from behind a bush. "ALEX! GIVE US A SMILE! I AM SELLING EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS! 'THE WONDERKID EATING A SANDWICH'! 'THE WONDERKID TYING HIS SHOELACE'! ONLY FIVE POUNDS A JPEG!"

"Milo, that is not a real camera," Alex said.

"IT CAPTURES THE SOUL!" Milo yelled. "AND IT HAS A ZOOM LENS MADE OF A MAGNIFYING GLASS!"

"We have to go to the airport, Milo."

"I AM COMING TOO!" Milo said. "I AM YOUR PUBLICIST! I WILL MANAGE THE FAME! I WILL KEEP THE FANS AWAY WITH A STICK!"

They drove to the private jet terminal.

Maya was waiting there. She was not wearing a lab coat. She was wearing a beautiful evening gown. It was dark blue, the color of a mathematical equation on a blackboard.

"Maya," Alex said. "You look... statistically significant."

"Thank you, Professor," Maya adjusted her glasses. "I calculated the probability of you winning tonight."

"And?"

"It is 48 percent," Maya said. "Haaland scored 52 goals. You scored 25 goals and 30 assists. But you won the World Cup. The World Cup carries a weight coefficient of 2.5."

"So it is a coin flip," Alex said.

"Basically," Maya smiled. "But I like your odds."

They boarded the plane.

Paris was calling.

The Theatre du Chatelet in Paris was glowing.

Red carpet. Flashing lights. Screaming fans.

Alex stepped out of the car. The noise hit him like a physical wave.

ALEX! ALEX! FINCH! FINCH!

He walked the red carpet. He felt small. He was surrounded by giants.

Zidane was there. Ronaldo (the Brazilian one) was there. Beckham was there.

And the rivals were there.

Erling Haaland walked past. He was wearing a red suit. He looked like a giant strawberry.

"Professor," Haaland grunted. "You look small in a suit."

"It is aerodynamic," Alex replied.

Kylian Mbappe walked past. He looked sharp. He looked like he owned the building.

"Hello, Ninja," Alex said.

"Hello, Calculator," Mbappe smirked. "Enjoy the show. The view from second place is nice."

"We will see," Alex said.

Mark was walking behind Alex. He was waving to everyone. He signed an autograph for a security guard.

"I AM THE EMPEROR!" Mark shouted to a French TV crew. "I TAUGHT HIM EVERYTHING HE KNOWS! I AM THE ENGINE BEHIND THE FERRARI!"

They walked into the theater.

It was gold and velvet. It smelled of expensive perfume and success.

Alex sat in the front row. Next to Messi. Next to Haaland. Next to Mbappe.

The ceremony began.

Didier Drogba was the host. He talked about football. He talked about passion.

Then, they announced the awards.

The Kopa Trophy (Best Young Player).

"The winner is..." Drogba paused. "Alex Finch!"

The crowd cheered.

Alex walked up. He took the trophy. It was heavy.

"Thank you," Alex said into the microphone. "I have to be quick. I have homework due tomorrow."

The crowd laughed.

He sat back down.

"One trophy," Mark whispered. "Good start. Can we eat now?"

"Not yet, Mark."

More awards. Best Goalkeeper (Martinez). Best Striker (Haaland).

Then, the big one.

The Ballon d'Or.

The room went silent. The lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the golden ball on the stage.

David Beckham walked onto the stage to present it.

"This player," Beckham said. "Has changed the game. He plays with his brain, not just his feet. He sees angles that do not exist. He calculates victory."

Alex felt his heart beating.

Tick. Tock.

It was the only rhythm he could hear.

"The winner," Beckham said. "Of the 2024 Ballon d'Or is..."

Beckham opened the envelope.

He smiled.

"ALEX FINCH!"

The room exploded.

Alex froze.

He won.

He beat Haaland. He beat Mbappe. He beat Messi.

He stood up. His legs felt like jelly.

Mark jumped on his back. "YOU DID IT! YOU WON THE GOLDEN BALL! WE ARE RICH!"

Alex shook him off laughing. He hugged Maya. He hugged his mum and dad who were crying in the second row.

He walked up the stairs.

Beckham handed him the trophy.

It was heavier than the World Cup. It was solid gold history.

Alex looked at the crowd.

He saw Haaland clapping (slowly, like a robot). He saw Mbappe looking annoyed. He saw Messi smiling like a proud uncle.

Alex leaned into the microphone.

"Football," Alex said. "Is just physics. It is geometry. It is biology."

He looked at the golden ball.

"But sometimes," Alex smiled. "It is also magic."

He lifted the trophy.

Confetti rained down. Gold on gold.

Milo ran onto the stage. He was being chased by three security guards.

"I HAVE THE CERTIFICATE!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! I AM SELLING PIECES OF THE CONFETTI! THEY TOUCHED THE GOLDEN BOY! TEN EUROS A SCRAP!"

"Milo, get off the stage!" Alex laughed.

"I AM PART OF THE ENTOURAGE!" Milo yelled as he was dragged away.

The After Party.

It was on a boat on the River Seine. The Eiffel Tower sparkled in the background.

Alex sat on the deck. The Ballon d'Or was sitting on the table next to a plate of half-eaten nachos.

Mark was wearing the Ballon d'Or like a hat (it was round, so he was balancing it).

"It is heavy," Mark complained. "My neck is getting shorter."

"Put it down, Mark," Alex said.

"But I want to absorb the gold power!" Mark said. "Maybe I will turn golden. Like Midas."

Maya walked over. She was holding a glass of sparkling grape juice.

"Probability of you dropping that trophy is 85 percent," Maya said to Mark.

Mark quickly put it down on the table. "Safe."

Alex looked at the river. The lights of Paris reflected in the water.

He was the best player in the world.

It was a strange feeling. He felt... the same.

He was still Alex. He still liked solving puzzles. He still worried about his exams.

"What happens now?" Alex asked.

"Now?" Maya said. "Now you maintain the standard. Staying at the top is statistically harder than getting there. Regression to the mean is a powerful force."

"You are so romantic, Maya," Mark rolled his eyes. "Now we party! We eat! We dance!"

Rico walked over. He was wearing sunglasses at night.

"Congrats, Professor," Rico said. "You won the shiny ball."

"Thanks, Rico."

"Next year," Rico pointed a finger. "It is mine. I will dance better than you calculate."

"We will see," Alex smiled.

"But tonight," Rico grinned. "We celebrate. I brought the music."

Rico started playing Samba music on his phone. He started dancing.

Mark joined him. Mark's dancing was like a robot having a malfunction.

"LOOK AT ME!" Mark shouted. "I AM THE GOLDEN DANCER!"

Alex laughed.

He looked at the trophy. He looked at his friends.

The Dynasty was at its peak.

But Alex knew something. Peaks were pointy. It was hard to stand on them for long.

You had to keep moving. You had to keep climbing to the next peak.

"Hey Alex," Mark said, stopping his dance.

"Yeah?"

"We have double Maths tomorrow."

Alex groaned.

"Mr. Tangent," Alex said.

"Do you think he will let us off homework because you won the Ballon d'Or?" Mark asked.

"No," Alex said. "Maths does not care about football. A triangle is still a triangle."

"Unless it is a pizza slice," Mark said.

"Unless it is a pizza slice," Alex agreed.

They laughed.

The boat drifted down the river.