Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The drama studio smelled of dust and hairspray.

Mr. Pringle, the drama teacher, clapped his hands. He was wearing a black turtleneck and looked very serious.

"Macbeth!" Mr. Pringle shouted. "It is a play about power. About ambition. About the cost of wearing the crown."

He pointed at Mark.

"Mark, you are Macbeth. You want to be King. Show me your hunger."

Mark stood in the middle of the stage. He was holding a plastic skull (which was actually from Hamlet, but Mark brought it anyway).

"I WANT THE BURGER!" Mark screamed at the skull.

"The throne, Mark," Mr. Pringle sighed. "You want the throne. Not a burger."

"Same thing!" Mark argued. "A burger is the king of food. I am hungry for power! And ketchup!"

Alex sat in the audience. He rubbed his temples.

"Is this helpful?" Jude whispered. Jude was playing a tree. He was holding two branches and looking bored.

"Yes," Alex said. "Tonight, we play Real Madrid. The Kings of Europe. We have to be Macbeth. We have to take their crown."

"Does that mean I have to kill Modric?" Jude asked.

"Metaphorically," Alex said. "Please do not actually kill him. The referee will give you a red card."

School finished. The tension in the air was thick.

It was the second leg. Semi Final. Champions League.

Arsenal vs. Real Madrid.

The score was 1-1 on aggregate.

Alex walked out to the car park.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was dressed as a jester. He had a hat with bells on it and shoes with curly toes.

"THE COURT JESTER!" Milo jingled. "I AM HERE TO ENTERTAIN THE NEW KINGS! ALEX! I AM SELLING CONFETTI! IT IS MADE OF OLD HOMEWORK! REDUCE, REUSE, RECYCLE!"

"Milo, you sound like a Christmas decoration," Alex said.

"I AM THE SOUND OF CELEBRATION!" Milo yelled, shaking his bells.

They drove to the Emirates.

The stadium was different tonight.

Usually, the Emirates was loud. Tonight, it was ferocious.

The fans knew. They were one game away from the Final. One game away from history.

Steve, the manager, stood in the center of the dressing room.

"They are in our house," Steve said. His voice was low. "In Madrid, we survived. Tonight, we do not survive. We hunt."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Modric will try to slow the game down. He will try to put the crowd to sleep. Do not let him. Wake them up."

"I brought my alarm clock," Alex said.

"Good. Set it to 'Chaos'."

The tunnel.

The Real Madrid players looked calm. Too calm. They were chewing gum. They were joking. They had won this trophy so many times it was just another Tuesday for them.

Vinicius Junior winked at Alex. "Ready to run, little professor?"

"Always," Alex said.

The whistle blew.

Real Madrid showed why they were the Kings.

They did not panic. They kept the ball.

Kroos passed to Modric. Modric passed to Bellingham. Bellingham passed to Vinicius.

It was smooth. It was arrogant.

In the fifteenth minute, Real Madrid struck.

Vinicius got the ball on the wing. Ben White tried to stop him.

Vinicius did a rainbow flick. He flicked the ball over Ben White head.

The crowd gasped.

Vinicius ran around him. He volleyed the ball into the box.

Rodrygo was there. He tapped it in.

Goal.

Zero one. (1-2 on aggregate).

The Real Madrid fans in the corner waved their white scarves. The Kings had taken the lead.

The Arsenal players looked at each other. The doubt started to creep in.

"They are too good," Mark said, breathing heavy. "They are playing FIFA on beginner mode."

Alex clapped his hands. "Stop looking at them! Look at me!"

The team looked at Alex.

"They are human!" Alex yelled. "They bleed! Remember the play! Ambition! We want the crown!"

The game restarted.

Alex changed gears.

He stopped following Modric. He started attacking him.

Every time Modric got the ball, Alex was there. Nipping at his heels. Pushing him. Pressing him.

Modric stumbled. He passed the ball out of play.

The crowd cheered. The Wizard was mortal.

Thirty fifth minute.

Alex won the ball from Kroos.

He drove forward.

He saw Jude making a run. The Tree was moving.

Alex passed to Jude.

Jude took a touch. He was twenty yards out.

"SHOOT!" the crowd screamed.

Jude pulled his leg back. The Real Madrid defenders jumped to block.

But Jude did not shoot. He chopped the ball back.

He passed it sideways to Alex.

Alex was running into the box.

He was all alone.

Courtois, the giant goalkeeper, came out.

Alex remembered the drama class.

Show me your hunger.

Alex did not place it. He smashed it.

He put all his ambition into the shot.

The ball flew past Courtois ear. It hit the back of the net with a sound like a gunshot.

Goal.

One one. (2-2 on aggregate).

The Emirates exploded. The noise was primal.

Alex ran to the corner. He pretended to put a crown on his head. Then he took it off and threw it on the ground.

"NO KINGS!" Alex roared. "ONLY US!"

Halftime.

The score was level.

"They are rattling," Steve said. "They are arguing. Vinicius is yelling at the referee. We have them."

He looked at Mark.

"Speed. Rudiger is tired. He has been chasing ghosts all half. One sprint. That is all we need. One perfect sprint."

"I was born sprinting," Mark said. He was eating a banana. "I am pure energy."

Second half.

It was a war.

Real Madrid used their experience. They fouled. They wasted time. They tried to slow the heartbeat of the game.

But Arsenal kept the tempo high.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

The players were exhausted. Cramp was setting in.

Alex felt his legs burning. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

Adagio. Allegro. Presto.

He forced himself to keep moving.

Eighty ninth minute.

Extra time was seconds away.

Real Madrid had a corner.

Modric crossed it in.

Saliba headed it clear.

The ball flew out of the box.

It landed at Alex feet.

He was on the edge of his own box.

He looked up.

There was only one Real Madrid defender back. Nacho.

And there was Mark.

Mark was on the halfway line. He was leaning on his knees. He looked dead.

"MARK!" Alex screamed. His voice cracked. "RUN!"

Mark head snapped up.

He saw the ball. He saw the space.

Alex hit the pass.

It was the "Hurricane Pass". It sliced through the air. It curled away from the recovering defenders.

It landed perfectly in Mark path.

Mark ignited the boosters.

He ran.

Nacho tried to catch him. But Nacho was running in mud. Mark was running on clouds.

Mark was through.

He was one on one with Courtois.

The whole season came down to this moment. All the training. All the jokes. All the miles.

Mark ran into the box.

Courtois stayed big.

Mark looked at the goal.

He remembered the frog. The jump.

He did not shoot.

He stepped over the ball.

He went left.

Courtois dived left.

Mark dragged the ball right.

The goal was empty.

Mark rolled the ball gently into the net.

Goal.

Two one. (3-2 on aggregate).

The stadium shook. Literally. The ground vibrated.

Mark did not celebrate. He just collapsed. He fell face down on the grass.

"I AM DEAD!" Mark yelled into the dirt. "BURY ME HERE! I AM A LEGEND!"

Alex ran the length of the pitch. He jumped on top of Mark. Then Jude. Then Antoine.

A pile of red shirts. A mountain of joy.

Real Madrid were stunned. The Kings had fallen.

The referee added five minutes of injury time.

They were the longest five minutes of Alex life.

Real Madrid threw everything. Even Courtois came up for a free kick.

But Arsenal stood firm. They were the wall.

The whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Real Madrid 1.

They were in the Final.

Alex fell to his knees. He looked at the sky. It was black, but it looked beautiful.

Modric walked over. The old master looked at the young apprentice.

Modric shook Alex hand.

"You have the hunger," Modric said quietly. "Good luck in the final."

"Thank you," Alex said.

Milo stormed onto the pitch. The jester hat was gone. He was wearing a gold foil cape.

"THE KING SLAYER!" Milo screamed. "WE DID IT! ALEX! THE GOAL! THE PASS! I AM SELLING PIECES OF THE NET! PRE-ORDER NOW!"

"Milo, you cannot sell the net," Alex laughed.

"WATCH ME!" Milo yelled, running towards the goal with a pair of scissors.

Alex walked into the dressing room.

It was chaos. Champagne was spraying everywhere. Music was blasting.

Mark was dancing on a table. He was wearing his plastic crown again.

"I AM THE EMPEROR!" Mark sang. "I AM FASTER THAN TIME ITSELF!"

Alex sat in his corner. He was soaked. He was tired. He was happy.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Probability of beating Bayern and Real Madrid back-to-back: 0.04 percent. You have defied the laws of statistics. You are an outlier. Also, Mr. Pringle says your performance in the second half was 'Very Macbeth'. But please bring your script tomorrow. We are rehearsing Act 5."

Alex smiled.

Act 5. The finale.

The Champions League Final.

He looked at the date. Two weeks.

The opponent?

He checked the other result.

Paris Saint-Germain.

Mbappe. The best player in the world.

Alex put his phone down.

"One more act," Alex whispered.

He looked at his friends. They were singing "Sweet Caroline" very badly.

They were not Kings. They were not Legends. Not yet.

They were just a bunch of kids who loved football.

And they were going to the biggest stage on Earth.

"Hey Professor!" Mark yelled from the table. "Do you think Mbappe likes burgers?"

"I don't know, Mark."

"I will buy him one," Mark declared. "And then I will steal the ball from him."

Alex laughed.

The Dynasty was almost complete.

The curtain was rising on the final show.