Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

"Is this a dagger which I see before me?" Alex asked.

"No!" Mark yelled from the side of the stage. "It is a piece of plastic! And you are holding it wrong! You look like you are trying to butter toast!"

Mr. Pringle, the drama teacher, sighed. He rubbed his forehead.

"Mark," Mr. Pringle said. "Macbeth is a tragedy. It is serious. Please stop talking about toast."

"But I am hungry!" Mark complained. "Being a tree is hard work. My branches are tired."

Mark was dressed in a brown sack with leaves glued to it. He was playing Birnam Wood.

Alex lowered the sword. "Sir, can we take a break? We have a flight to catch."

"Ah, yes," Mr. Pringle said. " The football match. The little kick about."

"It is the Champions League Final, Sir," Alex said. "Against PSG. In Istanbul."

"Right, right," Mr. Pringle waved his hand. "Well, try not to break a leg. We need you for the matinee on Monday. Macbeth cannot be played by a student with a cast."

"I will try my best, Sir," Alex smiled.

School finished. The bell rang. It sounded like a starting pistol.

Alex walked out. The whole school was watching him.

Year 7 students pointed and whispered. Teachers gave him thumbs up. Even the lunch lady waved a spatula at him.

"Bring the cup home, Professor!" she yelled.

Alex walked to the car park.

Maya was waiting for him. She was holding a thick folder.

"I did the math," Maya said, handing him the folder. "Kylian Mbappe. Top speed: 38 kilometers per hour. Acceleration: faster than a cheetah with a jetpack. Statistical weakness: he hates tracking back."

Alex took the folder. "Thanks, Maya. Did you sleep?"

"Sleep is inefficient," Maya adjusted her glasses. "I simulated the game 10,000 times on my laptop."

"And?" Alex asked.

"We won 4,000 times. We lost 4,000 times. And 2,000 times the stadium lights went out."

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

"Basically," Maya smiled. "But you are good at flipping coins. Go get him, Professor."

She punched him lightly on the arm. It was the most affection she had ever shown.

"I will," Alex said.

Mark arrived.

He was not wearing a costume. He was wearing a pilot suit. A full orange flight suit with a helmet tucked under his arm.

"TOP GUN!" Mark screamed. "I FEEL THE NEED! THE NEED FOR SPEED!"

"Mark," Alex sighed. "We are flying commercial. You cannot fly the plane."

"I can be the co-pilot!" Mark insisted. "I have played flight simulator! I know where the horn is!"

"Planes do not have horns, Mark."

"They should! How do they beep at clouds?"

They got into the car. The road to the airport was lined with Arsenal flags. Red and White everywhere.

The mood was different this time.

Before, it was excitement. Now, it was destiny.

They arrived at the training ground to pick up their bags.

Steve, the manager, was waiting. He looked tired. He had bags under his eyes big enough to carry groceries.

"PSG," Steve said. "Paris Saint-Germain. The Parisians."

He turned on the projector.

A video played.

It was just a blur.

A blue blur moving across the screen.

"That is him," Steve said. "Mbappe. The Turtle. The Ninja. The Boss."

The video showed Mbappe running past defenders. He did not look like he was running. He looked like he was gliding.

"He is fast," Mark admitted quietly. "Maybe... almost as fast as me."

"He is stronger than you, Speed," Steve said. "And he can shoot. He is the ultimate weapon."

Steve looked at the team.

"We cannot stop him with one man. If Ben White tries to stop him alone, he will die. If Saliba tries alone, he will die."

"So we all die?" Jude asked.

"No," Steve said. "We build a cage."

He drew a circle on the whiteboard.

"We surround him. When he gets the ball, three of you must be there. Suffocate him. Deny him oxygen."

"The Cage," Alex whispered.

"Exactly," Steve nodded. "Professor. You are the lock. You have to predict where he will go before he goes there. If you react, you are too late. You have to anticipate."

"I will read the future," Alex promised.

They drove to the airport.

Milo was waiting at the gate.

Milo was dressed as... a Sultan. He had a fake mustache and a turban made of towels.

"WELCOME TO ISTANBUL!" Milo shouted. "I AM THE MERCHANT OF GOALS! ALEX! I AM SELLING MAGIC CARPETS! GUARANTEED TO FLY OVER THE DEFENSE!"

"Milo, those are bath mats," Alex said.

"THEY ARE WOVEN WITH DREAMS!" Milo yelled. "AND POLYESTER! MOSTLY POLYESTER!"

They boarded the plane.

It was a long flight to Turkey.

Alex looked out the window. The clouds looked like mountains.

He thought about his journey.

The academy. The loan spell. The first goal. The injury. The comeback. Beating City. Beating Bayern. Beating Real Madrid.

And now, the Final.

It felt like a dream. A weird, wonderful dream where his best friend drove a monster truck and his girlfriend calculated goal probabilities.

He closed his eyes.

"Hey Professor," Mark whispered.

"Yeah?"

"If we win... are we the best in the world?"

"Yes, Mark."

"Cool," Mark said. "I always knew I was the best. But it will be nice to have a trophy that says it."

Alex smiled.

They landed in Istanbul.

The heat hit them instantly. It was hot. Sticky. The air smelled of spices and the sea.

The city was divided.

Half was Red for Arsenal. Half was Blue for PSG.

Fans were singing in the streets. Flares were burning.

The team bus drove to the hotel. It was like driving through a carnival.

"This is it," Antoine said. He was looking out the window, fixing his hair. "The big stage. I hope the cameras are 4K. I need to look good."

"You always look good, Magician," Jude said.

"I know," Antoine winked. "But I need to look legendary."

The night before the game.

Alex could not sleep.

He sat on the balcony of his hotel room. He looked at the Bosphorus Strait. The water was dark and calm.

A door opened on the next balcony.

It was Kylian Mbappe.

The PSG star was standing there. He was wearing a tracksuit. He looked calm.

He saw Alex.

Mbappe smiled.

"The Professor," Mbappe said. His voice was smooth.

"The Ninja," Alex replied.

"I saw your game against Madrid," Mbappe said. "You play smart. You think."

"I try," Alex said.

"Thinking is slow," Mbappe said. He tapped the railing. "Speed is instant. Tomorrow, I will be faster than your thoughts."

"Light travels faster than sound," Alex said. "But prediction travels faster than light."

Mbappe laughed. "You are funny. I like you. It will be a shame to crush you."

"We will see who crushes who," Alex said.

"Goodnight, Professor," Mbappe said. "Dream of me."

"I will dream of the cup," Alex said.

Mbappe went inside.

Alex shivered. It was not the cold. It was the presence. Mbappe had an aura. He was the final boss.

Saturday. Match Day.

The Ataturk Olympic Stadium.

It was huge. It looked like a crater on the moon.

Seventy five thousand fans. Millions watching on TV.

Mrs. Baker was watching. Mr. Pringle was watching. The lunch lady was watching.

Alex put on his shin pads.

He tied his laces. Left foot. Right foot.

Mark was sitting next to him. Mark was vibrating. He was shaking so much his water bottle was rattling.

"I am nervous," Mark admitted. "My legs feel like jelly."

"Jelly wobbles," Alex said. "But jelly tastes good. Be the jelly, Mark."

"Be the jelly," Mark repeated. "I am the jelly. I am the dangerous jelly."

Steve walked in.

He did not give a long speech. He did not shout.

He just wrote one word on the whiteboard.

DYNASTY.

"You are not here to play a game," Steve said softly. "You are here to build a legacy. Tonight, you stop being boys. Tonight, you become immortals."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Lead the class."

"Yes, Boss."

They lined up in the tunnel.

The PSG players were there. Donnarumma. Hakimi. Dembele.

And Mbappe.

Mbappe was staring straight ahead. He looked like he was already celebrating.

The referee picked up the ball.

They walked out.

The noise was a physical wall. It hit them in the chest.

Red flares. Blue flares. Smoke.

The Champions League trophy was sitting on a podium in the middle of the pitch. It was big. It was silver. It was beautiful.

Alex looked at it.

He wanted it.

He wanted to touch it. He wanted to lift it. He wanted to fill it with Milo's weird energy drink.

The music played. The Chaaaaampions.

Alex closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

He smelled the grass. He smelled the smoke. He smelled the fear.

He opened his eyes.

The whistle blew.

The Final began.

PSG started fast.

Mbappe got the ball in the first ten seconds.

He ran.

Mark tried to catch him. But Mbappe was in a different gear.

"THE CAGE!" Alex screamed. "CLOSE THE CAGE!"

Ben White stepped up. Saliba stepped across. Alex dropped back.

Three players surrounded Mbappe.

Mbappe did not slow down. He did a stepover. He pushed the ball through the tiny gap between Saliba's legs.

He ran around them.

He was through.

Ten seconds in.

Mbappe shot.

Ramsdale made a save. A finger tip save.

The ball hit the post and went out.

The Arsenal fans gasped.

"He is fast!" Mark yelled. "He is really fast!"

"Wake up!" Alex shouted. "This is not a drill!"

The game settled down.

It was a battle.

Mbappe was a constant threat. Every time he touched the ball, the stadium held its breath.

But Arsenal fought back.

Alex controlled the midfield. He passed. He moved. He spun.

The Spinning Jenny. The Piston. The Heart.

He used everything he had learned.

In the twentieth minute, Alex got the ball.

He saw Mbappe cheating. Mbappe was staying high up the pitch. He was not defending.

"Calculated risk," Alex whispered.

Alex ran forward.

He ran into the space Mbappe left behind.

He was 30 yards out.

He saw Antoine making a run.

Alex faked a pass. The PSG defender froze.

Alex shot.

It was a knuckleball.

It swerved left. It swerved right.

Donnarumma dived.

The ball hit the crossbar.

CLANG.

It bounced out.

Mark was there.

Mark tried to head it. But he was too short.

He tried to kick it. But he was too slow (ironically).

The ball bounced off Mark's shoulder.

It rolled towards the goal.

It hit the post.

And stayed out.

"NO!" Mark screamed. "PHYSICS IS A LIAR!"

The game stayed 0-0.

It was tense. It was tight.

Mbappe was waiting. The Predator.

Alex was thinking. The Professor.

Forty fifth minute.

Just before halftime.

Mbappe got the ball again.

This time, the cage was loose.

Mbappe laughed.

He sprinted.

He ran past Ben White. He ran past Saliba.

He was one on one with Ramsdale.

He did not shoot with power. He opened his body. Like Thierry Henry.

He curled it into the far corner.

Goal.

One zero. PSG.

Mbappe ran to the corner. He crossed his arms. The famous celebration.

The PSG fans went wild.

Alex stood in the center circle.

He looked at the scoreboard.

PSG 1. Arsenal 0.

The mountain was high. The boss was strong.

But the lesson was not over.

Alex looked at Mark. Mark looked scared.

Alex looked at Jude. Jude looked angry.

"We are not done," Alex said.

"He is too fast," Mark whispered.

"No," Alex said. "He is fast. But he is alone. We are a team."

Alex looked at the silver trophy.

"Macbeth wanted the crown," Alex said. "But he lost his head."

"So?" Mark asked.

"So," Alex smiled. "We keep our heads. And we take the crown."

The halftime whistle blew.