Alex Finch sat behind the desk. He wore a crisp white shirt with the Real Madrid crest. He looked calm.
Next to him sat Mark. Mark was wearing a suit, but he had paired it with a bright red tie that had little lightning bolts on it. He was also eating a croissant.
"Mr. Finch," a journalist from Marca asked. "You are the youngest manager in Real Madrid history. Do you feel the pressure?"
Alex adjusted the microphone.
"Pressure is a variable," Alex said smoothly. "Like wind speed or friction. You account for it. You calculate it. And then you play."
The journalists scribbled furiously. The Professor is back.
"And you, Mr. Speed," a journalist from L’Equipe asked. "What is your role exactly? ’Director of Velocity’?"
Mark swallowed his croissant.
"I make them fast," Mark said seriously. "I teach them the art of the zoom. The science of the woosh."
"Can you elaborate?"
"Yes," Mark nodded. "If you run slow, you lose. If you run fast, you win. It is simple physics. Also, I organize the pizza parties."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"Mr. Finch," another journalist asked. "Your next ga is against Atletico Madrid. The Derby. Sione is still there. He says your football is ’too pretty’."
Alex smiled. A cold, calculated smile.
"Beauty is efficient," Alex said. "A perfect pass is beautiful because it works. A goal is beautiful because it changes the score. Sione likes to fight. We like to win."
"Are you saying Atletico are ugly?" the journalist pressed.
"I am saying they are inefficient," Alex said. "They waste energy on fouls. We use energy for goals."
The headline for tomorrow was written. FINCH CALLS SIONE INEFFICIENT.
The press conference ended.
Alex and Mark walked out.
"You were good," Mark said. "Very serious. Very professorial."
"And you were eating a croissant on live TV," Alex sighed.
"It was a prop!" Mark argued. "It shows I am relaxed! Confidence!"
They walked to the training pitch.
The squad was waiting.
Thiago, the Brazilian winger, was juggling the ball. Hans, the German midfielder, was stretching with mathematical precision.
"Okay," Alex clapped his hands. "Listen up."
The players gathered round.
"Atletico tomorrow," Alex said. "They will kick you. They will pinch you. They will try to make you angry."
He looked at Thiago.
"Thiago. If they kick you, do not kick back. Smile. And then nutg them."
"I like that plan," Thiago grinned.
"Hans," Alex said. "Control the tempo. If they want chaos, give them order. Pass the ball until they are dizzy."
"Understood, Boss," Hans nodded.
Alex looked at the group.
"We are Real Madrid," Alex said. "We do not fight in the gutter. We fly above it."
Later that evening.
Alex sat in his office. He was watching videos of Atletico.
The door opened.
Milo walked in. He was wearing a suit made of newspapers.
"EXTRA! EXTRA!" Milo shouted. "READ ALL ABOUT IT! ALEX! THE DIA LOVES YOU! I AM SELLING INTERVIEWS! EXCLUSIVE ACCESS TO THE PROFESSOR’S BRAIN! ONLY TEN THOUSAND EUROS A QUESTION!"
"Milo, you cannot sell my brain," Alex said without looking up.
"TAPHORICALLY!" Milo yelled. "I AM ALSO SELLING ’FINCH FACTS’! DID YOU KNOW YOU ONCE ATE A WHOLE PIZZA IN THREE MINUTES? (I made that up, but it sounds impressive)."
"It was Mark who did that," Alex said.
"DETAILS!" Milo waved his hand. "THE LEGEND GROWS!"
Alex turned off the screen.
"Milo," Alex said. "How are the fans?"
"THEY LOVE YOU!" Milo said. "THEY ARE BUYING THE RCHANDISE! I SOLD OUT OF ’PROFESSOR’ GLASSES! THEY ARE JUST PLASTIC FRAS WITH NO LENSES! BUT EVERYONE IS WEARING THEM!"
Alex laughed. "You are a genius, Milo."
"I AM A VISIONARY!" Milo corrected.
Matchday. The Wanda tropolitano.
The Atletico stadium was hostile. Red and white flags everywhere. The noise was deafening.
Alex stood on the touchline. He wore a long black coat. He looked like a grandmaster at a chess board.
Mark stood next to him. He was wearing a stopwatch around his neck and holding a clipboard.
"They are loud," Mark shouted over the noise. "They are shouting an things about your hair!"
"My hair is fine," Alex said.
"They say it is too neat!" Mark reported. "They say you look like a librarian!"
"Librarians are smart," Alex said.
The ga started.
It was a war.
Atletico pressed. They tackled. They fouled.
In the tenth minute, Thiago was brought down. Hard.
The referee waved play on.
Sione was on the touchline, waving his arms like a windmill. "Play! Play! It is a man’s ga!"
Alex didn’t move. He just watched.
In the thirtieth minute, Real Madrid got a free kick.
Hans stood over it.
Alex signaled. Triangle.
Hans didn’t shoot. He passed to Thiago. Thiago passed back.
The Atletico wall jumped. They looked foolish.
Hans passed through the gap the wall had left.
The striker, a young Spaniard nad Perez, ran onto it.
He slotted it ho.
Goal.
One zero. Real Madrid.
Alex turned to the Atletico bench. He didn’t celebrate. He just adjusted his coat.
Sione kicked a water bottle.
"Inefficient," Alex whispered.
Halfti. One zero.
"They are losing their heads," Alex told the team. "Keep the ball. Make them run. Make them suffer."
Second half.
Atletico lost their discipline. They got a red card in the sixtieth minute. A bad tackle on Hans.
"Off!" Mark shouted from the bench, waving an imaginary red card. "Goodbye! Go have a shower!"
Real Madrid took control.
They scored again in the eightieth minute. A counter attack. Fast. Clinical.
Two zero.
The final whistle blew.
Real Madrid 2. Atletico Madrid 0.A tactical masterclass.
A tactical masterclass.
Alex walked onto the pitch. He shook hands with his players.
He walked towards Sione.
Sione looked at him. He looked tired.
"You won," Sione grunted.
"Logic won," Alex said.
"Logic is boring," Sione spat.
"Winning is never boring," Alex smiled.
He walked down the tunnel.
The dia were waiting. A wall of caras.
"Mr. Finch!" "Alex!" "Professor!"
Alex stopped. He adjusted his tie.
"One question," Alex said.
"Did you enjoy the win?" a journalist asked.
"I enjoyed the geotry," Alex said. "The angles were perfect."
He walked away.
"Mic drop!" Mark whispered, walking behind him. "You are cool. Like a cucumber in a freezer."
They got on the bus.
Alex sat down. He checked his phone.
A text from Maya.
"dia analysis: Excellent. Sentint analysis is 98% positive. The ’Inefficient’ comnt went viral. Trending worldwide. Also, I have analyzed the next opponent. Valencia. They play with a low block. I suggest a 4-3-3 with inverted wingers."
Alex smiled.
"Thanks, Maya," he typed.
He looked at Mark.
Mark was eating a celebratory churro.
"Hey Boss," Mark said.
"Yeah?"
"Did you see on TV?"
"I saw you waving at the cara when we scored," Alex said.
"I was signaling the fans!" Mark said. "It was a secret code. It ant ’We are aweso’."
"It looked like you were swatting a fly," Alex laughed.
"It is a complex code," Mark insisted.
Alex leaned back.
Madrid was his city now.
He had the team. He had the tactics. He had the dia in the palm of his hand.
But most importantly, he had his friends.
The Dynasty had gone international.
And the Professor was teaching the world a lesson.
"Next class," Alex whispered. "Valencia."
"And paella!" Mark added.
Alex closed his eyes.
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