Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 524: A masterpiece

Mr. Ramsey stood at the front. He was wearing a tall white hat and looked very serious.

"The Soufflé," Mr. Ramsey said. "It is delicate. It is light. It is full of air. If you are loud, it will collapse. If you are heavy, it will die. You must be gentle."

Alex stood at his station. He was whisking egg whites.

"Gentle," Alex whispered. "Soft hands."

Mark stood next to him. Mark was wearing an apron that said KISS THE COOK but someone had crossed out KISS and written FEED.

Mark was holding a whisk like a hammer.

"I AM WHISKING!" Mark yelled. "I AM CREATING A TORNADO IN A BOWL!"

"Mark!" Mr. Ramsey shouted. "You are killing the eggs! They are already dead! Stop punishing them!"

"I am adding energy!" Mark argued. "Power Soufflé! It will make you run fast!"

Mark poured a bag of chili powder into the bowl. The mixture turned bright red.

"That is not a Soufflé," Alex said. "That is a volcano."

"It is spicy air!" Mark grinned.

Maya was at the back of the room. She opened her oven. Her Soufflé had risen perfectly. It was golden and tall.

"Temperature regulation," Maya said. "Heat distribution was optimal. Taste probability: Delicious."

"Show off," Mark grumbled. He opened his oven. His Soufflé had exploded. It looked like a red crater.

"It is abstract art," Mark decided. "I will call it The Anger of the Egg."

The bell rang.

Alex packed his bag.

He had survived the cooking class. But now he had a bigger kitchen to visit.

The Champions League. Round of 16. FC Barcelona. Away. The Camp Nou.

It was the biggest stadium in Europe. The home of beautiful football. The home of Tiki Taka.

Alex walked to the car park.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was wearing a beret and a fake mustache that curled up at the ends. He was holding a palette and a brush.

"THE ARTIST!" Milo shouted. "I AM SALVADOR MILO! ALEX! I AM SELLING PORTRAITS! I WILL PAINT YOU AS A GOAL! ONLY FIFTY EUROS!"

"Milo, why is there paint on your nose?" Alex asked.

"IT IS PART OF THE MASTERPIECE!" Milo yelled. "I AM ABSTRACT!"

They drove to the airport.

Steve, the manager, was waiting on the plane.

"Barcelona," Steve said. "They are the chefs of football. They pass. They move. They cook you slowly."

He showed a video of Pedri and Gavi. The young midfielders.

"They are small," Steve said. "But they are sharp. They do not lose the ball. If you chase them, you get dizzy."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Do not chase the ball. Control the space. If you cut off the oxygen, the fire goes out."

"Like a Soufflé," Alex said.

"What?"

"Nothing," Alex smiled. "Just cooking physics."

Barcelona. The Camp Nou.

It was huge. The stands went up to the sky. Ninety nine thousand seats.

The fans were singing. Barca! Barca! Baaaarca!

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Robert Lewandowski stood next to him. The Polish striker. He was tall. He looked like a statue.

"You are the Wonderkid," Lewandowski said.

"And you are the Goal Machine," Alex replied.

"I am hungry," Lewandowski said.

"My friend Mark has a spicy egg if you want it," Alex offered.

Lewandowski looked confused.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

It was a masterclass in passing.

Barcelona kept the ball.

Pass. Pass. Pass.

Pedri to Gavi. Gavi to De Jong. De Jong to Pedri.

It was hypnotic.

Arsenal could not touch the ball. They were chasing shadows.

"I am bored!" Mark yelled from the wing. "Can I have a ball please? Just for a second?"

"Be patient!" Alex shouted.

In the twentieth minute, Pedri got the ball.

He dropped his shoulder. He spun past Rice.

He slid a pass to Lewandowski.

Lewandowski did not trap it. He hit it first time.

Boom.

The net shook.

Goal.

One zero. Barcelona.

The stadium erupted.

"They are cooking us," Jude said. "We are the ingredients."

Alex stood in the center circle.

He looked at the Barcelona midfield. They were perfect. They made no mistakes.

"Okay," Alex thought. "If the recipe is perfect, we have to add something weird. We have to add chaos."

Arsenal restarted.

Alex stopped playing safely.

He got the ball.

Gavi came to press him.

Alex did not pass. He scooped the ball up.

He juggled it.

Knee. Foot. Knee.

Gavi stopped. He was confused. This was not in the tactics book.

Alex volleyed the ball over Gavi head.

He ran around him.

"Chaos," Alex whispered.

He was in the midfield.

He saw Mark making a run.

But Balde, the Barcelona defender, was fast. He was very fast.

"Mark!" Alex yelled. "SPICY!"

Mark understood.

Mark did not run in a straight line. He ran in a zigzag.

He ran left. He ran right.

Balde got confused. He tangled his feet. He fell over.

Alex hit the pass.

It was a bouncing ball. It was ugly. It was awkward.

Mark controlled it with his shin.

He was in the box.

Ter Stegen came out.

Mark closed his eyes.

"POWER SOUFFLE!" Mark screamed.

He hit the ball as hard as he could.

The ball flew. It did not spin. It just moved like a rocket.

It hit the crossbar.

CLANG.

It bounced down. It hit Ter Stegen on the back.

It rolled into the net.

Goal.

One one.

Mark ran to the corner. He pretended to whisk a bowl.

"I AM COOKING!" Mark yelled. "IT IS SPICY!"

Halftime. One one.

Steve was laughing.

"You confused them," Steve said. "They like order. You gave them a mess. Keep being messy."

Second half.

Barcelona tried to regain control. They passed. They moved.

But Arsenal was chaotic.

Alex was everywhere. He was sliding. He was jumping. He was disrupting the rhythm.

Seventy fifth minute.

The game was tied.

Lewandowski had a chance. He headed the ball.

Ramsdale saved it with his finger.

"Not today!" Ramsdale shouted.

Eighty fifth minute.

Alex had the ball on the edge of his own box.

He looked up.

The Barcelona defense was high.

He saw something.

Antoine Griezmann (Wait, Antoine plays for Arsenal in this story. Let us use Antoine).

Antoine was on the halfway line.

Alex remembered the art lesson. Milo and his paint.

Abstract art.

Alex did not look at Antoine.

He looked at the crowd.

He hit a pass with his heel. A backheel.

It traveled fifty yards.

It spun backward.

It landed perfectly in front of Antoine.

The crowd gasped. It was beautiful.

Antoine controlled it.

He ran.

He was one on one with the keeper.

Antoine did a little shimmy. He dropped his shoulder.

He chipped the ball.

Soft. Gentle. Like a falling leaf.

Goal.

Two one. Arsenal.

Antoine bowed to the crowd. The Artist.

Alex ran over. "The abstract pass!"

"A masterpiece," Antoine smiled. "We should hang it in a museum."

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Barcelona 1.

They had beaten the masters of football.

Alex walked off the pitch.

Pedri walked over. He was small and polite.

"You play weird," Pedri said.

"Thank you," Alex smiled. "We like weird."

Milo ran onto the pitch.

He was wearing a chef hat and holding a giant baguette.

"THE MASTER CHEF!" Milo shouted. "WE FRIED THEM! ALEX! I AM SELLING THE RECIPE FOR VICTORY! INGREDIENTS: SWEAT, TEARS, AND MARK SPEED! PRICE: ONE MILLION EUROS!"

"Milo, that is just bread," Alex laughed.

"IT IS THE BREAD OF CHAMPIONS!" Milo shouted.

They walked into the dressing room.

The team was singing.

Alex checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Chaos theory confirmed. You introduced random variables into a structured system. The entropy destroyed their game plan. Well done. Also, Mr. Ramsey says you need to clean your whisk tomorrow. It has dried egg on it."

Alex smiled.

He looked at Mark.

Mark was eating a sandwich.

"Hey Mark," Alex said.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really put chili powder in the soufflé?"

"Yes," Mark said. "It tasted like fire."

"Next time," Alex said. "Let us stick to pasta." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Boring," Mark said. "But okay. Pasta is good fuel."

They walked out of the stadium.

The Barcelona night was warm.

They were in the Quarter Finals. Again.

The Dynasty was growing.

Alex looked at the stars.

He was a World Champion. He was a European Champion.

But he was still hungry.

Hungry for more trophies.

And maybe, just maybe, a little bit hungry for pizza.

"Let’s go eat," Alex said.

"Pizza!" Mark cheered. "I know a place. Milo said they sell pizza with gold on it."

"Milo is lying, Mark."

"I hope not," Mark said. "I want to eat gold."