Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 533: What makes you, you?

"Mr. Finch," the Professor asked. "What makes you, you?"

Alex thought about it.

"My memories, Sir," Alex said. "My experiences. The wins. The losses. The mud in Wrexham. The heat in Jeddah."

"The narrative," the Professor nodded. "We are the stories we tell ourselves."

Mark sat next to Alex. He was wearing a toga again (he had brought it to university). But this time, he had added a pair of cool sunglasses.

"I AM A MODERN PHILOSOPHER!" Mark whispered. "I THINK, THEREFORE I AM FAST!"

"Mark," the Professor sighed. "Please remove the sunglasses. You are indoors."

"My future is too bright!" Mark argued. "I need protection!"

The lecture ended.

Alex walked out into the Oxford courtyard.

Identity.

Tonight was a test of identity.

Champions League. Round of 16. Arsenal vs Atletico Madrid. The Emirates Stadium.

It was the clash of styles. The Beautiful Game vs The Dark Arts.

Simeone was still there. The man in black. The master of suffering.

Alex walked to the car park.

Milo was waiting.

Milo was dressed as... a Judge.

He was wearing a long white wig and a black robe. He was holding a wooden gavel.

"ORDER IN THE COURT!" Milo screamed, banging the gavel on the roof of Alex’s car. "ALEX! I AM THE JUDGE! I AM SELLING JUSTICE! RED CARDS! YELLOW CARDS! GET OUT OF JAIL FREE CARDS! ONLY FIFTY POUNDS!"

"Milo, you cannot sell justice," Alex said.

"I AM THE LAW!" Milo yelled. "I ALSO SELL WIGS! DO YOU WANT TO LOOK WISE? WEAR A WIG!"

They drove to London.

Steve, the manager, was waiting.

"Atletico," Steve said. "You know them. You played them before. They will kick you. They will pinch you. They will try to make you forget who you are."

He looked at the team.

"They want to drag you into the mud. Do not go there. Stay on the grass. Play our game. Not theirs."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Keep the identity. We are Arsenal. We play football."

"I will keep the ball rolling," Alex promised.

The Emirates Stadium.

The night was cold. A mist hung over the pitch.

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Koke stood next to him. The Atletico captain. He looked exactly the same as three years ago. Tough. Angry. Ready for war.

"Schoolboy," Koke sneered. "Still playing with your books?"

"Still winning trophies," Alex replied calmly.

Koke spat on the floor. "Tonight, you learn a lesson in pain."

"Pain is temporary," Alex said. "Victory is forever."

Mark stood behind Alex. He was staring at De Paul.

"You have nice tattoos," Mark said to De Paul. "Do they make you run faster?"

"They make me fight harder," De Paul grunted.

"I have a tattoo too," Mark lied. "It is a picture of a pizza on my heart."

The whistle blew.

The game started.

It was a street fight.

Atletico defended with ten men. They formed two banks of four. They left no space.

When Arsenal had the ball, Atletico kicked them.

In the tenth minute, Gimenez smashed into Saka.

Saka rolled on the floor.

"Get up!" Gimenez shouted. "Soft!"

The referee gave a yellow card. But the tone was set.

Arsenal struggled. They passed the ball, but they couldn’t penetrate the wall.

Tick. Tock.

The rhythm was broken.

In the fortieth minute, Atletico won a throw-in.

They threw it long.

Griezmann (the real one, playing for Atletico) flicked it on.

Morata ran.

He was offside. Surely.

No. The flag stayed down.

Morata shot.

Goal.

Zero one. Atletico Madrid.

The away fans cheered. Simeone ran down the touchline like a madman.

"It is a robbery!" Mark yelled. "Call the police! Call Judge Milo!"

Alex stood in the center circle.

He looked at his teammates. They were angry. They were complaining to the referee. They were losing their heads.

"Stop!" Alex shouted.

He clapped his hands.

"This is what they want!" Alex yelled. "They want us to be angry! They want us to forget how to play!"

He looked at Rico.

"Rico. Stop arguing. Start dancing."

Rico took a deep breath. "Okay. Samba."

Halftime. Zero one.

Steve was furious. Not at the players, but at the game.

"They are anti-football!" Steve shouted. "But we cannot cry about it. We have to beat it."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. Find the crack in the wall."

"There is always a crack," Alex said. "Even in concrete."

Second half.

Atletico wasted time. The goalkeeper took two minutes for every kick. Players fell down with phantom injuries.

The crowd was booing. The atmosphere was toxic.

"Ignore it," Alex told himself. "Focus on the geometry."

Sixtieth minute.

Alex got the ball.

He saw the Atletico block. It was narrow. They were protecting the center.

"If the center is closed," Alex thought. "Go round the outside."

He passed to Mark on the wing.

"Mark! Don’t come inside! Stay wide!"

Mark nodded. He hugged the touchline.

This stretched the Atletico defense. The fullback had to go out to meet him.

This created a small gap between the fullback and the center back.

The "Half-Space".

Alex ran into that gap.

Mark saw him. Mark played the pass.

Alex collected it. He was in the box.

Gimenez came to kill him. A slide tackle.

Alex didn’t shoot. He didn’t dribble.

He stopped.

He put his foot on the ball.

Gimenez slid past him, taking out a chunk of grass.

Alex was calm.

He looked up.

He saw Gyokeres.

Alex chipped the ball to the back post.

Gyokeres was a giant. He jumped.

He headed it down.

Goal.

One one.

Alex didn’t celebrate. He grabbed the ball out of the net. He ran back to the center circle.

"We are not done!" Alex shouted.

Atletico were rattled. Their plan was broken.

Seventy fifth minute.

Rico got the ball.

He was surrounded by three defenders.

Rico smiled.

He started to juggle.

Knee. Foot. Shoulder.

The defenders were confused. They tried to kick him, but the ball was in the air.

Rico volleyed a pass to Alex.

Alex caught it on his chest.

He saw a runner.

It was Frenkie de Jong. The Dutch master.

Alex laid it off.

Frenkie hit it first time.

A low, driven shot.

It went through a forest of legs.

It hit the bottom corner.

GOAL.

Two one. Arsenal.

The Emirates exploded.

Frenkie stood there with his arms out. Cool as ice.

Alex hugged him. "Total Football!"

"Efficiency," Frenkie smiled.

Atletico lost their minds. They started kicking everyone. Two red cards. Savic and De Paul.

They self-destructed.

The final whistle blew.

Arsenal 2. Atletico Madrid 1.

They had beaten the bullies.

Alex walked off the pitch. He was bruised. His socks were torn.

But he was smiling.

Simeone walked past. He glared at Alex.

"You play pretty football," Simeone spat. "Pretty things break."

"We didn’t break today," Alex said.

Milo ran onto the pitch. He was wearing his judge wig, but it was crooked.

"GUILTY!" Milo screamed at the Atletico players. "GUILTY OF BEING BORING! ALEX! THE VERDICT IS IN! WE WIN! I AM SELLING GAVELS! THEY ARE JUST HAMMERS PAINTED BLACK! DO NOT HIT YOUR FINGER!"

"Milo, please be careful with the hammer," Alex laughed.

"I AM BUILDING A CASE FOR GLORY!" Milo yelled.

They walked into the dressing room.

The team was happy. But they were also relieved.

It was a hard game. A test of character.

Alex sat down.

He checked his phone.

A text from Maya.

"Identity analysis: Confirmed. You maintained your stylistic integrity despite external pressure. You played Arsenal football. Also, Professor Aristotle says your answer about the Ship of Theseus was ’adequate’. But he wants you to read Plato for next week."

Alex laughed.

Plato.

He looked at Mark.

Mark was wearing an Atletico shirt he had swapped (probably with Griezmann). He was trying to look tough.

"I am a warrior!" Mark growled. "I eat nails for breakfast!"

"You eat croissants, Mark," Alex said.

"Croissants with nails!" Mark insisted. "Iron croissants!"

Alex leaned back.

They were through.

The Ship of Theseus sailed on. The players changed. The tactics evolved.