Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 546: To my son.

The attic of the Finch house was dusty. It was filled with boxes labeled "Xmas Decorations," "Old Toys," and "Things Dad Will Fix One Day."

Alex was sitting on the floor. He was looking for his old shin pads.

He opened a box marked "Private."

Inside, there was a stack of old photos. But they weren’t photos of Alex.

They were photos of a man he had never seen before. A man in a faded blue football kit. A man with tired eyes and a hopeful smile.

Danein Blake.

"Why do I have these?" Alex whispered.

He picked up a photo. On the back, it said: Griffin Park, 1999. First goal.

Alex felt a cold shiver. These weren’t his photos. He was born in 2006.

He dug deeper. Under the photos, there was a letter. The paper was yellow and brittle.

To my son.

Alex’s heart stopped.

He read the letter.

If you are reading this, then the experiment worked. Or it failed terribly. I am not sure which is worse.

My name is Dr. Elias Finch. Not the dad who makes you toast in the morning. I am your... architect.

You were born Danein Blake. You were my son. But I was a terrible father. I was obsessed with my work. Quantum biology. The science of time.

Alex’s hands were shaking.

I watched you play. I watched you struggle. I saw the talent, but I saw the bad luck. The injuries. The missed chances.

When you died... I couldn’t accept it. I broke the laws of physics. I built the System.

The Player Insight System. It wasn’t magic. It was math. It was a probability engine designed to rewrite destiny.

I sent you back. Not once. But twice.

Life Two: Leon. The trial run. You were too young. The system overloaded. You crashed.

Life Three: Alex. The final version. I gave you everything. The family. The friends. The talent.

But there was a cost. Every time you restart, the universe tries to correct the error. That is why the games get harder. That is why the injuries happen. That is why you feel the weight of the past.

You are a glitch in the matrix, son. A beautiful, golden glitch.

I am gone now. The paradox took me. But I left you the tools. The rest is up to you.

Don’t just play the game. Win it.

Love, Dad (The Original One).

Alex dropped the letter.

It fell onto the dusty floorboards.

"Dr. Elias Finch," Alex whispered.

He looked at the photo of Danein Blake again. He looked at the eyes. They were his eyes.

He wasn’t just reincarnated by magic. He was rebooted by science. By a father’s love. Or a father’s madness.

"Heavy," Alex breathed. "That is... heavy."

"WHAT IS HEAVY?"

Alex jumped.

Mark popped out of a large cardboard box labeled "WINTER COATS." He was wearing a fur coat that smelled of mothballs.

"Mark!" Alex yelled. "How long have you been in there?"

"I was hibernating!" Mark said, crawling out. "Like a bear! A very fast bear! What is that paper? Is it a treasure map?"

Alex looked at the letter. He looked at Mark.

Mark, the chaotic element. The one variable Dr. Elias Finch hadn’t calculated.

"It is a story," Alex said, folding the letter. "About a dad who loved his son."

"Boring!" Mark said. "Does it have dragons?"

"No."

"Does it have pizza?"

"No."

"Then it is a bad story," Mark decided. "Come on. We have training. And I found a box of old hats. I am going to wear all of them."

Alex smiled.

The weight of the universe was heavy. But Mark was light.

"Let’s go," Alex said.

The training ground.

The news had broken.

The Club World Cup. The new format. 32 teams. The biggest tournament in history.

And Arsenal were in Group A.

With...

River Plate (Argentina). Al-Hilal (Saudi Arabia). And...

Brentford.

Alex froze.

Brentford.

Griffin Park was gone. Replaced by the Gtech Community Stadium.

But the club was the same. The colors were the same.

The place where Danein Blake died.

"Full circle," Alex whispered.

Steve gathered the team.

"This tournament is a marathon," Steve said. "It is in the USA. Coast to coast. New York. Miami. Los Angeles."

"Hollywood!" Milo shouted from the sidelines. He was wearing sunglasses and a scarf. "I AM THE AGENT! I AM SELLING MOVIE DEALS! ’THE GUNNERS GO WEST’! IT IS A WESTERN! WITH BALLS!"

"Milo, get off the pitch," Steve sighed.

"I AM SCOUTING LOCATIONS!" Milo yelled.

Steve looked at Alex.

"Professor. You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I saw the past, Boss," Alex said. "But I am looking at the future."

"Good," Steve said. "Because Neymar plays for Al-Hilal. And he still has tricks."

Matchday 1. New York. MetLife Stadium. Arsenal vs Al-Hilal.

The stadium was huge. Eighty thousand fans.

Neymar stood in the tunnel. He was older now. His hair was pink. But his smile was the same.

"Wonderkid," Neymar said. "Show me the samba."

"I will show you the geometry," Alex said.

Rico was shaking. "It is Neymar! He is my idol! I have his poster on my wall!"

"Don’t ask for an autograph until after the game," Alex warned.

The game started.

Al-Hilal were technical. Neves. Milinkovic-Savic. Neymar.

In the tenth minute, Neymar got the ball.

He did a rainbow flick over Ben White. He caught it on his neck. He ran into the box.

He shot.

Raya saved.

"Show off!" Mark yelled. "Do it with a pizza box on your head! Then I will be impressed!"

Arsenal struggled. The jet lag was heavy.

But Alex had the system.

[PROBABILITY OF PASS SUCCESS: 88%.]

He saw the lines.

He passed to Saka. Saka crossed. Havertz headed.

Goal.

One zero.

They won. Ugly, but they won.

Matchday 2. Miami. Hard Rock Stadium. Arsenal vs River Plate.

It was humid. Sticky.

River Plate were aggressive. They kicked. They scratched.

"They are piranhas!" Mark shouted, running away from a tackle. "They bite!"

Alex controlled the chaos. He slowed the game down.

He scored a free kick in the 89th minute.

Two zero.

They were through to the knockouts.

But the final group game...

Matchday 3. Los Angeles. SoFi Stadium. Arsenal vs Brentford.

The Bees.

Alex walked onto the pitch.

The stadium was modern. A spaceship.

But in his mind, he smelled the mud of Griffin Park. He felt the cold rain.

Ivan Toney stood next to him. The Brentford captain.

"Big game," Toney said. "London Derby in LA."

"It is just a game," Alex lied.

The whistle blew.

Brentford played deep. They defended with their lives.

They knew Arsenal. They knew Alex.

They put two men on him. Norgaard and Jensen. They shadowed him.

"I cannot breathe!" Alex yelled. "They are glued to me!"

"Shake them off!" Rico shouted. "Dance!"

Alex tried. He spun. He turned. But they were always there.

In the sixtieth minute, it was 0-0.

Alex got the ball.

Norgaard tackled him.

Alex fell.

He hit the ground hard.

For a second, the screen flickered.

[SYSTEM ERROR. MEMORY LEAK.]

He saw the old photo. The man in the blue kit. His father.

My son.

He saw Danein Blake dying in the mud.

"Get up," a voice said.

It wasn’t Mark. It wasn’t Steve.

It was Danein.

"Get up, kid. We didn’t come this far to sleep in the grass."

Alex opened his eyes.

He stood up.

He looked at Norgaard.

"You hit hard," Alex said.

"It is a contact sport," Norgaard shrugged.

"Okay," Alex said. "Contact accepted."

Arsenal won a free kick. Thirty yards out.

Alex stood over the ball.

He didn’t look at the goal. He looked at the sky.

"Thanks, Dad," he whispered.

He ran up.

He hit the ball.

It wasn’t a knuckleball. It wasn’t a curve.

It was a thunderbolt.

It flew straight. It broke the sound barrier.

It hit the underside of the bar.

SMASH.

It bounced down.

It hit the goalkeeper’s back.

And rolled in.

GOAL.

One zero. Arsenal.

Alex didn’t celebrate. He pointed to the sky.

Mark ran over. "YOU BROKE THE GOAL! I HEARD IT CRACK!"

"Physics," Alex smiled. "Force."

The game ended 1-0.

Arsenal topped the group.

Alex walked off the pitch.

He felt lighter. The ghost of Griffin Park was gone. He had beaten Brentford. He had beaten the memory.

Milo ran onto the pitch. He was wearing a director’s chair (he had cut a hole in the seat and wore it like a skirt).

"THE DIRECTOR’S CUT!" Milo screamed. "WE EDITED THE ENDING! ALEX! I AM SELLING THE MOVIE RIGHTS! ’BEND IT LIKE BLAKE’! NO, WAIT, ’FINCH’S FINALE’! IT IS A TRILOGY!"

"Milo, you look like a piece of furniture," Alex laughed.

"I AM SUPPORTING THE ARTS!" Milo yelled.

They walked into the dressing room.

Alex sat down.

He took out his phone. He looked at the photo of his dad one last time.

Then he deleted it.

He didn’t need the photo. He had the memory.

He had the life.

Mark sat next to him. Mark was eating a taco.

"Hey Professor," Mark said.

"Yeah?"

"Who were you pointing at? In the sky?"

"My dad," Alex said. "The first one."

Mark nodded. "Was he fast?"

"No," Alex smiled. "But he was smart."

"Like you," Mark said. "But not as fast as me."

"Nobody is as fast as you, Mark."

"Correct," Mark took a bite of the taco. "This is spicy. I think I can run to the moon now."

Alex leaned back.

The Club World Cup was heating up.

The knockouts were next.

Real Madrid were waiting. Again.