Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 551: The Ballon d’Or winner.

The Sunday morning in London was crisp. The kind of morning that smelled of freshly cut grass and possibilities.

Alex walked down the street. He wasn’t wearing his Arsenal kit. He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was wearing a plain grey hoodie and old trainers.

He wanted to be invisible.

But he was Alex Finch. The Ballon d’Or winner. Invisibility was not an option.

He turned the corner into the local park.

It was a small park. A patch of green surrounded by brick houses. There were goalposts made of jumpers. The lines were imaginary.

A group of kids were playing.

They were maybe ten years old. They wore mismatched kits. One had a Messi shirt. One had a Ronaldo shirt. One had a Saka shirt.

And one... one had a shirt that said FINCH 8 on the back.

Alex stopped. He watched them.

The ball was a cheap plastic one. It moved unpredictably in the wind. The kids didn’t care. They chased it like it was made of gold.

"Pass to me!" the kid in the Finch shirt yelled.

"No! I’m gonna dribble!" the Messi kid shouted, doing three stepovers and tripping over his own feet.

Alex smiled.

This was football. Pure. Simple. No VAR. No tactics boards. Just joy.

The ball rolled out of play. It stopped at Alex’s feet.

The kids stopped running. They looked at the stranger in the hoodie.

"Can we have our ball back, Mister?" the Finch kid asked.

Alex looked at the ball. He looked at the kid.

"Do you want to play for it?" Alex asked.

The kid frowned. "We are playing a match. World Cup Final. You are too old."

"I am only twenty," Alex said, pulling down his hood.

The kid’s eyes widened. He dropped his jaw.

"It is him!" the Ronaldo kid screamed. "It is the Professor!"

"No way!" the Messi kid gasped. "He looks taller on TV!"

The kids swarmed him.

"Are you real?" "Can you sign my forehead?" "Can you teach me the knuckleball?"

Alex laughed. "One question at a time. And yes, I am real."

"Prove it!" the Finch kid said. He was bold. "Nutmeg me."

Alex looked at the kid. He reminded him of... well, himself. Leon Fischer. Small. Cheeky.

"Okay," Alex said. "One vs One. If I nutmeg you, I join the game."

"If I tackle you, you buy us ice cream," the kid countered.

"Deal."

Alex put the ball down.

The kid crouched. He looked serious.

Alex tapped the ball. Left foot. Right foot.

The kid lunged.

Alex didn’t do a fancy trick. He just waited. He waited for the split second the kid opened his legs to run.

Tap.

The ball rolled through. Clean.

"Ohhhhhh!" the other kids screamed. "He cooked you!"

The Finch kid looked at his legs, betrayed. Then he grinned. "Okay. You can play. But you have to go in goal."

"In goal?" Alex asked. "I am a midfielder."

"New rules," the kid said. "World Cup rules. The best player goes in goal to make it fair."

Alex laughed. "Fine."

He walked to the jumper-goalposts.

The game restarted.

It was chaos. Ten kids running everywhere. No offside. No fouls.

Alex stood in goal, pretending to dive for shots that were going miles wide.

"Great save, Professor!" a kid yelled after Alex caught a slow roller.

"Thanks," Alex said. "It was tricky."

Suddenly, a car pulled up on the street. A bright red Ferrari.

The window rolled down.

Mark was driving (or pretending to). He was wearing a racing helmet.

"I SMELL FOOTBALL!" Mark shouted. "AND I SMELL ICE CREAM BETS!"

Mark jumped out of the car. He wasn’t wearing normal clothes. He was wearing a full superhero costume. A red cape. A blue mask. And a giant ’S’ on his chest (drawn with marker pen).

"I AM SUPER SPEED!" Mark announced, striking a pose. "I HAVE COME TO SAVE THE GAME!"

The kids went silent. They looked at Mark.

"Is that your friend?" the Finch kid asked Alex.

"Unfortunately," Alex sighed.

"Is he... okay?"

"He is special," Alex said.

Mark ran onto the pitch.

"I WANT TO PLAY!" Mark yelled. "I WILL BE THE STRIKER! I WILL SCORE A THOUSAND GOALS!"

"You have to be on my team," the Messi kid said. "We are losing 10-2."

"FEAR NOT, CITIZEN!" Mark said. "THE COMEBACK STARTS NOW!"

The game resumed.

It was Alex in goal vs Mark the Superhero Striker.

Mark got the ball. He ran. He ran in circles around the kids.

"Look at me!" Mark shouted. "I am a tornado!"

He shot.

Alex saved it with his foot.

"Denied!" Alex laughed.

"You have super reflexes!" Mark complained. "That is cheating! I am going to use my laser eyes!"

"You don’t have laser eyes, Mark."

"I do in my imagination!"

The kids were laughing hysterically. They had forgotten about the score. They were just watching two Champions League winners playing like idiots in a park.

After twenty minutes, Alex called time.

"Game over!" Alex shouted. "Draw!"

"It was 12-12!" Mark declared. (It was definitely not).

The kids gathered around. They were sweating and smiling.

"That was awesome," the Finch kid said. "You are actually good in goal."

"I try," Alex said.

"Ice cream time!" Mark shouted. "I heard a rumor about ice cream!"

Alex bought them all ice creams from a passing van.

He sat on a bench, eating a vanilla cone. Mark had a triple scoop with sprinkles and a flake.

"This is the life," Mark said, licking his ice cream. "No pressure. No VAR. just sugar and grass stains."

"It reminds me of the beginning," Alex said.

"The beginning of what?"

"Of everything," Alex said. "Before the contracts. Before the fame. Just playing because it was fun."

"It is still fun," Mark said. "If it wasn’t fun, I wouldn’t do it. I would be a professional pizza taster."

Alex looked at the kids. They were arguing about who scored the best goal.

The Finch kid walked over.

"Hey Alex," the kid said.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to win the league again next year?"

"We will try," Alex said.

"You better," the kid said seriously. "My dad supports Tottenham. I need to laugh at him."

Alex laughed. "I will do my best."

"And you," the kid pointed at Mark. "You are fast. But you run weird. Like a duck."

Mark stopped eating. He looked offended.

"A duck?" Mark gasped. "I am a gazelle! An eagle! A cheetah!"

"A fast duck," the kid nodded. "Quack quack."

The kid ran away laughing.

Mark looked at Alex.

"Did a ten-year-old just roast me?"

"He destroyed you," Alex said.

"I have to race him," Mark stood up. "I have to prove I am not a duck!"

"Let him go, Mark. He is the future."

Mark sat back down. "Fine. But ducks are cool. They can fly and swim. They are triathletes."

Alex finished his ice cream.

The sun was setting. The park was emptying.

"We should go," Alex said. "Training tomorrow."

"Back to work," Mark sighed. "Back to the grind."

"It is not a grind," Alex said. "It is a game."

They walked to the car.

Milo was waiting there. He was wearing a park ranger uniform.

"THE RANGER!" Milo screamed. "I WAS PROTECTING THE WILDLIFE! ALEX! I SAW YOU PLAY! I AM SELLING SCOUTING REPORTS! ’THE NEXT MESSI IS IN YEAR 5’! ONLY FIFTY POUNDS FOR THE DATA!"

"Milo, leave the kids alone," Alex laughed.

"I AM AN AGENT OF THE FUTURE!" Milo shouted.

They drove away.

Alex looked back at the park. The goalposts were still there. The imaginary lines were fading in the twilight.

He felt recharged.

The depression, the weight of the past, the pressure of the future... it all felt lighter.

He was Alex Finch.

And he played football.