Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 555: Adventure.

Alex sat at his dining table. He was drinking a cup of tea. It was calm.

Then, the door burst open.

Maya walked in. She was wearing a lab coat (even though she was now a high-powered data analyst for a top firm, she still loved the coat). She was carrying a projector and a screen.

Behind her walked Mark. He was wearing a tuxedo t-shirt and sunglasses. He was holding a bucket of popcorn.

And Rico. He was wearing pajamas and carrying a bongo drum.

"MEETING IN SESSION!" Maya shouted. "ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY!"

"It is 9 AM, Maya," Alex sighed.

"Data never sleeps," Maya said, setting up the projector on the dining table. "And neither does the analysis of a decade."

"I sleep," Mark said, sitting down and eating popcorn. "I sleep very fast. Power naps."

Maya dimmed the lights. A giant pie chart appeared on the wall.

"This," Maya said, pointing with a laser pen, "Is the 'decade of dominance'. I have compiled every statistic, every metric, and every variable from your career. It is the Final Report Card."

Alex leaned forward. He liked report cards.

"Let us begin," Maya said.

Slide 1: The Professor (Alex Finch)

Total Appearances: 542

Goals Scored: 218

Assists Provided: 304

Pass Completion Rate: 96.4%

Yellow Cards: 12 (Mostly for arguing about physics with the referee)

Red Cards: 0

Trophies Lifted: 24

"Efficient," Alex nodded. "I like the pass completion rate."

"It is statistically absurd," Maya said. "You passed the ball more accurately than a machine. You essentially broke the algorithm."

"What about the fun stats?" Mark asked. "Where are the pizza stats?"

"Patience, subject Mark," Maya clicked the button.

Slide 2: The Emperor (Mark Speed)

Total Appearances: 530

Goals Scored: 189 (mostly tap-ins)

Top Speed Recorded: 39.8 km/h (Against Real Madrid, chasing a loose ball)

Distance Covered: 40,000 kilometers (Equivalent to running around the Earth)

Offsides: 450 (World Record)

Celebrations Performed: 189 (Unique variations)

"I ran around the Earth?" Mark gasped. "That is why my feet hurt! I need new shoes! Space shoes!"

"And the offsides?" Alex laughed.

"I am just ahead of my time!" Mark argued. "The linesmen are slow! They live in the past!"

"And finally," Maya clicked again. "The Artist."

Slide 3: The Samba King (Rico)

Total Appearances: 480

Nutmegs Completed: 1,200 (League Record)

Defenders Humiliated: All of them.

Dribbles per 90 mins: 8.5

Tactical Instructions Ignored: 5,000+

Smiles per Game: Infinite.

Rico laughed. He played a little beat on his bongos. "I do not ignore tactics. I remix them."

"You remix them into chaos," Alex said.

"Beautiful chaos," Rico winked.

Maya turned off the projector. The room went bright again.

"Collectively," Maya said, taking off her glasses. "You are the most statistically successful trio in history. Your synergy rating is 99%. You fit together like a puzzle."

Alex looked at the numbers.

218 goals. 304 assists.

They were huge numbers. But they were just ink on a wall.

He looked at Mark, who was trying to catch popcorn in his mouth. He looked at Rico, who was drumming on the table.

"The numbers are good," Alex said. "But they don't tell the whole story."

"What is missing?" Maya asked, checking her spreadsheet. "I calculated everything. Even the wind resistance."

"The moments," Alex said. "The feelings."

"Feelings cannot be quantified," Maya said.

"I can quantify them!" Milo shouted, bursting out of the kitchen pantry.

Milo was wearing a suit made of calculator buttons. Click. Clack.

"THE ACCOUNTANT!" Milo screamed. "I CRUNCHED THE NUMBERS! ALEX! I AM SELLING THE DATA! 'THE FINCH FORMULA'! GET RICH QUICK! ONLY ONE THOUSAND POUNDS FOR THE SPREADSHEET!"

"Milo, how long were you in the pantry?" Alex asked.

"I WAS AUDITING THE CEREAL!" Milo yelled. "YOU ARE LOW ON MUESLI!"

Milo pulled out a scroll of paper. It rolled across the floor.

"I have the real stats!" Milo announced.

He read from the list.

The Milo Report:

Pizzas Eaten by Mark: 4,380 (Average 1.2 per day).

Hair Gel Used by Rico: 500 Liters.

Times Alex Said 'Logic': 14,000.

Times We Laughed Until We Cried: Uncountable.

Alex smiled. "That is the important one."

"The pizza one?" Mark asked hopefully.

"The last one," Alex said.

Mark grabbed the scroll. "4,380 pizzas? I can do better. I am slacking. I need to pump those numbers up!"

"Please don't," Maya said. "Your arteries will file a complaint."

Alex stood up. He walked to the window.

He looked at London.

Ten years.

It felt like a second. It felt like a lifetime.

The stats were the skeleton. But the memories were the flesh and blood.

He remembered the mud in Wrexham. The heat in Cairo. The rain in Manchester.

He remembered Danein Blake dying in the mud. He remembered Leon Fischer waking up in a strange bed.

And now, Alex Finch. The finished product.

"We did okay," Alex whispered.

"Okay?" Mark said, standing next to him. "We did legendary! We are the Avengers of football! But with better snacks!"

"We changed the game," Rico said, joining them. "We brought the flavor."

"We solved the equation," Maya said.

"AND WE MADE A PROFIT!" Milo cheered, clacking his calculator suit.

Alex looked at his friends.

The journey was done. The stats were finalized.

But life wasn't a spreadsheet. It didn't stop at the bottom of the page.

"So," Alex said. "What is the next stat?"

"Retirement?" Rico suggested. "Sleeping?"

"No," Mark said. "The next stat is... Adventure."

"Adventure?" Alex asked.

"Yes!" Mark pointed at the sky. "We go to America! Or space! Or wherever there is a ball and a pizza oven!"

Alex laughed.

"Okay," Alex said. "Adventure."

He turned away from the window.

The stats were on the wall. The trophies were on the shelf. The past was secure.

But the future was open.

And the Professor was ready to write a new book.

"Class dismissed," Alex said.

"LUNCH TIME!" Mark shouted.

They ran to the kitchen.

Alex watched them go.

He touched the Ballon d'Or one last time.

It was cool to the touch.

"Thank you," he whispered to the universe. "For the second chance. And the third."