Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 572: Wisdom highlights

Alex sat in a swivel chair. He was thirty-two years old now. His hair had a few streaks of grey at the temples ("Wisdom highlights," Mark called them).

Maya stood in front of a giant screen. She was wearing a lab coat that looked more like a wizard's robe.

"The trajectory," Maya said, pointing a laser at a line on the graph. "Physical decline is inevitable. Sprint speed has decreased by 4.2% in the last two years. Recovery time has increased by 15%."

Alex nodded. "I feel it in the mornings. My knees creek like old doors."

" However," Maya clicked a button. A new line appeared. It went straight up. "Cognitive processing speed has increased. Tactical awareness is in the 99.9th percentile. You are slower, Alex. But you are smarter."

Mark was sitting in the corner. He was wearing a tracksuit that was two sizes too small.

"I am not slower!" Mark shouted. "I am just... conserving energy! I am a hybrid car now! Eco-friendly speed!"

"Mark," Alex said. "You retired two years ago."

"I am retired from professional football," Mark corrected. "I am still the fastest man in the supermarket queue."

Rico walked in. He was wearing a suit. He was now the Director of Fun at Como (a real job title he invented).

"The history books are heavy," Rico said, dropping a massive book on the table. "I tried to write down all the trophies. My hand hurts."

"Let's look at the numbers," Alex said.

Maya clicked the remote.

THE MID-CAREER STATS:

Age: 32

Club: Arsenal (The Homecoming)

Appearances: 650

Goals: 245

Assists: 312

Ballon d'Ors: 7 (He caught up to Messi).

Knees: Cranky.

Alex looked at the screen.

"Seven," he whispered. "That is a lot of gold."

"It is a gold mine!" Milo shouted, popping out from behind a server rack.

Milo was dressed as... Father Time.

He was wearing a long white beard, a robe, and carrying a scythe made of cardboard.

"TICK TOCK!" Milo screamed. "TIME IS MONEY! ALEX! I AM SELLING 'THE FINAL YEARS' MERCHANDISE! WALKING STICKS WITH THE ARSENAL LOGO! DENTURE CREAM FOR CHAMPIONS! ONLY TWENTY POUNDS!"

"Milo, I am thirty-two, not eighty," Alex laughed.

"PREPARATION IS KEY!" Milo yelled.

Time Skip: Two Years Later. Age 34.

The Emirates Stadium.

It was a rainy Tuesday. A Carabao Cup game against a League Two side.

Usually, the stars rested for these games. But Alex wanted to play. He loved the rain. It reminded him of Griffin Park.

He was the captain. The veteran. The "Old Man" of the team.

He stood in the midfield. He didn't run much anymore. He didn't need to.

He stood in the center circle and dictated the play.

Pass. Point. Clap. Pass.

He was a lighthouse.

A young winger, barely 17, sprinted past him.

"Pass to me, Grandpa!" the kid yelled.

Alex smiled.

He hit a forty-yard pass. It had backspin. It landed on the kid's toe without him having to break stride.

The kid scored.

Alex walked over.

"Nice run," Alex said. "But next time, call me Captain."

The kid looked terrified. "Sorry, Captain!"

After the game, Alex sat in the ice bath.

Mark was sitting next to him (fully clothed, eating a hot dog).

"Do you remember when we were the young ones?" Mark asked. "When we were the Wonderkids?"

"I remember," Alex said.

"Now we are the Wonder-Adults," Mark said. "It sounds less cool."

"It sounds experienced," Alex said.

"My knees make a clicking sound when I dance," Rico said, walking in. "It adds percussion to the samba."

Time Skip: Two Years Later. Age 36.

The announcement.

It was a press conference. The room was packed. Every journalist in the world was there.

Alex wore a suit. He looked sharp.

"This will be my final season," Alex said into the microphone.

The room gasped. Flashbulbs exploded.

"Why?" a journalist asked. "You are still the best passer in the league."

"The mind is ready," Alex said, tapping his head. "But the machine needs a rest."

Mark was sitting in the front row. He was crying loudly into a handkerchief.

"NO!" Mark wailed. "WHO WILL PASS TO ME IN THE GARDEN?"

"I will still pass to you, Mark," Alex said.

"IT WON'T BE THE SAME WITHOUT THE CROWD!" Mark sobbed.

The Final Game.

Matchday 38.

Arsenal vs Manchester United.

The Emirates.

It was fitting. The old rival.

The stadium was a sea of tributes. THANK YOU PROFESSOR. THE GOAT.

Alex walked out. He was holding his son's hand. Leo was 14 now. He was tall. He played for the academy.

"Don't cry, Dad," Leo whispered.

"I'm not crying," Alex said, blinking away tears. "It's the wind."

"There is no wind, Dad."

The game was a celebration.

In the 89th minute, Arsenal were winning 3-0.

The board went up.

OFF: 8. FINCH.

The noise.

It wasn't a cheer. It was a roar. A sound that shook the foundations of North London.

Alex took off the armband. He handed it to the young midfielder who replaced him.

He walked to the touchline.

He looked at the grass. He looked at the sky.

He clapped all four sides of the stadium.

He hugged Steve (who was now in the stands, retired). He hugged the new manager.

He hugged Mark.

Mark squeezed him tight.

"You did it," Mark whispered. "You finished the game."

"High score?" Alex asked.

"Highest score," Mark said.

The After Party. The Penthouse.

It was quiet. Just the inner circle.

Alex, Mark, Rico, Milo, Maya. And Leo.

Maya set up the projector.

"The Final Audit," Maya announced. "The definitive statistics of a career."

She clicked the button.

CAREER SUMMARY: ALEX FINCH

Club Appearances: 842

International Caps: 150

Total Goals: 310

Total Assists: 450 (All-time Record)

Trophies: 35 (Including 8 Premier Leagues and 6 Champions Leagues)

Yellow Cards: 20 (All for tactical fouls or arguing geometry)

Red Cards: 0

"Clean sheet," Alex nodded. "Disciplined."

"Wait!" Milo shouted. "I HAVE THE FINANCIAL STATS!"

Milo jumped in front of the screen. He was wearing a suit made of Monopoly money.

"SHIRT SALES!" Milo screamed. "OVER FIFTY MILLION! ALEX! YOU SOLD MORE SHIRTS THAN THE BEATLES SOLD RECORDS! I AM SELLING THE COTTON FROM YOUR LAST SHIRT! I PULLED IT APART THREAD BY THREAD! ONE THOUSAND POUNDS A THREAD!"

"Milo, you destroyed my last shirt?" Alex asked.

"I DIVERSIFIED YOUR ASSETS!" Milo yelled.

Rico played a sad song on the guitar.

"The music stops," Rico said poetically.

"No," Mark said. He stood up. He held a slice of pizza like a microphone.

"The music changes," Mark said. "Now we play the retirement song. It is called 'Eating Whatever We Want And Not Running'."

"I like that song," Alex laughed.

He looked at the stats on the wall.

310 goals. 450 assists.

It was incredible.

But then he looked at the photo next to the screen.

It was a photo from the park. Years ago. Him, Mark, and Rico. Muddy. Young. Smiling.

That was the real stat.

Years of Friendship: 25.

Memories Made: Infinite.

Alex stood up.

He walked to the window. London was sleeping.

He thought about Danein Blake. The man who died in the mud.

Danein would have given anything for one game in the Premier League. Alex had played 800.

"I did it for us," Alex whispered to the reflection in the glass.

He felt a lightness. The burden was gone. The mission was complete.

"Dad?" Leo asked.

Alex turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to be a manager now?"

"Maybe," Alex said. "Or maybe I will just be a dad for a while."

"Can you teach me the 'Knuckleball'?" Leo asked.

"Tomorrow," Alex smiled. "In the garden."

"I will be the goalie!" Mark shouted. "I will use my stomach to block it!"

"Mark, you will get hurt," Maya warned. "The velocity of a 14-year-old's shot is increasing."

"I have abs of steel!" Mark lied, patting his soft stomach. "Abs of pizza dough!"

Alex laughed.

The career was over. The boots were hung up.

The stats were written in stone.

But the life?

The life was just getting to the good part.

The Professor looked at his students. His family.

"Class dismissed," Alex said.

"FOREVER!" Mark cheered.

"No," Alex corrected. "Just until breakfast."