Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 576: Champions League Final

The atmosphere in Paris was charged. The Champions League Final.

Alex stood on the touchline. He looked at his team warming up.

The final was against Arsenal. His old club. His home.

But tonight, he was the manager of Como 1907.

"It is strange," Mark whispered, standing next to him. He was wearing a beret (because they were in France) and eating a croissant.

"What is?" Alex asked.

"Seeing Saka in a red shirt," Mark said. "He is my friend. But tonight, I have to hope he trips over his own feet."

"We hope he plays badly," Alex corrected. "We don't wish for trips."

"I wish for a small, harmless trip," Mark compromised. "Just a stumble."

The whistle blew.

The game started.

Arsenal were strong. They had Odegaard. They had Rice. They had Martinelli.

Como were the underdogs. But they had the Liquid Diamond.

In the tenth minute, Odegaard played a through ball.

Martinelli ran. He was fast.

He shot.

Raya saved.

"Close!" Alex shouted. "Tighten up!"

Como fought back.

They played their fluid football. Saka (Como's Saka, wait, Saka plays for Como now? Oh right, he transferred. So Arsenal have a new winger).

Let's say Arsenal have... Mbappe. Yes. They signed him.

Mbappe got the ball. He ran at Marco.

Marco was strong. But Mbappe was faster.

He went past Marco. He shot.

Goal.

One zero. Arsenal.

The Arsenal fans cheered. Alex felt a strange pang in his heart. He used to celebrate those goals.

"Focus," Alex told himself. "You are Blue now."

Halftime. One zero.

Steve (Wait, Steve retired. The Arsenal manager is... Arteta. Yes. Mikel is back).

Mikel Arteta was shouting on the touchline.

Alex was calm.

"We are playing well," Alex told the team. "But we are too respectful. They are Arsenal. But we are Como. We are the pirates."

"PIRATES!" Mark yelled, putting on an eyepatch. "WE STEAL THE BOOTY!"

"The booty is the trophy, Mark."

Second half.

Como came out fighting.

Sixtieth minute.

Saka (Como) got the ball. He ran at his old team.

He cut inside. He curled it.

Goal.

One one.

Saka didn't celebrate. He just put his hands up. Respect.

But Mark celebrated. He ran down the touchline doing a cartwheel.

"RESPECT IS BORING!" Mark shouted. "I AM CELEBRATING FOR BOTH OF US!"

Eighty fifth minute.

The game was tied.

Alex looked at his bench.

He saw Luca.

"Luca," Alex said. "Go win it."

Luca ran on.

Ninetieth minute.

Injury time.

Arsenal had a corner.

They sent everyone up. Even the goalkeeper.

The ball came in.

Raya caught it.

He threw it to Luca.

Luca ran.

The Arsenal goal was empty.

Luca was fast. But Mbappe was chasing him.

It was a race.

Luca got to the edge of the box.

Mbappe was right behind him.

Luca stopped. He let Mbappe fly past him.

Then he chipped the ball.

It floated into the empty net.

GOAL.

Two one. Como.

The whistle blew.

Como were Champions of Europe.

Alex fell to his knees.

He had done it.

He had beaten his old team. He had won the biggest prize.

Mark jumped on him.

"WE ARE THE KINGS OF EUROPE!" Mark screamed. "AND I AM THE KING OF CROISSANTS!"

Milo ran onto the pitch. He was wearing a suit made of French flags.

"THE CONQUEROR!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! WE DID IT! I AM SELLING THE EIFFEL TOWER! I BOUGHT IT! (I didn't, but I can rent it!)."

Alex laughed.

The trophy room in Alex's villa overlooking Lake Como was... crowded.

It wasn't just a shelf anymore. It was a wing.

Alex walked through the double doors. The sunlight bounced off the gold and silver, creating a disco effect on the ceiling.

He walked past the Arsenal era.

The Premier League titles. (Four of them). The FA Cups. (Five). The Champions League. (Two). The Club World Cup. (Two). The Ballon d'Ors. (Seven).

And then, the Como era.

The Serie A title. (The Miracle). The Coppa Italia. The Champions League. (The Pirate Victory).

It was a museum of success. A monument to the Professor.

But Alex wasn't looking at the trophies. He was looking at the spaces between them.

Mark was there. He was wearing a cleaning apron and holding a feather duster.

"I AM THE KEEPER OF THE GOLD!" Mark shouted, dusting a Ballon d'Or vigorously. "I AM POLISHING THE LEGACY! IT MUST SHINE BRIGHTER THAN MY FUTURE!"

"Mark," Alex said. "You don't have to clean them. We have staff."

"Staff do not have the passion!" Mark argued. "They just wipe. I caress! I whisper secrets to the trophies! I tell them about the pizza we ate in 2024!"

Rico walked in. He was holding a camera.

"Documentation," Rico said. "We need to archive the glory. For the documentary. The Rise of the Professor."

"Who is playing me?" Mark asked, posing next to a Golden Boot.

"Brad Pitt," Rico said.

"Too old," Mark frowned. "Timothee Chalamet?"

"Too slow," Alex laughed. "Maybe a cheetah in a wig."

Milo burst into the room. He was wearing a suit made of velvet ropes.

"THE MUSEUM DIRECTOR!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! I AM OPENING THE EXHIBITION! TICKETS ARE SOLD OUT! PEOPLE ARE LINING UP FROM MILAN! I AM SELLING AUDIO GUIDES! NARRATED BY ME! I DO ALL THE VOICES!"

"Milo, please tell me you didn't sell tickets to my house," Alex said.

"IT IS A CULTURAL LANDMARK!" Milo insisted. "LIKE THE COLOSSEUM! BUT WITH MORE GOLD!"

Alex shook his head.

He walked to the end of the room. There was a small, empty plinth.

"What is that for?" Leo asked, walking in. He was 16 now. Tall. Athletic. The spitting image of Alex, but with better hair.

"That," Alex said. "Is for the next one."

"What next one?" Leo asked. "You won everything, Dad. You completed football."

"Football is never completed," Alex said. "There is always another game. Another challenge."

"Like what?"

"Like... the World Cup," Alex said. "Again."

"But you retired from international football," Leo said.

"I did," Alex smiled. "But you haven't."

Leo's eyes widened.

"Me?"

"You got the call-up," Alex said, handing him a letter. "England U21s. The journey starts."

Leo took the letter. His hands were shaking.

"Wow," Leo whispered.

"I will be your agent!" Milo shouted. "I WILL GET YOU A SHOE DEAL! NIKE? ADIDAS? NO! 'MILO'S MAGIC SHOES'! THEY HAVE SPRINGS!"

"No springs," Alex said. "Just talent."

Mark put his arm around Leo.

"Listen to your Uncle Mark," Mark said seriously. "Speed is important. But hair gel is critical. If you look good, you play good. It is science."

"It is vanity," Maya said, walking in with a tablet. "But statistically, confident players perform 12% better."

"See!" Mark yelled. "Science!"

Alex looked at his family.

The trophies were nice. They were shiny. They were proof that he had lived a good life. Or three good lives.

But this... this was the real legacy.

The next generation.

"Dad," Leo asked. "Can I borrow your boots? The lucky ones? From the World Cup final?"

Alex looked at the glass case where his boots were displayed. Muddy. Old.

"They are retired, Leo," Alex said. "They have done their job."

He opened a drawer. He pulled out a new pair. Bright red.

"These are for you," Alex said. "Make your own luck."

Leo took the boots. He smiled. It was the smile of a Wonderkid.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Now," Mark shouted. "Who wants to race? I have new knees! (I don't, they are the same old knees, but I believe in them!)."

"Race to the lake!" Rico yelled.

They ran out of the room.

Alex stayed behind for a moment.

He touched the Ballon d'Or.

"Goodbye, Danein," he whispered. "Goodbye, Leon."

He was just Alex now.

And Alex was happy.

He walked out to the balcony. He watched his son running with Mark and Rico. They were laughing.

The sun was setting over the lake.

The game goes on.

And the Professor... the Professor was finally ready to be a fan.

"Class dismissed," Alex said to the empty room.

And he closed the door.

The End.