Alex did not sleep.
His old analyst brain, the one that used to run on coffee and stress, was fully awake. All weekend, it just played games in his head.
He was not playing video games. He was on his laptop, in his new, sixteen year old body, but with his old, thirty two year old habits. He was studying.
He watched videos of the Arsenal first team. Not like a fan. He watched them like an opponent.
He saw how the star midfielder, a French player named Antoine, always looked left before he switched the play right. A tiny, tiny tell.
He saw how the main defender, a huge German named Bastian, was fast in a straight line but slow to turn.
His new mum, Sarah, knocked on his door Saturday night.
"Alex? Dinner. Are you okay? You have been in here for hours. Are you worried about that new team?"
Alex looked up from his screen. His eyes were dry. He was exhausted.
"Just doing homework, mum," he said, which was not exactly a lie.
