Alex slept in his own bed. This was rare.
Usually, after a big game, he was too wired. Too full of data and adrenaline.
But after the Newcastle win, after his first goal, after the "Hurricane" was born, he had slept for ten solid hours.
He woke up feeling... good. Strong.
His new life was a runaway train, but he was finally learning how to stay on his feet.
He went downstairs. His dad was at the kitchen table, surrounded by every newspaper in London.
"Morning, Professor," his dad said. He was not just smiling. He was beaming.
"Look at this," his dad said, holding up a paper. "They are calling you the 'Heir to the Throne'. They are saying you and Antoine are the 'Magic and Logic' partnership."
"They are saying Mark is 'pure chaos'," his mum added, bringing Alex a plate of eggs. "I like that one. It suits him."
Alex just laughed. "It is just one game, dad."
