Alex woke up at 7:00 AM on Monday.
The alarm didn't ring. He had woken up naturally.
He sat up. He looked at his desk.
It was empty.
No textbooks. No essays on the Tudors. No calculus worksheets.
His A-Levels were finished. School was over.
For the first time in his life—both his old life and his new one—Alex Finch was free.
He walked downstairs. The kitchen was quiet.
"Morning, Professor," his dad said, buttering a piece of toast. "No school run today?"
"No school run ever again," Alex said. He sat down. He felt... strange. "Dad, what do adults do with all the free time?"
"They worry about bills," his dad laughed. "But you are a rich footballer. So I suppose you just... play FIFA?"
Alex frowned. "FIFA is not realistic. The midfield spacing is terrible."
"Eat your eggs," his mum said, kissing his head. "You are a professional now. Full time. You need protein."
He arrived at the training ground at seven thirty. "Super-Bastian early."
