"Saturday," Steve said. "Manchester United. Away. The FA Cup Fifth Round."
The team groaned. Old Trafford again.
"They are angry," Steve said. "They haven't forgotten the 'Mouse' goal. They haven't forgotten the 'No Look Roll'. They want revenge."
He looked at Alex.
"Professor. You are the Ballon d'Or winner now. Do you know what that means?"
"More interviews?" Alex guessed.
"It means a target on your back," Steve said. "A giant, golden target. Every player in the league wants to be the one who stopped the Best Player in the World. Casemiro will try to break you. McTominay will try to run through you."
"I am stable," Alex said.
"Be more than stable," Steve said. "Be... elusive. Be a ghost."
Saturday. Old Trafford.
It was raining. Manchester rain. Cold, sharp, miserable.
Alex stood in the tunnel.
Casemiro, the United midfielder, was standing next to him. He was a tank. He had won five Champions Leagues.
He looked at Alex.
