"It is addressed to you, Professor," his dad said. "It arrived by special courier. A man on a motorcycle. He had a very shiny helmet."
Alex put down his spoon. He took the envelope.
He opened it.
Inside was a thick card with gold edges.
The Golden Boy Awards.
Paris. Monday Night.
Nominee: Alex Finch.
Alex stared at it. The Golden Boy. The award for the best young player in Europe.
"I am... nominated?" Alex whispered.
"Nominated?" his mum squealed from the kitchen. "You are going to win! You are the Professor! You beat Madrid! You beat City!"
"There are other players, mum," Alex said. "Bellingham. Musiala. Gavi."
"They are not my son," she said firmly. "Do you need a tuxedo? I can iron your school suit."
"I do not think the school suit will work for this one, mum," Alex smiled.
He arrived at the training ground.
Milo was already there.
Milo was wearing a suit that looked like it was made of actual gold bars. It was blinding.
