"Well, the fielding placements are quite… the usual," Nagi murmured, tapping at Seles's tablet with his long fingers, eyes scanning through the formations, "As expected, pressuring, but conventional. The inside circle is crowded—cover, point, mid-off, square leg, mid-wicket, and the first slip. Every gap deliberately minimized."
Senri leaned backward, elbows resting on the seat's backrest, eyes glinting as he swept his gaze over the middle schoolers seated behind him, "And the remaining two players, excluding the wicket keeper and the bowler… little monsters…" he said, smirking in a sly, unreadable way, "Your guess?"
Ryan, leaning back with arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips, answered without hesitation, "Fine-leg and third man. It's obvious enough."
Senri's smile widened just a fraction, a spark of pride flashing in his gaze, "Correct."
Aaron, sitting upright beside Rauf, leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he followed the pitch below. "Now," he murmured, voice low but deliberate, "let's see whether the two soldiers we sent can handle the pressure that will be poured over them… or whether they'll throw it right back at the attackers."
Rauf, arms folded, gave a subtle blink, had his gaze locked on the pitch.
Alan, standing before the seats, was lost in thoughts, silent. Yet, a flicker of tug at his jersey was enough to pull him back. He turned, meeting Poseidon's gentle smile. The boy's hand rested lightly on the empty seat beside him, fingers curling in a quiet invitation.
His gesture was effortless, calm—but grounded in the silent understanding that Alan sometimes felt he needed. "Thanks," Alan murmured, exhaling softly, his shoulders loosening as he settled down beside him.
At the striker's end, Ezekiel's eyes flicked across the field, scanning every fielder, every angle. He lifted his hand, giving Adam a confident thumbs-up.
Adam acknowledged him with a curt nod, then turned his gaze sharply to the Multan fielders. He exhaled slowly, as if trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. "Alright," he muttered under his breath, gripping the bat tighter, "just like old dumpling coach said… consider every fielder here, a pro. No mistakes, no gaps… it's like standing in front of an army with no weaknesses, and I'm supposed to beat them." He let out a humorless chuckle, "Right… that's cheating. Nope. Forget it. That's cricket."
He studied the positions carefully, his eyes scanning each player. "Sneaky Galle[1] is stationed at third man near the boundary… and creepy Kirill's on slip. Yup, that suspicious, quiet type… is the perfect spot for him. I even imagined. And… Boss Haitam," Adam's gaze locked onto the Multan captain, "mid-off, passing the ball to…"
Haitam's long stride carried him to a tall, imposing boy, hair jet-black falling straight to the nape of his neck, eyes a piercing navy blue that seemed to slice through the evening air.
As their eyes locked, Adam felt the air cinch around him, a cold pressure coiling up his spine—uncannily like the uneasy jolt he would get whenever he watched or faced Zachariah's bowling.
"So that's him," Adam whispered, teeth clenched lightly. "Milan… Multan's best swinger. Isa said his deliveries are tricky… impossible sometimes. And he's even a high schooler." His hands tightened slightly around the bat handle, recalling countless times he had lost his wicket to his own seniors, to speed and swing he hadn't yet mastered.
Of course, he had pushed himself relentlessly and his confidence was as unshakable as ever, but… "What if… what if I can't return them?" A cold shiver slid down his back.
But, before he could dwell further, a sudden weight crashed onto his shoulders, accompanied by a loud, mischievous laugh.
"Waah?!" Adam shrieked, nearly toppling forward, utterly caught off guard, "What the—?!"
"Hahaha! What are you spacing out and screaming for, hun? Wild card or scaredy-cat?" Kian's grin stretched from ear to ear as he hung around Adam's back, one arm draped teasingly over his shoulders almost grappling his neck.
"I was calling from way over there at cover. Didn't hear me, huh?"
Adam gasped, patting Kian's arm frantically, trying to regain balance, "R-right… r-right! Can't… breathe…"
"Oh, sorry! My bad. Just wanted to wish you best of luck. Don't tell me… you're nervous?" Kian teased, eyes sparkling with playful intent.
"Huh?!" Adam's face flushed crimson as he spun around, glaring at the impish grin on Kian's face.
"Who's nervous, huh? Not me! You're the one probably scared, not me. Never me!" Before Adam could regain composure, a shadow appeared from the other side.
Zidan, grinning like a twin tornado of trouble, leaned in, "Heh~ is that so? We can always dance a little to shake off the nerves. No need to act shy, right Kian?"
"Hm! Always! Just give the cue!" Kian chimed in.
Pure, exaggerated horror washed over Adam's face. The twins—merciless, perfectly in sync, and far too amused—burst into laughter as they hooked their arms around his shoulders.
"G-get off! Stop it! Seriously—ugh!" Adam struggled, but it was useless. Every carefully stacked thought about field placements, tricky deliveries, and intimidation tactics crumbled instantly, swept away by embarrassment, panic, and the relentless chaos that was Kian and Zidan.
He could barely think. Barely breathe. And yet—even as he shoved them off—some stubborn spark inside him couldn't help but curl into a smirk. Because if Ryan ever heard about this… it'd be game over before the match even started. After all, Adam could never be intimidated.
Well… unbeknownst to the three ahead, Ezekiel swallowed hard at the non-striker's end, frozen stiff as Haitam casually rested an elbow on his shoulder.
Ishaq and Nouis stood off to the side, grinning like they'd been waiting for this exact show.
"Yup, we're always here to brighten the atmosphere. Don't be shy," Yahya chimed in over Zidan's words, wearing that unnervingly shameless confidence that carried no regard for human dignity.
"Shy, my foot! We're standing in the middle of a field with hundreds of people watching! My dignity is hanging by a thread! How are all of you so unbelievably brazen instead?!" Ezekiel screamed internally. He felt like he might simply evaporate on the spot. Yet, all he could manage was a strangled, awkward chuckle—too terrified to say a word.
This was, without a doubt, the most bizarre match he would ever play… against the most bizarre team imaginable. And emotionally? They were already losing before the first ball had even been bowled.
Haitam, Ishaq, and David, watching the two helpless middle schoolers, burst into laughter along with the rest of the team—and somehow even the crowd joined in.
"Haha! See what I told you? These two never fail to entertain. We've got the whole crowd laughing thanks to their antics," Maaz applauded.
"Sigh~ adorably eccentric kids, truly," Jones agreed.
Finally, after one last pat on the back from Kian and Haitam, Adam and Ezekiel were released as the older boys moved into position.
"From the looks of our boys out there, I'd say they won't forget this match even after a whole year. Their enjoyment is on an entirely different level," one of the Multan coaches laughed softly, leaning forward on the railing of the pavilion as he watched the boys fool around on the field.
"They don't dare leave us any self-respect," Lucas muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he watched the spectacle with a tired, half-resigned expression. "Seriously… how can our captain be like this?"
"That's the skill, brother." A younger boy tugged eagerly at Lucas's jersey, eyes shining with unshakable childish admiration, "Captain Haitam is totally making Karachi lose their guard! And then—BAM! He'll strike right when they least expect it. Haha! He's a genius!"
"Right…" Lucas sighed, ruffling the boy's hair as the youngster beamed proudly. Oh, if only he could tell him the truth.
Pierre, leaning against the back wall of the pavilion, let out a loud laugh, "Haha! Quite the imagination you've got there, little Mark. But our Captain Haitam, you see… is a bit of a nutjob."
At the word nutjob, Mark's expression froze mid-smile. Several freshmen and sophomore middle schoolers exchanged looks—half bewildered, half offended—as if Pierre had just shattered their belief.
"Tch—don't corrupt innocent minds." Mahd smacked Pierre lightly on the back of the head before speaking with a weirdly sinister calm, "He means Captain Haitam won't betray rivals directly. He'll betray them slowly. Very slowly. Revenge served cold. He'll smile… and then kill."
A collective blink.
"…That explained nothing," Raza deadpanned, watching the middle schoolers' faces twist into varying levels of confusion and disgust.
The third years on the contrary, stared back as if labeling their seniors as absolute idiots… while the gullible ones like Mark nodded vigorously, soaking up every ominous detail with pride.
"Sigh~ I still wonder which cursed day I joined this circus…" Daniil groaned, dragging his hand down his face.
"Tuesday," Pierre shot back with a wink, "Doomsday! Haha!"
The boys groaned, slumping back like wilting flowers, earning twin sighs of disbelief from Lucas and Raza.
[1] referring to Galleous