Multan's middle schoolers and high schoolers blinked, stunned into silence. Karachi's high schoolers, meanwhile, exhaled almost in unison—joined by the coaches, who exchanged brief but unmistakably pleased smiles.
"You… you're all middle schoolers, right?" Pierre muttered, swallowing in disbelief.
"Of course we are," Ryan replied casually, "What's there to doubt?"
"Good heavens…" Basid breathed, "Were your high schoolers not monstrous enough that you had to become little monsters yourselves?"
Gabriel shot him a flat look, "We didn't become monsters. We were monsters from day one."
Silence. The Multan high schoolers were rendered completely speechless. Beside them, the middle schoolers—Leon, Daniil, and the rest—exchanged wide-eyed glances before looking back at Xavier, Kenzo, Heber, Gabriel, Cassiel, and the others with pure, unfiltered admiration.
"So cool…" Mark whispered, unable to hold it in.
"Haha! That was huge, big guy—awesome!" Adam shouted from the non-striker's end, lifting his bat in celebration.
Haruf couldn't help but laugh, the sound warm, and unrestrained.
Milan retrieved the ball from the stands and tossed it back to Galleous. The last ball of the over, Galleous stepped onto the popping crease, fingers tightening as he aimed straight at the stumps—this one spun a touch quicker.
Haruf tapped his bat twice against the crease, eyes locked ahead, reading the field. He traced the gaps in a single glance and committed himself for another big shot. The strike came hard, driven through mid-wicket— CRACK.
Once again but this time louder. Fiercer. Not from the bat. From the sky. A deafening thunderclap ripped through the air, silver light tearing across the pitch black sky, an instant before the sound exploded.
Adam flinched. Haitam froze.
David stiffened. Galleous—and every fielder around—locked in place.
The stadium fell into a stunned, breathless silence. Haruf's focus shattered for a split second. The full-powered shot collapsed into a mistimed, slower return, trickling toward mid-wicket.
"Run, big guy!" Adam yelled without hesitation, already sprinting.
Haruf followed the risky call. Chaos reigned for a heartbeat. Yahya hurled the ball toward the stumps— missed. Off by timing. Off by inches.
"OHH!!" the fielders cried out in unison as the third over came to an end.
"Dear goodness, that delivery was startling from every angle," Wasim commented, voice still buzzing, "But Karachi Kings safely survive, closing the over with 25 runs for the loss of just one wicket."
Jones chuckled dazed, "Looks like even the sky couldn't hold back its excitement. I'll admit—I jumped too." His tone softened, "The weather hasn't been kind in Quetta this past week, and with rain chances still high tonight… let's just hope nothing interrupts this long-awaited, electrifying match."
Alan lifted his gaze to the pitch-black sky, red gaze narrowing. "Don't rain…" he thought firmly.
"It better not rain—I'm warning you," Feng said, staring up at the clouds with narrowed eyes
. Azazel turned to him, incredulous, "And who exactly are you threatening?"
"The clouds. Who else?" Feng replied with such dead seriousness that Azazel, Ezekiel, Heber, and Leon immediately burst into laughter.
Feng blinked at them, genuinely bewildered.
"Fool," Gabriel muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Hey—that's offensive," Feng snapped back, "Who even asked for your commentary?"
Basid exhaled with a small smile, "Jokes aside… it really shouldn't rain. Haitam's mood would sink straight to the bottom."
Kazuna, Elias, Noah, and Senri exchanged glances before Noah asked quietly, "Is it really that serious?"
"Yeah," Pierre answered without hesitation. "He's been waiting for this match since the PSL started. You wouldn't believe it. Everything he's been through—he thinks it's all worth it if he gets to play against you all. So, for rain to wash that away…" He shook his head, "It's painful just imagining what comes after."
"For someone titled 'The Dancing Monsoon,' inviting the rain in circumstances like this," Isa gestured toward the thundering sky, "seems… almost impossible, don't you think?" he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.
And it was just a matter of voicing the thought up out loud, that a heavy, almost innocently sorry silence settled over the pavilion.
Isa blinked, glancing sideways awkwardly, "Did I accidently… step on a landmine…?"
Zachariah beside him, watched the Multan players—who now looked almost like children who'd just been scolded over their weird titling sense and were now sulking.
Karachi's boys, both seniors and juniors, including Zachariah, couldn't quite believe what they were seeing.
"Yeah right," Ren said, forcing a lighter tone, "it really shouldn't rain." "Yup, it definitely shouldn't," Noah added.
Basid and Daniil nodded in agreement.
"I hope so too," Mark added earnestly, "Captain Haitam gave it everything. And not just him—Vice-captain David, brother Galleous, Brother Milan… everyone. They've all been really, really looking forward to this."
Aaron smiled despite himself, "You guys really like us that much, huh?"
"Yeah," Khizr admitted softly, head still resting against Orion's shoulder, "We really do. It's like our hearts beat as one. We don't feel this way with anyone else… it's priceless."
"Hmph, this much flattery is going to kill both of us one day," Evan deadpanned, "I have a strong gut feeling about it."
Hearing him, the pavilion immediately erupted into laughter, the tension broken, replaced with warmth, camaraderie, and just the right touch of mischief.
The fourth over was claimed by Haitam himself. The moment the announcement spread, the crowd's roar surged—louder, sharper, charged with expectation.
It wasn't just because the Multan captain had taken the ball. It was because Haruf stood at the striker's end. That alone was enough to set the stadium ablaze.
The rivalry between the two—friendly, yet perpetually electrifying—was known far and wide. And now, as captains of their respective sides, they stood face-to-face, poised to deliver a spectacle worthy of memory.
"This is the moment we've all been waiting for—and will keep waiting for throughout the first innings, folks!" Maaz declared, barely containing his excitement, "The Destructor versus The Dancing Monsoon! Haruf Noorfaris against Haitam Asher! An awaited clash at last—let's witness which of the two rises above the other!"
"Finally!" Hira exclaimed, fists clenched, eyes gleaming as they tracked the field, "I've waited my whole life for this!"
Zain chuckled, watching her with fond amusement, "Looks like you waited long enough, huh?"
"Of course I did!" Hira shot back, "Two years ago I was just a kid—I didn't understand anything. Seeing this with my own eyes now? It's seriously thrilling." Excitement coursed through her, like wind sweeping across an open field.
In stark contrast, Erum sat with her arms crossed, expression flat—duller than someone forced into overtime after an already exhausting day. It was painfully clear by now: Karachi hadn't impressed her in the slightest.
Zain let out a quiet, hopeless sigh.
"Haitam Asher," Nagi read from his player-stat journal, "3rd-year high schooler and captain of the Multan Sultans cricket base. A right-handed off-spin bowler, renowned for his pinpoint precision. Bearing the title 'The Dancing Monsoon,' he is a nightmare for weak spin-returning batsmen." He flipped the page, "His most lethal deliveries include top-spinners, carrom balls, and the Doosras—often disguised so seamlessly that batsmen struggle to tell one from another."
"Not just that," Pierre added, raising a finger to draw everyone's attention, "There's something else. Something very important."
Poseidon frowned slightly, "Something important?" "Yes," Pierre grinned with a nod, "You see, Haitam can mess with your mind—dangerously so—using sounds."
"…Sounds?" Ryan repeated, questioning.
"Exactly," Basid added, eyes glinting with a knowing smirk. "He manipulates a player's concentration through sound— high, low, near or distant—anything tied to your surroundings. Once you step into his zone, those sounds begin to dance around your mind." He leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in, "Beware of those sounds. Where they can soothe your soul… they can all shatter you from apart the very core."
The pavilion fell into quiet contemplation.
"That's why they call him the Dancing Monsoon," Daniil continued, voice steady yet weighted with meaning. "Monsoon is considered a blessing, a bliss. A sight that soothes the eyes and soul. But when it turns destructive…" He paused, eyes drifting toward the restless clouds above the stadium roof, "It becomes something you fear."
Feng swallowed, shoulders stiffening as unease crept up his spine, "Then that thunder just now…" his fingers curled unconsciously at his side, "Was that Boss Haitam's doing?"
Noah scoffed lightly, waving a dismissive hand as if brushing away dust, "How could it be? That was clearly the weather. What do you think he is—a weather controller?"
Yet, the Multan high schoolers didn't respond with words. Instead, faint, unreadable smiles lingered on their lips—soft, knowing, almost enigmatic. The kind that quietly contradicted everything Noah had just said.
Aigou blinked, gaze darting between faces before asking again, slower this time, more cautious, "Hey… when you said sounds of all kinds—the thunder couldn't possibly be part of it, right?"
Lucas glanced back over his shoulder, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth as he shrugged. "Who knows?" he said lightly, "Never happened before. Probably just a coincidence."
Probably.
Rauf, Elias and Evandor exchanged narrowed looks, sharp with doubt, while the middle schoolers stared ahead, thoughts tangling into knots. The hum of the stadium—chants, distant whistles, the restless rustle of flags—pressed in around them.
"Did Haitam reach some kind of Pinnacle… or a Realm?" Alan murmured, eyes thoughtful, voice far more serious than the question sounded.