Chapter 108 (Part 19)
The festival grounds were quiet now.
The banners still hung limp in the still air, their colors muted in the fading light. The food stalls were closed, their shutters drawn tight. The tracks and courts and fields that had echoed with the roar of crowds for weeks sat silent, waiting.
The City Sports Tournament was over.
But the work was not.
In a small, windowless room at the back of the main administration building, five figures sat around a long wooden table. They were not young. They were not old. They were the kind of people who had been doing this for years organizing, counting, deciding.
The Organizing Committee.
The room was lit by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, its light casting long shadows across the walls. Papers covered the table schedules, results, score sheets. At the center of the table lay a single leather bound ledger.
The Chairman opened it.
"Let's begin."
The names and schools scrolled down the pages, each entry followed by numbers points earned in boxing, volleyball, cricket, basketball, football. Some columns were full. Others were empty.
The committee members flipped through the pages in silence.
"Castrone," one of them said, tapping a finger on the page. "They performed well in the second half of the tournament."
"They were average in the first half. Boxing, volleyball, cricket they placed but didn't dominate. Basketball was a loss."
"But football." Another member leaned forward. "That final match. Six goals to one. That's not a win that's a statement."
The Chairman nodded slowly. "Who was the standout?"
A younger member flipped to a different section of the ledger. "Alok Fanando. Listed as a late substitute. Played only the final match. Three goals, three assists. Scored 12 points in a single match."
The room went quiet.
The Chairman looked at the entry. His eyes scanned the numbers, then moved to the attached note a small photograph clipped to the page.
The photo showed a young man with dark hair and tired eyes, his expression calm, his jaw set.
The Chairman stared at the photograph.
"Hmm," he murmured. "I see you."
His finger traced the edge of the photograph. His voice dropped, barely audible.
"Same look like him."
The other members exchanged glances. They had seen this before their Chairman, lost in thought, staring at a photograph of a player who had caught his attention.
"Same look like who?" one of them dared to ask.
The Chairman didn't answer.
Before he could, the door to the room opened.
Two figures stepped inside.
The first was tall, lean, dressed in a long black coat that seemed to absorb the dim light around it. His face was half hidden beneath the brim of a dark hat.
The second was shorter, her features sharp, her dark jacket buttoned to the collar. Her eyes swept the room with quiet precision.
The committee members stiffened. The Chairman looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to recognition.
"You're early," he said.
The man in the black coat stepped forward, sliding a thin folder across the table. "We've completed our observations."
The Chairman opened the folder. Inside were pages of notes, names, and photographs dozens of them, each one a player who had caught their attention during the tournament.
The Chairman flipped through the pages. His eyes moved quickly, scanning the names, the notes, the small symbols marked beside each entry.
"Recommendations?" he asked.
The woman in the dark jacket spoke for the first time. Her voice was low, measured.
"Three primary candidates. Five secondary. The rest are still under evaluation."
The Chairman nodded slowly. "And the one I asked you to watch?"
The man in the black coat said nothing. He simply reached into his coat and pulled out a single photograph, placing it on top of the folder.
Alok Fanando.
The Chairman's finger rested on the photograph.
"Same look like him," he murmured again.
The woman in the dark jacket tilted her head. "You've said that before."
The Chairman didn't answer. He simply closed the folder and pushed it aside.
"We'll proceed as planned," he said.
The man in the black coat nodded once, his face still hidden in shadow. "Understood."
He turned and walked toward the door. The woman followed.
The door closed behind them.
The committee members sat in silence. One of them finally spoke.
"Who were they?"
The Chairman didn't look up.
"The ones who decide."
POV SHIFT – Alok
Across the festival grounds, Alok sat alone on the bleachers.
The celebration had ended hours ago. The Castrone players had gone home, their voices still loud with laughter and victory. Rihan had left with them, promising to return in the morning.
But Alok had stayed.
He stared at the empty field, his hands resting on his knees. The pendant was warm against his chest, pulsing gently.
It's over, he thought. But it's not over.
He thought about the man in the black coat. The woman in the dark jacket. Stian Vale, disappearing into the night without a trace.
They're still out there. Watching. Waiting.
He heard footsteps behind him.
"Thought I'd find you here."
Rihan dropped onto the bench beside him, his breath still heavy from the celebration.
"You should be celebrating," Alok said.
"I was. Then I realized you weren't there."
Alok didn't answer.
Rihan leaned back, staring up at the stars. "You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The one you get when you're planning something. Something dangerous."
Alok was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I'm going to Feilw Land."
Rihan nodded slowly. "I figured."
"You don't have to come."
"Yes, I do."
Alok looked at him.
Rihan met his gaze. "We're in this together. You, me, the others. That's how it works now."
Alok didn't argue. He didn't have the energy.
"I'll be ready in the morning," Rihan said, standing. "Get some sleep."
He walked away, his footsteps fading into the night.
Alok stayed where he was.
POV SHIFT – The Committee Room (Later That Night)
The meeting was over.
The other members had left, their coats buttoned, their briefcases tucked under their arms. The room was empty now, save for the Chairman.
He sat alone at the table, the leather-bound ledger open in front of him. His finger still rested on the photograph of Alok Fanando.
He murmured again, softer this time:
"Same look like him."
He closed the ledger.
The lamp flickered.
And in the darkness, the Chairman reached for his phone.