The train pulled into Lucknow Junction just after dawn. Nikhil Srivatam stepped onto the platform with Veer tucked under his arm and his kit bag slung across his shoulder. The station was quiet, but his thoughts weren't.
He was no longer the captain of Western UP.
He was a call-up.
A junior.
A kid among giants.
Arrival at the Camp
The UP senior camp was held at the sprawling K.D. Singh Babu Stadium, a place where careers launched and reputations were tested. The dressing room smelled of linseed oil, fresh turf, and old sweat. The walls were lined with framed jerseys—some faded, some gleaming.
Nikhil walked in quietly.
No one turned.
A few glanced.
One player muttered, "That the new kid?"
Another replied, "Sixteen. Offie. Western UP captain."
The first shrugged. "Let's see if he lasts."
Familiar Faces
Then came a voice from behind.
"Nikhil!"
He turned.
Mayank Rawat, the fast bowler with a bruising run-up and a dry wit, walked over and clapped him on the back.
"You've grown," he said. "Still carrying Veer?"
"Always," Nikhil smiled.
Vivek Agnihotri, the left-arm pacer with a swing that whispered through the air, joined them. "He's not just grown. He's sharper. Saw your Bundelkhand spell. You choked them with flight."
Nikhil nodded. "Still learning."
Then came a third figure—older, lean, and unmistakable.
Siddharth Rao, his off-spin mentor from the Meerut camp.
He didn't smile.
He just said, "You still bowl that flatter one too early. We'll fix that."
Nikhil grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."
The Challenge Begins
Training began at 10:00 AM.
The seniors were fast, loud, and relentless.
Nikhil was assigned to net session three—bowling to the top order.
He marked his run-up.
First ball—drifted in, turned away. Second ball—flighted, defended. Third ball—quicker one, inside edge.
The batter turned. "Who's this?"
"Srivatam," someone said. "Western UP."
The batter nodded. "Kid's got bite."
But not everyone was impressed.
Rajat Bedi, a senior pacer, walked past and said, "Don't get too comfy, junior. This isn't zonals."
Nikhil didn't reply.
He just bowled.
The Mentor Watches
From the pavilion, Rajeev Menon watched silently.
He saw how Nikhil didn't flinch when seniors tested him. How he asked Siddharth Rao for feedback after every spell. How he stayed back after nets to help Vivek with grip drills. How he didn't try to stand out—but made others sharper.
Menon scribbled in his notebook.
"Kid. But dangerous."
The New Faces
That evening, Nikhil sat in the common room with his notebook open, sketching field placements.
A few new players walked in—names he didn't know.
Tanishq Rawat, a flamboyant batter from Kanpur. Zaid Khan, a wicketkeeper with a reputation for sledging. Pranav Deshmukh, a tall leggie who hadn't attended any camp but had played two seasons already.
They looked at Nikhil.
Tanishq smirked. "You're the zonal prodigy?"
Zaid added, "Heard you brief your team like a coach."
Pranav said nothing.
Nikhil closed his notebook.
"I'm here to learn," he said.
Tanishq raised an eyebrow. "Good. Just don't teach."
The Quiet Reputation
Later that night, Ravi Teja, the keeper-batter with razor-sharp reflexes, pulled Nikhil aside.
"Don't worry about them," he said. "They don't know you."
Karan Bhagat, the quiet middle-order stabilizer, joined in. "But we do. You're a kid. But you're a dangerous one."
Raghav Mehta, flamboyant and competitive, leaned against the doorway. "Just don't forget—this isn't camp anymore. It's the real thing."
Nikhil nodded. "I'm not here to prove. I'm here to contribute."
The First Light
The next morning, Nikhil woke early.
He walked to the practice pitch alone.
He bowled ten overs to an empty net.
He adjusted his grip. Changed his release. Slowed his follow-through.
Siddharth Rao watched from a distance.
He didn't interrupt.
He just smiled.