The ArrivalThe district academy gates towered above them, painted white with the association's crest shimmering in the morning sunlight. Inside, wide lush green fields stretched farther than Mohith had ever seen — proper turf wickets glistening under the sprinklers, nets filled with formally dressed players practicing in symmetry.Mohith stopped at the gates, his cracked bat on his shoulder. Beside him, Pavan adjusted his scuffed pads, and Dhruva clutched his ragged cricket ball in his fist.They were out of place among the crowd of boys clad in professional kits, brand-new bats gleaming, sponsored shoes thudding against the paved paths. Whispered laughter followed them.Random player:
"Who let these beggars in? Look at that cracked bat—pathetic."Another smirked at Dhruva:
"Is he carrying trash or a ball? They won't last one round."Pavan's ears burned, his fists tightening. But Mohith didn't flinch. His eyes were locked straight on the ground ahead.Mohith (inner voice):
"Let them laugh. Once the ball is bowled… the field won't care about their money."Enter ArjunTheir arrival didn't go unnoticed. At the center of the academy nets stood Arjun — immaculate in his sharp whites, his bat shining with fresh grip tape, boots spotless. A circle of players surrounded him like disciples, eyes wide in admiration as he struck elegant cover drives effortlessly.The ball cracked off his bat, echoing like thunder. Every stroke was polished, a picture of perfection crafted by years of elite coaching.When Mohith and the others walked by, Arjun's eyes finally turned. That same cold grin tugged his face.Arjun:
"So you've come crawling here too. Don't mistake that street win for greatness, Mohith. In this place, you're nothing. I'll crush you in front of real eyes."Pavan (snapping):
"He's not nothing! You—"But Mohith raised a hand, silencing him.Mohith:
"Talk less, Arjun. Let's see who leaves this ground standing tall."The grin on Arjun's face deepened, laced with malice.The Selection CommitteeAt the pavilion, stern figures sat — the district selection panel. Men with years of cricket behind them, eyes sharp, scanning every movement. Clipboards rested on their laps, evaluating hundreds of hopefuls.Head Selector (murmuring):
"This academy has no space for weaklings. Let's see who really belongs here."The whistle blew. The trials began.The First Tests – FitnessPlayers were lined up for drills — sprints, shuttle runs, pushups, stamina tests.The polished boys breezed through comfortably, while Mohith, Pavan, and Dhruva struggled under the weight of mistrusting stares. Sweat poured but they refused to collapse.Midway, Pavan nearly slipped during a sprint — laughter burst from the sidelines. But Mohith's voice cut like lightning.Mohith:
"PA-VAN, UP!"Fueled by that one shout, Pavan's legs found new strength. He surged across the line, collapsing at the end, gasping. The selectors scribbled notes, unexpectedly impressed at the grit.Mohith in the NetsFinally, the batsmen were called into practice nets. Each got just a few overs against district-level bowlers to prove themselves.When Mohith's name was bellowed, snickers ran through the crowd. His cracked bat was a joke compared to the gleaming willows around him.The bowler steamed in — a genuine fast bowler, pace far sharper than anything Mohith had faced.The first ball flew past him like lightning, rattling the stumps from the keeper's gloves. The crowd roared with mocking laughter. Arjun smirked from the boundary, arms folded.Arjun (mocking):
"This is your hero, huh?"But Mohith's eyes didn't waver.Second ball came — shorter. Mohith stepped back, lifted high, and CRACK! The ball soared, clearing the practice net, landing with a heavy splash in the academy pool outside.The laughter turned into stunned silence.Selectors leaned forward.Head Selector:
"Hmm. Raw power… not textbook, but impossible to ignore."Over the next few deliveries, Mohith mixed caution with ferocity. Drives that pierced gaps, pulls that thundered. Every mistake he made, he corrected on the next ball. By the end of his set, the nets were buzzing with disbelief.Pavan's TestNext came Pavan. Initially mocked for his meek style, he quickly proved himself valuable. Where others swung recklessly, he defended with soft hands, rotated with clever singles, nudged balls with awareness. His calmness under pressure made the selectors nod approvingly.Selector:
"This one understands the game's rhythm. He may not dazzle, but teams need this spine."Pavan walked out, chest heaving, eyes shining.Dhruva's SpellFinally, Dhruva stepped forward, his tattered ball in hand. Some laughed outright."Are we seriously letting this boy bowl here?"But when his spin drifted in the wind, dipped sharply, and ripped past the bat of a cocky elite batsman, jaws dropped.Each delivery seemed possessed — dipping late, gripping turf violently. The batsman lost patience, swinging aggressively — only to hear his stumps shatter.Even the selectors murmured in surprise, leaning forward again.Head Selector:
"He's untrained… but his spin is unique. We've not seen flight like this in years."From the boundary, Arjun's smirk faltered for the first time.Clash at the EndAfter drills, as the sun dipped, Mohith, Pavan, and Dhruva sat exhausted on the benches. Their chests heaved, muscles screamed, but inside, they felt alive.Then Arjun walked past, bat slung casually. He leaned close to Mohith, voice venomous.Arjun:
"Don't get comfortable. This is my world. I'll make sure you, your anchor friend, and that spinner get out before team lists are made. Remember that."Mohith met his eyes directly.Mohith:
"This isn't your world, Arjun. Cricket doesn't belong to anyone—it belongs to those who bleed for it. And tomorrow, we'll prove who bleeds more."The tension was a battlefield in itself, sparks flying from their locked glares.Closing SceneThat night, in the dorm provided for players, Mohith lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He thought of every ball, every cheer, every jeer.Mohith (inner voice):
"We've stepped into their world. Now we carve our names into it. Tomorrow, the real trial of fire begins."Cut to Arjun outside, shadow-batting under a streetlight, his strokes sharp, elegant—but filled with fury.Arjun (inner voice):
"Mohith… enjoy today's praise. Tomorrow, I erase you from this academy forever."Title screen flashes:
"Next Time: The Trial Matches Begin"