The BoardroomThe sun had set over the academy grounds, but inside the glass-walled conference room, tension burned hotter than ever. The selection panel sat around a long polished table, papers spread, statistics displayed on a projector.The names of top performers from the first trial match were pinned clearly.Mohith – 41(22), fielding brilliance*Pavan – 20(18), flawless at slip*Dhruva – 2 wickets, economy under pressureYet the room was not united.Selector 1 (stern, arms crossed):
"These boys… they came from nowhere. Slum ground players. No coaching. Their technique is wild, unrefined. Cricket at this level needs polish, not chaos."Selector 2 (younger, more open-minded):
"Unrefined, yes. But you saw what we all saw. Mohith carries raw power, leadership under fire. Pavan's composure is rare for his age. Dhruva's spin deceived even Arjun, our academy prodigy. How can you ignore that?"The head selector tapped his pen against the table, unmoved. His gaze was sharp, heavy.Head Selector:
"The academy isn't a charity house. It's a machine. We shape players who can step onto the state stage. These boys may have passion, but passion alone isn't enough."Arjun's InfluenceFrom outside the boardroom, a presence leaned quietly against the wall. Arjun's father—wealthy, influential businessman, long-time donor of funds to the academy. With folded arms, he stepped inside unannounced, his voice dripping with authority.Arjun's Father:
"I hear there is… hesitation in selection. Let me save you the trouble. Arjun has already proven himself. He is district captain material. Are we really going to risk slots on three untrained street kids when you have my son prepared and perfect?"The selectors exchanged uneasy glances. Everyone knew the donations kept much of this academy alive. The unspoken rule hung like iron: Arjun's path must remain smooth.Selector 1 (careful tone):
"You make a valid point. These outsiders might not… fit into our system."The younger selector's jaw tightened.
Selector 2:
"So talent must bow to money now? Cricket deserves better than that."His words earned a sharp glare from the Head Selector.Back in the DormsMeanwhile, Mohith sat in the dormitory with Pavan and Dhruva. The walls buzzed faintly with voices—they could sense the politics without even hearing it.Pavan fidgeted with his bat grip, voice low.
Pavan:
"What if… what if this is all useless? Yesterday we were on top of the board. Today, they might just throw our names out for… for who we are."Dhruva silently turned his tattered ball over in his hands, eyes clouded.Mohith's fists clenched at his sides.Mohith:
"Maybe they will. Maybe they'll choose Arjun because he's perfect on paper. But understand this… we didn't play today for their approval. We played for ourselves. For everyone who's told we don't belong. And tomorrow, if they give us another chance, we'll fight until even those boardrooms can't deny us."His voice was steel, anger burning beneath it. Neither Pavan nor Dhruva spoke after that. They simply nodded, fire lighting inside them too.The Meeting ContinuesBack in the boardroom, the debate raged.Selector 2:
"These three showcase something this academy rarely sees anymore—heart. If we ignore them, we are cowards hiding behind money."Head Selector (coldly):
"And if we select them, we risk shame when they collapse against state-level bowlers. Mohith's bat is cracked for heaven's sake. He doesn't even own a kit!"Arjun's father leaned in, voice smooth as poison.
Arjun's Father:
"The academy must pick players who represent its prestige. Not boys who drag its image into the mud. My son will carry Vizag's—" (pausing, smirking faintly) "—the district's honor."The younger selector's fist slammed the table.
Selector 2:
"Then fine. Tomorrow, let them prove it again. If Mohith and his friends win one more trial, with no excuses—then even you cannot deny them."The head selector hesitated. Slowly, he nodded.Head Selector:
"Very well. They get one last chance tomorrow. After that, we decide."Arjun's ShadowLater that night, Arjun stood at the nets under floodlights long after everyone else went to bed. His bat crashed against ball after ball, elegant strokes growing harder, more violent.He carried his humiliation like broken glass in his chest. Twice—twice—he had fallen to Dhruva. Twice Mohith had stood taller. He could not sleep until he erased those memories.Arjun (muttering, panting):
"Tomorrow… tomorrow I'll end it. I don't care what ball comes at me. I don't care what Mohith does. I'll destroy him in front of the selectors… and I'll do it so brutally, they'll forget his name."His father's voice drifted from the bench, calm but sharp.
Arjun's Father:
"Do it. The academy already favors you. But crush him on the field, and nobody will remember he ever existed."Arjun's eyes gleamed under the lights. His next shot struck the fence so hard the ball ricocheted like a bullet.Closing SceneIn the dorm, Mohith lay awake staring at the ceiling, fists tight around his cracked bat.Mohith (inner voice):
"I can feel it. Tomorrow, everything will be against us. The selectors. Arjun. His father. Even the system. But… if cricket is really mine, I'll rip it from their hands, no matter how hard they hold it."The shot pans out—on one side of the academy, Mohith sleeps with conviction, on the other, Arjun practices like a madman, perfection slicing through the night.The storm was coming.Title Card:
"Next Time: The Trial of Fire"