Chapter 1: Rebirth
The year was 2035.
Outside, the world has changed to Futuristic Solar cars zipping past skyscrapers veiled in holographic advertisements and a new delivery system that is done by the hum of drones delivering steaming takeout boxes, the city buzz of an overconnected world that never truly slept.
Even though the internet has reached 7G (7th Generation),India is still in the development stage.
But for Raghav Roi who is now 42 years old and running out of energy to stand properly as the universe had shrunk to the size of a recliner but everything was ok just like a half-empty pizza box that he is eating and the glowing expanse of his television screen.
Tonight wasn't just any night because it was the night of War.
The IPL Final match between Delhi Daredevils V/S Mumbai Indians.
Raghav's eyes, heavy with sleepless years and dull office light, were wide with childlike anticipation. A mug of cold coffee sat forgotten beside him and his fingers drummed against the armrest in an uneven rhythm, matching the pounding inside his chest.
"Yes..do it…Six runs needed in one ball," he whispered under his breath, as if saying it aloud could bend fate itself.
For most of his life, cricket had been his one constant. He'd grown up on dust-laden pitches, swinging a battered bat until the streetlights came on.
There was a moment... far in the past—when he was virtuous. Perhaps not a perfect fit for India, but sufficient to aspire. Satisfactory enough for his college coach to remark, "You possess something unique, Raghav."
Then life unfolded: internships, expenses, a job that consumed his twenties, a marriage that crumbled under late-night tasks and forgotten anniversaries.
At some point, the bat was swapped for a keyboard, and the field turned into a cubicle.
All that was left was this ceremonial beer, displays, and Delhi's unending streak of losses.
Yet this evening felt unique; this evening felt destined.
The camera swept across the stadium with an ultramodern dome of light and sound, holographic scoreboards shimmering like constellations. The crowd was a living sea, blue and red waves colliding in rhythmic chants.
Raghav leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees. Sweat prickled his forehead. His support team for Delhi Daredevils, his eternal heartbreak—stood on the edge of glory.
He was born in North East — Assam , Till now the Assam team has just started, the team name is Assam Warriors
His eyes were on the Tv screen.
Delhi needed six runs in this one ball.
If they want to beat Mumbai Indians who have won 9 IPL Trophy.
The bowler, a young prodigy from Mumbai, adjusted his grip. His name flashed on the screen—Aarav Malhotra, 20 years old, economy of 6.2, average speed of 152 km/h. A monster in blue.
The batsman at the crease—Arjun Khanna, Delhi's captain and last hope. We can see that his jersey clung to his frame, drenched in pressure and sweat and now it is in capital shoulders.
Raghav could almost hear his own pulse louder than the crowd's roar. His fingers tightened around the armrest.
The bowler began his run-up.
Time slowed.
The stadium lights reflected off the white Kookaburra balls, turning it into a comet streaking through the air. The batsman swung.
CRACK!
Raghav shot to his feet. The ball soared high—so high it disappeared against the glare of the floodlights.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered, voice trembling.
For a single, blissful heartbeat, he saw it—a six, a miracle, redemption after years of despair.
But the ball began to fall.
The camera caught the arc of the ball in the sky as it flew, the fielder was running backward as their eyes locked at the ball like an eagle eye and the fielder raised hands to catch the ball.
And then—
THUD.
Caught.
The Fielder caught it and was declared as OUT by the Umpires.
Silence filled Raghav's apartment.
His knees gave way then collapsing him back into the recliner.
On tv screen, the scoreboard froze.
Delhi Daredevils – 212/7 (20 over)
Mumbai Indians win Championship by 4 runs.
The stadium erupted into an explosion of color and noise.
" Mumbai Indians"
" Mumbai Indians"
The Mumbai players charged the field, their jubilant cries echoing through the broadcast. Blue fireworks bloomed across the sky. The commentators' voices rose in triumph.
"What a finish! Mumbai Indians secure their tenth IPL title! Absolute dominance!"
Raghav stared blankly, the reflection of the screen flickering in his tired eyes. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
It wasn't just a game — Not to him because it reminds him of his past regret and mistakes that every missed chance he'd ever had.
A goal or a dream that had slipped just out of reach
but every boundary of his life that had fallen one foot short.
He slumped deeper into the recliner into his regret.
Then his hand slipped ~
The pizza box slid off the side table, scattering crumbs on the floor.
On the screen, the camera cuts to Arjun Khanna whose head is bowing towards the fans then he gloves off, kneeling on the turf as the Mumbai players lift the trophy. The Delhi fans wept.
Raghav's vision swam.
His chest tightened—a dull ache, then a sharp stab. He pressed a hand against it, gritting his teeth.
"Ahh… I… can't…"
The words came out as a strangled whisper. The remote slipped from his trembling hand, hitting the floor with a hollow clack.
He tried to breathe, but his lungs refused.
The colors of the screen bled together the reds, blues, and golds fading into a blur of grey. The sound of the crowd dimmed to a low hum.
He thought of his old cricket bat cracked, dusty, still leaning against the corner of his balcony. He thought of the call he never returned, the apology he never made, the life that had quietly passed him by while he chased paychecks and deadlines.
If only I had another chance, he thought. If only I could have tried…
The holo-screen flickered, casting one final glimmer of light across his face.
And then, everything went dark.
It's like eternal darkness; he doesn't feel anything.
'Is this hell or heaven, where I will be going ''
A gentle sunbeam tickled his nose.
A familiar scent of sandalwood incense and his mother's cooking sabji filled his nostrils.
" Wow , this smell feel familiar"
Raghav's eyes fluttered open as he looked around, then he realized that this wasn't in his sterile apartment but it is that he was in… his childhood bedroom.
The walls were adorned with posters of his heroes: Sachin Tendulkar raising his bat, Rahul Dravid in his classic defensive stance, a fiery Sourav Ganguly whirling his jersey at Lord's.
He scrambled out of the small bed, his limbs feeling strangely light and uncoordinated and then he looked at his hands.
They were small, slender, unblemished by age.
He stumbled to the mirror hanging on the wardrobe.
A scrawny, 12-year-old boy with big, bewildered eyes stared back at him.
"Raghav! Are you awake? You'll be late for school!"
The voice… It was his mother ,Nimala Das. But she sounded younger, vibrant, full of the life that had been worn down by years of hardship.
He stumbled out of the room and saw her in the kitchen. She looked exactly as he remembered her from his childhood, her smile lines not yet etched deep into her face.
Then he saw someone, who had left him early. His father died when he was 26 years old in an accident but now he will definitely stop it.
His father, Umesh Roi, sat at the small dining table, reading a newspaper.
"Morning, champ," his father said, not looking up.
"Big day for India today because the Test match against England starts from today."
Raghav's eyes darted to the newspaper.
The date was printed in bold black ink: April 11, 2005.
The world tilted on its axis and he hadn't just survived.
He was really back.. back in time, back before the regrets, before the failed dreams, before a life of mediocrity.
It was too much for his legs gave way, and he sat down hard on the floor, tears streaming down his face.
"Raghav? What's wrong?" his mother cried, rushing to his side.
He couldn't explain.
'How could he tell that he came from future? he could not! '
He just shook his head, burying his face in her sari, overwhelmed by the impossible, beautiful, terrifying reality of his second chance.
Later that afternoon, as the initial shock subsided into a state of buzzing disbelief, it happened.
A transparent blue screen, like something out of one of his son's video games from the future, flickered into existence before his eyes.
[System Booting… Welcome, Host, to the World's Greatest Cricket System!]
Raghav blinked as he again looked at it .
He was in disbelief as he rubbed his eyes, but the screen remained, hovering in the air, visible only to him.
[Your deep regret and dying wish have activated this unique opportunity. The System will guide you in fulfilling your dream of becoming the greatest cricketer in the world.]
[Displaying Host's Initial Stats:]
_________________
Name: Raghav Roi
Age: 12
Stamina: 15
Strength: 12
Batting Technique: 10
Bowling Skill: 5
Fielding: 8
Cricket IQ: 25 (Bonus from future knowledge)
_________________
He analyzed his stats and the conclusion is that he was pathetically weak.
The stats confirmed what he knew about himself, why he couldn't progress in cricket in his past life.
He was a boy who loved cricket, but had no real talent.
Not yet.
[New User Mission Assigned: A Single Step]
[Objective: The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Go outside and face 10 balls from a friend in gully cricket.]
[Reward: +1 Batting Technique Point, 5 System Points (SP).]
As if on cue, a voice called from the street outside his window.
"Raghav! Oye, Raghav! Coming out to play?"
It was Abinav Varma, his best friend.
Raghav didn't answer immediately but he looked at the blue screen, then at the worn-out tennis ball bat resting in the corner of his room.
The past, the future, the impossible present—it all reflect his feelings now into a single, electrifying moment. Now for him this wasn't a dream and can definitely say that this was his reality now with this he can change his lifestyle and people around him and mainly his regrets.
Then a slow smile spread across his face, the first genuine smile in years.
" I am coming, Abhi! Wait for me here I will be right back" he yelled back as his young voice cracking with an emotion the boy he was couldn't possibly understand.
He grabbed the bat, its familiar weight a comforting promise in his small hands the dream that he once vision .
Then he went out from the house to play with his friend Abhi.
The game was on.
(To be Continue)
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