The district finals were chaotic.
Rain delays. Pitch changing hourly. Parents arguing with umpires. The appointed captain panicked before the toss.
Arjun stood quietly, observing everything.
They lost the toss and were sent in on a damp wicket. Early swing. Low bounce.
Two wickets fell quickly.
The captain froze.
Arjun walked past him and said softly, "Let me face the new bowler."
The captain hesitated, then nodded—relieved to hand off responsibility without admitting it.
Arjun took guard.
First ball: full, swinging in. He defended.
Second: same line. He clipped it softly for one.
The bowler frowned.
Third ball: wider, searching for movement. Arjun let it go.
By the end of the over, the bowler had lost rhythm.
Arjun turned to his partner. "We bat time. Not runs."
Overs passed. Pressure shifted.
Fielders crept in. Bowlers tried too hard.
That's when Arjun changed gears.
A late cut here. A push past mid-off there. Nothing flashy. Just relentless accumulation.
From the boundary, Sid watched, uneasy.
Why does it feel like we're already winning? he wondered.
After Arjun got out for 41, the foundation was laid. Others cashed in. The total was modest—but defendable.
While fielding, Arjun moved players with gestures, not words. He stood in positions that forced batters to second-guess. He encouraged bowlers after bad balls, tightened them after good ones.
When the final wicket fell, the team erupted.
The captain lifted the trophy.
Parents cheered.
Rao watched Arjun standing slightly apart, clapping politely.
For the first time, Rao understood the shape of the future.
This boy would not just lead teams.
He would bend systems until they moved the way he wanted.
And somewhere deep inside, Rao felt fear—not for Arjun…
…but for everyone who would one day play against him.