When Coach Abhimanyu and the umpires finally managed to corral the WDCA kids into some semblance of a line, the VIPs were already on the grass. They moved with the easy, slow confidence of men who owned the stadium, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.
Abhay stood at the end of the line, his chest still heaving slightly. He watched his Dadu, Vijay Khanna, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Arun Jaitley. A flicker of genuine confusion crossed his mind. In his previous life, he couldn't remember a single instance where his grandfather had shown this kind of familiarity with the DDCA President.
'Did I miss this the first time around?' he wondered. 'Or has my butterfly effect started this early?'
Whatever the reason, he wasn't about to go over and join them. He stayed rooted to his spot, eyes fixed on his dusty shoes.
Right now, he was just a player, a hopeful kid fighting for a spot in the Delhi State cap. If the word got out that he was "connected" to the President, it would be an instant, massive headache. Even with his talent to back him up, the gossip, the whispers in the dressing room, and the jealous stares from other parents were things he had no energy for.
Honestly, he would much rather be back home in bed, sleeping off the exhaustion of the finals, than dealing with the "politics of perception." He kept his head down, hoping his Dadu wouldn't call him over.
The two teams, WDCA and Sonnet, lined up for the ceremony. Arun Jaitley was stepped up to the microphone first, but he paused, looking at the tired, expectant faces of the boys. With a knowing smile, he stepped back and nudged the man beside him. Jaitley knew that to these kids, he was just an old man in a waistcoat; they wanted to hear from a superstar.
Virender Sehwag stepped forward. The "Nawab of Najafgarh" didn't need a script. He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at them with that casual, fearless gaze that had terrified the world's best fast bowlers.
"Well played, kids," Sehwag began, his voice easy and conversational. "As you know, cricket has a simple rule. One team wins, one team loses. You lost today."
He turned toward the Sonnet players, who looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole. "However, don't let it get to your heart. Take this loss as a lesson. Strive to better yourselves, and do your best next time. A loss is just a chance to see what's broken so you can fix it."
Then, he turned his attention to the WDCA boys. His eyes lingered on Abhay for a fraction of a second longer than the others. "And you guys... the champions. Congratulations. You did good work today. Celebrate well, enjoy the trophy. But remember," his voice grew a bit sharper, a bit more serious, "this is just the first step. If you want to wear that Blue Jersey one day, you can't afford to let one local win get to your head."
He took a step closer to the line, the sun glinting off his shades. "You won today, but if you get lax in training tomorrow, that win can be taken away just as easily. Keep practicing. Strive to play not just for Delhi, but for the entire country. Clear?"
The response was instantaneous. A chorus of young, high-pitched voices erupted across the Kotla.
"YES SIR!"
With the speeches finished, the presentation moved to the individual awards. Abhay stayed tucked in the line, trying to keep his posture upright despite the fatigue settling into his hamstrings.
"The Man of the Match, for a match-winning century that took the game away from the opposition... Abhay Khanna!"
The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium speakers. Abhay stepped forward, his spikes clicking on the pavement as he approached the podium. Arun Jaitley was waiting for him. As Abhay reached out, Jaitley didn't just hand over the trophy; he beamed at him with the pride of a grandfather watching his own kin.
"Well played, champ," Jaitley said softly, his hand resting briefly on Abhay's shoulder. "Keep playing like this and make Delhi proud."
Abhay didn't let his excitement show. He just gave his usual, disarming smile, the one that made him look like he was just waking up from a nap, and gave a respectful nod. "Thank you, sir."
He walked back to his teammates, the cold weight of the trophy in his hands, but he barely had time to set it down before his name was called again.
"And finally, the Player of the Tournament. With an incredible record of over 800 runs and 40 wickets across the season... once again, Abhay Khanna!"
This time, the crowd's applause was louder, and even the Sonnet kids looked on with a kind of resigned respect. You couldn't argue with numbers like those. Sehwag stood at the center this time, holding a larger, gleaming trophy and an oversized cardboard check.
As Abhay stepped up, Sehwag's grin widened. He looked Abhay up and down, likely noting the kid's calm temperament. "Great tournament for you, young man," Sehwag said as he handed over the silverware. "800 plus runs and 40 wickets... I doubt any kid could do what you did at your age. Keep playing like this. India is going to need a talented all-rounder in the future."
"Thank you, sir," Abhay replied, accepting the trophy and the five-thousand-rupee check. In 2011, five thousand was a small fortune for an eleven-year-old, but to Abhay, the words from the man who had torn apart the world's fastest bowling attacks meant significantly more.
After the individual stars were honored, the rest of the boys were called up. There was a flurry of activity as medals and certificates were handed out, gold for the WDCA champions and silver for the Sonnet runners-up. The air was filled with the metallic clink of medals hitting one another and the rustle of paper.
Finally, it was time for the big one. Ashnir, the WDCA captain, was called up to the stage. Both Jaitley and Sehwag gripped the handles of championship trophy, handing it over to Ashnir, who looked like he might burst from pure joy. He hoisted it high for the cameras, then sprinted back to the group.
Abhay joined the huddle as they all grabbed a piece of the trophy, lifting it together toward the Delhi sky. The cameras flashed, capturing the sweat-streaked faces of the champions.
Coach Abhimanyu followed close behind, collecting a twenty-thousand-rupee cash reward on behalf of the team, funds that would eventually be split among them for kit upgrades and celebrations.
As the ceremony wound down and the formal 'official' air evaporated, the huddle broke. The kids began to scatter, searching through the thinning crowd for their parents and families.
Abhay looked toward the boundary rope, spotted his Dadu and his family waiting, and started the long walk back, both trophies tucked under his arms. The tournament was over, but the look on Sehwag's face told Abhay that his real work had only just begun.
~
The moment Abhay reached the boundary rope, he was immediately hoisted into the air by his father, Sanjay, whose grin was so wide it seemed to take up his whole face. It wasn't just his father, either; his brother Rohit, his sister Ananya, and even Aryan and his Bua were there, their faces glowing with a mix of pride and relief.
They swarmed him with hugs, the smell of sun-warmed cotton and familiar perfume replacing the scent of sweat and leather. They gently took the trophies and the oversized check from his hands, treating the silver as if it were made of glass.
Looking at them, a deep, quiet smile formed on Abhay's face. A flash of a memory from his previous life flickered in his mind, the day the doctors had told him his career was over. He remembered the hollowed-out sorrow on his mother's face and the way his father had aged ten years in a single afternoon. They had carried his grief right alongside him.
'Not this time,' Abhay vowed silently, feeling the strength in his father's arms as he was set back down. 'This time, I'll make sure these smiles never fade.'
The rest of the day was a blur of pure Delhi celebration. They headed to India Gate for a massive family picnic, the green lawns crowded with tourists and ice-cream vendors. For the first time in this life, Abhay allowed himself to break his iron-clad discipline.
Since he was five, he had lived on a strict athlete's diet, but today, the family insisted.
He tasted street-side gol-gappas and spicy chaat, the explosion of flavors a welcome change from the boiled eggs and protein-heavy meals he usually ate. He knew his dietitian would have a heart attack if he saw him now, but as he watched his siblings laugh while wiping chutney off their chins, he decided it was worth the extra hour of cardio he'd have to do tomorrow.
By the time the Khannas returned home, the Delhi moon was high, and the house was quiet. Everyone was bone-tired from the adrenaline and the sun. Abhay trudged to his room, set his kit bag in its usual corner, and placed his two new trophies on the shelf. He didn't linger on them. Silverware was history the moment it was won.
He collapsed onto his bed, the cool sheets feeling like heaven against his aching muscles. Finally, with a flick of his mind, he summoned the blue glow of the System.
[ATTRIBUTES]
Batting: 29% (+3) (limited due to age)
Bowling: 29% (+3) (limited due to age)
Fielding: 33% (+3) (limited due to age)
Captaincy: 19%
[TALENTS: Calm Mind, Smiling Tiger, Cricket Prodigy, Business Master, Sleep Lover, Sweet Tooth.]
[SKILLS: Adaptive Healing, Instinct Calibration, Situational Absorption, Sustained Match Presence, Increased Base Power.]
Abhay stared at the numbers. A 3% jump across his main attributes was massive. At 29%, his batting and bowling were now at the absolute ceiling for an Under-14 player. He was technically as good as the body of an eleven-year-old would allow him to be. His fielding, however, had broken through. At 33%, he wasn't just good for his age; he was now operating with the reflexes and anticipation of a State U-16 regular.
He felt a slight pang of frustration, the "limit" tags were a reminder that no matter how much his soul knew about cricket, he was still trapped in a developing body. He couldn't bowl 140km/h yet, and he couldn't clear the ropes at the MCG with a flick of the wrist.
'Nobody can overcome the physical barrier,' he thought, shaking his head with a tired chuckle. 'All I can do is wait for the bones to grow and keep the grind going.'
He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he moved his finger to the flickering icon at the bottom of the screen. It was time for the final piece of the day.
[REWARD UNLOCKED: TOURNAMENT CHAMPION] Would you like to spin the reward wheel?
Abhay gave a mental nod of confirmation, and the interface flickered before blooming into a new notification.
[CONGRATULATIONS HOST FOR WINNING YOUR FIRST DDCA UNDER-14 LEAGUE. REWARD: LOAD ADAPTATION]
He stayed still for a moment, reading through the detailed description that followed.
[Load Adaptation: The host's body adapts more efficiently to repeated workloads, matches, training blocks, travel, and congested schedules.
Effects:
Faster adaptation to increased match frequency.
Reduced performance drop in back-to-back games.
Lower cumulative fatigue across tournaments.
Minor injury risk reduction (complements Adaptive Healing)]
His usual calm smile widened just a fraction more. This was exactly what he needed. In his previous life, he had seen how the grueling Indian domestic circuit chewed up and spat out talented players. Between the dusty heat of North Zone matches, the endless travel on bumpy buses or trains, and the pressure of playing back-to-back games on deteriorating pitches, your biggest enemy wasn't the bowler, it was your own exhaustion.
This skill was a tactical masterpiece. It meant that while other kids in the upcoming Delhi camp would be flagging by the third day of a trial, his body would be treating it like a warm-up.
He thought about the long Ranji Trophy seasons and the frantic pace of the IPL that lay in his future. With Load Adaptation, he wouldn't just survive those schedules; he would thrive in them.
But it was that final line that really caught his eye: the minor injury risk reduction.
In the world of fast bowling and diving around the boundary rope, injury was an inevitability. Even a "minor" reduction was a massive boon when it came to his long-term career. Combined with his Adaptive Healing, he was slowly building a body that was as durable as it was skilled.
Satisfied with the day's growth and the new tools at his disposal, Abhay closed the system window. The blue light faded, leaving the room in the soft, natural shadows of the Delhi night.
He didn't overthink the future or dwell on the stats any longer. True to his nature as a sleep lover, he adjusted his pillow, pulled up the sheet, and let the heavy, rewarding darkness of sleep take him over.
~~~~~
{I'm keeping the skills pretty slow, even this one, it would just allow him to adapt faster than others, not instantly, the more he faces something, the faster he'd adapt basically.}
{Anyway, the next on the list is north zone matches, some known names would also come up during the north zone matches.}