Sunday morning at Iron Core Fitness smelled of chalk dust, rusted iron, and stale sweat. It was 6:00 AM, and the basement gym was nearly empty, save for the rhythmic clanking of weights from a far corner.
Rohan walked down the concrete steps, dropping his kit bag near the entrance. His body was stiff, a natural byproduct of yesterday’s explosive 6.3 overs, but it wasn’t the agonizing, micro-tearing pain he had experienced after his first street tournament. His upgraded 31 Physique was handling the recovery like a machine.
"I heard you made some rich kids cry yesterday."
Rohan turned. Vikram, the hulking gym owner, was wiping down a bench press station, a massive grin splitting his bearded face.
"News travels fast," Rohan smiled slightly.
"When Monu calls me at midnight screaming that his protégé just bundled Oakridge International for 96 runs, yeah, it travels fast," Vikram laughed, tossing his towel aside. "129 kilometers per hour, kid? You’ve been hiding a serious engine under that school uniform. But don’t let it get to your head. Pure pace is a drug. It gets you high, but eventually, someone is going to use that pace against you. Warm up. We are doing heavy deadlifts today. Posterior chain is everything for a fast bowler."
As Vikram walked into the small office to fetch his training log, Rohan retreated to a quiet corner and sat on a foam mat. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing down.
It was time to reap the rewards of the giant-slayer.
"System," Rohan commanded mentally. "Open Inventory. Extract the Medium Attribute Potion."
A small, heavy glass vial filled with a swirling, deep crimson liquid materialized in his palm. It looked like liquid fire. Rohan didn’t hesitate; he popped the cork and downed it in one gulp.
It tasted like raw cinnamon and iron. Instantly, a surge of heat radiated from his stomach, spreading aggressively through his bloodstream. His muscles contracted involuntarily, twitching as the high-grade nutrients forced a rapid cellular densification. He gripped the edges of the foam mat, gritting his teeth until the burning sensation faded into a deep, powerful hum of energy.
[Consumable Digested: Medium Attribute Potion.]
[+5 Physique, +5 Stamina Applied.]
[Physical Attributes]
• Physique: 36/100 (Tier: Amateur Athlete - Upper Echelon)
• Stamina: 36/100 (Tier: Enduring)
Rohan stood up and rolled his shoulders. The lingering stiffness from yesterday’s match was completely eradicated. He felt impossibly light, yet dangerously solid, like a compressed spring.
"Now," Rohan thought, sitting back down. "Show me the Advanced Skill Tree."
A massive, sprawling holographic tree projected into his mind’s eye. Unlike the basic stats, this tree was divided into distinct, glowing branches.
[Advanced Bowling Skill Tree]
• Branch 1: The Express Route (Focus: Raw Pace, Intimidation, Bouncers)
• Branch 2: The Surgeon (Focus: Swing, Seam Control, Deception)
• Branch 3: The Marathon (Focus: Endless Endurance, Consistency, Injury Immunity)
Currently, only the very first node of each branch was illuminated, waiting to be unlocked.
Rohan examined them carefully. He loved bowling fast, but Vikram’s words echoed in his head: Eventually, someone is going to use that pace against you. Pure speed on a flat pitch was just fodder for a good batsman. He needed movement. He needed to be lethal, not just fast.
"System. I have the Intermediate Seam Control Blueprint. How does it interact with the Skill Tree?"
[Analyzing...]
[The Blueprint provides the biomechanical knowledge required for advanced seam movement. However, physical execution requires high wrist flexibility and finger strength. Recommendation: Unlock Node 1 of ’The Surgeon’ branch.]
Rohan looked at the node.
[Node 1: Steel Cords & Silk Wrists]
Description: Drastically increases the flexibility of the wrist joint and the grip strength of the index and middle fingers, allowing for violent seam rotation at high speeds.
Cost: 30 SP.
He had 58 SP in the bank.
"Unlock it," Rohan commanded.
[Ding! 30 SP deducted. Remaining SP: 28.]
[Node Unlocked: Steel Cords & Silk Wrists. Applying physiological changes...]
A sharp, electric shock localized entirely in Rohan’s right forearm and hand. His fingers curled inward involuntarily. He could literally feel the tendons in his wrist stretching and strengthening, the micro-fibers knitting together into something infinitely more resilient. When the sensation passed, he slowly rotated his right wrist. It moved with a fluid, unnatural grace, capable of snapping forward with terrifying torque.
[Activating: Intermediate Seam Control Blueprint. Transferring Host to Mindscape.]
The dingy gym dissolved, replaced by the pristine green expanse of the Mindscape Stadium.
The golden, faceless avatar stood on the pitch, holding the red leather ball. But this time, it didn’t just bowl. The simulation zoomed in on the avatar’s right hand in extreme slow motion.
Rohan watched intently. To bowl an outswinger, the avatar didn’t just angle the seam toward the slips; it applied microscopic, unequal pressure. As the arm whipped over, the index finger pushed down slightly harder than the middle finger, generating a violent backspin perfectly aligned with the angled seam.
[Observe and Internalize. Pace without movement is a blunt axe. Seam control makes it a scalpel.]
For the next hour, while his physical body sat meditating in the gym, Rohan’s mind threw hundreds of deliveries in the simulation. He practiced the wrist snap, feeling the newfound flexibility of Steel Cords & Silk Wrists allowing him to impart massive revs on the ball without compromising his 129 km/h speed.
He was pulled out of the Mindscape by the harsh buzzing of his phone.
The gym returned to his vision. He picked up his cracked smartphone. It was an urgent message in the St. Peter’s Cricket WhatsApp group from Coach Sharma.
Coach Sharma: "Morning, team. The draw for the Semi-Finals is out. We play this Wednesday. Rest your bodies, because this won’t be like Oakridge. We are facing St. Jude’s Academy."
Rohan saw Kabir typing furiously in the chat.
Kabir: "Sir, St. Jude’s? Their captain is Zoravar Singh, isn’t it?"
Coach Sharma: "Yes. Zoravar Singh. Practice is mandatory tomorrow at 3 PM. Rohan, Aryan, I want both of you in my office before practice."
Rohan frowned. He opened a browser tab and typed in ’Zoravar Singh Delhi Under-16’.
A video instantly popped up from a local sports channel. It was footage of a heavily built, muscular boy with a thick beard that made him look twenty rather than sixteen. He was batting in a state trial match.
The bowler in the video was quick—easily bowling in the mid-120s. He pitched it short, a standard aggressive bouncer.
Zoravar didn’t duck. He didn’t flinch. He planted his back foot, swiveled his massive hips, and unleashed a pull shot with such brute, unadulterated violence that the bat looked like a toothpick in his hands. The ball rocketed into the concrete stands for a massive six.
The commentator’s voice blared through Rohan’s phone speaker: "And Zoravar Singh dispatches another one! You cannot bowl fast to this kid, ladies and gentlemen! He eats pace for breakfast! The faster it comes, the further it goes!"
Rohan paused the video, staring at Zoravar’s frozen, aggressive follow-through on the screen.
Vikram walked out of his office, carrying a heavy weightlifting belt. He glanced at Rohan’s phone screen.
"Zoravar Singh, eh?" Vikram whistled low. "He trains at the academy across town. The kid is a freak of nature. He uses a 1.3-kilogram bat and camps on the back foot. If you bowl 130 clicks on a good length or short, he won’t even need to move his feet. He will use your own pace to send the ball into orbit."
Vikram looked at Rohan, his expression serious. "Your speed won’t save you against a pace-hitter, Rohan. In fact, it will be your biggest liability."
Rohan slowly locked his phone and put it in his bag. He stood up, looking at his right hand. He flexed his wrist, watching the newly strengthened tendons ripple beneath his skin.
A cold, calculated smile touched his lips.
"I know, Vikram," Rohan said quietly, grabbing a heavy barbell from the rack. "That’s why I’m going to teach him how to dance."
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