The deafening cheers of Team 7 echoed through the narrow concrete tunnel as they made their way back to the dressing room. They had just secured a massive 53-run victory in their debut match, and the adrenaline was still pumping violently through their veins.
Aryan pushed open the heavy dressing room door, and the team immediately erupted into celebration. Players were throwing towels, high-fiving, and shouting in pure ecstasy.
Kabir threw his heavy wicketkeeping pads onto the floor and immediately tackled Rohan into a massive hug. "Did you see their faces, brother?! When you bowled that 139 km/h yorker, their captain looked like he had seen a ghost! Four wickets for twenty-four runs! You destroyed them!"
Rohan laughed, clapping Kabir on the back. "I couldn’t have done it if you guys hadn’t put 326 runs on the board first. The scoreboard pressure broke them before I even bowled a single ball."
Aryan walked over, unbuttoning his sweat-drenched jersey. The arrogant, elitist aura that used to follow the captain was completely gone, replaced by the calm, grounded demeanor of a true leader. He extended a hand to Rohan.
"Brilliant spell, Rohan," Aryan said, a genuine smile on his face. "You hit the exact lines we discussed. You didn’t just bowl fast; you bowled smart. That is what wins tournaments."
Rohan shook his hand firmly. "Thanks, Captain."
But as Rohan sat down on the wooden bench to unlace his bowling boots, the adrenaline finally began to fade. And the moment it did, reality crashed down on him with the weight of a freight train.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot up his right calf. His shoulder joint felt like it was on fire, and his lower back throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. He pulled off his thick woolen socks to reveal raw, red blisters forming on the heels of his feet.
Rohan grimaced, discreetly hiding his feet from the rest of the team.
So this is what it actually feels like, Rohan thought to himself, gritting his teeth as a wave of exhaustion washed over him.
For the past few months, the AI System had spoiled him. Every time he bowled a heavy spell, the System’s stamina regeneration and muscle-repair buffs would instantly flush the lactic acid from his body and heal his micro-tears. But now, with the System still locked in its penalty shutdown, Rohan was experiencing the true, unadulterated physical toll of bowling ten consecutive overs of pure express pace.
His body was screaming. He wasn’t a machine; he was just a fifteen-year-old boy pushing human limits.
Meanwhile, in the Coaches’ Pavilion
High above the celebrating players, the atmosphere in the coaches’ viewing room was deadly serious. The Head Coach sat at the head of a long glass table, surrounded by four assistant coaches. Spread out before them were the detailed scorecards and analytical data from the first two matches.
"Let’s talk about Team 7," the Head Coach commanded, his voice cold and analytical. "Aryan played a magnificent captain’s knock. 186 runs. Unsurprising, given his pedigree. And the wicketkeeper, Kabir, has incredible hand-eye coordination."
He paused, tapping a red pen against the statistical sheet in front of him. "But I want to discuss the fast bowler. Rohan Roy. He clocked a top speed of 139 km/h today and maintained a strict 4th stump line. Where did this boy come from?"
8:00 PM - Hostel Room 36
Rohan limped slightly as he pushed the door to Room 36 open. Kabir and Aryan walked in right behind him, carrying a couple of takeaway food boxes from the stadium cafeteria.
Lying on the bottom bunk, perfectly still, was Joy. He was wearing his signature noise-canceling headphones, reading a cricket magazine.
As the trio entered, Joy pulled one side of his headphones off. He looked at Aryan, then at Rohan, a condescending smirk playing on his lips.
"I saw the scoreboard," Joy drawled lazily. "Cute performance against Team 4. But don’t let a victory against absolute amateurs get to your heads. They practically handed you those runs."
Kabir immediately stepped forward, his face flushing red with anger. "Amateurs? They are state-level players, just like you! And we beat them by 53 runs. What’s your problem, Joy?"
Joy didn’t even look at Kabir. His eyes locked directly onto Rohan. "I’m just saying... 139 km/h on a flat track against terrified batsmen looks impressive. But when you bowl that pace to me... the ball is just going to travel to the boundary that much faster."
Rohan felt a spike of irritation, but Monu Bhaiya’s advice echoed in his mind: Do not engage. Let them bark. Answer with the ball.
Rohan calmly walked over to his bed and dropped his heavy bag. He looked back at Joy, his expression completely blank, devoid of any anger or intimidation.
"I guess we will find out when Team 7 plays Team 2," Rohan replied softly. "Just make sure you don’t get out before I come on to bowl, Joy. I’d hate to miss out on the fun."
Joy’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, arrogant glare. He pulled his headphones back over his ears and turned toward the wall.
The Next Morning - July 17th (Rest Day)
6:30 AM - The Stadium Recovery Center
Rohan woke up feeling like he had been repeatedly run over by a truck.
Every single muscle fiber in his lower body was tight and agonizingly sore. He slowly rolled out of bed, careful not to wake his roommates, and limped his way down to the stadium’s elite recovery center on the ground floor.
When he walked into the tiled room, he was surprised to see Aryan already there, wearing swimming trunks and standing next to a massive steel tub filled to the brim with water and chunks of floating ice.
"Morning, Pace Demon," Aryan greeted, noticing Rohan’s stiff, awkward walk. "Feeling the aftershocks?"
"You have no idea," Rohan groaned, leaning against the tiled wall. "My back feels like it’s going to snap in half. How are you not sore? You batted for nearly forty overs yesterday!"
Aryan chuckled, tossing a towel onto a nearby bench. "I am sore. But at my academy, they drilled professional recovery into us from day one. If you want to survive a month-long tournament, you can’t just rest in bed. You have to force your muscles to recover."
Aryan gestured toward the terrifyingly cold tub. "Get in."
Rohan stared at the floating ice cubes, his eyes widening. "Are you out of your mind? It’s freezing!"
"It’s an ice bath," Aryan explained patiently, stepping into his own tub with a sharp hiss as the freezing water hit his skin. "It constricts the blood vessels and violently flushes the lactic acid out of your legs. It reduces inflammation instantly. If you don’t do this, your pace will drop by at least 10 km/h in our next match because your muscles will still be inflamed."
Rohan swallowed hard. He didn’t have his AI System to magically heal him. If he wanted to keep his pace, he had to do things the hard, painful, human way.
Taking a deep breath, Rohan stripped down to his shorts and stepped into the tub.
The moment the freezing water hit his blistered feet and sore calves, he let out a loud, strangled gasp. It felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing his skin all at once. He forced himself to sit down, submerging his body up to his waist, shivering violently.
"Deep breaths, Rohan!" Aryan coached from the next tub, his own teeth chattering slightly. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. The pain goes away after the first minute!"
Rohan clenched his fists, focusing on his breathing just as Aryan instructed. Slowly, the burning agony of the cold faded into a strange, numbing relief. He could literally feel the tight knots in his calves loosening.
As they sat in the freezing water, surrounded by the quiet hum of the recovery room, Rohan looked at his captain. He was learning. He was absorbing knowledge from elite players. Even without the AI interface telling him what to do, he was evolving into a true professional athlete.
"Hey, Aryan," Rohan asked, his breath misting slightly in the cold air above the tub. "Who is our next match against?"
Aryan wiped a splash of cold water from his face, his expression turning serious.
"Team 9," Aryan replied grimly. "We play them tomorrow. And Rohan... the Head Coach has decided to host the match on Pitch Number 4. It’s a completely dry, dusty track. A spinner’s paradise."
Rohan frowned, the implications instantly hitting his tactical mind. "No bounce. No pace."
"Exactly," Aryan nodded. "Your pace won’t be nearly as effective on that dirt track. We are going to have to rely heavily on our spinners, and you are going to have to bowl with absolute, pinpoint control, or they will easily deflect your pace for runs."
Rohan leaned his head back against the edge of the steel tub, closing his eyes. The challenges in the State Crucible were coming thick and fast, and the next match will test Rohan on a dusty, spin-friendly pitch .
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