The bowler thundered toward the crease, ball in hand, eyes trained on Prince. Everything around him seemed to mute, the shouts, the chatter, even the distant traffic outside the stadium walls. Prince's grip on the bat tightened as his heart pounded.
The ball came in short and fast. Prince, still adjusting to the pace of the academy nets and the weight of expectation, reacted on instinct. His bat moved forward slightly late, not a full swing — more like a nudge. The ball made contact with the sweet spot and rolled along the pitch before softly bumping against the back net.
"Good eyes," the coach murmured, noting his timing.
Prince exhaled shakily. He tapped the bat a few more times, trying to feel the rhythm. The sound of leather striking willow echoed softly. He tapped again. Then again. His eyes scanned the field, the pitch, the bowler. His nerves made his movements stiff, but years of training — and his reincarnated resolve — kept him composed.
"Set yourself," the coach said calmly. "Next over."
The new bowler was taller, wirier, and faster. As he charged in, the world slowed for a heartbeat.
Body Control: Activated. Muscular Output Amplification: Engaged.
Prince felt it surge through him — not a jolt, but a natural, controlled force. It was as if he could feel every sinew of his arm, every tendon, every muscle fiber tightening with potential. He adjusted his stance, widening it slightly, grounding his feet.
The ball came fast and low. Prince swung.
The crack of the bat meeting the ball was crisp unmistakable. It soared straight up, powerful and clean, and smashed into the top netting. A perfect straight drive. If there had been a boundary, it would've cleared it.
A few kids paused to glance over.
Prince didn't celebrate. He tapped the bat again. Focused.
The next ball was a bit wider — he stepped forward, drove through the line. Four-like. Smooth and confident.
Then came a slower delivery — he crouched and swept it deep, letting it fly left. Again, four-like.
Another ball, short this time. Prince took a calculated step, used the amplified energy in his shoulder, and swung a one-handed shot, letting go of the bat with one arm mid-swing.
The ball lifted again. Six.
"Oi!" the coach called, grinning. "Save some of that for the Ranji Trophy."
Prince looked up, sheepish.
Mr. Gautam Shivas, head coach of Century Cricket Academy, pulled off his sunglasses and watched carefully. He scribbled something on his clipboard.
"Alright, alright. That'll do. Come here."
Prince walked over, wiping sweat from his brow.
"What are you, kid? A wannabe Tendulkar?"
"I... I guess not, I'm an all-rounder, sir. I like to bat hard. But I bowl spin too."
Gautam raised an eyebrow. "Spin, is it?"
"Yes sir."
"Hmm. Let's test that then."
He gestured toward a net with a few older boys already padded up.
"Get the ball. Bowl two overs. Let's see what kind of tricks you have."
Prince didn't hesitate. He jogged over, grabbed a newish red ball, and took his mark. The older batsman looked a bit cocky — a tall boy with square shoulders and a confident grin.
First ball — Prince bowled a standard off-spinner, a bit short. The batsman stepped back and smacked it straight.
Second ball — a little faster. The batsman flicked it easily.
Third — Prince went for a top spinner, but the release was too early. The batsman read it and drove it clean.
Fourth — a flighted delivery. Too much air. Another tap into the nets.
Fifth — quicker, slightly angled. It was blocked defensively.
Sixth — a googly, but Prince fumbled the grip. It spun the wrong way and the batsman sent it into the nets for six.
Gautam made no comment, but his pen was scribbling. The other boys smirked. Prince took a deep breath. This was it.
Analysis: Wrist Flick Timing Adjusted. Spin Ratio Stabilized. Muscle Guidance Calibrated.
Second over.
First ball — a googly with tight wrist flick. The ball spun away late, catching the batsman off guard. Edge — clean catch behind. Wicket.
Second ball — an off-spinner disguised as a top spin. It dipped sharply. The new batsman stepped forward, misjudged, and the ball rattled the stumps. Wicket.
Third — he tossed it high. The batsman tried to swing but it spun away sharply. Dot ball.
Fourth — a classic wrist spin, tight line. Defended. Dot.
Fifth — faster. A flatter, darting top spin. Hit the pads. Appeal!
"Not out," the coach said, though he smiled.
Last ball — a loopy leg break. It spun wide. The batsman stepped forward to drive — missed. Clean bowled.
Three wickets in one over.
The others clapped. A few even came over to high five him.
Gautam walked over, still chewing on his pen.
"Alright, Prince Martin. You're in. Let's see if you last the year without turning into a show pony."
Prince grinned. "I'll try, sir."
"Good. Bring your kit next Monday. Welcome to Century."
Later that afternoon, Prince and Bibin visited Kochi's most famous cricket gear shop. The place smelled of leather, sweat, and sawdust — like dreams forged in sweat.
They tried out bats, gloves, pads, jerseys, shoes, helmets. Prince was patient, checking the balance, swing, and grip of every bat. Eventually, he chose a Kashmir willow blade with a slight curve and thick edges.
Bibin let him go a little wild.
He even bought a custom jersey with his name on it.
"You earned it," Bibin said, seeing his son's eyes light up.
They returned home, arms full of bags. Maria opened the door.
"Daivame, did you buy the whole shop?"
"Pretty much," Prince said, grinning.
Bibin walked in with a bag of pads. "He made the team."
Maria dropped the dish towel. "He what?!"
Prince stood straighter. "I got selected. Coach was impressed. Said I'm in."
Maria's eyes welled up. "Oh mon... I'm so proud of you."
That night, dinner was celebratory. Bibin cracked open a bottle of grape juice. Maria made Prince's favorite — chicken curry with coconut milk and jeera rice.
The three of them laughed and shared stories.
Later, in his room, Prince sat on the edge of his bed, holding the new bat.
He thought of Benny. Of the old life. The mistakes. The loneliness.
Not this time.
He placed the bat gently down, crawled under the sheets, and closed his eyes.
System Message: Good job today, Host. Rest is also training.
Prince smiled.
He slept with a content heart.