Chapter 48: Assembly , Rivals and Team Seven

This was the ultimate proving ground. The place where dreams were either forged into reality or shattered into dust.

They had finally arrived at the Varun Jaitley Stadium.

Rohan and Kabir stood before the gates, their official invitation letters tightly gripped in their hands. The paper felt heavy, carrying the weight of their mentors’ hopes and their own relentless sweat.

They stepped up to the stern-looking security officials guarding the entrance. Rohan handed over his crisp letter, while Kabir presented his, slightly crumpled from his nervous grip. The guards meticulously checked the watermarks and names against their master list.

"Rohan Roy and Kabir Ali. Verified," the guard nodded, handing the letters back. "Head straight down the tunnel to the indoor assembly hall. Don’t loiter around."

As they stood there taking in the grandeur of the stadium, an impatient voice barked from the crowd behind them. "Hey, keep moving! Don’t block the gate, some of us actually have places to be!"

Rohan glanced back to see an older, well-built teenager glaring at them. Rather than picking a fight on day one, Rohan just grabbed Kabir’s shoulder and pulled him along. They walked through the long, echoing concrete tunnel, the sound of hundreds of spiked shoes clicking against the floor creating a symphony of nervous energy.

When they emerged into the massive indoor assembly hall, they were greeted by a sea of white. The players who had arrived earlier were already standing in perfectly disciplined, straight lines facing a large wooden stage. Without wasting a moment, Rohan and Kabir quickly joined the back of one of the lines, blending into the crowd of elite talent.

A heavy, commanding silence fell over the hall as a tall, imposing man stepped up to the microphone on the stage. He wore a dark blue Delhi State tracksuit, his hair graying at the temples, and his eyes scanning the crowd with the cold, calculating gaze of a hawk.

"Quiet," his voice boomed through the speakers, echoing off the high ceiling. It wasn’t a request; it was an absolute command.

"Welcome to the Delhi Under-19 State Selection Camp," the Head Coach began, his voice devoid of any warmth. "We have scoured every academy, every club, and every district to find the best talent this city has to offer. Out of thousands of hopefuls, we have selected exactly one hundred and forty-four of you to stand in this room today. But do not let that get to your heads. Being here means absolutely nothing yet."

He paced across the stage, letting his words sink in.

"We will divide all one hundred and forty-four of you into twelve distinct squads. Twelve teams. The format for this selection camp will be One-Day International rules—fifty overs an innings. Over the next few weeks, you will live together, eat together, and bleed together. During the entirety of this camp, it is strictly mandatory for every single player to reside in the stadium’s hostel. There will be no going home to your comfortable beds. Other crucial details, including the code of conduct and dietary rules, will be delivered to your rooms tonight."

Standing in the middle of the line, Kabir shifted his weight from one foot to the other, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Man," Kabir whispered, leaning slightly toward Rohan, "why is this guy yapping so much? ’Welcome to the camp, here are the rules’—we get it! Can we just go drop our bags now?"

Rohan subtly nudged Kabir in the ribs with his elbow, his own eyes sharply fixed on the man on stage. "Shut up, Kabir," Rohan whispered back, his tone dead serious. "Do you have any idea who that is? That is the Head Coach. He is the supreme authority here. He is the one who will look at our scorecards and select the final playing eleven for the Under-19 state squad. If he catches you slacking, your career is over before you even unstrap your pads."

Kabir instantly straightened his posture, wiping the bored expression off his face.

One Hour Later

Following the assembly, the players were dismissed to find their assigned quarters in the stadium’s massive residential block. The hallways were chaotic as boys dragged their heavy kit bags, trying to locate their rooms.

"What’s our room number?" Kabir asked, panting slightly under the weight of his father’s gifted kit bag.

"Room 36," Rohan replied, checking the small slip of paper he had received at the administration desk. "It says it’s a four-bed dormitory. Let’s hope we get the bottom bunks."

They navigated through the winding corridors of the third floor until they found a heavy wooden door with a brass plaque reading ’36’.

Rohan pushed the door open. The room was spacious but spartan, featuring two sets of sturdy iron bunk beds, four metal wardrobes, and a large window overlooking the practice nets outside.

One of the bottom beds was already claimed. A boy was lying back on the mattress, entirely in his own world. He had sleek, neatly styled hair and was wearing a pair of expensive, noise-canceling headphones over his ears. He was furiously typing away on a high-end smartphone, ignoring the world around him.

"Hey," Rohan said with a friendly smile, walking in and dropping his bags. "I’m Rohan. This is Kabir. Looks like we’re roommates."

The boy didn’t even flinch. He didn’t look up, didn’t nod, and didn’t acknowledge their existence in the slightest.

Kabir frowned, waving a hand in front of the boy’s face. "Hello? Anyone home?"

The boy, whose kit bag on the floor bore the nametag ’JOY’, finally looked up. He gave Kabir and Rohan a brief, incredibly dismissive once-over, rolled his eyes, turned to face the wall, and went right back to his phone.

"Wow. Okay then," Kabir muttered, rolling his eyes right back. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Sunshine."

Rohan just sighed, throwing his bag onto the opposite bottom bunk. "Just leave it, Kabir. Everyone here is stressed out."

A Few Minutes Later

The wooden door creaked open again. Rohan and Kabir turned to see their third roommate step into the room.

Rohan’s eyes widened in sheer surprise. Standing in the doorway, hauling a massive, brand-name kit bag, was Aryan .

Aryan froze as his eyes locked onto Rohan. The memory of his middle stump being violently uprooted by Rohan’s terrifying pace flashed vividly in his mind.

But instead of sneering or throwing a tantrum, Aryan simply looked down, his face a mask of complex emotions.

"Aryan," his father’s strict, booming voice echoed in his head, a memory from the night before. "Cricket is not a one-man show. I don’t care how rich we are or how much talent you have. If you want to win, you have to learn to take your team along with you. Swallow your toxic pride. And that boy... the fast bowler who beat you. Rohan. Make friends with him. A king needs powerful knights. Do not make an enemy out of a weapon."

Aryan swallowed hard. His immense pride was fighting a brutal war with his father’s logic. Unable to find the words right away, Aryan walked past them in complete silence, threw his bag onto one of the top bunks, and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

The atmosphere in Room 36 was thick with awkward, unresolved tension.

7:00 PM

The silence was finally broken when a loud knock echoed through the room. A camp official in a white polo shirt stepped inside, holding a thick clipboard.

"Listen up, Room 36," the official announced briskly. "I have your team assignments and your roles."

All four boys immediately sat up, giving the man their undivided attention. Even Joy pulled his headphones down around his neck.

"Rohan, Kabir, and Aryan," the official pointed his pen at the three of them. "You three have been assigned to Team Number 7."

He then turned to the boy with the headphones. "Joy. You have been placed in Team Number 2. You will be playing as their Opening Batsman."

Joy smirked, a confident, arrogant glint in his eyes as he looked at the other three. Team 2 was now officially the enemy.

"Now, for Team 7’s roles," the official continued, looking at his sheet. "Aryan. The coaching staff has designated you as the Captain and Opening Batsman for Team 7."

"Kabir. You will serve as the primary Wicketkeeper and Middle-order Batsman."

Kabir grinned, giving Rohan an excited thumbs-up.

"And Rohan," the official said, his eyes lingering on the fast bowler. "You are our primary strike Fast Bowler and a Middle-order Batsman."

The official pulled a printed sheet of paper from his clipboard and slapped it onto the back of the wooden door with a piece of tape. "The matches are 50 overs each. Every team will play exactly five matches in a round-robin league format. The top performers from these matches will make the final cut. Your schedule is on the door. Rest well."

With that, the official walked out, closing the door behind him.

Joy immediately put his headphones back on, entirely ignoring his roommates now that he knew they were his direct competition.

Rohan, however, jumped off his bed and practically sprinted to the door to check the schedule. His eyes rapidly scanned the printed grid until he found Team 7.

"Kabir..." Rohan muttered, his heart suddenly skipping a violent beat. "Our first match... it’s on the 16th of July."

Kabir walked up behind him, chewing a piece of gum. "Yeah? That’s two days from now. So what? We are ready, aren’t we?"

Rohan didn’t answer. A cold bead of sweat slowly rolled down his temple. His hands gripped the edge of the door frame.

Two days, Rohan’s mind screamed in absolute panic. My first match is in two days. But my System shutdown penalty lasts for three more days!

The terrifying reality crashed down upon him like a ton of bricks. He was going to have to walk onto the biggest stage of his life, against the most elite batsmen in the state, completely blind. There would be no AI to read the batsman’s weaknesses, no heads-up display to show him the perfect pitching zone, and no stamina regeneration to save him if he grew tired. It was just going to be him, a leather ball, and his own raw, unguided instincts.

As Rohan stood completely frozen in shock, he heard footsteps approaching behind him.

He turned around. Aryan was standing there, looking incredibly awkward but remarkably determined.

Aryan took a deep breath, forcing himself to look Rohan squarely in the eyes. He extended his right hand forward.

"Rohan," Aryan said, his voice steady despite the nervousness underneath. "We are on the same team now. I am the captain, and you are my strike bowler. We can’t do this if we are fighting each other. Let’s forget the old rivalry."

Aryan paused, swallowing his remaining pride. "Can we be friends now?"