Chapter 30: The Semi-final Day Match [3]
The crack of Vikram's bat echoed across the silent stadium. Four runs.
Rohan Sharma stood up, his face ashen. He wasn't just beaten. He had been humiliated. He had been out-thought. Twice.
On the sideline, Raghav let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at Coach Sarma.
Sarma's face was terrifying. It was the first time Raghav had ever seen him smile.
"Now," Sarma said, his voice a low growl. "The game begins."
Rohan Sharma walked, very slowly, to his bowler. He didn't yell. He didn't gesture. He just placed a hand on Ashu's shoulder and said something.
Raghav, his Intelligence Boost still active, watched the bowler's body language. Ashu's shoulders tensed. He nodded, his face darkening with anger.
He wasn't being told to be smarter. He was being unleashed.
"This is it," Raghav said, gripping his cast. "Ego."
"Good," Sarma grunted. "Let's see what he's got."
Rohan jogged back to his position. He didn't put the Leg Slip back in.
That would be admitting his bluff had failed. He was done with finesse. He clapped his gloves, a sharp, aggressive crack.
"Let's go, Ashu! No more games!"
Ashu, the fast bowler, looked less like a technician and more like a bull. He stomped back to his mark, turned, and began his run-up. He was thundering in, his arms pumping, his face a mask of fury.
He wasn't aiming for the Good Length area. He dug the ball in Short, halfway down the pitch.
It was a Bouncer.
Aimed not just at Vikram, but at his helmet.
Vikram, his blood still surging from the boundary, was caught off guard.
His feet were planted for another Flick Shot. He saw the ball late.
He didn't have time to duck properly. He just fell backward, a clumsy, panicked evasion.
The ball rocketed past his grille, so close he felt the wind of it.
THWACK.
The sound of the ball hitting Rohan's gloves, right next to Vikram's ear, was louder than the boundary. It was a threat, made physical.
Vikram was on the ground, his bat splayed out.
"Get up," Sarma said under his breath. "Get up, my boy."
From the Slips, a voice chirped,
"Heard your arm was hurting, Vikram! Want to match your new friend?"
Vikram scrambled to his feet, his face pale. The confidence from the shot was gone, replaced by the cold, immediate fear of physical harm.
Ashu was already walking back. He didn't even look at his captain. He was in his own world of rage.
He ran in again.
Another Short ball
.
This one wasn't as fast, but it was just as hostile, aimed at the ribs.
Vikram, expecting it, managed to get his bat and gloves up, playing a clumsy, defensive Block that sent the ball looping harmlessly into the Off-Side.
He had survived.
Ashu ran in a third time. Vikram was expecting another Bouncer, his weight rocked back.
But Ashu was smart. He was angry, but he wasn't stupid.
He bowled a Yorker.
A 60km/h, full-speed Yorker, disguised perfectly, aimed right at the base of the Middle Stump.
Vikram, his weight on his back foot, saw it too late. He just jammed his bat down, an act of pure, desperate reflex.
CLACK.
The bat, his shoulder, and his wrists all rattled from the vibration. The ball was stopped. Dead. It rolled, pathetically, an inch from his feet.
The over ended.
Score 8/1.
Vikram had survived the assault. He walked, his legs shaking, to the non-striker's end to meet Gourav.
"He's lost his mind," Gourav whispered, his eyes wide.
Vikram just nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. He leaned on his bat, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"Good," Vikram said, and the single word was full of a new, hard-earned defiance. "He's angry. We're winning."
That single over had cost Spring Dale all of their mental momentum. They had tried to break Vikram.
He had bent, but he hadn't broken.
Now, the left-arm spinner came on.
Rohan Sharma, seeing his fast bowler was too emotional, was trying to calm the game down.
But the "ugly" plan was back on.
The spinner's first ball was on a Good Length, on Middle Stump.
Gourav, who had watched Vikram's trial by fire, was no longer scared. He was focused.
He waited.
Click.
He rolled his wrists. A soft Leg Glance.
There was no Leg Slip. The ball trickled into the vacant Fine Leg area. They ran a single.
Score:9/1.
Vikram was on strike.
The spinner bowled again, aiming for the Off-Stump.
Vikram just padded it away.
The third ball, the spinner over-corrected. He aimed for the legs, trying to get the LBW.
Click.
Vikram's turn. Another soft, effortless Leg Glance. Another single.
Score: 10/1.
On the sideline, Raghav watched Rohan Sharma. The champion captain was at a loss.
His fast bowler was too angry to be effective.
His spinner was being "tapped" to death, one run at a time.
The python was being suffocated by its own prey.
Rohan was forced to change his field. He had to move a man from the Off-Side and place him at Deep Square Leg to stop the singles.
The moment he did it, Raghav grabbed Sarma's arm.
"He did it, Coach. He blinked."
Sarma nodded, a grim satisfaction on his face.
By moving that fielder, Rohan had just weakened his primary, Off-Side attacking field.
He had compromised his entire strategy... to stop a shot that shouldn't even be a threat.
The psychological war was over. Shanti Vidya Mandir School had won.
Now, all they had to do was win the actual game.
The "taps" continued. 11/1. 12/1. 14/1.
The scoreboard, which had been frozen for four overs, was now ticking over like a taxi meter. It was ugly. It was boring. It was infuriating for the Spring Dale team.
And it was the most beautiful thing Raghav Roi had ever seen.
(To be Continued)