The morning of June 7 dawned grey and humid. Bangalore's pre-monsoon clouds hung low over Malleshwaram, threatening rain but delivering only thick, heavy air that clung to Rudra's skin like a second layer.
He had completed his 1km run in 6 minutes and 42 seconds—slow by any competitive standard, but complete. Stamina Lv 02 now sat at 42/200 EXP, the extra distance pushing the bar steadily upward. His shin had healed. His shoulder was sore but functional.
[Day 7 — Morning Run Complete]
[Distance: 1.02 km]
[Stamina Lv 02 → 42/200 EXP]
But today wasn't about running. Today was about something Rudra had been dreading since he woke up in this second life.
Facing a real bowler.
The machine was predictable. The machine didn't vary its pace, didn't change its line, didn't watch you with hungry eyes and decide to bounce you. The machine was a tool.
A real bowler was a weapon.
Guru Rao was waiting at the nets when Rudra arrived at 5:45 AM. The coach wasn't alone. Standing next to him was a boy—maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with the thick forearms of a fast bowler. He wore a faded Karnataka Cricket Association t-shirt and carried a worn red ball in his right hand.
"Sharma," Guru said, "this is Sanjay. He's a trainee at the KSCA Academy. He bowls medium-fast. Very medium-fast."
Sanjay looked at Rudra with the casual disinterest of a senior player assessing a junior. "He's tiny."
"He's twelve," Guru said. "And he wants to try out for his school team on Saturday. So stop staring and start bowling."
Rudra walked to the batting crease, Kashmir willow in hand. His heart was pounding—not from fear, but from recognition. He remembered this feeling. The first time facing a real bowler in his previous life. The way the ball had seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The way his body had frozen.
That was twenty-five years ago, he thought. This is different. I'm different.
[System Note: First live bowler detected. Mental status: Apprehensive. Emotional Control Lv 01 will be tested.]
Thanks for the warning, Rudra thought dryly.
Sanjay marked his run-up—eight paces, measured and deliberate. He turned and faced Rudra, the red ball held loosely at his side.
"Ready, kid?"
"Ready."
Sanjay ran in.
The first ball was a loosener—deliberately slower, maybe 85 km/h. But to Rudra's Lv 01 Reflexes, it still looked like a missile. His eyes tracked the release, his feet moved, his bat swung—
Thunk.
An inside edge. The ball dribbled toward square leg.
[Live Bowling Session — Ball 1 of 50]
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 103.6/200 EXP]
[System Note: Contact made, but technique compromised. Weight transfer incomplete.]
"Not bad," Sanjay said, retrieving the ball. "But you're playing with your hands. Move your feet."
Rudra said nothing. He reset his stance.
Second ball.
Faster. 90 km/h. A good length delivery outside off stump. Rudra's feet moved—late, but they moved. He pushed his bat forward.
Miss.
The ball whistled past his outside edge and thudded into the keeper's gloves.
"Eyes," Guru called from behind the nets. "Watch the ball. Not the bowler. Not the bat. The ball."
Third ball.
Short. Too short. Rudra watched the trajectory, recognized the bounce, and ducked. The ball sailed over his head.
Good decision, he thought. Survive first. Score later.
[Decision Speed Lv 01 → 1/100 EXP]
[System Note: Correct decision under pressure. EXP awarded.]
Fourth ball.
Full. On middle stump. Rudra's front foot moved forward, his bat came down straight, his head stayed still.
Crack.
The sweet spot. The ball rocketed back past the bowler, bouncing once before hitting the net.
Sanjay's eyebrow rose. "Lucky shot."
Rudra met his gaze. "Practice."
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 103.8/200 EXP]
The next ten balls were a blur of survival.
Sanjay had stopped holding back. The deliveries came at 90-95 km/h—faster than anything Rudra had faced from the machine. His Lv 01 Reflexes simply couldn't keep up.
Ball 5: Miss. Outside edge.
Ball 6: Inside edge. Pain in his bottom hand.
Ball 7: Miss. Beaten for pace.
Ball 8: Glove. The ball popped up and fell short of silly point.
Ball 9: Defensive block. Solid contact.
Ball 10: Miss. Again.
[Reflexes Lv 01 — No progress. Visual tracking insufficient for current ball speed.]
Rudra's palms were sweating. His heart was hammering. The gap between what his mind knew and what his body could do had never felt wider.
I know where this ball is going. I know what shot to play. But my body won't listen.
Ball 11.
A bouncer.
Rudra saw it coming—the slightly shorter length, the extra zip off the pitch. He tried to duck. His body reacted too slowly.
The ball slammed into his left forearm.
Crack.
Not bone—thank God—but the impact was brutal. The Kashmir willow's handle jarred in his hands. Pain exploded up his arm, white-hot and immediate.
He dropped the bat and staggered backward, clutching his forearm.
[System Alert: Impact detected — Left forearm]
[Durability Lv 01 → 5/100 EXP]
[Pain level: Moderate. No fracture detected. Soft tissue damage probable.]
[Cliffhanger recorded: First hit. The pain radiating.]
"Sharma!" Guru was at the net entrance, his face tight with concern. "Show me."
Rudra extended his arm. A red welt was already forming—the seam mark of the ball, a perfect line across his skin. The flesh beneath was swelling.
"Can you move your fingers?"
Rudra wiggled his fingers. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain, but the fingers moved.
"Good. No break." Guru turned to Sanjay. "What did I say about bowling bouncers to a twelve-year-old?"
Sanjay shrugged. "He's trying out for school team. He'll face bouncers there."
"He'll face bouncers from boys his own age. Not from a KSCA trainee who bowls 95."
Rudra took a deep breath. The pain was sharp, but familiar. In his previous life, he had been hit hundreds of times—on the arm, the ribs, the helmet, the thigh. The body learned to absorb, to accept, to continue.
This body hasn't learned yet. But it will.
"I'm fine," Rudra said. "Keep bowling."
Guru stared at him. "You're bleeding under the skin. You need ice."
"I need to face more balls. Saturday is three days away. I can't be afraid of the ball."
The coach's expression shifted—from concern to something else. Respect, maybe. Or wariness.
"One more over," Guru said. "Then ice. No arguments."
Rudra picked up the bat. His left forearm throbbed. His grip was compromised—the bottom hand couldn't apply pressure without pain.
Adjust, he told himself. Top hand dominant. Let the bottom hand guide, not drive.
Ball 12.
Sanjay ran in, his expression hard. The delivery was full, on off stump. Rudra's front foot moved forward. His top hand controlled the blade.
Thunk.
Defensive block. The ball rolled back toward the bowler.
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 103.9/200 EXP]
[System Note: Grip adjustment detected. Pain-induced technique change may become habit. Monitor carefully.]
Ball 13.
Another bouncer. This time, Rudra's reflexes responded. He ducked earlier, his body dropping into a crouch. The ball missed his head by inches.
[Reflexes Lv 01 → 5/100 EXP]
[System Note: Improvement under pressure. Adrenaline-assisted adaptation.]
Ball 14.
Yorker. Full and fast, aimed at his toes. Rudra's bat came down just in time, jamming the ball into the ground. The impact jarred his injured forearm.
He hissed in pain but held the pose.
Ball 15.
Outside off stump. Rudra left it alone.
Ball 16.
On his pads. He nudged it toward square leg. The contact was soft, controlled, almost gentle.
Ball 17.
A half-volley. Rudra's eyes lit up. He stepped forward, bat swinging through the line—
Miss.
The ball beat his outside edge again. He had been too eager, too ambitious. The drive was the wrong shot for a boy with a swollen forearm and slow reflexes.
[Decision Speed Lv 01 → 2/100 EXP]
[System Note: Poor shot selection under pressure. Learn the lesson.]
Ball 18.
Defensive block. Safe. Survive.
[Over Complete]
[Live Bowling Session: 18 balls faced (12 deliveries contacted, 6 missed)]
[EXP Gained: Batting Timing +1.2, Reflexes +5, Decision Speed +1, Durability +5]
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 105.1/200]
[Reflexes Lv 01 → 5/100]
[Durability Lv 01 → 5/100]
Guru walked onto the pitch, his expression unreadable.
"Enough. Ice. Now."
Rudra wanted to argue—to demand more balls, more practice, more pain. But the throbbing in his forearm was becoming unbearable. The swelling had spread from the impact point to his wrist.
"Fine," he said.
Sanjay picked up his ball and walked toward the pavilion. He paused beside Rudra.
"You're not bad, kid. For a twelve-year-old. But you're too stiff. Too scared. You play like you're waiting to get hit."
Because I am, Rudra thought. I've been hit before. I know what it feels like. And I'm terrified of it.
But he said nothing.
The ice came from Guru's personal cooler—a few cubes wrapped in a thin towel. Rudra pressed the makeshift compress against his forearm and sat on the pavilion bench, watching the other boys practice.
[Recovery in progress. Ice application detected. Healing rate increased by 15%.]
The pain was fading slowly, replaced by a dull ache. The welt had turned purple, the seam mark still visible beneath the swelling.
This is what I wanted, Rudra reminded himself. This is what progress looks like. Blood. Bruises. Pain.
But the voice in his head—the forty-four-year-old who had watched his cricket career die—whispered something else.
You're pushing too hard. You're going to break. The knee. Remember the knee.
He closed his eyes.
"You're thinking too much."
Guru's voice broke through the spiral. The coach sat down on the bench beside him, a steel tumbler of tea in his hand.
"You faced eighteen balls from a KSCA trainee. You got hit once. You survived. That's a win."
"I missed half of them."
"You made contact with twelve. Against a bowler who's three years older and twenty kilos heavier. That's also a win."
Rudra opened his eyes. "I should have done better."
"Should have?" Guru laughed—a short, barking sound. "You've been training for a week. A week. Most kids who come to my nets can't make contact with the machine at 60 km/h after a week. You faced 80 yesterday. Today you faced 95. Stop measuring yourself against perfection. Measure yourself against yesterday."
[System Note: External wisdom detected. Emotional Control Lv 01 → 7/100 EXP]
[System Note: Guru Rao has been added to "Mentors" list. Relationship status: Cautious respect.]
Mentors, Rudra thought. I forgot about that feature.
"You're right," Rudra said quietly. "I'm measuring against a standard that doesn't exist yet."
Guru sipped his tea. "What standard is that?"
The standard of a man who's already lived this life once, Rudra thought. The standard of a forty-four-year-old who knows exactly where his mistakes are buried.
"Myself," Rudra said. "Ten years from now."
Guru studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"Ten years from now, you'll be playing for India. Or you'll be selling insurance. The difference isn't talent. It's what you do between now and then."
The coach stood up and walked back toward the nets, leaving Rudra alone with his ice and his thoughts.
By 8 AM, the swelling had reduced enough for Rudra to attempt shadow practice.
The hallway mirror showed a boy with a purple forearm and tired eyes. But the bat felt lighter today—not because the Kashmir willow had changed, but because his arms were stronger.
[Strength Lv 01 → 3/100 EXP]
[System Note: Progressive overload detected. Muscle adaptation beginning.]
Five hundred forward defenses. Two hundred drives. One hundred cuts.
Eight hundred repetitions.
His forearm screamed by rep three hundred. He switched to a lighter grip, letting the top hand do more work. The adjustment cost him accuracy—several shots were mis-hit, the bat twisting in his hands.
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 106.5/200 EXP]
[System Note: Injury-compensated technique is forming. Be careful not to ingrain bad habits.]
I know, Rudra thought. I'll fix it when the arm heals.
He completed the session at 8:45 AM, his shirt soaked with sweat, his arm throbbing, his legs heavy.
[Shadow Practice Complete]
[Repetitions: 800/800]
[EXP Gained: Batting Timing +8]
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 114.5/200]
Breakfast was late. His mother looked at the purple bruise on his forearm and said nothing. She simply placed a plate of upma in front of him and turned back to the stove.
His father was already at the High Court.
"Amma," Rudra said. "Trials are on Saturday. I need new shoes."
Janavi turned. "What's wrong with your current shoes?"
"Look at them."
He lifted his foot. The canvas shoes—bought six months ago at a roadside stall—had developed a hole near the toe. The sole was separating from the upper. They had never been meant for running and cricket; they were meant for walking to school.
"How much?" his mother asked.
"Good cricket shoes cost eight hundred rupees. But I can manage with cheaper ones. Four hundred."
Janavi's face tightened. Four hundred rupees was a week's grocery budget.
"I'll talk to your father," she said finally.
"Amma—"
"I said I'll talk to your father."
Rudra closed his mouth. He had learned, across two lifetimes, when to push and when to stop.
This is a stop.
School was a blur. He sat through classes, answered questions, took notes. His forearm rested on the desk, the bruise hidden by his shirtsleeve.
At lunch, Akash noticed him wincing.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Hit by a ball."
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
Akash looked at him with something like awe. "You're crazy. You know that?"
I know, Rudra thought. But crazy is what it takes.
After school, he went to the nets.
Guru had banned him from batting—"Ice, rest, recovery"—but allowed him to bowl. Rudra had never bowled seriously in his previous life. His natural style was medium pace, nothing special, no swing or seam to speak of.
[Bowling: Not initialized]
[System Note: First bowling session detected. Unlock cost: 50 EXP. Current EXP available: 0 (allocated to other attributes).]
I can't afford to unlock bowling right now, Rudra realized. Every EXP point needs to go toward Batting Timing, Reflexes, and Stamina.
"I'll just fetch balls," Rudra said.
Guru nodded. "Smart. Know your priorities."
He spent an hour retrieving balls from the nets, returning them to the machine, sweeping the pavilion. The work was meditative, almost relaxing. His forearm throbbed, but the ice had done its job.
[Manual labor complete. Recovery efficiency increased by 5%.]
At 5 PM, Rudra walked home.
The sky had darkened, the monsoon clouds finally releasing their burden. Rain began to fall—first a drizzle, then a downpour. Rudra walked through it, the Kashmir willow tucked under his arm, the rain washing away the sweat and the dust.
[System Note: Rain detected. No EXP. But there is poetry in the moment.]
Poetry, Rudra thought. The System has a sense of humor.
Dinner was quiet. His father came home at 8 PM, tired and distracted. Janavi served rasam rice, the steam rising in the cramped kitchen.
"Shoes," Krishnamurthy said, not looking up. "Your mother tells me you need shoes."
"Yes, Appa."
"Four hundred rupees?"
"That's the minimum. Good ones are eight hundred."
His father sighed. "I have a client who owes me five thousand. He's been delaying for three months. If he pays before Saturday—"
"I'll find a way," Rudra said. "Even if it means playing in these."
Krishnamurthy looked at his son—at the purple bruise on his forearm, at the dark circles under his eyes, at the way he held himself like a soldier preparing for battle.
"You really want this," his father said. It wasn't a question.
"I really want this."
"Then you'll have your shoes. Even if I have to borrow the money."
Rudra's throat tightened.
You never said that in my previous life. You never offered. I never asked.
"Thank you, Appa."
His father nodded and returned to his case file.
Rudra lay on his bed, the System panel open.
[Day 7 Complete]
[EXP Earned Today: Stamina +20, Batting Timing +23, Reflexes +5, Decision Speed +1, Durability +5, Strength +2, Flexibility +1, Emotional Control +2]
[Total EXP Today: 59]
[Stamina Lv 02 → 42/200]
[Batting Timing Lv 02 → 114.5/200]
[Reflexes Lv 01 → 5/100]
[Durability Lv 01 → 5/100]
[Strength Lv 01 → 3/100]
[Flexibility Lv 01 → 9/100]
[Emotional Control Lv 01 → 7/100]
[Decision Speed Lv 01 → 2/100]
[Hidden Quest Progress: Static Vision — 268/10,000 balls faced]
Two hundred sixty-eight balls in seven days, Rudra calculated. At this rate, 373 days to unlock Static Vision. I need to face more balls. Three hundred a day. Five hundred.
But his forearm throbbed, reminding him of limits.
Patience, he told himself. Discipline. The work continues.
He closed the panel and closed his eyes.
Saturday. Trials. Three days.
I'll be ready.
End of Chapter 8