Chapter 61: Chapter 61
Chapter 62: The First Net Session
The Sawai Mansingh Stadium (SMS) in Jaipur did not possess the colosseum-like grandeur of the Wankhede or the intimidating cauldron atmosphere of Eden Gardens. In March 2008, it felt almost rustic. The stands were sun-bleached, the facilities were functional rather than opulent, and the outfield was a patchwork of brown and green, baked hard by the relentless Rajasthani sun.
But as Aryan Sharma walked through the tunnel and onto the ground, the air felt electric. It wasn’t the electricity of a crowd—the stadium was empty save for the team, support staff, and a few ground authorities—it was the electricity of something new.
The Indian Premier League. The great experiment.
The outfield was dotted with players in the royal blue training kits of the Rajasthan Royals. To Aryan’s left, Shane Watson was stretching his massive hamstrings, looking like a rugby player who had wandered onto a cricket field. To his right, Graeme Smith, the South African captain—a man known for his granite-hard jaw and serious demeanor—was chatting with a lanky, long-haired bowler with a frantic action. That was Sohail Tanvir from Pakistan.
"Breathe it in, kid," a voice said.
Aryan turned to see Mohammad Kaif, one of India’s fielding legends. Kaif grinned, adjusting his cap. "Different vibe from the Ranji Trophy, isn’t it?"
"Just a bit, Kaif bhai," Aryan replied, gripping the handle of his bat. "It feels... global."
"It’s a melting pot," Kaif nodded toward the center. "Australians, South Africans, Pakistanis, and us. And leading the circus is the Ringmaster."
They both looked toward the center pitch. Shane Warne wasn’t stretching. He wasn’t running laps. He was standing with a bat in hand, wearing oversized sunglasses, holding court with the coaches. Even from fifty meters away, his aura was palpable.
"Right! Gather ’round!" Warne’s voice boomed across the oval.
The squad jogged to the center. There was a mix of awe and curiosity in the eyes of the younger domestic players—Ravindra Jadeja, Swapnil Asnodkar, Taruwar Kohli. They were kids, just like Aryan, suddenly thrown into a room with giants.
Warne pulled his sunglasses down his nose, his blue eyes scanning the group.
"Welcome to the Fortress," Warne began, gesturing to the empty stands. "The pundits say we are the weakest team. They say we don’t have the budget of Mumbai or the glamor of Bangalore. They say I’m too old and you lot are too young." Read complete versıon only at novelꞁire.net
He paused, chewing his gum rhythmically.
"I love it. Because when you’re the underdog, you have nothing to lose. We are going to play a brand of cricket they aren’t ready for. We are going to run harder, throw faster, and smile while we beat them. Today, we train. I want intensity. I want noise. Let’s go!"
Part 1: The Bowling Gauntlet
The nets were set up on the far side. Warne divided the group. The bowlers went to mark their run-ups.
Aryan, designated as an all-rounder, was told to bowl first. He walked to the top of his mark. He loosened his shoulders, feeling the familiar stiffness of the new ball.
"System, activation," he whispered.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[TRAINING MODE: ACTIVATED]
Location: Sawai Mansingh Stadium Nets
Conditions: Dry, Hard Deck. Good bounce. Minimal swing.
Objective: Impress the Captain.
Current Energy: 100%
His first target was Graeme Smith.
Smith was a nightmare for bowlers. He wasn’t the most elegant, but he was immovable. He gripped the bat with a bottom-hand dominance that sent balls scurrying through the leg side.
Aryan ran in. He decided to start with pure pace to assert dominance.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
He hit the crease and released. The ball clocked 142 km/h. It was full, angling across the left-hander.
Smith didn’t blink. He leaned forward, presenting the full face of the bat, and punched it straight back past the bowler. A classic, dismissive straight drive.
"Good pace, mate," Smith grunted, not even looking up as he tapped the pitch. "But this is India. The ball skids. If you give me width, I’ll hit you all day."
Aryan gritted his teeth. Okay. Lesson learned. International captains don’t fear pace.
[Analysis: Graeme Smith]
Strength: Leg side play, straight drives.
Weakness: The corridor of uncertainty just outside off, moving away. Or a sharp nip-backer.
Aryan walked back. He needed to be smarter. He adjusted his grip. He wasn’t going to swing it; he was going to use the seam.
He ran in again. Same action, same arm speed. But at the last second, he snapped his wrist. The Scrambled Seam.
The ball pitched on a good length. Smith planted his front foot to drive. But the ball hit the leather seam and jagged back sharply—the nip-backer.
It cut Smith in half, sneaking between the bat and pad, thudding into the thigh guard with a sickening whack.
"Oof," Smith flinched, hopping on one leg.
The net went silent for a second.
"Better," Smith wheezed, rubbing his thigh. He looked at Aryan with a newfound respect. "Much better. That cut back a mile."
From the back of the net, Shane Warne, who was watching like a hawk, shouted, "That’s the line, Aryan! Make him dance!"
Next up was Yusuf Pathan.
If Smith was granite, Yusuf was a wrecking ball. The Baroda all-rounder had a high backlift and forearms the size of tree trunks.
"Come on, little brother," Yusuf grinned. "Show me the heat."
Aryan bowled a bouncer. 144 km/h. It rose sharply off the hard Jaipur deck.
Most domestic batsmen would have ducked. Yusuf didn’t duck. He swiveled on the spot, his bat swinging like a golf club.
The sound was terrifying. Yusuf pulled the ball from outside off stump and smashed it into the side netting. If there had been no net, that ball would have been in the parking lot.
"Too short!" Yusuf laughed.
Aryan felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. This was the difference. In U19, a 144kph bouncer was a wicket-taking delivery. Here, it was a scoring opportunity.
He needed the System’s help.
[Trait Activation: Knuckleball Specialist]
Aryan ran in for the third ball. He signaled a fast yorker with his body language—sprinting hard, arm high. Yusuf braced himself for the pace, clearing his front leg to slog.
At the release, Aryan held the ball with his fingertips. The Knuckleball.
The arm speed was fast, but the ball floated out at 115 km/h. It wobbled in the air like a drunk butterfly.
Yusuf swung. His bat whooshed through the air way too early. He almost twisted his spine trying to check the shot.
The ball dipped late and gently clipped the top of the off-stump. Clunk.
Yusuf stumbled, almost falling over, and stared at the stumps. He looked up at Aryan, eyes wide.
"Arre... magic?" Yusuf muttered.
"Physics, Yusuf bhai," Aryan winked.
Warne walked over, clapping slowly. "Deception, gentlemen! Pace is good, power is good. But deception wins T20s. Good variation, Aryan."
[Skill Proficiency Increased: Knuckleball (Level 4)]
[Reputation with Shane Warne: +5]
Part 2: The Batting Examination
After an hour of bowling, the whistle blew. Switch over.
Aryan padded up. He wore his new Royals helmet, the blue matte finish gleaming. He sat on the bench next to Ravindra Jadeja.
"That knuckleball was nasty," Jadeja said, chewing on his glove strap. "You made Yusuf bhai look like he was dancing Garba."
"He hit me into orbit the ball before," Aryan replied, strapping on his leg guard. "Who are we facing?"
"The unique ones," Jadeja pointed. "Tanvir and Trivedi."
Aryan walked into the net.
Sohail Tanvir stood at the top of the mark. The Pakistani pacer was an anomaly. He bowled off the wrong foot, creating an angle that defied conventional geometry.
"Right then, wonderkid," Tanvir shouted, his Urdu accent thick. "Let’s see the bat."
Tanvir ran in. His action was chaotic—arms flailing, legs pumping—and then suddenly, off the wrong foot, the ball was released.
Aryan was late. The ball skidded through low and fast. He barely managed to jam his bat down. The ball took the inside edge and rapped him on the pads.
"Plumb!" Tanvir shouted, appealing to the imaginary umpire.
Aryan shook his head. Focus. Watch the hand, not the legs.
[System Analysis: Sohail Tanvir]
Unique Action: Creates a natural angle across the right-hander.
Warning: The ball is released a split second later than expected due to the wrong-footed landing.
Advice: Hold the stance. Play late.
Aryan tapped the bat. Play late.
Tanvir steamed in again. Aryan ignored the chaotic limbs. He locked his eyes on the release point.
The ball was released. A length ball, angling away.
Aryan waited. He let the ball come to him. At the last possible millisecond, he opened the face of the bat.
He guided the ball with soft hands through the slip cordon (if there had been one) and down to the third-man boundary.
"Cheeky," Tanvir grumbled.
"Effective," Aryan retorted.
Then came Siddharth Trivedi. Another bowler with a deceptive action, reliant on cutters and slower balls. Aryan realized quickly that the Royals had intentionally recruited "weird" bowlers. Warne wanted anomalies.
Aryan decided to shift gears. He wasn’t just here to survive; he was here to score.
[Active Trait: Gap Piercer]
Trivedi bowled a slower ball. Aryan picked it early. He stepped out, turning a length ball into a half-volley.
He didn’t slog. He extended his arms and drove it through the covers. The sound of the bat was crisp, echoing off the stadium walls. The ball rocketed into the net.
"Shot!" shouted Darren Berry, the coaching director.
Part 3: The Boss Battle
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the pitch. Most of the batters had finished their rotation.
"Aryan! Don’t take those pads off yet!"
Shane Warne was standing at the spin bowler’s end. He tossed a cricket ball from hand to hand. The spin imparted on the toss alone was terrifying.
The chatter in the nets died down. The other players stopped what they were doing to watch. The King of Spin vs. The Indian Prodigy.
"You think you’re good against spin, mate?" Warne asked, a playful smirk on his face. "I saw you take down Harbhajan. Bhajji is a good bowler. But he’s an off-spinner. I turn it the other way."
Aryan walked back to the crease. His heart hammered against his ribs. This was Shane Warne. The man had 708 Test wickets. He was a god of the game.
"I’m ready, Skip," Aryan said, his voice steady.
[System Alert: LEGENDARY ENCOUNTER]
Opponent: Shane Warne (Post-Prime, but still Elite).
Skill: Leg Spin Mastery (Level 10/10).
Objective: Survive 6 balls without getting dismissed.
Bonus Objective: Hit a boundary.
Warne walked in. His run-up was lazy, almost a stroll. The action was pure poetry. The rip of the fingers was audible.
It was a classic leg-break. It pitched on leg stump.
Aryan moved to defend. The ball bit the dust and turned square, fizzing past his outside edge, missing the off-stump by an inch.
"Ooh!" The players behind the net gasped.
"Turned a bit, did it?" Warne chuckled. "Welcome to the big leagues."
Warne tossed this one up higher. Invitation.
Aryan’s eyes widened. He wanted to drive. But his Cricket IQ (85) screamed: It’s a trap.
He checked his shot, pushing it gently back to the bowler.
"Resisting temptation. Good discipline," Warne noted.
The Slider. Faster, skidding on.
Aryan read the lack of wrist cock. He went onto the back foot quickly and punched it to deep mid-wicket. A safe single.
"Boring!" Warne taunted. "The crowd didn’t pay $5 to see singles, Aryan! Entertain me!"
Aryan grinned. You want entertainment? Okay.
[Trait: Improviser (Trickster) - Activated]
Warne bowled the leg-break again, but slightly wider, daring Aryan to reach for it.
Aryan didn’t reach. He changed his grip in a split second. He went down on one knee.
He reversed his hands. The Reverse Sweep.
He caught the ball on the full, using the spin to flick it over where a backward point fielder would be. The connection was sweet. The ball sailed into the side netting.
The net went dead silent. In 2008, the reverse sweep was still considered an exotic, risky shot, used rarely by specialists like Kevin Pietersen. For a 15-year-old Indian kid to pull it off against Shane Warne was audacity personified.
Warne stood with his hands on his hips. He looked at the spot where the ball landed, then back at Aryan.
"Cheeky bugger," Warne muttered. Then, a wide grin broke across his face. "I love it! Absolutely love it!"
"Alright, fun’s over," Warne said, his eyes narrowing.
The demeanor changed. The "Skip" was gone. The "King" was back.
He ran in. He grunted with effort.
It came out fast, back-spun. It was going to stay low and skid.
Aryan saw the shoulder drop. He knew what was coming. But knowing it and playing it were two different things. The ball zipped off the pitch like a stone on water.
Aryan barely got his bat down in time. Clack. An inside edge onto his boot.
Pain shot through his toe, but he survived.
"Close," Warne whispered.
"Last one, hero. Make it count."
Warne gave the ball a massive rip. He aimed for the rough patch outside the leg stump. The ball pitched and exploded, turning toward the off stump. A mesmerizing arc of destruction.
Aryan stepped out. He didn’t try to defend. He didn’t try to get clever.
He met the ball at the pitch, smothering the spin before it could bite. With a fluid extension of his elbows, he lofted it.
Inside-out cover drive.
Against the spin. Over extra cover.
The ball soared through the air, clearing the net completely and landing on the grass bank beyond.
"SHOT!" shouted Shane Watson from the sidelines.
Aryan held the pose for a second—high elbow, balanced finish—before relaxing.
Warne caught the return throw from a coach. He nodded slowly. A look of genuine appreciation.
"That," Warne pointed a finger at Aryan, "is going to win us games. That inside-out shot? That’s million-dollar stuff."
[Objective Completed: Survive Warne]
[Bonus Objective Completed: Hit a boundary]
[Reward: XP Boost. New Skill Unlocked: "The Warne Reader" (You can detect the Flipper 10% faster)]
The session ended as the floodlights flickered on for a brief test. The team gathered in the center, sweating, panting, and dusty.
Warne stood in the middle. He looked at Aryan, then at Jadeja, then at Tanvir.
"Listen to me," Warne said, his voice lower now, more intimate. "I saw something today. I saw a team that is hungry. We have guys who bowl off the wrong foot. We have giants who hit the ball into orbit. And we have teenagers who reverse-sweep legends."
He put a hand on Aryan’s shoulder.
"The media calls us a ragtag bunch. They say we are the ’Moneyball’ experiment. Well, let me tell you something about experiments. Sometimes, they explode."
He looked around the circle.
"We are not here to make up the numbers. We are here to create a legacy. From today, we don’t look at the opposition’s names. I don’t care if it’s Sachin, Ponting, or Gilchrist. When you wear this blue jersey, you are a Royal. You are a rockstar."
"Are you with me?" Warne shouted.
"YES SKIP!" the team roared back, the sound echoing off the empty concrete stands.
Aryan felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t the System. It wasn’t a stat boost. It was pure, unadulterated belief.
As the huddle broke, Warne held Aryan back.
"You’re batting at Number 3 against Delhi," Warne said quietly. "McGrath will be bowling. He’s accurate. He’s mean. He will target your head."
"I’ll be ready," Aryan said.
"Good," Warne slapped his back. "Now go get some ice on that toe. I saw you limp after the flipper. Don’t think you can hide things from me, mate."
Aryan laughed. "Nothing escapes you, does it?"
"Not on a cricket field, son. Not on a cricket field."
Aryan lay in his hotel room at the Rambagh Palace. His toe was throbbing slightly, but the ice pack helped.
He pulled up the System interface.
Batting Proficiency (T20): Level up -> 83
Bowling Proficiency (Variations): Level up -> 87
[New Quest: The Debut]
Opponent: Delhi Daredevils.
Key Threat: Glenn McGrath (The Metronome).
Objective: Score 30+ runs at a strike rate of 140+.
Reward:[Trait: The Precision Killer - Bonus damage to bowlers with high accuracy]
Aryan swiped the screen away. He looked out the window at the dark Jaipur sky.
Tomorrow, the glitz and glamour would start. The cheerleaders, the music, the massive crowds. But today, in the dust and sweat of the nets, the foundation had been laid.
He picked up his bat—the one he had used to hit Warne over covers. He ran his hand over the splice.
"Let the games begin," he whispered.