A/N: If you like the story, rember to give a review. It'll motivate to continue with sa passion ✌️😁
******
The call from Pravin Amre ca while Rocky was sitting on the veranda, watching the Cuttack rain turn the street into a muddy river.
It was the call that officially ended the vacation.
"Rocky, pack your bags. The MCA (Mumbai Cricket Association) is sending a team to Chennai for the Buchi Babu Invitational. I've spoken to the selectors. You're in the squad. This isn't the IPL, kid. This is red-ball territory. The tracks will be slow, the sun will be brutal, and the bowlers will be hunting for your head to prove you're just a T20 wonder."
.
.
(A/N: Yep, in real life, mumbai wasn't invited so they didn't participate but in my story, it's going be different. Enjoy ✌️)
___
Returning to Mumbai felt like stepping back into a furnace.
The humidity hit him the mont he exited the airport, but the vibe was different now.
This was the city that demanded you wake up or get left behind.
He wasn't the "unknown trialist" anymore.
As he walked into the Wankhede Stadium for the pre-departure camp, the security guards gave him a crisp nod.
The sa security guards who used to ignore him now offered sharp, knowing nods, but Rocky kept his head down.
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was a far cry from the glitz of the IPL.
There were no flashing lights here, only the sharp, dicinal sting of wintergreen oil and the rhythmic thwack of Suryakumar Yadav's bat hitting a ball in the corner.
He didn't look up, he was in that zone where the rest of the world ceased to exist.
Nearby, Shardul Thakur was already geared up, his face set in that trademark scowl that ant soone's off-stump was about to have a very bad day.
"Don't get too comfortable," Amre's voice cut through the room.
He didn't look at Rocky's face.
He looked at his feet.
"Chennai doesn't care about your IPL strike rate. The Buchi Babu is where the sun roasts the ego out of you. You play with that flashy, high back-lift on a turning track, and the spinners will have your wicket for breakfast."
Rocky didn't answer. He couldn't.
He just felt the weight of the Mumbai crest on his chest.
It was heavier than the MI blue, it carried the legacies of Gavaskar and Tendulkar, a legacy of Khadoos grit that valued a six-hour grind over a six-ball cao.
For three days, the Mumbai squad trained under the harsh afternoon sun to simulate the Chennai heat.
Rocky felt the weight of the Mumbai cap, it was heavier than the MI one.
The night before the flight to Chennai, Rocky stood on the balcony of his Mumbai apartnt, looking at the city lights.
He reached into his pocket and felt the small, smooth stone he'd taken from the shrine back ho.
'Grandma was right,' he thought. 'The fire is there. But here in Mumbai, I have to turn that fire into a laser.'
.
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(A/N: Go to Auxiliary Chapter comnt section. I have posted the pics of Rocky.)
___
The Chennai sun didn't just shine, it interrogated.
By 9:00 AM at the SSN College Ground, the humidity was already at 85%, and the air felt like a warm, wet blanket.
This was the Buchi Babu Invitational 2013, and the Mumbai dressing room was buzzing with a quiet, lethal intensity.
Pravin Amre stood by the window, watching the TNCA XI warm up.
Their captain, Ravichandran Ashwin, was already flicking a red ball from hand to hand, his eyes scanning the pitch.
The Mumbai Playing XI
Amre turned to the group and announced the sheet:
1. Rocky Rudra (Debut)
2. Aditya Tare (wk)
3. Suryakumar Yadav
4. Abhishek Nayar (c)
5. Siddhesh Lad
6. Sushant Marathe
7. Nikhil Patil
8. Shardul Thakur
9. Akshay Girap
10. Vishal Dabholkar
11. Javed Khan
"Rudra, you're opening with Tare," Amre said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Ashwin is playing. He's looking for blood after the IPL. Don't give him the satisfaction."
___
Mumbai won the toss and chose to bat.
Rocky walked out, the red cherry in the hands of Aswin Crist, a bustling dium-pacer.
Ball 0.1: Crist stead in. It was a classic outswinger, pitching on a good length.
Rocky didn't poke. He stood tall, his bat held high in that Ponting-style trigger.
He tracked the seam with predatory focus and let it pass.
The ball hissed past the off-stump.
Ball 0.4: Crist tried to surprise him with a shorter one, angling into the ribs.
Rocky didn't sway. He pivoted. It was the Punter's pull.
He didn't over-hit it, he just tid it.
The ball raced toward the square-leg boundary.
The sound was like a gunshot.
FOUR RUNS.
'The red ball is different. It stays with you. It talks. Crist is trying to buy my wicket with swing, but I'm not selling. I'm waiting for the main event.' Rudra reminded himself.
___
Over 15:
The score was 52/1.
Tare was gone, and Suryakumar Yadav was at the other end.
Ashwin finally took the ball.
The field closed in.
Flipper, carrom ball, off-break, the arsenal was ready.
Ball 15.2: Ashwin delivered a flighted off-break, landing it in the 'corridor of uncertainty.'
It gripped the dry Chennai turf and turned sharply, jumping toward Rocky's throat.
Rocky's feet were a blur. He didn't reach it. He leaned back, using that back-foot dominance, and played it with soft hands toward mid-on.
"Not today, Anna," Rocky muttered under his breath.
Ashwin just smirked, adjusting his jersey.
___
The heat was now a physical enemy.
Rocky's shirt was translucent with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He was on 42* runs.
Ball 20.4: Ashwin ca around the wicket.
He bowled a flatter, faster carrom ball.
It skidded through, staying low, the exact ball Amre warned him about.
Rocky's muscle mory scread Pull!, but his mind scread Stay!
He adjusted mid-stroke, dropping the high back-lift and digging it out.
The ball squeezed past the bowler for a quick single.
His childhood coach, Sujit Sir's words echoed inside his head,
"Don't play the na, Rudra. Play the ball. The dirt in Chennai doesn't care about your IPL trophy."
___
Ashwin was also getting frustrated.
He set a trap: a deep mid-wicket and a tempting, wide-ish flighted delivery.
Ball 22.3: Ashwin tossed it up, slower, wider.
Rocky saw the flight. He saw through the plan in his mind. He didn't just drive.
He charged at it.
He t the ball on the full, before it could turn.
He dispatched it over Ashwin's head with a straight-bat lofted drive that cleared the ropes and hit the sight-screen with a hollow thump.
SIX RUNS.
The TNCA fielders went silent.
Ashwin stopped in his follow-through, staring at Rocky.
Rocky didn't look away.
He tapped the pitch with his bat, his deanor cold and professional.
"Nice flight, Anna," Rocky said calmly, resetting his stance.
He was at 49*. One run away from a debut fifty against the best spinner in the country.
The Shadow was no longer just a mimicry.
It was a weapon.
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