The practice session ended as abruptly as it began.
The sun had dipped below the Mumbai skyline, leaving the Wankhede bathed in the amber glow of the floodlights.
Rocky's jersey was caked in dust and sweat, his right palm still throbbing from the Pollard catch, but he felt an electric buzz under his skin that no amount of exhaustion could kill.
He was officially in. Not as a starter, not yet, but as a specialist substitute fielder.
In the world of cricket, where every run saved was a battle won, Ponting had seen enough.
His philosophy was simple: find gaps when batting rather than looking at fielders, highlighting an aggressive mindset where he didn't see obstacles, only opportunities, it was while fielding and captaincy.
"Hotel. 8 PM. Video prep," was all Ponting said as he walked past him, a small, approving nod being the only trophy Rocky needed for the day.
...
By the ti Rocky reached his hotel room, the adrenaline had finally begun to drain, replaced by a crushing weight in his chest.
He closed the door, the click of the lock echoing in the silent, suite.
He didn't turn on the lights.
He just collapsed onto the edge of the bed, staring at his hands in the moonlight filtering through the window.
The "System" was silent now, no blue screens or red tirs.
Just him.
His mind, which had been operating on pure survival instinct for the last four hours, finally began to unfurl.
The fog of the transmigration started to lift, and the mories of this Rocky, the 18-year-old version, began to flow into the mories of the 27-year-old software engineer.
There was a reason this body had "average" talent but "elite" hunger.
(A/N: Avg ans he's like Rayudu like player but now he's different after Punter's template.)
He closed his eyes, and the backstory of the boy he now inhabited began to play like a movie behind his eyelids.
As he closed his eyes, the mories finally rushed in, not as data, but as the sll of rain on the Cuttack soil and the sound of the evening bells from the temple.
....
He was Rocky Rudra.
He had no father, no mother, and no lineage.
The Matron of the orphanage had found him abandoned on the doorstep just a night before Shivratri.
To her, he wasn't a burden.
He was a blessing from the Lord.
She nad him Rocky Rudra, after Mahadev (Lord Shiva) himself, and to Rocky, Grandma was the only world he ever knew.
While the other children dread of being adopted into new families, Rocky stayed with his adopted grandmother.
He chose the struggle of the orphanage over the comfort of strangers just so he could stay by his grandma's side, helping her with chores and protecting the younger kids.
To survive, he dropped out of school early, taking odd jobs, lifting crates, delivering goods, etc. anything to keep the kitchen fires burning.
It was during those odd jobs that Sujit Sir, a middle school sports teacher, saw him.
He noticed a phenonon.
He watched Rocky hit a stone with a wooden plank, reacting to a stray dog's sudden movent with a twitch of the wrists that was frighteningly fast.
....
Sujit Sir, who served as a vice-coach at the Odisha Cricket Academy (OCA), knew he had found sothing special.
Sujit Sir watched the boy finish wiping the table.
"This kid... what is this feeling?" Sujit mused, squinting through the steam of his tea.
He shrugged.
"It won't hurt to give it a try."
"Hey kid," Sujit sir called out. "What's your na?"
Rocky paused, the dirty rag still in his hand.
He looked at Sujit, his face a mask of confusion.
"Rocky, sir. Rocky," he answered cautiously.
"So, Rocky. You ever played cricket?"
Rocky gave a slow nod.
"Sotis. With the kids in the neighborhood."
"Want to try sothing different?" Sujit Sir asked, his voice dropping an octave.
Rocky's gaze sharpened instantly.
He beca vigilant, his small, 10-year-old fra tensing up.
He was a sensitive kid, an orphan who knew the world could be a dangerous place.
Sujit realized he was coming off like a kidnapper and let out a hearty laugh.
"Relax, kid. I'm a coach at the cricket academy, everyone around here knows ." Sujit stood up, his eyes locked onto Rocky's small but sturdy fra.
"Co here tomorrow, sharp at 7 AM. I'll take you with ."
He put a few crumpled notes on the table for his tea and turned to leave.
"See you tomorrow. Don't miss this chance."
Rocky stood frozen, conflicted.
It felt like a trap, yet it felt like a door opening.
"Go, Chotu," Rash Uncle, the shop owner, said gently from behind the counter.
He had been watching Rocky like a protective father for months.
He knew that Rocky was exceptional since childhood, but it's a pity.
It's all in God's hands.
Maybe he has sothing in store for him, sothing great or sothing naught.
"Give it a try. You don't want to wipe tables forever."
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