12th Man to Cricket Legend Chapter 6 6: Goodbye (1503 words)

A/N: If you like the story, rember to give a review. It'll motivate to continue with sa passion ✌️😁

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Rudra woke up to the sound of the AC humming in the luxury suite.

For a mont, he stared at the ceiling, confused by the expensive crown molding and the sll of high-end hotel linen.

He reached up, his fingers brushing against his cheeks.

They were damp.

He had been crying in his sleep.

As the mories of the "other" Rudra, the Cuttack boy with the wooden bat, settled into his mind, he realized the strange irony of his existence.

In his old life, the one in 2023, he had been an orphan too.

He had been found on the sa doorstep, given the sa surna by the sa Matron.

But in that world, the door to the Odisha Cricket Academy had never opened.

Sujit Sir had never stopped at that tea stall.

Instead, that Rudra had been adopted.

He had studied hard, moved to a city, and traded his soul for a keyboard and a software desk.

He had lived a stable life, a life of safety, while his dreams of cricket died a slow, quiet death in the back of his mind.

But this Rudra?

This version of him was the living, breathing personification of every "what if" he had ever whispered to himself during a late-night shift.

Rudra looked at his hands.

This was the dream he used to have every single night in his old world.

There, he had studied hard and got a job, but he had lost his inner fire.

Here... here he was 'Rudra'.

He knew this wasn't just a chance.

It was his second birth.

He sat up, the weight of the tear marks fading as a new, cold clarity took over.

Outside this room, experts were doubting him, very reactionary.

Fans were asking "Who?" and the dia was calling him a gamble.

He had no idea and didn't care. Let them talk.

In his old world, he was a man who forgot how to dream.

In this world, he was the dream itself.

He walked to the window and looked out at the Mumbai skyline.

The sun was hitting the glass buildings, turning the city gold.

For the first ti since he woke up in 2013, he didn't feel like a stranger in a stolen body.

He felt like he was finally ho.

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[ SYSTEM OVERLAY: SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE ]

Status: 100% Soul-Body Integration.

New Passive Unlocked: [ The Second Life Instinct ]

Effect: In high-pressure monts (death overs/clutch), your "Future Knowledge" and "Reflexes" will rge.

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.

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[ FINAL SYSTEM INITIALIZATION ]

User: Rocky Rudra

Status: Integrated.

Core Potential:

Reflexes: 90/100 (Peak Human)

Fielding: 92/100 (Elite)

Batting: 35/100 (Amateur - High Growth Potential)

System's Final ssage:

"The connection is stable. The fruit of your dream and the body of your youth are now yours. From this mont onwards, you are on your own. The system is going to be completely offline. Beco the Legend yourself, Rocky Rudra."

[ SYSTEM SHUTDOWN... 3... 2... 1... ]

(A/N: Only attributes section will be visible and it'll tell mc how much is he improving.)

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The blue light in his vision didn't just fade.

It shattered into a tiny sparks that felt like they were being absorbed into his skin. The humming in his ears stopped.

For the first ti, the world felt incredibly quiet and incredibly real.

Rudra stood by the bed, his heart thumping.

He felt the weight of his own muscles, the slight ache in his shoulder, and the raw energy in his legs.

There were no more numbers floating in the air to tell him how good he was.

He picked up his bat, the one he had brought from his hotown.

It didn't feel like a "Level 1" item anymore.

It just felt like a piece of wood that he had to use to change his life.

After the System left, for the first ti, Rudra felt like he was truly alone.

After all, only system knew his past and now, it also left.

But he wasn't afraid.

Rudra looked at the mirror. He didn't see a "player profile" anymore.

He saw a kid with a ssy jawline, slightly bloodshot eyes from a restless night, and a raw, hungry look that the software engineer in him never had.

He touched the skin of his forearm, pinching it hard.

It hurt.

Real. This is all real.

He wasn't a character in a ga anymore.

He was a person. If he dropped a catch, there would be no "reloading" a save state.

If he failed, he failed in front of millions.

He took a deep breath, the expensive hotel air-conditioning feeling cold in his lungs.

He reached for his MI training cap, pulling the brim low.

"Fine... now it's just and my hard work. Let's see what happens at the Chinnaswamy."

Just at that mont, the hotel phone rang.

It was the front desk.

"Mr. Rudra? The team is gathering in the lobby for the pre-match briefing. Coach Wright is asking for you."

Rudra grabbed his MI kit bag.

He didn't look back at the room.

He didn't look back at his old life.

As he stepped out of the door, he wasn't a software engineer anymore.

He was Rocky Rudra, the specialist fielder and substitute batter for the Mumbai Indians.

And tonight, the Chinnaswamy would find out exactly what that ant.

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As he walked down the carpeted hallway, the sheer scale of the situation finally hit him.

The walls were lined with photos of past legends.

He felt small, yet strangely solid.

He reached the elevator and found Jasprit Bumrah already there.

The future "Yorker King" looked anything but kingly right now.

He was fidgeting with the zipper of his kit bag, his eyes darting to the floor.

He looked like a boy who had been told he was going to the moon and had just realized he didn't have a spacesuit.

"You okay?" Rudra's voice was quiet, steady.

Bumrah looked up, startled.

He saw the kid from Odisha, the other "gamble" John Wright had taken.

He saw the calm in Rudra's eyes and felt a tiny bit of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Just... the crowd, Rudra," Bumrah admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"The noise. You sotis hear it from outside the stadium, and it sounds like a thunderstorm. Now we have to stand inside it."

Rudra stepped into the elevator beside him.

He thought of his grandma, Sujit sir, ground, the dust, the tea stall, and the years he spent in another life staring at a screen, wishing for even one second of this fear.

"The noise is just air, Boom," Rudra said.

He didn't say it like a hero.

He said it like a friend.

"They aren't the ones who have to bowl to Kohli. You are. And you know how to do that. The rest of it? It's just background music."

Bumrah looked at him, a small, grateful half-smile appearing.

"You sound like you've done this before."

I have, Rudra thought.

A thousand tis, in a thousand dreams. But this is the first ti I actually get to feel the ball in my hand.

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