(A/N):
Drop a here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
Guys I hope you put more comnts and power stones... Which will encourage ...
....
Taj Cape Town...
anwhile, several kiloters away from Newlands Stadium, inside a luxury suite at the Taj Cape Town, another pair had just witnessed the sa destruction unfolding on television.
And one of them was not taking it well.
At all.
Sitting on the sofa with a cushion clenched under his arm was Chris Watson.
A lifelong English cricket fan.
A man who had spent years passionately supporting England through:
victories, defeats, collapses, miracles, and endless debates about cricket.
Naturally, one of his favorite modern players was none other than Andrew Flintoff.
To Chris, Flintoff was everything a cricketer should be.
Aggressive.
Fearless.
Competitive.
Charismatic.
So watching him get hit for boundaries wasn't new.
Every bowler gets hit.
But what he had just witnessed felt personal. Very personal.
Which he would never forget in his life.
On television, the replay of Karuppu's sixes kept playing repeatedly.
The giant straight six.
The kneeling sweep.
The uppercut.
The 104-ter monster.
Every replay felt like another punch.
Chris stared at the screen in disbelief.
"...."
"No."
The replay showed the second straight six.
"No."
The replay showed the third one.
"NO."
The replay showed the kneeling sweep again.
Chris pointed accusingly at the television.
"What even IS that shot?"
"Who plays that?"
Emma, sitting comfortably on another sofa nearby, looked up from the magazine she had been pretending to read.
Technically, she wasn't interested in cricket.
Or at least she hadn't been.
For most of her childhood, cricket existed only because her father loved it.
A little too much.
When she was younger, he had once taken her to a Test match.
The experience had nearly convinced her that cricket was the most boring sport humanity had ever invented.
She still rembered sitting there wondering if the match would ever end.
When she told her father that afterward, he had reacted as though she had insulted a sacred religion.
"Test cricket is art."
"It is patience."
"It is grit."
"It is character."
Emma had smiled politely while in her mind she quietly made a decision.
"...."
Then spent the next several years avoiding cricket whenever possible.
After her parent's divorce she spend most of her ti with her mother while vacations with her father and his new famly.
When he suggested they go to a trip she and him alone spending ti together.
Which made this South African vacation particularly suspicious which he was dead set to go on.
Initially, she had been excited.
A trip with her father.
So quality ti together.
Exploring another country.
Maybe seeing wildlife around.
Beautiful landscapes.
Instead, she had sohow ended up spending the evening listening to cricket comntary.
To make matters worse, Chris had originally planned to attend the match live.
Only to discover that tickets had beco almost impossible to get.
Especially for the opening IPL fixture.
Which was why they now sat inside the hotel suite watching the broadcast.
Earlier in the evening, Emma had been barely paying attention.
Mostly listening to her father shout at the television whenever:
wickets fell,
boundaries were hit,
or Flintoff appeared on screen.
Then Karuppu had arrived.
And things beca... interesting.
At first, she noticed him because the comntators kept ntioning his age.
His U-19 World Cup performances.
His IPL debut.
The fact that he was younger than many players around him.
Then ca the batting.
The sixes.
The confidence in his play.
The aggression.
The complete lack of fear.
And suddenly cricket stopped looking slow.
Or boring. Or confusing.
Instead, it looked... Fun. Seeing him hit four and sixes.
The replay now showed Karuppu launching Flintoff straight back over his head.
Again.
Chris buried his face in his hands.
"...."
Emma couldn't help laughing.
"-Haha!!!"
"You're taking this very personally."
Chris imdiately sat upright.
"That wasn't cricket."
"That was assault."
Another replay appeared.
This ti the kneeling sweep.
Chris pointed again.
"Look at that!"
"Flintoff bowled a perfectly reasonable delivery!"
Emma tilted her head.
Then looked at the replay carefully.
The shot actually looked kind of cool.
The stadium erupting afterward made it even better.
And for the first ti in her life, she found herself asking a cricket question voluntarily.
"So..."
She pointed toward the television.
"Is he good?"
Chris looked at her as though she'd asked whether the ocean contained water.
"Good?"
He leaned forward.
"The boy just scored fifty-two from fourteen balls against an international bowling attack."
Then he pointed at the screen where Karuppu's statistics were displayed.
"He hit one hundred and three ter sixes."
"One hundred and four ter sixes."
"Who does that?"
Emma looked back toward the television.
Where they witnessed his bowling performance too.
The post-match presentation was playing now.
Karuppu stood beneath the floodlights holding his Man of the Match trophy.
Still smiling.
Still looking almost amused by everything happening around him.
For so reason, he didn't seem arrogant.
That surprised her.
Most young athletes who suddenly beca famous carried themselves differently.
This one looked more like sobody genuinely enjoying himself.
The interview began.
His fluent English surprised her too.
Then ca the line.
"It feels like a dream."
Emma listened quietly.
The cara briefly showed highlights from:
The U-19 World Cup,
IPL auction coverage,
And his batting today.
The comntators discussed how unusual his rise had been.
Cricketer.
Actor.
Young.
Fearless.
Chris anwhile had finally recovered enough to grumble dramatically.
"Flintoff is going to want revenge next match."
Emma smiled hearing her father who seems like he was the one who got hitted off.
"Maybe."
Then after a pause she added.
"Still."
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"Still what?"
Emma looked back toward the television where another replay of the sixes appeared.
For the first ti in her life, she admitted sothing she never expected to say.
"Cricket doesn't look as boring as I thought."
The room beca silent for a second.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Chris slowly turned toward his daughter.
His eyes widened.
Then he imdiately pointed triumphantly.
"I KNEW IT."
Emma groaned instantly.
"No."
"Don't start."
But it was already too late.
For the next ten minutes, Chris enthusiastically explained to his daughter:
batting technique,
field placents,
pace bowling,
And why Test cricket was still superior.
anwhile Emma quietly watched the television highlights continue playing.
And sowhere in the back of her mind, she found herself curious about sothing she never cared about before.
Not the IPL. Not cricket.
But the fearless young player who had just walked into a stadium full of legends and behaved as though he belonged there.
Well if the future if they et she could chat with him.
After Three Weeks...
Three weeks had passed since the IPL began.
And for Mumbai Indians, things were going surprisingly well.
After the opening victory against Chennai, the franchise continued collecting wins steadily.
The team managent experinted heavily during the first phase of the tournant.
Batting orders changed.
Bowling combinations changed.
Fielding positions changed.
Even a few young players were rotated in and out of the playing XI.
After his explosive debut, Karuppu had expected to play regularly.
Instead, after three matches, he found himself sitting out.
However, unlike many young players who would beco frustrated, he wasn't particularly worried.
Because both Sachin Tendulkar and the coaching staff had personally spoken with him.
The ssage was crystal clear.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with your ga."
"We are testing combinations."
"Stay ready."
"Your opportunity will co again."
So Karuppu spent his ti training, attending team etings, helping during practice sessions, and enjoying South Africa whenever free ti appeared.
Tonight happened to be one of those rare free evenings.
The cool Cape Town air drifted through the streets as Karuppu walked alongside his U-19 teammate Saurabh Tiwary.
The two had wandered away from the hotel after dinner.
Not for sightseeing. Not for shopping.
For ice cream.
More specifically, because Saurabh had spent the entire afternoon talking about a particular local ice cream shop that several foreign players had recomnded.
Eventually they found the place.
Unfortunately, half of Cape Town apparently had the sa idea.
The shop was packed.
People crowded around the counters.
Families stood in long queues.
Tourists occupied most of the outdoor tables.
Saurabh looked at the crowd.
"...."
Then looked at Karuppu.
Then pointed toward a nearby bench.
"You sit."
"I'll fight this battle."
Karuppu laughed as he walked past him.
"-Haha!!!"
"Bring the biggest one."
"No promises."
And with that, Saurabh disappeared into the sea of custors.
Karuppu sat down on the bench.
The night was peaceful.
Streetlights illuminated the road.
Cars occasionally passed by.
People chatted with their family or friends.
Laughed.
Enjoyed their evenings.
For several minutes, everything remained perfectly normal.
Then—His ears twitched lightly as it picked.
A sound. Very faint.
Almost hidden beneath the noise of the city.
A voice.
At first he ignored it.
Then it ca again.
A cry.
The language wasn't English initially.
It sounded Spanish.
Then another voice followed.
This ti English. Short. Panicked.
"Help."
Karuppu's eyes narrowed hearing it.
Imdiately.
The voice had co from sowhere beyond the main road.
Near a side alley.
Most people wouldn't have heard it.
His instincts made him notice things differently.
He slowly stood up.
Looking once toward the ice cream shop.
Saurabh was still trapped inside the queue.
Good.
No reason to drag him into this.
Without drawing attention, Karuppu began walking toward the sound.
The deeper he moved into the side street, the clearer things beca.
Then he heard it.
A slap.
Followed by male voices.
Angry. Threatening.
"Stay quiet."
"Don't make this harder."
Another frightened protest.
Karuppu turned the corner.
"...."
And instantly understood the situation.
Two won stood trapped near the wall.
Their balance looked unstable.
Drunk.
Or at least heavily intoxicated.
Six n surrounded them.
Five carried knives.
The sixth held a pistol.
The won were effectively cornered.
No escape route.
The mont Karuppu entered the alley, all six heads turned toward him.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The thug with the gun scowled.
"Walk away."
One of the knife holders smirked.
"Unless you want to get robbed too."
Most people would've frozen. Or run.
Karuppu simply continued walking.
Calmly. Steadily.
As though they didn't exist.
That confidence visibly irritated them.
The thug positioned behind the won stepped forward aggressively.
In his hand sat a heavy knuckle duster.
Without warning, he swung.
Fast. Violent.
Intending to hit Karuppu's face.
Karuppu moved. A slight bend.
The tal missed entirely missing him.
Before the thug could react, Karuppu trapped the arm.
Twisted.
A sickening crack echoed through the alley.
The man's scream followed imdiately.
"-Ahhhh!!!"
His wrist and elbow collapsed under the lock.
The knuckle duster slipped free.
Karuppu caught it in his free hand.
Then drove it directly into the man's face.
Once.
-BAM!
The thug dropped unconscious.
Everything happened in less than two seconds.
The alley fell silent for a second.
Then chaos erupted.
The gunman panicked first.
His finger tightened on the trigger.
Karuppu reacted instantly.
Using the unconscious thug as a shield.
The gunman hesitated to shoot.
And that hesitation cost him.
Karuppu exploded forward.
The distance vanished between them.
Another crack.
This ti the gunman's elbow bent in a direction nature never intended.
The pistol clattered onto the ground.
The man scread in pain.
"-Ahhhh!!!"
The remaining thugs finally charged.
Big mistake.
The narrow alley removed their nurical advantage.
Karuppu attacked relentlessly.
No wasted motion. No flashy techniques.
Just brutal efficiency.
A strike to a throat.
An elbow to a jaw.
A knee to a rib.
The knuckle duster repeatedly found weak points:
noses, temples, cheekbones, solar plexuses.
One by one.
Bodies of the thugs hit the ground.
Groaning. Unconscious.
Broken.
Within a minute, the alley looked completely different.
The attackers now occupied the pavent.
Not the victims.
anwhile, during the brief fight, Karuppu's wallet had fallen from his pocket.
Neither he nor the thugs noticed.
One of the won did.
Her face remained hidden beneath loose strands of hair.
Quietly she picked it up.
Curiosity made her open it.
Inside she found identification cards, cash, photographs.
One photograph showed a smiling family.
Another passport-sized picture sat tucked inside.
The sa young man currently dismantling ard criminals as though it were a routine activity.
For several seconds she stared.
"...."
Then carefully returned everything exactly as she found it.
Except the passport size picture of his.
By the ti Karuppu finished checking that the gun was unloaded and kicking it safely away, the alley had beco silent again.
The woman stepped forward and offered the wallet.
"You dropped this."
Karuppu glanced down.
"Oh."
Taking it back, he nodded.
"Thanks."
He didn't even properly look at her face.
The won still seed shaken.
And possibly drunk.
More importantly, the police needed to be involved.
"You should call the cops."
His tone remained calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though beating six ard n wasn't anything unusual.
"Give them descriptions."
"Don't stay here."
The won simply stared.
Still processing what had happened.
Karuppu checked that his wallet was intact.
Satisfied, he turned around.
No dramatic goodbye.
No attempt to learn their nas.
No heroic speech.
Just another problem solved.
And as he disappeared back toward the brightly lit street where Saurabh was probably still fighting for ice cream, neither he nor the won realized that this brief encounter would not remain forgotten for very long.
*******************************
(Author note:)
I hope you guys give your opinion and idea's.
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