The final ball of the 2009 IPL thudded into the keeper's gloves. The bails remained untouched, but it didn't matter. The game was over.
For a split second, the Bullring in Johannesburg fell into a vacuum of silence, before exploding into a deafening roar of triumph.
Siddanth Deva didn't run. He didn't scream. He fell to his knees, the hard South African turf digging into his legs. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the cool grass, the smell of earth filling his nose.
I did it, his mind whispered, a wave of relief washing over him.
I did it, his heart shouted, pumping adrenaline through his veins.
He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever cosmic force had given him this second chance. For the 1-run loss in Delhi. For the heartbreak in the Ranji final. For the years of corporate drudgery in his past life. It was all balanced now. The ledger was clean.
He lifted his head. The world was a blur of blue and gold.
He scrambled to his feet. His teammates were already a knot of delirious humanity in the middle of the pitch, stumps ripped from the ground and held aloft like spears.
Siddanth sprinted towards them. He dove into the huddle, feeling hands grabbing his jersey, patting his head. He was pulled into the center, the eye of the storm.
"CHAMPIONS!" RP Singh screamed right into his ear.
"WE'RE CHAMPIONS, SID!" Gilchrist roared, his face red with joy.
They jumped, a rhythmic, tribal bounce of victory, the Deccan Chargers anthem blaring over the stadium speakers.
"GO CHARGERS"
"GO CHARGERS"
"GO CHARGERS"
After a minute of pure chaos, the huddle broke. Siddanth took a deep breath, smoothing down his jersey. He looked across the pitch.
The Royal Challengers were standing there, watching. Defeated, but respectful.
Siddanth's eyes scanned the red jerseys until he found number 5.
Virat Kohli stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the ground. He looked devastated.
Siddanth walked over.
Virat sensed him and looked up. His eyes were glassy, but he forced a stoic expression. He saw Siddanth approaching and instinctively extended a formal hand for a handshake.
Siddanth looked at the hand. He smiled.
He slapped Virat's hand away.
Before Virat could react, Siddanth pulled him into a fierce, brotherly hug.
"Better luck next time, mate," Siddanth whispered, slapping Virat's back hard.
Virat froze for a second, then melted. He hugged back, a short, sharp squeeze.
"Yeah," Virat choked out, pulling away and forcing a grin. "Congratulations, you bastard. You played... You played like a god today."
Siddanth moved down the line. He shook hands with Rahul Dravid ("Well played, son. Exceptional temperament."), with Anil Kumble ("You outfoxed us, Siddanth. Great game."), and with Manish Pandey, who just looked at him with wide, admiring eyes.
Then, a voice boomed from the side.
"Siddanth Deva, come here, please. Can we talk a little?"
It was Ravi Shastri. Of course.
Siddanth jogged over to the presentation area where Shastri was waiting with a microphone. The camera lights were blinding.
"Siddanth!" Shastri bellowed, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What a tournament! What a final! 88 not out, 2 wickets, and you controlled the game from start to finish. How is the feeling sinking in?"
Siddanth wiped sweat from his brow, catching his breath. "It's... it's unreal, Ravi-bhai. Honestly."
"You know, last year... last year we finished as runners up. And I lost the Ranji final by 1 run. I vowed to myself then... next season, I win the big one. I promised myself I wouldn't feel that pain again. And now... here I am."
"You certainly are!" Shastri said. "You've been the MVP of the tournament. The whole of India is watching. Anything you want to say to the fans back home?"
Siddanth looked directly into the camera lens. His composure cracked, and a genuine, boyish smile broke through.
"I just want to thank everyone who supported us. The Hyderabad fans, you guys are amazing."
He leaned closer to the camera.
"And... Hi Amma. Hi Nanna. Your son is a Champion."
Thousands of miles away, in the community hall in Mehdipatnam, Hyderabad, the scene was chaotic. But in the front row, Vikram Deva burst out laughing, tears streaming down his face.
"Did you hear him, Sesi? He is a champion!"
Sesikala was laughing and crying at the same time, wiping her eyes with her pallu. "He is so naughty! Look at him, all sweaty and messy! But he is a champion, Vikram. Our champion."
The colony erupted in cheers around them, but for the parents, it was a private moment shared across an ocean.
Back in Johannesburg, Shastri wasn't done.
"So, Siddanth, you've conquered the IPL. You've conquered the U-19 World Cup. What is next for the Hurricane?"
Siddanth straightened up. "Well, there's a T20 World Cup coming up in England in a few weeks. Hopefully... hopefully I get picked for the squad. I want to help India defend that title."
Shastri turned to the camera. "Did you hear that, selectors? I think the young man has made his case! I hope you will be selected, Siddanth. After this performance in big moments, it would be a brave man to leave you out. Final congratulations, son. Go enjoy it."
"Thanks, Ravi-bhai."
Siddanth walked away from the camera crew. He saw Shastri checking his notes, preparing to call the next player.
"And now," Shastri said into his mic, "let's get a word with another young talent, Rohit Sharma! Ro, come on over!"
Rohit Sharma, looking fresh and relaxed despite the sweat, jogged over to Shastri. He started answering a question about his hat-trick against Mumbai.
Siddanth stopped.
A wicked idea formed in his mind.
He looked towards the dugout. The large, blue plastic cooler that held the team's energy drinks and water bottles was sitting there. It was mostly empty of bottles now, but it was still full of ice-cold water and half-melted cubes.
He glanced at RP Singh, who was standing nearby. He jerked his head towards the cooler and then towards Rohit.
RP's eyes lit up. He nodded.
Together, they crept towards the dugout. They grabbed the handles of the heavy cooler. It sloshed dangerously.
"Quiet," Siddanth mouthed.
They moved stealthily across the grass, circling around the interview. Rohit was deep in conversation with Shastri, his back to the dugout, completely oblivious.
Shastri saw them coming. His eyes widened.
Siddanth put a finger to his lips, gesturing for Shastri to keep talking.
Shastri, the consummate professional (and mischief-maker), didn't miss a beat. "So, Rohit, tell me about the team atmosphere..."
They were right behind him.
"NOW!" Siddanth yelled.
They tipped the cooler.
A waterfall of freezing water and ice cubes crashed down onto Rohit Sharma's head.
"AAAARGH!"
Rohit yelped, a high-pitched sound of pure shock. He jumped a foot in the air, his interview cut short by the thermal shock.
Shastri burst out laughing, stepping back to avoid the splash.
Siddanth didn't wait. He dropped the cooler and bolted.
Rohit, dripping wet, shook the hair out of his eyes. He saw Siddanth running.
"DEVA!" Rohit roared. "YOU'RE DEAD!"
He took off after him.
The sight of two of India's brightest young stars playing tag in the middle of a packed stadium, running circles around the presentation podium, had the crowd roaring with laughter. Siddanth vaulted over the boundary rope. Rohit scrambled after him.
They grabbed water bottles from the boundary edge and started spraying each other, joined quickly by Ojha and Gibbs. It was a water fight in the middle of a coronation.
After ten minutes of chaos, soaked to the bone and shivering in the cool night air, they called a truce.
"Go change," Gilchrist laughed, herding them towards the dugout. "You look like drowned rats. We have a trophy to lift."
They ran back to the dressing room, peeling off the soaked jerseys and pulling on fresh, dry jerseys that the management had prepared.
Then, the Presentation Ceremony began in earnest.
Lalit Modi, the IPL Chairman, stood on the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the awards for the DLF IPL 2009!"
Fair Play Award: Kings XI Punjab.
Under-23 Player of the Tournament:
"For a hat-trick and crucial runs... Rohit Sharma!"
Rohit ran up, grinning, his hair still damp. He took the award, winking at Siddanth.
Purple Cap (Leading Wicket Taker):
"With 27 wickets... RP Singh!"
The left-armer went up. It was a massive achievement for Deccan. Their bowling had won them the tournament.
Orange Cap (Leading Run Scorer):
"With a staggering 840 runs... Siddanth Deva!"
Siddanth ran up again. He accepted the Orange Cap and put it on. It felt good.
Player of the Series:
"For 840 runs, 26 wickets, and the Catch of the Season... the MVP... Siddanth Deva!"
He was called up again. He was weighed down by trophies. A golden bat. A golden hand. The MVP crystal.
Then, the medals.
The Royal Challengers Bangalore came up for their runners-up medals. Kumble led them, gracious in defeat.
Then, the Deccan Chargers.
One by one, they walked up. Laxman. Symonds. Gibbs. Rohit. RP. Siddanth.
They stood in a line, gold medals around their necks, waiting.
The Moment.
"And now... the Captain of the Deccan Chargers... Adam Gilchrist!"
Gilchrist bounded onto the stage. He shook hands with the dignitaries. He took the massive trophy which is shape of India.
He didn't lift it. He took the trophy and turned to his team. He walked straight to the center of the group.
He handed one handle to Siddanth. He handed the other to Rohit.
"Your time, boys!" Gilchrist yelled.
Siddanth and Rohit looked at each other.
"On three," Rohit said.
"One. Two. Three!"
They hoisted the cup into the air.
Pyrotechnics exploded from the roof of the stadium. Gold streamers rained down from the sky. Queen's We Are The Champions thumped through the speakers.
The team roared. Siddanth felt the cold metal of the cup, the weight of it. He felt Rohit shouting beside him. He saw the flashbulbs blinding him.
It was perfect.
After the team photos, the chaos dispersed slightly. Players were taking photos with their families, with the cup.
Siddanth found a quiet moment. He took the trophy.
He walked a few steps away from the group.
He held it up, high above his head, staring at the engraving: DLF IPL CHAMPIONS 2009.
A photographer snapped the picture. Siddanth Deva, 18 years old, alone with the prize, his eyes closed, soaking in the vibration of victory.
He lowered the cup and handed it to Halhadar Das, who was waiting eagerly for his turn.
"All yours, roomie."
Siddanth stepped back. He needed to check.
DING.
[SYSTEM STATUS REPORT]
[EVENT COMPLETE: IPL 2009 FINAL]
[RESULT: CHAMPION]
[TEMPLATE STATUS]
AB de Villiers: 80%
Brett Lee: 80%
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[REWARD: "100% FORM CARD" (Consumable)]
(Description: Use this card to guarantee "In The Zone" status for one single match. All stats boosted to S++ for the duration of the match. Single Use.)
Siddanth's breath hitched. A "God Mode" card. He mentally stored it. That was for a World Cup Final. Nothing less.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "The Speed Demon"(For completing 80% Brett Lee template)]
[REWARD: GOLDEN LOTTERY SPIN (1)]
A Golden Spin.
His heart raced faster than it had during the match.
He mentally activated the wheel.
It was massive, glowing with golden energy. The names on it were legends.
Warne... McGrath... Akram... Viv Richards... Sobers...
It spun. It blurred.
Clack... clack... clack...
It slowed down.
It passed Wasim Akram.
It passed Brian Lara.
It landed on a tile that glowed with a steady, enduring light.
[TEMPLATE ACQUIRED: JACQUES KALLIS]
[The Ultimate All-Rounder]
[Starter Integration: 20%]
[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: "The Rock" (Passive, Lv. 1)]
(Description: Dramatically increases physical durability and stamina regeneration. Allows the Host to bowl long spells and bat long innings in the same match without performance degradation. Reduces injury risk from high workload.)
Jacques Kallis.
The greatest all-rounder of the modern era. The man who batted like Dravid and bowled like a strike bowler.
He had AB's flair. He had Lee's pace. And now, he had Kallis's engine.
The 20% integration settled into him. He felt... solid. Grounded. The fatigue from the match seemed to evaporate, replaced by a dense, sturdy strength.
He looked at his hands.
He wasn't just a T20 star anymore. With Kallis in the mix, he was built for Test cricket. He was built to bowl 20 overs a day and bat for 6 hours.
"Sid! Come on!" Rohit yelled, waving a champagne bottle. "We're doing a lap!"
Siddanth smiled and ran to join his friend.
"Coming!"
He sprinted across the Stadium, the golden confetti sticking to his boots, ready to run a victory lap around the world.