The first man to notice Arjun was not impressed.
Raghava Rao had coached children for nearly twenty-five years. He had seen prodigies burn out, rich kids get pushed forward, and real talent die quietly on dusty grounds. When the local school sent a list of names for trials, Arjun Verma's was just another entry.
Age: 7.Height: Too small.Build: Thin.
Rao sighed and blew his whistle.
"Batting first," he barked. "One over each. Don't waste my time."
Arjun walked in with borrowed pads that slid down his legs and a bat that was too heavy. He felt Rao's eyes on him—dismissive, already bored.
Good.
The bowler ran in, fast for a kid. Arjun saw the wrist position immediately.
In-swinger.
He adjusted—but only halfway.
The ball beat his outside edge and clipped the stump.
Out.
A few boys snickered.
Rao nodded. "Next."
Arjun walked back calmly, heart steady. The lie had worked.
Later, when it was his turn to bowl, he deliberately dropped short. No swing. No plan. Just harmless medium pace. Rao didn't even write his name down.
As they packed up, Rao muttered to another coach, "Normal boy. Nothing special."
Arjun heard it and felt relief wash through him.
As he walked home, bat over shoulder, he made a mental note:
Talent revealed early attracts handlers.Handlers demand obedience.
He wasn't ready to be owned.
Not yet.