Siddharth Naidu was not used to being ignored.
The district finals had humbled him. Arjun had left him feeling unsettled, as though his sixes and early glory were inconsequential. Sid had talent—but he needed validation, applause, proof that the world recognized him. And he couldn't handle being edged out quietly.
When the state trials arrived, Sid made a decision: he would assert dominance over Arjun. He arrived early, polished kit in hand, flashing his trademark grin at everyone in sight.
"Let's see if that Guntur kid is as clever as they say," Sid muttered to himself.
The trial began with batting first. Sid attacked every ball as if each one were a final over in a World Cup final. Arjun took guard quietly, reading every subtle movement in the pitch, the bowler, even the reactions of the spectators. His first few shots were modest, almost lazy. Sid noticed immediately.
"Not afraid, huh?" Sid whispered as they walked back between overs.
"I don't fear yet," Arjun replied. Calm. Unshakable.
Sid smirked. "We'll see about that."
During fielding drills, Sid intentionally aimed at Arjun—overthrows, short throws, minor intimidation tactics. Arjun adjusted, caught what was catchable, let the rest go with no visible reaction. Sid's frustration grew. Every attempt to provoke a mistake failed. Arjun's mind was always a step ahead.
By the second day, whispers circulated among coaches: "Watch the kid from Guntur." Some muttered, "The Devil in disguise." It wasn't Arjun's nickname yet—but the feeling of unease was spreading. Sid felt it the most.
During the final match, Sid tried everything: aggressive sledging, questioning decisions, even refusing to rotate strike when Arjun guided the batting partnership. Nothing worked. Arjun subtly manipulated the game, ensuring the team's performance looked coherent while leaving Sid increasingly unmoored.
When the final wicket fell and the scoreboard confirmed their victory, Sid stormed off in silence. Arjun clapped politely, as though unaware of the storm he'd caused. No one noticed the calm precision, the control, the invisible hand that had won the day. But Sid never forgot. That first personal defeat would haunt him for years—one more obstacle between his ambition and the boy who played quietly, deliberately, as if he owned time itself.