But, Before the tension could coil any tighter—
"Quit messing with these kids' brains." Nidou's voice cut cleanly through the unease. He turned around from his seat, fingers twirling the pen in his grasp, his expression unimpressed but firm, "You won't get anything out of it. They'll just start overthinking everything."
He tilted his head slightly, tone grounded, "It was purely a coincidence. Haitam—that brat—only disrupts the minds of those on the pitch. If the thunder were part of it, the entire stadium—and all of you—wouldn't have heard it in the first place."
Silence followed. Then sheer irritation.
Karachi's boys turned toward the Multan high schoolers with visibly annoyed expressions—only to be met with sudden, unrestrained laughter. The Multan group doubled over, shoulders shaking, hands clapping against thighs.
"Haha! Didn't think you'd take it that seriously!" Khizr laughed, wiping at the corner of an eye, "You should've seen your faces!"
"Absolutely priceless, haha!" Mahd added, slapping his thigh with a sharp thwack, wiping his tears.
Lucas tried to smother his chortle behind his hand, but the unmistakable shake of his shoulders gave him away entirely. Truly, they were a vexing bunch.
The coaches—Mir, Yusuf, Pedro, and Musa—could only shake their heads, thoroughly amused by the boys' out-of-this-world innocence, while Seles chuckled in fond adoration.
"I'll commit a world crime, no doubt," Orion muttered, irritation plain in his voice.
Isa's brow twitched. "They should be thrown out," he muttered darkly.
"Yeah," Senri agreed, a strained smile tugging at his lips, "Before we start beating them up."
Kenzo, Xavier, Helios and the rest of the middle schoolers stared back toward the field, unimpressed—expressions flat, patience visibly thinning.
"I feel like a complete fool," Seraph said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassment burning hot.
Gabriel let out a slow breath, "I don't want to associate with them ever again." And, none amongst them could agree less.
For the first ball of the fourth over, Haitam casually tossed the white ball into the air, eyes following its arc before catching it cleanly in his palm. A simple motion—unhurried, confident. The second slip adjusted position, Nouis settling into guard with a brief roll of the shoulders. Around them, fielders shifted—shoes scuffing the turf, hands on knees, eyes sharp—until the ground fell into a poised stillness.
At the crease, Adam gave Haruf a brief nod. Haruf responded by tapping the bat once against the pitch. Solid. Serious. The easy grin that usually came so naturally to him was gone. In its place sat focus—quiet, narrowed, razor-sharp. Adam swallowed instinctively, body tightening into alert readiness.
The fourth over began.
Haitam stepped onto the popping crease, posture fluid yet deliberate, and released the ball with intent. His fingers rolled over the seam of the white cock as though savoring the exact instant before letting go. The delivery pitched shorter than expected—packed with force—and leapt viciously upward.
Haruf jerked back a fraction, surprised by the sudden bounce and pace of the top spinner, then reacted instantly—back foot sliding, bat dropping down in a clean defensive block.
Thud. The sound echoed sharply off the pitch.
"Whoa!" rippled through the fielders and surged from the stands like a wave.
Adam blinked, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "That was… Even sharper than Gabriel's aggressive top spinners," he thought, eyes widening in disbelief.
Haitam retrieved the ball, raking his fingers through his hair as he turned away, a slow grin curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Dangerous control paired with perfect release," Jones remarked from the commentary box, "Haitam's off-spin—unpredictable and deadly—is truly a spectacle."
Back at the crease, Haruf tapped his bat again, gaze tightening.
Haitam returned, placing his foot on the popping crease once more. This time, his fingers danced over the ball as he leaned in and murmured, almost playfully, "Skip Splash."
Tick—tap.Tap… tap… The sound crept across the pitch.
Adam blinked, brows knitting together, "Huh? Rain…?" The delivery slowed unnaturally, the ball appearing to bounce—once, twice—rolling toward Haruf in a warped illusion.
Tap. Tap.
The sounds merging one another, grew louder, sharper. Then the ball vanished and so did the illusions.
Adam sucked in a breath, "What the—?!" His eyes darted wildly, "The ball—where did it go?!"
At the striker's end, Haruf closed his eyes. He inhaled slowly, deeply—blocking out the noise, the confusion, the trickery. A faint smile tugged at his lips as the persistent pattering echoed around him, trying to claw its way into his senses.
Then— A flicker. A single resonance. Haruf's ears twitched. His eyes snapped open. Where there had been nothing— His bat met the wind. Or rather— The ball.
Crack.
The pull shot was fierce and clean, sent sailing over cover, slicing through deep cover and racing straight into the boundary. No fielder even bothered to chase. The verdict was already written. The crowd exploded.
"Beautifully threaded through the gap!" Maaz shouted over the roar, "Exquisite timing! That's the charm of this over—Haruf Noorfaris' charm!"
Adam stared from the non-striker's end, utterly stunned. "Huh…?" he muttered, "Out of nowhere—he knew exactly where the ball was… and sent it for four?"
At the crease, Haruf turned slightly—his grin now wide, bright, unmistakably his.
"Ghost Return: Unbound Strike… One-point Reality…" Adam heard Haitam's whisper drift past him, carried on breath and heat rather than sound. He didn't turn—but he felt it.
Behind him, Haitam stood burning with intent. His eyes were alight, sharp and unyielding, that familiar smirk carved firmly into place as sweat traced a slow path down his temple, slid along his jaw, and dropped onto the pitch—darkening the dust like a scream swallowed by the earth.
This was it. The moment Haitam had been waiting for. A true, neck-and-neck clash—no restraint, no holding back. Just two forces pressing against each other with everything they had.
Back in Karachi's pavilion, silence hung thick as breath was collectively held. Eyes followed the field, wide and unblinking.
"…Senior Haruf really hit the wind," Feng murmured, throat tight as he swallowed, "and it turned out to be the ball… didn't it?"
Basid nodded, arms crossed, gaze steady, "Exactly. Haitam released a slow off-break and layered it with an illusion—two bounces. One projected farther ahead of Haruf, the other closer. Because the ball was slow, the illusion naturally drew attention first." He gestured lightly with his fingers, as if mapping the delivery in the air, "To counter that awareness, the illusion collapses instantly. The ball appears to vanish—aiming straight for the wicket."
"But it never truly disappears," Basid continued, "It hides itself from the batsmen's perception. Only from those standing on the pitch."
Daniil leaned forward, elbows on knees. "And to make it worse," he added, voice lower, "Senior Haitam blends artificial sounds with the natural sound of the ball. It fractures spatial awareness—makes it nearly impossible to track the delivery cleanly." Then his brows drew together.
"…Yet it was still countered," Daniil muttered, "How?"
Evandor answered without hesitation, "One-point Reality. And the Ghost Return."
Heber's brow lifted slightly, "That infamous Ghost Return you high schoolers use?"
Aaron nodded once, "Yeah. Haruf's version is called Unbound Strike." He glanced toward the field as he spoke, "No matter the abilities or skills. No matter the Pinnacles or Realms. As long as Haruf commits to the shot, targets the boundary through the gaps—and his bat makes contact—that delivery will go."
"Every time?" Helios asked, eyes glinting with intrigue.
"Yup, every single time," Aigou confirmed, "The force, the precision—it's struck through blind spots. You can't follow it, let alone stop it."
Xavier tilted his head thoughtfully, "And if there is a fielder with countering abilities?" For a moment, the high schoolers stared at the middle schoolers as if betrayed on a personal level.
"Seriously," Nagi exhaled, rubbing his temple, "whose side are you even on?"
"Ourselves only," Kenzo replied shamelessly.
Ryan nodded, "Affirmative."
Ezekiel nodded too, brazenly but utterly straightforward. Nagi and the rest couldn't believe it. A beat of silence followed.
Then the Multan high schoolers broke— their trademark laughter spilling out bright and unrestrained.
"Seriously?!" Mahd laughed, grabbing his stomach, "Why are you arguing like you've stolen each other's inheritances?!"
Orion clicked his tongue quietly, shaking his head, "Tch. It's worse than that. You've seen ain't nothing."
"And what about One-point Reality?" Cassiel asked, pen moving steadily as he scribbled into his journal, eyes never leaving the field even as his mind raced ahead.