The sun had climbed high by the time Prince finished his second training session of the day. Sweat rolled down the curve of his neck as he peeled the gloves from his hands and leaned against the practice net. The machine had been silent for five minutes, but he hadn't noticed. His heartbeat was steady, not from calm, but from control. The System had long taught him how to regulate adrenaline, how to keep the tremor of nerves from ever reaching his fingers.
Still, today was different.
He checked the clock on the far wall of the private practice bay. 11:45 a.m.
Every second since morning had been thick with expectation.The national youth board had announced that the Under-19 selection results would be delivered personally to the shortlisted players that afternoon. Not an email, not a message, a couriered letter, hand-stamped by the BCCI.
He tried not to think about it. He failed miserably.
He'd been through selections before, Delhi Under-14, Under-16, even the national camp last year, but this was different. This was the threshold every Indian prodigy dreamt of. Once you wore that blue cap with the crest, you were no longer just a boy with talent. You were a name that could one day walk onto an international pitch.
Prince took a deep breath."System," he muttered, voice low and even. "Status."
A transparent screen flickered into existence before him, faint blue light reflecting off the sweat on his jawline.
SYSTEM STATUS: ONLINEVital Signs: StableCortisol Level: Slightly elevatedEmotional Flux: Anticipatory tension detectedSuggestion: Breath Regulation Protocol — 4-7-8 Pattern
Current Mission: Await official selection results.
Probability of positive outcome based on performance metrics: 91.3%
He gave a faint snort."Only ninety-one?"
SYSTEM: Margin of error due to selection bias, politics, and external human factors.Reassurance protocols not applicable.
Prince sighed. "Yeah. Figures."
He shut off the display and sat down on the edge of the turf, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd done everything, every drill, every match, every sleepless night of training. He had carried Delhi through three consecutive national titles. He had played through injury, bowled through pain, learned to think, breathe, and react like a machine. And yet, for all that effort, the decision still lay in someone else's hands.
The world was cruelly human like that.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires drew his attention. A black sedan rolled through the gate, stopping near the main drive. Prince stood, towel slung over his shoulder. One of the household staff ran up the path, a brown envelope clutched in his hand.
"Sir, from the Board!" the man said, half out of breath.
Prince froze. His heart, that steady, measured organ, forgot its training for half a beat.
He took the envelope slowly, fingers brushing the embossed seal of the BCCI.It was heavier than it should have been, thick parchment, embossed with a silver-blue insignia that shimmered faintly under the Delhi sunlight.
His name was printed in clean, sharp ink on the front:Prince Martin — Delhi Cricket Association
He didn't move for several seconds. The wind stirred the trees, the faint sound of birds somewhere beyond the fence. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
"System," he whispered. "Record this."
SYSTEM: Recording active. Emotional imprint synchronization: begun.
He broke the seal.
The paper unfolded with a quiet rustle that somehow filled the entire courtyard.
Board of Control for Cricket in India (Youth Division)
Official Selection Notification — India Under-19 National Team Trials
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Dear Mr. Prince Martin,
Following an extensive evaluation of regional and national performances across the 2023–2024 domestic season, the Selection Committee of the BCCI Youth Division is pleased to inform you that you have been selected to attend the final national trial camp for the India Under-19 Team.
The camp will be held at the National Cricket Academy, Bengaluru, commencing 14th June.
Attendance is mandatory.
Please report to the selection board office upon arrival with full kit.
Congratulations, and best of luck.
Yours faithfully,
Rajeev NayyarChairman, National Youth Selection Committee
(This document is confidential and intended solely for the recipient.)
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Prince stared at the words until they blurred. Then he read them again, slowly this time, like each line needed to sink through years of work.
He'd done it.
He hadn't been told he might be good enough. He hadn't been promised a chance in the future.He was invited.
A grin spread across his face before he could stop it. His fingers tightened around the page as the System's voice pulsed softly in his head.
SYSTEM ALERT: New Mission Assigned.
Mission: "Proving Ground"Objective — Secure permanent position in India U19 squad.
Reward — Major Tier Upgrade available upon mission completion.
Submodules unlocked:
Performance Synchronization v2.0 — Integrates with match data in real-time for predictive analysis.
Peak Efficiency Loop — Allows temporary synchronization between mental focus and kinetic output for 30 seconds (cooldown: 48 hours).
Stat Growth Multiplier (Trial-Only) — All experience gained in matches multiplied by x3 for the duration of national camp.
Prince blinked, barely believing what he was seeing.
SYSTEM: Note — "Next Stage Unlocked" now formally initiated.Tier 5 → Tier 6 Pathway activated.Estimated power output increase: 45%.
Warning: User physiology may not yet be fully compatible with Tier 6 load. Adaptive recalibration recommended.
He exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh.
"Finally," he muttered. "Finally something real."
He turned the letter over once more before folding it neatly and tucking it into his duffel bag.His reflection in the glass wall of the net bay caught his attention — taller, sharper, stronger than the boy who had once stumbled through drills at the Century Academy. But his eyes still burned with the same silent fire.
SYSTEM: Emotional output stabilized. Heart rate returning to baseline.Suggestion — Begin pre-trial calibration in forty-eight hours.Subroutine available: "Trial Readiness Protocol"Execute when ready.
Prince nodded faintly, the ghost of a smile on his lips.He looked out across the quiet expanse of his family's grounds, where the air shimmered with heat and the faint hum of cicadas. Somewhere in the distance, life went on — cars, people, deals, noise. But for him, everything had narrowed down to a single moment, a single word.
India.
And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to close his eyes — not to rest, but to dream.
------------- One Week Later ------------------
The Martin Mansion buzzed with the rare kind of energy that came only from pride and worry intertwined.Maria stood by the grand stairway, her eyes already misty, while Bibin, usually composed and towering in presence, paced restlessly with his phone in hand, pretending to check messages that weren't there.
Anna, barefoot and tired after her lessons, ran to Prince the moment she saw the travel bag in his hand.
"Where are you going?" she asked, though she already knew.
He smiled and knelt down so their eyes met. "Bengaluru," he said softly. "For the trials."
She frowned, the kind of frown only six-year-olds can manage, a mix of anger and heartbreak. "You'll come back, right?"
"Of course." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "And when I do, you'll be the first person I show the India jersey to, deal?"
Anna hesitated, then nodded and threw her arms around him, her little hands clutching his neck like he might disappear if she let go.He hugged her back, longer than he meant to. For all the strength the System had built into him, it was this tiny pair of arms that made his chest ache the most.
Maria came next. Her eyes shone even though her lips trembled into a smile. "You've made us proud already," she whispered, cupping his face. "Just remember who you are, Prince. Not the name, not the skill, you. Don't lose that."
He nodded, his throat tight. "I won't, Ma."
Bibin stepped forward, his movements deliberate, his voice lower and steadier than usual."When I started this empire," he said, "I thought legacy meant buildings, money, the kind of things people see. But I was wrong." He placed a hand on Prince's shoulder. "Legacy looks like you, son. Go make yours."
Prince looked up at his father, at the man who had built everything from dust, and felt the same wordless gratitude he had always carried. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The family stood together for a few seconds in the marble foyer, the chandelier light glinting off polished glass, the sound of Delhi's evening hum leaking faintly through the open balcony doors.
Then the driver appeared by the entrance, holding the keys. Time was moving again.
Prince hugged them all once more, Anna refusing to let go until Maria gently pried her fingers away. "Go," she said. "Before she changes her mind."
Prince smiled faintly and nodded.
The Mercedes purred softly as it glided through the long driveway, city lights spilling over its reflective surface. The mansion grew smaller in the mirror until it disappeared behind the bend.Prince leaned back, his duffel bag beside him, the faint hum of the engine syncing with his heartbeat.
He looked out of the window as the skyline of Delhi shimmered in the night — the same skyline his father's empire had built, the one he had grown under.The world outside seemed wide, but the System's voice in his head was quiet and precise.
SYSTEM: Emotional sync stabilized. Mission progression: 1%.Next milestone: Arrival at National Camp - Bengaluru.Subroutine "Preparation Loop" now available for activation during flight.
Would you like to enable travel recovery mode?[Yes / No]
Prince exhaled, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Yes."
SYSTEM: Travel recovery activated. Fatigue nullification underway.
He closed his eyes for the first time that day, not from exhaustion, but from the feeling that something immense was about to begin.
By the time he woke, the Mercedes had reached the airport. A staff member helped with his luggage, but Prince insisted on carrying his own cricket kit bag. He walked through the private terminal, nodding politely at a few glances of recognition from airport staff, that's the Delhi prodigy, the Martin boy.
The flight was long, but smooth. Clouds drifted below like pale waves, and as the plane descended into Bengaluru, the city spread out like a living circuit of green and glass under a faint orange dawn.
The air that met him was warm and thick with humidity, different from Delhi's dry bite.He stretched his arms, letting the stiffness bleed away as the System's micro-adjustments aligned his posture.
SYSTEM: Altitude normalization complete. Oxygen saturation optimal.Neural delay, 0.02 seconds (within performance threshold).
The car arranged by the board was already waiting. The drive from the airport to the designated players' hotel, the Taj Gateway, near the NCA grounds, was short and quiet. Prince barely noticed the passing streets. His mind replayed the moment of the letter, the look in his mother's eyes, the pride in his father's hand on his shoulder.
He was sixteen, and tomorrow, he'd be standing among the best his country had to offer.
The hotel lobby gleamed with polished marble and soft gold lighting. Security at the entrance checked his credentials, then escorted him to the fourth floor, a level reserved entirely for the Under-19 trialists.
As they walked down the corridor, Prince's eyes drifted to the brass nameplates affixed to each polished wooden door. Every name on that hallway represented the next generation of Indian cricket, and many, he already knew.
Room 401 — Arshdeep Singh (Punjab)Tall, left-arm swing bowler. The kind who didn't just bowl deliveries, he carved them through air. Calm eyes, a still run-up, and movement that could cut any batsman's confidence in half.
Room 402 — Shubman Gill (Punjab)The golden boy. Pure class with the bat. Every drive was a whisper of timing and patience. Prince still remembered facing him in Mohali, elegance personified.
Room 403 — Tilak Varma (Andhra Pradesh)A middle-order menace with wrists like whips. Compact, explosive, and born for chases. Tilak had the calm of an old player trapped in a young body.
Room 404 — Riyan Parag (Rajasthan)Prince smirked slightly at that one. The leg-spinning all-rounder had the swagger of a film star and the bite of a cobra. Arrogant, sure, but deservedly so.
Room 405 — Sai Sudharsan (Tamil Nadu)Smooth as silk. Every stroke was measured, his temperament unflappable. Sai could play ten overs without a risk, and then loft one with precision that silenced crowds.
Room 406 — Khaleel Ahmed (Rajasthan)Another left-arm pacer, tall and lean. Prince remembered the raw pace, the swing, the angles. He wasn't polished yet, but terrifying in rhythm.
Room 407 — Rishabh Pant (Delhi)The kid who never cared about the pitch, the field, or even logic. He just hit. A natural showman who turned every innings into a highlight reel. Delhi's own hurricane.
Room 408 — Aru Menon (Kerala)Prince paused a moment at this one. His old teammate. Aru's name carried a rush of nostalgia, monsoon days in Kochi, barefoot practice, laughter echoing in empty nets.
Room 409 — Prithvi Shaw (Mumbai)The compact opener with a blade like lightning. His balance, his confidence, they made him look untouchable. Prince had bowled to him once, and still remembered the blur of that cover drive.
Room 410 — Washington Sundar (Tamil Nadu)Calm. Composed. The perfect all-rounder. His eyes always scanned the field before a delivery, like a chess player thinking ten moves ahead.
At the very end of the corridor stood his own nameplate:
Room 411 — Prince Martin (Delhi/Kerala)
A dual tag. Delhi for the present. Kerala for the past. The sight made him smile faintly. A reminder that he belonged to both, and owed everything to both.
Inside, the room was cool and spacious, a king-sized bed, a minimalist desk, and a glass window framing the city skyline. On the table sat a welcome kit embossed with the BCCI logo.
Inside were his credentials, a crisp blue tracksuit, a trial schedule, and a card titled:"Under-19 National Selection Trials — Day One: Physical & Skill Evaluation."
Prince placed his duffel bag beside the bed and drew the curtains open. The city stretched beneath him, half asleep, half alive.
For a long moment, he just stood there, palms resting against the glass, watching Bengaluru wake.
Tomorrow, he'd face every name on that hallway. Every talent, every reputation.
And somewhere deep within him, he could already hear the faint chime of the System, waiting to awaken again.