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The dust of the Feroz Shah Kotla had settled, but the sting of the 10-run defeat clung to Siddanth Deva like a second skin. He stood on the outfield, the runner-up medal a heavy, cold weight against his chest.
He had just lost the biggest match until now by a small margin.
As the Delhi team celebrated with the trophy, a man in a BCCI blazer approached him. It was Lalchand Rajput, the coach of the India Under-19 team. He was a man with a quiet, observant demeanor, his eyes sharp.
"Siddanth Deva," Rajput said, extending a hand.
"Sir," Siddanth replied, shaking it. His grip was firm, despite the exhaustion.
"That was... some game, son," Rajput said, his gaze lingering on the medal around Siddanth's neck. "A 162 and a 96 not out in a final. And three wickets. You didn't lose today. Your team lost. There's a difference."
Siddanth didn't say anything.
"I know it doesn't feel like it now," Rajput continued, his voice softening. "But losses are stepping stones for success. The greatest test of courage on earth is to bear defeat without losing heart."
Siddanth looked up, meeting the coach's eyes. It was a quote he recognized. Robert Green Ingersoll. It was strange hearing it on a cricket field, but it resonated. He gave a slow, genuine nod.
"I'm building a team, Siddanth," Rajput said, getting down to business. "For the World Cup next year in Malaysia. I need players who don't just have talent. I need players who have the fight. You showed me the fight today."
Siddanth's pulse quickened. This was it. The next level.
"You're on my list, son. You're very high on my list. Keep your phone on. We'll be in touch."
With a final nod, Rajput walked away, leaving Siddanth alone with the fading cheers of the Delhi team. The pain of the loss didn't vanish, but it was suddenly... manageable. It had a purpose.
The journey back to Hyderabad was a quiet affair. The team was despondent, but not broken. They had defied every expectation to reach the final. When he arrived home, the reception was not a funeral, but a celebration of his effort.
"Ten runs, Siddu! Ten runs!" Arjun yelled, waving a newspaper with Siddanth's picture on the front page. "You almost won!"
Vikram Deva didn't say much. He just hugged his son, a fierce, proud embrace. "You fought, Siddanth. That's all that matters. You fought till the last ball."
Sesikala made his favorite biryani, and for a few hours, the Ranji final felt like a distant memory.
The next morning, he was back in the nets. The 10-run loss was fuel. He bowled, refining the control. He batted, working on placing those final, crucial singles that had eluded him in Delhi.
A few weeks later, the phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize.
"Hello, is this Mr. Siddanth Deva?" The voice was smooth, corporate, and dripping with salesmanship.
"Speaking."
"Mr. Deva, this is Rahul from the Essel Group. We've been watching your performances in the Ranji Trophy. Phenomenal stuff, truly."
"We're launching a new league, Mr. Deva. The Indian Cricket League. T20 format. City-based teams. International stars. It's the future of cricket, and we want you to be a part of the Hyderabad Heroes."
The offer that followed was staggering. More money in one season than he'd make in five years of Ranji cricket. It was tempting. For a 17-year-old in 2007, it was a fortune.
But Siddanth knew the future. He knew the ICL was a doomed venture, a rebel league that would be crushed by the BCCI's IPL juggernaut. He knew the players who signed would be banned, their careers derailed for years. Rayudu would sign. He knew that. And it would cost him precious years of his prime.
"Does the BCCI sanction this league?" Siddanth asked, his voice calm.
There was a slight pause on the other end. "Well, not officially, no. But we are in talks. It's only a matter of time before—"
"Thank you for the offer," Siddanth interrupted, firm. "But my goal is to play for India. I can't do anything that might jeopardize that. Good luck with your league."
He hung up. He didn't even feel a twinge of regret. He had just dodged a massive, career-ending bullet.
A week later, the real call came.
It wasn't a smooth corporate voice. It was a brisk, efficient woman from the BCCI office in Mumbai.
"Mr. Deva? This is regarding the India Under-19 squad for the upcoming tour of Sri Lanka. You've been selected. Five ODIs, four Tests. You are to report to the National Cricket Academy in Bengaluru on Monday for the preparatory camp."
Siddanth thanked her, hung up the phone, and then, very calmly, walked into the living room and sat down.
"Amma? Nanna?"
They came in from the kitchen.
"I got the call," he said.
"From who? Those Essel people again?" Vikram asked, frowning.
"No. The BCCI. I'm in the India U-19 team. We're touring Sri Lanka."
Sesikala screamed and dropped the plate she was holding. It shattered, but no one cared. Vikram just sat down heavily, a look of pure, unadulterated joy washing over his face.
He was one step closer. The blue jersey was within reach.
While Siddanth prepared for Bengaluru, the rest of the cricket world was burning.
March 2007. The Caribbean. The ODI World Cup.
It was supposed to be India's year. They had Sachin, Sourav, Dravid, Sehwag, Yuvraj, and Dhoni. It was a team of gods.
Siddanth watched it unfold on TV, a horrific, slow-motion car crash he knew was coming but was powerless to stop.
Bangladesh. The upset. Tamim Iqbal dancing down the track to Zaheer Khan. India bowled out for 191. Lost by 5 wickets.
Then, Bermuda. A thrashing, but it was a hollow victory.
And finally, Sri Lanka. A must-win game. India, chasing 255, crumbled to 185 all out.
They were out. In the group stages.
The gods had fallen.
The country was in an uproar. Effigies were burned. Houses were stoned. The media was a pack of rabid dogs, tearing the team apart.
Siddanth watched it all from his room, packing his kit bag for the NCA. He felt a strange disconnect. He was sad, yes, as a fan. But he knew what this meant.
This was the fire that would forge the new generation. This disaster was the catalyst for the T20 World Cup victory later that year, for the rise of Dhoni's young India.
And he was going to be a part of that new wave.
The National Cricket Academy in Bengaluru was a sprawling complex of green outfields, state-of-the-art indoor nets, and high-tech gyms. It was a Mecca for aspiring Indian cricketers.
Siddanth arrived, his kit bag slung over his shoulder, feeling a mix of awe and determination. This was where the professionals lived.
The U-19 squad was a gathering of the future.
He saw him immediately. Virat Kohli.
Kohli was already there, holding court in the middle of the dormitory hallway, loudly recounting a story about how he'd smashed a Delhi club bowler. He was brash, loud, and radiated a terrifying amount of self-confidence.
"Sid!" Kohli exclaimed, using a casual familiarity that erased the final's bitterness. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
Kohli then says. "Look, about the final. What a match, man. Seriously. You were unbelievable. We honestly thought you had us. No hard feelings, right? That's Ranji. This is different."
"Of course, Virat," Siddanth replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a genuine smile returning. "It was the best game I've ever played. We fought hard on the pitch, but this time, we're on the same side. We're here to win games for India."
Kohli grinned, nodding vigorously. "That's the spirit, Sid. That's why the coach picked us. We're the new generation, you and I."
Siddanth just smiled. "Yeah. Ready for Sri Lanka?"
Kohli's smirk faltered slightly at the lack of reaction. "Born ready. Just try to keep up this time, yeah? No running out partners."
It was a low blow, but Siddanth let it slide. He knew this Virat. This was the raw, untempered version. The greatness was there, but it was wrapped in layers of abrasive teenage ego.
There were others, too. Ravindra Jadeja, a quiet, wiry kid from Saurashtra with a wicked left-arm spin. Manish Pandey, a prodigious talent from Karnataka, with a technique that was pure silk.
Coach Lalchand Rajput gathered them on the first day.
"Look around you," he said, his voice echoing in the indoor nets. "You are the best thirty players of your age in a country of one billion. That makes you special. But it also makes you targets."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The senior team just embarrassed us in the World Cup. The country is angry. They are looking for hope. You are that hope. We go to Sri Lanka not just to win, but to show them that Indian cricket is not dead."
The camp was brutal. Rajput was a hard taskmaster. Fitness drills began at 5 AM. Net sessions lasted for hours under the blazing Bengaluru sun.
Siddanth thrived. His template was adapting beautifully. He was the fittest player in the camp, his discipline putting even the hyper-energetic Kohli to shame in the yo-yo tests.
In the nets, he was a menace. He didn't bowl full pace often, but when he did, he terrorized the batsmen.
With the bat, he was a machine. He didn't just try to out-hit everyone like Kohli. He played situations. He batted for entire sessions without getting out, frustrating the spinners with his deft footwork and the pacers with his rock-solid defense.
By the end of the camp, the final squad for Sri Lanka was announced.
Captain: Virat Kohli.
Vice-Captain: Ravindra Jadeja.
Siddanth was in the squad, of course. He was listed as a pure all-rounder, expected to bat at number 4 or 5 and bowl first-change.
Siddanth Deva
[SYSTEM: PROFILE]
Age: 17 Years (India U-19 International)
Condition: Fully Healthy
Objective:U-19 World Cup Victory (Feb 2008).
Clutch Rating:S-Tier. (Confirmed finisher ability).
Template Integration Report
[SYSTEM: TEMPLATE]
AB de Villiers:80.0%(MAX)
Role: Elite Batting Anchor & Finisher.
Notes: Maxed out Pressure Resilience and 360-degree versatility. Unstoppable under pressure.
[SYSTEM: TEMPLATE]
Brett Lee:40.0%
Role: Sustained High-Pace Bowling.
Notes: Integration complete. A 150+ kph pace can be delivered over long spells.
[SYSTEM: BATTING]
Predator's Focus (Lv. 2):Focus Lock. Scenario calculation is active in clutch moments.
Innovative Shot-Making (Lv. 3): Mastery of Ramp/Scoop and Reverse-Sweep.
Sleight of Hand (Lv. 3): Unmatched wrist control for placement and defense.
Power Hitting (Lv. 3): Efficient power for effortless boundary clearing.
[SYSTEM: BOWLING & FIELDING]
"The Javelin" (Lv. 2): 150+ kph speed with surgical accuracy.
Parkour Instincts (Lv. 2): Explosive speed for running/fielding. Converts singles to doubles.