On the scoreboard it was written — Team A: 12 — Team B: 11.
Forty seconds were left.
The dust of the court was still rising with the memory of the last raid. The crowd had stood up from their places, the noise was like a storm. But inside that small ground — time felt like it had stopped.
And just then — Ranvijay stepped onto the court.
Just one step — and every player of Team B felt something. There was no sound. No signal. Just a heavy, unseen pressure — a man who had not gone out even once in the entire match. Not even once had he been out. This fact spread among Team B's defenders like air.
"No one has been able to catch him. Not even once in the entire match."
Team B's confidence did not break — it just… started to crack.
---
Ranvijay went to the right side. Always right. The crowd knew it. The defenders knew it. But knowing and stopping — these are two different things.
Because his target was never the boundary.
His target was — Abhay.
Team B's captain was standing at the back, jaw tight, eyes locked on the raider. Abhay was not an ordinary defender. He had a different kind of understanding — he could read the game beforehand, predict moves. He was a leader who made his team believe that anything could be stopped.
But Ranvijay did not respect captains.
He broke them on the field.
He surged to the right side, "Kabaddi... Kabaddi... Kabaddi..." — this rhythm was like a war drum — and cut straight towards Abhay. His footwork was like lightning, his weight shifted so fast that catching his leg meant — catching smoke. Abhay watched those legs. He always watched the legs.
Left. Right. Shuffle. Stop.
And then — touch.
Ranvijay's fingers touched Abhay's arm. Clean. Confirmed. Real.
The crowd exploded.
But the moment Ranvijay turned to run back — he fell down.
A hand had locked over his ankle. A grip like iron. Intentional.
Viraj.
Team B's silent enforcer — who had stayed only in defense the entire match — had been waiting for this one moment. He said nothing. Just held on — and as Ranvijay tried to break free, Viraj called out and teammates arrived. Shoulders. Arms. Weight.
The chant stopped.
The score became equal. 12 — 12.
Abhay took a deep breath. He looked at Viraj and slowly nodded.
"Very good, Viraj."
Viraj said nothing. He returned to his position, bent slightly, eyes on the court.
But in his mind, one question kept repeating —
"How do you stop a storm that never gets tired?"
---
The referee's whistle blew. Three minutes of extra time. The draw needed a winner.
Abhay turned towards his team. His voice was straight, almost calm.
"The match is a draw. We have three minutes. We need to move forward."
Every teammate responded immediately. "Yes, Captain."
Every teammate — except one.
Viraj stayed silent.
His eyes were on the other side of the court — where Ranvijay was stretching his fingers, rotating his neck. Completely calm. As if nothing had happened. As if he had just woken up from sleep.
How do we stop this? Viraj was thinking. He comes and breaks the entire team's confidence. Something has to be done.
---
Abhay made the first raid.
"Kabaddi — Kabaddi — Kabaddi—"
He moved forward with precision, pulling defenders towards him. One tried to grab his leg — Abhay dropped at the last moment, his hand touched the boundary line — like a blade on water.
Team B scores. 13 — 12.
Team A answered immediately. Their raider came onto the court, pressured the corner — one defender tried to grab his waist — but the raider jumped. A full leap. Over the defender. Landed beyond the line — clean.
13 — 13.
The match had become a heartbeat.
---
Then Ranvijay came back.
No announcement. No noise. Just that presence — that aura — which filled the court like smoke.
Team B felt it again. That unseen weight. Shoulders stiffened. Breaths tightened.
Even Viraj felt a tremor inside.
Ranvijay went right. Then slightly left — a small shift, just enough to remind defenders that he could go anywhere. His only goal was — Abhay. To break the captain on the field. To prove that no one on this court is untouchable.
"Kabaddi... Kabaddi... Kabaddi..."
He moved towards Abhay again.
Abhay watched the legs. This was his strength — prediction. He could see before the move happened, feel the angles. His eyes sharpened. Ranvijay's weight shifted right—
Abhay saw it.
In his mind, he played the entire scene. Ranvijay would come right, drop the shoulder, and touch with his right hand. And at that exact moment — that exact moment — Abhay's hand would lock onto his ankle.
Perfect. Certain.
So he stopped — and waited.
Ranvijay came right.
The shoulder dropped.
Abhay moved forward — fast, precise, with confidence —
And what came into his hand was only — air.
Because Ranvijay was already in the air.
---
Only 10 seconds were left on the clock.
That jump was early. Deliberately early. Not a reaction — a trap. Ranvijay had watched Abhay watch his legs the entire match. In three minutes, he had made Abhay believe that the next move was readable. He had handed prediction to Abhay like a gift.
And Abhay had opened that gift.
In the air itself, Ranvijay's fingers touched Abhay's shoulder — clean, confirmed, real touch.
Then he landed — both feet beyond the line — in one flow.
The whistle blew.
Team A: 14. Team B: 13.
The crowd turned into a storm.
---
Viraj stood frozen in his defensive position. He looked at the scoreboard. Then looked at Ranvijay — who was walking back towards his team. Completely calm. As if he had just returned from an evening walk.
He set a trap, Viraj slowly understood. The constant right-side pressure, that footwork, everything — it was all to make Abhay feel like he had figured it out. And then Ranvijay used Abhay's own strength to defeat him.
Ranvijay had not just won a raid.
He had taken Abhay's greatest weapon and used it against him.
Viraj looked at that man on the other side — and for the first time in the entire match, he felt something beyond frustration.
Respect.
And then — something more.
Curiosity.
---
"This game… this man is filled with real madness," Viraj thought.
"Ranvijay. I'll have to remember this name."
---
— End of Chapter 1 —