August had just begun.
The air was thick, humid, and unforgiving. The kabaddi ground had turned slick from the moisture, each step an uncertain wager. Sweat clung to every shirt, and the muddy earth swallowed cleats like it had a grudge.
At the edge of the field, Siddharth Phadke Sir stood with arms folded and whistle poised, eyes sharp as ever. Today wasn't just any drill—it was the A vs B team match, the kind that decided more than bragging rights.
The match was tied. Tension crackled in the air.
Arjun Joshi, calm and alert, crouched low on the edge line. His breath slowed, his mind sharpened. He looked at the defenders ahead—not as people—but as patterns. Openings. Timing. Energy.
Kabaddi isn't a game. It's rhythm. It's instinct. It's about reading the pause between a blink and a step. If I hesitate, I lose. If I rush, I get caught. But if I flow... they can't touch me.
The whistle blew.
Arjun surged forward like a coiled spring, chanting "kabaddi" in measured pace. One step. Two. He feinted left, then darted right, brushing past Vishnu—the burly defender from the Arts stream—and grazing the second man with the tip of his fingers.
He spun and dashed back, skimming the edge of danger. Safe.
Cheers exploded from Team B. High-fives. Claps. Someone even let out a victorious whoop.
But back on the other side, Vishnu's expression hardened as he rose from the ground.
So the Commerce boy thinks he's got moves? Just 'cause he touched me once?
His muscles tensed.
Next raid, Joshi. Let's see if your reflexes save you when I grab you mid-air and slam you down. I've broken backs in arm wrestling. Kabaddi isn't chess, bro. It's pain.
He spit to the side and flexed his shoulders, staring at Arjun with smoldering resolve.
Siddharth Sir nodded in approval. "Good raid! Keep that pace," he shouted.
Arjun wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath steady, but inside, a flicker of doubt remained. I got through this time... but what if they're just going easy on me? What if they're watching, waiting for me to slip? He looked at the defenders regrouping. Among them stood Vikrant—fierce, relentless, experienced.
Just as the excitement settled, Vikrant entered from the opposite side with a determined glare. The whistle blew again, and Vikrant launched his raid. Agile and fierce, he managed to dodge Lalit's tackle and tagged three players before escaping.
The celebration this time came from the other end of the ground, where Yogita and her friends were watching. They clapped and cheered, clearly favoring Vikrant.
And beneath an old banyan tree nearby, leaning against his cycle, stood a figure watching it all unfold.
Jeans dusty. A loose hoodie zipped halfway up. Sleeves pushed to the elbows. His sharp jaw twitched with a hint of a smirk.
He came looking for boredom, but found a battlefield.
He was just roaming around—checking out this "Gnyandeep Junior College" everyone was whispering about after that district-level win. He thought he might get bored. Instead, he stayed. Watching. Waiting.
And now, as Arjun returned to his half of the court, the figure's eyes narrowed.
That him? Arjun Joshi? Hmph.
He pulled a chewing gum from his pocket, popped it in, and started walking.
Quick feet, clean escape. But predictable. I've seen better in inter-zonal.
They hype these Gnyandeep boys too much. Sweat hard, cheer louder, think they've got fire. Cute.
But fire doesn't win matches. Control does. Mind does. Strategy. Blood in your breath. Cold in your veins.
He stopped at the edge of the field, just far enough to stay unnoticed, just close enough to see every weakness.
They're playing kabaddi like it's a passion. I play it like war. And war isn't pretty—it's won.
The wind rustled the banyan leaves above him.
He smirked again.
Let them enjoy their little victories.
In ZP matches, at the Invitational… when we clash?
They'll know who really runs the mat. Not Arjun. Not Siddharth Sir. Me.
Rudra Varde. Captain of Dronacharya Institute.
And I don't join the game. I take it.
Karan glanced at them and then at Arjun, noticing his friend's focused yet subdued reaction.
Arjun saw the cheers, saw Yogita's smile—just faint enough to feel like a twist. That's the kind of player they look up to… the kind who makes the ground shake when he plays. He swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. I'm not here to impress them. Just the game. Just the game.
The match continued, both sides equally matched, until the final bell rang without a decisive winner. As they dispersed, Lalit whispered to Arjun, "You know, Vikrant, Rahul, and Santosh have been playing Kabaddi for the school since seventh grade. They're experienced. If ZP matches happen this year, they might get selected."
Nearby, Yogita and her friends laughed at something Vikrant said. Arjun glanced in their direction, but when their eyes met, both looked away, pretending the moment didn't happen.
In the principal's office, Minakshi Mam was reviewing some paperwork when Siddharth Sir knocked and entered.
"Come in, Siddharth," Minakshi Mam greeted, motioning him to sit. "The management has decided on the sports selection for this year. Due to parental pressure and the upcoming competitive exams, 12th standard students will not participate. We'll focus on fewer sports—Kabaddi, cricket as outdoor events, and chess and swimming as indoor events. I want you to form the Kabaddi team as soon as possible."
Siddharth Sir nodded. "Understood, Ma'am. I'll focus on selecting the best players."
A few days later, Siddharth Sir finalized the team. To everyone's surprise, he announced Arjun as the captain. The news spread quickly. Most of the boys seemed content, but Vikrant's face fell. His jaw clenched. Without a word, he turned and walked off the ground, the silence around him sharper than any whistle.
That evening, Vikrant's father, Prabhakarrao Jadhav, a local politician, noticed his son's gloomy face. "What's wrong, Vikrant?" he asked.
Vikrant hesitated before replying, "Sir made Arjun the captain. I deserved that spot. I've been playing for years, and he's new. It's unfair."
Prabhakarrao smirked. "Sometimes, it's not just about performance. Leave it to me. I'll handle it."
The next day, Principal Minakshi Mam was in her cabin when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she said.
Prashant Sir entered, holding a form. "Good morning, Ma'am. I've been assigned to assist with the sports activities. Here's the approval form from the management."
Minakshi Mam smiled warmly. "Welcome, Prashant. Siddharth will be glad to have some support. Join him for the next few sessions and get acquainted."
For the next week, Prashant Sir observed the practices without interference. He noted the boys' coordination, especially Arjun's calm leadership. But his eyes often wandered towards Vikrant, noticing his athleticism and aggression.
One morning, during a practice match, Arjun attempted a raid but was tackled hard by Rahul. As Arjun stumbled, Prashant Sir shouted, "Careful! That's too rough!"
Siddharth Sir intervened, raising his hand. "Let them play, Prashant. Arjun needs to learn to handle aggressive tackles. It's part of the game."
Prashant Sir frowned. "But he's the captain. He can't afford injuries."
Siddharth remained firm. "That's exactly why he needs to toughen up. Leadership on the ground comes from resilience, not just tactics."
The tension between the two teachers was evident. Siddharth Sir, valuing discipline and growth, clashed with Prashant Sir, who seemed to favor protecting potential rather than challenging it.
The argument escalated, prompting Minakshi Mam to call them both to her office. As they sat down, Minakshi asked, "What's the issue?"
Prashant Sir voiced his concern. "Ma'am, I feel Vikrant, being more experienced, should lead. Arjun's leadership is untested."
Siddharth Sir countered, "Arjun's composure under pressure is exactly why I picked him. Kabaddi isn't just about past records; it's about current capability."
After hearing both sides, Minakshi Mam took a deep breath. "Since there's disagreement, I think it's best to resolve this on the ground. Let's have an internal competition after the half-semester exams. The best performer will earn the captaincy."
Both teachers agreed reluctantly. The announcement on the notice board the next day read:
"Internal Kabaddi Match - Post Half-Semester Exams. Final Team and Captain to be selected based on performance."
The boys, seeing the notice, knew that the real battle for leadership had just begun.
Arjun sat alone on the bleachers, Karan beside him. "Does it bother you?" Karan asked.
Arjun smiled faintly. "It's not about being the captain. It's about proving myself on the field. If Vikrant is better, he should lead. But I won't give up without a fight."
Meanwhile, Vikrant, sitting on his porch at home, was determined. "This time, I'll show them who truly deserves to lead," he muttered to himself.
The stage was set. The competition was no longer just about skill—it was a battle of pride, of leadership, and the quiet war between past and present.