The first bell of the day had barely faded when Ji-Ho found himself standing in the schoolyard, his small frame dwarfed by the winter sunlight that reflected off the polished school walls.
A cluster of students had already gathered, whispering and nudging each other as if some invisible energy had electrified the morning.
Narendra loomed ahead, tall, confident, and grinning like he owned the entire schoolyard. He folded his arms and stared at Ji-Ho, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"So… you play cricket, huh?" Narendra began casually, though there was a slight edge to his tone.
Ji-Ho shifted uneasily. "Uh… I… I don't know if—"
Narendra raised a brow, interrupting with a teasing smirk. "What do you mean you don't know? I heard about you already. From someone," he added, glancing slyly at a certain girl sitting nearby.
Thanu, sitting a few feet away with her braid draped neatly over her shoulder, looked up in mild surprise, her eyes widening ever so slightly.
Ji-Ho hadn't even noticed until now that her small gasp had betrayed her interest.
Ji-Ho straightened his back, attempting to appear confident, though the words refused to come out smoothly. "I… I really don't want to—"
Narendra laughed, a deep, teasing sound that rolled across the schoolyard. "Ah, I see! The new guy's scared! Don't worry, I won't bite… much." He took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Ji-Ho could hear.
"Meet me tomorrow, sports period, back field. You. Me. Cricket. Let's see if all that talk was true."
Ji-Ho's eyes widened. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, searching for a polite excuse, but none came. Before he could stammer out another denial, Thanu's eyes flicked between him and Narendra, a tiny smirk playing on her lips.
Ji-Ho felt his face flush. Somehow, he'd been dragged into a challenge because of her.
Sekhar, who had been leaning lazily against a nearby wall, snorted. "Looks like the new guy finally has a proper opponent! Didn't see that coming, Ji-Ho."
Ganga elbowed him sharply. "Hey! Keep your voice down, or you'll ruin the drama."
Ji-Ho turned toward her, panic rising. "Drama? I—I don't want any drama!"
Ganga laughed, ignoring his protest. "Oh, relax! You'll be fine. Just hit the ball, don't cry."
The rest of the students had now circled closer, whispering, giggling, and exchanging bets—some serious, some ridiculous. One boy even claimed he'd buy an ice cream for whoever lost, though no one seemed entirely sure which side he was rooting for.
The morning passed in a haze of lessons and whispering glances. By the time the final bell rang, Ji-Ho felt like he had walked through a maze of nerves, sweat, and curiosity.
Everyone in class had caught wind of the challenge. Every whispered comment and suppressed giggle seemed to point at him.
The class erupted into chatter as soon as the bell sounded.
"Did you hear? Narendra challenged the new guy!"
"He's going to show him the meaning of cricket!"
"Heard it from Thanu herself—she says Ji-Ho's actually pretty good!"
Ji-Ho sank low into his chair, wishing he could disappear entirely.
As the students poured into the schoolyard, the bus stop area became a hive of activity. By evening, the crowd had thinned to a small, close-knit group.
Ji-Ho found himself sitting on the low stone wall with Sekhar, Ganga, and Jyothi, who had taken it upon themselves to tease him relentlessly.
"Tomorrow, you better hit that six, or I'm never letting you live it down," Ganga said, nudging him playfully.
Sekhar grinned. "Yeah, and if you miss… well, I hope you're good at running. You'll be chasing balls all over the field!"
Jyothi rolled her eyes. "Leave him alone! Just swing the bat, Ji-Ho. Pretend Narendra's a giant bug—hit him!"
Ji-Ho tried to laugh along with them, though his stomach twisted nervously. "I… I'll try," he said, giving a small, awkward smile.
Then Thanu appeared, her presence quiet but commanding attention all the same. She walked up and sat next to Ji-Ho, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"So… you're the famous cricket player I've been hearing about," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.
Ji-Ho's face turned bright red. "I—uh… I'm not that good," he stammered.
Thanu chuckled softly. "Don't worry. Everyone seems very excited about this match. Maybe a little too excited," she added, glancing at the trio behind him who were still whispering and nudging each other.
Ji-Ho blinked at her, then allowed a small, genuine smile to creep across his face. "It's… okay," he said, finally relaxing a little.
Her eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "Good. I like seeing you smile."
For a moment, the bus stop, the crowd, the teasing friends—all of it—felt lighter, less intimidating. It was still nerve-wracking, yes, but with Thanu sitting there, it didn't feel impossible.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the playground. The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of wet grass and distant fields.
Ji-Ho adjusted the strap of his bag, feeling a strange mix of excitement, dread, and determination. Tomorrow, everything would change.
And it was all because of Thanu.
The distant rumble of the school bus grew louder, its tires crunching over the gravel. Students scrambled aboard, laughter and chatter bouncing through the aisles as the engine roared to life.
Ji-Ho slid into a window seat near the back, his cricket bat tucked beside him. He pressed his forehead lightly against the cool glass and watched the sun dip low.
The sky was a brilliant mix of gold, orange, and pink, blending like watercolors on a canvas.
Outside, fields stretched endlessly, swaying in the evening breeze. Tall sugarcane stalks glinted in the sunlight, and banana leaves rustled softly.
Farmers moved steadily through the crops, their silhouettes long in the fading light, working in quiet harmony with the land.
The village canal reflected the sky, a ribbon of gold winding lazily through the fields. Its water gurgled and shimmered, carrying the last light of day downstream past bridges, narrow paths, and ducks paddling along the edges. Ji-Ho's chest relaxed as he followed its flow.
Children splashed in the canal, their laughter faint but bright. A few cows grazed lazily nearby, tails flicking, and the air smelled of wet soil and ripe fruit.
Seeing it from the bus made the familiar village feel magical, like a painting come alive.
Sekhar and Ganga teased each other a few seats ahead, but Ji-Ho barely heard them. His thoughts drifted to tomorrow's challenge, nerves and excitement mingling inside him. Outside, the world was calm, steady, and patient.
The bus slowed near the dirt path to his village. Trees cast long shadows across the road, frost clinging lightly to the leaves, sparkling in the sun.
The wind was sharp, but Ji-Ho felt a quiet warmth inside, soothed by the rhythm of the bus and the beauty outside.
At his stop, Ji-Ho gathered his bag and bat. The village glowed in golden sunset light. Smoke curled from chimneys, children played, and cattle moved slowly along the lanes. He paused at the canal, watching the water shimmer under the fading sun.
Fields around it were dotted with workers finishing late chores, tiny but steady against the vast land.
At home, he followed the familiar routine—long hours before dinner, wandering the courtyard, listening to leaves rustle in the wind. He played, read, and imagined tomorrow, rehearsing smiles and confident swings in his mind.
Dinner came and went quietly, the clatter of utensils soft in the still house. Ji-Ho lay down under his blanket, the wind whispering through the trees outside.
Morning arrived, and the world had transformed. Frost coated the grass and rooftops, turning the village into a sparkling wonderland. Every breath rose in soft clouds, curling into the crisp air. Ji-Ho tugged his scarf and gloves tighter, excitement buzzing through him.
The snow crunched underfoot as he stepped outside. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, painting the fields in gold and silver.
The canal glittered like a silver ribbon through the frost. Ji-Ho took a deep breath, feeling the cold sting his cheeks and a fire of determination in his chest.
Today was the day. The cricket challenge awaited. And Ji-Ho was ready—to swing, to prove himself, and to face whatever surprises lay ahead.
Ji-Ho stepped onto the bus, and the chatter hit him like a wave. Everywhere he looked, students were buzzing about the upcoming cricket challenge. Excitement, curiosity, and a hint of gossip swirled in the air.
Nihal slid into the seat beside him, grinning. "Don't worry, Ji-Ho. You've got this," he said, giving him a firm, encouraging nudge. Ji-Ho felt a little of his tension ease.
Soon, Ganga, Jyothi, and Sekhar joined them, all laughing and teasing, making playful bets about how he'd perform. Ji-Ho couldn't help but smile. Their energy was infectious, and his nerves started to melt into excitement.
As the bus rumbled to school, whispers followed him down the aisle. "Ji-Ho vs. Narendra… can you believe it?" "I wonder who will win?" Ji-Ho sank into his seat, pretending not to hear but secretly feeling the thrill of attention.
Once in class, the gossip continued quietly under the teacher's watchful eyes. Every glance between classmates seemed to carry a question: how would Ji-Ho handle the challenge?
The math teacher handed out the problem sheets. Ji-Ho and Sekhar exchanged helpless looks. Numbers blurred together, formulas twisted in their minds. Both of them leaned slightly, eyes meeting in silent panic.
A small smile flickered from Thanu. "Need help, Ji-Ho?" she teased softly, just loud enough for him to hear. He flushed, feeling caught between embarrassment and the warmth of her attention.
As the teacher walked around checking their work, Ji-Ho scrambled to write something—anything—on the page. He glanced at Sekhar, who shrugged helplessly.
Their silent exchange was punctuated by Thanu's quiet giggle. Just as the tension peaked, the bell rang. Relief washed over him in a sudden wave.
The rest of the morning passed slowly, but by afternoon, the moment arrived. Ji-Ho stood on the school field, heart pounding, bat in hand. Narendra approached, confident and teasing. The challenge was no longer a rumor—it was real.
Ji-Ho took a deep breath, feeling the cold wind against his face. Around him, friends cheered quietly from the sidelines, offering smiles, nods, and encouragement. The world seemed to narrow down to just him, Narendra, and the field stretching ahead.
This was it. The match had begun.
The sun hung high in the sky, scorching and unrelenting, casting long shadows over the school field. Ji-Ho wiped sweat from his forehead, heart hammering in his chest. One over. Just six balls to prove himself. His palms felt sticky around the cricket ball, the leather slippery with nerves.
Narendra strutted to the crease, bat twirling casually, a mischievous smirk dancing across his face. The crowd of classmates circled around the field, voices a low hum of excitement and whispers. Thanu stood near the boundary, her eyes sharp, watching him with that same curious spark Ji-Ho couldn't stop thinking about.
Ji-Ho took a deep breath, raised his hand, and wound up for the first ball. Time seemed to slow. The ball left his hand with a wobble—a wide! Free run for Narendra. His grin widened as he took a step back, teasing without words. Ji-Ho's heart skipped a beat. One down, five to go.
The next delivery thudded off Narendra's bat, racing across the field like a lightning bolt. Four runs. The cheers from the classmates roared louder, and Ji-Ho's legs shook as he scrambled to retrieve the ball. He blinked, trying to shake off the panic that threatened to freeze him mid-step.
Ji-Ho steadied himself for the third ball. He ran up, delivered—and another perfect crack of wood against leather. Another four.
The field seemed to spin around him. Narendra's laughter floated in the air, teasing, confident, almost mocking—but not cruelly, just the way a rival's smile could unnerve a friend.
The next two balls were careful, measured. Narendra didn't risk a big hit, and Ji-Ho managed to keep them clean—dots. His chest rose and fell, adrenaline and tension mixing into a potent cocktail. Thanu's gaze never wavered; he could feel her attention, quiet but intense, pressing on him like the weight of the summer sun.
The sixth ball soared off Narendra's bat, skimming near the boundary, stopping just short of the rope. Four more. Ji-Ho's shoulder burned, his face slick with sweat, but he forced himself to keep his focus. Just one ball left. One chance to make a difference.
The final ball was a quiet dot. Narendra dropped the bat with a flourish, triumphant, hands on his hips, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. The classmates erupted into chatter, cheering, laughing, debating the score.
Ji-Ho wiped his palms, heart still racing, and looked toward Thanu. She smiled, amused, teasing, proud—but not just of the runs, of the effort.
The over was done. Six balls. One over. One glimpse of glory. And Ji-Ho knew, deep inside, this was only the beginning.
The crowd around the field held its breath as Ji-Ho stepped forward, the bat heavy in his trembling hands. His body didn't look strong — thin arms, small frame, almost fragile against the golden afternoon light — but there was something different in his stance now. The silence deepened. Even the wind seemed to pause, watching.
Narendra tightened his grip on the ball, his earlier confidence returning in full. "Let's see what you've really got," he said with a half-smile, spinning the ball between his fingers. The air was thick with dust and anticipation. Ji-Ho took a step forward, heart pounding, eyes locked on the bowler.
The first delivery came fast — sharp, curving, fierce. Ji-Ho stepped out boldly, swung with all his strength — and missed. The sound of air slicing past his bat echoed louder than any cheer.
A few students groaned softly, others whispered. Narendra smirked. "Almost," he said, voice calm but teasing. Ji-Ho said nothing. He exhaled slowly, steadying his heart.
The next ball. Narendra's run-up was quicker this time, the throw sharper. Ji-Ho's eyes narrowed, body aligning perfectly with instinct. The world slowed — the sound of his breath, the faint cry of a bird somewhere far away — and then, crack! The bat connected cleanly. The ball soared high into the sky, spinning, shimmering in the sunlight. Every head turned. Every jaw dropped. It flew far beyond the boundary, landing somewhere near the back wall of the field. For a moment, nobody moved. Even Narendra just stood there, stunned.
The crowd erupted. Cheers, laughter, disbelief. "Did you see that?!" Ganga shouted, jumping up. Sekhar let out a loud whistle.
Even Thanu's lips parted in astonishment, her eyes wide, her expression caught between shock and admiration. Ji-Ho lowered his bat slowly, his chest rising and falling, a quiet fire in his eyes.
Narendra forced a grin, trying to shake off the disbelief. "Not bad, new guy," he muttered under his breath. The next ball came fast — but this time it bounced awkwardly, climbing high and striking Ji-Ho's thumb as he swung.
A sharp thwack cut through the noise. Ji-Ho flinched, his grip faltering for an instant. Pain shot through his hand like electricity. He clenched his jaw, blinking hard to stay focused.
Narendra stopped mid-step. "Hey—take it easy, man. You're hurt." His voice lost its teasing edge, replaced by genuine concern. Thanu took a step forward from the boundary line, her voice soft but urgent. "Ji-Ho, stop! Your hand—don't push yourself."
But Ji-Ho shook his head, breath uneven. "I'm fine," he said, though the color had drained from his face. He adjusted his stance, gripping the bat again, the swelling on his thumb already visible.
The next ball came — he swung, missed. A dot. The field went quiet again. The pain was getting worse, but he wouldn't stop now. Not after coming this far.
Narendra threw another. Ji-Ho inhaled sharply and drove the ball clean through the gap. It rolled, bounced, and crossed the boundary — four runs. The crowd erupted once more, their cheers echoing across the schoolyard.
But Ji-Ho barely smiled. He could feel warmth spreading across his palm now — blood. The skin had split near his nail. He flexed his fingers slightly, hiding the wince. No one noticed.
The fifth ball came. A dot. This time, his thumb throbbed so hard he almost dropped the bat. He pressed his lips together, refusing to show weakness. Every second felt longer, heavier.
Then — the final ball. The match had come down to this moment. Narendra stood at the end of the pitch, expression unreadable.
The sunlight cut across his face, half in shadow, half in gold. Ji-Ho's hand trembled slightly, sweat and blood mixing on the handle of the bat. Around them, the classmates held their breath, the air trembling with quiet excitement.
Narendra took a deep breath, raised his arm, and began his run. The world seemed to narrow to that single ball spinning toward Ji-Ho — bright, fast, merciless. Ji-Ho's eyes locked onto it. His body moved before thought could catch up. Pain exploded through his thumb as he swung, but he didn't stop.
For that heartbeat, everything else disappeared — the noise, the crowd, the fear, the cold wind. There was only the echo of the bat, the shattering sound of impact, and the look in Thanu's eyes — filled with pride, worry, and something more.