International cricket judges you slowly.
The IPL judges you in minutes.
---
## MUMBAI – TWO WEEKS LATER
**IPL AUCTION – 2009 SEASON**
The room was cold.
Not because of air-conditioning.
Because careers were being priced.
Aarav sat in the back row, suit slightly stiff, hands clasped together. Around him were men he had watched on television for years—some relaxed, some pretending to be, some already defeated.
This was not a dressing room.
There were no teammates here.
Only assets.
---
## BEFORE THE AUCTION – THE WAIT
Names rolled by quickly.
Big names.
Safe names.
The paddle went up.
Numbers climbed.
Teams nodded.
Aarav didn't move.
Didn't blink much either.
His phone buzzed once.
A message from his father:
> *Whatever happens, remember—you already belong.*
Aarav read it twice.
Then locked his phone.
---
## SYSTEM – UNHELPFUL FOR ONCE
The system flickered faintly.
No projections.
No guarantees.
Just a neutral line.
> **MARKET VARIABLES:**
> Volatile
> Emotional bias dominant
> Outcome unpredictable
For the first time, the system had nothing clever to say.
Aarav almost smiled.
---
## THE NAME THAT STOPPED THE ROOM
"Aarav Malhotra."
The auctioneer's voice cut clean through the hum.
A photo appeared on the screen.
World Cup final.
That shot.
That moment.
The room reacted instantly.
Whispers.
Quick glances.
A few smiles.
And then—
Silence.
---
## BASE PRICE
"Base price: ₹20 lakhs."
Aarav's heartbeat picked up.
One team raised the paddle.
Royal Challengers Bangalore.
Just one.
Relief flickered.
Then—
Another paddle.
Mumbai Indians.
The room shifted.
---
## THE BIDDING WAR
"Thirty."
"Forty."
"Fifty."
Aarav's fingers tightened around each other.
This didn't feel real.
This felt like watching someone else's life.
"Seventy-five."
"Eighty."
He heard a soft whistle somewhere behind him.
His name was being spoken with numbers attached to it.
That disturbed him more than it thrilled him.
---
## THE TURNING POINT
"Ninety lakhs."
RCB hesitated.
Mumbai waited.
Then RCB lifted again.
"One crore."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Aarav swallowed.
That number had weight.
That number changed expectations.
---
## FINAL CALL
"One crore ten."
Mumbai paused.
The owner leaned back.
Shook his head slightly.
The auctioneer raised his hammer.
"Going once."
Aarav's breath caught.
"Going twice."
Time slowed.
"Sold."
---
## SOLD – ROYAL CHALLENGERS BANGALORE
**₹1.1 CRORE**
The hammer fell.
Just like that.
A career pivoted.
---
## THE AFTERMATH
Applause followed.
Polite.
Professional.
Aarav stood up automatically when called forward.
Shook hands.
Smiled for photos.
RCB's representative leaned in.
"You'll bat at three," he said casually.
"We need someone fearless there."
Fearless.
A word people loved to assign.
---
## PRIVATE MOMENT – OUTSIDE THE ROOM
In the hallway, Aarav finally exhaled.
His legs felt weak.
He leaned against the wall for a second longer than necessary.
This wasn't national duty.
This was business.
And he was expensive.
---
## CALL HOME – DIFFERENT TONE
His mother cried again.
This time out of disbelief.
His father stayed quiet.
Then said,
"Remember—price tags don't score runs."
Aarav nodded even though his father couldn't see it.
---
## RCB CAMP – FIRST DAY
Bangalore greeted him with noise.
Fans already wearing jerseys with his name.
Cameras waiting at the entrance.
Inside the dressing room—
New colors.
New faces.
And one presence that bent the room slightly.
Rahul Dravid.
---
## THE MEETING WITH DRAVID
Dravid shook his hand firmly.
"No rush," he said.
"No labels."
Aarav felt something settle instantly.
Later, Dravid added,
"You don't owe the franchise fireworks.
You owe yourself honesty."
That line stayed.
---
## TEAM DYNAMICS
Kevin Pietersen joked loudly.
Kallis observed quietly.
Anil Kumble nodded once.
Legends.
All of them.
And Aarav was expected to belong.
---
## SYSTEM – REASSESSING
That night, the system updated.
> **ENVIRONMENT CHANGE:**
> Franchise cricket
> Loyalty: Conditional
> Margin for patience: Low
Aarav didn't argue.
He already knew.
---
## ENDING NOTE OF THE CHAPTER
Aarav lay on his hotel bed in Bangalore.
New jersey folded neatly on the chair.
Red.
Gold.
Heavy.
He touched the fabric.
Not with pride.
With caution.
International cricket had tested his skill.
The IPL would test something else entirely.
How much of himself he was willing to sell—
Without losing who he was.
---
**END OF CHAPTER 87**