Free Web NovelChapter 88: Power Finish Progress
The applause lasted only a few seconds.
The expectations lasted much longer.
Sahil discovered that fact over the following weeks.
Winning matches changed things.
Not dramatically.
Not overnight.
But enough.
The unbeaten thirty-eight against the rival district hadn’t been his biggest innings. It hadn’t even been his highest score. Yet people remembered it.
Perhaps because of the strike rate.
Perhaps because of the timing.
Or perhaps because spectators loved finishers.
There was something satisfying about watching a batsman arrive late and end a match in a flurry of boundaries.
The role attracted attention.
Unfortunately, it also attracted expectations.
---
The district season continued.
One match became another.
Training sessions blended together.
School classes came and went.
Days passed quickly.
Yet one thing remained constant.
Whenever Kangra entered a chase, people looked toward Sahil.
Not immediately.
Not when the innings started.
But eventually.
Especially when pressure appeared.
---
The realization felt strange.
Only a few months ago, he had been carrying drinks.
Now teammates discussed chase scenarios assuming he would be involved.
The transition still felt unreal sometimes.
---
A Thursday afternoon training session provided another reminder.
The squad had just finished fielding drills.
Several players sat near the boundary rope drinking water.
The conversation drifted toward the upcoming fixture against Chamba District Under-19.
A decent team.
Not exceptional.
Not weak.
The type of opponent capable of punishing mistakes.
---
"They’ve got that left-arm seamer."
Kabir stretched his legs and grimaced.
"Hates bowling anything except yorkers."
Danish nodded.
"Good bowler."
Aryan glanced toward the practice nets.
"He’ll be annoying if the chase gets close."
The discussion continued.
Bowling plans.
Field placements. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
Expected lineups.
Normal cricket talk.
Then Kabir casually pointed toward Sahil.
"If it gets close, we’ll just send him."
The statement earned several laughs.
Including one from the coach.
Which somehow made it more dangerous.
---
Sahil rolled his eyes.
"I’m sitting right here."
"Exactly."
Kabir grinned.
"That’s why I said it."
The conversation moved on.
Yet the comment lingered.
Because nobody had disagreed. freёweɓnovel.com
Not even Aryan.
Not even Danish.
And certainly not the coach.
---
The match arrived three days later.
The weather looked perfect.
Bright sunshine.
A light breeze.
Hard wicket.
The sort of conditions batsmen enjoyed and bowlers complained about.
---
The bus ride felt unusually energetic.
Perhaps because the team had won several matches recently.
Winning improved everything.
The food tasted better.
The conversations became funnier.
Even long journeys felt shorter.
---
Chamba won the toss.
The first minor disappointment of the day.
Then they chose to bat.
The second disappointment.
---
The opening overs belonged entirely to the bowlers.
Cloud cover drifted across the ground.
The ball moved around.
Edges flew through gaps.
Appeals echoed constantly.
For a while, it looked like a low-scoring contest.
Then the wicket settled.
And so did the batsmen.
---
By the twentieth over, Chamba had recovered nicely.
By the thirtieth, they controlled the innings.
By the fortieth, Kangra desperately needed wickets.
---
The final total eventually reached 248.
Not massive.
Not small.
A genuine chase.
The kind players respected.
---
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere remained calm.
The coach stood near the whiteboard.
Arms folded.
Expression unreadable.
The usual look.
---
"Partnerships."
That was his first instruction.
No surprise there.
---
"Don’t donate wickets."
The second instruction.
Slightly more creative.
---
Then he looked around the room.
His gaze briefly settled on the middle order.
Including Sahil.
---
"If we bat properly, we win."
The statement wasn’t motivational.
It wasn’t inspiring.
It was simply factual.
The coach preferred facts.
---
The chase began steadily.
The openers survived.
Runs arrived.
The scoreboard moved.
Everything looked comfortable.
Until it didn’t.
---
Cricket had a remarkable ability to ruin comfort.
---
The first wicket fell.
Then another.
Then another.
Not a collapse.
Not quite.
Yet enough to create concern.
---
The crowd noticed immediately.
Crowds always did.
One moment people discussed boundaries.
The next moment they discussed required run rates.
The shift happened surprisingly fast.
---
From the dressing room balcony, Sahil watched the innings unfold.
The target still looked achievable.
The problem was momentum.
Momentum had quietly changed sides.
---
Aryan attempted to fix it.
For a while, he succeeded.
The academy batsman looked elegant as always.
Every drive appeared effortless.
Every single looked intentional.
Every decision seemed correct.
---
Then a slower ball arrived.
Not a brilliant delivery.
Not an unplayable one.
Just good enough.
Aryan mistimed the shot.
Caught at long-off.
---
The silence inside the dressing room felt immediate.
Not panic.
Not yet.
But definitely concern.
---
The scoreboard now displayed:
Kangra District Under-19 — 142/4
---
The required runs weren’t frightening.
The situation was.
Because matches often became complicated after wickets.
---
Sahil picked up his bat.
Nobody needed to tell him.
The coach simply nodded once.
The message was obvious.
---
His walk toward the crease felt familiar now.
The nervousness never disappeared completely.
People lied when they claimed otherwise.
Even experienced players felt nerves.
The difference was learning to carry them.
---
As he crossed the boundary rope, scattered applause drifted across the ground.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Yet noticeable.
The recognition still surprised him sometimes.
---
At the crease, Danish waited.
The left-hander looked toward the scoreboard.
Then toward the field.
Then back toward Sahil.
---
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"We’ve done this before."
The comment earned a laugh.
---
"We’ve done this too many times."
"Probably."
Danish adjusted his gloves.
"Let’s avoid making it exciting."
---
That sounded reasonable.
Unfortunately, cricket rarely asked for permission before becoming exciting.
---
The next hour passed surprisingly quickly.
Not because runs arrived easily.
Because concentration consumed everything.
Every ball required attention.
Every over demanded decisions.
---
The lessons from the Shot Selection Mission surfaced repeatedly.
A length ball.
Drive.
Decision made.
Shot executed.
---
A shorter delivery.
Pull.
Decision made.
Shot executed.
---
The hesitation that once plagued him appeared less frequently now.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
---
The difference felt subtle.
Yet important.
Because batting became simpler when the mind stopped arguing with itself.
---
The partnership grew.
Ten runs.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then more.
---
Nothing spectacular happened.
No giant sixes.
No highlight-reel shots.
Just cricket.
Good cricket.
The type spectators rarely remembered.
The type matches were actually built upon.
---
At the non-striker’s end, Danish continued rotating strike effortlessly.
Watching him still felt educational.
The left-hander seemed capable of finding singles where none existed.
A useful skill.
And an irritating one.
---
The required rate slowly dropped.
The crowd relaxed.
The opposition captain became louder.
The field changed repeatedly.
Momentum shifted again.
---
Eventually the equation reached a comfortable stage.
Forty needed.
Then thirty-two.
Then twenty-four.
---
The atmosphere around the ground changed noticeably.
People started believing again.
Hope was contagious.
Especially during run chases.
---
Then Danish fell.
---
The wicket arrived suddenly.
A mistimed pull.
A catch near deep square leg.
An excellent innings ended.
---
As the left-hander walked away, he slowed briefly while crossing paths with Sahil.
---
"Finish it."
The same words.
Again.
---
Sahil smiled.
"Working on it."
---
The scoreboard now displayed:
Kangra District Under-19 — 214/5
---
Thirty-five required.
Six overs remaining.
---
Not easy.
Not impossible.
Exactly the type of situation finishers existed for.
---
As Sahil settled back into position, the crowd noise seemed to fade slightly.
The field spread wider.
The captain adjusted placements.
The bowlers discussed plans.
Everyone understood what came next.
---
The chase had entered its final phase.
And somewhere in the corner of his vision, hidden from everyone else, a familiar blue notification appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
POWER FINISH MISSION
Current Progress
1 / 5
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Potential Update Available
Complete Match Objective
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The screen vanished.
Leaving only the match.
And thirty-five runs standing between him and the next step.
Thirty-five runs.
Six overs.
Five wickets in hand.
The equation wasn’t frightening.
At least not on paper.
Cricket, unfortunately, wasn’t played on paper.
---
The opposition captain gathered his players near the pitch.
Fielders jogged inward.
Then outward again.
The discussion lasted barely thirty seconds.
Yet it revealed something important.
They were worried.
Not panicking.
Not defeated.
Worried.
The difference mattered.
---
Sahil adjusted his gloves and looked around the field.
Long-on.
Long-off.
Deep midwicket.
Deep cover.
The boundaries were protected.
The singles weren’t.
---
Interesting.
---
The bowler began his run-up.
A tall left-arm seamer.
The same bowler Kabir had complained about before the match.
The yorker specialist.
---
The first delivery landed exactly where expected.
Full.
Fast.
Targeting the base of middle stump.
A genuine yorker.
Not an attempted one.
A real one.
---
Three weeks ago, the ball would’ve troubled him.
Today, the bat came down naturally.
The ball squeezed through square leg.
Two runs.
Nothing spectacular.
Yet valuable.
Very valuable.
---
As the batsmen crossed, the bowler turned around slowly.
Apparently he had expected a different outcome.
---
The next ball arrived wider.
Slower.
Trying to force a mistake.
---
For a brief moment, Sahil’s eyes picked up the grip.
The release.
The slight difference in arm speed.
A slower ball.
---
The Shot Selection Mission surfaced immediately.
Not the mission itself.
The training.
The repetition.
The endless repetition.
---
Drive.
Commit.
Trust.
---
The decision happened before the ball arrived.
The bat followed.
The connection felt clean.
The ball raced through extra cover.
FOUR.
---
The crowd reacted instantly.
The noise rolled across the ground.
Not explosive.
Encouraging.
The sort of applause that carried belief.
---
The over continued.
Singles.
A double.
Another single.
By the time it ended, eleven runs had disappeared.
---
The equation suddenly looked different.
Twenty-four needed.
Five overs remaining.
---
From the dressing room balcony, Aryan folded his arms.
The academy batsman hadn’t spoken much since getting out.
He rarely did.
Unlike many talented players, Aryan didn’t enjoy explaining cricket.
He preferred watching it.
Analyzing it.
Learning from it.
---
And right now, he was learning something.
---
Sahil looked different.
Not stronger.
Not faster.
Different.
---
The hesitation was gone.
---
A few weeks ago, every difficult ball seemed to create a question.
Now it created an answer.
The distinction appeared small.
It wasn’t.
---
The next over belonged mostly to strike rotation.
The crowd didn’t particularly enjoy it.
The coach did.
Which was probably more important.
---
One run.
Then another.
Then two.
The scoreboard continued moving.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
---
The opposition captain grew increasingly animated.
Every over seemed to create a new field placement.
Every field placement seemed to create another gap.
The chase refused to stop.
---
Eventually the equation became:
17 Needed From 18 Balls
---
The crowd sensed it immediately.
The atmosphere changed.
People stood.
Conversations became louder.
Even neutral spectators started paying attention.
Because everyone loved a finish.
---
The bowler returned.
The yorker specialist.
Probably their best option.
---
The first delivery landed short.
Not intentionally.
A mistake.
---
Pull.
---
The decision arrived instantly.
The bat followed.
The ball disappeared through midwicket.
FOUR.
---
The sound that followed echoed around the ground.
Not because the shot was extraordinary.
Because the timing felt important.
---
The bowler knew it too.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
Only slightly.
Yet enough.
---
The second ball became a single.
The third became another.
The equation continued shrinking.
---
Soon only seven runs remained.
Then five.
Then four.
---
The fielders moved closer.
Not because they expected victory.
Because they were trying to delay defeat.
---
The distinction mattered.
---
The next delivery arrived slower than expected.
A clever ball.
The type that had dismissed him months ago.
The type that once haunted his dreams.
---
This time, there was no panic.
No rush.
No hesitation.
---
The ball arrived.
The decision already existed.
---
Flick.
---
The wrists rolled naturally.
The gap appeared.
The ball raced toward the boundary.
FOUR.
---
Match over.
---
The reaction arrived instantly.
Teammates surged from the dugout.
The crowd erupted.
The bowler stared toward the rope.
The captain removed his cap.
Everyone understood.
The chase was finished.
---
As teammates surrounded him, a familiar blue screen appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
MATCH COMPLETE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Result
VICTORY
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Power Finish Mission
Progress Updated
2 / 5
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Objective Complete
Successful Chase Finish
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The screen faded.
---
The bus ride home felt loud.
Victories usually were.
Players discussed boundaries.
Discussed catches.
Discussed moments that probably weren’t as important as they believed.
Normal cricket behavior.
---
The coach mostly ignored them.
Also normal behavior.
---
Two weeks later, another opportunity arrived.
---
The opponent this time was Bilaspur District Under-19.
A stronger team.
A more disciplined team.
The sort of team capable of exposing weaknesses.
---
The match itself remained competitive from the beginning.
Bilaspur posted 261.
Not an impossible target.
Not a comfortable one.
Exactly the type of score that demanded proper batting.
---
The chase started brilliantly.
Then collapsed.
---
At one stage, Kangra looked completely in control.
At another, they looked destined to lose.
Cricket specialized in dramatic mood swings.
---
By the time Sahil entered the middle, the scoreboard displayed:
189/5
---
Seventy-three required.
Nine overs remaining.
---
A genuine challenge.
---
The atmosphere felt noticeably different from the Chamba match.
Less optimism.
More tension.
---
Even Danish looked serious.
Which was usually a bad sign.
---
"Fun situation."
The left-hander’s voice carried absolutely no enthusiasm.
---
Sahil laughed despite himself.
"Your definition of fun is terrible."
---
"Agreed."
---
Then both batsmen returned to work.
---
The next hour became a blur of concentration.
Singles.
Doubles.
Boundaries.
Pressure.
Noise.
Everything blended together.
---
The partnership grew steadily.
The target shrank steadily.
Neither process felt quick enough.
---
At one stage, a fielder dropped a difficult chance.
At another, a boundary landed inches inside the rope.
Small margins.
Huge consequences.
---
The crowd grew louder with every over.
The Bilaspur fielders grew quieter.
Momentum shifted.
Slowly.
Then all at once.
---
Eventually the equation became manageable.
Then favorable.
Then achievable.
---
The final over arrived with six required.
---
The crowd stood.
The dugouts stood.
Even substitute players stood.
---
Everyone understood the moment.
---
The bowler charged in.
The first ball disappeared for two.
The second became a single.
The third produced another single.
---
Two required.
Three balls.
---
The pressure now belonged entirely to the fielding side.
---
The next delivery landed full.
Almost yorker length.
---
The Shot Selection training surfaced again.
The decision appeared instantly.
No hesitation.
No confusion.
---
Drive.
---
The bat swung.
The connection felt perfect.
---
The ball raced between extra cover and mid-off.
Across the outfield.
Toward the rope.
---
Four.
---
Match won.
---
For a moment, the noise felt overwhelming.
The crowd erupted.
Teammates sprinted onto the field.
Even the usually calm coach allowed himself a brief smile.
---
A brief one.
Very brief.
But still.
---
As players celebrated around him, another blue screen appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
MATCH COMPLETE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Result
VICTORY
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Power Finish Mission
Progress Updated
3 / 5
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Successful Chase Finish
Recorded
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Reward Progress
60%
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The notification lingered.
Long enough for him to read it twice.
---
Three.
Out of five.
---
Closer.
Much closer.
---
The screen flickered unexpectedly.
New text appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
MISSION UPDATE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Power Finish Skill
Synchronization Increasing
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Requirements Near Completion
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The message vanished almost immediately.
Leaving more questions than answers.
As usual.
---
The celebrations continued around him.
Yet Sahil’s attention remained elsewhere.
---
Three successful finishes.
Two remaining.
A mysterious skill waiting at the end.
---
And for the first time since receiving the mission, he felt certain of something.
The reward wasn’t simply teaching him how to finish matches.
It was changing the way he thought.
The way he approached pressure.
The way he approached cricket itself.
---
Far above the stadium, the evening sky slowly darkened.
The floodlights flickered to life.
The season continued moving forward.
And somewhere ahead—
another chase was waiting.
