Chapter 5: The New Prodigy

The assistant brought Shikhar to me while I was eating Parle-G biscuits.

I sat at my old wooden desk, a cup of cutting chai balanced on a pile of files. The sound of the youth team’s laughter drifted in from the hallway.

The young man kept his head down, his voice low: "Hello."

He barely made eye contact, the way small-town boys do when meeting someone important for the first time. His accent had the faintest lilt of Indore. He kept rolling the drawstring of his trackpants between his fingers, eyes darting to the posters of past champions on the wall.

I wiped my hands and pushed up my glasses.

The crumbs clung to my fingertips, so I brushed them off on my kurta before fixing my glasses. Old habits.

He wore a blue-and-white shirt. Beneath his bangs, his dark eyes stared straight at me.

A nervous energy hung about him, but there was determination too. The kind you see in kids who study under streetlights and still top the board exams.

I nodded. Picked up the black leather jacket on the gaming chair, stood up, and got ready to watch their scrim.

My jacket was my armour, my signal to the team that it was time to work. The players knew—when Ritu-didi puts on the jacket, serious business starts.

This was Shikhar’s first match as jungler for the youth team, playing against the second team.

He looked nervous, but his hands didn’t shake. He plugged in his headphones, eyes narrowing in focus, just like Arjun used to.

Shikhar picked a mechanically demanding hero. I couldn’t keep up with all the combos, but under his pale fingers, the match was over in a flash—a complete stomp.

I exchanged glances with Sneha. The other coaches were speechless, one of them muttering, 'Bhai, yeh toh alag level ka hai.'

Sneha rushed over, gushing: "Ritu-didi, I told you Shikhar’s insane. Just turned 18, perfect for the age cutoff."

She practically bounced on her toes, her hair flying. It was rare to see her so excited.

"DFC really struck gold—Arjun-bhai doesn’t have to worry about a successor."

Successor?

Her words echoed in my mind. I looked at Shikhar—not as Arjun’s replacement, but as his own person, a new hope.

I smiled, indifferent.

I kept my face blank, not wanting anyone to guess what I was really thinking.

Without the rose-tinted glasses, Arjun didn’t seem so godlike to me anymore.

The pedestal I’d placed him on had started to crumble, brick by brick.

He has talent. But over the years, I’d arranged countless scrims for him, even used the Mehra family’s connections to get him league resources. Doesn’t that count for something?

My family had always supported us, sometimes grudgingly, but they did. All those favours and sleepless nights—I wished he’d remember.

After thinking a moment, I said, "Let Shikhar move straight to the second team."

"Give him priority for both coaching and living support."

Sneha blinked, surprised by my decisiveness. I rarely pushed for anyone this hard.

"But Ritu-didi…"

Her protest was gentle, but she knew better than to argue too much. She’d seen me fight for Arjun the same way once.

"Do as I say."

I spoke softly, but firmly—leaving no room for debate. The tone of someone who’s had enough.

Seeing how firm I was, Sneha agreed.

She nodded, jotting down notes on her phone, eyes wide with respect—and maybe a little fear.

I turned to leave, but looked back one more time at Shikhar, still reviewing with his teammates.

He was smiling quietly, answering questions from the others, already a favourite. In that moment, I felt a flicker of hope.

Opportunities should go to the right people. Even if someone’s been stuck in the second team for ages, in e-sports, being weak is a crime. If you’re strong, nothing else matters.

It was harsh, but true. That’s how India works—talent is your only ticket, everything else is just noise.