SLAM! The sound reverberated through the Head Coach's room as Alan slapped the practice sheet onto the table in front of Nidou, panting heavily. A deep frown shadowed Alan's face, his eyes fixed on Nidou, who remained unfazed, his expression unreadable.
"Done," Alan declared curtly.
Nidou's gaze shifted to the desk clock, its hands pointing to 8:48 PM. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Not bad," he remarked, leaning back in his chair, his tone laced with casual indifference.
Alan's jaw tightened at the lack of acknowledgment. With a scoff, he turned on his heel and exited the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Left alone, Nidou glanced at the sheet now lying on the desk, marked with a series of red ticks. His expression softened briefly as he stared at it in silence.
Meanwhile, Alan leaned against the closed door, his fists clenched tightly as fragments of Nidou's words from the past echoed in his mind:
"I've never been surer. Even if I lose everything in the end, it's worth the risk. Because I am his father, Yara. I love him more than anything. He is my everything. Even if one day he forgets me or sees me as nothing, I will guide him to the right path and ensure he prospers. One day, you'll understand this feeling when you become a parent."
Alan's voice dropped to a whisper, the words directed at no one but himself, "Don't believe it, Alain. Don't you dare believe it. He isn't my parent. He isn't your father." Shaking his head, Alan pushed away from the door and stepped outside into the crisp night air.
His thoughts churned. "I don't even feel like going back to the dorms…" As his feet took him away, the stillness of the practice grounds a little away from the lodgings greeted him, broken only by the occasional hoots of owls and the gentle rustling of leaves. Then, a sharp smack pierced the quiet, catching Alan's attention. Curious, he followed the sound and found Seraph in the practice nets.
Seraph's focus was intense as he bowled relentlessly at a solitary stump. Ball after ball, he charged through the popping crease, unleashing precise and powerful deliveries.
After completing an over, Seraph paused, his chest heaving as the ball rolled to a stop against the netting. The stump remained unmoved, standing defiantly in the center. Without hesitation, Seraph bent to retrieve the ball, readying himself for another round.
Alan, curious, stepped closer to Seraph.
Noticing his approach, Seraph turned around, his golden eyes flickering under the floodlights. "Alan?" he asked.
Alan nodded, hands stuffed casually into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ball in Seraph's grip.
"Have you finished the training manual?" Seraph inquired.
Alan smirked, "What do you think?"
Seraph returned the smile, "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Despite the exchange, Alan noticed a shadow of unease in Seraph's usually sharp gaze. Sensing it, he suggested, "Since we're both out here, how about an over or two?"
Seraph blinked, surprised, "Are you sure? Didn't you just wrap up your training?"
Alan shrugged, exhaling, "Yeah, but I'm good. This beats going back to those endless drills any day. I'm exhausted just thinking about doing them again tomorrow especially double the rounds. No way am I skipping them." he rolled his eyes dramatically, drawing a faint chuckle from Seraph.
Nodding, Seraph returned to his bowling mark.
Alan set his gear bag aside, pulling out his bat as he walked toward the crease. But midway, he paused, turning back to look at Seraph. "What's bothering you?" he asked, his tone softer but probing.
Seraph stopped in his tracks, glancing back over his shoulder. "You've faced me before, Alan. You'll face me again now. It won't take you long to figure it out," he replied enigmatically before turning back to his mark.
Alan frowned but took his position, tapping his bat on the ground. The floodlights flickered as Seraph bowled his first delivery. "Infrasonic Glint: Wave 2!" he called.
The ball zipped towards Alan with precision and twice the power he'd faced back at Karachi's base. "Fast...!" he thought alerted, narrowing his gaze, Alan played a calculated sweep shot. The over continued, each ball varying in pace—fast, slow, medium, until it concluded.
Seraph, retrieving the final ball, wiped his face with his armband. He panted heavily, his expression betraying dissatisfaction rather than surprise.
Alan rested his bat in front of him. "I see it now," he said thoughtfully.
"Your deliveries are fast, precise, and well-paced. But there's no 'Fear'in them. That overwhelming pressure you usually bring. The kind that leaves batsmen second-guessing whether to counter or leave the delivery, is missing."
Seraph turned to him with a faint smile, "See? I told you you'd get it."
"But if you know it, why is it still a problem?" Alan asked, puzzled.
Seraph's smile faded. "I can't create that pressure. That's the issue," he admitted, "I can't, but 'He' can."
Alan narrowed his eyes, "You mean your Cleve persona, right?"
Seraph hesitated before replying, his voice quieter. "Wickets only fall when he takes over. And, he comes out only when he feels like it. What can I do if he doesn't show up during a match? He's… a nuisance. Who does he even think he is?" he bit his lip confused.
Alan exhaled sharply, "Has this happened before? Like back during the Inter-Academy Nationals?"
"No," Seraph replied, shaking his head, "He was always there during those matches, making sure I didn't lose. But ever since we started at the base, he's been… disruptive. Too unpredictable." "I can't figure out what he's thinking. It's like he's thinking just about himself. Messes things up after taking over me and I can't even remember what he did, making me the bad guy instead. I… just can't help but be wary of him." he ended frustrated.
Alan, for once genuinely unsure, stepped closer, a frown creasing his face. "Honestly, Seraph, I don't fully understand how you feel. I've never met anyone dealing with this kind of situation before, except you. So yeah, I'm probably clueless here. But…" he paused, resolve glinting in his eyes, "I really want to help you right now."
Seraph smiled warmly, an expression of appreciation softening his puzzled demeanor. "I know. You'd do your best to help anyone."
Alan blinked, slightly taken aback by the sincerity of the comment.
Before he could respond, Seraph's expression shifted as he twitched an annoyed brow. "But he's being a real pain in the neck right now," he muttered, his tone dripping with irritation.
Alan couldn't help but let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his head.
After a moment of silence, Alan called out, his tone lighter yet sincere. "You know, Seraph, in my eyes, you're a fantastic bowler. Maybe even better than world class bowlers I have met out there if I were to compare though I really shouldn't. Your raw speed and swing are terrifying. But authority? That's a whole different story."
"Zachariah once told me it's not just about how fast you bowl or how much the ball moves. It's about making the batsman feel like they're in your world, where you dictate every second they're at the crease," he added.
Seraph's grip on the ball tightened as he listened, his expression turning thoughtful.
"Think about it," Alan said, his voice firm yet encouraging, "When you swing the ball, what's your goal? Just to beat the bat? No. You've got to trap the batsman in their own mind. Make them question every shot, every step, every decision. Set them up. Start with something that looks predictable. A perfect out-swinger but let it nip back in late. Then follow up with something fierce, like a rising delivery aimed at the ribs. They'll start wondering, 'What's next?'"
Seraph furrowed his brows, turning Alan's advice over in his mind.
"And remember," Alan added, his tone sharpening, "Your pace is your weapon, but intimidation comes from precision and persistence. Hit that off-stump line like it owes you money. Over and over and over. Show them they can't escape you. No Cleve persona just you, Seraph. A batter's worst nightmare isn't some loud or flamboyant bowler. It's the one who's calm, unshakable, and relentless." Alan offered a small, encouraging smile.
Seraph stared at him for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Your Cleve persona…" Alan continued, his voice turning reflective, "Creates this indescribable pressure on the field, something your gentler personality doesn't naturally exude. And yeah, his bowling is absurd. Those wild variations can crush wickets in no time. He's so arrogant that even Kenzo's irritation seems tame in comparison. But so what? You don't need to be him to dominate. You already have what it takes. The real question is… when will you start believing it?"
Alan turned and headed back toward the batting crease, his bat tapping lightly against his shoulder. "Come on," he called back, "Let's play another over with those points in mind."
However, Seraph didn't move. A flat line etched on his lips. A subtle wind swept across the field, making the flickering floodlights dance, as Seraph let out a haughty grin. His golden eyes flashed with irritation for a split second before he spoke.
"Well, well…" Seraph taunted, his tone light and dripping with mockery, "That's some kind advice you've given. Something he'll definitely think about. But did you really think I was deaf? Pakistan's Galaxy?"