The videos refused to disappear.

Three days after the Viral Match, they were still everywhere.

Everywhere meaning exactly what Danish considered everywhere.

Local cricket pages.

District sports groups.

School WhatsApp chats.

Instagram reels.

Random edits made by people who apparently had far too much free time.

Sahil discovered this while trying to eat lunch.

A mistake.

Because the moment he opened his phone, another highlight appeared.

The six over long-off.

The cover drive.

The celebration.

Slow motion.

Dramatic music.

Questionable editing choices.

The usual internet treatment.

---

Across the table, Danish nearly choked on his food.

"There it is again."

Sahil sighed.

"I know."

"No, seriously."

Danish shoved his phone across the table.

The clip had accumulated more views overnight.

Much more.

Comments flooded beneath it.

---

"Future Himachal star."

"That finish was insane."

"This guy always bats at the end?"

"What’s his name?"

---

Sahil pushed the phone back.

"I’m eating."

"You’re avoiding the topic."

"I’m surviving lunch."

"Same thing."

---

Aryan sat nearby reading something on his own phone.

Unlike Danish, he didn’t seem particularly interested in social media.

Or people.

Or conversations.

Most of the time.

---

After several moments, he finally looked up.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

The statement immediately grabbed Sahil’s attention.

"What?"

---

Aryan locked his phone.

"The attention."

A pause.

"The internet forgets quickly."

---

The words weren’t cruel.

They weren’t dismissive.

If anything, they sounded experienced.

---

"The next big clip appears."

Aryan shrugged.

"Then everyone moves on."

---

The table fell quiet.

Because everyone knew he was right.

---

Cricket didn’t care about yesterday.

The scoreboard always reset.

The runs always returned to zero.

The next match always arrived.

---

And the next match was arriving tomorrow.

---

Kangra District Under-19 vs Mandi District Under-19

A stronger opponent.

One of the strongest remaining fixtures of the season.

---

The atmosphere around training changed immediately.

The laughter disappeared.

The focus increased.

Even Danish stopped making terrible jokes.

Mostly.

---

The coach gathered everyone before practice.

The older man stood near the center wicket.

Arms folded.

Expression serious.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual.

---

"Mandi has the best bowling attack we’ve faced this year."

That got everyone’s attention.

---

"They’re disciplined."

Another pause.

"They’re experienced."

A longer pause.

"And they don’t give free runs."

---

Nobody spoke.

Nobody needed to.

The message felt obvious.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

---

The next day’s journey felt different from previous matches.

Quieter.

More focused.

The bus still contained conversations.

Still contained laughter.

Yet an edge lingered beneath everything.

---

Respect.

---

Nobody underestimated Mandi.

---

The stadium itself looked impressive.

Larger than most district grounds.

Better maintained.

Louder.

---

By the time the toss took place, hundreds of spectators had already arrived.

Not because of Sahil.

Not because of Kangra.

Because Mandi cricket had a reputation.

People cared.

People watched.

People expected quality.

---

Mandi won the toss.

The crowd applauded.

The home captain smiled.

Then chose to bat.

---

The first innings immediately justified the decision.

---

Mandi’s openers looked sharp.

Very sharp.

---

Not reckless.

Not flashy.

Professional.

---

The bowlers searched for weaknesses.

Found very few.

---

Boundaries arrived regularly.

Singles arrived constantly.

Pressure never really settled.

---

From the field, Sahil chased ball after ball toward the rope.

The afternoon sun burned overhead.

Sweat soaked through his shirt.

The crowd remained loud.

Relentlessly loud.

---

Every good shot received applause.

Every misfield received commentary.

Every close call created noise.

---

This wasn’t the sleepy district cricket atmosphere he had grown accustomed to.

This felt bigger.

---

The realization excited him.

And exhausted him.

---

Mandi eventually finished on:

271/8

---

A strong score.

Not impossible.

But strong.

---

Inside the dressing room, nobody panicked.

Nobody celebrated either.

The atmosphere sat somewhere in between.

---

Focused.

---

The coach pointed toward the scoreboard.

"Win the first ten overs."

Several players frowned.

---

The coach noticed.

"Not the match."

A pause.

"The first ten overs."

---

Then he walked away.

Leaving everyone else to figure it out.

---

The chase began reasonably well.

The openers survived.

The ball softened.

Runs appeared.

Everything looked manageable.

---

Then cricket happened.

---

A wicket.

Then another.

---

Momentum shifted.

---

Aryan rebuilt things brilliantly.

For nearly an hour, he controlled the innings.

The timing.

The placement.

The decision-making.

Everything looked smooth.

---

Watching him bat reminded Sahil of why the rivalry existed.

Aryan made difficult cricket look easy.

---

Unfortunately, even good innings ended.

---

A slower ball.

A mistimed lofted drive.

A catch near long-off.

---

Gone.

---

The silence that followed felt uncomfortable.

Because Aryan had looked set for a century.

---

Instead, he walked back with seventy-three.

---

An excellent innings.

One that somehow still felt incomplete.

---

The scoreboard now displayed:

Kangra District Under-19 — 178/4

---

Ninety-four required.

Thirteen overs remaining.

---

Difficult.

Not impossible.

---

Sahil picked up his bat.

The familiar weight settled into his hands.

The grip felt worn.

Comfortable.

Reliable.

---

The coach met his eyes briefly.

No speech.

No instructions.

Just a nod.

---

The same nod.

The one that said:

"Your turn."

---

The crowd noise intensified as he approached the middle.

A strange realization hit him.

People recognized him now.

Not everyone.

Not even most people.

But enough.

---

A group near the boundary pointed.

Several phones appeared.

Someone shouted his name.

---

The attention still felt strange.

---

At the crease, Danish waited.

The left-hander adjusted his gloves.

Then looked toward the scoreboard.

---

"Ninety-four."

"Yep."

"That’s annoying."

"Very."

---

Danish grinned.

"There goes my plan for a relaxing afternoon."

---

Despite everything, Sahil laughed.

---

The tension eased slightly.

Not much.

Enough.

---

Then both batsmen turned toward the bowler.

---

The chase wasn’t lost.

Not yet.

But it stood at a crossroads.

One mistake could end it.

One partnership could save it.

---

And somewhere hidden behind the pressure, behind the crowd noise, behind the scoreboard—

a familiar mission waited.

One final successful finish.

One final chase.

One final step.

---

Because if Kangra somehow crossed the line today—

the Power Finish Mission would finally be completed.

Ninety-four runs.

Thirteen overs.

Six wickets remaining.

On paper, the equation looked manageable.

Cricket rarely cared about paper.

---

The crowd remained loud.

Not the constant background noise that filled most grounds.

This was sharper.

Focused.

Every ball received a reaction.

Every run received applause.

Every dot ball felt like a small victory for someone.

---

Sahil settled into his stance.

The bowler turned at the top of his mark.

The afternoon sun hung low enough to cast long shadows across the wicket.

The field spread wide.

Deep cover.

Long-on.

Long-off.

Deep square leg.

The message was obvious.

No easy boundaries.

---

The first over produced mostly singles.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing memorable.

Yet when the over ended, Sahil felt something important.

The pitch was good.

Very good.

The ball came onto the bat cleanly.

The outfield remained fast.

Runs were available.

---

The challenge wasn’t scoring.

The challenge was surviving long enough.

---

At the other end, Danish continued doing what Danish always did.

Finding runs.

The left-hander possessed an annoying ability to turn good deliveries into singles.

A skill every captain loved.

And every bowler hated.

---

The partnership slowly grew.

Ten runs.

Then twenty.

Then thirty.

---

The scoreboard continued moving.

Not quickly enough to relax anyone.

Yet quickly enough to keep hope alive.

---

The Mandi captain adjusted fields constantly.

Every few deliveries another change appeared.

Another plan.

Another attempt.

Nothing seemed permanent.

---

Which usually meant something.

---

They were searching.

Searching for answers.

---

The realization felt encouraging.

---

As the chase entered the forty-third over, the equation finally dipped below fifty.

The crowd noticed immediately.

The noise changed.

Hope returned.

---

A chant started somewhere near the boundary rope.

Then another.

Then several more.

---

District cricket crowds weren’t always organized.

But they were enthusiastic.

---

The scoreboard now displayed:

Kangra District Under-19 — 223/4

Need 49 Runs From 48 Balls

---

The match stood perfectly balanced.

One partnership.

One wicket.

One mistake.

Any of them could decide everything.

---

Then cricket did what cricket always did.

It introduced chaos.

---

The bowler delivered a slower ball.

Danish committed early.

The connection felt wrong immediately.

The ball climbed high toward long-on.

---

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the fielder settled beneath it.

---

Caught.

---

Silence.

---

Not complete silence.

Just the strange quiet that followed an important wicket.

---

Danish stood motionless for a second.

Then nodded once.

As though accepting the decision.

---

While crossing paths with Sahil, he slowed briefly.

The same grin appeared.

Smaller this time.

More tired.

---

"Guess who’s finishing again."

---

Then he walked away.

---

The scoreboard now read:

Kangra District Under-19 — 227/5

Need 45 Runs From 42 Balls

---

The equation wasn’t terrible.

Yet it suddenly felt heavier.

---

Because partnerships created comfort.

Losing them created pressure.

---

The new batsman arrived.

A lower-order all-rounder named Nitin.

Solid player.

Reliable.

Not someone expected to dominate attacks.

---

Exactly the type of player finishers appreciated.

---

The next few overs became a lesson in patience.

Singles.

Doubles.

Strike rotation.

The glamorous side of cricket disappeared completely.

---

The crowd wanted sixes.

The scoreboard demanded intelligence.

---

Sahil chose the scoreboard.

---

Forty-five became thirty-eight.

Thirty-eight became thirty.

Thirty became twenty-four.

---

The chase kept moving.

Slowly.

Relentlessly.

---

The Mandi fielders grew quieter.

The captain became louder.

The bowlers started holding longer discussions.

---

Pressure.

Invisible.

Yet everywhere.

---

The forty-eighth over arrived.

---

Need 24 Runs From 18 Balls

---

The crowd stood.

The dugouts stood.

Even substitute players abandoned their seats.

---

Everyone understood.

The match had entered the death overs.

---

The exact situation Sahil had spent months preparing for.

---

The bowler charged in.

A fast bowler.

Experienced.

Disciplined.

Dangerous.

---

The first ball landed full.

Almost yorker length.

---

The old Sahil would’ve attacked immediately.

Forced something.

Created risk.

---

Now his mind worked differently.

---

Drive.

Commit.

Trust.

---

The bat came down smoothly.

The ball raced through extra cover.

---

FOUR.

---

The crowd erupted.

---

The second delivery produced a single.

The third became two.

The fourth became another single.

---

By the end of the over:

Need 16 Runs From 12 Balls

---

The equation looked significantly friendlier.

The crowd certainly thought so.

---

The final bowler adjusted his field.

The captain spoke rapidly.

Hands pointed everywhere.

Fielders moved constantly.

---

Yet beneath all the movement lurked one uncomfortable truth.

---

The pressure belonged to them now.

---

The first ball of the forty-ninth over became a single.

---

Fifteen from eleven.

---

The second ball produced two.

---

Thirteen from ten.

---

The third ball arrived slower.

A clever delivery.

One that would’ve troubled him months ago.

---

Not anymore.

---

The Shot Selection training flashed through his mind.

The repetition.

The certainty.

The commitment.

---

The decision came before the ball.

---

Pull.

---

The bat whipped through.

The connection felt glorious.

---

The ball disappeared toward deep midwicket.

Bounced once.

Then struck the boundary cushions.

---

FOUR.

---

The crowd exploded.

---

Nine required.

Nine balls.

---

Now the chase felt close enough to touch.

---

The next delivery became a single.

Then another.

---

Seven needed.

Seven balls.

---

The stadium noise felt overwhelming.

Thousands of voices blending together.

One giant wave of sound.

---

The final over arrived.

---

Need 7 Runs From 6 Balls

---

The entire ground stood.

No exceptions.

---

The bowler wiped sweat from his forehead.

Then started his run-up.

---

First ball.

Full.

Fast.

---

Sahil drove.

Not perfectly.

Not poorly.

---

Two runs.

---

Five needed.

Five balls.

---

The second delivery became a single.

---

Four needed.

Four balls.

---

Nitin survived the next ball.

Single.

---

Three needed.

Three balls.

---

The crowd could barely remain still.

---

The bowler turned.

Looked around.

Took a breath.

Started running.

---

The delivery landed slightly short.

Just enough.

---

The decision arrived instantly.

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

No doubt.

---

Pull.

---

The bat connected beautifully.

The sound alone told the story.

---

The ball soared high above square leg.

The fielder turned.

Looked.

Stopped.

---

Because there was nothing else to do.

---

The ball landed deep inside the crowd.

---

SIX!

---

For a split second, the entire ground froze.

Then reality arrived.

---

Chaos.

---

Absolute chaos.

---

Players stormed the field.

The crowd erupted.

The dugout emptied.

The noise became deafening.

---

Kangra had won.

---

Again.

---

As teammates surrounded him, a familiar blue glow appeared.

Brighter than usual.

Larger than usual.

---

The screen expanded.

Lines of text filled his vision.

---

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

POWER FINISH MISSION

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Progress

5 / 5

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MISSION COMPLETE

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reward Processing...

Reward Processing...

Reward Processing...

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a moment, everything seemed to pause.

The celebrations around him continued.

Yet his attention remained fixed on the screen.

---

New text appeared.

---

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SKILL ACQUIRED

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

POWER FINISH

Level 1

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Effects

✔ Improved Death-Over Shot Selection

✔ Enhanced Slower-Ball Recognition

✔ Increased Boundary Conversion During Chases

✔ Improved Composure Under Pressure

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Power Finish Skill

Current Level: 1

Progress: 0 / 500

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The notification remained visible.

Long enough for him to read every line twice.

---

Then a final message appeared.

---

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

SYSTEM NOTICE

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Player Role Confirmed

DISTRICT FINISHER

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Advanced Pathways Available

Requirements Not Yet Met

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The screen faded.

---

Leaving only the noise.

The cheers.

The celebrations.

The reality.

---

Five successful chases.

One completed mission.

One new skill.

---

And somehow—

deep down—

Sahil had the feeling that this wasn’t the end of a journey.

---

It was the beginning of a much bigger one.