The academy did not announce the change.
One Monday morning, a name was simply not called during attendance, and no explanation followed. By the next day, another boy was missing. By Wednesday, the group standing on the practice strip was visibly smaller, and everyone understood without being told.
Unspoken Rules
No one explained why boys disappeared from the sessions.
They simply stopped coming.
Some had injuries that did not heal quickly enough. Some struggled to keep pace with the rigid timings. Others lost focus when drills repeated endlessly without praise or reassurance. None of it was discussed openly.
Sanjay Menon did not address the reduction.
Instead, he shortened net sessions and increased the intensity of every drill. The workload rose without warning, and the message carried itself clearly enough to anyone paying attention.
Pressure Without Noise
Rudra felt the shift immediately, though it did not manifest as fear.
It arrived as awareness.
Every session now carried weight, not because failure loomed, but because others had already fallen away. Mistakes still earned correction rather than punishment, but repeated lapses now drew attention that lingered longer than before.
Rudra welcomed that attention.
It meant he was still inside the line.
A Silent Comparison
During endurance runs, the contrast became impossible to ignore.
Irfan Shaikh surged ahead early with visible effort, only to slow sharply halfway through the distance. Ritesh Nair maintained a steady pace but allowed his posture to collapse as fatigue crept in.
Rudra stayed in the middle.
He did not lead, and he did not lag. He finished where consistency lived, arriving without visible strain or collapse.
Sanjay Menon's gaze remained there longer than anywhere else.
System Alignment (Minimal)
While cooling down after a prolonged session, awareness surfaced briefly and without disruption.
His stamina hovered near a significant threshold, strengthened by sustained output rather than bursts. His running form remained stable under extended distance load. Emotional control held firm despite the tightening environment.
There were no notifications and no sense of relief.
Only confirmation.
At Home
Mahesh Rao noticed the change before Rudra spoke of it.
"You're eating slower," he observed quietly during dinner.
"I'm tired," Rudra replied.
Mahesh nodded once, accepting the answer without concern. Saraswati Rao adjusted his plate, adding more vegetables and reducing the spice, her response measured and instinctive.
It was her way of adapting without asking questions.
The Meaning of Staying
By Friday, only twelve boys remained from the original twenty.
No announcement was made, but the absence spoke loudly enough. Staying meant belonging, at least for now. Rudra stretched longer than usual that night, noting the ache in his muscles.
The pain was present, but it was controlled.
This was effort, not injury.
Understanding the Cut
Lying in bed, Rudra thought about the boys who were gone.
They had not been weak, nor had they lacked skill. They simply did not align with the rhythm demanded here. Academies did not test talent alone.
They tested compatibility with repetition.
For the first time since joining, Rudra allowed himself a quiet acknowledgment that mattered.
He fit here.
Not because he was exceptional, but because he could endure being ordinary for a very long time.
The grind continued, the voices grew fewer, the silence sharpened, and Rudra remained.
The Coach Who Did Not Shout
The first thing Rudra noticed about the new presence was the absence of raised voices.
The man's name was Coach Raghav Iyer, a lean figure in his mid-forties with sun-darkened skin and a permanent notebook tucked under his left arm. While others watched results, Raghav watched repetition.
"How many straight drives today?" he asked a boy stepping out of the net.
"Twenty… sir?" the boy answered uncertainly.
Raghav flipped a page in his notebook. "Yesterday was twenty-six."
There was no anger in his tone and no reprimand in his expression. There was only subtraction, and the boy swallowed hard in response.
Invisible Evaluation
Rudra understood immediately.
This coach did not care about highlights. He cared about how often something could be done correctly without decay. During batting drills, Raghav positioned himself behind the net, not tracking the ball but studying foot placement.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
Each correct movement earned a quiet count, and every misstep reset it without comment. Rudra adjusted instinctively, slowing his tempo, reducing power, and committing fully to repeatability.
When Counting Became Pressure
After nearly forty minutes of uninterrupted drills, Raghav spoke again.
"Rudra," he said calmly, "twenty-eight."
Rudra froze for a fraction of a second, understanding immediately what that meant. Twenty-eight consecutive correct movements had been recorded, not shots, not outcomes.
Movements.
No praise followed. The coach simply wrote it down, but the boys nearby noticed, and the atmosphere shifted in ways Rudra had felt before.
System Response (Unannounced)
Later, while hydrating, awareness surfaced briefly.
His batting timing stabilized through sustained repetition. Balance continued its steady gain without fluctuation. Focus showed a subtle increase under monotony rather than excitement.
There was no surge.
Only alignment.
The system approved of repetition.
So did the coach.
A Lesson Without Comfort
As practice ended, Raghav finally spoke more than numbers.
"Talent," he said while closing his notebook, "is the ability to repeat something boring without degrading."
His gaze passed Rudra without fully settling on him.
"Matches don't break players," he continued. "Training does."
No one asked questions, because none were needed.
Understanding the Role
That night, Rudra reflected on the difference.
In his previous life, he had admired performers. Now, he found himself respecting counters, the ones who noticed effort when applause was absent. Raghav Iyer did not build stars.
He built habits.
And habits, Rudra knew, were the only things the system ever truly respected.
End of the Day
As Rudra prepared to leave, Raghav stopped him briefly.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we reset."
There was no compliment and no promise attached to the words.
Only continuity.
Rudra nodded and walked away, carrying a single thought with him into the night.
If someone was counting this carefully, then nothing he did here was wasted—not a step, not a movement, not a single repetition.
And somewhere ahead, beyond repetition and silence, the real test was clearly preparing to begin.