By nine, Arjun had mastered losing.
Not dramatic losing. Not obvious mistakes. But the kind of loss that left people unsure whether he was unlucky or just average.
In school matches, he scored 20s when he could score 50s. Took wickets only after others failed. Missed catches just barely.
Teachers liked him. Coaches trusted him. No one obsessed over him.
Except one boy.
His name was Karthik. Taller, louder, celebrated early. Karthik hit sixes and roared after them. Parents clapped. Coaches smiled.
Karthik was chosen as captain.
Arjun watched him carefully.
One afternoon, Karthik threw his bat after getting out and blamed the umpire. Arjun saw the coach's jaw tighten—not now, but later. Consequences always came late.
That day, chasing a small target, Arjun came in at number six. The team needed eight runs.
He could end it in one shot.
Instead, he took singles. Rotated strike. Let Karthik hit the winning runs.
Everyone praised the captain.
Arjun smiled and tied his shoelaces slowly.
Leaders who need applause crumble under pressure.
That night, he wrote his first rule in his head:
Win quietly. Let others take credit.
Guntur taught patience well.