Even as a twelve-year-old, Arjun's mind wandered beyond boundaries, beyond matches, and beyond applause.
Guntur was small, underestimated, ignored by most of the outside world. And yet, it offered him something priceless: space to observe, to plan, to grow without scrutiny.
He began to imagine networks, infrastructure, and systems. Roads were not just for travel—they were veins. Markets were not just for trade—they were pulses of unseen flows. Cricket, he realized, was a microcosm of life: placement, timing, and observation mattered more than brute force.
In the evenings, after practice and homework, he would walk through the dusty lanes of Guntur, watching vendors, carts, and small businesses. He noted patterns, sequences, and inefficiencies. He imagined how one person, positioned correctly, could influence the flow of the market without others even noticing.
It was a private obsession, hidden behind the routine of school, cricket, and family life. But the seed of empire—the hidden web of influence that would one day stretch across sports, finance, communication, and infrastructure—had been planted.
He made mental notes:
Observe quietly. Influence subtly. Never expose your hand.
People are predictable. Systems are manipulable.
Control the first move, and the rest follow naturally.
That night, as rain pattered against the tin roof, Arjun lay awake, staring at the dark sky outside. He imagined a future where cricket was just the beginning, where the lessons from the pitch could be applied to cities, businesses, even nations.
Guntur, with its quiet streets and underestimated markets, would be his starting point. From here, he would grow—not just a player, not just a captain—but a strategist who could bend outcomes on a scale no one could yet imagine.
He closed his eyes and whispered to himself:
I will not just win games. I will build systems. And no one will see me coming.
The Devil had begun to dream beyond the pitch.