The alarm clock read 5:17 AM.
Rudra had set it for 5:30, but his body had other plans. The forty-four-year-old inside his twelve-year-old frame was accustomed to waking early—decades of corporate life had burned away any ability to sleep past dawn. He lay in bed for a moment, listening to the sounds of Malleshwaram waking up. A vegetable vendor's cart creaked down the street. Somewhere, a pressure cooker whistled. A dog barked twice, then fell silent.
This is it, he thought. Day one.
The System panel flickered into view.
[System Status — Day 2]
[Date: June 2, 2001]
[Time: 5:18 AM]
[Passive Effort Recording: ACTIVE]
[Main Quest: Establish Baseline Fitness — Run 1km without stopping]
[Progress: Incomplete]
[Note: The first mile is always the hardest. Your body will scream. Your mind will make excuses. Ignore both.]
Rudra swung his legs out of bed. The floor was cold—the apartment didn't have carpets, just bare cement with a thin layer of worn-out tiles. He padded to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection.
Twelve years old. Five feet one inch. Forty kilograms soaking wet.
This body has never run a kilometer in its life, he realized. Not really. Not with purpose. The school PT periods don't count—those were just excuses to chat with friends.
He changed into his "sports clothes"—an old pair of navy blue shorts that ended just above the knee, and a white t-shirt with a faded logo of some company his father had once done legal work for. The shirt was too big. The shorts were held up by a safety pin because the elastic had given out years ago.
This is what we can afford, Rudra thought. For now.
He tiptoed through the living room. His parents' bedroom door was closed. His father would wake up at 7, his mother at 6:30. He had a window of about an hour before anyone noticed he was gone.
The front door had a latch that clicked loudly. Rudra opened it slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until the gap was just wide enough to slip through. He stepped out into the corridor, pulled the door shut behind him, and took a breath.
No excuses. No shortcuts. Just the work.
The staircase was dark. Rudra descended four floors—the building had no elevator—and emerged onto the street.
Malleshwaram at 5:30 AM was a different world.
The chaos of the day hadn't started yet. The autorickshaws were still sleeping. The vegetable vendors were setting up their carts, arranging tomatoes and onions in neat pyramids. An old man in a white dhoti was sweeping the pavement in front of his house. A group of women in sarees walked toward the temple, their footsteps silent on the cool ground.
Rudra started walking toward the main road. He had mapped his route the night before—a loop that started near the 8th Cross, went down Sampige Road, circled around the park, and came back. Roughly 1.2 kilometers. Slightly longer than the quest requirement, but the extra distance would be a buffer.
Better to overshoot than fall short.
He reached the starting point—a lamppost near the corner of 8th Cross and 13th Main. He stretched. Not because he knew how to stretch properly—his previous life's knowledge was limited to a few half-hearted quad pulls before matches—but because the System had offered a suggestion.
*[System Tip: Pre-run dynamic stretching increases EXP efficiency by 12%. Recommended: Leg swings, high knees, butt kicks.]*
Dynamic stretching, Rudra thought. I remember reading about that. In my previous life, I never bothered.
He spent five minutes swinging his legs, lifting his knees, kicking his heels toward his back. His muscles complained—they weren't used to this kind of movement. The System logged every action.
*[Flexibility Lv 01 → 4/100 EXP]*
One single EXP, Rudra noted. At this rate, it'll take weeks to level up Flexibility once. But that's fine. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
He positioned himself at the lamppost, took a breath, and started running.
The first hundred meters were fine.
Rudra's legs moved easily. His breathing was steady. The morning air was cool against his face, carrying the scent of jasmine from someone's garden. He felt almost... free.
This isn't so bad, he thought. Maybe I'm in better shape than I—
The second hundred meters changed everything.
His lungs started burning. Not the slow, manageable burn of exercise—the sudden, shocking fire of a body that had never been pushed. His legs felt heavy, like someone had tied sandbags to his ankles. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Keep going, he told himself. You've barely started.
He passed a tea stall. The vendor looked up, surprised to see a child running this early. Rudra ignored him.
Three hundred meters.
His form was deteriorating. His shoulders were hunched. His feet were slapping the pavement instead of landing softly. His breath came in ragged gasps.
[System Warning: Stamina depletion accelerated. Current rate: 3x normal.]
[Recommendation: Reduce pace or risk collapse.]
No, Rudra thought. I'm not stopping. Not yet.
He pushed through three hundred fifty meters. Three hundred seventy-five. Four hundred.
At four hundred twenty meters, his vision blurred.
Not good.
He had experienced this before—in his previous life, during his twenties, when he had tried to get back into shape after his knee injury. The body had limits. Pushing past them was possible, but it came with consequences.
Four hundred fifty meters.
His legs gave out.
Rudra stumbled, caught himself on a low wall, and collapsed onto someone's front steps. His chest heaved. His mouth tasted like copper. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. The world tilted around him.
He sat there for what felt like an eternity, breathing in gasps, while a crow cawed at him from a nearby electrical wire.
[Main Quest Progress — Failed Attempt]
*[Distance completed: 0.47 km / 1.00 km]*
[Reward: Partial — 5 EXP awarded for effort]
*[Stamina Lv 01 → 7/100 EXP]*
[System Note: Failure is data. Analyze. Adapt. Try again.]
Rudra leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
0.47 kilometers, he thought. Less than half. I couldn't even do half.
In his previous life, he had been able to run ten kilometers without stopping. Not fast—but steady. Sustainable. That body had been built by years of cricket, by the daily grind of practice and matches and fitness drills.
This body had nothing.
No, he corrected himself. This body has potential. But potential means nothing without work.
He opened the System panel and looked at the Stamina attribute.
*[Stamina Lv 01 — 7/100 EXP]*
Seven EXP out of one hundred. At this rate, it'll take fifteen more runs to reach Level 02. Fifteen days of collapsing after half a kilometer.
But the System had given him 5 EXP for 0.47 km. If he could reach 1 km, the reward would be larger—50 bonus EXP plus the level up. That would jump him from Lv 01 to Lv 02 in a single run.
Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow I'll go further. Four hundred seventy meters today. Five hundred tomorrow. Then six hundred. I'll add ten percent every day.
He stood up slowly. His legs were shaky, but they held. The burn in his lungs was fading, replaced by a strange sense of accomplishment.
I didn't finish. But I started.
And starting is the hardest part.
The walk back to the apartment took fifteen minutes. Rudra used the time to cool down, swinging his arms, stretching his calves against a wall. The System approved.
*[Cool-down detected. EXP recovery enhanced. Next stamina effort will have +2% efficiency.]*
He climbed the four flights of stairs slowly, feeling each step in his quads. By the time he reached the door, his legs were trembling again.
He slipped inside. The apartment was still quiet. His mother's bedroom door was still closed.
Perfect.
He went to the bathroom, washed his face, and changed back into his school clothes. Then he sat on his bed and stared at the cricket bat in the corner.
50 balls today, he reminded himself. Side quest. The First Net Session. I need to find a net. Or make one.
The Malleshwaram area had a few cricket clubs—small operations with concrete pitches and worn-out nets. He remembered one from his previous life, run by a man named Guru, who coached young kids for a few hundred rupees a month.
I'll go after school, Rudra decided. Talk to him. See if he'll let me use the nets for free in exchange for cleaning up or something.
That was another lesson from his previous life: If you couldn't afford something, find a way to trade. Value for value. His father had taught him that, even if Krishnamurthy didn't realize it.
At 7:15 AM, his mother knocked on his door.
"Rudra? You're awake already?"
"Yes, Amma."
She opened the door and peered inside. Her eyes swept the room—the bed was made, the school bag was packed, and Rudra was sitting on the chair, reading a textbook. Everything was in order.
"You look tired," she said. "Did you sleep well?"
"I woke up early. Couldn't fall back asleep."
Janavi nodded. "Come eat. I made chitranna for breakfast. And don't forget—you have that test today, right?"
Test, Rudra thought. He had completely forgotten about school. The demands of his second life had pushed aside the mundane realities of seventh standard—math exams, homework, the social drama of twelve-year-olds.
I have to balance both, he realized. Cricket. Business. School. Family. The System will log everything, but I have to prioritize.
"Right," he said, standing up. "The test. I'm ready."
He wasn't. But he had a forty-four-year-old's understanding of seventh-grade mathematics. He would manage.
School was a blur of faces Rudra remembered and voices he had forgotten. The classrooms were smaller than he recalled—or maybe he was just bigger, at least in spirit. His classmates were children, their concerns limited to who had said what in the playground, who was "friends" with whom, which teacher was the strictest.
I used to care about that, Rudra thought. Now it feels like another planet.
He sat through four periods—Mathematics, Science, Social Studies, Kannada—and answered questions when called upon. His teachers noticed the change. Rudra Sharma had always been a B student, attentive but unremarkable. Now he answered with precision, rarely checking his notes, his handwriting suddenly neat and adult.
"Have you been studying extra?" the math teacher asked after class, pulling him aside.
"Yes, ma'am," Rudra said. "I decided to take my studies more seriously."
She looked at him—really looked at him—and nodded slowly. "Keep it up. You have potential."
Potential.
The word followed him through the rest of the day.
At 3:30 PM, the school bell rang. Rudra walked home, ate the lunch his mother had packed (lemon rice and a boiled egg), and changed into his practice clothes.
"Where are you going?" Janavi asked from the kitchen.
"To the nets. There's a club near the temple. I want to see if I can practice there."
His mother wiped her hands on her saree and came to the doorway. "Does it cost money?"
"I'll find out."
Janavi hesitated. Then she reached into the small purse she kept tied to her saree and pulled out a fifty-rupee note. "Take this. Just in case."
Rudra looked at the note. Fifty rupees. His mother had probably saved it for a week, setting aside small coins from the household budget.
I can't take this, he thought. Not for something I can negotiate.
But he saw the expression on her face—hope mixed with anxiety, the universal look of a parent who wanted to support her child but wasn't sure if she could afford to.
"I'll take it," Rudra said softly. "But I probably won't need it."
He folded the note carefully and put it in his pocket.
The Malleshwaram Cricket Club was tucked behind the Ganesha Temple, on a patch of land that had somehow escaped Bangalore's relentless construction. Two concrete pitches, three practice nets, and a small pavilion with a tin roof. A dozen boys, aged ten to sixteen, were already there, batting and bowling under the watchful eye of a man in his fifties.
Guru, Rudra remembered. Guru Rao. Fast bowler in his youth. Never made it past the state level, but he knew the fundamentals.
Rudra approached the pavilion.
Guru Rao was sitting on a plastic chair, a steel tumbler of tea in his hand, watching a fourteen-year-old boy play forward defensive shots against a bowling machine. He noticed Rudra immediately—it was hard not to notice a twelve-year-old who walked like a middle-aged man.
"Yes?"
"Sir," Rudra said, his voice respectful but not timid. "My name is Rudra Sharma. I'm a student at Malleshwaram High School. I want to practice here."
Guru looked him up and down. The oversized t-shirt. The shorts held up by a safety pin. The cheap canvas shoes that were meant for walking, not cricket.
"You have a bat?"
Rudra held up his Kashmir willow. The cracked surface was visible even from a distance.
Guru's expression didn't change. "Nets cost three hundred rupees a month. Coaching is extra."
"I can't afford three hundred rupees."
"Then I can't help you."
Rudra didn't flinch. In his previous life, he had negotiated with department heads, vendors, and clients. A club coach was not going to intimidate him.
"I can clean the nets after practice," Rudra said. "I can sweep the pavilion. I can fetch balls. I can do anything that needs doing. In exchange, I want to use the nets when no one else is using them—early morning or late evening. And I want you to watch me bat once a week and tell me what I'm doing wrong."
Guru Rao set down his tea.
"You're a strange boy," he said. "Most kids your age just beg their parents for money."
"My parents don't have money to beg for," Rudra said honestly. "But I have time. And I have effort. And I won't waste yours."
The coach stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed—a short, barking sound that surprised Rudra.
"Fine. You start tomorrow. 6 AM. Bring a broom."
Rudra nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet," Guru said, picking up his tea. "I don't go easy on anyone. And if you're late, don't bother coming back."
Rudra walked home with a smile on his face.
The System panel appeared.
[Side Quest: The First Net Session — Updated]
[Access secured. Objective: Face 50 balls in a practice net. First session scheduled for tomorrow, 6 AM.]
*[Quest Reward: Batting Timing Lv 01 → Lv 02 + 50 bonus EXP]*
*[Hidden Quest Progress: Static Vision — 0/10,000 balls faced]*
Ten thousand balls, Rudra thought. At fifty balls a day, that's two hundred days. Seven months. But I can do more than fifty. I can do two hundred. Three hundred.
I can do whatever it takes.
He climbed the stairs to the apartment, washed his face, and sat down to do his homework. The math problems were easy—algebra was child's play compared to compound interest calculations and capital gains tax.
When his father came home at 7 PM, tired from another day in court, Rudra was waiting for him.
"How was your day?" Krishnamurthy asked, loosening his tie.
"I ran this morning," Rudra said. "Not far. But I ran."
His father paused. "You ran?"
"To get fit. For cricket."
Krishnamurthy sat down on the sofa, studying his son's face. "You're serious about this."
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life."
In either of my lives, Rudra added silently.
The System panel flickered once, then dimmed.
[Day 1 — Complete]
*[EXP Earned Today: 7 (Stamina) + 1 (Flexibility) + 50 (Social Intelligence unlock) = 58 total]*
*[Current Stamina: Lv 01 (7/100)]*
*[Current Batting Timing: Lv 01 (0/100)]*
[Milestone: First run completed (partial). First negotiation won. First step taken.]
[Tomorrow: The nets. 50 balls. The real work begins.]
Rudra closed his eyes and fell asleep within minutes, his body exhausted, his mind already planning the morning ahead.
End of Chapter 3