Chapter 14: The Viral Catalyst
The rain in Keraniganj didn't stop the celebration; it only made the victory feel more like a baptism. While the rest of the neighborhood was busy dragging Rimon toward the tea stalls for a celebratory round of "Malai Cha," Rifat was already miles away, his motorcycle cutting through the slick streets toward the city.
He pulled over under the neon glow of a petrol pump near the bridge. His professional kit was caked in drying mud, but he didn't care. He pulled out his phone.
Rifat didn't have to search long. Nuhab's livestream had already been clipped, edited, and reposted by half a dozen local football pages. But Rifat wanted the raw source. He found the "Batch 66" shared link and hit the download button on the final ten minutes of the match.
He opened his own official Facebook and Instagram accounts—profiles followed by thousands of fans, sports journalists, and club scouts.
Caption: "People ask me why I still go back to the Boro Maath. This is why. The 'Barefoot King' isn't a myth. Watch the vision. Watch the slap. Class is permanent."
He tagged the Bangladesh National Team assistant coach and the head scout for Abahani Limited. He didn't ask them for a favor. He didn't have to. He knew that once they saw a 73kg kid in mud-stained lungs doing "La Pelopina" against BPL-2 pros, the phone calls would start themselves.
He hit 'Post' and watched the numbers climb instantly. Within three minutes, it had five hundred shares.
Back in the quiet of her Dhanmondi apartment, Mahima saw the notification. She didn't follow Rifat, but the post was being shared so rapidly it appeared on her feed via a mutual acquaintance. Her heart skipped. She didn't know Rifat personally, and she certainly hadn't spoken to him—she was far too private for that—but seeing him use his fame to shield and elevate Rimon made her breathe a sigh of relief.
She looked at her own phone, at the private chat with Rimon. It was still empty. He was probably still being mobbed by the ward boys.
On the pitch, Rimon was finally peeling himself away from the crowd. His bare feet were numb from the cold mud, and his ribs still throbbed from Chisom's elbow. He found Nuhab, who was currently arguing with a group of teenagers about the "technical brilliance" of the third goal.
"Nuhab. Give me the phone," Rimon said, his voice weary.
"Mamu! Look! The video! It's on Rifat Bhai's page! He tagged the National Team coach! You're famous! You're actually famous!" Nuhab was vibrating with excitement, thrusting the screen into Rimon's face.
Rimon looked at the post. He saw Rifat's caption. He saw the thousands of comments from people he didn't know, calling him a "hidden gem" and a "beast." He saw a comment from an official Abahani scout account: "Who is this boy? Someone send his contact details immediately."
Rimon felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the rain. This was exactly what he had stayed in the library to avoid. The spotlight was no longer a flicker; it was a searchlight.
[Sync Rate: 10.2%... 10.5%...]
[Environmental Analysis: Social Visibility - Extreme.]
[New Objective: Professional Transition Imminent.]
Rimon is surprise by these flickering lights he don't know what's these. He ignored the system flickering in his eyes. He grabbed his bag from the Mojo crates and started walking toward the road. He needed to get home. He needed to wash the mud off his skin before the world tried to claim him.
But as he reached the edge of the field, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up, blocking his path. The window rolled down just an inch.
"Shoaib Bashar Rimon?" a voice asked—a voice that sounded like it belonged in a boardroom, not a football pitch.
Rimon stopped, his bare feet gripping the wet pavement. He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The world had found the King.
Author Note:
Rifat is the ultimate wingman! 🇧🇩 Even though he and Rimon have that silent rivalry, he knows Rimon belongs on a professional pitch. By sharing that video to his massive following, he's basically forced Rimon's hand. There's no going back to being just a Lazy Genius now. And the Abahani scouts are already sniffing around, and that black sedan? Things just got very real, very fast.