The secret to fast bowling isn’t just in the shoulder; it’s in the run-up, the gather, the core brace, and the explosive snap of the wrist.
Rohan learned this the hard way over the next three hours in his small, sweltering bedroom.
[Bonus Objective: 500 Shadow Bowling Deliveries focusing on core stability.]
He stood in front of the small, cracked mirror on his wardrobe door, going through his bowling action without a ball. At first, he just rushed through it, wanting to get the number down. But the System was an unforgiving taskmaster.
[Invalid Repetition. Host’s front arm dropped too early. Core collapsed upon impact. Reps completed: 12/500.]
"Are you kidding me?" Rohan gasped, wiping a river of sweat from his eyes. "I did the full motion!"
[The objective is ’Core Stability,’ not merely swinging your arm like a rusty windmill. A collapsed core bleeds kinetic energy. Brace your abdominal muscles upon front-foot contact. Try again.]
Gritting his teeth, Rohan reset. He visualized the crease. He jogged two steps in place, leaped, pulled his non-bowling arm down sharply, and flexed his core as hard as he could before snapping his right arm over.
[Valid Repetition. Reps completed: 13/500.]
It was agonizing. By rep 300, his abs felt like they were being stabbed with hot needles. By rep 450, his legs were trembling so violently he could barely hold his balance. To survive, he consumed his second tube of Basic Nutrient Paste. The disgusting chalky taste was entirely eclipsed by the immediate rush of stamina it provided.
Finally, at 4:30 PM, the chime rang out.
[Bonus Objective Complete: 500 Shadow Deliveries.]
[Reward: +2 System Points (SP), Muscle Memory (Core Brace) improved by 5%.]
Rohan collapsed onto his bed, panting heavily. He didn’t have time to rest. He quickly changed into his track pants, grabbed his battered canvas sneakers, and jogged out of the house toward the local colony park.
The DDA Colony Park was a chaotic symphony of street cricket. There were at least three different matches happening simultaneously on the barren, dusty field. At the center was a rough, uneven concrete strip used as the main pitch.
Kabir was already there, twirling a bright yellow tennis ball heavily wrapped in black electrical tape.
"Took you long enough, superstar," Kabir grinned. "Come meet the squad."
A group of five older boys, mostly college students and dropouts from the neighborhood, were clustered near a stack of bricks that served as the stumps. The undisputed leader of the group was Monu Bhaiya—a twenty-two-year-old local legend known for hitting massive sixes that regularly broke neighborhood windows.
Monu was chewing on a matchstick, looking Rohan up and down with deep skepticism.
"This is your secret weapon, Kabir?" Monu scoffed, crossing his muscular arms. "He’s the bench-warmer for St. Peter’s, right? The kid who slipped and threw a wide into the practice nets yesterday? We’re playing against grown men in the Sunday League, Kabir. I need a bowler, not a liability."
Kabir looked nervous. "Come on, Monu Bhaiya (Brother). Give him a chance. He’s... he’s been practicing."
"Practicing how? In his dreams?" Monu chuckled, and the other boys laughed along. Monu tossed the heavy tape-ball to Rohan. It felt dense, much heavier than a standard tennis ball, designed specifically to skid menacingly off concrete. "Alright, kid. You want to play on my team? Bowl one over to me. If I don’t hit you out of the park at least three times, you’re in."
Rohan caught the ball. His hands were calloused, and his core was screaming from the 500 shadow reps. But looking at Monu’s dismissive smirk, a cold, focused calm washed over him.
He walked back to his mark, fifteen paces away.
Tape-ball cricket on concrete, Rohan thought. The ball won’t swing much in the air, but it will skid like a bullet off the pitch.
[System Suggestion: Implement the newly acquired ’Core Brace’ muscle memory. Focus kinetic energy through the front foot.]
Rohan didn’t respond to the System. He just stared at the three bricks acting as the stumps behind Monu. Monu took his stance, holding a heavy Kashmiri willow bat, looking completely relaxed.
Rohan started his run-up.
It wasn’t his usual erratic, unbalanced sprint. Thanks to the intense shadow reps, his body instinctively aligned itself. He kept his strides even. As he reached the crease, he leaped.
Keep the non-bowling arm high. Brace the core.
His front foot slammed onto the concrete. He violently tensed his abdominal muscles, creating a solid wall of resistance that transferred all his momentum straight into his right shoulder. His arm whipped over at an angle he had never managed before.
WHOOSH.
The heavy tape-ball left his hand in a dark blur. It hit the concrete pitch on a good length, barely a millimeter in front of a small crack.
Because of Rohan’s newly stabilized core, the speed was significantly higher than his usual 102 km/h. Combined with the heavy electrical tape and the hard concrete, the ball skidded horribly, keeping dangerously low.
Monu’s eyes widened. He swung his bat in a desperate, panicked arc, expecting the ball to bounce to waist height.
Instead, it shot under his bat like a guided missile.
CLACK!
The middle brick of the makeshift stumps was sent flying backward, tumbling into the dust.
Absolute silence descended on their corner of the park.
Kabir’s jaw was practically touching the floor. The other boys stared in shock. Monu stood frozen, his bat still lingering in the air, looking back at the displaced brick.
Rohan stood at the end of the pitch, his chest heaving, his canvas shoes barely holding on. A faint, glowing screen materialized in his peripheral vision.
[Delivery Analyzed.]
[Estimated Pace: 114 km/h]
[Impact: Lethal on uneven surfaces.]
He had gained 12 kilometers of pace overnight just by fixing a single flaw in his biomechanics and feeding his body properly.
"My shoe didn’t slip today, Monu Bhaiya (Brother)," Rohan said calmly, walking down the pitch to pick up the ball. "Do you want me to bowl the remaining five balls, or am I in the squad?"
Monu slowly lowered his bat, a mixture of disbelief and newfound respect flashing in his eyes. He spat out his matchstick and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"No need, kid," Monu grinned, a fiery excitement replacing his earlier skepticism. "With pace like that skidding off the pitch, Aryan Singhania’s rich boys won’t know what hit them. You’re our opening bowler."
Rohan smiled. The Sunday Gully Premier League was two days away, and he still had 150 pushups, squats, and a 12-kilometer run to finish tonight. The grind was agonizing, but looking at the broken stumps, he knew one thing for certain.
It was absolutely worth it.