12th Man to Cricket Legend

Author's Note:🏆

Hey everyone! Before we jump into today's chapter, I just wanted to say a massive thank you for reading. Your votes, comments, and support mean the world to me. Happy reading! 💖

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If you like the story, remember to give a review. It'll motivate me to continue with same passion ✌️😁

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The January air in Cuttack carried a sharp, misty chill, but the mid-morning sun was steadily beginning to bake the red dust of the streets.

It was January 15th—Makar Sankranti—and the sky was already dotted with the vibrant, colorful kites of neighborhood kids and adults alike, dancing against the blue.

Yet, inside a large, well-kept house near the old orphanage, a completely different kind of storm was brewing.

Grandma Rita sat tall on her high-backed wooden chair, her arms folded tightly over her chest.

Her legendary "Matron Aura"—the one that used to make a hundred rowdy, hyperactive orphans freeze dead in their tracks—was currently directed entirely at the young man who had recently conquered South Africa.

Rocky Rudra, the world-famous "Cuttack Cyclone," was currently hunched over a small wooden stool, looking like a guilty schoolboy caught stealing mangoes from an orchard.

Beside him, sitting with an unnerving, utterly regal stillness, was Shadow.

The pup was no longer a skeletal frame.

He was filling out rapidly into a lanky, powerful adolescent with fur like midnight velvet and those piercing, liquid-gold eyes.

(Pic)

"One full hour, Rudra," Grandma Rita snapped, glancing sharply at the ticking wall clock. "I have been talking for one hour, and you have yet to give me a single logical reason why you thought it was a brilliant idea to bring a forest demon straight into a residential neighborhood."

"Dadi, I'm telling you, he's just a Husky! A very rare, exotic one!" Rocky pleaded, though his voice completely lacked conviction.

Deep down, a vague, unsettling realization had already begun to dawn on Rocky during his brief transit stay in Mumbai. He vividly remembered hearing strange, deep, haunting howls echoing through the apartment walls at night.

But back then, he had forcefully dismissed the terrifying thought, systematically brainwashing himself into believing it was just the coastal winds whistling through the Shivaji Park high-rises.

Looking at Shadow's rapid growth now, the wind excuse was falling apart.

"Husky?" she barked, pointing a trembling, authoritative finger directly at Shadow. "I served as a head matron for nearly twenty years, boy. I have seen every single kind of stray, every domestic pet, and every so-called 'rare breed' you can imagine. Dogs actively wag their tails when they are happy. That... that creature... just stares at me like he's calculating my retirement fund!"

"And he doesn't bark a single time! He huffs! Like a disgruntled old man!"

Shadow, as if operating on a perfect theatrical cue, let out a soft, vibrating huff.

He shifted his weight smoothly and rested his heavy, black head directly on Rita's knee.

Then, he looked up at her with wide, deceptively innocent amber eyes, his sharp ears flattening slightly in a display of calculated affection.

The formidable Matron's iron resolve wavered.

She looked down at the beautiful predator resting against her, then shifted her gaze to her grandson's desperate, pleading face.

She let out a long, defeated sigh. Instinctively, her hand reached out, her fingers sinking into the thick, plush fur behind Shadow's ears, scratching the exact spot he loved.

"You are very lucky he possesses the same eyes as you, Rudra. Otherwise, I would have personally called the state forest department to haul him away by noon."

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FLASHBACK: The Return of the King (and the Wolf)

The chaos had started the moment Rocky's car pulled up to the house three weeks earlier.

The entire neighborhood had been whipped into a collective frenzy... The local boy had returned a conquering national hero.

People lined the narrow streets four ranks deep, showering the vehicle with a torrential downpour of orange marigolds and shouting his name until their throats went hoarse.

Rocky had stepped out of the passenger side, grinning broadly and waving to the familiar faces. But instead of just carrying two glittering trophies, he was carefully hauling a large, heavy, customized travel crate.

"Dadi! I'm home!"

Rita had rushed down the veranda steps, her eyes teary with pride, fully prepared to pull his ears for making her worry before throwing her arms around him.

But as she drew closer, a distinct sound vibrated from the vents of the crate.

It wasn't a playful domestic bark. It was a low, guttural, resonant whine that felt like it vibrated directly inside her very bones.

"Rudra? What on earth is that? Did you buy a miniature cow in Durban and fly it back?"

In truth, Rocky was sweating slightly under his team collar, his mind racing.

Deep down, a small, logical part of him knew he had been completely played by the entire ecosystem—by Dhoni, by Virat, by the smooth-talking South African vet, and by the lightning-fast customs officials.

They had all systematically validated his "Husky" narrative with straight faces.

But Rocky, with a classic, stubborn fluke mentality, utterly refused to accept the reality staring him in the face.

It was a masterful display of self-brainwashing, if the greatest captain in Indian history said it was a dog, and the official government stamps said it was a dog, then by god, he was going to look at a literal apex predator and see a fluffy Siberian Husky.

As long as he didn't say the word "wolf" aloud, the illusion remained intact.

A typical fluke mentality, refusal to accept reality.

(A/N: "False! It's a false world" - Obito Uchiha 🤣)

"No, Grandma! It's a pup. A gift... sort of, from the tour. His name is Shadow. He's just a rare Husky mix. Totally normal!"

The moment the secure crate door was unlatched, Shadow didn't tumble out like a clumsy, overexcited domestic puppy.

He didn't slip on the floorboards or look for a toy.

Instead, the black creature stepped out onto the red Cuttack dust with a silent, heavy, prowling grace that belonged entirely to the wild African bush.

He completely ignored the roaring, cheering crowd of fans like they didn't even exist. He didn't blink at the camera flashes, and he didn't even sniff the fresh marigold petals scattered at his paws.

Instead he walked in a straight, deliberate line past his owner, straight toward Grandma Rita.

He calmly sniffed her rubber sandals, looked up into her legendary, stern eyes with his piercing amber gaze, and sat down beside her with a heavy, definitive thud.

He had chosen the matriarch of the house as the true alpha of the territory within five seconds of arrival, leaving Rocky standing in the dust, still trying to explain his imaginary Husky.

Unfortunately, The "Husky" illusion lasted exactly four hours.

Rocky had gone upstairs to collapse into a deep, dreamless sleep, utterly exhausted from the grueling flight.

Meanwhile, Grandma Rita was in the kitchen preparing a comforting homecoming meal of Pakhala and Machha Besara.

Shadow was left in the living room to quietly "explore" his new surroundings.

When Rita finally walked back into the lounge to call Rocky down for lunch, she froze, her blood pressure instantly spiking.

The heirloom teakwood sofa—a legendary piece of furniture that had successfully survived the 1999 super-cyclone and two decades of rowdy orphanage children—looked like it had been directly targeted by a localized tornado.

The cushions were completely disemboweled. White polyester stuffing floated through the air like a winter snowfall.

Right there, in the absolute center of the carnage, sat Shadow.

He wasn't casually chewing on the foam like a normal puppy. He was meticulously shredding the heavy tapestry cover with long, dark claws that looked far too sharp for any domestic canine.

"RUDRA! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT! YOUR 'HUSKY' EATING THE HOUSE!!"

Rita let out a scream so piercingly loud it rivaled a stadium roar.

Rocky came sprinting down the stairs, tripping over his own feet, still half-asleep. He skidded into the living room, and his jaw dropped.

He saw the decimated sofa. He saw Shadow, who was currently holding a splintered piece of the heavy teakwood frame in his jaw like a casual toothpick.

"Oh... oh no. Shadow, bad boy! Drop it!"

Grandma Rita: "Bad boy? Rudra, look at his teeth! Look at the way he's standing! I watched documentary on National Geographic too. That is not a dog. That is a wolf! A pure black wolf!"

Rocky froze solid. He stared intently at Shadow.

His eyes were full of unwillingness, now, he couldn't even bring himself to lie anymore.

Tired.

Destroy it.

In that single, quiet moment, all the puzzle pieces violently crashed together in his mind.

He thought about the unnaturally large paws, the hauntingly silent movement, and the suspicious, knowing glances Jacques Kallis and even Dale Steyn had exchanged in Durban. He remembered the hushed, late-night phone call between Dhoni and the AQCS official that he had conveniently ignored.

The realization hit him like a 155 kph bouncer straight to the helmet.

The "Canine Hybrid" label on the pet passport wasn't a technicality—it was a legal shield.

Everyone had known. They all completely fooled him, but most importantly, he had nobody to blame but himself after stubbornly brainwashing himself to ignore the blatant reality.

"Dadi... listen to me... it's... it's a bit complicated."

Grandma Rita sneered in anger, "Complicated? You brought a wild predator straight to Cuttack! What's next on your itinerary, Rudra?"

"A lion from the Sahara for the veranda? A crocodile for the bathroom bathtub?"

🤣🤣🤣

Before Rocky could utter another word of defense, Rita grabbed a heavy wooden rolling pin (belan) from the dining table and began chasing the national hero around the room, her anger fueled by the sight of her ruined heirloom and the sheer, unadulterated audacity of her grandson.

"I don't care how many runs you scored against South Africa! You do not bring a wild beast into a house with handmade lace curtains! What will the neighbors say? 'Oh, look at the Rudra family, they've gone from cricket to the Jungle Book!'"

Shadow watched the high-speed chase around the dining table with great interest. His head tilted dynamically from left to right, and he occasionally let out a soft, vibrating "huff" as if he were actively cheering for Grandma's.

Eventually, sensing the climax of the drama, the young wolf walked over to a discarded, torn sofa cushion, dragged it across the floor straight to Rita's feet, and sat down on it regally.

He looked up at her with those liquid-gold eyes, completely flattening his ears as if to say, 'Look, I made this into a bed just for you.'

That was the exact moment the formidable Matron was utterly defeated by an otherworldly charm.

She looked down at the brilliant, manipulative "dog," then looked up at her panting grandson, realizing that both of them were completely cut from the same cloth—equally stubborn, equally wild, and both desperately in need of her care.

"Fine! He stays inside the compound!" she had yelled in resignation, throwing her hands up. "But if he ever decides to eat the mailman, you are the one going to jail, not me!"

___

The flashback faded as Rita's hand continued to stroke Shadow's little head in the present day.

The wolf pup leaned into her touch, his eyes closed in contentment.

"He needs another bath, Rocky," Rita said, her voice finally softening. "He smells like the your old cricket shoes."

"And don't think I've forgotten about the sofa. You're buying me a new one with your 'Match of the Player' or whatever it is called, money... Just know that you're paying."

She sternly warned him that she wasn't letting him pass today.

Rocky let out a big breath that he felt like he had been holding since South Africa.

"Done, Dadi. Anything you want."

He looked at Shadow, who gave a small, knowing huff.

The Cyclone and the Shadow were home, and despite the shredded furniture, the pack was finally complete.

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(A/N: Want to read advance chapters? DM me on WhatsApp ❤️)

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