Part-289

  As the team gathered by the behe atmosphere was one of celebration. They had swept Jatrabari High with ease, winning 4-0. There was ughter, high fives, and gratutions all around, but James couldn’t shake the thought of their match. Tejgaon High was on the horizon, a formidable oppohat wouldn’t fall so easily.

  Ryan cpped James on the back. “Told you. Jatrabari’s strong, but strength only gets you so far.”

  Sourov smiled, nodding in agreement. “You were right.”

  Ryan’s expression shifted, his tone being more serious. “But Tejgaon... they’re no joke. We’ve gotta be sharp for that one.”

  James didn’t need reminding. He could feel it—the calm before the storm was ending.

  --

  The break room at the stadium was filled with the muted sounds of teams chatting, strategizing, and winding down from their test matches. Banani High's judo team sat sprawled on benches, each member trying to catch their breath while mentally preparing for the bout. Bottles of water and energy bars were scattered across their bench as the hum of distant matches echoed in the background.

  Ryan was leaning back, his eyes closed and arms folded behind his head, trying to rex when a voice cut through the peace like a knife.

  “So, still kig, huh?”

  Ryan’s eyes snapped open, his expression hardening the moment he saw who had spoken. Standing before him was a tall, broad-shouldered boy wearing the dark blue tracksuit of Mohammadpur High. His messy hair fell over his sharp eyes, which gleamed with amusement. A smug grin stretched across his face like he owhe eadium.

  “Jel,” Ryan said ftly, the warmth draining from his voibsp;

  Jel tilted his head, the grin widening. “Yup, it’s your boy Jel. What’s the pn, buddy? Ready to get beaten by me again?” He leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Oh wait—you’ll o make it to the final first, right? That’s the *only* time we’ll meet, isn’t it?”

  Ryan didn’t flinch. “It doesn’t matter if we make it to the final or not. What I know is—we’re winning the nationals. That’s all.” His words were calm, but the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

  Jel chuckled, shaking his head as if Ryan had just told the fu joke. “Well, dreaming isn’t illegal, right? Too bad that’s all you’ll get—dreams. Because winning? That’s not happening.” He winked and tapped Ryan on the shoulder before turning to leave.

  The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud. Jel’s footsteps echoed as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the Banani High team in uneasy silenbsp;

  ---

  James leaoward Sourov, who was sitting beside him with a scowl etched on his face. “Who’s this guy?” James asked quietly, his eyes still on Jel's retreating figure.

  Sourov’s expression darkened. “That’s Abu Jel. He’s the captain of Mohammadpur High—the reigning champions.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if the very mention of Jel's name annoyed him. “And,” Sourov added after a pause, “he’s also Ryan’s old childhood friend. He’s the one who introduced Ryan to judo.”