Part- 356:

  The fessio like a gut punch to the room. **Nabi** and **Keya**, standing side by side, exged quices, their expressions grim. Tisha’s exhaustion wasn’t news—it was a truth they all shared, but no one had wao say it out loud. Now that it was out in the open, it hung heavily over them all, a reminder of just how thin the liween success and colpse truly was.

  Coach Gin didn’t sh out. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Alright,” he said, his voice devoid of judgment but ced with disappoi. “That’s what I o hear. Anyone else?”

  The pyers exged gnces, but no one else spoke up. **Ryan**, standing with his hands ched into fists, rolled his shoulder and subtly adjusted the tape around his wrist. **Zia**, the team’s fastest lightweight, shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to look at Coach Gin directly. Everyone was tired, bruised, and ag—but no one wao say it. The finals weren’t just a game to them. It was their shot at proving they belonged on that podium, even without Sourov.

  Coach Gin sed the group, his eyes sharp as ever. “We don’t have time t anyone along,” he said. His gaze settled on Tisha, who was still standing in front of him. “You’re out for this round.”

  Tisha’s lips parted in protest, but she swallowed her words, knowier than tue. Instead, she nodded, her jaw ched with frustration.

  “Dipa, you’re stepping in,” Gin said, turning to the youhlete standing quietly at the back of the group.

  Dipa blinked, clearly not expeg to be called. Her eyes widened for a moment, but then something steely settled into her expression. She squared her shoulders and gave a firm nod. “Got it, Coach.”

  Coach Gin nodded once, satisfied. “Good. That’s the attitude I want to see.”

  Theurned his attention to the middleweight category. “With Sourov out, we’ll o make adjustments.” His eyes nded on **Abbas**, who stood tall, his arms folded over his chest. “Abbas, you’re taking Sourov’s pce. You’re the closest we have to heavyweight, and you’ll hold yround.”

  Abbas gave a fident grin. “Don’t worry, Coach. I’ve got this.”

  Gin gave him a curt nod. “You better. We’re ting on you.”

  The shift in roles was swift but necessary. The absence of Sourov had thrown a wrento their strategy, but they had no choice but to adapt. Gihe key to victory wasn’t just strength or speed—it was unity. His team o trust each other and fight as one.

  He looked at each of them, his gaze lingering on their faces—Ryan, Zia, Abbas, Dipa, Nabi, Keya. They were exhausted, yes. But they were also determihe fire in their eyes was unmistakable, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

  Gin’s voice softened, just enough to show that beh his stererior, he believed in them. “Remember,” he said, “no one fights alone. Leave everything o. I don’t care if we win or lose—what matters is that you give it everything you’ve got.”

  The words settled over the team like a warm b, f and grounding them. Nabi reached over and squeezed Tisha’s hand, a silent promise that she would carry the weight for both of them. **Ryan** exged a gh **Zia**, a silent uanding passiween them.