Part-444
But here's the thing – and it was kind of a big thing once you noticed it – Banani High was missing someone. Someone really important. Their coach. The guy who usually looked like he was about to spontaneously combust with sideline energy, pacing back and forth, yelling encouragement (and maybe a few tactical pointers, if you listened closely enough). Yeah, that guy was MIA.
At first, maybe nobody really picked up on it, especially the Motijheel pyers who were still deep in their own zone, ser-focused on their drills. But then, someone who always notices the details, because it's practically his superpower – Motijheel's coach – he spotted it. You know coaches, right? They see everything. It's like they have some kind of radar for team dynamics and opponent weaknesses. And Banani High's empty coaching spot? That was definitely pinging on his radar.
Coach Rahman wasn't just someone you'd casually bump into at the grocery store and mistake for a gentle giant.
No, sir. This was a man who commanded respect. It wasn't just about the physique that could probably bench press a small car – though, let's be honest, that helped. It was the whole package: the sharp mind ticking away behind those discerning eyes, and the years etched into his face, each line a story of victories, defeats, and probably a few questionable referee calls.
As he walked towards the Banani High group, his stride was deliberate, each step carrying the weight of his experience. He wasn't rushing, he was arriving. Authority just seemed to cling to him, radiating out like heat from an engine. He was dressed in a tracksuit so crisp it could probably cut diamonds, his silver hair perfectly combed – not a strand out of pce, like he’d personally negotiated with each hair to stay put.
And those eyes? Forget about it. They were like ser scanners, constantly taking in everything, missing nothing, always assessing, always analyzing. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.
Coach Rahman halted his advance near Kiyoshi, who was currently orchestrating a passing drill that looked surprisingly organized for a team supposedly in disarray. His gaze wasn't just a casual gnce; it was a full-on reconnaissance mission, sweeping across the Banani team.
He took in their warm-up routine – were they sloppy or focused? Their demeanor – were they nervous or ready? But you could tell, his mind was circling back to one key element, the elephant in the room, or rather, the ck of an elephant: the coach. Where was he? It was like showing up to a concert and finding out the lead singer was a no-show.
Clearing his throat, Coach Rahman addressed Kiyoshi. His voice was deep, the kind that could narrate documentaries or announce sporting events – resonant and powerful, carrying the undeniable weight of seasoned authority. Yet, there was a surprising gentleness woven into the edges, like a velvet-covered brick.
“Young man,” he began, the words measured and clear, “You are the captain, yes?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a confirmation, like asking if the sky was blue when it was, in fact, gringly blue.
