Part-445
Kiyoshi, despite the slight pressure of being addressed by this imposing figure, didn't flinch. He straightened his posture, meeting Coach Rahman’s gaze head-on. His own confidence, while quieter, was just as firm. He wasn’t about to be intimidated. “Yes, sir,” Kiyoshi replied, his voice steady and respectful. “Kiyoshi Sajeb.” He offered his name like a handshake, firm and direct.
Coach Rahman gave a curt nod, the kind that said, "Information received and processed. Moving on." It wasn’t rude, just efficient. “I am Coach Rahman, from Motijheel High,” he stated, as if Motijheel High was a title in itself, which, in the Dhaka basketball scene, it pretty much was. He then extended a hand towards Kiyoshi. It wasn't a limp, perfunctory handshake; it was a proper, coach-to-captain gesture of respect.
Kiyoshi reciprocated, shaking Coach Rahman's hand firmly. It was a respectful grip, showing deference to the older coach, but definitely not subservient. He wasn't going to be a pushover. “It’s an honor to be here, Coach,” Kiyoshi said, meaning it genuinely. Pying against Motijheel was a big deal, even if they were currently feeling a bit…under-coached.
“The honor is mutual,” Coach Rahman replied, his eyes still doing their assessment thing, like they were on autopilot.
“Though…” he paused, a slight furrow appearing on his brow. “I must admit, I expected to see your coach here as well.” He let that statement hang in the air for a moment, like a perfectly lofted basketball, waiting for someone to jump and catch it.
He scanned the group again, just to be absolutely sure he wasn't missing someone obvious. "I don’t see him with your team." It was a statement disguised as an observation, but everyone knew there was a question lurking beneath the surface.
You could practically hear the change in the atmosphere amongst the Banani High pyers who were within earshot. It was like someone had suddenly turned down the volume on their energy. The lighthearted banter and pre-game jitters that had been buzzing around them just moments ago seemed to defte, repced by a quieter, more somber undercurrent.
It wasn't a dramatic shift, no one gasped or anything, but it was definitely palpable. Think of it like when the music at a party suddenly changes from upbeat pop to something a little more… introspective.
Kiyoshi, bless his captain's heart, remained outwardly composed. His expression barely flickered, but there was a definite shift in his tone. The casual confidence was still there, but now it was yered with something heavier, something more serious. “Our coach…” he began, choosing his words carefully, “he’s been unwell, sir.” He delivered the news pinly, without drama, but the underlying weight of the situation was undeniable.
Coach Rahman’s eyebrows, those perfectly sculpted silver caterpilrs, actually rose slightly. It was a subtle movement, but for Coach Rahman, subtle was practically seismic. A flicker of genuine concern crossed his usually composed features, like a shadow passing over a stoic statue.
“Unwell?” he echoed, the question tinged with surprise and a hint of worry. “I am sorry to hear that. Is it a recent ailment?” He asked, genuinely curious, his mind already starting to piece together the missing coach puzzle. Was this just a cold, or something more significant?
