(Part 5)
Meanwhile, Alan, had miraculously found the perfect place to vent up all his unspoken frustration. A little away from the lodgings and in between small, gapped, vintage buildings, there was an empty, wide and open area. Enclosed on one side by a massive wall that stood tall and firm. The ground beneath was rough and dusty, scattered with small patches of uneven concrete and sand.
Surrounding the space were just a few sparse trees, their shadows offering little respite from the sun. In one corner, a rusty tap protruded from the ground, surrounded by a small puddle of mud where droplets fell.
The air felt still, the quietness broken only by the rhythmic thuds of the ball hitting the wall, echoing as Alan hit the ball harder and harder his bat swinging aggressively a moment after another, his red gaze blazed and sweat dripped relentlessly. Only until his judgement had been broken by the flocks of his long hairs did he stop, the white cock ball hitting the gate of the chain link fence, behind him.
"Tch!" he went, dropping his bat aside and pushing his hairs back. Heading towards his gear, he pulled out a hair pony, tying his hairs into a high and tight disheveled bun. Turning around he grabbed his bat and reached for his ball once again. Bowling towards the wall, he grabbed his bat as it came back to him with twice the force. Without hesitating he swung it fiercely.
"The Nidou you are right now. I don't want anything to do with you instead. And that boy—!" Yara's words repeated in his mind as he gritted, "And 'Me' what?!" he shouted hitting the ball as he had struck it right before him at the wall, off trajectory.
He had unconsciously struck Feyz's Stygian Flare. Shapeless like smoke yet blazing like a fire ball, it travelled back to him mercilessly. "D-damn, I messed up!" he thought pulling the bat to his face, in defense.
Then, all of a sudden, a figure leapt, beside him, pulling Alan back a bit and grabbing the ball before him bare handedly.
"Oh dear~ now that's dangerous, isn't it?" The voice unfamiliar, Alan's eyes shot open as he pushed himself away from the figure his expression guarded.
However, the moment his eyes rested on him Alan blinked momentarily surprised. The ball dropping from the figure's hand he smirked dusting them.
"A barehanded catch…?" Alan thought.
"No matter how angry you are, don't test your moves on yourself, that's what my master says. Instead, test it on those who annoy you the most. Two birds with a stone. Won't you agree,
His golden blonde hair, medium-length and styled in tousled layers, fell effortlessly with a deep side part, the longer strands sweeping across his face. Contrasted by steel blue eyes with a faint shade of grey, he wore a casual black track suit, his jersey zipped open and a grey gear bag hung on his shoulder. A foreign accent, an unfamiliar vibe yet a noble aura emitting. "He's not from here."
Alan immediately reached to a conclusion thanks to his vision after travelling the world for two years. Alan raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoved and questioning. The figure blinked, letting out a light chuckle.
"Who am I? Haha, your eyes ask even if your mouth doesn't.
"Alan Rex Lorenzo," Alan replied softly, glancing down and gripping the ball in his hand.
"Alan Rex Lorenzo," Tristan repeated with a slight bow, though his sharp gaze didn't waver, "Lorenzo… as in, Italian?"
"Nope." Alan stepped forward, returning to his usual position. "It's a borrowed surname. Half British, half Pakistani. If that clears up your curiosity, can you move aside? I'm in the middle of practice, Sir Tristan Évrard Delacroix." his tone was pointed, his guard clearly still up.
Tristan blinked, momentarily taken aback, before letting out a soft laugh. "Heh~ You remembered my name the moment I told you. You wouldn't believe how much trouble I've had getting people here to say it right and in the end mostly still couldn't." he took a step back, standing to the side.
"Not everyone is ready to meet a foreigner like you," Alan muttered, tossing the ball into the air before slamming it against the wall with precision.
The ball ricocheted back with force, and Alan struck it again with double the intensity.
Tristan stood off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing. "Composed footwork, impeccable timing, and unwavering focus," Tristan mused, his steel-blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "He's no novice that's for sure. And that intensity… makes me wonder what's gotten him so riled up?"
After ten minutes of relentless play, Alan finally stopped, panting as he wiped the sweat from under his chin. He glanced up, noting Tristan still standing there. Alan sighed internally, "I really don't want to get involved with this guy…"
"Don't mind me if ask, but do you need something?" Alan then asked, his tone edged with irritation, "You standing there and staring is already distracting enough."
"Oh?" Tristan tilted his head, then offered an apologetic smile, "My bad but I believe I wasn't distracting while sitting up there, was I?" he gestured to the iron chain fence.
Alan frowned wondering, "Since when was he up there?"
"As you're probably wondering, when? It had been a while," Tristan said, as if reading his mind.
"You looked quite charming, if I may say so, young one,
Alan tensed, eyeing him warily.
The foreign phrases slipped into Tristan's sentences felt familiar yet inscrutable making him wonder, "I wish Orion were here…" Then, with an effortless leap, Tristan perched himself atop the chain fence, the clinking of iron echoing as it swayed slightly under his weight. Though it seemed precarious, Tristan looked completely at ease, sitting as if it were a throne.
"How did I not notice him earlier?" Alan thought, a grin creeping onto his face, "Now that's interesting."
"You know this PSL is exhausting. Players moving from city to city every couple of days, it's no joke. I've been searching for worthy competition, but honestly, I'm worn out before I've even found any." Tristan sighed dramatically, "What am I going to tell everyone when I get back home?"
Alan smirked, tossing the ball into the air again. "But you see," Tristan's tone shifted, his steel-blue eyes glistening, "It looks like I've finally found one."
Alan caught the ball in his hand, turning to face him, "Are you talking about me?"
"Yeah. Judging by your looks, you seem like someone headed for the pros. Am I right?" Tristan asked.
"And what about you?" Alan shot back, "Are you aiming for something big too?"
"What do you think?" Tristan countered.
A heavy silence hung between them, the air charged with silent thoughts. Both seemed to be testing the waters, wrapping their words in layers of ambiguity.
Alan exhaled sharply, breaking the tension. "Sorry to disappoint you," he said, "But I'm just a local. This is a cricket-loving country, and we all have our own kind of charm, even the little kids wielding bats. You've probably just crossed paths with me by chance without realizing there are plenty of others out there." Tristan tilted his head, contemplating the reply.
"Hm~ Fair enough. But still, how about we play an over? I am not a hot shot either, just someone obeying my master's orders and earning scowls from his seniors. Just a friendly match. It won't hurt, right?"
Alan grinned, turning back to face him, "Hmph, you're on…"
"Liar," both thought in unison.
As Tristan stepped down from the fence, his gaze crept over the jersey which rested beside Alan's gear bag. "I see…" he immediately apprehended.
Alan soon turned to face him, "Since you've gone out of your way in an unfamiliar country. For this over, it's only fair you get to choose. Ball or bat?"
Tristan smirked, "How generous of you. I'll take the ball."
Alan nodded, casually tossing him the white cock ball.
"No objections?" Tristan asked, his tone slightly teasing.
Alan raised an eyebrow, "I proposed it, didn't I? Why would I object?" he continued, setting a plastic chair for the wicket behind him.
Tristan smiled, turning to mark the crease. "Such honesty…" he mused to himself. "This is the crease. Good enough for you?" he called out, standing at the balling spot.
Alan, already at the batting end, shrugged, looking indifferent, "Doesn't matter. Six balls, pace, spin or any delivery. I'm ready."
Tristan, visibly impressed by Alan's confidence, turned back to his mark, only to hear Alan's voice again.
"And one more thing. Earlier, when you said, 'two birds with one stone'? You might want to avoid saying that to a person you've just met. Or else, you might just end up being the first bird they hunt." Alan's piercing gaze burned, an aura of intimidation radiating from him.
Tristan, taking it in stride, only grinned wider, his steel-blue eyes glistening with a dangerous, electrifying energy. "Haha! We'll see,