Vivaan had been made captain three weeks ago, and he had a plan for everything.

He decided who took corners. He decided the warm-up drills. He decided that Sahil, their fastest player, should always play on the right wing, no matter what Sahil thought about it.

“I play better on the left,” Sahil said before practice one day.

“Right wing suits your speed,” Vivaan said, already walking towards the goalposts. “Trust me.”

They had a tournament match against St. Xavier’s coming up — a team known for strong left-side defenders. Vivaan had studied their previous matches twice.

“Their left back is slow,” he told the team at the huddle before kickoff. “Sahil, you attack down the right like always.”

Sahil opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The first half went badly. St. Xavier’s right side, it turned out, was their weak point — not their left. Sahil kept running into their strongest defender, losing the ball twice, frustration building in his shoulders with every failed run.

At half-time, the score was 1-0, St. Xavier’s ahead.

“Push harder on the right,” Vivaan said, pacing in front of the team.

“Vivaan.” Sahil’s voice was quieter than usual. “Their left back limps. I noticed it in the first five minutes. He’s slow turning. I could beat him easily from the left.”

Vivaan stared at him. “I already decided the positions.”

“I know,” Sahil said. “I’m telling you anyway.”

The rest of the team had gone quiet, watching.

Coach Meena, standing near the water bottles, said nothing. She had told Vivaan once that a captain’s job wasn’t to be right — it was to make the team better. He hadn’t really understood what she meant until this exact moment.

“Switch with Karthik for the second half,” Vivaan said finally. “Try the left.”

Sahil nodded, surprised it had taken so little to say.

Second half, Sahil tore down the left wing twice in the first ten minutes, the limping defender unable to keep pace. His second run ended in a cross that Dev headed into the net. 1-1.

With four minutes left, Sahil found space again, cut inside, and scored himself. 2-1.

After the final whistle, the team crowded around Sahil, shouting, lifting his arms the way they had for Rohit weeks earlier.

Vivaan stood a little apart, clapping along, and found he didn’t mind it at all.

Walking off the field, Sahil fell into step beside him. “Thanks for switching me.”

“Thanks for saying something,” Vivaan said. “Even after I told you not to.”

Sahil grinned. “I wasn’t going to listen to that part.”