The morning after the concert, the city buzzed like a beehive. News vans lined the street outside the auditorium, flashing cameras and microphones pointing at anyone who stepped out. Inside, Ishita's team prepared for interviews. Her voice had been everywhere last night — fierce, raw, healing. The crowd loved her. But the problem of the leaked album still hung over everything like a dark cloud.
Mukul walked into the backstage office and found Reema Kapoor pacing. "We need to do damage control," she said. "Reporters will tear her apart about the leak."
"I'll handle it," Mukul said quietly. He looked at Reema and asked her for one simple thing: a laptop with internet access. Reema, still half-panicked, nodded and hurried one over.
Mukul opened the laptop. Fingers moved fast but calmly. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his cultivation steady him, then dove into the web. Years of shadow work and hacking were not just tricks — they were tools he'd promised to use only when needed. He searched logs, server traces, IPs, and timestamps. Every minor mistake the thief had made left a trail. Mukul collected it like a scavenger gathering gems.
Within an hour, he had the pattern: a trace from a small, private file-sharing server, then bounced through a shady distribution network, and finally published on a music site owned by a rival mini-label. The leak carried fingerprints — metadata, user IDs, a sloppy comment left by someone who thought they were anonymous. Mukul pulled screenshots, server logs, and payment trails. He compiled everything, neat and undeniable.
"Reema," he said, handing her a USB and printing a clean packet. "Give this to the authorities. File a complaint. Send this to the platform host and the rival label's legal team. Push for takedown and criminal charges. And don't let any reporter near Ishita until we clear this."
Reema's eyes filled with grateful tears. "How did you—" she started.
"Because I know how these things happen," Mukul said simply. "Now act fast."
They moved quickly. The legal team called the police. The platform took down the files. The rival label's execs were grilled. Mukul emailed a copy of the evidence to the cultural authority and to the television channels that were lining up for interviews.
When Ishita finally faced the press, cameras swivelled like nervous birds. A reporter thrust a mic toward her and asked the question every journalist wanted to yell: "Ishita, were the leaks from inside your team? Was this sabotage to ruin your launch?"
Before she could answer, Mukul stepped forward. The crowd parted instinctively — his presence had weight now. He stood between Ishita and the circle of reporters, calm, eyes steady.
"Before you ask anything," Mukul said, voice low but carrying through the mics, "check the new post. Check your feeds. Everything is already public — the leak's source, the evidence. If you want real questions, ask the police or the label. Don't use her pain for your ratings."
A few snide reporters tried to press, pushing mics and words. Mukul's face changed — a cold line of certainty. "If anyone tries to harm my family," he continued, slower now so every word landed, "I will send them to hell. Even the king of hell won't be able to save them."
The sentence hung heavy in the air. For a heartbeat, the world felt smaller, the crowd breathless. Then the reporters who had been leaning forward took involuntary steps back. They tasted the danger — not rumour, but hard, focused protection. Eyes shifted; some faces paled.
Sanya's hand found Mukul's under her sleeve and squeezed. Shreya's posture relaxed, proud and relieved. Ishita, pale from the late-night breakdown but steady now, looked at Mukul with wet eyes. "You did this?" she whispered.
Mukul nodded. "All the evidence is submitted. They can't bury it. You're cleared, di. You perform tonight without watching your back."
Reema and legal reps led reporters to get the official statements, while police officers began questioning suspects. Channels that had planned sensational headlines were now forced into retraction and apology. A few aggressive reporters, who had been ready to embarrass Ishita, lost their boldness — the chill in Mukul's words did more than scare; it forced them to be honest on record, to check facts before framing stories.
Elina stood a little aside, watching quietly. Her eyes were wide, and something like awe softened her face. After the press swarm calmed, Mukul slipped out and found a quiet rooftop nearby — a tiny place above the noise where the night smelled of rain and the city lights flickered like slow stars.
Elina followed him. She stood close but not too close, her heart still beating fast from the show and everything that followed. "You were… terrifying," she said, but there was no fear in her voice — only admiration.
Mukul leaned on the low wall and looked at the city spread out beneath them. "Terrifying isn't the point," he said. "You don't let people hurt family. Simple."
Elina laughed softly. "You make it sound so easy." She turned her face to him in the soft glow of the lights. "You saved her. You stood up for her. For your sister. I—" Her voice broke into a smile. "I don't know how you do all of it."
Mukul's answer was small and honest. "I had to learn fast. Life doesn't wait for permission." He watched her for a while, then added, more quietly, "You were amazing yesterday. I'm glad you were there."
Elina's cheeks tinted pink. "You wrote the songs, helped Ishita… and took down the leak?" Her voice held wonder.
"Just fixed what was broken," Mukul said. He turned to her then, not theatrical, just real. "Thank you for coming tonight. It… meant a lot."
She reached out, touching his hand. "You did more than fix things. You made everyone see what family can do." Her fingers squeezed his, warm and sure. They stayed that way for a long time, two people quiet after a storm. No grand words, no promises — only a calm that felt like the start of something steady.
Behind them, far below, the city moved on. But in that small rooftop space, the aftermath of the concert felt like a clean page. Mukul's evidence had given Ishita her name back; his words had shut down petty cruelty. And for the first time in a long while, Mukul allowed himself to breathe — with allies at his side, a family reformed, and someone sharing the quiet after the storm.