The next morning, the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window, but for Yash, this dawn was anything but golden. He tried to get out of bed. As he shifted, a sharp wave of pain shot through his body. "Ahh…" he groaned softly. Last night, those goons had beaten him badly. Bruises on his face, swelling on his back, and worst of all—they'd recorded a video of his humiliation. Yash's mind was filled with fear and anger.
Still, it was time for college. He got up slowly, stood in front of the mirror, and looked away from his reflection. "Has everyone found out?" he muttered to himself. Gathering courage, he got ready—plain shirt, jeans, and a light jacket to hide the bruises.
At the college gate, his eyes fell on Mukesh. Mukesh was his closest friend—the one who stood by him in every trouble. Mukesh came running from afar, worry clear on his face.
"Hey Yash! Bro, you okay?" Mukesh asked, grabbing his hand. "No serious injuries? I messaged you last night, you didn't reply."
Yash's eyes were downcast. He understood. Mukesh's words made it clear—the video had gone viral. "Yeah… I'm fine," he said softly, but sadness dripped from his voice.
Mukesh put a hand on his shoulder. "Look bro, don't worry. I've been thinking since morning—I have a solid plan. I'll tell you everything after class. Just come to class for now. Everyone's with you."
Yash hesitated. His steps felt heavy. He imagined walking into class and every eye turning to him—laughter, taunts, mockery swirling in his head. "No man… I feel ashamed," he said, stopping.
"Are you crazy! You're our Yash. Come on!" Mukesh pulled his hand, and they headed to class.
As the classroom door opened, an eerie silence fell. Then voices started.
"Hey Yash bhai! Come here!"
"Dude, you're still walking? Should've rested at home!"
"Our hero giving up so soon? No way!"
The girls weren't far behind.
"Yash, you okay? Want me to get you tea?"
"Who were those goons? Tell us, we'll handle them together!"
Some joked, some showed sympathy. But one thing was common—support. The classroom turned into a light-hearted, playful vibe. Someone patted Yash's back, someone cleaned his chair. Yash's eyes welled up. He thought to himself—These are true friends… who stand by you, laughing, even in bad times.
He sat on the last bench. His gaze fell on Harshita. Harshita was his classmate—a bit stubborn, a bit caring. She came straight to him and sat beside him.
"Yash, now tell me… what exactly happened?" Harshita asked, looking into his eyes. Worry in her voice, but curiosity too.
Yash shook his head. "Nothing… just a fight."
"Don't lie!" Harshita's tone sharpened. She grabbed his arm. "I saw the video. Who were those guys? Why did they beat you? And why aren't you telling me?"
Yash stayed silent. His eyes fixed on the table.
Harshita took a deep breath. Then softly, but firmly, "Fine. Don't tell if you don't want to. But remember—you're not alone now. Whatever happened, we'll solve it together."
That moment before class started… Yash felt his burden lighten a little. Clouds outside, but a small ray of hope sparked inside him.
Finally, Yash told her everything: how in the park, those goons were after Priya, how he saved her, and dropped her home.
He paused, took a breath, then continued, "But as soon as I dropped Priya and came back, the goons cornered me. They said, 'You didn't listen to us? Now see what we do!' Then they started beating me. Kicks, punches. I fell, couldn't even move. Just defended myself."
Hearing this, Harshita's blood boiled. Anger clear on her face. She exploded, cursing Priya. "That bitch—because of her, you got beaten so badly! You shouldn't have helped her! Look at you—face swollen, blue-black marks everywhere! Did you even think what would happen to you?"
Harshita's eyes turned red, she kept looking at Yash's injuries and fuming. But Yash tried to calm her. He smiled faintly and said, "No Harshita, Priya's not at fault. She's just a simple girl. She didn't do anything. She was trapped in fear. If I hadn't helped, something worse might've happened to her."
Right then, the classroom door opened, and some third-year seniors walked in. Arrogant, collars up, they headed straight for the teacher's chair and slammed down on it. The lead senior shouted, "Where's Yash? You got famous overnight! Came to college even after my boys beat you? Come here! Your seniors are here—won't even greet us? Acting all brave!"
Yash froze. His face went pale. He shrank in his seat, eyes down. Silence fell over the class.
Then Mukesh, Yash's good friend, suddenly stood up. He stepped forward and said politely but firmly, "Look senior, whatever happened, we all apologize. Yash is just an innocent guy. He doesn't harm anyone. Please end this here. Don't escalate."
Hearing Mukesh, the whole class spoke up together. "Yes senior, please forgive." "Don't take it further." The entire class pleaded in unison.
But the senior, named Yusuf, laughed loudly. Then he got up, walked to Mukesh, and without a word—slap! A hard slap echoed across the class. Yusuf yelled, "You dare drown my voice? Stand in front of me and lecture me?"
Mukesh's cheek turned red, but he didn't back down. Gritting his teeth, "You're senior, so I'm calm. Otherwise, I'd show you."
This fueled Yusuf more. He roared, "Oh! Challenging me? Challenge accepted!" And without delay, another powerful punch to Mukesh's face. Mukesh staggered but steadied himself.
From behind, Sameer, Mukesh's other friend, ran up to help. Chaos erupted. Yusuf warned his friends, "No one interferes! This is between me and them!" Then he attacked Mukesh and Sameer. They fought back. The class turned into a brawl. Chairs toppled, books scattered.
But right then, the door opened again. In walked class teacher Payal Ma'am. In a strict, angry voice, she shouted, "What's going on! Third-years in my class? And this fight? Stop immediately!"
Everyone froze at her voice. Mukesh, Sameer, and Yusuf separated. Breathing heavily. Yusuf backed off with his friends. As he left, he threatened, "Your luck today—Ma'am saved you. Otherwise, worse would've happened. But remember, tomorrow's my day. I won't spare you!" Then he stormed out.
Ma'am glared at everyone. "Tell me, why this fight? What's the matter?"
Mukesh and Sameer stepped forward and told the whole truth. The park incident, the goons, Yash's help, the beating, the seniors—everything in detail. Ma'am listened carefully. Then she called Yash. He came forward slowly, head down.
Ma'am said, "Yash, if all this happened, why come to college? You should've gone to the principal immediately. Filed a police complaint. And your parents—didn't they see these injuries? So many marks, swelling, and they still sent you?"
Yash, head down, softly, "Sorry Ma'am… I didn't want to trouble anyone."
Ma'am sent the three—Yash, Mukesh, Sameer—back to their seats. Silence returned, but worry about tomorrow hung in everyone's minds.
Classes continued. Teachers came, wrote on the board, taught, asked questions, left. Periods passed one by one. Sometimes a boy dozed off on the back bench, and laughter broke out. But Yash, Mukesh, and Sameer were in a different mood. They kept exchanging glances, signaling. Today wasn't just classes—it was a planning day.
As class ended, the bell rang. Everyone grabbed bags, chattered, and headed out. Corridors filled with laughing, talking students. Some rushed to the canteen, some to the bus stop. But Mukesh stopped the three. By the wall, he whispered, "Listen, we'll take this route. Not the main gate. That senior will be waiting. He'll corner us. Even three of us can't handle him—he's never alone, always two-three more."
Yash just hummed, fear in his eyes. Sameer adjusted his bag, "Okay bro. Back gate. No one notices there. But once out, take a different path, or someone might recognize."
Mukesh smiled. "That's the plan. One by one. First me, then Sameer, then Yash. No hurry. Meet under the old tree outside. No one goes there."
They agreed. The classroom emptied. Only the three remained. Mukesh peeked—corridor clear. He slipped out, hugging the wall, toward the back gate. Five minutes later, Sameer. Nervous, looking back often. No one. Finally Yash. Calmest. Bag on shoulder, water bottle in hand, he sneaked out.
At the main gate, the senior stood with two others. Smoking, scanning. "Those three will come out today," he muttered. "I said I'd break their ego."
Hours passed. No one. Sun set. Frustrated, he kicked the gate and left. Little did he know—Yash, Sameer, Mukesh had long escaped through the back.
The back gate was old, rundown. Overgrown grass, trash. But safest today. One by one, they emerged. Cool evening air. Sun dipping. They gathered under the old banyan tree.
Mukesh exhaled, "Phew… we're out. No one watching."
Sameer laughed. "Now tell your killer plan."
Mukesh took a deep breath. Eyes gleaming. Slowly, "Listen guys… what I'm about to say won't sound good. But hear me out. We need a 2-month break. No college. Studies pause. But… 150 km away, there's a village. An old teacher lives there—Master Jagat Singh. Martial arts expert. Karate, judo, wrestling—he teaches it all. I've heard about him. He doesn't just teach fighting—he teaches winning."
Yash startled. "2 months? College? Studies?"
Mukesh clasped hands. "Yes bro. It'll hurt. But think… when we return, no senior, no goon can touch us. We won't just survive—we'll fight back."
Sameer thought, then smiled. "Just 2 months? Done. I'll show them."
Yash smiled faintly. "I'll just learn self-defense. Won't hurt anyone. Just enough so they never raise a hand again."
They laughed. Mukesh: "Okay. Tomorrow 6 AM bus. Bus stand. No late. Pack only essentials."
They parted. Toward their homes. On the way, Yash thought. Heart racing. 2 months… new village… new guru… new life.
At home, Yash went straight to Seth at the shop. Seth was doing accounts. Yash hesitated, "Sir… college trip. 2 months. Can I go?"
Seth frowned. "2 months? What trip is this?"
Yash nervous, "Sir, new places. Project work. Field study. Lots to learn."
Seth thought. "Fine. Go. But overtime today. Stay all day."
Yash was happy. Worked hard—lifting, accounting, customers. 10 PM. Exhausted home. Ate. On bed, pulled out phone.
Opened the video. The day goons beat him. In it, he's on the ground. Goons laughing, kicking, recording. Then cars arrive. Heavy men step out. Black coats, weapons. A loud voice, "What's happening here?"
Small goons flee. Video ends.
But something bothered Yash. In the video, his clothes are lightly torn—shirt collar, dust on pants. But when he regained consciousness, his shirt was completely ripped.
"How…?" Yash muttered. "After the video… what happened?"
Questions swirled. Fear, anger, doubt. He turned off the phone. Lights. Tried to sleep. But no sleep.
Then we're shown that night. Same night. Same place. Deserted road. Yash unconscious. Small goons gone. Now ten heavy men stand. Knives, rods, pistols. A sardar-like man steps forward. Looks at Yash. Smiles.
"Place is deserted. No witnesses. Pick him up."
One asks, "What'll we do, boss?"
Boss: "Lift him… into the car. Don't waste time."
Two burly goons approach. Sick grins. One reaches for Yash's shoulder, the other for his leg. Thinking—he's out cold, easy prey.
But…
The moment the first goon touches Yash—snap!
Yash's eyes open wide. No hesitation, no fear. Right hand flashes like lightning. Grabs the goon's arm—crack! Bone snaps. The goon doesn't even scream—eyes bulge. Arm bent 90 degrees.
All in one second.
The second goon doesn't register. As he reaches for the leg, Yash's knee rises—boom! Kick to the face. Crash! Teeth fly. Blood spray. Goon flies back, hits ground, writhes. Blood from mouth, two teeth on the ground.
Entire scene… four seconds.
All ten gangsters—twenty eyes wide. Boss's mouth agape. No one moves. They can't comprehend—the boy unconscious moments ago now has two men down. Both groaning, writhing, unable to stand.
Yash… rises slowly.
His body… once trembling in fights, now still. Not a muscle twitches. Breaths deep, calm. He lifts his head.
Camera zooms on his eyes.
His eyes… pitch black.
No whites. Pupils dilated. Like a demon awakened. Not human. Not animal. Something else.
He breathes slowly. Hushhh… long, deep.
Silence in the air. Only the groans.
Boss steps back. Hand to pistol, but stops. His men frozen. All eyes on Yash.
Yash takes one step forward.
His shadow stretches long.
And his eyes… still black.
Like an ancient warrior awakened.
Like something else has taken control.
He says nothing.
Just… stares.
And in that gaze… death.