Hours later, Karikalan walked home in silence. His body ached with every step, his wounds still fresh. His mind replayed the fight, the betrayal, and his own mistake.
"Again… I was illusionized by his words. Dammit. If I hadn't fallen for it, I would have been on top of that fight," he muttered bitterly.
But then, the memory of the principal's words in the infirmary returned to him, echoing like a solemn command:
"Karikalan, again I apologize for what happened today. Even Elara disrespects my authority, and people laugh at me for supporting you. It hurts me deeply. I tried to make things right in this college, but the politics behind me are a nuisance.
Elara is built different. He is a martial artist of the ancient Kalaripayattu, a tradition his family sacrificed everything to master. His father, a mentor and master, is also my close friend. That is why I cannot confront him directly. Even if I did, his father would not care about the chaos Elara causes here.
Elara uses this advantage to dominate the college. Staff hesitate to question him. Those who dare resign the next day. I cannot hire replacements, even though this college is one of the most respected in the city.
At the same time, I cannot abandon this place. I was once a student here myself. I lived its liveliness, its spirit. It would be wrong to lie down and watch it crumble without progress.
That is why I turn to you. Karikalan, I want you to defeat Elara — no matter what happens. Train as much as you can. Elara will surely enter the 23rd Martial Arts Tournament, a tradition since my own student days. He is the reigning champion.
Yes, I know it will be difficult. But please… do it. I believe you will uphold the honor of this college."
When Karikalan reached home, his body was heavy with pain, every step a reminder of Elara's cruelty. Yet as he opened the door, a familiar sound greeted him — the gentle bark of the stray dog that had followed him for months, now resting faithfully in his home.
The dog wagged its tail, barking softly, asking for food. Despite his injuries, Karikalan rushed inside, gathering what little he had. He placed the food before the animal, his voice tender:
"I'm sorry… I forgot to feed you, little boy."
The dog ate happily, unaware of the storm raging in Karikalan's heart. Watching the creature's simple joy, Karikalan's thoughts sharpened.
One day… I will change this damn illusion of the world. I will create an utopia where everyone can live peacefully, only through the path of dharma. I will change him. I will destroy and erase his arrogance within him. I will.
He stepped outside, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The late evening sun cast its final rays, painting the sky in hues of fire and gold
Karikalan stood against the dawn of light, bloodied but unbroken, his vow echoing silently into the fading day.
The next morning, Karikalan rose at 3:00 a.m., his body still aching from the wounds of yesterday. Yet his spirit refused to rest.
From 3:00 to 6:00, he immersed himself in study, pouring over the college syllabus. His mind sharpened with each page, his determination burning brighter than the pain in his body.
At 6:00, he shifted to physical training. Warm-ups, push-ups, squats, running — three hours of relentless effort.
Sweat mixed with the scars of battle, each repetition a silent vow to grow stronger.
When the clock struck 9:00, he logged into his online classes. Though distant from the college halls, his focus was unshaken. He absorbed every word, every concept, as if knowledge itself was another weapon to wield.
By 3:30 p.m., the lessons ended. Karikalan left for his part-time job — not a simple task, but a trial of strength. He worked as a load lifter, carrying weights of 150 kilograms with his bare hands. Ten, sometimes twenty loads, each one testing the limits of his body.
For this labor, he earned ₹30,000 — enough to balance his expenses, enough to survive. But survival was not his goal. Each lift was training, each burden a step toward the day he would face Elara again.
He returned home at 8:30 p.m., exhausted yet unbroken. The routine was brutal, and at times he thought of giving up. But Karikalan never allowed excuses. Day after day, without pause, he repeated the cycle.
Pain became his companion. Discipline became his weapon. And slowly, his body and mind were forged into steel.
Day after day, Karikalan followed his plan. His legs trembled, his body screamed in pain, but his will refused to break.
At first, his training was modest: twenty push-ups, fifty squats, and a three-kilometer run. But as the days passed, he pushed beyond the limits of ordinary men.
Fifty push-ups became one hundred. One hundred became two hundred. Two hundred became four hundred. And soon, eight hundred push-ups in a single session. His squats rose to five hundred, his runs stretched to ten… then fifteen kilometers.
His part-time labor grew harsher too. Where once he carried loads of 150 kilograms, he added fifty more, lifting 200 kilograms with his bare hands. Twenty loads became thirty, each one a trial of endurance that carved strength into his bones.
The pain never left him. His body resisted, his muscles tore, his breath faltered. Yet he never gave up.
Those who mocked him at first — laughing at his trembling legs and frail body — now watched in silence. Their jeers turned to awe. Karikalan was no longer the boy they ridiculed. He was becoming something else: a warrior forged in suffering, a challenger rising from the ashes of humiliation.