The sun was a white-hot coin in the Delhi sky, baking the city until the air shimmered with the smell of exhaust and melting asphalt. It was the day our final Board Exam results were announced. The tension that had been building for months had finally snapped.
"I'm telling you, Arya is going to be the national topper," Rahul shouted, throwing a heavy arm around my shoulder as we walked out of the school gates for the last time. The air was a cacophony of honking rickshaws, celebratory screams, and the distant beat of a dholak. "When he will be a big-shot CEO, we're going to be his personal bodyguards. We'll eat five-star meals every day!"
I laughed, shoving his face away. "You? A bodyguard? You tripped over your own shoelaces during the national anthem last week"
"Hey! Those laces were cursed!"
We spent the afternoon like any other teenagers in Delhi—eating spicy Gol-Gappas by the roadside, arguing about Marvel movies, and making grand, impossible plans for the future. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. I wasn't just an orphan with a number; I was Arya. I was a friend. I had a path.
"I gotta head to the central library," I said, waving them off as we reached the massive, frantic intersection of the Ring Road. "I need to see the new chapters of Questism and Lookism and I've been waiting all week to see how it goes."
"Always with the manhwa," Sameer sighed, a grin splitting his face. "Catch you tomorrow at the park, Arya. Don't stay up too late dreaming of status windows and quest rewards!"
"See ya!" I yelled back, my heart light.
I turned toward the library, my mind already drifting into the world of Gangbuk. I was fascinated by Choyun. He was the ultimate machine—cold, efficient, and utterly devoid of emotion. He was a bookworm who had turned his intelligence into a weapon. I often wondered what it would be like to have a System that told you exactly how to win, a world where effort was rewarded with a visible stat increase.
But the calculation in my head was shattered by a scream.
A little girl, maybe six years old, had chased a bright red ball into the middle of the six-lane traffic. A massive transport truck, its horn blaring a deafening, terrifying note, was barreling toward her. The driver was slamming his brakes, the tires screaming against the heat-softened asphalt, but the weight of the steel beams on his trailer meant the vehicle was an unstoppable wall of rusted iron.
My brain went into overdrive.
In the Kalari, Guru ji taught us about Pre-Action—the ability to read the intent of the world before it manifests. In school, I was a genius at Physics because I didn't see objects; I saw vectors, mass, and velocity.
Distance: 12 meters. Truck Speed: 55 km/h. Child's position: Static (Frozen in fear).
My body moved before I could even process the terror. This was the Chali—the explosive, predatory movement of the leopard.
I launched myself. My feet, hardened by a decade of training in the red soil, gripped the burning road. I didn't run like a normal person; I moved with the terrifying synchronization of Kalaripayattu. Every muscle in my legs fired in perfect sequence, my body low to the ground to maximize the force of my sprint.
I reached her just as the massive shadow of the truck's grill loomed over us like a falling building.
I grabbed her by the waist, her small frame feeling as light as a feather in my arms. With a roar that felt like it came from my very soul, I twisted my body mid-stride, using the momentum of my sprint to hurl her toward the soft sand on the shoulder of the road. I saw her tumble safely away from the lanes.
But the physics of the world are unforgiving. By saving her, I had placed myself directly in the center of the truck's path.
I turned my head. The grill was so close I could see the individual flies stuck in the mesh. I could smell the hot, metallic scent of the engine. There was no time to jump. No time to dodge.
CRACK.
The impact was a dull, heavy thud that didn't feel like pain—it felt like the world had simply ended. I felt my ribs snap like dry wood in a furnace. My body was tossed into the air, spinning in a dizzying blur of blue sky and golden Delhi sun. I hit the ground hard, the asphalt scraping the skin from my arms, but I felt strangely numb.
I lay there, staring up at the sky. The sounds of the city—the screaming crowds, the screeching brakes, the frantic footsteps—began to fade into a rhythmic, distant hum. I could see the little girl standing up, her mother rushing to hold her, sobbing.
Quest... Completed, I thought. A small, bloody smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
I thought of Guru ji and the red soil of the Kalari. I thought of Rahul and Sameer and the spicy chutney we were supposed to eat tomorrow. I realized I would never know how Questism story ended. I would never see the future I had worked so hard for.
My heart gave one last, heavy thud against my broken chest. The heat of the Indian sun faded into a strange, clinical coldness. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me