Chapter 1: The Weight of the Iron Gates
The year 2025 arrived in Hyderabad not with a celebration, but with a stifling, oppressive heat that felt like a physical weight on Ekam Sanjeevan's shoulders. The transition from the rugged, windswept landscapes of Jharkhand to the sprawling, humid urban jungle of Telangana was more than a move; it was a total upheaval.
As he stood before the towering iron gates of Shri Vidya Mandir, the metal seemed to groan under the weight of its own history. Ekam was a boy of stone. To the world, he was unmoved, but inside, a tempest of anxiety raged. He feared loneliness—a cold ache he tried to numb through a self-destructive cycle of five-month relationships.
Beside him stood Eklavya, a 9th grader with a heart of gold but a legendary temper. Their father, a man toughened by hard work, marched them toward the administrative block. They were intercepted by the Principal, Mr. Karan Chauhan, a man who occupied space with an arrogance that demanded submission.
"Main Mr. Karan Chauhan hoon," [I am Mr. Karan Chauhan], he announced, his voice booming. "Ye school 'Systematic Working' ki buniyaad par khada hai. Main yahan ka kanoon hoon, aur discipline ka architect bhi." [This school is built on the foundation of 'Systematic Working.' I am the law here, and I am the architect of discipline.]
Ekam's eyes scanned the gargantuan assembly ground. It looked like a prison block.
"Mujhe tumse discipline chahiye," [I want discipline from you], Chauhan barked, his finger nearly touching Ekam's nose. "Yahan shararat koi galti nahi, gunah hai. Aur gunah ki saza milti hai." [Mischief isn't a mistake here; it is a crime. And crimes are punished.]
"Mera bada beta shant hai," [My elder son is the quiet one], their father intervened. "Wo saaye mein rehta hai. Chote wale, Eklavya, par nazar rakhni hogi. Uske andar aag hai." [He stays in the shadows. It's the younger one, Eklavya, you'll need to watch. He has a fire in him.]
Chauhan sneered. "Dikh raha hai. Ek bhoot hai, dusra chingari." [It shows. One is a ghost, the other a spark.]
Eklavya was led away, leaving Ekam alone. As he stood outside Class 11th A, his heart hammered like a trapped bird. Just as he turned to run, a shadow fell over him.
"Naye student ho??" [New student??]
Chapter 2: The Geometry of Power
Ekam turned slowly. Standing before him was Aarav. He was tall, fair-skinned, and leaned with a sharp, calculating energy.
"Main naya admission hoon," [I'm a new admission], Ekam whispered. "Aur tum?" [And you?]
"Aarav (No. 2)," the boy replied with a smirk. Ekam's eyes dropped to a metallic tag on Aarav's shirt: No. 2.
"Ekam Sanjeevan," he replied. "Ye tag kya hai? 'No. 2' ka matlab kya hai?" [What's with the tag? What does 'No. 2' mean?]
Aarav didn't answer. He pushed the door open. "Hallway mein khoye hue pilla jaise kyun khade ho? Andar aao. Jungle se milo." [Why stand in the hallway like a lost puppy? Come in. Meet the jungle.]
The classroom fell into a violent, sudden silence. Forty pairs of eyes locked onto them.
"Oye, sab suno!" [Hey, listen everyone!] Aarav's voice cut the air. "Ye naya ladka hai, Ekam Sanjeevan. Ye mera dost hai. Isse waise hi treat karna." [This is the new guy, Ekam Sanjeevan. He's my friend. Treat him like it.]
Aarav led him to the back. "Bhai, itna khade rehna pasand hai kya? Aise lag raha hai jaise bhoot dekh liya ho. Relax kar." [Brother, do you like standing that much? You look like you've seen a ghost. Relax.]
"Main... main kahan baithunga?" [Where... where will I sit?] Ekam asked.
"Choti baaton ki chinta mat kar," [Don't worry about small things], Aarav said. "Mere dost peeche baithte hain." [My friends sit in the back.]
At the back row, Raju (No. 3)—built like a tank—and Shrivastav (No. 7) were asserting dominance. Raju's predatory gaze landed on Ekam. He crowded Ekam's space.
"Jharkhand, haina?" [Jharkhand, right?] Raju sneered. "Lagta hai is shirt ke niche muscle hai. Dhekhte hein asli hein ya sirf dikhava. Utaro ise." [You look like you've got muscle under that shirt. Let's see if it's real or just for show. Take it off.]
Raju reached for Ekam's button. In a heartbeat, Ekam's hand shot out, clamping Raju's wrist like a hydraulic press.
"Maine kaha... mat karo." [I said... don't do it.] Ekam's voice was a low, guttural growl.
Raju's face contorted in pain as his skin turned purple. Aarav's eyes widened; he didn't see a victim—he saw a weapon.
Chapter 3: The Ghost of the Raven
"Bas karo," [Enough], Aarav commanded. Ekam released the wrist, leaving Raju gasping and clutching his hand.
"Bhai, itna gussa mat karo," [Brother, don't get so angry], Shrivastav whispered. "Is school mein gussa bahut mehenga pad sakta hai." [Anger in this school can cost you a lot.]
During Chemistry, Keshav Sir noticed Ekam at the back. "Beta, tum in bekar ladkon ke saath peeche kyun baithe ho? Aage aao." [Son, why are you sitting back there with those useless fellows? Come to the front.]
"Sir, Aarav mera dost ban gaya hai," [Sir, Aarav has become my friend], Ekam replied. "Main yahan baith kar school ka system samajhna chahta hoon." [I want to stay here and understand the school's system.]
Suddenly, the door exploded inward. Karan (No. 1) stormed in. He was a Commerce student but moved like an invading king.
"Maine kaha tha!" [I told you guys!] Karan barked at Aarav. "Commerce department se dur raho. Tumne aaj subah Kevin (No. 8) ko maara. Kya main tumhare liye mazak hoon?" [Stay away from the Commerce department. You hit Kevin (No. 8) this morning. Do you think I'm a joke?]
"Wo humhe izzat nahi de raha tha," [He wasn't giving us the respect we're owed], Raju spat.
"Izzat? Main yahan No. 1 hoon! Meri baat hi izzat hai!" [Respect? I am the No. 1 here! My word is the only respect you need!] Karan threatened.
Ekam stood up, looking bored. "Oh bhai, kaun ho tum? Ye Science stream hai. Galat building mein aa gaye ho, Commerce boy. Apne class wapas jao." [Oh brother, who are you? This is the Science stream. You're in the wrong building, Commerce boy. Go back to your class.]
Karan grabbed Ekam's collar. "Tu? Ek 'nobody' mujhse aise baat karega?" [You? A 'nobody' talks to me like that?]
Karan threw a lightning punch. Ekam didn't flinch. With a slight tilt, the punch whistled past his ear. He had dodged the King.
Later, Aarav took Ekam aside. "Ye school ek legacy se chalta hai. Panch saal pehle, Rudra naam ka ek ladka tha. Usne Raven Gang banayi thi." [This school is governed by a legacy. Five years ago, there was a student named Rudra. He founded the Raven Gang.]
Aarav pointed to the terrace. "Rudra 2024 mein mar gaya. Uska bhai, Karan, No. 1 ban gaya, par wo Rudra nahi hai. School sad raha hai, Ekam." [Rudra died in 2024. His brother, Karan, took No. 1, but he's not Rudra. The school is rotting, Ekam.]
"Tumne use dodge kiya. Ritual mein hissa lo. Mere saath No. 2 ke liye lado. Agar Science ka ladka top ranker ban gaya, toh hum Ravens ko wapas la sakte hain." [You dodged him. Participate in the Ritual. Fight me for No. 2. If a Science student becomes a top ranker, we can bring the Ravens back.]
Chapter 4: The Geometry of a Rebellion
"Board ko dekho, Ekam," [Look at the board, Ekam], Aarav whispered during lunch. "Top ten mein se aath log Commerce ke hain. Science ka dum ghut raha hai." [Out of the top ten, eight are from Commerce. Science is suffocating.]
Aarav's plan was complex. Ekam was supposed to beat Aarav for No. 2, creating a tie in the upcoming gang vote. "Jab tie hoga, decision No. 1 lega. Tab main Karan ko challenge karunga. Main khud ko tod dunga par unki tyranny khatam karunga." [When there's a tie, the decision falls to No. 1. That's when I'll challenge Karan. I'll break myself but I will end their tyranny.]
Suddenly, the door flew open. Karan marched in with an army. He seized Ekam's throat.
"Tujhe lagta hai tu bahut bahadur hai?" [You think you're very brave?] Karan hissed. "Mere air mein saans lega tu?" [You think you can breathe my air?]
Aarav pried Karan's fingers away. Before a brawl started, Ekam spoke.
"Mujhe sirf dodge nahi karna," [I don't want to just dodge you], Ekam said, his voice cold. "Mujhe tumhari position chahiye. Ritual mein No. 1 ke liye ladunga tumse." [I want your position. I want to fight you for No. 1 in the Ritual.]
The room went cold. Karan laughed. "Tu? Ek maggot mujhse ladega? Teri aukat hai?" [You? A maggot will fight me? Are you in my league?]
"Agar dar rahe ho," [If you're scared], Ekam challenged, "toh bas bol do." [just say it.]
Karan's eyes darkened. "Theek hai. Ladenge. Par agar tum haare—aur tum haaroge—toh ye school hamesha ke liye chodd doge. Gayab ho jaoge." [Fine. We fight. But if you lose—and you will—you leave this school forever. You'll disappear.]
Chapter 5: The Five-Second Execution
April 10th. The Ritual.
The students bypassed the exits and headed for the terrace. A white chalk ring was drawn on the concrete. Karan stood in the center, radiating power.
The door creaked. Ekam walked in, looking shadowed and tired. He sat on a plastic chair, staring at nothing.
"Rules simple hain!" [The rules are simple!] a referee shouted. "Jo gira ya ring se bahar gaya, wo haara. Fight tab rukegi jab koi khada na ho sake." [First one to fall or step out loses. The fight ends when one cannot stand.]
"...3... 2... 1... GO!"
Karan lunged with a fist meant to crack bone. And then... silence.
Karan was on the ground. He hadn't fallen; he had been dropped. His eyes were rolled back. Ekam stood over him, fist clenched. The fight had lasted five seconds.
But the "monster" was awake. Ekam dragged the other Commerce rankers into the ring. It wasn't a fight; it was an execution. He beat them until the white chalk was stained red.
Even Karan, regaining consciousness, was struck again.
"Kal. Shaam 7 baje. Sab yahan milenge," [Tomorrow. 7:00 PM. Everyone will meet here], Ekam said, his voice flat. "Agar koi miss hua, toh uska haal Karan jaisa hoga." [If anyone is missing, they will end up like Karan.]
Chapter 6: The Proclamation of Rank Zero
The next day, the "khauf" [terror] was absolute. Students flattened themselves against walls as Ekam passed.
"Aise lag raha hai jaise Rudra bhaiya wapas aa gaye hon," [It feels like Rudra brother is back], Raju whispered.
"Nahi," [No], Aarav replied. "Rudra se log pyar karte the. Ekam se log darte hain. Wo ek monster hai." [People loved Rudra. People fear Ekam. He is a monster.]
7:00 PM. The Terrace.
A new figure emerged: Ishaan, the legendary former No. 2. He walked up to Ekam. "Chotu, kaunsi class mein ho?" [Kid, which class are you in?] he asked patronizingly, reaching for Ekam's head.
Instantaneously, Ekam slammed Ishaan into the concrete. The veteran fighter didn't get up for two minutes.
"Tu No. 1 nahi hai," [You aren't No. 1], Ishaan wheezed. "Rudra No. 1 tha. Par underworld mein ek rank upar hota hai. Rank Zero—pure region ka sabse strong. Aaj wo jagah bhar gayi hai." [Rudra was No. 1. But in the underworld, there is a rank above. Rank Zero—the strongest in the region. Today, that spot is filled.]
Ekam announced the revival of the Ravens. He made Karan the 2nd President and Aarav and Raju his Commanders. "Aaj se, Rituals ban hain. Ye meri gang hai, aur hum sport ke liye khoon nahi bahayenge." [From today, Rituals are banned. This is my gang, and we don't bleed for sport.]
Later, Karan asked, "Kyun? Mujhe 2nd President kyun banaya?" [Why? Why make me 2nd President?]
Ekam looked at the city lights. "Kyunki mujhe pata hai ek 'Rudra' naam ke bhai ko khone ka dard kaisa hota hai." [Because I know the pain of losing a brother named Rudra.]
The boys froze. "Mera bada bhai bhi Rudra tha. Wo 2023 mein mara gaya. Wo tumhare Rudra jaisa strong nahi tha. Use un logon ne maara jo mujhse nafrat karte the. Maine tumhe uski parchayi dekhi, Karan." [My elder brother was Rudra too. He died in 2023. He wasn't strong like your Rudra. He was killed by people who hated me. I saw his shadow in you, Karan.]
Karan knelt. "Leader... main aapka 2nd-in-command hoon." [Leader... I am your 2nd-in-command.]
A new era began. But far away, the V Kaisen Gang was watching.
Chapter 7: The Sovereign's Nightmare
While the halls of Shri Vidya Mandir were beginning to breathe with the new order of the Ravens, a different, suffocating atmosphere reigned in the industrial outskirts of the city. Deep within a cavernous, shadow-drenched warehouse—the fortress of the V Kaisen gang—the air was thick with the scent of cheap tobacco and rust.
In the centre of this gloom sat Veer. He was a mountain of a man, his muscles straining against a worn leather jacket. But his most terrifying feature was the jagged, deep scar that bisected his left eyebrow. It was a permanent relic of the year 2021—the year he had survived his final, bloody clash with the legendary Rudra. For years, Veer had been the shadow king of Hyderabad's school gangs, a sovereign who had built his empire on the ashes Rudra left behind.
"Kya ye afwah sach hai?" (Is this rumour true?) Veer asked. His voice wasn't a shout; it was a cold, low rasp that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. The men around him visibly flinched.
A scout, whose knees were knocking together in sheer terror, stepped into the faint light of a hanging bulb. "Haan, Boss," he stammered. "Karan ko sirf paanch second mein dher kar diya. Sirf ek punch... aur Ishaan? Use toh aise zameen par patka jaise koi raddi ka kapda ho (He slammed him into the ground like a piece of scrap cloth). Us naye ladke ka naam Ekam Sanjeevan hai."
Veer's reaction was visceral. He was holding a soda can, and in one sudden, violent motion, his grip tightened until the aluminium shrieked and crumpled. The liquid erupted, splashing across his face and dripping down his old scar. He didn't blink. His eyes remained fixed on the darkness, burning with a mix of hatred and a ghost of a fear he hadn't felt in years.
"Paanch second?" Veer whispered, his jaw tightening so hard the bone looked ready to snap. "Rudra ko bhi Karan ko uski aukat dikhane mein isse zyada waqt lagta thha. Aur ab shehar ke log use Rank Zero bula rahe hain? (Even Rudra took more time to put Karan in his place. And now the city calls him Rank Zero?)"
The scout nodded frantically, adding that the Ravens were officially back and had unified the Science and Commerce wings. To Veer, this wasn't just a school matter; it was a declaration of war. He had spent years ensuring the Ravens stayed buried. He could not accept that a "transfer student" from Jharkhand was now playing 'King of the Hill' in his territory.
"Ravens toh Rudra ke saath hi dafan ho gaye thhe (Ravens were buried with Rudra)," Veer growled, standing up. His massive silhouette loomed over his men like a storm cloud. "Main Jharkhand se aaye kisi 'transfer student' ko is shehar mein 'King of the Hill' nahi khelne dunga. Agar wo sach mein Rank Zero hai, toh wo us har ek cheez ke liye khatra hai jo humne khoon-pasina baha kar banayi hai."
Veer decided he would not wait for the threat to grow. He pulled out his phone, went Live on social media, and issued a proclamation that shook the city: "Hello Hyderabad... I've heard the Ravens are back. If you want my throne, meet me at Necklace Road tomorrow at sunset for a Gang War. If the Ravens win, the city is theirs. If not, they vanish forever."
Chapter 8: The Fire in the Hearts of Fifty
The social media challenge from Veer hit the Raven gang like a physical blow. The news spread through the school corridors like wildfire, and for the first time since their revival, the Ravens were paralyzed. V Kaisen wasn't just another school gang; they were the apex predators of Hyderabad. They had the numbers, the experience, and a leader who was a literal monster.
In the school's secret meeting spot on the terrace, the atmosphere was grim. The sunset of the following day felt like a countdown to their execution. The Ravens now numbered 50 members, but the rumours were terrifying: Veer could mobilize 150 fighters—a sea of black jackets that would surely drown their small pond of red.
"Unki man power humse teen gunna zyada hai (Their manpower is three times more than ours)," one member whispered, his voice cracking. "150 against 50? It's suicide."
At 7:00 PM, Ekam arrived. He found his soldiers sitting with their heads bowed, the fire that had been lit after the Ritual now flickering out. Karan stepped forward, his face serious. He looked at the gathered boys and spoke with the authority of a 2nd President.
"Kuch log humhare raven ko dheke der chuke hein isiliye social media mein humse panga le rhe hein (Some people are scared of seeing the Ravens, so they are challenging us online)," Karan shouted, his voice echoing off the terrace walls. "Kya tumlog unke challenge se der gaye? (Are you afraid of their challenge?)"
The silence that followed was heavy. Most of the boys kept their eyes on the floor. Ekam stepped onto a crate, his silhouette framed by the rising moon. He didn't look angry; he looked disappointed.
"Mujhe pata hein ki humlogon ki man power kam hein (I know our manpower is low)," Ekam began, his voice calm but carrying to every corner of the roof. "But ise koi matlab nhi banta ki age kitne log hein jab tak tumhare dil mein kuch jitne ki aag lagi ho (But it doesn't matter how many people are in front of you as long as there is a fire to win in your heart)."
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness, locking onto the eyes of every boy there. "Mein Hyderabad ka rank zero, mein ravens ka president tumlogon se puch rha huin kya tumlog ravens ho? (I, the Rank Zero, the President, am asking you: Are you Ravens?)"
"HAN! (YES!)" the boys shouted, their voices gaining strength.
"Kya tumlog age walo se der rhe ho? (Are you afraid of those in front of you?)"
"NHI! (NO!)"
"Kya tumlog unhe haraoge? (Will you defeat them?)"
"HAN! (YES!)"
In that moment, Ekam did something more than just lead; he reached into their souls and pulled out the warriors that had been hidden under layers of doubt and bullying. He turned his friends—Karan, Aarav, and Raju—from students into commanders. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened resolve. They spent the rest of the night strategizing, not on how to survive, but on how to win.
Chapter 9: The Monster of Necklace Road
As the clock struck 6:00 PM on that fateful evening, Necklace Road transformed. Usually, a place for families and couples to enjoy the breeze of the Hussain Sagar Lake, it had become a theatre of impending violence. The sky was a bruised orange, the sun dipping behind the city skyline like a retreating witness.
The crowd was massive. Thousands of students from across the city had gathered, standing on walls and sitting on the hoods of cars. Even the local police kept a distance, their sirens silent. They knew that today, the "System" of the youth would decide its own fate.
On the north side of the road stood the V Kaisen. It was a sight of pure intimidation—150 fighters clad in black leather and denim, forming a solid wall of muscle and malice. They carried heavy chains, iron rods, and the arrogant confidence of undisputed kings. In the centre sat Veer, perched on a wooden chair like a throne, his scarred eyebrow twitching in anticipation.
By 6:59 PM, the Ravens were nowhere to be seen.
"Dheko, Ravens der gaye," (Look, the Ravens are scared), Veer announced, his voice booming over the sound of the lake's waves. "Wo Jharkhand ka ladka sirf baatein karna jaanta hai. Wo kabhi nahi ayega." The V Kaisen erupted in mocking laughter.
But as the final sliver of the sun vanished, a rhythmic thud began to vibrate through the pavement. From the shadows of the southern end, the Ravens appeared. They walked in a tight, disciplined formation, their 50 red jackets glowing like embers in the twilight. Compared to the black tide of the V Kaisen, they looked small—a pond standing against a sea.
The two groups stopped thirty yards apart. The silence that followed was so heavy it felt physical.
Ekam stepped forward, his face as calm as the surface of the lake. He didn't look at the 150 men; he looked through them. "Mein ja rha huin koi mere piche nhi ayega," (I am going in, no one follow me), he said quietly.
Karan's eyes widened, and he grabbed Ekam's shoulder. "Ekam tu sense ke saath baath ker rha hein kya? (Are you talking sense?) Tu kitna bhi strong ho but tu 150 logon se akele nhi lad saktha bhai."
Ekam didn't argue. He gently removed Karan's hand, his gaze never wavering. He walked into the "no man's land" alone. He wasn't doing this for ego; he was doing it to prove a point. He wanted every Raven to see that numbers mean nothing when your heart is pure and your resolve is absolute.
Veer stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow. "Kyu bache marna hein kya akele?" (Why kid, do you want to die alone?)
Without waiting for an answer, Veer lunged. He was a professional brawler, and his fist moved with the speed of a piston, packing enough power to crack a concrete wall. The punch connected squarely with Ekam's jaw.
The sound was sickening. Ekam was sent reeling back, his feet dragging across the asphalt until he collapsed onto his back. The V Kaisen roared in triumph. Veer spat on the ground, laughing. "Ye tha tumhara rank zero jo ek punch bhi nhi seh paya."
But the laughter died in their throats.
Ekam's fingers twitched. Slowly, with a terrifying lack of urgency, he pushed himself up. He sat on his haunches for a moment, wiped a thin trail of blood from his lip, and stood up. He looked at Veer, not with anger, but with the cold detachment of a predator.
In the back, Karan began to chuckle softly. "Humhara leader kitna dramatic hein," (Our leader is so dramatic), he whispered to Aarav.
Ekam moved.
It wasn't a run; it was a blur. Before Veer could even raise his hands, Ekam was inside his guard. He delivered a single, concentrated strike to the centre of Veer's chest—the solar plexus. The "Undisputed King" didn't even have time to gasp. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his massive body folded like a house of cards. He hit the ground and didn't move.
For three seconds, the world was silent. Then, the 150 members of V Kaisen, fuelled by a mixture of shock and rage, let out a collective scream and charged.
The Massacre of 150
What followed was not a fight; it was a legendary performance of martial dominance. Ekam moved through the black jackets like a ghost made of steel. He used their own momentum against them, his movements so precise that he never took a second hit.
He was a whirlwind. A high kick sent two men flying; a spinning elbow neutralized a third. He moved in a flow state, his mind perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the battle. For 25 minutes, Necklace Road became a blur of red and black. One by one, the V Kaisen fighters fell.
When the dust finally settled, 150 men lay scattered across the road, groaning in the dirt. Ekam stood in the centre, his chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled rhythm. His red jacket was dusty, but he didn't have a single scratch on his skin.
He had turned a gang war into a one-man slaughter.
That night, the internet didn't just talk; it screamed. The video of the "Monster of Necklace Road" went viral within minutes. The hashtag #EkamSanjeevan trended across India. Hyderabad finally understood the truth: the Ravens weren't just back. They were being led by a monster who fought for the sake of heaven.
Chapter 10: The Legend of the Purest Form
The three months following the collapse of the V Kaisen gang were the most transformative in the history of Hyderabad. By July 2025, the name Ekam Sanjeevan was no longer just spoken in whispers behind classrooms; it was a name etched into the very stones of the city. The boy from Jharkhand had done the impossible: he had taken the raw, often destructive energy of "gang culture" and refined it into something the world had never seen.
The Raven Gang underwent a massive expansion. Their numbers swelled from the original fifty to 300 core members, with thousands of others claiming the Raven identity in spirit. However, becoming a "Raven" was no longer about how well you could fight. Ekam implemented a strict code of conduct—a "System" that every member had to follow.
The Guardians of the Night
Under Ekam's leadership, the Ravens became a shadow government of the youth. They organized systematic patrols across the city's most dangerous neighbourhoods. In areas where the local police struggled to maintain order, the sight of a red Raven jacket was enough to keep the peace.
Because of their presence:
Harassment and Crime: The percentage of eve-teasing and street-level harassment cases dropped to near zero in Raven-controlled zones.Civic Duty: They didn't just fight; they cleaned. The Ravens organized massive cleanliness drives, clearing trash from the Musi River banks and painting murals over vandalized walls.The Code: Any Raven caught bullying a junior or misusing their power was immediately "expelled" from the gang by Karan or Aarav, facing the wrath of the very system they joined.
Social media dubbed them "The Purest Form of Gen-Z." They were proof that the "screen-addicted" generation could be disciplined, altruistic, and incredibly powerful when given a leader worth following.
The Government's Fear
However, this rise to power did not go unnoticed by the authorities. In the high-walled offices of the Secretariat, a profound sense of "der" (fear) began to fester. To the Indian Government, the Ravens looked like a private army. They saw a sixteen-year-old boy who could command 300 fighters and influence thousands more with a single social media post.
"This is 'Gen-Z gangism' in its most dangerous form," one official noted during a security briefing. "If they turn against the state, we have a revolution on our hands."
But Ekam was as strategic in politics as he was in combat. He ensured the Ravens operated with a transparency that baffled the authorities. "Humlog sirf achai ke liye ladte hein," (We only fight for the sake of good), he famously stated during a rare interaction. He explained that the Ravens were simply giving a "naya shape" (new shape) to the energy that usually resulted in drug abuse or aimless violence.
The government eventually reached a silent truce with the Ravens. They realized that the gang was doing the work the state couldn't—maintaining order in the streets through a shared peer-to-peer respect. The Ravens even took care to hold their inevitable "rank challenges" in abandoned shipwrecks or deep forest clearings, ensuring no civilian was ever caught in the crossfire.
By the end of the summer, the Ravens weren't just a gang; they were a legacy. They were in their absolute prime, a crimson tide of change flowing through the heart of India. But as the "Purest Form" reached its peak, the personal cost of being a King began to catch up with Ekam.
The Alchemists of the Akhada
The Sitarambagh Akhada was a place where time stood still. While Hyderabad's tech corridors hummed with fiber-optic light, this ancient wrestling pit smelled of damp earth, turmeric, and mustard oil. Every morning at 4:00 AM, the moon still hanging like a silver sickle over the city, the three leaders of the Ravens met to sharpen their edges.
Ekam stood in the center of the pit, bare-chested, his skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and the red clay of the earth. He looked at Aarav and Raju, who were struggling to catch their breath after a three-mile run with 10kg sandbags strapped to their backs.
"Dard sirf ek dhokha hai, Aarav," [Pain is just an illusion, Aarav], Ekam said, his voice as steady as if he were reciting a poem. "Tumhara shareer thak chuka hai, lekin tumhari aatma abhi bhi lad sakti hai." [Your body is tired, but your soul can still fight.]
He moved into a sparring stance. "Aao. Dono ek saath." [Come. Both together.]
Raju roared and lunged first. He was a force of nature, a mountain of muscle. But as he swung a heavy haymaker, Ekam didn't block; he flowed. He stepped into Raju's shadow, using a gentle palm strike to redirect the big man's momentum. Raju went stumbling into the mud.
"Taqat ka matlab sirf zor lagana nahi hota, Raju," [Strength doesn't just mean applying force, Raju], Ekam explained, helping him up. "Sahi waqt par sahi jagah hona hi asli taqat hai." [Being in the right place at the right time is true strength.]
They trained for four hours—sparring, rope climbing, and practicing the "Five-Second" reflexes. By the time the sun began to bleed over the horizon, they were exhausted but glowing with a new kind of energy. They ended the session at a small stall near the Charminar.
"Do Irani chai aur ek plate malai-bun, jaldi!" [Two Irani teas and one plate of malai-bun, quickly!] Raju yelled at the shopkeeper, wiping mud from his forehead.
Ekam sat quietly, watching the steam rise from his tea. "Tum dono ab sirf mere dost nahi ho," [You two aren't just my friends anymore], he said softly. "Tum mere haath aur pair ho. Agar main giru, toh tum mujhe uthaoge." [You are my hands and feet. If I fall, you will pick me up.]
Aarav and Raju looked at each other, the weight of the statement settling deep in their hearts. "Hum girne hi nahi denge, bhai," [We won't even let you fall, brother], Aarav replied.
Chapter 11: The Expulsion and the Red Tide
While the streets of Hyderabad hailed Ekam Sanjeevan as a saviour, the walls of his own home felt like a prison of grief. The news of the Necklace Road Massacre had reached his parents not through a phone call, but through the flickering blue light of the evening news. They didn't see a hero; they saw a monster in a red jacket; his knuckles stained with the blood of 150 men.
To them, history was repeating itself in the most cruel way possible. The ghost of Rudra, their eldest son who had died in 2023, seemed to haunt the dinner table.
"Humhe apne dusre bete ko bhi khone ka dar hai," (We are afraid of losing our second son too), his mother wept, her voice breaking as she clutched a photograph of Rudra. They begged Ekam to stop, to surrender his leadership, and to return to the quiet life of a Jharkhand transfer student. But Ekam sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He understood their pain, but he also knew that the fire he had lit in the hearts of 300 boys could not be extinguished without leaving the city in darkness. He chose his path, even if it meant walking it alone.
The Principal's Gambit
The pressure didn't stop at home. At Shri Vidya Mandir, the atmosphere had turned toxic. Principal Karan Chauhan was a man who valued "reputation" above reality. He saw the media circus surrounding the Ravens as a stain on the school's legacy. He feared the government's eyes, and he feared the power a sixteen-year-old now held over his campus.
On a Tuesday morning, the announcement was made over the school speakers, cold and final: Ekam Sanjeevan was expelled.
The reason given was "promoting gang culture and violent conduct," but everyone knew the truth—the school was trying to cut off the head of the dragon.
The reaction was instantaneous. Within an hour, the news had leaked to the student body. The air in the hallways didn't just feel heavy; it felt like it was about to ignite. By lunch break, the Ravens—now 300 strong—had gathered at the main gates. They weren't alone. Thousands of other students, inspired by the change the Ravens had brought, joined the ranks.
"Agar Ekam nahi, toh school nahi!" (If no Ekam, then no school!) the chant began to rise. The plan was a total district shutdown. They were ready to turn the "Red Tide" of their jackets into a flood that would paralyze the city until their King was reinstated.
The Wisdom of the King
Just as the protest was about to turn violent, Ekam appeared. He didn't come with anger; he came with the calm authority that had defined his reign. He met his commanders—Karan, Aarav, and Raju—near the statue of the school's founder.
"Nhi," Ekam said, his voice quiet but absolute. "Humlog strike nhi karenge." (No, we will not strike.)
Karan was furious. "Lekin Ekam, ye galat hai! Unhone tumhe nikaal diya!" (But Ekam, this is wrong! They kicked you out!)
Ekam looked at the thousands of students ready to riot for him. "Ravens ka matlab hungama karna nahi hai," (Being a Raven doesn't mean creating a ruckus), he explained with a "hoshiyari" (cleverness) that left even the seniors in awe. "Agar humne aaj hinsa ki, toh Principal sahi sabit ho jayenge. Hum dikhayenge ki hum order maintain karte hain, chaos nahi."
He instructed them to go back to class, but to continue their social work with double the intensity. He told them to keep the streets clean, protect the women, and maintain the peace. "Let our absence be felt through our goodness, not our anger."
The strategy was a masterpiece of psychological warfare. For one month, Ekam was gone from the classrooms, but his influence was everywhere. The public outcry grew. The local government, seeing the crime rates stay low and the city stay clean because of the Ravens, pressured the school board. The media, once skeptical, now ran stories about the "Injustice to the Guardian of Hyderabad."
The Prime of the Ravens
Exactly thirty days later, the principal was forced to bow his head. The expulsion was revoked.
Ekam walked back through the gates of Shri Vidya Mandir not just as a student, but as the Gen-Z King of India. His return was silent, but the "khauf" (awe) in the eyes of his peers was deafening. By December 2025, the Ravens were in their absolute prime. They were a systematic, disciplined force that no other gang in the country dared to challenge.
Peace had finally come to the streets of Hyderabad. But far away, in the dark boardrooms of a global syndicate, a new threat was being calculated. The World Class Gang was finally turning its eyes toward the boy who had dared to build a kingdom of "Purest Form."
The Library of Quiet Whispers
If the Akhada was Ekam's temple, the State Central Library was Aarav's sanctuary. But lately, the 2nd President of the Ravens wasn't there for the books. He was there for the girl sitting at the corner table—Meher, Raju's sister.
Meher was a storm in a yellow salwar kameez. She was a top student, a brilliant debater, and the only person who knew how to make the tactical genius of the Ravens look like a complete idiot.
Aarav approached her table, clutching a book on Medieval History. "Ye... kya ye seat khali hai?" [Is... is this seat empty?] he stammered.
Meher didn't look up from her biology textbook. "Pura library khali hai, Aarav. Tumhe meri hi table kyun chahiye?" [The whole library is empty, Aarav. Why do you want my table specifically?]
Aarav sat down, his heart hammering harder than it did during the Necklace Road fight. "Woh... yahan light achi hai." [That... the light is good here.]
Meher finally looked up, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips. "Tumhare jacket ka rang thoda zyada 'himsak' nahi hai ek library ke liye?" [Isn't the color of your jacket a bit too 'violent' for a library?]
Aarav looked at his red Raven jacket. "Ye meri pehchaan hai, Meher." [This is my identity, Meher.]
"Tumhari pehchaan woh nahi hai jo tum pehente ho," [Your identity isn't what you wear], she said, leaning in closer. "Tumhari pehchaan woh hai jo tum doston ke liye karte ho. Maine suna hai tumne juniors ke liye naya study center khola hai?" [Your identity is what you do for your friends. I heard you opened a new study center for the juniors?]
Aarav rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Bas koshish kar raha hoon ki sabka bhala ho." [Just trying to make sure everyone benefits.]
For the next two hours, they didn't study. They whispered about music, their dreams for college, and the city they both loved. As they walked out of the library, the cool evening breeze of the Musi river hit them. Aarav felt a sense of peace he hadn't known since moving to Hyderabad. He realized that while he fought for the Ravens, he lived for moments like this.
The Panipuri Revelation
The peaceful bubble burst three days later at the KBR Park food street.
Aarav and Meher were standing near a Panipuri stall, laughing at a joke Meher had told. Aarav was carefully holding her books while she enjoyed the spicy treats. It was a perfect, normal teenage moment—until a shadow the size of a truck fell over them.
"AARAV. MEHER."
Raju stood there, his arms crossed, his face a terrifying mask of confusion and protective rage. Behind him, three Ravens frozen in mid-stride, sensing a disaster.
"Bhai! Tum yahan?" [Brother! You here?] Meher asked, completely unfazed, popping a Panipuri into her mouth.
Raju ignored her, his eyes burning into Aarav. "Aarav, mere bhai... tu yahan meri behen ke saath kya kar raha hai?" [Aarav, my brother... what are you doing here with my sister?]
Aarav's tactical mind, which could anticipate a 100-man ambush, completely shut down. "Raju, sun... woh... hum study group... bibliography..." [Raju, listen... we... study group... bibliography...]
"Bibliography?!" Raju roared, his voice attracting the attention of half the park. "Tu bibliography kha raha hai ya Panipuri?!" [Are you eating bibliography or Panipuri?!]
He stepped closer, his chest bumping against Aarav's. The Ravens nearby whispered, "Aaj toh 2nd President gaya." [Today the 2nd President is gone.]
But instead of a punch, Raju grabbed a stool and sat down with a heavy thud. He looked at the vendor. "Oye! Do plate mere liye bhi. Aur mirchi zyada dalna!" [Hey! Two plates for me too. And add extra spice!]
He turned back to Aarav, pointing a finger at his chest. "Dekh, Aarav. Tu mera sabse acha dost hai. Lekin ye meri behen hai. Agar tune ise kabhi pareshan kiya, toh main bhool jaunga ki tu 2nd President hai." [Look, Aarav. You are my best friend. But this is my sister. If you ever trouble her, I will forget you are the 2nd President.]
Raju took a huge bite of a Panipuri and grumbled, "Wese bhi, ye tujhse zyada samajhdar hai. Pata nahi isne tujh mein kya dekha." [Anyway, she's smarter than you. I don't know what she saw in you.]
Meher laughed and hugged her brother's arm. The tension evaporated, replaced by the smell of spicy water and the sound of brothers bickering like a real family.
Chapter 12: The Shadow of the World Class Gang
The months following the reinstatement of Ekam Sanjeevan were often referred to as the "Golden Era" of Hyderabad's youth. By December 2025, the Raven Gang had evolved into an entity that transcended the concept of a school gang. They were the unofficial guardians of the city's morality. With 300 members patrolling the streets, crime rates in their territories had flatlined. They were celebrated, loved, and feared in equal measure.
But while the Ravens looked inward at their city, a monolithic shadow was stretching across the globe, its gaze fixing upon the Indian subcontinent.
To understand the magnitude of the storm that was about to break, one had to look back fifteen years. In 2010, deep in the underworld of the Pacific Rim, a criminal organization was born that prioritized one thing above all else: absolute, systematic dominance. They called themselves the WC (World Class) Gang.
They were not street thugs fighting for pocket change. They were an empire. With over 8,000 active members, their influence spanned ten of the most powerful nations on Earth: India, China, the USA, Indonesia, Pakistan, Nigeria, Brazil, Japan, Russia, and South Korea. Their structure was terrifyingly efficient. At the apex sat a mysterious leader whose face remained a secret even to his highest officers. Beneath him were the "Main10"—ten elite executives, each given total control over the underworld of a specific nation.
The Executive in charge of India was a man named Kuroshi Hawai.
Kuroshi was a man of expensive tastes and lethal skills. He operated from the shadows, ensuring that organized crime in India followed the WC's rules. For years, he had ignored school gangs as beneath his notice. But the rise of the Ravens changed everything. The reports landing on his desk were disturbing: a sixteen-year-old "Rank Zero" had united the youth, cleaned up the streets, and was preaching a philosophy of the "Purest Form." To a criminal syndicate that thrived on corruption and chaos, the Ravens were not heroes; they were a virus.
The order came down from the top: Burn the Ravens to ash.
The Monsoon Match
In late July, the clouds finally broke over Hyderabad. It was a torrential downpour that turned the school's back ground into a swamp of thick, chocolatey mud.
Ekam declared a "Holiday from War." He organized a Gully Cricket tournament: Science Wing vs. Commerce Wing. But there were no katanas or iron rods today—only plastic bats and tennis balls wrapped in electrical tape.
"Jo bhi haarega, wo pure gang ke liye biryani khilayega!" [Whoever loses will treat the whole gang to biryani!] Raju shouted, sliding through the mud to take his position as wicketkeeper.
The match was glorious chaos. 300 boys in red jackets, now covered in mud, were screaming and cheering. Aarav was the captain of the Science side, using his "Geometry" to bowl perfect inswingers. Raju was the powerhouse for Commerce, hitting the ball so hard it cleared the school's third-floor balcony.
Ekam sat on the boundary line under a large black umbrella. He wasn't playing, but his eyes were bright as he watched the scene.
"Ekam, tu batting kab karega?" [Ekam, when will you bat?] Karan asked, sitting beside him.
"Jab tumlog harne lagoge," [When you guys start losing], Ekam joked, making Karan laugh.
The match ended in a tie when the ball got lost in a drain. Nobody cared about the score. They were all drenched, shivering, and happier than they had ever been. They huddled under the cafeteria shed, sharing hot samosas and cutting chai.
Karan looked at the 300 boys—no longer divided, no longer bullied, just kids having fun. "Ye sab teri wajah se hai, Ekam." [This is all because of you, Ekam.]
Ekam looked at his mud-stained hands. "Nahi, Karan. Ye inki wajah se hai. Maine sirf inhe rasta dikhaya, chalna inhone khud seekha." [No, Karan. It's because of them. I only showed them the way; they learned to walk it themselves.]
It was the "Purest Form" in its most beautiful state. They didn't know that in just a few months, these same boys would be kneeling in blood on this very ground. For now, they were just Ravens, and for now, the sky was full of rain instead of shadows.
December 31st, 2025: The Last Celebration
The winter in Hyderabad was particularly biting that year. On New Year's Eve, Shri Vidya Mandir was decked out in lights and ribbons. The school administration had organized a massive cultural program to ring in 2026. The air should have been filled with music and laughter, but for Aarav (No. 2) and Raju (No. 3), the atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating.
They sat in their empty classroom, Class 11th A, while the rest of the school prepared in the auditorium.
"Raju," Aarav said, staring out the window at the Gray sky. "Do you feel that? Something is 'galat' (wrong). The air feels too still."
Raju, usually the jovial muscle of the group, nodded grimly. "I've had a knot in my stomach since morning. Where is Ekam?"
"He's late. He said he had some family work," Aarav replied, checking his watch.
Suddenly, the ambient noise of the school—the distant chatter, the music testing—died out completely. It wasn't a gradual fade; it was an instant, terrified silence.
Aarav stood up, his heart pounding. "Come on."
They walked out of the classroom and onto the balcony that overlooked the massive central assembly ground. What they saw froze the blood in their veins.
The assembly ground was no longer empty. Standing there, in lines so straight they looked computer-generated, was an army.
800 fighters. They were not students. They were men in their twenties and thirties, wearing uniform black tactical suits. 400 of them carried heavy batons and chains. The other 400 stood behind them, an aura of elite menace radiating from their stillness. And at the very front, sitting on a solitary folding chair placed in the centre of the basketball court, was Kuroshi Hawai.
Aarav and Raju ran down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the silent corridors. They stepped onto the assembly ground, feeling the weight of 800 pairs of eyes locking onto them.
Kuroshi didn't stand. He looked at the two boys with eyes that looked like dead sharks. He held a microphone loosely in his hand.
"Kya tumlog Ravens ho?" (Are you Ravens?)
His voice boomed through the school speakers, distorted and terrifying.
Aarav felt a surge of fear so intense he almost vomited. This wasn't a gang war; this was an invasion. He looked at the 800 men, then at the empty gate where Ekam should have been. We are alone, he thought.
But then, he remembered the "fire." He remembered the promise of the Purest Form. He looked at Raju, saw the same fear, and the same resolve.
Aarav stepped forward, his voice shaking but loud. "Han! Hum log Ravens hein!" (Yes! We are Ravens!)
Kuroshi smirked. "Just two boys? I heard you were a legion."
"Look behind you," Raju growled.
Kuroshi didn't turn, but he sensed it. From the corridors, the classrooms, and the shadows of the school, the Raven Gang emerged. 300 students wearing the signature red jackets. They filed in behind Aarav and Raju, forming a defensive line. They were outnumbered nearly three to one, and outclassed in weaponry, but they stood their ground.
"Impressive," Kuroshi mocked. "But futile."
He gestured to his army. "I have brought the World Class Gang to your doorstep. I have 800 men. The front 400 are my 'Lower Ranks'—street fighters and brawlers. The back 400... they are 'Upper Ranks.' Assassins. Killers. Each one of them is equal to your precious Rank Zero."
The Ravens shifted uneasily. The claim seemed impossible, yet the aura coming from the back rows suggested otherwise.
"I will make you a deal," Kuroshi said, leaning forward. "I am a businessman, not a butcher. If you can defeat my 400 Lower Ranks... just the first wave... I will take the WC Gang and leave India forever. But if you lose, the Ravens are disbanded, and this city belongs to me."
Aarav looked at the 400 men in front. They were armed with katanas and chains. The Ravens had broken chairs and pipes. It was a suicide mission.
But then Aarav looked at the school buildings, at the students watching from the windows. He realized they weren't fighting for territory anymore. They were the last line of defense for their home.
He locked eyes with Kuroshi.
"Manzoor hai," (Agreed), Aarav shouted.
The deal was struck. The final war for the soul of Hyderabad was about to begin.
Chapter 13: The Assembly Ground Massacre
The atmosphere inside the walls of Shri Vidya Mandir was usually defined by the innocent chaos of adolescence—the ringing of bells, the scuffing of shoes, and the hum of lectures. But on December 31st, 2025, the school transformed into a grim theatre of war. The sky above Hyderabad was a bruised purple, heavy with low-hanging clouds that threatened rain, mirroring the storm about to break on the concrete beneath.
This was supposed to be a day of New Year's celebrations. Instead, the assembly ground—a vast expanse of Gray concrete bordered by the towering classroom blocks—had become a kill box.
Standing near the stage were Aarav and Raju. Behind them stood the 300 Ravens. They wore their signature red jackets, but today, those jackets felt less like a uniform and more like a target. They were armed not with professional weapons, but with the debris of a school under siege: rusted iron pipes ripped from plumbing, broken chair legs, cricket bats, and heavy chains. They were students, teenagers who had cleaned streets and protected neighbourhoods.
Facing them was a nightmare.
Standing in perfect, military-grade formation were the 400 Lower Rank fighters of the World Class (WC) Gang. They were a sea of black. Unlike the Ravens, they didn't look nervous. They looked like what they were: mercenaries. Each man held a katana, the Japanese steel glinting with a terrifying, cold light.
At the head of this black army sat Kuroshi Hawai, the Executive of India. He lounged in a high-backed chair, looking at the teenagers with a mix of boredom and disdain.
Aarav's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the katanas, then at the rusty pipe in his hand. We are going to die, a voice whispered in his head. This isn't a street fight. This is slaughter.
But then, he looked at Raju. The burly boy was shaking, but he stood his ground. He looked at the 300 faces behind him—faces that looked to him for leadership in Ekam's absence.
Aarav stepped forward, his voice cutting through the whistling winter wind. "Ravens!" he shouted, his voice cracking slightly before finding its strength. "Aaj hum sirf apni jaan ke liye nahi lad rahe. Hum is school ke liye, is shehar ke liye, aur is desh ke liye lad rahe hain! (Today, we aren't just fighting for our lives. We are fighting for this school, for this city, and for this country!)"
He pointed his pipe at the wall of black suits. "Wo 400 hain. Hum 300 hain. Par unke paas sirf paise hain. Humhare paas 'wajah' hai! (They are 400. We are 300. But they only have money. We have a 'reason'!)"
Kuroshi raised a single hand and dropped it. The command was silent, but the result was deafening.
"KILL THEM!"
The 400 WC fighters charged. They didn't scream; they just surged forward like a dark tidal wave, their katanas raised to sever bone and flesh.
"ATTACK!" Aarav roared.
The two armies collided in the center of the assembly ground with a sound that resembled a train wreck. CLANG! THUD! CRACK!
The first minute was pure chaos. The "shring" of sharp steel biting into iron pipes echoed off the classroom walls. The Ravens were immediately pushed back by the sheer ferocity of the professional fighters. Blood sprayed onto the gray concrete.
"Defense! Keep the formation tight!" Raju bellowed, swinging a heavy cricket bat with the force of a sledgehammer. He caught a WC fighter in the ribs, sending him flying, but another fighter slashed at Raju's arm. The fabric of his jacket split, and blood welled up, but Raju didn't stop. He was the shield of the Ravens, absorbing hits that would have felled a lesser man.
Aarav moved like a dancer through the melee. He wasn't as strong as Raju, but he was fast. He ducked under a lethal horizontal slash that would have taken his head off, and used his pipe to sweep the attacker's legs. As the man fell, Aarav struck him down and moved to the next.
The Ravens were bleeding. They were screaming. But they were not breaking.
The advantage of the WC gang was their skill and weaponry. But their weakness was their arrogance. They expected the "school kids" to run at the sight of blood. They didn't understand the culture Ekam had built. The Ravens fought with the desperation of a family protecting their home. They used the environment—slamming enemies into pillars, tripping them on the stairs, throwing handfuls of dust into their eyes.
For twenty agonizing minutes, the assembly ground was a meat grinder. The cries of pain mixed with the clash of metal. But slowly, impossibly, the tide began to turn.
The WC fighters were mercenaries; they fought for a pay check. When the fight got too brutal, when the "kids" refused to stay down and kept coming at them with broken noses and shattered fingers, the mercenaries began to hesitate. The Ravens, driven by the "Purest Form" ideology, fought with a suicidal bravery.
Aarav, his face smeared with grime and sweat, saw the wavering in the enemy lines. "Tod do unhe! (Break them!)" he screamed.
With a final, collective surge of adrenaline, the 300 Ravens pushed forward. They overwhelmed the sword-wielders with sheer numbers and ferocity. One by one, the black-suited fighters were knocked unconscious or forced to yield.
As the dust settled, the silence returned—but it was heavy, broken only by the groans of the injured. The 400 Lower Rank fighters lay scattered across the ground like broken toys.
The Ravens stood amidst the carnage. They were battered, bleeding, and gasping for air, but they were standing. They had done the impossible. They had defeated an army of killers with nothing but scrap metal and courage.
Chapter 14: The Betrayal of the Executive
The silence that descended on the assembly ground was heavy, broken only by the ragged, desperate gasping of three hundred boys. The winter air of Hyderabad burned in their lungs. The Ravens stood amidst a sea of fallen bodies, their knuckles split, their red jackets torn and darkened with sweat and grime. They had done the impossible. They had dismantled an army of trained mercenaries through sheer grit and the "fire" Ekam had ignited in their souls.
Aarav stood at the forefront, his chest heaving like a bellows. He wiped a smear of blood from his forehead and looked up at the elevated platform where Kuroshi Hawai sat. The Executive of the WC Gang hadn't moved a muscle during the entire conflict. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, watching the carnage with the detached amusement of a man watching a play he found slightly boring.
"Humne shart poori ki," (We fulfilled the condition), Aarav rasped, his voice raw but defiant. He pointed a trembling finger at the gate. "Your 400 men are down. Now leave our school. Leave our country."
For a long, agonizing moment, Kuroshi said nothing. Then, a slow, cruel smile curled the corners of his lips. It wasn't a smile of defeat; it was the smile of a predator who had just watched the prey tire itself out.
"Tumne socha tha ki World Class Gang itni aasani se haar maan legi?" (Did you think the World Class Gang would give up so easily?) Kuroshi's voice was soft, yet it carried across the yard with chilling clarity. He stood up slowly, smoothing the lapels of his suit. "Maine waada kiya tha... par waade toh todne ke liye hote hain." (I made a promise... but promises are meant to be broken.)
A collective shudder went through the ranks of the Ravens. They were at their physical limit. Their muscles were cramping, their adrenaline was fading, and the realization that the nightmare wasn't over hit them harder than any fist.
Kuroshi snapped his fingers. The sound was sharp, like a dry twig breaking.
From the dark recesses of the school's main building, shadows seemed to detach themselves from the walls. One hundred figures stepped into the pale afternoon light.
These were the 100 "Upper Rank" killers.
Unlike the Lower Ranks, who had charged with brute force, these men moved with a terrifying, liquid grace. They wore streamlined combat gear, and each held a katana that looked razor-sharp. There was no shouting, no posturing. They stood in perfect silence, radiating an aura of professional death. These were the elites—the men who carried out assassinations in Tokyo, Moscow, and New York.
"Ye mere asli shikaari hain," (These are my real hunters), Kuroshi announced, his voice dripping with venom. "Har ek ki taqat tumhare us 'Rank Zero' ke barabar hai. Ab dekhte hain tumhara 'Purest Form' kitni der tikta hai." (Every single one of them has power equal to your Rank Zero. Now let's see how long your 'Purest Form' lasts.)
The command was unspoken, but immediate. The Upper Ranks descended.
It wasn't a battle; it was an execution.
The Ravens tried to raise their defenses, but their movements were sluggish, their reflexes dulled by exhaustion. The Upper Ranks moved through them like smoke. The sound of steel slicing through fabric and flesh filled the air.
"AARGH!" A scream pierced the air as a Raven went down, his leg slashed open. Then another. And another.
Aarav and Raju tried to hold the line. Raju, the tank of the group, swung a heavy bat at an approaching elite. The killer didn't even blink; he simply ducked under the swing with unnatural speed and drove the hilt of his katana into Raju's solar plexus. Raju collapsed, gasping for air, unable to rise.
Aarav found himself parrying a strike from a masked assassin. The force of the blow vibrated through his bones. He was pushed back, step by step, watching helplessly as his brothers were cut down. The red tide of the Ravens was being washed away by the black wave of the WC elites. The formation crumbled. Boys who had stood tall moments ago were now writhing on the concrete, bleeding and broken.
Despair, cold and absolute, clawed at Aarav's heart. We're going to die, he realized. We're all going to die here, and Ekam isn't coming.
He was backed against the wall of the administrative block. An Upper Rank killer raised his katana, the blade catching the glint of the sun, poised for a final, fatal strike. Aarav squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.
And then, a sound echoed from the far side of the campus.
CREAAAAAAK.
It was the heavy, groaning protest of the main iron gates being forced open against their hinges. The sound was so loud, so intrusive, that even the Upper Rank killer paused, his blade hovering inches from Aarav's neck. Every head in the assembly ground turned toward the entrance.
Through the dust and the despair, a silhouette appeared.
Chapter 15: The Return of the Heartless King
The heavy iron gates of Shri Vidya Mandir didn't just open; they felt as though they were being pushed aside by a force of nature. Two figures walked through the dust and the gray light of the afternoon.
Ekam Sanjeevan and Karan.
The transformation in the assembly ground was instantaneous. The 300 Ravens, even those who were bleeding on the ground, felt a surge of energy that defied medicine. The despair vanished, replaced by a devotion so deep it was religious.
"EKAM! EKAM! EKAM!" The chant started as a whisper and grew into a roar that shook the windows of the school. The Ravens didn't just cheer; they did something that made Kuroshi's eyes narrow in surprise. Every single Raven who was still able to move—even the injured—stood up, turned toward Ekam, and knelt.
They lowered their heads in a display of absolute respect. It was a sight of pure, unfiltered loyalty. The "Rank Zero" had returned to his kingdom.
Ekam walked through the centre of the kneeling army, his face as blank and emotionless as a marble statue. Beside him, Karan looked at his fallen brothers, his jaw tight with a murderous rage. Ekam stopped a few feet away from the "Upper Rank" killers, his eyes locking onto Kuroshi Hawai.
"Kuroshi," Ekam said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Mujhe pata tha tum aaoge (I knew you would come). Maine tumhara hi intezaar kiya hai."
Kuroshi stood up for the first time. The air between the two leaders seemed to hum with tension. "So, you are the boy they call Rank Zero. You look... ordinary."
Ekam didn't reply to the insult. He turned to his gang, his voice softening just a fraction. "Karan, baki bache hue Upper Ranks ko khatam karo (Karan, finish the remaining Upper Ranks). Ravens, apne bhai ka saath do."
Karan didn't need to be told twice. He led the remaining able-bodied Ravens into a final, furious charge against the 100 Upper Rank killers. Inspired by Ekam's presence, they fought with a renewed, supernatural strength. Within minutes, the remaining Upper Ranks were incapacitated, but the effort left Karan and the Ravens completely drained. They collapsed onto the ground, unable to move another inch.
Ekam stood alone. Facing him were 300 WC Elite fighters who had stayed back, and Kuroshi Hawai himself.
Ekam reached down and picked up a heavy iron rod that had fallen during the fight. He looked back at his tired, broken brothers, then up at his old classroom—Class 11th A.
"Tumlog aaram karo (You all rest)," Ekam ordered, his eyes returning to the 301 enemies in front of him. "Ye meri ladayi hai (This is my fight now)."
The most legendary 1-vs-301 battle in history was about to begin.
Chapter 16: The Dance of the Iron Rod
The assembly ground of Shri Vidya Mandir had been stripped of its academic sanctity, transformed instead into a grim, open-air colosseum. The winter sun was bleeding out across the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows of the school buildings over the concrete. At the centre of this desolate arena stood Ekam Sanjeevan, a solitary figure in a tattered red jacket, silhouetted against the dying light.
Surrounding him was a perfect, suffocating circle of 300 WC Elite fighters. These were not the street-level brawlers he had dismantled at Necklace Road; these were the silent, professional shadows of the World Class Gang. They stood in terrifying unison, their breathing synchronized, their katanas unsheathed and gleaming with a cold, predatory light. Each blade was a razor-edged promise of an ending.
Ekam gripped the iron rod. It was a crude instrument—heavy, rusted, and cold—yet in his hands, it felt like a sacred relic. He didn't look at the three hundred blades pointed at his throat. He didn't look at Kuroshi Hawai, who watched from his chair with the detachment of a god. Instead, Ekam took a long, shivering breath, feeling the frozen air scrape against the raw interior of his lungs. He felt the weight of the eyes behind him: Karan, Aarav, Raju, and the hundreds of broken Ravens who lay in the dirt, their lives and their legacy resting entirely on his bruised shoulders.
"Aao," (Come), Ekam whispered. The word was soft, but in the absolute silence of the assembly ground, it carried like a thunderclap.
The circle collapsed.
What followed was not a brawl; it was a rhythmic, violent symphony. Ekam moved with a possessed grace that defied his exhaustion. He wasn't just a boy fighting for his life; he was a vortex. As the first wave of elites lunged, katanas whistling through the air, Ekam spun. The iron rod became a blur of silver and rust, meeting the steel blades with a series of "tangs" that rang out like funeral bells.
He moved within the gaps of their formation, using their sheer numbers against them. He was a master of leverage, parrying a strike only to let the momentum carry his rod into the ribs of the next attacker. The sound of bone snapping under the weight of the iron rod punctuating the air, followed by the heavy thud of elite warriors hitting the ground.
Ekam was taking hits—there was no dodging three hundred blades perfectly. A shallow cut opened on his shoulder; another blade grazed his ribs, staining his already crimson jacket a deeper, wetter shade of red. But he didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to feel the pain. His eyes were wide, fixed on a reality no one else could see. He was the Heartless King, and for this hour, his heart had no room for fear or agony.
In the middle of the carnage, a strange stillness seemed to descend upon him. Amidst the clashing steel and the screams of the fallen, Ekam's gaze drifted upward. He looked past the sea of black suits, past the flashing katanas, up toward the third floor of the school building. His eyes locked onto a single window—the window of Class 11th A.
In that room, he had met Aarav. In that room, he had first sat on a bench and felt that perhaps, just perhaps, he didn't have to be alone. It was the place where his new life had begun, and as he felt his strength beginning to leak out of his wounds, he knew it was the place where his story would essentially end.
A small, heartbreakingly sad smile touched his blood-flecked lips. His voice was a ghost of a sound, lost to everyone but the wind.
"Love you... goodbye," he whispered.
The whisper acted as a catalyst. The last of his human limits shattered. Ekam exploded into a final, terrifying display of combat. He moved with a speed that made him appear as multiple shadows at once. The iron rod struck with the force of a falling mountain, shattering katanas and sending the world's most elite killers flying backward. He was no longer a student, no longer a boy from Jharkhand; he was the Rank Zero, the absolute pinnacle of street-level power.
He tore through the remaining ranks, a cyclone of red and iron. He wasn't just fighting for victory; he was fighting to ensure that when the sun finally went down, his brothers would be the ones standing in the light. One by one, the 300 elites fell until the circle was broken, leaving only a trail of broken steel and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of a king who had given everything.
Chapter 17: The Fall of the Executive
The echoes of the 1-vs-300 massacre still hung in the heavy, chilled air of the assembly ground. The dirt was no longer Gray; it was a dark, muddy crimson, littered with the broken katanas of the world's most elite fighters. Out of the three hundred men who had surrounded Ekam, only a scattered few remained conscious, and they were crawling away from the centre of the ground, their eyes wide with a primal terror. They had come to dismantle a school gang; they had found a god of war.
Ekam stood in the centre of the carnage. He was a vision of absolute exhaustion and terrifying resolve. His red jacket was torn to shreds, his skin a roadmap of shallow cuts and deep bruises, and blood dripped steadily from his fingertips. Yet, he did not waver. He stood with the stillness of a mountain, his chest heaving as he forced oxygen into lungs that felt like they were filled with crushed glass.
From the sidelines, Kuroshi Hawai slowly rose from his chair. The mask of bored indifference he had worn throughout the day finally shattered. In its place was a look of cold, predatory respect. He realized now that the reports hadn't been exaggerated—Rank Zero was not a title; it was a warning.
"Tumne mere behtareen yoddhao ko dher kar diya," (You defeated my best warriors), Kuroshi said, his voice cutting through the silence like a chilled blade. He stepped over the bodies of his fallen elites, his movements fluid and precise. "Lekin tum thak chuke ho, Ekam. Tumhara shareer ab saath nahi dega. Ek marta hua sher bhi shikaar nahi kar sakta." (But you are tired, Ekam. Your body won't support you anymore. Even a dying lion cannot hunt.)
Ekam didn't offer the dignity of a verbal response. His iron rod was bent and slick with blood, so he let it clatter to the concrete. He reached down and gripped the hilt of a fallen WC elite's katana. He didn't have the formal training of the Main10 executives, but as he tested the weight of the steel, he looked like a man who had been born to hold it.
The Final Duel
Kuroshi unsheathed his own blade—a masterpiece of Japanese craftsmanship that seemed to swallow the remaining light of the evening. Without another word, he lunged.
The duel was a blur of silver and red. Kuroshi fought with the elegance of a professional assassin, his strikes aimed with surgical precision at Ekam's throat, heart, and femoral artery. He was faster than anyone Ekam had ever faced, his movements a testament to fifteen years of global dominance.
Ekam, however, fought with something Kuroshi could never understand: Will. He didn't parry like a fencer; he blocked like a titan. Every time Kuroshi's blade bit into his skin, Ekam used the pain to fuel his next strike. He was moving on pure instinct, his reflexes heightened by the adrenaline of a dying man.
The sound of steel clashing against steel rang out across the assembly ground, a rhythmic, violent percussion. The Ravens watched from the sidelines, their breath held, their hearts beating in sync with Ekam's movements. Karan, Aarav, and Raju tried to stand, to help, but their bodies were too broken. They could only watch as their leader danced with death.
Kuroshi saw an opening. He delivered a lightning-fast thrust aimed directly at Ekam's chest. It was a killing blow. But Ekam didn't retreat. In a final, suicidal gamble, he pivoted his body at the last possible microsecond. Kuroshi's blade pierced through the meat of Ekam's side, but it missed the vitals.
Inside the guard of the executive, Ekam swung his own katana in a tight, savage arc.
The sound was a soft, wet shlick.
The Silence of the Victor
Time seemed to stutter. Ekam stood perfectly still, his back to Kuroshi. The katana in his hand was steady, though blood ran down the length of the blade and dripped from the tip.
Kuroshi Hawai stood motionless for a heartbeat. He tried to speak, but only a wet gasp escaped his lips. He dropped his moonlight blade, his hands flying to his throat, trying in vain to stem the torrent of crimson that was now pouring through his fingers. The executive of the World Class Gang, the man who controlled the underworld of a nation, collapsed to his knees and then fell forward into the dirt. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Ekam did not turn around to look at the fallen enemy. With a gargantuan effort, he raised his blood-stained hand toward the darkening sky. It was the signal of victory. The Ravens, seeing the executive fall, let out a roar that shook the very foundation of Shri Vidya Mandir.
"JEET GAYE! EKAM! EKAM!"
Karan was the first to reach him. He scrambled across the ground, his face a mask of joy and relief, and threw his arms around Ekam in a celebratory hug. "Tu ne kar dikhaya bhai! Tu ne sabko khatam kar diya!" (You did it, brother! You finished everyone!)
But as Karan pulled Ekam close, the joy died instantly. The world went cold.
Karan froze. His head was pressed against Ekam's chest, but there was no thumping of a heart. There was no rise and fall of the lungs. Ekam was standing, his hand still raised to the sky, but his body was as cold and still as the bronze statue that would one day replace him.
"Ekam...?" Karan whispered, pulling back to look at his friend's face.
Ekam's eyes were open, staring upward at the first stars of the night, but the fire in them had gone out. The Rank Zero had spent every last drop of his life force to secure the safety of his brothers. He had won the war, but he had lost himself in the process.
Ekam Sanjeevan, the Heartless King, had finally lost his heartbeat.
Chapter 18: The Silence of the World
The transition from the blood-slicked assembly ground of Shri Vidya Mandir to the sterile, blindingly white corridors of the city's largest hospital was a chaotic blur of sirens and adrenaline. The fight was over, but the war for Ekam's life had just begun. As the ambulance tore through the night, something unprecedented happened in the city of Hyderabad.
The news had travelled faster than the vehicle itself. On social media, through news flashes, and by word of mouth, the city realized that the boy who had unified their youth—the "Rank Zero" who had stood alone against a global shadow—was fading. The Hyderabad police, usually at odds with the city's gangs, did something remarkable: they cordoned off the entire route to the hospital. Every major intersection was blocked, every traffic light held on green. Thousands of citizens, from office workers to street vendors, stood along the sidewalks in a heavy, reverent silence. It was a "Green Corridor" formed not by government mandate, but by the collective will of a city that owed its safety to a sixteen-year-old.
Inside the hospital, the atmosphere was suffocating. The 300 Ravens did not just visit; they occupied the space. The entire emergency wing was a sea of red jackets, torn, blood-stained, and dust-covered. There was no shouting, no bravado. These were warriors who had just survived a massacre, now reduced to trembling boys waiting for a miracle.
The Operation and the Breaking Point
Karan, Aarav, and Raju sat on the hard plastic chairs directly outside the operating theatre. For two hours, the "Surgery in Progress" sign glowed with a mocking red light. Every time a nurse scurried out or a machine beeped, the three commanders flinched. Karan's hands were stained with Ekam's blood—he refused to wash it off, as if keeping the physical connection might somehow keep Ekam tethered to the world.
Finally, the light flickered off. The heavy double doors creaked open, and a senior surgeon stepped out. His surgical gown was a map of tragedy, soaked in the blood of the boy they called King. He looked aged, his eyes reflecting a profound sense of failure. He didn't look at the crowd; his eyes found Raju first, who was standing closest to the door.
The doctor leaned in and whispered a few words.
Raju didn't cry. He didn't scream. Instead, a sound erupted from his throat that made the skin of everyone present crawl. It was a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. It was the sound of a mind snapping under the weight of an impossible reality. Raju turned and began to run—not toward his friends, but toward the hospital bathroom, his wild, broken laughter echoing off the tiled walls like a haunting melody of grief.
The doctor then turned his sombre gaze to Karan and Aarav. "He lost too much blood," the doctor said, his voice barely audible. "His internal organs were failing long before the fight even reached its climax. He was fighting on sheer, stubborn will alone. I am sorry... he is gone."
The silence that followed was not just in the hospital; it was as if the world itself had stopped breathing. The Rank Zero, the Heartless King, was dead.
Four Months Later: The Ghost in the Machine
Time is a cruel healer. Four months passed, and the winter of 2025 bled into a sombre, muted spring. At Shri Vidya Mandir, life had returned to a distorted version of "normal." Karan and Aarav were now in the 12th grade, their shoulders heavier, their faces older. The Raven Gang remained the undisputed power in the city, but they had transitioned fully into a service-oriented organization, honouring the "Purest Form" legacy Ekam had left behind.
At the school gates, a massive bronze statue of Ekam Sanjeevan stood guard. It depicted him with one hand raised to the sky; a permanent reminder of the moment he defeated the WC Elites. It was a pilgrimage site for students across the country.
One afternoon, Karan and Aarav sat in the corner of the cafeteria—the same table where they had first conspired to bring back the Ravens. The seat at the head of the table remained empty, a silent tribute.
"Aarav," Karan said, his voice hollow as he stirred a cup of tea he hadn't touched. "There are things that still don't make sense. Remember that day? Ekam said he was waiting for Kuroshi. Like he knew the WC Gang was coming. And that final whisper... 'Love you, goodbye.' Who was it for? He never had a girl here. He was always with us."
"Maybe it was for his brother, Rudra," Aarav suggested, though he didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe he just knew he wasn't coming back."
Before they could delve deeper into the mystery, the cafeteria doors were slammed open. Raju stood there. He had left the gang months ago, unable to bear the guilt of being the one the doctor told first. He looked dishevelled, his eyes wide and bloodshot, clutching his phone as if it were a weapon.
"You need to see this," Raju gasped, his voice trembling with an emotion that looked like a mix of terror and hope. "I was watching a National Geographic reel... it was about remote African tribes in the savanna. Just... look at the background."
He set the phone on the table. The video was a standard documentary clip, showing a group of tribesmen moving through tall grass under a brutal sun. But as the camera panned to follow a hunt, it caught a figure standing in the deep shade of a baobab tree in the distance.
Raju's fingers shook as he pinched the screen, zooming in on the shadowed figure. The resolution was grainy, but as the pixels smoothed out, the features became unmistakable. The sharp jawline, the stoic, detached expression, and the piercing eyes that seemed to look right through the camera.
It was a face they had buried. It was the face of the boy whose statue stood at the gates.
The cafeteria went cold. Karan and Aarav felt their blood turn to ice. The world they thought they understood shattered for the second time.
"Iski maa ka..."(holy shitt…) Karan whispered, the curse dying in his throat as he stared at the living ghost on the screen.
The five second king will come back soon…