The early morning sun cast long shadows across the private training grounds of the Deva estate. Siddanth stood fifty yards from a standard Olympic target, holding a sleek, professional-grade composite recurve bow he had asked Rahul to procure just yesterday. He drew the string back, anchoring it just below his jaw.
His mind—sharpened by his newly acquired System abilities—already calculated the wind resistance, the trajectory, and the exact release point with terrifying mathematical precision. But his physical body was a different story. The muscles in his back and shoulders trembled slightly, unaccustomed to the strain of a heavy sixty-pound draw weight.
He exhaled and released the string.
Thwack.
The arrow thudded into the target, hitting the red ring just outside the absolute dead-center yellow bullseye.
He lowered the bow, rolling his shoulders with a sigh. Perfect spatial awareness meant nothing if the physical vessel hadn't developed the muscle memory yet. The System had been perfectly accurate: the mind knows the shot, but the body must be trained to execute it. He would need to practice to build those specific stabilizer muscles.
Before he could nock another carbon-fiber arrow, his phone buzzed on the nearby wooden bench. He walked over, wiping his brow with a towel, and glanced at the screen. It was KTR, IT minister in the Telangana government.
Siddanth picked it up. "Hello, Anna."
"Siddanth! Good morning," KTR's voice boomed through the speaker, warm and deeply familiar. "First of all, congratulations. What a phenomenal World Cup victory. You made the entire country proud, and you brought the trophy home to India. And secondly... I saw the video yesterday. Congratulations on the engagement as well."
"Thank you, Anna. I appreciate it," Siddanth replied smoothly.
"Listen, the state government wants to formally honor you for the World Cup win," KTR explained. "We are organizing an official appreciation ceremony in the city. I know you have a tight schedule with the IPL coming up, but we're hoping you can attend."
"Of course, Anna. I'd be honored," Siddanth said. He always made it a point to maintain a cooperative relationship with the state government, especially considering future projects he has planned. "Have your office send the time, location, and protocol itinerary to Rahul, and I will be there."
"Excellent. We'll see you soon, Sid. Enjoy the time with your family."
After hanging up, Siddanth headed inside the farmhouse to shower. A short while later, he walked into the dining room wearing a simple white t-shirt and track pants. His mother, Sesikala, was setting down plates of steaming hot dosas and peanut chutney.
He sat at the table, eating his breakfast while scrolling through his phone.
His Vibe and Twitter notifications were entirely unusable, moving so fast they looked like a digital blur. He tapped into a few trending hashtags. The internet was still completely, violently obsessed with the proposal animation he had uploaded. But beyond the romance of the digital Swayamvar, a massive, highly vocal segment of the anime and gaming community was flooding the comments with a singular demand: they wanted a full movie.
"This animation is unbelievable. If this studio makes a full Ramayana movie, I am giving them all my money."
"The Devil of Cricket casually dropping the hardest mythological animation ever. PLEASE make a two-hour version."
Sesikala noticed him smiling at his screen and walked over, peering over his broad shoulder. "What are you looking at? Still reading the congratulations?"
"No, Amma. Look at this," Siddanth showed her the comments. "They saw the proposal video and now they are demanding an entire movie based on it."
Sesikala smiled, placing a fresh dosa on his plate. "Well, why wouldn't you make a movie about it? It looked beautiful."
Siddanth paused, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Why wouldn't I?
His mind instantly flashed back to his childhood, specifically to Ramayana: The Legend of Prince Rama, the iconic 1992 Indo-Japanese co-production that had first introduced him to the medium of anime. Even in his previous life, he had always wondered why Indian mythology—with its epic scale, divine weapons, and complex narratives—wasn't dominating the global animation industry the way Japanese Shonen did.
Seeing the overwhelming appreciation for his short clip, a spark ignited in his mind. He had the billions, the server power, and he clearly had the creative vision. But Siddanth was also a pragmatic businessman; he wasn't going to make a vanity project that burned money. If he was going to produce a high-budget mythological epic, it needed a massive, guaranteed draw to prevent any financial loss at the box office.
I would need a star face, he thought, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the dining table. If I capture the likeness of a massive superstar for Lord Rama, and use them for the motion capture and marketing, the theatrical returns would be guaranteed.
He made a mental note to bring Arjun into the office later that week to discuss the logistics of setting up an animation studio under the NEXUS umbrella.
---
Miles away in the bustling commercial hub of Hitec City, Krithika walked into her corporate office building. She looked entirely normal in her elegant, navy blue formal kurti, holding her laptop bag. But tucked safely beneath the cotton fabric, resting warmly against her collarbone, was a thin silver chain. Hooked onto the chain was the flawless solitaire diamond ring. They had agreed to keep it a secret from the general public for just a little longer, wanting to see how long the internet's detectives would take to figure out who the mystery girl was.
She swiped her ID card and took the elevator up to her floor. She sat at her desk, booting up her computer to start analyzing the Q3 market data.
Almost immediately, three women from her department rolled their ergonomic chairs over, clutching their coffee mugs like lifelines.
"Krithika, did you see Twitter?!" Sneha, her colleague, asked, her eyes wide with dramatic desperation. "He's engaged. Siddanth Deva is officially off the market."
"I saw the video," Priya, another colleague, sighed dramatically, leaning over the cubicle partition. "Whoever that girl is, she is the luckiest woman on the planet. Can you imagine getting proposed to like that? By a billionaire who also happens to be the World Cup winner?"
Krithika kept her face neutral, nodding slowly and adopting a look of shared, tragic disappointment. "I know, right? Absolutely crazy. I guess my backup plan is officially ruined. Good for her, though."
"The internet detectives can't find a single trace of her!" Sneha groaned. "No leaked photos, no tagged locations. Whoever she is, she's a ghost."
Krithika turned back to her monitor, suppressing a massive, blinding smile. She pulled out her phone, hiding it behind her coffee mug, and quickly typed a message to Siddanth on Flash Messenger:
Headache: My entire department is talking about the video. They are currently cursing their luck and talking about how lucky the mystery girl is. I am acting very devastated.
A few seconds later, her phone buzzed with his reply.
Mama's Boy: They are just jealous of the Princess of Mithila. Focus on your work, Sita.
Krithika bit the inside of her cheek, trying desperately not to laugh out loud in the middle of the silent office floor. She pressed a hand over her collarbone, feeling the cool metal of the hidden ring, and opened her spreadsheets. The secret was safe.
---
The next afternoon, the sprawling living room of the Deva estate was transformed into a traditional meeting ground. Siddanth's family and Krithika's family sat opposite to each other on the ground. The heavy teakwood center table had been pushed aside to make room for a woven mat.
Sitting on the mat, with several ancient-looking almanacs (Panchangam) and astrological scrolls spread out before him, was Sastry garu, their trusted family priest.
Anjali sat cross-legged near the priest, watching with wide-eyed curiosity as he traced his finger across the Janma Kundali (birth charts) of both Siddanth and Krithika, mapping the precise planetary alignments.
After several minutes of silent, complex calculations, Sastry garu looked up, adjusting his thick, wire-rimmed glasses. A deeply contented smile spread across his weathered face.
"The charts are incredibly compatible," Sastry garu announced, his voice carrying a soothing weight. "Both individuals bring profound balance to one another. Looking at the upcoming auspicious windows, I have calculated two ideal Muhurthams."
The room quieted down, everyone leaning in with bated breath.
"For the formal Nischitartham (engagement), the alignment is perfect on November 11th," the priest declared. "And for the Vivaham (marriage ceremony), December 3rd is exceptionally strong. It is an auspicious month that will bring long life, immense prosperity, and unbreakable harmony."
Subba Rao looked at Vikram. "December 3rd. That gives us a solid six months to plan everything."
"It's perfect," Vikram nodded happily.
Siddanth and Krithika exchanged a quiet, glowing glance across the room. The countdown to forever had officially dates attached to it.
The priest packed his charts, and Sesikala insisted that he stay for lunch. The entire group moved to the grand dining room for a massive, traditional Telugu Bhojanam served on fresh banana leaves.
As lunch concluded and Sastry garu washed his hands, preparing to leave, a highly typical, intense cultural standoff occurred at the front door.
Subba Rao quickly pulled out a thick white envelope of cash to offer as Dakshina (respectful payment) to the priest. Instantly, Vikram stepped forward, blocking his path gently with his own envelope, shaking his head.
"Absolutely not, Subba Rao garu. You are the guest in my house today. I will handle the Dakshina," Vikram insisted, his pride as a host flaring up.
"Nonsense," Subba Rao argued politely but stubbornly, trying to step around him. "It is for my daughter's wedding dates. It is my duty to offer the respects."
"I am the groom's father, and it is my roof," Vikram countered, refusing to back down an inch.
Siddanth, who had been watching the two fathers stubbornly block each other with a bemused sigh, calmly walked between them. Without a word, he fluidly plucked the envelope out of Subba Rao's hand, and then plucked the second envelope out of his father's hand.
Both older men blinked, startled.
Siddanth combined the envelopes, bowed his head deeply, and respectfully handed the unified stack to Sastry garu, touching his feet for a blessing. "From both our families, Sastry garu."
The priest beamed, blessed Siddanth, and departed, leaving Vikram and Subba Rao looking at their empty hands before chuckling warmly at their own stubbornness. The crisis was averted.
With the dates tentatively set, the families moved to the sunlit patio with their coffee, immediately launching into the most critical, intense part of any Indian wedding: the catering and the venue.
"First of all, let us establish one thing," Vikram stated, leaning back in his chair. "We are incredibly fortunate that budget is absolutely not a constraint for this wedding. We can have whatever we want."
"We need authentic, heavy Telugu food," Subba Rao declared, his eyes lighting up. "I don't want any of this modern fusion nonsense at the main events. Pure, traditional spices."
"Agreed," Vikram nodded enthusiastically. "We will hire the absolute best traditional cooks from All around Telangana and Andhra. There will be no exclusions. Mutton biryani, live counters for Royyala Vepudu (prawn fry), endless traditional vegetarian spreads like Gutti Vankaya and Gongura Pachadi. The guests should be eating for three days straight."
"What about the venue?" Suma asked, pulling out a notepad. "For a wedding of this scale, considering Siddanth's guests, we need a massive convention center. Or maybe a grand destination wedding at a palace?"
Siddanth, who had been quietly listening beside Krithika, finally spoke up.
"No destination weddings, and no standard convention centers," Siddanth stated clearly.
Everyone looked at him.
"I've been thinking about this," Siddanth continued, leaning forward. "This wedding is going to be heavily covered by the media, whether we want it to be or not. I want to use that massive attention for something better. I want a purely authentic Telugu wedding, and I want to use it to give global recognition to the handlooms, artisans, and unrecognized workers of Telangana."
Krithika looked at him, her eyes softening with deep admiration.
"Instead of giving crores to massive hospitality corporations, we will build the venue ourselves," Siddanth explained. "We can rent a massive open ground—maybe forty acres—and have art directors construct an entire village modeled strictly after the ancient Kakatiya Kingdom architecture. Authentic stone carvings, massive pillars, and traditional houses built around the main Mandapam where the guests can actually stay."
He looked at his parents and Krithika's parents. "And for the clothes, we won't buy from major designer labels. Rahul will personally travel to the villages in Pochampally, Gadwal, and Narayanpet. We will commission the local weavers to custom-make every single silk saree, dhoti, and garment for both families and the guests. The venue decorations will be made entirely by local handicraft workers."
The patio fell completely silent.
Vikram slowly smiled, a look of pride crossing his face. Subba Rao nodded slowly, deeply moved by the scale and thoughtfulness of the idea.
"You want to route the entire budget of a lavish billionaire wedding directly into the grassroots economy," Subba Rao summarized quietly. "To the people who actually preserve our culture."
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded. "It will be traditional, it will be incredibly lavish, but the money goes to the people who deserve it, not big corporates."
Sesikala walked over and gently placed a hand on her son's broad shoulder. "It is a beautiful idea, Siddu. We will do exactly that."
Nothing was formally confirmed or booked yet, but as the families sat together on the patio, happily debating the logistics of building a Kakatiya kingdom from scratch, the vision of the wedding had never been clearer.