The next morning, my life had officially become a stealth mission.
Step 1: Hide the alien super-weapon.
I had wrapped my left wrist in a thick crepe bandage, telling my mom I sprained it tripping over a cat. She bought it. Riya had texted me a threat at 3 AM reminding me to "keep a low profile."
Low profile. That was my specialty. I was the background extra. The tree in the school play.
But the universe had other plans.
"Alright, listen up, maggots!" Coach Singh blew his whistle, the sound echoing off the gymnasium walls. "Today, we are playing Dodgeball. And since the inter-school qualifiers are coming up, we are playing by Hunter Rules."
The class groaned.
"Hunter Rules" meant the balls were slightly heavier, and headshots were legal.
"Team Captains!" Coach bellowed. "Vikram, you take Red Team. Rohan, you take Blue Team."
My stomach dropped.
Vikram Malhotra.
If I was an NPC, Vikram was the Main Character of a different, much more expensive show. His father was the CEO of Astra-Tech, the company that made weapons for the military. Vikram was rich, handsome, top of the class, and rumored to have already awakened a "Hunter Ability" (genetic superpowers that some kids got).
He stood in the center of the court, looking bored. He didn't just wear the gym uniform; he modeled it.
"I'll take... Arjun, Sameer... and the transfer student," Vikram picked his team like he was selecting soldiers for a war.
Rohan, my best friend and poor captain of the Blue Team, looked at the leftovers. Me.
"Uh... I guess I'll take Aryan," Rohan sighed.
"Sorry, dude. Try not to die."
The game started as a massacre.
Vikram's arm was a cannon. He didn't just throw the ball; he launched it. Within two minutes, half my team was out, nursing bruised ribs.
I stood at the back, near the wall, trying to look like part of the scenery.
Just stay still, I told myself. Don't draw attention.
"Hey, Sprain-Boy!"
I looked up. Vikram was holding a red ball, staring right at me. He had a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You're the only one left," Vikram said.
I looked around. He was right. Rohan had been eliminated seconds ago. It was me vs. Vikram and three of his lackeys.
"Just surrender, Aryan!" Rohan yelled from the bench. "Save your face!"
"I'm trying!" I whispered.
Vikram wound up. He didn't hold back. He channeled energy—actual visible mana—into his arm. The air rippled around his shoulder.
He's using a Skill, I realized. In a gym class? Is he insane?
"Incoming," Vikram stated calmly.
He threw it.
The ball screamed. It wasn't a whoosh; it was a shriek. It blurred through the air, aiming straight for my face.
My brain screamed: DODGE.
My body screamed: MOVE.
But then, the bracelet under my bandage hummed. Just a little.
A passive effect. Adrenaline Override.
Suddenly, the world slowed down.
I saw the rotation of the ball. I saw the sweat flying off Vikram's forehead. I saw the dust motes floating in the air. The ball, which was supposed to be traveling at 100 km/h, looked like a balloon floating gently toward me.
Too slow, my instincts whispered.
I didn't dodge. I didn't think.
I raised my "sprained" left hand.
THWACK.
The sound was like a gunshot.
Silence fell over the gym.
I was standing there, arm extended. The bandage was slightly smoking.
I was holding the ball. I had caught Vikram's kill-shot with one hand.
"Uh oh," I whispered.
Time sped up again. The gym erupted.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?"
"HE CAUGHT IT!"
"ARYAN CAUGHT A VIKRAM SPECIAL!"
I looked at Vikram. His bored expression was gone. His eyes were wide, focused entirely on me. He looked... insulted.
"Throw it back!" Rohan screamed. "Get him out!"
I panicked. I just wanted to end the game so I could go hide in the bathroom.
Just throw it gently, I told my arm. Just a light toss.
I threw the ball.
I forgot that my body was still humming with the residual energy of a god.
The ball left my hand.
BOOM.
It broke the sound barrier. A shockwave knocked me backward onto my butt.
The ball flew across the court. Vikram didn't even have time to blink. It missed his head by an inch—thank god—and slammed into the gym wall behind him.
CRASH.
The ball exploded.
Not popped. Exploded. Rubber shrapnel flew everywhere. A spiderweb crack appeared in the concrete wall where the ball had hit.
Dead silence again.
Coach Singh dropped his clipboard.
I lay on the floor, staring at the destruction.
"I think..." I squeaked into the silence. "I think that ball was defective, Coach."
The Locker Room
I tried to change quickly, but my hands were shaking. I had messed up. I had messed up big time.
"Aryan."
I froze. I didn't turn around. I knew that voice.
Vikram walked up to my locker. He was shirtless, wiping sweat off his neck with a towel. Up close, he was even more intimidating.
He didn't look angry. He looked... analytical.
"That was a nice throw," Vikram said softly.
"Luck," I said, shoving my shirt into my bag. "Pure luck. I work out... sometimes."
Vikram leaned against the lockers, blocking my exit.
"My throw was clocked at 110 kilometers per hour. You caught it one-handed with a 'sprained' wrist."
He reached out, his hand hovering over my bandaged arm. I flinched back.
"I don't know what you are," Vikram whispered, his eyes cold and sharp. "But nobody hides power in my school. I'm the Ace here. If you're a threat... I'll find out."
He patted my shoulder. It felt like a threat.
"See you around, Aryan."
He walked away.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
My phone buzzed. It was Riya.
Saw the gym feed. You are an idiot. Meet me on the roof. Now.