Aryan stood outside the Old Sports Block at 6:27 AM.
The building looked abandoned.
Paint peeled off the walls. The windows were dusty, some cracked. Grass grew through the concrete floor near the entrance, as if nature itself had tried to erase this place.
Why would anyone train here?
He checked the paper again.
Old Sports Block – 6:30 AM
Right place.
Wrong feeling.
Aryan hesitated. For the first time since yesterday, fear returned—not the fear of getting caught, but the fear of stepping into something he wouldn't be able to leave.
He pushed the door.
It creaked loudly.
Inside, the air was cold and smelled of rust and sweat. Old gym equipment lay scattered around—broken mats, rusted weights, cracked mirrors.
"You're early."
Aryan froze.
Mr. Sen stepped out from behind a pillar, hands behind his back.
"You came," he said, not surprised.
"I just… wanted answers," Aryan replied.
Mr. Sen nodded. "Good. Because questions are safer than excuses."
Mr. Sen walked slowly across the hall.
"Tell me," he said, "did it feel good?"
Aryan clenched his fists.
"No," he answered immediately.
Mr. Sen stopped walking.
"Liar," he said calmly.
Aryan looked down.
"It felt… powerful," Aryan admitted. "And that scares me."
For the first time, Mr. Sen smiled—not proudly, but knowingly.
"That fear is the only reason you're standing here," he said.
"Anyone who enjoys hurting others doesn't last long."
He pointed to the floor.
"Stand there."
Aryan obeyed.
"No punching. No kicking," Mr. Sen said.
"Today, you'll only learn one thing."
Mr. Sen suddenly moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Before Aryan could react, Mr. Sen was right in front of him. Aryan felt pressure on his chest—not pain, just control. He couldn't move.
"This," Mr. Sen said quietly, "is strength."
He stepped back.
"And this," he continued, "is restraint."
Aryan's heart pounded.
I didn't even see him move.
"Again," Mr. Sen said.
They repeated it.
Every time Aryan tried to react, he failed. He stumbled, lost balance, hit the floor more times than he could count.
Sweat soaked his uniform.
"Why am I so slow?" Aryan gasped.
Mr. Sen crouched beside him.
"You're not slow," he said. "You're scared of your own power. Your body hesitates because your mind is still apologizing."
Those words hit harder than any punch.
After an hour, Aryan collapsed onto the mat.
Mr. Sen handed him a bottle of water.
"Listen carefully," he said. "What happened yesterday wasn't an accident."
Aryan looked up.
"There are students," Mr. Sen continued, "who break limits under pressure. Schools don't know what to do with them."
"So you hide them?" Aryan asked.
"We observe first," Mr. Sen corrected. "Then we decide."
"Decide what?"
Mr. Sen's eyes hardened.
"Whether they need protection… or control."
Aryan felt a chill.
"Do I have a choice?" he asked.
Mr. Sen was silent for a moment.
"Not yet," he said honestly.
As Aryan left the Sports Block, he noticed something new.
Footprints.
Fresh.
He wasn't the only one training there.
From behind a broken window, someone watched him leave.
Someone young.
Someone nervous.
Someone just like him.
At school later that day, Aryan felt different.
Not stronger.
More aware.
When Raghav walked past him in the corridor, their eyes met.
Raghav looked away first.
Aryan didn't feel proud.
He felt responsible.
Neha noticed the bruise on his arm.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
Aryan hesitated.
Then said, "Training."
Neha frowned. "Training for what?"
Aryan didn't answer.
Because for the first time, he truly didn't know.