Then—
BOOOOOOM.
A massive drum echoed across the entire stadium.
The sound shook the ground beneath my feet.
The crowd instantly erupted.
"IT'S STARTING!"
Students began running toward the arena gates. Vendors shouted over each other. The giant screens around the stadium flickered to life, displaying names, brackets, and glowing symbols of the five groups.
A deep voice rang through the speakers.
"All first-year participants, report to the preparation hall immediately."
My stomach tightened.
Mukund adjusted his glasses.
Ruchi closed her book quietly and stood up.
Advait smirked behind his namkeen stall.
"Well," he said, tossing a packet into the air and catching it again, "Best of luck for your first tournament."
Mukund nodded.
"Thank you," Ruchi said.
I laughed nervously.
Then the three of us started walking toward the arena entrance.
The closer we got, the louder everything became.
Drums. Cheers. Announcements.
As we entered the stadium, above us thousands of voices merged into one deafening roar.
The smell of smoke, food, dust, and sweat mixing together in the air.
And above all of it—
The massive arena waiting for us.
My first tournament.
We rushed toward the participants' area. Ladders led down below the stadium. There were all the Gurukul students, arranged according to their respective groups, talking and discussing. Long benches lined the walls.
In a corner bench sat our team. Trayaksh bhaiya waved at us.
We went there. All the team members were there—Prabhave and Harsh too. They also looked different from when I last saw them.
"Ready?" Trayaksh bhaiya asked.
"Yup!" Ruchi said with excitement.
There was a large screen on the wall showing the stadium above. The principal, PE sir, Guru Dhyan, and other teachers were performing a ceremony—a puja in front of a massive Hanuman ji murti covered in chandan. Mantras were being chanted by pandits.
Then I noticed something.
In the farthest corner of the room, someone sat alone.
He was wearing a hoodie so his face wasn't visible.
I was going to ask Trayaksh bhaiya who he was, then—
The chants slowly faded.
Smoke from the havan rose toward the open ceiling.
Then the stadium lights dimmed.
A spotlight fell onto the center stage.
Kiara ma'am stepped into the spotlight, mic in hand.
The crowd slowly quieted down.
"Good morning, everyone," she said with a smile. "And welcome to the annual Balaji Gurukul Tournament."
Cheers erupted through the stadium.
"For many of these students... this will be their very first real tournament."
The giant screens behind her lit up with names and brackets.
"Over the next few days, students from all groups will compete, earn points, and prove their abilities in front of Gurukul teachers, YODHA leaders, and all of you."
She looked around the stadium.
"As always, safety barriers and healing teams are active throughout the arena, so participants are expected to fight seriously—but responsibly."
Some students around me laughed nervously.
Kiara smiled slightly.
"The rules are simple. Ring-out, surrender, or knockout counts as defeat. Intentionally trying to kill another participant will result in immediate disqualification. Musti Yudh, Malla Yudh, and Loh-Musti are allowed in the tournament. And for third years onwards, use of weapons is not allowed."
She paused.
"The tournament will be a double-elimination tournament. Students who lose in a round will also be given a chance to stay in the tournament. Points, byes, and eliminations will be decided by the judges."
She raised her arm toward the VIP section.
"Let me introduce you to the judges of the tournament."
The screen shifted toward the judges.
"Our first judge is none other than the YODHA Leader."
The audience shouted in excitement.
The YODHA Leader stood up. A tall man, broad-shouldered, with a calm face and sharp eyes. He wore simple white robes, but the emblem on his chest marked him as the highest authority among YODHAs.
"Thank you, everyone," he said with a small smile.
"And the other judges are the leaders of the five YODHA groups—Agni, Jala, Vayu, Bhu, and Akash."
The camera shifted toward them.
All the leaders were waving at the crowd.
I recognized them instantly.
My brother — Leader of the Agni group. His red hair gleamed under the lights. He wasn't smiling. He was scanning the crowd like a general surveying a battlefield.
Purv's father — Leader of the Jala group. Water element. Same confident smile as his son. Same dark blue hair.
Tapesh — Leader of the Vayu group. Wind element. Younger of them all. Everyone called him the false prodigy—the weakest among the leaders despite his talent.
Poorvi di's mother — Leader of the Bhu group. Earth element. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, arms crossed. She looked exactly like Poorvi—fierce and unshakable.
And finally—
Chandrika.
The most mysterious of them all. Leader of the Akash group. Moon element.
She had the fairest skin I had ever seen. Almost white. Her hair flowed like pale moonlight down her shoulders. White robes covered her from neck to toe. Everything about her felt colorless. Untouchable.
And her eyes were wrapped in white cloth.
Some said her eyes were purple. Like the night sky. Like someone had trapped stars in them.
She didn't wave. She just sat there. Still. Silent.
Even through the screen, she felt... far away.
"And our final judges are..."
The screen shifted again.
"The Principal of the Gurukul and Guru Dhyan."
The Principal stood up. He was small. Old. Not as old as Guru Dhyan, but close. His voice crackled through the speakers.
"Hello, everyone."
The crowd cheered.
Guru Dhyan nodded from his seat. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence was enough.
The screen changed again.
A tournament bracket appeared above the arena.
First Round Matchups.
I saw my name.
Raghav vs. Purv.
Third match.
My heartbeat started rising again.
Kiara ma'am raised the mic.
"Now then..."
She smiled.
"Let's begin our tournament with the first years."
The crowd erupted into applause.
The screen shifted to two students.
"The first match will be between Harsh and Ribhav."
The crowd murmured. Names flashed across the giant display.
Ribhav. The electricity user.
I had heard about him. Three cables attached to his back, moving like living serpents. Flexible. Fast. Lethal. One of the five first-years who got selected into Parakastha.
He stood at the entrance of the arena, already stretching. Cables floated behind him, crackling with faint blue energy.
Harsh sat beside us, his face completely still.
No expression.
No nervousness.
Just... empty.
Bhakti bhaiya leaned over and tapped his back.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "Just remember our training."
So Bhakti bhaiya was training him.
Harsh didn't nod. Didn't speak. He just stood up.
He walked toward the arena entrance.
Ribhav was standing there, cables swaying, Sparks snapped through the air around them. A confident smirk on his face. He looked excited. Ready.
Harsh didn't even glance at him.
He just walked past.
Ribhav's smirk faded. He turned, staring after Harsh.
"What's his problem?" he mumbled. "At least talk sometimes."
He shook his head and followed Harsh into the arena.
The massive gates opened.
Sunlight flooded the arena.
Harsh walked out first.
The crowd cheered loudly—but he didn't react. Not a glance. Not a smile. Just walked, steady and silent, like nothing around him mattered.
Ribhav stepped out behind him. Electricity crackled from the cables attached to his back, arcs of blue light jumping between the metal tips. The audience erupted even louder.
They reached their positions.
Kiara raised her hand.
"Participants ready?"
Harsh silently took his stance.
Ribhav grinned.
"Born ready."
"Begin."
Ribhav charged at him instantly.
His cables lashed forward like whips—fast, wild, electric. One aimed straight for Harsh's chest.
Harsh didn't move. Didn't dodge.
He just stepped to the side.
The cable whipped past him, inches from his face. Blue sparks flickered in the air where it had passed. His expression never changed.
Ribhav's grin twitched.
"Lucky."
He attacked again. Two cables this time—one high, one low. He increased the current on them. Blue arcs jumped between the metal tips. He was sure they would land.
Harsh moved again. A slight shift of his shoulders. A small step back.
The cables passed through empty air.
The crowd gasped.
Ribhav's face tightened.
He lunged forward, all three cables striking at once—a web of electricity closing around Harsh.
Harsh dropped.
Not fell. Dropped. Like his bones had vanished.
The cables crossed above him, sparking against each other.
Ribhav didn't stop. He kept attacking. Cables spinning, striking, wrapping. Harsh kept dodging—rolling, slipping, twisting. His body moved like it wasn't touching the ground.
But Ribhav was getting frustrated.
"You left me with no choice!"
He used all of his power.
The wires started sparking violently—high current, blinding light. The air around them crackled. Ionized. Heavy.
He spun. Fast.
Aimed for Harsh's head.
Harsh barely dodged it.
A tiny spark touched his cheek. A small burn. His first hit of the fight.
It was getting harder for Harsh to dodge. Ribhav's attacks were wilder now. Faster. Less predictable.
But still—Harsh kept moving.
Then Ribhav cornered him.
Back against the wall. Nowhere to go.
Ribhav grinned, breathing hard. "Now where are you going to run?"
The sparks in his cables dimmed.
Flickered.
Died a little.
Ribhav glanced back at them. Confusion flickered across his face.
"So," Harsh said quietly, "you're running out of Prana."
Ribhav's eyes widened.
"Your power is dangerous," Harsh continued. "But it uses a lot of Prana. Right?"
"You—"
Ribhav charged.
But he didn't make it.
His legs stopped moving.
He started to fall—slow, like he was trying to do a Michael Jackson pose. Trying to lean, trying to stay up.
Then we saw it.
Wrapped around his legs—tight, unmoving—was Harsh's snake.
Harsh didn't waste the chance.
He grabbed his hairs and drove his knee into Ribhav's head mid-fall. Ribhav hit the ground hard. Before he could recover, Harsh punched him in the face. Once. Twice.
Ribhav tried to wipe his cables.
Harsh grabbed one. Yanked it. Punched him again.
"Ribhav is knocked out," Kiara's voice rang through the stadium. "He can't continue."
The crowd erupted.
Harsh stood up slowly.
His snake slithered back up his arm, disappearing beneath his sleeve.
His expression never changed.
"Ribhav is unable to continue!" Kiara ma'am announced. "The winner of the first match is—Harsh!"
The stadium exploded with cheers.
First match.
First knockout.
Even I felt shocked.
Harsh walked back toward the participants' area without looking at the crowd.
Like the match meant nothing to him.
Meanwhile, in another section of the stadium—
The members of Parakastha were watching silently from their benches.
Raj grabbed his hair in frustration.
"What the hell was Ribhav doing?" he snapped. "He wasted too much Prana too early."
Bhakti bhaiya leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed.
"What happened?" he asked with a grin. "Disappointed?"
Raj glared at him.
Bhakti smirked wider.
"Careful, buddy. Save some disappointment for later too."
Raj stepped forward angrily—
But Samarth raised a hand.
Instantly, Raj stopped.
The entire group fell silent.
Samarth's eyes remained fixed on the screen above.
"Okay, exciting..." Kiara ma'am spoke through the screen. "First match, first knockout!"
The crowd cheered.
"Next match—Prabhave versus Tapish."
Prabhave shot up from his seat. He started shadow boxing immediately, fists cutting through the air, feet light and fast.
"Let's go... finally my turn!"
He turned to Prayan.
"Bhaiya, watch. I will not let your training go waste."
Prayan's face didn't change much. But his eyes—his eyes were soft. He smiled. Just a little. Then he patted Prabhave's head.
Prabhave grinned and ran toward the arena entrance.
From the other side of the preparation hall, someone stood up.
Tapish. From the Rakshak group.
His movements were slow. Deliberate. He always covered his left eye with a red cloth—bound tight, hiding whatever was beneath.
I wonder what his power is, I thought. He never revealed it.
He walked past us. Didn't look at anyone. Didn't speak.
Just walked.
The gates opened.
Sunlight flooded the arena.
Prabhave burst out first, still bouncing on his feet, throwing punches at the air. The crowd loved him. They cheered before he even reached his position.
Tapish walked out behind him. Slow. Steady. With a seriousness in his face. His red eye patch caught the sunlight like a warning.
They reached their positions.
Kiara raised her hand.
"Participants ready?"
Prabhave dropped into a stance. Low. Solid. His fists were up, shoulders loose, weight balanced.
"Born ready," he said.
Tapish didn't answer. Just stood there.
"Begin."
Prabhave didn't wait.
He shot forward—fast, explosive. His first punch aimed straight at Tapish's chest.
Tapish didn't move.
He smiled.
Prabhave was getting closer.
Then Tapish lifted his red cloth.
Underneath—
His eye was already open.
Wide.
Unblinking.
The iris was red. Blood red. Veins popped out near his eye, spreading like cracks in glass.
He raised his hands in front of him, fingers curled—like he was grabbing something invisible.
Prabhave was just inches away. His fist almost touching Tapish's face.
Then he stopped.
The crowd went silent.
Tapish looked at Prabhave.
Prabhave didn't move. His eyes were wide. Confused. His fist still raised, just hanging in the air.
"What—" I started.
Trayaksh bhaiya didn't answer. He just observed. His face was stone.
The crowd was dead silent.
Tapish walked toward Prabhave. Maintaining eye contact. Maintaining his grip on something we couldn't see. Slow. Calm.
He stopped in front of him.
"You're strong," Tapish said. "Your brother trained you well."
Prabhave couldn't answer. Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Like something invisible was squeezing him.
Tapish tightened his grip.
"But strength doesn't matter if you can't use it." He said it with force.
Prabhave's body jerked. His eyes rolled back.
And then—
He fainted. Mid-air. Still frozen, then limp.
Tapish released his grip.
Prabhave fell to the ground. Unconscious.
"He—he can't continue," Kiara ma'am said, her voice uncertain.
The crowd exploded—confusion, shock, arguments.
Kiara looked at the judges. They nodded.
"Winner: Tapish."
Tapish pulled the red cloth back over his eye.
He walked toward the exit. Didn't celebrate. Didn't smile.
Medics rushed onto the arena. They lifted Prabhave onto a stretcher. His head lolled to the side, still unconscious.
Trayaksh bhaiya stood up.
So did Prayan.
Neither of them said anything. They just walked toward the medical room exit.
I watched them go.
The arena felt colder.
As they rushed toward the medical room, someone laughed.
Rough.
Mocking.
"Your Prabhave couldn't even last three minutes."
I turned.
Raj.
From the Parakastha group.
He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, grinning like he had personally won the match himself.
Bhakti bhaiya stopped walking.
Then slowly turned around.
"At least he lasted longer than you did," Bhakti said with a lazy smile. "You got folded in microseconds."
A few students nearby snorted.
Raj's grin disappeared instantly.
"The hell did you just say?"
Bhakti shrugged.
"You heard me."
Raj stepped forward, fists clenched.
The air between them suddenly felt heavy.
Then—
"And the next match... Raghav versus Purv... will begin shortly."
Kiara ma'am's voice echoed through the entire stadium.
Everything around me faded.
The noise.
The crowd.
The argument.
My heartbeat slammed against my chest.
Purv.
It was my turn.
too be continued....