Ayaan stepped toward Ritesh, his pace slow and deliberate. With every inch he gained, Ritesh felt the cold hand of dread tightening around his throat. To the boy with the gold watch, it didn't feel like a student was approaching him; it felt like death itself was wearing a human skin. Ayaan's face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes were as cold as a mountain glacier.
"Ritesh, remember this," Ayaan said, his voice a low, lethal vibration. "I might tolerate you insulting me. I might even tolerate your petty games. But the moment my sister's name comes out of your mouth again... I will pull out your tongue and feed it to the dogs. Remember that."
Ayaan turned and walked away without giving Ritesh a second glance. He left behind a shattered reputation. The incident had been witnessed by dozens of students; phones had been out, recording every second of the "Titan's" return.
"Who the hell is that guy?" "Is he a new teacher? Did you see the guards fly?"
The gossip spread like wildfire. Within minutes, a photo of Ritesh standing in a yellow puddle went viral on the university's internal forums.
In a high-rise office downtown, Ritesh's father was reviewing a merger when his phone began to scream with notifications. Ping. Ping. Ping.
"Who is bothering me at this hour?" he growled, swiping his screen. The first image that loaded was his son—shaking, humiliated, and soaked. It wasn't just a slap to Ritesh; it was a public execution of the family's prestige.
His face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He hit the speed dial.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?! COME HOME IMMEDIATELY!" he roared into the receiver, not even waiting for an answer.
On campus, Ritesh's phone slipped from his trembling fingers. Tears finally breached his eyes. The "Prince of the University" was gone; in his place was a broken boy who scrambled toward his luxury car and drove away in a blind panic.
Ayaan, meanwhile, had reached the university lobby. He glanced at his phone. 9:58 AM. His first class started in exactly two minutes. When he realized whose class it was, his stomach did a somersault that no Prana could stabilize.
Professor Durga Menon. The name alone sent shivers through the student body. She was a legend—strict, fierce, and possessing a "no-nonsense" attitude that could make a Maharathi sweat.
"Of fucking course it's her. I am so dead," Ayaan muttered. He rushed to the elevators, only to find a bright yellow signboard: OUT OF SERVICE. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
"FUCK!"
A soft, melodic chuckle drifted from behind him. "Yo, what happened to our mountain boy? Did you stub your toe?"
Ayaan spun around to see Ishani. She was leaning against a pillar, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"The elevator is dead," Ayaan groaned.
"Well, we can walk," she suggested brightly, as if she had just solved one of the great mysteries of the universe.
"You haven't checked the time, have you?" Ayaan asked. He held up his phone screen. 10:00 AM.
"Uh, why such a fuss? We'll just tell whoever the teacher is that we're sorry and find a seat," Ishani said, unfazed.
"That is where you're wrong. Go on, take a look at that brick you call a phone and tell me who the teacher is."
Ishani pulled out her phone, her expression confident. But as she read the schedule, her eyes—usually as deep as caviar—suddenly turned as wide as dinner plates.
"We're fucked, aren't we?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Well, why be afraid? Let's just go and say sorry," Ayaan joked, throwing her own words back at her.
"Oh, fuck off, Mountain Man! She'll behead us before we even get a foot inside the door! FUCK!"
"My words exactly."
Ishani's face suddenly paled as another realization hit her. "Wait... what day is it?"
"Wednesday. Why?"
"FUCK! This is Infinite Time! We have an exam today!" Ishani practically shrieked.
The two of them shared a look of pure, unadulterated terror. In that moment, the "Azure Storm" and the "Lady of the Blue Eyes" vanished. They were just two students staring at the face of academic execution.
"Run?" Ayaan asked.
"Run," Ishani confirmed.