The first kick broke something inside him.
Ayaan didn't know if it was a rib or just his will to stand—but the moment the leather boot slammed into his side, the world tilted.
"Hahaha! Look at this fool. He doesn't even have the guts to fight back!"
Pain exploded through his body. He hit the ground hard, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth before he could even breathe. His vision blurred as warm liquid streamed from his nose, mixing with the dirt and oil of the university pavement.
"You think you're special, Ayaan?"
Ritesh crouched down, his gold watch glinting under the dim streetlights like the eye of a predator. "You come from the gutter—a piece of trash—and you dare to look at someone above your station?"
He grabbed Ayaan's collar and forced his face up.
"Look at yourself. You're not even a side character. You're a glitch."
Laughter erupted behind him—loud, hollow, obedient. Not because it was funny, but because Ritesh's father owned half the district. In this world, money wasn't power.
It was law.
Ayaan had been their punching bag for months.
But today…
today was different.
Today, it was because of her.
Ishani.
The campus "Goddess." Wealthy. Brilliant. Untouchable.
And for some reason… kind to him.
She had shared her notes. Smiled at him. Spoken to him like he existed.
That was enough to make him a target.
"Boys," Ritesh said, standing up and adjusting his collar, "break him."
They didn't hesitate.
It wasn't a fight.
It was an execution.
Punches rained down like a storm. Boots crushed into his ribs, his back, his face. Ayaan curled into himself, trying to protect his head, but a kick slammed into his jaw—
Crack.
Something broke.
"You pathetic worm!" someone shouted. "You really thought a girl like Ishani would ever look at you?"
The world became noise. Pain. Pressure.
Then even that faded.
Finally, Ritesh stepped forward one last time and spat on him.
"Don't ever speak to her again," he said coldly. "Don't even breathe the same air."
Their laughter faded into the distance.
Ayaan lay there.
Not moving.
Not thinking.
Just… existing.
Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass.
But still—
he forced himself to move.
Because he had to go home.
Ayaan lay there for a long time, listening to the fading sound of their laughter. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. His legs were shaking, but he forced himself to crawl toward a brick wall, using it to haul his broken body upward.
He had to get home. He had to.
Home was a shack in the heart of the slums, a place defined by the foul stench of open sewers and the constant hum of flies. Waiting for him there was Sunidhi, his older sister. She was only twenty-four, but she had been a mother to him since their parents died when he was five. She worked three back-breaking jobs—cleaning, cooking, and sewing—just to keep him in that university.
I can't let her see me like this, Ayaan thought, a sob catching in his throat. She's sacrificed everything for my future. If she sees this... it will kill her.
He stumbled through the dark alleyways, taking a shortcut that smelled of rotting garbage and damp earth. Suddenly, the air changed. The city's filth was replaced by a sharp, piercing scent—the smell of ancient incense and cold mountain air.
Sitting on a stone ledge was a man. He looked like an ancient relic fallen into a modern nightmare. His hair was long and matted, his clothes were tattered rags, and he held a traditional smoking pipe that emitted a strange, silver smoke.
The Sage didn't look interested at first. But as Ayaan limped past, the old man's head snapped toward him. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, widened in shock.
"Hahaha! Of all the places I searched... the Himalayas, the Ganges, the hidden ashrams... I find him here," the Sage whispered. His voice was deep, resonating like a temple bell. "A man with such Prana. You are an untouched diamond buried in a pile of coal, boy."
Ayaan blinked, his vision dizzy from the blood .
In a literal blink of an eye, the man vanished from the ledge. Before Ayaan could even gasp, the Sage was standing inches from him. It was impossible. No human could move that fast. The Sage reached out and pressed a single, calloused finger to the center of Ayaan's forehead.
Thump.
A wave of intense, surgical heat surged through Ayaan's veins. It felt like liquid gold was being poured into his bones. The agonizing pain in his ribs vanished. The swelling in his jaw subsided. The deep, jagged cuts on his face knitted back together with a faint, sizzling sound.
"Kid, this life you're living... this is a lie," the Sage said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You weren't born to be a victim. If you want to know what you truly are, come to the old graveyard at the edge of the city at midnight tomorrow. But understand this: if you come, you must bid your sister farewell. The path I walk has no room for the weak of heart."
Before Ayaan could utter a single word, the Sage vanished. No smoke, no sound. Just empty, cold air.
Ayaan stood in the silence of the alley, his heart hammering against his ribs—ribs that no longer hurt. He looked down at his hands. The blood was gone. His clothes were still torn and dirty, but the wounds beneath them had simply... ceased to exist.
He finally reached the slums, pushing open the creaky wooden door of his home. The small room was filled with the steam of lentils. Sunidhi was sitting at the small kitchen table, her tired eyes fixed on her phone.
"Ayaan? Why are you so late?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.
"Oh... just had a project at the library. Lost track of time," Ayaan lied, his voice trembling slightly.
"Sit. The dinner is getting cold." She looked up then, her eyes searching his face for a long moment. "You know I won't eat a single bite until you're at the table. Wash up."
They ate in a heavy silence. Ayaan kept his head down, terrified she would notice the tear in his shirt or the way his hands shook. Why isn't she saying anything? he wondered. I was covered in blood five minutes ago. Is it really gone?
After the meal, Ayaan rushed into the tiny, rusted bathroom and locked the door. He splashed cold water on his face and looked into the cracked, yellowed mirror.
He froze.
His face was smooth. The tooth that had been cracked was perfect. There wasn't a single bruise, not even a faint red mark where Ritesh's boot had landed. It was as if the laws of physics had been rewritten just for him.
Ayaan touched his jaw, a cold shiver running down his spine. The Sage wasn't a hallucination. The "Untouched Diamond" wasn't a joke.
Tomorrow night, at the graveyard, the background character was going to die. And someone else would take his place.