The sun had barely climbed above the jade mountains of Valorea when word spread through Agnivardhan Academy like wildfire:
"A newcomer challenged Raghav Varma to a duel!"
Students flooded toward the Eastern Combat Arena, a circular courtyard carved into a mountainside, surrounded by towering stone statues of legendary cultivators. Betting slips were already exchanging hands. Half the academy thought it was a prank. The other half showed up for blood.
Suraj Bajaj, meanwhile, was still trying to figure out which end of the sword he was supposed to hold.
"Guru ji..." he whispered, squinting at the polished weapon someone had tossed him. "This thing has two sides. Which one makes me look smarter?"
"Neither. You're holding it like a frying pan, beta. Turn it the other way unless you want to become 'Zero the Skewered' in your debut."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, definitely knew that."
He adjusted the grip and took a deep breath. Across the courtyard, Raghav Varma was already shirtless and flexing, firelight dancing along his abs like he'd oiled them for this exact moment. Probably had.
[Scanning Opponent: Raghav Varma]
[Cultivation: Spirit Flame Stage 3]
[Weaknesses: Fire burns too hot → tires quickly. Ego overcharged. Weak left knee. Hair is still dyed. Emotional trigger: mentions of his mother's obsession with embroidery.]
"Suggested Opening Line: 'Did your mommy stitch that robe? Such fine embroidery!'"
"Guru ji, you're evil."
"You installed me. Don't blame the manufacturer."
The announcer, a bored senior disciple with a gong and an oversized mustache, cleared his throat.
"Combatants, step forward. This is a duel by Flame Rule. No lethal techniques, unless you're rich enough to pay fines."
Raghav smirked. "I'll finish this in one move."
Suraj gave a lazy smile. "Make it two. I want to stretch."
Gasps rippled across the audience. Raghav growled and raised both hands. Flames spiraled around him.
"Blazing Tiger Palm!"
He charged. His body shimmered with spiritual fire.
Suraj stood still.
"Simulating paths... Loading most insulting dodge..."
"Option 1: Pretend to trip, land on your knees, let him overshoot, and slap his butt with the sword's flat."
"No."
"Option 2: Leap over him, flick his ear, and call him 'beta.'"
"Tempting..."
"Option 3: Parry with the wrong end of the sword, grin, and ask if he wants haircare tips."
"Oh, absolutely."
Raghav lunged. Suraj barely tilted his wrist. The blunt end of his sword knocked Raghav's flame away. Suraj leaned in and whispered, "Ever tried conditioner? That red looks... crispy."
Laughter erupted in the audience.
Raghav screamed and launched a second attack. "Fiery Meteor Drop!"
"Note: He'll leap, spin, and try to kick your head. Side step, poke his armpit — it's the ticklish one."
"Seriously?"
"100% success rate. Tickling is undefeated in all realms."
Raghav somersaulted into the air. Suraj casually sidestepped and jabbed the air.
Thwack!
Right into Raghav's underarm.
The fire cultivator yelped, flailed mid-air, and crash-landed in a fountain.
The arena exploded in howls. Even the announcer had to cover his mouth.
"Outcome: Public humiliation achieved. Victory: Pending confirmation."
Raghav stumbled out of the fountain, soaked and livid. "You! You used dishonorable tricks!"
Suraj gave him a mock bow. "It's not dishonorable if it works."
"Next Suggestion: Use his signature move against him. He'll either cry, combust, or both."
Suraj spun his sword, mimicking Raghav's earlier stance.
"Blazing Tiger Palm!"
Only his was slower… exaggerated… and paired with finger-guns and pelvic thrusts.
Even the statue of Elder Shatrughan at the arena's edge seemed to cringe.
Raghav screamed, charged, and… slipped. On his own fire.
Face. Meet stone.
The announcer blinked, then rang the gong.
"WINNER: SURAJ BAJAJ!"
📚 Aftermath
As students erupted in disbelief and laughter, one figure at the edge of the crowd watched silently.
Wrapped in layered dark robes with a silver veil, the mysterious woman sat beneath a cherry blossom tree near the temple steps. Her eyes locked on Suraj. Her name?
Avi Manchanda.
High Empress of the Shadow Lotus Sect. No one recognized her here, not yet.
But she saw something in Suraj Bajaj's ridiculous movements — a flicker of purpose, as if this idiot had a thread to the heavens others had missed.
Back in the arena, Suraj stretched and yawned. "Whew. That was fun. Guru ji, we're unstoppable."
"Please. I did all the work. You're just the lucky finger attached to my greatness."
"Modest as always."
A shy voice spoke from the edge of the crowd.
"Umm… excuse me, senior…"
Suraj turned. A boy around his age — skinny, underfed, with uneven robes and a bruise forming on his cheek — stepped forward.
"I'm Dhruv. That was… incredible. Can you teach me?"
Suraj blinked. "You want to learn tickle combat?"
Dhruv scratched his head. "Honestly, I just want to stop getting kicked in the ribs every day."
"Potential sidekick detected. Loyalty probability: 89%. Punchability: low."
Suraj smiled. "Alright, Dhruv. First lesson — never bow to someone who hasn't earned it."
Dhruv straightened up, a spark of pride in his chest.
As the crowd dispersed, Raghav limped away, soaking wet and fuming.
Behind him, three of his lackeys glared at Dhruv.
Later that day, they found him alone by the well.
"Still breathing, worm?" one of them hissed.
They lunged.
"Dhruv's health: low. Intervention requested."
Suraj arrived, holding a ladle of soup. "Gentlemen. Might I recommend some chili powder? Because I'm about to roast you so hard—"
They turned.
Ten minutes later, they were all in the well.
Floating.
Crying.
Dhruv looked at Suraj with wide eyes. "You're not a genius. You're insane."
Suraj winked. "Same difference."