The next morning, when Rudra woke up, he felt unusually relaxed. A strange lightness spread throughout his body. He quickly realized that the hidden injuries he had been carrying were completely gone—and more than that, his strength had seemingly doubled overnight.
Shocked, he sat up abruptly. Is this a dream? To confirm, he slapped his thigh—hard.
"Ah—!" he winced as pain flared and a bruise started to form.
The sharp sound echoed through the house. A moment later, his mother rushed out of her room in a panic.
"Rudra! What happened?" she asked, alarmed.
Seeing him sitting on the bed without any injuries, she let out a relieved sigh.
"Why on earth did you hit yourself?" she asked, confused.
"Uh… nothing," Rudra muttered, clearly embarrassed.
She narrowed her eyes, then shook her head with a sigh. "Honestly… Fine. Go freshen up and eat quickly. I need to leave for work soon."
"Okay," Rudra replied with a sheepish nod.
...
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...
After finishing his morning routine, Rudra sat down to eat breakfast. His mother joined him quietly at the table, the mood subdued.
"Rudra…" she began hesitantly. "About yesterday… I'm sorry. I should've understood your intentions. As your mother, I should have supported your dreams. But instead… I lashed out. That's not what a parent should do."
Her voice was low, filled with guilt. She didn't meet his eyes.
Rudra looked at her, touched by her words, but didn't interrupt.
"It's okay, Ma," he said gently. "I didn't take it to heart. You're the one who's always been there for me. Even if you did hit me… I know it came from worry, not hate. I understand."
His tone was soft, his words full of warmth.
His mother smiled faintly, eyes glistening. "You've grown up so much."
"Okay. I've finished my breakfast. I'm heading to the gym for practice now. Bye, Ma," Rudra said, pushing back his chair.
"Be careful!" his mother called after him.
He gave her a quick nod and stepped out of the apartment.
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...
The gym was located a few blocks away. After a brisk walk, Rudra arrived and headed straight to the training ground. It was a wide, open space with padded flooring and reinforced walls to withstand impacts from high-intensity training. Around the room, several racks stood tall, each stacked with a variety of weapons—blades, spears, staffs, and more.
Rudra's gaze swept across them. He didn't have any strong preferences when it came to weapons, but he had spent the most time with blades. They felt familiar in his hands—an extension of his body.
He made his way toward one of the racks holding swords and blades, most of them categorized by series and type. His hand paused over a sleek, dark-edged weapon from the Dark Fire series. Its blade shimmered faintly under the overhead lights, a muted red glow flickering across its edge.
"This one…" he muttered.
With a firm grip, he pulled the blade free and stepped into an open space. His breathing slowed. Then, with focused precision, he began practicing the blade techniques taught by his instructor—stances, footwork, slashes, and parries.
Each movement felt sharper than before. More fluid. His control over the blade had improved dramatically overnight.
What's going on with my body? he wondered as he flowed from one form into the next, the blade cutting through the air with a faint whistle.
But there was no time for doubt now. He had to test his limits.
Time passed quickly. Before he knew it, the sun was high in the sky, casting warm beams through the gym's high windows.
Rudra sat alone on a bench near the edge of the training ground, a towel draped around his neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Sweat clung to his skin, but his mind was far from exhausted—it was racing.
Not just my strength... he thought, gazing at his hand. My speed, reflexes—even my comprehension have all improved. I can sense angles, timing, and energy flow like never before.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, lost in thought.
What kind of force could cause such a transformation in a human?
It wasn't normal. The change that occurred overnight was nothing short of a miracle. Hidden injuries vanishing without treatment. Physical parameters doubling. A body refined as if sculpted by some higher existence.
For an average Earthling—especially one still limited by current human evolution—such a transformation bordered on the divine.
Was it a dream? A mutation? Or… something else? The sensation he felt last night, like a warm current soothing every fibre of his being, lingered in his memory. It wasn't just healing. It was a complete internal refinement.
Seemingly small at first glance, this change had pushed him far beyond his previous limits. If this continued...
He closed his eyes for a moment.
I need to understand what happened. And more importantly… why it happened to me.
Rudra eventually stopped thinking. As much as he wanted answers, he knew that his current strength and resources weren't enough to uncover the origin of the mysterious change within him.
I need to get stronger first, he resolved silently.
After finishing his training, he stepped out of the training hall and made his way to the canteen for a light meal. His stomach growled softly—a reminder that even miraculous power-ups didn't erase basic human needs.
Inside the canteen, the air was filled with the usual hum of chatter and clinking cutlery. Rudra picked up a food tray and scanned the area for a place to sit. But before he could move further, a sudden commotion broke out near the entrance.
A small crowd had gathered. Whispers spread quickly through the group.
"Hey, look... It's Rohan—the guy who used to mess with everyone."
"Tch. That bastard's back."
"Why is he even allowed in here?"
The name Rohan hit Rudra like a switch. His calm expression darkened in an instant, his eyes turning cold and sharp.
Rohan...
He was the one person Rudra disliked more than anyone else in the entire gym. Arrogant, cruel, and petty. But worse than that—he was the one who had spread malicious rumours about Rudra's mother.
Just the memory of those days made Rudra's jaw tighten. He lowered his tray slowly and turned toward the entrance.
There, swaggering in with a smug grin, was Rohan—tall, muscular, with a cocky air like he owned the place.
The crowd instinctively parted, some out of caution, others out of fear.
But Rudra didn't look away.
As soon as Rohan's group spotted Rudra, their swagger vanished. They came to a halt almost instinctively. A few of them even started stepping back, their bravado crumbling in the face of a memory still too fresh.
Just a week ago, Rudra had single-handedly beaten them down in a sparring session that felt more like a punishment. The bruises might have faded, but the pain—and the humiliation—still lingered.
The tension was thick, and the canteen fell silent.
But then, Rohan stepped forward.
"Yo, look who's here," he called out loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Our little prodigy. The so-called combat genius… Rudra Singh, aka Fatherless Child."
The words echoed like a slap across the room.
The air shifted.
Even Rudra, usually calm under provocation, was momentarily stunned. His eyes narrowed slowly, the cold glint in them turning razor sharp.
Fatherless Child.
That was a wound Rohan had once used to exploit mercilessly, until Rudra had shut him up—violently. Since then, Rohan had stayed quiet, licking his wounds in the shadows. For him to speak like this again, openly, confidently…
Something was off.
Rudra didn't move. His expression didn't change. But inside, he was already putting together the pieces.
He wouldn't dare unless… he thinks something's changed.
Was Rohan bluffing? Backed by someone? Or had he gotten stronger himself?
The crowd watched in uneasy silence, waiting for Rudra's response. Some looked away, not wanting to be caught in what might turn into a storm. Others leaned in, hungry for drama.
But Rudra didn't rush. He simply stared at Rohan, quiet, composed—deadly calm.
Let's see what game you're playing this time.