AATHREYAN POV...
The roar of forty thousand people in New Delhi was nothing but white noise to me. They were praying for a win, but I don't believe in prayers I believe in the grip of my bat and the violence of a well-timed strike.
England had set a target of 371. Sudip and Jai had done their bit, but then Sudip fell, and the stadium went silent like a graveyard. Vishal, our captain, was out there playing his "composed" game, stabilizing the collapse. By the time we hit 220 for 3, another wicket fell. I saw Vishal strike his bat hard against the ground in frustration as he saw me walking out.
I didn't give a damn about his frustration.
I was too busy arguing with my grandmother through my earbud.
"Grandma, no matter what you say, I am not coming to Nithin's reception. And I won't come to his wedding either," I snapped, my voice laced with venom. "I have a match. I have to go out there now. There's no time."
"I don't care about all that," her voice crackled in my ear. "You must come right after this match. Your father is already looking for a chance to throw you out of this house. Don't give me excuses, finish quickly and come. Otherwise-"
I cut the call before she could finish. My coach, Vinod, tried to get in my face. "Aathreyan, it's time. Go to the crease immediately, and then..."
I didn't stay to hear his "and then." I ignored him,I wear my jersey 14 taped my bat, pulled on my gear, and adjusted my helmet. My eyes felt like glowing embers, and I didn't hide the disdain I felt for everyone as I walked toward the pitch.
"Bro, we need 150 more runs, what should we do?" asked as I reached him.
"Look here, Chotu," he said, using that nickname that always grated on my nerves. "You've just come to the crease. Play calmly first."
I looked at him, my lip curling. "Bro, I can't play patiently like that. Is this Test cricket for me to stand and play slowly? We need 150 runs in 80 balls. Playing like this won't work."
I didn't wait for his approval. From the very first ball, I swung my bat like a storm. I didn't just hit the ball; I punished it. It soared. The crowd, who had been silent, began to rejoice. I hit my half-century in a blur of aggression, while Vishal eventually reached his century at the other end.
Then, the England pacer sent a bouncer straight at my head.
CRACK....
The ball hit my helmet squarely. I saw the physiotherapist running out and signaled him to stay back with a sharp jerk of my hand.
"Chotu, are you okay?" Vishal asked, concern in his eyes.
"I'm okay, Bro," I muttered, but my eyes were locked on the England players. I felt a surge of pure contempt. "It's them who are not okay now."
I took off my helmet to fix my hair, a villainous smile spreading across my face. I knew my sharp canine teeth made me look menacing, and I didn't care.
The physio tried again: "Aathreyan, take a break for a few minutes?"
I put my hand on his shoulder, gripping it just enough to make him feel it. "Why? Not necessary."
I adjusted my gloves. My eyes felt like they were glowing red with rage. I saw the bowler pause, fear flickering in his eyes as he looked at me. He ran in to bowl, and I did something they didn't expect. Though I had been playing right-handed all season, I switched my grip to my left.
I played a pick-up shot that left the stadium breathless. I am Ambidextrous, but I keep them guessing. The opposition captain looked like his world was collapsing. I sent every ball toward the boundary and beyond. It wasn't a game anymore; it was fireworks, and I was the fuse.
When we reached 360 for 3-ten runs needed from twenty balls-everyone expected me to finish it. Instead, I took a single and gave the strike to Vishal. He looked at me, confused. I ignored him. Fame? Fame is a dog that should seek its master. I don't chase it.
Vishal finished it with two sixes. India won the series 2-1.
As the players lined up for handshakes, I bypassed the lot of them. I walked straight to the coach. "I am leaving now. I can't stay here any longer. I have work. Take care of all this," I told him, my words coming out in a cold rush. "I won't come to the celebrations. Don't call me. Don't disturb me for six days. I won't be at practice or the next match. I need leave."
"But Aathreyan-"
"I've said what I needed to. Talk to my P.A."
I was walking away when the announcer called my name for 'Man of the Match.'
Vinod insisted, so I walked onto the stage with a heavy, reluctant stride.
"Aathreyan! Unbelievable performance! What do you have to say?" the announcer gushed.
"It is my duty," I said flatly. "I did what was necessary for the team to win. That's all."
The announcer smiled, oblivious to my mood. "A very humble answer! You played just like your father, the legend Shiva! Like father, like son! You have made him proud!"
The mention of that name felt like a slap. My face hardened. My amber eyes narrowed. He held out the award, but I didn't reach for it. I didn't say a word. I turned my back on him and walked down the steps.
In a fit of pure rage, I grabbed the tight Indian jersey and ripped it off my shoulders, letting it fall into the grass like trash. I knew the cameras were on me. Let them see. Let them see the roaring Alpha Wolf tattooed across my shoulders. Let them see the Lion's head on my chest, roaring in pain.
I exited the stadium and saw the security guards waiting by the cars. One approached me, trembling slightly. "Sir, Shiva Sir has ordered you to come home immediately. If you refuse... he has instructed us to bring you by force."
I snapped my fingers. Someone handed me my cigarette. I lit it, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and looked at the guard with a villainous smile. "By force? Nobody in this world can do anything without my consent. Go tell your boss. No one will see me for six days. I am not coming to Nithin's reception or his wedding. Tell Shiva that if he watched the match, he'd understand how an Alpha hunts. I'm leaving."
I walked past the fleet of Rolls-Royces. I
didn't want them. I walked toward my shadow-my RX 100 Yamaha, Akhita. I got on and looked at the bodyguards. "If anyone follows me, I am not responsible for their lives. I've been wanting to test how to perform an autopsy on a living person. Follow me, and you'll be the subjects."
I was about to kick-start the bike when a voice called out, "Machan."
It was Sudesh. The only one I tolerated. I stayed silent, blowing smoke into his face.
"Hey Machan, why so early? You'll be breaking news tomorrow," he said.
"So what? I can't act for them. I don't need that. They are writing the truth, I appreciate the effort, but I won't change. If that's all you have to say, leave. Or you won't be playing the next match because I'll cut off your hand and burn it."
I went to leave, but he said something that stopped me cold. "Are you doing all this only to avenge your father?"
I didn't answer. My silence was his answer.
"I understand," Sudesh continued. "They see you as his shadow, and you hate it. But why spoil your own name? You only talk to the captain and me. Why are you so selfish? Be human, Aadhu. Be a little less emotionless."
Something snapped. I reached out and grabbed his neck, choking the words out of him. The guards scrambled to help him, but then a sports car screeched to a halt.
"Aadhu, are you going to let him go now, or not?"
Vidhurhan. My older brother.
"Vidura, this has nothing to do with you," I growled.
He didn't listen. He freed Sudesh and then-before I could react-he delivered a powerful slap to my cheek. The world went still.
"Take him to our house," Vidhurhan told the guards, pointing to Sudesh. Then he looked at me. "Grandma is waiting. I promised her. If you don't come, I won't approve your dream project. You can leave now, but in half an hour, I will bring you home-conscious or on a stretcher. You decide."
He sped away. I sat on my bike, my cheek stinging, my mind racing. He slapped me. In front of everyone.
I pulled out my phone and called my PA, Charan. "He wants to touch my dream project? Then I'll touch his. Burn all the cars in his garage. Immediately."
"Sir... please," saran stammered. "He hates it if anyone touches them... they are worth crores... please think-"
"Who is the boss here? Do it. If you don't burn the cars, I will burn your family."
I hung up and rode away, weaving through traffic at a speed that would kill a normal man. Police sirens started wailing behind me. Let them follow.
I arrived at my private villa and dived into the pool. I swam with a desperate, increasing speed, trying to drown the rage.
While Aathreyan was out on the streets causing chaos, the atmosphere inside the family mansion was like a pressure cooker. Shiva, pacing the floor with a phone in his hand, was watching the live news of Athreyan ripping off his jersey. He finally exploded, turning his fury toward his mother, Rekha.
Shiva ,"It's all because of you! Only because of you he is behaving like this! Do you know what he did today after the match? He has no respect or discipline-concepts you never bothered to teach him!"
Rekha sat in her chair, appearing to listen, but her face was a mask of indifference. This only made Shiva angrier.
Shiva, "Look at what he has done! My name, my fame, my reputation... all ruined! He is useless to me. I told you a long time ago to throw him out of this house, but you didn't listen. You showered him with love just because he is your grandson. Now look! He creates problems every single day! I can't even sleep peacefully. And you... you fought with me to let him play cricket. See? He is proving he isn't even fit to play. He is destroying the trust people have in our family!"
He pointed a trembling finger at the television.
Shiva, "Look! He is riding a bike without a helmet! This is live on social media! My honor is gone. I should have put that madman in an asylum years ago. If you care about me at all, tell him to stop playing. Tell him not to ruin my reputation... and tell him not to call me his father!"
With that final insult, Shiva slammed his way out of the room.
As soon as Shiva left, the room became deathly quiet. Rekha slowly reached up and pulled out her earbud. She hadn't heard a single word of Shiva's screaming. She looked at her eldest grandson, Nithin, who was standing there in total shock.
Rekha,"Nithin, call Vidhurhan and find out what happened. And bring me a cup of tea."
Nithin stared at her, his jaw dropping.
Nithin,"How did you avoid Dad like that, Grandma? He was screaming! He hates it when people don't listen, but you didn't hear anything. How is that possible?"
Rekha, "He is my son. I am his mother. Whatever temper he has, I have more. Now, leave this matter. Think about how Aathreyan is going to stop your wedding."
Nithin felt the blood drain from his face.
Nithin, "What? Why would he stop my wedding? What does he gain?"
Rekha, "What does he gain? You know your father is only doing this wedding for a business deal. You don't like the girl. You don't like the marriage. We all pretend not to see your pain because of Shiva. But Aathreyan... he is doing all of this for you. Remember that."
She stood up to leave, pausing at the door.
Rekha, "Tell Aadhik about this. He will take care of it. You don't need to interfere."
she was left the place.
Nitin was looking him in mirror
The mirror didn't lie, but it didn't tell the whole truth either. Standing there, Nithin looked every bit the billionaire heir-his black velvet designer suit sat perfectly on his shoulders, the fabric catching the light with a dull, expensive sheen. To the world, he was the lucky groom. But as he tugged at his silk tie, the silk felt like cold wire. It wasn't a garment; it was a noose.
In the world of the "Legendary Shiva," there was no room for error. Every detail of this South Indian grand reception had been engineered for power-from the gold-threaded invitations to the calculated seating of political giants. Nithin was the centerpiece of a business merger, a human contract signed in his father's blood-red ink.
"He's doing all of this only for you."
His grandmother's voice was a ghost in his ear. He looked at his reflection and saw a stranger-a man trading his soul for "status." His father had been blunt: the girl Nithin loved was a commoner, a distraction. This wedding was the price of his father's "grace."
The sharp chirp of his phone broke the silence. The screen glowed with a viral video that made Nithin's blood run cold. There was Aathreyan. No helmet, no fear, just raw, unadulterated rage as he tore through Delhi traffic on his RX 100, sirens wailing in his wake.
Nithin whispered his brother's name, a realization dawning on him like a cold sweat. Aathreyan wasn't just acting out; he was martyring his reputation. He was becoming a public scandal so toxic that the bride's family would have no choice but to call off the deal.
The "psychopath" brother was the only one brave enough to be a villain to save Nithin from being a victim.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. "Sir, the guests are arriving. Shiva Sir is asking for you on the stage."
Nithin took a shallow breath, his hands feeling like blocks of ice against his suit jacket. He had to go out. He had to stand under the blinding white lights of the hall, walk past the thousands of judging eyes, and mask his agony with a groom's smile.
As he stepped out of the room and toward the grand hall, he didn't pray for a long life or a happy marriage. He prayed for the storm. He looked toward the entrance, waiting for the sound of a roaring bike and the chaos only Aathreyan could bring.
Because if the storm didn't break this wedding tonight, Nithin knew he would be buried alive in this suit.
The roar of the RX 100 was still ringing in my ears even after I killed the engine at my villa. But it was the phantom sting on my cheek that truly fueled me.
The image of Vidhurhan's hand connecting with my face played on a loop in my mind. He thought a slap would tame me? He thought he could threaten my dream project and I would just crawl back to that house? He didn't know me at all.
I picked up my phone and called saran. "Burn them," I ordered, my voice like dry ice. "Every single car in Vidhurhan's garage. If you leave even a hubcap unburnt, I'll burn your family next."
I didn't stay to hear his pleading. I drove to my villa-my sanctuary. This was the only place on earth where the "Legend Shiva" had no power. Here, I was the only law. Anyone who entered without my word didn't leave with their breath.
I stripped and dove into the outdoor pool. I swam. I didn't swim for exercise; I swam to outrun the fire in my blood. My arms slashed through the water, my speed increasing with every lap, but the rage wouldn't subside. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. My father's face.
"Aadhu, come up."
The voice was soft, but it cut through the splashing. Raksha. My sister.
I broke the surface, gasping for air, the water dripping from my hair. I looked at her, my eyes cold. "Sister, please, don't interfere in this. If I say I won't come, I won't. Don't keep trying to force me. Did that man send you to spy on me?"
"Aadhu, talk respectfully," she said, her voice steady. "He is our father."
I slapped the water, a massive spray flying into the air. "He is your father! As far as I'm concerned, that man is a stranger I happen to share blood with!"
"But Aadhu," she countered, walking closer to the edge, "your appearance tells everyone you are his son. Your look is the proof."
Those words were like a dagger. "Yes! I look like him! And that is exactly why I hate myself!" I roared, the echo bouncing off the villa walls. "Every time I look in the mirror, I see his ghost staring back at me. Every time some idiot says, 'You look exactly like the legend Shiva,' I feel like slitting their throats right then and there."
I climbed out of the pool, the muscles in my back tensing. I stepped toward her, my shadow towering over her. "But I can't do that. You know why? Because of the promise you made me give you. You know what I am, Raksha. You called me a psychopath once. If you hadn't chained me with that promise..."
I leaned in, looking straight into her eyes, letting the darkness in my soul show. "I would have killed them long ago. Brutally."
Raksha froze. I could see the air leave her lungs, her body trembling under the weight of my gaze. Seeing her afraid of me-the only person I actually gave a damn about-made the fire in me flicker.
I pulled away without another word and threw on a robe. I walked to the table and poured a glass of Jack Daniel's. Two ice cubes. A quick stir. I took two long sips, the burn of the alcohol matching the burn in my chest. I let out a heavy sigh and looked back at her.
"But you know I've never said no to anything you've asked," I muttered, my voice dropping an octave. "So, just as you said... I will come to Nithin's reception."
She looked relieved, but I didn't want her gratitude. Not today. "You leave now," I said, dismissively. "I'll be there."
I watched her go, then finished my drink. If they wanted the "Replica" at their party, fine. But I was going to make sure it was a night they'd never forget.