CHAPTER 17: A HERO’S PROMISE
The classroom was silent, except for the scratching of pens and the occasional sigh of frustration.
Ajit sat at his desk, staring down at the final page of his exam. His mind was blank.
Not from nerves. Not from fear. From exhaustion.
His ribs still ached from his fight with Iron Fist. His knuckles were bruised, his muscles sore. And now? Now he was supposed to write an essay on post-colonial economic policies.
His leg bounced under the desk. He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left.
Across the room, Rajesh was already leaning back in his chair, twirling his pen, clearly finished. Ajit scowled.
Two seats ahead, Padmini tapped her pen against her desk—three quick beats. Their signal. Focus.
“You can’t save the city if you can’t save yourself, Ajit.”
Her words echoed in his head.
Ajit exhaled. Picked up his pen.
And started writing.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even good. But he fought through it.
Because for once, the battle wasn’t against crime. It was against himself.
The clock hit zero.
Ajit dropped his pen.
It was over.
The air outside the exam hall was thick with tension and relief. Some students groaned about the test, others laughed in exhausted triumph.
Ajit stepped into the corridor, stretching his stiff shoulders. He felt like he had just survived a war.
Rajesh strolled past, flipping his pen in his fingers. “Well, at least we know you didn’t fail spectacularly.”
Ajit shot him a look. “Inspiring confidence as always.”
Rajesh smirked. “I’m just saying—miracles do happen.”
Padmini approached, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Then she flicked him in the forehead.
“Ow.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Ajit sighed. “I—”
“Do not say you ‘did your best.’” Padmini wagged a finger. “Because we both know you didn’t.”
Ajit hesitated. “…I did better?”
Padmini sighed, shaking her head. “Come on. Walk with me.”
They fell into step, leaving Rajesh behind as the hallway emptied. The noise of the university faded into the background as they moved toward the campus gardens.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then—“So what now?” Padmini asked.
Ajit knew what she meant. What happens to us?
She had always been there. Pushing him. Challenging him. Keeping him human.
But with everything he was—Naga Man, the Nagamani, the war that never seemed to end—could he really give her what she deserved?
Ajit exhaled. “I don’t know.”
Padmini nodded, like she expected that answer. “I figured.”
She stopped walking, turning to face him.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said quietly. “And I’m not asking you to change. I just…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I need to know if you actually want this. Us.”
Ajit met her gaze.
And for once, he didn’t hesitate.
He reached for her hand. Laced his fingers through hers.
“I do.”
Padmini’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“Good.”
She squeezed his hand, then kept walking—pulling him along with her.
Because whatever came next?
They would face it together.
The crowd stretched across the city square, a sea of voices and anticipation. Banners fluttered in the evening breeze, golden floodlights illuminating the grand structure at the center of it all—the Babruvahan Monument.
Ajit stood near the back, his hood drawn low, watching in silence.
The statue was massive, carved from pristine white marble. Babruvahan, the warrior prince of legend, stood tall, his sword raised toward the sky, his face set in quiet determination.
A symbol of resilience. A tribute to those who had fought and fallen for Imphal.
Ajit swallowed hard. Laxman should have been here.
Padmini nudged him gently. “You okay?”
Ajit didn’t answer at first. He just stared at the statue, his mind filled with memories—of battles fought, of blood spilled, of the weight of every decision that had led to this moment.
“I don’t know if I deserve to stand here,” he admitted finally.
Padmini sighed. “You always do this.”
Ajit glanced at her. “Do what?”
“Act like you’re separate from the people you protect.” She motioned to the crowd. “Look at them, Ajit. They’re not here because of some ancient war. They’re here because they still believe in this city. Because of you.”
Ajit let out a slow breath. Because of him.
From the podium, the mayor cleared his throat, his voice booming through the speakers.
“Imphal has suffered. We have endured wars, crime, and darkness. But we are still here.” He gestured to the statue. “And this monument will stand as a reminder that our strength does not come from the absence of struggle—but from the will to rise again.”
The crowd erupted in applause.
Padmini nudged Ajit again, her voice softer now. “You’re still needed.”
Ajit looked back at the statue one last time, then toward the crowd.
The city was healing. Moving forward.
Maybe it was time he did the same.
The neon lights of Imphal flickered against the wet pavement as the city pulsed with restless energy.
Ajit crouched on the edge of a high-rise, his golden tendrils flickering behind him like restless vipers. The night felt different now.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t hunting out of vengeance.
He wasn’t fighting because he was angry.
He was fighting because it was right.
Down below, in a shadowed alley, a mugging was in progress. A man in a leather jacket pressed a trembling shopkeeper against the wall, the gleam of a knife flashing under the streetlamp.
Ajit didn’t hesitate.
He leaped from the rooftop, flipping midair, firing a web of golden venom. The toxin-infused strands wrapped around the mugger’s wrist, yanking him backward.
The thug barely had time to register what was happening before Ajit was there.
One punch. Two ribs cracked.
A quick sweep to the legs. The mugger hit the ground hard, gasping for breath.
Ajit crouched beside him, voice calm. “Walk away from this life.”
The man’s eyes widened in fear.
Ajit stood, letting the golden energy around him fade. This was how it was supposed to be.
Not an endless war. Not a desperate fight to control himself.
Just Naga Man. A protector of the people.
Somewhere, in the distance, a siren wailed.
Ajit smirked.
The city still needed him.
And tonight, he was ready.
The dim glow of Rajesh’s laptop flickered against his glasses as he stared at the screen, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.
Lines of code scrolled past—encrypted files, buried government reports, hidden transmissions. Every layer he cracked only led to another locked door.
And then—he found it.
A final message.
The text was old, corrupted, some of it missing, but the words that remained sent a cold chill down his spine.
PROJECT NAGAKANTA – FINAL OBSERVATION LOG
DATE: [REDACTED]
WARNING: ENTITY DETECTED
PHASE SHIFT INITIATED – COSMIC WAKE INTERFERENCE
DO NOT ATTEMPT CONTACT
DO NOT ATTEMPT CONTACT
DO NOT—
The file cut off.
The screen glitched.
Then—the entire system crashed.
Rajesh sat back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Something was coming.
Something older than the Nagamani.
Something the government had tried to bury.
He swallowed hard, reaching for his phone. Ajit needed to see this.
FINAL SCENE
(Ajit stands atop a skyscraper, looking over Imphal. He exhales. Smirks.)
The wind whipped against Ajit’s face as he stood on the rooftop, the entire city stretching beneath him.
The night was alive with movement—cars weaving through neon-lit streets, voices rising from crowded markets, the distant hum of music from rooftop bars.
Imphal was healing. But the war wasn’t over.
It never would be.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Rajesh.
Ajit didn’t answer. Not yet.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply.
Then, he smirked.
“Let’s do this.”