////18+ Warning////
A sharp, muffled sob pulled Ajay Choudhary from his drunken slumber. His head pounded, the bitter taste of alcohol lingering in his mouth. He groggily sat up, his body heavy from the excessive drinking the night before.
Empty liquor bottles cluttered the bed, some rolling to the floor as he moved. He reached for the nearest bottle, finding only a few drops left. Annoyed, he tossed it aside and ran a hand through his messy hair.
Then, the crying grew louder.
His eyes narrowed as he turned toward the dimly lit corner of the room, where a young woman sat trembling, her hands covering her face.
Ajay sneered, staggering to his feet. "A new maid?" His voice was hoarse, laced with mockery. He tilted his head, studying her with a twisted smirk. "You look good."
But then—something in his hazy mind shifted. A flash of red roses. A bouquet thrown at his face. A sharp sting of humiliation.
His smirk twisted into a scowl.
For a split second, he didn't see the maid. He saw her.
Anaya.
The very thought made his blood boil. His grip tightened around another bottle on the nightstand. Without warning, he hurled it at the maid.
The glass shattered against the wall beside her, making her scream and flinch violently.
Ajay let out a bitter chuckle, stepping forward. "Tsk. You should be grateful," he muttered, his voice dripping with resentment. "At least you didn't get a bouquet to the face."
-----
The woman's agonized scream echoed through the room, piercing through the stale air. She clutched her arm where a shard of glass had grazed her skin, blood trickling down her trembling fingers.
Before she could even react further, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
Bhanupratap Choudhary stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping across the disheveled room before landing on his son. His expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of irritation passed through his eyes as he saw the mess Ajay had created—again.
With an exasperated sigh, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Get in here," he commanded coldly.
Moments later, a man in a crisp suit entered—the personal assistant.
Bhanupratap gestured toward the crying maid. "Throw the trash out." His voice was devoid of emotion.
The PA nodded and moved toward the terrified woman, but Bhanupratap raised a hand, stopping him for a moment.
"Settle it with money first," he added indifferently. "If she refuses… well, make sure she vanishes. We don't need unnecessary noise."
The maid's sobs grew louder, but neither Bhanupratap nor Ajay paid her any further attention.
Instead, Bhanupratap turned to his son, observing the dark storm still raging in Ajay's eyes. He walked toward him, resting a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Enough," he said in a low, authoritative voice. "I know what's bothering you. I'll handle it."
Ajay exhaled heavily, his fists still clenched. After a moment, he nodded and stormed off to the bathroom.
As the steaming water cascaded over his face, his mind refused to let go of the humiliation. The image of that damn bouquet slamming into his face replayed over and over, fueling his anger.
That girl… Anaya.
His fingers curled into a fist against the shower wall.
He had to do something.
An hour later, he finally emerged, dressed sharply yet still carrying a faint scowl.
Descending the grand staircase, he spotted his father seated in the main hall, engaged in a serious discussion with a group of politicians. Their voices were low, but the intensity in the room was unmistakable.
Intrigued, Ajay approached and took a seat beside his father.
Bhanupratap briefly acknowledged him with a glance but continued speaking.
The weight of the conversation pulled Ajay in. Whatever they were discussing—he wanted in.
---
The grand hall, dimly lit by the chandelier's glow, buzzed with low murmurs as Ajay sat among seasoned politicians. The discussion about the last presidential election was growing more intense.
"In the last election, our alliance had a major advantage," one politician stated.
Another nodded. "Yes, the probability of our victory was 60 percent at the time."
Bhanupratap swirled his whiskey glass, his deep voice cutting through the room. "And don't forget—the incident at that university pushed our chances to 70 percent."
A veteran politician sighed, rubbing his temples. "Indeed. The university disaster remains the biggest stain on the Aditya The president's record after his 30 years in power."
Ajay, clearly irritated, scoffed. "If we had a 70 percent chance, then why the hell did we still lose?"
Before anyone could respond, a familiar voice echoed from the doorway.
"Ajay sir," the man called out smoothly, stepping into the light. "I don't have all the details, but from what I've gathered, we lost… and he won because of some conspiracy surrounding him ."
Ajay's eyes narrowed as he recognized the speaker—the cunning reporter Shyam who had been following him for weeks.
The politicians turned their heads, some frowning at the unexpected guest.
Bhanupratap raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"
Shyam The reporter smirked, adjusting his coat. "Oh, I was simply passing by when I heard an interesting discussion. And you know me… I can't resist a good conspiracy."
Ajay crossed his arms. "If you're just here to stir up nonsense, then leave."
The reporter chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't dare waste your time. But isn't it odd? Despite having every advantage, the election still slipped from your hands?"
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Bhanupratap's expression darkened. "Speak clearly. What conspiracy?"
The reporter leaned against the doorway, his grin widening. "Let's just say… someone moved the chess pieces before the game even began. And if you really want to know, you should start by looking at the people closest to the president Aditya."
Ajay's grip tightened on his chair. "You better not be playing games with me."
The reporter shrugged. "I'm just here to share breadcrumbs. Whether you follow the trail or not… that's up to you."
-------
The reporter leaned in slightly, his smirk widening as he continued.
"Once again, we had high probability—strong backing, momentum, and public support. Yet, we lost."
Bhanupratap's patience thinned. "Don't repeat what we've already discussed. Get to the point."
Ignoring Bhanupratap's irritation, the reporter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, but the details matter, don't they? After all, we weren't simply defeated. The odds were tilted, and I recently discovered something… unusual."
Ajay's brow furrowed. "Unusual?"
The reporter took a slow step forward, his voice dropping into a lower, more deliberate tone. "At first, it seemed like bad luck—circumstances beyond control. But the more I investigated, the more I found patterns… or should I say, certain key players."
The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air.
Bhanupratap exhaled sharply. "And? Who are they?"
The reporter grinned, taking his time before finally revealing, "Three people. Three individuals who played a critical role in damage control after the Numn University incident, shifting public perception, and ultimately decreasing your winning chances."
He raised a finger. "First—General Rathore. A military man with deep ties to the government. His involvement in stabilizing the situation after the incident was too precise, too efficient. It kept the damage from escalating further."
A second finger went up. "Second—the landlord and head of MRN village. His details remain secret, but from what I found, his influence runs deeper than expected. He provided some kind of unseen support in the background."
Then, a third finger, and with it, a sharper, more sinister smile. "And lastly, the most surprising player of all— Rudra the president's bodyguard. A man who, despite his low profile, played a major role in protecting critical assets and ensuring that your side… lost its edge."
Ajay narrowed his eyes. "A mere bodyguard? You expect us to believe that?"
The reporter chuckled. "Oh, Ajay sir… don't underestimate a man who stands so close to power."
Bhanupratap remained silent, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. The information was unsettling, but if true, it meant that their loss wasn't just a matter of miscalculation—it was deliberate.
Ajay clenched his jaw. "If what you're saying is true… then tell me—who exactly is this bodyguard?"
The reporter's smirk deepened. "Ah, now that… is where things get truly interesting."
-----
The atmosphere in the room grew heavier, tension thickening like a storm on the horizon. The reporter leaned forward, his tone shifting from amusement to something far more calculated.
"When investigating the reasons behind the president's unexpected victory, we came across an interesting story circulating among a select group of politicians," he began.
A senior politician scoffed, interrupting. "You mean that nonsense about the president's suicide attempt after the Numn University incident? Please. Baseless rumors. Every election cycle, there's always some gossip to stir the pot."
The reporter nodded as if conceding. "Yes, yes. Just rumors, as you say. But…" His voice lowered slightly, drawing their attention. "Recently, I found something that might change that perception. I don't have any technical evidence—no official records, no confirmed reports—but I do have logical evidence."
Ajay, growing impatient, slammed his fist against the table. "Enough with the buildup. Just say it already!"
The reporter smirked at Ajay's frustration but complied. "Based on what I uncovered, before the appointment and official announcement of the president's new bodyguard… he was already there. He was present on the very same day that supposed suicide attempt took place."
A heavy silence followed. Bhanupratap's fingers stopped tapping against the chair. The politicians exchanged uneasy glances.
Bhanupratap finally broke the silence. His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable edge. "Who is he?"
The reporter exhaled slowly, his smirk fading as a shadow crossed his face. "Based on our investigation, just like the head of MRN Village, this bodyguard's identity remains a mystery. No official records, no personal history. But…" He hesitated for a moment, as if recalling something disturbing. "I know his physical appearance."
He leaned back slightly, rubbing his hands together before continuing. "At first glance, he's just… fat. You wouldn't think much of him. Just an overweight man standing beside the president, unnoticed by most. But when I looked into his eyes—"
The reporter's voice wavered. His fingers twitched, and for the first time since he started speaking, he shivered.
His next words came out slower, heavier. "That man… has murderous intent. With a single glance, I felt it. No, I knew it. He's a monster hiding in plain sight."
A chill ran through the room. The once-casual conversation had taken a sharp turn, and even the seasoned politicians shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Ajay narrowed his eyes. "You're saying the president's bodyguard is the real threat?"
The reporter exhaled deeply, gathering himself. "I don't know what he's planning. But one thing is certain—he's not an ordinary man."
The room remained silent, the weight of the revelation sinking in.
Bhanupratap finally spoke, his voice low and unreadable. "Then we need to find out who he really is… before it's too late."
-----
The scene shifted.
A dimly lit battlefield. The stench of blood and burning wood lingered in the air. Amidst the wreckage, a lone figure knelt, cradling a lifeless body in his arms. The body was one of the four—his comrades, his people. The silence around him was deafening.
His broad frame trembled as he gently closed the fallen warrior's eyes, offering one final condolence. His breaths were slow, controlled, yet behind them lay an ocean of suppressed fury and grief.
"Sorry... I'm late."
A single tear escaped from his cold, hardened gaze. He wiped it away with his blood-stained fingers, exhaling as though trying to steady himself.
Then, without hesitation, he stood.
A low hum filled the air as he drew his sword from its sheath. In an instant, a mystical fire aura ignited around the blade, its flames dancing with a life of their own, responding to his raw emotions.
He exhaled sharply. His voice was steady, yet his words carried a weight that sent chills through the air.
"So… my theories really lead me here."
His grip tightened.
Then, in the blink of an eye—he moved.
A fraction of a second was all it took. His figure blurred into motion, the ground beneath him shattering as he dashed forward. His speed was inhuman, his presence suffocating.
The enemies who stood before him—the ones who had killed his comrades—had no time to react.
The hunting grounds once again witnessed the Hunter.