One hour later. Narad's Office.
Narad sat behind his large desk, fingers tapping rhythmically on a tablet screen, his mind half-occupied with tasks for the next day. A soft knock interrupted the silence.
"Come in."
The door creaked open.
Raj stepped inside, his face pale, lips pressed tightly. He didn't speak. He just stood there, hands twitching like they were about to grab something—or let go.
Narad glanced up, surprised. "Yes, Mr. Raj? Everything alright?"
Raj walked forward like a prisoner being led to his sentencing. He dropped to his knees with a loud thud, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Please, I beg you, sir! Cancel the battle!"
Narad blinked.
"…You ran from dinner like you'd seen a ghost, and now this?" He leaned back in his chair, confused but intrigued. "You're trembling."
"I did see a ghost, sir," Raj muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "His name is Om."
Narad leaned forward, puzzled. "Om?"
"Yes!" Raj looked up, eyes wide with genuine terror. "You don't understand. I've lived with that thing. If you want to see a monster. Challenge him."
"Raj, you're a God inheritor. You could beat him in one move," Narad said, still trying to make sense of this dramatic display.
"It's not about winning!" Raj shouted, then recoiled and lowered his voice. "It's not about winning," he repeated, whispering like it was a cursed phrase.
Narad raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it about?"
Raj shivered. His voice cracked as he spoke, "You shared my battle information with him, didn't you?"
"…Yes. He has access to the combat logs and your recorded abilities. That's standard."
Raj looked up with the haunted eyes of a veteran recounting a war. "Then it's already over. He's been planning. Plotting. It's not about whether he wins or loses. It's about what happens after."
A long silence followed.
Narad sighed. "Explain."
Raj took a deep breath, hugging his knees like a scared child. "He used to live with me and Grandpa Shiv. I know him. I know what he's capable of."
He paused, voice trembling. "He's... smart. Too smart. Even Grandpa gave up on trying to predict him."
Narad tilted his head. "Mr. Shiv once said Om was brilliant. But you're painting him like some kind of mad genius."
Raj nodded furiously. "That's because he is! You think this is just a sparring match. But for Om? This is war."
He stood, pacing frantically now. "When he was four, Grandpa taught him chess. But Grandpa got busy with research. So Om played with me. I beat him the first game. Just once."
Raj stared blankly at the floor.
"And then?"
"He challenged me for six months. Day and night. He wouldn't sleep. Wouldn't eat. We had to hide the chess board. I'd fake being sick. I even tried hiding in the bathroom for hours, but he'd wait outside—quietly—like a predator."
Narad burst into soft laughter. "Why not just lose on purpose?"
Raj looked at him like he'd suggested punching a lion in the face.
"You don't get it," Raj whispered. "He doesn't want to win. He wants total domination. He doesn't smile when he wins. He stares at you like you're a math problem he's finally solved."
"Surely he had classmates to play with," Narad offered, trying to be rational.
"He tried. But because of his body, he got bullied or ignored. No one took him seriously. So he stopped." Raj's voice cracked. "That's why Grandpa taught him chess—to help him connect with others."
Narad's smile faded.
"After defeating every kid in class, he moved on to teachers. None accepted. So in revenge, during exams, he'd only score the exact marks needed to pass. Not a mark more."
"He was sabotaging his scores… intentionally?" Narad asked, stunned.
Raj nodded. "Grandpa once told me, 'If Om ever wanted to surpass me, he could. He just doesn't care enough."
Silence lingered. Even the air seemed heavier now.
"I..." Narad finally said, "I knew he had a sharp mind, but this…"
Raj continued, voice growing frantic again. "And now you've given him an artifact. One nearly as powerful as Mr. Arnold's!"
Narad leaned back in his chair, finally understanding the gravity of Raj's fear. "So you're saying the real threat… isn't the power he holds. But the mind that wields it."
"Yes!" Raj wailed. "He'll turn this into a chess match! Except I'm the pawn!"
He suddenly dropped to his knees again. "Please cancel the battle! I don't want to go through this again!"
Narad looked at the boy kneeling before him, half-amused, half-sympathetic. "You do realize how dramatic you're being?"
"This isn't drama! This is trauma!" Raj shouted, then sniffled. "Do you know what it feels like to wake up in the middle of the night with a chess piece on your pillow? A bishop. Just… sitting there. Staring at you."
"…That sounds like something out of a horror novel."
"It was!" Raj cried. "He has the persistence of a cockroach and the strategy of a war general."
Narad sighed and stood, walking over to Raj. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Raj, I get it. You're scared. But this battle—it's not just about proving who's stronger. It's about growth. For both of you."
Raj looked up, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Growth? What kind of growth comes from being dismantled psychologically and physically in front of all?"
"You're a God inheritor," Narad reminded him.
"You're not helpless. You're just… traumatized."
Raj stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes. "I'm telling you, he's going to treat the arena like a chessboard."
Narad smiled. "Then maybe it's time you learned how to play smarter."
There was silence again.
Then Narad's voice hardened just a bit.
"You told me earlier that because Om was weak, others bullied him and avoided his challenges. Now's your chance to show him the strength he never had."
Raj flinched.
"Bully him," Narad said coldly. "Let him know that in front of a God inheritor, his intelligence alone won't save him."
Raj opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.
A memory flashed through his mind.
Om, age six, staring at the broken chessboard. Blood on his knuckles from punching the table after a loss. He didn't cry. He just reset the board and looked up at Raj.
"Next game."
Even as a child, Om had the eyes of someone who refused to stay defeated.
Raj turned away from Narad, staring at the wall.
"…He doesn't give up."
"Then you can't either."
Another memory hit Raj—Om, collapsed on the floor, sick with fever, but still mumbling chess strategies in his sleep. Grandpa Shiv standing at the door, watching silently, his face unreadable.
"Fine," Raj muttered. "But don't blame me if I end up in therapy after this."
Narad smiled. "You won't. Probably."
Raj rolled his eyes. "Can I at least use my whip?"
"You should," Narad nodded. "Use everything you've got. This isn't just about power or pride. This is about setting boundaries."
Raj grumbled, already regretting everything.
Raj stormed out, muttering curses under his breath.
Later in Raj's room.
Raj pulled the blanket over his head.
From the foot of the bed, a small voice echoed from the whip.
{Master Raj. Do you require my help?}
"…Yeah," he whispered.