Karikalan sat quietly, his mind clear. "Forget about the past. What's done is done. If I win this tournament, everyone will acknowledge me. My goal is to become stronger. This is the first step toward that goal."
The grand ceremony began. Party leaders delivered speeches, their voices echoing across the hall. Classical dancers spun gracefully, folk performers sang with passion, and musicians filled the air with rhythm. For thirty minutes, the crowd was entertained, their anticipation rising.
Then, the moment arrived. The tournament began. Five thousand participants stood ready, their eyes burning with ambition. Each division carried one hundred fighters, their names posted on the great noteboard.
Karikalan scanned the list. His name appeared in Division E.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted another name — Rajan.
"So… he's in my division too. I want to win against him," Karikalan muttered, his resolve sharpening.
On the other side, Elara studied the board. His lips curled into a smirk. "Well, this division is easy. I'll win today itself and enter the finals. Nothing can stop me."
He turned to Rajan, who looked unsettled. "Hey, Raj! What's wrong? Why are you so stirred?"
Rajan hesitated. "I saw my name… Division E."
Elara shrugged. "So? That's a piece of cake. What's pathetic about that?"
Rajan's voice dropped. "That brat… Karikalan. He's in Division E too."
Elara's eyes widened in mock shock. "Oh my god… what are you saying? I can't believe this!" Then his expression shifted back to calm arrogance. "Just kidding. It's exactly as I expected. I'm the one who put you in that division."
Rajan's jaw dropped. "What? You… you did this? Why? Do you want me to be beaten by him?"
Elara's voice thundered with anger. "Idiot! I placed you there to beat him, not to lose. You're my right hand, my strongest. You have the height, the fists, the training I gave you. You are the perfect catalyst to stop him from reaching the finals. If you use your fists correctly, no matter what, you will defeat him."
Rajan clenched his fists, torn between fear and loyalty. Elara's manipulation weighed heavy, but his words ignited a fire.
The divisions were set. The stage was prepared. Karikalan's path to strength, Elara's arrogance, and Rajan's conflicted loyalty were now bound together in the crucible of the tournament.
The tournament roared to life. Across the arena, fighters displayed their skills — kicks, punches, grapples — each match lasting only five minutes, each warrior desperate to prove themselves.
Inside the preparation room, Karikalan pushed his body to the limit. One-hand push-ups, handstand push-ups, pull-ups, skipping, sit-ups — his voice counted with determination. "147… 148… 149… 150… 151…"
A knock at the door. "Karikalan, get ready for your match."
His heart surged with anticipation, joy mixed with anxiety. "My opportunity has come. I must fight bravely. I endured pain for five years. I will not give up now."
He walked the aisle, the path between doors, each step echoing his resolve. As he entered the stage, all eyes turned. The oval-shaped arena gleamed under the lights, the referee standing tall at its center.
Karikalan's gaze sharpened. "So this is the place… where I will fight my opponent."
The referee raised his voice. "Introducing one of the opponents, from Coimbatore, weighing 175 pounds — Karikalan!"
The crowd erupted — but not with cheers. Elara's classmates and fangirls booed loudly, their voices dripping with disdain. Hate outweighed support.
Karikalan's jaw tightened. "I know it's them. But I don't care. Their voices mean nothing to me."
The referee turned to the other side. "And introducing his opponent, from New York, weighing 175 pounds — Richard Stellman!"
A tall figure stepped forward, his presence commanding. The crowd cheered for the foreign fighter, their voices rising in excitement.
Karikalan stood firm, his fists clenched, his spirit burning. This was his first battle — the first step toward proving himself, toward destiny.
The referee's voice rang across the oval stage, sharp and commanding. "Listen, opponents. The match will last five minutes. Victory comes by knockout or by strikes. If you step out of the ground, you will be warned. Repeat it, and you will be eliminated. Illegal moves — striking the groin, biting the face, ears, or other parts — are strictly prohibited. Break these rules, and you will be terminated from the tournament forever. Do you understand?"
Both fighters answered firmly: "Yes, sir."
The bell rang. The match began.
Richard Stellman, the boxer from New York, carried himself with confidence. He had already knocked out ten opponents in his rise to this stage. His mind burned with ambition.
"I will prove to everyone in the world that I am the strongest."
He surged forward, fists flying in rapid succession. Karikalan dodged instinctively, weaving past the strikes. But in his haste, his foot crossed the boundary.
The referee's whistle pierced the air. "Stop! Warning to Karikalan. If you leave the ring again, you will be eliminated."
Karikalan's heart clenched. "Dammit… I knew the rules, but I was forced out by his pressure. I can't let this happen again."
The scoreboard flashed: Richard +20 points. Karikalan: 0. Three minutes remained.
The crowd erupted. Elara's classmates and fangirls screamed with venom. "Come on, Richard! Kick that brat's butt out of the ring!"
Their voices echoed like daggers.
Richard blinked, momentarily confused. "Why do they hate him so much? What did he do to them? … Doesn't matter. I'll win this match. Even if he tries to strike me, he'll only earn five or ten points. I'll dodge everything."
He steadied himself, preparing to counter Karikalan's every move.
Three minutes remained. The referee signaled, and the fighters clashed again.
Richard advanced with lightning speed, his fists a blur. Karikalan bent, twisted, and dodged — his movements fluid, instinctive, almost unnatural for someone with no boxing background.
Richard smirked mid fight. "Hey kid, you're amazing. Even though you're not a boxer or martial artist, your dodges are fast and flexible. I appreciate you."
Karikalan's eyes gleamed. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor to receive your praise."
But Richard's tone hardened. "Now it's time for me to knock you down. I'll show everyone how the strongest defeats an opponent with a classy move."
He unleashed his weapon — flicker jabs, a storm of punches so fast they blurred into shockwaves. The crowd gasped, voices rising in panic. "This is it! Karikalan's finished!"
But instead of falling, Karikalan bent low, his body weaving under the storm. The shockwave of Richard's jabs rippled across the stage — yet Karikalan remained untouched.
Then, in a heartbeat, Karikalan's stance shifted. His fists coiled, his body swayed with rhythm. He launched forward with a Dempsey move — a crushing counter born of raw instinct and relentless training.
Richard's eyes widened. "What…? Impossible!"
The crowd erupted, half in disbelief, half in awe. The brat they had booed was now standing toe to toe with the boxer who had knocked out ten opponents.
Richard staggered back, disbelief etched across his face. "What? Impossible… the Dempsey move? Even professionals struggle with it. How can an amateur in his first tournament perform such a technique?"
Karikalan's body swayed with rhythm, his fists moving faster and faster. His strikes blurred into invisibility — even Richard's trained eyes couldn't follow.
"I… I can't see his moves. If this continues, it will be dangerous for me. I must defend myself."
Richard raised his arms into a cross-arm defense, bracing for impact. But Karikalan didn't strike immediately. He waited, his mind sharp, his spirit calm.
The clock ticked down. Ten seconds remained.
Karikalan's thoughts whispered: "The time is near its end. I'll keep myself relaxed, no hesitation. Let him think he's safe."
Five seconds left. Richard's guard wavered, his focus slipping.
Karikalan's eyes blazed. He lunged forward, his fist coiling with power. "Here I go!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the arena.
His punch crashed against Richard's forehead. The boxer's body crumpled, collapsing to the stage.
The referee rushed in, counting aloud. "One… two… three…" The crowd held its breath. Richard didn't move. "…Ten!"
The whistle blew. "Due to the unconscious position of Richard Stellman, he cannot continue. The winner of this match is… Karikalan!"
The arena erupted in shock. Gasps, disbelief, and awe filled the air.
Karikalan stood frozen, his chest heaving. Then joy burst from him. "Did he just say… I won? I won! Yeah! I won my first match! Hoooh!" His voice rang with triumph, his fists raised high.
Even the referee shook his head, smiling faintly. "I can't explain it… but he won. Life is full of surprises. And this match… I enjoyed it."