The temple stairs stretched endlessly, each stone heavy with history. Karikalan's arms trembled as he carried the two buckets of water, his body weakened by hunger and exhaustion. Yet his eyes burned with determination.
Richard followed behind, his breath caught in awe. "Despite the struggle, he keeps going. Any normal person couldn't do this. His hunger is greater than the tournament itself. I never realized it before… but he will win. He has to."
Step by step, Karikalan climbed. His pace slowed, his body swayed. Finally, he reached the penultimate step. His knees buckled, his vision blurred. With a faint gasp, he collapsed, unconscious, the buckets trembling in his grip.
Richard's heart raced. He rushed forward, panic flooding his voice.
"He's getting fazed! At this rate, if he keeps walking with those buckets, he'll dehydrate completely. I have to help him!"
But he froze, torn between instinct and respect. "No… he'll ignore my help anyway. He always refuses. But… I don't want to think like that. I'll wait. I believe he will complete it."
Richard stood, trembling, watching Karikalan's fainted body. The buckets still hung from his hands, refusing to fall. Even unconscious, his grip remained — a symbol of his refusal to surrender.
The temple loomed above, the final step just out of reach. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by Richard's pounding heartbeat.
Karikalan's body trembled violently, his muscles screaming in agony. Sweat poured down his face, his vision blurred, but his spirit refused to break.
"My body can't hold back the struggle… my brain tells me to stop. But the same brain whispers — if you lose by one step, you will lose against Elara by one step of margin. No… I will not… I will not… I WILL NOT LOSE AGAIN!"
His voice rose into a primal scream, echoing through the temple grounds. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
With that cry, Karikalan forced his trembling legs upward, stepping onto the final stair. He staggered forward, buckets still in hand, and placed them before the priest at the temple's summit.
The priest's eyes widened, stunned by the boy's dedication. "You finally did it, boy. Your dream will succeed. God will be with you. Do not worry about the match — you will win today. God will bless your victory."
Karikalan's lips curved into a faint smile, relief washing over his exhausted body. But before he could stand tall, his strength gave way. His knees buckled, his body collapsed.
Richard rushed forward, catching him before he hit the ground. His arms wrapped around Karikalan, his voice trembling. "You did it… you really did it."
The temple bells rang softly in the distance, as if the heavens themselves acknowledged the triumph.
Minutes after collapsing, Karikalan's eyes fluttered open. His voice was weak but steady. "What happened to me? Did I… complete my exercise?"
Richard leaned closer, relief flooding his face. "Yes, yes — you did it successfully."
But his curiosity burned. "Why do you always want to gain pleasure from pain by putting yourself through this struggle?"
Karikalan shook his head, smiling faintly. "No, it's not about pleasure in pain. I do it because I want to."
Richard frowned, his voice sharp. "No! You're lying. No one can do this in a single day without breaking their breath. And I saw anger on your face beyond the tournament fight. What's behind this?"
Karikalan's smile deepened, but his eyes carried secrets. "I'll tell you… after the match."
He reached into his bag and handed Richard a small packet. "Here. Take this."
Richard blinked. "What is this? Medicine for me?"
Karikalan chuckled. "No, it's not medicine. In our language, we call it inippu paniyaram — sweet paniyaram. Once you taste it, you'll get addicted. I bought it from the shop to give you. Go on, take it."
Richard hesitated, staring at the sweet. But the memory of Karikalan's struggle — his buckets, his climb, his scream of defiance — pushed him forward. He took a bite.
His eyes widened, his voice bursting with joy. "Wow! It's really amazing. I've eaten all kinds of food in the world, but this… this is realllyyy amazzzing!"
Karikalan laughed at Richard's childlike wonder, his exhaustion forgotten for a moment. Richard laughed too, the tension dissolving into warmth.
At the end of their grueling exercise, the two warriors sat side by side, sharing sweets and laughter. The temple bells rang softly in the distance, as if blessing their bond.
The stadium roared as Elara stepped into the aisle, his presence commanding attention. The crowd erupted, voices echoing like thunder.
"Yeah! It's time for the main match! My boy came to fight!" one girl screamed, her voice trembling with excitement.
Another fan turned sharply, eyes blazing. "What did you just say? Your boy? How dare you call him that — he's my boy!"
The two girls clashed in words, their rivalry mirroring the tension in the ring. Around them, chants of Elara's name filled the air, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.
On the opposite side of the stage, Pragyan stood silently, his eyes narrowing. His fists clenched, his jaw tight. "Tch… why do these girls always love the guy with the annoying character?" he muttered, irritation dripping from his voice.
The referee raised his hand, signaling the start. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch. Elara smirked, basking in the adoration, while Pragyan's annoyance sharpened into focus.
The battle was about to begin — not just between fighters, but between pride, popularity, and raw determination.
The stadium lights blazed, illuminating the aisle as the referee's voice thundered through the speakers.
"Introducing first… from Coimbatore, weighing in at 175.5 pounds… the reigning champion of the tournament… the undisputed 22nd National Martial Arts Champion… Elara!"
The crowd erupted in deafening cheers. Fans screamed his name, banners waved high, and the sound of adoration filled the air. Elara smirked, waving his hand toward the fans, basking in their love like a king returning to his throne.
The referee's voice shifted. "And his challenger… weighing in at 175 pounds… currently an amateur in martial arts… making his debut in the tournament… Pragyan!"
The stadium's energy shifted instantly. Boos echoed from every corner, drowning out the few scattered claps.
"Elara, knock that knucklehead out of the stage!" one girl shouted, her voice sharp with devotion.
Another fan laughed, adding fuel to the mockery. "Please, just hit him lightly on the face. The rookie will fall automatically with fear!"
The crowd roared with laughter, their voices united in ridicule.
Pragyan stood tall in the ring, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with quiet defiance. He could feel the weight of their scorn pressing against him, but he refused to bow. Across the ring, Elara basked in glory, his smirk widening as if the crowd's love was already his victory.
The referee raised his hand. The air grew heavy. The champion and the debutant faced each other, the stadium split between adoration and mockery.
The match was about to begin.