January 2nd, 2026. 10:45 AM.
The vast library of Central High is quieter than usual today. Pale January sunlight filters through the polished glass ceiling, resting on the waxed oak tables. The air conditioning is so cold it feels as though one's breath might freeze mid-air. But the heat burning inside me is beyond the reach of any machine's cooling.
I am sitting at the far end of the library, in a shadowed corner of the 'History & Politics' section. A thick book lies open before me, but in the last twenty minutes, I haven't read a single word. My eyes are fixed on the cracked screen of my phone.
Last night's video is now viral on the school's 'Confession' page. Shaon has pinned it to the top. A flood of comments lies beneath—some posting laughing emojis, others writing, "Slum rats like these shouldn't even be allowed in this school." My mother's helpless face is now circulating through every smartphone in the building.
My hands are clenched into fists beneath the table, nails digging deep into the meat of my palms. Just then, I heard the rasp of a chair being pulled back.
I didn't look up. I already knew who it was. The edge of that blue file was visible on the table.
"Don't bother trying to delete the video, Aryan. It's already saved to the cloud," Sara's voice was perfectly calm, as if she were reporting the weather.
I looked up. Sara was sitting directly across from me, clad in her school prefect uniform. Her eyes held that same mysterious darkness I had seen in the corridor. She slid her iPad toward me. A profile was open on the screen: 'Rudra Chowdhury.'
"Do you know him?" Sara asked.
I stared at the screen. A young man in an expensive suit and sunglasses, smiling in front of a black Audi. The resemblance was uncanny. He looked exactly like Shaon.
"Shaon's older brother," I said in a low voice.
"Not just his brother, Aryan," Sara slid the iPad again. The next photo showed Rudra in an underground dark club, holding a ledger. "Rudra is the head of the city's largest 'Digital Syndicate.' He records the vulnerable moments of people like you and sells them on the Dark Web. The trap your mother... the one she fell into... the blueprint was drawn by Rudra."
My ears began to ring. So the man in our house last night wasn't just some random customer? Did Rudra know I had enrolled in Shaon's school? Was this a calculated strike?
Sara seemed to read my mind. She leaned in. "Yes, Aryan. This is revenge for your father. It started twenty years ago when your father, 'Iron Fist' Shamsher, ruptured Rudra's father's liver with a single punch. Rudra's father could never step into a ring again. And Rudra decided he wouldn't kill your father—he would destroy him bit by bit. By using you and your mother."
I sat there, paralyzed. The books surrounding me seemed to mock my existence. I thought I was fighting a small battle. In reality, I was standing on the edge of a massive abyss.
"Why are you telling me this, Sara? You're part of Shaon's circle," I said, my eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Sara gave a faint, bitter smile. There was no joy in it, only venom. She opened her blue file to reveal an old photograph: a young girl standing by a grave.
"My sister. She committed suicide two years ago because of Rudra's drugs and those blackmail videos. Since then, I've been waiting for someone with nothing left to lose. Someone whose hatred for Rudra's family burns hotter than mine." Sara locked her eyes onto mine. "And that person is you, Aryan."
She placed a small black pouch on the table. Inside was a pair of Titanium Brass Knuckles. The latest 2026 design—lightweight, but built to shatter bone.
"There's no need to go back to the boxing ring. The ring has rules, referees. But the streets of Dhaka have no rules," Sara whispered. "Tomorrow is January 3rd. Shaon and his friends are throwing a party at the abandoned sports complex behind the school. He's promised everyone a 'Full Version' screening of your mother's video. Will you go? Or will you sit at home and count liquor bottles like your old man?"
The scene from last night flashed before my eyes. My mother's tears, my father's demonic laughter, and Shaon's spit.
I reached out and picked up the brass knuckles. The cold touch of the titanium sent a surge of madness through my veins. They fit perfectly over my fingers.
"Sara," I looked into her eyes. There were no tears left, only death. "I'll be there. But after tomorrow, Shaon won't have a single finger left intact to upload another video."
Sara stood up. As she turned to leave, she rested a hand on my shoulder. "Remember Aryan, you aren't just a boxer's son anymore. You are a glitch in this system—The Broken Nihil. Let the destruction begin."
Sara left. I sat alone in the cold silence of the library. My phone screen lit up again. A message from Shaon in the school group: "Guest of Honor for tomorrow's party is our 'Dog' Aryan. There will be a special screening!"
I pocketed the phone and tightened my grip on the brass knuckles. Tomorrow night would be the bloodiest night of 2026. Shaon thinks he's finishing me, but he has no idea he has just awakened a devil.
January 3rd is coming. And with it, Aryan's silent vengeance.