“The ones you fear the most never arrive with a warning… They arrive with applause.”

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The morning sun spilled over the pristine architecture of Arawali University, casting long shadows across its freshly polished corridors. Students bustled through the halls, laughter and chatter blending into the background hum of campus life. But amidst this lively normalcy, something unnoticed stirred—something far from ordinary.

Vice Chancellor Meera Verma walked with urgent steps through the administration block, clutching a printed sheet in her hand. Her usually composed face was etched with concern, and her voice trembled slightly as she entered the Chancellor’s office without knocking.

“Sir, we have a problem,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Chancellor Dinesh Khurana glanced up from his desk, surprised by the sudden entry. “What happened, Meera?”

“It’s about the Chief Guest for the Award Ceremony,” she said. “We hadn’t finalized the name yet, but due to a clerical error… one of the shortlisted names was sent the official invitation.”

The Chancellor leaned forward. “Whose name?”

She hesitated, holding out the paper. “You should see for yourself. I came here to request permission to draft an apology—just in case you want to withdraw the invitation.”

Chancellor Khurana took the page, still unread. “Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a PR nightmare.”

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In another part of the university, within the quiet confines of the girls’ hostel, a final-year law student sat at her desk, her mind miles away from ceremonies and honors.

Sneha’s room was a collage of legal books, scattered notes, and newspaper clippings. Her laptop screen glowed with the title of her final report:

“The Shadow of Nightmares.”

This was more than an academic paper. It was personal. A mission.

She had long harbored a deep hatred for the mafia leaders who masqueraded as respectable men in society—powerful, untouchable, and hidden in plain sight.

With clenched determination, she clicked print, watching as her printer slowly pushed out the next page—an image.

The face of the man who represented everything she vowed to bring down.

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Far from the university, within the heavily guarded estate of a man whose name didn’t need to be spoken, silence ruled. A high-backed chair, wrapped in sleek, natural fibers, faced a floor-length window, where soft morning light touched the outlines of a kingdom unseen by the common world.

A trusted assistant stepped inside.

“Sir, an invitation has arrived. You’ve been selected as the Chief Guest for the annual award ceremony at Arawali University.”

No reaction.

The assistant added, “You may need to start appearing in civilian circles. Let them see you as someone they can trust.”

The chair turned halfway. A face emerged—sharp, unreadable, and lethal in silence.

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Two machines blinked to life across the city.

In Sneha’s room, the printer hissed out a page. The eyes on the image glared back at her.

In Chancellor Khurana’s office, a fax slid out with mechanical precision:

"Letter of Acceptance – Chief Guest Confirmed."

Khurana stared. The name on the page froze his breath.

Sneha held the printed image, her fingers shaking.

Two locations.

One face.

And the storm had begun.

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One week later

Outrage brewed.

The university had quietly hiked its fees—an indirect slap to its already burdened students. Whispers turned to unrest, unrest to marches, and marches into protest.

Sneha, leading a group of final-year students, stormed the administration wing and entered the Chancellor's office, no longer interested in silence.

"Is it true?" she demanded. "Did the university actually invite him?"

Chancellor Khurana looked tired. Worn. "I can’t comment—"

Sneha cut him off, fire in her voice. “This university is filled with students whose families were devastated by that fucking gas leak—and now the man behind it is getting honored?”

“Mind your words!” Khurana snapped, slamming his palm on the desk. “This is still a university, not a street rally. Speak with respect.”

A breath. A silence. Then, the truth.

“M.A.S.K. acquired full ownership of Arawali University four days after the invitation went out,” Khurana said, rubbing his temple. “I’m no longer in control of this. None of us are.”

A silent tension took over the room.

No one dared speak. Not even Sneha.

“All of you,” the Chancellor finally said, “will be escorted out. Respectfully.”

Security entered and led the students away. Protest signs clutched tightly. Tears unshed.

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And now, the date had arrived.

The ceremony stage was set. Banners hung. Spotlights tested.

The man they'd fought to keep out…

Was already on his way in.