Chapter: The Training Begins
Ankit and Ashok Sir sat in the well-lit living room of the Mittal household. The room exuded an old-world charm, with wooden furniture polished to perfection and a shelf filled with trophies and medals. Ashok Sir sipped his tea, his eyes fixated on Ankit.
"So, Ankit," Ashok began, breaking the silence, "You fought with Tiger, did you take any special training for this?
Ankit, seated across from him, remained calm and composed. He placed his cup down gently and replied, "Sir, I never had any formal training. I owe my strength and endurance to my daily exercise routine. Discipline has been my teacher."
Intrigued, Ashok Sir leaned forward. "Daily exercise? Tell me more."
Ankit nodded. "Every day, I wake up at 5 AM and start with a two-hour workout. It includes weightlifting, push-ups, running, and shadowboxing. After that, I practice my reflexes by dodging objects or sparring with makeshift equipment. These routines have kept me fit and prepared for unexpected challenges."
Ashok Sir smiled, impressed. "That explains your physical prowess. But raw strength alone isn't enough in every situation. Let me show you something."
The Arena
Ashok Sir led Ankit to his personal training arena, a vast open space behind the house, equipped with punching bags, dummies, wooden rods, and even a few swords hanging on the walls. Richa followed them, observing quietly.
The arena was illuminated by bright floodlights. Ashok Sir turned to Ankit, stretching his arms. "Let's test your skills in a one-on-one fight. No weapons, just your hands."
Ankit hesitated for a moment but then nodded. Both of them took their positions, and Richa moved to the sidelines, watching intently.
The match began with Ashok Sir lunging forward, attempting a quick jab. Ankit dodged effortlessly, his reflexes sharper than expected. He countered with a swift punch to Ashok's side, making him step back.
"Good," Ashok Sir said, grinning. "You're fast."
Ankit didn't reply but kept his stance firm. As Ashok Sir tried to grab him in a lock, Ankit twisted out of it and delivered a calculated kick to his opponent's shin, causing him to stumble slightly.
The fight continued for a few minutes, but it became clear that Ankit had the upper hand. His movements were precise, his strength overwhelming. Finally, Ashok Sir raised his hand, signaling the end of the bout.
"Impressive, Ankit," Ashok said, catching his breath. "You're not just strong—you're strategic. That's a rare combination."
Richa clapped from the sidelines. "I told you, Uncle. He's unstoppable."
Ashok laughed and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Maybe so, but strength alone won't always save you. Let's move on to something more challenging."
The Weapon Training
Ashok Sir walked to the weapons rack and picked up a wooden rod. "Ankit, strength is vital, but what if your opponent comes armed? You need to learn how to disarm and defend yourself."
He handed Ankit another wooden rod and took his position. "First lesson: how to counter a rod attack."
Ashok swung the rod toward Ankit, aiming for his shoulder. Ankit instinctively blocked it with his rod, but Ashok quickly countered with a strike to his side.
"Not bad," Ashok commented. "But you need to anticipate the second move. Let's try again."
This time, Ankit was ready. As Ashok swung, Ankit blocked the first strike and immediately stepped back, dodging the second. He then retaliated with a quick upward thrust, catching Ashok off guard.
"Excellent!" Ashok exclaimed. "Now let's move on to something sharper."
He picked up two practice swords and tossed one to Ankit. "Sword fighting isn't just about brute force. It's about precision and timing."
The clash of practice swords echoed through the arena as Ashok demonstrated various techniques—parrying, feinting, and disarming. Ankit absorbed every move, replicating them with surprising accuracy.
After a rigorous session, Ashok placed the swords back on the rack and grabbed a dummy pistol. "Finally, let's talk about firearms. If someone pulls a gun on you, the first rule is to stay calm. Panic will get you killed."
He demonstrated how to disarm an attacker by twisting their wrist and redirecting the weapon. Ankit practiced the move repeatedly until it became second nature.
Dinner and Conversations
By the time the training ended, all three of them were exhausted. Ashok Sir suggested they go out for dinner to celebrate Ankit's progress.
They drove to a famous restaurant known for its traditional cuisine. The place was bustling with activity, the aroma of spices filling the air. The trio settled at a cozy corner table.
As they waited for their food, Ashok Sir broke the silence. "Ankit, you've shown incredible potential today. If you continue training like this, you'll be unstoppable."
Ankit smiled faintly. "Thank you, Sir. But I still have a lot to learn."
Richa chimed in, "You're being modest, Ankit. Uncle was struggling to keep up with you today!"
Ashok chuckled. "She's not wrong. But remember, strength should always be used wisely. Never let anger or ego dictate your actions."
Their conversation shifted to lighter topics as the food arrived. They discussed their favorite dishes, shared stories, and even joked about the day's training. For the first time in a long while, Ankit felt a sense of normalcy.
The Resolve
As they drove back home, Ankit reflected on the day's events. The rigorous training, the heartfelt conversations, and the lighthearted dinner had all left a profound impact on him.
Ashok Sir's words echoed in his mind: "Strength should always be used wisely."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Ankit vowed to continue honing his skills—not just to protect himself but to ensure he could stand strong for those he cared about.
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