"How cruel of you," Akhil said, looking towards the screen at the entire scene that had unfolded and the state of those people at the hands of Laila. He raised his eyebrow with a clear hint of sympathy for them, though it was momentary before his eyes turned cold.
"It's finally time." Given how he had confirmed that both Laila and Niharika had completely reached a state of obsession, which was his ultimate aim, he felt relieved. He slowly stood from his chair and walked towards a device near the wall that resembled a Wi-Fi router, complete with an antenna and several wires attached to it. He placed his hand near a wire before pulling it out.
It was his server IP protector—VPN, DNS, and layers of firewalls that he had set up to protect himself whenever he accessed the company's security systems and to monitor Rajasekhar's office room.
"I hope we meet soon, Rajasekhar," Akhil said as he turned his head towards another table. Several knives, helmets, knuckles, chains, and weapons like tasers were laid out, along with a single gun.
Given that this country's laws prohibited him from possessing it, he had still managed to acquire it, knowing that he could have obtained more, but it would have been a hassle to be caught with a gun.
He moved towards the table and secured everything by placing the items in his jacket, having already done everything he could until now.
Having grown up in an orphanage after being thrown inside a hospital, he had to earn for himself, struggle to stand on his feet, and then move ahead to become the sharpest. But it appeared that no matter how much he struggled to become as sharp as possible, that sharpness would never reach the man sitting at the top of the world.
Akhil was nothing but a common man; no matter how much wealth he collected, it wouldn't be equal to the one possessed by the world's richest man, who was surrounded by security and who could not let even a bee pass him. So the most logical thing he could do was use his childhood friendship with those two girls.
He made sure to use them as ladders to finally plunge the knife into Rajasekhar's throat, and finally it was time to test that ladder.
Akhil reached for the Karambit knife on the table, its curved blade glinting under the pale yellow light of the basement.
He slid it into the concealed sheath strapped to his belt, his movements precise and practiced. One by one, he picked out his gear—a pair of reinforced knuckles, a slim taser that fit snugly into his coat pocket, and a compact flashlight.
The gun was the last thing he touched, its weight unfamiliar yet comforting as he checked the chamber.
One bullet loaded.
One chance.
He tucked it into the holster hidden at his back.
There was nothing he could do, even with his mind, while having just a few years to take his revenge. After all, Rajasekhar was getting old, and one way or another, he would die.
So instead of starting to collect wealth, Akhil did everything any human with no power to go against the law could do—patiently waited and prepared a plan to bring Rajasekhar in front of him.
.
.
.
.
.
.
5 hours later,
Vrooommm....
The night outside was unnervingly silent, but the basement trembled slightly with the muffled growls of engines coming to a halt.
Akhil's fingers instinctively tightened around the Karambit, his heart steady despite the rising tension.
Peering through the faint gap of the basement door, he listened.
Vroom... Screeeech!
The tires groaned as six vehicles lined up outside the broken apartment building.
Doors slammed one after another, accompanied by gruff voices and faint laughter.
"This the place?" one of them barked, his voice grating.
"Yeah, yeah, boss said it's here. Nobody sneaks past us," another answered, chuckling.
The sound of blades being unsheathed followed—a sharp metallic hiss.
Through the basement window, Akhil caught sight of them.
Unlike the clean-cut, professional mercenaries he'd faced assassinations before, these men looked like they had crawled out of the gutter.
Tattered leather jackets, tattoos crawling up their arms and necks, chains dangling from their belts.
Each carried a knife, machete, or crowbar, with only one standing apart—a tall man in a pristine black suit, sunglasses glinting under the streetlights.
He stood still, hands clasped behind his back, silently watching.
"Oi, no messin' around. Break that damn door down!" one thug shouted.
A hulking figure stepped forward, swinging a rusted crowbar.
CRACK!
The door groaned and splintered under the force of the blow.
"Tch, stupid old dump," the man spat, shoving the broken pieces aside.
They poured in like a pack of wolves, their boots thundering against the creaky wooden floor above.
"Man, this place stinks!" one muttered, kicking over a chair.
"Shut it. Keep your eyes open," another snapped.
The suited man lingered outside for a moment before stepping in.
His polished shoes clicked against the floor, contrasting with the thuggish stomping of his companions.
"Spread out. Search every corner. He's here," he ordered, his voice calm yet commanding.
As they scattered, their crude conversations filled the air.
"Bet the guy's a rat, hidin' in some hole," one sneered, running his knife along the wall.
"If he's smart, he'd've run. Too bad for him we like chasin'," another laughed, kicking over a table.
A sudden crash echoed from upstairs—a bookshelf being overturned.
"Oi, found somethin' here!" one shouted.
Akhil stiffened.
They'd found the library drawer.
"What's that, a damn secret tunnel?" one thug said, crouching near the passage.
He poked his flashlight into the dark opening.
The suited man appeared behind him, his expression unreadable.
He removed his sunglasses and stepped closer, peering down the narrow staircase.
"Looks like our rat dug himself a basement," he murmured, his lips curling slightly.
He turned to the group.
"Go. One at a time. Keep your lights steady."
The first thug hesitated.
"Uh... y-you sure? Feels like a trap..."
The man in the suit shot him a cold glance.
"You scared of shadows now? Move."
The thug swallowed hard, gripping his machete.
He muttered something under his breath and descended into the basement.
CREAK. CREAK.
The steps groaned under his weight.
"Can barely see in this hole..." he grumbled, his flashlight sweeping across the room.
The beam landed on a workbench, then the crates.
His brows furrowed.
"Wait a sec—"
Before he could finish, Akhil moved.
SHHK!
The Karambit sliced clean through his throat.
A gurgled cry escaped him as he stumbled back, his flashlight tumbling to the floor.
Akhil caught the body mid-fall, lowering it without a sound.
"Hey, what's takin' so long?" another thug called from the stairs.
No response.
"Oi! Get your ass movin'. Coward must've frozen up," one of them muttered, shoving the next man forward.
The second thug crept down, flashlight bobbing erratically as his hand trembled.
The beam landed on the fallen body, and his eyes widened.
"Shit! He's down—BAM!—KUGHGH!?"