The air buzzed with tension as Ravi walked down the quiet street near the edge of campus, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the cracked pavement. Birds fluttered in the trees, but their songs were drowned by the distant echo of shouting.
He paused.
His instincts flared.
From the alley just ahead, he heard a girl's scream followed by jeering laughter. He turned the corner cautiously—and his heart dropped.
Three men surrounded a young woman. She looked like a first-year student—her uniform crisp, her eyes wide with fear. One of the men grabbed her wrist roughly, yanking her toward him.
"Come on, sweetheart. Don't be shy now," the man leered, his tone dripping venom.
Ravi's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched.
He recognized the type. Not just street thugs—these were mafia-affiliated enforcers. Their posture, their confidence, their precision—they had combat experience. Not the kind you get in a schoolyard brawl. The kind you earn in underground rings and back-alley beatdowns.
He hesitated.
Just a few weeks ago, he would've walked away. Hell, maybe even joined in to earn favor.
But not anymore.
He took a step forward.
Before he could act—
A hand clamped down over his mouth.
He froze.
A calm, deep voice whispered into his ear, laced with ancient power.
"Not yet. You need to prove yourself with actions, not rage."
It was Him.
Ravi turned—and there, sitting atop a rusted trash bin with one leg crossed over the other, was the very same man who had given him this second chance.
Nithin.
The Dragon God of Realms, cloaked in mortal form. His eyes burned with a cosmic depth. Even in casual attire—a plain black hoodie and jeans—his presence radiated divine weight.
"Time to see what kind of man you truly are," Nithin said, standing and fading from sight like a wisp of smoke.
Ravi exhaled slowly, steeling himself.
No divine powers. No miraculous help. Just him.
He stepped into the alley.
"Let her go," he said, voice steady.
The men turned. The tallest one, with a tattoo of a coiled serpent wrapping around his neck, sneered.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be? Her knight in dirty sneakers?"
Ravi raised his fists. "Let her go. Or I'll make you."
The girl looked at him, eyes full of surprise—and fear.
"Big words, college boy," the second man chuckled. "Let's see what you got."
The first man lunged.
Ravi's body moved on instinct.
A right step, pivot—he deflected the punch with his forearm, redirecting the force. He countered with a knee to the gut, forcing the man back. But the thug recovered fast.
"Taekwondo?" the thug growled. "Cute."
The second man joined, striking with low jabs and spinning kicks. Ravi adjusted—he remembered fragments from the self-defense classes he'd once mocked. He ducked, sidestepped, and retaliated with elbow strikes and short jabs, aiming for soft points.
Pain shot through his ribs as a third blow caught him unaware.
"Dammit…" he grunted.
They were coordinated.
Not brawlers—fighters.
The serpent-necked thug grabbed a steel rod from behind the dumpster.
Ravi backed away, chest heaving.
"I should've trained more in my first life," he muttered.
Then a voice echoed in his mind.
"You still have your instincts. And your will."
Nithin's presence flared briefly—then faded.
The rod came down—Ravi sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, twisted it, and jammed his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him stumbling.
Another came in from the side—Ravi ducked low, sweeping his leg under the thug and knocking him to the ground.
Third guy grabbed Ravi in a chokehold from behind.
"Not today!"
Ravi slammed his heel into the thug's shin, then drove his elbow into the man's stomach repeatedly until the grip loosened. He spun, using a judo throw to toss the man over his shoulder.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't perfect. But it was enough.
The thugs lay on the ground, groaning.
Ravi stood over them, panting, blood dripping from a cut on his lip. His shirt torn, fists bruised, but his eyes—determined.
The girl stared at him in stunned silence.
He reached out a hand. "Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly, taking his hand.
"Go," he whispered. "Call the cops. And be careful."
She took off running.
Ravi stood there a moment longer, staring down at the thugs.
"Don't ever touch anyone like that again," he growled.
They groaned in response.
Then, behind him—slow claps.
He turned.
Nithin stood once more, leaning against the wall, smiling slightly.
"Well done. You fought with your heart, not your hatred. That's the first step."
Ravi dropped to one knee, exhausted.
Nithin walked forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You're evolving. Keep going… Ravi. The path ahead is long—but every choice matters."
The god vanished.
And Ravi, battered and sore, walked back into the light.
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End of Chapter 5