The next morning, my eyes snapped open at exactly six a.m.
Normally, the first thing I did after waking up was practice mindfulness meditation. It was a strict, daily habit my parents had drilled into me since childhood.
But today, I wasn't planning on a standard session. Instead of simply sitting back and observing my stray thoughts, I wanted to try something entirely new. I wanted to observe the natural flow of my prana.
I walked over to the window and pulled the heavy curtains aside. Warm rays of early morning sunlight immediately flooded the room, spilling across the floor. I crossed my legs and sat right down in the middle of the golden light.
Closing my eyes, I shifted my focus inward. Because I had spent years training my mind through meditation, slipping into the familiar rhythm came effortlessly.
For the first few minutes, I simply watched the internal currents. The energy drifted aimlessly through my veins, and I couldn't perceive anything unusual.
It wasn't a surprise. I had decided to try this on a whim, after all. Still, curiosity gnawed at me. Was it possible to find something deeper if I just went far enough?
It was time to try the one thing I had been eager to test. I triggered Perfect Control.
The moment the ability activated, my wandering thoughts instantly vanished. A heavy, absolute focus settled over my mind, anchoring a hundred percent of my attention onto the shifting currents of prana.
During my previous attempts, focusing on the energy usually meant trying to move or influence it. This time, I used Perfect Control differently.
I deliberately held my own intentions back, forcing myself to just watch. I wanted to make sure the prana flowed in its purest, most natural form without any interference from my side.
In the beginning, I kept my mind completely blank. I only observed the deep pathways, refusing to guess or analyze why the energy moved the way it did.
But as the minutes ticked by, an intuitive understanding began to bloom. The realizations surfaced naturally, filling my mind with absolute clarity.
I realized that prana behaved exactly like blood. It circulated continuously through every single extremity, binding my entire physical frame together into a single, cohesive network.
Even more fascinating, the entire circuit originated from my chest. The movement of prana started directly from the heart.
I focused harder, trying to see the exact source, but something obscured the deeper view. I couldn't see the specific mechanism producing it.
Just as I was sinking deeper into the immersion, a sharp sound shattered my concentration. My mother's voice echoed loudly through the door.
"Rohan, wake up! You need to get ready for school."
My eyelids fluttered open, the vivid internal map instantly dissolving into nothingness. A strange, phantom sensation lingered in my chest.
It felt as though I had gained a significant insight, yet the exact nature of what I had uncovered remained just out of reach. It didn't matter for now. I knew I would figure it out eventually.
I pushed myself up from the floor, stretched my slightly stiff limbs, and headed into the bathroom to freshen up.
Ten minutes later, I had changed into my ironed school uniform and walked out into the dining room. Mom was already standing by the counter, having laid out breakfast.
The plate held a mix of boiled sprouts alongside a warm bowl of oats mixed with milk. I pulled out a chair, sat down, and began shoveling the food into my mouth in a massive hurry.
"Eat slowly," Anjali said, glancing over with a firm expression. "No one is going to steal your plate."
"Yeah," I mumbled around a heavy mouthful of sprouts, barely slowing down my pace.
She fixed me with a sharp look. "And don't talk while you're chewing."
I went quiet, focusing entirely on finishing the meal without causing another reprimand. Once the plate was empty, I stood up and quickly wiped my mouth.
The silence in the room felt incredibly heavy. By now, she should have spoken to Papa about my risky proposition to enter the other dimension. But she hadn't mentioned a single word about it all morning.
I walked over to the front door, my hand resting on the cool metal handle. As I pulled it open halfway, the suspense finally got the better of me. I turned back toward her.
"Mom... did you ask Papa?"
She stopped what she was doing and looked straight at me. A subtle, pitying expression crossed her face, making my stomach instantly drop.
"When you come back home after school," she said quietly, her voice low, "we will talk about it."
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and nodded. I stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind me, and walked toward the garage where my bicycle was stored.
If we're just going to talk about it later, why did she have to scare me with a look like that? The thought kept repeating in my mind, making my pulse quicken with a surge of anxiety.
I grabbed my bicycle, unlocked the heavy chain, and pushed it out into the driveway. Mounting the seat, I began pedaling down the familiar road toward school.
The campus was only about a kilometer and a half away from my house. Even with a casual, steady pace, the ride took me less than ten minutes.
When I arrived at the school gates, I carefully navigated through the chaotic morning crowd of students and headed straight for the parking area. I pushed my bicycle into an open slot among the long, neat rows of two-wheelers.
After securing the heavy lock around the frame, I grabbed my bag from the basket and walked up the concrete stairs to my classroom.
When I stepped through the front door, the room was mostly empty. Only a handful of students were scattered across the desks, talking quietly in small groups. It looked like I had arrived much earlier than usual.
"Hey, Rohan!" one of my classmates called out, looking up from his desk in sheer surprise. "Where were you? Why were you absent the last few days?"
"It's nothing, bro," I replied, tossing my bag onto my desk with a soft thud. "Some psycho attacked people on the street, and I got a little injured in the chaos."
"Seriously? Are you okay?" He stood up instantly, his eyes wide.
Hearing the commotion, the other few students in the room immediately drifted over, forming a small circle around my desk. Gossip was a fundamental instinct for every teenager, and a violent street attack was simply too big to ignore.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, waving a hand reassuringly to calm them down. "My dad was right there when it happened. You know he works in a violent government agency, so he managed to step in and save me."
Over the years, I had deliberately told my classmates that my father worked for a specialized law enforcement branch, comparing it to the high-level police. I never told them the absolute truth—that he actually worked for the secretive Veil Council.
My reasoning behind the lie was very deliberate. If one of these kids happened to experience a sudden, natural awakening and manifest a superpower, their first instinct would be terrifying panic.
Instead of them calling random authorities who might completely mishandle the situation, it was much better if they thought of calling their friend's dad who handled these exact crises.
It didn't take long before the loud morning bell rang, and the room rapidly filled with the rest of the arriving students.
The seat right next to mine was currently empty. Normally, I didn't care who sat beside me, but for the past few weeks, our class monitor, Ishika, had been occupying the spot.
A moment later, Ishika walked through the front door. The second her eyes landed on me, her face brightened into a warm, genuine smile.
She quickened her pace, deftly weaving through the desks until she reached our row, and slid into the chair next to mine.
"How are your injuries?" she asked immediately, her bright eyes scanning my face and shoulders for any signs of lingering pain.
"They're completely healed up," I said, offering a small, reassuring smile.
Ishika was an incredibly cheerful girl, always full of infectious energy. She had long black hair that fell past her shoulders and an expressive face that made it completely impossible to hide her thoughts.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so the surrounding students couldn't hear. "Did you bring the medical report? If you don't hand it over, the teacher won't mark your attendance for the days you missed."
She shook her head slightly. "You'll end up getting a massive lecture."
I reached deep into my bag and pulled out the official hospital documents. "Yeah, I brought it."
We chatted for a few more minutes about casual things—missed homework assignments and school rumors—until the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Our class teacher walked into the room.
"All right, silence," he announced, dropping his leather briefcase onto the wooden podium.
Teacher Rana was a middle-aged man who always managed to look sharp and stylish, wearing well-fitted clothes that set him apart from the other faculty. But despite his fashionable appearance, he was deeply responsible.
Everyone remembered the time a student had a sudden emergency at home. Teacher Rana hadn't hesitated for a single second, immediately driving the student back in his own car.
He opened the large attendance register and began calling out names.
"Ram?"
"Present, sir!"
"Akash?"
"Present, sir!"
"Rohan?"
"Present, sir!" I said, my voice cutting clearly through the noisy classroom.
Teacher Rana's pen stopped mid-air. He looked up from the register, his sharp gaze locking onto me instantly.
"Why were you absent all these days, mister?" he asked, his tone demanding but carrying an underlying note of genuine concern.
I stood up straight beside my desk. "Sir, I was injured."
"How did you get hurt?" Teacher Rana asked, his eyebrows knitting tightly together.
"I was attacked by a madman on the street, sir."
A sudden murmur rippled through the entire classroom. Teacher Rana looked genuinely surprised; after all, it wasn't every day you heard about a student getting caught up in a violent street assault.
"Did you see a doctor?" he questioned, studying my posture.
"Yes, sir. My parents admitted me to the hospital immediately."
"And how are you feeling now?" he asked, looking for any signs of physical strain.
"I'm fully healed, sir," I said, keeping my voice steady and reassuring.
"Good. Sit down."
Teacher Rana resumed the roll call, moving through the rest of the list without further interruption. Once he finished, he closed the register, walked down the narrow aisle straight to my row, and stopped right by my desk.
"Do you have the medical report with you?" he asked quietly.
I silently handed the crisp papers over to him. He took them, unfolding the sheets with a sharp snap, and quickly skimmed through the details.
Satisfied, he nodded, folded the papers back up, and gave my shoulder a firm, supportive pat.
"Make sure you stay alert out there," he said.
He walked back to the blackboard, picked up a clean piece of white chalk, and officially started the lesson. Our homeroom teacher also happened to be our history instructor.