Aryan and the Rebirth of the Indian Martial Arts Academy
Rajen: Sir, I will try my best to answer your question sincerely.
Aryan: If you were the owner of the Siyara Group, what changes would you bring to it?
Rajen: First, I would halt two of the five upcoming projects. Then I would reallocate their funds to strengthen the other three ventures, and invest the remaining capital in improving our workforce. This would offer short-term gains in both revenue and goodwill—something we could leverage to fuel our future projects more efficiently.
Aryan: Understood. You're clearly very passionate about your work.
Aryan: That's why, effective immediately, I'm giving you full authority over the Siyara Group. All the powers and rights I hold—you now hold. From this point on, you report to me and me alone. No one else.
Rajen froze, stunned.
Rajen: What? Why would you hand over an empire worth millions to me?
Aryan: The answer is simple. I don't hold any formal academic degree. I need to rectify that. Also, there are some personal matters I need to attend to.
Rajen: I understand. But how can I be sure about this?
Aryan: Don't worry. Just remember—I'm still behind the scenes. One more thing: make some changes in the ownership structure of the Silchar branch.
Rajen: What kind of changes, Mr. Aryan?
Aryan: Transfer 50% equity to my name. The rest remains with Siyara Group.
Rajen: But the entire group already belongs to you.
Aryan: Not officially. My family thinks I came to Silchar just to acquire the Cachar Club. But what really happened—you already know.
Rajen: I get it. So, you want your involvement kept confidential.
Aryan: Exactly.
They continued to discuss the matter for a while before Aryan left the restaurant, collected his luggage, and headed to the airport. He boarded a red-eye flight from Ahmedabad to Mumbai.
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Mumbai, Midnight
As Aryan stepped out of the airport, he flagged down a taxi.
Taxi Driver: Sir, where would you like to go?
Aryan: Just take me to a hotel.
Taxi Driver: Any specific one?
Aryan: Nearest decent hotel will do.
Taxi Driver: Alright, sir.
A short ride later, they arrived at a 3-star hotel. Aryan stepped out but then hesitated.
Aryan: Wait a minute. I've changed my mind. I need to go somewhere else.
Taxi Driver: No problem, sir.
(The driver, surprisingly, felt a strange respect for Aryan—perhaps drawn by his composed aura.)
Aryan entered the hotel briefly to check for rooms but then returned to the taxi and got in again.
Taxi Driver: Where to now?
Aryan: Indian Martial Arts Academy.
The car resumed its journey. During the ride, the taxi driver's phone rang. He answered on speaker.
Child's Voice: Dad!
Taxi Driver (smiling): Yes, my child.
Child: When are you coming home?
Taxi Driver: It might take a while.
Child: Dad, please bring chocolates... and a new school bag. Remember, we have to go for school admission on Monday.
The driver's smile faded. A sense of guilt shadowed his face.
Taxi Driver: I'll try my best, my child.
Child: Okay, Dad.
There was silence for a moment, until a firm voice from the backseat broke it.
Aryan: Was that your son?
Taxi Driver: Yes... his name is Raju. Raju Singh.
Aryan: And your name?
Taxi Driver: Darjan Singh.
Aryan: I'm Aryan. Aryan Paul.
Darjan Singh: Are you from around here?
Aryan: No. I'm from Assam.
(Darjan noticed Aryan's fluent Mumbai-style dialect.)
Darjan Singh: Strange... you speak like a local Mumbaikar.
Aryan: I've picked it up over time.
Darjan Singh: Why are you going to the Indian Martial Arts Academy? Don't you know it's been shut down for over three years?
Aryan: I'm well aware. But I intend to revive every branch of the Academy. I want to restore it to its former glory.
Darjan Singh: You seem like a good man. Probably skilled in martial arts too. But the Academy's collapse wasn't accidental. After its fall, several deadly martial artists took over.
Aryan: I know. Some of them still lurk in that very building. That's why I've come—to end them.
Darjan Singh: You have no idea how powerful they are. You can't stand against them.
Darjan Singh: I was once a member of IMAA myself. When foreign invaders came, they challenged our Grandmasters. Within 15 minutes... all our top fighters were defeated. They spared us under one condition: we must never practice Indian martial arts again.
Aryan (calmly): We'll see about that.
Silence followed.
---
Soon, the taxi pulled up in front of the abandoned IMAA building. Aryan stepped out.
Security guards tried to stop him, but with precise strikes, Aryan knocked every one of them out.
Then, standing tall in the heart of the courtyard, he shouted a challenge:
"Call your leaders. Tell them they either face me in combat—or leave this country!"
In response, five Kung Fu masters from the Shaolin sect emerged. They launched a coordinated attack, but Aryan was unmatched. In just five moves, all five were sprawled on the ground—bloodied and broken.
The courtyard was soaked in crimson.
Aryan grabbed one of the guards and whispered:
"Tell your masters this: Indian Martial Arts Academy represents the martial heritage and spirit of India. It will not be controlled by outsiders."
The surviving guards gathered the wounded and fled.
Moments later, Aryan walked calmly out of the building and entered Darjan's taxi once again.
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But why did Aryan interfere in the IMAA's downfall?
Why are foreign martial artists trying to control India's ancient martial heritage?
And what will Aryan's next move be?