Space Academy had seen power plays before.
But this… this felt different.
Manik Malhotra wasn't just watching her anymore.
He was calculating.
He had tried silence. She matched it.He had tried intimidation. She walked through it.Now it was time for the third move — the game.
Later That Day – Music Hall
Nandini walked into the main hall expecting another practice session.
What she didn't expect was Fab 5 already seated.Instruments tuned. Mics tested. Eyes… sharp.
Her steps slowed, violin in hand.
Cabir grinned from behind his drum set.
Alya just stared — her lips tight, arms folded.
And Manik? Manik sat casually on the edge of the stage, guitar across his lap, eyes fixed on her like she was a song he didn't trust yet but couldn't stop playing in his head.
"Surprise," he said smoothly.
"This is a Fab 5 session."
"And you're a guest today," Cabir added, twirling his sticks.
Nandini narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"To see if you can keep up," Manik said, strumming a harsh chord.
"Or break."
It wasn't an audition.It was a test.
She looked at each of them — confident, smug, waiting for her to back down.
She didn't.
"Let's play, then."
The Set Begins
They started heavy. A rock number with aggressive rhythms and no space to breathe. Alya's keyboard was loud, Cabir's drums were relentless, and Manik—he played like he was chasing demons.
Nandini listened.
Then, at the right cue, she raised her violin.
And cut through the chaos with a note that didn't just match the melody — it reshaped it.
Her strings soared where their bass roared. Her softness didn't vanish — it challenged. Answered.
And suddenly, they weren't overpowering her.
They were following her.
Manik's eyes shot up.
She wasn't trying to survive.She was owning it.
And he hated how good it felt to play alongside her.
The Final Note
They ended together — one last sharp beat — and the room went silent.
No one moved.
Even Alya looked… shaken.
Cabir let out a low whistle. "Damn, Nandu."
"It's Nandini," she corrected, breath steady.
Manik stood slowly. Walked up to her. No emotion on his face.
Just one line:
"You play well."
She didn't smile. "I always have."
"You just earned a place."
"I never asked for one."
That made him smirk — real, dark, twisted.
"Then why does it look like you're taking it anyway?"
She held his gaze. "Because maybe your throne was waiting for someone who didn't need permission."
He leaned in, voice a whisper only she could hear.
"Be careful, Murthy. Thrones come with knives."
She didn't flinch. "So do violins."
And just like that — the game had changed.
It wasn't Manik testing her anymore.
It was both of them testing each other.