Chapter 4 – Clash Ignites
The Iron Lotus was alive with noise. Neon lights flashed across the dance floor, laughter rose above the bass, and the Rathore–Chauhan group settled deeper into their booth, drinks in hand, their mood unshakably high.
They were laughing at one of Sameer's dumb jokes when the atmosphere shifted.
A group of four boys entered from the other side of the pub. They weren't seniors, nor older. They looked to be of the same age—maybe other first-years, maybe locals who hung out here often. Loud, confident, and already drunk enough to think the world revolved around them.
One of them, tall and wiry with sharp cheekbones, caught sight of Arjun's group. He smirked, whispering something to his friends, and they all laughed in unison. The sound wasn't friendly.
They approached the booth without hesitation. The wiry one leaned in, knocking aside a glass on their table, spilling beer. "Looks like some fresh meat thinks they own the place."
Vikram stiffened immediately. "Back off."
The guy ignored him, eyes fixed on Arjun. "Hey, Rathore, right? Already making a name for yourself? Dancing like a hero, drinking like you're the prince of this city. Tell me, how does it feel acting big when you're just another fresher?"
Arjun leaned back in his seat, calm, his smirk dangerous. "Feels good. Thanks for asking."
His friends chuckled, but the wiry guy's face darkened. His buddy, a stockier boy with a scar on his jawline, stepped closer. "Smart mouth. Careful—you don't know who you're talking to."
Sameer scoffed. "We don't care who you are. You're just four loud idiots trying to look tough."
The scar-jawed boy slammed his palm on the table, rattling glasses. "Say that again, fish boy."
Sameer half-rose from his seat, but Raghav caught his arm. His eyes, however, flicked to Arjun—because everyone knew the choice wasn't theirs. It was his.
Arjun stood slowly, casually, bottle in hand. He looked the wiry boy dead in the eyes, his voice flat but cold.
"You've been barking for too long. Time to shut up."
The wiry boy smirked and shoved him in the chest. "What if I don't?"
The moment froze. The crowd in the pub sensed the storm brewing—music still thumped, but heads turned, conversations quieted.
Then, without warning, Arjun swung.
The bottle smashed against the wiry boy's skull with a sickening crack. Glass and liquor burst out in shards and foam, blood mixing instantly. The boy staggered back, clutching his head as his friends roared in fury.
Gasps erupted around them. Sameer's eyes widened in shock and exhilaration. Kabir half-rose, ready to back Arjun up. Vikram muttered a curse under his breath, fists clenched. Imran's jaw tightened, calculating what would come next.
And Arjun? He stood tall, calm, the broken neck of the bottle still in his hand, sharp edges glinting under neon light.
"Now," he said evenly, "let's see who's still standing after this."
The fight had only just begun.
The pub froze in the wake of Arjun's strike. The wiry boy stumbled back, blood running down his forehead, his friends lunging forward with curses on their tongues. The air crackled with the promise of violence.
But before anyone could throw the next punch, a booming voice cut through the music.
"ENOUGH!"
The pub owner—a heavyset man with a thick beard and sharp eyes—stormed out from behind the bar. His presence alone carried authority; even the drunkest heads turned toward him.
"Not in my place," he barked, pointing a thick finger at both groups. "You break my tables, you pay with your teeth. You bleed on my floor, you're the ones mopping it up."
The scar-jawed boy growled, trying to step forward, but the owner shoved him back with surprising strength. "Out! Now. All of you!"
Arjun smirked, the broken bottle still dangling from his grip. "Fine by me." He dropped the glass with a sharp clatter onto the table and stepped back, hands raised mockingly. His group followed, still tense, but unwilling to clash with the owner.
The wiry boy's friends muttered curses, glaring at them with murder in their eyes. But even they knew better than to disobey the owner. For now.
The music resumed, chatter slowly picking up again as the Rathore–Chauhan brothers and their roommates were herded outside into the cool night. The air was thick with leftover adrenaline, their laughter forced but laced with excitement.
"Bloody hell, Arjun," Sameer whispered, wide-eyed. "You just smashed a bottle on his head like it was nothing!"
Arjun grinned, lighting a cigarette. "He asked for it. Some dogs only understand the stick."
Raghav shook his head but couldn't hide his pride. "Still, we've made enemies on our first weekend."
"Enemies?" Arjun exhaled smoke into the air, his tone calm, almost playful. "Good. At least they'll remember our names."
The group started walking toward the hostel lane, the streetlights flickering above them. The pub's music grew distant behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of the city night.
But they weren't alone.
From the shadows near the alley, figures stirred. The same group of boys Arjun had clashed with—faces hard, knuckles clenched, eyes burning with rage—waited.
The wiry boy wiped blood from his forehead, whispering through gritted teeth. "They think they got away. Tonight, we'll show them who owns this city."
His friends nodded, spreading out across the street. The ambush was set.
And as Arjun and his brothers walked, laughing carelessly under the stars, they had no idea that the real fight hadn't ended inside the Iron Lotus.
It was only just beginning outside, in the dark.