The shout of "Vicky Boy" sliced through the thumping bass of Neon Nights like a dagger, stunning the Gachibowli crowd. The bar pulsed with Hyderabad's nightlife—DJ beats, Tollywood posters, and the lingering spice of biryani mingling with whiskey fumes. Outside, the monsoon drizzle painted Banjara Hills' streets, reflecting neon lights like a fever dream.
Vicky Boy? The name hung in the air, a spark in a powder keg. Who'd dare call Vikrant "Vicky" Sharma, Hyderabad's feared "Vicky the Scholar," by a childhood nickname?
Only Arjun "AJ" Rao, Vicky's loyal thug for over a decade, paled, his eyes wide with dread. He knew the story: Vicky, born in a dusty Old City alley, had been named "Vicky Boy" by his parents, a humble moniker meant to keep fate kind. Years ago, that name had sparked a brawl that left his family in ruins—a wound Vicky never spoke of, a trigger no one touched.
AJ's face twisted, fury overtaking fear. "You're dead, Seth!" he roared, grabbing a whiskey bottle and swinging it at Robin Seth's head.
But Robin moved like a monsoon wind, his Fighting Style instincts sharp as a blade. His left foot snapped up, catching AJ in the chest. Bang! The 1.8-meter thug flew back, tracing a parabola through the neon-lit air, crashing onto the floor with a wail that drowned out the DJ's beat. Robin's smartwatch buzzed softly, his AI-driven Ayurvedic app noting his pulse barely flickered—Siddhi-level control in action.
The bar froze. Vicky's goons surged forward, their faces feral, surrounding Robin and Priya Reddy in a tightening ring. The air turned heavy, like a storm cloud over Hussain Sagar, thick with murderous intent. No one dared touch Vicky's crew in his own den—especially not his right-hand man. This was suicide.
Priya, her simple white top and jeans glowing under the neon, smirked, unfazed. "Nice kick, Robin," she purred, her voice cutting through the tension. "Got any more tricks for these jokers?" Her defiance was pure Hyderabad sass, rooted in the trust forged when Robin saved her from a trafficking ring years ago.
In their corner booth, Vikram Malhotra clapped, his slapped cheeks still stinging. "Seth's finished!" he crowed, glee masking his humiliation. "Vicky'll skin him alive!"
Aisha Seth's face paled, her hands trembling. "Why's he so reckless?" she muttered, stepping forward to intervene. Despite everything—divorce papers, Vikram's return—Robin was still Tara's father. She couldn't watch him bleed out.
"Stop, Aisha!" Vikram grabbed her arm, his voice shrill. "Vicky's a lunatic right now. You'll get us both killed! These guys don't play nice. Let Seth take the fall—he earned it."
"He's Tara's father," Aisha snapped, her eyes flashing. "I can't just stand here."
"He brought this on himself!" Vikram insisted. "He needs to learn his place. This isn't his world anymore."
Aisha hesitated, logic clashing with instinct. Vikram was right—storming in would only enrage Vicky further. But watching Robin face this alone twisted her gut. He'd always been her shield, and she'd thrown him away.
The tension spiked, goons closing in, but Robin stood calm, his eyes locked on Vicky's. "Vicky Boy," he said softly, "you sure you want to play this game with me?"
"Hold it!" Vicky's voice boomed, his pupils shrinking as he raised a hand. His goons froze, confused.
AJ staggered up, blood trickling from his mouth, eyes blazing. "Vicky bhai, let me end this guy!" he growled, clutching his chest where Robin's kick had landed.
"Stand down!" Vicky snapped, his face a mix of caution and something deeper—recognition. He studied Robin, the figure before him merging with a ghost from a decade ago. A shadow who'd ruled Hyderabad's underworld, untouchable, unstoppable. "You… Don Robin?"
Ten years back, when Vicky was a scrawny kid dodging knives in the Old City, a young legend had saved him from a rival crew's ambush. "Don Robin," they'd called him, a name whispered in fear, earned by toppling bosses with fists and cunning. That man had given Vicky a path, a debt unpaid. But this Robin—calm, unassuming, a stay-at-home dad—looked nothing like the firebrand of old.
"Vicky Boy, you've come a long way," Robin said, his smirk carrying a decade's weight. "Not the scared scholar running from goons anymore."
Vicky's face softened, the dagger vanishing into his jacket. "Don Robin, I didn't know it was you," he said, his voice low, respectful. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have dared." He waved his goons back. "Clear out, all of you."
AJ and the others gaped, stunned. Vicky the Scholar, who bowed to no one, was humbled? The crowd buzzed, whispers rippling like monsoon rain.
Aisha's breath caught. Robin, the man she'd dismissed, had just tamed Hyderabad's underworld king with a word. Vikram's jaw clenched, his spite boiling. "They're in on it!" he hissed. "Seth and Vicky, targeting me!"
Aisha frowned, her mind racing. Robin had sworn to leave his past behind, but this? He'd lied to her, or so it seemed. "He's still tied to these people," she muttered, her voice bitter.
Robin glanced at Vicky. "Let's go, Priya," he said, his tone final.
"Don Robin, I've got some rare single malt at the bar," Vicky offered, almost pleading. "A drink, for old times?"
"Another day," Robin replied, his app pinging a stress alert he ignored. He'd clawed his way out of the underworld, paid in blood to live clean for Tara. Re-entering that world wasn't on his plan—not yet.
"Give you a lift?" Vicky asked, gesturing to his Maybach. "A chance to catch up."
Robin nodded. "Fine. Lakeside Villas."
Priya's eyes sparkled, sensing a shift. Her hero was stirring, the legend waking. She'd hold him close this time.
Vicky drove, glancing at Robin in the rearview mirror, probing for signs of the old Don Robin. "The Hyderabad underworld's changed, Don Robin," he said. "Since you left, the big players—Naga, the Charminar Crew, Banjara Syndicate—still rule. Smaller outfits like mine scrape by. If you came back, you'd shake the city."
"Not interested," Robin said, staring at the rain-slicked streets. "Unless something forces my hand."
Vicky nodded, cautious. "Fair. The authorities crack down hard now. B-level fighters like me get watched. You were always ahead of the game, Don Robin."
They neared the Lakeside Villas, Banjara Hills' luxury gleaming under the monsoon. Vicky hesitated. "I'm stuck at B-level, Don Robin. Any tips to break through?"
"When I'm ready," Robin said, brushing him off.
"Don Robin, Miss Priya, we're here," Vicky said, parking.
"Thanks, Vicky bhai," Priya said, her smile dazzling. "I'll grab my car from Neon Nights tomorrow."
As Vicky drove off, Aisha and Vikram pulled up, their villas neighboring Priya's. The four collided under the villa lights.
"Seth, you again?" Vikram spat, his face still raw from AJ's slaps. "Divorced and still lurking? Shameless!"
Aisha's face was stone. "Robin, you're not sleeping at home tonight. Find a hotel. Need cash? I'll pay."
Priya's laugh was light, cutting. "Aisha di, you've got it wrong," she said, wrapping her arms around Robin. "Robin 's not going to your place. He's staying at mine." She licked her lips, her grin pure provocation. "Took some begging, but he's all mine tonight."
Aisha's eyes widened, her calm shattering. "What?" she snapped, her voice rising. Her divorce from Robin was fresh, and now he was with Priya, her rival, in her villa?
"Need me to repeat it, Aisha di?" Priya said, chin high. "Robin's living with me now. You don't mind, do you?"
Aisha's lips trembled. "Robin, is this true?"
"Yeah," Robin said, his voice flat.
"I won't allow it!" Aisha blurted, instinct overtaking reason. "You can't live with her!"
Priya stepped closer, her voice a velvet blade. "Aisha di, you signed the papers. Robin's free. Where he stays is none of your business. Or are you regretting letting him go already?"