Calcutta, Early 1912
The city was a stage where the empire and Arjun Sen played out a dangerous drama—a contest of wits and wills veiled behind polite facades and whispered threats. The British Raj flaunted its authority in grand processions and official decrees, striding confidently in broad daylight, asserting dominance with rifles and uniforms. Yet beneath this show of power, a covert war raged—one of shadows, secrets, and masked intentions.Arjun, the immortal scribe, was the unseen hand unsettling the well-oiled machinery of imperial control. By day, he blended into the throng of Calcutta's citizens, moving unnoticed amid the bustle of markets and colonial offices. By night, his influence spread invisibly—plans disseminated through trusted couriers, subtle manipulations within the bureaucracy, and the silent extinguishing of oppressive forces recorded in the pages of the Death Note.But the empire was not oblivious. Superintendent Harrington intensified the hunt, orchestrating raids on suspect homes, planting informants among nationalist circles, and tightening the net around known associates. At the governor's mansion, whispered fears grew of an invincible enemy who could kill without trace.Yet Arjun was no mere ghost. In carefully orchestrated public moments, he challenged colonial authority—speaking at secret gatherings, exposing corrupt officials, and inspiring defiance in the oppressed masses. His presence became a symbol of resistance both overt and covert, a living paradox who wielded death invisibly yet rallied life openly.The British response was swift and brutal—curfews, mass arrests, and public punishments designed to instill fear. But each act of repression only fueled the fire of rebellion. Arjun read their tactics with shinigami eyes, predicting their moves even as he concealed his own identity behind layers of deception.Amid this clash of masks—power's show and defiance's whisper—Arjun bore the burden of immortality. Every strike he ordered in the shadows risked exposure; every public stand challenged his enemies but revealed threads of his identity. The fragile balance between revolution and survival tightened with each passing day.He often reflected on the cruel irony: a man eternal fighting against an empire seemingly eternal, both locked in a struggle where victory demanded cunning over might, patience over passion, and the delicate dance of masks behind the curtain of empire.