The morning sun cast long shadows over Kolkata’s bustling Deshapriya market. Kabir Singh Rathore sat cross-legged at his makeshift shoe repair stall, the rhythmic sound of his hammer tapping against worn-out leather filling the air. Around him, life moved on—a blur of bargaining vendors, curious customers, and the clatter of rickshaws.

Kabir was focused on his work, but in his mind, Mahesh’s words echoed from the previous day. Useless. Just like your parents.

No more.

“Bhaiya! Give me my sandals quickly. I’m already late for work!” shouted a stout woman, jabbing a finger at Kabir.

“Two minutes, didi,” Kabir replied calmly, finishing the stitching with precision.

The woman grumbled but paid Kabir his measly fee—a crumpled ten-rupee note—and hurried off. Kabir pocketed the money and sighed.

“This isn’t enough,” he muttered to himself.

The rent, food, and his siblings’ school fees loomed over him like a mountain he couldn’t climb. He couldn’t bear to see Rhea skipping meals or Arjun walking barefoot to school anymore.

As Kabir wiped sweat from his brow, he noticed a gleaming black SUV pulling up across the street. The car was a sharp contrast to the dusty, crowded market, its tinted windows shielding whoever sat inside.

The door opened, and a man in a crisp suit stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and exuded an air of authority. Kabir watched as the man walked toward a jewelry shop, his expensive shoes leaving imprints in the dirt.

“Who’s that?” Kabir muttered to his neighbor, Lalaji, a paan seller.

“That’s Rajiv Rathore, the Rathore Empire’s right hand,” Lalaji whispered, chewing his paan. “He’s here to meet someone, probably business. Those Rathores don’t set foot in places like this unless it’s important.”

The Rathore name struck Kabir oddly. It felt familiar—like a word from a forgotten dream. He shook it off. Rich people. Not my concern.

Trouble Brews

An hour later, as Kabir patched another shoe, four local goons swaggered into the market. Kabir immediately recognized them as Pratap’s men—the small-time thug who ran a protection racket in the area.

“Listen up, everyone!” shouted the tallest goon, Jaggu, cracking his knuckles for effect. “From today, every shop and stall pays double. Pratap bhai’s orders. Don’t argue unless you want broken bones!”

The shopkeepers erupted in protests. “This is robbery!” Lalaji yelled, shaking his fist.

The goons sneered and approached each stall, snatching money and threatening anyone who resisted. When they reached Kabir’s corner, Jaggu crouched down, grinning menacingly.

“Kabir, my man,” he said mockingly, tapping Kabir’s tools with his foot. “Time to pay up. Hundred rupees.”

Kabir frowned. “I don’t have that kind of money. You know that.”

Jaggu’s smile vanished. “Are you deaf? I said pay up!”

Kabir’s hands clenched into fists, but he stayed calm. Fighting back would only make things worse. “I’ll pay when I can. Not now.”

Jaggu’s eyes darkened. Without warning, he grabbed Kabir’s repair box and flung it across the ground. Tools scattered everywhere, and half-finished shoes tumbled into the dust.

“Kabir bhaiya!” Rhea’s voice cried out from behind him. She had arrived with Arjun, carrying their lunch wrapped in old newspaper.

Kabir’s face hardened. He rose to his feet slowly, his eyes locked on Jaggu.

“Pick it up,” Kabir said, his voice low but steady.

Jaggu laughed. “What did you say?”

“I said pick it up,” Kabir repeated, his dark eyes burning with anger.

The market went silent. No one had ever spoken to Pratap’s men like that. Lalaji muttered, “Kabir, don’t… they’ll kill you!”

Jaggu’s expression twisted with rage. “You’re a big man now, huh? I’ll teach you a lesson!”

Jaggu swung a punch toward Kabir’s face. But Kabir was ready. He stepped aside, grabbed Jaggu’s arm, and twisted it behind his back with surprising strength. Jaggu cried out in pain.

“Don’t ever touch my things again,” Kabir growled. He shoved Jaggu forward, sending him stumbling into the dirt.

The other goons stood stunned for a moment before rushing at Kabir. Rhea screamed, and Arjun clung to her, terrified.

“Stop this nonsense!”

The sharp voice cut through the chaos. Everyone turned to see Rajiv Rathore standing across the street, watching the scene unfold. His piercing gaze fell on Kabir, who was breathing heavily, fists still clenched.

“Who are you?” Rajiv asked Kabir, stepping closer.

Kabir wiped the blood from a small cut on his lip. “No one important.”

Rajiv’s eyes lingered on Kabir for a moment, studying him. There was something in Kabir’s posture—his quiet defiance, his strength—that seemed to strike a chord.

“You’re brave,” Rajiv said finally. “But bravery without power is foolish.”

Kabir didn’t respond. He bent down, picked up his scattered tools, and began gathering his things.

Rajiv turned to Jaggu and the other goons. “Get out of here before I make you regret it.”

The goons didn’t need to be told twice. They fled, dragging Jaggu behind them.

The market slowly returned to life, whispers spreading like wildfire. “Did you see that? Kabir fought them off!” someone said.

Lalaji slapped Kabir’s back proudly. “You’ve got guts, boy!”

Kabir ignored the praise. He turned to Rhea and Arjun, who were still shaken. “Go home,” he said softly. “I’ll come soon.”

As Rajiv Rathore stepped back into his SUV, he glanced one last time at Kabir. Who is this boy? he wondered. There was something about him—something familiar.

Later That Night

Kabir sat alone on the rooftop of their small house, gazing up at the stars. His knuckles were bruised, and his body ached, but he felt no pain. For the first time in years, he had stood up for himself—and won.

Rhea climbed up beside him with a bowl of rice. “Bhaiya, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Kabir said, taking a bite.

Rhea hesitated before speaking. “Who was that man today? The one who stopped the fight?”

“Someone rich,” Kabir replied dismissively. “Why?”

“He looked at you like… he knew you,” Rhea said quietly.

Kabir frowned but said nothing. In his heart, a strange feeling stirred—like the first tremor of an earthquake.

Unbeknownst to him, Rajiv Rathore had already made a call that night.

“Sir,” Rajiv said into his phone, his voice low. “I think I’ve found someone. He looks… familiar.”

On the other end of the line, a voice crackled, cold and commanding.

“Keep an eye on him.”