The storm outside raged violently, lightning slashing through the sky, momentarily illuminating the eerie mansion. Wind howled against the windows, rattling them as if demanding to be let in.

  Then-BANG.

  The heavy front door slammed open without warning.

  A tall figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the storm. He did not knock. He did not hesitate. He entered as if the house itself had been waiting for him.

  His dhoti, folded up to his knees, revealed strong, long legs, the kind honed by both discipline and hardship. A khaddar shirt, its first two buttons undone, clung damply to his frame. The collar bulged strangely, as if something was tucked inside. His hands gripped an old iron suitcase, rusted at the edges, worn yet unbreakable-just like the man carrying it.

  His sharp features, carved like they belonged to an old warrior painting, were framed by thick, slightly damp hair that refused to settle. But it was his eyes-piercing, knowing, ancient yet alive-that made the air in the room feel heavier. The kind of gaze that could strip you of pretense and see straight into your soul.

  The commotion in the room froze as everyone turned to stare at this stranger-this man who was clearly not simple.

  But if he noticed the attention, he did not show it.

  He removed his slippers and stepped inside, unhurried. The soaked bandana on his head was undone with a flick of his wrist, transforming into a towel in his grasp. Without ceremony, he rubbed the rain off his face and hair, then shook the towel once, spreading it over the nearby sofa to dry.

  A black cat, previously lounging on the sofa, flicked its tail in mild irritation at being displaced-only to jump up and perch itself on the man's shoulders with practiced ease. It purred contently, rubbing its head against his temple. He lifted a hand and patted its head absentmindedly, the gesture practiced, automatic.

  The cat, now perched like a king on a throne, gave the rest of the room an arrogant, assessing glance.

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  Not a single word had been spoken.

  Without acknowledging the stunned group around him, the man walked straight to the center of the lab. His sharp gaze swept over Azhini and Kavin, scanning their conditions with precise, deliberate intensity.

  It was as if no one else existed.

  As if he had been drawn here by something beyond mere human understanding.

  ---

  Vicky narrowed his eyes. "Hey mister, who the hell are you? And... What exactly are you doing?"

  The man tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question.

  "Thavachelvan," he answered, his voice carrying both patience and finality. "And you have all wasted enough time."

  His eyes flickered toward the massive screen, where Azhini's trembling form stood frozen, clutching the last remnants of her identity. "Continue playing, I wanna know what's happening there."

  Vicky frustrated by the stranger came in as he pleased and ordering around "Fuck.., another nut job." But sudden realisation struck him "Hey... Wait? How do you even know what it was?"

  "She doesn't have much time left," he murmured. "And neither does he."

  His gaze shifted toward the cot-toward Kavin.

  Priya took a sharp step forward. "Wait-what do you mean? You know what's happening to them? Who are you to come in here and act like you-"

  "The only person in this room," Thavachelvan interrupted smoothly, "who understands the true cost of what they are going through."

  The wind howled through the open doorway, and for a fleeting moment, the black cat let out a low, rumbling purr-almost as if it was laughing.

  ----

  Vicky groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. Another cryptic guy. Just what we needed."

  Mithun whispered to Meera, "Do you think he's a villain or an anti-hero?"

  Meera, arms crossed, deadpanned, "Knowing our luck? Probably both."

  As the arguments spiraled, another set of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.

  Professor Sivaraaman emerged from the upper level, followed closely by the old man who had greeted them upon arrival. His usually composed face broke into something resembling amusement when he laid eyes on the newcomer. "Thavachelvan..." the professor murmured.

  "So you do remember," Thavachelvan looked up at him and nodded.

  "Wow... it's really is you."

  The tall man-Thavachelvan-shrugged.

  Sivaraaman descended a few more steps, arms crossed. "When did you arrive?"

  Thavachelvan raised a single eyebrow.

  Sivaraaman sighed, already looking exhausted. "Alright"... "wait-hang on. Let me get this straight. You are the mysterious teacher who's been interrupting my student's focus on research?"

  Thavachelvan merely tilted his head slightly. "You spoke too much."

  Sivaraaman smirked. "Since you speak too little." The sharp grin on his face held a hint of mischief.

  The storm outside rumbled again, as if punctuating the absurdity of their exchange.

  Priya's patience snapped. "PROFESSOR! Can someone please explain what the hell is going on? Who is he?"

  Sivaraaman exhaled slowly, then, in the most casual tone imaginable, said-

  "My eternal headache."

  A dead silence fell over the room.

  Everyone turned their heads in sync, eyes bouncing between the two men.

  "WHAT?!"

  Even the black cat seemed unimpressed, flicking its tail before jumping onto the table, as if this level of drama was beneath its concern.

  Meanwhile, Thavachelvan and Sivaraaman, after locking eyes for a brief moment, coolly averted their gazes-because acknowledging their history was appare

  ntly too much effort.

  Mithun whispered to Meera again. "Okay, definitely an anti-hero."

  ----