The door to the Innovation Lab hissed open with a hydraulic whine, revealing wires, circuits, and a boy glowing in monitor light like some divine being from an anime.
There he was—legs on the desk, oversized headphones around his neck, and a glowing keyboard under his fingers.
Kritagiya, the Fake Angel.
A legend not for his skills, but for charging exactly what you don't want to give.
"Kritagiya," Abhay said, stepping in, "We need you in the basement. Yoga-Judo Alliance. It's war."
Kritagiya raised an eyebrow. "And I need payment. This 'angel' doesn't fly for free."
Abhay's expression made it very clear: if it weren't for this war, Kritagiya wouldn't be flying again. Ever.
The fake angel cleared his throat, sensing the homicidal aura.
"Okay, okay! One address will do. Just one. I swear."
Abhay sighed and pulled out his phone. One contact stood out like a godsend.
Shivam Sharma – Head Boy.
He was absent from the war due to a brutal fever—but this was bigger than ethics.
Abhay dialed.
"Yo, Shivam. Quick question. Any girl lives near your house?"
There was a pause. A cough. Then: "Uh... there's a 6th class girl who lives in the house beside mine—"
Abhay immediately groaned. "No, no, bro. Anyone in Class 10 or above?"
"Oh. Yeah. One girl from Class 11-A, lives across the lane. Why?"
"No reason. Just... fighting for peace."
He ended the call and turned to Kritagiya.
"Done. I sent the address. You better be worth this."
Kritagiya's eyes sparkled like he just won a jackpot. He grabbed his laptop, tucked his headphones into his hoodie, and stood up dramatically.
"You have acquired one fake angel. Let's roll."
They exited the lab, running through the abandoned corridor like commandos on a mission.
But then—
Ding!
The speaker crackled. It was Yugansh Roy, still very much enjoying his job as announcer.
"Yo, students! Breaking news!"
"I, Mohit Thakur of Class 7-B, declare war on all sections of Class 6!"
There was a pause, and then Yugansh's voice returned with full sarcasm.
"Oh my God. It's happening. The tiny titans have risen. We might need milk and biscuits at the battlefield. Someone check if their moms packed extra tiffin."
Abhay slowed down mid-run and muttered, "Strange... Class 6 and 7 were always left for last. Lowest threat rating."
Kritagiya jogged beside him. "Yeah, but now they think they're part of the big leagues. First war always changes people."
They didn't stop. There was a bigger war brewing.
And Abhay?
He was now the kind of guy who traded girl addresses for tech support.
"This war," he muttered, "is making me corrupt."
The worst part?
He kind of liked it.