Chapter 1: Bloodshot Silence

The clock struck 9:00 AM at Bangalore School of Management, one of the city's top business institutions.

Students crowded the hallway, gossiping, scrolling, laughing. But the moment the door to Lecture Hall 13 opened, silence fell like death.

He walked in.

Veeresh Rathore.

No introduction. No greetings. No smile.

He wore a black suit, fitted to perfection, his collar crisp, a Rolex gleaming faintly under his coat. His walk was unhurried, but something about it told everyone: He owns the ground he steps on.

His bloodshot eyes scanned the classroom. No one dared to meet his gaze.

He placed a folder on the desk, adjusted his cufflinks, and spoke—his voice deep, calm, and deadly.

> “Business is not about profit. It's about control. If you control people’s fear, time, and hunger… you control everything.”

No slides. No textbook. Just Veeresh and his words, which cut deeper than any syllabus.

---

Behind the stoic presence was a man drenched in shadows.

He wasn’t just a guest lecturer. He was a king in the underworld, a silent puppeteer pulling the strings of both the corporate boardrooms and the bloodstained alleys of Bangalore.

Night after night, deals were made under his name. Drugs transported in shipments labeled as “electronics,” black money washed through shell companies, contracts signed in blood, and enemies buried where no one would find them.

But here? In this classroom?

He pretended to be just another businessman.

No one dared to question how he got his billions.

Because everyone had heard the rumors.

“People who cross Veeresh Rathore don’t live to regret it.”

---

A student once tried to challenge him. Asked about ethics.

Veeresh had simply stared at the boy for a few seconds, his gaze icy and unreadable.

> “Ethics are for those who don’t have power,” he replied.

The boy never returned to class again.

---

Outside the campus, his real empire breathed and bled.

He had an office in UB City, a penthouse that overlooked Bangalore like a throne. A glass of whiskey always sat untouched on his desk, beside a photo frame turned face-down. No one had ever seen what's inside it.

He had guards who would die for him, killers who waited for his nod, and a network that ran through police stations, political offices, and even hospitals.

They called him “Rathore Bhai” in hushed tones.

They feared his silence more than a bullet.

---

At night, he didn't sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, haunted by a pair of eyes from his past — soft, warm eyes that had once believed in him.

But that chapter was gone. Buried. Burned.

Now, there was only Veeresh Rathore, the monster in a three-piece suit.

---

One-night stands. Illegal arms. Blackmail.

This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about control. About forgetting. About punishing himself every night with hollow company.

No woman stayed till morning. No one was allowed to.

---

Back at college, as the bell rang, students began to rise nervously. Veeresh picked up his coat, turned halfway, and muttered without looking:

> “If you're here to learn to be good... drop out.

If you’re here to learn to win... I’ll make you dangerous.”

And he walked away.

---

Outside, his black Jaguar waited. His driver opened the door. Veeresh didn’t speak.

He stared at his reflection in the tinted glass.

The eyes were red. But not from sleep.

They were soaked in the blood of his past.