The bell rang across the athletic wing.

  Arjuna lowered the practice bow first. Karna had already secured his own into its case, movements controlled and economical. They walked back toward the main building at the same pace. Karna carried the bow case over one shoulder. Arjuna carried only a water bottle.

  "You pack nothing," Karna observed.

  "I adapt."

  "You improvise."

  "Improvisation is elegance."

  Karna glanced at him. "I suppose this time the roles are reversed."

  They turned the corridor corner and collided with something solid.

  Karna did not move.

  Arjuna shifted half a step to absorb the impact.

  A rock-solid boulder of a man stood in front of them.

  Broad shoulders. Dense frame. Built like a moving wall.

  Then the "man" scowled.

  It was Bhima.

  Female this cycle.

  She bounced backward half a step, more annoyed than displaced.

  Three streaks of dust marked her uniform.

  Karna's gaze up. "You hit someone."

  "I ran into someone," Bhima corrected.

  "You do that often," Arjuna said.

  "I do not."

  Arjuna studied the marks again. "Describe."

  "Tall," she said after a moment. "Solid. Didn't feel fragile."

  That hung there.

  Karna's expression did not change. "You're late."

  "Traffic."

  "You live on the other side of town," Arjuna replied calmly. "Maybe don't wake up so late and run like a madman."

  Bhima rolled her shoulders once. "Maybe don't stand in the middle of hallways."

  They entered the classroom together.

  The teacher looked up immediately. "You're late."

  "She was with us," Karna said evenly.

  "Archery practice," Arjuna added.

  Her eyes moved between them—the first and third-ranked students in the cohort. A pause.

  "I know the Sea Games are coming up," she said. Then, after a beat, "Next time, inform the office."

  Her eyes paused on Arjuna.

  Just a fraction longer.

  He smiled politely.

  As they took their seats, the room settled back into routine.

  Rohan sat as he always did, posture straight, uniform immaculate, gaze focused forward. He did not blink when they walked past him. "Good afternoon," he said without turning his head.

  Lizado turned ninety degrees too smoothly. Blink. Blink blink. Then he stopped blinking entirely. "You are late," he observed.

  "Yes, but not afternoon late," Bhima replied.

  "Probability of disciplinary action reduced by fifty-three percent due to social shielding," Lizado added "helpfully".

  Bhima ignored him.

  The teacher started talking again about social mobility and economic structures, explaining how wealth moved, how status changed, and how some patterns were rewarded while others were ignored.

  Karna opened his notebook.

  Arjuna leaned back slightly as the teacher continued to explain how institutions preserved hierarchy across generations.

  Bhima was already asleep.

  In this day and age, even the three reincarnated heroes of the Mahabharata, along with two beings who did not belong to any epic, attended economic theory as it mattered.

  The bell released the campus into controlled chaos.

  Students spilled into the courtyard beneath the wide banyan trees. Stone tables with fixed benches lined the shaded space. The sea breeze drifted faintly over the outer walls.

  They took their regular table.

  Karna set his bow bag carefully against the stone bench before opening his stainless steel lunch box. Measured portions. Clean cuts. No excess.

  Arjuna placed his lacquered container beside it. Balanced colors. Precision slices. Intentional.

  Bhima dropped her backpack onto the bench and unzipped it.

  There were no books inside.

  No notebooks.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The entire interior was occupied by a stacked, stainless-steel multi-tier container system.

  She pulled it out with both hands and placed it on the table.

  Each layer is locked into the next with mechanical precision.

  She unlocked the top tier.

  Rice.

  Second tier.

  Curry.

  Third tier.

  Fried snacks.

  Arjuna looked at it once. "…Balanced."

  Bhima looked up.

  All three tiers were empty.

  Karna glanced at his still unopened lunch.

  Rohan checked the time.

  Not one minute had passed.

  Bhima closed the container and slid it back into her bag. It fit perfectly. The bag returned to normal proportions.

  Then two figures approached.

  Identical at first glance.

  Same height. Same balanced features. Same dark hair falling slightly past regulation length. Same steady posture.

  They moved in sync without appearing to try.

  They set their trays down at the same time.

  Canteen rice.

  Watery lentils.

  One boiled egg split in half.

  No drinks. No extras.

  They sat.

  Bhima looked at their trays. "…You want some?"

  She reached back into her bag and pulled out a second container.

  Dessert.

  Still warm.

  The twins arrived at the same time.

  Perfect synchronization.

  "You two share everything?" Arjuna asked lightly.

  "Yes," one said.

  "No," the other said.

  They both took a dumpling.

  Simultaneously.

  Across the table, Rohan opened his lunch.

  A perfectly arranged Japanese bento. Rice aligned. Egg sliced evenly. Fish-centered. Nothing was touched unintentionally.

  Lizado opened his container.

  Fermented shark.

  A tin of surstr?mming.

  Dried yak strips.

  There was also a bottle of cloudy white fermented mare's milk.

  The courtyard breeze shifted.

  Several nearby students relocated.

  Arjuna blinked once. "International."

  "It was available," Lizado said.

  A brief silence followed.

  All five heroes had the same thought.

  Where?

  No one asked.

  The twins' attention shifted.

  Not to Lizado.

  To Rohan.

  "You eat the same thing every day," one observed.

  "Yes."

  "You don't experiment."

  "No."

  "You optimize."

  "Yes."

  Bhima chewed calmly. "You're interrogating him over rice."

  "Observing," one replied.

  "Testing," the other added.

  Arjuna leaned back slightly, angling his body closer to Karna in a way that would be misinterpreted from across the courtyard.

  From a distance, it looked intentional.

  Several students were already watching.

  "If they keep this up, the rumor market moves," Arjuna said lightly.

  Karna continued eating. "Irrelevant."

  The twins leaned forward slightly across the stone table.

  "Do you know which one of us is which?" one asked.

  "Yes," Rohan replied.

  "Will you tell us?" the other asked.

  "No."

  That made both of them smile.

  Simultaneously.

  Lizado leaned forward slightly.

  "Spectating," he announced.

  No one responded.

  "Twin A exhibits a marginally dominant stance posture. Twin B displays a micro delay in synchronized chewing cadence. Gender differentiation is likely present. Estimated probability both are male: sixty-four percent."

  Silence.

  One twin looked at him.

  The other looked at Rohan.

  No one corrected him.

  Bhima pushed the container of fermented shark slightly farther away.

  "Eat quietly."

  Lizado nodded once.

  "Confirmed," he said.

  Rohan continued eating.

  Unbothered.

  He did not correct Lizado.

  He did not confirm.

  He already knew.

  The courtyard hummed around them.

  Five reincarnated heroes of the Mahabharata.

  Two beings who did not belong to any epic.

  One lunch table had quietly become the most unstable point in the city.

  Lunch dissolved just as it always did. Not with a goodbye, just with everyone standing up at slightly different times and drifting back into routine.

  They returned to the main building, the courtyard noise fading behind them. Hallways filled, thinned, filled again. Someone ran past with a half-buttoned blazer. Someone else argued about midterms as if it were a war.

  Their classroom was already half occupied when they arrived.

  Bhima dropped into her seat like gravity had made a reservation for her. Karna sat with the same controlled stillness he brought to everything. Arjuna leaned back a little too comfortably, like posture was optional when you were winning at it. Rohan was already seated, perfectly straight, gazing forward. Lizado slipped into his chair, as if trying to look normal while failing on a philosophical level.

  The teacher entered, placed her notes on the desk, and began speaking without preamble. Social mobility. Institutional inertia. How wealth reproduced itself. How status moved less than people believed it did.

  Karna wrote.

  Arjuna listened just enough to look polite.

  Bhima began losing consciousness in stages.

  Rohan did not blink.

  Lizado raised his hand.

  The teacher paused, the way teachers always did when deciding whether answering a question would be a mistake. "Yes?"

  Lizado stood. "Rohan. After school. Please accompany me to headquarters."

  Silence.

  A pen tapped once.

  Someone in the back row whispered, "Headquarters of what?" and then immediately reconsidered their life choices.

  The teacher stared at Lizado for half a second too long, then continued as if she hadn't heard him. The class moved on with the same momentum as before, as if reality itself had accepted that this was normal.

  Rohan did not look at Lizado. "Okay."

  Lizado sat down, satisfied.

  No one reacted.

  Not because they didn't hear.

  Because they had collectively learned that reacting made it worse.

  The rest of the period passed with the usual background noise of education pretending to matter. The teacher spoke about systems. The board squeaked. The air conditioning fought Mumbai and lost politely.

  The final bell rang.

  Lizado sprinted out of the classroom before the teacher finished, "Class dismissed."

  No one reacted.

  They were used to it.

  Rohan packed methodically and followed at a normal pace.

  Karna and Arjuna moved together toward the field. Bhima followed, cracking her knuckles once as if this were something more than practice.

  The twins would meet them there.

  They always did.

  Late afternoon light settled over the archery range. Targets stood in clean rows. The breeze was minimal. The grass still carried subtle scars from earlier footwork.

  Karna stepped upon the line with his own bow.

  Arjuna faced him.

  No target between them.

  "Movement round," Arjuna said.

  "Blunt tips only," Karna replied.

  The first arrow came fast.

  Arjuna drew and released in one smooth motion.

  The arrow drove straight toward Karna's sternum.

  Karna took a half-step to the right.

  The arrow passed where he had been and buried itself upright in the turf.

  Minimal movement.

  Karna returned fire immediately.

  Arjuna rotated the hips by 2 degrees.

  The arrow skimmed past his ribs.

  They accelerated.

  Arrow.

  Shift.

  Arrow.

  Tilt.

  Each dodge grew smaller. Centimeters. Breath controlled. Weight redistributed before impact even existed.

  The grass below their feet ripped from each micro adjustment.

  Arjuna fired low.

  Karna turned just enough. The blunt tip brushed the fabric, leaving a faint mark beneath his uniform.

  Karna answered with two shots in rapid succession.

  Arjuna exited the first trajectory and let the second pass through the space his spine had occupied a heartbeat earlier.

  The atmosphere between them tightened.

  This was no longer sport.

  This was memory.

  Arjuna drew deeper.

  Release.

  The arrow struck Karna square in the sternum.

  The impact cracked sharply.

  Karna slid back half a step.

  Did not fall.

  Arjuna lowered the bow slightly. "One."

  Karna exhaled once.

  Then lifted his chin.

  "Make it interesting."

  The temperature shifted.

  Light traced beneath Karna's uniform. Faint golden lines surfacing like restrained sunlight, remembering its shape.

  Arjuna inclined his head.

  The practice bow dissolved.

  Something older replaced it.

  Longer.

  Heavier.

  Wrong for a school field.

  They understood the risk.

  They chose it anyway.

  Arjuna drew.

  The string tightened with a sound that did not belong to this era.

  Release.

  The arrow cut forward—clean and absolute.

  Karna stepped aside.

  Perfect.

  The arrow missed him by inches.

  It did not slow.

  It crossed the field.

  It crossed the boundary markers.

  A sharp rupture cleaves the air.

  Not impact.

  Penetration.

  They turned.

  Near the outer wall of the academy,

  A man lay on the ground.

  A long, dark coat lay beneath him.

  There was a perfect circular void through his chest.

  Not torn.

  Removed.

  No blood.

  No spray.

  Just absence.

  He blinked once.

  "…Ouch."