Chapter 1: A New Game Begins

When I woke up, every shooter player in the world had lost their skills—by a hundred times, no less.

Inside the hostel, the early morning air was dense with the leftover smell of last night’s Maggi, while someone’s phone blared a filmy ringtone for the third time. From outside, the crows squabbled over samosa crumbs near the chai stall, but inside the gaming world, something truly wild had happened.

Overnight, ordinary players couldn’t manage even basic recoil control or counter-strafing.

It was as if all the grind—those late-night sessions, every trick from YouTube—had vanished in a single sleep. Even newbies wouldn’t make the kind of mistakes happening now. It felt like every net café from Ghatkopar to Guwahati had collectively forgotten how to hold a mouse properly.

But somehow, I was the only one left untouched, still stubbornly hanging on to my C+ rank.

I kept checking my stats, half-expecting them to disappear, but there it was—C+, nothing fancy, just refusing to budge. Maybe it was some Buri Nazar ka Tika working overtime, or some old puja’s blessing I’d forgotten about.

When I queued for ranked squads with my roommates, I solo-wiped the entire enemy team.

The hostel common room exploded—boys yelling, chai spilling onto the faded carpet. My hands trembled, not with fear but with that mad excitement you feel when India needs six runs off the last ball. For a moment, anything seemed possible.

But before I could even enjoy it, accusations of cheating started flooding in. Trolls were everywhere.

Memes with my photo—hair wild, eyes red from all-nighters—spread on Instagram and WhatsApp. I hesitated before checking my family group, dreading what might be waiting. Sure enough, my chacha in Indore had forwarded a meme with my face, asking, “Ye tum ho beta?” My mother’s call came soon after: “Beta, ye sab kya ho raha hai?” Her voice was worried, soft, the kind that made me want to disappear under my blanket.

Later, I signed up to become a pro player.

Cross-legged on my hostel bed, with the fan spinning lazily above, I filled out the registration form. My mother called again, urging, “At least apply for campus placements, beta. What if this gaming doesn’t work out? Dekho, your cousin just got a job in TCS—safe future hai.” But my mind was far away, already picturing stadium lights and roaring crowds.

I led my team to win the Major championship in Mumbai, shocking everyone.

The Mumbai finals were full-on madness. The energy crackled in the air, the aroma of vada pav and cutting chai mixing with shouts that bounced off the walls. When we lifted the trophy, the host called my name with a Mumbaiya drawl, and for a second, I swear I could hear my parents cheering all the way from Lucknow.

But as the confetti settled, I had no idea my biggest fight was about to begin.