## Chapter 01: System Awakening
The ceiling fan rotated lazily overhead, its rhythmic whir blending with Mr. Sharma's monotonous recitation of Mughal history. Krishna sat three rows from the back, chin propped on his palm, watching dust motes dance through the afternoon sunlight slanting across his desk.
Mumbai's heat pressed against the classroom windows like an insistent hand. Outside, the cacophony of the city hummed—auto-rickshaws honking, vendors calling, the distant rumble of local trains. Inside Room 10-B of St. Xavier's High School, time seemed to move through honey.
"...and in 1556, Akbar ascended to the throne at the tender age of thirteen..." Mr. Sharma droned on, chalk scratching against the blackboard with mechanical precision.
Krishna's eyelids grew heavy. He'd been awake until 3 AM again, lost in the latest chapters of "Martial God Asura" and a Korean dungeon-crawler webtoon whose name he could barely pronounce. His mother had scolded him this morning—dark circles under his eyes, barely touching his breakfast, rushing out with his tie askew.
*Just one more chapter*, he always told himself. *Just one more.*
The textbook lay open before him, dense paragraphs blurring together. His mind drifted, as it so often did, into more interesting territories. He imagined ancient battlefields where warriors moved like poetry in motion, their weapons singing through the air. He envisioned mystics sitting cross-legged atop mountain peaks, bending reality with nothing but willpower and breath.
Somewhere between the Mughal Empire and his daydreams, something shifted.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a sight. It was a presence—sudden, absolute, undeniable—blooming within the architecture of his mind like a lotus unfurling at dawn.
**[SYSTEM: AWAKENING.]**
The words materialized not in his ears but behind his eyes, written in characters that seemed to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously. They pulsed with a soft golden light that only he could perceive.
Krishna's eyes snapped open. His heart lurched against his ribcage, a wild drum suddenly awakened. His hands gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening.
*No way.*
Around him, the classroom continued its mundane existence. Rohan was passing notes to Priya two seats over. Aarav had his phone hidden under his textbook, thumbs moving frantically across the screen. Mr. Sharma wrote dates on the board with the enthusiasm of a man filling out tax forms.
No one else noticed. No one else could see.
This was his alone.
Krishna's mind raced through a mental library of hundreds—no, thousands—of novels he'd consumed over the years. "Tales of Demons and Gods." "Solo Leveling." "Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint." "Lord of the Mysteries." Every protagonist's journey that began with these exact words, this exact moment.
*The System.*
His breath caught. His pulse hammered in his temples. Every cell in his body seemed to vibrate with potential energy, like a string pulled taut just before it's plucked.
This wasn't a daydream. The quality of reality was too crisp, too present. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, could smell the mixture of chalk dust and someone's coconut oil hair treatment, could hear the fan's persistent whir.
This was real.
*Chosen one,* his mind whispered, testing the words. *Protagonist. The Beginning.*
The thought was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. His hands trembled slightly as he loosened his grip on the desk. Questions erupted like fireworks—*why me? why now? what does this mean?*—but beneath them all ran a current of pure, undiluted excitement.
How many nights had he lain awake, imagining exactly this? How many times had he stared at his own reflection and wondered if he was meant for something more than homework and entrance exams and the suffocating predictability of ordinary life?
Taking a steadying breath, Krishna focused his intent inward, reaching toward that golden presence. It felt natural, instinctive, like flexing a muscle he'd never known he possessed.
*Yes,* he projected, the affirmation crystallizing in his consciousness. *Yes, I accept.*
**[SYSTEM: CONGRATULATIONS, HOST. DIVINE GUIDANCE KARMA SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]**
The words resonated through him like a bell struck in a cathedral. Each syllable carried weight, carried meaning that went deeper than mere language. He felt something click into place, like a key turning in a lock he hadn't known existed.
Krishna's eyes widened. Around him, the classroom seemed to fade to soft focus—not gone, but less important, less real than the dialogue occurring in the private theater of his mind.
He, Krishna Sharma, a fifteen-year-old kid who'd never been exceptional at anything except finishing novels in single sittings, had just received a System.
A System. The gift that turned ordinary people into legends.
"Holy..." he breathed, barely audible, the words dying on his lips.
His thoughts tumbled over themselves in a chaotic rush. *What can it do? What are the rules? Are there levels? Stats? Does this mean I'm going to fight demons? Save the world? Get a harem?* That last thought made him flush slightly, grateful no one could read his mind.
He composed himself, trying to project calm curiosity despite the adrenaline flooding his system. "Okay," he thought-spoke, feeling slightly ridiculous but also thrilled beyond measure. "What exactly do you do? Are you going to make me immortal? Grant me world-destroying powers? Turn me into a cultivator who can split mountains with a sword?"
A pause stretched through his consciousness, not empty but full—the kind of silence that precedes important announcements.
**[SYSTEM: SUCH MATTERS DEPEND ENTIRELY ON THE MANIFESTATION OF MY MANDATE. AND, PERHAPS, MY DISPOSITION.]**
Krishna blinked. His lips curved into an involuntary smile. The System had... personality? That was unexpected. Most systems in the novels he read were either cold and mechanical or obsequiously helpful. This one sounded almost... dignified. Possibly even a little haughty.
"A bit particular, aren't we?" he quipped silently, unable to resist. Then, more seriously: "Alright, let's start simple. What can you do? What's your function?"
**[SYSTEM: I WILL PRESENT TASKS. UPON THEIR SUCCESSFUL COMPLETION, YOU WILL RECEIVE REWARDS. THESE REWARDS WILL MANIFEST ACCORDING TO A CHARACTER TEMPLATE YOU CHOOSE.]**
"A character template?" Krishna's mental voice sharpened with interest. This was new. Different from the standard systems in his favorite stories. "What do you mean?"
**[SYSTEM: YOU SHALL SELECT A CHARACTER—FROM MYTH, FROM LEGEND, FROM FICTION, FROM ANY REALM OF STORY OR HISTORY. THE REWARDS WILL CORRESPOND TO THAT CHARACTER'S ATTRIBUTES, ABILITIES, AND ESSENCE. IMAGINE, FOR INSTANCE, RECEIVING THE TECHNOLOGICAL PROWESS OF IRON MAN, THE COMBAT MASTERY OF MIYAMOTO MUSASHI, THE ARCANE POWER OF MERLIN, OR THE CULTIVATION INSIGHTS OF A XIANXIA IMMORTAL.]**
Krishna's mind exploded with possibilities. His heart rate kicked up another notch. The implications were staggering—he could become anyone. Literally anyone. Every hero he'd ever admired, every protagonist he'd ever cheered for, every legend he'd ever studied.
Superman? Goku? Sung Jin-Woo? One Punch Man? The Monkey King? Sherlock Holmes? Light Yagami?
But even as the names cascaded through his thoughts, one rose above all others. Inevitable. Perfect. Waiting for him like it had always been meant to be.
His own name.
Krishna had never been particularly religious. His family went to temple on festivals, his grandmother told him stories from the Mahabharata and Bhagavata Purana, but he'd always been more interested in the narratives than the worship. Still, he knew the stories. He'd grown up with them.
Lord Krishna—the eighth avatar of Vishnu. The divine cowherd. The charioteer who delivered the Bhagavad Gita on a battlefield. The god who danced on the serpent Kaliya, who lifted Govardhan mountain on his little finger, who displayed the entire universe in his mouth. The supreme being who played the flute and made even the gods weep with longing.
Strategic genius. Diplomat. Warrior. Philosopher. Lover. Trickster. Protector of dharma.
The most complete protagonist in all of Indian mythology.
And they shared a name.
Coincidence? Looking at the golden words still glowing in his mind's eye, Krishna didn't think so. Nothing about this felt like coincidence.
"I understand now," he said, his mental voice filled with newfound conviction and awe. "My name is Krishna. It's always been Krishna. So I choose... God Krishna. Lord Krishna. The Supreme Being."
Silence descended, but it was different this time. Heavier. The air in his mind seemed to thicken with significance. He felt something shift in the fabric of reality around him, like the world was holding its breath.
**[SYSTEM: ARE YOU CERTAIN? THE FULL MANIFESTATION OF SUCH A BEING CARRIES SIGNIFICANT RESPONSIBILITY. THE TEMPLATE YOU CHOOSE WILL SHAPE YOUR PATH, YOUR TRIALS, YOUR DESTINY. LORD KRISHNA IS NOT MERELY POWER—HE IS PURPOSE, DHARMA, COSMIC DUTY. THIS CHOICE CANNOT BE UNDONE.]**
The warning would have given most people pause. Should have given him pause.
But Krishna felt only certainty, pure and bright as sunlight. It resonated in his bones, in his blood, in the secret name written in his soul that he was only now beginning to remember.
"Yes," he affirmed, pouring every ounce of conviction into that single syllable. "Absolutely sure. I choose Krishna."
**[SYSTEM: VERY WELL. CONGRATULATIONS, HOST, ON CHOOSING YOUR DIVINE TEMPLATE. THE PATH OF DHARMA OPENS BEFORE YOU. INITIATING FIRST REWARD PROTOCOL: BODY STRENGTHENING (TIER 1).]**
Warmth bloomed in Krishna's chest—gentle at first, then spreading like golden honey through his veins. It flowed down his arms, into his fingers, down his legs to the tips of his toes. Up his spine, into his skull, behind his eyes.
It wasn't painful. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was like every cell in his body was waking up from a long sleep, stretching, remembering what it meant to be alive.
He felt his muscles growing denser, more efficient. His bones became stronger, his tendons more flexible. His lungs expanded more fully with each breath. His heart beat with new authority, pumping blood with improved vigor.
The chronic ache in his lower back from slouching over books—gone. The slight fuzziness in his vision—sharpening. The perpetual tiredness from too little sleep—evaporating like morning mist.
He felt good. No, better than good. He felt *right*, like he'd been walking around his whole life in a body that was slightly out of alignment, and now everything had clicked into its proper place.
"...and thus the Mughal dynasty reached its zenith under Akbar's rule," Mr. Sharma concluded, turning from the board. "Now, can anyone tell me about the administrative reforms that—"
The bell rang, shrill and insistent.
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. The classroom erupted into the controlled chaos of students freed from academic bondage, if only for a few minutes.
Krishna sat still, barely noticing. Mr. Sharma's voice had faded to insignificance. The classroom, the school, the entire mundane world he'd inhabited for fifteen years felt suddenly small, like a cocoon he'd outgrown without realizing.
He flexed his fingers experimentally. They looked the same—long, slender, ink-stained from the morning's Hindi class—but they felt different. More responsive. More *there*.
*This is real,* he thought again, wonder and exhilaration surging through him. *This is actually happening.*
Rohan punched his shoulder lightly. "Oi, Krishna! Break time, yaar. You coming for samosas?"
Krishna looked up, blinking as if surfacing from deep water. Rohan's familiar face—round, cheerful, perpetually hungry—seemed somehow different. No, not different. Krishna was seeing him more clearly. Every detail crisp: the faint acne scars on Rohan's left cheek, the way his left eye squinted slightly more than his right, the small grass stain on his collar from yesterday's football.
Enhanced perception? Already?
"Yeah," Krishna heard himself say, his voice steady despite the universe rearranging itself inside him. "Yeah, I'm coming."
As he stood, gathering his books, Krishna felt lighter. Stronger. More present in his body than he'd ever been.
The System hummed quietly in the back of his mind, a golden presence that had become part of him as naturally as breathing.
His ordinary life had just ended.
And something extraordinary had begun.
**[TO BE CONTINUED...]**