Previously in Lezend…
Shapra finally confronted Viren about how he knew Poojaari and Anmol's grandfathers. In a flood of memories and emotions, it was revealed that Poojaari's real name is Shivansh, the son of Vishma, Viren's best student. Anmol's grandfather, Arvind, was once Viren's closest friend, and the two had parted ways after a disagreement involving the truth about their past. After many years, Viren is now on his way to meet Arvind, dragging along a confused Anmol. Meanwhile, Shapra has begun his rigorous training under Ridhir, with Shivansh offering to help and Anvitha returning to lend a hand to Sarvani. The story picks up on a sunny July afternoon...
The leaves shimmered under the hot sunlight, a vivid green that only the tail end of July could bring. A slow breeze rustled the branches, offering brief relief from the sweltering air.
A buzzing fly passed by.
Then the scene shifted to a small roadside taxi stand, where a rusted tin roof cast a shaky shadow on two figures waiting below it—Viren and Anmol. It had been ten minutes already.
Anmol huffed, arms crossed under the small roofed shelter. "When's this taxi gonna come, huh?"
Viren, calm but visibly sweating a bit, answered, "It'll be here shortly."
Anmol squinted. "You sure you actually booked it?"
Viren took out his phone, closed his eyes like he was meditating, and muttered, "Yes, yes, of course I did…"
But as he unlocked the screen, a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
He stared at the screen—he'd forgotten to hit Book Now.
"Uh…" Viren whispered.
"What?" Anmol leaned in.
"…I may have forgotten a small button."
Anmol's mouth dropped. "You didn't book it?! Are you serious?! We've been standing here for ten whole minutes!"
"Don't yell! I'm booking it now." Viren rapidly tapped the screen.
Anmol groaned. "This is why old people and smartphones don't mix."
"I'm old, not extinct," Viren shot back.
Just then,a yellow taxi pulled up.
"Finally!" Anmol exclaimed, opening the door.
"Age before beauty," Viren said smugly as he entered first.
"Then hurry up, dinosaur," Anmol grinned, sliding in behind him.
Now, Anmol wasn't feeling akward towards Viren, he was thinking of him like his own grandfather.
Back at the temple grounds, Ridhir sat like a boss on a wooden chair, legs crossed, sipping some cool water under the shade.
"Start running," he ordered calmly.
Shapra blinked. "How many laps?"
"Fifty."
Shapra choked. "Fifty?! Are you trying to kill me?!"
The narration zoomed out for a moment to share a secret with the reader: the backyard had a circumference of exactly 500 meters.
So, yes—25 kilometers.
Shapra blinked again. "Please, master. Cut me some slack."
Ridhir scratched his chin. He had almost forgotten that Shapra was still a newbie. With a sigh, he gave a rare act of mercy.
"Fine. Twenty-five laps."
Shapra's face brightened. Then he did the math.
"…That's still 12.5 kilometers!!"
"Go!" Ridhir shouted like a military general.
With a pitiful groan, Shapra started running. As his figure slowly circled the vast backyard, the scene faded into a flashback from thirty minutes earlier.
After parting ways with Viren and Anmol, the group had split. Ridhir, Shapra, Shivansh, and Anvitha headed to the backyard. But Anvitha, seeing Sarvani struggle in the kitchen, offered to help instead.
Shivansh stood still, hands behind his back.
"I'll train," he said. "But first, I'll visit the temple. I want to talk to my parents… make sure I'm ready for this path."
And with that, he left.
Now, back in the present, Shapra was on his seventh lap and completely drained. He collapsed onto the grass, panting like a dying animal. After five minutes of rolling around and chugging water like it was treasure, he got back up.
And after nearly two full hours, the final lap ended.
Shapra collapsed again—face down.
"I'm dying," he whispered into the dirt.
"You're fine," Ridhir muttered. "Let that be enough for today."
At that moment, Anvitha and Sarvani entered the backyard with towels and water bottles.
Shapra turned his head toward them. Anvitha jogged over -and due to physics -her chest bounced.
Shapra's eyes widened.
His face turned red.
He tried to look away, but failed.
Ridhir noticed the lewd expression instantly. "Oi, you lewd shameless brat! Go drool over your girlfriend! She's my wife!"
"What? I wasn't looking." Shapra blinked.
"Who are you trying to make a fool of?!" Ridhir shouted.
"She is like your mother." Ridhir said.
"My mother…. So, how old is she?" Shapra added.
"Why do you want you know her age?" Ridhir looked angrily.
"Ha ha.. ha Just, please tell me!!" Shapra insisted.
"She's thirty-five!" Ridhir mumbled.
"WHAT she is 35 and you are 40." Shapra laughed.
"You married someone five years younger than you? You're the lewd one!"
Ridhir's face darkened. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
Shapra got up and started running, suddenly he was full of energy as Ridhir chased him in circles around the yard.
"You brat! Come back here and say that again!"
From a distance, Anvitha and Sarvani exchanged glances and giggled.
"They're still training," Sarvani said with a warm smile.
"So refreshing to see," Anvitha added.
Meanwhile, the taxi ride came to an end.
Viren stepped out first, adjusting his jacket like he was going to a duel. Anmol followed, still suspicious.
Viren turned to the driver. "Can we cut that by fifty? You didn't turn on the AC."
The driver frowned. "Sir, I opened the windows."
"Exactly –we were roasted!"
A small argument ensued, ending with a compromise. As the taxi left, a quiet sound settled over the road.
Then, they turned around.
Standing before them was a beautiful, traditional Nepali house, crafted with red bricks, wooden windows, and a carved railing that whispered history.
Viren's eyes narrowed. "Finally. We're here."
He clenched his fists, eyes burning with old fire.
"I'll teach him a lesson…"
Anmol gulped. A single sweat drop slid down his cheek.
"Uh… should I run now or later?"
To be continued…