Chapter 5: Secrets, Support, and a New Mission

After roasting Arjun, the system suddenly quiets down.

The silence is heavy—like after someone scolds you, and then just leaves you to stew.

Why do you look so much like someone?

My heart thuds. The fear is icy, crawling up my spine.

My mouth freezes, heart skipping a beat.

I stare at the water, pretending to watch the bubbles, but inside I’m a mess.

Both the system and I are people on the verge of death in the real world.

That’s why we transmigrated here to do quests—to get a shot at revival.

My real name is Priya Sharma. I used to be a child star, pretty famous.

Old memories bubble up—magazine covers, flashing lights, interviews where I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. The applause, the adoration, the pressure.

But after that incident...

My breath catches. The pain is sharp, still raw after all these years. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the water could wash it all away.

If the system recognises me, it’ll definitely think I’m disgusting and hate me more.

I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. The fear is more suffocating than the river’s depths.

I’m so scared my whole body stiffens, palms sweaty.

My hands shake, so I wipe them on Arjun’s fin, hoping he won’t notice.

The system finally remembers:

Nandini Verma.

So freaking similar, anyone would be shocked.

I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding me. For once, my secret is safe.

I wipe my sweat on Arjun’s naga fin, breathing a sigh of relief.

The fin is smooth, cool, grounding. I focus on the sensation, letting it calm me.

The system pauses, voice serious:

Does your tail still hurt? We’re villains, mess with others, don’t hurt yourself.

There’s concern in its words, hidden beneath the usual sarcasm. I smile, touched despite myself.

Don’t be so reckless next time.

The softness lingers. It’s nice, being cared for—even by a glitchy AI.

Some things flash through my mind, I shake my head, eyes red:

But my dad said, as long as the result is good, the process doesn’t matter.

I remember Baba’s stern voice, the weight of his expectations. Sometimes, the world is all about ends, not means.

The system disagrees:

Your dad’s got rocks in his head.

I almost laugh, imagining my father’s face if he heard that. The system is braver than I am.

The system softens, a little awkward.

You’re the one I picked. I won’t let you get hurt.

My heart flutters—for a moment, I feel seen, chosen. Maybe not for my beauty or fame, but for something deeper.

I can’t help but feel happy, my eyes instantly sparkling.

Even the river seems to brighten, sunlight streaming through the water.

Bro, out of so many hosts, why’d you pick me?

My voice is small, unsure. The answer matters more than I want to admit.

The system doesn’t hesitate:

You’re the cheapest, lowest matching points required.

A laugh bursts out of me, unexpected and genuine. ‘Bro, kya dialogue diya hai!’

Bro always roasts people, all his points got deducted from host complaints.

I nod, grinning. ‘That’s why you’re my bro.’

The system adds: Anyway, just do the plot well and revive soon. When we get home, bro’ll treat you to pav bhaji.

Pav bhaji—now that’s an offer I can’t refuse. My stomach rumbles, memories of Mumbai street food filling my mind.

After a while, I nod:

Okay.

Simple, direct. But I mean it. For pav bhaji—and maybe, for a second chance.