The challenge was set: a simple duel in the palace courtyard.
Enraged, Zian scrambled up and screamed. He drew his hidden weapon—a small, needle-like blade coated with a sleeping poison. He lunged for Bheem’s back.
Zian grew angry. His perfect form began to crack. He overextended a kick. And in that tiny moment of imbalance, Bheem moved.
He didn’t punch. He placed his open palm on Zian’s shoulder—not hard, just… there. And he twisted. Using Zian’s own momentum, Bheem sent the prince spinning through the air. Zian crashed into the same mango tree Bheem had hit weeks ago.
Zian’s hand trembled. The needle clattered to the ground. For the first time, the cruel smile vanished from his face. His eyes welled with tears—not of pain, but of shame. He fell to his knees.