Ch.2: A New Beginning

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- Princeton, New Jersey, USA -

- August 12, 1935 -

Aryan's eyes shot open, his breath rapid and shallow. The faint hum of traffic and muffled voices seeped through the thin walls, grounding him in an unfamiliar reality. Blinking against the dim light, he took in the modest room around him. The ceiling fan above creaked rhythmically, its slow rotation barely stirring the warm air. A small desk, cluttered with textbooks and papers, sat in the corner, and the single bed beneath him groaned as he shifted.

He raised his trembling hands and froze. They were smaller, leaner—foreign. Panic surged as he stumbled to his feet, unsteady and disoriented. His eyes caught the cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

The reflection staring back wasn't his—not entirely. His features were youthful and softer, the hints of a handsome boy not yet burdened by life's weight. Yet, beneath this unfamiliar guise, he could sense faint traces of his former self. His sapphire blue eyes, striking and alive, widened as he touched his face. The resemblance to Hrithik Roshan, an actor from his past life, flickered in his mind, adding to the disorienting sense of déjà vu.

"What...is this?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice higher-pitched, unrecognizable.

Suddenly, memories came crashing in—a deluge of sights, sounds, and emotions that weren't his. He staggered back onto the bed, clutching his head as fragments of another life forced their way into his consciousness.

The name Aryan Rajvanshi echoed repeatedly, weaving itself into his identity. Images of grandeur, struggle, and rebellion played out in his mind. He saw glimpses of a family with roots that traced back to the illustrious Gupta and Mauryan dynasties, their legacy a proud but heavy mantle. His great-grandfather, a fierce patriot, had stood against the British in the 1857 uprising, setting the tone for generations to follow.

By the time of Aryan's father, this resistance had evolved into something more calculated and widespread. As a leader of the Bharatiya Swatantrata Sangathan (BSS), his father was a powerful figure in the independence movement. Together with Aryan's mother, a master strategist and unwavering supporter, they had built the BSS into a formidable force working alongside the Congress and Muslim League.

But this Aryan wasn't on the frontlines of the struggle. His parents, under the constant watchful gaze of the British, had decided to send him far from danger—to America. There, under the guardianship of Raghav, their trusted butler and loyal protector, Aryan had thrived.

Flashes of his new life poured in—grueling hours spent poring over books, navigating the halls of Princeton University, and earning the admiration of professors who saw him as a prodigy. At just 15, he was already pursuing PhDs in engineering, physics, and political studies, an extraordinary feat for anyone, let alone an Indian in 1935.

But these accomplishments had come at a cost. Aryan saw glimpses of the prejudice and harsh racial discrimination he had faced—professors questioning his capabilities, peers dismissing him because of his heritage and skin colour, and the constant murmur of stereotypes calling him "just a boy from the land of snake charmers." Yet, he had risen above it all, proving time and again that his brilliance transcended the color of his skin or the assumptions of others.

A particular memory surfaced with sharp clarity: a letter from CV Raman, India's Nobel laureate in physics. Raman's words had been filled with encouragement, urging Aryan to break barriers and show the world the true potential of Indians.

As the flood of memories ebbed, Aryan sat motionless. He wasn't just Aryan Yadav, a man of unrelenting ambition, nor was he merely Aryan Rajvanshi, a boy carrying the hopes of his family and nation. He was both, and the gravity of this realization settled heavily on his chest.

This wasn't a second chance to relive life—it was an opportunity to do more. His family's fight for independence, his own struggles against prejudice, and the expectations of a nation waiting for freedom all rested on his shoulders. And now, with the knowledge of two lifetimes, he could see the immense potential of his unique position.

He stood, his sapphire blue eyes catching the faint light from the window. His resolve solidified. The omnipotent being had called this a test, a chance to prove himself. If so, he would not falter. He would wield his knowledge, his genius, and his newfound purpose to rewrite the future.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. It opened to reveal Raghav, his steady presence grounding Aryan amid the chaos of his mind.

"Young Master," Raghav said with a kind but concerned tone. "Are you all right? Breakfast is ready, and a letter from the university arrived this morning. They're waiting for your response to their proposal for your research papers."

Aryan nodded slowly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "I'm fine, Uncle Raghav. Let's have breakfast. After that, I'll review the letter. We have much to do."

Raghav raised an eyebrow but didn't press further, stepping aside to let Aryan pass.

As he walked into the hallway, Aryan felt the weight of the past and future converge within him. This life, this moment—it was his to shape. And he would begin, step by step, in this unfamiliar but promising new beginning.

As Aryan followed Raghav down the dimly lit hallway, his steps abruptly halted. A soft, mechanical sound echoed in his head—

| Ding |

His breath caught as an emotionless, computerized female voice spoke, its tone cold and clinical.

| System initializing….. |

| 1%...10%...50%... |

The words resounded clearly, yet no one else seemed to notice. Aryan's eyes darted around the corridor, his heart pounding as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Was this real? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

The voice continued Its progress in his head, and for a moment, Aryan stood frozen, his thoughts racing. A system? Like the ones he'd read about in countless fanfiction stories back in his previous life? Those were fantasies, he had always thought—fictional tools used to give characters power beyond measure. But this… this felt real, impossibly so.

| Ding! System successfully installed |

Before he could process the words, another voice, smooth and oddly soothing this time, replaced the cold tone from earlier. It echoed clearly in his mind, carrying a strange sense of authority and familiarity.

| Welcome, host, to the Genesis Maker System |

Aryan's breath hitched, his hands curling into fists as he stood in stunned silence. A system? He hadn't just been reincarnated—he'd been given a tool, one that could change everything. A surge of anticipation mixed with unease rippled through him. The omnipotent being had mentioned a test. Was this part of it? Or was it something else entirely?

"Young Master, is everything okay?" Raghav's voice broke through his daze, pulling him back to the present. Aryan quickly steadied himself, his expression neutral.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, though his voice carried a weight that hadn't been there moments ago. "Let's continue."

But as he resumed walking, his mind was far from calm. If this Genesis Maker System was what it seemed, it could be the key to everything—or a burden he hadn't yet begun to grasp.

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