TSS Chapter 1 — Scene 3: Vishwa's point of view part 1

TSS: Telugu Sāhitya Sārvabhauma

Chapter 1 — Scene 3: Vishwa's point of view part 1

Year: 4999 CE
Location: Central Vijayapuri Area V Hospital, Floor 42

The automated doors of Premium Trauma Suite 04 hissed shut, sealing the comatose Satya away.

Vishwanath stepped back into the sterile, white-tinted corridor, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto Ravi. The young man was sitting on a plush, white cyber-sofa, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his entire body vibrating with suppressed, volatile fury.

Vishwa walked up to him with absolute calm, his obsidian suit gleaming under the clinical lights. Stopping a few feet away, he looked down at Ravi.

"Ravi," Vishwa spoke, his voice steady, carrying a measured weight. "We need to talk."

Ravi didn’t even look up. A bitter, mocking scoff escaped his lips. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Vishwa."

"Do you honestly believe the sensationalized garbage leaking out of the news grid?" Vishwa asked, his tone shifting into one of rational, calm persuasion. "Do you truly believe I orchestrated an assassination attempt on Satya? The media networks are bleeding for TRP, Ravi. They manufacture crises to survive. Tell me, how can an intelligent mind like yours fall for such a transparent charade?"

Ravi’s head snapped up. His eyes, bloodshot and fierce, burned into Vishwa’s eyes. "And why shouldn't I believe it?! Maybe you did try to murder him! Satya’s raw, culturally grounded epics were becoming a lethal threat to your entire empire of artificial, mass-produced genres. To you and your hidden cabal of industry giants, Satya wasn't just a rival—he was an existential threat to your very survival. That’s why you wanted him silenced!"

Beside Vishwa, Mr. Guna’s face darkened, his crimson Tilak tightening as he stepped forward aggressively. "Ravi! Do you even comprehend the gravity of the words coming out of your mouth right now—"

Vishwa silently raised his hand, halting his manager mid-sentence without breaking eye contact with Ravi.

"It is a public, undeniable truth that Satya and I share a fierce rivalry," Vishwa stated, his voice chillingly analytical. "The stories he creates are written as a direct counter to my world, and my epics stand as an unyielding counter to his. Your father is a legendary pillar of this very industry, Ravi—you understand how this world operates. What exists between Satya and me is a supreme professional warfare. It is not a petty, localized blood feud."

Ravi stood up, stepping directly into Vishwa’s personal space, locking eyes with the emperor with absolute defiance. "I know everything I need to know about you, Vishwa. And I know about this decaying, corrupt industry. Every other prominent author in this city is writing nothing but cheap, digitized copies of the genres you popularized. Your issue with Satya isn't just professional rivalry. It’s far deeper."

Ravi took a sharp breath, his voice dripping with venomous clarity. "If Satya wins, your absolute ego shatters. You view his ascension as the death of your supreme authority. Your entire existence is driven by a singular, pathological obsession—to never lose that title. You want to breathe your very last breath as the undisputed Telugu Sāhitya Sārvabhauma (Sovereign of Telugu Literature) . Your ultimate, terrifying nightmare is that Satya will strip that title away from you and become the true Sāhitya Sārvabhauma."

For a fraction of a microsecond, the warmth drained entirely from Vishwa’s face. His eyes turned into cold, razor-sharp daggers. The atmospheric pressure in the corridor seemed to drop.

"To think that my mindset is so desperately cheap that I would resort to murder simply because I fear losing a competitive race... you insult my intellect, Ravi," Vishwa said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register.

With a smooth, calculated movement, Vishwa unbuttoned his pristine obsidian suit jacket, slipped it off, and handed it to a stunned Mr. Guna. Without uttering another syllable, he turned on his heel and strode down the long corridor toward the executive washroom. Guna followed him hastily for a few paces, his face pale with concern.

Behind them, Ravi’s parting shot echoed off the synthetic walls, laced with pure defiance: "I don't care what lies you spin, Vishwa! You are not the Emperor of this industry... you are its absolute Tyrant!"

The word echoed off the sterile walls: Tyrant.
The moment that word struck his ears, Vishwa’s stride didn't break, but his eyes instantly flushed a violent, blood-red crimson. His jaw tightened imperceptibly, his veins pulsing with an ancient, suppressed fury.

Yet, he didn't utter a single syllable. He didn't turn around to strike the boy down. With weaponized, absolute silence, Vishwa stepped through the automated thresholds of the washroom, leaving the external world behind.

[End of Chapter 1 — Scene 3]