Chapter 6: Villain KPIs and the Matsya Showdown

The system says Naga Valley’s vaastu is great for raising fish.

‘All the best water, positive energy, koi bhi vastu consultant hote toh khush ho jaate.’ I almost expect to see an idol of Lord Vishnu somewhere in the caves.

After a few days in Naga Valley, my wounds are completely healed.

The water here is magical, warm and soothing. Tiny fish nibble at my wounds, helping them close. I feel lighter, almost like my old self.

In the original plot, the mermaid princess is locked up in Naga Valley as a hostage.

They tried to make my prison pretty—flowers floating on the water, golden chains on my fins. ‘Royalty bhi kya cheez hai.’

But she’s got villain KPIs to meet, so she still finds ways to stir up trouble.

Even in captivity, I find ways to rebel. Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker.

The second plot task: Sow discord between the male and female leads, push their relationship forward.

I read the instructions, mouth twisting. ‘Yeh system bhi na, full-on saas-bahu serial likhne ki sochta hai.’

Three steps: first, humiliate the female lead;

Second, tell her the male lead likes you, make her uncomfortable;

Third, after she storms out, push her into the Old Lake.

My heart thuds—this is serious business. I glance at my reflection in the water, practicing my villain face.

What happens next—heh heh heh.

The system lets out a creepy laugh.

Its laugh is so filmy, I almost expect dramatic background music. ‘Bro, thoda control kar.’

I ask nervously:

What happens next? Will Meera get hurt?

My voice is soft, anxious. I don’t want real harm—just enough for the plot.

The system won’t tell me, and even scolds me.

Little kid, don’t stick your nose in grown-up business.

I pout, but nod. ‘Fine, bro, whatever you say.’

Just do these three steps and don’t worry about the rest.

I take a deep breath, readying myself for the role of a lifetime.

I hold back tears, sniffling.

‘Villains don’t cry,’ I remind myself, but old habits die hard.

Okay, I’ll listen to bro.

One task at a time. That’s how you survive—in stories and in life.

Before I can look for Meera, she finds me first.

Of course. Matsyas are known for their timing—always showing up when you least want them.

Meera is a Matsya. Because she’s huge, she has to keep eating to stay energised.

She’s busy munching on crispy prawns, shells crunching between her sharp teeth. I try not to flinch—it’s oddly mesmerizing.

While shoving crispy prawns in her mouth, Meera questions me.

What dirty tricks (chomp chomp) did you use to mess with the Naga Lord’s mind (chomp chomp), even letting you live at the spiritual spring of Naga Valley?

Her words are sharp, but her mouth is full. I almost want to laugh—villainy loses its edge when paired with a mouthful of food.

Meera calls me chudail every other word, getting more and more into it.

I think of all the times my classmates called each other names—this feels no different, just grander.

You’re really a dung beetle in a sari (chomp chomp)—shameless!

Making your bed in a public toilet (chomp chomp)—ugh, can’t get any closer to the stink.

I try not to take it personally, but my cheeks burn. ‘Dung beetle in a sari’—that’s a new one.

...

I sigh silently. Meera’s insult game is strong, even better than my old anti-fans.

She’d do well in a Mumbai college debate. I make a mental note to steal some of her lines.

Meera gets tired of cursing, and when I still don’t react, she puts her hands on her hips and frowns.

I brace myself, wondering what new creative insult she’ll unleash next.

Aren’t you going to say something?

She looks almost disappointed. ‘Kuch toh bolo, yaar!’

I blink:

Huh?

My brain stalls—all those insults, and the best I can manage is a ‘huh?’ Even I’m embarrassed.

The system is furious.

‘Huh’ what, just ‘huh’? Hurry up and curse her back! Whatever she says to you, throw it back at her!

Its voice is sharp, but I can hear the desperation underneath. ‘Aaj toh pakka fail ho jayenge.’

I take a deep breath and whisper:

R...rebound.

The word hangs in the air, weak as a day-old chai. Even the prawns look disappointed.

The system is even more frustrated, yanks up the script from the panel, and orders me to read it.

You Matsyas are all big and rough, ugly as can be. How can you compare to our merfolk—graceful and beautiful? Of course Arjun doesn’t like you.

I stumble over the words, my tongue heavy. ‘Ye sab kehne ka mann hi nahi karta.’

I still don’t speak.

I stare at my hands, guilt prickling my skin. The insults feel wrong—not just to say, but to even think.

System: What, can’t read? Fine, I’ll add Hindi translation for you.

I shake my head:

But body shaming is wrong.

I say it softly, but firmly. In a world full of differences, why make anyone feel less?

Why should Matsyas and merfolk look the same?

We’re all unique—Amma always said beauty is in the heart, not the face.

The system is stunned.

For once, it’s speechless. I wonder if I’ve broken it for good.

You make a good point.

There’s a grudging respect in its tone now. ‘Maybe you’re not so hopeless after all.’

Fine, I’ll spend some points to skip this part.

A wave of relief washes over me. ‘Thank God for loopholes.’

The main event is the next two steps.

I perk up: Bro, you’re so nice! I’ll definitely finish the quest!

My voice is bright, hopeful. Maybe this story isn’t so bad after all.

The system’s tone suddenly turns cold, but the end of each word rises up:

Don’t butter me up, bro doesn’t buy it. Just do the job.

But there’s a smile hiding in his voice. I nod, ready for whatever comes next.

The system calmly moves on. Second step: tell Meera you like bro—cough, I mean, the male lead.