2009 – Mumbai, Juhu
Krishna Villa
The Arabian Sea breathed softly against the shores of Juhu that night. Moonlight reflected faintly on the water, while the breeze carried the smell of salt and celebration into the sprawling halls of Krishna Villa. The grand success party of 3 Idiots had finally ended. Luxury cars had left one by one, journalists had dispersed, and the once-noisy villa had returned to silence.
Inside the living room, the lights were dim, warm, and calm—very different from the flashing cameras outside just hours ago. The walls were decorated with framed film posters, awards, and photographs from Krishna's journey. Some belonged to this life, others echoed memories from another life entirely.
After the grand success party of 3 Idiots, Raj and Manoj sat together in the living room, discussing Krishna's next move.
Manoj leaned back slightly on the sofa, his fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of water. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes carried the weight of experience. He had seen careers rise overnight—and fall even faster.
"Krishna, choosing your next script is very risky," Manoj said with a half-smile.
"One wrong decision can destroy a career."
The words hung in the air longer than expected.
Krishna sat across from him, calm and composed. He didn't interrupt. He had heard these warnings before—in this life and the last. Success was loud, but its shadow was always waiting.
Krishna nodded calmly.
"You're right, Manoj. After 3 Idiots, I want every film of mine to release at a pan-India level."
It wasn't arrogance. It was clarity. Krishna had already crossed the stage where survival mattered. Now, purpose mattered more.
Manoj chuckled softly and shook his head, impressed yet cautious.
"And now reporters are comparing you with the Khans. They're asking—who is winning?"
Krishna shook his head almost instantly, as if rejecting the thought itself. His eyes hardened—not with anger, but with conviction.
"Let's leave that," he said firmly.
"I'm an actor to entertain people, not to chase stardom. I like seeing smiles on people's faces after they watch my films."
Manoj watched him closely. There was something different about Krishna—something deeper than ambition. It was as if fame meant nothing to him anymore.
He reached for the remote and turned on the television.
Immediately, the silence shattered.
News channels were filled with debates.
"Is Krishna now above the Khans?"
"The first actor to deliver a ₹1000 crore film with pure content."
"Shah Rukh is romance, Salman is action, Aamir focuses on realism—Krishna is known for acting, strong scripts, and staying away from parties and award shows."
Panelists shouted over one another. Graphs flashed. Old clips were replayed. Every channel used Krishna's face like fuel.
Manoj sighed deeply and lowered the volume.
"They're using your name to boost their TRP. Before 3 Idiots, these same channels insulted you. Now they praise you."
Krishna's lips curved slightly—not into a proud smile, but a knowing one.
"I don't care. Fake news can't decide my worth. I'll prove myself again and again."
Those words carried quiet confidence, forged by experience, failure, and rebirth.
Over the following weeks, Krishna Villa turned into a temporary office. Scripts arrived daily—thick envelopes, glossy folders, digital PDFs. Big production houses. Famous directors. Guaranteed money. Guaranteed openings.
Krishna read them all.
Some were commercial. Some were experimental. Some were safe.
None of them spoke to him.
After reviewing many scripts, Krishna rejected them all.
None of them felt right.
At night, when the house lights dimmed and even Manoj had gone to sleep, Krishna remained awake. He sat alone in his study, surrounded by silence. Outside, Mumbai slept—but inside him, memories stirred.
Memories from a previous life.
Stories that once shook audiences. Stories that still had power.
One story, darker than the rest, returned to him again and again. A South Indian film that had terrified viewers not with ghosts or blood—but with the human mind itself.
Krishna stood up, walked to his desk, and opened his laptop.
The screen glowed in the darkness.
And started writing.
Movie Script – Ratsasan
He wrote not as a producer.
Not as a star.
But as a storyteller.
Short Summary:
The Case:
Rookie Sub-Inspector Arun investigates a series of brutal murders involving 15-year-old schoolgirls. The victims are kidnapped, tortured, and left with mutilated doll heads.
Krishna paused, imagining the opening scenes—the silence, the fear, the dread.
The Investigation:
Using his deep research on serial killers (originally for a film script), Arun realizes they are dealing with a psychopath. A strange pattern emerges—linked to a piano tune played at the victims' schools by a mysterious woman named Annabella George.
Krishna's fingers moved faster now.
Personal Stakes:
The case becomes personal when the killer targets Arun's own niece.
His breathing slowed. This was the heart of the story.
The Reveal:
The killer is revealed to be Christopher Fernandez, suffering from Werner Syndrome (premature aging). He disguises himself as his deceased mother to avoid suspicion.
Conclusion:
After a tense chase, Arun confronts and kills Christopher, rescuing his niece and ending the nightmare.
Budget: ₹30 Crore
Hours passed unnoticed. When Krishna finally leaned back, dawn was beginning to creep into the sky.
Manoj, who had quietly read the script beside him, closed the laptop slowly. His face was pale—not from exhaustion, but shock.
"Krishna…" he said slowly.
"You've written this like a professional writer. This story is outstanding."
There was no hesitation after that.
Pre-production began immediately.
Krishna took full control—as producer, writer, and lead actor. He didn't compromise. He selected an experienced South Indian director who understood suspense better than spectacle. Casting focused on acting ability, not popularity.
Every detail mattered.
Shooting started.
Krishna transformed into the role of a cop—not loud, not heroic, but deeply human. His eyes carried fear, obsession, frustration, and intelligence. He trained quietly, rehearsed endlessly, and avoided the media completely.
There were no unnecessary action scenes.
No item numbers.
No forced comedy.
Because of tight planning and discipline, the shoot finished faster than expected.
Fans began to speculate.
"What is Krishna's next film?"
"He's creating something big again."
Online forums buzzed with curiosity.
Industry insiders whispered. Expectations rose.
Release Date: 1 December 2009
On release day, Krishna did something unusual.
He didn't attend premieres.
He didn't give interviews.
He sat quietly in a dark corner of a theatre, watching the audience instead of the screen.
Gasps.
Silence.
Fear.
"Top-level writing."
"Krishna is a genius—not just acting, but storytelling."
"You can't leave your seat even for a second."
Krishna smiled faintly.
The audience had accepted the film.
Box Office Collection
Day 1: ₹50 Cr
Day 2: ₹70 Cr
Day 3: ₹80 Cr
Day 4: ₹100 Cr
The numbers stunned everyone.
First Week: ₹300 Cr
Second Week: ₹250 Cr
Third Week: ₹200 Cr
Fourth Week: ₹150 Cr
Fifth Week: ₹100 Cr
Sixth Week: ₹70 Cr
Seventh Week: ₹50 Cr
Eighth Week: ₹30 Cr
Ninth Week: ₹20 Cr
Tenth Week: ₹10 Cr
Eleventh Week: ₹5 Cr
Twelfth Week: ₹3 Cr
Thirteenth Week: ₹2 Cr
India Net Collection: ₹650 Cr
India Gross: ₹700 Cr
Worldwide Collection: ₹1190 Cr
Krishna delivered another ₹1000 crore blockbuster.
The industry was shaken.
Big production houses that once ignored him now chased meetings. TV channels that once mocked him now praised him endlessly—using his name to stay relevant.
That night, Krishna sat in his villa, quietly having dinner with Manoj. No celebration. No noise.
Just peace.
Soon, he would travel abroad—
to explore new places,
new stories,
and a future even bigger than before.
ance, and story.
[ Thaks for sporting me guys if you like superhero novel check new novel India superhero Rudra]