The fireplace crackled. Steam hissed from an indoor kettle. The Duke poured brandy for himself and cocoa for the boy.
Sharath rolled out his diagrams. "The key is using bast fibers—like jute or hemp. They grow fast. We crush, soak, and sheet them with a roller system. Then apply hot iron sheets for rapid drying."
The Duke leaned in, intrigued.
"This would cut processing time by half. No more sun-drying. No more bleaching with lye and ash."
Sharath nodded. "And no dependency on rag collection from cities."
He pointed to the side page. "We'll use river wheels to power the pulping gears. Your rivers. My design."
The Duke whistled low. "You've done your homework."
Sharath stood taller. "I want a 50-50 partnership. You handle the logistics and capital. I'll engineer the process, oversee factories, and secure government contracts."
Silence.
Then, a slow clap.
The Duke's deep voice echoed: "You're not just my grandson. You're a Darsha with iron in your blood."
They signed the pact by candlelight.
And thus, SK Paper was born