Dilli sat cross-legged on the floor of his small room, a notebook spread open before him. Pages were filled with scribbles—company names, product launches, the rise and fall of industries. He had mapped the future with uncanny precision. The next two decades were already alive in his memory, etched from the elder soul that now guided him.
He knew where the gold lay buried: the tech giants yet to be born, pharmaceutical breakthroughs, green energy ventures, and even the exact timing of stock market crashes. But all of it remained like a locked treasure chest—useless without the key. And that key was capital.
"Money," he whispered, staring at his empty wallet. "The fuel that lights the engine of dreams."
The frustration grew inside him. His mind carried the weight of billion-dollar ideas, yet his pockets echoed with emptiness.
That's when another thought broke through the clutter—a daring, dangerous path. He had always been an ardent follower of sports. Cricket matches that stretched late into the night, tennis finals that kept him glued to the screen, the thundering energy of football leagues, the brutal dance of boxing and MMA. He had followed them all. Not as a casual fan, but with the precision of a historian.
And now, with his elder memories, he knew the results. Every scorecard, every knockout, every upset that would shock the world—already stored in his mind like a secret oracle.
He leaned back, heart racing. "Betting…" he murmured. "Gambling."
It was quick. It was risky. But it was the one way he could turn knowledge into cash without waiting years. If he placed the right bets—match after match, event after event—money would flow to him like a river. The thought was intoxicating.
For a moment, he imagined it: walking into a smoky betting den, or placing online wagers from the corner of a cyber café, and watching the odds bend in his favor every single time. He would be unstoppable, untouchable.
But another voice tugged at him, quieter yet persistent. Is this the path Shiva would want me to take? Or am I tempting fate by twisting destiny for profit?
Dilli shook his head, his young face hardening with resolve. He wasn't desperate for luxury. He wanted seed money, the foundation stone for his empire. And if fate had handed him the results of the future, was it wrong to use them?
He wrote in his notebook again, this time listing major tournaments, fight cards, and leagues of the coming years. His mind was razor sharp, calculating. One step at a time. Start small. Win. Grow.
The game had begun—not on the field, but in his own life.