The HUD appeared while Varun was brushing his teeth.
Foam hung at the corner of his mouth as the translucent blue text settled calmly in front of the mirror.
[NEW OBJECTIVE UNLOCKED]
FINANCIAL UPLIFT
If Instructor Varun successfully uplifts the financial situation of enrolled students within 14 days:
Student Morale: SIGNIFICANT INCREASE
Low-Level Institutional Threats: SUBDUED
Class Stability: ENHANCED
Failure Condition:
Student Disengagement
Increased Exploitation Risk
Varun stared at the text.
"Financial uplift?" he muttered around the toothbrush.
He rinsed his mouth and leaned closer to the mirror.
"How?" he asked the empty room.
No answer came.
The HUD didn't explain methods.It never did.
It only stated consequences.
Varun wiped his face, eyes tired.
Fourteen days, he thought.With scrap computers and one screwdriver.
The Wallet
Before leaving for college, Varun opened his wallet.
He didn't count the money carefully. He already knew how much was there.
Still, he took out the notes and slid most of them into a small brown envelope. He folded it neatly and tucked it into another pocket.
In the wallet, he left only a single ₹50 note.
Fuel money.
Nothing more.
He closed the wallet and slipped it into his back pocket.
The Extortion (Routine)
Mishra caught him near the corridor before class.
"Arre Varun-saab," Mishra said casually, falling into step beside him. "Do you have some cash? Just for now. I'll return it later."
Varun stopped walking.
He took out his wallet and opened it slowly.
Inside—only the ₹50 note.
"This is all I have," Varun said calmly. "Bike fuel."
Mishra leaned in, peering like he expected hidden notes to materialize.
"Hm," he said.
Without hesitation, Mishra plucked the ₹50 note straight from the wallet.
"Dubai-return," Mishra chuckled, stuffing it into his pocket. "So quickly broke?"
Varun nodded once.
"Yes."
Mishra laughed and walked away.
No threat.No guilt.Just routine.
Varun watched him go.
Good, he thought.Now I know the price.
The Classroom Debate
Inside the lab, the students were louder than usual.
Not disorderly—heated.
One student was talking animatedly, hands slicing the air.
"My mother showed the motherboard to the neighbor," he said. "She said, 'See? My son studies computer hardware.'"
Another snorted. "My father asked me if I can fix his office computer now."
The room buzzed.
Varun didn't interrupt.
He leaned against the desk and listened.
Amit raised his hand slightly.
"Sir," he said, "yesterday… my father didn't shout."
That got everyone's attention.
"He asked me what each part does," Amit continued. "I didn't know all answers. But he listened."
Someone else added, "My uncle said this board is very advanced."
Varun smiled faintly.
Advanced.
A technological dinosaur—yet to them, it was magic.
Varun straightened.
"Tell me something," he said. "When your home computer stops working—what do you do?"
A chorus of answers followed.
"Take it to repair guy."
"Pay money."
"He installs Windows again."
"Charges even if problem small."
"How much?" Varun asked.
"Five hundred.""Sometimes one thousand.""Even just for Windows."
Varun nodded.
"And what work did we do yesterday?" he asked.
Silence.
Then one student said slowly, "We checked RAM. Power supply. Beeps."
"Scavenged parts," another added.
"Found faulty components."
Varun let that settle.
"You did basic troubleshooting," Varun said. "And people pay money for that."
The room went quiet.
A thought formed.
Not loud.
But bright.
A light bulb.
The HUD flickered gently.
[OBSERVATION: LOCAL SERVICE GAP IDENTIFIED]
Varun's heartbeat quickened—not excitement, but recognition.
This wasn't charity.
This wasn't donation.
This was value.
He looked at the students.
"By the end of this week," Varun said slowly, "you won't just know what parts are called."
He paused.
"You'll know how to save money."
The class was almost over when Varun called out.
"You," he said, pointing gently at a student in the second row. "You said your father's office computer isn't working?"
The student stiffened. "Yes, Sir. It restarts again and again."
Varun nodded.
"Tell him to send it here," Varun said.
The room went still.
"Here?" the student asked. "In college?"
"Yes," Varun replied calmly. "Bring the CPU. Not the monitor. Tomorrow morning."
A few students exchanged glances. This was new territory.
"But Sir," the student hesitated, "what if it gets worse?"
Varun leaned back against the desk.
"Tell your father this," he said. "I am not doing this for free. And I am not promising miracles."
The student listened carefully.
"Tell him," Varun continued, "that we will diagnose the problem properly. If it is repairable, we will repair it. If parts are needed, he will have to pay for parts."
Varun paused, then added deliberately:
"But if we take the job, I give guarantee on the work."
A murmur spread through the room.
"Sir," another student asked, "what if it doesn't work?"
"Then we learn why," Varun said simply. "And we return it as it is. No cheating. No fake fixes."
He looked around the room.
"This is important," Varun said. "The moment you take money without skill, you become like the system we are complaining about."
The students nodded, serious now.
The first student swallowed.
"I will tell my father," he said.
Varun nodded.
"Good," he said. "And make it clear—this is not a shop. This is training. But training with responsibility."
The HUD shimmered faintly.
[OBJECTIVE UPDATE: FINANCIAL UPLIFT — INITIAL PATH IDENTIFIED]
[CONDITION: TRANSPARENT SERVICE + GUARANTEE]
Varun picked up the chalk and wrote on the board:
DIAGNOSIS → DECISION → REPAIR
He underlined it twice.
"This," he said, "is how professionals work."
The bell rang.
As the students packed their bags, Varun stood there for a moment longer, looking at the board.
Tomorrow, the system wouldn't just be watching.
It would be testing.
And for the first time since he returned from Dubai, Varun felt something shift.
Not hope.
Not victory.
Momentum.