Varun didn't announce the plan in class.
He waited until the last bell rang, until most students were halfway out, already slipping back into resignation.
"Amit. Anand. You too," Varun said, pointing at a few familiar faces. "Stay back five minutes."
They gathered around his desk, unsure.
"I can't bring systems into the college anymore," Varun said plainly. "That part is over."
Amit's shoulders sagged.
"But," Varun continued, "that doesn't mean the work is over."
A few heads lifted.
"There's a basement behind the old stationery shop," Varun said. "Technically a car park. Practically empty."
"Who owns it?" someone asked.
"An uncle who stopped expecting cars," Varun replied.
The Basement
The place smelled of damp cement and old oil.
A single tube light flickered weakly near the entrance. The concrete floor sloped slightly, painted with faded white parking lines that no one had followed in years.
The owner stood there with crossed arms, thin and disinterested.
"You want to rent this?" he asked.
"Yes," Varun said.
"For what? Godown?" the man asked.
"Study," Varun replied.
The owner laughed.
"No one parks here," he said. "If you give me even two hundred a month, I'm happy."
"Done," Varun said immediately.
The man blinked.
"That fast?"
"I don't bargain on desperation," Varun replied.
The owner shrugged. "Your problem."
Building Something from Nothing
They brought plywood sheets on borrowed scooters.
No drills.No power tools.
Just nails, a hammer, and stubbornness.
They built long, uneven tables supported by bricks and leftover crates. Nothing matched. Nothing was level.
But it stood.
Students wiped dust with their shirts. Someone stuck a handwritten sign on the wall:
UNDERGROUND TECH LAB
They laughed.
For the first time in days, it felt like a joke they owned.
The Guard
The parking security guard watched them suspiciously the next morning.
Systems began appearing near his small room — CPUs stacked neatly, monitors covered with cloth.
"Yeh kya hai? (what is this?)" he asked.
"Repair," Amit said.
"College ka hai? (from college?)" the guard asked.
"Nahi, (no)" Amit replied quickly. "Outside."
The guard scratched his chin.
"No trouble?" he asked.
"No trouble," Varun said, stepping forward. "We finish before evening."
The guard nodded slowly.
"Chai pila dena kabhi,(buy me tea sometimes)" he said.
Varun smiled. "Done."
Learning to Be Seen
The students didn't just fix systems anymore.
They documented.
Someone created a YouTube channel.Another set up Instagram and Facebook pages.One boy, who rarely spoke in class, edited short TikTok clips at night.
Titles appeared:
"Old Laptop, New Life"
"LAN Gaming on Scrap PCs"
"Why Your PC Overheats"
They didn't chase views.
They recorded their journey.
Their mistakes.Their fixes.Their laughter.
Varun watched quietly.
"This is your story," he told them. "Not mine."
A New Rhythm
Early mornings, systems arrived quietly at the guard room.
After class, Varun would walk down, inspect a machine, point out issues.
"Power supply weak.""RAM mismatch.""Thermal paste gone."
Students fixed them.
Returned them.
Money moved again.
Small. Honest. Documented.
Not inside the system.
Around it.
The HUD shimmered one evening as Varun locked up.
[ROLE UPDATE DETECTED]
[TEACHER LEVEL: 2]
Varun frowned.
"What does that even mean?" he muttered.
The HUD didn't answer.
The Visitor
The next day, during class, footsteps stopped outside the door.
Not students.
Not peons.
Someone unfamiliar.
The door opened slowly.
A man stood there — neatly dressed, no badge, eyes scanning the room.
Varun straightened.
"Yes?" he asked.
The man smiled faintly.
"I've been watching your students' videos," he said.
The class froze.
"And I wanted to see," the man continued, "where this is coming from."
The HUD flickered.
[UNEXPECTED VARIABLE DETECTED]
Varun felt it immediately.
This wasn't retaliation.
This wasn't routine.
This was something else.
He nodded once.
"Come in," Varun said calmly.
And for the first time since the system pushed back—
The knock on the door didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like interest.