Varun didn't touch the drawings that morning.
The rolled blueprints lay on the table, untouched, as the students settled into their seats. Some were still half-smiling from the previous week's payments. Others looked distracted, phones buzzing in their pockets more often than usual.
Varun waited until the room quieted.
Then he asked, very simply:
"Why are your parents suddenly so eager to find you permanent jobs?"
The question hung in the air.
No accusation.No sarcasm.
Just curiosity.
At first, no one spoke.
Then one boy in the second row cleared his throat.
"Sir… my uncle told my father that government contractor companies are very good," he said. "He said once you enter, you never leave."
Another student raised his hand.
"My father's friend said this kind of payment doesn't come twice," he said. "Weekly cash. In India, sir… who does that?"
A few boys nodded.
From the back, someone spoke without raising his hand.
"My father thinks if I miss this chance, I'll never find another job that pays like this," he said. "He said certificates don't feed people."
Varun listened, his face neutral.
Then Amit spoke.
"Sir… some of Javed's own men came to our houses," he said slowly. "They told our parents we are already trained. That joining now is better than wasting time in college."
A murmur spread across the room.
Varun felt the last piece click into place.
This wasn't accidental enthusiasm.
It was design.
Short-term money to weaken patience.Weekly payments to reframe success.Promises whispered at home, where fear lived.
Varun exhaled quietly.
He didn't correct them.
He didn't warn them.
Instead, he said something unexpected.
"I will not stop anyone," Varun said.
A few students looked up sharply.
"If you believe this is your success," he continued, "then take it."
Relief crossed some faces. Others looked unsure.
"This work is not wrong," Varun said evenly. "Earning money is not wrong."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"But understand this clearly: a permanent junior position is not security. It is a ceiling."
Silence.
"Once you accept that ceiling," Varun went on, "you stop learning upward. You only learn sideways."
No one argued.
"I won't lecture you," Varun said. "And I won't chase you."
He tapped the table lightly.
"Those who want to learn—stay. Those who want to earn—go. Both are choices."
The HUD flickered faintly in his vision.
[STUDENT DECISION DIVERGENCE: CONFIRMED][LONG-TERM SKILL PATH: AT RISK]
Varun picked up the drawings at last.
"Those who are here," he said quietly, "come. We have work."
Chairs scraped.
Some students stood immediately.Some hesitated.A few stayed seated, eyes down.
No one spoke.
Evening Call
The day ended without incident.
No arguments.No confrontations.
Varun was packing up when his phone rang.
Unknown number.
"Yes?" he answered.
"Mr. Varun," a calm, formal voice said. "This is Justice Rao's chambers."
Varun straightened instinctively.
"His Lordship would like to meet you tomorrow evening," the voice continued. "Regarding the CCTV installation at the judicial complex."
Varun didn't ask why.
"Yes," he said. "I will come."
The call ended.
For a moment, Varun remained standing, phone still in his hand.
The classroom was empty now.
The drawings lay rolled and quiet.
The HUD appeared, brighter than before.
[EXTERNAL AUTHORITY ENGAGEMENT: HIGH][EVENT TYPE: NON-ROUTINE][RISK LEVEL: UNKNOWN]
Varun sat down slowly on the edge of the table.
The contractor had moved early.The families had reacted fast.And now the institution itself was paying attention.
Not the college.Not the contractor.
The judiciary.
Varun rubbed his face with both hands.
He had learned enough to know one thing:
When judges ask to meet you,it is never casual.
It is either recognition—
Or correction.
And whatever happened in that chamberwould decide whether this work stayed a path forwardor became just another systemdeciding who gets used—and how.
He stood up, switched off the lights, and locked the room.
Tomorrow, power would speak plainly.
And this time, Varun would have to listen carefully.