I didn't need thirty seconds. I didn't even need three.
"Option A," I said, quiet but certain, staring at the red glow like it was daring me to hesitate. "Take everything. I don't care."
[Host has selected OPTION A.]
[1,00,000 SP deducted.]
[1 Wish Token consumed.]
[Emergency Protocol Activated.]
[Host and Host's family are now shielded from all threats originating from tonight's event. Trace erased. Trail sealed.]
The panel pulsed once, calm again, like it had never screamed red at me in the first place.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Paisa toh phir se kama sakta hoon. Maa nahi.
(I can earn money again. Not my mothers.)
There was no version of tonight where I chose differently. Some decisions don't need thinking. They just need you to be honest about what actually matters, and everything else falls into place behind that.
I sat there for a second, letting the silence settle, then remembered the second wish token still glowing faintly in the corner of the interface. My last one.
I thought about the CM's voice again, that heavy pause before he said "that is a very big change to ask for, Vijay." I already knew, deep in my gut, that pushing a law like that through an entire constitutional machine wasn't going to happen just because a thirteen-year-old asked nicely on a phone call. Politics didn't work on good intentions. It worked on pressure. Timing. Leverage.
If I wanted that change to actually survive committees, courts, protests, and a hundred men in suits who'd rather die than change anything, I needed more than a request.
I needed an edge.
"System," I said. "Use the second wish token. I want to give it real momentum, I need every possible push behind it, whatever the system can offer."
[Confirmed. Wish Token (2/2) consumed.]
[Remaining SP: 0]
Just like that, gone. My entire savings, the pride of eleven sleepless months, wiped out in under two minutes.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Ek din mein crorepati se bhikhari.
(From millionaire to broke, in a single day.)
The system flickered, then pulled up something new, a full status readout, clean glowing text hovering in the dark of my room.
[HOST STATUS]
Name: Vijay
Age: 13
Skills: Memory Palace, Double Thinking, Flexible Body Balance, Master-Tier Indian Martial Arts (Kalaripayattu)
System Evolution: Stable
Physical Condition: Peak health, matching global standard for adult male athletes in endurance, stamina, and strength
I stared at that last line for a long moment. Thirteen. I was thirteen years old, sitting in a dark room with the physical conditioning of an Olympic athlete and a brain wired like a supercomputer, and somehow that still felt less overwhelming than the fact that I'd just spent every point I had on one phone call and one silent decision.
My willpower, which had been holding strong through the entire chaotic evening, medal ceremony, cameras, the CM's call, the red alert, finally hit rock bottom all at once. Adrenaline has a bill, and mine had just come due.
I looked toward the small brass idol on my shelf. Ganesha, trunk curled, sitting calmly on his little mouse like the world wasn't currently trying to fall apart around a thirteen-year-old boy.
"Aaj bahut kaam ho gaya," I whispered. (A lot happened today.) "Bas ab family ko safe rakhna." (Just keep the family safe now.)
No grand prayer. No long ritual. Just that. Then I let my eyes close.
I didn't dream. I don't think my brain had the energy left to bother.
Morning came in through the window like it hadn't heard about any of last night's drama, soft, golden, completely unbothered.
I woke up feeling, strangely, fresh. Not the exhausted, foggy kind of fresh where you drag yourself out of bed anyway. Actually fresh. Like my body had processed everything that happened and simply decided, fine, moving on.
For a second I just lay there, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, running yesterday back through my head. The medal. The reporter. The CM. The red screen. The zero balance sitting where my hard-earned points used to be.
I didn't want to hand any of that weight to Neelam ma'am or Shilpa maa. Not today. Maybe not ever, if I could help it. They'd already given enough, loans, sleepless nights, tears in an auditorium. The last thing they needed was to lie awake wondering if some powerful stranger was going to come looking for their son.
So I got up, quiet, careful not to wake anyone, and did the one thing that had never once failed to clear my head.
I started my exercises.