The classroom felt colder than the hallway—like the walls absorbed every fight and kept the chill. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering too often, the kind of flicker that grated on nerves. Desks were arranged in neat rows, but every student chose a seat with the strategy of a battlefield: alliances grouped, loners scattered, and predators near the back.
Arjun slid into his usual spot by the window—second row from the back, third seat. Close enough to see the board, far enough not to be noticed. He let his bag drop to the floor gently; any harsh movement made his ribs protest.
Outside, the Mumbai morning was bright enough to sting the eyes. Cars honked in impatient bursts. A construction site in the distance hammered steel like it was trying to communicate something angry. The world felt louder after getting hit—sounds pressed harder, shapes sharpened, and colors lost their kindness.
He kept his head down, but the classroom didn't let him disappear.
Whispers rustled.
"Did you see that?"
"Again? Samar's got no chill."
"No, bro, the crazy part—he refused today."
"Refused? That mute guy?"
"He talked?!""No way."
Arjun wasn't mute. He just rarely spoke. People filled the silence however they wanted.
When he glanced up, he caught eyes staring at him—quick, sharp, assessing.
Some held curiosity.Some held pity disguised as interest.Most held nothing.
One girl—Meera—bit her lower lip nervously when she realized he'd seen her stare. She quickly looked down, pretending to adjust her notebook. Her braid fell over her shoulder like a curtain, hiding her expression. Meera was one of the few who didn't laugh when Samar bullied him, but she also never interfered.
Neutral kindness was still a kind of silence.
The blue system window had vanished, but its absence felt heavy, like something breathing just out of sight.
Iron Will (Lv. 0).Resolve +1.EXP +10.
Numbers.He didn't know what they meant, but they sat at the edge of his thoughts like a ticking clock.
The door banged open.
Samar entered.
Silence rippled through the room—not loud, not dramatic, just a quiet tightening of shoulders, a sudden straightening of backs. Like the class collectively braced for something.
Samar walked in with the confidence of someone who knew the room adjusted for him. His uniform fit well, sleeves folded just enough to show his forearms. His hair was styled with careless precision. Even his shoes were cleaner than anyone else's. He smelled faintly of expensive deodorant and victory.
He didn't look at Arjun immediately.
But he didn't have to.
People shifted away from Samar's path without him asking. Danish laughed at something he whispered. Rishi slapped his shoulder in approval. The trio radiated a kind of social gravity—pulling attention, pulling fear.
Samar finally glanced toward Arjun.
A quick flick of the eyes.
Not a threat.Not a challenge.Just… interest.
That was worse.
Strength he understood. Anger he recognized.Interest meant Samar had decided Arjun mattered, even if for the wrong reasons.
The teacher entered then—a tired woman in her forties wearing a faded maroon sari and the expression of someone who'd given every warning she had years ago. Her glasses perched on her nose like they might fall if she breathed incorrectly.
"Settle down," she said, though everyone already had.
Arjun forced himself to face the board.Math equations appeared.Numbers.Patterns.
But his mind drifted to the sensation behind his eyes earlier—the flash, the blue light, the text.
A system.Not real.It couldn't be real.
And yet… his ribs hurt exactly where the EXP notification had appeared.
Class dragged.Every whisper felt louder today.
During roll call:
"Arjun Vale," the teacher called.
He answered softly, "Present."
Five students turned their heads in surprise.
Samar smirked.
Leaning back in his seat, he tilted his chin slightly—like he was examining an unusual insect.
Arjun looked away.But Samar's eyes lingered.
Lunch break came like a wave of heat.
The courtyard outside pulsed with noise—boys kicking footballs, girls chatting under the shade of the neem tree, and seniors leaning on railings like watchers on a tower.
Arjun moved toward the end of the courtyard where the old storage shed stood—a quieter place. But even there, he didn't get peace.
A group of juniors ran past, glancing at him, whispering.
"That's him.""He told Samar no.""No way he's alive then.""Maybe the guy snapped?""He doesn't look like a fighter, bro."
They weren't wrong.
He looked thin, breakable.His uniform hung instead of fitting.Small shoulders.Long fingers.Eyes too tired for his age.
No one would choose him in a fight.No one would bet on him.
A breeze blew, carrying dust and the smell of frying samosas. The sky had brightened, clouds drifting lazily despite the tension below.
Arjun pulled out his phone.
A crack ran across the corner of the screen.He touched it gently.It was stupid, but he felt proud of himself for keeping it.
He should have felt fear about later.Samar would confront him again.The refusal wouldn't be forgotten.
Instead, he felt… awake.Like something in him had synced with the city's pulse.
The System hadn't returned.But the memory of it felt warm at the edges.
"You're Vale, right?"
A voice behind him.
He turned and saw a boy from another class—Rahul. Short hair. Sharp jawline. Lean body from weekend boxing classes. His uniform sleeves were rolled tightly, revealing knuckles that looked used to hitting pads.
Rahul wasn't a bully.But he wasn't harmless either.
He looked Arjun over, eyes moving from the bruise near his ribs to the half-buttoned shirt to the faint tremor in his hand holding the phone.
"You actually said no to Samar?" he asked, not mocking—just curious.
Arjun nodded slightly.
Rahul studied him, expression unreadable.Then he smirked, but it wasn't cruel.
"You're crazy," he said. "Respect."
Arjun blinked."Respect" wasn't a word he'd heard aimed at him in years.
Rahul walked off, hands in pockets, leaving Arjun with a strange, fragile warmth in his chest.
For a moment, he let himself think:
Maybe refusing once wasn't the end of me.
Then a shadow fell across the courtyard.
Not from a cloud.From Samar.
He leaned against a pillar, arms folded, watching Arjun across the distance—expression relaxed, posture loose. But his eyes—
Sharp.Interested.Focused.
That same calculating look a fighter gives before sparring with someone is worth noticing.
Arjun's heart dropped into a cold well.
Whatever happened next…The system had chosen the wrong day to wake.