They didn't mention "semi-final" or "final" after that.
The moustache man just stepped up and said,
"Due to some evaluation anomalies in today's data, we will conclude the junior-level assessment at this round. All listed students will receive their respective scholarship amounts. Thank you for participating."
The older kids groaned.
Some teachers looked almost relieved.
The word "anomalies" lodged itself into Sagar's head and never left.
After the hall emptied, Sagar found Aryan sitting on the last step of the stage, head tilted back, eyes closed.
"Da," Sagar said gently.
Aryan opened his eyes.
They were clearer up close.
But the skin around them was strained, like he hadn't slept in days.
"You did it," Sagar said, trying to keep his voice bright. "We all did."
Aryan nodded.
"Your head…?" Sagar asked quietly.
"It's… there," Aryan said, as if the pain was a person that had arrived uninvited and refused to leave. "I can walk. That's enough."
Radhika appeared beside them, the confirmation slip in her hand, creased where she'd gripped it too hard.
"You two," she said.
There was no teasing in her voice.
Only respect.
"You're dangerous," she added.
Sagar laughed weakly. "That sounds… nice?"
She turned to Aryan directly.
"If Arclight calls," she said, "and if they offer seat with this result… would you transfer?"
Sagar held his breath.
He knew his own answer.
He'd already told her.
But Aryan…
Aryan paused.
For the first time since the test, something warm flickered across his expression.
He looked not at Radhika—not at Sagar—not at the scholarship slip.
He looked toward the back of the hall, where Aditi was still sitting with some other kids, swinging her legs and drawing little flowers in the margins of her rough notebook as she talked animatedly to someone.
His chest moved with a slow inhale.
Then he looked back at Radhika.
"No," he said simply.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because…" He searched for a word he could say out loud. Found only something small. "Because here is enough."
It wasn't the full truth.
But Sagar heard the rest anyway.
He knew that "here" meant more than a building.
Radhika watched Aryan for a long second, something complex passing through her gaze.
"Then we'll fight from different sides," she said quietly. "But we'll still fight."
She extended her hand first.
Aryan took it.
Their handshake lasted less than two seconds.
But Sagar had never seen a truce look so much like a declaration of war at the same time.
That night, Sagar went to sleep early.
The next day, Aryan and Radhika didn't come to school.
"Fever," Nandini Ma'am said.
Aditi doodled more than usual that day.
---
Back to Present
"…I know he says 'fight' like it was an argument," Sagar finished, rubbing the back of his neck. "But for me… that day in the hall—that test—that question she asked… that's what I remember."
Aditi was quiet.
Outside the classroom windows, the afternoon light had turned softer, stretching shadows long across the ground.
"So he pushed too far back then also," she said slowly.
"Yeah."
"And nobody knew?"
"Only that he was… different afterwards," Sagar said. "Headaches became… normal. Before that, it was sometimes. After that, it was always."
He looked at Aryan, still lying on his arms.
From this angle, he could see the faint sheen of sweat near his temple.
Sagar's voice dropped without meaning to.
"And today, when he came back from the office… he had the same look he had when they took our papers away that day."
Aditi's fingers tightened on her pen.
She didn't say, "I'm worried."
She didn't have to.
It was visible in her silence, in the way her eyes stayed on Aryan a little longer than before.
Sagar straightened his back.
"Whatever this DHARA thing wants from him," he said quietly, half to her, half to himself, "it's already taken enough."
He reached for his notebook, forcing his hand not to shake.
Bell rang.
Noise rose.
The world moved.
At his bench, Aryan slowly lifted his head, blinking like he'd returned from a place far away.
"Class?" he asked, voice rough.
"Yeah," Aditi said, casually flinging her pencil up and catching it again, like nothing unusual had passed between them.
"Try not to destroy your brain this period also, okay?" she added, tone light.
Aryan snorted once, the ghost of a smile crossing his face.
"I'll… try," he said.
Sagar watched him.
And for the first time since that winter in Class 3, he wondered—
Not how far Aryan could go.
But how much of himself he'd have left when he got there.