The next two weeks slipped by faster than Vicky expected. Not because life was exciting—but because it was repetitive in a way he wasn't used to.
Wake up.Real computer class.Cyber café.Home.Repeat.
The "secret overlord" phase had officially died. Now he was just another student trying to understand why a computer refused to listen to him.
He sat in his usual corner of the cyber café, staring at his code.
if (operation == '+') { result = a + b; }
It looked simple enough, but the compiler had other opinions.
"Why is this error here?" he muttered, pushing his hair back. "What have I done to deserve this?"
He hit delete. Then typed again. Deleted again.
The keyboard clacked loudly, almost scolding him.
A Discord notification popped up.
Rahul:Bro new PUBG mode is out! 4PM squad match — aara na?
For a moment, everything inside him leaned toward the little game icon on his phone. He could already hear the in-game footsteps, feel the rush of a headshot, the thrill of winning.
For a moment…He wanted to forget everything else.
But then he remembered his father's slumped shoulders. His mother quietly switching to cheaper vegetables. Reena practicing interview answers at night.
His hand dropped away from the game icon.
"Focus," he whispered, opening the code again.
It wasn't glamorous. But every day, he managed one small win.Sometimes it was understanding a new concept. Sometimes fixing a tiny bug.The day his "Addition/Subtraction Program" finally ran correctly, he almost shouted in the café.
"OH—"
Then he remembered where he was and settled for a silent fist pump.
It felt… good. Different. Unlike pulling a diamond—which felt like cheating—this win felt earned.
Home was a different battlefield.
The money tension hadn't vanished, but the house wasn't drowning in despair either. It was more like the entire family had collectively tightened their belts another notch.
One evening, Reena stood in front of the living room mirror, adjusting a formal shirt she rarely wore.
"Nervous?" Vicky asked.
"A little." She smoothed her hair, picking up her portfolio. "Just… ask me something. Pretend you're the interviewer."
Vicky sat cross-legged on the sofa, cleared his throat dramatically, and put on his best "corporate uncle" voice.
"Miss Reena Kumari," he said, "Why should we hire you?"
Reena laughed nervously, then straightened her shoulders and began her practiced response. She spoke well—confident, clear—until a crack slipped through.
"I want to… help my family," she admitted softly. "I want us to be comfortable. I don't want my parents worrying all the time."
She looked away quickly, embarrassed.
Vicky felt something tighten in his chest. He wished he could tell her he understood. That he wanted the same thing. That he had nearly burned down reality trying to shortcut his way to that life.
But he only nodded."That's a strong answer, Didi. Really strong."
She smiled faintly and went back to practicing.
That night, lying on his bed, Vicky stared at the ceiling.The temptation was always there—small, whispering, dangerous.
One diamond. One potion. One pull.You could fix everything instantly.
But every time the thought surfaced, it was chased away by the memory of silent skies, blocky air, and a world where his family didn't exist.
He wasn't avoiding the power because he was scared of the struggle.He was avoiding it because the alternative was worse than any financial stress.
The Guardian's path wasn't dramatic or powerful.It wasn't a montage of victories.It was slow, sometimes dull, often frustrating.
But it was safe.Real.Solid.Human.
And for now, that was enough.
He opened his laptop, typed out the next line of code, and kept going.
One line at a time.One day at a time.A quieter kind of courage.