Inside, the contractor's technical drawings were spread on the bonnet of a dusty pickup truck.
Lines. Symbols. Arrows. Legends.
Most of the students stared at it like it was another language.
Varun tapped the page.
"Stop thinking of it as a paper," he said. "Think of it as a map."
He pointed to a thick line.
"This is your main route," he explained. "Cable trunk. If you mess this up, everything becomes messy."
He circled small icons.
"These are camera points. This is the NVR room. This is power. This is conduit path."
A student squinted. "Sir… yeh sab yaad kaise hota hai?"
"It doesn't," Varun replied. "It gets understood."
He drew a quick rectangle on a scrap sheet.
"You learn it like a city. First major roads. Then streets. Then lanes."
The HUD blinked lightly.
[FIELD TRAINING MODE: ACTIVE][SKILL: SITE LITERACY — INITIATED]
Varun looked at Javed.
"We need gloves," Varun said. "And technician overcoats. Basic PPE."
Javed waved it off. "Gloves? Overcoats? They are not climbing towers. They're pulling cable. Waste of money."
Varun's jaw tightened.
"Not waste," Varun said. "Standard."
Javed's eyes narrowed a fraction. "You want standards, pay yourself."
Varun didn't argue further.
He had learned something important about Javed already: he would spend on anything that showed status, and cut on anything that protected labor.
Varun pulled out his phone, opened his banking app, and stared at the advance he'd just received.
Thirty thousand.
He knew it was underpayment for what he was carrying. But it was also leverage.
He walked away without another word.
That afternoon, he bought what Javed refused to buy:
Basic gloves
Simple technician overcoats
A roll of reflective tape
And a cheap stamp for future forms: UNDERGROUND TECH LAB
By evening, he had something else printed too.
A small logo.
A masked technician holding a screwdriver in one hand and a soldering iron in the other.
Not aggressive. Not criminal.
Just… capable.
When he showed it to the students the next morning, the class reacted like someone had given them uniforms for a sport.
"Sir, this is fire," Amit said, grinning.
Anand ran his finger over the print like it was official.
Varun watched them with quiet satisfaction.
They weren't excited about cloth.
They were excited about identity.
Neat Work Is Invisible Work
At the site, Varun made them do one thing repeatedly:
"Align," he said.
They ran cable along walls. Varun made them redo sections that were too loose, too crooked, too rushed.
"Neat work," Varun said, "doesn't scream. It disappears."
A student frowned. "Sir, but nobody will notice."
Varun nodded. "Exactly. Nobody notices neat work. Only mess gets noticed. And mess becomes your reputation."
He showed them how to:
tie with consistent spacing
avoid sharp bends
label both ends
run cable away from power interference
He made them write marker labels neatly on masking tape.
"This," he said, pointing, "is how you stop becoming 'cheap labor.' This is how you become 'reliable.'"
The HUD updated.
[WORKMANSHIP: IMPROVING][STUDENT CONFIDENCE: +3%]
First Week Money
The first week payments landed like proof.
Not promises. Not speeches.
Cash.
In one home, a father held the notes like they belonged to him.
He counted them twice, then slid them into his own pocket.
The student stood there quietly, the excitement collapsing into a familiar shape.
"Now you understand money," the father said. "It doesn't belong to kids."
The boy didn't argue.
He had learned the system at home before he learned it outside.
In another house, Amit's father treated the notes differently.
He didn't snatch.
He didn't lecture.
He stared at them like they were a certificate.
Then he looked at Amit and nodded slowly.
"Good," he said. "Now don't waste it."
But his voice had changed.
Not warmer—Amit's father wasn't built like that.
More respectful.
As if Amit had moved one step closer to being an adult in his eyes.
At Anand's home, Anand brought a new dupatta for his mother—simple, decent fabric.
His mother scolded immediately.
"Pagal hai kya? Why waste money on this?"
But Varun had learned to read families.
She scolded while touching the cloth again and again, smoothing it like it was precious.
Later, when she thought Anand wasn't looking, she held it up against her shoulder and smiled at her reflection for half a second.
Then she put it away quickly, as if caught.
Parents Who Skip the Journey
By the end of the week, something else began.
Parents started approaching Javed directly.
Not to say thank you.
To bargain.
"Sir, permanent job for my son," one father said, smiling too hard. "He will work day and night."
Another mother brought sweets.
"Sir, you are like a god for poor people," she said.
Varun watched it from a distance, feeling something close to pity.
Not for Javed.
For the students.
Because the parents weren't asking about:
skills
progression
future pathways
learning
They were asking for an exit ramp.
A shortcut.
Varun pulled Amit aside.
"Sir, why you look upset?" Amit asked.
Varun kept his voice low.
"Because they don't understand," Varun said. "They think this contract is a permanent ladder."
Amit frowned. "Is it not?"
"It's a temporary rope," Varun said. "And if they climb it without building strength, the rope will end and they'll fall back into the same hole."
Amit looked toward the group of parents near Javed.
"They're happy," Amit said.
Varun nodded.
"Yes," he said. "They are happy because money came."
He looked at Amit.
"But your future can't be built only on the week money came."
The HUD flickered again.
[NEW RISK: FAMILY SHORT-TERM CAPTURE][SKILL PATH THREATENED: MODERATE]
Varun exhaled.
The CCTV arc had started with enthusiasm.
But he could already see the next problem forming:
Not cables.Not cameras.
Time.
And families who wanted to cash out early—again.
He tightened his grip on the rolled drawings.
"Tomorrow," he said to the students, "we continue the work."
Then, after a pause, he added:
"And tomorrow, we also learn how to say no."