The following morning at Taraniketan Institution began like any other—students filing through the gates, teachers chatting in the staffroom, and the bell ringing for first period.
But the calm shattered at 8:17 a.m.
A scream echoed from the back of the school building.
Students turned. Teachers rushed toward the sound. Within minutes, Inspector Ratan was at the scene.
The body of the janitor—Mahadev Das—lay crumpled near the rear staircase. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling beneath him and seeping into the cracked cement.
"He must've slipped," a teacher murmured.
"Poor man... he always carried heavy buckets up those broken stairs," said another.
Ratan crouched beside the body, studying the scene. The stairs were damp with morning dew, but something felt wrong.
"There's a mop, bucket, and cloth nearby. The water's dried. But look—he's clutching a broken alcohol bottle in one hand, and his left leg is sprained."
He stood slowly. "He was drinking... or made to look like he was."
A young constable approached. "Sir, CCTV at the back wing hasn't worked for days. The wires were cut."
Ratan's jaw clenched. "Too convenient."
He turned to the school nurse. "Estimated time of death?"
"Around 6:45 to 7:15 a.m.—before school started," she replied.
Just then, Ms. Jayasree Mukherjee appeared at the edge of the crowd—calm, poised.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
"A janitor... an accident," someone murmured.
She pressed her hand to her lips. "How tragic."
But her eyes—hidden behind narrow silver glasses—flicked briefly toward the staircase... then the garden.
From a classroom window, Sanchayita and Aaradhya watched silently.
"I knew him," Sanchayita whispered. "He gave me guavas just last week."
"Do you think... it was really an accident?" Aaradhya asked quietly.
Neither answered.
Further down the corridor, something caught the light.
A faint trail of ash.
As if something had been burned—and carefully wiped away.
Ratan turned back to the gathered staff. "I'll return tomorrow," he said firmly. "Everyone who was here before 7:15 will be questioned. Until then—no one leaves the city. Or the state."
He walked briskly to his van and pulled out his phone.
He dialed the Masked Detective.
No answer.
A few seconds later, his screen lit up with a message:
> Call me tonight.
Ratan stared at it, brow furrowed.
Something bigger was coming.
And the next move would begin tonight.