Varun didn't shout. He didn't threaten to call the police. He simply pointed at the charpai.
"You," he pointed to Amit. "And you, you, and you. Grab a corner."
The three other boys—tougher-looking ones who had been sitting on the back benches chewing gum—looked at Varun, then at Amit. They hesitated. In any other school, a teacher would have walked out to complain to the Principal, leaving the students to rot in the heat. They were used to teachers who sought the comfort of the Staff Room AC while the students suffered.
But this new guy? He was standing right there in the dust with them.
A grin broke out on the face of one of the backbenchers. "Yes, Sir."
They moved in. Amit took the front left leg. The backbencher took the right. Two others grabbed the foot of the cot.
"On three," Varun whispered. "One. Two. Three."
They heaved.
Ramu, the sleeping squatter, let out a snort as the world suddenly elevated. He murmured something about "more chutney," completely unaware that he was being evicted.
The students tried to hold back their laughter. For the first time that morning, the tension in the room didn't feel like anger—it felt like mischief. It felt like a team.
They shuffled to the door, maneuvering the cot like professional movers, and gently set it down in the corridor outside. Ramu rolled over, still asleep, perfectly content on the concrete floor.
Varun stepped to the door. He looked at the peeling paint of the corridor, then slammed the door shut.
CLICK.
He twisted the latch. The sound was final. The outside world—the lazy, corrupt, sleeping world—was locked out.
Varun turned back to the room. He grabbed a chair. One of its legs was wobbly, and the plastic back was cracked, but he sat on it anyway, right in front of the first row of desks. He didn't stand behind a podium. He sat with them.
He looked at the faces staring back at him.
There were twenty-five of them. All male. Ages ranging from 20 to 23.
They weren't kids. They were young men. Varun could see the stubble on their chins and the tight muscles in their arms. This wasn't a classroom; it was a pressure cooker of testosterone, frustration, and unemployment.
How do I handle this? Varun thought, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his back. If they decide to riot, I'm just one guy.
PING.
The soft chime echoed in his mind again. The blue screen overlaid his vision, hovering between him and Amit.
[MISSION COMPLETE: Establish Territory]
Status: SUCCESS
Reward:
+10 XP
[Instructor Authority] increased to 5% (Neutral)
[Inventory] Unlocked (Empty)
Student Morale: -85% (Slight Improvement - Curiosity)
The stats shifted. The "Despair" tag next to the student morale flickered and changed to "Curiosity."
They were watching him. They weren't looking at their phones. They weren't fighting. They were waiting to see what the crazy guy who evicted the squatter would do next.
Varun cleared his throat.
"My name is Varun," he said, his voice steady. "I spent the last eight years in Dubai working on industrial servers and automation systems. I came back... well, that's a long story."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm another visiting faculty who will come here, take attendance, sign the register to get my daily wage, and leave you to rot."
A few heads nodded. That was exactly what they were thinking.
"You're thinking the system is broken," Varun continued, gesturing to the mountain of trash computers in the corner. "And you're right. It is broken. That man sleeping outside? He is the system. Lazy. Heavy. In the way."
Amit looked up, his eyes wide.
"But we just moved him," Varun said. "We didn't wait for permission. We didn't fill out a form. We just picked him up and moved him."
Varun stood up.
"I don't care about the syllabus. I don't care about the exams right now. My job is to make you into technicians who can get a job. But to do that, we need tools."
He looked at the HUD. Mission 2: The First Spark (Locate one working computer).
"Amit," Varun said. "Bring me that screwdriver set from the shelf. Let's see if any of this junk actually works."
Amit flinched, then stood up quickly. He rummaged through the shelf and returned with… one screwdriver.
Not a set.
A single flat-head screwdriver, its handle cracked, the metal tip worn smooth.
A few students snickered.
Varun took it, weighed it in his hand, and nodded.
"Good," he said. "That's enough."
The laughter died.
"This," Varun continued, holding it up, "is your first lesson."
He looked around the room.
"In the real world, no one gives you a toolkit. No one gives you perfect conditions. If you wait for resources, you will wait forever."
He unplugged a monitor from the pile and dragged it to the instructor's table. He pointed at the students.
"You. You. And you. Pick up any CPU that still has screws in it. Bring it here."
The backbenchers moved first.
They dumped three dusty CPU cabinets on the table. Varun opened the first one with quick, practiced turns of the screwdriver.
Inside, the machine was dead. Dust caked the motherboard like sediment.
"Power supply?" Varun asked.
One student shrugged. "Burnt, sir."
"RAM?" Varun asked.
"Missing."
"Good," Varun said. "Put it aside."
He moved to the second CPU. Same story. Dead.
Then the third.
When Varun pressed the power button, the fan twitched.
Once.
Then again.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Three sharp beeps echoed in the room.
The students froze.
Varun smiled for the first time.
"Three beeps," he said. "That's not death. That's a cry for help."
He turned to the class.
"Any CPU that gives three beeps—keep it separate. Everything else becomes an organ donor."
The HUD flickered.
[MISSION UPDATE: First Spark – IN PROGRESS]
Student Morale: -70% (Engaged)
The room changed.
Students stopped leaning. Phones disappeared into pockets. They moved—dragging CPUs, stacking RAM sticks, pulling cables like scavengers who had suddenly been given a map.
Varun moved among them, correcting grips, stopping mistakes before they happened.
"No force.""That slot, not this one.""Clean the contacts with your shirt. Slowly."
They found RAM in dead machines. Power supplies that still held voltage. One working hard drive, then another.
After forty minutes, the first PC came alive.
The monitor flickered.
The BIOS screen appeared.
For half a second, no one spoke.
Then someone whispered, "Sir… it's working."
Amit's mouth hung open.
Varun didn't celebrate.
"Good," he said. "Now repeat it."
They did.
And again.
By the end of two hours, seven machines were humming.
Seven out of junk.
Sweat ran down backs. Hands were black with dust. Faces glowed.
Varun wiped his palms on his trousers and reached into his bag.
He pulled out a battered USB drive.
"Next lesson," he said.
He installed Age of Empires on each machine.
The students looked confused.
"A game?" one of them asked.
"Yes," Varun said. "A network."
He connected the machines with old LAN cables scavenged from drawers. The screen filled with the familiar menu.
"Sir… LAN multiplayer?" another student asked.
Varun nodded.
"This game taught half my generation how networks work," he said. "IP addresses. Latency. Peer-to-peer connections."
He looked around the room.
"You don't need the internet. You don't need permission. You can do this at home. At shops. Anywhere."
The HUD updated silently.
[MISSION COMPLETE: First Spark]
Student Morale: -45% (Hope Emerging)
The first match started.
Villagers spawned.
Students laughed. Shouted. Argued strategy.
For the first time, the room wasn't quiet because it was dead.
It was alive.
Varun stood at the back, watching.
Seven working computers.One screwdriver.Twenty-five young men who no longer looked defeated.
He glanced at the HUD.
Mission 3 still pulsed softly.
Engage the Student.
Varun's eyes found Amit—leaning forward, commanding villagers with a confidence he hadn't shown all morning.
Varun smiled faintly.
The spark had caught.