The classroom felt bigger that week.
Not because more space had appeared, but because fewer people filled it.
Chairs sat empty. Bags stayed closed. A few students stared at the board without really seeing it. Others leaned back, arms crossed, eyes on the clock.
The systems were gone.
And with them, something else had left too.
Varun taught anyway.
Theory. Notes. Explanations.
But it was different now. The questions had stopped coming. The hands no longer went up. The room had returned to its old rhythm — attendance, silence, waiting.
The HUD reflected it mercilessly.
[CLASS ENGAGEMENT: DECLINING][STUDENT MORALE: -22%][EXTERNAL PRESSURE: RISING]
On Wednesday, a woman stood outside the lab door.
She was thin, wrapped in a faded dupatta, her face tired in a way Varun recognized immediately. She held her son's shoulder tightly, as if afraid he might disappear.
"Sir," she said when Varun stepped out, "may I speak with you?"
Her son—Anand—kept his eyes down.
They stood near the staircase, away from the classroom.
"I want to stop his classes," she said directly.
Varun didn't react.
"Why?" he asked gently.
She exhaled sharply, as if releasing something she had been holding for weeks.
"From the beginning, I told him this college won't give anything," she said. "Now he has learned enough. He knows parts. He can install Windows. That is enough."
Varun shook his head slowly.
"That is not enough," he said. "He will remain junior for years."
She looked at him, eyes sharp.
"Sir, we are poor," she said. "We cannot wait for years. Someone I know said they will hire him. Small shop. Junior. At least salary comes."
Anand finally spoke, his voice low.
"Sir, Amma is right."
The HUD flickered.
[HOUSEHOLD ECONOMIC PRESSURE: HIGH][FAMILY DECISION TREND: EARLY EXIT — 41%]
Varun felt the weight settle in his chest.
"I understand," he said finally. "But let me tell you something honestly."
She waited.
"If he leaves now," Varun said, "he will learn just enough to never grow. He will work, yes. But he will always work under someone. Always dependent."
She nodded slowly.
"But dependence is better than hunger," she said.
Varun had no answer to that.
She thanked him politely and walked away with Anand.
The HUD updated again.
[STUDENT RETENTION RISK: CRITICAL]
That evening, Varun stayed back late, sitting alone in the empty lab.
The whiteboard still had faded diagrams of motherboards.
Outside, the campus lights flickered on.
Footsteps approached.
Amit's father stood there, helmet in hand.
"I just came to say thank you," he said.
Varun stood up.
"It's the institute," Varun said automatically. "They are trying."
Amit's father smiled sadly.
"Sir," he said, "I knew the truth from the first day."
Varun looked at him.
"That man sleeping on the charpai," Amit's father continued. "I saw him. That day I knew this place is not meant to help boys like my son."
Varun didn't interrupt.
"I didn't expect miracles," the man said. "I only wanted Amit to learn how to sit in an office. How to talk properly. How not to be scared of machines."
He paused.
"But then one day," he said softly, "he brought pizza."
Varun felt his throat tighten.
"He didn't tell me. He just put money in my wallet. Small amounts. Sometimes he refueled my bike without asking. I noticed."
The man looked down.
"I felt proud," he said. "Not because of money. Because he was thinking like a man."
He looked back at Varun.
"Now the college stopped it," he said. "And I understand something."
Varun waited.
"It is not my son who is useless," Amit's father said quietly. "It is the system that doesn't know how to make him useful."
He nodded once.
"And you," he added, "without any reason, helped me see what my son truly is."
The HUD pulsed faintly.
[HOUSEHOLD TRUST: +1][SYSTEM PRESSURE: UNCHANGED]
Amit's father left.
Varun stood alone again.
The system had won this round.
But it had revealed something else.
The students were not failing because they were incapable.
They were being pulled away early—not by laziness, but by survival.
Varun sat back down, staring at the empty chairs.
If the system wouldn't wait for these students to grow—
Then growth would have to happen faster.
And somewhere else.
The HUD flickered one last time.
[STRATEGIC SHIFT REQUIRED]
Varun closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he would stop trying to save the class.
He would start trying to outpace the system.