The silence in the room following Ashutosh's declaration was so thick you could hear the distant tolling of a temple bell across the Varanasi skyline.
Raghunath Pathak looked at his youngest son. He saw the same round face and the same large, innocent eyes, but the gaze—the gaze was different. It wasn't the wandering curiosity of a child; it was the focused intensity of a man who had already seen the end of the road.
"Ideas for the factory?" Janardhan Mishra, the retired Chief Justice, broke the silence with a hearty, booming laugh. He adjusted his spectacles, looking at his grandson with pride. "Listen to him! Most children his age are asking for sweets, and my grandson wants to discuss industrial output! Speak, Ashu. What does that little head of yours have to say?"
Ashutosh sat up straighter, the Top-Tier Comprehension passive skill already helping him translate complex 21st-century economic concepts into the vocabulary of 1979.
"Dada, Nana," Ashutosh began, looking between his paternal grandfather and the Chief Justice. "Papa's masala business is good, but we sell it like a commodity. We sell it in sacks to the local markets. But India is changing. People are moving to cities. They are getting busy. They won't have time to clean and grind spices at home anymore."
Raghunath frowned, his "Hesitant Visionary" trait kicking in. "Ashu, we have the best quality in Varanasi. The wholesalers know us."
"The wholesalers know us, Papa, but the housewife doesn't," Ashutosh countered, his voice small but firm. "We need to package it. Small, sealed packets. 50 grams, 100 grams. With the Pathak name printed in bright red and gold. We don't just sell spices; we sell 'Purity.' We need a brand that a mother in Bombay can trust as much as a mother in Varanasi."
The two grandfathers swapped a look. The bickering had stopped.
"Branding..." the Chief Justice whispered, his legal mind immediately seeing the implications. "He's talking about Trademarking and Consumer Trust."
Ashutosh continued, his "Fiery" passion starting to leak into his words. "And we shouldn't just sell raw spices. We should sell 'Mixes.' A packet that has everything for meat curry, or everything for Chana Masala. One packet, one dish. It saves time. In ten years, every kitchen in India will want convenience. If we start now, the Pathak Masala Empire will be the only name they know."
Raghunath felt a chill go down his spine. He had thought about expansion before, but he had always hesitated, worried about the risk of packaging costs. Hearing his five-year-old son lay it out so logically felt like a divine sign.
"And the distribution?" his Dada asked, leaning in, genuinely curious now.
"We don't wait for wholesalers to come to us," Ashutosh said, his eyes flashing with charisma. "We buy our own small trucks. We go to every small Kirana shop in the state. We give them a display rack for free, as long as they put our red-and-gold packets at eye level. Direct-to-retail."
"Direct-to-retail..." Raghunath muttered, stunned. "At five years old... how do you even know these words?"
Ashutosh blinked, realizing he might have pushed a bit too far. He quickly softened his expression, leaning back into his pillows. "I... I saw it in a dream, Papa. A man in a suit was talking about it on a big glowing screen."
Before the interrogation could continue, Savitri stepped forward, her "Emotional Intelligence" sensing that her son's small body was starting to tremble from the sheer mental output.
"That's enough!" she declared, her cheerful voice now firm with maternal authority. "Industrialist or not, he is a five-year-old who just recovered from a fever. Out! All of you! He needs to rest."
"But Savitri, we were just—" Janardhan started.
"Out, Pitaji!" she said to the retired Chief Justice. "Even the Supreme Court has a lunch break. My son needs a nap."
With grumbles and amazed whispers, the men filed out. Raghunath was the last to leave, pausing at the door to look at Ashutosh with a mixture of awe and newfound determination.
As the door clicked shut, the room fell quiet. Ashutosh sank back into the pillows, his heart racing. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. His mind was 25, but his nervous system was still 5.
'Careful,' he scolded himself. 'If I keep going like that, they'll think I'm possessed. I need to play the long game.'
He closed his eyes, consciously slowing his breathing. He focused on the warmth of the room and the love he felt radiating from the walls of this house. In his previous life, he had been a lone wolf, fighting for every scrap. Here, he had a pack.
He opened the System panel mentally.
[HOST STATUS ALERT: MENTAL FATIGUE HIGH]
[RECOMMENDATION: SLEEP TO STABILIZE MEMORY INTEGRATION]
As he drifted toward sleep, a small figure crept into the room. It was Ananya, his younger sister. She looked at him with her big, slightly jealous eyes, but then she reached out and tucked a small toy Krishna next to his hand.
"Get well soon, Ashu-bhaiya," she whispered, "so you can play with me. Don't talk to the old people so much."
Ashutosh felt a lump in his throat. He reached out and squeezed her tiny hand before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. His memories were no longer two separate lives; they were becoming one. He was no longer just a director from the future.
He was Ashutosh Pathak of Varanasi. And he was going to make sure his sister never had to worry about anything in her life.
System Notification:
[QUEST UPDATED: THE FIRST STEP]
Objective: Convince Raghunath to launch the "Red-Gold" Packets.
Reward: 500 Skill Points.