Debt did not always come with numbers.
Sometimes it came as a look held too long.
A favor remembered.
A silence that demanded repayment.
He felt it the moment he stepped into the facilitation office that morning.
The air was different. Not hostile. Expectant.
People greeted him now. Brief nods. Polite acknowledgments. He had crossed an invisible threshold—the one where tools became familiar, and familiarity invited use.
"Can you take this upstairs?" an assistant asked, already handing him a folder.
"Yes."
No question. No confirmation. Assumption.
He accepted the folder and moved on, careful not to check its contents. Curiosity was a traceable behavior. Disinterest was safer.
As he walked, he noted the change in cadence around him. Conversations paused—not to hide, but to accommodate his presence. Adjusted to include him, not exclude.
Inclusion was the first stage of obligation.
The system reflected it.
[Social proximity: increased.]
[Reliance probability: rising.]
That was the danger of access.
People remembered who helped them.
And memory created leverage—on both sides.
At mid-day, the anxious student found him again. Not anxious anymore. Just… relieved.
"Hey," the student said, falling into step beside him. "You work with the faculty now, right?"
"Temporarily."
"That still counts." A pause. "Listen, I was wondering if you could check something for me."
There it was.
The debt forming.
"I might not be able to," he said. Not refusal. Delay.
"It's nothing serious," the student rushed. "Just my evaluation schedule. It changed, and—"
"I'll see what I can do."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
The student smiled. Grateful. Too grateful.
The system updated.
[Favor acknowledged.]
[Future expectation: logged.]
He separated from the student at the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time—not hurried, just efficient. Efficiency excused distance.
Upstairs, a faculty member waved him into a side room. Not official. Not private. A liminal space.
"You're becoming reliable," the woman said, scanning a screen. "People trust you."
Trust was measurable now.
"I just follow instructions," he replied.
She smiled thinly. "That's what they all say."
She gestured to a chair he did not take.
"There was a discussion," she continued. "About whether your reassignment should be extended."
He waited.
"It probably will be," she said. "You fit."
Fit was the word institutions used when something stopped resisting.
"I understand."
She studied him, searching for ambition, resentment, relief—any sign of reaction.
There was none.
"Good," she said. "One more thing."
She turned the screen toward him, just enough.
A list of names. Status markers. Trajectories.
One name was highlighted.
The anxious student.
"He's close to being reclassified," she said casually. "Not your concern. But you interact with him."
A test.
She was watching to see if proximity had changed him.
He met her gaze. "I won't interfere."
The truth sat somewhere behind that statement.
She nodded, satisfied. "I thought so."
When he left the room, his steps were measured. Not slower. Not faster.
Debt had been offered from both sides.
The student expected help.
The institution expected compliance.
Two obligations pulling in opposite directions.
That was the mistake systems made.
They assumed debts competed.
He understood they could be balanced.
That evening, alone in his room, he accessed the system—not to query, but to review.
No commands. No interventions.
Just observation.
The data showed something subtle but significant.
His presence was now altering outcomes indirectly.
Small shifts. Delays. Extensions.
Noise accumulating weight.
The system had not flagged it yet.
But it would.
Debt always demanded settlement.
The only question was who would pay.