Chapter 12: White Hair, Dark Glasses, and An Eccentric Offer
The morning sun glanced off Arin's black shades and retreated in defeat.
He ate his breakfast—it was dry and meager, but today the taste was 'Regal'. Because today, Arin wasn't setting out for a job, but for a 'Purpose'.
He put the red sunglasses on Nainu.
"Ready, Little One? Today we are going to show the world that for 'Swag', you don't need an expensive car, you need guts."
His bicycle—which he lovingly called his 'Two-Wheeled Mercedes'—hit the road.
A 10-kilometer trek. Sweat trickled from his forehead down to his cheeks, but there wasn't a single crease of worry on Arin's face. He was cutting through the wind.
Brakes screeched in front of a grand gate. Cheeee!
'International Skills Institute'.
The building was so white and shiny that one genuinely needed dark glasses to look at it.
Arin kept staring at the gate.
(Arin's Mind)
"Destinations often hide where the roads are paved with dust, not asphalt.
But this place... this place intimidates, my friend.
This curtain of glitz and glamour...
I have often seen humans shrink into 'dwarfs' behind it."
Nainu let out a soft sound, as if saying—'Brother, save the philosophy for later, let's go inside first.'
The atmosphere inside was as quiet as a library. So quiet that Arin could hear his own heartbeat. The cold air of the AC dried his sweat, sending a strange shiver down his spine.
A cabin. A large mahogany desk. And sitting behind it, an elderly man—white hair, lines of experience on his face, and a nameplate that read 'Principal'.
"Sit, Arin," the Principal looked up from a file. "Tell me about yourself."
Arin sat on the chair—not slouching, but with his legs stretched out. He took off his black glasses and placed them on the desk.
"The name is Arin, Sir," his voice held a calm pause.
"The Job... picking the locks of people's hearts with six guitar strings. My address is the streets, and my identity is my stubbornness. The rest is up to you, Sir—what is the protocol for a street-rat like me in this 'International' palace?"
A faint, fine smile appeared on the Principal's lips. He took off his glasses and started cleaning them.
"You have a way with words. But I want to know your 'Past'. What do your parents do?"
As soon as the word 'Parents' floated in the air, the temperature of the cabin dropped. The hum of the AC suddenly seemed louder.
For a second, that 'Void' appeared in Arin's eyes—the kind seen when peering into a deep well.
"I don't know, Sir," he looked at his fingers resting on the table. "I am an orphan."
He lifted his head; there was no moisture in his eyes now, only fire.
"When I was 7 years old, they left me at a railway station. Perhaps they didn't like my 'Character'. Or maybe my 'Subscription' had expired."
The Principal was stunned. "I am amazed. In such circumstances, people crumble, become criminals. How are you so... so 'Positive'?"
Arin laughed. A small, painful laugh.
"Sir, I view my life as a 'Cinema'. And I am its Hero. It's not in my nature to weep like a side character."
He pointed towards the ceiling.
"I feel the Almighty (God) is up there, holding popcorn like an audience member, watching my film.
If I keep crying all the time, stay in depression... He'll get bored, won't He?
That's why I 'Edit' the scenes of sorrow out of my script.
So that the Almighty keeps clapping."
The Principal was left speechless. He had seen thousands of students, but never had he heard such Philosophy.
(Principal's Mind)
"Chasing money and position, we have all forgotten that true 'Richness' isn't in a bank balance, but in this perspective."
The Principal slid his chair forward. There was a glint in his eyes now.
"Arin, I am impressed. Our Main Campus is far from the city, near the mountains. I want you to go there. To learn Advanced Music."
Arin was about to say something when the Principal raised his hand.
"Don't worry about the fees. When you become a big star, pay it back. And the arrangement for your stay... I will handle that personally."
Arin's eyes narrowed. His 'Street-Smart' brain went on alert.
(Arin's Mind)
"In this world, even free air is toxic.
Why is this man so benevolent towards me?"
"Sir," Arin looked straight into his eyes. "No one even gives a blessing here without a motive. What is the 'Hidden Text' behind this offer? Because the taste of free bread... my stomach doesn't agree with it."
The Principal laughed loudly. He got up from his seat and came to Arin. He placed a hand on his shoulder—a heavy and warm hand.
"Because you are living the life I always dreamed of, Arin—Carefree. You are bound by no rules. You are 'Free'. Don't consider this a favor..."
He looked into Arin's eyes.
"This is my 'Investment' in your talent. I want that when you shine, I can say that a part of that light belongs to me."
Arin walked out of the cabin. The sunlight had grown more intense.
Nainu ran to him, wagging his tail.
Arin picked up his bicycle, but his mind was still in that room.
"Look brother Nainu," he put Nainu in the basket.
"This old man seems a little honest and a little 'Eccentric' to me. Damn, sitting on a chair worth millions, he is jealous of my 'Bicycle' life? Their system is shaken."
He pushed the pedal. The cycle started moving.
"But forget it, man," the wind blew through his hair.
"I thought I'd chill after leaving the Academy, but it looks like Life has 'Leveled Up'. Have to sling the bag again. Now it's time to play in the 'Real World'."
On the way, he saw a female dog and turned to Nainu.
"And don't take tension, Little One. In the new city, we'll find a 'Foreign' bride for you too. Your 'Settle Down Campaign' will also begin."
Arin laughed, but there was a nervousness in his heart. An unknown city, a new challenge