The college gates loomed ahead, a pair of rusted iron pillars that felt more like the bars of a cage than an entrance to higher learning. As Veer stepped off the bus, the humid air of the campus hit him, thick with the scent of damp concrete and the nervous energy of thousands of students. For most, this was a place of opportunity; for Veer, it was a minefield where every corridor held the potential for a fresh explosion of mockery.
He kept his head down, pulling the brim of his cap lower. He could feel the 1,000 rupees in his pocket—a constant, burning reminder of the lie he had told his mother. Every time the paper crinkled against his leg, he felt a fresh wave of guilt. He wasn't here to study. He wasn't here to buy a workbook. He was here to find a ghost.
The atmosphere on campus was strangely electric today. Groups of students were huddled in tight circles, their usual boisterous laughter replaced by frantic whispering. As Veer navigated the main quad, fragments of their conversations drifted toward him like smoke.
"Did you hear? The MHA is increasing the recruitment quota," a senior whispered to his friend. "They say the portal stabilization is reaching ninety percent. They're looking for anyone with a high physical endurance rating."
"They're looking for fodder," the friend replied, his face pale. "My cousin went in for the screening last week. He hasn't come home. They told his parents he's in 'extended orientation,' but everyone knows what that means. Titan doesn't have an orientation. It only has an appetite."
Veer slowed his pace, his ears ringing. Titan. The name from the flyer. The name that seemed to be on everyone's lips but no one's official records. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning shade. If the MHA—the Meta-Human Association—was involved, then his father's connection to Dr. Khurana wasn't just a business matter. It was something far more dangerous.
"Well, well. Look who decided to show up for another round of humiliation."
The voice was like a jagged piece of glass. Veer didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Vyom Bakshi and his pack of sycophants were lounging near the fountain, their expensive sneakers and designer watches a stark contrast to the crumbling infrastructure around them. Vyom stood up, his tall, athletic frame casting a long shadow over Veer.
"I heard Priya had to wash her hands three times yesterday just to get the smell of your cheap rose off her skin," Vyom drawled, his cronies erupting into practiced, sycophantic laughter. "And I heard the teacher called you a 'Lanth' in front of the whole department. Is it true, Raheja? Or did you fail to understand that word, too?"
Veer stopped. He wanted to keep walking, to ignore the bait, but the "I am the best" ego he used as a survival mechanism flared up. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting Vyom's. For a second, the fear that usually dominated his mind was replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.
"You spend a lot of time thinking about me, Vyom," Veer said, his voice deceptively quiet. "For someone who claims I'm a failure, you seem pretty obsessed with my schedule. Maybe you're worried I'll actually pass and you'll lose your favorite punching bag?"
The laughter stopped. Vyom's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed, the playfulness replaced by a simmering malice. He stepped into Veer's personal space, the scent of expensive cologne and tobacco filling the air.
"Don't get cocky, Raheja. You're a cockroach in a house that's already being fumigated," Vyom hissed, leaning down so only Veer could hear him. "My father tells me the bank is moving in on your property by the end of the month. Three crores is a lot of money for a widow and a failure to pay back. Enjoy the campus while you can. Soon, you'll be sleeping in the gutter where your father died."
Vyom reached out and shoved Veer's shoulder—a dismissive, powerful jolt that sent Veer stumbling back. The gang laughed again, the sound echoing off the brick walls. Vyom turned his back, dismissal in every line of his body, and walked away with his crew.
Veer stood there, his heart hammering against his ribs. His fist was clenched in his pocket, his knuckles grazing the 1,000 rupees. The humiliation was a physical ache, a burning sensation in his chest that threatened to boil over. But as he watched Vyom walk away, he realized something. Vyom was right about one thing: the clock was ticking.
He didn't head toward the Math department. He turned left, moving toward the old, overgrown section of the campus where the architecture was crumbling and the students rarely ventured. He remembered the location on the flyer. The Khurana Institute wasn't in a skyscraper or a modern lab. It was hidden in plain sight, in the shadows of the very institution that had written him off.
He navigated past the abandoned botany gardens and the rusted skeletons of old greenhouses. The air grew stiller here, the noise of the campus fading into a dull murmur. Finally, he saw it: a small, unassuming brick building with a heavy iron door and a single, frosted window. There was no sign, no nameplate—just a small, faded MHA seal etched into the stone above the lintel.
Veer stood before the door, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle. This was the point of no return. If he opened this door, he wasn't just skipping a Math exam. He was stepping out of the world of "Lanths" and into a world where the only grade that mattered was survival.
He pushed. The door groaned, the heavy iron resisting before finally giving way to reveal a hallway bathed in a strange, flickering violet light.