The hostel corridor smelled of damp clothes, cheap soap, and the sour trace of last night's burnt tea. Joy woke shivering under his thin blanket, the ceiling fan turning lazily above as though reluctant to work. His room was hardly a room at all — just a bed that sagged in the middle, a wobbly plywood desk buried under battered textbooks, and a cracked window that let in more dust than sunlight.
He checked his old phone. The cracked screen lit up with a banking alert he dreaded to see — balance: ₹219. Rent was due in five days, not to mention food and the printer fee for his next assignment. He had two pairs of clothes fit for classes, both faded, and sandals whose stitching had begun to loosen.
Class started in twenty minutes. He threw on his least wrinkled shirt — thin at the elbows — and, grabbing his bag, stepped out into the corridor.
The echo of laughter floated up the stairwell before he even reached it. Three senior boys stood blocking the way, coffee cups in hand. Ravi, their leader, looked him up and down with smug amusement.
"Off to save the day, champ?" he said in a mock-heroic tone. "Don't forget the charity gala — those shoes are fundraising material already."
The others laughed. One shifted sideways abruptly so Joy had to sidestep; another kicked his bag lightly. A final shove sent his notebook spilling down the stairs, papers splaying out like fallen birds. Joy crouched, gathering the sheets while boots stepped over them without care.
On the opposite landing, Melissa Torres stood with her friends, framed by the morning sunlight through open windows. She was all easy grace — simple T‑shirt and jeans, hair loose, phone in one hand — and yet looked like she belonged in a magazine. For a fraction of a second her eyes drifted to the mess at his feet, then away, lips quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. Whether it was amusement or habit, he felt the sting of it anyway.
He stuffed the papers back into his bag and climbed past the barring shoulders. No one moved for him.
The cafeteria was noisy, the smell of fried toast and steaming tea far stronger than the taste would ever be. Joy joined the breakfast queue, hunger gnawing at his stomach. His fingers curled around the coins in his pocket — enough for two idlis and watery sambar, no more. A group of third‑years behind him whispered theatrically about "campus charity cases." One "accidentally" brushed into him, muttering a mock apology.
A sudden jolt knocked the tray in his hands, the orange sambar splashing across his already worn shirt. Laughter rose instantly from nearby tables. Raghav, grinning like he'd scored the day's winning goal, walked away without looking back.
As Joy dabbed at the mess with a thin paper napkin, Melissa passed by to grab bottled water from the cooler. Her gaze flicked over him just long enough for him to notice the curl of her mouth — smaller than a smirk, but it burned just the same.
He found an empty seat in the corner, turning his back to the room. The food was bland; every burst of laughter in the room felt like it might be about him. He ate quickly and left.
Economics class didn't offer relief. He slid into the front row — the only chair left — and opened his notebook. Halfway through the lecture, the professor posed a question about monopolies. Joy raised his hand. Before he was called on, a voice from behind piped up, "Because losers always lose, sir." The ripple of laughter that followed made his hand drop back to the desk.
Melissa remained bent over her notes, indifferent, while the professor called on someone else. Joy stopped listening.
The afternoon wore on. During the break, he lingered on the edge of the atrium where most of the department gathered. Melissa was holding court in the center — confident, smiling, her friends feeding off her energy. He drifted closer, hoping to join a discussion about the upcoming group project. Before he could speak, a girl said clearly enough, "Don't take him — we'll all fail." The response of a few close‑held laughs was quick, sharp, and final.
Melissa didn't defend him. She merely glanced at him, eyes unreadable, then turned back to her conversation.
By the time evening rolled in, Joy was headed for the hostel with the weight of another wasted day pressing down on him. Near the gate, two seniors blocked the way. "Not you, champ. Real students only," one said, leaning on the wall. They kept him loitering for a few minutes, letting others pass, before waving him through like it was some kind of privilege.
His room was dim and stuffy when he got back. Hunger growled, but there was nothing in the cupboard. Asking his parents for money wasn't an option — he knew just how much they'd sacrificed to send him here, and the guilt would eat him alive.
He sat at the desk, staring at his old phone lying face‑down on a pile of notes. At some point the screen lit on its own, glowing in unnatural colours. Text scrolled rapidly, too fast for him to read, until the brightness became almost painful. And then, the impossible: a floating blue panel, hanging in the air before his eyes.
[Charm System Installation Complete]
Welcome, Joy. Missions available for the improvement of your social standing, confidence, and influence.
First Mission: Make the whole class notice and respect you tomorrow.
Bonus: Impress Melissa Torres.
Reward: +5 Charm Points, Skill Unlock, ₹5,000 Credits.
His mouth went dry as the words burned themselves into his mind. He didn't know if it was a prank, a virus, or something supernatural — but for the first time in months, he felt the faint thrum of possibility in his chest.
Tomorrow, for once, the rules could change.
And if this was real, he would never be at the bottom again.