Next morning, Arjun rolled out of bed, yanked up the straps on his poor, faded delivery bag, and yeah—maybe he did take an extra second in the mirror trying to look fierce. Mumbai was already in full, glorious chaos. Rickshaws honking like someone owed them money, aunties bickering over onions, and samosas—man, the samosas smelled like heaven mixed with gasoline. You ever get that, where your stomach rumbles but your head knows not to breathe in too deep because, well, traffic?
Anyway, he wasn't just shuffling in for another blurry, soul-sucking shift. Not today, my friend. Not with the System buzzing in his head, ready to rock. It sort of felt like one of those superhero origin stories—except, you know, with less spandex and more sweat stains.
So he makes it to the hub, already feeling like he's late even though it's barely sunrise. Place is a madhouse: boxes everywhere, delivery guys hauling cargo like overburdened ants, and there's good ol' Supervisor Khanna. The Man, the Myth, the Absolute Pain. You couldn't miss the guy even if you tried—belly like he's smuggled a watermelon, shirt always threatening to resign, and a voice you'd think was auditioning for a villain in a cartoon.
"Move! My paan's got more hustle than you useless lot! Want me to cut your hours again?!" He's up in some poor guy's face, looking like he might pop a vein for sport.
Arjun's jaw set, muscle memory kicking in. He'd swallowed that sort of nonsense since day one. Funny thing, though: today he wasn't just swallowing it. He had backup. Time for a little show and tell—just for himself.
"Activating [Market Analysis – Beginner]. Processing…"
No lie, the place glitched for a second in his vision. Not in a 'call the doctor' way, more like too many browser tabs opening at once in his brain. Suddenly parcels glowed like someone cranked up "neon" on real life. Delivery routes skittered past his mental cursor. It was weirdly beautiful—and yeah, more than a little overwhelming.
But—whoa—something was off. All those glowing boxes weren't just pretty for fun. There, see that overloaded van? Chock-full of high-ticket stuff. And the beat-up little van? Should be full of boring, low-risk packages, right? Wrong. Hidden high-end electronics like it was planning a jailbreak.
Immediately, adrenaline spiked. This wasn't some lazy-luck mistake. Someone was gaming the system, stuffing gold into cardboard and betting no one would notice.
And then, Khanna—always Khanna. Laughing in the back with his driver buddies. Man's got a fistful of grubby cash, sliding it into his pocket like nobody's business.
"Corruption," Arjun hissed, quiet enough for the universe to answer back. Which, okay, it did—System-style:
"Observation: systemic theft. Supervisor collusion probability—82%. Recommendation: gather more data before action."
There it was. Not paranoia. Proof, with receipts, probabilities, and the whole shebang. He always had his suspicions, sure. But in this business? Ask too many questions and you get fewer hours, maybe even a ride straight out the door. Cautionary tales, whispered in the smokers' corner.
Still, for once, Arjun had a thread to follow. Could he do anything with it, though? That was the thing.
Just then—classic timing—Khanna shouts, "Oi, Mehra! Wake up! Dharavi's yours today."
Arjun grabs his paperwork, bag still glowing faintly around the seams (okay, that part was probably just in his head). System kept flashing warnings. Mismatched weights, names popping up more often than they should, brands that screamed out "I'm expensive!"—right out in the open if you just knew how to look.
He hit the street, bike weaving through traffic, Mumbai's soundtrack jamming in both ears. Every bump reminded him of what he was onto. He could turn Khanna in... but come on, he was realistic. Who the heck would believe the kid with borrowed shoes? Company wouldn't waste a napkin for his story. Cops only cared if you paid chai money up front. The whole setup was designed to keep guys like him silent and spinning their wheels.
Then the System dropped a new nugget:
"Opportunity lies in leverage. Market inefficiencies benefit those who recognize value unseen by others."
That last part stuck. Leverage. Sure, he could be the righteous delivery boy, die on that hill, and poof—there goes his job. Or... he could use what he now knew. Out-hustle the hustler. Play Khanna at his own game.
As his route wound down and his head spun faster, the plan started writing itself. Not all the details—the System wasn't magic, after all—but enough to spark that rebel streak.
When he rolled back to the hub, there she was: Riya. Spotted across the street, pretending to dig through secondhand paperbacks and definitely not keeping an eye out for trouble. She's got a look that says she cares way too much but won't admit it, not even under duress.
She didn't waste time with pleasantries. "You're still here? This place is a black hole, Arjun. Walk away before it swallows you whole."
He grinned, trying to play it cool. "Can't, Riya. Not yet. Someone's gotta shake things up."
She wasn't sold, but she didn't push—which honestly, felt weirdly comforting.
Once night fell, Arjun plopped down in his cramped apartment, barely more than a closet with a leaky fan. He set that little jade fragment in front of him, let it do its thing. The System whispered. Data points flickered in his mind, spider-webbed into constellations. Steals, skims, every crack in Khanna's empire. It was breathtaking—in a "how am I supposed to sleep after this?" way.
He grinned. For real this time. Not just keeping his head down anymore, not by a long shot. He could see it—the moment, the chance, the way to flip the board on Khanna and all the other parasites sucking the life out of workers. Oh, he'd still be the delivery guy on the surface, sure.
But beneath that, game on. Time to stop getting played and start playing.
And if things got dicey? Well, he'd improvise. After all, what's growing up in Mumbai good for if not learning a bit of hustle?