The depot the next morning is suffocating, honestly. Every little noise—guys yelling, boxes dragging, the whole place just pressed in on you. Arjun felt it, right in his chest, like someone invisible had his hands around his throat, just squeezing. Khanna, classic, didn't even look up—just tossed the clipboard onto the desk. "Deliver these. And don't screw up this time." Real motivational, that guy.
Of course, the boys in the corner couldn't keep their mouths shut. Rohit, always the comedian, calls out, "Careful, Mehra. Maybe check twice before you lose something again." The snickers that followed? Yeah, super mature. Arjun ignored them, because what else do you do? The clipboard was familiar in his hand, almost a comfort, but his mind had already left the building. He kept thinking about the System, that weird glow it left behind his eyes, almost like it was still whispering to him, pushing him to think bigger—reminding him there's more out there than just this box-stacking grind.
By the time the sun was high and beating down, Arjun had crushed his routes. He looked at the hub, thought "nah," and veered off into a side street instead. The city felt like it was closing in—cars honking like their lives depended on it, vendors shouting over one another, the smell of frying samosas mixing with exhaust so thick you could practically taste it. But there was something about that chaos—like, if you listened hard enough, you'd hear opportunity knocking, you know?
He ducked into a narrow alley, wiped sweat off his brow, and kind of half-whispered, "System, show me the shortest path to test independence." Felt a bit silly, but hey, if you've got a secret digital sidekick, you use it, right?
The System spun up, painting the air with floating charts and numbers only he could see. It's wild—sometimes he wondered if he was losing it, but then again, it'd never steered him wrong. A spot blinked on the overlay, brighter than the rest—Riya's pharmacy.
Opportunity Detected: Local medicine shortage. High demand for affordable antibiotics.
Recommendation: Procure limited supply through secondary channel. Trial distribution suggested.
He chewed his lip, thinking, "Secondary channel? With what money? My lunch money?" The System, as always, had an answer, as if it could read his mind.
Countermeasure available: Barter and delayed payment negotiation. Success probability: 63%.
Sixty-three percent. Not exactly a sure thing, but compared to the odds of Khanna doing anything but yell at him, it was practically a winning lottery ticket.
The pharmacy was weirdly quiet when he got there. Shelves looked picked over, the whole place kind of tired. Riya's dad was slumped behind the counter, looking like he hadn't slept in a week.
"Arjun beta," he said, forcing a smile. "You're here late. Need medicines again?"
Arjun shook his head. "Not for my mom, not this time. I wanted to ask… how bad are the shortages, really?"
The old man sighed—one of those deep, tired ones that rattle around in your chest. "Bad, beta. Worse than last month. Suppliers keep jacking up prices, delaying stuff. People come in with prescriptions, leave with nothing. It's the worst feeling, turning them away."
Riya was nearby, stacking bottles, but she paused and looked at Arjun, eyebrow up.
He leaned in a little, keeping his voice low. "What if I could get you some stock? Nothing huge, just a small batch. Cheaper than what you're getting now, and reliable."
The old man blinked, like he wasn't sure if he was hearing right. "That's a big promise, Arjun. Where are you going to get it?"
Arjun hesitated—like, how do you explain the System? So he just looked him in the eyes and said, "I've got connections. Delivery routes nobody else does. Let me try once. If I mess up, you lose nothing. If I get it right, you get your customers back."
The silence dragged on. Riya was watching, biting her lip. Finally, her dad nodded. "Bring me proof. One batch. If it works, we'll talk."
Door's open. Kind of. Arjun felt a glimmer of hope, like the universe was giving him a little nod.
That night, he dove headfirst into the madness of Crawford Market. You haven't lived until you've fought your way through that crowd—everyone yelling, neon lights buzzing, vendors hawking stuff like their lives depended on it. Arjun wasn't here for cheap knockoff phone cases. He was on a mission.
The System guided him through the chaos, cutting through the noise until he found himself in front of this tiny, out-of-the-way shop—medical supplies stacked every which way, totally unorganized. Looked sketchy, honestly, but that's where the arrow pointed.
Inside, a wiry guy with eyes that missed nothing looked up. "What do you want?"
Arjun tried to keep his voice steady. "Antibiotics. Small batch. No middleman price hike."
The guy laughed—real sharp, kind of mean. "You and every doctor in Mumbai, boss. Shortage. Pay triple or walk."
Arjun didn't blink. "Triple means you never see me again. Give me a fair deal, I'll be back. Regular orders, steady cash flow."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, man? Just another courier?"
Arjun leaned in. "I know where the demand is highest. I move stock direct, no wasted time, no noise. You want to move product or what?"
There was a pause—the kind that stretches just long enough to make you sweat. The System nudged him, boosting his confidence, making him sound just a little more sure of himself than he felt. Finally, the supplier shrugged, pointed at a box. "One case. Payment in two weeks. Screw it up, don't come back."
Arjun could barely believe it. He grabbed the box, heart pounding, and hustled out before the guy could change his mind.
Back in his room, he slid open the box, hands shaking a little. Real, sealed antibiotics. Not a ton, but enough to see if the System's prediction would hold up.
His mother's cough floated in from the next room—a reminder of why he started all this in the first place. He looked at the meds, then up at the swirling System interface.
Trial Run Initiated: Independent Distribution Network.
Projected Outcome: Moderate profit. High goodwill potential.
He let out a slow breath. "Okay. This is it. First step away from Khanna. Away from Vikram's leash." The fan above spun lazy circles, throwing shadows over his bed.
For the first time in ages, he didn't feel like some piece on a chessboard, waiting for someone else to call the shots. He finally had a move to make. And deep down, something sparked—something that felt suspiciously like hope.
Tomorrow, he'd deliver—not for scraps, not for some boss who didn't care if he lived or died. For himself. For his family. Maybe even for something bigger.