The registration queue stretched from the administrative building to the main courtyard. Hundreds of fresh-faced students stood in lines divided by department — Computer Science, Electronics, Electrical, Mechanical, Civil. The CS and Electronics lines were the longest, filled with the toppers who had scored the highest ranks in CEE.
Arjun joined the Mechanical Engineering line, clutching his admission letter and document folder. In front of him, a tall, lanky boy with thick glasses was nervously checking his documents repeatedly. Behind him, two boys were already discussing which professors to avoid and which subjects were "scoring."
"Mechanical mein Sharma sir hain na, bahut kharab marks dete hain," one said. In mechanical, there's Sharma sir, he gives very bad marks.
"Arey, Thermodynamics mein toh Verma sir hain, woh fail kar dete hain aadhe batch ko." Oh, in Thermodynamics there's Verma sir, he fails half the batch.
Arjun smiled inwardly. He remembered these fears, these rumors that spread through the freshman batch like wildfire. He also remembered the reality — most professors were decent people overwhelmed by the system, teaching outdated syllabi to students who were more interested in placement packages than actual learning.
"Excuse me," the boy in front turned around. "Do you know if we need to submit the original certificates or photocopies?"
"Photocopies," Arjun replied. "Keep the originals with you. They'll verify and return them."
"Thanks. I'm Rajesh, by the way. Rajesh Gupta. From Meerut."
"Arjun Mehra. Mumbai."
"Mumbai? Long way from home. Got hostel?"
"No, staying with my sister in Rohini."
Rajesh nodded sympathetically. "The hostel seats are impossible to get if you're from NCR. My cousin studied here two years ago. Said the hostels are terrible anyway. Six people in a room meant for three, no hot water, mess food that's basically poison."
In his first life, Arjun would have been disappointed about not getting hostel accommodation. Now he saw it as an advantage. Living outside meant freedom to operate without the prying eyes of wardens and roommates. It meant he could run his business ventures without interference.
The line moved slowly. It took an hour to reach the registration desk, where a harried clerk mechanically checked documents, stamped forms, and handed out temporary ID cards. Arjun's student number was ME/05/157 — Mechanical Engineering, 2005 batch, 157th student.
"Orientation is in the main auditorium at 10:30," the clerk mumbled without looking up. "Don't be late."
Arjun collected his papers and temporary ID. He had an hour before orientation. Perfect.
He walked out of the administrative building and surveyed the campus. To his left was the computer center — a three-story building that housed the pride of DCE, nearly two hundred desktop computers, most still running Windows XP. To his right was the library — an imposing structure that smelled of old books and ambition.
But what caught his attention was a small notice board near the canteen. Among the various announcements for fresher parties, blood donation camps, and lost ID cards, was a handwritten notice:
"Required: Tutors for IIT-JEE Preparation
Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics
Timing: Evenings and Weekends
Payment: Rs. 500-1000 per hour (depending on experience)
Contact: Kailash Tutorials, Mukherjee Nagar
Ph: 9811XXXXXX"
Arjun memorized the number. Mukherjee Nagar was Delhi's coaching hub, where thousands of aspirants prepared for various competitive exams. If he could establish himself as a tutor there, the money would be significant. A thousand rupees per hour — even if he taught just ten hours a week, that was forty thousand rupees a month. More than twice his father's salary.
"Oye, hero! Idhar aa!"
The voice came from the canteen. A group of seniors — third years, by the look of them — were lounging on plastic chairs, drinking chai and sizing up the freshers like predators surveying a herd of deer.
Arjun walked over, keeping his expression neutral. He knew this ritual — the mild ragging that was considered a rite of passage in Indian engineering colleges. In 2005, it hadn't yet reached the tragic extremes that would lead to strict anti-ragging laws, but it was still unpleasant.
"Name?" the apparent leader asked. He was muscular, with a carefully groomed beard and an attitude that suggested he was used to being obeyed.
"Arjun Mehra."
"Arjun Mehra, sir," the senior corrected. "First lesson — respect your seniors. What branch?"
"Mechanical, sir."
"Mechanical? Arre, Pankaj, another one for your department." He called out to another senior, a thin boy with intelligent eyes who was solving what looked like a CAT preparation book.
Pankaj looked up. "First year?"
"Yes, sir."
"Listen carefully. I'm Pankaj Sharma, third year, Mechanical. I'm also the department topper. If you need notes, guidance, anything, come to me. But not for free, understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Now, sing a song."
This was standard ragging fare. In his first life, Arjun had stammered through a Bollywood song, red-faced with embarrassment. This time, he had a different plan.
"Which song would you like to hear, sir?"
Pankaj smirked. "Any song. But it should be entertaining."
Arjun cleared his throat and began singing — not a Bollywood song, but "Summer of '69" by Bryan Adams. His voice was clear and confident, hitting the notes with surprising accuracy. He had forty years of karaoke nights and bathroom singing to draw upon.
The seniors exchanged glances. This was unexpected.
When he finished, there was a moment of silence.
"You sing well," Pankaj said finally. "Where did you learn?"
"Self-taught, sir."
"Interesting. You might be useful for the college fest. Can you play any instruments?"
"Guitar, sir. A little keyboard."
Another lie that would become truth. In his previous life, he had learned guitar in his thirties. He could claim to be learning now and show rapid "progress."
"Report to the music room after college hours sometime this week. We're forming a band for Engifest. You might make the cut."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now get lost. Orientation is starting soon."
Arjun walked away, suppressing a smile. In his first life, he had avoided all extracurricular activities, thinking they were distractions. He hadn't understood that college wasn't just about grades — it was about networks, connections, and visibility. Being in the college band would give him access to a completely different social circle, including students from wealthy families who could become investors or partners in his future ventures.
The auditorium was filling up when Arjun arrived. He found a seat in the middle — not too front (eager), not too back (disinterested), but perfectly positioned to be unremarkable. He needed to maintain a low profile while he built his empire's foundation.
The orientation began with the national anthem, followed by a lighting of the lamp — the standard Indian academic ritual. The Principal, Dr. R.K. Sinha, a man who looked like he had been preserved in formaldehyde since the 1970s, delivered a speech about the "glorious history of DCE" and the "bright future that awaited its engineers."
Arjun half-listened while mentally calculating his next moves. He needed:
A bank account (minimum balance ₹1000 in most banks)
A PAN card (would take 2-3 weeks to process)
A computer with internet access (cyber café would do for now)
A phone (mobile phones were still luxury items for students)
Initial capital (tutoring seemed the best bet)
The department heads were introduced one by one. Dr. Verma, the Mechanical Engineering head, was exactly as Arjun remembered — a brilliant man who had been ground down by decades of bureaucracy and now went through the motions with the enthusiasm of a zombie.
"Mechanical Engineering," Dr. Verma droned, "is the mother of all engineering. From the wheel to the spacecraft, everything involves mechanical principles..."
Arjun tuned out again. He was thinking about bigger things. In exactly two years and two months, on September 29, 2007, India would launch its first commercial space mission. ISRO stocks — no, ISRO was government-owned. But companies like L&T, Godrej, and Walchandnagar Industries, which supplied components to ISRO, would see their stocks rise.
More immediately, Suzlon Energy was trading at around ₹30 per share. By January 2008, it would reach ₹400. A thirteen-fold increase in three years. If he could somehow invest even one lakh rupees...
"...and remember," the Principal was concluding his speech, "your four years here will define the next forty years of your life. Make them count."
You have no idea how right you are, Arjun thought.
The orientation ended with distribution of the academic calendar and timetable. Classes would officially begin tomorrow — Engineering Drawing at 8 AM, followed by Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics. The same subjects they had been studying for JEE, now stretched over a semester with practicals thrown in.
As students filed out of the auditorium, Arjun overheard various conversations:
"Yaar, Hero Honda ki opening hai campus mein..."
"Infosys aa rahi hai is baar?"
"Package kitna milega?"
Dude, Hero Honda has openings on campus... / Is Infosys coming this time? / What package will we get?
They were already thinking about placements, about the ₹3-4 lakh per annum packages that were considered excellent in 2005. None of them could imagine that in fifteen years, freshers from this same college would command packages of ₹20-30 lakhs. Or that the real money wouldn't be in jobs at all, but in the startup ecosystem that was about to explode.
Arjun walked out of the auditorium and headed toward the computer center. He needed internet access immediately. Every day wasted was money lost.
The computer center was a controlled environment — AC-cooled, with rows of desktop computers, most featuring 15-inch CRT monitors and Pentium 4 processors. Students needed to sign a register and were allocated one-hour slots. In his first life, Arjun had used these slots to browse Orkut and play Counter-Strike.
This time would be different.
He signed the register and was allocated Computer #47. He sat down, adjusted the plastic chair, and opened Internet Explorer (Firefox existed but wasn't installed on these systems).
First, he navigated to Google Finance. The Indian stock market data was limited, but he could see some major stocks. Infosys was trading at ₹2,200. Reliance at ₹840. These would all multiply in the coming years.
Next, he searched for "online freelancing India." The results were sparse — a few mentions of Elance, Guru.com, and something called oDesk that had just launched. The gig economy was in its infancy.
He opened Elance and began creating a profile. The site was basic by 2045 standards, but functional. He listed his skills: Mathematics Tutoring, Physics Tutoring, Academic Writing, Data Entry. All things a seventeen-year-old engineering student could believably offer.
For the next forty minutes, Arjun researched, took notes (mentally, since he couldn't save files on these public computers), and planned. He looked up:
Property prices in various Delhi localities
Upcoming infrastructure projects
Government policies and announcements
Technology trends
He was so absorbed that he didn't notice someone standing behind him until a voice said, "Planning to become a stock broker?"
Arjun turned. A girl stood behind him — short, with intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, her hair tied in a practical ponytail. She wore jeans and a kurti, the uniform of middle-class college girls across India.
"Just researching," Arjun said carefully.
"I'm Ananya. Computer Science, first year. You're the guy who sang English songs during ragging, right?"
News traveled fast in college.
"Arjun. Mechanical."
"Mechanical and interested in stocks? That's unusual. Most mech guys are obsessed with automobiles and manufacturing."
"The future isn't in manufacturing," Arjun said without thinking. "It's in services, technology, and financial engineering."
Ananya raised an eyebrow. "That's a very specific opinion for a first-day freshman."
Arjun shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just what I think."
"Interesting. Well, your hour is up. Others are waiting."
She was right. A queue had formed for computer access. Arjun logged out and stood up.
"See you around, Stock Market Arjun," Ananya said with a slight smile before walking to another terminal.
As Arjun left the computer center, he made a mental note. Ananya — sharp, observant, studying Computer Science. In the original timeline, he hadn't known her. But someone with her skills could be useful. The tech revolution was coming, and he would need programmers.
But that was for later. Right now, he had a more immediate concern.
It was 2 PM. Priya's school would end at 2:30. He needed to pick her up, ensure she was safe, and then make his first real move toward building his empire.
He walked out of the DCE campus, caught a bus to Kashmere Gate, and began the journey back to Rohini.
The future he was about to build wouldn't just be for him. It would be for his family — the father he would save, the mother he would protect, and the sister he would ensure never suffered again.
The game had begun.