Chapter 9:The Professional

  The dust of Baridih was still under Arjun’s fingernails when he arrived at the Lalpur Chowk in Ranchi. He had spent the morning milking the cow and sweeping the shop floor to maintain the "Weak Arjun" facade, but now, standing in the shadow of the glass buildings, he felt the Samsung S24 Ultra pulse in his pocket like a second heart.

  He wasn't here to buy a gadget. He was here to buy a future.

  The Mandi Reality

  Near the entrance of the Ranchi Mandi, a man named Mahinder sat on an overturned crate, wiping the grime from his face. He was Priya’s father. His back ached with the weight of fifty years of farming. Today, the price of tomatoes had crashed, and he was looking at a loss of ?3,000—a week's worth of sweat gone in a single morning.

  He watched the wealthy traders in their white SUVs driving past the vegetable stalls.

  “One day,” he thought, looking at the tattered notebook where he tracked his debts. “One day my Priya will be in those buildings. She won’t have the smell of rotten onions on her skin.”

  He didn't know that the boy he once considered a "distraction" for his daughter was currently walking toward the most expensive Chartered Accountant in the district.

  The Transformation

  Arjun followed Avnish’s advice. He didn't walk into Mehta Ji’s office in his faded "GAMER" t-shirt. He had stopped at a local market and bought a crisp, white linen shirt and dark trousers. He changed in a cramped public restroom, splashing cold water on his face.

  As he tucked the shirt in, he looked at his reflection. The dark circles under his eyes from the midnight "Moonshot" bets were still there, but his gaze was different. It was the gaze of a man with a System.

  He walked into the office of Mehta & Associates. The air was filled with the sound of whirring fans and the smell of old paper and expensive tobacco.

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  The Meeting

  Mehta Ji was a man who looked like a tortoise—slow, wrinkled, and wearing thick glasses that made his eyes look twice their size. He didn't look up when Arjun entered.

  "I don't do individual tax filings for students," Mehta said, his voice like gravel. "Go to the kiosks near the court."

  Arjun didn't move. He sat in the wooden chair opposite the desk. He didn't say a word. He simply took out the S24 Ultra, opened his digital wallet, and turned the screen toward the CA.

  Balance: ?3,12,000

  Mehta Ji’s eyes moved behind the thick lenses. He didn't gasp. Men like him saw millions every day, but he saw something else: a boy from a village holding a three-lakh balance in a gambling app.

  "You're from the Itki side," Mehta said, finally leaning back. "Baridih? Nagri?"

  "Baridih," Arjun said, his voice firm. "I need a Premium Current Account. I need a GST registration for a firm—let’s call it 'AK Digital Solutions'. And I need to move this money without the BOI branch manager in Itki calling my father."

  Mehta Ji smiled, revealing teeth stained by years of paan. "You want to be a ghost, Arjun Kumar. But ghosts are expensive. To create a 'Professional Services' firm, you need to show work. I’ll charge you ?15,000 for the setup and 5% of everything I 'clean' through the shop’s ledger."

  "Done," Arjun said.

  Back in Baridih, Amit was playing a dangerous game. He was standing guard outside the storage room while their father, Ramesh, was in the shop.

  "Where is Arjun?" Ramesh asked, his voice echoing through the thin walls. "He’s been going to Ranchi more in a week than he did in three years. Is he with that girl? Is he wasting my petrol?"

  "He's... he's at the college, Papa," Amit lied, his heart thumping. "He’s trying to get his certificates cleared. He wants to apply for a job in the city."

  Ramesh grunted, but his eyes were suspicious. He walked toward the storage room. "Why is this door locked? What is he hiding in here?"

  Amit stepped in front of the door. "It's the computer, Papa! The wholesaler said it's sensitive. If dust gets in, the 2% discount is gone!"

  Ramesh stopped, his hand hovering over the latch. He looked at Amit, then at the door. He felt a strange distance from his sons. They were speaking a language he didn't understand—computers, discounts, certificates.

  "Tell him to be back by evening," Ramesh said, turning away. "The cow needs to be fed. Computers don't fill a stomach."

  As Arjun walked out of Mehta Ji’s office, he felt a strange sense of relief. He wasn't just a gambler anymore; he was a "Business Owner." He had the papers. He had a path.

  He walked toward the bus stand, but as he passed the Ranchi Mandi, he saw a familiar figure.

  It was Mahinder—Priya’s father. He was struggling to lift a heavy crate of cauliflower onto a handcart. His face was red, his breath coming in gasps.

  Arjun stopped. In the old days, he would have run to help. He would have been the "good boy" Priya’s father liked. But now?

  He looked at his white linen shirt. He looked at the S24 Ultra. He realized that if he helped, the secret would be out. He would be "Arjun from Baridih" again.

  He gripped the strap of his bag and kept walking. He felt a coldness settling into his bones—the price of the System.

  “Soon,” he thought. “Soon I’ll buy the whole Mandi. And then he won’t have to lift a single crate. But today... today I have to be a ghost.”

  He boarded the bus. He had 42 days left before Lapung. The Lapung house needed ?55,000. Mehta Ji would have the account ready in 48 hours.

  The plane was in the air, and for the first time, Arjun wasn't afraid of the crash. He was the one controlling the altitude.