Attendance was being taken.
The routine felt ordinary, almost mundane— but for the four of them, ordinary had been replaced with exhaustion, tension, and a quiet ache that throbbed at the edges of their minds.
Yug sat at his desk, the crutch resting lazily against the bench, fingers brushing its worn handle now and then.
His posture was loose, almost detached, but his eyes— light blue and unnervingly calm— tracked the classroom without looking like they did.
Rishabh stared down at the desk, at a tiny scratch in the varnish. It was meaningless, and he knew it very well.
But for now, focusing on it was better than thinking about anything else. His breathing was slow, measured, a rhythm to keep himself tethered.
Kritika leaned back slightly, her plaster gone, her hand resting lightly on the table. Her fingers flexed now and then, tapping a faint, anxious rhythm.
The muscles in her jaw twitched— her mind raced but she kept it hidden from the others.
Vivek leaned forward, elbows on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His fingers dug into his skin just enough to leave tiny red marks.
The weight of weeks, months, unspoken responsibility pressed down on him, settling like a storm cloud.
The teacher’s voice pierced the quiet.
“Rishabh Tiwari?”
Rishabh didn’t answer. His mind was elsewhere.
Yug nudged him lightly with his elbow, which was enough to pull him back from the deep water that he was stuck in.
“Here,” Rishabh muttered, almost too softly to be heard by anyone properly.
“Ronak Chaturvedi?”
Silence.
And then, someone muttered from the back, in a tone like he didn't want to speak.
“Absent. He has a concert tonight… apparently needs to prepare.”
The teacher nodded and flipped her sheet, calling the next name— a name that some didn't want to hear.
“Tarun Singh?”
No response.
The class murmured slowly, pens scratching and papers shuffling, but the quiet of the group was deafening.
The teacher marked him absent, glanced at the clock, then said quietly.
“It’s been almost a month he's absent.”
She let it hang in the air, looking around.
Then, gently, cautiously, she asked.
“Do any of his friends know where he is?”
All eyes drifted to Yug and Rishabh.
Both looked away, staring at the floor, the table, the empty air between themselves and the question.
Their mouths were dry, their minds echoing the same thought— we don’t know.
From the corner, a yawning stretch broke the moment.
Vijay’s voice, low and sharp, cut through the tension like a knife.
“Tired of being the hero, maybe. And if he’s anywhere to be found… his ‘friends’ wouldn’t take a month.”
The words landed with a weight that pressed against the group.
The world had moved on, but they hadn’t.
They were frozen in the space between effort and failure, in a pause thick enough to choke on.
Vivek finally spoke, voice quiet, tentative.
“So… what do we do now?”
Yug let out a slow, steadying breath, eyes on the desk, not on his friends.
“We’ve done too much already. Nothing that leads anywhere.”
Kritika’s hand dropped from the table. She leaned back fully now, stretching her neck, sighing.
Her voice was soft, almost broken, but firm enough to anchor the moment:
“And we don’t have any energy left… not right now.”
——————————————
“Where’s all the energy tonight, Lucknow!”
Ronak’s shout exploded over the hall, cutting through the fog of lights and smoke.
The crowd answered like a tidal wave.
Hands flailed, bodies collided, feet stomped— the floor seemed alive under the assault of sound. Screams and cheers collided with drums and guitars, vibrating in the ribs and chest, rattling hearts, stirring something almost primal.
The band moved like a single organism.
Ronak’s sticks were a blur over the drums, each beat a hammer against the floor, each cymbal crash a lightning strike.
Farhan’s guitar screamed, strings bending and whining under his fingers, firing riffs that shimmered in the neon haze.
Anaya’s piano pulsed beneath it all, precise and steady, while her percussion brushed the edges, threading rhythm through chaos.
Jay moved quietly behind, controlling sound, plucking bass notes in place of Harshit and Tara, making the music massive.
The songs were tight, rehearsed, but with an edge of reckless freedom.
Every riff, every bassline, every drum roll was designed to rip the crowd apart with energy, and it did.
But not the four.
Yug leaned slightly on a barricade, cradling it like an anchor. His eyes followed the surge but never fully connected.
Rishabh’s jaw clenched as he absorbed the energy like it was a weight pressing down on him.
Kritika’s hand twitched, as if she could reach for the music itself and pull it into being tangible— but she didn’t.
Vivek’s shoulders tensed and released with the rhythm, caught in the pulse, but his eyes were distant, not participating.
Just at that moment, the band hit a crescendo.
Ronak’s drumming became a storm, Farhan’s guitar wailing like a siren, Anaya’s percussions throbbed like a beating heart, Jay’s control over the sound made it all immense, almost too immense, engulfing everything.
The crowd surged forward, chanting, bouncing, raising phones and lighters, moving with a violent ecstasy.
And the four stood in its center like ghosts.
They moved with the rhythm out of habit, not joy.
Every high note, every cymbal crash reminded them of who wasn’t there—Tarun.
Tarun would have been screaming, pumping fists, laughing, egging the crowd on even more.
But without him, the energy felt hollow, like a body missing its soul.
A guitar solo cut through the air, wild and cutting. Ronak shifted, pounding a drum fill that rattled the bones.
Anaya and Jay matched it perfectly, timing precise, tight, unstoppable.
Farhan stepped forward, bending a note that screamed across the hall, and the crowd roared in unison.
And in the middle of it, the four drifted— alive, moving, sweating— but not part of the storm.
——————————————
The crowd outside refused to die, even after the performance was all over.
Even after the last note had faded, the crowd kept screaming— chants echoing through concrete walls, feet stomping, voices hoarse but relentless. The night still vibrated with music that had already ended.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
But inside the green room, the door slammed shut.
The noise dulled instantly.
Midnight Jam was already there— sweaty, breathless, alive.
Food containers lay open, steam still rising. Someone had turned off the stage lights, leaving the room lit by a single yellow bulb that hummed softly.
Anaya was the first to notice the ones who entered.
“Oi,” she smiled, tired but glowing. “You guys made it.”
Ronak dropped onto a couch, drumsticks still in hand, grinning. “Told you we’d blow the roof off.”
Farhan laughed, tugging at his shirt collar.
Jay leaned against the wall, quietly setting his equipment aside.
The four entered slowly.
Not matching the room.
Farhan gestured toward the table. “Food’s still warm. Sit. Eat something.”
Yug shook his head, almost apologetically.
“We’re… really tired.”
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
Rishabh added, softly, “We just wanted to see you guys.”
No one argued. No one pushed.
The band exchanged glances— not offended, just confused.
Ronak opened his mouth to joke, then stopped himself, sensing something off.
“Well… at least grab something to drink?”
They didn’t.
They stood there, smiling faintly, trying to absorb the warmth of the room— but it slipped through them like light through cracked glass.
Ronak frowned slightly. “You sure? We ordered extra. Tarun usually eats a lot—”
The name landed wrong.
Jay spoke before anyone else could stop him. Quiet. Careful.
“By the way, where is Tarun?”
The room went still.
Even the crowd outside felt farther away now.
For half a second, no one answered.
Then Vivek said, too smoothly, “Out of town. Emergency.”
Jay nodded, accepting it without pushing—but the silence stayed.
Ronak tried to cut it, forcing a grin.
“Knowing that guy, he’ll start coming to school at night just to eat canteen food.”
A laugh broke out.
Too fast.
Too thin.
It faded almost immediately.
Anaya shook her head, smiling. “He’s such a d*ckhead. CCTV will catch him easily.”
Farhan, still tuning his guitar, said without looking up,
“CCTV footage can be tampered.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “But who would even have access that late?”
Ronak leaned back, casual, taking off his jacket and throwing it away from him.
“Higher authorities always do. Especially in our school.”
The words hung there.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But something shifted.
Rishabh’s eyes lifted slowly.
Rishabh suddenly turned, grabbed Kritika’s wrist, and pulled her a few steps aside, away from the others.
His voice dropped. Sharp. Focused.
“He came to school that night.”
Kritika’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“And we still don’t know,” Rishabh continued, breath quickening, “who altered the CCTV.”
And in an instant, Kritika's eyes went from narrowing to widening.
The cheering outside was still surging like it would never end— loud, wild, victorious.
Inside the green room, the hunt quietly restarted.
And this time—
They finally knew where to look.
——————————————
Early morning light filtered through the glass walls of Jindal Banks and Services, pale and unforgiving.
The bank was awake—but not alive.
And Vivek sat alone at the same desk as before.
Same chair.
Same angle.
Same waiting.
His elbows were on the table, hands clasped— not in prayer, but in restraint.
He hadn’t slept much. It showed in the way his eyes blinked a second too slow, in the way his jaw tightened whenever someone walked past.
He waited to know all the servers that authorised the withdrawals he found receipts of— but he couldn't do it just like that.
The employee hadn’t arrived yet, and it was all useless without him.
Vivek leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a moment, then exhaled through his nose.
A tired sound. Not frustration— anticipation.
Around him, life continued with bureaucratic indifference.
A man argued about a declined card.
A woman counted notes twice.
Someone laughed at a screen.
None of them knew what this could unravel.
Vivek lowered his voice, barely more than breath, speaking to no one in particular.
“I hope Rishabh is on the right track.”
——————————————
The school was still half-asleep.
Corridors echoed with emptiness, lights humming softly above long stretches of polished floor.
Morning sun crept in like it hadn’t fully decided to be day yet.
Kritika stopped in front of a steel door marked CCTV CONTROL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Rishabh reached for the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
A guard sat nearby, plastic chair tilted back, tea cup balanced on his knee. He looked up lazily, eyes narrowing just a little when he saw them.
“Students aren’t allowed in there,” he said, more tired than strict.
Kritika didn’t rush. She didn’t argue.
She turned toward him calmly, posture straight, voice steady—formal enough to sound rehearsed, but not stiff.
“We need access for a documentary project,” she said. “A short segment. Authenticity matters, you know.”
She paused, just long enough for the words to get registered.
“The principal approved it.”
The guard frowned slightly.
“Approval?”
Rishabh stepped in then, smoothly, already pulling a folded letter from his bag. He didn’t say a word—just handed it over.
The paper changed hands.
The guard scanned it once.
Then again.
His eyes lingered at the bottom.
The signature.
A small exhale left his nose, eyebrows rising.
He folded the paper back, handed it to Rishabh.
“Be quick,” he said, standing up. “And don’t touch anything unnecessary.”
The lock clicked open.
The door swung inward.
Dark screens.
Silent machines.
Rows of cameras frozen in watchful stillness.
As the door closed behind them, Kritika finally allowed herself a glance at Rishabh.
A barely-there curve touched her lips.
“Your copying’s improved,” she murmured.
Rishabh shrugged, already stepping toward the console.
“Practice,” he said quietly.
He woke the system.
Lines of data bloomed across the monitors— timestamps, camera IDs, access trails.
His eyes sharpened.
“Now,” he said, fingers hovering over the keyboard, voice low and focused,
“we just look for access logs.”
Kritika stepped beside him, gaze locked on the screen.
“And we'll find who altered it,” she finished.
And somewhere inside those records, something was waiting to be found.
——————————————
Time moved differently inside the bank.
The air-conditioning hummed steadily, fluorescent lights casting a pale sheen over marble floors that had seen decades of waiting—loans approved, loans denied, lives paused mid-sentence.
Vivek stood near the counter the moment the glass doors slid open.
The employee stepped in, adjusting his ID card, spotting Vivek instantly. A small smile crept onto his face—not warmth, but recognition.
“You’ve been waiting,” the man said lightly, like it was a shared joke.
A week.
Vivek didn’t reply. He just nodded once.
The employee moved at his own pace.
Hung his jacket.
Pulled out a chair.
Straightened a stack of files that didn’t need straightening.
Every second scraped against Vivek’s nerves, but he stayed silent. No tapping foot. No sigh. Just stillness stretched tight.
Finally, the man sat.
“I checked every receipt you gave me,” he began, flipping a folder open. “All authorised withdrawals. Clean entries.”
The employee leaned back, eyes flicking up. “Most of the withdrawals,” he said, almost lazily, “were authorised locally. Lucknow servers, some nearby districts… nothing unusual.”
Vivek’s chest tightened. Nothing unusual. Another dead end. Another thread snapping.
Then the man paused, tapping a specific row. His voice lowered, just enough for Vivek to lean in.
“But there was one,” he said.
Vivek’s pulse jumped, a faint electricity running through his limbs.
“One withdrawal. Ten thousand. Tiny. Easy to overlook. But it wasn’t local.”
Vivek’s eyes narrowed. “Not local?”
“No,” the man said slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment. “It was authorised by a central server.”
Time paused. The hum of the air-conditioner, the soft shuffle of distant footsteps, even the light flickering off the marble walls—everything turned still.
Vivek’s gaze sharpened, catching the reflection of the paper on the polished surface.
“Where,” he asked, his voice low, taut with anticipation, “is this central server?”
The employee’s lips curved, faintly, like a shadow of a smile. “Oh, Delhi.”
The word dropped into the room like a boulder.
Vivek exhaled slowly, the air rushing out of him like a storm finally finding its path.
His eyes were wide, sharp, and distant all at once—calculating, connecting, realizing.
In that instant, everything aligned in his mind.
And far away, somewhere in Delhi, the answers they had been chasing—answers about Tarun, about the authority behind the chaos—were waiting.
——————————————
Yug leaned against the cracked wall outside the school, the crutch forgotten at his side.
The courtyard pulsed with morning life— students streaming in, staff exchanging brisk greetings, the distant screech of a bell— but none of it touched him.
His eyes didn’t move.
He wasn’t seeing the courtyard— he was waiting. Waiting for a sign, a signal, anything that told him that they found a reliable lead.
Then, the hum of an engine cut through the ordinary noise.
A black Mercedes rolled into the driveway, polished to a mirror shine, its shadow swallowing the sunlight.
The car stopped.
Its doors opened with a muted click.
A man stepped out. Movements smooth, practiced—no hesitation, no emotion.
Like a ghost rehearsed for a single performance.
And then, the back door was opened.
Vijay emerged
He walked toward the school, calm, collected, expression empty. His pace didn’t waver, his eyes didn’t dart— he was untouchable, or at least he looked like it.
Yug’s chest tightened, but he didn’t move.
But it wasn't because of Vijay, but everything else beyond him.
The driver, suited, disciplined, had opened the door. The words of the drunkard surged in his memory, uninvited but precise.
“Big black cars. Suited men.”
Yug’s mind raced in an instant—every fragment, every pattern, every suppressed memory of the last month clicked into place.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
It wasn’t just Vijay.
It was all connected.
His knuckles whitened around his crutch.
The world contracted until it was nothing but clarity, sharp and merciless.
There was only one person who gave Vijay so much power— his father, Vikrant Chauhan.
The pull of the invisible thread—CCTV, hospital whispers, payments, Delhi— snapped taut.
When he realised it, the name hit him like a bullet to the chest.
For a long moment, he didn’t breathe.
The courtyard, the students, the morning chaos— they didn’t exist.
There was only the truth.
The hunt had a name.
The target had a face.
And Yug knew exactly what it was.
——————————————
The CCTV room was quiet— Rishabh and Kritika crouched over the console, the weight of weeks pressing down on their shoulders.
Then, the door opened with a slow creak.
A guard stepped inside, phone in hand. “I’ll just call the principal to verify your work,” he said, voice calm, like he had all the time in the world.
Rishabh froze for a second.
Kritika’s mind raced.
“I’m sorry we disturbed you,” she said quickly, voice polite, hands lifted slightly in apology.
The guard barely looked at her.
“I don’t think even you’d like being disturbed,” she continued, leaning a little closer, “so maybe you can just tell us who has full-time access to the CCTV system, and we can talk to them directly?”
The guard frowned. “Only the principal… and the trustees.”
He raised his hand toward his phone.
Rishabh’s heart thumped.
That was it.
He leaned closer to the console, eyes fixed on the screen. The access logs scrolled, endless columns of numbers and timestamps.
“Now,” Rishabh muttered under his breath.
Kritika leaned closer to distract Rishabh—just a bit too close. Rishabh snapped.
“Stop! You’re disturbing me!” he hissed.
And just then, he did the unexpected— pushing her lightly, but firm enough.
Kritika stumbled. One step, two steps—then her shoulder hit the guard, and his phone clattered to the floor with a sharp crack.
The room froze.
Rishabh rushed to her side.
Kneeling, he whispered, low and steady, “I’m… sorry.”
The guard bent down to pick up the phone, but little did he know what was coming for him.
Kritika’s leg flicked forward just enough.
The very next moment, the guard tripped, swaying, arms flailing.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, her eyes catching Rishabh’s.
She scrambled to her feet, bending down to help the guard, murmuring an endless string of apologies. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to… really, I’m so sorry…”
Her voice was frantic but polite, like a mask hiding the thrill of their stolen seconds.
Meanwhile, Rishabh returned to the console, fingers flying.
The logs were fully loaded now, lines scrolling endlessly, green-on-black, timestamped, every camera, every access point.
And then he saw it.
[02:47:18] | USER: trustee_ext01 |
ACTION: FOOTAGE ALTERED | LOCATION: EXTERNAL | FILE: CAM_04_2112.MP4
[02:47:18] | USER: trustee_ext01 |
ACTION: FOOTAGE ALTERED | LOCATION: EXTERNAL | FILE: CAM_04_2112.MP4
[02:47:18] | USER: trustee_ext01 |
ACTION: FOOTAGE VIEWED | LOCATION: EXTERNAL | FILE: CAM_04_2112.MP4
Every flicker on the screen screamed the truth.
It wasn’t internal. It wasn’t the principal. It was external.
Rishabh’s breath caught.
His eyes scanned further, confirming what he already suspected—the external access was traced directly to the trustee company.
The company he knew.
The one with the power to manipulate everything.
He leaned back slightly, heart hammering. “I know who it is,” he murmured to Kritika. “Check exactly where this company is located— now.”
——————————————
Yug spun on his heel, crutch forgotten, eyes blazing with urgency near the school gate.
Every second stretched, every heartbeat thrummed like a warning drum.
But before he could sprint, a ragged breath cut through the silence.
Vivek appeared, chest heaving, sweat streaking his temple.
His eyes were wide, alive with that sharp spark— the one that came before revelation.
“I… I’ve found the transaction,” he gasped, words spilling out, clipped and urgent.
Yug didn’t wait.
His legs propelled him forward, unstoppable. Adrenaline surged, fists clenched, chest pumping.
“And I’ve found who the f*ck took Tarun!” Yug yelled, voice echoing in the corridor, raw, furious, alive.
Vivek pounded after him, matching pace, trying to catch air and words at the same time.
“It’s a… Delhi-authorised one!” he managed between breaths, voice cracking with relief and tension.
Yug’s eyes locked on the exit, on the path that could lead them closer to answers, closer to Tarun.
Without hesitation and with ignorance, he yelled, “Just run with me!”
The hallways blurred around them.
Every echo of footsteps, every faint hum of the building’s early morning life, faded behind the roar of their own determination.
All that existed was the chase, the discovery, the knowledge that they were finally on the trail.
And they would not stop.
——————————————
The CCTV room buzzed with the faint hum of computers.
Screens glowed across the tense faces of the two in the room, the quiet only broken by the occasional tap of a key.
Kritika leaned closer, tracing the network paths on the screen. Her voice was tight, almost breathless.
“Yeah… it’s in Delhi.”
Before anyone could react, Yug stormed in, Vivek right behind him, breathing heavy, fists clenched. The air seemed to shift, charged with their energy.
All four froze for a moment, and then, as if on cue, they shouted together.
“We’ve found it!”
Vivek slammed his hand on the desk, heart racing.
“The withdrawal… it wasn’t local. It’s authorized from Delhi.”
Kritika’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, eyes wide.
“And the CCTV footage… it wasn’t just tampered with. Someone with external access… the school trustee company did it.”
Yug’s gaze went sharp, ice in his voice.
“Vijay’s car… the driver… the big black Mercedes. Matches exactly what the drunk man said. It all comes from the top, his father’s, Vikrant Chauhan's company.”
Rishabh leaned over the logs, scrolling fast, every detail clicking into place.
“The trustee… it's Vikrant Chauhan's company. They pulled Tarun. The company is in Delhi too.”
The guard stood frozen, jaw tight, unsure what to make of their panic.
But none of them noticed.
The room felt tighter, heavier, charged with the weight of realization.
Kritika’s voice trembled slightly, as the last piece connected. “All of it… withdrawals, the footage, the cars… it points to the same place.”
Yug’s hands clenched at his sides, voice low but fierce. “And it matches… everything the drunk man said. Big black cars, suited men… it’s all from them.”
Rishabh exhaled slowly, letting it sink in. “The external access… it’s theirs. The trustee company has done it.”
The four exchanged a glance, hearts pounding. Every clue— the car, the server, the tampered footage— lined up perfectly.
Then, like a lightning strike, Yug and Rishabh said almost in unison.
“It’s BLC who did it.”
Vikrant Chauhan, Vijay's father, owned BLC— and he was the trustee of Silver Oak Academy.
Only he had the access to CCTV footage of the school the whole time.
Only he could provide Mercedes and a suited person just to drop his son at school.
The group still stood frozen, adrenaline surging. Every puzzle piece finally fit… and the game had just begun.
Tarun had been taken by BLC— BlackLine Command.
