Sports Academy and School

**July 16, 2002**

**Agni University, Rewari**

The late afternoon sun dipped low over Rewari, its golden light filtering through the office window, casting long shadows across Jatin's desk. He sat sprawled in his chair, the familiar creak of its frame a quiet comfort, the air heavy with the scent of dust and the faint tang of ink clinging to his fingers.

A half-empty mug of chai sat cooling beside a crumpled newspaper, its pages still open to yesterday's football news—India's looming losses to Jamaica. His mind churned, restless and bright, spinning through ideas as he traced the rim of the mug, the ceramic warm under his touch. He was happy—Agni University's name change was underway, VedaOS was soaring, and the Gateway deal was sealed—but a new fire flickered within him, a vision taking root.

He leaned back, boots scuffing the tiled floor, and let his thoughts roam. A sports academy—Agni Academy—could lift India's game, groom talents to rival the world. But doubts crept in, sharp and insistent. India wasn't modern—not like Europe or America—where sports beyond cricket held a future. Here, parents craved security for their kids—doctor, engineer, government job—cricket alone glimmered as a rare exception.

Football, hockey, athletics? Shadows, dreams dismissed. And age gnawed at him—if he opened an academy, students would join post-12th, 17 or 18 years old, their bodies already past the prime window for molding champions.

Too late, he thought, the chai's sweetness fading on his tongue as he frowned, the distant clang of construction a muted pulse outside.

Then a spark flared, bright and wild, cutting through the haze. What if he started younger—caught them early, shaped them from the ground up? A school—his school—where he'd be principal, feeding into Agni University and the academy. Could the System stretch that far? He straightened, the chair creaking louder, and asked aloud, voice rough with curiosity, "System, if I become principal of a school, will you work on school students like university students?"

The reply came swift, cool, and clear, ringing in his mind like a bell.

[*Yes, Host, the System will give one level boost to students who enroll in your school, and after successfully taking their certificate, they will get another one-level potential boost.*]

Jatin's breath caught, relief flooding through him, followed by a surge of excitement that lit his chest like a flame.

He grinned, a raw, wide thing, imagining it—school kids rising one potential level on entry, another on graduation, feeding into Agni University and Agni Academy, dominating sports and academics. India, a holy land of knowledge and strength, its talent unleashed.

The swastika—life, fire—would blaze across fields and classrooms, a beacon for the world. His fingers drummed the desk, dust motes swirling in the sunlight, the idea solidifying into a plan.

He grabbed the phone—a heavy black relic, its cord twisting as he dialed—and called out, "Neha, come to my office." The line clicked off, and he leaned back, sipping the chai, its tepid sweetness grounding him as he waited.

Neha—his assistant, hired two months ago when Vedic Technology took flight—was a whirlwind of competence, juggling his schedules between the company and university with a sharp eye and sharper tongue. Her sandals tapped the corridor, a brisk rhythm, and the door swung open, revealing her—petite, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, a small Notebook clutched in her hand, her dupatta a soft green flutter over her kurta.

"What do you want, Jatin?" she asked, stepping in, voice clipped but warm, shutting the door with a soft thud. She stood by the desk, eyebrows raised, the faint scent of jasmine trailing her from some morning ritual.

Jatin set the mug down, the clink sharp in the quiet, and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, papers rustling beneath him. "Neha, I've decided to open a sports academy," he said, voice steady, fire flickering beneath.

"You need to find a large, suitable plot in Gurgaon—big enough for a stadium. And scout private schools in Haryana we can buy."

Neha's eyes widened, shock flashing across her face as she shifted her weight, sandals scuffing the tiles. "Really?" she said, voice rising, Notebook trembling slightly in her grip.

"But this—it's huge, Jatin. Costly. A sports academy and schools?" Her tone wavered, caught between awe and doubt, her dupatta slipping as she gestured faintly.

Jatin grinned, boots scuffing as he leaned closer, the desk warm under his palms. "For the academy, we'll focus on football—mostly," he said, the vision spilling out. "We need a large stadium there, training grounds, the works.

For schools, we buy them or build from scratch—by next year classes started, I want 30 running. They'll be Agni National School—plus the area name, like Agni National School Gurgaon. The academy's Agni Academy. It's a pipeline—schools to academy to university." His voice carried a quiet intensity, the swastika burning in his mind, a symbol of what could be.

Neha blinked, then scribbled fast, her pen scratching the notepad, ink smudging her fingers. "Okay, but money—" she started, glancing up, worry creasing her brow.

"For money, don't worry," Jatin cut in, waving a hand, dust rising from the gesture. "The Gateway deal's locked—Anand called yesterday, contracts are done, cash hits next week. Steady income, Neha. Plus, we've already pulled 2 million rupees—20 lakhs—from online VedaOS sales. It's flowing." His voice softened, confidence threading through, the chai mug's steam a faint curl beside him.

Neha nodded, a slow grin breaking through her shock. "Okay, boss," she said, voice steadying, pen pausing as she met his eyes.

"But licenses—football stadium, academy, schools—it's tough. You know the government. Corruption's a swamp." Her tone hardened, a flicker of frustration in her dark eyes, the jasmine scent sharpening as she shifted.

Jatin sighed, a long, heavy breath that stirred the newspaper, his jaw tightening as he rubbed his neck, the faint ache of tension flaring. "I know," he said, voice low, grating with suppressed anger.

"Bloodsucking bats—leeching off talent, holding India back. Don't worry, Neha. Take 5 lakhs—bribe the government employees, toss some donations to KMP, Kishan Morcha Party. Do it fast." His teeth gritted, a forced smile twisting his lips, the sting of it sharp in his chest. If he had power—real power—he'd crush them, toss their corrupt husks into the gutter, free India's hardworking kids from their grip.

Neha's grin widened, a glint of mischief in her eyes as she scribbled again, the pen's scratch a quiet rebellion. "Okay, boss," she said, voice bright now.

"Five lakhs'll grease it—licenses in a month, tops." She tucked the notepad under her arm, dupatta fluttering as she turned, her sandals tapping a determined beat toward the door.

Jatin watched her go, the door clicking shut, the office falling quiet save for the ceiling fan's hum and the distant clang of hammers. He leaned back, chair creaking, and lit a cigarette, smoke curling into the slanting light, its bite sharp in his eyes. His mind raced—Agni Academy, a football fortress in Gurgaon; 30 Agni National Schools, swastika high, catching kids early; Agni University, their crown. The System would lift them—entry boosts, graduation boosts—footballers rivaling Jamaica, scholars outshining the West. India, lagging no more, a holy land reborn.

He exhaled, smoke swirling, the newspaper rustling as a breeze slipped through the window. The chai sat cold, ink smudged his fingers, and the world outside thrummed—construction dust, worker shouts, the neem tree's rustle. Five lakhs to the corrupt—filthy, necessary—bought him a month, a foothold. He grinned, raw and fierce, teeth bared against the sting in his eyes. These bloodsuckers wouldn't stop him—not with VedaOS's millions, not with the System's fire. Agni would rise—step by steady, blazing step.