Chapter 5: The Ghost in the Classroom
The classroom smelled of old chalk, ironed uniforms, and plastic lunch boxes. Ishan sat rigidly at the center desk, his posture elegant despite the fraying collar of his shirt and the second-hand shoes pinching his feet. His body may have been small, but his presence had not diminished. If anything, he sat there with the air of someone appraising the room, not the other way around.
The teacher, a stout woman with a kind smile but dull eyes, stood before a green chalkboard scribbled with a half-complete equation. Her hand moved slowly, chalk screeching faintly with every curve she drew. Ishan leaned forward, frowning. The equation was wrong. Not dramatically wrong — just a tiny mistake in signs. But it was enough to give him a headache.
In his past life, this kind of sloppiness would've cost someone their job.
"Ma'am," Ishan said, lifting a hand.
The class turned, a few students snickering already. It wasn't common for anyone to interrupt Miss Kaushik.
She looked surprised. "Yes, Ishan?"
"That sign — the one before the x squared — should be negative. If you follow the sequence properly, you'd get the wrong factorization otherwise."
The room froze. Miss Kaushik stared at the board, blinking. Then she adjusted her glasses, rewrote the line, and paused.
He was right.
She cleared her throat. "Very good, Ishan. Thank you."
A ripple of whispers spread through the classroom.
Ishan returned to his seat, arms crossed. He wasn't doing it for praise. He hated errors. In his former life, he'd built empires on precision. A single wrong digit in a stock chart meant millions lost.
"Why's the weird new kid acting like a professor?" someone mumbled.
Ishan ignored it.
The lunch bell rang. As kids bolted out, Ishan remained. He scanned the room, eyes sharp. There had to be a library or a computer room. He couldn't take it anymore — he needed answers. How did the car crash happen? Who benefited from it? Was it an accident, or a message?
He stepped out, walking the corridor with a mission.
Finally, he found it — a dusty door marked Computer Lab. Locked. Figures.
He was about to turn back when a girl's voice interrupted.
"You're the new kid, right? The one correcting teachers now?"
He turned. It was his sister, Aaru. Her pigtails bounced as she walked, lunchbox swinging.
"Why are you here?" he asked, tone guarded.
"I saw you go in this direction and thought you got lost. You don't know where the library is, do you?"
He hesitated.
"I'll take you," she offered, smiling.
He wanted to refuse, but his pride was wounded enough. He followed.
The library was a small room lined with dusty books and a single working computer. Ishan wasted no time. While Aaru sat flipping a comic book, he logged in and began searching.
He typed his old name — "Ishan Malhotra. Billionaire. Car crash."
Articles popped up, slow to load.
TRAGIC END TO YOUNG TYCOON
ISHAN MALHOTRA'S DEATH LEAVES INDUSTRY IN SHOCK
He skimmed. The car had gone off a cliff in the Alps. Brakes failed. No signs of foul play. Or so they said.
His jaw tightened. Too clean. Too convenient.
He clicked deeper. One article quoted a former board member subtly hinting that Ishan's death might have benefited several "hungry vultures in the company."
He was about to read more when someone cleared their throat behind him.
It was the librarian. A thin woman with permanently annoyed eyes.
"Only seniors are allowed to use the computer. Are you in Class 10 or above?"
"I'm researching something important," he replied coolly.
"Class?"
"Seven."
"Then step away. Now."
Ishan stared at her like she'd lost her mind. In his past life, people used to beg for his time.
Now, he was being told to step away like a child.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered but complied.
He stood beside Aaru, internally boiling.
She looked up. "What were you reading?"
"Old news," he said shortly.
She nodded, not pressing further.
As they exited the library, a group of boys passed by and shoved Ishan's shoulder. He stumbled but didn't fall.
"Too smart for your own good, huh?" one boy jeered.
Ishan straightened. "And you're proud of being average?"
The boy scowled, but Aaru stepped between them. "Leave him alone, Karan."
They walked off. Ishan exhaled slowly.
"Thanks," he said stiffly.
"That's what sisters do," Aaru said cheerfully.
He blinked at her. The words made something stir in his chest — unfamiliar and unsettling.
That night, as he lay on the thin mattress in the shared room with his siblings, he stared at the ceiling.
He had to stay sharp. His enemies in the past life were powerful. And even if he was now a boy no one cared about — he would rise again. He just had to understand this new world, build new weapons.
But more than that, he had to figure out why.
Why was he given this second life?
Why this family?
Why these memories?
One thing was certain — his mind was still his greatest weapon.
And he would use it.
Even if the world didn't see him yet — the ghost of a billionaire had just begun haunting the living.