Chapter 10: The Small Revolt

The school courtyard bustled with the midday hum of children—half laughter, half hunger. Boys kicked a worn football across the yard while others fought over packeted snacks or bartered stickers in the dusty corners of the building. Amid the chaos, Ishan sat alone on a sun-warmed stone ledge, his back straight, eyes scanning.

He had started to notice things now—the small tremors in other students' lives. Things he'd once been too high up to see. The way Ramesh, a wiry boy from Class 6, never brought lunch and always lingered near the tiffin groups. Or how Neelam, the girl who always scored second-highest, suddenly dropped in rank and came to school with sleeves tugged nervously over bruised wrists.

But today, it was Parth who caught his eye.

Parth was a quiet kid. Small, bespectacled, and barely noticeable on most days. He sat in the last row, scribbled diligently, and never answered aloud unless spoken to. Ishan had seen the signs—smirks when he passed, subtle tripping in the corridors, notebooks being snatched away.

And today, it escalated.

It started near the water hand pump.

A group of three boys—Ravi, Karan, and Dinesh—had cornered Parth, surrounding him with their usual smug grins. Ishan paused mid-step, watching from behind a tree trunk.

"Where's your science project, genius?" Ravi jeered.

"I... I didn't finish it yet," Parth said, voice barely audible.

"Wrong answer," Karan snorted and knocked the boy's bottle out of his hand. Water spilled into the dust.

Parth bent to pick it up, only to be pushed slightly by Dinesh.

Nothing brutal. Nothing that would cause a teacher to raise an eyebrow.

But Ishan saw it.

And remembered.

Remembered how it had felt, after the crash. Waking up powerless. Disbelieved. Small.

He stepped forward.

"Is that how brilliant men behave?" he asked, tone calm.

The bullies turned.

"Well, well. If it isn't Sir Ishan Malhotra," Karan smirked, using his name like a taunt. "Come to save your secretary?"

Ishan gave a thin smile. "Not everyone can afford a secretary. But you might need a lawyer when the principal hears about this."

Dinesh scoffed. "Who's gonna tell her? You?"

Ishan nodded. "No, you will."

They laughed.

He walked closer and said in a low voice, "There's a CCTV right above this yard. Not school-run—private. From the tailor's shop next door. They just installed it last week after some clothes were stolen. Faces recorded. Yours too."

He let that hang in the air.

The laughter faltered.

Ishan took a step closer. "You touch him again, I'll make sure your parents see the footage first. And believe me—if they're anything like mine, disappointment hurts more than punishment."

The three stared at him, unsure whether he was bluffing. Then, slowly, they backed off.

"Freak," Ravi muttered before walking away.

Ishan turned to Parth.

"You okay?"

Parth nodded, stunned. "How did you... know about the camera?"

"I didn't," Ishan said with a slight smirk. "But neither did they."

After that, Parth stuck to him like a loyal shadow.

At first, Ishan was indifferent.

But slowly, something changed.

Parth began to bring him tea during break. He sat with him at lunch. He whispered answers during class discussions and even waited at the school gate to walk home together.

"Why do you follow me around?" Ishan asked one afternoon as they sat under a neem tree behind the school building.

Parth looked embarrassed. "Because you're... different. You don't try to fit in. And still, people notice you."

"That's not always good," Ishan murmured.

"But it's honest," Parth replied. "I want to learn how to do that."

For a long moment, Ishan said nothing.

Then he pulled out his rough notebook—the one he wrote secret equations and life strategies in—and began drawing a simple chart.

He showed Parth how to outline goals. How to break them into small steps. How to measure progress weekly.

Parth's eyes lit up.

"I didn't know you could plan like this for... regular life," he said.

"You can plan for anything," Ishan replied. "You just need to believe your life is worth organizing."

By the end of the week, other kids noticed.

Parth's confidence grew. He started answering questions in class. Sat straighter. Laughed more.

And when Ravi tried to bump into him again, he stepped aside.

"Watch it," he said.

That moment—small and almost invisible—was the first revolt.

Later that day, Kabir found Ishan sketching mind maps under a dim bulb.

"Planning world domination?" Kabir teased.

"No. Just helping someone not feel useless," Ishan replied without looking up.

Kabir sat beside him. "You know, for someone who used to act like he was made of gold, you're starting to resemble... a person."

Ishan raised an eyebrow. "Insult or compliment?"

"Progress report."

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Kabir said, "Parth looks up to you. Be careful."

"Why?"

"Because when people start following you, it's easy to forget the weight they put on your shoulders."

Ishan nodded slowly.

He understood leadership.

He had led corporations, shaped economies.

But this... leading a boy out of fear? Teaching confidence?

This was new.

And perhaps, more important.

That night, as he lay beside Aaru and Kabir, Ishan didn't reach for his notebook immediately.

He stared at the ceiling instead, thinking about Parth's eyes.

The way they lit up when he felt seen.

And he whispered into the dark:

"Maybe I don't need a throne to lead."

The ghost of a billionaire was learning.

Sometimes revolutions don't start with weapons.

Sometimes, they start with belief.

And that... was enough to change a life.

Even his own.