Aman sat across the desk from the principal of his school.

“So, Mr. Batra, you weren’t selected for the Indian Institute of Eugenics.”

“No. No sir, I wasn’t.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“The selector said that my soul was damaged by my frequent gene extractions, making my control jerky.”

“Yes? How unfortunate.”

From the face of the principal, Aman couldn’t find any trace that he found the situation unfortunate.

Spinning around in his swivel chair so that he faced away from Aman, the principal continued, his bald head shining under the sunlight that streamed through the window of his office.

“Tell me Mr. Batra, how is your sister these days?”

Aman had an inkling where this conversation was going. He grit his teeth and replied, “She is out of danger and is now convalescing at home.”

“Hmm? Good to hear.” Suddenly spinning his chair around and putting his elbows on his desk and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, the principal looked at him through narrowed eyes.

“Are you aware that crowdfunding is very popular nowadays? And there are numerous cancer foundations that can be of financial help to you.”

“Yes sir, we looked into all of those means. Their help took the edge off our situation. The scholarship from the school was especially helpful.”

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“Yes? Then it is fortunate that your sister has recovered. We will regrettably have to stop your scholarship.”

Even though he knew this was coming, it was still a shock to him.

“But sir…”

He stopped me with a gesture and got up from his chair and began pacing in the area behind his desk.

“You have to understand Mr Batra that the current you and the person we decided to sponsor are essentially different people. I have to answer to the board of directors every time I decide to continue your stipend.”

“Then why did the answer change this time? Right after my rejection by the Indian Institute of Eugenics? Were you holding out till you were sure my use value was zero?”

“Your words, not mine, Mr. Batra. Now, I am a busy man. Please show yourself out.” His eyes went to the schoolbag on Aman’s shoulder. “And have a good day.”

Aman was fuming as he stomped out of the school. Ashok hadn’t been selected as well and he wasn’t pleased to have Aman exceed him even if he wasn’t selected finally.

Add being publicly dumped by Sneha who had been selected and Ashok was in a foul mood. And raring to take it out on Aman.

So, when the principal had called him to his office, he had come with his bag. He would have bunked the rest of the classes anyway. Not that he was in any mood for studies.

The school had always been this materialistic.

The first time Ashok had hit him, he had complained to the authorities and threatened police involvement. The school had immediately stepped in to mediate.

They didn’t want their reputation ruined by a police case after all.

Ashok had been warned and after that he hadn’t done the actually excessive parts of the bullying. He had left that up to Ronnie and Rohit.

Those two had no fear of expulsion. In fact, they probably welcomed it, what with their 3 and 4 intelligence stats and the conditions Ashok must have proposed to them. His father had a leather business and more guards/goons were always welcome.

He clenched his fist. It seemed that the sensor was his only hope.

Aman pulled out his phone and switched it on. He had switched it off during the selections.

Just as it turned on, it began to vibrate as nearly fifty missed calls and just as many messages popped up.

It was his mother.

Reading one, his eyes widened. Preeti had collapsed.