Andrei POV
January 1976
The wrought-iron gates of St. Botolph's School for Boys (and, for the Junior House, Girls) swung open, swallowing us into a world of grey flannel, polished leather, and echoing hallways. It was the first formalised system outside the family, and I observed it with the Organiser's detached analysis and a seven-year-old's wary curiosity.
Damien, ten and already radiating a boisterous confidence, was a natural fit. He found his tribe within hours—boys who discussed rugby tries and cricket averages with the same gravity our father discussed shipping tonnage. Daphne, at five, was shepherded into the colourful chaos of the infants' reception, a small, determined figure clinging to her rabbit until a kindly teacher offered her a pot of paint.
My own reception was more measured. I was placed in a class of boys my age, a mix of old money, new industry, and a few sharp, watchful faces on assisted places—the system's meritocratic concession. My reputation, courtesy of my parents' quiet word to the headmaster, was "exceptionally bright, socially reserved." It was a label that granted tolerance for silence and invited both curiosity and mild suspicion.
My first tangible data points were my desk neighbours. To my left, Thomas "Tommy" Finchley, son of a viscount, whose world-view was a map of estates and family trees, and who viewed lessons as an inconvenient interlude between holidays. To my right, Arjun Patel, whose father had emigrated from Kenya and built a successful import business. Arjun was fiercely competitive, his focus a tangible force field, determined to excel at every metric the school could provide.
And then, at the back, always slightly out of uniform—a jumper that was a shade off, shoes slightly scuffed—was Leo Dawson. He was on a full scholarship, son of a single mother who worked as a nurse in Whitechapel. He was preternaturally quiet, but his hand was always the first to rise in maths, his answers delivered in a soft, precise tone that brooked no argument. The System in my mind, ever-categorising, tagged him immediately: High Potential, Low Resource Base.
St. Botolph's was my first real-world scan of the "social infrastructure" my Library data had theorised about. Here was the inequality, not as a graph, but as a packed lunch versus hot meals, as whispered conversations about holiday villas in France versus Leo's careful silence about his weekends.
The "First Rung" directive, until now a purely conceptual engine in my mind, found its first raw material. Leo Dawson.
The first tangible step presented itself not in business, but in boyhood currency: the football pitch. A brutal, muddy game was underway. Leo, slight but agile, made a brilliant passing play that set up a goal. In the celebrating scrum, Tommy Finchley, frustrated at being shown up, "accidentally" shoved Leo hard into the mud. "Mind your place, scholarship," he muttered, not quite under his breath.
It was a small, cruel system in action. I watched Leo clench his jaw, the humiliation warring with the pragmatism of not fighting a peer whose family could end his tenure here with a phone call. He said nothing.
Later, in the library nook, I found him scowling at a complex maths puzzle our teacher had set as a "challenge." He was stuck.
"You transpose the variables here," I said, pointing without preamble. "Then it resolves."
He looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. "Why'd you help?"
"Because Finchley's an idiot, and you saw the pass he didn't," I said, stating it as a systemic fact. "Wasting your time on his nonsense is inefficient. Wasting it on this puzzle is marginally better, but still inefficient if you're stuck."
He blinked, then a slow, real smile broke through. He applied the correction, and the puzzle unlocked. That small collaboration was the first brick.
My next step was operational. Using my pocket money—the stipulated fund for personal ventures—I did two things. First, I bought a second set of the advanced maths workbook we used. Second, I went to a jumble sale with Margaret and bought a serviceable, used football.
The following week, I made my first strategic offer. "My brother Damien talks too much about football tactics. It's statistically dense. You understand it. Explain his drivel to me, and I'll lend you the advanced workbook. A trade."
It wasn't charity. It was a transaction. A fair exchange of value. Leo's pride remained intact, his keen mind was engaged, and I gained a functional ally while testing a core "First Rung" principle: dignity through exchange, not donation.
The ball, I left "forgotten" in a corner of the yard where Leo and a few other boys from the assisted places group usually congregated. It was quietly adopted.
These were micro-interventions. Practically invisible. But to me, they were the first active protocols of the new directive. I was identifying high-potential assets (Leo), assessing environmental friction (Finchley), and deploying minimal capital (workbook, football) to alter the outcome efficiency.
At home, the System noted it.
[ PROJECT: FIRST RUNG ]
[ Status: FIELD TEST INITIATED. ]
[ Objective: Test principles of dignified resource exchange & environmental modification. ]
[ Test Subject: L. Dawson. Profile: High Aptitude, Socially Vulnerable. ]
[ Action 1: Facilitated peer-level knowledge trade (Mathematics/Football). Result: Successful alliance formed. ]
[ Action 2: Provided anonymous tool for group cohesion/social capital. Result: Asset integration improved. ]
[ Conclusion: Core principle viable. Scaling requires formalised structure and capital. ]
Sitting in my room that evening, I calculated. The Lionel royalties were growing. The Intel shares were a long-term hold. A portion of the next cheque would need to be secretly diverted. The goal was no longer just an abstract engine. It had a face now, covered in mud and lit up by solving a puzzle. It had a name: Leo.
School wasn't just an education. It was my first laboratory. And my first project was officially, quietly, underway.
A/N
Andrei has identified his first "test subject" and proven his core principle works on a small scale. The capital is accumulating. What will be the first real financial move he makes to fund "First Rung," and how will he hide this growing secret ambition from his observant family?